It's neither life nor death.. BOTH are being changed.. into something still unknown.. dangerous and wonderful. On Nov 17, 1973, she left her body - why?
"Before dying falsehood rises in full swing. Still people understand only the lesson of catastrophe. Will it have to come before they open their eyes?" This is the year of Watergate, of Nixon's first trip to China, the assassination of the Israeli athletes in Munich, the first oil embargo. This is Mother's last lap. A lap strewn with heartrending little cries and stunning visions. The end of one world, the beginning of another.... whether we want it or not. "Sometimes, it is so new and unexpected, it's almost painful." And I would ask her, "But is it a state outside matter?" "I don't go outside of physical life, but.... it looks different. But it is strange. And it is PHYSICAL, that is the extraordinary thing! As if the physical had split in two.... A new state in matter. And it is ruled by something that is not the sun, I don't know what it is.... I am touching another world. Another way of being.... dangerous but wonderful." How I listened to her little breath as she gasped for air, a breath that seemed to come from another side of the world: "There is no difference between life and death. It's neither life nor death, it is.... something. It is not the disappearance of death you understand: BOTH are being changed.... into something still unknown, which seems at once extremely dangerous and absolutely wonderful." And what if "death" were merely the other, MATERIAL side of our human bowl, the sunlit shore for a species to come? A new condition on both sides of the world, in which life and death change into.... something else? "I am treading a very thin and narrow line...." And then this cry, this entreaty: "Let me do the work!" On November 17, 1973, she passed away - why?
Good morning, Mother!
(Mother hands a basket to Satprem)
This is mouthwash! And these are eggs.
Now what do you have to tell me?
Me, nothing.
Nothing?
No, it's difficult. A difficult period...
For me too.
Yes.
(silence)
So...
Where does that come from?
...we can go in the silence if you like?
Yes, Mother, certainly! But I was asking where it comes from.
(after a silence)
In my own case, I know: it's because everything that needs to be transformed is rising from the subconscient, and it's in-ter-mi-nable.... It keeps rising and rising and rising....
And with each little thing looms the possibility of catastrophe. So you live in a constant suggestion of catastrophes—I know where it comes from, I know what it is, but it isn't pleasant.
No.
And there's a new kind of malaise. Something new. As I was
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telling you, there's a new and wonderful joy that comes! But it comes the way you disclose something, you know... (Mother dangles an imaginary lure between her fingers): "See, this is what you could have." Exactly like that. "It could be like this," and brrrt, it's gone!
So really, I'd rather not talk about it.
Yes, Mother.
(Mother plunges in for twenty minutes, then goes out of her room and comes back)
Would you like to stay a little more?
You'll be late, Mother, no? It's already eleven.
You were called in late.
That doesn't matter!
Have you got some work to do?
No, Mother, not at all! But You have some work to do!
Oh, me... (Mother raises her arms). I live in a constant contradiction—constant, constant... With all sorts of suggestions: "This way, you could die; that way, you could die...." So I simply reply, "I don't care!" Then it calms down.
My consolation was that I thought I was doing this for everybody; that once I had done it, it would be done—but evidently a lot of people are in the same difficulty.
Yes, but when you have finished, it'll be finished for them too.
Let's hope so....
To comfort me, there is a kind of assurance from above, that if I reach my centenary, I will start going uphill again. But it's still far off. How many years left?
Five years, Mother.
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Oh, mon petit! Five more years in this hell!...
We'll try to go with you to the end.
Oh, you.... (After a silence) You will go to the end.
Oh, Mother.... But I can go to the end only if you go there!
(Mother laughs silence)
But you know, at the same time, I am aware of the divine forces going through like this (gesture through the body). I try to obstruct as little as I can. And it gives some extraordinary results: constantly, there are... what people call "miracles."
But to me, it's not quiet as it could be—as they SHOULD be.
The possibility of suffering, for example—suffering from pain, suffering... a purely physical fact (all the nonphysical things are: Mother makes an immutable and peaceful gesture to indicate the inner states), but something purely physical: really, the capacity for suffering must disappear. Not that I don't want to suffer, but... it isn't a nice gift to give people!
Five years....
The years are long, long, long, long....
It's like this: two or three hours can go by in a second, and half an hour can last for hours. Everything, but everything is upside down.
(Mother gestures: what to do? silence)
And then—oh, I haven't told you: yesterday or the day before, I don't remember, all of a sudden, for two or three minutes, my body was seized by the horror of death—the idea of being put like this (gesture of being tossed into a hole) in a tomb was so horrifying! Horrifying.... I couldn't have stood that more than a few minutes. It was HORRIFYING. Not because I was buried alive, but because my body was conscious. It was considered "dead" by everybody for the heart had stopped beating—yet the body was conscious.
That... that... that was a horrible experience.... I was showing
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all the signs of "death," you know, the heart wasn't working, nothing was working—but I was conscious. The body was conscious.
We must... we must warn people at least not to rush to... (gesture into a hole).
Oh!...
No, we won't let that happen, don't worry. We just won't let it happen.
(silence Mother holds Satprem's hands, she smiles)
You are sweet.
Oh, Mother!
(Mother looks at the table beside her) I would like to give you something that you like.
I would like your presence with me, always.
Oh, that... more and more!
(To Sujata:) How are you, mon petit?
Quite well, little Mother.
Yes?
Yes, Mother
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