ABOUT

A compilation of Huta’s autobiographical notes, about which The Mother said : 'This is the interesting story of how a being discovers the Divine Life.'

The Story of a Soul

  The Mother : Contact

Huta
Huta

The Story of a Soul, Huta's journal of her progress on the spiritual path, runs from 1954 to 1973. This records many of her conversations with the Mother, their private meditations in the Mother's room at the Playground, and their correspondence. In her numerous cards and messages the Mother consoled Huta in her difficulties, appreciated her skill in various works, and promised to help her realise her true being.

The Story of a Soul
English
 The Mother : Contact

Undated?

Sometimes I missed the Balcony Darshan. But whenever I stood on the street below, the Mother's Light and Force pierced every obscure niche of my being.

Nevertheless, soon after, the hostile forces would rear up and strike me as hard as they could. These invisible forces were so deceptive and obdurate—they were determined to trap me and topple me.

In physical terms the process of assault was strange. I felt that they entered from my toes, then gradually moved up towards my heart, spreading their crushing vibration. Finally they would reach my head, leaving me totally shattered.

During an attack, it was as if something were creeping up my body, causing a shuddering unease and a sense of helplessness before an element that was tangible, dreadful, unidentified. My limbs seemed to weigh me down like lead—they were out of control, paralysed. I kept trembling and perspiring with an increasing feeling of weakness. These parasites sapped every bit of my vitality. I would slump down into my arm-chair or on my bed and shut my eyes. I could not move. I was seized by a living terror. I felt I was dead, but my mind remained active—packed with jostling, fretful entities, anxieties, fears—some real, some fantasies, a few recognized, others alien, and the rest sheer imagination. My head would spin, and I felt it would burst.

It took an interminable time for my exhausted mind to struggle back to consciousness. The sense of sickness and swooning affected my whole constitution. My sceptical mind never became placid, silent—it settled into blankness. Everything seemed disoriented.










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