Mother or The Mutation Of Death - III

4: The Mutation of Death

Great revolutions are always simple.

We passionately believe that we need great measures to upset the world and perform spectacular changes, but we upset nothing, there is no mutation: we only mix the same elements in a different order, and since those elements are worth nothing in whatever order, we always find ourselves up against what one could called an improvement of the catastrophe. A revolution, a true one, a true mutation is a minuscule new element that infiltrates and changes all the values of each of the old elements. It is not a change of order, it is a change of value. And what was worthless or wrong in any order suddenly takes on a new significance as if… as if it had simply not found its key and was wrong because it had not found its key, and ultimately nothing was wrong, not an atom, everything was awaiting its little key. That is why we will have found nothing, changed nothing and revolutionized nothing until we have found the fundamental key⎯because it will change all the signs. And what must be found finally? What must we uncover in this huge universe, with us in it? Let’s be simple. Joy, of course, joy which is love, but what is the contrary of this simple reason for being? Death, of course, which is non-joy and the non-reason for being. And if it has no reason for being, obviously it must not exist, it is the unreality of the universe⎯yet it is that which strangles us most, which affects all other signs and almost annuls them. There are not a thousand things to find, there is only one. Not a thousand revolutions: only one. A single mutation of death. And everything else will be changed, automatically. All the other signs will take on a new value.

Now the small key is possibly to be found precisely with what we have to mutate or within what we have to mutate, there where death is made: and what is it that dies?⎯cells which die because they keep spinning a song of death, an unreal song, a non-reason for being. But this is not true! Life cannot spin non-life, it can only spin joy and more joy, because it is joy itself. It spins death only because it has not found the small key or in order to oblige us to find the small key of the real⎯the true life. It is that simple: what creates death creates life as well, it is a key that is turned in the wrong direction. It is not something to get rid of, there is nothing to get rid of in the universe⎯to deposit it where, in what dump outside of the universe? It is something whose direction has to be changed, and once changed, it will change the direction of everything else. We are seeking the process in order to have the power to undo what was done, she said. To undo death. But after all these years, there is something in me that would like to have the power or the key: the process. And is it not necessary to feel or live or see (but by «see,” I mean, see ACTIVELY) how it was twisted this way [Mother bent her hand in one direction] in order to be able to do like this? And She bent her hand in the opposite direction. To live how it created death in order to be able to turn in the other direction. To live death.

It is perhaps what She was going to do for five years … and more.

And She added this: What's interesting is that now that this mind of the cells has been organized, it appears to be going with dizzying speed through the whole process of human mental development, in order to reach ... the key, precisely. The key of death. There is of course the sense that the state we are in is a false unreality, but there is a sort of need or aspiration to find, not a mental or moral “why,” nothing of the sort, but a HOW—how it got twisted this way [Mother bent her hand again], in order to straighten it out.¹ It is the cells that hold the key to the spinning in one direction or the other. But there is no death in fact, there is no fact of death: there is a false spinning. Death is not a cellular phenomenon, it is a cellular non-sense. It is an unreality stuck onto a reality that we have not yet found. Once that reality has been touched⎯that reality of joy⎯death will become unreal all by itself. Death is not a reality of Matter, it is a particular unreality of Matter⎯it dies because it is not what it really is. Each time I ask my body what IT would like, all the cells say, “No, no! We are immortal, we want to be immortal. We're not tired, we're ready to struggle for centuries if necessary; we have been created for immortality and we want immortality.” And this is just what I am realizing (I don't think it's anything unique or exceptional): the closer one draws to the cell itself, the more the cell says, “But I am immortal!”²

This is the cellular fact, the only real fact. The reality of the cells is immortal life.

Perhaps even modern biology would not disagree with us? In the substance of the cells, there is nothing that is death.

The mutation of death lies in the joy of a small cell, a pure cell.

A covert Tread

Such was the simple, great revolution that unfolded from 1968 onward: suddenly, the pure cells, left to themselves, began to spin in the other direction, as if it were the most natural thing in the world⎯in fact it was the only thing that was natural in the world. They began to undo death, very spontaneously, very naturally⎯a simple little wonder that has no words because it is so simple, so inconspicuous; and yet it is that which is going to change the whole world, whether we like it or not, whether we are aware of it now or not. This is what has begun on earth. The mutation of death has begun. A cell is not alone, is it? it runs all over the place, it is one single body. And I was witnessing the tiny wonder as it grew and stammered hesitatingly on Mother’s lips⎯so much so that at times I even thought I had caught it in my own body. People have experiences ... And they know nothing !³ she would say. And this because it is not mental, because we do not look where we ought to and do not understand an “experience” until we have mentalized it and thereby “understood” it; but it happens without our understanding anything about it and without any need for understanding: it happens constantly! The world is veering without it knowing it, it does not grasp the little golden breath that simply undoes death, just like that: death does not “happen,” so we don’t notice it! One has to die for good in order to notice the damned thing. But those microscopic little deaths that spin themselves on and on and lead up once and for all to the other one, who notices them? And that little breath that ensures it does not happen. For it is truly like a tiny, imperceptible golden breath that blows all by itself without one’s interfering⎯no one interferes, it occurs by itself, that is the beauty of it! When suggestions of death or annihilation or eternal peace touched the cells, they rejected them, like that, puff! no, I don’t want you. That’s all, it is simple. When suggestions of illness drew nearer: no, I don’t want you! When suggestions of ageing came: it is falsehood, I don’t want you. And everything was like a world of constant, malefic suggestions, everywhere⎯truly a bath of filth through which we slog our way without noticing it and which we drink like our natural air⎯puff, I don’t want you! It is the cells themselves that blow them out. But to notice it, one has to be somewhat out of the mental brouhaha, for it is so tranquil, crystalline and without violence, like the very lightness of the cells, and with the evident omnipotence of the child for whom it does not exist, it is not: pfft, I blow you away, you don’t smell good. It is not me. I told you about that “morbid imagination” the body had—completely gone, finished, cleaned out! The moment the body reacted by saying, “No, it’s disgusting, what’s that!”—gone. That’s what is so remarkable with this body : in the vital, in the mind, you have to do things over and over again for the experience to be established; the body is less prompt in opening itself, but once it has understood or has had the right experience, it’s over, the thing is ESTABLISHED. That’s what is remarkable. And it’s very tranquil. So then, when certain things tried to come back (even when they were some distance away, just on the periphery), it said, “Ah, no! I no longer want that, it belongs to the past.” ... It’s the One that has done the work, it is the change of this mind.⁴ It is Matter itself that wages its own revolution.

This phenomenon I could observe myself each time I became somewhat “clear”: one senses a suggestion approaching from a distance, on the “periphery,” as Mother would say, perhaps one or two meters from the body, a suggestion of grating, like a tiny wave, with a particular smell, or a suggestion of an accident, a suggestion of sex, a suggestion of a headache⎯nothing but suggestions, we live in a world of suggestions!⎯and suddenly a kind of swelling of the cells is felt in the body, yes, like something that gorges itself on sun or light and produces a warm intensity (curiously enough, it almost has the quality of love), a very compact vibration, but clear and light at the same time, and it rises from within, on its own, without our willing it or even calling it, without any to-do, in the simplest of ways in the world, automatically, and hop! The suggestion dissolves⎯it no longer exists. A golden swelling. We can fight ten times, a hundred times with the Mind, keep the suggestions at arm’s lengths to prevent them from coming in, but the second we relax our guard, it is over, they come in, and we have to fight for good to remove them, or else catch a fever for good; but now there is nothing to do! It is automatic and radical. Just a little golden breath. It is the cells that do the work.

And if one has a mantra, it becomes formidably active.

And they do this constantly, everywhere⎯wherever there is an atom of sincere goodwill. It is like a constant cleansing of death: those thousands and billions of sly suggestions that make for a corpse in the end, a cancer, a nameless mess, while there was nothing in truth, in fact, but a single little golden song which wanted to spin the joy of life and the beauty of life. So, we wonder what is going to happen? Because it is occurring in the bodies of individuals, of nations, it is occurring in the body of the Earth⎯a big cleansing. Of course, the thickness becomes thicker and more and more black, almost visible to the naked eye, as if swallowing a double or triple dose of death while furiously spinning its little mortal trepidation⎯but it gorges itself with its own death, the unreality becomes fantastic, almost phantasmagorical. But it is a complete unreality, there is not a breath of Life in it, it is an enormous, empty balloon covered in steel, a bogeyman inflated to the dimension of the earth⎯a wind bag. And beneath it, quietly, imperceptibly but imperturbably, there is this golden little vibration which cleans and cleans until no root of death is left, only that balloon over our heads. It is then that the corporeal substance will be clear and the balloon will deflate⎯poof! it doesn’t exist. It never existed. Perhaps even there will be no “wicked ones” and “good ones” there (again our human stupidity): the corporeal substance is entirely good; the whites as well as the yellows will find themselves cleansed in their bodies without having noticed it, and when all is fully clean and clear underneath, they will look at their wind bag without understanding anymore. They will no longer understand anything about it. Then all that will truly collapse out of stupefaction.

And now we seem to clearly understand those few lines of Sri Aurobindo, so often quoted, but which contained a mysterious single line that really nobody at all understood:

When darkness deepens strangling the earth’s breast
AND MAN’S CORPOREAL MIND IS THE ONLY LAMP,
As a thief’s in the night shall be the covert tread
Of one who steps unseen into his house.
A voice ill-heard shall speak, the soul obey,
A power into mind’s inner chamber steal,
A charm and sweetness open life’s closed doors
And beauty conquer the resisting world,
The truth-light capture Nature by surprise,
A stealth of God compel the heart to bliss
And earth grow unexpectedly divine.
In Matter shall be lit the spirit’s glow,
In body and body kindled the sacred birth...
A few shall see what none yet understands;
God shall grow up while the wise men talk and sleep;
For man shall not know the coming till its hour
And belief shall be not till the work is done.⁵

Will we let the phenomenon occur without even looking a little … and vibrating a little with that golden softness that runs as if inadvertently beneath our unreal monsters?

The mutation of death is right now.