Mother's Chronicles - Book Six

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He for Whom I Was Waiting

"He for whom I was waiting"—"celui que j'attendais," wrote Mirra in France, in one of the innumerable visions she had early this century.

In this particular vision she found herself in her 'family' house—not that she knew it physically! She was living there with her father and two brothers. All the three were big and strong. The two brothers were men of 'not much goodwill,' or rather, they had a disbalanced vital. The father, though not highly developed, was a man of 'goodwill.'

All of them were assembled in a vast rectangular hall. A great big window open to the south-west let in the light. The walls were oak-panelled. In the middle of the west panel a colossal mantelpiece was built in sculpted stone. In front of it stood the old father dressed in a dark and coarse cloth. The house must have been built on a hillside, because the glass window overlooked an immense plain, bounded on the horizon by a long chain of mountains entirely covered in a purple fog. At the bottom of the valley, among the huge trees, a winding stream dazzled with a copper glow under the last rays of the setting sun. The deepening dusk made the big hall but dimly lit.

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A young girl was sitting by the window with the setting sun behind her. Mirra identified herself with her. She was dressed in a simple white gown, her folded hands rested on her knees, her gaze was lost in the darkest corner of the hall, towards the east. All of them seemed to be waiting ... for someone.

"Suddenly he entered without our hearing the sound of the door opening or closing. He entered from the other end of the hall which I was facing. For the others he was veiled by a sort of invisibility, wrapped in a magnificent deep purple, so as to look like an ordinary man. But, as for me, I saw quite well that although very dense, the laws of gravity and of movement (and perhaps many others besides), to which we are subject, did not exist for him. I recognized him with all my being." She was in the grip of such a strong emotion that she could not move and "remained in my place."

Mirra noted, "Between him and my family several things took place which I do not clearly remember, except one. My father approached the newcomer with a profound reverence to welcome him in respectful terms. The being of light responded with a warm hug. I was so affected that I did not quite grasp what passed between them. Except that when they separated, my father who had gone from his place in his grey, dark dress came back all transformed and dressed in a superb and large golden dress. Full of admiration, I said, 'See the wonders He can perform.'

"But it was for me that He had come. He came near me slowly unveiling himself. And gradually I saw—without any amazement—that he was enveloped in a brilliant white light, and that he himself was luminous." Young Mirra was smitten. "He was

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so wonderfully beautiful that, filled with wonder and ecstasy, I fell to the ground losing my consciousness for a minute. But very soon I recovered, then approached Him and first of all kissed his feet. But helped by him I at once got up, and put my head on his shoulder and we remained clasped in each other's arms for a long time. For a very long time we remained looking through the great window, far away into the vast plains, at the last fading rays of the setting sun." Silence reigned.

They made a sweet picture. The dark-bearded Being of light and the auburn-haired girl in the first flush of womanhood. He looking to the far beyond; she looking up adoringly at him. He, sad and serious; she, radiating happiness.

During that long contemplation wordlessly they communicated to each other the depths of their souls and thoughts. In silence they conversed about the greatness of the work to be accomplished and the splendour of the imminent victory, of which "the dazzling radiance that surrounded him was like a glorious pledge."

After their long and silent contemplation, he turns his face towards her and puts his lips on her forehead.

"The young woman also gradually becomes luminous. Then the two of them lie down side by side, hand in hand, in a bed of rest at the bottom of the hall, and sleep.

"The white light emanating from them grows more and more intense, and spreads more and more. It radiates very far across the house, above the immense plain.

"And, wherever the balanced radiance passes, it brings with it health, hope, harmony and joy."

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In the morning Mirra wakes up late, in her own bed, strong and happy. "No words can describe the intense happiness I felt. Everything in him was familiar to me, so much so that I hardly observed him. What emanated from him, his voice, his gesture, his expression, were all so well known to me, so sweet, so beautiful, that even now that I am fully awake, I still feel deeply moved when I think of it. He was tall, thin, his hair and beard seemed dark to me, but of that my memory is not quite precise. His expression was extremely serious and sad, but infinitely gentle and tender. I could not describe him well, but I am certain that I shall recognize him among millions."

He always looked to the far beyond. Behind the beyond. To the noons of the future.

Mirra recognized the Being of light when she met him.

It was at the 'Guest House' that she first saw him, when she went to Pondicherry in 1914.

That was "merely the beginning of my vision," Mother said. Six years later, when she returned from Japan and met him again "in the same house and in the same way—did the END of the vision occur."

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