Memories of First Darshan

My First Darshan

07.11.71

In 1969, while running a TV magazine in Holland, I one day remarked to a close musician friend of mine: "Oh dear, I wish I had something to believe in . . . I have so much energy and it's such a waste to use it only for these dumb little stories we have to feed the public with. . . !"

Some weeks later my friend brought me a magazine, Bres Planète, in which I found an article by Ruud Lohman, "They build their own city". "I think this is what you are looking for!" said my friend. I read the article, got in touch with a contact address given in it, went to a reading with slide shows and started reading Satprem's The Adventure of Consciousness, in Dutch.

New worlds opened for me. . . Yes, yes, yes . . . I kept thinking and feeling and sensing, this was it for me.

In order not to come with empty hands, I kept my job for another year, and it was in September 1971, after a half year of travelling in India (because "once I disappear in Auroville, I probably never will get out of it. . .") that I arrived in Pondicherry, now Puducherry.

Immediately attracted by the very special energy field prevailing in the Ashram, I inwardly had the strong sense that I first needed to get closer, more familiar, more intimate with the Mother before going to Auroville. So I decided to remain in the Ashram for some time.

And then a bizarre problem arose. . . . While I had given up my all and everything, had burned all my ships in order to come to the Mother and Auroville, I now found myself embodying an enormous resistance. For days and days I walked around Pondy, in the park, at the beach, sat in the Playground, and near the Samadhi, continually struggling with thoughts like, "How can she be divine. . . , she was married. . . , even had children. . . , what is divine anyway. . ." etc, etc. . . Until the day came that I finally shook myself, realising, "What on earth do I care who she is or what she did. . . , let me listen to her message at least. . !"

Having made up my mind, I then was ready. I asked for a darshan and, when the day came, went to the Ashram's flower section to search for a flower to give to Mother. When asked which flower I wanted, I had absolutely no idea and suggested they give me something white.

A friendly sadhak gave me a bunch of white plumeria and there I went, to the Samadhi, waiting downstairs. . . , waiting up the stairs. . . , waiting half way. . . , it was a dreamlike, timeless waiting with a strange sort of intensity, as if there was no past and no future. . . , just a very full everlasting moment of waiting. . . , awaiting. . . .

It was as if the space outside of me and the space inside of me had become exactly the same, mingling and getting stronger and stronger. . . , I could hear its sound. . .

And then I found myself in the room. . . and there she was. . . , so very, very fragile and almost transparent. . . , almost blue. . . She was so light. . . , hardly sitting in her chair, — and the space intensified, throbbing, sounding. . .

When it was my turn I gave my flower and knelt down for her as I had seen the ones before me do. In one of Sri Aurobindo's Letters On Yoga I had read that one had to "let Mother look into your heart", so in all my naiveté I looked up at her, opening my eyes for her to look into them. I didn't look at her face, at her looks, I just held my head a bit backwards and found myself opening my eyes, wide, like doors.

And there it came. . . , it was as if two beams or streams bored themselves, very steadily and gradually straight down into me. . . , almost like two rods physically drilling downwards, very slowly, very gently. . . And after staying there for some silent, ageless, timeless time. . . , the two beams very gently and slowly withdrew again. I felt them leaving me, and then. . . I looked at her. . . I saw her face, and she saw mine. . . , and we smiled and smiled. . . , and I felt her little tick on the top of my head and someone gave me a flower, and I floated and smiled and beamed out of the room, downstairs, into the world. . .

The message had been received . . . and from that time onwards everything, everything was different. . .

- Mauna