Agenda de l’action Supramentale sur la Terre. 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?
(Dans la nuit du 5 au 6, un violent cyclone a ravagé Pondichéry. À Nandanam, au milieu du jardin dévasté, un hibiscus blanc est sorti. Satprem pose la fleur sur les genoux de Mère.)
Dans le cyclone, une fleur de «Grâce» est sortie, douce Mère.
(silence)
(On entend les bruits de hache de ceux qui coupent les branches cassées du grand flamboyant aux fleurs jaunes, appelé «service», au-dessus du tombeau de Sri Aurobindo.)
L’arbre qui me donnait toutes mes fleurs de «transformation» [chez Satprem] est parti. Et l’arbre de «service» aussi: il y a des branches arrachées.
D’habitude, ça ne passait pas ici...
La conscience doit être descendue beaucoup... beaucoup.
Des choses curieuses: la conscience est plus claire et plus vaste qu’elle n’a jamais été – une vision vaste-vaste... et précise: je sais des choses qui se passent (sans penser: ça vient comme ça). Mais ab-so-lu-ment pas de mémoire. Je ne sais pas – une demi-heure après, je ne sais pas ce que j’ai fait. Absolument pas.
La conscience de la Présence – de la Présence partout, en tout...
(Mère plonge puis revient et nous donne la fleur de «Grâce»)
Mon petit...
Je voudrais la Grâce d’être exclusivement à toi.1
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