Mâ, the Ancient One of evolution, leads Gringo on adventures through the past & future of the Earth, from the pre-human forest to the forest of tomorrow.
Un 'Livre de la Jungle' à l'envers. Non plus un petit d'homme qui revient à la vie animale, mais un autre petit d'homme dans une tribu sauvage de la forêt amazonienne, qui cherche comment on sort de la Tribu humaine et le passage de 'l'Homme après l'Homme'. C'est la légende de l'évolution et de l'Ancienne de l'évolution, figurée par la 'reine' de la tribu, qui entraîne Gringo à la découverte des aventures passées de la terre - en Egypte, dans l'Atlandide, en pays arctique -, et dans l'aventure de l'avenir de la terre, chaque fois forçant le barrage des défenseurs de la Loi établie, que ce soit celle des anciens initiés, celle de la Tribu amazonienne, celle des spiritualistes ou celle des biologistes du XXième siècle. Car chaque sommet atteint devient l'obstacle du prochain cycle. Successivement, Gringo passe par la 'porte de braise', la 'porte de jade', la 'porte bleu', la 'porte de neige', avant d'arriver à la 'porte noire' du XXIième siècle et à la 'minute nulle' où les hommes disent NON à leur loi suffocante et consentent à ouvrir 'les nouveaux yeux de la terre'. l'auteur évoque ici l'aventure qu'il a vécue dans la forêt vierge de Guyanne à l'âge de vingt-cinq ans, et l'aventure qu'il a vécue auprès de Sri Aurobindo et de Mère dans l'avenir de la terre : toute une courbe, de la forêt pré-humaine à la forêt mystérieuse de demain.
A 'Jungle Book' in reverse. No longer a young boy returning to animal life, but another young boy in a wild tribe of the Amazon rainforest, who seeks to discover how one escapes from the human Tribe and the passage of 'Man after Man.' This is the legend of evolution and of the Ancient One of evolution, represented by the 'queen' of the tribe, who leads Gringo on a journey of discovery through the past adventures of the earth — in Egypt, in Atlantis, in the Arctic lands — and into the adventure of the earth's future, each time forcing through the barrier of the defenders of the established Law, whether that of the ancient initiates, that of the Amazonian Tribe, that of the spiritualists, or that of the biologists of the 20th century. For every summit reached becomes the obstacle of the next cycle. Successively, Gringo passes through the 'gate of embers,' the 'gate of jade,' the 'gate of blue,' the 'gate of snow,' before arriving at the 'black gate' of the 21st century and at 'zero minute,' where men say NO to their suffocating law and consent to open 'the new eyes of the earth.' The author evokes here the adventure he lived in the virgin forest of Guyana at the age of twenty-five, and the adventure he experienced alongside Sri Aurobindo and 'Mother' in the future of the earth: an entire arc, from the pre-human forest to the mysterious forest of tomorrow.
VI
NOW Gringo knew.
His life had been overturned by a cataclysm more profound than the day when, in some clearing, a first creature fell to thinking — or was it the same cataclysm, from age to age? A first eel, a first seal, an oriole, a shrew, a yellow butterfly fluttering: each time the world burst open as if it had never seen itself. One wild glance. Everything stopped, changed color — the world was no longer as usual. It was a formidable sudden question: there was the man after man — and what is that?
A bare moment of stillness. Was the Earth, passing from creature to creature, seeking to look at itself differently — ever more so?
Gringo plunged his hands into the torrent, looked at his hands; he saw his face like a copper smear that stretched, smoothed, then scattered all at once in a swirl of tiny bubbles. Gringo was suddenly a formidable mystery. Even his eyes had widened; the ferns, the soaking lianas, the big glistening boulders emerged one by one with their smallest detail, drawn from their usual tangled picture, and posed a question to him. Everything looked at him. It was almost menacing, this silence that enveloped things — even the translucent little aiguillette, motionless, belly to the rock. Nothing was made anymore for eating, drinking, walking, clinging, or counting the sun's descent through the green tiers of the great kapok tree — everything was made for something else. But what? Did some first small, pensive creature in the old Carboniferous look differently at its drifting earth? It looked and looked, and Gringo looked and looked. It was almost painful, this gaze.
Gringo felt suddenly formidably alone.
And how does one become the man after man? — there, all alone, with millions of trees that begin and begin again and millions of small creatures that go on and on, and a few tribes as usual and forever? How does it change — how? What? Could it even change — and from what angle?
At the water's surface, motionless, between pebbles ringed with bubbles, he spotted two yellow eyes with a black ridge in between: it was Jacaré. A baby caiman looking at him, furrowing its horny brows — a feast. Caiman tail was succulent. If Vrittru the arrogant had been there with his mean arrows, it would have been over quickly... Gringo eased his hand gently into the cool current — has anyone ever caught a caiman by putting fingers in its mouth? Gringo didn't know what he was doing — he had no notion even of catching the caiman; perhaps he wanted to play? He looked at those two small yellow eyes sunk in a triangle of scales; he looked at nothing and everything. And all at once his whole body filled with a cool, perfectly clear stillness, like the water of the torrent — so motionless, deliciously motionless, with all those little bubbles running along his back and the rocks; there was no back really, there was no rock, no hand playing in the cool water: there was a great limpid body stretching and stretching in the torrent, bubbling with the bubbles in a myriad of small bursts of light, caught in a lattice of algae and sliding still on the belly among the small undulating aiguillettes and the pebbles smooth as polished centuries.
And splash! He fell headfirst into the torrent, opened a great mouth like an overfilled gargoyle, spat, cut his hand on a rock, and came out of the water shaking himself like a giant anteater. He was frozen and perfectly Gringo.
The baby caiman had disappeared; water was dripping from his nose.
A man was perfectly encased in a waterproof skin. That was it. And one couldn’t get out of it.
So from where does one get out of it?
He rested his chin in the hollow of his hands and gazed for a long time.
A clamour arose from the camp.
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