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.
AND the game began anew.
It was once, a hundred million years ago, after countless times and countless lost tales — sorrows and joys, fabulous triumphs, gigantic collapses, and that little joy still sprouting, still sprouting, like the secret flower of all these worlds and stars. A million stars, a million worlds, and this labor of a small sprout—always, of man or bird, or pink iguana on the bank of a stream, or a species not yet born under the gaze of great, restless stars.
Little child of man, will you be the one for whom this great game was launched, for whom this small joy clothed itself in a million sorrows and adornments — or will your journey have to begin again beneath the great unsatisfied stars?
It was once again a hundred million years ago: prophets had come and gone; triumphs of gold, of steel; irrefutable truths; salvations and salvations on other planets; little children who die, who die—that is for later. Later.
When will that be?
The tale of all tales, the “here it is at last.” Or will we never get there… never?
A tiny little shoot clinging to a rock, tender, green, like a cluster of stars in the bubbling torrent, drinking in the water, the light, playing and playing for no one to see, for no hummingbird ever born, no man yet to come — purely green... “More, more,” it whispers, “always, always” in the delight of cool water flowing toward the sea.
For a tiny green seaweed, do these galaxies spin?
They have always spun, they will always spin, but when will they spin for the joy of a little child of man, purely?
And the Earth says: “Let’s try again.”
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