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.
II
THE rain fell — immense, equatorial, endless — on the great green swell of the Amazon rainforest, washing each little leaf of a million trees, like a caress for each one, like a warm shiver on the soft skin of the hills, washing away sorrows, ages, memories, rolling enormous spongy rivers and small waterfalls, alike, imperturbable, merciful, carrying the living and the dead and the days upon days in one liquid cascade — now and then torn by the raucous cry of a macaw that rang out suddenly like a first wound of life against an eternity of silence.
And the swell again, the rain again, the immense murmur like a prayer.
Then all fell silent.
It was the sun — the forest suddenly like a frothy delirium bursting with a thousand greens, a shimmering torrent lit by a myriad of pearls, a rush of scents in a chaos of dead wood and ferns.
A sharp ray pierced a clearing.
There was a little child of man, there, alone, pensive, cheeks resting in his hands, sitting at the edge of the igapó.¹
He was naked, save for a bracelet of shells below his right knee. His skin was copper-colored like the reflection of the sun on a balsa trunk. His body was wiry like a liana, perfectly still. He was called Gringo — "the stranger." He was perhaps fifteen, and water dripped from his brown hair. His forehead was high and broad as that of an icon. Nothing moved. Two intense eyes gazed at... what?
The future, the past? Or that single drop of water clinging to the soft moss of the balsa.
Then a cricket began to sing in a high branch above the igapó, another cricket, another, answering each other far off beneath the great jagged vault of sunlight: a deep sound that rose, rose, intertwined, held fast in an immense piercing note covering the whole igapó, plunging through the rosy pillars, losing itself in a labyrinth of lianas, then dying away in the distance on the first slopes of the serra — only to return again, flooding the tranquil igapó with its single sharp, stubborn, tireless note, like a crackling tide or like a prayer from the depths of lost ages.
¹ Igapó: an interior lake or swamp.
He started, and — zzt! — a skillful arrow whistled past his ear and pinned a little green serpent, so pretty!, green as a newly-born shoot, to the tree trunk before him.
Like a violation.
The serpent writhed around the arrow, knotted itself. Gringo had not moved — he had known.
His heart was clenched only with a sharp pang.
Dead branches cracked, and then that odious laugh, enormous, bellying:
— Well then, Gringo, not scared?
— “You're wasting your arrows”, Gringo replied simply, without releasing his cheeks. But his hands had gone white.
Then he added calmly:
— You're not going to eat Jacko, are you?
The man, furious, wrenched his arrow from the trunk, nearly slipped in the warm mud of the small lake, freed Jacko from the shaft and threw him on Gringo's knees.
— The next one will be for you. The igapó is mine.
And the man walked off with a spongy splashing.
Slowly, the little child of man took the serpent in his hands: it was still trembling. Then he closed his eyes. The crickets resumed their high, tireless note over the gold-flecked igapó.
Home
Disciples
Satprem
Books
Share your feedback. Help us improve. Or ask a question.