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.
XVIII
HE entered through the door of flame. It was like a wind passing through him — his legs, his arms, his head.
He was swept away in a wind of light, eyes closed, as if furrowed and bathed at once by a soft, white wave that dissolved the boundaries, undid the hard weave of his body, untied the knots, the threads, the opacities, in a myriad of small cracklings of light — and carried him away, naked and light, in an immense, eternal tenderness. For a moment he wanted to hold onto this thread of himself, this heartbeat on a green bank out there, and this sunlit murmur — as if searching for a memory in the velvet folds of a shadowy lake — then he opened his hands as one releases a bird... he slipped into the gentle wind of a memoryless bank where smooth reeds bend like a wave leaving no trace. He went through the great forgotten centuries, clothed in light and as if borne by a bird's memory, toward a light country on rosy meridians; he went out there, to the ends of time, in an immense tenderness that was like the country itself — the tranquil Arctic beneath a white wingbeat.
Then he fell suddenly, as if from a great height. There were walls, a corridor. Everything was bathed in a gentle light and in a silence so deep it seemed to reverberate far off on a high crystal crest, beating out there for a long time, like a chime beneath the snow.
His fingers touched the wall. There was a square slab. It seemed to fill with a blue flame beneath his fingers, like a sapphire brazier. A cool breeze stirred and his body took on a different density. He pushed the slab aside.
It was an explosion of sunlight.
He arrived amid the harsh cry of seagulls, at the foot of a citadel battered by foam and wind. Gringo was sitting on a rock, watching.
The sea swelled like an enormous blue belly and plunged with a battering blow, spurting foam into the caves below him.
— Again! Again! cried Rani, clapping her hands.
Her long golden hair floated in the wind; she stuck out her tongue to lick the salty spray. Gringo was elsewhere, as usual.
— Hey! Gringo, you'll miss your lesson!
She was perched above him on a large rock covered by fennel.
— Do you hear?
And vrrm! — a wave gushed over Gringo, scattering in a burst of foam. He moved slightly.
— Oh! Gringo, His Excellency will fly into a rage — you'll be thrown in the dungeon.
This time Gringo laughed and, in one leap, as if borne by the air, found himself beside her:
— I'll pass through the walls.
— Fine. But it will give you a headache. So?
— So, off with it!
He pulled his tunic tight, took Rani's hand, then stopped suddenly:
— Just now, I saw a strange thing...
He looked at Rani as if trying to imagine another face over hers. She was beautiful, perfectly upright in the wind, hair loose and her eyes always slanted in laughter — or perhaps from the spray.
— You were leaning over me. It was by the edge of a lake surrounded by strange green trees, like ferns — light, like a lacework of leaves. And you were half-naked, with a black lock on your forehead. You were looking at me very intently; you seemed to be in grief, or afraid — I don't know. Quino was there too. It seemed to be a large forest. But it was mainly your eyes... You don't have black eyes and yet they were your eyes, so full of... I don't know. And then there was the feeling: we must hurry-hurry, they're going to kill her...
— Oh!
— But do what? There was something to be done. It was very intense. Something that could save her, or save us — I don't know. And then I was naked and completely motionless, as if I were asleep, or dreaming. Yet I could see everything clearly.
She put a finger on the tip of her nose — she looked grave for once.
— So they wanted to kill her... Tell me, could that not be a previous life?
— Previous? Or next?... But we looked very primitive.
— Tell me, do they always want to kill her? Have they always killed her?... Or perhaps you simply dreamed it.
— And now, am I dreaming?
They both laughed and the wind flapped their white clothes as if about to carry them off to another island, out there, beyond the seagulls' cry and the spray, in the Cyclades of Atlantis.
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