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.
X
THEN, in that forest, strange things began to occur.
Gringo was making his way back to the camp, but there was no joy in his body, no communion with the trees — he nearly stepped on a serpent. He was a man, simply, walled in by his man's skin, with a bar across his forehead and painful thoughts: one thought, and it was the instant wall — nothing communicated anymore. Man was the one who no longer communicated. Each went with his shell around him, painted with roucou or candid blue, like the eggs of the hummingbird or the pamba — except for Ma: she was the One who had no shell.
This thought brought a smile to his lips. He emerged onto the swamp where he had nearly sunk. A marvel of a swamp, like a jewel of emerald set with tall tree ferns. They looked like dancers ranged there, motionless, with their crests on their foreheads, ready to fly off — as if waiting for a sign.
Gringo drew near gently. There was a little waterfall, very small, surmounted by two enormous bacaba trunks that rose up there with their cargo of palms and birds. Two black trunks like a gateway through which this small spring flowed. He leaned over, opened the palms of his hands like a cup, and drank at length. He heard the machete slip from his belt and roll across the rock with a clear ring. The sound resonated and resonated in his head.
That was all.
There was no more Gringo. There was someone standing before an immense gateway of white light. It was him — there was not the shadow of a doubt — but him differently, as if he were lighter. He stretched his arms forward to cross the porch. His fingers touched the flame. Then he felt himself lifted, invaded by light as by a myriad of small light bubbles beginning to bloom in his hands, his legs, his arms. And he passed through the gateway of flame.
It was a long corridor paved with gentle light. Gringo walked up the corridor — it was very long. And immense. A gigantic corridor where he was like a tiny, tiny white form going away forever. Days or years, hands stretched before him in a reverie of gentle light. The tiles were cool under his bare feet — he barely touched them. He went in a great white silence as if the corridor were made of silence — as through gentle, memoryless ages flowing smooth and cool over the tiles, erased of all marks. He climbed back up the course of time, but it was only time flowing, toward no goal and for no cause, each second like a light flake gliding on itself and making another flake that made a soft snowfall on the slopes of an eternal hill. He plunged into a radiant silence, like snow into snow and light into a dawn haze.
Abruptly, his hands touched something cold. It was a wall.
A great square slab that seemed to fill with embers as he touched it. It was very hot suddenly — his body filled with a tingling of little flames.
He pushed open the door of embers.
His body became heavier all at once.
He had the impression of tilting forward.
A cool breath ran across his temples.
His feet rested on a papyrus mat, beside a bed of carved stone.
He was in another life and carried on as usual.
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