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.
XXXIX
AND suddenly there was nothing more to see: what use are lobster eyes to a rabbit? They were leaving the world of the lobster, the little rabbit, the little-little — in short, all the littles that made the little-littles, one sees with human eyes. And what if it were something entirely different? The world is certainly something entirely different — or something else again — from what the dragonfly on the water lily leaf thinks. A whole world of water lilies and dragonflies losing its bearings, its geometry, and its round eyes, with a few Gospels for the salvation of the water lily.
Something else — that's quite dark at first sight.
And yet it throbs, it throbs — there is something that throbs. Perhaps the very "it" that throbs through the lobster, the dragonfly, the little rabbit, and all the little-littles that landed one fine morning in a human skin. But "it" goes back very far — perhaps before the water lily and other water lilies floating on the ocean of galaxies. It is a very old throbbing. Perhaps it is the first throbbing of all the small creatures. And what is it?
A silence.
A formidable silence — like a hole that pierced the planet and many other planets, to the very depths of all planets inhabited by men, small lizards, or small things one cannot see, or great things one cannot see either. There was no ear for that and what use is a whale's or a pelican's ear for that far depth at the end — of what?
And yet it throbs, it throbs: it is a silence that throbs. And behold — here was man listening at the edge of the universe. And behold — here he was gazing at the end of time.
It was very far, very old.
It was very close in a chest.
A throbbing of a night that carries all nights, all pelicans in the night, all the sorrows of pelicans or men. A heartbeat carrying all hearts in the night, all the small creatures that have throbbed, will throb again, will throb always. It was without sorrow, without end, without aim: it beat in order to beat, because it was good to beat and beat again — with a dragonfly, a shrew, a galaxy, or a small cat. It was even very soft — like a wind through the disheveled galaxies, blowing through the rigging of the world, among its great dunes and thistles, its shrews, its dragonflies, its little human beings here and there. It was the music of the world, its wingbeat at the end of time, at the end of all the earth's sorrows; it beat there in a man's heart, as at the end of the mad galaxies, or not so mad — as at the end of the meadows never galloped in, out there, behind dreams never dreamed. It went far-far to the depths of the heart like a sudden love for those great abandoned shores, while a nameless eye opened slowly on a never-seen earth.
It was the dawn of the new world.
One didn't quite recognize it yet.
It floated like a smile at the edge of the lips. It smiled at nothing, at everything.
It smiled at its own love beating, beating — and it was so soft that it wanted to beat everywhere, in everything. It had no eyes and yet it had all possible eyes — of a dragonfly, of a tiny fish, of a star's twinkle; it had no ears and yet it listened to the same beating everywhere, the same music of man or after man, in a thistle on the great dunes or on the cliffs of the great lost stars. It was the lost man; it was millions of times man through all times, all unmoored ages, on light meridians snapping in the wind... or in this single second as soft as a smile hidden beneath great white petals.
And each one went toward its own smile. The flame went to the flame.
The dead returned to the dead.
The parakeet went to the parakeet and the goat to the goats. Each one went home.
But home was everywhere.
For the man after man was a multitude of small eyes in a great body of joy.
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