The Mother
Prayers and Meditations
Collected Works of the Mother
In 17 volumes
Volume 1
December 30, 1916
WHY, O Lord, does my heart seem to me to be so cold and dry?
I feel, I see my soul living deep within my being, and my soul sees Thee, recognises Thee and loves Thee in all things, in everything that is; it is fully conscious of this, and as the outer being is surrendered to it, it too is conscious; the mind knows and never forgets; the purified vital being no longer has any attractions and repulsions, and more and more does it taste of the joy of Thy Presence in all things and always. But the heart seems to have fallen asleep in a slumber of exhaustion, and the soul no longer finds sufficient activity within it to respond fully to its impulsion. Why? Was it so poor that the struggle could thus wear it out, or so deeply wounded that it has become quite stiff? And yet it would like to answer the inner call; it wants this with a faith and ardour which have never wavered; but it is like an old man smiling benevolently at the games of youth but unable to take part in them. And yet it is full of joy and confidence, it overflows with gratitude for all the treasures of affection which Nature has so generously lavished upon it; it would like, in exchange for these precious gifts, to pour out in inexhaustible streams the golden wine of tenderness which restores and fortifies, enlivens and consoles, the true wine of life for human beings. It would like to and tries... but how poor is what it does beside what it dreams of doing, how mediocre what it is able to do beside what it hopes, for it hopes always. It knows that Thy call is never heard in vain, and it has no doubt it can one day realise the splendours of which Thou hast given it a glimpse.
Who will open these closed flood-gates?
My heart loves in its human way, and in its human way it seems to me it loves with strength, constancy and purity. But Thou wouldst have it love divinely in a boundless unfolding of Thy sovereign power; and this remains yet unrealised for it.
Who will open these closed flood-gates?...