The Mother

Agenda

Volume 6

December 28, 1965

(Mother shows a box of candy-pink writing paper she has just received.)

Pretty paper... to write poetry on!

Will you write?

Me! I am no poet!

The first poetry I was able to appreciate in my life was Savitri. Previously, I was closed. To me it was always words: hollow, hollow, hollow, just words – words for words' sake. So as a sound it's pretty, but... I prefer music. Music is better!

This translation of Savitri gives me a whole lot of fun, it's great fun for me.

Much more fun than having to “tell things”... that are unnecessary.

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Later

...My nightly work begins around nine, till four in the morning, and it's divided into three groups of activities (nightly activities). The last group is generally between two and four in the morning, and that's when I deal with all the people!... That, mon petit!... It's quite comical – it's not always too pleasant, but still it's comical, oh!... I see people as they are (Mother laughs); not as they think they are or want to be seen: I see them as they are.

I get information like that, all the time.

Take Purani,¹ for instance: I used to see him almost every night, and then some fifteen days ago (ten to fifteen days ago, I think²), before he left his body here, like that, I saw him in a place... It's a place which is entirely made of a sort of pinkish gray clay – it's sticky, gluey, and rather liquid (Mother makes the gesture of stretching chewing gum). There were lots of people. It was a place where lots of people were going to prepare themselves there for the supramental life – but not in their present bodies, which means they were preparing something in order to be ready for the supramental life in a future existence. And I had been taken there; there was a good number of people who had taken me there so I would see (so I would have an action of control there). But as for me, great care was taken to prevent me from being touched by that substance (it was important that I shouldn't be touched), so they wrapped me in golden veils and all sorts of things, and I was walking along. And I saw him... I was walking on a sort of verandah (but it all had a very peculiar character, all was made of a... bizarre matter), and there was a sort of large courtyard which was entirely made of that semiliquid, semigluey matter which looked like very diluted but very sticky clay (same elastic gesture like chewing gum). And suddenly I saw Purani rushing into it. From the far end he comes to me covered all over in that and sweeping through it with such strokes! He had it all over his face, all over everywhere! You could see nothing but that. I told him (laughing), “Oh, you like it!” He told me, “Oh, it's very nice, very nice!”

Since that evening I haven't seen him again. And then, some twelve or fifteen days later, I don't remember, he left his body.

It was a preparation.

I see some very, very amusing things.

¹ A charming old disciple who passed away recently (on December 11, 1965). He was the author of Evening Talks.

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² For Mother, fifteen days = six months. It was on June 18, 1965 (see the conversation of that date).

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