August 24, 1966
(Satprem normally meets Mother at 10 A.M., but this has progressively been put back to 10:30 A.M., and this morning, the secretaries left at 10:45 A.M. Over the past year Satprem's “conversations” with Mother have been growing more and more sparse, as this Agenda is witness to, the entire time being taken up by “very urgent” or “very important” communications. This situation will keep worsening till the end, when Mother, overwhelmed, will only be able to see Satprem a few moments, after twelve. Then the door will be closed.)
It's totally absurd! If I hadn't cried out, they would have kept me for another half-hour.... It's a stupid life. I begin a thing at the time I should end it. In the afternoon, it's the same thing.... I have to squeeze in forty-five, fifty people every day. The other day, I saw seventy-five people in a single day, let alone the ones I see every day in addition. So, to console myself, I remembered the time when I used to see two thousand of them at the Playground... but it took only an hour.
As soon as a child is ill, they bring him to me. If he is deaf and dumb, they bring him to me; if he is a bit idiotic, they bring him to me; if he has epileptic fits, they bring him to me, and he literally throws them on me like that (laughing), with the idea that I am going to cure him!
One compensation... (Mother laughingly points to a bundle of new umbrellas in a corner of the room): I've been given umbrellas – would you like an umbrella?
For protection against avalanches! No, I already have one.
(Mother laughs heartily, then goes on) While I take my food, they bring me birthday cards to sign along with the food. At breakfast, I eat a little, then sign cards, then eat a little more, then they ask me for appointments... That's how it is.
You should have someone to do some policing.
I think they'd chuck him out!
It's a very clear indication that they are more under people's influence than under the influence of the Divine. Because, all in all, it makes the work a little difficult; I always feel as if, instead of the Will from above expressing itself, I am obliged to yield to the outside wills that impose themselves, and nothing in the world makes me more tired than that. I can work without stop if it comes from above; but those things that come and contradict the Rhythm are very tiring, very tiring. I have nervous fatigue – not “nervous” in the usual sense, because that's perfectly under control, but the nerves themselves are tired. If I can have a minute or two of real rest, it restores order, but with this whole avalanche of lower wills imposing themselves, the nerves start vibrating and hurting. They're quite stupid!
(The beginning and end of the following conversation could not be tape-recorded because of mechanical trouble, and only the middle remains. The conversation was about an experience of Mother's; she described the place in which Satprem usually “rests” at night and from which he draws the atmosphere of his present book: a place very harmonious in color and substance. Then Sujata tells Mother a dream she had a few days ago.)
When you went to this place of harmony, did you play music? Because I saw you play music for him.
That's something else. Possibly, I can't say.... But last night or the night before, I suddenly felt as if someone were telling me, “The best way to help him isn't meditation but music.” And then I seemed to create harmonies and send them to you for your book.
(To Sujata:) When was your dream?
The day before yesterday.
It was about two days ago, two or three days ago. You see, I was thinking of the uncertainty and insufficiency of our meetings [because of the avalanche from the secretaries], and I wondered what to do. Because we have work to do and it must be done, but apart from that, there's no time for anything; then I was “told” that music could help you. But I am completely off musical practice, and so, since I can no longer play materially, I thought, “I can put him in contact with musical waves.” Because they are there all the time, all the time – marvels. So then, maybe that's what made me go to that place [where Satprem rests] and that's what (turning to Sujata) gave you your dream. And that's certainly what made me have that experience.... I didn't particularly notice music, but it's an extremely harmonious place: the atmosphere was harmonious, the colors were harmonious, the sounds were harmonious; so there must be music there.
But I remember that when I woke up, I recalled it was on your birthday that I last played.
Sunil asked me to play for him; I told him I had stopped playing: “I can't play anymore, my hands have lost the habit.” The power to transcribe what comes is no longer there (I do hear the music, but I can't transcribe it anymore). It's like something that has been forgotten. Then he told me it didn't matter, that even if I played a few notes – three or four notes – it would be enough. But I have noticed that the first time I play after a long time without playing, I play much better than afterwards. You understand, I always try not to be the one to play, because I no longer know how to (how long has it been? At least sixty years since I truly played, except occasionally, so the whole knowledge of the hands has gone: they are clumsy, they can't play anymore). The only thing I try to do is to have someone (either a musical spirit or a musical entity) use these hands, to have something come and use these hands; and generally, it works fairly well the first time, then the hands start again wanting to “try to know,” so it's all over. They must be absolutely plastic, without personal will.
I've never been quite able to use this electric organ; I used to make much better use of my grand organ, the one I had before; it was far easier for me. This one is very complicated, very mechanical, very mechanical. It's a bit too mechanically modern and it doesn't respond to vital influence as well as my old organ did. My feet used to make it work, and they put such force into it! There was a force of vibration in the way the swells were worked.... This one, I would have had to get accustomed to it, to impregnate the instrument; but to me it's like an empty shell, with no soul behind it: it's an empty shell. You see, a sounding board responds a lot; in a piano, the sounding board, the keys, the strings, it all responds; it responds to the force. You can even make them vibrate without touching them. While this electric device is an empty shell....