The
Mother's Answers on Love-II
What
attitude should one take to get out of the ego?
Attitude? It is rather a will,
isn't it? You must will it... What should one do, are you
asking that?
The
surest means is to give oneself to the Divine; not to try
to draw the Divine to oneself but try to give oneself to
the Divine. Then you are compelled at least to come out
a little from yourself to begin with. Usually, you know,
when people think of the Divine, the first thing they do
is to "pull" as much as they can into themselves.
And then, general, they receive nothing at all. They tell
you, "Ah! I called, I prayed and I did not have the
answer. I had no answer, nothing came." But then, if
you ask "Did you offer yourself?"—"No,
I pulled."—"Ah, yes, that is why it did not
come!" It is not that it did not come, it is that when
you pull you remain so shut up in your ego, as I told you
just now, that it raises a wall between what is to be received
and yourself. You put yourself in prison and then you are
astonished that in your prison you feel nothing.
Prison,
and still more, with no windows on the street.
Throw yourself out (Mother opens her hands), give
yourself without holding back anything, simply for the joy
of giving yourself. Then there's a chance that you may feel
something.
But
if one tries to feel...
If one tries to feel? Is this not
still an egoism, this trying to feel?... If one wants to
get out of the ego while still remaining egoistic, it is
very difficult, isn't it? The two are pretty contradictory.
"Try to feel"—why? for your own satisfaction?
If
one tries to feel that one does not exist, that it is the
Divine who exists, is that a way of getting out of the ego?
One does not exist? This—I don't
know if one can succeed in anything by trying mentally,
because this is a kind of mental effort. So one makes mental
constructions and does not achieve anything very much. No,
what is necessary is something spontaneous, intense, a flame
burning in the being, a flame of aspiration, something...
I don't know how to put it.
If the thing goes one in the head, nothing, nothing happens.
The
effort one can make can be only mental. What can one do
to make it spontaneous?
Eh?
The
effort one...
Yes, I heard you quite well. But why
do you assert that all effort one makes can be only mental?
But
what can be done to make it spontaneous?
I believe there is a vast difference
between an effort for transformation which, precisely, comes
from the psychic centre of the being and a kind of mental
construction to obtain something.
I don't know, it is very difficult to make oneself understood,
but so long as the thing goes on in the head in this way
(Mother turns a finger near her forehead), it has
no power. It has a very little force that is extremely limited.
And all the time it belies itself. One thinks that with
great difficulty one collects a will, artificial enough,
besides, and one tries to catch something, and the very
next minute it has all vanished. And one doesn't even realise
it; one asks oneself, "How does it happen to turn out
like that?"
I
don't know, indeed it seems to me very difficult to do yoga
with the head—unless one is gripped.
The
will is not in the head.
The
will—what I call the will—is something that's
here (Mother points to the centre of the chest),
which has a power of action, a power of realisation.
What
one does exclusively in the head is subject to countless
fluctuations; it is not possible to construct a theory,
for instance, without there intervening immediately things
which give all the opposite arguments. And so, there's the
great skill of the mind, you know: it can prove no matter
what, argue about anything at all. Consequently one does
not go a step farther. Even if momentarily one catches an
idea that has a certain force, unless one can keep that
state of intensity, as soon as there is a relaxation all
the contrary things come along, and all, as you know, with
the charm of their expression. So it is a ceaseless battle.
It has no solution.
You
ask how it can be spontaneous? Even in the body, for instance,
when there is something like an attack, an accident, an
illness trying to come in—something—an attack
on the body, a body that is left to its natural spontaneity
has an urge, an aspiration, a spontaneous will to call for
help. But as soon as the affair goes to the head, it take
the form of things to which one is accustomed: everything
is spilt. But if the body is seem in itself, just as it
is, there is something which suddenly wakes up and calls
for help, and with such a faith, such an intensity, just
as the tiny little baby calls its mamma, you know—or
whoever is there, it says nothing if it cannot speak. But
the body left to itself without this kind of constant action
of the mind upon it... well, it has this: as soon as there
is some disturbance, immediately it has an aspiration, a
call, an effort to seek help, and this is very powerful.
If nothing intervenes, it is very powerful. It is as though
the cells themselves sprang up in an aspiration, a call.
In
the body there are invaluable and unknown treasures. In
all its cells, there is an intensity of life, of aspiration,
of the will to progress which one does not usually even
realise. The body-consciousness would have to be completely
warped by the action of the mind and vital for it not to
have an immediate will to re-establish the equilibrium.
When this will is not there, it means that the entire body-consciousness
has been spoilt by the intervention of the mind and vital.
In people who cherish their malady more or less subconsciously
with a sort of morbidity under the pretext that it makes
them interesting, it is not their body at all—poor
body!—it is something they have imposed upon it with
a mental or vital perversion. The body, if left to itself,
is remarkable, for, not only does it aspire for equilibrium
and well being but it is capable of restoring the balance.
If one leaves one's body alone without intervening with
all those thoughts, all the vital reactions, all the depressions,
and also all the so-called knowledge and mental constructions
and fears—if one leaves the body to itself, spontaneously
it will do what is necessary to set itself right again.
The
body in its natural state likes equilibrium, likes harmony;
it is the other parts of the being which spoils everything.
Mother,
how can one prevent the mind from intervening?
Ah! First you must will it, and then
you must say, as to people who make a lot of noise, "Keep
quiet, be quiet, be quiet!"; you must do this when
the mind comes along with all its suggestions and all its
movements. You must tranquillise it, pacify it, make it
silent. The first thing is not to listen to it. Most of
the time, as soon as all these come, all these thoughts,
one looks, seeks to understand, one listens; then naturally
that imbecile believes that you are very much interested:
it increases its activity. You must not listen, must not
pay attention. If it makes too much noise, you must tell
it: "Be still! Now then, silence, keep quiet!"
without making a lot of noise yourself, you understand?
You must not imitate those people who begin shouting: "Keep
Quiet", and makes such a noise themselves that they
are even noisier than the others!
(Here the tape-recorder stops at the end of the band.
To the disciple:) Don't put in another, it is finished.
Fate!
Voilà, au revoir, good night!
21
April 1954
- The Mother
