Chapter 7August 26, 1972

The contemplation goes on,

eyes open, unblinking.)

Soup! (laughing) A rare thing nowadays (laughter).

(Mother hands Satprem

a packet of soup and some flowers)

How are you?

Quite well, quite well!

Not too harassed?

Ohh, it’s frightful... 150 to 200 people every day – 200 people every day.

The only days when it’s less are your days.

Oh, is it!

(Mother sits gazing for a long time)

Nothing to ask?

What do you see, Mother?

(after a silence)

I feel like saying (smiling): nothing! Nothing, I see nothing.... There’s no longer “something that sees,” but I Am, I am a myriad things.

I live a myriad things.

There are so, so many – so many – that it’s like nothing!... I don’t know how to say it.

Yes!