Chapter 5November 16, 1961

Maybe in a few minutes – in any case not more than a few days – it would be finished. And ORIGINAL. The main impression is that it would be something new, original, unexpected, and that’s just what’s needed: something unexpected, unlike anything ever done before. Something sudden. At the risk of... being a bit bewildering – that doesn’t matter! It doesn’t matter. With all those pictures it will always be accessible to everyone. Especially each time you express this fatigue, this difficulty, what Sri Aurobindo seems to be saying comes back to me: ‘But of course! He is banging up against something that shouldn’t even be there!’

(Laughing) Perhaps that’s why you were angry with me! Because I insist! Upstairs [in Mother’s room, during japa], it keeps coming all the time, all the time: ‘Go on – take the plunge! Clear the hurdle, take the plunge, cross to the other side.’ Constantly, constantly.

You see, in what you’ve just read to me, every place where something rushes in from above is VERY good. Then suddenly something in me begins to... (words are much too crude), begins to grow bored or tired (that’s too crude, it’s only a slight uneasiness). And I invariably notice that what bothers me are the explanations – I’m exaggerating.

Actually, one always says too much. Always too much.

The art of good writing consists in knowing how to be silent. The things you don’t say are far more important than the things you do.

In the middle of my walk, I go into trance, something that has never happened to me before! I find myself standing, immobilized, entirely surrounded by white light, in total silence, with absolutely nothing in my head – nothing.

Standing up in that state is rather dangerous, so I lie down on my bed. And it continues – I hear nothing, see nothing but this white light. No more thought, not one idea in my head, nothing at all, to such an extent that if anyone enters noiselessly, I don’t know it. But I do feel the pressure of someone watching me; I can sense it, so I open my eyes and there is actually someone there.

But work, mon petit.... I can’t work. I can’t remember even the simplest things I am supposed to remember! I wanted to tell you when my free days were, but I no longer recall them.

Yet it produces an extraordinarily keen perception of what is behind things. For instance, I’ve just seen the [school] children;

I’m more or less familiar with them all, and I can see – not with images – their inner natures much more clearly than usual. The inner perception, the perception of what people are feeling and thinking, is very acute, so much so that I see thoughts and feelings more that I see physical appearances.

But work – not a stroke. Ah, yes, I am translating The Synthesis of Yoga and it seems much easier. I go slower, a certain tension has disappeared, and the meaning is far clearer than usual. In other words,