Chapter 9July 31, 1962

here, in 1920, with action.

From 1911 or '12, up to 1914, there was the whole series of inner experiences, psychic experiences, preparing me to meet Sri Aurobindo (so this ran parallel to my mental development).

In practice, these periods overlap, but approximately every twelve years a particular type of development predominated, in this order: consciousness first, then the vital (mainly from the aesthetic point of view, but a study of sensations as well), then the mind, then spiritual realization. And in between the vital and mental phases came the brief period of occultism, serving both as a transition and a basis for spiritual development.

(At the start of this conversation, Mother listens to Satprem read an unpleasant letter he has just

received from P.A.L., his Paris publisher.)

Here's what he says: "I read with great interest the Introduction to your new book on Shri Aurobindo. I must confess that if I have been late in replying it is because I am still very hesitant. The text reads well, but it leaves doubts as to how well the book that follows will conform to the norms of our 'Spiritual Masters' series. I greatly fear that we will both end up disappointed again. The book you want to write is, I feel, very personal, whereas this series must consist of books which are essentially expositions, introductions, tools of information...': etc.

(After a silence) I am getting a sort of indication: when I turn the beacon to this side, the resistance suddenly seems to give way – there must be a means of making it give way....

Don't reply, keep quiet. Write your book and we will see.

I have the feeling that, consciously or unconsciously (I don't know which), this gentleman has become a tool of Catholic resistance. It is very strong in the Old World and in America as well, although there it's more Christian than specifically Catholic. But it's terribly strong in France: it tries to take advantage of every opening and to block whatever might take a new turn.

It will give way.

But the things I am seeing aren't at all personal like this letter, you know, they are not small details, they are overall actions. There seems to be something unyielding, like this (gesture), and then it suddenly collapses and there's a free flow.

157The first Prayers and Meditations date from November 1912, but there may have been earlier ones among the numerous where I don't want to go?"

Their main complaint was, "You are abstract." So if we want to be concrete, we have to speak of experiences.

No, to them "concrete" means telling what Sri Aurobindo did physically. That's what they call concrete. Psychology is something abstract for them.

Oh, I don't know what to do!

Here, I'll give you an example: A. wrote to tell me, "If you know how to get in touch with Agni,158 let me know, because I need him"!

I gave the natural reply, that what's needed is aspiration for progress, a will for perfection, and that you kindle the fire by burning your desires. I told him this in a way I call very concrete. Well, he answered (laughing), "Ohhh! You're living in abstractions. That's not what I want, I want a living god" – a personality, you see!

That's how people are.

Psychology: that's abstract. What they want is: on such and such a date he went to this place, saw these people and did this – all the most external and banal sorts of things. Even yoga boils down to: he sat down and stayed there for so many hours, he had this vision, he tried out that method, he did asanas and breathing exercises.... That, for them, is concrete. That and that alone. Psychology is thoroughly abstract – thoroughly. It's unreal to them.

But I've tried to be as concrete as possible! Like cutting up a rat on a dissecting table to see what's inside it....

They would already have to be well advanced.

Listen, don't think about it, don't pay it any attention – finish the book.

I'm not really satisfied.

That isn't necessary.

Is it necessary to be satisfied? (Mother laughs.) I have noticed that the very thing you feel you've done most poorly is usually the most useful. It has always been like that for me. I remember doing a lot of things – a bit of painting, a bit of music, a bit of writing (very little) – and it was just when I used to think, "Oh, la-la! What a fiasco!", that people were the most touched and pleased.

You mustn't be concerned with it, it's totally irrelevant. I think it's quite dangerous to be satisfied, because then the very best part of the being goes to sleep.

Whether we're satisfied or not is altogether unimportant. And then, it may well be that one day "someone" will put the pressure on this gentleman, and he will say, "Ahh!... Well, all right – let's try."