Chapter 1March 2, 1966

...Things are getting tighter and tighter. I work till 9:30 at night to prepare the birthday cards for the next day.

I saw an "amusing" little occurrence last night.... I wanted to see you (or was trying to see you) and you were in a room just next door – there was infernal noise! A noise of people talking and talking. Ashram people. It’s strange, it’s the first time that noise has disturbed me in a dream – what a din they were making in there! I felt like telling them, "Do shut up!"

That’s how it is, exactly how it is. But I saw you last night, so you did come. That’s how it is.

(Then Mother stops abruptly, goes and leans on her elbows

at the window)

Wait, I am not seeing clearly anymore... (Mother takes her head in her hands and stays motionless for a moment)... You know, in a very precise, material and detailed way I am developing the power to heal. I don’t do it deliberately, that’s just how it is. And then (laughing), I am given opportunities to test, to experiment on my own body – there’s always something the matter. Suddenly something goes wrong and I apply my hand, or simply do a concentration, some movement or other, and everything disappears – but materially: the power to heal. You know, I apply my hand and then the Force goes through. It’s very interesting. Only (laughing), I am the laboratory! That’s not so funny.

* * *

(Regarding an incident of little importance, but significant nevertheless. Mother shows Satprem an

envelope containing money and asks him whether she already gave him one.19 Mother did in fact give

Satprem a blue envelope eight days ago.)

I am in such a hurry when I do things.... For instance, when I have finished my morning work, everyday before lunch I see to the money – the doctor comes, P. comes, it’s past lunch time, everybody stands waiting, the cashier too stands waiting there for his money. Everyone clinging. So then, instead of being able to do the work with my consciousness, the consciousness is taken up by all those people who... "It’s time, it’s time... it’s late, it’s late..." So I do things automatically, and I don’t remember what I do – I never remember anything I do automatically. And with you, I didn’t remember whether I had given you the envelope or not, because I did it in that condition. But suddenly, just when I was preparing this new envelope (this time I did it consciously), I saw my gesture of giving you a small blue envelope, this big, and I remembered the smile with which you took it. Those two things were