Loretta reads Mother's Questions and Answers:1956-10-17

Transcript of:

Mother's Questions and Answers: October 17, 1956

by Loretta, 2018 (1:10:26)

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Mother's Questions and Answers

Today, Mother has chosen questions from her collection of written questions that she brings with her every day to class. And she speaks about the ‘highest’ state of consciousness. The highest state of consciousness, she says, is the Delight that is the origin, the truth, and the goal of the universe. Pure delight. Something far beyond anything we've ever thought of as delight. She says that we experience this level of consciousness when we can go beyond the state of total detachment and identity with the Infinite; and also go beyond the state of perfect, integral, universal Love. These are things that we have been taught to attain, and somehow to consider this as the highest state of consciousness that we can have. But Mother takes us beyond them. She says, very simply, we have to go beyond the two states which have usually been considered the highest states of consciousness from the yogic point of view. (And that's of course where we generally learn what should be our highest state of consciousness.)

She says that when we are ready, we can experience the divine Delight, when we're on a spiritual path. But it is still something that passes by. It colors our life, and gives life its true meaning. Then when we have actually gone beyond the two states which yogic practice usually aims for – then we have found the divine Delight. And when we have done that, it is practically impossible to come down again. It's something that can never be lost.

We all know something of what delight is. And perhaps we might be able to imagine something about being in a state of all-delight. But if we can't (and admittedly I don't think it's easy!), we can go to one of Sri Aurobindo's sonnets, where he gives it to us. It's in his Collected Poems. And it's called “The Bliss of Brahman”.

The Bliss of Brahman

I am swallowed in a foam-white sea of bliss,

I am a curving wave of God’s delight,

A shapeless flow of happy passionate light,

A whirlpool of the streams of Paradise.

I am a cup of His felicities,

A thunderblast of His golden ecstasy’s might,

A fire of joy upon creation’s height;

I am His rapture’s wonderful abyss.

I am drunken with the glory of the Lord,

I am vanquished by the beauty of the Unborn;

I have looked alive on the Eternal’s face.

My mind is cloven by His radiant sword,

My heart by His beatific touch is torn,

My life is a meteor-dust of His flaming Grace.

Then Mother takes us from supreme divine delight, to peace. And to quiet. And this is so we can work on it, so we can eventually get that experience of the supreme Delight.

Mother has said that when we have the supreme Delight, we never forget it. This is also true of real peace. Real quiet. When we have felt real peace, we never forget that experience. Mother tells us that a state of real quiet is not the absence of things – it is something positive. Something solid and strong. And people who have that experience – they have real peace at least for a moment – they say it's a solid thing. A solid block of peace, somehow. It is something that takes over the whole being. And even if they've only experienced it one time, the feeling stays in them, and they can go back to it.

Here Mother mentions quiet for all the levels of our being. We have to have a quiet mind, a quiet vital, and we have to have a quiet physical body.

Mother tells a story about meeting Sri Aurobindo for the first time. And she says that they didn't really speak; she didn't try to speak to him. They met, they went upstairs, he sat in his chair; and while the others were talking with him, she sat down very quietly at his feet. She said she made herself very small, and just sat down at his feet.

And Sri Aurobindo gave her a quiet mind. She said from that moment, her mind has remained quiet. What a gift (!). Too bad he can't do that for us. (But then I think Mother was ready.)

We can receive a little of it with her words – just talking about it, and just receiving the vibration in the words. But we do have to work to really attain it. There are many, many advices by Mother and Sri Aurobindo on quieting our mind. Because that's an advice that everybody seemed to need, all the time. It's so important. If you're living your life and it's all hectic, you don't even notice if anything happens to you. Mother says, “In peace and silence the Eternal manifests.”

Many people try to remember a very simple piece of advice that Mother once gave to Champaklal. Champaklal came to live in the Ashram, and to serve Sri Aurobindo, in 1923 – when he was 20 years old. When Sri Aurobindo left, he served Mother. He gave himself entirely to them, for 50 years. Every second of his time, his whole life, all his energy and attention went only to assisting them, in every possible way. He kept everything they ever gave him. And he kept everything they touched, if he could. If Mother used a tissue on her face, he would take the tissue, fold it up and keep it. He even kept the ashes from the incense that they burned in Mother's room and in Sri Aurobindo's room.

After he left, they found jars of these ashes in his closet. And hidden in the ashes, Champaklal had kept Sri Aurobindo's relics. Nobody knew. But sometimes, he would have to cut Sri Aurobindo's nails, and these are traditional relics; or Sri Aurobindo's hair would come out in the comb – and he hid all these things in these ashes. And of course now, one by one these relics go out to Sri Aurobindo centers all over the world.

Eventually, people in the Ashram published two books with a few of Champaklal's memories, and a lot of the written messages he received from them. He was still alive at that time; and he supervised the books absolutely meticulously. He was a meticulous worker, a careful and precise, concentrated, dedicated worker. And he worked really hard to make sure what came out in those books was the best that he could give. The two books are called Champaklal Speaks and Champaklal's Treasures. And you can get them through SABDA.

Here is the advice that Mother gave him, that everybody loves so much. She said it one day, while they were working together on something. And he asked her to write it down. They're now in the very first pages: this advice, and then something from Sri Aurobindo on the opposite page – now in the beginning of the book (the latest edition of Champaklal Speaks). It is a very simple and beautiful summary of everything we need to do to receive the new consciousness that is coming now, more and more, into the earth-atmosphere. This is what Mother said:

“Be simple. Be happy. Remain quiet. Do your work as well as you can. Keep yourself always open towards me. This is all that is asked from you.”

Sri Aurobindo has written a sonnet about his own experience of having a quiet mind. And yet even here, the final goal is still the supreme divine Delight. His sonnet is called “The Word of the Silence”.

The Word of the Silence

A bare impersonal hush is now my mind,

A world of sight clear and inimitable,

A volume of silence by a Godhead signed,

A greatness pure of thought, virgin of will.

Once on its pages Ignorance could write

In a scribble of intellect the blind guess of Time

And cast gleam-messages of ephemeral light,

A food for souls that wander on Nature’s rim.

But now I listen to a greater Word

Born from the mute unseen omniscient Ray:

The Voice that only Silence’ ear has heard

Leaps missioned from an eternal glory of Day.

All turns from a wideness and unbroken peace

To a tumult of joy in a sea of wide release.

The very last thing that Mother teaches us in this class is enough to inspire us to just turn away from the ceaseless mental machinery that keeps us agitated. It's enough to get us to really want to stop thinking so much, and maybe just to stop our thoughts when we notice it. Because even though we aspire for a silent mind, when we're doing sadhana, our thoughts and desires start running after the results of our spiritual efforts. This is the same thing they did before we started sadhana: they ran after outer things. Now they've just switched direction. One could say it's a very clever trick of our mind and our vital (!). They want to keep doing their usual activities, and they use a new expression of them – they just ‘pretend’ (or at least we think this is what we want), and they just go on.

We are taught in school to seek knowledge; to learn and understand with our mind and our intellect. So this habit is deep. We apply it everywhere. But Mother says that we believe that we have to explain our inner spiritual experiences to ourselves with our mind and intellect – or we don't feel that we've had an experience. And when we do this to ourselves, the greater power of the experience loses its power to act on us. And it loses its power to do its work in us. We have to leave these things alone, and just let them act.

Knowing that this is necessary helps us to stop feeling that we have to know everything all the time. We always think it's the explanation that counts. But it isn't – in this case, it's only the experience. Therefore we do not have to try to control it, by figuring out what it is. All we have to do is let it be itself, and let it do its work in us.

The original tape will play after the English translation. And it's worth listening to Mother's voice. She speaks in a very gentle way; and perhaps we could even think that the kind of special – we're calling it ‘trance’, but whatever it is, from that special place that she's having an experience of these things somehow – and it's coming through to us, with her words.

It's October 17th, 1956. We've come for Mother's class. We're sitting in the Playground, with all the students, and all the ashramites. Mother has just finished reading from The Synthesis of Yoga. And she says...

17 October 1956

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[No questions? I have. Some old, some new. I have one with something of fullness, but I have to have it copied. It is some time since anyone has asked a question which I have not already answered – something we have not already spoken about many times, I believe. But finally, the question is like this:]

Is delight the highest state? And if so, could it be said that when one loses delight, one’s consciousness is lowered?

[(Silence. Children playing in the background.)]

Sri Aurobindo has said that the universe is built upon the delight of existence and that delight, being its origin is necessarily also its goal, so this would mean in fact that delight is the highest state.

But I don’t need to tell you that this is not delight as it is understood in the ordinary human consciousness.... Indeed, that delight is beyond the states which are generally considered as the highest from the yogic point of view, as for instance, the state of perfect serenity, of perfect equality of soul, of absolute detachment, of identity with the infinite and eternal Divine, which necessarily raises you above all contingencies. Parallel to this state there can be another which is the state of perfect, integral, universal love, which is the very essence of compassion and the most perfect expression of the Grace which wipes out the consequences of all error and all ignorance. These two states have always been considered as the summit of consciousness; they are what could be called the frontier, the extreme limit of what the individual consciousness can attain in its union with the Divine.

But there is something which lies beyond; it is precisely a state of perfect delight which is not static: delight in a progressive manifestation, a perfect unfolding of the supreme Consciousness.

The first of the two states I spoke about leads almost always to a withdrawal from action, an almost static condition, and very easily would it lead to Nirvana — in fact, it has always been the way prescribed for all those in search of Nirvana. But this state of delight I am speaking about, which is essentially divine because it is free, totally free from all possibility of oppositions and opposites, does not break away from action; on the contrary, it leads to an integral action, perfect in its essence and completely liberated from all ignorance and all bondage to ignorance.

One can experience, on the path — when one has made some progress, when there is a greater understanding, a more total opening, a more intimate union with the divine Consciousness, one can experience this Delight as something that passes by and colours life and gives it its true meaning, but as long as one is in the human consciousness, this Delight is very easily deformed and changes into something which no longer resembles it at all. Therefore, one could hardly say that if one loses the delight, one’s consciousness is lowered, for... the Delight I am speaking about is something which cannot ever be lost. If one has reached beyond the two states I spoke about a while ago, that is to say, the state of perfect detachment and close union, and the state of perfect love and compassion, if one has gone beyond these two states and found the divine Delight, it is practically impossible to come down from there. But in practical life, that is, on the path of yoga, if you are touched, even in passing, by this divine Delight, it is obvious that, should it leave you, you are bound to feel that you have come down from a peak into a rather dark valley.

But Delight without detachment would be a very dangerous gift which could very easily be perverted. So, to seek Delight before having acquired detachment does not seem to be very wise. One must first be above all possible opposites: indeed, above pain and pleasure, suffering and happiness, enthusiasm and depression. If one is above all that, then one may safely aspire for Delight.

But as long as this detachment is not realised, one can easily confuse Delight with an exalted state of ordinary human happiness, and this would not at all be the true thing nor even a perversion of the thing, for the nature of the two is so different, almost opposite, that you cannot pass from one to the other. So, if one wants to be safe on the path, it seems to me that to seek for peace, for perfect calm, perfect equality, for a widening of the consciousness, a vaster understanding and liberation from all desire, all preference, all attachment, is certainly an indispensable preliminary condition.

It is the guarantee of both inner and outer equipoise.

And then on this equilibrium, on this foundation which must be very solid, one may build whatever one wants. But to begin with, the foundation must be there, unshakable.

(Silence. [Sound of papers moving.])

[Is there something on this subject?]

[No questions?]

Someone has asked me what I meant by these words:

“One must be calm.”

It is obvious that when I tell someone, “Be calm”, I mean many different things according to the person. But the first indispensable calm is mental quietude, for generally that is the one that’s most lacking. When I tell someone, “Be calm”, I mean: Try not to have restless, excited, agitated thoughts; try to quieten your mind and to stop turning around in all your imaginations and observations and mental constructions.

One could justifiably add a question: You tell us “Be calm”, but what should we do to be calm?... The answer is always more or less the same: you must first of all feel the need for it and want it, and then aspire, and then try! For trying, there are innumerable methods which have been prescribed and attempted by many. These methods are generally long, arduous, difficult; and many people get discouraged before reaching the goal, for, the more they try, the more do their thoughts start whirling around and becoming restless in their heads.

For each one the method is different, but first one must feel the need, for whatever reason it may be — whether because one is tired or because one is overstrained or because one truly wants to rise beyond the state one lives in — one must first understand, feel the need of this quietude, this peace in the mind. And then, afterwards, one may try out successively all the methods, known ones and new, to attain the result.

Now, one quickly realises that there is another quietude which is necessary, and even very urgently needed — this is vital quietude, that is to say, the absence of desire. Only, the vital when not sufficiently developed, as soon as it is told to keep quiet, either goes to sleep or goes on strike; it says, “Ah! no. Nothing doing! I won’t go any farther. If you don’t give me the sustenance I need, excitement, enthusiasm, desire, even passion, I prefer not to move and I won’t do anything any longer.” So there the problem becomes a little more delicate and perhaps even more difficult still; for surely, to fall from excitement into inertia is very far from being a progress! One must never mistake inertia or a somnolent passivity for calm.

Quietude is a very positive state; there is a positive peace which is not the opposite of conflict — an active peace, contagious, powerful, which controls and calms, which puts everything in order, organises. It is of this I am speaking; when I tell someone, “Be calm”, I don’t mean to say “Go and sleep, be inert and passive, and don’t do anything”, far from it!... True quietude is a very great force, a very great strength. In fact one can say, looking at the problem from the other side, that all those who are really strong, powerful, are always very calm. It is only the weak who are agitated; as soon as one becomes truly strong, one is peaceful, calm, quiet, and one has the power of endurance to face the adverse waves which come rushing from outside in the hope of disturbing one. This true quietude is always a sign of force. Calmness belongs to the strong.

And this is true even in the physical field. I don’t know if you have observed animals like lions, tigers, elephants, but it is a fact that when they are not in action, they are always so perfectly still. A lion sitting and looking at you always seems to be telling you, “Oh, how fidgety you are!” It looks at you with such a peaceful air of wisdom! And all its power, energy, physical strength are there, gathered, collected, concentrated and — without a shadow of agitation — ready for action when the order is given.

I have seen people, many people, who could not sit still for half an hour without fidgeting. They had to move a foot or a leg, or an arm or their head; they had to stir restlessly all the time, for they did not have the power or the strength to remain quiet.

This capacity to remain still when one wants to, to gather all one’s energies and spend them as one wishes, completely if one wants, or to apportion them as one wants in action, with a perfect calm even in action — that is always the sign of strength. It may be physical strength or vital strength or mental strength. But if you are in the least agitated, you may be sure there is a weakness somewhere; and if your restlessness is integral, it is an integral weakness.

So, if I tell someone “Be calm”, I may be telling him all kinds of things, it depends upon each person. But obviously, most often it is, “Make your mind quiet, don’t be restless all the time in your head, don’t stir up lots of ideas, calm yourself.”

For most people an experience exists only when they can explain it to themselves. The experience in itself — contact with a certain force, a widening of consciousness, communion with an aspect of the Divine, no matter what experience, an opening of the being, the breaking down of an obstacle, crossing over a stage, opening new doors — all these experiences, if people cannot explain them to themselves in so many words and materialise them in precise thoughts, it is as though these did not exist! And it is just this need for expression, this need for translation, which causes the greater part of the experience to lose its power of action on the individual consciousness. How is it that you have a decisive, definitive experience, that, for instance, you have opened the door of your psychic being, you have been in communion with it, you know what this means, and then —it does not stay? It is because it does not have a sufficiently tangible power unless you can express it to yourself. The experience begins for you only when you are able to describe it. Well, when you are able to describe it, the greater part of its intensity and its capacity of action for the inner and outer transformation has already evaporated. There it may be said that expression, explanation is always a coming down. The experience itself is on a much higher plane.

Le 17 octobre 1956

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«La joie est-elle le plus haut état ? Et dans ce cas, peuton dire que lorsqu’on perd la joie on descend dans sa conscience?»

Sri Aurobindo a dit que l’univers était bâti sur la joie d’être et que la joie, étant son origine, est nécessairement son but aussi. Par conséquent, cela voudrait dire en effet que la joie est l’état le plus élevé.

Mais je n’ai pas besoin de vous dire qu’il ne s’agit pas de la joie telle qu’elle est comprise dans la conscience humaine ordinaire... En fait, cette Joie-là est au-delà des états que l’on considère généralement comme les états les plus élevés au point de vue yoguique, comme, par exemple, l’état de sérénité parfaite, d’égalité d’âme parfaite, de détachement absolu, d’identité avec l’infini et l’éternel Divin, qui vous soulève nécessairement audessus de toutes les contingences. Parallèle à cet état, on peut en avoir un autre, qui est un état d’amour parfait, intégral, universel, qui est l’essence même de la compassion et qui est l’expression la plus parfaite de la Grâce qui efface les conséquences de toutes les fautes et de toutes les ignorances. Ces deux états-là ont toujours été considérés comme le sommet de la conscience ; ils sont ce que l’on pourrait appeler la frontière, l’extrême limite de ce que la conscience individuelle peut atteindre dans son union avec le Divin.

Mais il y a quelque chose qui est au-delà ; c’est justement un état de joie parfaite qui n’est pas statique : la joie dans une manifestation progressive, un déroulement parfait de la suprême Conscience.

Le premier des deux états dont j’ai parlé mène presque toujours à une abstraction hors de l’action, un état presque statique, et très facilement il conduirait au Nirvâna (en fait, cela a toujours été le chemin préconisé pour tous ceux qui sont à la recherche du Nirvâna). Mais cet état de joie dont je parle, qui est essentiellement divin, parce qu’il est libre, totalement libre de toutes les possibilités d’oppositions et de contraires, ne détache pas de l’action ; au contraire, il mène à une action intégrale, mais parfaite dans son essence et complètement libérée de toute ignorance et de tout esclavage à l’ignorance.

On peut, sur le chemin, lorsqu’on a fait un progrès, lorsqu’il y a une compréhension plus grande, une ouverture plus totale, une union plus intime avec la Conscience divine, on peut éprouver cette Joie comme quelque chose qui passe et colore la vie, et lui donne son vrai sens, mais tant que l’on est dans une conscience humaine, cette Joie se déforme très facilement et se change en quelque chose qui ne lui ressemble plus du tout. Par conséquent, on ne pourrait guère dire que si l’on perd la joie on descend dans sa conscience, parce que... la joie dont je parle est quelque chose qui ne peut plus se perdre. Si l’on est arrivé par-delà les deux états dont j’ai parlé tout à l’heure, c’est-à-dire l’état de détachement parfait et d’union étroite, et l’état d’amour et de compassion parfaits, si l’on est allé au-delà de ces deux états et que l’on a trouvé la Joie divine, il est pratiquement impossible de descendre de là. Mais dans la vie pratique, c’est-à-dire sur le chemin du yoga, si l’on est touché même d’une façon fugitive par cette Joie divine, il est évident que, si elle vous quitte, on a nécessairement l’impression que l’on est descendu d’un sommet dans une vallée assez obscure.

Mais la Joie sans le détachement serait un don très dangereux, qui pourrait se fausser très facilement. Ainsi, rechercher la Joie avant d’avoir réalisé le détachement ne paraît pas être une chose très sage. Il faut d’abord être au-dessus de tous les contraires possibles ; au-dessus justement de la peine et du plaisir, de la souffrance et du bonheur, de l’enthousiasme et de la dépression. Si l’on est au-dessus de tout cela, alors on peut aspirer à la Joie en sécurité.

Mais tant que ce détachement n’est pas réalisé, on peut facilement confondre la Joie avec un état exalté du bonheur humain ordinaire, et ce ne serait pas du tout la vraie chose, ni même une falsification de la chose, parce que la nature des deux est tellement différente, presque opposée, que de l’une on ne peut pas passer à l’autre. Alors, si l’on veut être en sécurité sur le chemin, il me semble que la recherche de la paix, de la tranquillité parfaite, de l’égalité parfaite, de l’élargissement de la conscience, de la compréhension plus vaste et de la libération de tout désir, de toute préférence, de tout attachement est certainement une condition préliminaire indispensable.

C’est la garantie de l’équilibre, intérieur et extérieur.

Et sur cet équilibre, sur cette fondation qui doit être très solide, alors on peut bâtir tout ce que l’on veut. Mais il faut que la fondation soit là, inébranlable, d’abord.

(silence)

Justement quelqu’un m’a demandé ce que je voulais dire par ces paroles :

«Il faut être tranquille.»

Il est évident que quand je dis à quelqu’un «soyez tranquille», je veux dire beaucoup de choses différentes suivant les cas. Mais la première tranquillité indispensable, c’est la tranquillité mentale, parce que généralement c’est celle qui manque le plus. Quand je dis à quelqu’un «soyez tranquille», je veux dire: «Tâchez de ne pas avoir une pensée agitée, excitée, trépidante; tâchez de calmer votre cerveau et de cesser de tourner en rond dans toutes vos imaginations et vos observations et constructions mentales. »

On pourrait à juste titre ajouter une question: «Vous nous dites “soyez tranquille”, mais qu’est‑ce qu’il faut faire pour être tranquille?» La réponse est toujours à peu près la même: il faut d’abord en sentir la nécessité, et le vouloir, et puis aspirer, et puis essayer! Pour essayer, il y a une quantité innombrable de moyens qui ont été préconisés et tentés par beaucoup de gens. Ce sont des moyens généralement longs, ardus, difficiles; et beaucoup de personnes se découragent avant d’être arrivées au but, parce que plus elles essayent, plus leurs pensées se mettent à tourbillonner et à s’agiter dans leur cerveau.

Pour chacun le moyen est différent, mais d’abord il faut sentir pour une raison quelconque — soit parce qu’on est fatigué, soit parce qu’on est excédé, soit parce qu’on veut vraiment dépasser l’état dans lequel on vit —, il faut d’abord comprendre, sentir la nécessité de cette tranquillité, de cette paix dans le mental. Et après, alors, on peut successivement essayer tous les moyens, connus et nouveaux, pour arriver au résultat.

Maintenant, on s’aperçoit bien vite qu’il y a une autre tranquillité qui est nécessaire, et même très urgente, c’est la tranquillité vitale, c’est-à-dire l’absence de désir. Seulement le vital, quand il n’est pas suffisamment développé, dès qu’on lui dit d’être tranquille, ou il s’endort ou il fait grève ; il dit: «Ah! non, je ne marche plus! Si vous ne me donnez pas l’aliment dont j’ai besoin, l’excitation, l’enthousiasme, le désir, même la passion, je préfère ne pas bouger et je ne ferai plus rien.» Alors là, le problème est un petit peu plus délicat et peut-être encore un peu plus difficile ; parce qu’il est certain que de tomber de l’excitation dans l’inertie est fort loin d’être un progrès! Il ne faut jamais confondre la tranquillité avec l’inertie ou la passivité somnolente.

La tranquillité est un état très positif ; il y a une paix positive qui n’est pas l’opposé du conflit — une paix active, contagieuse, puissante, qui domine et qui calme, qui met en ordre, qui organise. C’est de celle-là dont je parle ; quand je dis à quelqu’un «soyez tranquille», je ne veux pas lui dire «Allezvous-en dormir, soyez inerte et passif, et ne vous occupez plus de rien», loin de là !... La vraie tranquillité est une très grande force et une très grande puissance. En fait, on peut dire, en regardant le problème de l’autre côté, que tous ceux qui sont vraiment forts, puissants, sont toujours très tranquilles. Ce sont seulement les faibles qui sont agités; dès que l’on est vraiment fort, on est paisible, calme, tranquille, et on a la puissance de l’endurance pour faire face aux vagues adverses qui se précipitent du dehors dans l’espoir de vous déranger. Cette vraie tranquillité est toujours un signe de la force. Le calme appartient aux puissants.

Et ceci est vrai même physiquement. Je ne sais pas si vous avez observé des animaux comme les lions, les tigres, les éléphants, mais c’est un fait que, lorsqu’ils ne sont pas dans l’action, ils sont toujours si par-fai-te-ment tranquilles. Un lion assis qui vous regarde a toujours l’air de vous dire: «Oh! comme tu t’agites!» Il vous regarde avec un air de sagesse si paisible ! Et toute sa puissance, son énergie, sa force matérielle sont là, rassemblées, réunies, concentrées et — sans l’ombre d’une agitation — prêtes à l’action quand l’ordre est donné.

J’ai vu des gens, beaucoup, qui ne pouvaient pas rester tranquilles une demi-heure assis sans se mettre à frétiller. Il fallait qu’ils bougent un pied, qu’ils bougent une jambe, qu’ils bougent un bras, qu’ils bougent leur tête; il fallait tout le temps qu’ils s’agitent, parce qu’ils n’avaient pas la puissance ou la force de rester tranquilles.

Cette capacité de rester immobile quand on veut, de rassembler toutes ses énergies et de les dépenser comme on veut, complètement si l’on veut, ou de les doser comme l’on veut dans l’action, avec un calme parfait, même dans l’action — cela, c’est toujours le signe de la force. Ce peut être une force physique, ce peut être une force vitale, ce peut être une force mentale. Mais si vous êtes le moins du monde agité, vous pouvez être sûr qu’il y a quelque part une faiblesse; et si votre agitation est intégrale, c’est une faiblesse intégrale.

Donc, si je dis à quelqu’un «soyez tranquille», je peux lui dire toutes sortes de choses, cela dépend de chacun. Mais évidemment, le plus souvent, c’est: «Mettez donc votre esprit au repos, ne vous agitez pas tout le temps dans votre tête, ne remuez pas les idées comme à la pelle, calmez-vous.»

Pour la plupart des gens, l’expérience n’existe que lorsqu’ils peuvent se l’expliquer. L’expérience en elle-même (le contact avec une certaine force, un élargissement de conscience, une communion avec un aspect du Divin — n’importe quelle expérience — une ouverture de l’être, la rupture d’un obstacle, franchir une étape, ouvrir des portes nouvelles), toutes ces expériences, tant qu’ils ne peuvent pas se les expliquer avec des mots et les matérialiser dans des pensées précises, c’est comme si cela n’existait pas! Et c’est justement ce besoin d’expression, ce besoin de traduction qui fait que la majeure partie de l’expérience perd son pouvoir d’action sur la conscience individuelle. Comment se fait-il que vous ayez une expérience décisive, définitive, que, par exemple, vous avez ouvert la porte de votre être psychique, que vous avez eu la communion avec lui, que vous savez ce que cela veut dire, et puis... que cela ne reste pas? C’est parce que cela n’a pas une puissance tangible suffisante à moins que vous ne puissiez vous l’exprimer à vous-même. L’expérience ne commence pour vous que quand vous pouvez la décrire. Eh bien, quand vous pouvez la décrire, la majeure partie de son intensité et de sa capacité d’action pour la transformation intérieure et extérieure est déjà évaporée. C’est là que l’on peut dire que l’expression, l’explication, c’est toujours une descente. L’expérience elle-même est sur un plan beaucoup plus élevé.

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