Here are some very interesting memories about Angels that the Mother one day told Satprem… and I suppose now she doesn’t mind that it comes out on this blog, as by now it is anyway published since many years along with the rest of her “Agenda”, or Diary; this morning it was quite funny for me to read this passage again for this new post dedicated again to Angels… for the first time I noticed an amusing comment Mother made as to why Angels generally have wings, although they don’t need any:
From MOTHER’S AGENDA March 9, 1963
Oh, listen (this is not meant to be published or told), I don’t know if I’ve told you already. I was nine or ten years old, I was running with some friends in the forest of Fontainebleau (I’ve told this story somewhere). The forest is rather dense, so you can’t see very far ahead. We were running, and speeding along as I was, I didn’t see I was coming to the edge overhanging the road. The place where we were was about ten feet above the road (more than a story high), and the road was paved with stones – freshly paved. And we were running. I was racing ahead, the others were behind. Well, I’d built up such momentum that I couldn’t stop – whoosh! I went sailing into the air. I was ten, eleven at the most, mind you, with no notion of the miraculous or the marvelous, nothing, nothing – I was just flung into the air. And I felt something supporting me, holding me up, and I was literally SET DOWN on the ground, on the stones. I got up (I found it perfectly natural, you understand!): not a scratch, not a speck of dust, nothing, absolutely intact. I fell down very, very slowly. Then everyone rushed up to see. “Oh, it’s nothing!” I said, “I am all right.” And I left it at that. But the impression lingered. That feeling of something carrying me (gesture of a slow fall, like a leaf falling in stages with slight pauses): I fell down that slow. And the material proof was there, it was no illusion since I was unscathed – the road was paved with stones (you know the flint stones of France?): not a scratch, nothing. Not a speck of dust.
The soul was very alive at the time, and with all its strength it resisted the intrusion of the material logic [[Just what presides over the “inevitability” of accidents, including gravitation, illness and death. ]] of the world – so it seemed to me perfectly natural. I simply thought, “No. Accidents can’t happen to me.”
But flung like that! … For a very long time the memory of the SENSATION remained: something that went like this (same gesture of a leaf falling) and simply set me down on the road. When I worked with Théon, the memory came back, and I saw it was an entity: what people in Europe call angels (what do they call it?) … guardian angels, that’s right. An entity. Théon had told me of certain worlds (worlds of the higher intellect – I don’t remember, he had named all the different planes), and in that world are winged beings – who have wings of their own free choice, because they find it pretty! And Madame Théon had always seen two such beings with me. Yet she knew me more than ten years later. And it appears they were always with me. So I took a look and, sure enough, there they were. One even tried to draw: he asked me to lend him my hand to do drawings. I lent my hand, but when I saw the drawing (he did one), I told him, “The ones I do without you are much better!” So that was the end of the matter!
What did it depict?
Funny drawings. One showed a sea with a rock and a small figure (that one was the best). A high cliff, a tiny figure, and then the sea. It wasn’t very good!
I would lend my hand and look elsewhere – I didn’t look at what I was drawing to make sure there was no subconscious interference. And I could distinctly feel his hand moving mine. After a while, I said to myself, “I think I’ll take a look.” I looked – “I say,” I told him, “It’s not up to much!”
It was in Tlemcen.
That kind of oddity never interested me. I found them simply natural. But these are what people call miracles.
There was another occurrence (less striking), once in a room as long as this one and wider, [[About forty feet long and thirteen feet wide. ]] the salon in my family’s house. Some little friends had come and we were playing. I told them, “I’ll show you how one should dance.” I went to a corner of the room to get the longest distance to another corner, and I told them, “One single step in the middle.” And I did it! (Mother laughs) I sprang (I didn’t even feel I was jumping, it was like dancing, you know, like when they dance on point), landed on the tips of my toes, bounced up and reached the other corner – you can’t do that alone, even champions cannot. The length of the jump went beyond
records, because afterwards I asked here, when we started physical exercises at the Ashram, I asked what the longest jump was – mine was longer! And they take a run up, you see, they run and then jump. But I didn’t run: I was standing in the corner, and hop! up I went (I said “hop!” to myself, soundlessly), and frrrt! I landed on the tips of my toes, bounced and landed the other side – quite evidently I was carried.
All this took place before the age of thirteen or fourteen (from eight to thirteen or fourteen). Many things of the kind, all of which seemed to me perfectly natural – it didn’t feel as though I was doing something miraculous. Perfectly natural.
I remember also, once, there were iron hoops (I don’t know if they still exist) bordering the lawns in the Bois de Boulogne – and I used to take a walk on them! It was a challenge I threw to my brother (there was a difference of sixteen months between us, he was older – and much better behaved too!). I told him, “Can you walk on these?” “Leave me alone,” he answered, “it’s not interesting.” “Just watch!” I told him. And I started walking on them, with such ease! As if I had done it all my life. It was the same phenomenon: I felt weightless.
Always the feeling of being carried: something holding me up, carrying me. And now if I compare the movement or the sensation … it’s the same as that vast movement of wings – the same vibration.
After thirteen or fourteen years, it became more difficult. But before that, it was really fine.
The memory of all these things returned AFTERWARDS, when I met Théon – long afterwards, when I was more than twenty, that is, more than ten years later. I met Théon and got the explanation of these things, I understood. Then I remembered all that had happened to me, and I thought, “Well! …” Because Madame Théon said to me (I told her all my childhood stories), she said to me, “Oh, but I know, you are THAT, the stamp of THAT is on you.” I thought over what she had said, and I saw it was indeed true. All those experiences I had were very clear indications that there were certainly people in the invisible looking after me! (Mother laughs)
Interestingly there was nothing mental about it: I didn’t know the existence of those things, I didn’t know what meditation was – I meditated
without the least idea of what it was. I knew nothing, absolutely nothing, my mother had kept it all completely taboo: those matters are not to be touched, they drive you crazy!
Later, the memories came back.