Well, yesterday, the 17th November, was the official date regarding the Mother’s so called “Passing” in 1973… but it is today, forty-two years ago, the 18th November, that has been for me personally the really, truly meaningful and eventful day, a veritable ‘Darshan Day’… and even doubly so!!!
Not surprising then that for all these years passed since then, it has been the 18th that I have celebrated inwardly, and sometimes outwardly too.
But yesterday for the first time was different, and I felt like somehow “being with Mother” at the end of the afternoon, after awakening from an unusually late nap.
And suddenly I needed to speak to Her, to write to Her on my laptop, and a poem started writing itself, addressed to Her. It became yesterday’s post for Her.
It came directly in French, my mother-tongue, so I owed it to my non French-speaking visitors to translate it for them at the earliest…
Here is the translation, done first thing this morning:
Little Mother whom I love… Already forty-two years…
But that memory remains so strong nevertheless…
We in Auroville didn’t know yet,
But that evening you were fighting for your body,
Struggling to keep your legs from giving up…
And it has been your heart that in the end gave up
It went out, quite simply,
After a last beat.
Since then, every 17th November
I imagine you in your room,
Your back against the mountain
Of piled up pillows.
You were giving your last fight.
As always, you were refusing
To give up, to abandon your task…
Without anyone knowing
But the Divine and you, our Divine Mother,
Something happened then, not what could be guessed
But Something Else: a pod opening up,
The True Body replacing the one covering it,
A last breath exhaled,
A last beat of the heart. Pale
On its ‘deathbed’
Your old body remained
The one that could be seen
And photographed even.
Around this pale image
Stood, invisible but to the true sight,
A true body, its shape imprecise and unclear,
An orange mist, fire-fog of a myriad droplets
Seemingly condensing only very slowly
But full of a Power huge, inconceivable,
An eternal, immutable Presence.
This is What Was, still in the next morning,
When after an almost interminable queue
I found myself in front of your bed, your body.
This is What Was, still that fire-orange mist,
Only Reality of Thee that I could see,
Sole Nectar of Presence my body too could drink.
It drank it in, it drank it and drank it,
Until it was so full it couldn’t drink further.
Mother, Mighty Mother, “death” is no more a must:
Our bodies bathed in the slow blissful Wave
To the almighty rhythm of the Supreme Lord’s Wings,
Our cells as well now are learning Happiness!…