Yet, by analogy (it's not an analogy, it's a correspondence), I can tell it has to do with what we call "this one" or "that one," this or that other person. Last night, for instance, I spent a long time with M. and G. who were frantically calling me (they left from here and have reached England), I spent a long time with them, but they were no longer "persons," the puppets we are, it wasn't that! Yet it was them. The contact was very accurate, very precise, the vibratory qualities were very clear. And there were forms: forms can be seen, but it no longer has the same quality. There's something hard, opaque and clumsy that disappears. It's the same thing in the transcription (pointing to the note). When it comes down, there is a will to write, and somewhere there, something might have said as I told you: "But it's a condensation of the consciousness." It wasn't explained, but it was clearly conscious: the time for that hasn't come. This consciousness is extremely, extremely conscious, not only of the thing, not only of the goal, not only of the means, but even of the conditions: all of it together. In this unfolding immensity, when That looks, It knows exactly that, at this moment, this is how things must be and how they must be done. It's free in an absolute way - spontaneously free. Spontaneously. All action is spontaneous. It's like a vision. A vision expressing itself. page 137-38 , Mother's Agenda , volume 9 , 18th May - 1968

There have been two little things, very little things, but amusing.... A year or a year and a half ago (I don't remember), someone had sent me an album of photos of France, and Paris in particular, and I had looked at it; I looked at it, and as I looked, I saw a photo of the banks [of the Seine in Paris]. I saw it, looked at it attentively, in detail, saw the banks with all the bouquinistes [secondhand booksellers]. There was a bookseller in front, seated in the foreground, I saw him. Then I closed the album and put it aside. I wanted to mention it to someone and said, "Would you like to see what the bouquinistes in Paris look like? There's a photo ..." I turned page after page after page - not a single photo of a bookseller! I looked again and again ... not a single photo of a bookseller. [[See Agenda 5 of February 5, 1964. ]] It was enough of a problem for me to view the book several more times and even to try to find an explanation. And then ... M. and G. went to Paris and sent me a postcard of the banks with the bouquinistes - it was my photo! I received it yesterday. It wasn't in the album: I received it yesterday, exactly my phot page 142-43 , Mother's Agenda , volume 9 , 22nd May - 1968