18

"One Look Was Enough to Put You into

an Absolutely Different Dimension"

Shirley Lyons

I am like a butterfly that flies into Auroville for three or four months and then leaves. I have been doing this since 1972. When I read about this program I came here because I have had an intense meeting with the Mother. I don't know if you are exhausted or want to hear another story.

Seventy-two years ago, I was born into a Dutch Christian Reform family. From the age of eight through eleven, my brother and I would spend every weekend at the home of my very religious grandparents.

Each Sunday we began our weekly routine by driving to a large red brick church at nine o' clock in the morning. We entered and filed down the aisle to the third row from the front. We spent two hours sitting on a hard church pew, chewing two peppermints, and listening to a very zealous preacher deliver a hell and damnation sermon. At eleven o' clock, my brother and I raced each other down the steps to the basement for another hour of Sunday School.

Later, at home, when the noon meal was finished and we were still seated at the table, my grandfather would continue our relentless religious training. He read a chapter from the Bible. Before we were excused, we had to answer questions about what he had read. If we (including my grandmother) responded inaccurately, he would reread the chapter and re-ask the questions. Needless to say, we three became very good listeners.

The next regular Sunday events were to dry the dishes for

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my grandmother and get ready to walk or ride the ten long city blocks back to church for an hour of Christian Endeavour (a children's program). At seven-thirty in the evening, we were very happy to go to bed early rather than attend the church service again.

During those formative years, I would frequently complain to my mother about how long and boring the preacher's sermons were. Her response was always the same: "You are very lucky! When I was a child, that two hours was in Dutch."

This religion continually reminded me that I, a mere child, was a sinner. That statement perplexed and angered me. I kept asking myself, "What sin did I commit?" Could it be the cookies that I would sometimes sneak from cookie jar? Was it that each time I had to walk to Christian Endeavour, I would stop at the gas station and spend half of my collection money on a candy bar? None of it made much sense to me, so I wasn't a strong believer in a God who didn't like me.

Suddenly, one Sunday morning, from out of nowhere, religion became extremely exciting. I was seated between my grandparents and the preacher was full-fledged into his usual sermon, when I heard a very clear, precise voice coming from just above the right side of my head. The voice said, "Everyone is going to become a Jesus."

I shuddered with inner shock and alerted fear. Had my grandmother, whose ear was inches from mine, heard what I had just heard? If so, I was in trouble. How dare I believe that we are good enough to become as great a being as Jesus! I glanced at my grandfather. His eyes were not staring back—I was safe. I could keep my secret.

In 1967, at dawn on the seventh day of the seventh month, when I had just turned thirty-seven years old, a voice came to me again. My husband was on a business trip. I was in an apartment in Barcelona, Spain, with our two young children. My bedroom opened into the living room. I could not see into that room while I was in bed, but I could look outside through the double glass doors opening from the living room into the terrace.

I was awakened by what sounded like the flapping of wings in the living room. As I listened intently, I thought that something was flying around and around near the ceiling. At first I thought

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I had forgotten to shut the terrace doors and a bird had flown in. To my utter dismay, I saw that those doors were closed.

Still in bed, I raised my head on my hand, tipping my right ear upward to listen more closely. The flapping sounds became more and more rapid. Soon there was a whirlwind of energy. I thought a hurricane was coming, but when I looked out on the terrace, not one leaf was moving.

Suddenly, I called out, "It's a flying saucer!" I could feel the force of a whizzing disk lowering itself to the up-tipped right side of my face. I grabbed my ear and it burned with a tremendous heat. As this was occurring, a clear voice said, "Don't be afraid, the agony of your life is over. Nothing is going to happen to these children." (Our first child had died in her sleep.)

I looked up and there in the corner of the room, just like on a large black and white T.V. screen, blinking off and on for sometime, was a portrait of a man. He had very intense, dark eyes, long dark hair, and a wiry white beard that was strange on one who seemed so young.

I sat up in bed, slightly slapped my face to see if I was wide awake, and asked myself, "Who is this man?" I answered, "I don't know who he is, but I think he is a philosopher who lived in the eighteen hundreds. He looks Italian."

I sat in wonderment. I had just experienced three normal sensations: I had felt intense heat, heard a voice, and seen a face. I knew I wasn't crazy, just dumbfounded. I had seen an apparition. Who would believe me and what did it mean, if anything? I had the thought, "Why didn't Jesus come to me?" Because Christianity was the only religion I knew, I decided the encounter had not been a religious one. Since I was living in Spain, I wondered if some Spanish ghost was flying around in the neighborhood. My biggest unanswered question was: "Why me?"

Four years later I wandered into an ashram bookstore in Pondicherry, India. There, side-by-side on the wall, were two gigantic portraits of the Gurus of the ashram. One was this mysterious man. His name was Sri Aurobindo. It was the same photo of the intense eyes, dark hair and the wire-like, white beard. The other photo was of The Mother, a woman I was soon to meet.

Visiting an ashram was a new experience for me. When we

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arrived in Pondicherry, I just followed my friend from place to place. He registered me into the guesthouse, and then we went to the dining room for a silent evening meal. Later, while he went to find his daughter, I walked along the sea back to my room. I was sitting in the lobby, talking to some ashramites, when Sudarshan rushed in. He was so exited. He kept repeating, "Shirley, we have an appointment with The Mother."

I must have disappointed my friend greatly with my lack of enthusiasm for his good news. I wasn't interested in meeting this lady; I just wanted to see the school. Looking back, it was my lucky day, but I was too arrogant to realize it. An appointment with The Mother was very special because she was now too old to carry on with all she had done at one time. Even the school children were no longer able to visit her on their birthdays. The only reason we had the good fortune of meeting with The Mother was because of Maggie, the woman acting as a big sister to Sudarshan's daughter. Maggie was secretary to The Mother, who honoured her request. I was given very specific instructions: sit near the top of the stairs outside The Mother's room at eleven in the morning, with a flower in your hand.

Sudarshan walked me over to the flower shop which was across the courtyard from the stairs to The Mother's room. He told me, "If you don't know which flower to give to her, the flower shop will automatically pick the right one." The Mother had renamed all the flowers. Rather than speak to her, you handed her a flower that expressed your message to her, and her answer would be in the name of the flower she gave to you.

Upon my return to the lobby of the guesthouse, a man greeted me saying, "I heard you are going to see The Mother. Let me show you our garden of her flowers." He proceeded to name many of the different flowers, using words like Devotion, Aspiration, Beauty and Truth. He informed me he would cut any flower I desired in the morning. I thanked him for his assistance and told him I was going to let the flower shop choose the right one for me.

At ten o' clock the next morning, I went to the flower shop and explained my need for a flower. With surprise the attendant exclaimed, "The flowers do not come in until twelve o' clock.

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No one sees The Mother at this time. This must be special." He looked around and said, "I have one flower left over from yesterday. It must be what you are looking for; it means Intimate Relationship."

I just looked at him, thanked him, bit my nails, and with a delicate flower in hand, jumped on my ashram bike. I peddled as fast as I could back to the guesthouse garden. Luckily, the gentleman from the night before was tending the flowers and anticipated my need. He reiterated, "The garden is yours." I marched over, pointed to some flowers thinking I had remembered their names, and asked him to cut some buds that were just opening. He cut the flowers and said, "You know what you chose, don't you?" I confidently replied, "Yes, Psychological Perfection." Inside my head, I thought: "That will put a good distance between me and Intimate Relationship." He laughed and said, "Oh no. You picked Surrender." He lovingly arranged some small roses around the Intimate Relationship flowers, and sent me on my way.

By eleven o' clock I was sweaty, shaking, and seated near the open door of this famous lady, The Mother. I had recently been told that Indira Gandhi frequently came to The Mother for advice. I was duly impressed.

The silence of the day was abruptly shaken when Sudarshan came reeling out of the door, weeping. He threw himself down on the top stair. I said to myself: "I guess I'm next." Cautiously, I entered the open door. The room was very bright because of the big windows. Seated on my left was the bent figure of an old woman. To her left was a great pot of mixed flowers. The only way to look into her eyes was to place oneself on bended knees in front of her.

With a reverent bow I offered her my flowers. She looked into my eyes and suddenly her eyes became huge. She just stared inside of me. From lower than the pit of my stomach, a sickening coil began to unwind itself. Then she softened her gaze, smiled a loving smile, and reached for a flower. As she handed me the peach rose (Peace), an electric shock vibrated up and down my arm. I smiled reverently, bowed again, and left the room. I slowly descended the stairs and seated myself in meditation.

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A previous speaker referred to the balcony darshan. I will never forget that day. It was crowded, people stood in rows packed together like sardines. I was standing in front of The Mother. I watched while she slowly directed her gaze to the far right of the crowd. She had time to concentrate on every head that was beneath her. Her gaze came to me, my cells turned into rippling pudding. Suddenly, I realized why multitudes followed Jesus. One look was enough to put you into an absolutely different dimension.

I have experienced moments with both Sri Aurobindo and The Mother. Although I have never lived here I have come in and out of Auroville and that's my story.

And nothing happens in the cosmic play

But at its time and in its foreseen place.

Book V, 1

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We do not fight against any creed, any religion. We do not fight against any form of government. We do not fight against any caste, any social class. We do not fight against any nation or civi-lization.

We are fighting division, unconscious-ness, ignorance, inertia and falsehood.

We are endeavouring to establish upon earth union, knowledge, con-sciousness, truth; and we fight what-ever opposes the advent of this new cre-ation of Light, Peace, Truth and Love.

16.2.1965

The Mother

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