The Sacred Bell – by Mary Helen   Let us go beneath the snow Beyond the streams of mortal dreams Behind the lights of crystal nights   And in the myriad chambers dwell Listening for the sacred bell.   Let us not part from the voice of the heart Nor ever stray from beauty's ways Nor find too steep the path we seek   And in those austere chambers dwell Listening for the sacred bell.

Dawn Leaned Out – Poem by Mary Helen   Dawn leaned out from heavy slumbering depths, Surveyed again the inert silent Om,  – But finding only long impervious night She turned away toward aeons deep with sleep, Then paused, –  as if some giant unseen hand Was laid upon her should to detain. Again her vastness turned, the question loomed, And slowly uncoiled the spirit of her strength; A thunderous might rose up and suddenly A single ray pierced down, set fire the sky And shattered the upturned sleeping soul of man.   And rivers of shimmering molten gold Ran streaming through yesterday's night.    

Her Blessed Feet – by Mary Helen   Though words are few and distance seeming great, And obstacles are laid along the way, There dwells behind the walls a quiet love Which needs no past nor future seeks to bind. Resting not on promises or time But on an inner strength and calm and joy; And even if the path is rugged still, Hid among the stones are blossoms sweet; The golden harmonies play behind the clouds, She's given us the key, Her Blessed Feet.

Fall – by Mary Helen Eggenberger   Fall again, and my mind Vagabond that it is Takes flight in ragged formation Like the dark shapes honking Across the clear ice-blue sky. Is it the natural sadness of vicarious death That haunts the chill days? Falling leaves remind us Of youth, past lives and loves, Forgotten paths, neglected dreams. The fleeting false securities of life Blind our inner sight and through our tears Seeing only scars we miss the dormant bud.   Who was it said, "All things in their time . . ." Death is only life turned inside out; It's holding on, not dying, that brings pain. Let go and trust the gods to  know the h

Toward the Silent Sun – Poem by Mary Helen   Unuttered thoughts wheel softly around my head And distant notes pluck heart strings mute, unsung Which inner ears must know can never come To sing these songs, nor meagre words describe All that's bursting breathless from my heart.   Joined hands leading steps between mountain stones Cross vast plateaus and raging torrents wide Through forest dim and high sweet seas of bloom Where love itself stands bare against the sky, The opposites and extremes of life are met To work and rend their pattern into form, Momentary sorrow, fears and joys Fall back and pale in future's brilliant sun. If arms enfold

Shraddhavan and Huta on Mary Helen   Dearest brother Narad, Thank you for sharing with us the beautiful life-sketch of Mary Helen and the news of her passing.  Huta told me "She has gone straight to the Mother", and I'm sure you feel the same.  It seems to me that the moment of her passing must have been a matter of her soul's choice, and have marked the completion of the work she came to do.  We can imagine that this is a time of great challenge to you, and to Chali, and pray that you may feel the constant Solace and Support of our loving Mother to carry you through,  We are remembering you with great love and holding you in our hearts.   From Huta and Shraddhavan

Remembering Mary Helen   Mary Helen Eggenberger Mary Helen, beloved friend and companion on the Way, disciple of Mother and Sri Aurobindo, left this beautiful and hallowed earth she so cherished at 7:30 a.m. on February 7, 2002, a day before her 58th birthday.  Mary Helen read about Mother and Sri Aurobindo when she was just out of her teens and, as a young woman at the age of 22, she sent her photo to Mother and received Her blessings to come and live in the Ashram. She traveled with a girl friend to India, taking with her a few belongings and leaving everything else to meet Mother in August of 1966. She returned to the Ashram in 1968 for the inaugu

 Richard Pearson on Mary Helen   When I think of Mary Helen I think of "Radha's Consciousness" and if I gave her a flower it would always be "Radha's Consciousness".

The Mother  March 2002   A few months before her passing Mary Helen asked me to bring the small portable cassette record to her bedroom.  After she passed away, when I was going through all the draws collecting things to put in an (Album of Remembrance), I found the tapes of Mother reading (The Mother).  In her last months Mary Helen had been listening to these and never said a word.  

 Simi Smith on Mary Helen's Passing    I feel this cancer is a thing of the future and I have seen those who have it change – they live in The Mother. I saw Mary Helen like that.                                                                         Simi