journal d'une transition

457

avec l’intention professée de parvenir à couvrir les besoins de chacun à travers une activité « officielle », et c’est comme une insincérité qui se banalise, et s’installe hors de question…

*26-2-1984, Auroville: In the middle of the night, after a series of movemented dreams – like adventures out of a novel -, I woke up rather suddenly with this unbearable pain of the separation from Auragni… And I realised that I am now stuck for another reason: when I feel no respect or no friendship for Diane, how can I go there at all? Auragni will feel it and it will affect her and she will not understand: I cannot inflict that on her! … Barbara me dit ce matin qu’elle a contemplé sérieusement la possibilité de venir vivre ici avec moi… ! Je lui ai expliqué pourquoi et comment il était préférable de ne pas le faire, et qu’il me fallait rester seul… … Il m’est souvent montré, ces temps ci, que rien n’est jamais si « grave » qu’on ne puisse en rire ; ou que, si l’on ne peut plus rire, c’est qu’on a laissé trop longtemps s’installer une forme d’insincérité… … C’est comme on dit : si Tu me donnes ne serait ce qu’un peu de l’ourlet de Ta robe à tenir, rien d’autre n’a vraiment d’importance, ni pratiquement, ni ultimement… ! *27-2-1984, Auroville: I had a very strong and very interesting dream-experience last night. It lasted long, and I could remember all of it; it was all about Nolini: he has died, and people prepare him for burial; I am somehow there, and I find that, in all this whiteness and devotion, the seat that was meant for him is covered with layers and layers of cow-dung, which I begin hesitantly to scrape away with my hands, even though it will not be used anymore; then, as no one interferes, I do it thoroughly till it is all clean and bare and simple; meanwhile people have got their attention elsewhere and I find myself alone near Nolini’s body, which they have left ready for burial: they have done a strange thing, they have plastered it over with a cast, and it is still hot when they lower the body; and, from the ground, a liquid spills over, thick brown, again like hot cow-dung, and this causes a reaction with the plaster of the cast… All through that, for some mysterious reason, I seem to be the only one to be so close to his body, watching and caring… His body begins to writhe, and it has tremors, and starts; then it becomes frantic, and the limbs are bending in sheer agony, and the plaster is melting; it is all impossible to behold, and still I am alone… I move around in that sort of pit he is laid in, in the midst of all this whiteness, and I face him; and I begin to be able to realise that he is truly coming back from death, in a terrible, horrible pain and condition, and I cease being merely watching and impressed; I begin to have trust and to participate… I look for help… He, his body, is slowly, out of this total agony, gathering into a sort of sitting position… And still no one is paying attention; but now I do not want to call any one of those who have been there; I look for… brothers…! And, at a distance, apparently unconcerned yet very present, I see F.Ga; relieved, I call him at once, and I realise that he has been posted there, is if he had known what to expect… By that time, Nolini is out of his metamorphosis, truly and really a biological one, with all its un-romantic ugliness and pure, terrible pain… Nolini stands up and, somehow at the same time and in the same movement, the three of us are away into the streets, towards a house where he could rest, protected… We are in a very special