The Book of the Divine Mother IV

The Yoga of the Mother

First of all we cannot direct a yoga of the Mother.
The Mother herself is doing her yoga in ourselves.
It is mainly a path of submission.
Not everybody is willing to give up entirely oneself for the expression of the Mother, give it for sure.
The hard work of submission is rarely understood.
It is not for everybody though is the path of everybody.
To give up oneself for the expression of the Mother is the last offering, after that there is nothing else you can give, you gave it all, and you entered the holy path of the Mother.
She wants to see you naked as she made you before to decide what to do with you.
But if you made the last offering none can blame you.
So you left firm soil behind you, daring steps on emptiness don´t you?
What you wanted to achieve that the Mother can´t achieve for you?
Yes, you are right, you look at emptiness with the eyes of the Mother.

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You perfectly know it is the Age of the Mother.
If you studied the references of the Teaching you know it is the age of the Yoga of the Mother.
If you studied Sri Aurobindo you know is the Mother who does the yoga in you,
if you read the books of Agni Yoga you know there is a whole book on the Age of the Mother.
It is the Age of Synthesis and all synthesis always lead us on the path of the Mother, because her tender heart is what underlays all existence.

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Truly, it has always been the age of the Mother, only, the human being had not been aware of it.
Now they can sum up to the concert of beings which are already and since long waited for the incorporation of the human being into the adventure of the Mother-Consciousness on earth, the only great experiment in play in this universe, because from distant and veiled realms the Mother in the course of the Ages reveals herself to the creatures, and this is the age when the creature first open the eyes on the holiness of  the divine purpose in the universe.

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You have walked the lonely mountain paths while the breeze carried the scent of the plants and trees, while the birds sang a new song on the unscreened pages of the daylight.
You saw the mountain top wrapped in white clouds as an ara for the offering of the gods.
You saw the whole Nature summed up in a silent effort of ages of greening bare soil,
as the making of a poem untold in centuries.
You saw the potent majesty of an opalescent sky of emptiness on everything and you leaned before it, and you felt in your fibers the Age of the Mother is here and now.