June 3, 1960

Pondicherry, June 3, 1960

Sweet Mother,

I'm a bit discouraged. Every night I slip into a black abyss from which I wake up in the morning drained. Not one second of conscious sleep. It takes me an hour to recuperate from my 'sleep'. In fact, I am constantly 'on edge' and the least thing exhausts my body.

But that's nothing. I would bear all the exhaustion quite willingly if there were at least a touch of something conscious. But nothing, as if I were as thick as a Paris concierge!

Mother, there is hardly an instant of my conscious life that I am not aspiring for 'more consciousness'—but there's still this abyss I slip into at night, as if nothing existed!

Pardon my grumblings. If only at least I knew what I could do to change all this.

Your child,

Signed: Satprem

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(Mother's reply)

Sunday afternoon

My dear child,

The best rest is to enter into the inner silence for a few moments.

Blessings.

Signed: Mother