MOTHER
Henry Miller
PREFATORY NOTE
This text was inspired by a dream in which I died and found myself in Devachan (limbo) where I ran into my mother whom I hated all my life.
I didn’t quite realize I had died ‑ I seemed so alive until I saw my mother approaching. Then it struck me that I too must be what we call dead. I hadn’t had time to take note of my surroundings; everything seemed so natural even if different.
What immediately struck me was the radiant expression on my mother’s face. (That was indeed something new to me.) She looked younger than I had ever known her, even when a boy. She was almost gay.
“0 Henry,” she exclaimed, as we drew close, “you don’t know how glad I am to see you. I waited for you such a long time. What ever kept you on Earth so long?”
A spate of words rushed to my lips but all I could utter was “Mother, dear Mother.” Besides, there seemed no necessity for words. I was alive still, but in a new sense. I had a different intelligence, a whole new set of emotions. Above all, I was at peace ‑ in a state of bliss, rather.
“Where are we?” I finally managed to say.
My mother shrugged her shoulders smilingly. “I don’t know,” she replied. Nobody ever asks that question. We are content as we are and wherever we are. It is just one vast endless space, and no time, only bits of eternity.”
This was a most unusual statement for the mother I knew below to make.
“Mother, you must have learned a lot since you are here,” I said.
“Son,” she replied, “there is only one thing worse than ignorance and that is stupidity. I don’t wonder you couldn’t tolerate me down below. I was stupid, terribly stupid.”
I started to contradict her but she went on talking. “You see, son, all we have to do here is to learn from our past mistakes, so when we are ready to be incarnated again, we will have learned our lesson. We have all time on our hands here. Some learn faster than others and are gone before one really knows them.”
“Tell me,” I interrupted, “is there any kind of government here?”
“Oh, no,” she quickly answered. “There is no need for government here. We are all capable of governing ourselves. You see, one of the first things that happens to you is the loss of all hatred, all bitterness, all prejudice. Besides, there are no nations here. It is just one big world, one big family.”
“How do you manage to live, who supplies the food, who does the hard work?”
“There is no work to do,” said Mother. “Whatever you wish you get. Wherever you want to go you have only to desire it and you are there ‑ the place comes to you. Do you remember at home in the storm closet there hung a guitar no one ever played? That was my guitar ‑ but I had forgotten how to play it. Here I have a guitar anytime I wish it and I can play it well …. Just a moment and I will show you.” To my amazement in a moment there was a guitar in her hand and she was playing it, playing skillfully.
“You sound like Segovia,” I exclaimed, full of admiration.
“Segovia is here,” my mother replied. “I met him and he gave me a few lessons. One learns everything quickly here. The important thing is Desire.”
Suddenly it occurred to me my father was not around. When I asked if she knew where he was she said; “Probably in some corner far away. I haven’t run into him yet.”
“Don’t you miss him?” I asked.
“No, son,” she said, “I don’t miss anybody or anything. One learns to be content here very quickly. Besides, your father may still be drinking his head off, you know. This isn’t Heaven. I doubt there is such a place.”
“By the way,” she added, “I never asked you if you would like something to eat and drink. If you would it can be served to you instanter. You can have Chateaubriand with onions and mashed potatoes, if you like. You always loved onions.”
“Mother, thank you, I don’t want a thing. I feel as if I had everything. Even the air gives sustenance. It’s like breathing an elixir . . . . 0, that reminds me, I don’t seem to notice the sky.”
“There isn’t any,” she quickly replied. “I have heard people refer to it as an astral sky. Right now we are in our astral bodies. At least that’s what I have been told. But it makes no difference to me what sort of body they call it; it suits me perfectly.”
“You mean you never have a toothache or an earache, no constipation, no diarrhoea?”
My mother shook her head vigorously.
“Wouldn’t you want to stay here forever?” I inquired.
Again she shook her head. “No, son, our place is on earth. We must go back again and again until it becomes a fit place to live. It would be selfish of me to stay here in this Paradise and leave the Earthlings to suffer.”
This was indeed a surprising utterance from my mother’s lips. I had come in a very short space of time not only to like her but to respect and to admire her.
“Mother,” I suddenly said, “there is a question on my mind which has been bothering me. Only you can settle it.”
“I am not endowed with all wisdom,” she said, “but ask me, perhaps I can be of help.”
“It’s this, mother. When I was in London some years ago a friend of mine took me to meet a medium. He was quite an astonishing man, this medium. I had hardly taken a seat, for example, when he said to me: ‘Your books have caused a great deal of trouble, haven’t they?’ No one had told him that I was a writer. He quickly followed this up by telling me that my greatest helpmate in the beyond was my brother. Did I ever have a brother ‑ perhaps one who died before I was born?”