Margaret Woodrow Wilson to Eleanor Randolph Wilson McAdoo


Margaret Woodrow Wilson to Eleanor Randolph Wilson McAdoo


Wilson, Margaret Woodrow, 1886-1944




c. 1936-1940


Margaret A. Wilson writes Eleanor Wilson McAdoo with news from the Aurobindo ashram.


Eleanor Wilson McAdoo Papers, University of California, Santa Barbara


Woodrow Wilson Presidential Library & Museum


Wilson family




Well beloved little Sister

     Here I am still (Although you seem to think I have disappeared into some space-incommunicado) and the monsoon rages bringing life to all nature that can survive it and death and destruction to the weak. To me it is bringing so many memouries of cold and bitter November winds and little children all bundled up in wool (that is hard to remember here, the wool, even in a monsoon) going to Miss Fine's school- no recess games out of doors today, but checkers with Adeline up in the attic and an extra hour stolen under Miss Fine's nose. And very vivid is a memoury not experienced directly but all the more vivid seen through loved eyes of you in a California cyclone racing all alone in your little green car over that long mountain enfolded road to Claremount to save your little one- I almost hold my breath wondering if the car will stay on the road- Yes it will for look at that forceful face and feel the strength in the grip of those expressive hands on the wheel- Divine Power and Love are the back of that determination and will win the day, for the Mother's love. I can't help wishing that I could look forward to a ride with you in clear air after the storm with the mountains around us wrapped in their blue mantles which they will gardaually throw off to show the fresh, vivid green beneath. Here we shall probably have one or two days of muggy weather with the tropical sun brurning through it and then maybe a few cool days before the next monsoon comes. But I am glad to have the cool weather on any terms wind driving rain, whirlwind if need be. In fact I never realised before how much I do actually enjoy rain. Some poet has spoken of an ecstacy of rain. Havn't you often felt it- I have so often in the mountains when the opalescent green of a pine tree glowed behind a silver sheet of rain. But you would love to be here tonight when the rain has passed and the soft tropical air is laden with the scent of jasmine, champa, transformation (The Mother's name for a beautiful star like flower that hangs in clusters) and countless other flowering trees and vines. We would talk of so many things that just cannot be written but can be felt together and perhaps intimated in the spokenword. I feel very compunctious for not having written for so dreadfully long to my loved Sister and our Faithie. For the last two months I have suffered a kind of paralysis of the will every time I have thought of writing a letter- haven't written a one except short necessary notes. And now Christmas is coming and as letters take longer to reach here than before the war I suppose they are being delayed going in the opposite direction too. Tell me if they are. My American letters, those that are not registered air mail are taking two months to reach me. I have not received an air mail letter in over two months as my two air mail correspondents, you and Ellie, seem to have consigned me to a concentration camp behind the trenches or something like that! Did you let the idea of the censor discourage you? Well don't after this please for the censor practically leaves me unobserved now after opening a few of my letters-- He must be some intelligent person who sees that I am not at all interested in political intrigues or information. He would think me woefully uninterested if he knew that I can't even remember to read the papers even now with a war going on. But all quiet on the Western front gets to be a bit tiresome and I have a deep rooted skepticism about all the diplomatic news based on our past experience of newspaperes during a war. I hope that you are able to keep near your center of Peace darling while the world-forces rage around you. Thank God you know It is there and indestructible, Eternal. Oh darling I thank God endlessly that you entered into the Peace and the Peace into you before this tidal wave of darkness came on trying to submerge the Peace and blind us to the Light. Those who know that the Lord is within them no matter how much they falter and stumble will not go under, not to stay at least, for the anchorholds, the knowledge and Faith that we are ourselves that Divine One. There is a wonderful sadhak here, a man who was active in politics for a while but gave it all up for the spiritual life who says in a book of meditations that he has published--I have just looked up the quotation that I wanted and find that it is not just what I wanted at this moment so I shall quote the knowledge they call the "Ignorance" or a half knowledge or distorted Truth, never real knowledge because it is based on the indirect evidence of the senses not the direct communion and union with the Spitrit. I have no direct knowledge such as you have as yet, but I have that which inevitably leads to it if one is faithful and that is the intuition which recognises the truth when it is spoken by those who have the Knowledge. Lawrence says in one of his poems you remember that there are those who have seen the Gods and those who recognise the light in the face of those who have seen, something like that and then rather contemptuously states that no one else exists. In a way he is quite literally stating a fact for those who do not believe in the existence of the Spirit are only half alive if that. Also as I tried to explain in another letter there are peaceful states that I have experienced in which one is nearer the God within than ordinarily and in which one gains a certainty about spiritual truths that is not just intellectual, that may be called intuitional. They are then conceived through some sense that is not the reson of the scientists, far from it, which is nearer the perception of the poet or of any artist. I believe that for long you have felt these truths poetically and that you were thus prepared for your direct experience. Little Faithie has been prepared by all the beauty and love with which you have fed her and now she is preparing herself by trying to express beauty. Don't you think so?
     Well darling I have taken a lot of time to write this and have spoken so falteringly as all do who have not the inspired word, but I am so happy that now we can share our certainty of the Eternal One that I cannot help but try to forge some expression of the truth that is within me.
     I am wondering wondering where you are. Please forgive me for not writing for so long- I'm a good one to be complaining of your silence- and write me all about yourself and Faithie. And tell me if you saw Gwen and Arthur again- I love to think of you together and feel so certain that your togetherness can bring nothing but blessings to

Original Format



McAdoo, Eleanor Wilson, 1889-1967




Wilson, Margaret Woodrow, 1886-1944, “Margaret Woodrow Wilson to Eleanor Randolph Wilson McAdoo,” c. 1936-1940, WWP19654, Eleanor Wilson McAdoo Collection at the University of California-Santa Barbara, Woodrow Wilson Presidential Library & Museum, Staunton, Virginia.