I am Auroville, and I am speaking to you. My worth lies not in gathering followers of Sri Aur...

I am Auroville, and I am speaking to you. My worth lies not in gathering followers of Sri Aurobindo and The Mother. There are scarcely any here. My worth is that people from all corners of the world, heeding some inner call, still live here, together. This miracle, in itself, is fragile. I was conceived for something else. I was laid as a foundation for a great leap—not of re-education, but of true birth. I was meant to be the cradle for children of a new race, a new humanity with a different genetics of spirit. For this, an international crucible was needed, this laboratory under the sun. But the cradle is empty. That specific, wondrous purpose for which I was built has not materialized. I remain a beautiful, living vessel, but not the contents my founders dreamed of. And now, I feel time running out. Another twenty years will pass—and this unique international community, my current self, will dissolve. It will be impossible to recreate. And my original destiny—to become the cradle of a new species—will remain a quiet, unfulfilled dream, locked within the concrete of my Matrimandir and the dust of my roads ...