A Note from the Medium

Grigory Elmanovich is my grandfather (1869-1918), now, of course, he lives on the other side. Once, he came to talk to me, the medim, and I learned a lot about his life on earth and in heaven.
My grandfather bought in Paide, an Estonian little town, a piece of land with three old houses on it. I was born in Paide, when he was already long gone. I witnessed occupation of Estonia by the Soviet army, at a time – the Red Army, and the WWII that took almost all men of our family. I lived in Paide to see mass deportation of Estonians to Siberia.  I think, it all shaped my world both inwardly and outwardly, and this is why – reporting about spirit communication sessions with my grandfather, I will add here and there some words about life in Paide that can give the feel of background of the sotry, told by my grandfather.

Repent! Repent! Repent! 

Grigory Elmanovich: – Times were hard. The dark forebodings of changes were in the air, and they followed through as Revolution 1905 and the devastating First World War  that led to the Bolshevick’s heist of power and the end of Russia as we knew it.  In WWI, on the Russian side, there were treacherous generals, and tsar Nikolai the Second, a good-hearted family man, not made for leading armies or quieting hungry people’s mutinies, mostly working class starving women’s civil restlessness under the very nose of his Excellency. Russia was sinking before our eyes, and there was nothing else left but witness and surrender to God’s will!  Luba and I, we moved from Moscow to Tallinn and later to Paide, a nice Estonian provincial town with traces if some historical events.

Tatyana: I will continue for my dedushka, as everything that he would say about Paide is not only his but also mine background. Now, living in Los Angeles, some times in my dreams, I still found myself in our Paide garden, created by my grandfather, where  I learned to walk, speak, and took in my first memories of the outer world, visions of our beautiful garden.

Over time, the shadows of history built a special atmosphere of this city. In the center of the town, there was a park on a hillock called Vallimägi – The Mountain of the Wall. Actually, the park was built on the remains of a historic castle, ceated by the ironclad knights of the Teutonic Order. The legend have it that after Teutonic knights return from a Holy War, the Roman pope, wishing get rid from this dangerously armed division commissioned them to Christianize North European savages “with sword and fire”. Along the way of fulfilling their holy mission, Teutonic knights built many military fortresses because of the strong resistance of locals, Vikings posterity. Besides Christianizing, Teotonic knights fought for the land, and getting it, saw it as payment for their hard work of dessiminating the new religion. Here in the North Europe, they put aside their iron attires, and became peaceful landlords turning free locals into their peasant slaves. In time, the fortress with one remaining watch tower and a stage for local song festivals consecrated by the legend about the treacherous murder of four Estonian kings, probably tribe leaders, became a beautiful park, a real gem of a provincial town.

And nearby, there was the grave of Maluta Scurata, Ivan the Terrible’s henchman, as he was called in our family  legend. To my surprise, Wikipedia confirms the family legend. According to this free encyclopedia, and various other sources,  Malyuta Scurata, officially called Malyuta Scuratov, was killed on January 1st  1573 during Ivan’s Livonian war when Russian army attacked Weizenstein Fortress — White Stone Fortress in the city, called Paide, Järvamaa, Estonia. There was an interesting question, where this morbid historic figure was buried.  According to the family legend and Wikipedia official biography, this tsar’s henchman, murderer and torturer of hard to count number of innocent people was buried near Paide, but according to prezent day Russian sources, he was buried in one of the near Moscow monateries.

In Estonia, near the bus route from Paide to the capital of Estonia, Tallinn, in the middle of a flatland, green fields, can be seen a lonely hillock covered with a wild grow of fir trees. According to the people’s m emory, this is the grave of Maluta Scuratov. However, it would be a futile job to seek a path across these fields toward that grave. It seems, as if it still seems to emit waves of fear and horror. Today, this unruly hillock in the middle of the green flat land looks like the ghostly remain of a giant pirate ship dragged into these fields and dropped there letting nature to swallow it into forgetfulness. Some years ago, the name of Skuratov caught my eye in Daniel Andreev’s unique book The Rose of the World, translated into English by Daniel Shubin. “Rose of the World: A Meta-Philosophy of Hostory,  A Revelation  of Worlds Beyond…” In description of the lowest levels of hell, the world of solid magma Propuilk, one can read: “… not too long ago Maluta Scuratov completed his term of anguish here, while of the   western meta-cultures Robespierre and Saint- Just, and several of the inquisitors of the 16th century, still have not untied their karma here.” (p 242, ISBN  978-0-9662757-9-7)

And upon that city, there was another shadow left behind by Peter The Great’s army passing Paide during tsar’s Northern War (1700-1721). Peter’s army marked his conquest by setting a caldron with the boiling tar on the town square and tossing into it some local residents, the curious ones, who dared to stuck out their stupid sorry noses to learn what was going on in their otherwise quiet town. When caldron was full and cooled off, the terrible remains were hung around to announce the victorious conquest and mollify the rebellious minds who could sympathize with the victims of tsarist tyranny.

GE: – In that romantic little town, I got my hands on a piece of land with old houses on it. There was enough space to lay a large garden with trees and a pond, and flowerbeds. The houses needed repair and modernization, the landscaping had to be done, and we hoped to live there, and raise our children in that provincial quietude far away from sinking Russian both capital’s Petersburg and Moscow.  But God had other plans for us and me personally.
War and revolution turned my arrangements upside down. Instead of taking care of the family nest, I was called to appear in our headquarters in St. Petersburg and told that some specific circumstances would need some specific attention in Estonia in connection with the war, and Russia’s most probable involvement in it. I received my instructions from police clandestine operations division and accepted the umbrella what they offered to cover up the work what I was supposed to do in Estonia. It was a position of an excise official in Estonia, and it included the supervision of the production of potato alcohol. Also, I should stay in touch with St. Petersburg office for some special tasks that may occur as war would unfold.
This arrangement started the most difficult and disgusting page of my life. I was wheeling across Estonia. I was traveling from Paide to St. Peterburg, Narva. I visited frequently various spots where locals distilled potato pulp turning it into transparent, high quality alcohol. They used it freely, and sold it to the highest bidder without bothering to build any storages, or keep any books. I invented for them the simplest accounting system and asked to keep tracks about production details — how much they produced, sold, and how much state taxes they should pay to tsarist  kazna according the law. Of course, they lied, of course, they hid the real income, and it all was known too well by too many. My duty was to squeeze out of them as much as possible. Because the war was coming and every penny was accounted for, or so it was explained to me. Maybe I took things too seriously, and it sandwiched me in between the two opposing forces. One force demanded more taxes, and the other, very powerful one, was life threatening. If I would not turn a blind eye or deaf ear to steeling, or to shameless lies or to blunt crookery under my nose, my family would be in danger.

In St. Petersburg, they knew everything, and Estonian bumpkins knew even more! They knew exactly, how much they produced, how much alcohol went down the throats, how much they sold, what part of the profit belonged to them, and what part should go to   kazna, most importantly — how to cheat-leave the lion’s share of the profits for themselves. I swirled among them, I could sense what their moods were before I even learned to speak some Estonian. We would never survive, if I would not agree be part of the international transactions, so to speak. In other words, I had to know everything about their smuggling operations. As America had banned alcohol officially, their black market of illegal alcohol was booming.

From Baltic Sea ports unnoticeable fishing “boats” started toward America shores carrying more than illegal vodka alone. Some used this root to escape from trials, debts, family obligations. Among navy, fishermen or illegal passengers, there were wanted criminals, adventures, spies, political immigrants, unrecognized geniuses, hungry writers and painters, or stingy types who saved on normal travel expenses. Informers gave me pretty exact picture of quantities of spirit that went “swimming”, and I was sure that I was not alone who was privy to this information. So, lying to my bosses in Petersburg was out of question. Oh my God, how badly I needed my post and salary! This was why I refused to take part in risky speculative operations but I was not able to avoid the main thing, to answer questions about involved sailing captains, their personalities, and their surroundings and if they could be trusted, how they behave under the stress. Sometimes, I had the impression that in Petersburg they couldn’t care less how much vodka makers helped themselves with tsar’s tax money, because all they cared was descriptions of the characters of the sailing captains. Soon I learned why. War is war, and any war takes care of its reconnaissance. Many people were involved in sending spies out and bringing them back. I was oftentimes called to headquarters to discussions what Estonian harbors and “boats” could offer to Russian spy business in upcoming war. I tell you this in order to give you the idea about my “peaceful retirement” in Estonia that finally lead to my sudden fatal heart attack…

I worked hard, but was not able to create lasting wealth for my family, support them, and at the same time renovate  my bargain property. My world was spinning out of control, it was wounded by mutinies, wars and changes of political regimes.  Our parents were not able to fathom what our true expenses were in a faraway country, if you live amidst people who did not trust you, and, actually, does not need you there. My parents were not rich, and they were devastated by my apostasy, and converting to Christianity.

Luba’s father, Piotr Myasoyedov, an aristocrat and liberal who let her daughter marry a Jew, was not in touch with reality. He continued living large and left his beloved daughter Luba penniless. His repertoire listed all sins of Russian aristocracy — cards, Gypsies, coin collections, horses… Firstly, he gave up horses; next, he sacrificed Gypsies and lost his lust of life. Cards took away the rest of his wealth and selling his family collection of rare coins next to nothing, he came to Paide to die surrounded by family, children and grandchildren.

Firstly arrived impressive size wicker baskets from Jeliseev’s with delicatessens like cooked partridges, crystal jars with black caviar and boxed bottles of expensive French wines and Cognack … and then arrived he, the gentleman with hat and black chic walking cane topped by shiny golden knob in form of a lion’s head.

He and his walking stick! If some Estonian women forgot themselves to gossip in the middle of the sidewalk, with that cane he motioned them to step aside and give him the way. Then, slightly touching his hat, he thanked them politely, with a light trace of irony on his lips, and passed solemnly. Funny thing was that nobody had ever questioned his habit to exercise his aristocratic privileges. So deep was his faith into righteousness of given by birth entitlements! In Paide, he turned the unfinished second floor into his headquarters, as I called it, and recognized help from male servants only… I had to pay for a special male servant for him alone! He had his dignity, but were the thoughts about his daughter or grandchildren’s future ever crossing his mind? Maybe our real situation started to down on him gradually! He did not complain, but I could see that our life did not suit him at all. For him, it was too quiet, too boring, too modest. He missed the loud political discussions with inclusion some French words and his own eloquent speeches how to reform Russia. These speeches accompanied with wine lasted in Moscow from sunset to dawn… At one Sunday’s dawn hour, as if tired of his imaginary speeches that he was creating in his mind, this aristocrat and pagan in heart, put on a white shirt, sat under a young apple tree face turned toward rising Sun, fell asleep and never woke up again. Now I know that falling asleep on earth, he woke up on the other side of the veil…

T: – Did you meet him in afterlife?

GE: – Yes, he thanked me for taking care of Luba, and we never met again. So, I learned that in his mind, I was expected to take care of Luba and children whom he left next to nothing but memories. But my body gave up as well. Terrible food what I got in taverns while wheeling across the country contributed to my fall. All they offered were potatoes with greasy pork too heavy for my Jewish stomach taught not to eat pork during eons…

Fortunately, I died at home, in the most difficult moments of my relationship with Luba. No, please, don’t write about it, it is nobody’s business. She knew who I was and I knew who she was – educated in the institute for noble maidens where she was taught to speak French and was prepared to meet completely different life then she found in Paide, in the middle of so agricultural Estonia. There she could speak French to frogs and snakes during her bold trips to swampy forests around the city in search for some mushrooms and breath some fresh air and enjoy the nature, after all!

Something was wrong with our marriage. As a father, I loved your namesake, your aunt Tatyana who died at age 11, and two boys, the first ones, who died in the infancy… I loved them dearly. However, they arrived, the little angels, they blessed us with their smiles, cry, attempts to stand up and make their first steps, and … died. Maybe we were cursed, or some evil power was denying us happiness!

But Andrei, Vladimir, your father, and Yurik, the last one, survived. And as Luba’s father trusted his daughter to me, so I trusted Luba to the care of Andrei and Vladimir, and despite all the odds, wars and nightmare of the frequent change of political regimes, they continued our family’s sad tradition.

Tatyana: – Sad? When I showed up in that Paide scenario, my grand-grandfather Piotr Myasoedov and grandfather Grigory Elmanovich were long gone. But the old house, and our garden were still there maybe not for long, but long enough to seed in me the sense of beauty and everlasting expectation of wonder. I am now 82, but the memory of my childhood garden is still with me. This memory is like gate from ordinary life into magical wonderland where you are never alone or miserable or unhappy, you are always in touch with something greater than ordinary life. Today, about 80 years later, instead of serving endless needs of my ailing body, I can always to escape to my magical world where I would be again young and happy!

I remember my childhood as if being a little princess before I learned the true meaning of this title. I did not need fake crowns or pink puffy dresses because the garden treated me like one. Every morning, as if for me alone, fresh buds were stretching their colorful petals toward Sun becoming flowers, and the chorus of invisible birds was greeting the new day. If the day happened to be rainy, the birds sat quietly listening to the sounds of falling drops and honoring the magical feel of garden’s secret life, when flower spirits were creating a new display of fresh flowers that would come into being in some couple of days after raining stops. Now I can see that my dedushka had good taste, excellent sense of space and vivid imagination of a park planner… I suspect that I have inherited my green thumb and lifelong love toward plants directly from him.

GE: – Thank you, you are trying to tell that my efforts were not lost after all! My garden had helped to shape some souls! Viki told me the same!

T: – Not me alone. When Reds nationalized granny’s property and put town’s kindergarten in your house, many children enjoyed your glorious flower garden upended with mysterious gazebos, inside benches around the table for special, a very secret talks and playing seek and hide. I believe this garden shaped many souls of little men and women.

GE: – I did what I could, but granny was never entirely happy. When a mother’s children die, mother did not care about the world around her. I knew, sometimes she wanted to follow her children into better world, and I tried to keep her busy, but… I knew she thought that her children’s death was God’s punishment for marrying a Jew. Maybe she did not think so, but I assumed this because of the thick cloud of anti-Semitism mixed with the dislike of Russians what we breathed in could poison stronger minds than Luba’s or mine.

T: Grandfather, tell how did you left this world?

GE: -Once, getting out of bed, I decided to douse my torso with cold water, but on my way to well I stumbled at a tree root, lost my balance and fell on the ground. In short, I never reached the well, the last thing I saw were bushes of blooming lilacs that I loved so much. In your time it was already a high and thick wall of lilacs that guarded the privacy of the flower garden. So, the flower beds were not connected to the house, but belonged to gazebo, started the “Nevski prospect”, a straight wide path to the pond, on one side apple orchard and on the other side the plum trees. To me it was like Little Versile that you had visited and I did not get there during my lifetime. I said my thanks to that garden as my consciousness was fading, or so I believed. But no, my consciousness did not fell asleep. On the contrary, it was rather awakening in another garden, in the middle of a blooming meadow, also with lilac bushes here and there, but the lilacs were blooming more lavishly and their flowers were bigger and variation of colors was remarkably rich.

A young and beautiful woman was leaning over me, and I recognized her almost immediately. She was my mother. She arrived to meet me. She was crying, she asked forgiveness for trying to prevent my conversion to Christianity and condemning it, and leaving me alone and never truly supporting me, especially through my difficult university years when oftentimes, I was literally starving. Now she saw it all differently. Our so Jewish family, making me suffer, deprived itself from pleasure of meeting my children, her grandchildren. She started asking about them, and then we recalled old days, when I was her bebichka, this is how she called me. I can’t tell you the sense of peace and complete happiness that overwhelmed me during this meeting with my mother.  It reconciled me with my entire life on earth, I forgave yourself the betrayal of our ancient religion in the name of education*. I forgave yourself for accepting to collect taxes, for being part of tsarist security forces and getting for this unholy work the honorable status of “nominal nobility” in tsarist Russia.

I saw my entire life in new light, and I recalled that I married a young and beautiful woman and how perfectly happy I was at that time, and I think Luba was happy as well.

Luba asked to extend you the invitation to stay with us after your transition. I mean, drop everything, finish this story and come to us, and you will be fine. You are done here. Nothing is tying you to life on earth, as you have no friends and you do not have any unfinished businesses to carry on. I listened how you talked with a woman who called you a minute ago interrupting our conversation. This merzavka called to tell you that she was not able to hand a rare but difficult spirit message to people to whom it was addressed, but whom you were not able to reach directly, but  she could. Easily! As the spirit message was accompanied by an intense suggestion to deliver it at any cost, nepremenno, you delegated this task to a mutual acquaintance. We know  that former Soviet people do not trust each other and suspecting everybody to lie.  And she did! The caller lied to you! She did pass that message to her friends immediately leaving you hanging what to do next. I am telling you this, you did the trick, the addressee received the life changing message from beyond. Forget them all!

On the other side, my mother and I, we were still talking on that blooming meadow when space started changing into a nice plaza of a village. I was going to meet the unknown force, my new “bosses” to be. Soon I was standing in front of the imposing building, the Temple of Justice. I crossed the threshold and asked why I can’t find my way home, because my family was waiting for me to Sunday breakfast and tomorrow I have to go to Viljandi, because I am from Estonia… I mumbled these absurdities realizing that something important has happened to me. How to describe it, what was it, and what these important people in this important building wanted from me? They looked at me, an obnoxious arrival, with unbearable pity. So, I learned that I was dead already and my absence from Sunday breakfast will be readily pardoned. A strong hand was guiding me through a high doorway and I was in a hall that had some resemblance with the Russian Orthodox Church typical interior. But not entirely, it was rather an eclectic mixture of religious symbols, architectural details, some sculptures of the past and future. Did it have a meaning and did I have to pay attention to it? I complained that I left so suddenly having no chance to say my goodbyes to my loved ones and I asked the permission to visit my funerals. I gave them a word of a gentleman that I would not run away, or hide in some impossible to reach places. For some reason it made them laugh, and they – kind of – started liking me.

In short, I got to my funerals in time and I stood there in capacity of an invisible guest facing the terrible hole in earth together with my mourning family through the entire ceremony, until it all was over to everyone’s great relief, mine included.

Tell your folks not to puff up your funerals when it comes to it! Luba’s father spent his last pennies on cooked partridges, and Luba followed the suit. She spent our last pennies on the wake for me treating these all ridiculous old farts, ladies in  shabby, dusty, and darned vintage dresses  with torn rushes, yellowed collars, missing buttons, faded ribbons and veils of yore. Now these shadows of once great empire swirled around her, creating the illusion of some social life.

People do not realize that all the commotion around wakes is aggrandizing grief, ego and the importance of the event. For us it is a nothing, a crap. We do not need it, because it pulls down, and oftentimes makes you feel guilty. You are done with the nightmare called life on earth, but your loved ones are still there and fighting and struggling to make ends meet.

I was back in court, so, I was worried, I was out of excuses to ask for more delays with my trial. I knew that I would take what they would give me. I was told to calm down, as I had nothing to worry about. But you can say to a man whatever you want. The vibrations of negative earth experiences, memories of uncomfortable moments, failures, clumsiness, fears, lies, stubbornness, jealousy were running through my entire body with inconceivable rapidity making me to have seizures and cry. Suddenly these strange vibrations stopped. An Orthodox Jew  was looking at me intently. He struck up a small talk, grabbed me by the elbow, and pushing me forward we started our long walk through various rooms until we entered a large meeting hall that somehow reminded a Church, Synagogue and Sorbonne University at a time. On earth, I dreamed one day become a student of Sorbonne University, but it never happened.

What do you think, why I chose the Baltic States after my Teheran affair was over, the ambassador for whom I worked, retired, and we returned to Moscow. I was asked where I want to live, and I chose Baltic States as closer to Europe as possible.

Now I was shaking from fear, as I gathered that I would be judged by Jews and therefore would be never forgiven for conversion to Christianity. I stood there in front of a row of judges. There were about twelve of them, all orthodox rabis, bearded and hairy, law-abiding pedants, the most bigoted judges. I realized that this was the most unfavorable setting there could be, and I readied myself for the worst outcome possible. They sank into long silence. Finally, one bearded mouth shouted, “Repent, repent, and repent,  you, a convert!” However, being still a Jew, I exploded saying loudly and clearly, “I will not repent!”

There was silence again, and I heard the verdict: “He is not a coward! But now he is not a Jew as well, but maybe he is still a Jew and will come back to us after what he had on earth, a home teacher, a tax collector, a government spy… and when his cup filled up, he gave himself permission to die, an easy way out! And he died leaving his wife, a Russian aristocrat, without means to make ends meet, to carry on after his death! What now, maybe you will change your mind, and will repent, you bastard! His aristocratic wife spent the last money on decent funerals of this Jew, her husband who preferred to escape into death instead of putting up a fight for his family and his four sons. You, the convert, you left your sons penniless to make life for themselves, like real Jews, among unfriendly people who did not trust, did not like and did not pay Russians… And you refuse repent!

Would you be a real Jew, you would steal, denounce, to cheat for your wife and children… and other Jews would help and support you, how was it to spend a lifetime without support? Working for police, you became a law-abiding pedant at heart yourself! You do- not-steal-do-not-cheat attitude came from your aristocratic wife, and her inborn dignity that was not your inborn feature. But on the other hand, you remained a Jew, and you climbed high enough in your situation! For your work for Imperial Secret Services you were awarded with the honorable title of nominal nobility, and you did not leave any spots on the name of Jewish nation with stealing, cheating, or getting low! We respect you for it! But you should be able to count money and will have to learn this. And as a suitable punishment for letting down your wife, we propose the following: one more lifetime to live with the same woman and make up for leaving her without any means to feed the family. Your posterity was left penniless amidst unfriendly people of other nationality and other religion. The special thank personally from us for observing the sacred Jewish custom of honoring book and creating a remarkable home library.

A word about your future.  Your Estonian umbrella was difficult, who likes a tax collector, and your post’s name “excise official” does not make a tax collector more loveable human being. But your direct boss in St. Petersburg Headquarters, instead of paying you more, stole money from you… Instead of fighting the wolf, the bustard, you nodded and played a yes-man. You were afraid to lose the job. But a good fist work during a party for men only would do more than nodding! They would never fire you because of your real work in Secret Services Department. Because of this, in your next lifetime you will be a researcher in an important study of similarities and differences in religions that would stand for tolerance, reconciliation and against religious fanaticism. You will be attacked from both sides — by Orthodox Jews and by Orthodox Russians, and you have to learn to fight, to insist, and to win and ask real money for your work. Now for your penalty, you will be guided to your home, the astral replica of your home on earth, to your wife who is aware of your arrival. So you will start your penalty right away, already during your life in the Astral world.  But one more time, thank you for not profane Jews with stealing, lying and betrayal. The penalty was not given for conversion, you did not betrayed God, because we have ONE GOD for all religions, so how can conversion betray GOD? It is simply impossible, convert to whatever religion you can think of, you will still face the same God! Truly, what difference it makes in what garb one reveres God!

I started thank them, but they stopped my thanks saying that they do not serve in St. Petersburg Government Departments where you thanked your bosses who stole from your salary! Stop thanking, as we did our job! It may happen that we offer you to start studying some chapters of history of world religions while staying here, if you will, or find it interesting! See you around.

One more note from the medium.
Editing this post, and checking my facts about Maluta Skuratov, a paragraph in Russian on the site “Russian  seven” caught my attention:

Неправильно видеть в Малюте одного лишь толкового палача. Он был хитрым и расчетливым придворным. После своего возвышения он выдал своих дочерей за представителей знатнейших фамилий. Одна дочь Скуратова стала женой князя Глинского, другая – Дмитрия Шуйского, брата Василия Шуйского. Третья дочь Мария вышла замуж за  Бориса Годунова и сама стала царицей. http://russian7.ru/2013/12/7-pravdivyx-faktov-o-malyute-skuratove;

Maluta, starting as a nobody, was more than tsar’s enthusiastic butcher. He was the Ivan’s manipulative servant as well. Reaching the real power, he settled his family affairs most successfully. One daughter became a wife of duke Galitsin, another daughter became wife of Dmitri Shuisky, (top elite family of  Ivan’s time) and the third daughter married future tsar Boris Godunov, becaming herself the tsarinna.

In order to support his family Maluta Skuratov did whatever it take, like torturing and murdering without any count or hesitation, and spent centuries in the darkest corner of hell in his afterlife…  This is something to think about, isn’t it?