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A Sip of Water

With the ticket in my pocket to fly the next morning to Berlin, I was registering as a guest into hotel Moskva, as the trip to the Berlin’s International Film Festival  started still from the airport Sheremetyevo near Moscow, the capital of the Soviet Union. I had slight headache, and some unwanted body temperature.  It was important to stay healthy, as the Soviets did not pay hospitalization bills of their citizens, if they fell ill during their business trips abroad. In general, the sick were not allowed to board the planes, and their  boarding passes were rendered to the status of a useless pieces of paper. If you happen to be one of these disappointed travelers, you would be advised go home and drink herb tea to fasten your recovery.

I had increasing chances to become tomorrow morning one of those who would be denied boarding the plane to Berlin. My flu was becoming more and more visible on the hourly bases. At the evening before flying date, the temperature reached over 40 Celsius, my nose was stuffy and running, throat sore, lips were visibly chapped and cracked. To cut long story short, I had a legal flu! I crawled into my Moskva hotel’s luxurious bed that I did not have at home, and decided, if tomorrow I will be denied the flight to Berlin, let today enjoy this incredible bed, and have a good sleep, no matter what!

At night I woke up. I was not in hotel Moskva, but in picturesque Rila, a Bulgarian Alpine monastery trying to drink water from a small fountain set to satisfy the thrust of those who were approaching the church. The entrance was invitingly open and candles’ light was bright enough to see what was going on in the church – a traditional Eastern Orthodox sermon for complaining to God and His angels on difficulties, never ending problems of daily life of a person in flesh.

I took one more sip of water at that outdoor fountain and wondered, how I got here, and what was I doing here? The instant when these deep thoughts touched me, I was back in Moskva hotel and fell asleep again.

The next morning my temperature was normal, and my cracked lips … were no cracked anymore, they were absolutely clean and normal. I was flying to Berlin. Was a Baltic Documentary Retrospective a success? Yes and no!

Already back in Moscow, I went straight to Sheremetyevo to catch my flight to Tallinn. TV stands aired reports from Soviet delegation adventures in Berlin Film Festival.  None of these reports mentioned the Baltic retrospective that I, as a witness, as a participant, saw attracting enough Western media attention to be mentioned by Moscow Central TV programs.  But they kept their mouths shut about Baltic retrospective, unique program, maybe the first and the only one that proved the existence of multinational filming in the Soviet Union. Yes, we had our “Moscow Hollywood” in form of the Moscow film fabric – Mosfilm, but we had something that Hollywood did not have, and cannot have – multinational cinema –Gruzia films, Latvian and Estonian documentaries, Kirgiz films… but perestroika did not recognize it as an achievement, rather a nedorazumenye—a misunderstanding! When West started to by documentaries from Baltic Retrospective, Moscow Goskino asked for every documentary prices as high, if they were feature films,  flicks for public entertainment in city theaters, money makers, not cultural phenomena.

I was standing in front of a Sheremetyevo TV stand and while waiting my flight to Tallinn, watching every Moscow Central TV report from Berlin, and the truth about perestroika started to dawn in my stupid, naive, Estonian film critic head. The game was changing. Forget rules that worked in the Soviet Union, learn new rules that will come from the West, forget our so called national cinemas… They will stay in past with both good and bad experiences. Soon two Latvian filmmakers Andreas Lapinsh and Gvido Zvaizgne would be shot in broad daytime on a Riga street by the Soviet military during confrontation with the local national movement forces.

I, the participant of the Berlin film festival, a insignificant film critic, will receive death threats over the repeated phone calls from local KGB. “We will first torture and shot your son in front of you – then you!” In 1989, this repeated over and over announcement made me fled  from Estonia with $15 in my pocket, and zero English on my lips to California.

Did I survive? I have forgotten details of my awaited so passionately trip to Berlin International Film Festival, and there was only one “lesson” that counted – a sip of holy water that eliminated flu with stuffy nose, sore throat, high temperature and swollen lips – overnight, giving me chance to learn deeper  truth about perestroika, and many other things so beautiful on the surface, and so unimportant in its essence.

Did the sip of holy water change me? Of course – not,  I was too superficial, I did not see a real value of that lesson, I forgot it, I took it for granted… and only now, when leaving this planet, I see real value of it, the true power of our mind that we ignore, do not trust, and have no idea how to handle it for benefit of ourselves and others.  Nevertheless, the memory of this experience survived my long and not so easy life — without teaching me, only reminding me that out there are great things that had nothing to do with our boring daily existence. But they are there for those who care reaching for the stars.       

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Mary of Magdala Speaks from Beyond

May 5, 2009

On that day May 5, 2009, about 11 years ago, I had a most unlikely spirit visitor honoring my lonely apartment in Simi Valley, a Los Angeles’ skirt area near Thousand Oaks and 101 freeway. The visitor announced her name Mary of Magdala and the goal of her visitation to clarify the misconception regarding her status among Biblical characters. I recorded her words as quickly as I could. Reading her message today, I learned that it is as interesting today, as it was eleven years ago when I recorded it, and I decided to publish it again.

El Greco. Mary of Magdala

I was neither someone’s mistress, nor His wife! I repeat, I was not HIS wife. I was HIS disciple. And I was never a prostitute.  I was a Judea woman from a wealthy family.

I was seeking and working for liberation of my soul — a way  liberation that was achieved in solitude via spiritual practices, like  meditation and prayer, and healing the sick and feeding the hungry. It is  true that I was seen as His favorite disciple.  He did not like me as a woman, but he often preferred my company for the ability to listen and understand what He was talking about.  There were not many who did, if any.   Most of His disciples who became apostles, developed strong psychic abilities and became incomparable healers.  Today it is, probably, impossible to imagine, how hard was the work that they did back in these days. They had no time to refine themselves as philosophers. They healed crowds of the sick. And there were always prostitutes in these crowds.

They flocked around Jesus and his disciples seeking healing and absolution from their sins. Most of the prostitutes had been battered and awful smell issued from their festering wounds. Jesus healed many of them and most never returned to that “easy” profession again. Jesus had no intimate relations with them or any other woman at a time. He devoted his energy to healing.

Many people want to know if he had a wife.  I think, he had a wife during the “secret period,” simply, the undiscovered period of His life before He emerged as a teacher to acquire the necessary number of disciples. The followers and believers were needed to build a certain level of power to “germinate” the seeds of His teaching.  A new religion had to be born to create a new civilization.  The life and death of Jesus released the energy for a new stepping stone in history of humanity.

I believe, Jesus’ wife lived in a Jewish colony around Alexandria, and she remained there during the years of Jesus’ teaching. After the Crucifixion, she was forced to flee to France for the sake of their children.

Many of Jesus’ followers fled to France in fear of being charged with dissent. I did not know all the refugees personally and I never met His wife in person. But I met Jesus’ children in France. We continued healing and spreading esoteric awareness.  There we trained and helped people to expand their awareness with a variety of spiritual practices. For instance, I do not speak Russian and there is no one here right now to translate, or help me, but I can take Russian out of your mind and I convey this simple text back to you easily.

Mirra Alfassa, the Indian guru who had such a great impact on you, was my disciple in France. In that incarnation she was a Judean refugee, and she also fled from Jerusalem. She was a fragile, tender young girl passionately in love with Jesus. Out of desperation over the events that brought us to France, she contemplated suicide. I thought her an alternative way of carrying the torch, by going out of body and traveling in spirit to the multiple worlds beyond. She did not live long. While out of body, at one point, she decided not to return and went on in search of Jesus. In her last incarnation, Mirra’s three marriages did not prevent her from her search of Jesus. Instead, she found Aurobindo.

The medium, this message was given to you to pass it into your e-newsletter to start to clear   the misconception. I was never Jesus’ wife, mistress or harlot. I was a scholar in my own right. That’s all. I am Mary of Magdala and I advise you go to church, spend more time meditating and praying, because you are already on the path.

Without saying good bye she disappeared in thin air. She was gone, but not entirely, leaving behind a stream of the finest aroma of blooming violets. Vladimir, my nephew, gifted me BVLGARI perfume lately. I put a few drops of it on my hand to compare both aromas. The one, left behind by Mary of Magdala was finer and cleaner beyond comparison… To me it confirmed the origin of my guest from one of the  higher vibrational realms, completely unreachable to us, mere mortals.    

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