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Второй Залп Авроры

Мена зовут Владимир Владимирович Маяковский, и я умер 14 апреля 1930 году. Версия самоубийства была запущена как пуля в публику, которая ожидала моего появления на очередной дискуссионной встрече тех, кого заботило будущее России. Мы были непослушными детьми, которых предстояло освоить, переучить и переделать в нового советского человека, как казалось новоиспеченному правительству пролетариата.  

Я рассказал вам в общих чертах, что никакого самоубийства не было, а был вызов зайти на Лубянку опознать какого-то мелкого шпиона, который втирался в московские компании «около» литературных кругов.  Я пришел. Мне показали фотографии, и я опознал бедолагу, которого признали за шпиона, и как я выяснил с последствии, уже освоившись в астральном мире, что его  расстреляли, и что он отлично устроен в астрале на довольно приличном уровне. Хватит о нем. 

Далее, разобравшись с не-шпионом, люди с Лубянки принялись за меня, и я от страха стал неловко отшучиваться, пока не понял, что отсюда я вряд ли выйду, и что они меня не из-за шпиона к себе в гости пригласили, а из-за моей последней поездки во Францию.  Там я ухаживал совершенно безуспешно за Татьяной Яковлевой, отчаянной буржуйкой и модницей, и женщиной, которая была благополучно замужем за миллионером. В ее глазах я был нищим, который зарился на деньги ее мужа, и не более того. Кроме того, я покупал там Пижо для Лили Брик, и съездил в Ниццу повидать мою американскую любовь Элли и мою дочь Елену, которую Америка назовет по мужу Патришей Томпсон. В будущем у ней будет сын, мой внук Родя, то есть Roger.

А в Ницце моя трехлетняя дочь смотрела на меня моими глазами, так мне казалось.  У нее были мои глаза.  У меня не возникло никаких сомнений, что она моя дочь, и сердце мое скрипело, потому что я предчувствовал, что более я ее никогда не увижу. Судьба позаботилась о моей дочери. Элли вышла удачно замуж за человека, который обожал их обоих, и мать, и дочь, и Томпсон был в сто раз более удачлив в финансовых делах, чем я. Я знал и понимал, что Елена получит хорошее американское образование, а следовательно и работу и будет обеспеченным человеком, не в пример мне, который, не имея  приличного костюма, покупал «автомобильчик» не своей жене, с последующей расплатой на Лубянке, потому что в то время «честные советские пролетарии» и думать не смели о буржуазной забаве – собственном автомобиле.   

Поговорим лучше о Булгакове и Мастере и Маргарите. Уже тогда ходили по рукам версии романа, которые я прочел все без исключения.  Как я уже говорил вам, меня ошарашили подозрениями, которые в те времена считались обвинениями — окончательными, и пересмотру не подлежащими. Итак, мне предъявили обвинение в том, что я, якобы, искал русских иммигрантов по всей Франции, включая Ниццу, чтобы договариваться о кодах по тексту булгаковского романа «Мастер и Маргарита» для системы общения во французской заговорческой контрреволюционной организации  Бульдозер, цель которой являлась свержение советской власти со всеми ее свершениями… Бред сумасшедшего.  Я где-то когда-то неосторожно пошутил, что считаю наивысшим свершением пролетариата создание коммунальных квартир для решения проблемы перенаселенности Москвы. После создания колхозов, русское крестьянство ринулось в города перекрещиваться в пролетариат.

Короче, на Лубянке, они перешли от шуток к делу. Меня связали и били профессионалы заплечных дел.  Ответить я не мог, потому что руки мои были связаны. В процессе избиения я понял, что настала расплата за сотрудничество с властью, которой я доверился, не понимая, с кем я на самом деле имел дело.

Обратно в тело я уже не вошел, а они продолжали бить мертвеца. Мой труп привезли в мою квартиру. Из него лилась кров на пол, на ковер. Затем они решали, какая пуля подходила более к имитации самоубийства, ее оставили, остальные вытащили, и кровь смыли, подтерли.

Я кричал, орал, но меня никто не слышал, я кидался на них, но мой кулак пролетал  сквозь их грязные физиономии… пока  неведомая мне сила не унесла меня из моей квартиры в иной мир, о котором людям на земле ничего не известно.    

«Вы сотрудничали с органами НКВД?»

«Нет, меня туда звали, но я говорил, что занят, вашей работой пусть занимаются другие».

Самое страшное началось после смерти в Храме Правосудия. Мы миновали толпу, и меня усадили на одинокий стул за длинным столом в небольшом помещении. Во мне промелькнуло, неужели будут снова бить? Неожиданно все места за продолговатом столом оказались занятыми, и я понял, что меня разглядывают с любопытством, как дикого зверя в зверинце. 

Воцарилась молчание, я надеялся, что на этот раз обойдется без  бития, но кто знал, чем дело кончится. Самый важный из судей спросил меня, какое обращение будет мне милее, господин Маяковский, или товарищ Маяковский. То есть, битье продолжалось, но на этот раз не кулаками, а словами и понятиями. Почему-то я не знал, что ответить.Снова воцарилось молчание. На этот раз я решил осмотреть их, чтобы понять каково ответа они ждут. Я ответил не очень громко, но строго: «Как хотите!»

Мой ответ им не понравился, и я решил ничего не отвечать, если это сойдет мне с рук. Кто-то, видимо бывший белый офицер, спросил, давая мне понять, что им известно обо мне все до деталей. «Так значит, вас, верного слугу коммунистов, били в застенках НКВД? Судить вас пришли не совсем обычные судья, здесь те, которых били, и палачи, которые били».

Мне хотелось встать и уйти, но идти было некуда. Меня спросили, мол, какого бы наказания я пожелал тем, кто били меня до смерти?

Я ответил, это не моя забота, мне бы сперва свои поломанные кости залечить…

Голос Маяковского замолк. Наше интервью завершилось.

Недавно я написала пост «Ужасная догадка» о вкладе американцев в построение сталинского социализма в России.

Массовые аресты по всей стране родили страх и ужас, которой вскорости дорисует образ нового человека, советского человека, который пока ни у кого восторга не вызывает. А в тридцатые годы всех арестованных обвиняли в связи с некой иностранной державой и подозрительными сделками с иностранцами. Мне кажется, что смерть Маяковского в 1930 год мог бы прозвучать как второй залп Авроры.   

Первый залп символизировал начало Великой Октябрьской революции, второй залп ознаменовал начало страшной эры массовых арестов в тридцатые годы с их сегодня забытым страданием миллионов невинных людей.  

Уже закончив интервью, Маяковский добавил:

«Когда я покупал Пижо для Лилии Брик в Париже, она писала тот смертельный донос, который убил меня 14 апреля 1930 года».

 Поистине, второй залп Авроры ознаменовал начало той мрачной эпохи в советской истории, которая сломала дух народа на века.

Через несколько часов Маяковский вернулся, заявив следующее, мол,
оказывается, в архиве Лубянки, в вполне доступной форме все это время лежали папки с протоколами о моем избиении, и моей насильственной смерти.

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The Second Volley of Aurora

I am Vladimir Mayakovski, and I died on April 14, 1930. The announcement of my suicide had the effect of a bullet se bullet effect on the public, which was waiting for my appearance at the discussion meeting of those who cared about the future of Russia. We were naughty children who were to be mastered, retrained and remade into Soviet men, according to the plan of the newly minted government of the proletariat.

As I already mentioned, I did not commit a suicide. Instead, I received an invitation to come to Lubyanka, the NKVD’s headquarter, to identify a petty spy who was rubbing himself in Moscow literary circles. So, I had to obey and pay a visit to them. They showed me some photographs, and I identified the poor fellow, who was recognized as a spy. Later, when I became more familiar with the astral world, I learned that he was shot, and on the Judgment Day he received a perfectly arranged stay in the fairly decent level of the astral world. Enough about him.

Having dealt with the spy identification, the Lubyanka people started picking on me. Out of creepy fear, I joked awkwardly until I realized that I may not get out of here and that the aim of their invitation was not the identification of a spy, but my last trip to France, where I courted unsuccessfully for Tatyana Yakovleva, a complete bourgeois and fashionista, safely married to a millionaire. In her eyes, I was a beggar who cried for her husband’s money, and nothing more. In addition, I bought Pajo there for Lily Brick, and went to Nice to see my American love Ally and my daughter Elena, whom America will call Patricia Thompson by husband. In future she will have sone, my grandson Rodya, in other words, Rodger. My three-year-old daughter looked at me with my eyes. She had my eyes. I had no doubt that she was my daughter, and my heart was squeaking, because I had a hunch that I would never see her again. Destiny took care of my daughter. Ellie married a man who adored them both, mother and daughter, and Mr. Thompson was a hundred times more successful in financial matters than me. I knew and understood that Elena would receive a good American education, and therefore work, and would be a wealthy person, unlike me, a person without a decent suit, who was looking for a “little car” not for his wife, but a mistress — with sad pay-off at Lubyanka. It was time, when a “honest Soviet proletarian” could not imagine of owning an item of the bourgeois fun — a personal car.

Let’s talk better about Bulgakov and his novel Master and Margarita. The copies of the manuscript were changing readers’ hands and I was one of them. I hunt for all versions of this masterpiece and red them all. As I already told, I was shocked by suspicions of being involved in some mystical dealings. In those days, suspicions were equalized with accusations, and such accusations were final, and never revised. And KGB accused me approaching Russian immigrants throughout France, including Nice, to set codes out of the text of  Bulgakov’s novel for the communication system in the French conspiratorial counter-revolutionary organization Bulldozer. They purpose was to overthrow the Soviet regime with all its accomplishments …  Somewhere I once inadvertently joked that I consider the highest achievement of the proletariat the creation of communal apartments to solve the problem of Moscow overpopulation. After the creation of collective farms, the Russian peasantry rushed into the cities to cross themselves in the proletarians. In short, in the Lubyanka, they switched from jokes to business.

I was tied up and beaten by professionals. I could not answer, because my hands were tied. In the process of beating, I realized that it was a retribution for cooperation with the authorities, which I trusted, not understanding with whom I actually dealt. I did not enter the body back, and they continued to beat and shot the dead man. My corpse was brought to my apartment. The blood was dripping on the carpet. Then they decided which bullet was more suited to simulate suicide. Finally, they found a proper one, and others were pulled out. The blood was wiped from the carpet.

 I screamed and screamed, but no one heard me, I rushed at them, but my fist flew through their dirty faces … until an unknown force took me from my apartment to another world that people on earth do not know about.

“Have you cooperated with the NKVD?”

“No, they called me there, but I said that I was busy, let others do your work.”

The worst thing started later, when the injuries inflicted on me by the beating in the Lubyanka were healed.

As soon as I landed in a new world, some serviceable personalities led me to the Temple of Justice. I understood the importance of what is happening. We passed the crowd, and I was seated on a lonely chair at a long table in a small room. Will they beat again? Flashed through my head. Suddenly, all the places behind the oblong table were occupied, and I realized that they were looking at me curiously as at a wild beast in a menagerie. Gradually, the picture began to clear up. I was in the Temple of Justice as a defendant, that is, in the same capacity as in Lubyanka. Silence reigned, I hoped that this time it would do without beating, but who knew how the matter would end?

The most important judge asked me which appeal would be prettier to me, Mr. Mayakovski, or Comrade  Mayakovski. That is, the beating continued, but this time not with fists, but with words and concepts. For some reason I did not know what to answer. Silence reigned again, but this time I decided to look at them all in order to understand what kind of answer they were waiting for. I answered not very loudly, but strictly: “As you wish!”

They did not like my answer, and I decided not to answer if it got away with me. Someone, apparently a former white officer, asked, letting me know that they knew all the details about me. “So, you, a faithful servant of the Communists, were beaten in the dungeons of the NKVD? It was not the ordinary judge who came to judge you, here are those who were beaten and the executioners who beat.”

I wanted to leave, but there was nowhere to go. They asked me, what punishment I would wish for those who beat me to death?

I replied, this is not my concern, should I first heal my broken bones?

Our interview stopped here. Vladimir Mayakovski went silent. The interview was over.

Lately I wrote a post “Scary Guess,” about strange reasons why no one remembered American industrialists input into building Stalin’s socialism in Russia.

Massarrests of people covered the truth with clouds of fear. Accusations always connected people with some foreign power and some suspicious deals with these foreign powers. 

In my mind, this interview sounds like the second volley of Aurora. The first volley started the Great October Revolution in Russia, the second volley started the terrible wave of mass arrest through the thirties – fear, denunciations, lies, Gulags, incredible suffering of people.

And the final note. Later , Mayakovski added a sentence:

“When I bought Pijo for Lilian Brick in Paris, she was writing the lethal denunciation on me that killed me on April 14, 1930.”   

 Truly, this was an ideal blast marking the start one of the darkest era in the Soviet history that broke the spirit of the nation for centuries.   

A few hours later, Mayakovski returned, saying the following.
It turned out that all this time the protocols about my beating, and my violent death were safe and sound in the Lubyanka archive, in quite accessible form. I hope that soon we can read more interesting materials from that archive.

School Desks Instead of Prison Bunks

October 2, 2013 — January 15, 2020

Raisa M. Gorbachev Speaks from Afterlife

Raisa Maximovna Gorbachev (1932-1999), the spouse of Mikhail Gorbachev, was known for supporting preservation of Russian cultural heritage.

Hello Tatyana, they told me that you recorded the B.B. story, where he denied committing suicide and suspected Abramovich’s lawyers in silencing him in fear that he could file the contra criminal charges and win back money that he had lost to Abramovich during first trial. The fewer names, the better! We still live in world of our past. It wouldn’t leave us any time soon. Putin is neither bad nor good, he is sitting there, because he was put there by higher powers. He was chosen, because he was “nikakojcolorless. As a matter of fact, the world is ruled by different forces that people know nothing about. So, bleak Putin was OK for the job!

In Russia, someone’s pocket swells, but from our point of view, it doesn’t matter much, because after his death, everything that went in —will come out the same way, and finally, it will fall into the national treasury, possibly at time when Russia will truly need it. Let’s proceed quietly and calmly… Let’s forget all these eccentric women who bothered my husband with all thinkable and unthinkable claims. You happened to know some of them. I took them out of Misha’s (Mikhail’s) way, because they strangled him, crowding under the door day and night … Do not interrupt me. I want to convey a few words to Mikhail, whom I love very much and who, I believe, loves me too. I know everything about you, I asked around and was pleased to learn that you are a person who does not pain for belonging to usually sought-after social classes or ranks.

I would like to tell Misha that I love him and often visit him. Being in spirit, I suggest cook not to feed him wrong food. I succeeded to remove the sweetened juices from his menu, and he does not need to drink natural juices glass after glass either. I asked cook to give him Gruzian mineral water Borjomi. And when they run out of Borjomi, I let them go by with the local mineral water. It is recommended to everybody to drink plenty of mineral water containing salts that are good to us.

I was told to be careful, as my every move is checked, and here, in afterlife, I still don’t have full freedom. Some day I would like to talk about it more, if God gives me pleasure see you again in your humble cloister-like living space. 

Some words about you — what you do not know about yourself. You are given only one opportunity to return to normal life provided that you will tolerate the same difficulties from someone that you do in your present circumstances… You know who I’m talking about. In future it will not be worse or better, it will stay the same. If you will not accept it, you will find yourself in a monastery.  But this is not your time to be there yet. Accepting him for what he is, you will find your own writing style. Break off all ends in your present life, you do not need nobody here, including your dearest relatives. … I am waiting for you to fully enter the channel, so I can start writing letter to Misha.

 “Misha, I am not alone, but I am with you. I am with you always, and more often than you think. Oftentimes, I am in your kitchen, where I command the cook to prepare healthy food for you. Sometimes I get very tired, because he is stubborn and does not listen to me. And he makes me to turn the sauce-boats on his apron in order to divert his stubborn attention and make him listen to my suggestions.

Misha, I don’t like that you grieve over trifles. Nobody wants what we had in the Soviet Union that you let go. If someone want it back, those were old decrepit Communists of the last convocation—alcoholics and sick from gluttony—as any thinkable food has appeared in the Russian stores. No longer people stand in lines to get it, there are no food lines anymore! Does it has bettered the today’s Russia? Of course not.  People are still stealing, deceiving, finger pointing and denouncing at each other. But there are no queues, and everyone can buy what he likes, and ride whatever car he wishes. Russia got what it wanted, but so far freedom has not changed them.

Doubts torment you, Misha, but it is not your fault that they still steel and complain. You gave them their coveted freedom that they asked for, but for the starters, they kicked you out of our homeland. Nobody can give them happiness and dignity; they must begin to look for dignity for themselves! But how? Misha, you did not suppose to heal their genes, because it is beyond the human power. No one can change their genes damaged for centuries of slavery. And it was not you who killed the genes of the Russian nobility. You could not remake their history for their liking. Neither you, nor anyone else could do anything else for them. You opened the gates for growth and development. I want to assure you that, oddly enough, the signs of growth and development are there. The sprouts of changes may be weak, there are not as many of them as we would like to have them, but they are there, and no force will strangle them. Khodorkovsky, and Berezovsky, and Abramovich and many others will remain examples of entrepreneurship for many years. They proved that it is possible to think with your own head, if on a man shoulders sits a head, not a watermelon. 

People will seek to work, produce, and crate without stealing. When it becomes more profitable not to steal then steal, people will change. Anyway, people will change after wars and ruin caused by the upcoming gigantic devastation when the powers that be ruin this planet, our Earth, and will seek another planet in some other Galaxy in order to start it all over again.

I’m glad that our medium knows something, but not enough to fully understand what I’m talking about. But you will understand. You did exactly what you had to do. You opened the gates for salvation, and some pushed through that gate. And it will save more folks when people will get it that there are not milk-and-honey countries accepting the Russian runaways. The day is near when Russians start discover their own country with its options to grow and create lasting wealth for their posterity. And they, the advanced ones, or those who consider themselves as such, will stop hanging around in restaurants squandering money, but they will attend to study in universities. School desks instead of bunks, isn’t it what you dreamed about!  

………………………………..

Tatyana, you will live long enough to write some more. Keep writing, you heard me right…

My husband keeps vintage closets, I tell him throw out everything for air and space, as I have done it all my life on earth. Do it for aiding easier breathing at home. You are afraid to throw it out on your own. But Samuel will come in and take care of reducing the contents of the cabinets, and deciding wat to keep, and what to through out. Throw away those cherry and bluish tracksuits. You love them so much that you have worn them to holes. Go with Sam to the stores or ask him to order new ones straight from computer web stores. When you will go out with Samuel to look for them in stores, put on your black glasses, and no one will recognize you, Americans have their own problems to think about, and you will buy everything undisturbed—taking time to chose and think what you really need and like. Look in fashion magazines what people are wearing in nowadays, and Sam will find for you everything you like. Here people don’t carry clothes to holes. Let them throw everything away and bring in 12 new sets, 4 for the winter, 8 for the summer, the summer is longer than the winter, and the summer clothes wear out faster because of the Southern heat. Sam will tell you everything about shoes to wear. Leave the costumes for the official appearances, but change everything else, I said. The fashion is changing rapidly, Sam knows everything about it and he will gladly enlighten you regarding swings of fashion and trends. I, and some others, I will not give their names, will whisper Sam what to buy, if he himself will not guess it. Do not be afraid to spend an extra penny, you have earned it!

The Reagans have prepared a nice place for us, we will be their neighbors. And do not take too seriously the endless whining that comes from Russia. They whined during both Alexanders and both Nicholas. And under Lenin, and under Прощалыга (‘Rouge,’ a nickname for Stalin) Do not ask where he is, and what happened to him. They say that about 137 million human souls hang on him, for which the reckoning has not yet begun.

Pray for yourself and pray for us. God is merciful. You ended that terrible era bloodlessly. Whoever died during that time did it by his personal destiny.  

If you want to talk to me, do it however you like—in thoughts or out loud, I will hear you.

I would like to change your tableware; but it can wait. The simpler the better. I am hugging you. I do not say goodbye to you, time will pass by quickly. I hope talking to you with help of a medium soon.”

I miss Misha terribly, but I do not want to rush him to leave earth before his time. He needs to endure everything to the end. … Tata, you also need to stay for a while, because you have not reached the point of giving up your fights and challenges. Let do not forget each other. We will have something to talk about.

© 2019

Recorder by Tatyana Elmanovich, the certified medium

Парты вместо нар

October 2, 2013

Image result for Raissa Gorbacheva

Раиса Максимовна Горбачева говорит из астрального мира

Здравствуйте, Татьяна, мне рассказывали, как вы записали рассказ Б.Б. (рассказ Бориса Березовского). Пусть так, чем меньше имен, тем лучше! Мы все еще в том мире, мире нашего прошлого. Мы из него не выбрались и не выберемся в ближайшее будущее. Путин не плохой и не хороший, он сидит, его держат, потому что он никакой совершенно, а властвуют миром сейчас совершенно иные силы, о которых на земле практически ничего неизвестно.
В России, карман кое кого набухает, но с нашей точки зрения, это имеет мало значения, так как после его смерти, все что вошло, таким же путем и выйдет, и, наконец, попадет в народную казну, возможно, в момент, когда казна будет действительно нуждаться в деньгах. Давайте говорить спокойно. …Давайте, забудем ту взбалмошную бабу, которая у всех на голове сидела, надоедая до одури своими претензиями. Я таких убирала с пути Мишы, потому что они его душили, стоя толпами под дверьми денно и нощно… Не перебивайте меня. Я хочу передать несколько слов Михаилу, которого я очень люблю и который, как мне кажется, и меня любит. Мне все известно о вас, я поинтересовалась, мне доложили, и я осталась довольна тем, что вы человек, который ни в какие ряды не лезет.
Передайте Мише, что я его люблю и часто навещаю. Я помогаю повару не кормить его тем, чем не надо. Я убрала полностью соки подслащенные, да и натуральных соков ему не надо пить стаканами. Я прошу давать ему боржоми. А когда не подвозят боржоми, прошу давать ему местную минеральную воду. Вообще всем бы надо пить побольше минеральной воды, в которой есть те соли, которые нужны организму.
Мне сказали, чтобы я была осторожной, потому что следят за каждым моим шагом, мне и здесь нет свободы, мне бы хотелось с вами и об этом поговорить, если Бог даст мне такую возможность и такое удовольствие вырываться к вам в гости, в вашу скромную обитель, если можно так выразиться.
О вас два слова, кто вы есть и чего вы о себе не знаете, и что мне доложили. Вам дана только одна возможность вернуться к нормальной жизни при условии, что вы будете терпеть то, что вы терпите от него сейчас. Вам известно, о ком я говорю. Хуже не будет, но и не лучше. Иначе будет обитель сразу. Вам просто рано в обитель, и через него вы пройдете свой писательский путь. Обрывайте всякие концы земные. На уровне, на котором, вы провели жизнь, вам уже никто не нужен, включая ваших дражайших родственников. … Не отвлекайтесь, я жду, когда вы полностью войдете в канал, и я смогу начать письмо Мише.
«Миша, я не одна, я с тобой. Я с тобой всегда, и чаще, чем ты думаешь. И я не только на кухне, где я командую поваром, чтобы он кормил тебя по-человечески. Иногда я очень устаю, потому что он упрям и меня не слушает, мне приходится переворачивать соусники ему на передник, чтобы отвлечь его упорное внимание, и заставить прислушиваться к тому, что ему говорят.
Миша, мне не нравится, что ты печалишься по пустякам. Никто не хочет того, что было кроме полоумных состарившихся и одряхлевших коммунистов последнего созыва, спившихся и обожравшихся снедью, которая появилась в продаже в России, и за которой больше не надо стоять в мучительных очередях, вообще не надо стоять в очередях. Стало ли лучше в России? Конечно, нет. Там все также воруют, обманывают и друг на друга капают. Но очередей нет, и все могут кататься куда пожелают. Россия получила, чего хотела, но пока это ее не изменило.
Тебя томят сомнения, но пойми, ты ни при чем. Ты дал им свободу, ты дал им то, чего они просили, а они тебя из дому выгнали. Счастья и достоинства им никто дать не может, они должны начать сами искать, чем заняться, что делать, и научиться достоинству. Сами, сами. Но как? Миша, ты им гены не обязан был переделывать, потому что это не в силах человека. Никто им их рабских генов изменить не может. А русские дворянские гены не ты убивал. Ты им их историю не мог переделать. Ни ты, да и никто другой ничего более сделать для них не смог. Ты открыл им ворота к росту и развитию. И я хочу тебя заверить, что, как ни странно, рост и развитие происходят, ростки могут быть слабыми, их не так много как хотелось бы, но они есть, и их уже никакая сила не задушит. И Ходоровский, и Березовский, и Абрамович и многие другие останутся примерами предпринимательства на долгие годы. Они показали, что это возможно, что возможно своей головой думать, если она на плечах имеется. Если на плечах не арбуз, а голова!
Люди будут искать сделать что-либо не воруя, и когда станет выгоднее не воровать, чем воровать—воровать перестанут. Но это сделают уже другие, те кто пойдут далее после войн и разорения, после предстоящей гигантской разрухи, когда власть имущие разорят эту планету, нашу Землю до конца, и не примутся за другую планету в какой-нибудь другой Галактике.
Я рада, что наш с тобой медиум что-то знает, но не настолько, чтобы понять до конца, о чем я говорю. Но ты поймешь. Ты сделал именно то, что ты должен был сделать. Ты открыл им ворота для спасения, и кое-кто спасся. И будет далее спасаться. Но теперь уже не тем, что сбегать, потому что они поняли, что бежать им уже некуда. И они, передовые, или те, кто себя считают таковыми, перестанут торчать в ресторанах и проматывать народные деньги, а разбегутся по университетам и сядут за парты. Парты школьные вместо нар, разве это не то, о чем ты мечтал! Парты вместо нар, разве ты не об этом мечтал?»
…………………………….

Если будете вести себя как сейчас, то проживете еще столько, что успеете написать довольно много. Продолжайте писать, Татьяна, вы правильно услышали! Он наши допотопные шкафы и шкафчики держит. Не надо! Надо выкинь все для воздуха и пространства, как я всю жизнь выкидывала. Продолжай, чтобы тебе легче дышалось. Ты боишься выкинуть, потому что меня нет пойти в магазин и заказать тебе то, что тебе нужно. Знаешь что! Самуил зайдет и займется уменьшением содержимого шкафов, и освежением того, что надо носить. Выброси те вишневый и голубоватый спортивные костюмы. Ты их любишь, то их доносил до дыр. Надо обрести новый, послушайся меня, сделай себе удовольствие, пойдите с Сэмом в магазин, Сэм знает, куда вам положено ходить. Надень черные очки, никто тебя не узнает, американцам не до тебя, сам понимаешь, сейчас, и вы все спокойно купите. Посмотри журналы, Сэм тебе все покажет, и купит спорт одежду для прогулки. Здесь это не донашивают до дыр и пота, который краску съедает со временем. Пусть выкинут все исподнее и завезут 12 новых комплектов, 4 на зиму, 8 на лето, лето здесь дольше зимы, и летнее от жары скорее снашивается. Сэм тебе скажет все про обувь. Оставь костюмы на официальные выходы, но неофициальные выходные все смени, все, я сказала. На них мода быстро меняется, Сэм поможет, спроси, его чтобы он купил, он все тебе подскажет. А мы придем к вам — я и еще кое-кто, не буду называть имен, и мы Сэму нашепчем, что покупать, если он сам не догадается, что покупать. Не бойся лишнюю копейку потратить, ты заработал.
Я хочу тебе сказать, что Рейганы нам приготовили хорошее место здесь, мы будем их соседями. Татчер – но это отдельная история. Только не поддавайся сомнениям, сожалению, не слушай бесконечного нытья, которое исходит из России. Они также ныли при Александрах, при обоих Николаях. И при Ленине, и при Прощалыге, и при… Не спрашивай, где он, и что с ним. Говорят, на нем висит около 137 миллионов человеческих душ, за которые расплата даже еще и не началась.
Молись за себя и за нас. Бог милостив. Ты закончил ту страшную эру без единой кровинки. Кто голову тогда сложил, сделал это по совершенно другой линии, они все равно сложили бы свои головы, потому что это у них на роду было написано.
Если ты будешь говорить со мной, не имеет значение как, либо в мыслях, либо вслух, я тебя услышу.
Я бы и столовую посуду сменила; но это не важно. Чем проще, тем лучше.
Я тебя обнимаю. Я не прощаюсь с тобой, время пролетит быстро. Если смогу, я буду еще с тобой говорить.”

Сегодня уже не 2013 год, а 2 января 2020 года, столько воды утекло, столько времени прошло.  Как вы себя чувствуете? Что вы думаете о планах освоения России методами, которыми Северная Америка так успешно управляет Южной Америкой? Для начала, существуют ли такие планы, или это просто сплетни, бабьи домыслы?  Каких только домыслов не в годину, когда президенты борются в этой стране за второй срок?

Тата, это имя останется за вами. Хотите, я скажу, что я думаю, о таких планах?

Конечно!

Этого никогда не будет, все произойдет не так как планируется.  У них нет никакого понятия, кто такие русские, лентяи, алкоголики,  наркоманы, маниловщина, убийцы, набор измельченных иван-грозных. Они попробуют, и их отшвырнет такой волной сопротивления, что они отступятся, и станут думать, стоит ли игра свеч. Каков окончательный счета в той игре футбольной, кто кого отфутболит, я не знаю, но русскому народу унижения не миновать. Ими будут помыкать, как черными рабами, пока рабы не проснутся… Что будет далее, не знаю… От русского врожденного чванства они вряд ли откажутся, но думать придется, и это будет а true wake up call that is badly needed in Russia. Нет еще ясности, остановится ли тенденция усыхания генетического запаса народа…  Мне не хочется гадать, поживем увидим. Мне не хочется Мишу звать или торопить с уходом с земного плана, ему надо дотерпеть все до конца…  Как вы?  Вам тоже надо на вашем пути дойти до точки, вы еще не там…  Давайте, не забывать друг друга.  Нам будет о чем поговорить.     

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БОГ, кто он?

Троица Андрея Рублева
Trinity by Andrei Rublev

Мудрейшие говорят, что лица Бога мы не знаем, потому что его никто никогда не видел. Говорят и так, у Бога нет лица, и священные писания добовляют, что у Бога более 49 имен, и поэтому можно считать, что истинное имя Бога либо скрыто от нас, либо непостижимо. И атеисты делают поспешный вывод, что коль нет ни лица, ни имеми, то Бога и вовсе нет, а люди его придумали – в основном для того, чтобы было на кого валить вину за все наши безобразия, которые мы творим на земле, мол, как он , вселюбящий и прощющий, допускает  войны, голод, всякие там  нагасаки и хиросимы, аушвитцы и сибирские гулаги, болезни, чуму, обезвоживание земли, будто одной планеты Марс мало, и надо завести вторю похожую планету, так как пустыни Сахара и Кара Кум мы уже имеем, много ли останется обезвоживать. К тому же, обезвоживание мировой влажной губки – тропического леса вокруг реки Амазонки, похоже, уже началось.  Вдруг стало подозротельно тихо вокруг возможной гибели девственных лесов, а с ними и наших неиссякаемых водяных запасов.

Так Бог есть или его нет? Думаю,  Бога как личности, нет, но Он-Она-Оно существует в совершенно иной ипостасии, выраженной коротким словом Бог,  по-английски God, по латыни Deus.

Я медиум, то есть человек, который слышит и может разговаривать со спиритами как верующих так и неверующих людей, со спиритами евреев, немцев, русских, советских русских – о да, это два разных народа, со спиритами американцев и эстонцев, с духами животных, птиц и растений….  

Однажды, я имела честь записать краткое сообщение от спирита Рут Монтгомери, известной журналистки, и одной из первых американских авторов, написавшей книги о всех главных направлениях движения New Age – Новая ера. Мне удалось познакомиться с госпажей Монтгомери за три месяца до ее смерти.  После Велокого Перехода, она говорила со мной уже из астрального мира.  
«Например, вы подумали обо мне. Между нами возоникает канал связи, нечто, что нас соединяет. (……) Ваше обращение ко мне подкармливает меня, и чтобы «прочесть» ваши мысли, я беру энергию у вас. Но я и возвращаю ее вам, и часто на более высоком вибрационном уровне, чем ваша энергия.»

Моцарт не изобретал свою музыку, а записывал то, что ему посылали из вселенной на значительно более высоком вибрационном уровне, чем его вибрация.  Пушкин получал стихи оттуда же, о чем он часто упоминает. Пересказываю, как мне это запомнилось. Вне стихосложения поэт может быть нижайшим из нижайших, но когда боги зовут поэта к алтарю, все меняется, оно может стать выше многих.  

А  непостижимые изобретения Николы Тесла, главные из которых до сих пор не освоены, те самые,  в которых теятся возможности спасения человечества – получения энергии прямо из космоса бесплатно в тех количествах, в которых нуждается человечество… И он получил это открытие «оттуда»!

Из космоса к нам льется «все»!  Но мы как маленькие радиоприемники, настраиваемся на то, на что у нас открываются наши каналы восприятия – у Моцарта на музыку, у Пушкина на прием стихов, у Теслы – на научные открытия.

Из моего скромного опыта —  чтобы вы не думали, что надо быть Моцартом или Пушкиным или Теслой, чтобы получать «оттуда».  Уже начинающей журналисткой  я заметила, что если  план и выводы в моей статье не меняются в процессе ее написания, то статья получается посредсвенной и скучной. Но если происходит что-то, она вдруг  наполняется тем, о чем я ранее не думала, и не догадывалась, то она получается превосходной…. Мне ее давали, подправляя мое более чем скромное писание на ходу…

Я думаю, творя, мы все, дети и старики, умные и не очень умные,  пытаемся услышать космос, даже хозяйки знают, что самый простой пирог, когда его пекут с вдохоновением и любовью, намного вкуснее того же пирога, который печется в раздражении… И многие из  нас, того не ведая «карабкаются» навстречу волнам энергии с более высокой частотой вибрации.   

И мне кажется, что весь уходящий в высь и совершенно недоступный нам сегодня тонкий мир и назван мудрецами прошлого одним коротким и очень емким сливом Бог сбольшой буквы, в котором все – все наши знания и многое такого, о чем мы сегодня понятия не имеем, Мы же не даром говорим: «Это одному Богу известно!»

Молитва – инстримент подтягивания нашего сознание как можно выше в мир высокочастотных волн космического сознания, медитация испытанное веками орудие сближения человека с его  истинной духовной сущностью.  Доброе настроение, люибовь к жизни – возможно превыше всего! Любить жизнь, значит любить Бога, как сказал Толстой. Что можно добавить к этому? Вот почему иногда такая слабая и нежная, и трепетная любовь в наших сердцах, и в особенности в сердцах наших детей так важна, безценна, так неотъемлима от всего самого лучего в нас, основа всех наших талантов и способностей, живая связь с тонким миром, с божественным, что льется на нас “оттуда” и дается нам для приобщния к божественной благодати. Похоже, что Бог есть, и он всегда с нами.

About “Everything”

The highest realms of EVERYTHING in my imagination

Once I introduced Emily, an American poetess to a Russian poet. Let call him Alex. And she disappeared out of my sight for a three months, or so!
Today she was back…

Emily said:
I am very angry with you for introducing me to that womanizer?

I said: … Because, I sensed your wish to storm into his hug, remember?

Emili said: I counted on your honesty and trustworthiness.

I exposed my doubts. Really? The book of destiny contains a registration that Alex would be my husband in the next embodiment of our generation?
Maybe the destiny can be changed and you will take him away from me?  

Interference. A third party, let call him Brian, offered his view on given situation. He asked, if he may join the ladies’ company. He said …  
Tata, I want a word with you! You gave Alex to her, and blinded by your generosity, she did not see any underlining in that gifting of yours?  
Almost any lady would miss it, as he is an old fashioned womanizer, skillful to ‘donjuan’ any woman into his trap!    

And she ran into that trap without any hesitation.

The Third Party Brian, continued:
It was still not enough for you, and you are still at your games…
The lady knew who was I, your latest squeeze given to make the old age tolerable.

Why you pointed at me? She had learned nothing, she continues to run with a butterfly catcher in her right hand  … after a cheap Woodstock womanizer, master of one-night stands, capable fell in love only  quarterly… encouraged by you, she runs after me, for God’s sake… Why you are sending her to me — to reload your hidden pain on her frail shoulders? Maybe you are still pondering, if you are a winner or looser?  Are you courageous enough let her duet with me, “Paroles, Paroles, Paroles,” and let me fell in love with her?

Are you sure that creating a new loop, you will emerge as a winner as always? Look into mirror, maybe this is time to stop playing Russian roulette, inching her into my lavendered linens?  Better stop the rivalry, forgive me and take back, take me under your wing. I know, I am worse than Alex, maybe a Don Juan is your destiny after all, it has a brighter side as well. There are no more faithful husbands than womanizers, they never divorce, they never change wives, they never …    

I did not listen anymore… I erased my love story,
I healed my pain,

I decided to ignore loneliness,
I sat down to write an excuse to Almighty why I was giving up his precious gift — to start an unusual family shortly before transition… … 

Here is my letter to Almighty.
“It was my brother, who sent me a book in Russian, a collection of sayings, jokes from the beloved Russian drama actress and comedian Faina Ranevskaya. On the cover, under her stylized portrait was printed:

Family can replace everything. So, before starting a family, one should think what’s more important for him/her: family or everything.

Brian, sorry, I chose “everything”.

Of course, it is not my smartest move. I am already finishing the ride through my eighties… But stupid me still prefers unreachable “everything” instead of happiness to awake between the lavendered linens… Poor me! Lucky me! Cruel me, Empty headed Tata, who avoids looking into mirror on daily bases, doing it only when joining social gatherings to say instead of hello—good bye! Do I still dream become known, if not famous? How stupid can a woman be? Of course—not! Then what makes me run for a bird in heaven, not being able to walk without a cane on earth?

Is it a poison, dream, or irresistible feel of better frequencies that poems bring when reaching my so imperfect and poor mind receiver that catches about a drop out of the mysterious waterfall that heaven sends down into every eager catcher’s head on earth… Nothing can be compared to the joy of touch of these frequencies that introduce us — for a short moment — to the higher realms….

The Scary Guess

Once upon a time, a scary guess popped up in my mind out of the blue. It was so outlandish that, please, read it with the grain of salt. Why it is so unbelievable? For instant, can you imagine a connection between, say, filling Siberian Gulags with inmates and building Dneproges dam? Of course, not! Maybe, my worn imagination was too wingless to fathom that these two may be connected? Too old for it? Lately, a youngster shouted, “Hey, you, granny, watch your step and take your cane off my feet?” In my eighties, my cane hurt him, as I was pushing through the street crowds. In general, this is a critical age when we do more than hurting people, we hurt ourselves counting our errors, diminishing their count and idealizing our scanty achievements! As I am one such “bookkeeper” and still counting and hoping that Higher Powers would interrupt it by whisking my soul from here to over there, to another world. We do not know the date, when it will happen, but we can observe, how our loosening memory brings suddenly to light forgotten details from our colorful past. We cannot find, where we dropped our keys, watch, jewelry, cell phone, glasses, but recall completely forgotten name of our boss 55 years ago, a man whom you did not like, who was rude and terrible and a typically hated by the office folk. What for memory produced this name today? Yes, lost glasses were on my nose, and lost keys were in my pocket, and I definitely did not need the name of the forgotten boss. My head looks to me as an empty Halloween pumpkin with forgotten to light a candle inside its carved emptiness… We forget…  Sometime an entire nation can forget something significant never forgetting one of our flagmen, comrade Stalin! Despite passed decades, the random ringing of a doorbell makes a wave of fear run through my body. And I calm down myself, bubbling, you are not there anymore, you are here, and ‘black crows’ are not picking up people without charges or warnings in the United States of America.

But it’s time to move from words to deeds. Recently, I found an interesting article in my Inbox that went viral in American Russian speaking community.  

Such Kind of Information Was Not Delivered in Our Schools

For example, the famous Stalingrad’s Tractor Plant was entirely built in the United States, dismantled and transported and assembled in the USSR on 100 ships. The first tanks were created at this plant.

Dneproges was built by the American Cooper Engineering Company and by the German company Siemens.

Gorky Automobile Plant GAZ was built by the American company Austin.

The current car company AZLK was built copying Ford’s design. The famous Magnitogorsk is an exact copy of the metallurgical plant in the city of Gary, Indiana.

Albert Kahn Inc. designed and built 500 Soviet enterprises!

Albert Kahn, the pioneer of the industrial design
(1869-1942)

As an architect, Albert Kahn designed Detroit’s industrial businesses. Designing all Ford plants, Khan worked out high-performance technology for designing industrial enterprises. In the USA, his company with a staff of 400 people prepared working drawings in a week, built industrial buildings in five months. Kahn was able to prove that he can do the same in the USSR: the STZ project was completed in record time; building constructions were made in the USA, then brought to the USSR and mounted in six months!

Albert Kahn Inc. created in the USSR a school of advanced industrial architecture.

Around the factories, simultaneously, the cities were created for workers. Ernst May, a German architect, participated in the development of architectural projects in about 20 Soviet cities!

For 10 years, the Americans built in the USSR about 500 plants and factories!

About 200 thousand American engineers and technicians arrived in the USSR, who led the almost million-strong army of Gulag prisoners — plus the few pre-revolutionary cadres remaining in Russia.

American professors trained three hundred thousand qualified specialists at the labor faculty — that is, all the cadres for Soviet industry for many years to come!

Thus, the capital base of socialism was built by US capitalists, plus the cheap labor of GULAG’s prisoners.

This information was new to me and many others. How did happen that none of us had ever heard about the foreign capitalists’ ventures in Russia? Over the Internet, I asked my friends’ opinion regarding our amazing forgetfulness. But people had nothing to share, as myself, they also had no ideas about it. Nevertheless, the question was still there, maybe I had missed something talking to people in Russia. I was born in Estonia, which was connected to the USSR in 1940, when waves of mass arrests of civilians seemed to subside. At the Estonian Polytechnical Institute, I received an engineering degree, and fate gave me work of supervising production of an Estonian product on plants in Russia. My business trips whisked me to Vladivostok, Leningrad, Kamchatka on the Amur, Barnaul, Tashkent, Samarkand, Frunze, Tavda, Novorossiysk, Odessa, Kiev, Petrozavodsk… I had to stay in hotels, booked for me by the administration of the plants producing silicalcite, a new building material, the invention of the Estonian scientists Johannes Hint.  In the Soviet Union, there was lack of hotels. For average travelers the stay in hotels was an unthinkable luxury. The hotels were filled mostly by business folks called “komandirovochnie,” in other words, people on the business trips. In case of longer stays, the hotel guests became acquainted to the degree of talking, sharing information where to find a tolerable dinery, or buy snack to go with hot tea. Oftentimes, these conversations around the cup of tea started a variety of other topics, like how the Baltic “three sisters’ –Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania were occupied, or how our life changed under Moscow control. But I can’t remember that anyone would ever say a single word about the American large and so memorable business ventures in the USSR. Could it be that no one knew anything about the 200,000 well-fed, well-dressed, tall, confident foreigners walking around the country, strolling with their straight backs, athletic walks and their heads held high? … And no one ever noticed them, and there were no stories about couples in love called “he is an American, and she is a Russian,” or the other way around. Legends about the sons of the gods, who descended from heaven to mix with earthy beauties have been alive for millenniums, and here people’s memory, film makers, writers and journalists had not noticed Americans presence in the Soviet Union, and had never wrote  or done documentaries about it? How was it possible?

Once, a scary guess struck me, inspiring my imagination to stay some seconds into the shoes of the Greatest of all Great Leaders, Great Liar Josif Dzhugashvili, nickname Stalin from word “сталь” meaning “steel”. It was whispered that he started his splendid rise as a Road Robber of gold for Bolsheviks and serving as an informer of tsar’s Okhrana, or simply, Okhranka  (1881-1917), the department of combatting political terrorism and revolutionary activity, especially to curb the spread of Marxism, Leninism and Stalinism, the only holy “science” of the Russian communists. Stalin learned early on how to gain power and once, becoming the head of government and “father of all nations,” he did not waste time searching ways to modernize Russia, as there were no ways to do it overnight. Instead, he hired the best of the best Americans to copy their industrial success stories in Russia. But how to make the 200 millionth people FORGET about the USA engineers’ work? Media shouted about the dizzying success of Stalin’s socialism. Of course, media did not spill a word about the repetition of American industrial experience in Russia. So, Stalin bought his success! But how to pass a lie that he did not buy, but built it? How to make people forget about his business with the Americans? How to make us, the fools, to believe that this was not our gold, but iron will and wise of great Stalin who took over the country with wooden plow, and passed it to posterity with atomic bomb?

 The matter was urgent and he, Stalin, found a way out of his uncomfortable situation. Again, he succumbed to means that he mastered to perfection – spreading fear! He cast the country in deep fear that silenced people for good. He organized the waves of mass arrests. Застучали по рельсам колеса … поездa шли на Восток — “the wheels pounded on rails… the trains were heading East…  

Aleksander Galich, performing bard wrote in his classics “Clouds Are Floating to Abakan”  
 
 Clouds are slowly floating.
 It’s warm, I suppose, to the clouds,
 The cold in me would last centuries.  
 like a horseshoe, I freeze in the track of toboggan, 
 When my iron cane break ice on that road!
 What for I do my twenty-year term, 
 Tossed along the net of Gulags?  

Wikimedia. A map of the former Soviet Union showing key gulag locations.

Going to bed, people were not sure that in the morning they would wake up at their apartment. Black Crows, as people called the black cars without windows that could stop at any house arresting its residents without trial and investigation. The base to pick victims came from denunciations, phone calls, simply by suspicions that this or that citizen does not approve the purge of country from “foreign spies”.  All over the country popped up “troikas,” – mini committees of three non-juridical individuals, “true communists,” appointed amidst proletarians, or industrial workers to judge and sentence victims during this seemingly idiotic purging complain.  However, the key for understanding the real motivation behind that wave of mass arrests laid in the content of the charges, as if invented by devil’s himself.  Thousands were charged of being Japanese spays not knowing any Japanese… An arrested person could be charged as an Argentinean intelligence officer, Madrid terrorist, person who had rich relatives in Paris who stole tsarinna diamond tiara and are hiding it under their bed. Some other unmasked people’s enemy could be the friend of anti-Bolsheviks committee in Shanghai, and there were multitude of other equally ridiculous sentences.

Please note that in any listed charge, there is the name of some foreign power, and the main reason of arrest is communication with that foreign power. The credibility of these charges didn’t bother anyone. The intensity of the horror and despair to become the next victim of this complain had eaten up the last crumbles of common sense in Stalinist Russia.  This was how Stalin found a sure way to cover up the truth about his deal with American capitalists.

Quotes from a modern day article.

BEARS, VODKA AND HARRY POTTER: THE HUNT FOR STALIN’S FORGOTTEN GULAGS IN SIBERIA.

by Robert Burton -Bradley, a journalist at the ABC’s Asia Pacific Newsroom. You can follow him on Twitter: @R_BurtonBradley ;    https://www.abc.net.au/news/2018-11-18/rediscovering-the-lost-guVVlags-of-the-soviet-union/10477866

“…. Northern Siberia (…) is a logistical nightmare for fieldwork. Winters can get down to -50 degrees Celsius, there are no roads, and the landscape is cut through with rivers, swamps, and shrouded in dense taiga forest, meaning a lot of travel is spent on foot hauling heavy gear. “

“In summer — when temperatures pass 20 degrees Celsius — you have to contend with rivers swollen with melted snow. They can take up to half a day to cross, with hours spent drying out clothes and equipment.”

“Then, there’s the insects. Mosquitoes and flies are everywhere and there are about a million for each of us,” says Lukas, a member of expedition.” “Repellents and smoke from cigarettes work only briefly, but the fire reduces their quantity to a bearable limit.”

The rest I leave to your imagination.  Why we, the humans, cannot exist without great leaders in order to avoid nightmares created by Hitler, Stalin, and their mad followers, do we ever learn to go by without unimaginable nightmares of Nazi stoves and Russian icy Gulags, and so many other nightmares that had never been discovered by media. I am grateful to the bold group of ABC life explorers who took the trouble to find the traces of Gulags in Siberia. I own to Robert Burton-Bradley for his great publication about this  trip to Siberia, started  with the personal money of the participants. Once American industrialists helped to launch the Russia industrialization, today American journalists help to launch the honest talk about how average people, Russian and all the other nations under Stalin’s rule paid for Stalin’s and Communist Party dirty secrets along the way…  

Thank you ABC, for finding some rare Gulag’s photos. I assure you that none of “zeks”, the Gulag prisoners on this photo had committed something worth to be sent to Gulag do time… But here, in this crowd, are definitely some poets, scientists,  musicians, writers, everybody smarter than Stalin. Russia performed here, on the fields of Gulags its hara-kiri …. God’s ways are truly unfathomable.       

The Scary Guess

Once upon a time, a scary guess popped up in my mind out of the blue. It was so outlandish that, please, read it with the grain of salt. Why it is so unbelievable? For instant, can you imagine a connection between, say, filling Siberian Gulags with inmates and building Dneproges dam? Of course, not! Maybe, my worn imagination was too wingless to fathom that these two may be connected? Too old for it? Lately, a youngster shouted, “Hey, you, granny, watch your step and take your cane off my feet?” In my eighties, my cane hurt him, as I was pushing through the street crowds. In general, this is a critical age when we do more than hurting people, we hurt ourselves counting our errors, diminishing their count and idealizing our scanty achievements! As I am one such “bookkeeper” and still counting and hoping that Higher Powers would interrupt it by whisking my soul from here to over there, to another world. We do not know the date, when it will happen, but we can observe, how our loosening memory brings suddenly to light forgotten details from our colorful past. We cannot find, where we dropped our keys, watch, jewelry, cell phone, glasses, but recall completely forgotten name of our boss 55 years ago, a man whom you did not like, who was rude and terrible and a typically hated by the office folk. What for memory produced this name today? Yes, lost glasses were on my nose, and lost keys were in my pocket, and I definitely did not need the name of the forgotten boss. My head looks to me as an empty Halloween pumpkin with forgotten to light a candle inside its carved emptiness… We forget…  Sometime an entire nation can forget something significant never forgetting one of our flagmen, comrade Stalin! Despite passed decades, the random ringing of a doorbell makes a wave of fear run through my body. And I calm down myself, bubbling, you are not there anymore, you are here, and ‘black crows’ are not picking up people without charges or warnings in the United States of America.

But it’s time to move from words to deeds. Recently, I found an interesting article in my Inbox that went viral in American Russian speaking community.  

Such Kind of Information Was Not Delivered in Our Schools

For example, the famous Stalingrad’s Tractor Plant was entirely built in the United States, dismantled and transported and assembled in the USSR on 100 ships. The first tanks were created at this plant.

Dneproges was built by the American Cooper Engineering Company and by the German company Siemens.

Gorky Automobile Plant GAZ was built by the American company Austin.

The current car company AZLK was built copying Ford’s design. The famous Magnitogorsk is an exact copy of the metallurgical plant in the city of Gary, Indiana.

Albert Kahn Inc. designed and built 500 Soviet enterprises!

Albert Kahn, the pioneer of the industrial design
(1869-1942)

As an architect, Albert Kahn designed Detroit’s industrial businesses. Designing all Ford plants, Khan worked out high-performance technology for designing industrial enterprises. In the USA, his company with a staff of 400 people prepared working drawings in a week, built industrial buildings in five months. Kahn was able to prove that he can do the same in the USSR: the STZ project was completed in record time; building constructions were made in the USA, then brought to the USSR and mounted in six months!

Albert Kahn Inc. created in the USSR a school of advanced industrial architecture.

Around the factories, simultaneously, the cities were created for workers. Ernst May, a German architect, participated in the development of architectural projects in about 20 Soviet cities!

For 10 years, the Americans built in the USSR about 500 plants and factories!

About 200 thousand American engineers and technicians arrived in the USSR, who led the almost million-strong army of Gulag prisoners — plus the few pre-revolutionary cadres remaining in Russia.

American professors trained three hundred thousand qualified specialists at the labor faculty — that is, all the cadres for Soviet industry for many years to come!

Thus, the capital base of socialism was built by US capitalists, plus the cheap labor of GULAG’s prisoners.

This information was new to me and many others. How did happen that none of us had ever heard about the foreign capitalists’ ventures in Russia? Over the Internet, I asked my friends’ opinion regarding our amazing forgetfulness. But people had nothing to share, as myself, they also had no ideas about it. Nevertheless, the question was still there, maybe I had missed something talking to people in Russia. I was born in Estonia, which was connected to the USSR in 1940, when waves of mass arrests of civilians seemed to subside. At the Estonian Polytechnical Institute, I received an engineering degree, and fate gave me work of supervising production of an Estonian product on plants in Russia. My business trips whisked me to Vladivostok, Leningrad, Kamchatka on the Amur, Barnaul, Tashkent, Samarkand, Frunze, Tavda, Novorossiysk, Odessa, Kiev, Petrozavodsk… I had to stay in hotels, booked for me by the administration of the plants producing silicalcite, a new building material, the invention of the Estonian scientists Johannes Hint.  In the Soviet Union, there was lack of hotels. For average travelers the stay in hotels was an unthinkable luxury. The hotels were filled mostly by business folks called “komandirovochnie,” in other words, people on the business trips. In case of longer stays, the hotel guests became acquainted to the degree of talking, sharing information where to find a tolerable dinery, or buy snack to go with hot tea. Oftentimes, these conversations around the cup of tea started a variety of other topics, like how the Baltic “three sisters’ –Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania were occupied, or how our life changed under Moscow control. But I can’t remember that anyone would ever say a single word about the American large and so memorable business ventures in the USSR. Could it be that no one knew anything about the 200,000 well-fed, well-dressed, tall, confident foreigners walking around the country, strolling with their straight backs, athletic walks and their heads held high? … And no one ever noticed them, and there were no stories about couples in love called “he is an American, and she is a Russian,” or the other way around. Legends about the sons of the gods, who descended from heaven to mix with earthy beauties have been alive for millenniums, and here people’s memory, film makers, writers and journalists had not noticed Americans presence in the Soviet Union, and had never wrote  or done documentaries about it? How was it possible?

Once, a scary guess struck me, inspiring my imagination to stay some seconds into the shoes of the Greatest of all Great Leaders, Great Liar Josif Dzhugashvili, nickname Stalin from word “сталь” meaning “steel”. It was whispered that he started his splendid rise as a Road Robber of gold for Bolsheviks and serving as an informer of tsar’s Okhrana, or simply, Okhranka  (1881-1917), the department of combatting political terrorism and revolutionary activity, especially to curb the spread of Marxism, Leninism and Stalinism, the only holy “science” of the Russian communists. Stalin learned early on how to gain power and once, becoming the head of government and “father of all nations,” he did not waste time searching ways to modernize Russia, as there were no ways to do it overnight. Instead, he hired the best of the best Americans to copy their industrial success stories in Russia. But how to make the 200 millionth people FORGET about the USA engineers’ work? Media shouted about the dizzying success of Stalin’s socialism. Of course, media did not spill a word about the repetition of American industrial experience in Russia. So, Stalin bought his success! But how to pass a lie that he did not buy, but built it? How to make people forget about his business with the Americans? How to make us, the fools, to believe that this was not our gold, but iron will and wise of great Stalin who took over the country with wooden plow, and passed it to posterity with atomic bomb?

 The matter was urgent and he, Stalin, found a way out of his uncomfortable situation. Again, he succumbed to means that he mastered to perfection – spreading fear! He cast the country in deep fear that silenced people for good. He organized the waves of mass arrests. Застучали по рельсам колеса … поездa шли на Восток — “the wheels pounded on rails… the trains were heading East…  

Aleksander Galich, performing bard wrote in his classics “Clouds Are Floating to Abakan”  
 
 Clouds are slowly floating.
 It’s warm, I suppose, to the clouds,
 The cold in me would last centuries,  
 like a horseshoe, I freeze in the track of      toboggan, when my iron cane 
 Break ice on that road!
 What for I do my twenty-year term, 
 Tossed along the net of Gulags?  

Wikimedia. A map of the former Soviet Union showing key gulag locations.

Going to bed, people were not sure that in the morning they would wake up at their apartment. Black Crows, as people called the black cars without windows that could stop at any house arresting its residents without trial and investigation. The base to pick victims came from denunciations, phone calls, simply by suspicions that this or that citizen does not approve the purge of country from “foreign spies”.  All over the country popped up “troikas,” – mini committees of three non-juridical individuals, “true communists,” appointed amidst proletarians, or industrial workers to judge and sentence victims during this seemingly idiotic purging complain.  However, the key for understanding the real motivation behind that wave of mass arrests laid in the content of the charges, as if invented by devil’s himself.  Thousands were charged of being Japanese spays not knowing any Japanese… An arrested person could be charged as an Argentinean intelligence officer, Madrid terrorist, person who had rich relatives in Paris who stole tsarinna diamond tiara and are hiding it under their bed. Some other unmasked people’s enemy could be the friend of anti-Bolsheviks committee in Shanghai, and there were multitude of other equally ridiculous sentences.

Please note that in any listed charge, there is the name of some foreign power, and the main reason of arrest is communication with that foreign power. The credibility of these charges didn’t bother anyone. The intensity of the horror and despair to become the next victim of this complain had eaten up the last crumbles of common sense in Stalinist Russia.  This was how Stalin found a sure way to cover up the truth about his deal with American capitalists.

Quotes from a modern day article.

BEARS, VODKA AND HARRY POTTER: THE HUNT FOR STALIN’S FORGOTTEN GULAGS IN SIBERIA.

by Robert Burton -Bradley, a journalist at the ABC’s Asia Pacific Newsroom. You can follow him on Twitter: @R_BurtonBradley ;    https://www.abc.net.au/news/2018-11-18/rediscovering-the-lost-guVVlags-of-the-soviet-union/10477866

“…. Northern Siberia (…) is a logistical nightmare for fieldwork. Winters can get down to -50 degrees Celsius, there are no roads, and the landscape is cut through with rivers, swamps, and shrouded in dense taiga forest, meaning a lot of travel is spent on foot hauling heavy gear. “

“In summer — when temperatures pass 20 degrees Celsius — you have to contend with rivers swollen with melted snow. They can take up to half a day to cross, with hours spent drying out clothes and equipment.”

“Then, there’s the insects. Mosquitoes and flies are everywhere and there are about a million for each of us,” says Lukas, a member of expedition.” “Repellents and smoke from cigarettes work only briefly, but the fire reduces their quantity to a bearable limit.”

The rest I leave to your imagination.  Why we, the humans, cannot exist without great leaders in order to avoid nightmares created by Hitler, Stalin, and their mad followers, do we ever learn to go by without unimaginable nightmares of Nazi stoves and Russian icy Gulags, and so many other nightmares that had never been discovered by media. I am grateful to the bold group of ABC life explorers who took the trouble to find the traces of Gulags in Siberia. I own to Robert Burton-Bradley for his great publication about this  trip to Siberia, started  with the personal money of the participants. Once American industrialists helped to launch the Russia industrialization, today American journalists help to launch the honest talk about how average people, Russian and all the other nations under Stalin’s rule paid for Stalin’s and Communist Party dirty secrets along the way…  

Thank you ABC, for finding some rare Gulag’s photos. I assure you that none of “zeks”, the Gulag prisoners on this photo had committed something worth to be sent to Gulag do time… But here, in this crowd, are definitely some poets, scientists,  musicians, writers, everybody smarter than Stalin. Russia performed here, on the fields of Gulags its hara-kiri …. God’s ways are truly unfathomable.       

When Spirits Are Angry…

when a spirit got mad at me…

This is an unusual post, because it speaks about dark moments of spirit communication. Avoiding negativity, great masters prefer speak about positive side of spirit communication. Lately, I uploaded to Kindle new manuscript Weaved From Errors of My Ancestors. Spirits of my ancestors had mercy on me, and never crossed the boarders of our standards of politeness. But spirits whom I managed to attract into my life did. They were Russian spirits, I have no idea how I managed to annoy them. They left their… feces on floor, chairs, table and on my bed. I had to wash my apartment and bed. Should I talk about it publicly? After weighing the pros and cons, I decided to talk.

I will start from the evening, my nephew’s birthday party, where, at the end of it, sipping the last cup of coffee, I shared my story with relatives. Their reaction strengthened my confidence that it was necessary to write about the shadowy sides of communication with the world of spirits, as only the rosy tones of talk create wrong impression of what may wait us when it would our turn to say goodbye to friends on earth and move on to the next world.

It is believed that all Russians drink much. Not all! At our family gathering of young and old, alcoholic beverages were not consumed fervently; if we have sinned, then it was overeating of tasty food, which distinguishes Russian feasts in the American diaspora. When we were finally done with Ribeye tenderloin, fish of various varieties, colors, and types of cooking, and Happy Birthday was sang, and the kids had their moment putting out the candles on a luxurious cake and we had had our black coffee to withstand the pressure of the delicacies, and old people turned on their favorite Moscow show based on the ever-living memories of Moscow popular show “Blue Lights”, from which the kids washed off to their computers, and I, finally ventured to start my risky story about an unpleasant encounter with spirit world. I knew that none of my relatives, of course, did not believe in spirits. They simply tolerated my mediumship, as a kind of strangeness, and as I am old, that strangeness was forgiven to me.

As a medium, I hear the dead and can also talk with them as I would speak to you. My relatives consider this gift a nature’s mistake. But today, I had a rare trump card in my hands, the material proof of spirits’ existence, so I could not refrain from talking. If “hearing voices” is marred by suspicion of schizophrenia or hallucination, then reading the signs left by the spirits in my apartment did not require any supernatural qualities like clairvoyance or clairaudience -– as normal vision and average perception of smell would be sufficient to see these signs.

“Do you remember Lenochka from Leningrad, the clairvoyant who stayed with us when she came to Tallinn?” I asked my nephew. — “Of course, I remember!”– replied Vladimir.

I continued my story. She died homeless on the streets of Moscow. She told me that at that time, in the eighties, they opened her vision channel with helps of drugs. In the 80’s , it seemed OK. However, soon Lenochka became addicted to heroin, found herself homeless on the Moscow streets, and died early from an overdose. As it was predicted in the years ago during perestroika, her spirit found me in Los Angeles, settled in my aura, everything was nice and quiet, but once Lenochka  got mad at me.

Relatives pricked up, and I told them how once, when I came home, I felt a strange smell in the apartment – reminiscent of the smell and color of infantile excrement, or feces. Its color was yellowish or light brown. Size was most likely tenth or fifteenth of human feces. Beige stains covered the floor around the dining table, and “decorated” chairs.

In the bedroom, the peculiar smell was nauseous. My bed was not done, it was “open,” and the sheets, blankets, bedspreads on the edge of the bed and the floor of my small bedroom were littered with small piles of feces that the spirits had produced. Spirit of Lenochka could not do it alone. she had to have help from other girls who nested in a Russian celebrity’s cove in my aura. I talked to them asking where were their brains and feel of decency, when they did what they were told to do – to kaki in another person’s bed.  I asked where they were coming from, and why they were dead at so young age? Did they ODed?  Their answer was more shocking than the poop in my apartment. The young girls, told that their parents, in need for money, sold them to the local bordellos. They told that they were afraid of Lenochka, the celeb’s girlfriend, their “boss”, and they do not know anything, and they do what they were told to do.

Cleaning up my apartment took a lot of my time. The hardest thing was to wash the bed, because I had to wash everything from blankets to pillows, comforters and mattress bedding – thank God I used those.

But the matter did not end there. I had to wash all the bed linen from the “spiritual” poop five times, as Lenochka was still annoyed by me. And the pooping incident was repeated five times, before destiny had mercy on me and Lenochka and her company disappeared from my aura.

I am at age 85. It was physically difficult for me to make the bed right after I had just reset it. But Lenochka did not sober, and did not come to herself. It turns out that healing the drug addiction in the astral world is 100 times more difficult than on the earth …This would have to be written and spoken loudly, because one day we will all be there. And I heard about the tragic stories of the spirits’ hopeless struggles with this kind of dependencies.

I was almost done with my story, when an elder gentleman, let call him Venia interrupted my speech.  He peered at me with frightened, wide-open eyes, and asked: “Did you saw it all in your dream? It came to you in your dream?!”

— No, Venia, it was not a dream. It was difficult to wash it, it was unpleasant to wash the floor, I threw the floor cloths into dumpster. …

The ladies were silent. A gentleman poured himself a brandy and downed it without toasts or comments. 

And I understood it does not matter how strongly a person would deny God, the subtle world, and the existence of spirits, somewhere in the depths of the soul, he knows that this is true, the subtle world exists, and the day will come, when we will meet our Maker and have to stand there and being judged.

I think that forgetting our stay in the astral world between rebirths is given for a reason. Firstly, not seeing and not hearing spirits precludes direct communication and this inability to communicate offers the most powerful protection from the spirits, which is very important, especially protection from the evil, negative-minded spirits, capable of causing considerable evil to folks on earth.

And, wait a minute! In many cultures, the honoring spirits of the dead with food, left for them, is a common tradition… It is assumed that spirits eat! But if they eat, they have to poop! In other words, astral body is a material thing, and subtle world is as real and dreamy as our world… Sorry atheists, spirits are real!

But this is a different topic, which is worth talking about separately.

https://wordpress.com/post/tanikablog.wordpress.com/80519

GLORY on PROPS

A Penitence From Skrivnous, the First Tier of Purgatory

Documentary “Is It Easy To Be Young?” 1986, Riga Film Studio. In the center director and cameraman Juris Podnieks

Juris Podnieks (1950-1992), Latvian distinguished cameraman, director and producer, his documentary “Is It Easy to Be Young?” put Podnieks’ name on the map of the International Cinema. 

Tata: I live in Los Angeles. Sometimes mediums meet wonderful spirits in most unexpected ways. It was the end of this April, I washed my dishes and was all set to go for a walk.  Instead I dried my hands and switched on my laptop.  From the world of spirits, it was Juris Podnieks, who got my attention during dish washing, when our heads are “empty,” and not occupied by thoughts and emotions. He was finishing his stay in the first tier of purgatory Skrivnous, and needed to talk about things that may speed up reaching the normal level of the astral world.  The description of Skrivnous can be found in Daniil Andreyev’s book “Roza  Mira,” Eksmo , or in English in Daniel H. Shubin’s translation “Rosa of the World,” A New Translation of Selections from the Russian for the American Readers.   

J.P. – You, Tatyana, as a film critic and the author of “Prisoners of Fame,” you have seen how glory may cripple a person, isn’t it true? Glory had touched me as well, but I was a lucky one. Due to my short life on earth, it did not last for long. Fame unduly corrupts a person. I will give an example. When I was 20 years old and returning from forced military service in the Soviet Army, I found out the director of the Latvian film studio and asked him to lend me an outdated camera and allow me to shoot some episodes for the news programs. Naturally, my modest and polite request was denied. I was upset because I did not realize that by refusing my request, the director had laid the cornerstone of my future success.  That refusal would become the central item in writings that promoted me and my films. Instead of getting angry, I had to water and feed him the rest of my life.

I will miss the details how friends from America sent me a used camera, and how much it was superior than our new cameras. I was lucky. Otherwise, I would climb out years, and here I was –clicking a button on that camera, and footage of perfect beauty started flowing out of it! Then you know what happened next! I became the one who was loved by critics of various small and frail film festivals, I was strewn with insignificant awards, but their number made a difference leading me to the serious festivals with coveted, career making awards. Attention and awards of these festivals created my fast fame.

Soon I learned that I had bad temper. I discovered my ability to brush aside gluey followers, and did not drag, like you, all of them into my future. You, on the contrary, yes, do, because you feel sorry for them. Sitting on your neck energetically, they write monstrous denunciations of you, even those of them whom you, as an alternative healer, dragged literally from the death threshold back into their lives.  And this is true …

J. P. – But the sweet introduction with the art of avoiding the scammers turned out to be only the beginning, the first step on the path to success … Now came the next step – the execution of instructions. And here it all began — the struggle with your own conscience, the effort of quieting the aching voice of conscience in the name of the right to say at least something.

Tata: – What do you think today about this “commodity exchange,” the exchange of a dulled conscience toward “the glory on props”! The conscience is not happy, and the glory on props is not happy either! Maybe it is too much to put it this way?

J.P. – Unfortunately – it is what it is: “the international glory on props”, this expression may well become the title of this publication.

Tata: – Want to talk about the nature of the errands in question?

J.P. –  Let talk! In the USA, I have many friends, and one day they call me to entrap those nice people who sent me an American working camera. Initially, it cost a lot of money, and it was used to shoot only two boring documentaries and after sent to the warehouse for eternal rest. The cameraman was already buying the same brands’ next generation camera. My friends persuaded him to offer me his previous camera for a third of its value.

Again, I’m talking about money, my American friends were doing a lot of charity work, helping filmmakers in need, including arranging screenings for their forgotten but absolutely wonderful works, organizing and publishing articles about them, and I was asked to compromise their flawless names. I was in trouble for a week, but then I found a mendacious bastard who testified that, supposedly, these people were sucking millions out of charity while making comfortable living for themselves. The article said that Rothschilds and Morgans have given millions of dollars for making documentaries. But my friends did not use more than 10 percent for support of film makers, but spent the rest on purchasing and resale for a profit the pleasure yachts … And the mean list of their wrong doings continued. Cinematic public turned away from my former friends.

Then they, the KGB representative, demanded that I would return my “dirty camera” to my friends, which I did not do. And the “disclosure” of my fame appeared in the press immediately after my refusal to return camera.  However, it was already late, and no one noticed this disclosure. But for this deal and for several more such masterpieces of my resourcefulness, I received, as I believed, well-deserved prizes at international film festivals and was accepted into the most sophisticated circles of filmmakers. The same rich people’s money paid for our gatherings, because we were always “short in cash,” and “full” credit cards in our eternal pursuit of the latest equipment. And as a result of the slandering of people who got me on my feet, I was sentenced to 10- years at Skrivnous, in still innocent first tier of purgatory.

Tata: – Did the glory change you, did you notice it? Mostly who make up the contingent of Skrivnous residents? Or what for they get there?

J.P. – Yes, fame changed me, and I was well aware of this. Sitting in the company at any table, I always sat down so as to be the center of attention. And in some incomprehensible way, I always managed to push away all the small stumps, demanded from people whom I needed to deal with my problems firstly and immediately. In fact, I forced them to help me as if putting mentally a sharp kitchen knife straight to their throats.

J.P. – The same thing colored my relationships with women. In the companies, I marked a girl as “mine,” and, somehow, I found myself sitting next to her, or she immediately appeared next to me. Without hesitating, I quickly moved toward the intended goal. And then I learned how to quickly get rid of her.

J.P. – I was not interested in them further, I did not remember and often did not ask for their names, addresses, or telephones, and never gave my phones. And when I came across a stubborn girl who demanded my contact info – for her I had “outdated” business cards with non-working phone numbers, and everything ended smoothly. And it also contributed greatly to my entry into Skrivnous.

Tata: – But did it happen the other way around that you came across beauties capable of captivating you and who were denying you?

J.P. – Of course it did, but I always had so little time that I did not worry about this kind of failure for no longer more than a few minutes, and immediately forgot about it.

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Juris Podnieks Speaks About His Transition To Another World

Juris Podnieks 1950-1992

Tata: – Now we have the year 2019. Therefore, 27 years ago you died on Midsummer Day, June 23, 1992. On that day, without suspecting anything bad, you went to relax with friends, maybe joking, “Let go fishing for some mermaids in Daugava waters!”

What thoughts and feelings flashed through your mind in the last moments of your life, when something fatal happened to scuba equipment or something else?

J.P. – Of course, I had plans for the future. World fame does not last long, and you need to prove again and again that you are a genius, as lovely film criticesses labeled me once, and media had disseminated it over the world. This is a terrible feeling when you suddenly realize that for some reason you have nothing to say. And it seemed to me that the heaven had deserted me. I was full of my false significance and I wanted to wash off all this in our Daugava. A lot of things went through my mind. I was tired of so-called friends. The premonition of death enlivens a strange angel of awareness. Suddenly you become completely indifferent to things that used to be important to you. I remembered that I had read about it somewhere — fame, all sorts of rewards and even love for children and care for their future fades.

J.P. – When I was down at the bottom of Daugava, suddenly some bulbs began to blink, some motors stopped to murmur, the lights went out, and total darkness and silence reigned. I understood that something had happened, but that this was the end, had not yet reached me. I began to look for the alarm wire, but it was not nearby. In the dark, soon I stopped looking for it as I realized that I had no air to breathe. I will skip retelling of the next minutes, when I grabbed for air only! We descended into the water, of course, in different scuba diving equipment, and there was no one to help me.

J.P. – I stopped fighting, and suddenly calmed down. Finally, I had nowhere to hurry. From the bottom of the river they lifted up my corpse. Meanwhile, down there, I stepped out of the tight-fitting hydraulic suit with amazing easiness. I felt freedom that no words can express. I passed into a different state of mind, and to my amazement I realized how small and how wrong, and how insignificant my glory was. But all my feats, on the contrary, suddenly sounded like voices of  Jericho trumpet, they seemed to shout, “You lied, you took a wrong note.”  I realized that there would not be a stricter critic of my works than myself. In my mind, the price of truth has increased of staggering hundred or two hundred times.

But where was I, what happened to me? What happened to my comrades, where is my wife? Who will tell her that tonight I will not come home!

— She has already been told. She cannot understand anything.

The voice was unfamiliar. But the presence of a human who spoke to me, told that I was not alone in this fog that surrounded me.

Of course, my friends returned, as they were supposed to return … without me! My wife survived me only a few months. She died in a car accident. She suffered before her death, I was with her to the end, but she saw me only in the astral plane, and she was very surprised how did I find her.

And then, immediately after the transition, I did not see the light, it was still foggy, as if before sunrise on earth. Here I met my guardian angel and egregore, the witness of my glory, or the parasite birthed by emotions of my followers some place in the 4th dimension. I did not get yet how lucky I was to have such a small and weak reptile as the product of my fame. He quietly disappeared without giving me any worries. My cares began when I was told to appear at an emergency meeting of the Judges to resolve a certain issue. It was then that they announced me a ten-year sentence in Skrivnous.

Tata: – For what? For silence, or for something else? Cheating, betraying friends?

J.P. – You spelled it out for me?

Tata: – Did they show you the photos or videos of your friends’ reaction when they learned how that terrible article about their so-called possessiveness and greed was concocted?

There was no answer to this question.

J. P. — Time passed quickly. I think what to do next. I am drawn to my collection of film cameras. Over the time I have accumulated many of them …

I would like to give away these cameras to the young filmmakers in my country who have never money, and will never have it, if the technology will be updated on monthly bases forever!

Now I know that content is more important than expensive technology, but do young people believe me? Who will believe us? It is time to round up this story. Thank you for listening to my confession.

 Tatyana Elmanovich, medium and alternative healer, certified by James Van Praag’s  School of Mystical Arts.