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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.

……………………………………………………………………………………………… ..

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.

Слава на костылях

4/27/2019 11:22 AM

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 higher strata of purgatory Skrivnous, and needed to talk about things that would 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.   

СЛАВА на КОСТЫЛЯХ

Ю.П. — Что такое слава, и как она калечит человека, вы, Татьяна, насмотрелись на это, когда писали «Узников славы» , так ли это?  Меня это также коснулось, но на мое счастье, не сильно, потому что это длилось в связи с моей короткой жизнью, недолго. Слава непомерно развращает человека. Приведу пример. Когда мне было 20 лет, и я вернулся с принудительной военной службы в Советской Армии, я разыскал директора латышской киностудии и  попросил дать мне устаревшую камеру и возможность снимать сюжеты для новостей.  Естественно, мне было отказано.  Я огорчился, потому что еще не догадывался, что отказав мне в моей просьбе, директор заложил краеугольный камень моей будущей славы. Отказ неумного человека сделается коронным номером в статьях, продвигавших меня и мои фильмы. Вместо того, чтобы сердиться, мне надо было его поить и кормить всю оставшуюся мою жизнь.

Пропущу, как друзья из Америки прислали мне камеру из Штатов, и насколько эта поддержанная камера оказалась лучше наших новых камер. Мне повезло. Я бы годы выкарабкивался, а здесь я кнопку нажал, и потекли кадры невиданного мною ранее совершенства.  Далее вам известно, что произошло, я стал  тем, кого полюбили критики разных маленьких и хилых кинофестивалей, я был усыпан ничегонезначющими наградами, но их количество привело меня на серьезные фестивали, и далее вам все известно о моей быстро-состоявшейся славы.  Характер у меня оказался скверным, и я научился отметать прилипал мгновенно, и не тащил, как например, вы, всех их на себе в мое будущее. Вы, наоборот, да, тащите, потому что вам их жалко, и они, сидя на вашей шее энергетически, сейчас пишут чудовищные донос на вас, даже те из них, кого вы буквально оттащили от порога смерти обратно в их жизни, и это правда…

Ю. П. — Но милое вступление с искусством обходить доносщиков оказалось лишь началом, первыми шагами на пути карьерного успеха…  Следовало иное – выполнение поручений. И здесь все началось, и борьба с собственной совестью, и преодоление ноющего голоса совести во имя права сказать хоть что-то.

Тата: — Как вы сегодня смотрите на этот «товаро-обмен», на обмен ноющей совести на подозрительную славу!  И совесть «недовольна», и слава на костылях – или я слишком круто это обозначила?

Ю.П. —  К сожалению —  это так и есть.  Мне нравится – «слава на костылях», это выражение вполне может стать заголовком этой публикации.

Тата: — Хотите поговорить о поручениях?

Ю.П. —  Давайте! В  США  у меня много друзей, и в один прекрасный день меня вызывают поссорить тех славных людей, кто прислали мне американскую работающую камеру. Изначально она стоила кучу денег, на ней сняли всего два  скучных документальных фильма и отправили на вечный покой в склад, потому что оператор был выниужден купить следуюшцее поколение этой марки. Мои друзья уговорили отдать эту камеру мне за треть ее стоимости.

Я снова говорю о деньгах, мои друзья занимались много благотворительностью, помогая нуждающимся кинематографистам, в том числе, устраивая выступления их забытым, но совершенно прекрасным работам, организацией статей о них и их публикации, а мне было предложено скомпроментировать их безупречные имена. Я маялся неделю, и нашел мерзавца, который дал показания, что, мол эти люди высасывали из благотворительности миллионы обеспечивая себе безбедное существование. Мол разные ротшильды и морганы выделяли им миллионы в помощь развитию кинематографа. Но присосавшиеся к ним мои друзья использовали на благотворительность не более 10 процентов, а остальное тратили на покупку и перепродажу в тридорога прогулочных яхт… И список гадостей продолжался.  Кинематографическая общественность отвернулась от моих бывших друзей.

Далее от меня потребовали, чтобы я вернул моим друзьям «грязную камеру», чего я не сделал. И в прессе тут же появилось «разоблачение» моей славы, но было уже поздно, и никто этого разоблачения не заметил.  Но за эту сделку и еще за несколько подобных шедевров моей изобретательности, я получал, как мне казалось, вполне заслуженные призы на международных кинофестивалях и был принят в самые изысканные компании кинематографистов, в которых за нас нередко платили те же доллары богатых, а не наши деньги, которых у нас всегда не хватало в нашей вечной погоне за новейшим оборудованием.  И в результате очернительства людей, которые помогли мне встать на ноги, я попал на лет 10 в Скривнус, во вступительный слой ада, в еще невинный первый ярус чистилища.     

Тата: — Стала ли слава менять вас, замечали ли выэто за собой? Преимущественно кто составляет контингент жителей Скривнуса? Или за что туда попадают?

Ю.П. —  Да, слава меняла меня, и я прекрасно осознавал это.  Садясь в компании за какой-либо стол, я всегда усаживался так, чтобы оказаться в центре внимания. И каким-то непостижимым образом я всегда, отталкивая всяких там мелких сошек, заставлял нужных мне людей иметь дело со мной немедленно, отвечать на мои вопросы и делать то, что я у них просил. На самом деле, я требовал помощи, приставляя  мысленно острый кухонный нож прямо к горлу моей жертвы, заставляя ее работать на меня задаром.

Ю.П. —  С женщинами происходило то же самое. Я намечал какю-либо девушку в компании, как «свою», и оказывался почему то рядом с ней, или она тут же оказывалась рядом со мной, и я, не стесняясь, быстро приближался к намеченной цели.  А затем я научился также быстро избавляться от нее.

Ю.П. —  Я никогда не интересовался ими далее, не помнил, а часто и не спрашивал их имен, адресов или телефонов, и никогда не давал своих телефонов. А когда попадались упрямые девчонки, которые требовали телефонного номера,  на такие случаи, у меня были  уготовлены «устаревшие» визитки с неработающими телефонными номерами, и все обходилось гладко и просто. И это также очень способствовало  моему попаданию в Скривнус.

Тата: — Но случалось ли наоборот, что вам попадались красавицы, способные увлечь вас, и которые вам отказывали?

Ю.П. —  Конечно бывало, но у меня всегда было так мало времени, что  неудачу такого рода, я не переживал долее нескольких минут, и тут же забывал о них.

…………………………………………………………………………………………..

Рассказ  Юры Подниекса о его переходе в мир иной

Тата: — Сейчас на дворе год 2019,  следовательно, со дня вашей гибели в Иванову ночь 23 июня 1992 прошло 27 лет. А тогда, вы, ничего не подозревая, отправились отдохнуть с друзьями, как говорят американцы to have good time and relax . И они бы пошутили: … and dive to the bottom of Daugava river looking for some mermaids for fun!

Какие мысли и чувства проносилось в вашем сознании в последние минуты земной жизни, когда нечто фатальное случилось с оборудованием, аквалангом или чем-то еще?

Ю.П. —  Конечно, у меня были планы на будуще. Мировая слава не долго длиться, и тебе надо доказывать снова и снова, что ты гений, как прекрасные кинокритикессы обозначили на ярлыках, распечатанных прессой. Это ужасное чувство, когда ты вдруг понимаешь, что тебе почему то уже нечего сказать. И мне казалось, что стихии небесные покинули меня, а я был полон моей ложной значимости и мне хотелось отмыться от всего этого  в нашей Даугаве. Многое проносилось тогда в моей голове.  Я устал от так называемых друзей. Предчувствие смерти странное чувство, тебе вдруг все совершенно безразлично, вдруг все доселе важное теряет всякую значимость. Я вспомнил, что я где-то читал об этом — слава, всякие там награды, и даже любовь к детям и заботы об их будущем меркнут.   

Ю.П. —  И какие-то лампочки стали вдруг мигать, какие-то моторчики перестали журчать, лампочки погасли, и воцарилась кромешная тьма и тишина.  Я понимал, что что-то случлось, но что это конец, еще не доходило до меня. Я стал искать провода сигнализации, но его поблизости не оказалось. В темноте я продолжал искать его, и почувствовал, что мне нечем дышать.  Я пропущу пересказ последующих  минут, когда я хватал воздух и искал не шнурок сигнальный, а воздух. Мы спускались в воду, естественно, в разных аквалангах, и помочь мне было некому.

Ю.П. —  Я не видел и не слышал более никого. Я перестал бороться, и вдруг успокоился.  Наконец-то, мне было некуда спешить. Со дна реки они вытащили мой труп. А я вышел с какой-то удивительной легкостью и удовольствием из тесно-обтягивающего гидравлического костюма, и ощутил чивство совободы, которое невозможно передать словами. Я перешел в иную ипостась,  в иное состояние, и к моему изумлению понял как мала, и как неверна, и как ничтожна была моя слава. А все мои подвирания, наоборот, зазвучали вдруг как иерехоновы трубы, ты, мол соврал, взял неверную ноту, и я понял, что не будет на свете более строгого критика моих работ, чем я сам. В моем сознании цена правды возросла раз в сто или двести.

Но где я, что со мной происходит? Что сталось с моими товарищами, где моя жена? Кто скажет ей, что сегодня ночью я домой не приду!

— Ей уже сказали.  Она ничего понять не может.

Голос был мне незнаком. Но чей бы голос не говорил со мной, это означало, что я был не один в этом предрассветном тумане, каким мне привидилось неведомое мне окружение.  
А товарищи, конечно же, вернулись, как им и полагалось вернуться … без меня!  Моя жена пережила меня только несколько месяцев. Она погибла в автомобильной катастрофе. Она мучилась перед смертью, я был с нею до конца, но она меня увидела только в астрале, и очень удивилась, как я ее нашел.

А тогда, сразу после перехода, я не сразу увидел свет и какую-то поляну. Тут я встретил моего ангела хранителя и эгрегорчика славы. Я тогда еще не понимал, как мне повезло иметь такого малого и слабого рептилия в свидетелях моей славы. Он потихонечку пропал не доставив мне никаких забот. Заботы мои начались, когда мне сказано было явиться на экстренное заседание судей, для решения какого-то вопроса. Вот тогда мне и объявили 10 летний срок в Скривнусе. 

Тата: — За что? За умолчание, или за что-ти иное? Обман, предательство друзей?

Ю.П. —  Вы все сказали за меня?

Тата: — Каким образом они предъявляли вам обвинения? Вам показали огорчение друзей, когда они поняли как была состряпана статья об их так называемом стяжательстве?…
Ответа не последовало.

Ю.П. —  Время пролетело быстро. Я свободен, и думаю, чем мне далее заняться.  Меня тянет к моим камерам, в конце пути у меня их столько накопилось…

Пусть раздадут мои камерыновым неимущим, которые нас смемнили, и у которых денег никогда нет, и не будет, если технология будет каждый месяц обновляться.

Теперь я знаю, что содержание важнее дорогой технологии, но разве молодежь мне поверит? До и вообще, кто нам поверит?  Тата, я вас замучил. Спасибо, что вы меня выслушили.

By Tatyana Elmanovich, certified medium, JVP School of Mystical Arts.

 Татьяна Эльманович, медиум и хилер, сертификация
JVP School of Mystical Arts, школа Джеймса Ван Праага

Impromptu Healing

Healing a Spirit

The healing of the SPIRIT of my paternal grandmother Luba was spectacular thank to participation of powerful but quiet healers and loud camp of former Soviet Hierarchy overlookers . Hard to believe, but they still exist in the astral world. The “supervised” healers were Big Barlaam in astral body, the spirit from the extinct race of Giants. And there was I, the 84-year old woman. Was I still able to heal? By the way, in folklore, legends and myths women with abilities, good wise women or evil witches were oftentimes depicted as elderly ones. So I give it a shot!  And we had a guest, who looked like ancient Egypt demigod, had body of Greece Olympic champ and Roman eagle nose. A simple bandana controlled his shoulder-long black hair.

Before we started the healing, a quiet sound of а distant drummer reached my ear, provoking a lucid dream type vision of a Maui shore. Red sunset was coloring quiet sea water symbolizing The First Chakra world. The quiet drumming continued, and my fingers, hitting the computer desk, tried to catch the rhythm of that inviting drumming. The door into another world was opening.

Suddenness of the Soviet “angel’s” angry voice, “Stop drumming, it interferes with my thinking!” wiped away the vision. As a teen caught by stealing test answers from a source more reliable than pupil’s memory, I stopped. Nevertheless, another vision appeared. In the open doorway between the two worlds, threatening like a footage from Andrey Tarkovsky “Stalker,” stood our Cosmic guest. Now he reminded me an Indian shaman with missing feather stack into his bandana…

Angel continued talking, “In her last incarnation, Luba suffered terrible Parkinson’s disease, Tatyana, you know it. Luba passed the God’s test courageously showing the rare patience of a real warrior, which you, the medium, do not have. Your military incarnations were short and proceeded when you were still in the lower ranks of complete subordination and died early, before living to the true agony of incurable diseases, like now. Your birth in the aristocratic family was given for many reasons, by the way, so it touched both you and your brother, also your father’s brother, Andrei’s children. Do not think that everything was ashes … everything will wake up in the children of Tallinn’s Volodya and in the girls of American Volodya, what will completely separate them from other people, as it has separated you from others.  Medium, I know something about you. We admire your indifference toward awards and titles, but you are lonely.  We found you a husband,” and the “angel” named my future husband’s name.  After healing I asked Barlaam to pass to “angel’ my thank for thinking of me and my request stop meddling with my marriage problems. I would not marry the man, named by him. No more arrangements behind my back!

I have no healing table in my apartment.  We laid Luba’s astral body on my bed covered with a new comforter. Barlaam set five pairs of two vertical hollow trunks with discharge straight into imaginary ground of Mama Earth around former chakra centers. It would lead the cleansing stuff straight into the ground. In this setting the energy would flow in two opposite directions, the red one came from earth and was lifted  up into overflow back like open umbrella. The other flow, the mix of golden and violet energy, flowed from above through the body into distribution device and into earth, being cleansed by layers of ground that worked like filters. They kept the dirt, and let through the cleansed one into energy flow.  It appeared again divided into multiple small jets around the discharge. The flow pressure made these jets turn back through “earth” into air forming another open umbrella laying upside down on floor. Two flows met some place in the middle and “bottled in” Luba’s astral body. The “bottle” revolved increasing its speed. Inside the “bottle” the energy mixture was stirred to look as if it was boiling. Luba’s body was literally washed by this stir of red, violet and golden energy.

My business was to call golden and violet light from the upper layers down to earth. I channeled my sacred prayers, including Our Father in Heaven… I was not behind my computer anymore. My inner self  was some place else that I was not able to describe, I called light, more healing light to cleanse my grandmother.

Barlaam brought transparent red energy from earth and lifted it toward umbrella-like overflow.

And our guest, the cosmic traveler, made the mixture revolve, as in washing machine.  Sometimes he lifted his head and hands and increased the flow of gold and violet energy tenfold…  I knew I had seen him some place, but when and where and what was his name?

Finally, the “washing machine” stopped, as if measured amount of energy, or measured length of time were over.

Without any pause or stopping, I proposed to proceed with attempt to heal the Luba’s  ether field having in mind only one topic – the haughtiness and arrogance of military commanders and aristocrats. Refocusing my eyes, I saw a large field of stoned ground of gray-beige monotonous color. The surface was not flat, it carried configurations of hillocks and a mountain grid of same color.  Now, the three of us Barlaam, the guest and I—we were calling in light above to judge, to measure, to forgive and melt these configurations together with the stony ground.

It took some time, but it started to melt the gray-beige stony ether field, the cause of Parkinson and other chronic illnesses. On places of hillocks and mountains the boulders and stones exploded flowing upward into light, as it has been described by Vadim Zeland in his books about transferring, and mine unpublished cases of cleansing my dump  around my “beautiful soul”! It seemed that heaven took in it all, but still, some “bouquets” of slivers and rubble fell back on ether field – as if reminding that no cleansing, neither during stay on earth, nor during life in the astral world was final! In material world, and in spiritual world alike, we manage to produce new dirt on daily bases. Who would argue with this? As above, so it is below, how long it takes to  mess up a day ago cleaned apartment.

Luba’s appearance changed under our very eyes. Her husband, my grandfather Grigori kneeled next to her, kissed her hands and mumbled, “You are so beautiful, how I deserve this!”

Luba was shocked, “I need to be alone and stomach it all. Tatyana , I thank you later. Gregori and I, we will walk home.”

When the healers were done, the “angel” had chance to teach some more how to organize the proper healing without endangering outlookers with flow of stones from heaven onto their heads. Finally, I interrupt him in order to thank our guest for participation. He looked into my eyes, and touching the desk, repeated the dram’s beat that I heard at the beginning of this healing.

“Call me Tam-Tam, if you like!” – was his answer.

And I recalled where we had met. It was a year ago, when I worked on “Meditation in Memory of Grandmother Luba,” and Tam-Tam, talking to Yogananda, the Indian guru, offered me a miraculous time-travel session through granny’s relevant past incarnations as a war leader in various cultures, eon after eon, until we landed in America facing a fence adored with bloody scalps. It was the spot, where   Luba asked, if she was done with her male incarnations. Her guides agreed, and she moved to her next circle of female  lives revealing only in rare cases the manner of commanding not used to arguing or disobedience.

After my memorable speedy fly into Luba’s past incarnations, I asked her, if she recognized these incarnations, or they were play of my imagination?

Granny did not question any of it. She confirmed, “I know, my problems come mostly from my male incarnations. Yes,I was a warrior repeatedly.. I prefer not to dwell in these lifetimes again.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Featured

The Sirotin Brothers in Spirit

Lost on the Crossroads of History

This is a story about  the extraordinaire power of the negative thought forms that may create most dramatic family events through generations.  Say, one such significant event happened in year 1918 near St. Petersburg when my grandmother was raped and murdered by Kronstadt navy. In two decades later, this fatal event echoed in destiny of Anna’s two sons, Victor and Erast, who perished faraway in a Siberian Gulag.

… Up to present days, speaking about Soviet mass deportations of average citizens to  Gulags, Estonian call them “free trips to Siberia.” The Sirotin brothers, White Army officers,  lived at that time in Estonia.  And despite being Russians, they were taken tо this “free trip” on the very first day when Baltic states were occupied by The Red Army in 1940. The Stalin’s “falcons,” the spies trained to infiltrate life at West by all means, including homosexual relationships, probably, obtained the list of members in Tartu White Officers Club long before the annexation of Baltic States occurred.

In Siberia, they were sent to different Gulags, but brother’s managed to reunite only to be killed in the strangest accident thinkable. An unexperienced inmate, a Tadzhik national, who did not speak a word in Russian, and therefore, could not be instructed or stopped, started a root bulldozer and this behemoth moved both brothers who were resting nearby in high grass during their lunch break. Was this double death orchestrated by destiny, or a meaningless accident?

In 2015, about 75 years after their transition, Viktor and Erast, now in spirit, showed up in my California apartment asking for a healing and advice how to learn some English. Sensing that they were interested more in talking, we reduced healing to a shower of the golden light. In some 30 minutes the brothers reported experiencing lightness, and it meant that they were ready for a talk.

Affable Viktor asked some questions how such kind of healing works and recalled suddenly that once I asked about times, when Yudenich’s army was treacherously disarmed by Estonians, and the victorious general, according to the records of his successes in WWI battles, was arrested.  “Moving toward Petrograd, we were sure of victory, but Trotsky emerged as devil out of the sniffing box, out from nowhere on our way. No one ever heard his name, and we were taken by surprise and secrecy. We were not ready to meet him. Later, we learned that Stalin murdered Trotsky somewhere abroad. Trotsky gave him a victory over the White Army under Petrograd, and claimed, as it should, the position of the leader of the nation. They called it a position of the First Secretary of their party, or some committee, I am not sure that I remember their political titles.

“Trotsky began to drive us back and we found ourselves again at Narva, the Estonian border town. A fast train covered the distance between Petrograd and Narva too soon to learn what had happened meanwhile in Estonia. When train stopped at Narva railway station, we were met by Estonians armed to the teeth. We took them for friends, and did not throw up our rifles, and instead of hugs, we were showered by bullets! Our losses were big, we had to fight embracing the enemy’s bayonets. Nevertheless, we killed and dispersed them despite the deception and betrayal. The wartime betrayal is a terrible thing.

“I cannot stand Estonians ever since, and as I heard, Estonians cannot stand us after Stalin’s betrayal, when “the father of all nations” ordered mass deportation of Estonians. to Gulags.”

The free trip to Siberia was granted to intelligentsia charged with cosmopolitism (what it is, really, who knows? I did not know what it is! — T.E.) and to farmers who were suspected in resistance to collectivization of the Estonian farming. In brief, Estonian farmers who  did not want to join kolkhozes and give up their lands and horses and cows and lambs that they had taken good care of during centuries on stony shores of the Baltic Sea were doomed to deportation leaving behind whatever they had. The mass arrests were supposed to brake the nation people’s  resistance. Arrested people were put in the the cattle wagons on very long trips in trains that crossed the flat part of the Russia, then entered the Asian part covered with Taiga thick forests, forests and forests that could swallow an uncountable number of prisoners and return home only very few ones. But in year 1918 Baltic people got a short break enjoying 20 years of independent existence.  Victor and Erast happened to be the involuntary witnesses how this coveted independence was achieved.

“In independent Estonia, we lived in Tartu in poor conditions. Erast and I, we worked for Estonians in their construction business. We were trusted only with manual jobs, as your father was. We knew that he dug marsh near Paide for drying turf pellets. Our manual jobs did not turn us and Estonians into friends, and your father was not happy with his manual job either. They treated us like Americans treated their black slaves, it was all the same slavery everywhere. Estonians did not let us to fight Trotsky forces that would stop Bolsheviks, and Bolsheviks turned Communists paid them with mass deportation to Siberia. Such was the small tragedy that took place on the railroad between Narva and Petrograd in times, when the fate of small and large nations was decided!
I wanted you to know how it really was.”

“You ask, how did happen that the sons of a Russian priest attended the school of cadets, designed for nobility’s posterity to become officers. Our father was a soldier who became officer for his military merits. When we grow up to go to school, father wrote a letter to the Excellency Nikolai the Second, and we were accepted into the cadet’s school for our father’s military achievements, as he distinguished himself in the Caucasus. No one knows if his stories contained exaggerations or not. Maybe he spoke the truth after all, because if he would lie, no one would accept us as the cadets. You are right, in his soul, our father was a warrior, not a priest, a smart man who was left without any education whatsoever, so, growing up in monastery, the only thing he learned was to play a role of a priest and make it a source of his income. Warrior and priest can hardly become friends, and this conflict, I think, was the root of his alcoholism. He was a reveler and alcoholic and at the same time a lost clever man. We became Cadets, and after school, we were sent straight to the front line of WW I.”

 

“You also asked about our life in the Siberian labor camp. I tell you one thing. After my Estonian experience, for me and Erast, there were no difference between our Estonian life with being doomed to the manual jobs, similar to manual jobs in the Gulag! We understand that getting a better job in future, we have to learn English, but how?”

What could I tell them? Many and many generation of immigrants has proven that the most prolific way of learning a spoken language is casting himself or herself into the environment where no one speaks a single word of your mother tongue, and the miracle happens, the foreign language will open up to you, it will embrace you and, suddenly, you start understand it.  Thinking about Victor’s story how Yudenich was betrayed,  I found оn Internet an article “Nikolai Yudenich” written by a professional historians. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nikolai_Yudenich

It contained the listing of Yudenich’s victorious battles on the WWI fronts, the base of his reputation as a distinguished war commander. The same article included the description of the disarmament of the North West Army and arrest of Yudenich by Estonians when was time to fight Bolshevik’s upheaval in Petrograd (St. Petersburg)  This article confirmed the “ghost story” told by Viktor and Erast, the testimony of the participants of the Yudenich’s army last battle during the Russian Civil War. Estonians fought for their independence by all means, and it included the betrayal of Yudenich’s White North Western army. It helped considerably Trotsky to take the power from The Provisional Government and turning it to Bolsheviks.

Estonian independence, received in 1919 for switching sides, would last, as already mentioned, two decades and in year 1940, all three Baltic states would be annexed by Stalin, in other words, swallowed back into merciless and always hungry guts of the Stalinist Russia. Estonia independence will be restored as part of collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991.

Wikipeda had also another article “North Western Army” about the same Russian Civil War episode written from the Estonian point of view.  According to this article, the Estonian “switch of mind” from supporters of the White Army to supporters of the Trotsky came from the political views of Alexander Kolchak, the leader of Russia at a time. Kolchak refused to consider autonomy for ethnic minorities. In other words, Trotsky was more flexible than Kolchak, and he recognized the autonomy of ethnic minority that sought freedom from tsarist Russia considered to be the Imperial prison for multitude of nations all around the skirt of that giant country.

http://www.estonica.org/en/North-Western_Army/

For explanation of the disarmament of the North Western Army at the most critical moment of the fight against Bolshevism, this article said only a couple of words: Yudenich’s army “was finally disbanded.” For more details, the academic authors of this article send readers to Trotsky’s archive, pointing at the real force that granted them their swift independence!

Soon we, Viktor and Erast met again, and I asked how it happened that the Sirotin’s family left their mother Anna behind, fleeing to Estonia when the Reds terrorized the Russian Church? Of course, no one could foresee the size and cruelty of Bolsheviks war against their own church. Probably father Mikhail wanted to shield his already elderly and fragile wife from dangers of the boat trip across the stormy lake Peipus to Estonia where no one was waiting them with open arms. Viktor told that at first, he did not get what was happening.

“Father said that we will return in three days and our mother will wait for us at home with the hot samovar, and we will have tea together, and mother will bring jam preserves from the storeroom… We believed him, we sailed in boat crossing Chudskoye or Peipus, in Estonian, the natural border between the Russia and Estonia. I was with the fisherman Vasya on the oars. I was already strong and agile, and by the today’s standards, I would fit to be a member of some hockey team. Thank God, today I’m not attracted to football or hockey, but to something else, like healing animals. I’ll try to find out what is wrong with your cat’s kidneys.”

“Thank you! I will be grateful! When did you realize that there was no return home, and your mother was left alone home, and she could be exposed to mortal danger.”

“I understood it soon. I can see when my father was telling a lie. I began to jerk him, asking when we go for our mother back to Russia? He did not answer, and then, suddenly, he shouted ‘Let it go, it’s not your business!’ I wanted to sail back alone. But I did not have the spirit to act, and I still cannot forgive myself for it.”

“How did you learn the truth?”

“As a member of the White Officers’ Club I visited it quite often. Over there, a person whispered in my ear the terrible truth and introduced me to his friend who had arrived from Russia shortly. We met in the same officers’ club, and he shared everything he knew — the names of many murdered people, including the names of our mother and the widow of neighboring priest’s, whom my mother was friends with, and whom she had visited the day, when they both were murdered.

“This officer who brought this terrible news took my word that I would not say anything to my sisters. I gave my word. I learned the whole truth from him, to the last details. And he said that everything is being recorded… and our tears will be avenged. Were they avenged? I knew what had happened to Kronstadt sailors and how they fled after their failed uprising. Estonians did not take in a single man of them. Finland did, they sent them to North to do timber, where these bastards were fed and paid for their work.

“Za upokoj dushi, a burial sermon “for soul’s peace” was ordered in a local Russian church in Estonia. I asked my father to cross the lake one more time and bury our mother according to our custom. But he doubted that we, or someone else would find her body in that mess? I think that at that time he was right. How would we find her there? We raised the cross in the cemetery near the place where we lived in Estonia. Of course, father was right, who would know where the rapist threw her body? People were shaking from terror.”

“All this horror was returning to me in my nightmares,” Victor continued. “I hated myself for obeying the fool and failing to go for my mother’s body alone. I did not have money, fishermen of the Old Believers in Estonia were the ones who crossed in boats that sometimes stormy Peipus, and, of course, they asked a pay for this two-way trip and I did not have any money at a time.

“We arrived as beggars, my father fled in terror. At home, in Russia, he has told us such wonderful tales of his courage, but when it got to the point, he turned to be a coward. Now I see that he is not a spiritual person, all his priesthood thing was a sham only!

“You know that in year 1940, the Reds arrested us immediately after their arrival to Estonia. They had to have the list of the members of the White Guard Club handy. Traitors were everywhere. Our Club’s charter recognized the Russian Tsar, the authority of his government, and everything that Reds fight to change. The Reds sent to Gulags all white officers to the last member of Tartu White Officers Club. The Reds had to have the membership list long before occupation of Estonia, they knew where to find us, they get us where Erast and I were painting a new apartment… The Reds get us at the very first hour of marching into Tartu in 1940. Instead of going home to change our working clothing, we were guided straight to the Tartu Railway station where a train was waiting us and our “free trip” to Siberia began.

“How you got in your psychic vision how we died?” – Viktor asked me. “You saw that we were laying in the tall grass to rest during our brief lunchtime. The sun was shining straight into the eyes of the motorist who was moving the bulldozer, sun was blindingly bright, and he did not see us.

“I even smelled that thick grass, but it can be my imagination.” – I added. “The grass was high, straight and very thick.”

“Yes, once, the grain seed bags were hidden there probably by farmers in the War Communism time, when all the wheat was appropriated by government in the name to “feed the hungry.”  The seeds were sprouting every year making their way to the light. Finally, wheat grew wild and then it was overgrown with wood, and we sat there during the lunch breaks. On that fatal day we fell asleep and did not feel a thing.

“Only suddenly I woke up screaming, “Erast, Erast,” and his face was cold, and the next instant I was gone as well.

“We met later, already in disembodied state, in the astral bodies. We got used to the fact that sometimes you fly and swim and you can move around in space, and your thoughts, and imagination create things, happenings and situations. Talk to Erast, he does not know you, but he can tell a lot.”

ErastErast’s voice was softer and quieter. “This is true. In Gulags, we found each other and reunited as the saying goes, only to die together! But in astral world, we began to look for each other, because, at first, it was very lonely here. You do not understand at once what is going on and, like on earth, maybe more openly, some strangers try to take advantage of your hesitations. Good that we were immediately dragged to the Palace of Justice, and as you did, they questioned me about life in Gulag. They asked humorously, whether we liked that life and laughed… Yes, I forgot to say that I found Viktor, and they let us through the judges on the same day.

“The judgement court passed quickly, because what demands they could make on us? We judged ourselves for leaving our mother in Russia alone to meet her terrible destiny. Was the unwilling murderer an Uzbek or Georgian, or some other national? At a time, we did not distinguish them, we had never heard about, say, Tajikistan. But there we were, all in the same Siberian camp, created by Bolsheviks and their brainchild, the Communist Party, and Felix Dzerzhinsky, the executioner of the Red Terror, the red hell to us all. Here, on the Astral Plane, on the contrary, we learned that each nation has its own “heaven,” in other words, here we have right to be different from others.

“As you also asked about our life in the Siberian labor camp, I would like to confirm that after our Estonian experience of manual jobs, we were well prepared to face Taiga logging operations. But it was not logging that killed us in Gulag, it was our consciousness regarding our mother’s destiny. It was our painful sense of guilt that did us in.

“Finally, we met our mother in our Russian heaven. We kind of made up, but I know she did not forgive neither me, nor Viktor. I know, we’ll still ask for her forgiveness, because we loved her very much. I know, she will forgive us, because we purged our souls to the extent that we went through the same thing, we died the same way, as she did being raped and murdered by Kronstadt matrosnya — navy! It had bonded us, maybe for eons!”

 

Waiting for a miracle

tatyana.tallinn

The Unusual Meeting with Oren Zarif  

In my Inbox, I found the interview with the sensational Israeli healer Oren Zarif, forwarded by one of my Russian-speaking friend. My attention was attracted by the interviewer’s questions. They were impolite and carried a shadow of arrogance toward the controversial healer, as the interviewer called him. But who was this healer? Google’s search bar returned a list of pro and con opinions. The happy healed sang praises calling Zarif a miracle man, but the ones who did not recuperate labeled him as sham.

The healer does not work for free, and the price for treatment is considered high by those whom the healer did not help. They shout, “Fraud, fraud, fraud,” because they were promised to experience the miracle of the instantaneous recovery, as we see it in films, or read about it in Bible, or was trumpeted by unprofessional marketer. They…

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