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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“Moj laskovij dedushka” – my kind grandfather . The Continuation.

Sorry, if at the beginning, an overlapping occurs with the previous post. I need to start from here to arrive to the conclusion of this story…  Initially it was posted in one post. But probably it was too long and the end of the story disappeared  into the thin air without any explanation or apology!

Father Mikhail’s Childhood 

Once I said to Father Mikhail that I was curious to know why his children and his wife had never spilled a single word about his parents, about The Sirotins, the seniors, and how he got his last name “Sirotin” that stemmed from word “Sirota” – “Orphan.” Was Father Mikhail an orphan or abandoned infant, and the last name “Sirotin” was invented during registration for the Christianizing ceremony?

Grandfather confirmed that there was a thing that prompted this last name, but he was not found under the cabbage in the monastery vegetable garden, because the story of his birth was very simple. He observed with some hellish curiosity, if I would continue writing down what he had to say. I did! And he continued his story.

— I was conceived outside the law, in the church. A drunk young man desecrated a nun who gave birth to the unwanted child. I grew up in a monastery as the son of a drunken janitor. According to rumors, his wife had died in childbirth – birthing me, the gadenish, “the bag of misery,” or “unholy creature, birthed by snake-type inhabitants of hell.”

— Do you know who was your father?

— Who would tell me this? They told that this was a passing by traveler, a stranger. But why she, the nun, my mother, did not tell me the truth? What she was afraid of? Gossip said that my alleged “mother’s” death because of me had broken the janitor’s heart. Bullshit, he had no heart.

— Did someone pay for your upbringing?

— I had no idea. But my so called “father” was always drunk, maybe someone did pay him for keeping his mouth shut. I grew up in muddy environment being beaten constantly. In that situation, my only way out was to become an altar boy. And this was my only education I ever had. And observing priests, I learned the church language and how the priests conducted the sermons. The janitor got rid of me at the very first opportunity when an army recruit showed up in our city. Janitor introduced me to him, saying that my dream was to become a soldier to protect our tsar and otechestvo – the land of our fathers.

The same day, I was taken into an army can for rookies, and both men proceeded to the kabak to celebrate the opportunity to turn some government money into a vodka feast. What do you want from me? This was how I became a priest after my discharge from army, as all I learned in my life was how to conduct church sermons.

—In your astral world, did you meet your mother?

—Yes, I found her here, and I marked her with an eternal curse, and promised to tell the world about her shame…

— What was her name?

— Do not dig too deep into this shit.

— I am sorry to hear it. Why did you curse your mother? Cursing her, you cursed your children and grandchildren, and your entire family! My brother and me too, your grand-grandson and his lovely daughters… As Bible says about cursing…

Suddenly I felt my blood boiling, I was his granddaughter after all! Strange words started to flow out of my mouth!

— I think, you know your father’s name, and you curse aristocrats and nobility, because your real father, the stranger, the passing traveler, rejected his paternity, and later, when your mother, seeking better life for you, met that man and pointed out on too obvious resemblance between your father and you, what that coward did? This similarity did not soften your real father’s empty noble heart. He accused your mother in harassment. And you never forgave neither your father, nor your mother that they had abandoned you, and now you try to keep your kids so close to you as possible. Your pain made you keep them home against their will, my God! Now I can see why you were doing this? Times change, changing us as well. Let your kids fly out of the nest into their adult lives.

— It is easy for you, being so much younger than me, to teach me! You are impolite, to begin with!

— Impolite? You better ask – how did your curses had ruined my life? I tell you how! I cannot remember my mother, who grow up in the atmosphere of your curses and fights hugging or kissing me at least once in my childhood. But I remember her shouts, full of irritation. They suggested that I was not smart enough, not quick enough, did everything wrong, she instilled this in me. My brother Vsevo told me once, that the cascades of evil shouts at home made him think that this was the normal way how people communicate at home. Strange, he was the Sirotin’s favorite, but suffered more than I did. Once he asked, when I lived already in California, and he was visiting from Estonia, if he seems completely normal to me? He said that he cannot get rid from idea that everybody else was better than him.

“Stop it, it is silly to think so!” I interrupted him. My brother was and is now nearing 80, a good-looking man, he did not become alcoholic or user, he kept steady job up to his retirement. He was married twice, was liked by women, his hobbies included mountain skiing. Today, nearing age 80, he still comes every year to USA to ski in Colorado skiing resorts. How did he come to conclusion that he was worse than others? But time to time the dark shadow of his grandfather’s curses were crossing his face revealing hidden nameless fears nesting in his heart, and blocking his real potential.

I said to my brother that I was thinking about myself the same thing, until America healed me from low self-esteem in most peculiar ways. Arriving to this country, I worked a year as a receptionist in a dry-cleaning enterprise. Tons of people brought their stuff for cleaning, paid in advance, and then arrived to pick it up. My work day lasted from 8 am to 10 pm. During the day, I had barely time to sit down to rest. I saw and talked to a lot of people. My English improved, and along the way, I noticed that having the same question in mind, I was examining the clients and waiting to meet an ideal person who did not have any psychological problems. But I never met one! All people had their problems, everyone had problems. An Armenian was convinced that a spot was left on his shirt because he was an Armenian national! I asked him, if he had put a stamp on his shirt “I am an Armenian national”, how the cleaners would otherwise know to leave a spot on his shirt? A lady without any specific national features, asked her money back for spots before examining her cleaned dresses. To cut long story short, I assured my brother Vsevo that there were no ideal people, some were hilariously limited, some stingy, some pretended to be stupid, some were conniving, some demanded a discount harassing me with comparison our prices with prices of the previous owner of this business, some were dying from self-importance, and a local priest was busy keeping holiness of his image submitting for cleaning his pants and underwear. Nevertheless, all together they were nice and funny crowd that healed me from my fear that I was worse than them! But if they get it out of me completely?

Today, I am over 80 and still afraid to ask money for my work… Once I was paid $150 for translation of couple of pages an easy text – from English to Russian, and I could not believe that I got so much money for so little work. Was I normal? And then I recalled that my mother used to mention with pride that she had never read a book in her life! Now I knew that this “pride” of despising reading came from her father, the priest! In my Estonia, I became a decent journalist and film critic pressing my entire life through hostile home environment that despised and hated books and reading…  And today, facing soon transition to the next world, I am still afraid to ask money for my books, as if that money is burning my fingers, as if I had stolen time from God himself for working on them. The “pride” of living by his own mind and refusing to read was, no doubt, the worst hellish shadow left by moi laskivij dedushka on our family.

Sex in Monasteries

We took a short break in our conversation, and then Father Mikhail continued.

—You asked about sexual assaults in the Russian Orthodox Church. It was there, but I will not talk about it.

— How many altar boys served during the church sermons?

— There were two of us, Petya and I. Petya did not say anything to me, but, in my opinion, he succumbed to the temptation in hope to improve his life, and probably he achieved his goal. He was fed better than me. By the evening time, he was summoned somewhere, and he returned home at the dawn. He used to grumble and he did not look me into the eyes. Sometimes he shared a pie with me. And if they gave him more food to bring home, it happened that I got a chicken leg as well, it went down like a heavenly treat.

“How the Petya came into picture, was he an orphan, or also a “gadenish”?

“Do not ask me about him, his end was terrible. He was beaten to death by drank priests for being a gay, or for not keeping his mouth shut.”

In the monastery, altar boys were not entitled for vodka, but when the servants of God became drunk, they were pouring vodka violently down of our throats. It was how I became an alcoholic.

“During this type of feasts did you leave the nuns alone, or if they leaved the altar boys alone?”

“I would not say so. When nuns were drunk, they called us to themselves. And it seemed to me that they did not pray as they should. But this was not my concern. I saw there everything, so I got full sex education in the church environment.”

“Who were the nuns by social affiliation, from what social stratum did they appear?”

“Oftentimes, they were penniless orphans and widows, who came for the monastery for roof and daily bread. I was still small, and did not know much about such things. But sometimes something slipped through their gossip talks.  Once, a drunken merchant was robbed and murdered by nuns. They buried the body, but not deep enough. I remember clearly, when at the spring time the snow started to melt, the corpse’s body parts surfaced becoming visible, after rain that white washed them. The involved monastics disappeared from the monastery. Our town was small but life was boiling in it. Merchants brought any kind of merchandise to sell, to trade, to resell and this attracted people to market places. I could not stand the merchants, I hated this rude, drunk and cynical crowd, but nevertheless, I did not realize that slowly I was becoming like them – cynical rude, a Russian drunkard!”

“Sometimes I think about Vysotsky, if he was beaten in his childhood, then there is nothing to be surprised that he had become who he is today in the afterlife. Beating children is a crime, I know, I passed it. My “papa”, the janitor, who hit me regularly was a retired Cossack.  He was redheaded with cockroach-brown whiskers, and instead of “daddy”, I called him “the f… cockroach” – of course in my mind, or behind his back. He was a cruel man, he beat because when he got drunk he felt sorry for himself, and he did not beat me, because I did something wrong, but because he needed to pour his anger on someone.

“Whether there were animals in that monastery, children love animals, and animals love children, did you have some animal friend in your years in that monastery?

“Of course, there were any kind of animals, I liked horses and learned to ride a horse. Later, in my army years it turned to be a very useful skill.”

“Did army paid you some salary, did it help you?”

“Yes, I should put some pennies aside, but I did not do it, of course! Some squandered their salary playing cards, I treated so called friends for drinks and drinking parties. And it was a fun, the only fun I had in life. Army years were my only joyous years of my life.”

“Father Michael, how was your personal relationship with God?”

“I served God, but I did not believe in God! Instead, I believed in the existence of hell, as I had seen it, being drunk.”

“Did you crave for a real friend?”

“Of course, everyone does! But I had no friends, it did not work out, I scared off people with my fury and hatred, because I could not contain my boiling anger in my heart. It was always buzzing in me … And the older I got, the louder the buzz became. I have never met aristocrats personally, but I understand your question.”

“And how did you manage with nuns?”

“Well, we celebrated holidays together, and when they got drunk, things happened. I said that I saw everything especially on Easter feasts. There I saw things that a child was not supposed to witness. They did not hide anything, they said, learn, you may need it in future. None of them believed in God whom they served. The church folks were always drunk and thievish. I thought it would be better in Estonia, but nothing came of Estonia either.”

Jose Martinez

Jose Martinez, the spirit helper who showed up to be part of Father Michael’s healing team, couldn’t boast with parental support either. Disagreements with family’s way of life made him leave home and face his financial challenges alone. Somehow his story echoed Father Mikhail’s one. Both Russian army and American army discharged their heroes on the streets. But comparison of Mikhail’s and Jose’s stories forms the interesting juxtaposition of passive and active approach in search of solution what to do, if you are abandoned, penniless, without any prospects for future. The Russian man without faith in heart became angry cursing alcoholic and a priest in name only. He used up his observations as an altar boy, how priests conducted the church sermons, and imitating the priests, became the priest himself. The American man, Jose story will unfold below.

Once, in a hot summer day in year 2017, I was uploading to my computer some photos of Oxnard beach and beautiful residential area nearby, where I had spent a week seeking refuge from July heat. Suddenly I felt presence of a spirit who wanted a word with me. It was spirit of Jose Martines who said that he was attracted by these photos of houses where he was supposed to live, but instead he winded up in a cheap match-box apartment in LA Downtown. After honorable discharge from army, Jose found himself penniless and alone in LA.

“We, the Korean veterans, were neglected and thrown on the streets as kittens. I know that you did not like much the film “The Best Years of Our Lives,” but this film was about me from A to Z. And the film got Oscar, and it was a fair award. I know that you think differently, but it was my film, and my time.”

I tried to chirp in my meager sorry for being not too excited of the film “The Best Years of our lives” because of misuse of a real wartime invalid’s powerful image for inventing a politically correct, and in my mind, unethical ending of the film. But my sorry provoked only more irritation in him.

“No one can get that pain, Eetla, the Estonian psychic who introduced us on earth, helped me to overcome the thoughts about suicide. The worst was meeting Scientology people, they wanted Eetla to work for them as well, and there we met, and became friends. She refused their offer, and she was my only moral support, when I decided to commit suicide. She saved my life. Instead of killing myself, I started to heal and teach others and it helped me. One day, Eetla sent you to see me for getting some advice how to survive in the status of an immigrant. You were like dark forest, you knew nothing, but you turned to be a fast learner. But you were short-tempered, you could yell and shout and I grew tired from cleaning the same thing that you attracted with your nasty and senseless anger outbreaks. You felt it and disappeared. Nevertheless, you were invited to the celebration of my 60th birthday. But I died before the time from, of course, overdose. I already celebrated with that son of the bitch, mister X from Chicago, the white guy who was lazy and was not able to keep any job in Los Angeles. He was your friend as well, he was interested in your that time so hapless astrology, now it is so much better, but you already do way more interesting things. OK I have talked a lot. You saw, how I lived in my Downtown studio, washing 10 times a day my toilet after every client who went to shit there. You were an exception, you did not run in my clean WC, you respected what you respected, I liked you for this. Look, did you really can see something?”

“I have no idea, let me look.”

“Work, gal…”

I could not believe what I saw.

“My God, Jose, you had poison, a poison liquid in your kitchen shelf, and you could add it in any cup you wanted, in my cup, for instance, as well!”

“So, you get it! You found my euthanasia kit with poison. Eetla got it for me to commit suicide. But changing my mind, I did not toss it away. I kept it in case, if they come to arrest me for drug possession. But how do I live, what do you think? I got drugs from Mexico, I bought my share and sold it to my clientele, and one day I overdosed myself for all my sins.  …I had no idea that you get it so soon and so easy. Yes, you, get things.”

“You were bold enough to sell drugs under the nose of police, and probably, there were enough neighbors who reported that too many guests were milling around your apartment. When you overdosed, did they find money in your matrass?”

“It was stupid, I was rich, but pretended to be poor, and I should give you some money and connections, but I was not sure, if you were ready to clean some apartments. You did it later, and I regretted… I was not sure how to talk to you, and what to offer you.”

“You told once that you murdered 3 or 4 people leaving no traces behind, when you, out of desperation, accepted Scientology offer to work for them punishing people for leaving the Scientology establishment or refusing to pay what they owned to this “healing” organization?

“I killed more, about ten of them, and my work was traceless. I simply cut their silver cords, as I could walk out of my body freely, any minute, if this was needed. In all these cases, the heart attack was officially named as cause of sudden deaths. But then I started thinking what was I doing, and I started looking what else I could do for living… I was afraid to give away money, I should do that, but my stinginess was my problem, like it is the problem for many people from poor family, like yourself… Let’s work with stinginess for the starters…

“I do not know how to work with your stinginess, when I look at your future, all I see is that in your next incarnation in New York, you become a standup comedian. You will be good and you will be film actor.

“Stop it, stinginess is the enemy, work with my stinginess!

At that time, I was not able to help him. But still, time to time Jose showed up on my horizon, like in case of healing Father Mikhail, as if feeling some connection to the lonely soul of that sinner.

Yes, there might be a connection, both were left alone and helpless in society at young age. But the reactions to the same problems were so different, and so much depending on “the nation’s idea about itself!” It may determine how an individual will behave in their destiny’s pivotal situations. Later, this discovery made me write an article of degradation of Russian egregore, and its impact on the image of Russians.

St. Seraphim found me and asked again, if I would be interested in healing not so shiny souls, but ones who dwell in the lower levels of the astral world. “I have my list of souls who need help, and I know, you have your list of such souls. But are you ready to continue healing? «Придется копаться в жуткой грязи, уродством, порождением злобой, завистью, ревностью»! – “We will deal with terrible dirt birthed by anger, envy and jealousy. Can you handle this? Think before you answer.”

“Let me try out one more healing of Father Mikhail, and I learn, if I can digest what a healer must digest in such cases, maybe I am already too old and sick for this kind of free work!”

One more healing of Father Mikhail

It took place on January 10th, 2018, soon after I had written down Father Mikhail’s childhood stories. I declared that the theme of the healing would be search of thought forms reflecting the beating him as a child by his tormentor, the monastery janitor whom he called behind his back “the cockroach.”

As always, I started with prayer, asking help and protection from the Mikhail’s guardians. However, what was shown to me exceeded all my expectations proving one more time that our guides chose healing goal for a healer, not healer’s mental speculations. Instead of beating scenes, my third eye stood passive and in pitch darkness behind my closed eyes I heard the quiet cry of a baby.

Was someone crying behind the window? But people never stopped on our clean streets for a talk or rest, there were no benches for sitting there and letting babies cry. Nevertheless, the sound of a baby’s cry became louder. Suddenly, my “third eye” vision lit up, and I saw a country bed. The stretched hands of a nun were holding a crying baby: a newly born was taken away from the woman in the bed. The cry became heart breaking. I, who stopped crying decades ago, broke into tears watching how the baby was taken away from the nun who had given birth for her son, conceived in sin according to the Church believes at a time.

The visions about Father Mikhail’s early ages continued to flow. Now the baby’s cry came from the monastery’s large and so old-fashioned kitchen. The naked child was stretched out on a meat cutting table on a rag next to a milk jar. A joyful nun, pacifying baby with quiet lullaby, poured some milk into saucer. In one deft movement, she tore a piece of cloth from the rag on the table, wrapped crumbs of bread in it, dabbed the bread roll into milk and popped it into the mouth of a screaming baby. The child fell silent for a moment, and when it began to cry again, a new piece of torn cloth appeared in the hands of the merry nun, and the process of feeding the child in the monastery kitchen continued.

A pair of blackish eyes stopped joyful nun’s lullaby. Baby was packed fast into the remains of the rag beneath him and the bundle moved from kitchen table onto greedy hands of a man in janitor’s typical uniform. Then he saw a pack of money on the table… The janitor put the bundle with the baby back on the kitchen table, and sunk into money counting pleasure. Often wetting with saliva his right hand’s big and pointing fingers, he decided to recount the unusually thick pack of rubles. Then he put this pack into his pocket and started to move away from the table.

“You forgot something,” said the ironic voice of an older nun who appeared from nowhere. Janitor returned and pick up the baby who lifted its eyes and meeting janitor’s face started to cry hysterically.

Was it shown me exactly as I described it here, or it was my imagination that finished the description of this exiting transaction in the monastic kitchen? I was emotionally involved in my “3rd eye video” to this extent that there was no way to separate one from the other… Maybe I must to determine for myself, in what genre this story would unfold? In Bangsian style, or by rules of supernatural fiction, like some ghost story?

Suddenly, the colorful wave filled the healing space – my “third eye” space, or the 4D space, where we were allowed to train our imagination, so crucial to have it in afterlife. A strange voice told, “You would see as much rolls in your healing space, as you saw empty alcohol bottles during your previous healing.” The same voice added. “The time for this cleansing is over. Please, close the session and take some rest.”

I asked “But what about the “cockroach” whom I was supposed to whip today?”

“He was not a reason, but rather a consequence of circumstances!”

OK, I have imagination, I know it. But now I ask, what would happen, if I allow my imagination move forward into future of this soul, and seek an answer to the question, if the day would come, and he would reconcile with his mother, how it may look?

My imagination obliged, the scenes of reconciliation of Father Mikhail and his mother started to prop up in my mind involuntarily.

Yes, the day arrived, when Father Mikhail, now in spirit, took the ride toward monastery N, now the astral copy of once an earthy monastery where he was born. At the entrance gate, he asked about the nun named Vera and received a suspiciously swift answer that none of their monastics were ever been called Vera, in English – Faith!

“Is she still alive?” – was Father Mikhail’s next question, as the fierce denial of the existence of the nun named Vera means for him exactly the opposite. He assumed that they had expelled her from their ranks and decided not to talk about her. The icy look of the nun at the gate told him that if he would not be aided by share luck, he will return home empty handedly.

From afar, a cart loaded with empty metal cans was rushing against us. The metal surfaces beat against each other producing sound of timpani in a modern orchestra where ardent drummers beat them with a reason or without it, as if keeping the melody from sounding too simple and old fashioned for ears of contemporary folks. The nun at the entrance gate stopped the driver, and said to Father Mikhail that this carriage can give him a free ride to the city, to the church near the University.

“They want to get rid of me and my questions as soon as possible, something is fishy here,” thought Father Mikhail and soon enough found himself examining the crowd of the beggars who had positioning themselves on concrete porch around the church, as it was a custom to do down there during centuries.

… He recognized Vera immediately despite her being cloaked as a very poor commoner. As other beggars, she was begging for living, sitting on the cold concrete porch next to the legless cripple on the cusps. They seemed to be well acquainted, because time to time they exchanged a quiet word or two.

Father Mikhail found a bench near flowerbed across the church and being sure that busy Vera will not recognize him, sat to look what would happen next.

The church bells started to buzz inviting the parishioners to attend the evening sermon. And as the believers were moving toward church entrance, the coins and sometimes paper bills were falling into beggars’ outstretched hands or into cups set on the ground next to them.

When the flow of parishioners started to thin, out of the church appeared a young and joyous nun in professional outfit that looks familiar to Father Mikhail. She was heading straight toward Vera, and it looked that Vera was waiting for her. She produced from her professional uniform a sparkling bottle of vodka, and stretched it toward smiling Vera. It was a professional exchange. Vera surrendered to her two bowls, hers and the crippled one’s that disappeared into rich folds of her gown. It turned out that they were begging for collecting means for repairing the monastery. Now as the had given money away, they had free time, and they could enjoy a drink or two of sparkling vodka. The legless cripple was rubbing his hands joyfully.

But suddenly Vera, in astral world young, as if years had no impact on her, who was looking straight forward at a man on the garden bench across, froze, and then whispered, probably intending her words to the crippled man.

“Go away, my son has come to see me!”

“I will better stay,” he answered. “A presence of a witness never hurt.”

Father Michael looked absent minded, lost. Maybe he regretted coming so far. But the presence of the crippled man was holding him glued to the bench. Vera recognized him, and his hope to slip away unnoticed would not do anymore.

“Follow me,” — Vera waved her hand to Father Mikhail, pointing in direction of uncut bushes on the back side of the church.

Vera with sparkling bottle of vodka in her hand, was leading the group, and crippled man on his cusps were closing the rank, as if guarding the priest in case, if he would suddenly change his mind and attempt to escape!

The wild bushes formed a gazebo-like area with a small table and two simple garden benches. Vera picked from the ground some used paper cups, washed them under garden watering hose and proudly placed them on the table. The cripple had already opened the vodka bottle, and Vera poured equal amount of transparent liquid in cups. She said, “Na zdorovye!” – “For your health,” or “Bottoms up!” and swallowed her portion of vodka without hesitation, as a person used to down a galp of strong alcohol without the snack. The other followed the suite.

Nobody could produce a single word. There was silence. Crippled looked aside. Vera poured the second help of transparent liquid into cups. And they downed it again wordlessly. Father Mikhail looked at the crippled with vexation. The latter looked again aside but did not leave the scenery.  No one had a word to say. Vera poured the third cup of vodka into cups.

Father Mikhail get it down, put cup back on the garden table, an old one, washed by so many rains for so long years that it has swelled, crumbled, and had decorative green moss spots here and there.

“Forgive me!” pressed Father Mikhail through his frozen lips.

нищенка и девочка в розовом

The crippled threw up his huge brown eyes, suddenly burning, with a glow of unearthly light of forgiveness, and then he lowered them again, looking aside.

Father Mikhail asked suddenly, “Zhivesh to kak?” – “How are you doing?”

Vera smiled.

“I am fine. You saw, I am now a somebody, I raise money for reconstruction monastery church. I help Vanya, you see, he gets more money than I do, but he cannot get anything from store being legless. So, I take care of him. Now I have someone to exchange a word, to talk. He never rebuked me, did not shame me, he’s a good man. And you came along. I am now OK!  You will be OK as well.”

Father Mikhail

Moj laskovij dedushka – my kind grandfather

As it has been already told, Anna, my grandmother met her husband Mikhail, the army officer in the rank of lieutenant-colonel in her family estate. He started as a soldier, and was promoted for his courage and initiative in battle situations. However, Anna’s problems with her husband became unbearable when he changed his military uniform toward priest’s cassock?

Father Mikhail’s children, my mother, her brothers and sisters, have spoken about two very different reasons why did it happen. The first reason stems from Mikhail’s army heydays, and the second one was inspired by the practical considerations.

How a Militant’s Uniform was Changed for a Priest’s Cassock

FamilyGrandpaMichailMama with kin

Father Mikhail in year 1920. From left to right Yevgenia, Alexander, Yerast, Tamara, my mother, Victor, Valentina in Estonia. Father Mikhail’s wife Anna was left in Russia in hope to return for her when “things come down in Russia”. 

Once upon a time, when Mikhail served in Caucasus mountains, he met Muslim dervishes in a remote tavern near Turkey boarder. He was returning from a fair where he procured several thoroughbred horses for his army superiors. At the tavern, he stopped to take care of horses and taste delicious food like soup kharcho and shish kebab from the freshest mutton. Muslims who feasted around the camp fire on a meadow, the tavern’s backyard, invited him to share their friendly company. At home, the alcohol was tabooed for Muslims, and time-to-time they crossed the border of some neighboring Christian land, like Armenia, to enjoy the “forbidden fruit” and they downed their manly meals with local crystal-clear grape liquor chacha. They told Mikhail that he was one of them, a dervish with super powers, but he was not aware of this. The compliments did what they always do – took a person off the guard, and Mikhail fell asleep. He woke up when bonfire was already turning into a handful of gray ashes, the sky was dark blue, and night was enveloping the splendid mountain views that attracted tourists to this region. But at night time, moi laskovij dedushka discovered that dervishes cheated on him, they stole his thoroughbred horses and disappeared, letting him sleep and feel a fool, when he would open his eyes. Who would help a man in despair? Only stars were flickering on the nightly skies. Terrible loneliness and despair had crawled into Mikhail’s heart and he started his bargaining with God: if Almighty will return him horses, he will switch his army uniform toward priest’s cassock. As Muslim dervishes were magicians, he prayed hard asking for an extended amount of Divine support!

The covenant with God was confirmed by tavern’s owner who offered an old mare to Mikhail to chase the thieves. Mikhail commented later that he was partying with the Devil himself, but with burning love toward God he straightened things out. The cloudless night gave him victory over treacherous, but also drunk thieves and at the dawn he returned the old mare to the tavern’s owner, paid for meals and chacha that dervishes forgot to do, and proceeded to his fortress together with his horses and dervishes’ horses as well. When Mikhail was asked how the dervishes would get home without horses, my laskovij dedushka muttered under his breath, looking aside, as if cutting off more questions, that they would not need horses anymore. His courage was recognized by his army superiors and he was promoted to the rank of army officers.

Mikhail kept his promise to God, and became a priest! Another time, at a twilight hour, my mother, Mikhail’s daughter Tamara, being in not so romantic mood, spilled a strange sentence, “Oh, these stories!” and added that her father came from very poor background and became priest hoping for a lucrative and not too exhausting occupation. When I asked who were his parents, my mother pretended that she did not hear my question…  It was swept under the rug that my grandfather was a typical armejski gulyaka — a military carouser, and that his life story contained exciting facts that normal commoners would prefer to keep in darkness. The resulting fear of letting his children out of the nest to face the real world made Mikhail tried to keep his children home if possible, guarding them from meeting the world. During the transition called death this strangeness did not leave him, on the contrary, in afterlife, it reached the stage of maniacal passion of keeping his children so close to home as possible.

Zhenya, his daughter and my aunt whom we met in the chapter “A Spinster’s Big Dream”  told me that when she announced at home that she got a position of assistant of the teacher of singing and dance in the school for orphans, and she was also offered a small place to stay in the same school to help administration, if needed, instead of joy, as work was hard to find, Father Mikhail’s reaction was wild and out of control. He yelled loudly, “No, I did not allow you to leave home and abandon your aging parents!” Zhenya continued, “My mother, grandmother Anna, had opposing opinion, she suggested that I have to accept the offer and return to school right away, before the vacant position would be taken by someone else. But gone mad Father Mikhail continued condemn loudly the thankless youth and shouted threats to kill himself! Despite absurdity of this threat – as killing himself in astral world was hardly possible, Zhenya stood at home and her heart was bleeding!”

I asked Zhenya to drop by my studio what she did! We talked, and from my studio, Zhenya went straight to school.

During following six months since Zhenya left the family for the school, Father Mikhail did not “kill” himself. Zhenya stood in school helping both teachers and administration, in other words, doing everything what was needed to be done. Of course, she needed to learn English faster, but already she surprised me with some English sentences that she used for greeting students in her singing class.

The word what really happened to Zhenya before she left home, came from the third party, a friendly spirit Jose Martines, who had died on the eve of his 60th birthday from OD in Los Angeles. He divulged that Father Mikhail was caught red handed beating Zhenya for her decision accept the job and stay in the pupil’s dormitory. Jose, as an advanced seer on earth, was in the know of this interesting information because he was invited to join the group of other souls to examine the situation and assess the problem. Mikhail was arrested, and Jose added that the old bunk was locked up to a mental institution. The Russian Hierarchy sent their Great (St. Seraphim from Sarov) to examine the situation personally.

Then Jose recalled that St. Seraphim asked him to contact me, and ask, if I will heal Father Mikhail. Jose added that if I do, he would like to be part of that healing and volunteer as a helper.

“Consider, you have the invitation already,” was my answer.

Serafim Sarovski 222  St. Seraphim from Sarov (1754—1833)

Soon a circle of the invisible spirits gathered in my studio. The soul of the St. Seraphim from Sarov was presented. The best way to introduce him would be to read his two quotes about the purpose of our lives on earth. “Acquire a peaceful spirit, and around you the thousands will be saved.”

“It is necessary that Holy Spirit enters our hearts. Everything we do for Christ, has been given to us by Holy Spirit, and prayer is the most decisive tool, as it is always available to us.”

Wikipedia: “Saint Seraphim of Sarov (1754 -1833), born Prokhor Moshnin is one of the most renowned Russian saints in the Eastern Orthodox Church. He is considered the greatest of the 19th century startsi (elders). Seraphim extended the monastic teaching of contemplation and self-denial to the layperson. He taught that the purpose of the Christian life was to acquire Holy Spirit. Seraphim was canonized by the Russian Orthodox Church in year 1903. Pope John Paul II referred to him as a saint.”

If we translate his advice in the modern language, it would say, “He taught that the purpose of the Christian life was to acquire from cosmos energy of so high vibrational frequency as possible and as much as possible considering the prayer to be the most effective tool for creating direct connection from human being to the realms of Divine Light and truth vibrations.”

On February 18, 2017 Father Mikhail was the first to arrive, he chose a seat and smiled ironically. Not very inspiring beginning of the healing. Nevertheless, I started with my quiet prayer and, as usual, appealed to Father Mikhail’s guides and angels offering them a chance to work through my body and grounding channels. I tried to call in “Golden Light” as much as possible.

Seraphim of Sarov took the seat next to Father Mikhail. I thanked him for honoring our modest gathering with his presence. I started calling in the Divine Light to increase the presence of high vibrational energy in the healing area. My Third Eye showed me how Jose Martines was pushing his cart for collecting negative thought forms, if such would be released during the upcoming healing.

I was suggested to work with coming up images of Mikhail’s throat and heart chakras. We set up a similar screen as we did cleansing Anna, and soon the stream of already familiar curses was flying across the room toward the gluey screen, the Hildegard’s invention.

The energy moves intensified when I reached to Father Mikhail’s heart area. It was bright red and flaming. His heart should be a very angry one. It was surrounded by the color of the burnout desert tones. There were no traces of emerald green, the basic colors of the heart chakra. I left it as it was for now, and moved to the Solar Plexus area… filled with empty bottles of alcoholic beverages.

Jose Martines was already collecting these dirty bottles into his cart for moving them out from healing area toward … my dump? Would I find them in my solar plexus area? The more bottles Jose picked up, the more bottles seemed to appear from all thinkable corners in my studio.

Maybe you have seen horror movies when targeted by dark forces characters started seeing snakes in their living space, they attacked humans everywhere, appeared in bathtubs and washing sinks. In my studio, instead of snakes, empty bottles multiplied everywhere. I started to pray in terror calling for help from the higher powers. A burning furnace appeared from nowhere, and I started to burn whatever appeared to look like released thought forms of Father Mikhail’s occupational attributes. I did it, or someone else did it using my mind and hands? Father Mikhail stopped smiling ironically. His spirit face was stoning into a contortion of fear. I was on the brink to give up cleansing attempt, because I had lost control of what was going on in the studio during that healing.

I saw that the amount of negative thoughtforms connected to Mikhail’s persona was bigger than his physical flesh form could accommodate. Where the soul of Father Mikhail was accumulating them? If I was not able to understand it, how could I hope to heal him?

Nevertheless, I stopped asking questions, and decided to continue throwing into flame whatever was on my way as long as the flaming furnace was there, and my stamina could take it! I was throwing into burning stove his clerical garb, asking forgiveness from the Heavenly Powers for allowing to drag myself into this world without clear understanding what I was stepping into. I continued working through my imagination so long as I could.

Finally, I called for the closing of this healing session thanking cordially all participants, Father Mikhail included. But he left the scenery without looking back, and soon the darkness behind the window swallowed him, as he had never existed. Thank came from Seraphim of Sarov for attempt to help a troubled soul. We spoke in Russian.

“Tatyana, I cannot talk to you right now, as you are really falling apart. Overall impression? I did not understand a thing what you did, but he was clearing before my eyes, how did you do it?”

“I called the cleansing light, prayed and asked for help! I saw what was inside of his energy “frame” as much, as it was shown to me.”

“Your work will be reckoned, but I did not understand, how you did it. Tanya, go to bed, you’ll pass out in a faint …”

Same healing
from the point of view of Jose Martines

The next day, Jose Martines, on earth Korean war veteran and clairvoyant in his own right, showed up to discuss the healing session of Father Mikhail. We both were impressed by the release of empty bottles of alcohol in described amount. I asked Jose, what did we saw – real bottles or only images of these bottles? Jose answered that they, the bottles, seemed to be real things. But they came and disappeared so strangely, as if being something else, not real. Maybe on the given astral level, thing and its image are one and the same?

And then the idea struck me that if it is one and the same in astral world, then it is the same here, and the ancient India sages’ conviction that everything around, including our bodies, is Maya, a dream, is the harsh truth after all! Marlene Dietrich spilled once – in astral world, everything is a pipe dream only!” But if this is so, the cosmic law of oneness would whisper in your ears that as it is up there, so it is below, and whatever we see, comes from a “pipeline,” someone’s imagination, from a dream, from a … God’s dream only, or my dreams matter also? My head was spinning, I came so close to overturning my materialist worldview. It was nesting strongly in my childish “common sense” consciousness despite being challenged by my “second sight” experiences since childhood.

Jose seemed also to be lost in his thoughts. His assessment of the effectiveness of our healing attempt was brief. “We were aided, it was heavenly to be aided!” After sharing his opinion, he fell back into silence!

Then he said that my decision to destroy the images of his clerical garb, to burn it in our field furnace was an excellent idea! He was jumping out of his socks when I shouted to the old man to remove his black cloak, or whatever it was, and a flood of dark gluey liquid gushed out of him in such amount that Jose was afraid that we would be swamped in it. But it did not happen, the liquid disappeared into ground. When I asked Jose how he saw the chakras of grandfather’s throat and heart areas, did his spirit body revealed it at all? The Jose’s answer was shocking.

“They looked terrible! Both former energy centers were occupied with parasites, as Mr. Gogol’s stomach appeared to be, when we cleansed it. I washed them with a garden hose.

My childish common sense made me ask everybody whom I considered to be smarter than me, did astral world carries biological matter as we have it on earth? Paramahansa Yogananda assured us that astral world did not have it. Yukteswar answered that in astral world everything is possible and therefore he cannot say “yes” or “no”, as only experience can bring some clarity in this question. I asked the same from St. Seraphim from Sarov. His answer was most intriguing. He said, “How interesting question? I had never thought about it.”

Jose tried to find out what the Russian Hierarchy guy thought about our healing. St. Seraphim from Sarov confirmed that he could not understand a thing how it was done, but he liked results. This time he asked some questions regarding the healing technique. We talked about 40 minutes and he encouraged me to keep detailed diary and write the book about my healing experiences – giving people hope to be able to heal themselves without spending tons of money on alternative healers. I asked about obvious discrepancy between the quantity of empty bottles and the small measures of the soul. How can little soul carry so much bottles?

St. Seraphim from Sarov answered the following.

“Human spirit is built from many levels of different energies. And every level shows the soul differently depending on the particular levels’ frequencies…”

Paramahansa Yogananda had spoken about it in “Prisoners of Fame” in lengthy matter.

St. Seraphim of Sarov added:

“The soul of one and the same human being can look on different energy levels surprisingly different. On some level it may look like the soul of an angel, and on the other level, it can look like soul of an angry monster.”

Was he pointing to Father Mikhail? I decided to dig a bit deeper into childhood of moi laskovij dedushka.

Father Mikhail’s Childhood

Once I said to Father Mikhail that I was curious to know why his children and his wife had never spilled a single word about his parents, about The Sirotins, the seniors, and how he got his last name “Sirotin” that stemmed from word “Sirota” – “Orphan.” Was Father Mikhail an orphan or abandoned infant, and the last name “Sirotin” was invented during registration for the Christianizing ceremony?

Grandfather confirmed that there was a thing that prompted this last name, but he was not found under the cabbage in the monastery vegetable garden, because the story of his birth was very simple. He observed with some hellish curiosity, if I would continue writing down what he had to say. I did! And he continued his story.

“I was conceived outside the law, in the church. A drunk young man desecrated a nun who gave birth to the unwanted child. I grew up in a monastery as the son of a drunken janitor. According to rumors, his wife had died in childbirth – birthing me, the gadenish, “the bag of misery,” or “unholy creature, birthed by snake-type inhabitants of hell.”

“Do you know who was your father?”

“Who would tell me this? They told that this was a passing by traveler, a stranger. But why she, the nun, my mother, did not tell me the truth? What she was afraid of? Gossip said that my alleged “mother’s” death because of me had broken the janitor’s heart. Bullshit, he had no heart.”

“Did someone pay for your upbringing?”

“I had no idea. But my so called “father” was always drunk, maybe someone did pay him for keeping his mouth shut. I grew up in muddy environment being beaten constantly. In that situation, my only way out was to become an altar boy. And this was my only education I ever had. And observing priests, I learned the church language and how the priests conducted the sermons. The janitor got rid of me at the very first opportunity when an army recruit showed up in our city. Janitor introduced me to him, saying that my dream was to become a soldier to protect our tsar and otechestvo – the land of our fathers.

“The same day, I was taken into an army can for rookies, and both men proceeded to the kabak to celebrate the opportunity to turn some government money into a vodka feast. What do you want from me? This was how I became a priest after my discharge from army, as all I learned in my life was how to conduct church sermons.”

“In your astral world, did you meet your mother?”

“Yes, I found her here, and I marked her with an eternal curse, and promised to tell the world about her shame…”

“What was her name?”

“Do not dig too deep into this shit.”

“I am sorry to hear it. Why did you curse your mother? Cursing her, you cursed your children and grandchildren, and your entire family! My brother and me too, your grand-grandson and his lovely daughters… As Bible says about cursing…”

Suddenly I felt my blood boiling, I was his granddaughter after all! Strange words started to flow out of my mouth!

“I think, you know your father’s name, and you curse aristocrats and nobility, because your real father, the stranger, the passing traveler, rejected his paternity, and later, when your mother, seeking better life for you, met that man and pointed out on too obvious resemblance between your father and you, what that coward did? This similarity did not soften your real father’s empty noble heart. He accused your mother in harassment. And you never forgave neither your father, nor your mother that they had abandoned you, and now you try to keep your kids so close to you as possible. Your pain made you keep them home against their will, my God! Now I can see why you were doing this? Times change, changing us as well. Let your kids fly out of the nest into their adult lives.”

“It is easy for you, being so much younger than me, to teach me! You are impolite, to begin with!”

“Impolite? You better ask – how did your curses had ruined my life? I tell you how! I cannot remember my mother, who grow up in the atmosphere of your curses and fights hugging or kissing me at least once in my childhood. But I remember her shouts, full of irritation. They suggested that I was not smart enough, not quick enough, did everything wrong, she instilled this in me. My brother Vsevo told me once, that the cascades of evil shouts at home made him think that this was the normal way how people communicate at home. Strange, he was the Sirotin’s favorite, but suffered more than I did. Once he asked, when I lived already in California, and he was visiting from Estonia, if he seems completely normal to me? He said that he cannot get rid from idea that everybody else was better than him.”

“Stop it, it is silly to think so!” I interrupted him. My brother was and is now nearing 80, a good-looking man, he did not become alcoholic or user, he kept steady job up to his retirement. He was married twice, was liked by women, his hobbies included mountain skiing. Today, nearing age 80, he still comes every year to USA to ski in Colorado skiing resorts. How did he come to conclusion that he was worse than others? But time to time the dark shadow of his grandfather’s curses were crossing his face revealing hidden nameless fears nesting in his heart, and blocking his real potential.

I said to my brother that I was thinking about myself the same thing, until America healed me from low self-esteem in most peculiar ways. Arriving to this country, I worked a year as a receptionist in a dry-cleaning enterprise. Tons of people brought their stuff for cleaning, paid in advance, and then arrived to pick it up. My work day lasted from 8 am to 10 pm. During the day, I had barely time to sit down to rest. I saw and talked to a lot of people. My English improved, and along the way, I noticed that having the same question in mind, I was examining the clients and waiting to meet an ideal person who did not have any psychological problems. But I never met one! All people had their problems, everyone had problems. An Armenian was convinced that a spot was left on his shirt because he was an Armenian national! I asked him, if he had put a stamp on his shirt “I am an Armenian national”, how the cleaners would otherwise know to leave a spot on his shirt? A lady without any specific national features, asked her money back for spots before examining her cleaned dresses. To cut long story short, I assured my brother Vsevo that there were no ideal people, some were hilariously limited, some stingy, some pretended to be stupid, some were conniving, some demanded a discount harassing me with comparison our prices with prices of the previous owner of this business, some were dying from self-importance, and a local priest was busy keeping holiness of his image submitting for cleaning his pants and underwear. Nevertheless, all together they were nice and funny crowd that healed me from my fear that I was worse than them! But if they get it out of me completely?

Once I was paid $150 for translation of couple of pages an easy text – from English to Russian, and I could not believe that I got so much money for so little work. Was I normal? And then I recalled that my mother used to mention with pride that she had never read a book in her life! Now I knew that this “pride” of despising reading came from her father, the priest! In my Estonia, I became a decent journalist and film critic pressing my entire life through hostile home environment that despised people who read books. Today, facing transition to the next world, I am still afraid to ask money for my books, as if it would burn my fingers. The “pride” of living by his own mind and refusing to read was, no doubt, the worst hellish shadow left by moi laskivij dedushka to hover above our family. It had power of an invisible stone wall that I had to break through alone. Today I am 84 and I am still not done with the issue. The members of the camp of my maternal ancestry explain me tirelessly who is who in family, some do it from behind their graves… Probably, this was how my karma was humbling me.

Sex in the Monastery

The spirit dialogue with my grandfather continued… He was angry and recollection of the past seemed to hurt him badly 

We took a short break in our conversation, and then Father Mikhail continued.

“You asked about sexual assaults in the Russian Orthodox Church. It was there, but I will not talk about it.”

“How many altar boys served during the church sermons?”

“There were two of us, Petya and I. Petya did not say anything to me, but, in my opinion, he succumbed to the temptation in hope to improve his life, and probably he achieved his goal. He was fed better than me. By the evening time, he was summoned somewhere, and he returned home at the dawn. He used to grumble and he did not look me into the eyes. Sometimes he shared a pie with me. And if they gave him more food to bring home, it happened that I got a chicken leg as well, it went down like a heavenly treat.”

“How the Petya came into picture, was he an orphan, or also a “gadenish”?

“Do not ask me about him, his end was terrible. He was beaten to death by drank priests for being a gay, or for not keeping his mouth shut.”

In the monastery, altar boys were not entitled for vodka, but when the servants of God became drunk, they were pouring vodka violently down of our throats. It was how I became an alcoholic.

“During this type of feasts did you leave the nuns alone, or if they leaved the altar boys alone?”

“I would not say so. When nuns were drunk, they called us to themselves. And it seemed to me that they did not pray as they should. But this was not my concern. I saw there everything, so I got full sex education in the church environment.”

“Who were the nuns by social affiliation, from what social stratum did they appear?”

“Oftentimes, they were penniless orphans and widows, who came for the monastery for roof and daily bread. I was still small, and did not know much about such things. But sometimes something slipped through their gossip talks.  Once, a drunken merchant was robbed and murdered by nuns. They buried the body, but not deep enough. I remember clearly, when at the spring time the snow started to melt, the corpse’s body parts surfaced becoming visible, after rain that white washed them. The involved monastics disappeared from the monastery. Our town was small but life was boiling in it. Merchants brought any kind of merchandise to sell, to trade, to resell and this attracted people to market places. I could not stand the merchants, I hated this rude, drunk and cynical crowd, but nevertheless, I did not realize that slowly I was becoming like them – cynical rude, a Russian drunkard!”

“Sometimes I think about Vysotsky, if he was beaten in his childhood, then there is nothing to be surprised that he had become who he is today in the afterlife. Beating children is a crime, I know, I passed it. My “papa”, the janitor, who hit me regularly was a retired Cossack.  He was redheaded with cockroach-brown whiskers, and instead of “daddy”, I called him “the f… cockroach” – of course in my mind, or behind his back. He was a cruel man, he beat because when he got drunk he felt sorry for himself, and he did not beat me, because I did something wrong, but because he needed to pour his anger on someone.

“Whether there were animals in that monastery, children love animals, and animals love children, did you have some animal friend in your years in that monastery?

“Of course, there were any kind of animals, I liked horses and learned to ride a horse. Later, in my army years it turned to be a very useful skill.”

“Did army paid you some salary, did it help you?”

“Yes, I should put some pennies aside, but I did not do it, of course! Some squandered their salary playing cards, I treated so called friends for drinks and drinking parties. And it was a fun, the only fun I had in life. Army years were my only joyous years of my life.”

“Father Michael, how was your personal relationship with God?”

“I served God, but I did not believe in God! Instead, I believed in the existence of hell, as I had seen it, being drunk.”

“Did you crave for a real friend?”

“Of course, everyone does! But I had no friends, it did not work out, I scared off people with my fury and hatred, because I could not contain my boiling anger in my heart. It was always buzzing in me … And the older I got, the louder the buzz became. I have never met aristocrats personally, but I understand your question.”

“And how did you manage with nuns?”

“Well, we celebrated holidays together, and when they got drunk, things happened. I said that I saw everything especially on Easter feasts. There I saw things that a child was not supposed to witness. They did not hide anything, they said, learn, you may need it in future. None of them believed in God whom they served. The church folks were always drunk and thievish. I thought it would be better in Estonia, but nothing came of Estonia either.”

Jose Martines

Jose Martines, the spirit helper who showed up to be part of Father Michael’s healing team, couldn’t boast with parental support either. Disagreements with family’s way of life made him leave home and face his financial challenges alone. Somehow his story echoed Father Mikhail’s one. Both Russian army and American army discharged their heroes on the streets. But comparison of Mikhail’s and Jose’s stories forms the interesting juxtaposition of passive and active approach in search of solution what to do, if you are abandoned, penniless, without any prospects for future. The Russian man without faith in heart became angry cursing alcoholic and a priest in name only. He used up his observations as an altar boy, how priests conducted the church sermons, and imitating the priests, became the priest himself. The American man, Jose story will unfold below.

Once, in a hot summer day in year 2017, I was uploading to my computer some photos of Oxnard beach and beautiful residential area nearby, where I had spent a week seeking refuge from July heat. Suddenly I felt presence of a spirit who wanted a word with me. It was spirit of Jose Martines who said that he was attracted by these photos of houses where he was supposed to live, but instead he winded up in a cheap match-box apartment in LA Downtown. After honorable discharge from army, Jose found himself penniless and alone in LA.

“We, the Korean veterans, were neglected and thrown on the streets as kittens. I know that you did not like much the film “The Best Years of Our Lives,” but this film was about me from A to Z. And the film got Oscar, and it was a fair award. I know that you think differently, but it was my film, and my time.”

I tried to chirp in my meager sorry for being not too excited of the film “The Best Years of our lives” because of misuse of a real wartime invalid’s powerful image for inventing a politically correct, and in my mind, unethical ending of the film. But my sorry provoked only more irritation in him.

“No one can get that pain, Eetla, the Estonian psychic who introduced us on earth, helped me to overcome the thoughts about suicide. The worst was meeting Scientology people, they wanted Eetla to work for them as well, and there we met, and became friends. She refused their offer, and she was my only moral support, when I decided to commit suicide. She saved my life. Instead of killing myself, I started to heal and teach others and it helped me. One day, Eetla sent you to see me for getting some advice how to survive in the status of an immigrant. You were like dark forest, you knew nothing, but you turned to be a fast learner. But you were short-tempered, you could yell and shout and I grew tired from cleaning the same thing that you attracted with your nasty and senseless anger outbreaks. You felt it and disappeared. Nevertheless, you were invited to the celebration of my 60th birthday. But I died before the time from, of course, overdose. I already celebrated with that son of the bitch, mister X from Chicago, the white guy who was lazy and was not able to keep any job in Los Angeles. He was your friend as well, he was interested in your that time so hapless astrology, now it is so much better, but you already do way more interesting things. OK I have talked a lot. You saw, how I lived in my Downtown studio, washing 10 times a day my toilet after every client who went to shit there. You were an exception, you did not run in my clean WC, you respected what you respected, I liked you for this. Look, did you really can see something?”

“I have no idea, let me look.”

“Work, gal…”

I could not believe what I saw.

“My God, Jose, you had poison, a poison liquid in your kitchen shelf, and you could add it in any cup you wanted, in my cup, for instance, as well!”

“So, you get it! You found my euthanasia kit with poison. Eetla got it for me to commit suicide. But changing my mind, I did not toss it away. I kept it in case, if they come to arrest me for drug possession. But how do I live, what do you think? I got drugs from Mexico, I bought my share and sold it to my clientele, and one day I overdosed myself for all my sins.  …I had no idea that you get it so soon and so easy. Yes, you, get things.”

“You were bold enough to sell drugs under the nose of police, and probably, there were enough neighbors who reported that too many guests were milling around your apartment. When you overdosed, did they find money in your matrass?”

“It was stupid, I was rich, but pretended to be poor, and I should give you some money and connections, but I was not sure, if you were ready to clean some apartments. You did it later, and I regretted… I was not sure how to talk to you, and what to offer you.”

“You told once that you murdered 3 or 4 people leaving no traces behind, when you, out of desperation, accepted Scientology offer to work for them punishing people for leaving the Scientology establishment or refusing to pay what they owned to this “healing” organization?

“I killed more, about ten of them, and my work was traceless. I simply cut their silver cords, as I could walk out of my body freely, any minute, if this was needed. In all these cases, the heart attack was officially named as cause of sudden deaths. But then I started thinking what was I doing, and I started looking what else I could do for living… I was afraid to give away money, I should do that, but my stinginess was my problem, like it is the problem for many people from poor family, like yourself… Let’s work with stinginess for the starters…

“I do not know how to work with your stinginess, when I look at your future, all I see is that in your next incarnation in New York, you become a standup comedian. You will be good and you will be film actor.

“Stop it, stinginess is the enemy, work with my stinginess!

At that time, I was not able to help him. But still, time to time Jose showed up on my horizon, like in case of healing Father Mikhail, as if feeling some connection to the lonely soul of that sinner.

Yes, there might be a connection, both were left alone and helpless in society at young age. But the reactions to the same problems were so different, and so much depending on “the nation’s idea about itself!” It may determine how an individual will behave in their destiny’s pivotal situations. Later, this discovery made me write an article of degradation of Russian egregore, and its impact on the image of Russians.

St. Seraphim found me and asked again, if I would be interested in healing not so shiny souls, but ones who dwell in the lower levels of the astral world. “I have my list of souls who need help, and I know, you have your list of such souls. But are you ready to continue healing? «Придется копаться в жуткой грязи, уродством, порождением злобой, завистью, ревностью»! –

“We will deal with terrible dirt birthed by anger, envy and jealousy. Can you handle this? Think before you answer.”

“Let me try out one more healing of Father Mikhail, and I learn, if I can digest what a healer must digest in such cases, maybe I am already too old and sick for this kind of free work!”

 

Reconciliation in the Astral World

One More Healing of Father Mikhail

It took place on January 10th, 2018, soon after I had written down Father Mikhail’s childhood stories. I declared that the theme of the healing would be search of thought forms reflecting the beating him as a child by his tormentor, the monastery janitor whom he called behind his back “the cockroach.”

As always, I started with prayer, asking help and protection from the Mikhail’s guardians. However, what was shown to me exceeded all my expectations proving one more time that our guides chose healing goal for a healer, not healer’s mental speculations. Instead of beating scenes, my third eye stood passive and in pitch darkness behind my closed eyes I heard the quiet cry of a baby.

Was someone crying behind the window? But people never stopped on our clean streets for a talk or rest, there were no benches for sitting there and letting babies cry. Nevertheless, the sound of a baby’s cry became louder. Suddenly, my “third eye” vision lit up, and I saw a country bed. The stretched hands of a nun were holding a crying baby: a newly born was taken away from the woman in the bed. The cry became heart breaking. I, who stopped crying decades ago, broke into tears watching how the baby was taken away from the nun who had given birth for her son, conceived in sin according to the Church believes at a time.

The visions about Father Mikhail’s early ages continued to flow. Now the baby’s cry came from the monastery’s large and so old-fashioned kitchen. The naked child was stretched out on a meat cutting table on a rag next to a milk jar. A joyful nun, pacifying baby with quiet lullaby, poured some milk into saucer. In one deft movement, she tore a piece of cloth from the rag on the table, wrapped crumbs of bread in it, dabbed the bread roll into milk and popped it into the mouth of a screaming baby. The child fell silent for a moment, and when it began to cry again, a new piece of torn cloth appeared in the hands of the merry nun, and the process of feeding the child in the monastery kitchen continued.

A pair of blackish eyes stopped joyful nun’s lullaby. Baby was packed fast into the remains of the rag beneath him and the bundle moved from kitchen table onto greedy hands of a man in janitor’s typical uniform. Then he saw a pack of money on the table… The janitor put the bundle with the baby back on the kitchen table, and sunk into money counting pleasure. Often wetting with saliva his right hand’s big and pointing fingers, he decided to recount the unusually thick pack of rubles. Then he put this pack into his pocket and started to move away from the table.

“You forgot something,” said the ironic voice of an older nun who appeared from nowhere. Janitor returned and pick up the baby who lifted its eyes and meeting janitor’s face started to cry hysterically.

Was it shown me exactly as I described it here, or it was my imagination that finished the description of this exiting transaction in the monastic kitchen? I was emotionally involved in my “3rd eye video” to this extent that there was no way to separate one from the other… Maybe I must to determine for myself, in what genre this story would unfold? In Bangsian style, or by rules of supernatural fiction, like some ghost story?

Suddenly, the colorful waves started to multiple, filling the healing space – my “third eye” space, or the 4D space, where we were allowed to train our imagination, so crucial to have it in afterlife. A strange voice told.

“You would see as much rolls in your healing space, as you saw empty alcohol bottles during your previous healing.” The same voice added.

“The time for this cleansing is over. Please, close the session and take some rest.”

“But what about the “cockroach” whom I was supposed to whip today?”

“He was not a reason, but rather a consequence of circumstances!”

OK, I have imagination, I know it. But now I ask, what would happen, if I allow my imagination move forward into future of this soul, and seek an answer to the question, if the day would come, and he would reconcile with his mother, how it may look?

My imagination obliged, the scenes of reconciliation of Father Mikhail and his mother started to prop up in my mind involuntarily.

A Road Ahead 

Yes, the day arrived, when Father Mikhail, now in spirit, took the ride toward monastery N, now the astral copy of once an earthy monastery where he was born. At the entrance gate, he asked about the nun named Vera and received a suspiciously swift answer that none of their monastics were ever been called Vera, in English – Faith!

“Is she still alive?” – was Father Mikhail’s next question, as the fierce denial of the existence of the nun named Vera means for him exactly the opposite. He assumed that they had expelled her from their ranks and decided not to talk about her. The icy look of the nun at the gate told him that if he would not be aided by share luck, he will return home empty handed.

From afar, a cart loaded with empty metal cans was rushing toward the gate. The metal surfaces beat against each other producing sound of timpani in a modern orchestra where ardent drummers beat them with a reason or without it, as if keeping the melody from sounding too simple and old fashioned for ears of contemporary folks. The nun at the entrance gate stopped the driver, and said to Father Mikhail that this carriage can give him a free ride to the city, to the church near the University.

“They want to get rid of me and my questions as soon as possible, something is fishy here,” thought Father Mikhail and soon enough found himself examining the crowd of the beggars who had positioning themselves on concrete porch around the church, as it was a custom to do down there during centuries.

нищенка и девочка в розовом

… He recognized Vera immediately despite her being cloaked as a very poor commoner. As other beggars, she was begging for living, sitting on the cold concrete porch next to the legless cripple on the cusps. They seemed to be well acquainted, because time to time they exchanged a quiet word or two.

Father Mikhail found a bench near flowerbed across the church and being sure that busy Vera will not recognize him, sat to look what would happen next.

The church bells started to buzz inviting the parishioners to attend the evening sermon. And as the believers were moving toward church entrance, the coins and sometimes paper bills were falling into beggars’ outstretched hands or into cups set on the ground next to them.

When the flow of parishioners started to thin, out of the church appeared a young and joyous nun in professional outfit that looks familiar to Father Mikhail. She was heading straight toward Vera, and it looked that Vera was waiting for her. She produced from her professional uniform a sparkling bottle of vodka, and stretched it toward smiling Vera. It was a professional exchange. Vera surrendered two bowls, hers and the crippled one’s to nun, and both bowls disappeared in depth of her gown. It turned out that they were begging for funds to repairing the monastery. Now as they had given money away, they had free time, and they could enjoy a drink or two of sparkling vodka. The legless cripple was rubbing his hands joyfully.

But suddenly Vera, looking young in astral world, as if years had no impact on her, was looking straight forward at a man on the garden bench across, froze, and then whispered, probably intending her words to the crippled man.

“Go away, my son has come to see me!”

“I will better stay,” he answered. “A presence of a witness never hurts.”

Father Michael looked absent minded, lost. Maybe he regretted coming so far. But the presence of the crippled man was holding him glued to the bench. Vera recognized him, and his plan to slip away unnoticed would not do anymore.

“Follow me,” — Vera waved her hand to Father Mikhail, pointing in direction of uncut bushes on the back side of the church.

Vera with sparkling bottle of vodka in her hand, was leading the group, and crippled man on his cusps were closing the rank, as if guarding the priest in case, if he would suddenly change his mind and attempt to escape!

The wild bushes formed a gazebo-like area with a small table and two simple garden benches. Vera picked from the ground some used paper cups, washed them under garden watering hose and proudly placed them on the table. The cripple had already opened the vodka bottle, and Vera poured equal amount of transparent liquid in cups. She said, “Na zdorovye!” – “For your health,” or “Bottoms up!” and swallowed her portion of vodka without hesitation, as a person used to down a gulp of strong alcohol without the snack. The other followed the suite.

Nobody could produce a single word. There was silence. Crippled looked aside. Vera poured the second help of transparent liquid into cups. And they downed it again wordlessly. Father Mikhail looked at the crippled with vexation. The latter looked again aside but did not leave the scenery.  No one had a word to say. Vera poured the third cup of vodka into cups.

Father Mikhail get it down, put cup back on the garden table, an old one, washed by so many rains for so long years that it has swelled, crumbled, and had decorative green moss spots here and there.

“Forgive me!” pressed Father Mikhail through his frozen lips.

The crippled threw up his huge brown eyes, suddenly burning, with a glow of unearthly light of forgiveness, and then he lowered them again, looking aside.

Father Mikhail asked suddenly, “Zhivesh to kak?” – “How are you doing?”

Vera smiled.

“I am fine. You saw, I am now a somebody, I raise money for reconstruction monastery church. I help Vanya, you see, he gets more money than I do, but he cannot get anything from store being legless. So, I take care of him. Now I have someone to exchange a word, to talk. He never rebuked me, did not shame me, he’s a good man. And you came along. I am now OK!  You will be OK as well.”

 

 

Dry Hаy in my Mother’s 3rd Chakra

From Healing Meditation, a book still in making

This blog post is about a rare form of healing — I attempted to cleanse my mother’s spirit in her afterlife.  I did it by using “healing meditation” method in the comfort of my own apartment.

Over time, my spirit communication dialogues, protected by prayers and meditation, had led to unexpected changes of my way of thinking. My many childish idealizations started to collapse, leaving me gazing emptiness. Instead of Mother with capital “M”, strong and royal and always right, I saw now a smallish unhappy widow struggling to make ends meet, not too bright, not too lucky, poor and weak, and not really loving me. Too often, she was looking at me with irritation, as if asking what for she had to slave for this cuckoo’s chick, a stranger one, as if I was not her daughter at all. After her death, when her spirit talked to me from the other side, she confirmed it. “You were a stranger who arrived into our family by mistake. Probably, angels swapped the souls in rush when they were sticking them in newly born bodies. Humans do mistakes, why the angels would not do them? My younger brother was a family pet, and I was the opposite, a stranger, a nuisance to her. It took many decades before I realized that this mother’s dislike of me was a blessing in disguise. I understood it entirely only when I started talking to the spirit of her father, priest Mikhail, my grandfather, whom I did not met on earth. The real reason of dislike turned to be invisible at the first glance and made me write a separate chapter about  my grandfather and his demons packed into a set of  impossible thought forms. I will post the results of my “research” on my blog the next time. The discovery of not being loved by my mother, made me to learn to curb my demand for mother’s love and increase the acceptance of her ways how she handled her karma. Of course, there was a connection between us, but not thank to our mutual effort to become closer, but despite everything that separated us.

… On one fateful day, back in 2005, I could not stop thinking about my mother in Estonia. There was no reason for a call as we had talked over the phone some days ago. She was well, and she assured me that my brother Sevo and his wife Madli were taking good care of her. I tried to think about some excuses to call, found none, and called anyway – from my Los Angeles apartment to Tallinn, Estonia. My brother happened to be in her room at that late hour in North Europe, and picked up the phone. He said that our mother was having flue and he was checking that she had taken her medicine and now she was trying to get some sleep. Nevertheless, he gave her the phone and suggested to answer my call. Mother did not speak, but I heard her breathing and I realized that she was listening. Finally, she was listening to me, or sensing what was coming from me to her. Was she glad that I had called? Or she was telling me something important beyond words… I also stopped making up words, like “how are you?” and letting our wordless messages to fly free. “Mama, talk,” my brother rushed her. However, she kept her silence. We continued to listen in quietude how our souls were conversing, and this was the best, and maybe the only sensible “conversation” we ever had in decades.

In four hours, brother called me from Estonia. After my phone call mother fell asleep and died shortly. She was 3 weeks short from her 99th birthday. I found a funny picture of her at that age.

Yes, granny, look, my house is now on the other sxde of this little lake

Once visiting Estonia, her grandson Vladimir Elmanovich, American architect, walked his grandmother to the beach and joked, “Look, granny, across that Atlantic lake, over there, by the sea, is my house, do you see it?’ Granny laughed, and played along, “looking across the Atlantic lake!” Despite her age, she managed to keep her sense of humor alive and mind clear up to the last day on earth.

After my mother’s transition to the better world, I received two spirit messages from her.  She asked me to light a candle when I was thinking of her as the same candle would appear in her dwelling nook enlivening the sense of being in touch with family on earth. In the last message, she said that my father Vladimir, who was enlisted into army at the beginning of the WWII, and whom war had never returned to her, found her, and now they were together in their afterlife.

However, their idea about living “happily ever after” turned to be the next idealization – not mine, now theirs that they had let go. Father’s war, and mother’s joyless life on earth had changed them both. And this was not my father, but my mother who made me rethink everything that I have learned about her and afterlife so far. Working on the book “Prisoners of Fame,” I heard from Myrna Loy, Marlene Dietrich, Cary Grant that everything moves and changes in afterlife, as it changes on earth, but only way faster and in more powerful ways. In different words, they tried to tell that everything that happens on earth is a shadow of what is unfolding in their world, “up there,” or “only some spins away” as the dwellers of the astral world say. Indian guru Yukteswar Giri, the author of “The Holy Science,” summarized it briefly, “Everything is possible in subtle worlds.” And this was exactly, what I had to learn about my mother’s afterlife.

About seven years after my mother’s death, I was approached by a spirit of a Hollywood star who spoke to me during my work on the book mentioned earlier. The actor came to talk to me about my mother’s situation in her afterlife. He said that my mother was …pregnant! He added, “She will give birth to a creature and she will be fine again.” Could I wrap my mind around this news? Of course, I did not believe him. Was he rehearsing a role in some sci-fi movie in his upcoming incarnation?

However, my guest was not done yet, because he had more to say. He reminded that after my mother’s transition, she was met nicely by everyone who shared their afterlife stories for “Prisoners of Fame.” Nevertheless, she misread that kindness and crossed the boundaries. In other words, I was asked to talk to her, and explain her who was who in the astral field allotted for the Golden Hollywood stars. He said that time to time they had similar problems with family members of some successful actors and, especially, actresses. My mother visited Golden Hollywood realm on her own… Do I really know what did happen over there?  The cold shiver ran down my spine. My promise to take care of her intrusions into their lives wrapped up our pleasant conversation.

I started my investigation. My relatives kept silence, and pretended that they did not hear my question.  But a stranger was informed to told me that my mother fell in love with a suspicious stranger whom she met on the streets of the astral world. Rather, he, a recruiter type of person, who was searching suitable subjects on the role of Guinea pig for a special project, befriended her. According to given me description, he was a handsome brunet with sexy mustache, friendly smile and very white teeth that helped him to win female hearts. He found out what the potential Guinea pig wanted most, and soon said to Tamara that participating in the project would earn her a small independent living space. She was introduced to the boss of that mystical bio laboratory and she agreed … to give birth to an experimental entity in an experimental laboratory. She signed the agreement, and rushed to share with the new man in her life the good news that she was accepted for the task, and she signed a paper. He was supposed to wait for her on “their bench” in a small park close to the laboratory building. But he was not there! And she never met him again!

Later, she told to Zhenya that she was impregnated artificially and was released back to the streets to carry out her side of agreement. Alone. She was too proud to ask anyone’s help. She refused to stay in her father’s, priest Mikhail’s small house. Because she knew that father would repeat hundred times, “I told you what’s out there! Children has to stay with their parents!” My mother wondered about the streets, stubbornly looking for “the new man” in her life, whom she had preferred to my father.

When the truth started to dawn on her that she was lured volunteer in dark Frankenstein business, she, probably seeking for protection, became a street walker. When her family and acquaintances tried to straight her out, she asked them sharply to stop moralizing, as they had no idea what her life on earth was all about. All she knew was hard work, and no fun. She, the daughter of a Russian priest, will not burden God with her problems, instead, she will take her destiny in her own hands. She continued to terrorize her acquaintances with question why they were itching to educate her now, in afterlife!  Where they were when she, alone, a widow, dragged her small children, bed-ridden mother-in law, and her two helpless sisters through the war and hungry and dangerous post war decades in Sovietized Estonia; through the terror of mass deportations to Siberia, being persuaded to become a KGB informer, looking in dusty attic for a hook where to hang herself, if she would not be able to get them off her back. For some interesting reasons, at that time, nobody, no one offered her a helping hand to feed the crowd of misery surrounding her! She threw into their faces, “Leave me alone and mind your business!” And when I asked her to stay in my aura, she threw in my face the same words.

“I found how to feed you, when it was my duty to produce food for you. You left me your apartment, when you ran to America, leaving me alone with Zhenya in Estonia! We are even. Since now, you and I are strangers! You were a stranger to me always, I never liked you!  And you did not like me as well.”

But she was not out of my life completely. The day arrived, when she accepted my modest offer to attempt to heal her.

After usual preparation for healing, prayer and meditation, I appealed for help to guides of my mother Tamara asking them to show me the metaphorical or realistic images of a problem that we could ease today!

I saw immediately in my “healing space” hay moving people under command of my mother. There were dark, heavy clouds gathering in the skies, threatening to destroy her dray hay in a minute… Old horse, our black Yulka was harnessed to the cart with a huge pile of dry hay, my small mother stood on the top of this pile shouting,  “Faster, faster, faster, the first drops of rain are already here, lift your forks quicker, I can stack more hay here!” A minute later, Yulka was already moving toward gray lopsided shack to protect our hay through the winter time…

My IT picture changed suddenly. Now I was sown that dry hay was scratching her legs and arms, and her solar plexus area was filled to the capacity with images of  the dray hay.

When the first drops of rain began to fall on her sweaty face, hay was already removed to the shack, she managed to save more than hay, but all her unbearable haymaking overwork, at least for now!

I prayed asking Light and angelic helpers to remove these hay images out of her solar plexus area. Light melted and erased them from her consciousness. I told her come again and expand the effort of cleansing of her chakras. Mother did not thank me or somebody else, and disappeared quietly. She did not tell anyone, if this cleansing helped her or not.  I knew, if it would not help her, I would be informed about it by my relatives on the other side. Death truly does not change humans much!

Why she would so stubbornly cling to idea that I was not able… to do anything right? Or was it my karma to carry through  my lifetime?

It started long time ago. I was about at age three. I woke up and want out of bed. But my blouse has buttons on my spine, and I called mother to button the blouse. She rushed into bedroom and turned the blouse around. Now the buttons sat in the front of the blouse. Mama says, her voice emanating irritation “You are big girl, think. Think! Do not call me for such stupid things like buttons.” Of course, she, a very important person, was too busy to deal with my buttons.

I am 7 years old. Our neighboring business savvy girl invited me to collect spring field flowers, make small bouquets, and sell them to people on our street. I was proud of myself, and brought home some pennies. Mother shouted, what you have done, my God!  And ordered me to apologize and return my earned money immediately! I did. I apologized, I returned the money! I am ashamed ask money for my work up to these days, clearly understanding that  I have to, but I cannot do it.

But what made her so sure that she was always right to put me down? I decided to continue looking into lives of my maternal side ancestry. It took some time, but I was rewarded with discovery of the  astounding power of thought forms over our destiny.  I will post the priest Mikhail’s story on my blog soon.

P.S. As a matter of fact, I got the story about  the presence of  dark forces in astral world, and most sadly, I received one more proof that suffering on earth does not bring  automatically compensation on the other side. It may bring the opposite, continuation of suffering in afterlife, like it happened in afterlife of Yurik and my mother Tamara.  In both cases suffering was carried over to the other side by negative thought forms, as they were stuck in both persons’ subtle bodies. In afterlife, they continue attract more negativity into hostesses lives.  There is hardly anything more important than letting go  these negative thought forms, our own unhappy creations.

 

About The Egregore of Russia. Post One

BackCoverPortrait-TanikaA Note from the Author. My article about  the egregore of Russia became so long that I cut it into three posts – The Strange Problems of Russia,  Russia Problems Have Deep Roots in the Past, and Exhibition of Sergei Shchukin’s Art Collection in Paris. These posts are not the fruits of a scientific research, rather my deep, or not so deep thoughts about Russia, where I lived 55 years. Then I came to America, and soon noticed that American egregore, despite the opposing features, have some similarities how they impact people who had birthed them with their hopes, fears and lasting, repetitive thoughts and emotions.

The Strange Problems of Russia

LeninToday we are accustomed to scold all that the revolution of 1917 had brought us up to the discovery that it did not happen at all. Instead, on the October 25, 1917, (November 7 on the new calendar), Vladimir Lenin and Bolsheviks launched a bloodless coup d’état in Petrograd, at that time the capital of Russia. Lenin became the virtual dictator of the first Marxist state in the world. Instead of revolution, there was a devastating Civil War — Red Army fought against White Army (1918-1920), in which the Lenin’s false promise to give land to the peasants granted him victory. However, instead of receiving promised land, peasants were forced to join the kolkhozes, by giving up the land they had, sowing grain and cattle for free. Peasants, of course, did not want to surrender their livelihood – land, grain, cows and horses to kolkhozes. Aiming to brake peasants’ resistance, as well as overall low acceptance of Bolsheviks politics, the Red Terror filled fast the net of Siberian Gulags with inmates called “the people’s enemies.” The most known episodes of The Red Terror were ill-famous Volga Hunger and Ukrainian Holodomor that took millions and millions of human lives, mostly peasants lives. The total of victims caused by Bolshevik’s violence against their own people has not been properly calculated up to our days, although it is known that the bill went to tens of millions of Russian and Ukrainian people. It seemed that the devil himself was dancing a jig in the hearts of the Communists and their rulers! And by the 72nd anniversary of the victory in WWII, in Russia — The Great Patriotic War, was announced as big as 42 million casualties. (The 1950’s the statistic said the Soviet population was 180 million people) As Bulat Okudzhava, the writer, poet and popular bard once sang — “we need a victory, one for all, we’ll not falter to pay the bill” and, as people said, Zhukov spilled the beans, “Women ’ll birth the new ones!”

However, Bolsheviks, later called Communists, tried to transform the country as well — to implement the Lenin’s electrification plan, to build at river Dnieper the world’s largest hydroelectric power plant  Dnieprogez. They overfulfil their five-year plans, rocked the Stakhanov’s movement, industrialized the vast land, steel was melted in the Ural, the production of home-made tractors and durable heavy vehicles was a success story, and in the war the production of tractors was switched to production of war machines, tanks. Nikita Khrushchev exposed the Stalin’s cult of personality, Yuri Gagarin was sent to fly in the open cosmos, and, finally, building of cheap housing was started to get people out of nightmarish communal apartments; Moscow clean and gorgeous subway and airports were built, home-made airplanes started establish airways and ever-roaming Soviet people switched from trains to airplanes saving time while crossing Soviet space from Baltic sea to Pacific Ocean. The nuclear armament was built and terrible tests of atomic bombs were conducted, and soon there were enough of those to destruct the mankind multiple times. But despite all the enormous sacrifices and unthinkable efforts to drag Russia from its pastoral past into modern times the people did not start to live better, the depressive control and pressure of disliked Marxist ideology broke the souls. Painful fear sat in blood and indescribable horror, the trace of the Red Terror, was poisoning the subconscious mind. The peasants who were not allowed to become farmers, rushed from the villages to the cities where they could find jobs, but discovered soon enough that there was terrible shortage of everything, housing, cars basic foods. And exhausted at work people stood hours in line to buy piece of bread and milk, and there were never enough meat or veggies, and no fruits… When the “iron curtain” of this giant country started to crumble, and some trips abroad became available (under the control of local Communist Party committees, who checked, if an applicant was trustworthy to travel abroad), the fairytale pictures of Western ways of daily life shocked the imagination of the Soviet people to the extent that it became a death sentence to the Marxist ideology, the totalitarian regime and to the Soviet Union – that topped it all!

Here are two photos: – “Yesterday” and “Today”.

russia-peasants-granger

 

русская деревня сегодня

The pre-revolutionary photo shows the picturesque poverty of a village in tsarist Russia. The second modern day photo shows that about hundred years later, the Russian village still looks the same. The modernization had not touched it. The only difference is lack of people. There are no people! Once populated village is now empty! We see only a lonely lovely lady waiting that God will take her to a better world! Kolkhozes had failed Russia, the people made by force to become kolkhozniks, were running away from villages into cities “to industrialize” the country… The Internet is full of stories about the disappearance of the Russian villages from the Russia maps on daily bases. Did the millions of victims of the Red Terror perish in Gulags for nothing?

After collapse of the Soviet Union, all causes of Russian impoverishment have been scientifically studied, inventoried, described and publicized by the mass media. However, the results of these studies have no answers why everybody who had tried to help Russia to improve the life of its people, had failed, including the last category of helpers, oligarchs, and Russia’s new government? Maybe the alternative or esoteric approach would cast some light to the deeper and darker reasons of the historic impoverishment of that country? Of course, this idea may seem too wild to have some merits? Or, on the contrary, it is wild enough to reflect a certain reality, for example, an irrational, elusive reason why all the nations from big to small, from Ukrainians to Evenks, who once lived under the rule of Russian monarchy, and after the revolution, under the rule of Soviet totalitarian regime, did not like Russians and were ready to fight for their independence like David fought Goliath?

A random Russian YouTube video is just telling that those were Jews who had taught the Ukrainian people to hate Russians. Maybe Jews, for one, taught the same to British, French, American people, and Spaniards as well? Or, those were also Jews who propagate Bandera-type neo-Nazi movements in Ukraine, as if fanning competition who hates whoм more? In case, I checked with the Internet, if Russia, by the chance, has also cocked up some neo-Nazi movements? What I found, made me, the old fool, speechless.

Site http://by24.org/2016/02/01/russian_nazi_are_counted  published the article В России насчитали 53 фашистских организацийIn Russia, There Are Counted 53 Fascist Organizations” classified as “moderate, radical and forbidden,” and the first and second have the opportunity to conduct their activities openly.”  The anonymous author of the site “By24.org” adds, “Only 8 organizations, professing Nazism and fascism, are banned in Russia. However, their presence on the lists does not imply that they do not conduct their activities. They do, only in secrecy.” Here are titles of these forbidden neo-Nazi organizations:

  1. Movement Against Illegal Immigration – DPNI
    2. The National Socialist Society – NSO
    3. The National Bolshevik Party – NBP
    4. The Slavic Union – SS
    5. Front National-revolutionary action (FNRD)
    6. Russian National Union – RONS
    7. League of Defense of Moscow
    8. Format 18”

The Wikipedia describes Russian neo-Nazi as followers of German Nazi who had adopted the latter’s ultra nationalist views of Neofascist in Russiaracism, antisemitism, homophobia, Islamophobia and extreme xenophobia towards people from Asia. Their ideology centers on defending Russian national identity against what they perceive as a takeover by minority groups such as Jews, Caucasians, homosexuals, Central Asians, East Asians, Roma people, and Muslims.

I think, poor Russians, if they are scared by the possibility of takeover by Roma people, in other words, nomadic Gypsies and other minorities! Can this fear be the reason that seeded Russia with neo-Nazi organizations?

Recall, what started the Nazi movement in Germany – humiliation, depression from defeat in WWI, economic and financial misery, joblessness, poverty, devastation, things that Germans cannot absorb or live with. And then came Adolf Hitler with the flamboyant speeches addressed to the nation in deep depression that he would bring them jobs, financial recovery, and Friedrich Nietzsche’s parole “Deutchland über alles”. And they vote for him in numbers as big as 95 % of all eligible voters of that country.

Some explain the emergency of Russian neo-Nazi movement with the opposite —  by the ideological vacuum after collapse of the Soviet Union. Some apply the German phenomenon to Russia reality and explain things by poverty and joblessness amidst Moscow youth after the collapse of the Soviet Union in the beginning of the 90’s. But if Germany was a defeated country then Russia was not. Besides victory in WWII, there took place unprecedented bloodless kill of the Communist totalitarian regime, tearing down the “iron curtain” and strong support of tearing down the shameful Berlin wall that still cut Germany in two opposing halves – the well doing capitalist South Germany and the not so well doing North Germany under the communist rule. Russia could be hungry and jobless in the 90’s, but the excitement of the new beginning–the “honeymoon” over embracing the market economy was not over yet. The root of Russian neo-Nazi movement did not come from joblessness alone, but rather from the mystical dislike of Russians everywhere, and wish to adopt Nazi force as a tool for becoming looking strong and likable. It calls loudly to cast a closer look at the egregore of Russia.

The Birth of an Egregore

how people are made to think in one directionLet go back to the esoteric concept of the egregore, this cloud-shaped entity that lives in 4D astral world and seems to connect earth plane to astral plane for reasons that we will never fathom entirety. It does not have a divine monad, but is endowed with quasi consciousness and energy to search food everywhere. Its cloudy body is not woven from vapor like normal clouds in heaven, but from the excretions of human and animal thoughts and emotions like admiration and hopes, fears and guilt, and hopelessness and aggression, to name the few, floating out of humans IN ONE DIRECTION. Both grand egregores and Vadim Zealand’s pendulums, “local egregores” look like prolonged cloudy formations reminding reptilians. Their natural function is to connect earth plane with the astral plane. We understand some of them, like the function to disperse information during the millions of years the development of humankind. However, there exist some other functions that stay incomprehensible to us. The photo shows a crowd that thinks in one direction. The idea that the circled one, who is not taken by mass madness, is naive, of course.  He may be the instrument of the egregore, but not the egregore itself. Sure this large crowd is feeding right now its egregore lavishly.  In Germany, Hitler was the  instrument of Nazi egregore; in Estonia, the laulupidu, the all Estonian song festival, was the instrument of for feeding the egregore of Estonia,  in Russia, Stalin was the greatest instrument of the Russian egregore, and this is why some Russians want “him back”, to fill the vacuum of strong leadership that oftentimes can lead to destruction, how it happened in Germany and Russia.

Let’s try to explain how Zealand’s pendulum, or egregores come to life. Imagine, you and your friend meet at a café. Having your coffee, you communicate, as we all do on daily bases, and immediately, an invisible cloud is forming above you and your friend. It is called a group spirit. It comes from your and your friend’s communication energy and emotions. It is invisible to a normal eye, but visible to seers. We cannot see it because its vibrational range is higher — beyond the range allotted to normal people, to support their eyesight. If we can expand that range for ourselves, we will see it. Now you are done with coffee and you and your friend are parting. If you are not duty-bound, and you part in different directions, your group spirit dissipates in the air! It stops to exist.

However, if you and your friend are members of some bigger group, and you rush, say, to a meeting to fight for animal rights, the “cloud” that you and your friend created having no faintest idea what they did — the little cloud above them would obediently follow them to this rally and will merge with a much bigger and more stable “cloud” that is already hovering over this rally. Your little cloud would be dissolved in the bigger and more powerful “cloud” of fighters for animal rights, and this is your priceless contribution to the movement to protect animals’ rights, not this $5 that you leave in some donations’ box. In other words, if you do not have money, and you still want to attend some event, do it, as you will support it with way more valuable donation than money! Do not let be intimidated by lack of cash!

We cannot see or touch it, but we have more than enough evidence of its existence and its main activity – the pervasive search for food always, in any situation, and their capability to manipulate the human consciousness to some astounding degrees to arouse human emotions and this way granting more “food” for their consumption. If you want to learn more about it, how it works, read Vadim Zealand’s books about transerfing in English.

Vadim Zealand would call this cloud “a pendulum of the movement fighting for animal rights”. A mystic and poet Daniil Andreev, author of the book Rose of the World, or Rosicrucian Valentin Tomberg, or Theosophist Charles Leadbeater would call this more mature cloud the egregore of large group that fights for the animal rights.

The Bible points to the very existence of group spirits through a Jesus’ saying, “For where two or three come together in my name, I am there with them.” Matthew 18:20 (GMTA).

Look, compare this description with the story about friends who rushed to a meeting to fight for the animal rights!  Jesus Christ will be with you, if two or three will come together in HIS NAME!  So, will be some other entity under any name, Satan as well. So, be careful, if attending a gathering, in what name you give your energy away, and what kind of info-energy you will receive in return. Any communication is energy exchange, so watch out in what name you are forming a group spirit! Forget cursing, using foul language in company, think, what kind of group spirit you are creating.

I think we are sufficiently prepared to understand the current encyclopedic definitions of the term “egregore”.

Every one of them starts with the same preamble found from Bible: “The French occultist Eliphas Levi identified the egregors traditionally with the observers, watchers and fathers of the Nephelines. (The mysterious name of Nepheline, is derived from the word “cloud” on one of the ancient languages, which I failed to identify, regrettably.) The Nephelines were understood as horrible creatures that “crush us without pity because they do not know about our existence.”

Nowadays, the concept of egregors as a condensate of mental energy waves, saturated with information, was developed by the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn of Rosicrucians. In the book “Transerfing. Book One”, Vadim Zeland, quantum physicist and trans medium, calls these formation “pendulums,” because they wave like pendulums during their happy hour of consumption. By the way, his book “Transurfing”, has been translated into twenty languages, including all major European languages. The book is easily available both in book stores and online. Therefore, I will stick only to encyclopedic descriptions of egregores.

Daniil Andreev, the Russian mystic and the author of “Rose of the World” confirms the concept of the birth of egregores from human’s psychic excretions in crowds united by a same goal. He also stresses that “egregors are devoid of spiritual monads, but they have a temporary concentration of the volitional charge and the equivalent of consciousness. Every state, great or small, has its own egregor, even such small state like Luxembourg.”

Group spirits, egregors, pendulums live in 4-dimensional space, which quantum physicists can imagine, maybe! However, a normal average person, like myself, a decent medium, cannot see how 4D looks like. I have asked the spirits to explain how the 4D space, the astral world, differs from 3D space, our earth? But the answer is invariably the same. They say, it does differ! “When you arrive into our world, you will see it for yourself!” Getting this warm advice about dozen times, I, finally got it that they cannot describe the differences, because in our language there are no concepts and words for the descriptions in the details the 4D’s world.

It is often written that the egregors are in constant search for food, thus spreading the information, knowledge, which impregnates with information the energy from which they are created, gives us knowledge that literally “fells in our heads from above.” The details of this process are unknown. But sure, cloud-like formation cannot bite carrots, they just connect to our auras and take in energy from our rapture or anger, our annoyance or joy, and they become full. The pole of our emotions, positive or negative, does not matter for them.

Maybe, I squeeze in here a real-life example inspired by Zealand’s books, and strongly confirmed by my driving practice. You drive on the freeway, and you are of course in rush. Suddenly, there is a champ” in front of you.  He is driving slowly, he is keeping you from driving faster, because the side lanes are busy and you cannot pass him, and he is forcing you to tail him and accept the speed that he is dictating to you. The stronger you disagree with that dictation, the louder you curse him in your mind, the more food the “freeway pendulum” gets from you!

Once I decided to try a trick. The “champ” was there, in front of me, I was in rush, of course, but at that time, I did not let my emotions to flame! And believe it or not – soon the “champ” was gone, because the “freeway pendulum” did not get any food from me, and “champ” was probably sent to tease other drivers. It is hard to understand how “the freeway pendulum” makes a slow driver to obey and drive in front of a fuming driver in rush, spreading around egregore’s food.

In the modern literature, Annie Besant, David Icke, Paco Nathan, Mirra Alfassa, Paramahansa Yogananda, Vadim Zealand, Dolores Ashkraft-Nowitzki, Charles Leadbeater, Alexander Sviyash, Anatoly Nekrasov, Roman Zyulkov have written about the egregores, and I’m sure that I have not listed all the authors whose books on this issue are worth being found and read by readers.

People’s negative habits, such as smoking, alcohol, narcotics, countries, armies, corporations, celebrities (Elvis Presley, Mozart), official religions and especially religious sects, wars, crises, rulers (Putin, Reagan, Tramp), nations, schools, sports teams – all these units of human activity have everyone unique egregores.

Triumph 1234The more a star has fans, or a political party of followers, the greater the egregore, the glory of the star is brighter, and the party has more influence. The egregores fight in competition for “clients”, and they die when people’s interest in the information that they carry, disappears, or becomes obsolete. Egregores die when certain party loses ground, when a former celebrity, book, movie, theatrical production fells out of trending mode. And it dies slowly, as forgetting something that once was “thundering” happens slowly and gradually.

As a medium, I have heard some about the egregores from former luminaries on earth, now spirits in the astral world, when I was working on my book “Prisoners of Fame”. The spirits of the former stars reported enthusiastically that they were finally forgotten, and their egregore was dead. Former Hollywood stars called their egregores cosmic parasites, eaters of human energy. After the disappearance of their egregores, the spirits of the former artists arranged banquets in their astral world celebrating liberation from their parasites, always hungry and annoying the former celebs with demands to feed them at any cost. Think about it! In the astral world, artists cannot wait to be forgotten on earth!

About The Egregore of Russia. Post Two

BackCoverPortrait-TanikaA Note from the Author. My article about  the egregore of Russia became so long that I cut it into three posts – The Strange Problems of Russia,  Russia Problems Have Deep Roots in the Past, and Exhibition of Sergei Shchukin’s Art Collection in Paris. These posts are not the fruits of a scientific research, rather my deep, or not so deep thoughts about Russia, where I lived 55 years. Then I came to America, and soon noticed that American egregore, despite the opposing features, have some similarities how they impact people who had birthed them with their hopes, fears and lasting, repetitive thoughts and emotions.

Russia Problems Have Deep Roots in the Past

To understand true Nature of the Russian egregore, we need a short excurse at least into two events in Russian history that had cast centuries long shadows on modern life of Russia – it’s hopeless battle with Russian alcoholism, theft, and slavish inertia.  Year 1569; Ivan the Terrible is planning to chastise the prosperous and known for his independent spirit cities Novgorod and Pskov by the force of his brainchild — Oprichnina. This was a special division made to suppress any kind of opposition to tsar’s will.

downloadOprichniks rode black horses with heads of dogs attached to the saddles, and were led by Ivan the Terrible himself. They had “license to kill” — to murder and torture rich and poor, men and women, and children – everyone suspected in disagreement with tsar politics. In nowadays, Ultra Reds demand to rank this tsar to the saints.

Ivan arranged a campaign to punish Novgorod and Pskov for their wish to separate from Moscow and bring their allegiance to King of Poland. Pay attention, how early the separation idea from Moscow was looming on western regions of Russia! Only 300 years will pass, and Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania, three little states not far away from Novgorod, will be first to leave the Soviet Union on the brink of its collapse.

Tsar sent oprichnik Maluta Skuratov to get the blessing for his undertaking from Phillip II, the Archbishop of the Church of All Russia. The high priest refused to bless this affair, and Maluta Skuratov murdered Philip, Ivan’s childhood friend, by smothering him with a bedroom pillow.

The bloody pogrom of Novgorod, executed by Ivan the Terrible personally, found its place in almost all history text books. The reports of this bacchanalia of cruelty, “the bloody flowers” of Ivan’s sick imagination are hard to read today. People were hunted to be burned alive, fried in hot flour, then cast in winter icy water to die… and this is only the beginning of the long list of tortures!  Enough, I stop here! Historians assume that the number of victims of this pogrom was between 5,000 – 15,000, or more out of Novgorod’s population in 30 thousand. Oprichniks plundered the Novgorod’s outskirts, estates, countryside as well, continuing to murder men, women and children, destroying the edible stocks to expand the impact of this punishment. Later, hunger came to cannibalism, an epidemic of plague broke out. This was what Phillip II refused to bless!

His murder was symbolic, it represented many things — end of opposing tsar, end of free thinking, victory of state’s aggressive expansionism, and ironically, start of slow debase of Russian official Orthodox Church. The formation of the obedient, poor and humiliated slave soul of Russia that leads to schism of the Russian church.

Enlightened aristocrat, Phillip II served as the head of Russian Church only two years before being murdered for refusing to bless gone mad tsar’s plan to murder thousands of innocent people, women and children.

Philip was the last archbishop coming from finest family of nobility. The following archbishops allowed the schism to take place.  Phillip II was the monk-name of Fedor Kolychev (1507-1569) born into finest Moscow boyar family. Mother taught her son to read and write by Holy Scriptures. Father took care of son’s training in use of combat weapons, horse riding and other military skills. Fedor s three decades the member of court of Grand Prince Vassili III of Russia, the predecessor of Ivan the Terrible.

When in 1537 the Kolychevs’ family fell into tsar’s disfavor, Fedor, secretly left Moscow in the commoner’s clothing and headed north. A year long time he served as a shepherd for a peasant, then became a novice of Solovetsky monastery. After 8 years on monkhood, Philip was elected as the head of the monastery. He showed himself as a competent economic administrator: he arranged a network of canals between lakes on that island, put mills on them, introduced mechanical devises for developing and selling monastic crafts. The Solovetsky Monastery became the area’s industrial and cultural center. He built two cathedrals, new housing and a hospital for the monastery brethren.

The Novgorod massacre and murder of the highest priest Philip II reflected a dark process in progress that can be called the echo of both Spanish Holy Inquisition and Reformation of the Roman Catholic Church in Europe. The official history attributed the schism to fanaticism and stupid stubbornness of the Old Believers, to a quarrel how to make the sign of the Cross– with two or three fingers. However, the merciless persecution of Old Believers looks more like another episode of punishment of people of Novgorod.  It lasted way longer and caused the first wave of massive escape Russians abroad.

Йесус тшо фингерс

Here comes the shortened Wikipedia anonymous article that points to real reasons of the split, and therefore it is worth attention. This article speaks openly about the most cruel persecution of Old Believers up to burning them alive, initiated by Russian official Orthodox Church against the stream of Old Believers called “bespopovtsi”. I noticed that in corresponding articles in English word “bespopovtsi” has been kept untranslated from Russian in English. “Bespopovtsi” were and are to our days Old Believers who did not need priests, popes, churches as “middlemen” between man and God! They believed that person is himself fully responsible for his deeds, and if he had sinned then only his own repentance and prayers and hard work will release his sins in eyes of God! They rejected pope’s guidance and sermons because these were freethinkers. Do I have to continue digging into real reasons of the schism of Russian Orthodox Church? And the Old Believers were punished severely, mercilessly for their independent spirit and capability to think for themselves. The persecution of these free people reached the level of massive burning alive by being locked up in specially prepared sheds or barns. And they were killed and tortured by many other methods lent from the arsenal of Novgorod’s pogrom.

Wikipedia: The article “Mass suicides in the Old Believers.” The most common method of suicide was self-immolation, however, along with it, self-burial, self-sacrifice, death from voluntary hunger. The bishops at the Moscow Cathedral requested torture and executions for Old Believers. This request led to burning old believers’ houses and monasteries. The clergy led the Russian style Inquisition. Soon came the “Twelve Articles” of Princess Sophia, the regent of Russia during the minority of her half-brother Peter the I, or Peter the Great. She stated that if Old Believers do not want to pass to new ceremonies, they will be burned in the wood. Most interrogations were conducted on the ground. All state propaganda was built in such a way as to expose the Old Believers exclusively in a negative light, as heretics, and fanatics. For this purpose, they did not disdain use outright lies, slander, or forgery. Therefore, it is impossible to divide the burning from the self-immolation or from the executioners. All it started the first wave of Russian exodus abroad. More about a bit later. Modest Mussorgsky wrote the libretto and composed opera about the fight of the Old-Believers “Khavanshchina.” In this opera, Old Believers did not win, but a group of them prefer deaf in fire.

судьба раскольников

The persecution of the Old Believers started from the middle of the 17th century and lasted until the middle of the 18th century, when empress Catherine the Great substituted the persecution with double taxes out of practical observation that Old Believers’ households were better off, and stood out among others. However, the humiliating ban on church marriage continued, and the ban was lifted only in 1905.  The Daniil Andreev’s interpretation of the role of this schism in Russian history is completely different, he sees it like sign of the loss souls’ oneness and reflection of split in perception of reality. Developed soul was embracing at once life’s lighter and darker side. I regret that the space of this blog post does not allow to expand Andreev’s most interesting interpretation about the connection of this schism to universal mystical powers. However, it was probably the practical sense of the empress Caterine that saved Old Believers very existence at the time being.  She recognized Old Believers capability to bring money into monarchy’s treasury, and she substituted senseless persecution with double taxation in comparison with other people who professed the official religion. Here comes a pre-revolutionary observation of the life of Old Believers by S.E. Krizhanovsky, Comrade of the Minister of the Interior. He wrote in year 1906:

“The Old Believers’ clergy in simple cotton cassocks, with thin, stern faces differed sharply from dominant churches’ well-fed clergy in their silk robes, orders and apparent indifference toward spirituality. The difference between the clergy of the persecuted and the triumphants suggests that the revival of the Orthodox church, which was so often discussed between us, could only come from the persecuted part of Orthodoxy.
A study has been conducted to find out why so many eminent Russian merchants of the 18th century and the first capitalists of the 19th century were stemming from families of Old Believers. In the XVII century, the Old Believers were by no means the most downtrodden Russian people, but, perhaps, the most well-read and active. Due to the need to struggle for their existence, they developed entrepreneurship, trade and production. Their free spirit, independence, belief that person is responsible for his destiny helped them. The unique history of Russian entrepreneurship cannot be ignored anymore. The majority amidst of Russian successful entrepreneurs are Old Believers. Being supported by their original national labor ethic they emerged as the leaders of Russian capitalism.” For instance, well-known Russian entrepreneurs and patrons of arts Savva Morozov and Sergei Shchukin came both amidst Old Believers.
Http://www.drozdovland.ru

However, in era of Red Terror communists executed and persecuted the best part of the Russian people, including wealthy Old Believers who became “kulaks” and “capitalists, the exploiters of proletarians.” It caused new wave of massive escape of Old Believers abroad. Only two million of Old Believers have been found in Russia today. But before the bloody persecution, the Old Believers made about one third of the total of Russian population. Present day Old Believers can be found only in most deaf corners of vast Russia. The colonies of the Old Believers are scattered all over the globe from Estonia to China, from Turkey to North and South America and Australia. I was looking for the count how many of them live abroad, but I failed to find one.  But I found on the Internet traces of suggestions to return home and Old Believers rejection of these offers out of distrust the Russia rulers.

Interestingly, Red Terror’s treated the Old Believers the same as dominant Russian Orthodox Church. It tells only one thing that the quarrel, how to make the cross sign with two, or three fingers, or write Jeesus, were only pretexts for burning them alive in wood or being locked up and tortured in Gulags. The real reason is probably connected, as usual, to money issues. If Old Believers made up one third of population, and many of them did not need priests or church at all to speak to God, the financial losses of the church were huge. And initiating persecution, the Othodox Church was defending its wellbeing at the first place. It is time to cast a closer look at the Russia nation’s egregore, the cosmic force that have control over individuals, groups, movements, religious rituals, political parties, armies and nations.  In present case, it will reflect the Church’s fear to be burned financially. As the persecution lasted centuries, the Russian egregore, probably, carries a noticeable trace of this fear.

Comparing the egregor of Orthodoxy with the egregors of Islam and Calvinism, Judaism and the Vatican’s papacy, Daniel Andreev writes: “The egregor of Russian Orthodoxy was inert, amorphous, non-aggressive, weak. Long time ago, the Church got the position of an ally of the state national-militant government, later this position was lowered to a position of the government’s assistant, then – the government’s servant, and finally – the slave of the nationalist government.” Daniil Andreev, “The Rose of the World”, Moscow, Eksmo, 2008, p. 354.

What became of the Orthodox Church in the series of falling from the position of the ally of the tsar to the position of the slave of the aggressive statehood, bitten into heart and mind by the poisonous national chauvinism? The unstoppable formation of the egregore of slave’s mindset and poverty was fueled by this fear that made Russian church debase from the leader of spirituality to a beggar in need of state’s protection. But who likes beggars and needy?

In the fourth book of War and Peace, in the salon of Elena Kuragina, among her guests we see a Polish Catholic prelate, but in this type of social gathering you will never meet a Russian priest. And after murder of Philip II, the post of Archbishop would be never occupied by the representative of enlightened and educated aristocracy. Gradually, the priest would be nicknamed a “pop” and his wife would be called by a mocking name “papadya”.  The Russian Orthodox Church would become a church of the poor and disadvantaged, and in return, the growing egregor of slavish poverty began to shape the image of the people, and destructive tendencies — alcoholism, theft and lies and submissiveness become the problems of modern days Russia. Old Believers who paid the price for their independent spirit, may have their set of problems, but they managed to stay independent in spirit and mind and actions!

a-reproduction-of-boyar-morozova-a-painting-by-vasily-surikov-from-B9EJ8T

Vasili Surikov well-known painting  “Boyarina Morozova” shows a dishonored noble woman’s trip to be isolated and  punished by ruling powers. Pay attention to a detail:  on the right corner of this painting, there are two beggars, one is asking alms from the arrested person. The other one supports the Morozova. He looks at her stretched hand with lifted two fingers. The beggar lifts also his two fingers, but does it not so fearlessly as Morozova, still in his heart he admires her courageous gesture. Looking even more carefully, we see  a chain on him, he is not so much beggar, as “yurodivoy”, a fool, a jester. Russian jesters shared people’s poverty to the extreme, buying this way right to throw truth in any face he likes, in  tsar’s face as well. His support of Morozova expresses the painter’d ideas about Old Believers.

 

About The Egregore of Russia. Post Three

BackCoverPortrait-TanikaA Note from the Author: In original Russian, my article about egregore of Russia became so long that I had to cut it into three posts – Modern Russia Problems’ Deep Roots in the Past, About Egregores, and Sergei Shchukin’s Art Collection in Paris. This series of posts is not a fruit of scientific research  but reflection of my personal experiences of 55-year long life in that country.  Now I have live in America already 28 years, and I see some similarities in ways how different egregores influence people in so different countries like America and Russia.      

Sergei Shchukin’s Art Collection in Paris

This rejection of the church’s contact with the society upper class leaves a deep scar in Russian life and culture. The Russian Church of the poor and beggars managed to excommunicate the great Russian writer Lev Tolstoy from the church and Lev Tolstoy did not hesitate express his dislike of Nikolai Chernyshevsky, the writer, leftist, and son of a priest, in other words, a popovitch! The greatest Russia writer challenged the right of the pope’s posterity, popovichs,  to engage in literature, philosophy, and aesthetics.

Alexander Blok will write his famous article “The People and the Intelligentsia” about two different and opposing countries in one – the people and the intelligentsia, who treat each other like Russians and Tatars:

“Between these two countries – between the people and the intelligentsia (the educated ones) – there is a thread like thin line, where both sides meet and seek ways to communicate. Such connecting line did not exist between the Russians and Tatars, between the two camps, clearly hostile. But how trustworthy is this thin communication borderline, if both camps hate each other secretly? How strange and unusual is the convergence at that line! There are no “tribes, dialects, states” here! Still, the worker, the sectarian, the tramp, the peasant, the public figure tries here to talk here with revolutionaries and officials. But this line is too thin — two camps do not understand each other, and do not want to know each other. These, who, nearing that line, seek peace and communication, are seen, as traitors and defectors by both – people and intelligentsia.

This mysterious line appeared as river Nepryadva (at battle Kulikovo where Russians fought to get independence from Tatar’s rule.  – TE). On eve of the battle between Russian and Tatars in Medieval times, this river wagged clean and transparent between the two camps. But the night after the battle, and seven more nights in a row, it flowed red from Russian and Tatar blood.”

No need to remind how much blood was spilled between these camps after the seizure of power by Lenin and the Bolsheviks? Thinking about the centenary (1917-2017) of October Revolution, we know that this “two opposing camps” problem, a very Russian one still stays unresolved. The red blood continues to trickle on that thin line that separates people and intelligentsia.

Someone will say, the author has skidded … But remember, for instance, the fate of Vasili Shukshin, the genially talented writer, film director and actor. Remember the tears of his wife, Lydia Fedoseyeva when she tried to explain on TV why her husband’s death was so untimely. She accused openly the camp of intelligentsia – they hated him for coming from a peasant family in remote Siberia. She added, “If you come from people, it is hard to break the resistance of intelligentsia, and make them to recognize your talent.” Remember Vysotsky, who lived his short life one leg here, the other there, and was seen by both sides as a defector.

Ал Мень

Remember the story of Father Alexander Men, who, on the contrary, stemmed from intelligentsia and was killed by the other camp’s forces in the heyday of his popularity, as a progressive priest who promoted education and positive values. In fact, he went against the Russian egregore of poverty that does not need independent and self-assured souls. Murder of Alexander was investigated for many years, but the killer was never found.

The Russian Orthodox Church, becoming the slave of the ruling demonic powers, the church of the destitute and needy, offered the egregore of slavish poverty more and more food, the number of poor was increasing. The egregore mushroomed, it strength was growing and it started to mold people according its own needs – to have more needy people around! And the colossal egregore of Russia was still growing making more and more people accepting it’s demands. It made people to accept the poor’s “ideology” – the poverty as way of life!

Over time, this egregore proved became stronger than the rule of monarchy, rule of communist party, and modern rulers of Russia, such as Putin, Duma and power of oligarchs. This egregor turned out to be cruel and destructive, here is the root of Russian historical drunkenness and theft! The beggar drinks, the beggar steals, the beggar begs not because he does not know the difference between good and evil, but because otherwise he will not survive. And the egregor of the poor, supports in all the features of the poor – depression, the landmark of the Russian soul – sadness and the hopelessness, gloomy believe that everything is bad and will become worse, drunkenness, lying, stealing, gloom, aggressiveness, senseless competitiveness, greed, despair, low standard of daily existence.

When the revolution in 1917 withdrew everything from the rich, it was hoped that it would improve the destitute livelihood, but ironically, instead of improvement, the people fell into the trap of monstrous communal apartments for decades, which maimed the genetic code of the nation. But this is not enough, out of the crowded communal apartments, millions found themselves locked up in Gulags. Today, instead of Gulags, the dark power of alcohol and drugs controls lives of millions of Russians robbing so many individuals from hopes and future.

Why other nations do not love us having many similar problems to handle, like alcoholism and drug dependency? They live under other egregores, they have their sets of problems, but they cannot accept the “aura” of the poverty that we carry around involuntarily where-ever we go.

It threatens, because it represents a thing that most people are learned to avoid in the name of different intentions programmed into their minds. The laureate of Noble’s award Boris Pasternak, poet, wrote once быть знаменитым некрасиво “to be famous is ugly”, or “to be famous isn’t beautiful.” Now compare this idea with American cult of celebrities and American egregore suggested dream of becoming “rich and famous, and in any regard independent person!” Our egregore of poverty threatens and repels. The national egregors of the Baltic people are formed by the 800-year-old influence of the German egregore. It did not spread anti-Semitism, because it does not exist in Baltic states. But the German egregore planted a strong desire for orderly livability and education. The egregores of the Caucasian nationalities demand independence and material dignity for their peoples. Does it mean that the nations that have created egregores of prosperity do not have their own “Nepryadva river” of serious divisions like the problem of dislike and distrust between white and blacks in America! Obama was “ruling” America eight years to overcome that rejection and create peace! In our present-day reality, he achieved the opposite, the deepening of division that speaks clearly about the interference of a national egregore to the extent of split into two independent egregores, one white egregore and the other black egregore. Today the black one is weak, but tomorrow it will work for laying foundation for the future civilization. God’s ways are unfathomable, indeed!

But despite of differences whatever they support, poverty or prosperity, egregores act similarly. They, the Biblical Nephelines, put our minds to sleep and pump our negative emotions. TV showed, how black youth reacted to police violence by burning the random cars parked on the streets. Demanding justice, they imitated dangerous political revolts, as if denying their belonging to American great nation, and identifying themselves rather as part of the sea of fresh immigrants, the destitute from countries in political turmoil, because our Nephelines, egregores, does not love us, they eat us, and in this regard, they all are identical.

I was impressed by Putin’s one appearance on the Russian television. He charged his governors with immobility to engage the money that he and his government had given them to improve the daily livability if their subjects far away from Moscow. Money was there dead, it did not work, as governors, those scoundrels, did not put that money in construction, modernization of life.

Poor Putin, the local officials will never do, until the strong initiative to improve life will come from below, from people’s conviction that poverty ought to be erased. However, that would be done by people who will be not controlled by the egregore of beggars. Today these people multiply in Moscow and Saint Petersburg, when it will happen in provinces, when it will change Russia?

After the collapse of the Soviet Union, the new government began intuitively with repainting the churches’ domes and repairing churches, and now during the TV broadcasts of Easter sermons the priests change the festive attires several times, looking more like Easter eggs than the bearers of the sacred word. Do I like this? The ancient Russian icons and chants are beautiful, subtle, elegant, as if created by some other culture.

One more painful memory from the past. I remember, Germany and Poland, the countries destroyed to bare bones, ruin skeletons instead of cities left behind by war bombings in WWII, rose back from ashes quickly, more gorgeous than ever, and how the Soviet victors joked bitterly that the vanquished live way better than the winners … It is difficult to find a more vivid illustration of the power of the egregors over the people’s minds and attitude. Only good news is that not a single egregore lives forever. The instant when the people change their mind, say, to refuse be poor, the egregore of poverty will vanish, this terrible Nepheline will die! I will not live to see it, but it will happen sooner or later.

1917-2017! A hundred years have passed since the moment when Russia abolished its monarchy and, instead of enjoying freedom, cast itself into sea of blood and suffering. Will the next century bring something new to Russia? Maybe Russian soul will, finally, get over the habit to suffer and embrace joy and peace!

To finish this blogpost, I want to share a couple of words about one surprising event connected to Russian culture, which occurred recently in Paris, France – the exhibition of Sergei Shchukin’s Reunited Collection of Masterpieces for its first-ever show Outside Russia. The collection was split up after the October Revolution, and put back together by the lasting effort of the French collector and philanthropist Bernard Arnault.

Shchukin   Sergei Shchukin (1854-1936)

Henri Matisse La Dance 1910

Henri Matisse, La Danse (1909-1910). Courtesy of the Louis Vuitton and The State Hermitage Museum, St. Louis. Petersburg.

Luis Vuitton Shchukin inParis 2016-17Sergei Shchukin’s collection, described as one of the world’s finest collections of modern art, will go on to view outside of Russia for the first time in nearly 100 years at the Louis Vuitton Foundation in Paris. The wealthy businessman and arts patron amassed over 250 works of impressionist and post-impressionist masterpieces including 50 Picassos, 38 works by Matisse, 13 Monets, eight Cezannes and four Van Goghs and Gauguin Tahiti paintings.

However, in the aftermath of the Russian Revolution in October 1917, Shchukin’s collection was expropriated by the state, broken up, and distributed among museums in Moscow and St. Petersburg. Stalin labeled the collection’s artworks “bourgeois and cosmopolitan.”

Shchukin, who sued Lenin charging him with theft, was forced to flee to France.

download (2)Bernard Arnault - Copy    Bernard Arnault, the arts’ philanthropist

80 years after Shchukin’s death, the French mega-collector and arts’ philanthropist, Bernard Arnault, successfully coordinated the exhibition, the following several years of negotiations with Russian authorities.

The deal was made on official visits to the United States of America, St. Petersburg, and Moscow Pushkin’s Museum. The Shchukin’s collection of outstanding works of impressionists and post-impressionists was recreated for the first time in a hundred years for display outside Russia, because after the October Revolution, the collection was disassembled into its individual parts.

Louis Vuitton Center
The exhibition at the Louis Vuitton Center, open in 2014,  was open from October 22, 2016 and lasted until March 5, 2017.

Sergei Shchukin (1854, Moscow – 1936, Paris) was born in the Old Believer family, the son of a well-known Moscow manufacturer of the textile industry. The collection of art by Sergei Shchukin was the basis for the subsequent interest of the Hermitage and the Pushkin Museum to French modern painting. In 2012, Sotheby’s auction house stated that the value of the Shchukin’s collection was 8.5 billion dollars.

Roman Abramovich (1966), an oligarch of Soviet descent, bought the English football club Chelsea, which was on the brink of bankruptcy. A Soviet boy dream came true! To play football in backyard was the standard of freedom and happiness for so many Soviet boys in the limited world created by the communist regime.

Shchukin’s world was different.  His sister  asked once her brother, how do you chose what to buy? Shchukin’s biographers report, the answer was: “When I experience emotional shock seeing a new artwork, I buy, if not, I do not buy!” Different dreams… Different level of emotional experiences.

 

©

 

 

Grigori Elmanovich

 

Story  4

 A NOTE FROM THE MEDIUM

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

Repent! Repent! Repent! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

T: – Did you meet him in afterlife?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

The Different Lives – The Same consequences in Afterlife’

Story  4

 

A NOTE FROM THE MEDIUM

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

Repent! Repent! Repent! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

T: – Did you meet him in afterlife?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

The Different Lives – The Same consequences in Afterlife’

Story  4

 

A NOTE FROM THE MEDIUM

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

Repent! Repent! Repent! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

T: – Did you meet him in afterlife?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

The Different Lives – The Same consequences in Afterlife’

Story  4

 

A NOTE FROM THE MEDIUM

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

Repent! Repent! Repent! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

T: – Did you meet him in afterlife?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

The Different Lives – The Same consequences in Afterlife’

Story  4

 

A NOTE FROM THE MEDIUM

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

Repent! Repent! Repent! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

T: – Did you meet him in afterlife?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

The Different Lives – The Same consequences in Afterlife’

Story  4

 

A NOTE FROM THE MEDIUM

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

Repent! Repent! Repent! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

T: – Did you meet him in afterlife?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

The Different Lives – The Same consequences in Afterlife’

Story  4

 

A NOTE FROM THE MEDIUM

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

Repent! Repent! Repent! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

T: – Did you meet him in afterlife?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

The Different Lives – The Same consequences in Afterlife’

Story  4

 

A NOTE FROM THE MEDIUM

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

Repent! Repent! Repent! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

T: – Did you meet him in afterlife?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

The Different Lives – The Same consequences in Afterlife’

Story  4

 

A NOTE FROM THE MEDIUM

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

Repent! Repent! Repent! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

T: – Did you meet him in afterlife?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

The Different Lives – The Same consequences in Afterlife’

Story  4

 

A NOTE FROM THE MEDIUM

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

Repent! Repent! Repent! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

T: – Did you meet him in afterlife?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

The Different Lives – The Same consequences in Afterlife’

Story  4

 

A NOTE FROM THE MEDIUM

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

Repent! Repent! Repent! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

T: – Did you meet him in afterlife?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

The Different Lives – The Same consequences in Afterlife’

Story  4

 

A NOTE FROM THE MEDIUM

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

Repent! Repent! Repent! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

T: – Did you meet him in afterlife?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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