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.

 

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Cleansing the Spirit of My Mother Tamara

November 23, 2017

Cannot say how others passed such tests, but in my case, when the attempts to support my spiritual growth with prayers and meditations enabled me to communicate with spirits, when I started to hear them, and could talk to them, it made me face my childish idealizations of  my loved ones. In brief, instead of finding more love in my heart, oftentimes  I found vacuum…

…and the real struggle began to learn tо love what I saw, not what I believed to be there!

For instance, for me the idealization number ONE turned to be the belief shared by so many that death will make us omnipotent, will increase our memory about 100 times, will better our ability to assimilate knowledge in no time, and make us, if we chose so, to become guardians for people on earth. And I had mentioned it in my book “Prisoners of Fame”.

Today it has become common knowledge that death is not a baby sitter.  It helps a soul to fly over limbo abyss to the astral world, but it would not change the soul immediately, on the contrary, it freezes the soul’s change! Stupid remains stupid, talented remains talented, angry remains angry…  Mediums, OBE travelers, alternative healers started write about it already some years ago. Still, in most cases, readers do not think that this revelation goes to them as well.  The power of a long enough nourished superstition is strong, indeed!

The next shiny idealization of mine crowned what I was thinking about the seers! I will not point my finger at any soul adviser on earth who had become drug addict or alcoholic in our so-called heaven, as a matter of fact “a couple of spins” away from us, as a talented spirit said once! In brief, I saw seers almost like saints on earth, and experienced true shock discovering that after their transition some souls of them dwell on the lowest levels of the astral world – for considering themselves above people like you and me.

And, there is a hardest to deal with idealization of our parents that we try to avoid dealing with as long as possible.

… 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 some days ago about everything we had to tell each other.  I tried to think about some decent excuses to call, found none, and called anyway – from my Los Angeles apartment to Tallinn, Estonia. My brother Vsevolod happened to be in her room at that late hour in North Europe, and picked up the phone. He said that Mother was having flue and he dropped by to check that she had taken her medicine and now she was trying to get some sleep. Nevertheless, he announced my call and advised my mother to talk to me on the phone. Mother did not talk, she was listening… or sensing what was coming from me to her. She was glad that I had called as she had to tell me something important beyond words… I also stopped making up words, and fell in silence letting our wordless messages to fly back and forth from Tallinn to Los Angeles. “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 four hours, brother called me from Estonia. After my phone call mother fell asleep and died shortly, leaving her body for good in sleep! She was 3 weeks short from her 99th birthday. Here comes 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, “they lived happily ever after” turned to be the next idealization – now theirs, not mine that they had let go. Father’s war, and mother’s joyless life on earth had changed both. And this was not my father, but my mother who made me rethink everything that I have learned about her so far. I was approached by a spirit of a Hollywood star of the 50s who asked solemnly to be heard out regarding my mother’s situation. He said that my mother was … pregnant! He added, “She will give birth to a creature and she will be fine again, but…” I decided that my guest was rehearsing a role of a sci-fy movie in his upcoming incarnation. However, my guest was not done yet, as 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 the book “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 arrived to visit Golden Hollywood garden on her own pestering actors in search on certain experiences.

The cold shiver ran down my spine. My promise to take care of her improper intrusions onto their lives wrapped up our pleasant conversation. He left, and I started my investigation what did happen to my mother on the other side of the veil. In short, my mother fell in love with a suspicious stranger whom she met on the streets of the astral world. Or he befriended her, as a promising subject? I was told that he was a handsome brunet with sexy mustache, friendly smile and very white teeth that helped him, a recruiter of volunteers to be Guinea pigs for researchers in exchange for a small piece of independent living space. My mother Tamara was introduced to the boss of these researchers, and she agreed … to give birth in experimental condition to an experimental entity… The new man in her life was supposed to wait for her on “their bench” in a small park close to the laboratory building. But he was not there when my excited mother was looking for him to share the great news that she was accepted, and that since now, since the very moment in her “now” she was already earning independent space for him and her – for living happily ever after independently, in a small house or apartment as long as it would be needed! She said that she was impregnated artificially immediately, and released back to the streets to share with him this great news.

The only problem was that there was no one to share this news. The new man in her life has disappeared in thin air. My mother was looking for him, the one whom she preferred to my father. Soon the truth started to dawn on her that she was used for becoming a volunteer to aid a dark undertaking.  The rumors that these researchers were in Frankenstein business started to catch up with her. And she started annoying men in the streets with certain offerings. She hated when her acquaintances tried to straight her out. She asked them 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 some months short from 100 years on earth. She was convinced that it entitled her for compensation so freely available in her afterlife! 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 hypothetic question why they were itching to educate her now after she had dragged children, husband’s sick mother, and her two helpless sisters through the war, then across the hungry and dangerous post war decades, the terror of mass deportations to Siberia, and being persuaded to become a KGB informer, and looking daily at her hook in dusty attic for hanging herself, if she would be not able to get them off her back. At that time, nobody taught her how to survive and make hay for the cow to feed children. She threw into their faces, “Mind your business, leave me alone!” to all her former relatives, friends, and – me included!

However, 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 my mother Tamara’s guides and asked my IT,  stands for Invisible Translator, to turn the current energy of healing into metaphorical images for guides to erase or transform them.

When I focused on the condition of Tamara’s solar plexus chakra on earth, I got images about her hay making days. … She was in a hurry to remove dry hay into barn, because the dark heavy rain clouds were thickening above her head, above her rented piece of land where the hay was growing, had been mowed, dried, and transported to the barn. Dry grass was scratching her hands and legs, it slipped under her shirt, but she continued to lift pitchfork after pitchfork with heavy loads of hay on the cart to get it under the protective roof of the barn. When the first heavy drops of rain began to fell on her sweaty face, hay was already removed, she managed to save not only hay, but all her unbearable haymaking overwork, at least for now! I prayed asking LIGHT to remove these hay images out of her solar plexus area. Of course, the cleansing did not end there, it continued…

Later I was approached by a spirit friend, and the load of hay was taken out… from my third chakra area and instruction was given how to avoid picking up trash from my relatives’ and friends’ solar plexus area, the energy center that is so readily harboring our and other people’s negativity, if we do not know how to let it go!

Mother’s spirit did not show up anymore and the day arrived when I thanked her in my mind, sending her light and love and releasing this woman who once gave me body into her life, her experiences and her future incarnations. This was when we parted for good!

She did not needed my love, or healing, or family any more. All what she was looking for was freedom of expression. Instead of fulfilling obligation almost 100 years on earth, she started on her path of self discovery that did not included me or my father or her parents any more.

 

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.

 

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A Talk from Beyond the Grave

The Voice of  the General Ivan Ivanovich Michelson (1740 – 1807) sounded so contemporary, as if he was living among us today!  

I.I. Michelson

My maternal grandmother Anna Sirotina (nee Michelson), AnnaIIa quiet and patient women whom I did not meet on earth, but met in spirit while working on the manuscript of the book “Healing Meditation,” mentioned that her grandfather was а military in times of the empress Catherine The Great. Both English and Russian versions of Wikipedia described this military man as follows.

In Russian and English Wikipedia Ivan Ivanovich Michelson, in German Johann von Michelsonen (3 May 1740 – 17 August 1807) was a Baltic-German military commander who served in the Russian Imperial Army. He was a prominent general in several wars, but his most noted contribution was his critical role in suppressing Pugachev’s Rebellion.

Michelson was born in Revel (Tallinn) in the Governorate of Estonia to a family of noble rank. He was a practicing Lutheran and a Mason. His early military career saw him serve as a cavalry officer in many conflicts: The Seven Years’ War, The Russo-Turkish War of 1768-1774, and the war against The Bar Confederation.

In year 1774 Ivan Michelson  was trusted to lead the government forces against the Yemelyan Pugachev’s revolt (1773-1775) and at a time colonel-lieutenant Ivan Michelson , later full colonel, then general, crushed the rebellion at Tsaritsin (Stalingrad), captured Pugachev and handed him over to the authorities. Soon after that Pugachev was executed in Moscow in January 1775.

catherine-the-great

Catherine the Great awarded Michelson with numerous honors: an estate in Vitebsk Governorate, the Gold Sword for Bravery with Diamonds, and the rank of full colonel.

museum013_06s

When I was writing the blog article “The Partition”, it attracted the attention of Johann von Michelsonen: I heard a male voice who spoke Russian with light German accent.  We started a conversation. He lived in 18th century, we live in the 21st century, nevertheless, he sounded so contemporary and gave so deep insights what did happen during his time on earth that I found it to be my duty to introduce this voice to readers. Life is going on after so-called death, as our consciousness does not die. After reading this one you may conclude that nothing is as important on earth as learning whatever we can learn, because in the next world our positive achievements will become a part of our mind that will never betray us both in the next world and in our future incarnations on earth.

Johann von Michelsonen: — Do not exaggerate the implications of this relationship. Being already in the astral world, I was not able to interfere into Anna’s life on earth.

T: —  Anna’s marriage to Mikhail Sirotin was not a happy one.

J.M: — I am sure, if I could, I would never allow this marriage to occur, and probably, I could be wrong. We learned and took heart on the battlefields, and we were rewarded with amazing diamond toys, like I was, but they did not make me neither better, nor happier, but rather vice versa. I was attacked by the anger and jealousy of those who stood closer to the Empress Catherine The Great than I did. I know that you have met Pushkin. Please, can you arrange a meeting with Pushkin, it’s easier for me to talk to him directly. Call and he will come. Tell him that I have read his “The Captain’s Daughter,” a notable historical novel about the Pugachev’s Rebellion published in year 1836.A.P. 1

Captain's Daughter

T: — Pay attention! It is remarkable that J.M. read “The Captain’s Daughter” written seven decades after the Pugachev’s rebellion, and published in 1836, three decades after the general’s death in 1807, isn’t it? In other words, in the afterlife, if we like, we can be actively involved in events of life of culture on earth. Pay attention to the end words of this post said by of Alexander Pushkin regarding the UK serial “Father Brown” (2013).

It was Vladimir Vysotsky who arranged the meeting of Michelson with Pushkin. They talked hours. Pushkin said, “If I would have chance to talk with Ivan Ivanovich in my time, I would write another book about this Rebellion.”

The general Michelson met also the Sirotins’ family.

FamilyGrandpaMichailMama with kin

The next day our conversation continued. I could sense that there were things that he wanted to get out of his chest.

J.M: — They (the Russian militaries) were afraid of him (Pugachev), because there was a share of guilt, a very large share of guilt amidst the Russian aristocracy and nobility stemming from how they had treated their people. They had humiliated and hurt them badly people, very badly, and the pain and shame and anger started to accumulate in the heart on that nation.

T: — Was it the same anger that would lead to The Russian Revolution, the devastating Russian Civil War and Bolshevik’s Red Terror? Yes, from the esoteric point of view, the thought forms of pain, shame and anger remain intact in the air for a very long time. Our modern science is still not ready to deal with the phenomena of thought forms. Plato, the ancient philosopher wrote about “the world of subtle images of everything we have on earth”, but as contemporary science cannot see or measure this world of the higher vibrations, from scientific point of view, it does not exist. Nevertheless, the extra sensitive tell us that in Germany the thought forms of torturous pain and fear caused by the Nazi’s unprecedented concentration camps, or the thought forms of the mob’s enthusiasm over Hitler’s speeches are still there. In Russia, the pain, fear, nightmarish atmosphere is still hovering over brutal battlefields like battlefields near Moscow, including the first Soviet contra offensive that stopped the Barbarossa blitzkrieg plans, the battlefields at Kursk, Kiev, Sevastopol, Stalingrad, Kharkov, Poland, Berlin. In Siberia, the deeply destructive thought forms are still hovering above the merciless Gulags for Russians and smaller nations under the Soviet rule. These ruinous thought forms are still attracting same, or near-same thought forms according to the basic cosmic law of attraction.

russia-peasants-grangerJ.M: — The centuries of anger were manifested by the Bolsheviks’ during the era of “the proletarian dictatorship,” at times, exceeding the horrors committed by the Russian tsars. They were not Russians, and they did not understand their subjects, and they did not want to know!

Ironically, I was closer to the people, because I was a German in their eyes, and even you heard my German accent, I choked when I got it.

T: — He paused talking, “listening” to my reaction of surprise, when I recognized the German accent in which the letter “v” sounds more like “f”! In everything else, his Russian was flawless.

J.M: — I thought you would never hear it, but you did. You have to be a real medium! I took Pugachev, because I was a German, and I had no sense of guilt or inconvenience obstructing my duty to suppress the rebellion. I hadn’t hold anyone in “the black body,” instead, they held me in dislike for being a German, who, as it seemed to them, had taken careers and earnings from them. Many Germans were invited to come to Russia as masters and professions, but we were treated as intruders, as a “nemtshura”, as they called us. They believed that we, the Germans took away their honor, dignity and the opportunities to earn as part some dark conspiracy meant to ruin Russians.  I did not see Pugachev as part of people, but as a state criminal who killed and ruined and destroyed and dishonored along with his crazy gang of drunkards much more than was shown in the official state reports. The military hid its inability either think or respond to rebels’ fierce attacks.

Yemelka (the nick-name for Yemelyan Pugachev) walked and was at the beginning victorious, because our generals were drinking, eating, and could not get out of their women, sat around doing nothing, gaining fat. Finally, the empress, also a German practical woman, sorted out the military folks that she could count on, and selecting a dozen, like myself not-loved the not-Russians under the Russians rule, gave us powers and sent us to do the job, clean up the rebellion. And in a couple of months, we did what we called to do. The rebellion was suppressed, and the nightmare was over.

I captured Pugachev effortlessly. He was also already mellowed from drinking and eating too much. His inner circle was already quarreling, and I took them without any significant losses. I passed the arrested Pugachev to general Panin, and was ready to go home. It seemed to me that, in a way, the captivated Pugachev was relieved that he was freed from promises, expectations and responsibilities too big for him to be carried out. Besides, he was able to foresee that the drunk and quarreling Cossacks would sooner or later either murder him, or hand him over to authorities for some rewards. He knew what was waiting him, he was no fool, and he did not fear the ax, he had his party, but now it was over! So be it!

Pugachev[1]

Yemelyan Pugachev, “Forgive me, the nation of the Russian Orthodoxy.” The capital punishment of Yemelyan Pugachev. The painting by Viktor Matorin 

And then, already at home resting – I was very surprised that I had earned an expensive toy, a sword adorned with diamonds. But what such a saber is suitable for? Only for hanging on the wall as a decorative toy! Who would sharpen this kind of sword for taking it to the battlefield?

Let’s talk about our affair. Yes, Anya is my granddaughter, a direct heiress, and I am very saddened by what did happen to her. But I am grateful to you that it was you who, in fact, almost a stranger to us, helped her more than all my relatives did. You say the word “karma”, we had no such word. But I think I understand what it means. And I only know that my Anya will never meet any of these people again. If she had some karma on her, she paid it off 10 times.

She is on her way back to her people, as many of my ancestors, and many other Germans  are. They came to Russia being tempted by the empty promises of Peter the Great, and other Russian tsars. Experiencing what they experienced, they are now on the way back to their people. I do not want to complain, I served, I did my part, and if the day will come when I will be called back on earth, I will be again the military man. But not in Russia anymore. Many men like me were being safeguarded for the fights in the terrible wars in Africa and in Europe between Europeans and the African nations. TodaIn Europe, there is similar anger accumulating as it was in Russia before the revolution. I guess, today you cannot imagine what kind, and in what amount the anager, the madness, the desperation was accumulating because of the stupid, stupid policies of the Russians Monarchs,   because the Romanov’s were nicihtozhestvo – an empty nothingness!

Thanks for your lovely, so Russian tea!

I know that Pushkin wrote about Pugachev, I want to talk to him, because he was wrong about something.  Maybe in future, he will be able to fix it. He embroidered the robber too much. I told him where he felt the truth, and where he was carried away by the romanticism, the main trend of literature during his days on earth.

Thank you, thank you for Anya, this was Ivan Ivanovich Michelson , the General Michelson  who spoke to you. You wrote about Anya correctly, she will never live in Russia again, all the ruined souls by the Bolsheviks and Gulags will not return to Russia, never! For them there would be allotted another place to live. For me too. My life in Russia was terribly hard. I was not loved not only because I was German national, but because I was skilled in my job, I was learned how to do my military job, I knew what to do on a battlefield. My home will be with Germans who will pay for what was done to Jews. It will be not the Germany as we know it today. The present day Germany will disappear, in its place, there will be a body of water instead. We will not be called Germans, we will be called completely differently. We will work on restoration of Israel, we will pay our debt by working for Jews. And we will be given a huge free space next to Israel, there we will live and build, and from that spot, Israel and our new land – a new civilization will take roots.

T: — And what will happen to the Russians?

J.M: — They will be also distinct. Russians will degrade because of self-destruction, because the finer souls, by the way – you too — will not return neither to Russia, not to Estonia. Today Estonians drink like Russians, no good for them either! Continue learning English, take the rudiments of the French, and languages will do for you in the astral world. Sasha (nickname for Alexander Pushkin) is waiting for me, we continue our talk.

A.P: — Tatyana, it’s me. I need a word with him. (I.I. Michelson). I have more questions. Everything was arranged perfectly. The general suffers his untreated sores, and our Russian doctors undertook to treat him. His granddaughter Anya, as he calls her, will be with him all the time.

VV guitare

Our helmsman Vladimir Vysotsky had no mercy on the priest Mikhail, Anya’s husband, who cursed aristocrats his entire life, being unaware of being an abandoned at birth aristocrat himself.  Vysotsky took the trouble to explain to him in clear Russian what Father Mikhail had done to himself, his wife and their children by cursing aristocrats on the daily basis. The old man completely squeaked, he stormed to see Serafim Sarovsky, a Russian saint in the Russian hierarchy on the other side, for advice how to remove the curses… Leave them now alone. Enjoy the next episode of the “Father Brown.” Closer to the end they are running out of steam…
T: — Maybe it was so, but I still enjoyed watching it to the end. Because here, its humanness was so effectively set off against the flow of mystery and detective stories about the brutal murders and decomposing corpses which are used to entertain us in evening hours before we go to sleep!

How can we, modest mediums and esotericists, clairvoyants and masons, shamans and alternative healers explain to the powerful class of producers that sooner or later the artistic images of murderers and corpses from our TV screens will materialize and hunt their victims in flesh, for real, on earth! I hope that the day will come, when science will catch up with the ancient knowledge about the thought forms, and use it for good things, as they do today, using invisible X-rays to diagnose decease and find better cure to heal it.

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The Meditation on Gogol in Afterlife

Gogol portrait

Nikolai Gogol (1809-1852). Quotes

“I am who I am and that’s who I am.”

“The longer and more carefully we look at a funny story, the sadder it becomes.”

“We have the marvelous gift of making everything insignificant.”

“There are occasions when a woman, no matter how weak and impotent in character she may be in comparison with a man, will yet suddenly become not only harder than any man, but even harder than anything and everything in the world.”

“…nothing could be more pleasant than to live in solitude, enjoy the spectacle of nature, and occasionally read some book…”

“They don’t listen to me, they don’t hear me, they don’t see me.”

“Countless as the sands of the sea are human passions.”

“But wise is the man who disdains no character, but with searching glance explores him to the root and cause of all.”

Good Reads Collection of quotes from The Dead Souls, The Mad Man’s Diary and Gogol’s Short Stories.

The Author’s Note. During Gogol’s life, his works were translated in Czechoslovakian, German, Polish, French, Sweden, Serbian and English languages. During the following 160 years, this list has expanded including Italian, Japanese, Chinese, Greece, Finnish, Norway, Persian, and Arabic languages. The formerly named countries have presented new versions of translations of Gogol’s works. Marc Chagall created 96 etchings to illustrate “The Les Âmes mortes (Dead Souls), the French publication, 1948. A copy of this edition is kept by MoMA, New York — collection.

Meditation on Gogol’s Spirit Heart

My meditation is in full swing. In the purple light of the “Third Eye” area, I see a black marble slab, a stand for a sculpture trending in the 60’s. It depicting a hand with long thin fingers typical of a man born under the auspices of the constellation of Pisces. This was how the otherworldly forces showed the Writer’s afterlife. His name is Nikolai Gogol, he is a Russian Ukrainian-born writer who reached immortality by the deceptive simplicity of his stories and merciless laugh at the cost of his characters and their miserable spiritual aspirations, as if dictated by the Russian national soul always chastising itself for indulging the weaknesses of its favorite creatures. Or maybe I was given a hint that Gogol’s unforgettable characters were written more by the master’s mind, his pitiless eye than the voice of his heart? His Akaki Akakievich the shy, quiet clerk from “The Overcoat,” a complete nobody, the hand-copier of documents in an important office in the icy capital of Imperial Russia, Saint Petersburg. This smallish minion put pennies aside during a decade or longer dreaming about a warm overcoat. Finally, he showed off his overcoat at work, and lost it the same day being robbed on a cold and dark and windy street returning home from a theater. He attended the theatre out of fear to vex with declining bosses invitation, as the custom was to keep the boss company during +his theatrical outings.
Or Gogol’s immortal character – Chichikov from “The Dead Souls”, who visited provincial landlords and buying cheaply their dead serfs. The transfer of these names onto his list of serfs would build the impression in Saint Petersburg of being a rich landlord. It would imply automatically the ownership of big land and grant unlimited loans that would make our swindler rich! Of course, this plan of Chichikov would never materialize… By the way, during 2016 presidential election, one party accused the other one of adding to their voters’ lists the names of the dead voters, I forgot which party was the perpetrator, and which one was the whistler-blower.

Chichikov

From Alami collection of illusratins to “Dead Souls”. “The Dead Souls’ hero Chichikov 

The meditation continues. The weak light of candles breaks barely through heavy darkness of the evening sermon in an empty astral church, the orthodox choir’s sweet chants are softening the feel of gloom, but the Tsarist Gate** covered by Byzantine classic, strict and so minimalist icons of saints in richly gilded frames, probably to empress the poor, was tightly closed emanating waves of unease and secrecy.

My concentration was dissipating. I started my prayer beckoning the golden light to see the upper chakras… What I was hoping to see in the world beyond where past, present and future merge into something that we would never understand completely, and be always left with more questions than venturing out into meditation? Was I thinking clearly when was asking for a look at Gogol’s chakras who was already in spirit! Nevertheless, the golden ray seemed to oblige, as it gave me picture of a non-existing chakra. Was Almighty golden light improvising, or it had reproduced these chakras from Writer’s past on earth? Whatever it was, in my third eye, there were picture of Gogol’s chakras. The golden ray encounters a thin, impenetrable shell around the “spiritual heart” of the spirit. Can it be that instead of a picture of the real heart, I saw the picture of Gogol’s spiritual heart?  Does it exist? Either the access to Gogol’s problems was denied to me, or I was getting off the right track made available to me by my guides? I decide to follow the direction where ever it would lead me.

Unexpectedly, I find myself at the throat chakra, or rather, at the slice of this chakra – given as a picture of a cream fancy collar on portraits of Hispanic or Venetian grandees. Out of the neckline of the luxurious garments, a fine corrugated collar was falling onto their shoulders. But, alas, the edges of this magnificent “collar” were burnt and looked like the net of thin channels, clogged and burned. The channels became blocked to the energy coming from outer space.

Writer’s biographers testify that at the end of his short earthly path the Writer complained that what was coming through was not exactly what he was looking for, in other words he was speaking about the writer’s block. … I remember reading about the famous writer’s crisis in my youth, I perceived these complaints as coquetry of a genius. The harsh era of the proletarian dictatorship with its postulates of Marxism clouded not only my perception. Even at school, children were taught that “Dead Souls” are “social criticism of the landlord class”. Then, on the eve of Gorbachev’s Perestroika, more advanced readers appeared, as a gift from behind the cordon, a collection of lectures on Gogol read by Nabokov in America that did not exist for us. The author of “Lolita” and “The Gift” claimed quite different. In other words, Nabokov reevaluated the Gogol’s aesthetics, and as a result, the splendid writer became again fashionable and re-readable by that part of the Russian advanced literature loving public which dictated hard (way harder than in America) what to read and what to ignore.

And it happened exactly when the Soviet government, to the astonishment of the whole world collapsed overnight. Not a single tear was shed over that collapse, and the red “knizhechki” – covers of membership in the CPSU, were amicably returned to the party committees throughout the country. Today, the faithful descendants of the cowardly and thievish heroes of The Dead Souls had forgotten their unanimous zeal of renouncing Communism. While continuing to plunder the country, they accuse Gorbachev of betrayal, and are pining for Stalin’s strong hand. Well, we truly are the family of Bobchinskys and Dobchenskys, Chichikovs and Hlestakovs, the Gogol’s heroes.

But I who meditate have been distracted, let continue! …The mystical scissors in my astral hand were gently cutting the charred edge of the “collar”. Now I see the net of thin channels running from throat chakra, the “control panel” of communication, down to the heart chakra with the tender Vedic name Anahata. Here I see a withered hand and an elongated jar with dried jam on the bottom. The hand barely enters it the sleeve touching the inside wall of the can. Thin fingers, twisted with rheumatism, long lost their former flexibility and dexterity, try to extract from the dry brownish jam something like fly or spider. Probably, once this preserve was fresh and attractive, and exuded the smell of forest berries … I ask for more light, and I see that it was not a spider but Egyptian Scarab that I found in the astral vision of Gogol’s heart chakra.

I break out of mediation and jump to my computer, the source of our superficial knowledge about everything. The Internet explains: “Scarab is a symbol of the Egyptian god Keper, the deity of the Sun, who rolls the Sun’s globe across the sky. It was a symbol of rebirth. On some mummies heart were put ‘heart scarabs’ as a sign of rebirth. ”

Alternative names of this insect god are Khepera, Khepra, Khepri, Khopri, Kheprer, or Chepera. The Scarab was the most potent symbol of the ancient Egypt, primarily symbolizing the sun, resurrection, transformation and protection. It was also the symbol of immortality and rebirth. And scarab amulets and talismans, carved from valuable stones, were buried with mummies. www.landofpyramids.org/khepri.htm.

skarab 1

I return to meditation. In that jar, fingers release the scarab, and the black beetle smoothly sinks back to the bottom of the jar, which – at least for me – personifies the Gogol’s mummy. Once, the spirit of Marlene Dietrich, while I was working on the manuscript of “Prisoners of Fame,” talked about her conviction that Gogol’s souls and hers originate from the same batch of aliens who were sent to help earthlings in their development. She personally did not meet Gogol, as they lived in different centuries, different countries, served different cultures. Nevertheless, Marlene Dietrich’s surprising claim regarding resemblance of their faces is obvious. Where they both coming from the same stock of aliens? Yuktesvar said, “Hard to confirm, easy to deny, but I would not, because in spirit world everything is possible!”

similarity of two faces
Marlene believes that Gogol and she stem from one bunch of aliens sent to advance earth development

Maybe eons ago, an earthling or alien who loved the soul that evolved into Gogol, put on “heart” of his mummy, maybe at the last minute of the burial ceremony, a scarab to guard the deceased in the land of the dead! Who was that someone whom Gogol’s soul hold so dear that he still had not found his soulmate? Why I did let the scarab to sink back to the bottom of the jar? Maybe I was supposed to do the opposite, threw the scarab into the cosmic dump of useless memories and rid Gogol of this annoying reminder of someone who once stole his soul? But was it my duty to judge? In short, the scarab returned to the mummy to guard it from earthly accidental attachments.

I listen to the silence. It looks like Gogol’s angels have not much to say…  However, I was spoken to anyway! My spirit helpers encouraged me to continue. They invited me to help to ease Gogol’s “walking cloud” from some heaviness caused by the negative images that were “archived” in his spiritual heart.  There were pyramids, desert, hot sand and guilt observing slaves who were doomed to work under the scorching sun.

For a medium turned into an untrained healer this was not an easy job. For the starters, I had to get rid from the feeling of exorbitant gravity that aroese automatically only thinking about the pyramids!  How to let go such images? I was advised in my mind to transfer the images of “real pyramids” into two-dimensional pictures — sketched, or painted, or photographed pyramids on any kind of paper, whatever – newspaper, photopaper, electronic screen image, illustrative images in books or magazines — whatever comes first into your mind. Then play with the pyramid, throw it in the air, turn the other side, make it bigger, smaller, color it into different colors… Finally , then set an imaginary bonfire into your room, and threw your imaginary pictures with pyramids into fire, and burn it to ashes, then put out the flames of your bonfire. It is important, because your mental images will attract a lot of similar images from the universe. When they accumulate enough, they will find a way to materialize.

The spontaneous cleansing continued until I saw the clean blue water, from which rises … an emerald green gentle hue, a very light and pure steam of cardiac energy. Was the Gogol’s spirit heart purified? Who was the healing angel who did the job using me for establishing contact with earth energies?

Now I found myself in the same empty church. The long evening sermon was still in progress. I saw a young handsome deacon. Maybe once, a forbidden gay love blossomed under the roof of this church, or it was shown to me for no reason at all. The Russian Orthodox Church choir’s singing was sweeter than ever.

The Tsar’s Gates to the altar started to open. But in place of the altar, there was a mountain of sarcophagi … in some of them there were mummies, or rather, what was left of them after eons of undisturbed rest? I was looking for more scarabs, but was not able to detect them.  Do I need them to connect past and present times as  a symbol of eternal renewal of life through the power of motherhood?

pyramid 2

The Internet article http://www.landofpyramids.org/khepri.htm explain:

“The life of the scarab beetle revolved around the dung balls that were eaten by the beetles, they laid their eggs in the dung balls, and fed their young on the content. The dung ball of the scarab. When the eggs hatched, the scarab beetle would appear from nowhere to be a symbol of spontaneous creation, resurrection, and transformation.”

The image of motherhood, mother, too close to be compared with anything, and completely incomprehensible to understand, is too often inspiring fear, guilt and sometimes pure madness! Here it is, this thin and impenetrable veil around the heart, the veil of fear of the incomprehensibility of earthly motherhood. There is a desire to be accepted by the simple earthly life, and clear understanding that it is impossible without the plunge into the vulgarity of existence what leads to the eternal question “to be or not to be?” Or it would be safer to escape back to the astral life, as soon as possible. Or this problem can be resolved by developing aversion toward a woman, or women who once offered him eternal love demanding confirmations in form of forced vows and promises. Can these vows be broken, or can this way bought freedom be marred by guilt and faintheartedness forever?

How to accept being a reject for all these governors’ spouses, their daughters* wearing so provincial pink bows all over their dresses and coiffures? How to tolerate being a refuse in the eyes of all these invincible whores and prostitutes, whose spirit cannot be broken, as they do not have one, or it seems so! Is the suffering for broken vows to carry flames of the eternal love through eons justified? Maybe Scarab has been mistaken, and motherhood does not stand for spirituality at all, as it stands literally for making new bodies for renewal life? So they say! I think that new bodies are too often made for suffering called evolvement! I hope to be wrong!

Probably, only the idea of immaculate conception can solve this riddle … And was it our church that has established this image? Or it stemmed from the deep – from the prehistoric mythology – where the forever immaculate goddesses give birth to the heroes from ears, nostrils, moths, armpits… until the great image of Mother Mary’s immaculate conception, her spotless sinless life was born and glorified by the church, literature, music and paintings that confirmed repeatedly Mother Mary immaculate and incomprehensible, and holy conception of The Savior of humanity Jesus Christ. Because otherwise neither we nor the gods will evolve or rise, if holiness of birth would be not confirmed against all odds… Do not start me listing these odds that try to overrule this most universal principle of holiness of life. You knew them by heart, wars, revolutions, poverty, partners are not equal socially (Theodore Dreiser’s “An American Tragedy”), too young for birthing, sinful conception, if mother was not married (Goethe’s Faust, Shakespearian bustards’ characters). The image of the Holy Virgin seems to address all of them defending life itself… maybe doing our part in this defense line starts with a simple thing – acceptance mother who gave us life!

Virgin Mary Russian icon

Raise not to demand anything from your mother, but do not lift her image above the height established by the holy image of Mother Mary.

Recognize the effort to create a new body – put it above yourself, Shakespeare, Tolstoy, Saint John and the other Gospel writers. Let her remain blameless, whatever she was, beautiful or ugly, thin or plump, rich or poor, clean or a filthy woman, smart or stupid, educated or uneducated, refined or a rude, called a whore, or exalted as a goddess. The time comes when you will let her go! She gave body to you, and now is your turn to give her freedom back. Acknowledge that charging her with this and that you are clinging to her, expecting to take care of you forever! Do not blame her, do not judge her, the only thing you have to do, is letting her go free! If you do so, you may discover that stopping judgment made you free as well! You are freer than ever! Your heart will open to the boundless love, universal love that suffices all, and to which no living soul is deprived… Let go of the mother’s hand, do not cling to it, when you shout to her, leave me in peace … And she will smile at you, and disappear, simply slip out from her secret life where you have no place and never will, because her life, her destiny is not yours … She gave your body, now honor her freedom. And you will get rid of terrible loneliness, from a painful condition to be misunderstood. Life will shine to you with all its wonderful and terrible colors – your life! And you will find in it the Creator, the one to whom you owe your existence!

While cleaning the sarcophagi from the church, someone accidentally pushed the jar, it fell and crashed, and the scarab disappeared.

The darkness begins to dissipate. I see Gogol in a white nightgown, with a rope around his neck being unhappy with himself, his life, his unfulfilled obligations. I’m calling the most strange and terrible of all his creatures, Viy, and I order him to remove this rope from Gogol’s neck. But this is not Viy who appears.

Jesus Christ appears in that church. He embraces Gogol. The light of Jesus Christ the Savior removes the dust of terrible sarcophagi from Gogol, the pain of the burial of dead and alive slaves, the otherworldly beautiful mother’s authority over him, his strange love for the ugly images from which the heroes of his “Dead Souls” are woven, the impossibility to open his spiritual heart to unconditional love to embrace the world as it is given to him, as it unfolds his destiny.

Christ touches his heart: the protective shell around Gogol’s spiritual heart breaks and the light pours out of his heart. Jesus takes him to Christianity as a brother, as a son, as a grandson, as a human being, as a child of Almighty God.

My chakras close themselves. The church rests in quietude. The words dry out. The quiet, peaceful light streams through the church cupola down on us washing away fear and restlessness.

For a medium turned into an untrained healer this was not an easy job. For the starters, I had to get rid from the feeling of exorbitant gravity that aroese automatically only thinking about the pyramids!  How to let go such images? I was advised in my mind to transfer the images of “real pyramids” into two-dimensional pictures — sketched, or painted, or photographed pyramids on any kind of paper, whatever – newspaper, photopaper, electronic screen image, illustrative images in books or magazines — whatever comes first into your mind. Then play with the pyramid, throw it in the air, turn the other side, make it bigger, smaller, color it into different colors… Finally , then set an imaginary bonfire into your room, and threw your imaginary pictures with pyramids into fire, and burn it to ashes, then put out the flames of your bonfire. It is important, because your mental images will attract a lot of similar images from the universe. When they accumulate enough, they will find a way to materialize.

The spontaneous cleansing continued until I saw the clean blue water, from which rises … an emerald green gentle hue, a very light and pure steam of cardiac energy. Was the Gogol’s spirit heart purified? Who was the healing angel who did the job using me for establishing contact with earth energies?

Now I found myself in the same empty church. The long evening sermon was still in progress. I saw a young handsome deacon. Maybe once, a forbidden gay love blossomed under the roof of this church, or it was shown to me for no reason at all. The Russian Orthodox Church choir’s singing was sweeter than ever.

The Golden Gates to the altar started to open. But in place of the altar, there was a mountain of sarcophagi … in some of them there were mummies, or rather, what was left of them after eons of undisturbed rest? I was looking for more scarabs, but was not able to detect them.  Do I need them to connect past and present times as  a symbol of eternal renewal of life through the power of motherhood?

The Internet article http://www.landofpyramids.org/khepri.htm explain:

“The life of the scarab beetle revolved around the dung balls that were eaten by the beetles, they laid their eggs in the dung balls, and fed their young on the content. The dung ball of the scarab. When the eggs hatched, the scarab beetle would appear from nowhere to be a symbol of spontaneous creation, resurrection, and transformation.”

The image of motherhood, mother, too close to be compared with anything, and completely incomprehensible to understand, is too often inspiring fear, guilt and sometimes pure madness! Here it is, this thin and impenetrable veil around the heart, the veil of fear of the incomprehensibility of earthly motherhood. There is a desire to be accepted by the simple earthly life, and clear understanding that it is impossible without the plunge into the vulgarity of existence what leads to the eternal question “to be or not to be?” Or it would be safer to escape back to the astral life, as soon as possible. Or this problem can be resolved by developing aversion toward a woman, or women who once offered him eternal love demanding confirmations in form of forced vows and promises. Can these vows be broken, or can this way bought freedom be marred by guilt and faintheartedness forever?

How to accept being a reject for all these governors’ spouses, their daughters* wearing so provincial pink bows all over their dresses and coiffures? How to tolerate being a refuse in the eyes of all these invincible whores and prostitutes, whose spirit cannot be broken, as they do not have one, or it seems so! Is the suffering for broken vows to carry flames of the eternal love through eons justified? Maybe Scarab has been mistaken, and motherhood does not stand for spirituality at all, as it stands literally for making new bodies for renewal life? So they say! I think that new bodies are too often made for suffering called evolvement! I hope to be wrong!

Probably, only the idea of immaculate conception can solve this riddle … And was it our church that has established this image? Or it stemmed from the deep – from the prehistoric mythology – where the forever immaculate goddesses give birth to the heroes from ears, nostrils, moths, armpits… until the great image of Mother Mary’s immaculate conception, her spotless sinless life was born and glorified by the church, literature, music and paintings that confirmed repeatedly Mother Mary immaculate and incomprehensible, and holy conception of The Savior of humanity Jesus Christ. Because otherwise neither we nor the gods will evolve or rise, if holiness of birth would be not confirmed against all odds… Do not start me listing these odds that try to overrule this most universal principle of holiness of life. You knew them by heart, wars, revolutions, poverty, partners are not equal socially (Theodore Dreiser’s “An American Tragedy”), too young for birthing, sinful conception, if mother was not married (Goethe’s Faust, Shakespearian bustards’ characters). The image of the Holy Virgin seems to address all of them defending life itself… maybe doing our part in this defense line starts with a simple thing – acceptance mother who gave us life!

Raise not to demand anything from your mother, but do not lift her image above the height established by the holy image of Mother Mary.

Recognize the effort to create a new body – put it above yourself, Shakespeare, Tolstoy, Saint John and the other Gospel writers. Let her remain blameless, whatever she was, beautiful or ugly, thin or plump, rich or poor, clean or a filthy woman, smart or stupid, educated or uneducated, refined or a rude, called a whore, or exalted as a goddess. The time comes when you will let her go! She gave body to you, and now is your turn to give her freedom back. Acknowledge that charging her with this and that you are clinging to her, expecting to take care of you forever! Do not blame her, do not judge her, the only thing you have to do, is letting her go free! If you do so, you may discover that stopping judgment made you free as well! You are freer than ever! Your heart will open to the boundless love, universal love that suffices all, and to which no living soul is deprived… Let go of the mother’s hand, do not cling to it, when you shout to her, leave me in peace … And she will smile at you, and disappear, simply slip out from her secret life where you have no place and never will, because her life, her destiny is not yours … She gave your body, now honor her freedom. And you will get rid of terrible loneliness, from a painful condition to be misunderstood. Life will shine to you with all its wonderful and terrible colors – your life! And you will find in it the Creator, the one to whom you owe your existence!

While cleaning the sarcophagi from the church, someone accidentally pushed the jar, it fell and crashed, and the scarab disappeared.

The darkness begins to dissipate. I see Gogol in a white nightgown, with a rope around his neck being unhappy with himself, his life, his unfulfilled obligations. I’m calling the most strange and terrible of all his creatures, Viy, and I order him to remove this rope from Gogol’s neck. But this is not Viy who appears.

Andrei Rublev's SAVIOR

Jesus Christ appears in that church. He embraces Gogol. The light of Jesus Christ the Savior removes the dust of terrible sarcophagi from Gogol, the pain of the burial of dead and alive slaves, the otherworldly beautiful mother’s authority over him, his strange love for the ugly images from which the heroes of his “Dead Souls” are woven, the impossibility to open his spiritual heart to unconditional love to embrace the world as it is given to him, as it unfolds his destiny.

Christ touches his heart: the protective shell around Gogol’s spiritual heart breaks and the light pours out of his heart. Jesus takes him to Christianity as a brother, as a son, as a grandson, as a human being, as a child of Almighty God.

My chakras close themselves. The church rests in quietude. The words dry out. The quiet, peaceful light streams through the church cupola down on us washing away fear and restlessness.

 

 

The PARTITION

Russian Revolution

The Russian Revolution 1917

The Meditation in Memory of my Grandmother Anna

Anna, my maternal grandmother, was a quiet and patient woman whom I did not see on earth. My mother never spoke about her, so did my mother’s siblings — my uncles and aunts who escaped from the Russian Civil War in 1918 to Estonia. They got Nansen passports and odd jobs were their only source of income. I remember noticing that they spoke often about their father Piotr, Anna’s husband, the undoubted authority in their eyes, and never mentioned their mother, as if she did not exist at all. Today I am over eighty. I live in the USA, and as a medium I hear voices of spirits and angels and I had appealed for spirits’ help to find Anna in the subtle world and introduce me to her, because I wanted to know who was my mother’s mother, and what I had inherited from her.

In short, here is Anna’s story. Her husband, my maternal grandfather served in the Caucasus, but for some reason, he replaced his military uniform with the priest’s attire. He was a loud man, who managed to secure for himself the central position in the family. But when I started asking questions how passive Anna and aggressive Piotr managed to coexist without divorcing or separating, several guardian angels offered me a special meditation to learn more about Anna. Will I recognize her in me? Do I carry some of her traits?

Meeting the spirit of Anna, my maternal grandmother

March 3, 2017

My aunt Zhenya, now also in the spirit world, brought her mother Anna to my place. As a medium, I can ask questions and receive answers from the spirits, that is, to engage in a dialogue with a chatting spirit like we converse with someone over the phone. The audibility of a spirit talk may fluctuate, sometimes spirit voices are quiet, hard to hear, but sometimes they sound as clearly, as coming from someone in flesh in my room. Usually, the longer you talk with a spirit, the better the audibility becomes. The legendary direct voice medium Leslie Flint had spoken about this condition of spirit communication – the spirit voices can be heard clearly, or vaguely depending on many conditions, like weather or the compatibility of medium’s and spirit voice’s wave frequencies.

Sometimes I see a spirit, with whom I talk, but not always. For instance, I wanted to see Anna, but she was not letting to see her, and I could sense that I was dealing with a reserved and impeccably polite person who took refuge in a protective shell. Nevertheless, Anna showed a sincere interest in meditation. As usual, I asked the Anna’s guardian angels, or her spirit helpers to come closer, join us, provide us with protection and determine the topic of meditation, from which Anna could derive some benefits.

Meditating, the first thing I saw was a bookshelf from floor to ceiling, packed with books. Did Anna see the same shelf, or did I see it because Anna chose to hint at something important about herself? Instantaneously, I recalled similar shelves in the library of my grandmother Luba, when she lived in her home in Paide, Estonia, before the arrival of the Reds. And per the same association, I asked Anna, “Do you come from the Russian nobility?” Anna confirmed. To me it seemed strange that I heard this for the first time in my eighties and already living decades in the USA. Why did none of her children, my mother included, did not talk about it? I broke off the meditation, and asked, where she met her future husband.

After some hesitation, as if getting my unspoken question, “If you are a noblewoman, how did you manage to become a widow of the priest, as people call them — papadya?” Overcoming some restrictions in her mind, she, finally spelled out the truth. “I met him on our estate. I was 17 years old. He raped me, and at that time it was unthinkable to marry someone else, I had to marry him.”

By the time of the wedding, she already knew who her future husband was. She realized that her submissiveness condemned her to life with a womanizer and a drunkard, but she had no other choice, but to suffer.

Anna’s assistant in the astral, who called herself Hildegard, expanded Anna’s story, “Her marriage to that man was a nightmare! She gave birth to eight babies, while suffering from constant domestic insults caused by his terrible jealousy.”

As I mentioned already, when my grandfather served in Caucasus alpine mountains, he earned of the reputation of a fearless warrior, but something made him switch the occupations… Once, my mama dropped a word, as if speaking more to herself than to me that it was his financial situation that made him a God’s servant. I think, his quite theatrical personality equipped with storytelling talent bolstered nicely his financial decision, but what about God, would God accept such loud servant, who in his heart would never stop longing for military uniform and his wars’ unrestricted adventurousness? Piotr’s former army buddies were frequent guests in Piotr’s home, and he believed that they made advances to her young and beautiful wife, as Anna was a real beauty. They were still splendid officers and he was only a pop! His jealousy was fed by overall low standing of the Russian Church in the Russian society.

Russian Church reformation never occurred openly, but, nevertheless, its shadow was cast by Ivan the Terrible, the contemporary of Henry VIII’s, the reformer of Church of England. Ivan the IV murdered the Moscow metropolitan, the Head of the Russian Church, the spiritual counterpart of the tsar himself, Philipp II. The Metropolitan was tsar’s childhood friend, stemming from a Moscow finest boyar’s family. His fall  happened after he refused to bless publicly Ivan’s massacre of Novgorod.

(Novgorod’s veche contemplated separation from Moscow power. Ivan’s unprecedented  massacre uprooted all seeds of any kind of free thinking, democracy, free city’s self-rule — veche. After Ivan’s massacre, the free city Novgorod would never regain its status, freedom, nor its wealth! I think, this event started Russian monarchy secret “war” against its own church to continue unofficial, secret uprooting potential nests of svobodomisliya – free thinking and spiritual education. limiting its role in society, no chances of svobodomisliya – freethinking, developing enlightenment movements or cultivate fine spirituality. This invisible, not fully recognized, not fully researched or documented pressure turned the Russian Church into “The Church of Poor and Beggars.” The priests became “pops” and their wives — “papadyas”, like “Papageno” and “Papagena” in Mozart’s “Magic Flute”.  And this was the underlying social situation that turned Father Piotr’s inborn bravery into dark Satanic anger.

A brief deviation from our story. The overall humiliation of the Russian Church had unexpected consequences. In long run, it started to bread deprivation and poverty as way of life of these whom it served – the Russian commoners. Because, since the times of execution of Philipp II, the Metropolitan of Church of Russia, who came from the the upper part of society, the tables turned, and the “ideology” of beggars, their attitude started to shape the church’s spirit. I will put here the real reason of the Russian historic alcoholism what was supported by many lesser factors, like tax politics: selling more and more cheap vodka in order to fill the Russian “federal reserve” – tsar’s kaznaa.  Later, the Soviets sold more cheap vodka to cover economic disasters, along the way dulling people, locked up behind “the grandest of all partitions,” the ill-famous “iron curtain”!

Hildegard continued her report on Anna’s life. Piotr felt that for him, there was no comparison with his former friends! They were the splendid officers and he was a provincial “pop” wearing his military medal next to cross on his priest’s garb. And he beat his beautiful wife mercilessly trying to destroy her beautiful face. He dragged her by the hair, she was bruised. Was she a beauty now? Frequent pregnancies and fear to anger his husband were aging her quickly. Discussing her future in the astral world , Anna was asking for the spinsterhood in her next incarnation! No more marriages, because enough was enough for her. Eight pregnancies, one kid died in infancy, the youngest son Ivan, her Vanechka (nickname for Ivan), was shot under their very eyes by Kronstadt sailors. (Piotr’s sons were accepted to attend exclusive military school as descendants of general Michelson). The other six kids were alienated from her. Her husband continued to beat her until the eldest son, Viktor, stood up for his mother, threatening, if his father would raise his hand again, he, the son, would avenge her with gusto! Father Piotr stopped beating Anna, but soon enough, he found another way to torture her.

In the presence of his children and Anna, Father Piotr started abusing verbally aristocrats, putting in his words all his passion, bitterness and anger. Gradually, he turned the children against their mother, and impact of his oral abuse did not stop there. The negativity of husband’s words was transforming mother’s natural love toward her children into lukewarm indifference. Piotr continued systematically curse aristocrats, as if preventing the mother’s union with her children that could any minute turn against him.

It is not difficult to guess that Anna was the real target of Piotr’s scolds of nobility , because Anna was the granddaughter of the colonel  Ivan Ivanovich Michelson, who suppressed Emelian Pugachev’s uprising, arrested Pugachev and handed him over to the authorities. The empress Ekaterina the Great awarded the colonel with the large estate in Vitebsk province and a gold sword adorned with diamonds “for the defeat of the Pugachev’s uprising.”  Regrettably, the Michelson’s son, unfit to run an estate desolated this invaluable gift.

Definitely, this desolation eased Piotr’s access to Anna, and he took full advantage of it.  Yes, he knew how to rape a 17-year-old beauty, but he was never able to suppress the subtleties in her that are transmitted genetically. Anna did not fell to the level with her husband’s world filled with vodka, rough violence and loose women. They never became equal.

Hildegard did more than revealed the sad truth about the Anna’s marriage. She proposed an interesting way, how to turn my meditation into a unique healing session, as Anna was in the serious need to be healed. I was gently reminded that Anna talked openly about her marriage to satisfy my curiosity, not for her benefit. In other words, now it was my turn to thank her!

Anna’s guides proposed to use a combination of a “flycatcher” with the burning furnace beneath it. Both, a screen and a furnace were produced by the power of imagination, as things are brought to life in astral world. These things are “real” and visible in the astral world. On earth, I cannot see them with my normal sight, but my “third eye” gets them effortlessly.

A large astral screen was suspended from the ceiling across my studio, beneath stood an astral field stove with open entrance from the top. I was told to touch gently white, slightly ribbed surface of the screen. Since I’m still in the body, I confess, having touched our imaginary screen, I did not have enough sensitivity to feel anything, which I admitted to Anna’s helpers honestly. They laughed and offered to compare this screen with a country kitchen in hot summertime when there was a lot of flies. The hostess hangs a sticky roller on the kitchen lamp shade. The other end of roller falls freely down, freeing the sticky tape in all its length. Flies rush toward honey-smelling sticky tape to be glued to it stay there for good!

Anna’s helpers explained that the screen was also covered with a special “solution” which was emanating waves of certain frequency that corresponded to the frequency of Anna husband’s shouting. It would attract like magnet the memory of the real shouts that sat in Anna’s mind like dark flies causing her constant depression, pain and sicknesses.  The problem was how to get these “flies” out of Anna’s head?

I was obligated to resolve this problem. I decided to rely on my empathy toward Anna’s situation and GOLDEN LIGHT! I asked for help praying to Mother Mary and something resonated in me. My prayer became louder, more purposeful. I continued calling in more and more light, I called light for Anna, for more and more light, I called for LIGHT! And suddenly the air was full of screams, curses and yelling. The word “aristocrat” was repeated so often that the sounds forming this word merged into a kind of continuous buzz that blocked all other sounds. The stream of verbal drunken abuse literally flied toward the screen, hitting the screen in a swing! Now the black spots were all over the screen dripping down with dirty sticky jets, and finally freezing. To me they represent the bitterness of the Russian eternal irritation, a powerful anti-constructive, ruinous force that no one can stop, or fathom its essence.

I was suggested to move the loops on which the screen was suspended, to tighten the lower edge into a “bouquet”, and lower it through the open top into the field stove’s flame and wait until fire would burn entire screen to ashes.

………………………..

Partition

The communist’s totalitarian regime, war and post-war years of hunger and destitute changed our living conditions.  Now we lived in an old two-room house with a kitchen. I remember only this kitchen. A thin partition cut from that kitchen a narrow, oblong space for my father’s mother. You met her in my previous blog “Meditation in memory of my paternal grandmother Luba”.

It could hold only granny’s chest of drawers, а small handmade table of Karelian birch, a chip of the empire, as it was called jokingly, and an old armchair by the window and a narrow bed. On the other side of this partition, in the kitchen, there was a table covered with oilcloth. It served as our dinner table and mother’s two sisters, Zhenya and Valya gathering spot. During the war, they sought refuge under my mother’s wing, and after the war ended in May, 1945 they continued their stay helping mother, now the widow, to handle the situation. My father was killed some month shy of war’s end.

The two sisters behind that oilcloth-table spoke loudly so that their words could be heard through the thin partition into the grandmother’s room. They talked hours, turning it in about 5 pm when mother was expected to return home. And they spoke only about one thing ­– the aristocrats, whom they scolded in any thinkable way. They spent their free time allotted them by our life schedule. They could do whatever they liked to do. But all they wanted was to scold the aristocrats. They wanted to annoy grandmother Luba, who stemmed from old noble family with its own coat-of-arms and history of family rise and fall. Their disparagement of aristocrats was aimed against Luba, as their father’s same line of talk was aimed to hurt his wife Anna. As I took Luba’s side, and hid in her room behind the partition I got my share of criticism as well. They were grownup people, I was ten years old who got for her birthday, her first anniversary, the very special “gift” – the government notification that my father had become war casualty. This gift was topped by loud senseless scorn what I heard on the day-by-day bases three years in a row. It built my sharp aversion to vulgarity. Ironically, later it would make me a decent film critic who recognized both opposing ends, vulgarity and talent on the screen instantaneously and solely by intuition — before public opinion, good or bad, could mar the clarity of my perception. I needed nobody’s advice or opinion to write my reviews. After seeing a film, all I had to do was find right words to express my feel about it.  The independence of the perception was quite rare thing under the communist tutelage. Of course, soon enough I started pay the price for this independence, but this was another story that did not belong here.

Finally, my aunts excommunicated me from their family as “Luba’s grandchild” and declared my little brother to be their prince and pet kid and they instilled in him his anti-aristocratic views vigorously. In other words, they created the partition between me and my brother. And it took about… 60 years to tear it down.

The senseless cursing of unfortunate aristocrats continued, but the day came when I asked, who were these so profoundly hated people? My instinct told me that deep down my aunts were terribly envious, maybe they themselves wanted to be these cursed and vilified aristocrats? So, I hoped that my grandmother would clarify the issue for me. She frowned, took her stack of warn cards, and began to lay out her favorite solitaire of a hangman, which very rarely converged and lasted for ages. The grandmother’s library was already completely ruined, and Dumas’ novels, which would quite satisfactorily explain everything, good and bad, about aristocrats were gone as well. But granny Luba managed to safe three invaluable volumes of the first editions of Pushkin’s, Lermontov’s and Gogol’ collections of works. She managed to save these three invaluable volumes through all the vicissitudes of socio-historical cataclysms. As I repeat my question what the word aristocrat means grandmother found in her drawer the Pushkin’s volume, opened it on the first page of the poem “Ruslan and Lyudmila,” handed it to me commanding, “Read it!” and returned to her hangman’s solitaire. From the kitchen we heard the usual scolding of aristocrats.

From the hands of my grandmother I took the volume and started reading the first poem of Pushkin.  I did not realize yet that I was holding in my hand a classic book — the most powerful tool, the most effective defense against life vulgarity and seeming meaninglessness. I did not realize yet that these three volumes will guide me to another world, another height of thinking, another everything!

Sometimes, when the voices from the kitchen became particularly loud, I looked attentively at my grandmother. She was a strong woman, and never descended to the level of her opponents behind the partition. She never – not once – judged or discussed the statements that reached her ears from behind the kitchen partition — sole purpose of which was to offend and prick her! The nightmare of this one-sided duel ended quickly when one of my mother’s sisters left us finding a better place to stay.

The most ironic aspect of this story is that both my aunts were kind women. After entering the workforce, aunt Zhenya submissively gave her entire salary to our common table. All this kitchen dishonor of the nobility was an alluvial skin on the body of their spirituality. It was sewn from the vocabulary of the Russian revolutionaries, their agitation flyers, from the very spirit of the Russian rebellion that a caprice of history or the will of Almighty froze into a new form of governing called “the proletarian dictatorship”! Do not start me on that! We got the tyranny of Lenin and Stalin. An American historian, sorry I forgot his name, invented a slippery maxim: “Stalin received a country with a wooden plow, but surrendered it with an atomic bomb!” The facts are true, but the spirit of this adagio is more than questionable. It was also the truth that Russia with a wooden plow fed entire Europe, but Russia with an atomic bomb was fed by Argentina! Did Russia need that nuclear arsenal, did world need it? Are you sure, it does? Maybe the present word do not need the revolutions either, and  it is time to put the trust in evolution instead of revolutionary massacres?

 

Russia needed freedom, education, housing, hospitals, roads and rebuilding of its infrastructure. Revolution gave it Gulags and atomic bombs instead! I see Stalin as a tyrant who used partitions and hunger as a super effective and unique ruling method. The entire nation – I mean it —  the entire nation was dispersed across the cheapest of the cheap nightmarish communal apartments and Gulags. Partition system made it easy to know about everybody everything, as the Bolshevik regime needed informers and denunciations to stay! The apartments of the formal riches were divided by partitions to about 10-20-30 or more narrow rooms with one collective kitchen and one toilet to all — and every such room went for an family “apartment”. This hellish situation lasted long enough to put schizophrenia and paranoia on the list of nation’s frequently occurring illnesses.

The proletarian dictatorship killed not only the hated aristocrats and nobles, but many classless qualities of man – love, dignity, beauty, honor, spirituality, empathy, genuine education, the very development of man’s spirituality. We are not a loved nation, but we are despised not for lack of something, not for, say, Crimean affair, but for the loss of our dignity and spirituality! In the communist world, the human dignity was put behind these partitions where it wilted — perhaps for centuries, perhaps – for good!

Wikipedia about clergy destiny during the years of the Red Terror 1918-1922

Members of the clergy were subjected to particularly brutal abuse. According to documents cited by the late Alexander Yakovlev, then head of the Presidential Committee for the Rehabilitation of Victims of Political Repression, priests, monks and nuns were crucified, thrown into cauldrons of boiling tar, scalped, strangled, given Communion with melted lead and drowned in holes in the ice. An estimated 3,000 were put to death in 1918 alone.

 

The end of Piotr’s and Anna’s marriage is worth to be mentioned here, as it was in tune with everything that happened during that “dark night” of the Russian national soul. From the start of the revolution, communists started to eradicate clergy and close Russian orthodox churches. When Piotr’s youngest son Ivan who whispered, “Papa, papa, I am innocent, tell them, I am innocent” was murdered by Kronstadt’s sailors* under Piotr’s very eyes, Piotr decided to flee with entire family leaving his sickly wife Anna behind, because of her heart condition, or so it was said.

Anna, to be precise, her spirit told what did happen to her after her husband fled with his children crossing in that boat the lake Peipsi and landing in Estonia.

Anna’s story

“He lied to me, he said that everything will be over in three days, and they will be back. Alcohol had turned him into a coward. He fled out of fear, he took his family into nowhere, and they were humiliated and suffered in Estonia! They were mocked and robbed, but their hearts still did not soften toward me, as none of them had asked what did happen to me after they left.

 

The house was suddenly empty, and I went to visit my friend Nadia, a widow of a neighboring village priest. She greeted me, she prepared a tasty dinner, we ate, talked and she made a bed for me. And then it happened again. A gang of Kronstadt’s sailors broke into Nadya’s house as well. They turned everything upside down looking for something valuable. Finding nothing, they shot Nadia dead and as I was in the bed, at least five sailors raped me.

They tossed me into their car and reaching an open field far away from villages they threw me into a ditch alongside the road. I managed to crawl out of that ditch and they car ran me over before I stopped feeling a thing. They were on the robbing spree and did not intend leave alive witnesses behind, in case, if the war tribunal would catch up with them.

Now we were again all together in afterlife, but I am not able to forgive my husband – none of this, mostly, terrible fate of my children… Tatyana, you know it too well, what had happened to them in country of the strangers. Some of it happened to you in Estonia as well, I looked it up how you worked for them, and how you fed your nephew, a growing boy solely with the rice porridge…

Hildegard kept her word, despite Anna’s lack of English, she was invited to work and study in one of the best astral hospitals. Of course, she accepted the offer with deepest and most sincere gratitude. It happened some months ago. I was told that Anna is fine, that she is working and learning and slowly recovering and agreed to learn for the starters the skills of a midwife. She is polite to everybody, she is in contact with family, she had thanked her guides and me for the healing, saying that it made her young again!

They offered a parish to Piotr, in a place known for its spectacular views. However, this offer was accompanied by a strict condition – to be cured of alcoholism. He was spoken to by saints from Russian hierarchy. They suggested to be honest with himself, and when the day would arrive when he would see himself through the eyes of people whom he had hurt, it would be right moment seek a decent rehabilitation center. Their meeting was concluded with the following words, “You need to want passionately to be cured, otherwise no treatment will help. Priests are needed in Russia, the doors will be open to you”.

… Someone has blamed me recently for my hot temper, saying that sometimes I become loud like a wild Russian, who yell, accuse, judge, charge, call names having no reason to be… so open! Probably the person was right. I was working on it, I was learning to walk away instead of exploding, because, I started doubting that it was my mission to educate everybody regarding his or her faultiness! But how to recount this so strict accusation right now? I said, “After all, I’m the granddaughter of my grandfather!” And there he was, Piotr’s spirit appeared in my room immediately. It was not a secret that he disliked me, if I put it mildly. So, I braced myself for a sharp duel of opinions.

However, instead, he made a quite surprising statement. “So, you still recognize my blood in your blood vessels! For this, everything is forgiven to you. Take care of my girls! I will pray to reverse my courses away from you!”

These are our Russian ways. In order to survive we need the patience of our grandmothers, and in order to release our yoke of betrayals, drunkenness, plundering, reckless stealing, swagger, baseless conceit, we can use the wild power of our grandfathers as well… before we can start listing instead of our faults, our real achievements.

In one of these days, Yogananda, I mean, his spirit, dropped by. I, the sick doubter, asked him for a favor to read and check the Anna’s story about her death, if I got it right! Maybe, writing down what she told me, I added some unwillingly?  How this quiet woman got such patience and such terrible karma? Yogananda asked to show him Anna’s portrait. He sat down on the sofa to study my old family album. Such a strong energy was dispersed from his concentration that for a moment, I saw him as if he was there in flesh. Finally, he announced his verdict. “Her story is true to the last detail. When looters’ car moved her twice, she already felt nothing, she got it all later. In her marriage, she unleashed her monastic karma, which included terrible punishments of nuns for sexual crimes. She was offered to either be born as a man like Piotr, or to be born as a patient woman. She chose the path of suffering and passed her lessons with a rare dignity. Her patience will make her a good and sought after nurse. She will be financially secure person when Europe begins to recover after the upcoming defeat.

* Kronstadt sailors did more than robbed, raped and murdered, they were called stronghold of Petersburg revolutionaries. “The Kronstadt Uprising” in year 1921 demanded “the Soviets without Bolsheviks – freedom of speech, control over government actions and improvement of economic situation in the country.”
Wikipedia writes about Bolshevik’s answer to these demands : “On March 19, 1921 the Bolshevik forces took full control of the city of Kronstadt after having suffered fatalities ranging from 527 to 1,412, or higher.(…) Although there are no reliable figures for rebel battle losses, historians estimate that from 1,200–2,168 persons were executed after the revolt and a similar number were jailed. Soviet figures claim approximately 1,000 rebels were killed, 2,000 wounded and from 2,300–6,528 captured, with 6,000–8,000 defecting to Finland. (…) Their large number was causing the first big refugee problem for the newly independent state.

A note from the author:  About the main cause of the Russian revolution: I believe , this single photo of hungry children says it all! At the same time, the Russian experience teaches that a revolution sows cruelty that can exceed the cruelty of the most terrible monarchs whom revolutionaries aim to dethrone.  Study of the Russian revolution and its consequences can contribute to stopping the idealization of revolutions as the method to renovation of society, there has to be other, less destructive ways to improve life.

I started out writing a very personal story of Anna, my maternal grandmother. But to my surprise, the memory of this small, quiet and patient women asked for explanatory excursions to many forgotten corners of Russian history.  It revealed that an individual destiny’s conflict with the atrocities of monarchs or revolutionaries is inevitable, especially in times of  upheavals and uprisings and civil wars. I was not prepared to look into this, and I could write this story only with help of Wikipedia articles. The paradox is that these were the fantastic revelations that surfaced during the most occult meditations that led me to look up twists and turns and facts of history to make sense of stories of individual souls’ search for redemption, repentant and healing.

 

 

The Meditation in Memory of my Grandmother Anna

Anna, my maternal grandmother, was a quiet and patient woman whom I did not see on earth. My mother never spoke about her, so did my mother’s siblings — my uncles and aunts who escaped from the Russian Civil War in 1918 to Estonia. They got Nansen passports and odd jobs were their only source of income. I remember noticing that they spoke often about their father Piotr, Anna’s husband, the undoubted authority in their eyes, and never mentioned their mother, as if she did not exist at all. Today I am over eighty. I live in the USA, and as a medium I hear voices of spirits and angels and I had appealed for spirits’ help to find Anna in the subtle world and introduce me to her, because I wanted to know who was my mother’s mother, and what I had inherited from her.

In short, here is Anna’s story. Her husband, my maternal grandfather served in the Caucasus, but for some reason, he replaced his military uniform with the priest’s attire. He was a loud man, who managed to secure for himself the central position in the family. But when I started asking questions how passive Anna and aggressive Piotr managed to coexist without divorcing or separating, several guardian angels offered me a special meditation to learn more about Anna. Will I recognize her in me? Do I carry some of her traits?

Meeting the spirit of Anna, my maternal grandmother

March 3, 2017

My aunt Zhenya, now also in the spirit world, brought her mother Anna to my place. As a medium, I can ask questions and receive answers from the spirits, that is, to engage in a dialogue with a chatting spirit like we converse with someone over the phone. The audibility of a spirit talk may fluctuate, sometimes spirit voices are quiet, hard to hear, but sometimes they sound as clearly, as coming from someone in flesh in my room. Usually, the longer you talk with a spirit, the better the audibility becomes. The legendary direct voice medium Leslie Flint had spoken about this condition of spirit communication – the spirit voices can be heard clearly, or vaguely depending on many conditions, like weather or the compatibility of medium’s and spirit voice’s wave frequencies.

Sometimes I see a spirit, with whom I talk, but not always. For instance, I wanted to see Anna, but she was not letting to see her, and I could sense that I was dealing with a reserved and impeccably polite person who took refuge in a protective shell. Nevertheless, Anna showed a sincere interest in meditation. As usual, I asked the Anna’s guardian angels, or her spirit helpers to come closer, join us, provide us with protection and determine the topic of meditation, from which Anna could derive some benefits.

Meditating, the first thing I saw was a bookshelf from floor to ceiling, packed with books. Did Anna see the same shelf, or did I see it because Anna chose to hint at something important about herself? Instantaneously, I recalled similar shelves in the library of my grandmother Luba, when she lived in her home in Paide, Estonia, before the arrival of the Reds. And per the same association, I asked Anna, “Do you come from the Russian nobility?” Anna confirmed. To me it seemed strange that I heard this for the first time in my eighties and already living decades in the USA. Why did none of her children, my mother included, did not talk about it? I broke off the meditation, and asked, where she met her future husband.

After some hesitation, as if getting my unspoken question, “If you are a noblewoman, how did you manage to become a widow of the priest, as people call them — papadya?” Overcoming some restrictions in her mind, she, finally spelled out the truth. “I met him on our estate. I was 17 years old. He raped me, and at that time it was unthinkable to marry someone else, I had to marry him.”

By the time of the wedding, she already knew who her future husband was. She realized that her submissiveness condemned her to life with a womanizer and a drunkard, but she had no other choice, but to suffer.

Anna’s assistant in the astral, who called herself Hildegard, expanded Anna’s story, “Her marriage to that man was a nightmare! She gave birth to eight babies, while suffering from constant domestic insults caused by his terrible jealousy.”

As I mentioned already, when my grandfather served in Caucasus alpine mountains, he earned of the reputation of a fearless warrior, but something made him switch the occupations… Once, my mama dropped a word, as if speaking more to herself than to me that it was his financial situation that made him a God’s servant. I think, his quite theatrical personality equipped with storytelling talent bolstered nicely his financial decision, but what about God, would God accept such loud servant, who in his heart would never stop longing for military uniform and his wars’ unrestricted adventurousness? Piotr’s former army buddies were frequent guests in Piotr’s home, and he believed that they made advances to her young and beautiful wife, as Anna was a real beauty. They were still splendid officers and he was only a pop! His jealousy was fed by overall low standing of the Russian Church in the Russian society.

Russian Church reformation never occurred openly, but, nevertheless, its shadow was cast by Ivan the Terrible, the contemporary of Henry VIII’s, the reformer of Church of England. Ivan the IV murdered the Moscow metropolitan, the Head of the Russian Church, the spiritual counterpart of the tsar himself, Philipp II. The Metropolitan was tsar’s childhood friend, stemming from a Moscow finest boyar’s family. His fall  happened after he refused to bless publicly Ivan’s massacre of Novgorod.

(Novgorod’s veche contemplated separation from Moscow power. Ivan’s unprecedented  massacre uprooted all seeds of any kind of free thinking, democracy, free city’s self-rule — veche. After Ivan’s massacre, the free city Novgorod would never regain its status, freedom, nor its wealth! I think, this event started Russian monarchy secret “war” against its own church to continue unofficial, secret uprooting potential nests of svobodomisliya – free thinking and spiritual education. limiting its role in society, no chances of svobodomisliya – freethinking, developing enlightenment movements or cultivate fine spirituality. This invisible, not fully recognized, not fully researched or documented pressure turned the Russian Church into “The Church of Poor and Beggars.” The priests became “pops” and their wives — “papadyas”, like “Papageno” and “Papagena” in Mozart’s “Magic Flute”.  And this was the underlying social situation that turned Father Piotr’s inborn bravery into dark Satanic anger.

A brief deviation from our story. The overall humiliation of the Russian Church had unexpected consequences. In long run, it started to bread deprivation and poverty as way of life of these whom it served – the Russian commoners. Because, since the times of execution of Philipp II, the Metropolitan of Church of Russia, who came from the the upper part of society, the tables turned, and the “ideology” of beggars, their attitude started to shape the church’s spirit. I will put here the real reason of the Russian historic alcoholism what was supported by many lesser factors, like tax politics: selling more and more cheap vodka in order to fill the Russian “federal reserve” – tsar’s kaznaa.  Later, the Soviets sold more cheap vodka to cover economic disasters, along the way dulling people, locked up behind “the grandest of all partitions,” the ill-famous “iron curtain”!

Hildegard continued her report on Anna’s life. Piotr felt that for him, there was no comparison with his former friends! They were the splendid officers and he was a provincial “pop” wearing his military medal next to cross on his priest’s garb. And he beat his beautiful wife mercilessly trying to destroy her beautiful face. He dragged her by the hair, she was bruised. Was she a beauty now? Frequent pregnancies and fear to anger his husband were aging her quickly. Discussing her future in the astral world , Anna was asking for the spinsterhood in her next incarnation! No more marriages, because enough was enough for her. Eight pregnancies, one kid died in infancy, the youngest son Ivan, her Vanechka (nickname for Ivan), was shot under their very eyes by Kronstadt sailors. (Piotr’s sons were accepted to attend exclusive military school as descendants of general Michelson). The other six kids were alienated from her. Her husband continued to beat her until the eldest son, Viktor, stood up for his mother, threatening, if his father would raise his hand again, he, the son, would avenge her with gusto! Father Piotr stopped beating Anna, but soon enough, he found another way to torture her.

In the presence of his children and Anna, Father Piotr started abusing verbally aristocrats, putting in his words all his passion, bitterness and anger. Gradually, he turned the children against their mother, and impact of his oral abuse did not stop there. The negativity of husband’s words was transforming mother’s natural love toward her children into lukewarm indifference. Piotr continued systematically curse aristocrats, as if preventing the mother’s union with her children that could any minute turn against him.

It is not difficult to guess that Anna was the real target of Piotr’s scolds of nobility , because Anna was the granddaughter of the colonel  Ivan Ivanovich Michelson, who suppressed Emelian Pugachev’s uprising, arrested Pugachev and handed him over to the authorities. The empress Ekaterina the Great awarded the colonel with the large estate in Vitebsk province and a gold sword adorned with diamonds “for the defeat of the Pugachev’s uprising.”  Regrettably, the Michelson’s son, unfit to run an estate desolated this invaluable gift.

Definitely, this desolation eased Piotr’s access to Anna, and he took full advantage of it.  Yes, he knew how to rape a 17-year-old beauty, but he was never able to suppress the subtleties in her that are transmitted genetically. Anna did not fell to the level with her husband’s world filled with vodka, rough violence and loose women. They never became equal.

Hildegard did more than revealed the sad truth about the Anna’s marriage. She proposed an interesting way, how to turn my meditation into a unique healing session, as Anna was in the serious need to be healed. I was gently reminded that Anna talked openly about her marriage to satisfy my curiosity, not for her benefit. In other words, now it was my turn to thank her!

Anna’s guides proposed to use a combination of a “flycatcher” with the burning furnace beneath it. Both, a screen and a furnace were produced by the power of imagination, as things are brought to life in astral world. These things are “real” and visible in the astral world. On earth, I cannot see them with my normal sight, but my “third eye” gets them effortlessly.

A large astral screen was suspended from the ceiling across my studio, beneath stood an astral field stove with open entrance from the top. I was told to touch gently white, slightly ribbed surface of the screen. Since I’m still in the body, I confess, having touched our imaginary screen, I did not have enough sensitivity to feel anything, which I admitted to Anna’s helpers honestly. They laughed and offered to compare this screen with a country kitchen in hot summertime when there was a lot of flies. The hostess hangs a sticky roller on the kitchen lamp shade. The other end of roller falls freely down, freeing the sticky tape in all its length. Flies rush toward honey-smelling sticky tape to be glued to it stay there for good!

Anna’s helpers explained that the screen was also covered with a special “solution” which was emanating waves of certain frequency that corresponded to the frequency of Anna husband’s shouting. It would attract like magnet the memory of the real shouts that sat in Anna’s mind like dark flies causing her constant depression, pain and sicknesses.  The problem was how to get these “flies” out of Anna’s head?

I was obligated to resolve this problem. I decided to rely on my empathy toward Anna’s situation and GOLDEN LIGHT! I asked for help praying to Mother Mary and something resonated in me. My prayer became louder, more purposeful. I continued calling in more and more light, I called light for Anna, for more and more light, I called for LIGHT! And suddenly the air was full of screams, curses and yelling. The word “aristocrat” was repeated so often that the sounds forming this word merged into a kind of continuous buzz that blocked all other sounds. The stream of verbal drunken abuse literally flied toward the screen, hitting the screen in a swing! Now the black spots were all over the screen dripping down with dirty sticky jets, and finally freezing. To me they represent the bitterness of the Russian eternal irritation, a powerful anti-constructive, ruinous force that no one can stop, or fathom its essence.

I was suggested to move the loops on which the screen was suspended, to tighten the lower edge into a “bouquet”, and lower it through the open top into the field stove’s flame and wait until fire would burn entire screen to ashes.

………………………..

Partition

The communist’s totalitarian regime, war and post-war years of hunger and destitute changed our living conditions.  Now we lived in an old two-room house with a kitchen. I remember only this kitchen. A thin partition cut from that kitchen a narrow, oblong space for my father’s mother. You met her in my previous blog “Meditation in memory of my paternal grandmother Luba”.

It could hold only granny’s chest of drawers, а small handmade table of Karelian birch, a chip of the empire, as it was called jokingly, and an old armchair by the window and a narrow bed. On the other side of this partition, in the kitchen, there was a table covered with oilcloth. It served as our dinner table and mother’s two sisters, Zhenya and Valya gathering spot. During the war, they sought refuge under my mother’s wing, and after the war ended in May, 1945 they continued their stay helping mother, now the widow, to handle the situation. My father was killed some month shy of war’s end.

The two sisters behind that oilcloth-table spoke loudly so that their words could be heard through the thin partition into the grandmother’s room. They talked hours, turning it in about 5 pm when mother was expected to return home. And they spoke only about one thing ­– the aristocrats, whom they scolded in any thinkable way. They spent their free time allotted them by our life schedule. They could do whatever they liked to do. But all they wanted was to scold the aristocrats. They wanted to annoy grandmother Luba, who stemmed from old noble family with its own coat-of-arms and history of family rise and fall. Their disparagement of aristocrats was aimed against Luba, as their father’s same line of talk was aimed to hurt his wife Anna. As I took Luba’s side, and hid in her room behind the partition I got my share of criticism as well. They were grownup people, I was ten years old who got for her birthday, her first anniversary, the very special “gift” – the government notification that my father had become war casualty. This gift was topped by loud senseless scorn what I heard on the day-by-day bases three years in a row. It built my sharp aversion to vulgarity. Ironically, later it would make me a decent film critic who recognized both opposing ends, vulgarity and talent on the screen instantaneously and solely by intuition — before public opinion, good or bad, could mar the clarity of my perception. I needed nobody’s advice or opinion to write my reviews. After seeing a film, all I had to do was find right words to express my feel about it.  The independence of the perception was quite rare thing under the communist tutelage. Of course, soon enough I started pay the price for this independence, but this was another story that did not belong here.

Finally, my aunts excommunicated me from their family as “Luba’s grandchild” and declared my little brother to be their prince and pet kid and they instilled in him his anti-aristocratic views vigorously. In other words, they created the partition between me and my brother. And it took about… 60 years to tear it down.

The senseless cursing of unfortunate aristocrats continued, but the day came when I asked, who were these so profoundly hated people? My instinct told me that deep down my aunts were terribly envious, maybe they themselves wanted to be these cursed and vilified aristocrats? So, I hoped that my grandmother would clarify the issue for me. She frowned, took her stack of warn cards, and began to lay out her favorite solitaire of a hangman, which very rarely converged and lasted for ages. The grandmother’s library was already completely ruined, and Dumas’ novels, which would quite satisfactorily explain everything, good and bad, about aristocrats were gone as well. But granny Luba managed to safe three invaluable volumes of the first editions of Pushkin’s, Lermontov’s and Gogol’ collections of works. She managed to save these three invaluable volumes through all the vicissitudes of socio-historical cataclysms. As I repeat my question what the word aristocrat means grandmother found in her drawer the Pushkin’s volume, opened it on the first page of the poem “Ruslan and Lyudmila,” handed it to me commanding, “Read it!” and returned to her hangman’s solitaire. From the kitchen we heard the usual scolding of aristocrats.

From the hands of my grandmother I took the volume and started reading the first poem of Pushkin.  I did not realize yet that I was holding in my hand a classic book — the most powerful tool, the most effective defense against life vulgarity and seeming meaninglessness. I did not realize yet that these three volumes will guide me to another world, another height of thinking, another everything!

Sometimes, when the voices from the kitchen became particularly loud, I looked attentively at my grandmother. She was a strong woman, and never descended to the level of her opponents behind the partition. She never – not once – judged or discussed the statements that reached her ears from behind the kitchen partition — sole purpose of which was to offend and prick her! The nightmare of this one-sided duel ended quickly when one of my mother’s sisters left us finding a better place to stay.

The most ironic aspect of this story is that both my aunts were kind women. After entering the workforce, aunt Zhenya submissively gave her entire salary to our common table. All this kitchen dishonor of the nobility was an alluvial skin on the body of their spirituality. It was sewn from the vocabulary of the Russian revolutionaries, their agitation flyers, from the very spirit of the Russian rebellion that a caprice of history or the will of Almighty froze into a new form of governing called “the proletarian dictatorship”! Do not start me on that! We got the tyranny of Lenin and Stalin. An American historian, sorry I forgot his name, invented a slippery maxim: “Stalin received a country with a wooden plow, but surrendered it with an atomic bomb!” The facts are true, but the spirit of this adagio is more than questionable. It was also the truth that Russia with a wooden plow fed entire Europe, but Russia with an atomic bomb was fed by Argentina! Did Russia need that nuclear arsenal, did world need it? Are you sure, it does? Maybe the present word do not need the revolutions either, and  it is time to put the trust in evolution instead of revolutionary massacres?

 

Russia needed freedom, education, housing, hospitals, roads and rebuilding of its infrastructure. Revolution gave it Gulags and atomic bombs instead! I see Stalin as a tyrant who used partitions and hunger as a super effective and unique ruling method. The entire nation – I mean it —  the entire nation was dispersed across the cheapest of the cheap nightmarish communal apartments and Gulags. Partition system made it easy to know about everybody everything, as the Bolshevik regime needed informers and denunciations to stay! The apartments of the formal riches were divided by partitions to about 10-20-30 or more narrow rooms with one collective kitchen and one toilet to all — and every such room went for an family “apartment”. This hellish situation lasted long enough to put schizophrenia and paranoia on the list of nation’s frequently occurring illnesses.

The proletarian dictatorship killed not only the hated aristocrats and nobles, but many classless qualities of man – love, dignity, beauty, honor, spirituality, empathy, genuine education, the very development of man’s spirituality. We are not a loved nation, but we are despised not for lack of something, not for, say, Crimean affair, but for the loss of our dignity and spirituality! In the communist world, the human dignity was put behind these partitions where it wilted — perhaps for centuries, perhaps – for good!

Wikipedia about clergy destiny during the years of the Red Terror 1918-1922

Members of the clergy were subjected to particularly brutal abuse. According to documents cited by the late Alexander Yakovlev, then head of the Presidential Committee for the Rehabilitation of Victims of Political Repression, priests, monks and nuns were crucified, thrown into cauldrons of boiling tar, scalped, strangled, given Communion with melted lead and drowned in holes in the ice. An estimated 3,000 were put to death in 1918 alone.

 

The end of Piotr’s and Anna’s marriage is worth to be mentioned here, as it was in tune with everything that happened during that “dark night” of the Russian national soul. From the start of the revolution, communists started to eradicate clergy and close Russian orthodox churches. When Piotr’s youngest son Ivan who whispered, “Papa, papa, I am innocent, tell them, I am innocent” was murdered by Kronstadt’s sailors* under Piotr’s very eyes, Piotr decided to flee with entire family leaving his sickly wife Anna behind, because of her heart condition, or so it was said.

Anna, to be precise, her spirit told what did happen to her after her husband fled with his children crossing in that boat the lake Peipsi and landing in Estonia.

Anna’s story

“He lied to me, he said that everything will be over in three days, and they will be back. Alcohol had turned him into a coward. He fled out of fear, he took his family into nowhere, and they were humiliated and suffered in Estonia! They were mocked and robbed, but their hearts still did not soften toward me, as none of them had asked what did happen to me after they left.

 

The house was suddenly empty, and I went to visit my friend Nadia, a widow of a neighboring village priest. She greeted me, she prepared a tasty dinner, we ate, talked and she made a bed for me. And then it happened again. A gang of Kronstadt’s sailors broke into Nadya’s house as well. They turned everything upside down looking for something valuable. Finding nothing, they shot Nadia dead and as I was in the bed, at least five sailors raped me.

They tossed me into their car and reaching an open field far away from villages they threw me into a ditch alongside the road. I managed to crawl out of that ditch and they car ran me over before I stopped feeling a thing. They were on the robbing spree and did not intend leave alive witnesses behind, in case, if the war tribunal would catch up with them.

Now we were again all together in afterlife, but I am not able to forgive my husband – none of this, mostly, terrible fate of my children… Tatyana, you know it too well, what had happened to them in country of the strangers. Some of it happened to you in Estonia as well, I looked it up how you worked for them, and how you fed your nephew, a growing boy solely with the rice porridge…

Hildegard kept her word, despite Anna’s lack of English, she was invited to work and study in one of the best astral hospitals. Of course, she accepted the offer with deepest and most sincere gratitude. It happened some months ago. I was told that Anna is fine, that she is working and learning and slowly recovering and agreed to learn for the starters the skills of a midwife. She is polite to everybody, she is in contact with family, she had thanked her guides and me for the healing, saying that it made her young again!

They offered a parish to Piotr, in a place known for its spectacular views. However, this offer was accompanied by a strict condition – to be cured of alcoholism. He was spoken to by saints from Russian hierarchy. They suggested to be honest with himself, and when the day would arrive when he would see himself through the eyes of people whom he had hurt, it would be right moment seek a decent rehabilitation center. Their meeting was concluded with the following words, “You need to want passionately to be cured, otherwise no treatment will help. Priests are needed in Russia, the doors will be open to you”.

… Someone has blamed me recently for my hot temper, saying that sometimes I become loud like a wild Russian, who yell, accuse, judge, charge, call names having no reason to be… so open! Probably the person was right. I was working on it, I was learning to walk away instead of exploding, because, I started doubting that it was my mission to educate everybody regarding his or her faultiness! But how to recount this so strict accusation right now? I said, “After all, I’m the granddaughter of my grandfather!” And there he was, Piotr’s spirit appeared in my room immediately. It was not a secret that he disliked me, if I put it mildly. So, I braced myself for a sharp duel of opinions.

However, instead, he made a quite surprising statement. “So, you still recognize my blood in your blood vessels! For this, everything is forgiven to you. Take care of my girls! I will pray to reverse my courses away from you!”

These are our Russian ways. In order to survive we need the patience of our grandmothers, and in order to release our yoke of betrayals, drunkenness, plundering, reckless stealing, swagger, baseless conceit, we can use the wild power of our grandfathers as well… before we can start listing instead of our faults, our real achievements.

In one of these days, Yogananda, I mean, his spirit, dropped by. I, the sick doubter, asked him for a favor to read and check the Anna’s story about her death, if I got it right! Maybe, writing down what she told me, I added some unwillingly?  How this quiet woman got such patience and such terrible karma? Yogananda asked to show him Anna’s portrait. He sat down on the sofa to study my old family album. Such a strong energy was dispersed from his concentration that for a moment, I saw him as if he was there in flesh. Finally, he announced his verdict. “Her story is true to the last detail. When looters’ car moved her twice, she already felt nothing, she got it all later. In her marriage, she unleashed her monastic karma, which included terrible punishments of nuns for sexual crimes. She was offered to either be born as a man like Piotr, or to be born as a patient woman. She chose the path of suffering and passed her lessons with a rare dignity. Her patience will make her a good and sought after nurse. She will be financially secure person when Europe begins to recover after the upcoming defeat.

* Kronstadt sailors did more than robbed, raped and murdered, they were called stronghold of Petersburg revolutionaries. “The Kronstadt Uprising” in year 1921 demanded “the Soviets without Bolsheviks – freedom of speech, control over government actions and improvement of economic situation in the country.”
Wikipedia writes about Bolshevik’s answer to these demands : “On March 19, 1921 the Bolshevik forces took full control of the city of Kronstadt after having suffered fatalities ranging from 527 to 1,412, or higher.(…) Although there are no reliable figures for rebel battle losses, historians estimate that from 1,200–2,168 persons were executed after the revolt and a similar number were jailed. Soviet figures claim approximately 1,000 rebels were killed, 2,000 wounded and from 2,300–6,528 captured, with 6,000–8,000 defecting to Finland. (…) Their large number was causing the first big refugee problem for the newly independent state.

A note from the author:  About the main cause of the Russian revolution: I believe , this single photo of hungry children says it all! At the same time, the Russian experience teaches that a revolution sows cruelty that can exceed the cruelty of the most terrible monarchs whom revolutionaries aim to dethrone.  Study of the Russian revolution and its consequences can contribute to stopping the idealization of revolutions as the method to renovation of society, there has to be other, less destructive ways to improve life.

I started out writing a very personal story of Anna, my maternal grandmother. But to my surprise, the memory of this small, quiet and patient women asked for explanatory excursions to many forgotten corners of Russian history.  It revealed that an individual destiny’s conflict with the atrocities of monarchs or revolutionaries is inevitable, especially in times of  upheavals and uprisings and civil wars. I was not prepared to look into this, and I could write this story only with help of Wikipedia articles. The paradox is that these were the fantastic revelations that surfaced during the most occult meditations that led me to look up twists and turns and facts of history to make sense of stories of individual souls’ search for redemption, repentant and healing.

 

 

 

Meditation in Memory of Grandmother Luba

  1. Restructuring

We were having some tea and talking. I asked Lena, our talented beauty with innate clairvoyance to find the soul of my deceased grandmother Lubov Petrovna, nee Myasoedova.

Lena fell silent, I gave her a photo of my grandmother. She dropped it on the floor, as if it had burned her fingers. Lena screamed and grabbed her head running to the corner of the room. She pressed herself against the wall and squatted down. Continuing holding her head, as if protecting herself from the blows she shouted: “She beats me! Something is hanging on her! I cannot deal with this.” What she was talking about? I stood my ground defending the reputation of my grandmother. I told Lena that my granny read Thomas Mann in German and Zola in French, wars and communists robbed her shamelessly, all was stolen from her but her rheumatism, her near-blindedness and pain in knees. Therefore, there was nothing that could hang on her. Rather something would hang on people who sent her sons to war, drove her out of her house, plundered family dinner sets and crystals, smashed her library, used the pages from the “Encyclopedic Dictionary of Brockhaus and Efron” to wipe their dirty asses, broke the piano, and dragged everything — up to her black velvet bag with family jewelry.

Lena was silent, as it was too obvious that I knew nothing about life deeper secrets and man’s invisible ties to subtle worlds… Soon, we forgot this episode, and surrendered to the female preferential occupation — gossip and exchanging opinions about things that we knew not too much about. Despite the inherent gift of clairvoyance, Lena was a cheerful person, talented, with a lively sense of humor, and we had something to talk about.

Year 2017, 30 years have passed, since Lena and I had that memorable tea party at my flat. I live in Los Angeles and I have passed the age threshold marked by the number 80, and now it was my turn to treat rheumatism, pain in the knees, and other age-related ailments. I practiced meditation and our Lord took note of it by opening some of my finer energy channels, and I started to hear the dead people talking and sometimes observe the visitations from the astral worlds, especially the visitations of animals in spirit. Lately, a beautiful wolf marched proudly across my room and out of my 3rd floor window without breaking the glass. And sometimes we have visitations from a little white dog, a twin of one in flesh that belongs to a sweet Korean lady who lives a floor below me. Sometimes, while my cat in flesh is getting her food from a plate, I see another one, a cat in spirit trying to get its share from the same plate! The day came when, making my special preparations, I dared to meditate in memory of my grandmother Luba.

GrandmaLyuba

Lubov Petrovna Myasoedova

Appealing to the guardians for a fire-ring protection and narrowing the goal of this meditation – because only they know what is most worthwhile to concentrate upon in given circumstances. Spontaneously, an early childhood vision of my grandmother comes to mind. I was about three years old in someone’s arms, probably it’s were my father’s arms, and my mother was next to him in her new flowery dress. Easter. Returning home from the church, the grown-ups broke loose. Grandmother brought out two large chocolate eggs, one in shiny red, the other in a golden wrapper, and apparently testing me for the innate taste, she asked me to choose one … I remember my very small hands that were desperately trying to reach… a bright red egg. The granny said that the golden egg was more elegant one, and she would like me to have the golden one. But l started to cry bitterly still demanding that red one!  … My grandmother frowned, my mother looked at her pleadingly with a strange guilty smile on her face. Without adding a word, my grandmother escaped to her room.

The meditation needs a new start. I concentrate on my nostrils and breathe boringly and evenly. It is still dark behind my closed eyes. Finally, as if from a milky fog before the sunrise, some outlines begin to emerge … “The third eye” reveals the picture of the field, dotted with skulls. There were more skulls than on Vereshchagin’s painting “The Apotheosis of War.”

apofeoz-verechagin+ (2)

Lena’s moaning: “Something heavy was hanging on her conscience…” — was flashing by.

Suddenly, the meditation takes me to a mystical place. I see a flat horizontal field with shiny gates in its depth, and a separately existing vertical field with a black marble box, or case, or a chest for storing something of value. The shape of this marble mantle reminds the heart on Valentine’s cards. This weighty thing was symbolizing granny’s spiritual heart, and it was literally hanging in the air just in from of me, a couple of inches above my computer.

On my left hand appeared the imaginary ring that was passing curses, the ominous ring  given by Ivan the Terrible to my ancestor, oprichnik Masoedov.  (More about this ring can be found in the blog – “Repent, repent, repent!”)  Soon, that golden sapphire ring started emanate curse waves of souls of wounded warriors who were left behind to die in terrible pain… These curses showed me the size of granny’s guilt that her immortal soul had collected during eons of incarnations as a warlord, maybe since times when  Sumerian poets birthed poems about their king-priest Gilgamesh. If difficult thought forms were not released, according to the great cosmic Law of Attraction, they would add  to the burden of guilt attracting similar energy wave from universe. In granny’s soul, this type of guilt ridden thought forms worked like the magnet.  And in this meditation we attempt to free my granny’s soul from this “magnet” as much as we can.  I

I continue meditating. I do not act alone. Someone is organizing souls into “Indian files” hat move toward Golden Gates. They look like faithful in Russian churches approaching the golden orthodox cross, everyone kissing its cold surface to confirm his devotion to their faith and their church.

And finally, I noticed angels and priests working on the field. Some kept order in this pool of moving souls, the other were consoling those who were so weak that could not reach without help their goal to be saved by LIGHT! I realized what size of weight was removed from my grandmother Luba’s conscience.

imagesblack heart

I was instructed to work with her spiritual heart, the image of which was in front of me. My business was to focus light on this image making the “marble” mantel around granny’s tortured heart to melt and disappear.

Someone was sent to help me as well. Before I knew it, someone took over the driver’s seat, the rhythm of the actions changed from normal human to inhuman speed. Was it shape shifting, or something else? I became a man, a shaman, some other creature. I was no longer sure who was calling light to melt the marble mantel in question? I threw my hands in the high and I was shouting, “Light, light, light!” Finally, I had a chance to look at my hands, but they were not mine! They were a men’s naked hands with strong swollen biceps, multiple bracelets, tattooed. I realized that these hands belong to strange half-naked man with light brownish skin … with light bandana to control his dark hair on his head, with dark eyes, and with a distinctive small hump on his nose.  In order to give idea what I saw, I downloaded this picture from the Internet collection of images of ancient Egypt’s humans.  Here we see two almost naked figures, and one fully dressed female. The naked figures looked very smililar to the one who worked with me. And he was also accompanied with a flock of his helpers.

egypt22

Maybe it would be more accurate to say that I’m not the only one who called LIGHT, we were a powerful team – a strange helper out of ancient Egypt with his beautiful friends and I — we all called LIGHT to heal my grandmother. I was in the state of ecstasy. I was crying and I did not remember myself, I did not know where I was, out of body, or still in this room and how did we get so much golden LIGHT that it filled the room! Time to time, I repeated asking out loud for the fire ring protection and blessings from Jesus, the Savior, and Virgin Mary, the Immaculate Mother of God. I asked help from Mary Magdalene, because I felt her presence. My assistant and I, or rather I as his assistant, were working together. He took me – of course not me, but part of my consciousness, what we are in the state of OBE, for an unusual ride across the time and space!

The intensity of this spiritual flight was indescribable in words, because of its unusual speed. The layers of history and cultures, Egyptian kingdoms and dynasties, the campaigns of the Romans, then the Crusaders, then the Persians changed rapidly. We visited terrible sites of ruins produced by wars and insurrections. Without any warning or explanation, the vision jumped to the wars of the Aztecs and Incas on the American continent. But suddenly our flight stopped at a fence decorated with severed heads with removed scalps. Apparently, even my guide did not expect this … In a nonverbal manner, he whom name I never learned, gave me the following sentence: “You grandmother’s soul had it’s fill here. When her soul was done with this Camacho camp, and upon its arrival to afterlife, sha sought buptizing into Christian faith, and asked to consider the cycle of warior incarnations to be completed.  This wish was granted, and she was rushed into the next cycle of reincarnations as a woman who would experience the pain of loosing her childrens too soon.”

I think that 30 years ago Lena, when I asked her to “find my grandmother in the next world,” hit the same fence adored by heads with removed scalps. Probably she tuned into unbearable pain which was hovering above that terrible hedge, and as a modern world being she simply was not able to digest the horror of this experience.

When our journey through time and space ended, the black marble mantel around granny’s heart started showing signs of softening. Like melting wax is rolling down along the lit candle’s stem, so did melting “marble”! Probably, it was never a real marble at the first place despite looking like one! The lower edge of the heart started to show some shy pastel colors as if signaling the progress in our attempt to free the heart from now unnecessary protection.  The heart was recovering with gentle glow of infantile pink. I was astounded that in the soul of this stern and sober, always reserved woman, was hidden so much tender childishness. And I recalled how one day in my early childhood she entered into an argument with me, the three years old, which paint is better, red or gold! She was annoyed  teaching me,  the first-grader,  the mathematics, but she was sincerely happy when I read Pushkin’s “Ruslan and Lyudmila” in one gulp at age 11, which the usual adults would never take as a sign of their child’s educational advancement.

… But, finally, the emerald glow began to break out of the released heart. I was told that there were changes in grandmother appearance, she was rejuvenating rapidly. Grandfather Grigory came up to me and said only a few words: “You gave me back my wife, thank you!”

And then, unexpectedly and sharply, I was told to close my chakras and lie down to rest. Before leaving, I created an imaginary burning field furnace near my computer, took off an imaginary sapphire ring from my finger, and threw it into the furnace flame. When the flame went out, a completely purified ring shining in the ashes. I left it there, and went to rest, falling asleep at once. When in 5 hours I woke up, there were no traces from the furnace or that dangerous ring! I hope it was picked up by a soul that could handle it and it would not bring him any harm!

……………… ..

A few days later, a spirit, a mutual friend, brought me a message from Luba. My grandmother asked me to arrange a date with my mother Tamara, because it’s time to put up and reconcile.  I immediately remembered the matter that called once the pain to them both.  In the late thirties, when my mother became pregnant the second time, my grandmother decided that her son was not involved and my mother had a love interest on aside, in Tartu, or Dorpat, the Estonian university town what she frequented to  visit.   As a matter of fact, she visited Tartu to see her demanding and moody family. I think, they pressured my mother to make granny Luba to accept them and share her space in Paide with them. My grandmother, having her reasons, refused to do so categorically. However, the shadow of suspicions can be a poisonous thing. Granny ignored the presence of my brother and never let him into her heart!  Mother’s and granny’s relationship was ruined.  To top it all, granny put her doubts in writing  and sent the bitter letter to my mother officially over the mail. I was not aware of this literary work  until mother showed it to me shortly before her death.  Stupid me tore it apart, because as an esotericist, I was already aware of sad consequences from carrying this kind of letter near one’s heart. My mother was angry with me as well. My mom helped her husband’s mother in all thinkable ways, and believed that she did not deserve such a derogatory accusation. And she carried this resentment through her long life on earth until her death – 2 weeks before the 99th anniversary.

However, in the afterlife they met face to face again, and I was reported that they both cried recalling old times and reconciled. The desire of our haughty granny to see my mother and reconcile, can only be attributed to the work that the angels did on her during my meditation dedicated to my memory about her.

…………………………… ..

It turned out that Paramahansa Yogananda participated in work on grandmother’s problems. Later, when I was writing the report of this event, Yogananda pointed to one powerful confirmation of facts that were revealed during this meditation.  We had this confirmation literally under our noses, but we managed not to see or recognize it! Yogananda continued: “And the name of this confirmation is Yuri, or Yurik, the son of Lubov Petrovna, and his fate!”

This time it was me who clutched my head, but not because of pain, but with amazement that I was so blind!

Paramahansa Yogananda continued: “Once upon the time, Luba pitied a wounded warrior by leaving him behind to die on the battlefield. Centuries later she gave him a new body, but was notable to protect him from his fate.

I have written several times about the terrible fate of Yurik , but I have to recall it briefly here what happened to him in the time of the Leningrad Blockade. A small group of wounded soldiers were forgotten in a non-heated building that had suffered from bombing. This happened in the fierce winter of 1942. The dying soldiers were left without any help until the frost freed them taking them to another world.

In other words, Yurik attracted and embodied the content of his mother’s unreleased and most negative thought forms – guilt over left behind wounded worriers on the battlefields.

Paramahansa Yogananda concluded, “This was a peace promoting meditation. You were brought into this work not only, because you are a medium capable to talk to involved spirits, but because your strong imagination is capable “translate” the negative vibrations into certain images that guiding angels can eradicate successfully.  This cleansing of negativity will  save many lives in coming wars.”

 

EarthPeace

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?