The devil, the monster from hell

I finished my last post promising to tell you about how I met the devil as depicted in the scariest Christian stories. However, since then I remembered that I had encountered the character way before in the 90s in Russia, much earlier than that time he appeared to me and my friend, and before I once saw him in one of my lucid-dreaming experiences (and where he showed how he really looks, and he can take many forms and appearances).

It is easier to write about it than talk, because people simply stopped believing in all that stuff, and it’s every day that I wonder how the Christianity survived till today, as everything in it can be judged as ‘delusions’ and according to the psychiatry, all Christians should be proclaimed as insane. I once read a psychiatric article where it was hinted quite clearly that Jesus had suffered from psychosis and exhibited all signs of being a bipolar. Needless to say it wasn’t a nice read, as for yet another time I started to doubt my own mind and my own sanity, because I believe in Jesus, and have seen the manifestations of parallel world many times. Denying this truth to me (and other people) is denying the whole reason of any existence based in spirituality, and once I tried to live a life denied of it, I stopped to see the aim of any life, or at least a life, based in some meaning. How can we wake up and not believe in Jesus, is a question I decided I don’t want to explore any longer. I have to add here that my own ‘search’ for Jesus took a long time, and not because I failed to realize until recently that Jesus is always around, but because I have been obscured by the presence of the devil almost my entire life. Yes, he is constantly around, and yes, I’ve met him and know for sure that he is as real as a glass of nice red wine I am drinking right now, while writing this post.

The problem with the devil is that he made his appearance in my life way before I received baptism in the Russian Christian Church (on my own accord, at the age of twelve), and hasn’t left me since, in terms of his presence. He appeared many times in my life, and I do wonder as to why he is so much interested in my persona. Do I have an interesting soul? Is it because I am indeed a holy fool (a concept to which I will come back again and again) or is it because I can contribute to humanity and he tries to ban me from doing good works? But I will try to quiet my ego for now and go back (in my mind) to that first time I met the devil in my life.

I was three years old then and was sleeping in my cot, on the sixteenth floor in our Moscow’s apartment. We lived on the top floor, and as was established later, the apartment was chased by the spirits or something similar, and my step-mother would discover some sort of insects all the time under the flower pots years later.

I woke up from a dream because I literally sensed a presence and then I glanced at the window, I saw HIM. He looked like a total monster from hell, with horns, and terrifying eyes, and I knew at once that it was the devil, and that he was interested in me.

Interestingly, I didn’t panic or anything like that at that point because, even at the age of three, I knew that there was no point in panicking. If I started to cry, the parents would arrive and tell me that he wasn’t real and that I had simply had a bad dream, and therefore, I did the opposite of child logic. I stared at him without crying and told myself aloud: yes, he is real, and what you see is not your imagination.

I also forgot that vision till later in life, but I had to resuscitate the memory once I had met him on that bench in Moscow, overlooking the church. You might ask me, but how do you know for sure? And the only answer I have, is that yes, I know, and the truth runs sometimes deeper than anything else. It is the whole core of your being which tells you that what you see and hear, while not visible to everyone else, is happening in reality. I also learned from experience that people simply don’t want to believe in uncomfortable truth, because once they do, the only remaining path is to embrace Christianity and pray for the return of Christ. And the path of a true Christian is indeed much harder than anything else.

I met the devil several times later in my life and will tell you more about the encounters. You don’t have to listen to me, of course, and you don’t have to believe in me, but I am sharing you my story from a vintage point of view of hexagram number 41 of the Chinese I Ching, line nine in the second place. The text of the oracle says: “…without decreasing oneself, one is able to increase to others”, which means that I share the story from the position of personal truth. You might believe and hear and see, but it’s obscured by what others reply to you in return. Jesus is real, and so is the devil, and the fight between good and the evil is taking place now on earth as never before.

In the next post I will tell you about how I attended the devil’s ball.  It was during one of my lucid-dreaming, just for those who might start saying, but is she insane? All these whispers (implying insanity) are just whispers of the devil preventing so many of us from saying the truth, according to my gypsies cards (demons, card 47, in straight position). But I studied all the enemy tools (including all Tarot cards and oracles) for years, and therefore, yes, I have the tools and the courage to say the truth as I see it, and not as others tell me it should be.

Hear, hear.

 

Bibliography:

Wilhelm, R. (1967). I Ching: a book of changes. Penguin.

Touchkoff, S. (1992). Russian Gypsy Fortune Telling Cards. Harper San Francisco.

0TheFool

(the fool in Tarot cards is, of course, showing us the path of a Holy Fool, it is all real, and it is all based in reality. Tarot cards taught me many lessons, and I am grateful for that)

Foolishness for Christ. Encounter with the devil

There is a reason as to why I go back to the 1990s in Russia so often on my blog, because it was exactly at that time that devil made his appearance in my country. The Christianity was proclaimed as official religion, and he, quite, obviously, couldn’t miss the opportunity to battle for a few remaining souls.

I could watch what was happening in my country from a vintage point of a teenager, which helped me somehow, because it is much more difficult to survive the battle between good and evil when you are an adult. The mundane daily responsibilities don’t allow space for any deep philosophical inclinations, and then, of course, it is hard to believe in anything, yet, allow oneself any ‘magical’ thinking, because one is always at risk to end up on the radar of the psychiatrists. The psychiatrists rule the world based in normality, and no one dares anymore to proclaim loud and clear: yes, there is the devil, and yes, there is God, and Jesus was real.

Back in the 1990s in Russia I met the character, the devil, on numerous occasions. He was lurking around, and once when I was with one of my best friends, he announced himself around us, right when we were admiring the visitors to a local church. My friend Anya and I were skipping a class in algebra, and were sitting on the bench on the hill, above a Russian Orthodox Church where some people started to go because Christianity had seen its return, and people didn’t have to hide anymore their faith in secret.

It was an interesting development for both me and Anya as we had grown up in a country without any religion. The Soviet Union’s doctrine was based on absence of any belief system, besides the building of a communal goal, with  stuff like ‘Jesus’ or ‘God’ considered to be absolute madness, and where those who had dared to proclaim otherwise, were deemed to be mad, and had to undergo a psychiatric treatment. Interestingly enough while I live now in a so-called free society, the mantra that you can believe in anything you want as long as you remain silent, is truer than anywhere else. You are proclaimed as insane immediately if you start talking about God and the devil, and especially if you hint at the fact that you see their manifestations in a daily reality.

So, Anya and I were watching the church with deep curiosity, it was indeed totally beyond any logical thinking. How come, we both wondered, that a country of absolute atheists suddenly turned into zealous church devotees?

“Look, even young people go now there,” I made a remark to Anya, and she nodded to me an agreement, noticing as me, a couple of what looked like students entering the door of the church.

“And I still remember how the doors to the same church were totally closed in the seventies,” we both jumped from fright as we hadn’t noticed the man, sitting now next to us on the bench, approaching us, let alone, materializing himself, suddenly on the bench. But here he was, wearing an interesting red hat, and staring longingly into the distance at the church, furtively giving me a wink in the process, locking his eyes with mine for a brief moment.

A though immediately entered my mind that he was the devil, and I allowed it to remain there, because I was still a teenager, and radical thoughts and visions are more tolerated when you are still at a precarious age. I haven’t yet reached the years when you learn that weird thoughts are not allowed, and that the psychiatry as an institution has the reins and power to silence all ‘different’ individuals once and for good. All those that have seen the devil, met him and know that he is real, are sitting behind the psychiatric bars. Since I am not there, I decided that I have the liberty to say whatever I want, and therefore, I am taking this opportunity to reassure you that everything ever written in the Bible is totally real, not that I had read all of it, due to the difficulty of the scripture. But I live the stories written in it in real life, and manifestations of it and the truth, reach me on a daily basis, usually in my dreams.

And so I allowed the thought to remain there and it was scary but at the same fascinating. Oh wow, I thought, it isn’t all fables and just stories then, is it? Here he is, the devil, and once I permitted the thought to stay there, it took that definite proportions when you realize that perhaps, magic is all real, and I was blessed (or cursed) to see and witness the manifestations of it in my daily reality. It was also interesting to observe that Anya jumped from fear and started to run away, while I remained sitting on the bench for another good couple of minutes, to (and I realize it only now) come to terms to my ‘raison d’etre’ from now on. Yes, I would be chased by the presence of the devil my entire life, and it’s only with experience that I learned that the only way to fight him is via Christianity and belief in Jesus.

Amazingly enough we didn’t talk with Anya about that particular manifestation of the character. I think that like me, she realized the significance of the presence of the man in the red hat, but it was too scary to admit the reality as it is: yes, the devil is real, and he is chasing the earth for a few remaining souls.

It was also the same year that I went to receive baptism and became a Russian Orthodox, embracing a difficult and run with obstacles life. Because the life of a true Christian, the life of a Holy Fool, is one of a martyr, and I ended up fighting with the devil my entire life.

Having met the character many times since that first encounter, I will tell you more about him from now on. He is a great manipulator, and uses clever tactics to lure one into his kingdom. He can also take different forms, and only once I saw the real him, as depicted in Christian scary stories, when I was lucid-dreaming in my sleep.

But this is a tale I will share with you next time.

holy fool

(Saint Nicholas of Pskov – Russian Holy Fool)

Overcoming the odds

In the current crisis provoked by the outbreak of Corona (Covid 19) we do have a choice  about how we react to the circumstances. I am talking about people who still have a job, and can continue working from home, or are still being paid. It is totally different for all those who lost their businesses or job, and the despair they might experience, is nothing in comparison to all those lucky enough to still have a house, food on the table and a paid job.

The tweet posted by a certain Jeremy Haynes provoked a considerable reaction among people, with one side agreeing with him totally, with another side arguing strongly against it. In April Jeremy Haynes, who, according to his Tweeter profile runs a successful brand building agency, tweeted the following:

“If you don’t come out of this quarantine with either: 1.) a new skill 2.) starting what you’ve been putting off like a new business 3.) more knowledge –  You didn’t ever lack the time, you lacked the discipline.”

The tweet was retweeted more than 15000 times, showing that it struck a chord, however, not everyone seemed to take it well. Some psychologists even wrote articles in response, saying that such tweets just put additional pressure on all of us, psychologically, and that under current circumstances, it is so difficult to keep any motivation at all, that living day by day is just fine.

I wasn’t sure to which camp I belonged until a few days ago when I slowly reached the bottom of my own misery. My circumstances are difficult: I moved to a new country, for a new job, only five months ago, and I have no friends and absolutely no social circle around, because I simply didn’t have enough time to build one due to the Corona virus’s measures. Everything is closed where I am, as in the majority of other cities and countries. I am also all the time with my ten years old son, where I have to juggle working from home and looking after him. Even if he is busy playing, there is always the possibility of distraction, making concentration difficult, and where I have the challenge to work online, demanding extra intellectual effort.

I reached the bottom by how I felt at some point, crying and pitying myself endlessly. The nostalgia for my old life back in Sheffield came also at the precise moment of the current global crisis, and while I logically expected it, it came much earlier and really at an appropriate moment. There is nothing I can do at this moment, and even if I decided to drop everything and go back to Sheffield that I miss so much, I can’t. Logistics are against me.

My response to my personal crisis was the same I use continuously already for several years. My life has always been extremely interesting, but it is also a very challenging life. I seldom choose an easy path, and I dare to explore different places , jobs and countries, on a continuous basis. Sometimes, it was almost impossibly difficult, but once you have a child, you have responsibilities. If I am not strong, then how can I raise a strong individual? I want my son to have will-power, because without will-power it is a miserable life, and yes, I do believe in will-power, and I also believe that almost everything can be overcome if you have one.

The challenge of today, brought upon us by the measures around the Corona virus, I decided to tackle with my own personal challenge. I decided to drastically improve my Dutch skills. When I felt I would start crying again, I went to a Dutch news site and immersed myself into the study. I have a technique about how to learn a language (I speak 4). I find a site that has both textual and verbal news, read first the text and learn the words I don’t know, and then listen to the same news in verbal presentation. I then say the words out aloud.

And so, for more than a week, it’s what I have been doing, and interestingly enough, I did start to feel much better. Self-actualization and learning are massive stimulants for the brain, and once you embrace your personal challenge, you will also satisfy the drive of your ego.

So yes, after a debate on my part, I decided that I agree with Jeremy Haynes. There is no point in crying when we can’t change a single thing in the current circumstances and just need indeed to take it day by day. However, when we can’t change the circumstances, we can still change ourselves, and learning a new skill is good for the brain and for feeling better about oneself. If I don’t come up with a better Dutch after this crisis, I really had no excuse.

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Capitalism, Corona, and Moscow in the 1990s

But let’s return to the 1990s in Moscow, a period in time that reminds me of the situation we are all in now: the unprecedented external circumstances that will affect us all, but we just don’t know how exactly. Today we have a virus that is hanging above our heads as a threat to our every existence, while back in Moscow from 1989 onward, we had a change in ideology, when instead of socialism, we were presented with capitalism.

Unlike the situation now that has a precise threat, such as a virus, the developments back in Russia were happening in a cunning way, leaving most people deceived and totally unprepared. First, it started with the opening of the MacDonald’s in the center of Moscow as its main restaurant, with queues stretching for more than a kilometer to get inside. It was more than a restaurant, it became a symbol of a better life, attracting the inhabitants of Moscow with the lure of life under capitalism. The small corner shops started to sell coca-cola and twix chocolate, and because of the novelty, it seemed indeed like a promise of a life never experienced before, such as the availability of burger and chips. It was, of course, a moment of absolute novelty, hidden behind the dangers of fast unhealthy food, but Moscovites, without knowing better, thought for a short while, that it would lead to something better, because it was just simply exciting. Burgers and chips do provide the moment of instant gratification, but after a while they loose their appeal and are extremely unhealthy.

It was at the moment of MacDonald’s madness, right when people believed that life could ever be something better, something better than the security of a job for life, good medical services, children all going to school and never being hungry that the future rulers of Russian capitalism, the oligarchs and the greedy ones,  set up their oil and gas voucher scheme where they robbed an entire nation. People wanted quick money, and sold their vouchers back to the capitalists for a penny, thinking of a relief of some useless groceries and a trip to MacDonald’s. It was only later, watching the oligarchs from their offshore villas that they realized that they were robbed, and so was the entire Russian nation.

The current situation around the Corona virus reminds me of the 1990s years in Russia for a number of reasons. I can feel the same despair from people around that I felt in my native country then. And it isn’t just the fear of the virus, and the illness affecting so many people, it is more about the anxiety of all of us, those who don’t possess millions about what tomorrow might bring. It is the rising unemployment, people applying for universal credit, lack of adequate medical services in otherwise ‘prosperous’ countries, the insecurity of zero-hour contracts, and the possibility of so many small businesses not surviving this crisis. I can feel the anxiety of our world that simply woke up to the reality in which we have been living already for a long while. The society woke up to the face of the capitalism, and the virus showed us the precocity of life. Such as that it isn’t shopping, holidays, or a new car that matter, but having a good and secure job, seeing children going to school and playing with each on the streets, sharing a simple meal among friends, and enjoying the parks and the nature.

The virus of today is a wake-up call for our world, but will we respond to the alarm once it’s all over?

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The Ship of Fools and our society

It was at the end of the fifteen century that Hieronymus Bosch painted his amazing painting, called the ‘Ship of Fools’. I wrote about it here, but want to come back to this piece of art once again.

ship of fools

(Ship of Fools by Hieronymus Bosch)

The painting as such was based on what was happening to the people proclaimed as ‘mad’ at that time. ‘Madness’ as such incorporated the same elements as today, such as calling all people exhibiting weird behavior or showing weird thought pattern, as ‘not normal’. These people were put on the ship and sent in the middle of nowhere, but still attracting large crowds of people in order to see them off or when they would embark in another town on their journey. The human curious mind always liked the spectacle because it simply shows us the possibilities of a quest of the human soul: some people simply go beyond the gates of ‘normality’.

Later the ships were replaced by asylums where those, deemed, as ‘insane’ have been kept away from the general public, and not because they pose any danger (it is a grotesque lie) but because our society, using psychiatry as its biggest weapon, doesn’t want to be confronted bluntly with possible ways and thoughts which can deny us of our mediocre thinking, such as dwelling about the next ski holiday, which car to buy, and how to stock on toilet paper because of a very bad flue. All those who start thinking that there is more to life, and question things, usually acquire one form of ‘madness’ or another. But the psychiatry doesn’t want these people, because more people think – more there is a possibility of a revolution for our society which has lost totally its values, with so much poverty, hunger and unhealthy competition where it is no longer a life for the common good (including for the sake of our humanity) but an individual fight in the big manipulation machine where it becomes a battle about who earns more money and drives a better car.

It was several centuries ago that Bosh painted his oeuvre but it is more than still relevant today. On this painting we can see several nuns and a priest instead of the crowd of fools, as the title hints to us when we first see the depiction. There is one single fool, at the end of the painting, in the background, just to reassure us that it is indeed the ship of fools that Bosh is talking about. But by putting the self-proclaimed ‘sane’ members of the society at the front Bosh asks and answers a prominent question at once: but who is really mad here, an innocent ‘fool’ or those, who, behind tales of morality, hide their own sins?

The painting is speaking to me today because it is precisely how I see the society. I don’t witness any high moral values and any strive for the goodness of all. I see rather greed, fake love behind Tinder apps and the like, chase for better gadgets, and thoughts in the head of people that make me wonder as who is insane. I can see the thoughts in the minds of people around, it is written on their faces: how to manipulate someone, how to outsmart someone, how to be more competitive in the already overdriven by competition earth. Rare are those who still look for true friendship, true love, and don’t always think about money. Money is a tool which can make one’s life more comfortable but its place in today’s society got at a higher platform than the one for God.

Those who ask and wonder usually get a mental health diagnosis or get depressed. The depression of today is a normal reaction of our minds to reach for something higher in a place where there is no longer anything higher, hidden behind the fake normality which hides in its turn just greediness and strife in our over-competitive world. It is a normal reaction of our higher selves that revolt in the fakeness of love, fakeness of friendships and betrayal of God, where one can believe in something, but God forbid, when one actually sees the manifestations of God him/herself. All exhibitions of aspiring for something higher than what is dictated by those in power, telling us what and how to do from  their vintage points of offshore accounts, are suppressed immediately by the scare of the psychiatric tale. The psychiatry is a weapon to make us all the same, which puts all those who aspire to be different, behind closed doors of the asylums of modern times. Nothing nice is happening there, and no one gets healed, because there is nothing to heal. All the ‘success’ stories you hear are provided by those who feel relief that they are back in our fake normality and can function like everyone else in our robotic society. The psychiatric drugs simply mask the problems of our sick competitive material sphere, and eventually all those on psychiatric drugs, realize that they are not healed and never were, because there is nothing to treat or heal in the first place. Depression is a sane reaction when one wakes up in our sick society, and so are all other ‘psychiatric’ symptoms.

But we are not allowed to voice all this aloud, and only pieces of art such as ‘The Ship of Fools’ remind us of the sad truth that few dare to voice out. It is not those who see the truth that are sick, but those who punish others when they see and hear what is real, hidden behind the narrative of normality, presented to us as ‘caring’ for our mental health.

Let’s turn away from the painting of Hieronymus Bosch and face its portrayal in reality, all around us.

What do you see?

srceam

(The Scream by Edvard Munch)

Unique People: Be different. Be unique

I like unique, unusual  people, I genuinely do. I realized it another day, thinking why, for instance, I am attracted only to certain people and have, most of the time, weird, unusual and daring friends.

I am unusual, and I attract unusual people into my life. By unusualness I mean unique outlook to life, the ability to not just think out-of-the-box, but demonstrate in practice what it actually means. We ask the new generation for out-of-the-box thinking, but do we even know what it is? Out-of-the-box should mean being different, but in reality this word is mostly used on paper, because, we, humans in western hemisphere, really forgot how to live differently, how to live interestingly, and how to be unique.

Let me give you in an example with two variables in otherwise same and boring system of normality. Let’s call them Nick and Janna. They met at the end of their studies, both interesting and lovely humans, who fall in love, or think they fall in love, as how many of us confuse passion (it disappears relatively quickly) and real love, I got tired of counting? I don’t know about you but I had met only one or two couples in my life who show with their union what love is, one of such couple were my grand-parents (I wrote about them here). Many other couples follow the same pattern: marriage, mortgage, kids, work, retirement. Nick and Janna did the same, realizing one day that they had missed on something, when it’s too late. It is so boring as a plan in life (marriage, mortgage, retirement)  that I am surprised why not more people rebel against it, especially when they discover that all passion is gone not just from their union but other aspects of life as well. Work should be fun, life should be interesting and adventurous, and we should dare more.

I dare in life and therefore, live a truly interesting and unique life. And I refuse to be humble and not to admit it loud and clear. Yes, I live adventurously and I live uniquely. Just four months ago, I accepted a job offer in Leeuwarden (Friesland), and moved to another country for the fifth time. Difficult? You bet! Challenging? Yes, I am exhausted, especially that I also moved my son and my cat in unprecedented life move (before this move, I would move countries on my own, which is a piece of cake, in comparison to what I did this year). Do I regret it? No, of course not. I miss my friends I made in Sheffield, I miss the UK (where I lived for the last twelve years), I miss cafes there with live music, my strolls in the hills, the local park with its café, the botanical gardens, the Sharrow vale with its restaurants and artisanal shops. I miss the British sense of humor, the BBC, yes, I miss it a lot. But if I stayed there, I could see my life unfolding in front of me with a depressing picture. It would stay the same, with me holding three different jobs, all on zero-hours contracts (even if at university), until I would be lucky enough to land in a more permanent post, the political unfortunate developments after Brexit for the whole country, the homelessness on the streets, the same routine. I was stuck in it, and once stuck, we should look for solutions, not wait for one day when you wake up and realize suddenly that you missed on opportunities, that you didn’t dare, that you let go off the fortune.

Yes, I have it in me, the forcing of fortune. I refuse day after day to ever let go and be weak. Oh, on how many days I wanted to give in to nostalgia, to the misery of the life itself, become depressed (and I did experience it) because, let’s admit it, life is not easy, and we are not always in control of the events. Bad things happen, and bad things can damage us if we let it.

There was once a woman who worked in my son’s school. Her name was Sarah. She worked in the after-school club, a very pleasant, beautiful woman, who as me, was a single mum, and we sympathized with each other. I could sense some sadness in Sarah as if she was looking for something more, for life itself to reveal herself in a more interesting and unusual way. I probably felt in her what I feel myself, the powerful urge to live fully and to live each single day with a purpose.

My son changed school and we lost touch, but two years later I met Sarah in a pub. Sarah was a different person. She had, on the spur of the moment, decided to move to Malta and was back in Sheffield to sell her house to say goodbye to the UK for good. Sarah was blossoming, she was happy! Did she move for a marvelous job? No, not really, Sarah moved just because she wanted to experience something totally new, she wanted adventure and she wanted more from her life. She found work as a cleaner, and was happy, because the job became just a means to live life at a different level.

You might guess that I admired Sarah when I met her in the pub. I didn’t know at that moment that only a few months later I would also move to another country (fifth time), but I thought then: wow, that’s an interesting life! Maybe I should do the same, even if it seemed like almost impossible, that with a small child, a house, and a cat.

So, what am I trying to say in this post?

Be like Sarah! Be adventurous and be unique. Don’t be afraid to make radical changes, even if it means that you might change a glamourous job to a less prestigious one. It’s not the status and wealth which really matter, but the desire to live life fully, without compromises, radically and in a unique way.

Be different. Be unique. Think indeed out-of-the-box. Don’t be like everyone else.

 

 

Born in Russia, born into a privileged family

Before I re-launch myself into the 1990s in Russia, quite remarkable time by all standards, I should probably tell more about myself.

I was born in the 1970s (more towards the 1980), to an interesting family. My mum, originally from Saint-Petersburg, had met my dad when they both studied at the University of Friendship of People, very famous place, where lots of international students came to study. From my mum’s side, it was always a family of teachers and academics. My grandma, her mum, was a daughter of a headmistress of a gymnasium, while my granddad, her dad, was a professor of geology at the same university. At home talks around the dinner table were always around philosophy, books, theater pieces to visit, music to discover, students to help. My granddad was so popular among students that some of them would show up on occasions for tea, just to have a chat with him around matters that mattered. There was also a secret within a family, which became less dangerous under Gorbachev, such as that my great granddad on the side of my grandma was a baron who had left his relatives in Russia all his fortune, by the letter with notification was well-hidden and never shown to the authorities, to avoid being sent to Gulag.

On the side of my dad, it was the Cossack’s gene. His parents run a beautiful farm in the south of Russia, where I would spend most of my summers. It was a truly amazing place, built from scratch by the hands of my granddad. He had met my grandma in a remote village in Ural, where he was sent because he had come as a prisoner from Germany after the second world war, and under Stalin, back in the Soviet Union, all prisoners were sent to such ‘installments’, remote places in the middle of nowhere, to build entire towns from scratch for the benefit of the country. My grandma’s family was also sent to such a place due to some black spots in the biography of the family, with their fault being that her dad, my great-granddad, was the head of the Baptiste Christian church in whole Caucasus area of Russia. But I will come back to that story in due term, for now, I want to just say that my granddad, once he and my grandma returned to his land, the Cossack village, destroyed and taken away by the Soviets, built two houses, and created an amazing farm, where even grapes could grow, and we had our own wine, and fresh fruits each summer.

They had three sons, with my dad being the middle one. He wanted to study in Moscow, and he achieved that. By the time I was born, both he and my mum worked at the University of Friendship as lecturers, and we lived in the best area of Moscow, known as ‘Yogo-Zapandii’ area, now popular among the Russian celebrities.

Our apartment had only two rooms, and was on the sixteen floor. There was something wrong with that place, but till today, I am not sure exactly what, apart from a weird dream I had once, that I was reborn there following a very difficult, terrifying life. I also saw the devil there for the first time, staring at me outside the window when I was sleeping in my cot, at the age of 2 or three. My parents reassured me that it was just a bad dream, and I tried to believe them for a while, but of course, I know now, and probably always did, that what I see and hear, is indeed real, as scary as it sometimes can be. I have to add here that the first appearance of the devil in my life was how he is often portrayed in references to the Bible, even if I wasn’t really afraid, just curious and amazed. Parents and adults would always say that all that wasn’t real, but I kind of, made to myself a note, at the age of 2 or three, that they could be wrong sometimes, and magic is real, and one didn’t even need to try, to see its manifestations on a daily basis.

Some strange problems with our apartment apart, I was born into a privileged family by that times standards. Everyone was an academic, I would go to one of the best schools in Moscow, and we always had nice food, and holidays in either Latvia or Crimea. I spent my summers in the Cossack village, helping on the farm (you can read about my summers in here), and was blessed with great friends, and lots of opportunities to express myself, such as learning French, practicing piano, ice-skating, and many other beautiful and really not mundane things.

But then, everything changed in the 1990s when Yeltsin came to power, and Soviet Union collapsed, becoming a monster in the eyes of all those who weren’t born here, and that image influenced also those who were born there, like I was.

And that’s why I probably talk about the 1990s so much. It was the time that something really bad happened to my native country, and when I go back there, I still see the manifestations of what went wrong then. The wild capitalism became an ideology as if it’s a must, a prominent way for people to live their lives. But it isn’t the best ideology, far from it. When I was growing up, under the socialism, everyone had food on the table, and children run happy outside, because there were no worries and everyone was more or less equal, even when one was born into a privileged family.

moscownationalgeographic

Bad Witches in Russia

But let’s go back to the 1990ies in Russia to continue with chronology of the events, not just influencing me and my life after, but also the fate of Russia and how it has become.

When I talk about witches, and apologies to all nice white witches, who wish no harm, I talk about bad witches, and in order to ban you from telling me what I am deranged, I will present you a picture of Moscow on one day in June in 1991.

It was a beautiful day, as far as I remember, and I was strolling the lovely streets of the Moscow city, together with my cousin, who came to see me from the South of Russia. We were then really young, fourteen, fifteen, care-free, and very independent. I, for instance, due to the fact that I was constantly moving from the house to my dad and step-mother to the house of my grandma, and back, had lots of freedom. I really could do anything I wanted, and once I came back home at seven o’clock in the morning from a party of my boyfriend, and no one even noticed.

I was proud of my city then, because Moscow still stood as it was meant to: large streets with scare construction, old beautiful buildings, the view of the Kremlin, undisturbed, amazing museums, and not than many shops. I was slightly boasting to my cousin, even if I also actually envied her, with her nice, simple, very friendly life in an old mining town in the Eastern Ukraine, where she could visit our grandparents, proud Cossacks, in the South of Russia, whenever she wanted.

We walked for a long time, stopping at different places, to admire the view. We didn’t go inside the Kremlin that time, but stared at it from the bridge, taking in the breathtaking view of that amazing establishment. Kremlin is indeed breath-taking, encompassing beautiful imposing building, the most beautiful cathedral in the whole world, and the Kremlin tower itself, as well as the canon, and park and river around. All Kremlins in Russia were built on the river, surrounded by it, to protect themselves from the enemies.

And then we reached the old Arbat, a famous street in the center, forbidden for cars, where so many Russian writers created their stories, and where artists and vagabonds loved to assemble: to play guitar, to have a laugh, to share artistic ideas, to fall in love and to experience magic. Old Arbat was magical.

But no anymore. In the summer of 1991 I got for the first time a definite feeling that something wrong was going on in my native country. We entered the street, and there it was: witches parlors on almost every corner. At each corner, they were sitting, the witches. One was saying on a poster in front that she could read your fortune and make it better. The other had an announcement that she could ban certain people out of your life, and one man claimed to be a hypnotizer, looking similar to the idiot Kashpirovsky, promising to hypnotize one to good health or death, depending on your wishes (he didn’t mention ‘death’, but he looked like he could do it).

Ah, all that is innocent, and doesn’t mean anything, you might say at this point, especially if you are an atheist, or a psychiatrist.

Well, it does, of course it does. Queues of people were assembling next to each witch, wishing, hoping to get something that would make their lives better. It was indeed a desperate moment for my country: there was nothing to eat, nothing to buy, with uncertain future and total turmoil in politics and economics.

I didn’t like any of them, and I kind of felt a sort of despair myself when I saw these crowds of people, and because I was curious by nature, I joined the queue of a palm reader, a woman who didn’t look kind, and who started to give me weird looks before I even approached her. My cousin was standing next to me, but I told her I had money only to pay for my reading, not for hers. Something protective was always in me, in regards to my one year older than me cousin. She was vulnerable, fragile, thinking that she had lost on points, because my father had made a life in Moscow, while her dad, my uncle, worked in a mine. We both didn’t understand then, yet, that the life of her parents, in a small mining town, was the one that was full of beauty and wonder, and nice, kind people, who earned their bread with honesty and integrity.

By the time I approached the palm reader, I wasn’t feeling that well, I think it was probably due to the fact that all people who had a reading with her, had sad, desolate faces when they departed after receiving their reading. She was piercing me, with her unkind, calculating eyes all the way through, and I assumed it was due to my quite sexy, revealing top, that my mum had brought me from Italy. I was standing out in terms of my clothes, and the woman probably didn’t like it, was my guess.

When I sat in front of her, I had a massive headache, not helped by the fact that what she was telling me, a fourteen years old, was beyond being disturbing, it was pure bad madness.

“You will soon have an operation and you might survive, but it is all in the hands of the fate. You should never work as a teacher, or become a doctor. You will be unlucky in love.”

There was nothing nice coming of the mouth of the woman, and I don’t even know where I found the strength to contradict her, but I did. When she finally revealed her trick, such as asking to paying her lots of money to correct my outrageous fortune, I put a hand on top of hers, looked into her eyes and said:

“You are a liar.”

I then stood up and took my cousin firmly by the hand. I stopped for a good measure as well, looking at the crowd still waiting for their reading, really wishing for them to never approach that monster psychic, to never deal with her madness, greediness and ill-will.

Something unexpected happened then. The bad psychic stood up and started to assemble her chair and her tools (cards or whatever), and then she said:

“No more reading today, I am going home.”

I experienced enormous relief then.

The next day, I took my cousin from the south of Russia, and my cousin from Moscow, my sisters really, I don’t like the term ‘cousin’ to the Zamoskvorechye, a district full of churches, right outside of Moscow (now, a part of it), to baptize all three of us.

We received baptism, someone stole my best hat on the train back to Moscow, and I did feel something. Something really good entering my life.

It wasn’t enough though to fight with the negative energy my native town was dealing with then, but we will come back to it in my next post.

zamockvorechie

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On the matter of paranoia

You know, occasionally, I have this feeling that I am witnessing the stuff which most people don’t even find normal. Such a profound immersion into my own  head, in order to ask questions and reanalyse them deeper aand deeper. I often ask myself about things in a deep and profound way, for instance: why did September 11 happen, why was Sadam Hossein executed on a scene in front of some willing spectators, reminiscent of Big Brother, why is there such a crisis in most African countries, why there is war between peope, and so on. In my head I find  always the same equation: why, where, what, by whom and chronologically WHY.

The answers I find in my own  head often susprise me, in a unexpected way. I often see things, and I hear. I hear the transmission of signals among humans, and I see at once whether a person is good or not at all. Behind some beautiful eyes, I often see envy and a jeulous stare.

Those who can see and hear, even if what they see is actually real, can’t say anything aloud as then they are at danger of endding up under the supervision of a psychiatrist. And most of them, are busy to shuting down all the signals you get, because they don’t want  that you to know the truth.

The truth, you see, is a scary thing.

My paranoia tells me that the second world war never ever ended, that it adopted a new approach, such as sending bad reiki masters to brainwasch our brains. In Russia, it was hypnotiser Kaschpirovsky who fed lies to the whole Russian nation, encouraging them to buy ‘coupons’ that would simply give the money back to the oligrachs. But in the West, you have trashy really TV shows (except for X-Factor, obviously), intrusing advertisising, fake news to ecnourage you to do bad stuff: such as voting for Brexit in the UK.

Paranoia is a powerful thing, because it doesn’s appear out of the blue. The event of paranoia needs a reason: such as a bad story in one of the magazine, some celebrity’s dirty secrets (the result of it for me, personally, is that I am terrified of being famous)

In orther words, Paranoia is directly linked to fear, it has a concise abstract entity, where you become afraid.

The important thing is that everyone becomes afaid for a good reason: maybe your parent has hit you in the childhood and now you are terrified of all humans, maybe, like me, you saw Sptember Eleven from the TV and since then can’t help but ask the exact questions that the entire population needs to know as answers: HOW? WHY? For which reason, etc.

Or maybe you are terrified of your boss, and of loosing your position, especially if you work on zero-hour contracts (like I did). You have the feeling that you have no stability, no security, and under such circomstances, you do become paranoic, and start looking at additional explanations that can become even more confusing. Especially when I ended up in a #psychiatric hospital back in Sheffield. It reminded of my concentration camp experiment when I was Anne Frank (and still am(. I can’t help but remember my past life with absolute certainty. Yes, I was Anne Frank in my previous life.

God ( I think it might be a female) didn’t create a world where people should be terried, this was done by humans themselevs, bad jealous, greedy people, who have never enough of money, and that’s why  they  create wars, monstrous dilemma like Brexit, and other suscpicions that something somewhere might happen (the narrative of terrorism) so that they start making even more money via hedge funds.

Today I want you to start thinking of your paranoia and give it a good and profound answer. Ask the exact question, tell to yourself (or GOD) what is bothering you and then try to remember:

Bad people and bad things are around, and it is them who tsranfer to us their negative thoughts. I learned how to listen to them, and it isn’t a pretty sight – the main thought I hear is ‘money’, ‘I want to have more.” It is very bad, as the meaning of a happy life is linked to being fulfilled even with little. Money only does help to find happiness in a strictly material way.

yes, all your what they describe as  ‘delusions’ or ‘hearing voices’ are all real. They do exist. And it is a #crime by #American psychiatry to shut your unique seer ability down.

If you ask me, I think I have a pretty good idea about who they are (I looked into the WW2 when I was Anne Frank)  and saw in there monsters  and saw predators but they were not precisely Germans.

it goes deeper than that.

la paranoia is an entity created by oligarchs and thus who control media back in the UK, real bad witches if you ask me, but NEVER Ever tell all the above stuff to a psychiatrist as they are always catching an easy prey.

Psychiatrist don’t want you to tell the truth so that you don’t tell it to the whole word.

But our world has the right to know:

Second World war was created by Bad witches themselves and while Russia took the main part in eliminating them, they failed to notice the monstrosity of evil mind that constitutes to rule our world in a very bad way.

lets pray for a moment that we will be saved and become even happy.

AMEN

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On Madness

We will make a small break in chronology and return back to Russia in the 1990s later on.

For now I want to focus on madness again. It is all related, everything is connected, because in order to really know how to be properly mad, one needs to have gone through dramatic events: childhood drama, traumatic event in one’s life, big unusual happenings in a country where one lives. I had experienced all of that, and therefore, I understand madness perhaps better than anyone else. Real, beautiful madness is when you become saner than the rest of human population.

I also don’t look at it anymore from the perspective of mental health narrative. I had to exit this discourse, because staying there is a sure way to not only get stuck in it, but also never recover from it.

People do get unwell, people do experience problems, bad things do happen in life, but I believe that with the right approach, and determination, and sometimes simple will-power, one can always get better. The mental health narrative takes the will-power away from the individual, and the only way to reclaim it back is to say ‘fuck you’ and reclaim your own power back.

If you are truly, beautifully mad, you are a genius. You are a shaman, you are creative and you can achieve more and better things than all others, suffering from mediocre thinking, narrow-minded approach to life, and inability to grow beyond fakeness. Fake people are all around us, just have a good look: they think about which next car to purchase, how to get a rich husband, how to take advantage of a vulnerable person. Their mind is not a great mind, when they laugh at the expense on another, when the highlight of their day is to read a dirty celebrity story, when they spend the whole day on posting angry comments to a person who does better, and well, looks better.

The same kind of people judge you if you are stuck in mental health narrative. It doesn’t matter if you ended up in a psychiatric hospital one day. So what? You can always get out and resume your life, and make it even better. If you can’t exit the psychiatric narrative, then you have to outsmart the narrative. It is simply stupid to think in our modern world that medicine is all shit, and refuse all sorts of medication when it can help.

But nothing will happen if you constantly play on pity, and wait for a shaman (or donor) to come and help you out. You are the shaman, you just don’t know it yet. You have to learn how to become one yourself, and go even further in that ancient wisdom, as we live here, in the West, and material comfort does matter, and it is nice and rewarding to have a good job, and do well in other aspects of one’s life. Being a Buddha under the tree is just a concept, a concept for someone who doesn’t embrace the dance of life. If you dance, you dance with spirituality in a beautiful, sensual way. When you know that you are spiritual but can also afford a nice pair of shoes.

I learned shamanism all by myself. There was no one to save me, and so I had to save myself. And if I didn’t do it, then I wouldn’t become a proper modern shaman. You do need to become ‘mad’, but you and only you can learn how to use that gift, how to protect it, and how to stay with it grounded. Shamanism is real, but so is witchcraft, and it’s not the ones who are busy making stupid spells you should watch out for. Bad witches are all the people who bring you down, when they make degrading comments, when they say something nasty, when they try to reassure you that something is wrong with you, even when you are better, and do better than them. They want to see you fall, and this is what bad witches are all about: to derive ill energy for short gratification of ego from the misery of someone’s else life.

Yes, I had to learn it all by myself. I lived through it (the initiation), and I also studied. I studied all religions, beliefs, and ancient wisdom. I consulted I-ching oracle, I learned Tarot, I studied Kabbalah, I read about Islam. I studied the Bible, and went to Christian churches. I am a combination of all different beliefs now, where I borrowed only what really works, and what helps me in a daily reality. And I believe only in what I can see, feel and experience as real, not when someone tells me: ‘because it is so’.

Leave the average, the mundane to fight about which religion is the best, or which culture, or language. Let them in their small, boring, not interesting, unkind world. Get out and do better. Read great books, go to the best theater performances, listen to the most beautiful music, try different amazing tasty food, start writing, go and dance. Don’t listen to their opinions. They don’t have the same gift as you, and therefore, they can never get to your level.

True madness is a gift. I am not talking about ‘psychosis’ induced by drugs (that’s simply drug addiction) or being stuck in some sort of eternal depression for the rest of one’s life.

No, I am talking about what they call sometimes ‘enlightenment’. It is given only to a really few, and it has to be given. You don’t learn it, and do run from those who tell you that they will teach you how to achieve it. Most of them are fakes, as the majority of all self-proclaimed spiritual gurus. Ask to see the certificate from a psychiatric hospital first, in order to take such a ‘guru’ seriously, or proof of some mad experience. Ask them to demonstrate the experience of suffering.

And so, yes, suffering, bad things do happen, and you can learn how to live through them, and how to live well.

I was ‘mad’, and now I enjoy my sanity of seeing outside of purely material level. I also lived well in 4 different countries (in two of them – twice), I speak 4 languages fluently, I have a PhD, I have a great job, I raise a beautiful son, and take care of my beautiful cat. I have 5 diplomas from different fields of studies from different countries, I worked in 6 different domains, in different countries and languages, I fell in love and out, and saw and experienced more than the average population.

But I am also yes, different. I speak to the universe in a different language because the universe chose me to speak to, in return. I hear birds, and understand their language, I make friends with random cats, I dance with feathers, and I see occasional angels. I met the devil, and I saw manifestations of God.

But on a daily life I also spend time on thinking about nice food in the evening, a glass of great wine on Saturday afternoon, which next book to read, which music concert to go to, where to buy my next coat, and which conditioner to try next from the Body shop.

On the other hand, I also think about when to start learning my fifth and sixth languages (German and Italian), how to become a professional dancer as a hobby, what to write as a next book, when to re-learn how to play piano, and how to help those in read need. I donate to charity, and I visit patients in psychiatric hospitals, bringing them beauty treats.

True madness is a dance with God and Devil simultaneously, and one either can dance (and get better and better in dancing), or one cannot, because he or she is faking it.

I like people who can dance in life. Real, sincere, genuine people. I like cleaners enjoying their work, making simple delicious meals and knowing how to love. I like academics who want to transfer knowledge and help students, instead of being busy with building their own academic name. I like farmers who care after earth and raise their children with kindness. I like writers who fell and got up again to write amazing books. I like musicians who had the unfortunate fate to be ridiculed by the press, but then came back stronger, better-looking and happier. I like people who know how to read books, how to speak beautiful language, how to value friendship, and how to wish the best for a person, a creature, a neighbor.

Are you with me?

mewithbird