Spiritual Works. Volume 26. Book 172.
It is difficult to follow me. It is difficult for me to follow myself. That is how it should be. It is difficult to follow the One who said ‘come unto Me’ and ‘My yoke is easy’. It is difficult and sweet. But not only my closest disciples shall follow — all of humanity shall follow. My staff shall touch many more — even after I leave this world.
When I speak, everything unworthy disappears.
I was fortunate: except for music, I was a sensitive, receptive autodidact in all spheres (autodidact (Greek) — self‑taught). And everywhere I was drawn to the irrational realm — the knowledge of the mysterious Deity, its mysterious language, its mysterious notation of divine harmonies, from Pythagoras to Alan Berg and Scriabin.
Oh, I have comprehended music such as no one else on Earth has probably heard, except my disciples who have already been granted access to the spheres of the musical compositions of the Kingdom — Alexander Gethsemanian and Leonid Bely, highly gifted musicians even in their earthly form.
I heard the music of the Kingdom and could not tear myself away from it. It never ceased, never repeated itself, and embodied the mysterious language of Wisdom. It was impossible to turn away from its perfect harmonies of endless beauty.
I also heard the music of the Marine Realm. The Earth knows almost nothing about marine creatures. The marine spheres are sealed. The marine sphere, in dimension 4.5–4.8 (between space (4) and the Kingdom (5)), contains thousands more varieties.
It is astonishingly multidimensional, far more so than the earthly sphere. Its space is ‘flattened’, spread out in eight directions rather than four. With its sensitive fish gills, the sphere of the marine habitat senses the energies of the Kingdom and receives them vivifyingly and gratefully. There sounds some endless Mozart — his tremulous symphony Jupiter or the brilliant Magic Flute.
Proud earthborns do not wish to learn from the angelic worlds, nor do they acknowledge the marine worlds. What a pity! How much the Earth could learn from the sea — at least the pervasiveness of its waters with the energy of the Almighty, or the endless methods of immaculate conception, the alienness to original sin, the radiant realms of the sea bottom, flowing from one dimension into another. Oh, how much more we could say about the Marine Realm! Neither the tourist of historical relics of the past nor the formal parishioner of the Pharisaic church knows anything about it. They know nothing of God, nor of themselves, nor of the sea, nor of the sky, nor of the earth.
I sought the Most High God while playing on a poorly tuned Müller piano, which had come as an inheritance from some second‑rate firm, brought to the Domnikov apartment by my grandfather, I believe. From Tchaikovsky’s children’s pieces to his Seasons, from Scriabin’s Tragic Poem to Alban Berg’s Violin Concerto, from Beethoven to his piano counterpart Maria Deshalyt — I sought my Beloved, the Almighty. I wanted to hear His language.
I sought the overwhelming Mother of God, knowing that one day I would hear Her voice, and it would never leave me. I sought only Her in all my sorrows, wanderings, searches, deserts, groans. I sought Her in hopeless endless loneliness, in disappointments, in joyful raptures, in outbursts.
How many reckless judgments and abstruse opinions I have heard! But I preserved the purity of my heart’s emulsion — the wondrous film where the images of the Almighty were imprinted.
My Lady, no one has been able to sully the virgin frames. Some other underlying unconscious film was being shot. I was not yet able to watch it. But one day I was to leaf through the pages of my past, already as someone else’s, and seal them forever in the film archive of forgotten pages.
I have already lived at least ten thousand lives. The piano past, musical compositions, Lev Shestov, Nikolai Berdyaev, Kabbalah, the Orthodox church, Euphrosynia Pochaevskaya, the Златоустовская liturgy, Gregory Palamas in ancient Greek, the longing for priesthood, the trembling before the klobuk and the monastic staff‑thyrsus…
I drew from many treasuries. I went through so much — until at last I fell at the feet of the Most Pure One and found rest on Nightingale Mountain, as a participant of the Bridal Chamber.
Through many Egyptian labyrinths my Lady led me. I saw many chimeras in my lifetime. I erred many times and fell into the enemy’s traps, but miraculously remained alive. The cunning one set even greater traps for me, yet could do nothing to me, for the cover was unconditional and many guardians walked behind me, vigilantly guarding my paths.
After each of the anointings by the Most Pure One on the mountains of Esterel, I begin to speak in another language and do not recognize myself.
The components of metanoia are formed from continuous transcendence, from habitual images and the corroded shells of the past. Only those capable of continuous rebirth are called to the second birth. It is, in fact, not a simple statement: behold, an infant is born from a new womb. It occurs continuously and leads to the third, fifth, and tenth birth from above. And from birth to birth, higher and higher, until it passes into the category of eternity — but even within it, it is born endlessly and unspeakably, uniquely and solely possible.
By faith, my friend, by faith
Only is it possible to survive in the urban television cave,
To pass through one’s ancestral cycles and Prigolgof syndromes,
To know from whom we are and who we are,
From what cursed lineage we originate,
And to whom we owe our violent first birth —
As if the soul did not give consent
To come into this world full of lies, debauchery and ugliness,
But it was forced to do so — and now they ask tenfold,
While it, as an adept, refers to the Secret Master of Ceremonies.
28.10.2005
Memories
I hated the Soviet system. I hated everything about it — connections (blat), guitar songs, vodka, ideals, vulgarity, the system where only low sycophants can climb to the top of the ladder, and the nobler and worthier a person is, the lower they are rated. Instead of religion — psychiatry. Hypocrisy, lies, cunning all around, in everything. Not a word of truth. Secret debauchery. Total fear.
I hated all of this. Everywhere I was only humiliated, belittled, admonished. I had not a single friend in the sovdepia, not a single institute satisfied me. Everything seemed wrong. Nothing.
I professed myself an agent of some unearthly realm, understood that I was completely not of this world, not knowing what to do in these human institutions, among their interests, ideals, marketable models. Nothing attracted me. The bohemia repulsed me with its debauchery, as did intellectuals like the engineer who, on Sundays, trades at the book market with a briefcase full of empty bottles (to return), with the ideal of a two‑room apartment on credit and a six‑acre dacha near Moscow.
My conversion to the faith, acceptance of Holy Rus’, wandering through monasteries, love for old Russian cities and the architectural ensembles of the past were a rebellion against the present — I accepted nothing of what was happening. I sought the eternal Rus’, listened to voices from the past and the future.
In the sovdepia, I never worked seriously in any profession. Only as a cross — English, music, a salon circle, theology, etc.
From childhood I was interested in mysticism, ready to read spiritual treatises day and night, ravenously, about the mysteries of divine worlds, the mysteries of souls and destinies. I was interested in the mysticism of Judaism, the mysticism of Islam (Sufism), and Christian mysticism. I devoured the works of Solovyov and Berdyaev when they were available only in samizdat and foreign editions.
By the direct blessing of the Heavenly Father, I came to the blessed Euphrosynia, and the Heavenly Father, who sent me to her, bound us with bonds of eternal love. As proof, she gave both soul and body to our church. As a sign of the church’s immortality, her immortal relics благоухают (exude a fragrant aroma) like her immortal banner.
And just as God chose the holy Euphrosynia, He chose me — He will choose our church for the third millennium.
21.02.2003