Abu. To Be Who You Are

And I again got behind the wheel and went to work, on shooting area to pretend to be alive. Avalanche of hurry-scurry filled another day, weeks, and months. One project was coming to an end, a new one was starting, and they had shot one TV series, and were already preparing for another. And I was already feeling nauseating during the process of script reading, perhaps from saturated, material and quite safe creative work. My soul was hungry; I strengthened my subconscious union between dreams and determination to rise up to the purity of light and no return.

My soul demanded change. I, apparently, had a completely prosperous and comfortable life, that would make even my mother happy – like others, I had everything. I lived in a separate apartment in the capital city with my husband and son, worked in a creative sphere, changed cars, communicated with friends and acquired a standard set of entertainment. I went to rest around the world as part of package tours or sightseeing tours and excursion routes of different countries. I visited Europe, Africa and Asia. In some countries, not just once. BUT. I was already infected with the Sehnsucht. Mom did not understand what kind of haunting ghosts there in her daughter’s head were, instead of joy of her well-being.

I was feeling so cold, suffocated, cramped in the largest country of the world. The realization of the imperfection of the world around me did not get along with my agile mind. I needed to be convinced of everything myself or to be challenged in an experienced way. In the present experience, I could only agree with Saltykov-Shchedrin: “If I fall asleep and wake up in 100 years, and people ask me what is going on in Russia today, I will say drinking and stealing”.

But there is another world: the world of books, where every human life is a personal book of everyone. The number of possible books is unlimited, as is the number of stars. Each new heir adds a new chapter or rules the page of the predecessor. I found temporary salvation in reading, books held my steady interest, where through the word I could travel in time.

Any hero chooses one of the paths from the numerous ones in his own life, dismissing the rest, but there are all-rounders, like Ts’ui Pen, choosing everything at once. He simply did not believe, unlike Newton and Schopenhauer, in a single, absolute time. He believed in the innumerable series of time, a network of diverging, converging and parallel times. I could boast not of my own books, but of readings like Borges. And I felt like his heroine, striving for the impossible, trying to unravel the mystery of being, to discover my potential, to create myself a laconic book. A book where novelty arises from a combination of words, rather than in a new message. Even Plato knew it: “All knowledge is nothing but a memory”.

Most importantly, I was still ready to give up everything for the sake of Love, which I had never found. I was ready to throw myself into the ocean and take on the face of a mermaid for the sake of a man I loved, or become a bird, and then the only possible direction would be up. Only in dreams, I was so exalted and so full of delight that reality in contrast became increasingly unbearable. Especially when the cold came – and what’s even worse for me – frost. Travelling teaches you more than anything else. Sometimes one day spent in other places, gives more than ten years of life at home.

Another movie project was finished. I worked there not only as an art-decorator, but also played the episodic role of a forensic laboratory assistant. Despite the success of the movie and the decision of the producers to continue our series, my decision to change everything became stronger. I had several months of comfortable freedom left, and the hated period of cold was setting in, then there came the opportunities to escape from it. Already in the final shootings and preparations for the “shapka” (a cheerful ocassion marking the completion of the film project, accompanied by drinks, snack, dancing, calm communication of colleagues and discussion of new plans in an informal atmosphere), my determination was reinforced by talking with Lucia. The rather strange and rare name of this girl confirmed her eccentricity and suited her well. She was special. She worked with us on the project as a barmaid, as she couldn’t care less what role she was playing. She just wanted to get acquainted with the filming process, take part in this:

– You know, Alyona, we’ll finalize the last shift now, and I want to return to India again. I watched the film and the filming process, and I did not like it.

– To India? This has been my dream for long. Cold is here, and I am going to get sick again. – With surprise and curiosity I entered the conversation, sipping hot tea from a plastic disposable cup given to me by Lucia.

– Dreams should be realized. My guru taught so, when I lived six years in the Osho Ashram in Pune. And the Indians said that people get sick from unfulfilled dreams, – she continued smiling.

It’s hard to describe my emotions after her two simple phrases. I worked with her for a whole 16-series project, for days and nights she gave me lunch in plastic boxes, poured tea and coffee, having studied my taste (how many sugar cubes to put), and amid all the humdrum of work, I did not notice such an interesting person in the barmaid?!

I felt dying worldliness in myself and immediately was overwhelmed with interest. Like a guenon monkey, eating candy, I began to question her about India, and with each sip the taste of tea changed. The search for traces of my legendary quest of self over the past few years suddenly began to manifest as my footprints on the wet sand of the shores of the Arabian Sea, the Bay of Bengal, in the snow of the Himalayas. India!? Ashram? Osho? What does it mean?

– Meanings change depending on the country and the era, – Lucia said with all the same calmness and a simple smile. – Like earlier, the path through the desert was considered safer until ancient meteorologists learned to determine the time of the monsoon, how to use the wind and how to sail. Knowledge, which they used to go only with camel caravans, floated across the seas beyond the oceans. The methods of movement vary, but there is a risk in any way.

I made further discoveries equal to the launch of the first man into space. During the short conversation I reincarnated in different images: I was a religious pilgrim, a lonely traveler, a messenger of God, a preacher of dogma. The lines I had previously wrote down for myself from the book Bhagavat Sri Radshnis and Lucia guru Osho turned out to be the same person. In order to measure the fluctuations of my body from the information received – that simply seized me and influenced me deeply – I was involuntarily folding the short candy wrappers into bundles during the entire conversation, without giving any importance to it. I was fascinated by her stories. And at the end of the conversation, Lucia introduced me to Knot magic.

– What? What magic? – I exclaimed.

– Knot magic is a form of magic using specially tied knots. These knots, as you have now at hand, are a reflection of your abstract ideas, concepts and thoughts that are soon going to acquire a concrete physical form. Look, – and she lifted the snake intertwined by me while I was fiddling with wrappers, and kept it between us at eye level.

– What does it mean, Lucia? – I have been weaving such wrappers throughout my childhood in the curtains of the doorway.

– It is believed that the number, shape and location of knots can affect the effectiveness of a particular goal. The power and intensity of influence can depend on the material. These paper candy wrappers are just wrappers for the implementation of the plan, but I can see that you are already in the flow.

On these words, I had to agree with my cine colleagues who considered Lucia to be more than a strange girl. However, the minstrel Lucia breathed into me, the melodies of renewal and interest in life. She pushed me to the vector of the direction so much needed by me.

After the conversation the images of towns and villages lined up in rough concentric circles and radial roads, deep rivers and bridges of strange structures, while driving home along the well-known roads of the city rushed inside my head. On the waysides I noticed cooing birds and hissing snakes, bright saris with contrasting patterns and faces with red dots on the forehead, ornamented elephants and stone bulls, conical taqiyahs and colorful turbans, motley carpets and camel’s humps. And with all the abundance of unfamiliar images, harmony followed, my path was determined. Lucia became the catalyst for the process long neglected inside me.

That night I did not sleep well. Thoughts swarmed like bees on a field with a sweet clover. Images preferred to remain vague. Moonlight streamed into the room. It beat me in the face and seeped right into my visions. How could I forget to close the curtains? I went to curtain the window and found myself transparent in the moonlight, whereas, in the reflection of the window, I was with flesh, exchanging places with a ghost of myself. And one mirage obscured another. Fading, I sank into my own dream, into my other world, trying to become less and less, like Alice, hoping eventually to completely disappear here and appear there. I closed my eyes andclimbed under the blanket on the autopilot, trying not to frighten off the mirage.

I woke up, as if I had emerged from an oblivion, where it was so good, with full confidence in the plans of action. Only the delicate scent of the jungle with the rich aroma of exotic spices (coriander, cinnamon, turmeric, cloves) did not leave me, although I did not yet know how they smelled, but there was this self-created olfactory power. The real world disappeared, as if dissolved, and the beauty of the moment of the world of dreams, which had not yet been forgotten and from which I did not want to come out, forced me to hold my breath, so as not to frighten it away. I turned to my faith.

Everything disappeared as soon as the phone rang, which brought me back to reality. But now my everyday life of ceased to seem insignificant. Conversation over the phone, pronounced names, events in the conversation became an empty sound. The people around me began to talk and move with some kind of mutual disdain, possessed by oppressive silence. The process of washing with icy tap water turned into ablution.

I would prefer to be entangled in a sequence of awakenings and dreams, to perceive them not as two forms of existence, not as two contradictions, but as states constantly flowing into each other and creating a relentless series of magical sensations.

Go to bed with a dream, wake up with an aim. You never know where exactly you are going, only – where you hope to come. “When you are doing something, do it now. Otherwise you ll never do it.” – Goethe voice whispered in my ears.

Oscar Wilde wrote: “Knowledge would be fatal. It is the uncertainty that charms one. A mist makes things wonderful.”

And Leonardo da Vinci specially smudged the space, creating riddling images in which there are no exact forms, and we must think them over. I made myself an interesting proposal or rather challenged myself to a duel.

Leonardo da Vinci outpaced not only science, far ahead of his time, but time itself. Living in the XVI century, he talked already about “life air”, and 300 years later, Lavoisier discovered oxygen. He built a glider model, and in 400 years aviation was beginning to develop. Leonardo himself was borne of Catarina, a young and merry beauty, in a peasant hut in Florence. His mother dies, and he lands as an illegitimate son to his father’s house, the notary Piero da Vinci. He is taught reading, writing, arithmetic, Latin and music. But the best he can do is drawing and modeling. Already at the age of 20 he was proclaimed a master. Art for him was always a science. He traced the correlation of painting with anatomy, optics, physics and mathematics. The world for him was a giant laboratory. He drew knowledge from dreams. I felt the connection of times and worlds, my angle of vision changed, freed myself from the long-drawn down attachments and immersed myself into joyful world of my dreams. Irritation was replaced by gratitude for the end of already travelled path. A new era was beginning.

In my country, at the higher Faculties of Humanities, we are taught knowledge of the history of cultures starting from antiquity. I also wanted to start with the Indian jungle. From the oldest Vedas. Throughout life, all the signs indicated to me my personal direction. So, in France, the artist Paul Gauguin fled from Europe to the island of Tahiti in his search of “primitive paradise”. Many thinkers saw the path to the spiritual renewal of life in the return to nature. Leo Tolstoy called for “interrogation”. American transcendentalists R. W. Emerson, G. Toro, T. Parker linked their spiritual quest with nature. Jean Jacques Rousseau contrasted nature with society, the conflict of “naturalness” of the natural state with the “unnatural” culture and civilization. And Mahatma Gandhi made a domestic spinning wheel – a symbol of salvation from “Machinism”.

I was certain that I will find my India in myself whenever I want. I read the signs of my own parallel world, dreams and fantasies that took on a clear form. My Abu waited there for me, the time has come. Away from vain suffering, tension, fatigue.

I’m coming to you, my angel. You are waiting for me, and I even know how you look, but I feel you! In my imagination it was my Leonardo – the ancient physique of a participant in contests and tournaments, an excellent swimmer, jester, narrator, orator, a gracious Knight, dancer, singer, thinker. Such people appear on Earth no more than once in a thousand years. What do I expect, in my short life? So, I not only supported the intrigue and interest in alluring obscurity, but finally opened these astral gates for myself. I started writing my book of life.

Leaving the cinema, I left behind the static repetitive frames, despite the everyday vanity of being. Before me, at last, a full panorama unraveled. I ceased to be interesting audience of others, they failed to evoke any further emotions in me. I was done with “creating” for someone, it was time to create myself.

I was tired of the nightmarish dreams of reality, where I’m pushed onto the stage, when I do not know what to do there, what to say, without knowing the role, and the public is waiting, full hall of people, gazing and craving for artificial spectacles. When the basis of all religions, Vedic truth

(derived from the words: to know, to tell, to explore) is replaced by film feed, I needed to wash my heart, and not tear my breasts in front of the crowd.

What is it? Is it consciousness and wisdom? Or emptiness and self-esteem? There is no difference. My eyes are wide open, I see some visions. Visions turned into reality: I go to the ramp of the plane with a friend Polina at the small military airport of Goa – Dabolim. Polina, out of breath with the first breaths of tropical air, looks unhappy, and I, taking the first step, is pulled into the whirlpool of delight: “I’m home”.

I flew to the desired formula: one plus one equals one. Unity.

Life does not always give you what you want. But if you look closely, you will see that it gives what is needed for growth. The main rule of reality is not to get lost in your illusions.

3 – MY GOA

Everything that has to happen will happen. At the right time. At the right place. With the right people. Everything that you relay to the world inevitably comes back. Louise Hay.

Checked by me personally.

The ultimate purpose of progressive human development is the complete mastery of the mind over the material world. Intuition is something which transcends knowledge. N. Tesla

I have never been so drawn to anything else. Nowhere for me was there as much interesting and unknown as in India. Every day is full of surprises and impressions. And this is without going to theater or cinema, there is no need to artificially seek emotions. Everything is there and appears continuously and on time. You should make the choice only if you can really fulfill it or just let it go, but what is beyond the power of thought or imagination – should be accepted as it is. And you have to awaken your dried flowers of spiritual joy, just watering them with good emotions and kind words.

Personally, for me, India revealed its rich spectrum of senses, which allows nerve cells on an unconscious level to experience the truth, even when it is not yet accessible to definitions and conclusions. I began to realize my own delusions and limitations through intuitive enlightenment. Intuition is something that’s impossible to learn. All our shortcomings and virtues are inseparable in us, this is the essence of everyone. But what echoes in the soul and that will resonate, depends on the fullness of the person himself. India just unveils us.

I had never experienced exercising freedom in full confidence to achieve what I desired. This was the first decisive challenge to me – to start learning English from scratch at the age of 40, to change the way of life and even the country. I started living as if I would never be as young as at the moment, today and now. I was not afraid of love, although I already knew that it could throw many surprises. Maturity was dawning, and I was already an “experienced lady”. Why run away from the past, if thanks to it I had become wiser and could use it in the future.

Goa, India. Presentiments did not deceive me, considering the decor of the small military airport at Dabolim, crammed with people arriving in a full Boeing. Under the lop-eared fans instead of air conditioners the crowd chaotically moved in a close flow. My friend Polia, ostentatious blonde with a nice figure, snorted and announced her demands. She needed to visit the toilet, to get out of her warm clothes, change shoes, drink something cold – and all this had to happen immediately, or she was ready to go back to Russia from the airport itself.

My motivations were different from hers. I came to India not just for vacation like her, but to live, not to seek love, but to love. My inner voice confirmed that it was here that sweeping changes awaited me, and mysticism began. The magic of the parallelism of the world embraced me and caressed me. The tropical smell of Goan air satiated my lungs and transmitted signals to the brain to breathe deeper. This is like get away from the frosty street to land in the warm foyer of the theater expecting a good performance.

After all the necessary formalities, everyone boarded the bus and set off. The usher was broadcasting something on the microphone. Few people listened to him, I did not sleep, like many, but did not listen. Delight of anticipation took my breath away. It was bright. I looked out the window. Polina slept next to me on the seat.

The traffic is left-sided, and I, out of the habit of a Russian motorist, looked out the road signs on the right and did not find them. The billboards dazzled with English letters and white people. On the road, the situation changed every second, surprises on the road were lurking from all the sides. Calming imperturbability of the driver testified to his high professionalism. On the roads, motorcycles outnumbered the cars. The average speed is 40 km / h.

Colonial architecture of houses, white crosses in courtyards or strange square flower beds with a lonely bush. I found out later, that from these signs at the entrance you can learn about the religion of the owners.

School-going children standing along the roadside in the similiar uniforms, girls with bows inpigtails, as in my childhood. Women in contrasting patterned multi-colored saris and long