Abu. To Be Who You Are

Comicality began with the naming of the Basilica of Bom Jesus and ended with Saint Ignatius of Loyola, a holy libertine, to whom the phrase “the end justifies the means” belongs. It is enough anecdotal. It seems that this is the Russian 101st-kilometer, where all the “undesirable elements” were exiled, or Portuguese Australia, where the condemned Englishmen served their sentence. However, the city of Tula is famous not only for samovars, gingerbread, gunsmiths and harmonics. Here, 101st km from Moscow, Peter the Great sent the famous Lefty, “who nailed the flea”. I’m used to it. But the analogies amused me.

Goans give away the satanically suspended upside down five-pointed stars, for the Bethlehem star, indicating the birthplace of Jesus. Christmas installations on dirty dusty roads and in the doorways don’t go well with the widespread signs of Swastika and Om. It reminds the Catholics that there is no need to wait for the judgment day, it takes place every day.

Darwin discovered that the plant and animal world does not exist by themselves but adapt to each other. St. Francis Xavier, and then the Inquisition converted the heathens into Christianity, not hesitating in the means as long as the goal was justified. Likewise, the Goans, opportunists, took the European names for themselves and decided that this was enough for a demonstrative change of faith in order to get their privileges from the colonialists.

Before the arrival of righteous Catholics, local residents of Goa managed to live peacefully under the Islamic Sultanate of Yusuf Adil Shah. Local residents since 1510 migrated, others died, while others descended from barren money trees, like the Darwinian dryopithecines, and adapted to life on earth under the names of others. It is not surprising that now Muslims, in particular, have fun at the expense of modern local Catholics.

Catholic Goans funnily, they look like colonial atavists. After all, in Goa, no one speaks and more so does not think in Portuguese. And the native language is considered the one in which you can think. By the way, the services in the temples are held according to the schedule: either in Konkani, local Goan language, or in Marathi, the language of the state of Maharashtra, or in Kannada, the language of the neighboring state of Karnataka, and even in English.

In fact, the first visit to Goa, apart from delight, surprises and a lot ofimpressions, brought me the first scars on the body. One of our Indian acquaintances, speaking fluently in Russian, volunteered to show us the northern beaches of Goa. We were delighted and agreed.

In the darkness, the full moon was shining brightly diluting the darkness so that one could feel like a cat, since visibility remained good for the human eye. We bewitchingly looked at the moon. Suddenly something like a black velvet curtain blocked the moonlight along with the moon itself. Eclipse. It was a bad sign, so I felt. Polia did not attach much importance to this. But I became anxious for some reason. The moon had nowhere failed to influence me.

Suddenly the Russian-speaking Indian returned, but not alone. Explaining to us that we will go on two motorcycles, so he had invited a friend. Polia liked the friend – big-eyed, with long thick black eyelashes. And she jumped decisively on the seat behind him: “Excellent! Let’s Go! A new adventure! The northern beaches of Goa in the night”.

I agreed in silence. Where? Who cares! This was an opportunity to see something new. On the way we came across a Hindu temple, where the service was going on. This I could not miss: “Stop-stop. Give me some time. I want to see this pooja”.

For the first time, I actually saw the Hindu temple from inside. There were people sitting on the floor, a pleasant aroma from the visible smoke swirled from the entrance doors into the night, the brahmin was at the center, the only person facing the entrance. I sat down next to everyone on the floor. I caught the sounds of pleasant meditative and at the same rhythmic music and started swinging alone everyone to its beat. I wanted to mew, like a valerian cat, inhaling the aromas of incense. I did not understand a single word, just got some information from outside. Well, sound waves and aromas do not need a sense or translation. I was always very perceptive to such rhythmic streams of sounds.

For the mystic, the world has two grades: the sacred (sacral) space and the space of everyday life. The mystic connects these two worlds with some sacred action. He is between these worlds, at the crossroads of two worlds. I got there where I had longed to be.

But then Polia appeared in the doorway, started to grimace and waving her hands at the exit. I had to obey again.

It happened on the way back, somewhere in Anjuna. Already considerably high on the Old Monk rum, I insisted on driving the motorcycle. As a result, my speed did not go well with the turn and I left imprints of half of my face and part of the right side of the body on the lateritic sidewall. My passenger, the Russian-speaking Indian, who was sitting behind me, jumped in time, unhurt. My friend Polina with the second guy stopped dumbstruck. While I was lying unconscious, my co-passenger panicked and went hysterical with flabbergasted eyes and waving his hands like a propeller: “Everything is over. We need to scoot, urgently! We have to get out of the scene, otherwise we will be in a lot of trouble, problems with the police. I can lose my job and respect. Let’s just sit on the bike and get out of here! Someone will soon notice her, identify her and deal with her. We cannot stay here, they will drag us to the police. This is a huuge problem!”

Polina, standing in a silent stupor, at this time was having other thoughts. How will she tell my mother and son about what happened, how will she take my coffin, or will I be cremated according to Indian tradition? And only the second friend turned out to be sane and adequate. He came up to me and began to feel my pulse. And when I opened my eyes and even stirred a little, then Polya calmed down and exhaled: “We take her with us, – she decisively gave orders to her friend. – We are going straight to the hotel”. The driver and Polina’s hands encircled me so that I would not fall along the road like a roly-poly. My co-passenger was still a bit upset about the scratches on the motorcycle, shaking his head, clucking, lamenting, and after calculating how much repairs would cost him, he followed us.

I was lucky. I just lost a little blood. Shattered, but not broken, I laughed at myself and my recklessness. Well, for the first time in my life I had sat on the pillion seat of a motorcycle, without a helmet, drunk, in the night, after a two-minute briefing, where the gas was and where the brakes were. But I drove this iron horse through speed breakers, pits and potholes, as if all my whole life I was not driving electric cars in the park or even my cars with right-hand drive, but like a real biker-girl racer. This led to the tragedy, when I did not want to be overtaken and accelerated without knowing the road, but the sharp turn left no choice: either directly into the ditch with a hot stream and snakes, or risk completing the maneuver. I chose the second one. And, of course, there was no time to choose. Obviously, I could not manage the controls and did not even slow down.

Fools should be taught. I got off easily. But even two weeks had not passed under the sun, I was already living a nocturnal life. The proximity of the hotel from the famous and most popular street of northern Goa – Titos lane – made things easy for me. It’s like the Arbat street in Moscow. At every step, there are hangouts, cafes, bars, restaurants, pubs, clubs. The street ends with an exit to the sandy beach of Baga with its shakes and music.

All day long, sitting alone in a hotel room by the windowsill, gazing at the beauty of nature through the window, in entangled thoughts, with fresh wounds, I remembered my childhood on the windowsill of the hospital in anticipation of my mother. Only now everything was fine with me. Everything was put to good use. It was a forced retreat this time for me, vipassana, meditation period. I do not know what else to compare it with, but I silently thanked fate for its outcome. This experience gave me the opportunity to reflect on my whole life. Circumstances seemed to be striving for this only. The days were followed by clear, fragrant nights with looney smile of the Cheshire Cat smiling at me.

By the end of our three-week vacation I already knew not only Titos lane, but also the Dudhsagar waterfall, Anjuna Flea market, two Saturday Night markets, Arambol, Morjim, Mandrem, Vagator, boat station at Sinkerim, Fort Aguada and much more. The main conclusion was – I fell in love and appreciated my life, because it is love of life that effectively helps me moving forward. Now I was convinced of the correctness of my choice and I knew exactly what I wanted and what I deserved.

In India, at last, I learned to trust myself and my own feelings, to live my own life!

For years, I have been waiting for my life to change, but now I know that it was life that was waiting for me to change myself. If you think that for happiness you need another person, you are mistaken. For happiness you yourself are enough. Another person is needed so that you can share your own happiness with.

Never and nowhere else in my life I have felt more at home than in Goa. Many people do not even have a homeland. This may sound strange, but it’s a fact. Someone may object, they say, I was born in Russia or in Ukraine, which means that my homeland is Ukraine or Russia. But this is just an illusion, my dear readers. The fact that you were born in a certain country or you have

the corresponding citizenship, as well as a passport, does not mean that you have a homeland.

“The homeland is a specific place. And this place must be on Earth. That’s all” V. Sinelnikov.

Now I understand that God saved me for something, gave lessons and showed that we must learn to read signs. I began to understand the degree of danger from which I was saved. It could have been worse. You need to listen to your intuition and not be led by circumstances, to think about yourself and not deviate from your goals. In Russia it would have taken another 20 years, but in India I was completely transformed within 20 days. Every person creates affliction for himself. My former self flowed out of me, along with the blood and scabs of healing wounds, leaving only scars on my skin as a reminder. Inside there was a creative process of growth, filling each and every level inside me. The change of darkness and light ceased to matter.

The second time I came alone. Now I was more circumspect. I should not have taken the risk. I rented a charming little house and lived for my own pleasure. “To suffer is a lot easier than change. In order to become happy, one needs to have courage” Bert Hellinger. I realized: nothing will happen until one experience is replaced by another. Until new impressions are gathered, their critical mass will not push everything else out of memory. For me, India definitely has healing properties. To each his own. I managed to find in myself the much needed potential, perhaps at the very last moment.

By the time of my second visit, I was no longer afraid of an exotic uncertain life, because I knew that no matter what happened, it would only make me stronger and more confident. Self-study of English was not easy, there was no one nearby who could help, even though I was in the language environment that I needed. But I was not going to part with my dreams just because there are some difficulties. I was striving to fulfill my dreams and not forget about them.

I was returning home via a wild beach in that part of Baga, where a river crosses it, when a friend called me. I took the mobile phone out of my pocket and focused on the conversation when a bunch of Indian kids shouted to me: “Snek! Snek!” (which means in Russian “snow” – editorial). I paid no particular attention to them and continued the conversation, going to the stairs with columns to the second floor of the building.

“Snek! Snek!” – children were screaming with startled eyes even louder and no longer alone, but with an adult woman running out onto the balcony “Strange children, – I thought, – where did they see the snow?” Perhaps it would be there in a February Russia, and not a piece of ice from the refrigerator. Or they have seen animation “Ice Age” enough. But the woman already were hanging from the balcony, leaning forward pointing at my feet: “Snek!” The behavior of an adult woman was startling. And I looked down at my feet. A large snake was wriggling before me. One more step, and I would have stepped exactly on it.

My reaction was lightning fast, although I was disoriented in the direction, but I jumped so far that I could be envied by an Olympian long-jumper. And the shrill shriek that I let out was probably heard all over the Western Ghats. My veins around my neck were swollen, but I was out of danger. Thank you, dear children and kind woman, for your concern. It turned out that the word they were shouting to me all this time was not “snek (i.e snow)”, but “snake”. Peculiarities of studying English not only in the language environment, but also in tropical Goa are taught quickly. From that day I stopped mixing-up the pronunciation of “beer with a bear” and “bag with a back.”

Being on the beach, among the palm trees, under the sun, I lay and looked up at the sky. In general, I was absolutely happy, no matter what. I was unfailingly moved forward by my dreams. Thoughts about moving became more and more real and clear. I counted my savings.

In the end, I was not the bewildered heroin e of “Eat, pray, love”. Because I had already two marriages behind me and a son, I just wanted to have the right to live carefree, without any plan and calculation, without any constant thought about how to find stability.

I decided that the most important thing is to try as much as possible to do what you like. And try everything that I once wanted. Where I will do this, it was decided. Goa, India. Probably, if I had not known myself so well before, I would not have achieved anything in life.

And I had nothing to complain about, to cry, nothing to regret. And there were no thoughts that it could pass very soon, like everything else passes. There was no thought that if you want to make God laugh, tell him about your plans. I decided to go through everything, absolutely everything that mother India would offer me.

Only after my arrival in India I did suddenly understand what was happening to me. The long-awaited period of freedom was here for me. I want to be a child. To study the world again. I want to get that experience that was lacking, because I was born an adult. Because it was always necessary to be reasonable, hard-working, rational, to rely only on yourself. Because at that time, the hungry and terrible time of the beginning of the 90’s in Russia, I gave myself the word that till my son becomes mature I will live for him, forgetting about myself, I took this responsibility. And in my forty years I finally got my right to bright clothes and irresponsible behavior. Refreshing gulps of freedom greedily fed my imagination. I can be myself. Without obligations, work, children and other complexes and attachments.

I, myself, had always been my own enemy and struggled all my life with myself. And now the struggle with self was over, it has transformed into love. You cannot argue with your needs and desires. And if for some reason my thorny path was needed, it was so that all my desires now are accepted as the only correct ones. All this became clear from my first visit to Goa. The state that gave me my female rebellion, showed me firmly: denial and vanity are over. All the doors are open, just push, do not look for the key.

The plan of what I want to do next was getting ripe in my head, and this plan was much more interesting than any film sets and the stage of theaters. I thought of everything because Iremembered all the signs that life showed me. And I accepted myself as I am. I will go to any extent, if I must.

Goa seemed a paradise to me, a place of immortality, but I was ready to die in it even when the hour of deliverance from the tyranny of the body came. The feeling of deficiency had vanished. And I enjoyed my favorite summer, the sun, to the hilt.

My sweet memories of childhood here were not only about the summer holidays in Kaliningrad, but also of the earlier creche days: when at a quiet hour I was lying on a cot in my pajamas under a blanket among the children peacefully sleeping and snuffling, and I looked at the clouds. Everyone was asleep, and I, with open eyes, quietly played with my imagination. These animated images from the clouds, changing and reincarnating into evil, and then again in good characters… And I was not afraid of either, realizing that the crumbling picture of one plot is the beginning of the next one. And I liked their unpredictability, innumerable variations and their speed. The happiest times and events in my life came back to me from my childhood dreams, I again found it interesting to live. I returned to my happy, long lost and almost forgotten self.

Here I wanted to whirl and whirl, drowning in the new emotions with which the Goan land is so generous, over this warm, divine coastal sand, surrounded by aroma of spices. The game of life continued. The interest of the explorer of the world around and the world inside himself was set off and turned into a plot without a genre. Whirling. So, I allowed myself to have everything I want. Never say “never”.

All happened long ago, all will happen again. Only recognition of the moment is sweet.

4 – ABU – THE FIRST MEETING

– Impossible. -Possible, if you believe in that. Alice in Wonderland

There’s no any sense to waste all your life for only the one path, especially if this path has no heart. Do this as if it’s just a dream. Act bravely and don’t look for excuses. Before you embark on any path ask the question: Does this path have a heart? If the answer is no, you will know it, and then you must choose another path. Carlos Castaneda

You’re never given a dream without also being given the power to make it true. Richard Bach

The journey from Moscow to Goa took place without incident.

“And, whenyou want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it.” Paulo Coelho.

Life always waits for a right moment to start acting. And I began creating myself consciously.

With full awareness, that it’s impossible to refill a full cup if not to get sorted out the baggage of the old stuff in the form of my past experience, out moded conceptions and the loose ends to tie up, I’ve made a cleaning of my life in all three dimensions: the past, the present and even the future, in which I had already had the loose debris- my hardened view regarding the future. Looking at my own mother, I stopped living as if I had two hundred years more ahead. The reorganization has brought me remarkable force and new energy. I’ve brought to an end each and every open issue to avoid even a hint of the possibility to stop or cancel my plans. I’ve handed out all my winter shoes and clothes to my friends, gave away some of the furniture, utensils, technique and the souvenirs I brought from my trips. I’ve even cleaned my virtual space by deleting all useless files and photos based on the principle that purification releases the energy. I’ve had enough even of the unreasonable stereotype of creative disorder covered by some art tendencies. It’s time to speed up, and a big load means less speed. The old accumulated information has become unnecessary for me now, it has might be atrophied completely the ability to hear the voice of my soul.

Any information tend to accumulate, it goes nowhere out of our subconscious, we have to filter it, otherwise, it inevitably trashes our channels and portals, creating enormous info noise. Because of that, we can easily make a lot of mistakes, and I’ve already had more than enough of them.

I’ve cleaned all the garbage out of my life in the physical, energy and mental layers. Without a deep searching of goals, senses, missions and destiny, or in another case it would take me twenty more years of my life and plenty of energy. So I’ve divorced my unloved husband with no regrets. Surely it hasn’t been without scandals, but with my son’s blessings too. The first time I’ve been married by my mother’s order, and the second one by my son’s request. Now I could live not for my mother, not for my son’s sake, but for my own. Burning my favourite Indian incense I’ve also been burning all the bridges, and I couldn’t help bursting into tears when I’d got a letter from my son in the army.