On the Wings of Hope : Prose

And yet I am again with you – for the hope does not leave me, that having passed through all hearth of deprivations and sufferings, you will one day smile to the former difficulties of your life and sing a praise to the Light.

Ask you, I shall – why have you deformed words of mine with fabrications of your own ? Why have you prevented them to flow to the most undercover corners of human’s soul ?

Ask you, I shall, if you have really experienced every obstacle, given to me by the life of my own. And if not – who gave you the right to judge on behalf of mine ?

Our tasks are difficult, but on the aspiration and belief of everyone we are given. Yet someone is a creature, shivering, and others have been given the right to change this world.

Or do you believe that your mind is truly capable to change it ? But look, what the cunning and meanness of your minds has already done to you.

No need for conjectures of your mind I have – but in souls and hearts of yours I want to see it. And what is heart if not a temple of a soul ?

Or do you truly think that I am not capable of reading through souls of yours ? Perhaps you will deceive me one day, - but how will you deceive the One, standing beside me ?

How can you hide from His all-seeing gaze ? By having put out your eyes only.

How can you stop hearing His voice, given through us ? By closing your ears only.

How can you not feel His kind touches ?  By having destroyed your hears only.

Having a presentiment, I am, how under the sight of mine you will bend the head of yours and the shame, shrouded by fear, will pierce hearts of yours. But is that what I truly desire ?

No need for your fear I have, and even He has no need for it – but your understanding of own crime is necessary. But your desire of change is necessary.

And what is a crime if not your unwillingness to change yourselves ? And what is a result of your life if not your own punishment ?

And what is a true spiritual transformation if not your redemption ? And no more fear will be in the heart of the one, soared to the heavens.

And only then you will help the God help you.

But until you have flown to the skies, remember – all the evils you see around is the crime and the punishment. Yours crime and yours punishment.

28.09.2010

Critic

You are - the one who’s against. Always have been and is planning to remain as such henceforth.

You have been against such an immense number of things that you have ceased to count them a long time ago. For, after all, when the direction of movement itself is clear, separate fragments of the path become not that really important, right?

You have been against politicians since the moment of entering the institute, or maybe even still sitting on a school bench - all of them seemed to you as petty and short-sighted assholes, that you had almost no possibility to tolerate them. For this particular reason you have always so jealously watched a lot of their performances, internally arguing and discussing something with each of them individually and all of them as a whole, no matter in what sort of monologue with them you have been engaged from the screen of your TV. You were a good audience.

If your own memory doesn’t deceive you, you have been against the entire educational system since the moment you’ve been trapped under its millstones - “knowledge”, saved up by mankind, always seemed to you as a heap of inconceivable stuff and totally incoherent fragments of information, more reminding the undigested remains of a mind’s food of yet another popular scientist, who have dared to scribe on a knee next school textbook. School system seemed to you like a monstrous torture and uniform mockery at healthy children’s desires of running, dancing, frolicking and rejoicing their lives. But you needed to get into the institute no matter what - and thus you have obediently been sitting near a school desk and house desktop whole days and nights in succession. You were a good student.

Certainly, you were against the majority of modern sculptors of the lack of taste, that have managed by some inconceivable ways and having trampled on all laws of human conscience to climb by heads of others on this self-made Olympus, having confused it with a swamp due to their short-sightedness. You have considered creations of many of them a trash, totally undeserving anyone’s attention. Probably, for that very reason you have mentioned them so often in conversations with your friends, often are being distressed that art has been almost killed. But what have you done yourself for its revival? You were a good critic.