Chapter 30. Alone in the Ocean
The new year of 2021 began grimly. The memory of last year's events was not that fresh: they had not even had time to turn into the past. In the mornings, white-red-white flags could still be found somewhere on the streets of the capital and on the ice of water bodies, and arrests were still in full swing. Although arrests are still going on, albeit on a smaller scale. The Internet continued to produce analyses of what had happened. I read and watched it every day, devoting a substantial part of my time to it. What did I want to see? I had an understanding of the situation, I suppose, and it did not depend on other people's opinions. Perhaps I was looking for hope that not everything was over and that something could still happen that would turn the situation around. Various opposition figures were passionately telling me something, hinting at something, promising something... The desire to believe struggled with scepticism, and the latter was winning more and more clearly. It became clear that at least this attempt to change the fate of the country had failed. This was a reality that had to be accepted. Now there must be another attempt. But what would it be?.. And when will there be an opportunity for it?.. So far, there was no sign of a breakthrough. The suffocating vise was getting tighter and tighter.
In such a situation, there was only one thing to do: keep working. To keep doing the job. It was the work that the world needed, and it had to go on, no matter what.
That's the approach of the Teaching. It is good to be able to fix something for the better at a particular time and place. It must be done, absolutely. But it is necessary to work to change for the better the situation on a global, world scale. In order for everything to be good locally, it is necessary to make everything good in general. This is not a utopia, not a naive dream. The world cannot — and does not need to — be perfect, but it can be made better and better. Gradually. For this you need to have a way, a sincere desire, purposefulness, willpower, endless patience and readiness for the fact that everything will happen very slowly. The way, in the broadest sense of the word, for me is Teaching. And the rest... The rest is human qualities. Everything is in our hands. So we have to work. On ourselves and on the world. Even in the hard times. Especially in the hard times. If you feel bad, work to make everyone else feel good. The world needs it, and you need it. Override your pain with concern for the common good. It will give strength and light even in the darkest times.
It is necessary to continue to be engaged in the Teaching, to bring it to people, to prepare the ground for future global changes. We are still few in number and our capabilities are small. So what of it? It is like a small laboratory, where we are working on something that in the future will turn the scientific picture of the world upside down and change the life of mankind. Let's do what we can now so we can do more later. When something bad happens, it is not a discouraging, breaking, demotivating factor, but on the contrary — an additional motivation. It shows us even more clearly how important and necessary what we are doing is. It is a call to action. It is another source of strength.
...One joyful and, I believe, momentous event for the Teaching dates back to the early spring of that year. We have our first tradition. It is connected with the Foundation Day of the Teaching, a holiday we celebrate on the 1st of March. Although it's really hard to say that we celebrate it somehow. It is difficult to celebrate holidays together, being far away from each other. And so Amradkhari, on her own initiative, decided to burn the image of the Dragon on the 1st of March. I will not explain its symbolism in detail; I will only say that it represents the forces that hinder knowledge and goodness in the Universe. You can draw approximate analogies for yourself. Amradkhari decided to make a small figure of him out of improvised materials and put it on fire — as a sign that the people of the Teaching oppose the Dragon, fight against his influence, reject and defeat him. She held the ceremony in her garden, and invited everyone to participate via video link. This was something new and different from the usual group talks. It was the first time we — Amradkhari, her ten-year-old daughter and, as I recall, four others — had participated in a common event. Words befitting the occasion were spoken, and when the Dragon was finished, a "Hurrah!" was heard. And so the tradition was born. Since then, four Dragons have been burned. There are several people who attend each ceremony on Zoom. I would love to see a crowd of people gather for it one day, not via video link, but in person.
As for Dasha, Amradkhari's daughter, she was the first child to grow up in the atmosphere of the principles of the Teaching. By the time she was ten years old, she had some idea of it and understood what was going on. Amradkhari explained various points of the Teaching to her and introduced her to the pandect. Later Dasha and I started talking on Skype from time to time. Now she is thirteen and she tries to follow the Teaching as much as possible.
Education is the most important element of human life. It includes perceptions of the world and the moral principles derived from them, understanding of life realities, the basis of interaction with other people, goals and methods of achieving them, and much more.
The world is full of evil, misery and suffering. It is often a very uncomfortable place. People make it that way. Therefore, in order to change the world for the better, it is necessary to change people for the better. As people will be, so will be the world they live in. And people are largely what their upbringing makes them. In many ways, but not 100%, because there are other factors. However, the importance of upbringing cannot be overestimated. And one of the tasks of the Teaching is to help educate people. Those who will make the world a better place. This is not an easy task. It will be solved gradually, along with the development of the Teaching itself.
So, the year 2021 as a whole did not begin for us cheerfully, and passed, for the most part, in the same way. It was like a band of some viscous and suffocating fog in which you seem to be moving in the right direction, but at the same time you seem to be standing still.
The affairs of the Teaching were so-so. New people didn't stay long. By then I had started to work on a popularised book about the Teaching, and on a fourth book of the pandect (there were six planned). Together with Hantur we were working on the concept of a new website. Together with Endekatos Hoplites we began to create what we called the Lexicon, a detailed dictionary of the Teaching. Together with Tashfara we worked on the idea of writing a textbook on the Teaching. Amradkhari began to translate the published book into English on her own. Amsan improved an application he had created to convert the dates of the Teaching calendar into the regular calendar and vice versa. There were other plans and projects, but our small and not very united team did not have enough opportunities to implement them. It was just hard. The atmosphere and feelings were as if we had been battered by a strong storm, and on the horizon we could already see signs of the next one approaching.
By the end of the year, the new storm was indeed clearly visible, taking the form of Russian troops concentrating near Ukraine's borders. Everyone from political analysts to mates over a beer discussed it. There were different opinions about what would happen next, but no one, including Western politicians, seemed to have much faith in the coming invasion. Such a prospect just didn't fit in their heads.
It did fit in mine. I thought Putin was insane. I remembered him, and not only his imperial-militarist statements. I remembered the attack on Georgia. I remembered the annexation of Crimea. And I saw that the West was hesitant, prone to appeasement, afraid to show firmness, and hoping once again to pacify yet another aggressor. Sadly, history teaches too few people anything.
I foresaw the war, and every day I woke up, opened the news and, feeling my heart clench, thought, "Maybe it's already started?" But when it did start, it was still sudden. The big headline "War" on the website where I usually read the news seemed to hit me on the head so that it darkened in the eyes. That same day I posted a Ukrainian flag in my VKontakte feed and invited anyone who approves of this war to unsubscribe from my friends. Two people unsubscribed. One of them predictably became A. S., who did it defiantly, leaving the comment "I unsubscribe" under my post. I wonder — now, after so many Russian strikes on Kharkiv, is he still happy about the war?
In the following days I left anti-war posts in my feed, and also published an anti-war poem of my own composition. I also posted links to videos condemning Russia's actions. I posted these videos on my personal YouTube channel. It had been created a few years earlier, but was empty. Now its name was decorated in the colours of the Ukrainian flag, and I recorded and posted several videos. One of them was recorded on the fiftieth day of the war — incidentally, coinciding with my parents' golden wedding anniversary — and was called "50 Worst Days". I wasn't exaggerating. Those were indeed the worst days of my life. Even worse than those times in my youth when I was tormented by fears. The war was burning me from the inside out, I was physically ill, I could hardly sleep. The whole world had gone through a painful breakdown — and it was felt clearly and acutely.
The rift in society and in families that emerged in 2014 became even wider and deeper. In our family, too. My father believed all the propaganda broadcast by Russian TV channels and welcomed the invasion. When he was convinced that I was on the side of Ukraine and heard how badly I spoke about Putin, he started calling me a fascist and a traitor to the people. I asked — what people? It turned out to be the Russian people.
A few days after the outbreak of war, Endekatos Hoplites left the Teaching. His departure came as a surprise and a great sadness to me. He was one of the most deeply knowledgeable, committed and active followers of the Teaching — and suddenly... Was there a connection here with the war and my anti-war statements? Who knows... He reported his fears that the Teaching might someday go down the wrong path — and this was a very strange explanation for leaving. A second, equally strange explanation was voiced: he had become interested in mystical Christianity. A man who had been a staunch atheist all their life and rejected any form of mysticism... How to understand such a sudden turn? Before that, he had been very long and seriously ill with covid. Maybe the disease somehow affected his psyche?.. I could only guess.
When he left, he said that he allowed us to use everything that he had done for the Teaching — readings of texts and articles, elaborations on the Lexicon, etc. — and gave us the password to the YouTube-channel of the Teaching. However, there was no one to take over the channel. Therefore, it has not been updated since then.
There are seven of us left. Three in Belarus, three in Russia, and one in Germany. The four were unanimous in their condemnation of Russia's actions. The three Russian comrades hesitated. On the one hand, they understood what was happening. On the other hand, they found it hard to believe that their homeland was wrong. That it, with its flourishing cult of victory over Hitler's Germany, was now likened to the latter. It took them a while to better understand what was happening. But, to their credit, they managed to do so.
The burning of the Dragon on 1 March 2022 was sad and silent. Dasha, who was present at it, commented, "It like being at a funeral."
A while later, Amsan approached me for advice. He wanted to volunteer to go to the front to defend Ukraine. I supported his intention. Leaving one's homeland, relatives, friends, favourite job, apartement, music lessons and everything else to fight for another country under attack was the act of a true man of the Teaching. I wish I could go with him! But I couldn't. Physically I couldn't. Amsan left Belarus not without difficulty, travelled through Europe to Ukraine, and joined the Ukrainian army.
Meanwhile Amradkhari also decided to leave, but to Israel, and started preparing the necessary documents. The paperwork took many months, but eventually she was able to move there and obtain a second citizenship.
I continued to work as much as I could, — although the war had knocked us all pretty hard, and I was no exception. Besides, I started having problems with my eyes.
For some unknown reason, my eyelids became inflamed and sore. This went on month after month, and no home remedies helped. We called a doctor, a local therapist. He prescribed some drops, which turned out to be useless, and promised to make a house call to an ophthalmologist. Weeks passed — no one came. We nudged the doctor again. He again promised to help. More time passed. Finally, he said that the ophthalmologist refused to come and advised us to somehow arrange it ourselves. It was a clear implication that we should pay a bribe. But we were not going to do that. The subject was closed for the time being. My eyes continued to swell.
In early 2023, I got sick. I guessed it was covid, although by that time such a diagnosis was practically banned in Belarus, and doctors wrote anything else in medical cards. I recovered, but the disease had a complication with my eyes. One day I woke up and found myself looking through a fog. Reading and writing became very difficult.
I was prescribed my first glasses at the age of eight, as I had already ruined my eyesight by reading all the time. I did not wear them. Later, after finishing school, I wore them only when I watched TV. For the last decade and a half I wore them almost all the time. And I clearly realised that one of the worst things that could happen to me was losing my eyesight. I read a lot and write a lot; if I lose my sight, I won't be able to work. It would be a huge problem, if not the end of everything, and it would be completely unclear what to do. Everything will come to a halt..
Now the worst fears have almost become a reality. I haven't lost my sight completely, but work has become incredibly difficult. Reading and writing with a screen magnifier and strong text enlargement turned out to be pure torture.
Hantur had long ago suggested that I consider hiring a secretary of sorts, someone who would spend several hours a day typing on a keyboard at my dictation. It might actually help considerably. But I don't know how to work that way, and I don't like anyone to observe the workflow. Although it could be adapted. But the services of such an assistant would have been expensive. I couldn't afford to pay for it, even with Hantur's help.
We tried to contact the doctors again. It was necessary to somehow check the eyes and, possibly, get new glasses. The district therapist again did not help. We called the polyclinic, demanding an ophthalmologist. My father went there and left a request. We were strung along for some time with promises to do something. Then they said that the ophthalmologist doesn't come to the house. And even if he did, he doesn't check the eyes at home. And it is forbidden to take lenses for glasses fitting out of the territory of the polyclinic. Finally they said that they had no ophthalmologist at all, and it was useless to demand anything.
I had to resort to extreme measures. I sent a complaint to the Ministry of Health. A few days later I started receiving calls from the polyclinic, the deputy head and the head herself. An ophthalmologist came to the house. Then a second one. They checked my eyes. They brought lenses to pick up glasses. It turned out that everything is available, and everything can be done. But the results were disappointing. On the crystalline lens of both eyes there was a clouding — the beginning of cataract. The selection of glasses did not give anything. I was told that the situation would now worsen and only surgery would help. However, I realised that in my position it was not possible to go for an operation. The doctors prescribed eye drops, — vitamins and others, which, supposedly, should have slowed down the development of cataracts a little, — and ointment for inflammation, which did not eliminate it completely. That was the end of the treatment. I was left with a haze in front of my eyes and thoughts of the prospect of blindness.
It felt like my life had gone into a deep spiral from which I was unlikely to recover. Events seemed to line up in a chain of grim landmarks leading to the edge of the abyss.
...In the spring of 2023, Aunt Ekaterina, Mum's sister, died. Mum attended the funeral, leaving the flat for the first time in years. There were five of them, brothers and sisters; now she was alone.
At the end of May, Mum began to feel unwell, with severe pains in the bottom of her sternum. The doctor called in determined neurosis, said that everything would pass, and prescribed pills. They didn't help much. Mum was lying down almost all the time, she couldn't take care of me anymore, and my father had to do it. He helped her with me lately, but not much. Only in what she didn't have the physical strength for. So it was unusual and very difficult for him. Mum was getting weaker and weaker, she stopped eating. Within a few days, the doctor visited her once and the ambulance twice. The third time, when it became difficult for her to breathe, she was taken to hospital.
My father and I were left in a situation we had never been in before. My mum always looked after me, but she did everything for him too. He never wanted to do anything. He didn't know where anything was — he couldn't even find a screwdriver or any of his things without her prompting. From household chores he could sweep the floor and help vacuum. From cookery he could butter bread, make scrambled eggs and make tea. He could go to the shops. That's pretty much it. He and I were never alone together for more than a few hours. But now Mum's in hospital, we're on our own, and there's no telling how long it'll last.
As my mum was getting worse and worse, over the last couple of years I had periodically talked about hiring a carer to come and help with me and the household chores. My parents were totally against it, they wouldn't even listen. How is it that a stranger will sit at our house, embarrassing us with his presence, and even pay money to him? No way! I kept coming back to the subject, gently insisted, explained that it was becoming increasingly difficult for us, and sooner or later it would have to be done. The last such conversation with my mother took place shortly before her illness. That time she no longer refused so categorically. Now I suggested it again, to my father. We needed a carer to help us until Mum came back. After all, there was no one else to rely on. He agreed with a heavy heart. We contacted the local government organisation that deals with such issues, but they said they couldn't help and suggested that we look for and hire a carer ourselves. In the end, Hantur and I found her on one of the classified adverts websites.
In the meantime, the hospital said that Mum seemed to have blood poisoning and the chances of survival were 50/50. But the diagnosis isn't definitive. It's the weekend, so they won't examine her, and she'll stay in intensive care, on a drip — and on Monday they'll gather a consilium, and then they'll decide what to do.
It was terrifying. I had long realised that my mother's health was steadily deteriorating, she was already in her seventies — just like my father, who was a year younger — and one day the irreparable would happen. How my father and I would survive then, I had no idea. Most likely, no way. He wouldn't be able to cope with me, nor would he be able to cope with all the other worries. I was sure that if something happened to her, it would be the end for us. We'd hardly outlive her by more than a couple of months. What was there left to do at that prospect? The same thing: work. Engage in the Teaching, hoping that I would be able to achieve something soon and that the situation would change before anything happened. That I could somehow secure my future, and finally relieve my parents of the impossible burden I was. It was a race against time. There were no other options. Either I could turn the tide on my own, or... Or we're all dead. At some point, our family would simply cease to exist. I've felt that sword of Damocles over our heads for years.
And now it's happened. The unhurried consilium had no time to gather. When my father once again called the hospital to inquire about Mum's condition, he was informed that she had died.
My father cried and shouted: " How to live on?.. How to live?.." I was silent. It was dark in front of my eyes. I couldn't answer him. Because I had no idea how to live now. It was not even a blow, but an explosion that destroyed the reality in which we existed. The loss of a loved one, who had always been the pillar of my life and existence without whom was unthinkable, seemed to tear out a huge part of my soul.
The following days were like a nightmare. Funeral and wake. Several relatives came. Some of them I hadn't seen in decades. I couldn't write anything, and conversations with my disciples were difficult. At times, especially at night, I began to suffocate, and it was difficult to overcome these attacks. A carer began to come three times a week, for four hours. My father learnt to look after me himself. He was under incredible tension and constant stress, often crying, repeating "How to live?" and "Nobody needs us."
On the latter, I was willing to agree with him. Yes, I had disciples. But all of them, except Hantur, were far away, and all of them had their own problems, health, family and others. What could they do?.. As for the relatives, at the wake, they said something like, "If you need anything, please contact us, we'll help you." My father replied that some monetary support would be helpful, at least for the first time. Indeed, the carer's services were not cheap: her monthly fee was more than my pension and totalled almost half of our budget. So, on top of everything else, we were also facing a financial crisis. But when the relatives heard about it, they said that they had no money for us and that we should turn to the state for help with a carer and other things. Since then they have disappeared again. Aunt Svetlana came a couple of times to cook for us, and then started to limit herself to rare phone calls. Others didn't even call to ask how we were doing.
There was only one exception: my cousin Natalia, the daughter of my late uncle Eugene. We hadn't spoken to each other for thirty years — but now she started coming several times a week, on days when there was no carer. She cooked our meals, sat with me when my father went to the shop or somewhere else, could stay overnight so that we weren't alone, and helped with various things. It was unexpected. And it changed a lot of things for us. It turned out that not everybody didn't care. Somebody needs us after all. It was a light in the darkness. My father breathed freer, his despair began to recede. I, on the other hand, was surprised. I did not expect such a turn. I didn't expect it at all. It was hard to believe it was happening. And it was hard to believe it would last long.
In the meantime, my disciples themselves offered financial help and began to send money to pay for the carer. It was the first time in the existence of the Teaching that I had to accept any funds from them. I will not describe my feelings about it in detail. I will just say that they were horrible. It was something I always tried to avoid. My friend V.B. also helped. He had always offered monetary support before, but I had always refused. Now I had to accept.
...It's been a month since Mum died. We were beginning to adjust to our new life. My choking attacks had almost stopped. I was back to working more actively, writing again. Father stopped crying every day. Natalia's care and the help of my comrades helped him — and me — to see the situation a little more optimistically. In addition, it turned out that he was able to learn a lot, and could more or less manage me on his own — something that had seemed absolutely unbelievable before. On the one hand, that was good news. On the other hand, I couldn't help but think that if he'd been willing to help before and had done half of what he was doing now, it would have been easier for Mum, and things might have turned out differently.
For the first three weeks my father was depressed and had no energy for conflict. But then he began to come round little by little. Among other things, he began to grumble at me more and more often, to show his displeasure that I called him once more, said the wrong thing, did not shut up when he asked me to, and so on. When he started shouting at me and threatening to turn me in, I realised: he had recovered. And now a new circle of hell begins for me.
As, indeed, for him. The stress was no longer acute, but it was still pressing. My father at times snapped into a real hysteria, shouting that it was impossible to live like this, and that he would go mad. He was going to die, and he had given himself until autumn, which was a couple of months at most. He had no prospects for the future.
Nor did I, for that matter. I kept myself in control, tried not to show my worries, and did not even cry, as my father had reproached me with. The Teaching helped me. I knew that my mother had not really died, had not disappeared, but was in the world of energy. It was as if she had gone somewhere where there was no means of communication and no transport to return. Realising this softened the pain, turning an irrevocable loss into a long separation. It's a different matter altogether. Separation from someone so near and dear is also suffering. But without it, I don't know if my heart would have withstood it or not. But what's next? My life was on the edge of a precipice after all, but not plunged into it as I had expected, but hovered above it in a surprising way.
There were three things that made it not collapse all at once. Firstly, the fact that my father could do more than he seemed to. Secondly, the unexpected involvement of Natalia, who by her mere presence was already changing our reality for the better, making it brighter and more reassuring. Thirdly, the monetary help from my comrades, which I had previously hoped I would never have to accept. All this kept my life above the abyss. But the hair on which it hung was very thin.
It was all about my father. He is an almost seventy-five year old man, unaccustomed to such responsibility and such stress, nervous, prone to hysteria. Physically still quite strong, but already having problems with kidneys, partly with joints, and not only. How long will he be able to withstand the strain, physically and mentally? Probably not for very long. Maybe he can last a couple or three more years, working relentlessly. But it could be over tomorrow. Something in his body just can't take the strain — and it's over. Then no amount of carers, cousins or money could help. There won't be a second miracle in a row. If something happens to my father and he just can't come to me, and I'm not at the computer and can't call for help, someone might not come until 24 hours or more later, and I'll die of painful shock. At best, I'll end up in a boarding house, because no one will take care of me. And it is exactly the same death sentence, because even with good care — which is unlikely in our institutions — I will not have the opportunity to engage the Teaching. And I won't be able to live my life just lying there staring at the ceiling. Or even the TV.
I'm over the precipice, and I could fall into it at any moment. A feeling I wouldn't wish anyone to experience. I wasn't afraid of death as such — I'd had enough of it in my youth. However, there was still so much to do... There was still a lot of work to be done on the Teaching. And there were no people who could take it all on themselves. The prospect of not having time to put him on his feet and the uncertainty of his future fate was worse than death, and much scarier for me.
Where is the way out? It's the same place it's always been. I must work. Only the Teaching, having developed and achieved tangible successes, will be able to turn the situation around, keep me and myself afloat, and give prospects for the future. Only in this way will I be able to survive myself and relieve my father of the burden that threatens to crush him. All the help we get is not to save us from death, but to prolong the agony. A way to hold on for a while longer. A reprieve in which to do something. That's why I have to do. One must hurry.
I made these points to the disciples. I explained that monetary aid, in fact, makes little difference. What matters is the work of promoting the Teaching. Only this would give me a real chance of survival and an opportunity to continue working. If we achieve something in the next couple of years, our work will continue normally. If we do not achieve something, it may collapse, and it is not known who and how it will be raised from the ruins. We need to push on, accelerate. Time is running out.
And then everything came to a complete halt. My disciples simultaneously, as if on cue, plunged headlong into their worries and problems. Not imaginary ones, but real ones. I knew this because I was aware of their concerns. The common work not only did not speed up, not only new projects did not appear, but even the previous ones (except for the journal, for which I was the only one writing) stopped moving forward. Everyone was no longer available. The money for the carer continued to come in — but that was all. Everything else stood still, as if in a daze.
I didn't expect too much, some sudden leap forward and advancement at a record pace — but I didn't expect this turnaround either. It was as if the circumstances themselves had once again turned against me.
There was a feeling of loneliness, emptiness, and... a sense of condemnation. Probably, something similar is felt by a person who, after a shipwreck, is left alone in the middle of an endless and desolate ocean. He is still alive, clinging to a fragment of wood, but his cries for help go unanswered, and it is clear that there is no hope for rescue. For a while, he still struggles, but then his numb hands slip from the last support, and everything comes to an end.
I considered the situation for a while. I couldn't see what could be done here. In fact, I had already got more than I could have hoped for. I got an unexpected reprieve. We'll see how long it lasts. But I got it. I didn't get it to live, I got it to work. So I'll work. I'll have time to do something else.
And beyond that... Beyond that, I should probably leave a story about my life. It's time to write my autobiography. Otherwise a lot of things will disappear without being told to anyone, or misremembered by those to whom it was told, or forgotten by them. I did not intend to write it myself, assuming to leave it to those who would like to do it, — but I guess I will have to. So that what could be saved would not be lost. It'll come in handy. I hope there's still time, and I'll make it.
It was hard to make up my mind, but I didn't hesitate for long. I said to myself, "Yes" — and it was like stepping into a new world.
...Though the same war was raging in it as in the old world. It was the late summer of 2023.
Last updated
