Chapter 17. The Last Surge

At first everything was limited to correspondence and conversations with individuals. But soon enough it became clear that there were many groups of followers of various teachings in our city. If before we had only seen the main, largest confessions, and of the others — only the Old Believers, Pentecostals and Adventists, now a whole kaleidoscope of spiritual movements opened to our eyes. You get to know a person and he belongs to some community. Someone put you in touch with an acquaintance, and he belongs to another current. Or they tell you that there is such an interesting community, and you can visit it and chat. Or something else. It's like a tangled ball of thread from which you start pulling out one thread and it pulls the others.

So, we found Krishnaites we'd only seen on TV before. Followers of the Roerichs, whose literature we had read, but had never met. There were even two communities of them in Homieĺ, and they were feuding with each other. We never found out what they did not share. Then there were the Bahá'ís, about whom we had heard only by ear and knew practically nothing at that time. They offered us their help in learning Esperanto, completely free of charge. We did not take advantage of their kind offer. Although Esperanto seriously attracted my attention at that time, as did the subject of artificial languages in general. We met many other people. For example, with the followers of Omraam Mikhael Aivanhov, whom we had never heard of before. And other fraternities, communities, groups, from Jehovah's Witnesses to Reiki. And among our neighbours, we found a follower of Porfiry Ivanov. They too had their own little community, swimming together in the nearby quarry at any time of the year and in any weather.

The neighbour tried to encourage my mother and me to join the practice, assuring me — as one would expect — that a cold water bath or at least a dousing would definitely put me on my feet. She would say to Mum, "Let's at least pour cold water on his head! You'll see, it'll help!" She refused, of course. But even if she had fallen for it, I wouldn't have let her do anything like that to me. The benefit was that, seizing the opportunity, I borrowed and reread a collection of literature on Ivanov's system from a neighbor, delving deeply into it. It was indeed a lucky chance, because in the absence of the Internet there was nowhere to take such books.

If I received visitors at home, Hantur himself was an active visitor. He was happy to go wherever he was invited, taking every opportunity to make an informative acquaintance or to look at the life of different communities. Sometimes these were not even specific communities, but rather gatherings of lovers of all sorts of near-spirituality and semi-mysticism, with strange activities like standing in a circle holding hands and wishing everyone well, or something like that. Hantur didn't participate, just observed. At one of these meetings he was surprised to see my neighbour, from whom I had once borrowed fiction to read. I knew that the neighbour had separated from his wife and started to drink. He started to make moonshine, which made our common corridor stink, and even invited my father to get drunk together a few times. Then the stench stopped, but every time he opened and closed his door, a Chinese bell began to ring to ward off evil spirits. And that's where Hantur found him. At another meeting he met my former teacher, the same one with whom we were preparing to evacuate the planet.

Speaking of "stand in a circle and wish everyone well". Back then, Hantur had been in contact with a man who had the idea of changing the world through shared meditation. According to his idea, if we gathered together purposeful people — even the exact number was voiced: a hundred and something, I don't remember now — and meditated together on universal happiness, it would come immediately. He was looking for such people, and still could not gather them in sufficient numbers. I don't know if he finally succeeded or not. Judging by the fact that universal happiness hasn't come yet, I guess he didn't.

There was another enthusiast. This one promoted an idea much closer to me personally. He proposed to publish a newspaper devoted to different spiritual movements, the materials for which would be written by people belonging to these movements. Nowadays, similar projects have already been implemented numerous times on various websites and Internet forums. At that time it was quite fresh, at least for our region, where such a thing had never been seen before. Most likely, such a publication could not have appeared, as the authorities would not have given permission for its establishment. Nevertheless, I supported this initiative and promised my participation. But, as it seems, I was the only one who supported it. People from other teachings and communities received it coldly. No one liked the fact that along with their materials there would be published also materials of competing currents, which would promote themselves in this way. In general, the initiative failed.

Among the Christian movements, Hantur especially enjoyed communicating with Jehovah's Witnesses. He liked to ask them tricky questions — for example, demanding an explanation of some biblical contradiction or inconsistency. As a rule, they could not answer convincingly. He would corner his interlocutor, and the latter just pointed to the Bible, "It says so, that's all..."

The closest acquaintance we made was with one of the two groups of Roerichs. They turned out to be very sociable. Immediately after our acquaintance they invited Hantur to tea, and then they began to visit me. Sometimes two or three of them came, sometimes one. More precisely, one woman, since the community consisted of a dozen middle-aged women and a single elderly gentleman.

It was a rare occasion when my acquaintance turned out to be not only interesting to me, but also useful to my family. It turned out that one of the Roerichs women was the head of a local organisation of disabled people, which gave them the opportunity to work, thus having some pennies and adding something to their pensions. The production consisted in sewing working mittens. When she found out that my mother had been doing this at home for a number of years, she offered her a job. They formed a rather peculiar co-operation. Disabled people sewed at best a few dozen pairs of mittens a month; my mother could sew several thousand pairs. She alone fulfilled the norm of practically the whole organisation. Most of her earnings were paid to her in an envelope, and almost all the work done was recorded on other workers, increasing their seniority and pension. In the end, everyone was happy. This is what got our family through the financial crisis I described.

This turn made me turn my thoughts again to the problems of the disabled. This time I was thinking not only about the attitude towards them in the family and society. My observations over the past years were not encouraging, and my conclusions were disappointing. I summed it all up and wrote an article where I touched upon the position of disabled people in society and criticised the attitude of the state towards them. I offered it to one of the local newspapers. I did not demand a fee, but I stipulated that I would not make any changes. I was told that the article would be accepted and published, but I had to replace one word in it: "furtherance". Because there is no such word. I replied that there is such a word, and I will not replace it. They said that in this case they could not publish the article.

It was clear that this was just an excuse. It was not quite convenient for the editorial board to reject an article about the problems of the disabled, and even one written by one of them, but they didn't want to publish criticism of the authorities either. So they took advantage of the fact that I had refused to make edits in advance, and picked on a word. It was almost anecdotal, because there really is such a word, and they couldn't have been unaware of it. I could have changed it and seen how they'd handle it then. But I went on principle and didn't give in. We took the article from the editorial office and gave it to the organisation my mother was sewing for, to read. However, when we asked for it back, it turned out that it had disappeared. Lost.

In the meantime, our contacts with the Roerichs were becoming closer and closer, and one day we even agreed that they would hold the next meeting of their community at my place. First they would solve current issues, and then I would give them a short lecture on the Teaching. On the appointed day they came almost in full force. From our side, too, there was everyone — that is, me, Hantur and Saveli. The meeting began. The head of the Roerichs, an extremely self-confident and businesslike lady with the manner of a general, was reporting, explaining and giving instructions. It was very interesting to watch the process. Hantur and I were absorbed. But impatient Saveli at some point jumped up and, glaring angrily with his eyes, began to say that it was an outrage, that there should be a lecture on the Teaching, and they were occupying all the time with their own affairs. At that moment, he threw out the negativity again, unconsciously striking an energy blow. Something went wrong, however, and the blow missed its target and ricocheted into Hantur. It was noticeable that he felt sick for a few seconds, and he told me later that he almost lost consciousness at that moment. But he recovered quickly, and no one else noticed what had happened except me. All eyes were on the indignant Saveli. The leader of the Roerichs was embarrassed and gave the floor to me. Her charges took out the notebooks they had brought with them and diligently took notes on everything I said. It was an interesting experience for me — my first speech in front of an audience of any kind.

From then on, the Rerikhs visited me even more often. They began to borrow books from my library. But as soon as they did, they soon stopped. At some point I discovered that it was not customary to return what they had taken. The books were passed around, went further and further away, and finally disappeared into the unknown distance. But they couldn't do that with me. I valued books. When the first one disappeared from my sight for a long time, I asked for it back. The reaction was immense surprise. What do you mean, return it?.. People read it! I pointed out that I didn't know those people and that I hadn't given the book to them. I was objected — don't those people have the right to read it? Why am I denying them the right to read it? I replied — don't other people I can give it to have the right to read it? Why can people I don't know do it, but my acquaintances can't? Anyway, the book must be returned, period. It took a while, but it was returned, in a rather shabby state. I even wondered how many hands it had passed through... The Roerichs obviously did not understand me and were visibly offended. They were in no hurry to take the books on the terms of return.

Everything became clear soon enough. One day their leader called Hantur and asked him to come to help someone in the community. He went. Soon she called again, and no longer asked, but told him to go somewhere else. He replied that he was busy and would not come. She was indignant — how could he not come? He has to come! He asked — why he has to? The answer was: you are members of our community, I am its leader, and therefore you should follow my instructions. Hantur reminded her that we are not members of their community, we have a completely different teaching, which, by the way, they were given a whole lecture about. This turned out to be great news for her. I had to explain to her that we were only communicating with them, but we did not belong to the same community.

Here the situation with books also became clear. Thinking that I was one of them, they already considered my library as belonging to the community and thought it was possible to give the books to whomever they wanted. From this angle, my demand to return them looked like an attempt to lay my hands on the commons.

Being in active contact with our Roerichs, we had already realised that they were inclined to mix different teachings, adding bits and pieces of them to the Roerichs' teaching and not really caring whether these bits and pieces fit together or not. Such omnivorousness was unpleasant to us, but at that time it was still at least curious. But that... To enrol in their ranks the followers of another teaching, which has a different source, different foundations, a different picture of the world, a different understanding of the meaning of human life and different goals — and all this was explained to them literally on the fingers... Just amazing indiscriminateness. Actions on the principle of "Let's put everything in one pile, regardless of common sense". The same spiritual fornication, but of a different calibre.

By the way, it also caused the breakage of the last thread connecting me with the Roerichs. We became friends with one of them, and she visited me from time to time, even when they realised that we were not with them and there was a cooling off. And then one day she told me that she was in church, and even confessed. I asked her, guessing the answer, whether she tells in confession that she is a follower of the Roerichs. She answered — of course not. Then I asked her if she was not ashamed. During confession, one is expected to open their soul, speak of their sins, and repent for them. From the point of view of the Orthodox Church, all these Mahatmas and others are satanic forces. Accordingly, adherence to them is a grave sin and cannot be combined with Orthodoxy in principle. And she, my interlocutor, keeps silent about it in confession. It turns out that her confession is hypocritical. How does her conscience allow her, being a Roerich, to pretend to be Orthodox and thus offend the sacrament? This is duplicity. She tried to argue — but there was nothing to object. So she just sat there with a dissatisfied face and, lowering her eyes, repeated: "Well, I don't know, I don't know..." Needless to say, that visit was her last?

This reaction is typical for such people. When they realise they're wrong, but they don't want to admit it. How many other similar things I was to see in the future...

Thus ended our communication with the Roerichs. Contacts with other groups and currents also began to fade away. However, there was one more interesting event ahead of us.

It was the spiritual cathedral "Belaja Ruś". The organisers invited to it representatives of all religions, doctrines and spiritual movements that we could find in Homieĺ. Us, too. The goals of the council were not quite specific, and there was no clear programme. It was just a kind of general meeting to demonstrate mutual benevolence and the ability to communicate. There was little doubt that representatives of the so-called traditional religions would not attend. Anyway, it was quite curious to see what would come out.

I couldn't physically go there, so the Teaching was represented by Hantur and Saveli. The auditorium-like room was quite crowded. Delegates were invited to the microphone one by one and each gave a short speech. Everyone spoke about spirituality, the need for co-operation, etc. — mostly general words. Hantur also had a speech that he and I had prepared. When it was his turn, he read it from the stage. The main point was that such events are useless because they don't solve anything, and that favourable talk is no substitute for real joint activity. When he finished, applause followed and the talk continued. The official part of the council ended with a symbolic action: everyone was to take lit candles — evidently bought in an Orthodox church — and stand up as a sign of spiritual unity. Hantur did not take a candle and demonstratively remained seated, alone in the whole hall. Saveli, inspired by the general impulse, stood with a candle in his hands. Then Hantur went home and Saveli went to work, from where he rang me. He was furious, and almost shouting, told me how disgusting Hantur had behaved in not supporting the universal act of unity. I reminded him of the content of our speech, and that followers of the Teaching should not use other people's paraphernalia. I had to explain that Hantur had behaved correctly by not taking part in the ostentatious standing with candles. Which, by the way, was a manifestation of disrespect for Orthodoxy — how else to call the use of its ritual paraphernalia by those whose activities it disapproves of, to put it mildly? By some means I managed to bring Saveli to his senses.

The council continued the next day, the unofficial part, so to speak. The delegates gathered in the city park and began to think about what useful things they could do together to demonstrate the declared unity in practice. Someone came up with a happy idea: we could all work together to clean up fallen leaves. The idea was accepted with enthusiasm. Only Hantur once again went against the grain. He said it was a completely useless idea. The wipers would pick up the leaves anyway. Maybe we should look for some other option, something more meaningful? This objection was indignantly rejected, and then the leaf-cleaning began — without his participation, of course.

In general, the council was not useful. It was a lot of beautiful words without any constructive results. However, even if it had developed, for example, a programme of joint activities, there was no time left for its implementation. Very soon it became impossible to organise such events. The space of activity of "non-traditional" spiritual movements was narrowing, narrowing and narrowing, until some of them disappeared almost completely, and others moved to a semi-underground or completely underground position. The cathedral turned out to be the last outburst of active and free spiritual — or at least pretending to be spiritual — activity in our city.

Shortly after the events described above, Saveli dropped out of our ranks. Exactly what I had predicted had happened. He got tired of keeping his vows, and at some point he lost his temper, and went into all serious. The incident at the cathedral, when he and Hantur had been in separate camps, had made a depressing impression on him. Eventually he told me again that he was leaving. This time it happened without excesses, in a cultured and respectful manner. He was no longer drawn to Satanism. On the contrary: according to him, he had found Christ. It turned out — in the person of Vissarion. Saveli joined the community of his followers. He had been my disciple for about a year. Knowing him well, I was ready to bet that he would not stay longer in his new place.

I didn't tell you a lot of what was connected with Saveli. That's who didn't let me and Hantur get bored... He alone could have replaced half a dozen restless followers. How many nerves were wasted because of him, and how many interesting experiences were gained thanks to him... All these adventures would be enough for a separate small book.

For us, everything went on as usual. And the main event of that time was the completion of the first book of the pandect, i.e. the collection of our writings, called "Evor". But at that time we thought it would be the only book. It included texts from Emere and other gods, texts from several people in the world of energy, and a number of texts composed by myself.

In one of them I set out what I had learnt about myself. It was the answer to a question that had plagued me for several years: why me? It turned out that the answer lay in the events of my past life. When Emere told me about it, I was shocked and could hardly believe it, even with all that had happened and what had been realised by then. However, what he told me unlocked my memory, gave me a jolt, and I began to remember parts of my past life on my own. And not only that. I also began to remember something from postmortem, that is, from the time spent in the world of energy between my past life and the present one. This made another revolution in my mind. You can't learn these things and still be the same. I'll tell you about it, but a bit later.

We worked on getting the "Evor" into a more readable form than my manuscripts. Mum carefully transcribed it under my dictation. That way she was aware of what was going on, and was one of the first to read part of the pandect. Of course, I couldn't help but be concerned about her possible reaction. It was one thing to hear something about some teaching in words, and quite another to read its writings, which spoke of things quite strange to the Christian woman she considered herself to be. Especially if her son was telling her something about himself that by definition could not fit into her worldview. However, I still went for it, so that there would be no ambiguity, and so that I would know at once what to expect from her in the future. She took it all calmly, with restrained surprise. No criticism, no approval. I think that was the best reaction I could have expected. Mum clearly considered the contents of the "Evor" as nothing more than pure fiction. Only this allowed her to remain neutral.

We now had a whole big book in a nice, presentable manuscript, from which we immediately made several photocopies. Of course, the thought at once came to mind — this is what needs to be published. Although the situation with book publishing had deteriorated in recent months, we could offer something much more solid and attractive than a small collection of heterogeneous materials.

New negotiations with publishers and Hantur's trips to the capital began. He talked, left the manuscript to be read, then talked again, by phone or in person. Some publishers again thought long and hard, hesitating, calculating the risks, but in the end did not dare. There were also those who, after reading the book, said bluntly that if they published it, they would surely lose their licence, the publishing house would be closed down and the print run confiscated. But why? There is nothing bad in the book, nothing illegal, etc. They would throw up their hands: it does not correspond to the state ideology. Now it's the easiest way to get sink.

On one of his trips, Hantur carried out kind of experiment. He took a copy of the "Evor" to the Institute of Culture and left it there for review, with the idea that we might get at least a feedback, if not a full review. I did not object to this initiative, but I did not support it either, because I did not believe that anyone there would ever touch the manuscript. However, the review did follow. On picking up the book, Hantur learnt that the local professors had read it and had given their verdict: an ingenious falsification. He took it as a major success. I said, "What are you happy about? There was no chance that scientists would recognise this book as a product of revelation from the beginning. It was labelled a falsification — which is to be expected." He replied, "Yes — but ingenious! Isn't that the highest rating? It turns out that if you're not a prophet, you're a genius." We argued about it for a long time, and did not come to a consensus. I put this episode to our disadvantage, he put it to our advantage.

Anyway, it became finally clear that it would not be possible to publish in Belarus. We had to look for other ways.

I'll mention one more episode. Hantur once suggested trying to contact one of the magazines, whether they would publish any of our texts in it. But it was uncomfortable just to offer texts: they might say that they were sectarian writings of some kind. So he took a few of my poems and offered them all together to the editor-in-chief, like, would any of them be of interest? He was not interested in the texts, but he took the poems and promised to include them in the next issue. This unexpected twist discouraged and upset me. Firstly, what are these poems compared to the texts?.. Secondly, I didn't intend to publish them. It was to divert attention. I lamented and swore, Hantur shrugged his shoulders, — well, let them publish it, it's not bad either... I waited for the next issue with a heavy heart. I felt as if something had been snatched from my hands and dragged away. But it was awkward to ask for the poems back. But the magazine still didn't come out... All the deadlines had passed. Then the editor-in-chief, apologising, told Hantur that the next issue would not be published. The magazine was closing because there was no money for further work. My comrade was upset, but I was happy that the unplanned publication had cancelled itself. When the feeling of satisfaction subsided, I felt ashamed that I was rejoicing in other people's troubles. The magazine was dead — and yet it was someone else's brainchild, and someone was waiting for the next issue... My satisfaction was rather selfish. However, I was never able to banish it completely.

By the way, at that time I wrote not only poetry, but also satire. And it turned out like this. Along with poetry, though a little later, I discovered classical literature. But not what we usually understand as such, not Pushkin, Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Chekhov, etc. — that was enough for me at school — but the prose and poetry of Antiquity, the Middle Ages and further, up to the 19th century (poetry - up to the 20th), European and Eastern. It was a marvellous world, it was an incredible pleasure. It turned out to be possible to find something in libraries, something to buy. And it also turned out that our neighbour, apart from fiction, also possesses the famous 200-volume edition of the "Library of World Literature" — and I almost died of envy again. Of course, I read it all, except for the volumes with more or less modern works.

Among other things, I was very impressed by the satirical stuff. Not only impressed, but also inspired. I wrote a number of satires on Lukashenko and not only, as stylisations of famous things. "Apotheosis of the Divine Alexander" ("Apotheosis of the Divine Claudius"), "Letters of Clueless Men" ("Letters of Obscure Men"), "Twelve Fools" ("Ship of Fools"), "The Life of King Sunderwulf" (as a parody of medieval biographies). Besides, already later, I wrote a small framed story "The Third Evening" as a roll call with Chinese "tales of the miraculous’, a few small dialogues, and even my own version of "Faust". True, only the first act — and I do not know if I will ever complete the poem. Now it's unlikely... I also wrote aphorisms. Initially there were 500 of them. Then I decided to throw out the worst ones. It turned out that crossing out the bad ones is a fascinating thing, and it's hard to stop. In the end, 100 of them remained. Then there were many other things...

In short, my life grew a new creative dimension, enriched and became even more interesting. For me. I am far from thinking that all of this has any real artistic value. I just enjoy writing something.

New contacts with my neighbour gave me the idea to offer him to read the "Evor". If we recall in which circles Hantur met him, we can assume that he will be interested. He took the book, and kept it for many months. When he returned it, he confessed he couldn't get through it. He said that he had started it several times, but had not got very far — very complex texts, same as the language.

...Somewhere around that time, or a little earlier, my battle to keep my mum from drinking came to an end.

It was a very difficult battle for both of us. After exhausting all other means, I concentrated on starvation. I didn't eat for days at a time. Mum would swear and cry all the time. When my health deteriorated, she seemed inclined to promise not to drink. I'd stop the hunger strike, she'd calm down, and everything would go back. After waiting for a while, I would started the hunger all over again. Sometimes it was a complete hunger strike — I didn't eat at all, only drank — sometimes I ate something, but a little bit at a time.

At some point I decided to eat only one small slice of black bread a day, with water, and to continue until I got a very clear and unambiguous promise from my mother never to drink alcohol again. Otherwise my hunger strikes will never end, and it will only get worse for both of us. If she would give her word, I, for my part, would give my word that I would never again, for any reason, resort to hunger strikes. It would deprive me of a strong means of fighting for my rights and interests, but I was ready for such a deal.

The hunger strike began at the beginning of the week. And at the end of it was Easter. Mum even tried to joke about it, asking if I had become pious and kept a strict fast. On Sunday, Aunt Svetlana invited us to visit her. My parents hesitated whether to go, given my hunger strike. In the end they accepted the invitation, apparently secretly hoping that after a week of bread and water I would not resist the temptations of the festive table. Svetlana loved to cook and knew how to cook. The table turned out to be abundant and very tempting. Besides us there were other guests, Aunt's friends and colleagues. Everyone drank and began to eat. She asked, "What do you want?" I replied, "I'll have a piece of bread and a glass of water." There was silence. Auntie was confused. Then someone started asking what was going on, someone began reproaching me for not being like everyone else, and someone started questioning my parents about what it meant. My parents were silent. Finally I got my bread and started to chew it. People were looking at me bewilderedly. Some guest was surprised that one could sit at such a table and refuse to eat. The festivities were a little spoilt. But everyone seemed to put my behaviour down to some kind of religious schizophrenia.

The next day, Mum gave her word, I gave mine, and we made a pact. It was broken only once, a few years later, when Mum had a few drinks at a relative's wake. I immediately went on hunger strike, she cried, and two hours later we renewed our agreement, on the same terms. She never drank again, and I never went hungry.

The struggle lasted for many years. There was no certainty of victory, but I intended to fight to the last. As it will be, so it will be... And when it happened, I felt tremendous relief. It was as if I was walking between mountains that were threatening to collapse and crush me, and then one of the most formidable ones disappeared. It was as if the threat of death had receded a little. It became easier to breathe, and it was as if it were not so dark ahead.

However, this feeling did not come at once, but a little later, when I was sure that my mother kept her word. That's when it really eased. In the meantime, another battle was going on. The battle against father's alcoholism. It was much longer and more difficult. It was going to be years more of a gruelling battle. Exactly gruelling. It's not just a big word. That was our reality at the time.