Chapter 20. How to Love People
In the final years of the century drawing to a close, our interactions with people involved in spiritual and near-spiritual circles began to wane. Like all spiritual activity in the city in general. The search for new contacts came to a standstill and also practically stopped. The newspapers no longer published adverts like ours; now even that had become dangerous. But we weren't really upset. There was a feeling that this way of searching had exhausted itself. Besides, it was ineffective. A lot of time had been spent, a lot of people had been passed through our sieve — and the effect, one might say, was nil. Except for Saveli, who was not even found through the newspaper, but through Nosey. A rich experience of thematic communication was gained — yes. However, we could not be satisfied with such an achievement. We had to move on.
The question was — where and how?
Although there was still some correspondence left. I still had a few contacts that arose from the fact that I myself sometimes responded to adverts in Russian newspapers. Most of the correspondence was either quite short or not very interesting. But in at least a couple of cases, things took an unexpected turn.
One day I came across an advert of some guy who wanted to start a club of science fiction fans by correspondence and invited those who wanted to join. I responded. Of course, it had nothing to do with the Teaching. I just wanted to communicate on an attractive topic. I had to fill in a small questionnaire and, among other things, describe my interests. Among them I mentioned occultism and spiritual-philosophical questions, and therefore I was enrolled under the club name Mystic. Gradually we gathered a few dozen people, the club was established, through voting it received a name and an emblem. Questionnaires were open, each member of the club received information about the others and could choose with whom to correspond. It was still conducted by regular mail. At that time, there were few owners of computers in the post-Soviet region.
Soon there were a few people whose interests crossed with mine in the sphere for which I was named Mystic. Though in reality it was nothing serious. Just a lot of "I read something somewhere" chatter. Only in one case did it go further.
It turned out that two members of the club live in Minsk. I started to correspond with them more actively — simply because the letters reached me faster. One of them, whose name was Aleksei, was assigned by the club to compile an encyclopedia of fiction: information about writers, lists of works, etc. In those days, when the literature of this genre was already very much, but still not such a sea as now, this work could still be, a little brave, considered feasible. A colleague took up the task with passion. Other members of the club helped him by sending him information, which he processed and systematised. I also helped as much as I could. We became friends on this basis. He was interested in what I was doing. I told him. He wanted to know more. So we started talking about the Teaching. After a while, he said he was joining me as disciple. So there were three of us again. Although he and Hantur had never actually spoken to each other.
It's not easy to teach and learn by correspondence. But we got used to it. We wrote long letters to each other regularly; I sent him part of the "Evor" as a manuscript. He studied quite seriously. However, he was also studying for a speciality. That's why he lived temporarily in the capital. At some point his studies were over, he returned to his hometown. He started looking for a job, then the actual work, various perturbations in his personal life, household worries... He wrote less and less. And it was noticeable that he no longer cared about the Teaching, and generally not about issues that go beyond ordinary life. When his letters — not even letters anymore, but inane replies of a few lines — began to come once every six months, I told him that I no longer considered him a disciple and said goodbye.
There were two of us left again.
By the way, having made a number of observations after that incident, I came to the conclusion that everyday life is no less of an obstacle in a person's spiritual journey than vices, if not more so. We fight with vices on this path as on the battlefield. But everyday life leads us away from it. It pulls in, like a swamp. And it happens unnoticed. What's there to be suspicious about? It's just an ordinary life, nothing special. Not binge, not withdrawal into some illusory reality, not refusal of spiritual advancement. Just a lot of everyday cares, small and not so small. Just solving current problems that arise one after another, sometimes out of the blue. Afterwards you have to have a rest from all this, relax a little, distract yourself and have fun. And then again there are worries, problems, running around, and your head is occupied with anything but the spiritual path. It can wait, can't it? Where will it go? But here we have less important worries, but more urgent ones. And there's a lot of them. I'll deal with them, and then I'll start my spiritual advancement. Soon enough! Soon...
How many times have I seen this kind of thing since then... A person says, "I'll solve such and such problems, I'll have time, and then I'll push on in the spiritual sphere of life." And they say it with complete sincerity. They genuinely believe that's how it will happen. Just as soon as they deal with their pressing issues, worries, and tasks... But as they tackle them, new problems, concerns, and tasks emerge, forming a long queue. These, too, must be dealt with. But surely, after that!.. And then another cycle. And another. And another...
This swamp pulls you in unnoticed, always seemingly leaving a path to escape, thus lulling your vigilance. It's somewhat akin to an alcoholic's confidence that they can quit at any moment. And until you try to get out of the swamp, you won't realise how difficult it is. It won't let go.
I don't treat everyday life negligently, I don't consider it unimportant. On the contrary, it is one of the most important aspects of human life. That's why it's so addictive. There really is something to be captivated by. However, the spiritual side of life is more important. Ideally, the main function of everyday life should be its maintenance. That is, the arrangement of human life in such a way that it was convenient for them to engage in learning, spiritual development and labour for the good of the world and people. Being for the sake of being is as meaningless as talking just for the sake of saying something. There must be a higher and more practical purpose. Being is part of the foundation on which its building must be erected. Another question — what conditions are needed for this? If the majority of people in the world live in such a way that the maximum task for them is to survive or to provide themselves and their families with at least some acceptable standard of living, then everyday life automatically becomes a priority. Establishing everyday life becomes a goal, not a means, as it should be.
Here you have an example of one of the social tasks that must be solved in general, and that in due time will have to be solved by the Teaching in particular, as a future basic element of social consciousness. It is necessary to organise the life of society in such a way that people do not have to spend the lion's share of their time and forces, bodily, mental and spiritual, on building an ordinary, normal life. This time and these forces must be freed up to solve problems of a different order. A decent standard of living and everyday life should be a natural and accessible support, not an object of dreams.
But this is if we generalise and look in perspective. If we talk about any particular person right now, then in fact, it is always possible to make time for spiritual practice in one form or another in any conditions. At least a little bit. More or less regularly. Just not to lose this component of life. More precisely, not to lose yourself. To maintain at least a minimum spiritual tone. For this, one must not allow the swamp of everyday life to swallow them completely, right up to the top of their head. One must strive to keep their head above its surface. At the very least, like that...
I finish this small but important digression and return to my story.
The second of the two cases in question differed from the first in about everything. In one of the Russian youth newspapers, I saw an ad for a disabled guy who was looking for communication. I thought, what if I told him about the Teaching? It gives meaning to my life and helps me to fight against difficulties, even without reference to my background, but simply because of what it gives in itself, as a worldview. I wrote to him and immediately said: I have something that helps me in life, and I can share it with you if you want. My intention was simple: if he was interested, we would continue the conversation, and if not, then no. He was interested, and the communication began.
I gradually introduced him to the course of the Teaching, and he asked me questions with interest. The following episode took place in the course of communication. My correspondent was also confined to a wheelchair, but his hands worked normally and he was a very good artist. I came up with the idea of asking him to illustrate one of the "Evor's" texts. He agreed. But when I was about to send him the text, Emere said that it should not be done. Of course, I immediately cancelled everything. I never received an explanation for this warning, if not a prohibition. I am still at a loss to guess what harm could have been done to the Teaching by sending the text to Mikhail, — that was the name of that guy. If he advised against it, then it could have.
That was one of the times Emere stopped me one step away from making a mistake. Fortunately, there are very few of them. It's nice to know that I wasn't that daft. And it's good to know that I have a solid assure to keep me from making a mess. It gives me confidence that even if it's not quick, it's at least being done right.
So, I was telling a new friend about the Teaching, and he was quite enthusiastic. However, the unexpected soon happened.
In one of his letters he said that he would like to accept the Teaching, but he was not worthy. I argued that there is no such thing as unworthy, because the Teaching are designed to make people better. He replied that he still did not feel worthy to belong to the great teaching, the appearance of which had been foretold by Nostradamus himself. I was surprised. I have, of course, read about Nostradamus — but, as it seems, exclusively in the context of discussions about his "predictions" of the Chornobyl disaster and the approaching end of the world. After all, the year 2000 was just around the corner. I had very little interest in astrology, I did not believe in such predictions, and therefore I was not particularly interested in the topic. And all of a sudden... I asked — what he had predicted there? Mikhail told me that he had read the book "Decoded Nostradamus", written by some spouses named Zima, and there, in the interpretations of the "Centurias", it says that there should be a teaching from Hermes. And it even says that its founder will be called Victor.
Hantur and I immediately found the book and bought it. Indeed, it contained what Mikhail was talking about. We found ourselves in a quandary. On the one hand, everything turned out to be very interesting, and it was difficult to ignore it. On the other hand, speculation around the predictions of various astrologers and clairvoyants had always caused us scepticism and irony. Having discussed everything thoroughly, we came to two decisions. Firstly, to familiarise ourselves with the writings of Nostradamus. Secondly, to write to the authors of the book just in case. We did not doubt that they receive letters from applicants for the role of the messenger of Hermes, and the answer we are unlikely to receive. Therefore simply have written that we can share the information on occurrence of the teaching of Hermes. The answer, of course, did not follow. Well, as they say, we warned you.
As for the first point, we found and read "Centurias", and even in several translations. It was highly non-obvious, and we could not come to a definite opinion as to whether they referred to the Teaching. In the end I simply asked Emere about it. He pointed to the only quatrain that could be considered in this way: X,LXXV. But even in it, in fact, everything is too ambiguous and strange, and not much is clear. In the end, we agreed that we should take this circumstance into consideration, but we should not pedal and emphasise it. And certainly not to search for various predictions supposedly related to the Teaching. The ground is too shaky. If you want to, it will be easy to dig up a lot of things that can be interpreted as indications of the Teaching, but it will all stink. We did not want to play such games.
I thanked Mikhail for the information and repeated that he should not worry about "worthy — unworthy". He hesitated. Our communication ended in a strange way. He wrote that there was a certain woman-extrasensory, who would treat him. And then he stopped talking. For good. He simply stopped replying to my letters. I was left to wonder what had happened. Either she forbade him to communicate with anyone who might say something that would interfere with her "treatment" and completely subjugated him, or the "treatment" simply killed him. Many years later I looked for him on social networks, or anywhere else on the internet, and didn't find him.
At the same time, in the late 90s — early 2000s, practically deprived of the opportunity to do something in our homeland, we began to make attempts to publish the book in Russia. To avoid any unpleasant surprises later, I sent a letter to the commission at the Ministry of Justice asking whether I, a citizen of Belarus, had the right to publish abroad. There was no reason to think that I didn't have such a right; but it was worth checking. I was told that I had it. As the next preparatory step, having studied the "Law on Copyright and Related Rights" — it was based on international norms, and in its Russian version was practically the same as the Belarusian one — we started our search.
The process was as follows. We looked through books on similar topics, or generally of the genre usually defined as "esotericism, philosophy", and wrote out the information about the publishers contained in the imprint. Hantur would then call up those that seemed suitable and offer co-operation. Some declined immediately, others agreed to consider the offer. To these we mailed extracts of the book "Evor". There was a publisher who expressed interest and asked us to send the whole book for a more detailed review. We sent the manuscript with the proviso that if they refused to publish the book, they would return it to us. The refusal eventually followed, but the manuscript was not returned. It disappeared without a trace in the bowels of the publishing house, and we were informed that they could not find it.
People refused to co-operate for various reasons. Some had a publishing portfolio filled for months or even years to come. Others suddenly informed us that they did not deal with such topics. Others did not want to risk investing money in a book by an unknown foreign author. It was unusual and almost flattering to hear oneself described as a "foreign author". It became a good reason for self-irony.
We gradually went through all the publishing houses, information about which was available, and work in this direction was suspended for some time.
We talked a lot about the Teaching, analysed its various aspects, etc. We planned further actions, worked out possible steps. We devoted a great deal of time to it. If there was an opportunity, we sat up at night discussing our affairs.
Hantur's daily visits to me and our nocturnal meetings had almost scandalous consequences. It turned out that some of those who knew about them thought we were gay. No one was aware of our activities; only my parents had some idea — but they did not spread the word. They were uncomfortable with the idea that others would see me as a sectarian. However, the people around them were looking for an explanation for what was happening, and they found one. My mother was discouraged. We just laughed about it. What else could we do?
We always sat at the table at night, in front of the window, usually with the lights off. Thanks to that, we had a UFO sighting once. Anyway, something we couldn't explain otherwise. A small luminous object suddenly appeared in the night sky — just a bright white light, moving slowly and smoothly for a couple of seconds, and then made a sudden leap and wrote out a complex trajectory of zigzags and loops. After a few more moments it was in a completely different direction, shifted a good quarter of the horizon, and went out. No technical means known to us was capable of such high-speed manoeuvres. But there were similar descriptions in UFO reports.
About the same time, there was an interesting episode connected with another work of Hantur. "Another" — because by that time he had already managed to leave several places where he did not get along with his superiors because of his integrity and unwillingness to bend. Among other things, he had worked in a factory, been a staff reporter for a newspaper and a reporter for a news programme on a city TV channel.
Now he worked as a security guard at the local recycling centre. Rags, paper and other rubbish were taken there, categorised, stored and then sent for recycling. My comrade stood at the gatehouse and made sure that no one took anything out of the territory. It would seem that what could be taken out of such an enterprise? But the employees found something to. The bosses knew everything but turned a blind eye; the other guards simply ignored the carriers. But that wasn't the case with Hantur. His contract stipulated his duties, which included stopping theft — and he did. He wouldn't let them take anything out, turned them all back and demanded they empty their bags of the stolen goods. The carriers were furious, swearing, some threatened to beat and even stab him with a knife. He stood his ground. Gradually, they reconciled, and began to postpone their takeaways to other guards' shifts.
He's also noticed, while he's been fighting the burglars, that some of them take out books. Mostly detectives, sometimes something else. In his spare time, he visited the room where the paper was dumped, and found that in addition to old newspapers and other paper junk, there were a lot of books lying around. People just threw them away or gave them away for weight. Some were shabby, others were in good or even excellent condition. The very fact that they were there seemed sacrilegious.
He shared his discovery with me, and we decided: the books must be saved. But how? In theory, we could simply gather them and take them home. But that would look odd, to say the least. The guard doesn't let others take anything out, but in the meantime, he himself is carrying things away freely... And anyway, it's not right. But the books are dying. That's a problem...
After thinking about it, I suggested the following. In order not to leave the company in the lurch, we can make an exchange. To do this, Hantur should go to the director and ask for permission to take the books, and in return bring other paper by weight. This was done. When the principal listened to the request, he had square eyes, as Hantur recounted. He could not understand why he should complicate matters so much and carry something in return, if everyone took it for nothing. Eventually he shrugged and said he didn't mind. We got down to business. First we collected old newspapers, wallpapers, some cardboards, various papers at our homes. Then unnecessary, low-value books. Then there was nothing left to give. Fortunately, we were helped to get a very heavy pile of campaign posters left over from the recent elections. There were so many of them that there were still plenty left, and I wrote on them later, cutting them into small sheets.
Now Hantur came to work with a bag full of paper and left with a bag full of books. The carriers began to reproach him for stealing himself. He replied that he was not stealing, but exchanging them, with the director's permission. He was looked at as an idiot. They didn't understand why it was so difficult.
Unfortunately, he didn't stay in this job for long either. He was pressurised and had to resign.
However we managed to save a lot of books. What a find! Just for example, I will mention six huge volumes of the ten-volume "World History" of the Soviet years of publication, several volumes of the "Library of World Literature", Goethe's "Faust" in two translations, Cervantes' novels, Somadeva's "Ocean of Tales", the famous "Book of Songs" with works and biographies of Arab poets, Elian, Diogenes Laertes, a work on Chinese philosophy, a part of the Bhagavad Gita with commentaries... And much more. It was inconceivable that someone could throw away such books, and that someone could raise his hand to send them for recycling as old paper. It was painful to think of all the things that could not be saved.
Hantur dragged the loot over to me. That's when a third bookcase had to be purchased.
That's the pleasant side of life. As for the unpleasant side...
First of all, that was the last time I went out. Such outings were becoming more and more difficult. I had to be carried out with the stroller and brought back up a flight of stairs with no ramp. In addition, I could not sit for a long time on an unfamiliar stroller designed for walking: my legs, arms and body began to ache very quickly. The old stroller had been broken and repaired more than once, and now it was only good for home. However, I was not particularly upset about the cessation of walking. I was more interested in working on something at home, rather than sitting idly by the entrance, a few metres from the stinking bins. Walking around the city became a problem, as it was now difficult for me to hold my head up while driving, and my mum could no longer walk as far and as long as she used to. Today I realise that it's been almost 25 years since I last stepped outside my flat — and that's unpleasantly impressive. But that's just the way things are... It's too late to worry.
Next, I could no longer eat on my own. A few years before, I could manage with a spoon. Then I could only manage a fork. Then I used a knitting needle, on which I pricked pieces of fruit and vegetables or tiny sandwiches. With another needle I turned the pages of books I was reading. And now even the needles started to slip out of my fingers. Although the fountain pen was still somehow held in them. My condition deteriorated — but slowly too — in other ways. So, it became increasingly difficult for me to swallow. I could never swallow, for example, a normal-sized pill, I would choke on it, and they would break it in half. My throat seemed to be too narrow for some reason. And as the years went by, it got worse. The first signs of trouble eating were beginning to show.
And yet life went on. My spiritual development continued. In spite of all the experience of two lives and postmortem, I was still far from the maximum spiritual level possible for a human being. Sometimes I thought ironically of the founders of various doctrines declaring themselves saints. Perhaps this, if not feeding vanity, is necessary to attract followers? It must be flattering to be a disciple of a saint. Well, then, I will have to resign myself to the loss of such an opportunity.
In the Teaching, the Teacher is imperfect, like the rest. He himself is still learning. Perhaps already in the most advanced grades — why he has the right to teach others — but still. He knows more, understands more, is capable of more, yet he still has flaws that he must fight against, and spiritual problems that he has to solve. And through this, he continues to acquire new valuable experience, which he can share with others.
Why am I talking about this now? Because around that time I was able to take a significant step forward spiritually.
One of the most important, yet most difficult things in the world is love for people. For everyone without exception. How hard it is to learn this!.. We don’t always love even our closest ones truly; let alone everyone else... They can be unpleasant, even awful. Loving them is very difficult. Not justifying, not turning a blind eye to their flaws and wrongdoings, not whitewashing them for the sake of ease, but simply loving. Loving them as they are. Because they are human beings. It's easier to love a good person. Try and love a bad one. Maybe even someone who has wronged you. Maybe even the one you're fighting, and the one you have to fight next. It seems easier to get a star from the sky.
You can understand the need for this love, you can accept it, you can prevent yourself from being guided by anger and hatred towards bad people — but this is not love itself. It does not appear just because it is necessary. It is either there or not. In order for it to appear, a deep inner change must take place in you. It is not enough to know that it is necessary. You need a deep inner realisation.
For different people, such a moment of change can come from realising different things. For me it was the realisation that all people suffer. I had understood this before. But understanding with the mind and realising it on a deep level are two very different things.
One day I was once again thinking about my life, its problems, troubles and pain, analysing how all this affects my perception and my actions, and especially how it could have affected me if I had not had the Teaching and what it gave me. And I thought: everybody lives like this. Everybody suffers. Even those who from the outside look as if everything is absolutely fine. There's not a person who isn't in pain. There are those who may be better off than others, but they're hurting too. And they are what suffering makes them. Delusions, bad character, bad deeds, and other bad things, all feed on it as a plant feeds on water.
Everyone is sick and hurting like me. The realisation of this came like the impact of a powerful wave, and somewhere deep inside me it was as if a volcano had exploded. A kind of switch clicked in me, and suddenly I felt that love. Love for people. It is useless to describe what happened to me, as it is useless to describe many other things. You have to feel it. Everything changed. It was a moment of passing one of the most important milestones in my life. The moment of one of the new births. It wasn't just the world around me that changed. I became different myself.
No one around me noticed it. But if that change had not happened, I think my life would have turned out differently. It would not necessarily be better or worse. But it would have been different.
...The turn of the century was approaching. Talks about the end of the world became more frequent again, and fortune tellers and seers came from everywhere, in a hurry to collect a harvest of attention and, if they could, money, before the unhealthy excitement passed. I, naturally, only laughed at all this. The only thing that seemed somewhat likely was the troubles associated with the so-called "Year 2000 problem". However, neither had happened.
I must admit that the sensations were strong in any case. It is not every day that you move into a new century, much less into a new millennium. With all the understanding of the conventionality of the chronology by which we live, it seemed something really special. I cannot speak for everyone, but for me, and I think for many others, it was first of all connected with the association "the 21st century — the future". A time in which a huge number of science fiction works take place. A time of the expected emergence of many amazing technologies. A time when the world should change beyond recognition. It seemed that these changes and transformation of the world would take place right on New Year's Eve. I had to kick my common sense to keep it awake and drive away ridiculous fantasies. Nevertheless, the feeling of a real step into the future was still present.
Now, when a good quarter of the new century has passed, and when it has long ceased to be a new century in fact, we can already assess how far it corresponds to the fantastic expectations to which writers, futurists, and fantasists have accustomed us. How much so? I'd say average. Much less than the optimists expected, but obviously more than the incorrigible pessimists thought. However a quarter of a century isn't that long. So far, we have only touched the coveted future by the tail. We can expect the next quarter to bring more visible changes. I don't know if in another quarter century robots will be walking the streets as some expect, if there will be more flying cars than driving cars, if there will be fully holographic computer panels and settlements on Mars — but anything can happen...
A curious psychological moment. Here I am, living in a time that always seemed like the future — what was once the present has long become the past. However, it is still difficult for me to get used to it completely. Repeatedly I caught myself that when I say "last century" or "in the last century" I mean the 19th century. The 20th century stubbornly refuses to be perceived as the past. It is interesting to ponder why this is so. Maybe because I somehow associate myself with it, and if it's over, if it's gone, then maybe I'm gone too? Maybe I feel like I'm losing an important part of myself in this way? Or is it just a silly habit? I don't know... But my 20th century still doesn't let me go completely.
...To complete the theme, I will remember the political changes in Russia at that time. Yes, it was a different country, but Yeltsin's sudden resignation from the presidency shocked me too. I remembered the 1996 elections very well, and I could not even imagine that this man would pull such a stunt.
But by the time I watched Putin's first New Year's address, I had little doubt that it was he who had "helped" his predecessor to step down. I still think so now. Probably, it was that night when I first felt the danger emanating from him, which I told my parents about. They paid no attention. But I sensed it: this individual would bring a lot of trouble for everyone. I couldn’t explain to myself where that feeling came from. I understand how this sounds now. It’s unlikely anyone would believe me. But I’m not asking anyone to believe me. I’m just telling it as it was.
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