Contents

CONFESSION OF A GHOST

ABOUT THE BOOK

S. Il. Rudakova, “Another Reality is the prose of our life”

The prose of Alexandra Kryuchkova amazes with the art of mastering the Word, the natural spirituality of the events described, the original author’s style, not abstruse, but natural penetration into Another Reality, which is intertwined with the earthly reality in the journey of the soul, led through the labyrinths of destiny by its Guardian Angel.

The novel “Confession of a Ghost”, a book with a surprisingly delicate interweaving of the threads of a unique canvas, wonderful literary language and self-irony of the author, with a non-standard plot and an unpredictable ending in which “all guns go off”, intrigues from the moment you read the annotation.

The novel was very accurately described by Vladimir G. Boyarinov, Chairman of the Moscow city organization of the Union of Writers of Russia, during the awarding Alexandra Kryuchkova with the F. M. Dostoevsky Prize “Life suffocates without a goal”,

“Today we have the presentation of Alexandra Kryuchkova, a writer, poet, mystic, philosopher… and her book we have already written about, ‘Confession of a Ghost’. And it’s in a new cover, because this is another edition, since the book is a real boom, a boom in the book market, which we have not seen for a long time! Alexandra Kryuchkova never ceases to amaze us, summoning heralds of her mystical discoveries for revelations. The Ghost lurking under the new cover is no longer just broadcasting, it confesses its truths.”

Yes, exactly, the truths! Since it’s about the inevitable triumph of the human Spirit, the Forces of Light and Good.

“A modern novel, but it’s timeless as well. It contains many wise thoughts, if not truths. It is light and deep at the same time. Fabulous and realistic. There are no idealized characters and axioms in it, but it radiates the invisible light of the Other World. While reading, in parallel and somehow automatically, you revise your life, taking that very step aside. One gets the values revised and an irresistible desire for radical changes in one’s own matrix.”

V. V. Morozov

And let the reader not be afraid of the fact that we are on the territory of Another Reality unknown to us!

“Obviously, the author is engaged in the study of Another Reality with a methodical approach close to scientific, and her work in this area, as well as on the paradoxical properties of the Word, is comparable to the activities of an entire scientific research institute… The path of a mortal, prescribed in Heaven, seems fatally predetermined, however, the author reveals the possibilities of the Spirit in the most incorrigible circumstances and, together with representatives of the Forces of Light, extends a helping hand to all her readers!”

V. G. Shyltzin

At the same time, the language of all characters, even ghosts, is equally precise and understandable to the reader, despite the use by the author of a special vocabulary of spiritual, astrological, esoteric and other specific terms. It is amazing how easily the thread of Ariadne unfolds in search of truth and love, and the more attractive is to try on the stories of the main character Alice and find your own too.

“It would seem to be a combination of the incompatible — icons and the starry Sky, the experiences of a living person and a wandering soul, our reality and its other dimensions, hidden behind the words ‘somewhere in the Universe’. In simple and understandable words, the author makes it possible to realize the structure of the Universe and ‘become conscious’ in our reality. The earthly destiny of the main character, stories from the Library of the Universe, conversations with planetary spirits, a journey through the Spheres, walks on Athos and conversations with its inhabitants are intricately interwoven into a single narrative with an original plot and an unpredictable denouement!”

V. V. Morozov

However, the novel got noticed back in 2019, after its first edition under the title “Before and After. 40 steps of Non-existence, or the Matrix of Time Space. Confession of a Ghost”, and the reviews of the first readers were included in the preface to the second edition.

“This novel is an event in literature. The novel-symphony. The genius novel (I’m not afraid of this word!). So multifaceted and polyphonic that I got scary — what if something (with such a volume) would not link into a single whole. But each thread is woven into the carpet so harmoniously, subtly, logically and in such a simple human language that it causes sincere admiration and respect! I read it twice. The first time — in pursuit of the plot, like a mystical detective, excitedly, I could not stop, and then I breathed out and re-read it slowly, savoring the details. Having reached a certain phrase of the Guardian, suddenly, I got an insight! — I realized my destiny on Earth! My whole life scrolled instantly, and I realized what I was doing here! I wanted to cry with happiness! I thank the author for her Word, that awakens us from sleep and works such miracles!”

E.V. Erofeeva-Litvinskaya

Miracles are always around, but we often don’t pay attention to them. The prose by A. Kryuchkova is not just wonderful, but musical and cinematic. Sooner or later, Alexandra’s novels and stories will be filmed, I’m sure, and I’m not the only one.

“The author not just knows the world of the Other Space well, but masters it perfectly, lives in it, feels like a fish in water and is a real fount of knowledge. The further along you read, the more obvious the autobiographical style appears, along with talented and very light fantasy techniques. Thankfully, the dark and evil takes up less space in the novel! This is a kindly light book, without vulgarity and dirt. For those who prefer real literature, who are ready to discover something new, look at the world with an inquisitive eye, to experience and co-feel, to read between the lines and draw the appropriate conclusions for themselves… Moonlight Sonata, the background music, is used very successfully! Sounding almost imperceptibly at first, it gradually reaches a crescendo and covers you with your head… In general, the plot is so multifaceted that it creates confidence in the necessity to publish the book not only in our country, but abroad as well! And even better, with a film version!”

In. K. Butorina

The cover of the first edition of the novel was the “Ladder” icon painted on Athos (in Greece) with the blessing especially for this book, and in August 2019 the first version of the novel (subsequently edited and shortened by the author) was handed over by A. Kryuchkova with a dedicatory inscription to Archimandrite Evlogii (Ivanov), the head of the Russian monastery of St. Panteleimon on Athos, to the local history museum of Ouranoupoli and to the house-museum of the local poetess and writer Joice Mary NanKivell Loch (one of the characters).

“The close connection with Orthodox childhood and later heartfelt love for Greek Athos is also reflected in the novel ‘Confession of a Ghost’, the central part of which is occupied by Athos stories and stories of local residents, as well as stories about the Saints and the wonders of their icons, recorded by the author during her trips to Ouranoupoli village, situated on the border with the Holy Mountain.”

M. Palshyna

Alexandra Kryuchkova was deservedly awarded the diploma as “the initiator and participant of the ‘Russia-Greece. The 21^st Century’ project within the framework of the Russia-Greece Cross Year of Language and Culture 2019—2020” for the novel “Confession of a Ghost”, dedicated to the Athos peninsula and the Holy Mountain in Greece, as well as “for contribution to development of international relations in the field of culture and literature” (NP “Literary Republic”, 2020).

“This book is a window to Another Reality. It’s full of Universal Love and gives hope to everyone who truly believes in it. The plot is really captivating, you try to unravel the tangle with the main character, but it keeps you in suspense to the last, slipping out of your hands… The reading is easy and interesting. The main characters become so native that the reader wants to go to Athos, enter the Dark Tower and chat with the ghost of Joice over a cup of astral tea.”

Ir. A. Antonova

In 2019, “Confession of a Ghost” was awarded Daniil Andreev Prize “Creator of the Worlds” by the Open Literary Club “Response”. The head of the club, Lyudmila Koroleva, a member of the Union of Writers of Russia, at the awarding the diploma and a name-plated statuette to the author, spoke of the “Confession” as follows,

“There are books that belong to eternity, and this is one of them… Such novels are not to be forgotten. You can re-read them at different periods of life and find something new. Perhaps the main character… remained behind the scenes. He silently watches the reader from the sky and smiles at the author.”

However, this novel has already been compared with Daniil Andreev by German Arutyunov and Vadim Shiltzyn. Sergey Bersenev (Vice-President of the Moscow Region department of the Union of Writers of Russia, Head of the Creative Center “Clouds of Inspiration”, Honored Writer of the Moscow City Organization of the Union of Writers of Russia) honored Alexandra with a diploma of Leonid and Daniil Andreev as the winner of the competition “Another Reality” for her novel “The Island of Charon”, and all the books by A. Kryuchkova on the theme of Another Reality is close in spirit to “The Rose of the World”. At the 2021 literary contests awarding ceremony of the Moscow City Organization of the Union of Writers of Russia, together with the NP “Literary Republic”, A. Kryuchkova was announced the winner of the “Writer of the 21^st century” competition in the nomination of Daniil Andreev for the book series “Playing Another Reality”, and a year earlier, for the same series she had been awarded the medal “For contribution to the Literature of Russia of the 21^st century” (the decision of the Board of the Moscow City Organization of the Union of Writers of Russia dated 16 January 2020).

Aesop-like mysterious, the works of Alexandra Kryuchkova, fortunately, exist in our reality. All her books, despite the tragic plots and the veil of death, are written for the glory of life and are permeated with the Divine Love, they direct the reader to light and goodness, leaving after reading the spiritual lightness and joy from contact with the magic of creativity!

Moreover, Another Reality is the truth of our life, thus in conclusion I’ll quote the author’s postscript to “Confession of a Ghost”,

“When you are on Athos in Ouranoupoli, find Dimitra and ask her to show you the place on the wall in her shop, where the icon of St. Peter with the keys has been materialized.”

Svetlana Il. Rudakova,

Member of the Union of Writers of Russia

The newspaper “Literary news“ №1 (199), 2022

G. Arutyunov, “F.M. Dostoevsky Award 2021”

“Confessions of a Ghost” — a unique novel of its kind, which encourages you to reflect on the topics of Another Reality and earthly visions of the soul, posthumous existence and mortal time, to think, walking with the author along her Heavenly Staircase up and down, over what in general you don’t think — was awarded F.M. Dostoevsky prize “Life suffocates without a goal” 2021 by the Moscow City Organization of the Union of Writers of Russia.

And here is mysticism (which is what happens with mystical books, by the way) — the sheet with my notes disappeared, as soon as I decided to write a review. The same thing happened to me a few years ago with Daniil Andreev’s book “The Rose of the World”. Both books (“Confession of a Ghost” and “Rose of the World”) are similar, since their authors describe visiting worlds and spaces that probably exist, manifesting only in human consciousness, like life after death — in a transformed individual consciousness or in the Universal cosmic mind (or bank of information). And it’s amazing that each of us after death can find ourselves in a unique space that opens only to him. In any case, neither before nor after Daniil Andreev, as far as I know, there were no eyewitnesses to the worlds he described. As never before I met the eyewitnesses to the worlds and spaces of Alexandra Kryuchkova. Although, probably, such specific areas are open to those like Daniil and Alexandra, not to everyone. Apparently, this is due to our lifetime interests and knowledge, which is what paves our way there.

So, the main character of the “Confession”, incarnating on Earth, passes the Heavenly Staircase through the corridors of 12 astrological Houses, symbolizing the Spheres of life in the Labyrinth of Destiny, and then returns to Heaven along the same Staircase, but in a completely different way — through the Orthodox Greek Athos, since the author clearly knows astrology and lived on the border with the Holy Mountain. However, some Saint, like St. Anthony, having read during his lifetime stories about devils and monsters that tempt a person and observing them in his dreams, after death probably continues to see them and fight with them. During 30 years of my work in the “Nature and Man” magazine as the supervisor of editorial publications on anomalous and spiritual topics, I repeatedly had to deal with similar visions (or revelations) of various Saints, but we did not publish them, because there was no link to reality. And the visions of a person and his real life, as a rule, are closely interconnected.

At first glance, fixing individual worlds is just as useless as the movements of a shaman who causes rain with his dance around the fire, with beats of a tambourine, shouts or chants, waving his hands, bouncing and body movements that are relevant only here and now. Tomorrow everything will be different – the weather, the soil, the fire, the shaman. Nevertheless, some people fix such moments, as Alexandra Kryuchkova recorded 40 steps of her Heavenly Staircase while moving along it in both directions. I believe that fixation has a hidden meaning.

The architect Brunelleschi left no drawings for the construction of the dome of the famous Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore in Florence. They say that the master didn’t use drawings at all (as any shaman has no texts with him during the ceremony). Fortunately, one of Brunelleschi’s enemies, who envied his talent, watched the construction every day and secretly recorded all the stages and even the conversations of the masters and workers in his papers, thanks to which modern scientists restored the stages of construction step by step and discovered an incredible for our time fact — every day Brunelleschi compared several points of the growing dome of the cathedral with the projection of a flower bud, close to the golden ratio. Some information that scrolls through us may seem unnecessary, too fleeting, short-lived, or unbelievable to want to fix it. But if we succeed (or the soul demands it), it’s quite possible that sooner or later this information will come in handy. Not for us, but for someone who will stand on our shoulders and see what we don’t see yet and therefore don’t appreciate.

Books with fixation of the worlds and spaces of Another Reality, such as “Rose of the World” by D. Andreev and “Confession of a Ghost” by A. Kryuchkova, are needed to maintain at least a minimum level of sacrality in the society, otherwise humanity, with its predictable striving for comfort and pleasures, will become uninteresting to the Higher Mind, and either the asteroid will lead the planet to the flood that will wash mankind away, or the flood will be caused by volcanoes, which someone blocks now. Do you remember Jules Verne’s captain Nemo on his Nautilus going around underwater volcanoes (centers of activity) to put some kind of stabilizers?

Each our life is a rung on the Staircase of manifestation, an opportunity to gain a certain experience in order to enrich the thinking ocean of humanity. Perhaps, after passing through one labyrinth in this space, we’ll be switched to another and in a different one, in order to gouge spiritual galleries in the corridor of consciousness in various directions.

The Theory of Time, touched upon by Alexandra Kryuchkova in the novel, collides the Past, the Present and the Future. Time takes us beyond the boundaries of three-dimensional space, but each one at its own speed, in its own measured rhythm, that has become a unique personal code for many incarnations, allowing the Heavenly Office (or Higher Mind) to track an individual without confusing him with the others, among 107 billion people who have ever lived on Earth throughout the history of mankind, to switch automatically from one level to another, to change the direction of movement and make stops so as not to cross paths with someone or vice versa — to meet someone.

It’s also relevant the theme of the spiritual loneliness of creative people for whom Internet communication is not enough, while unanimity is important, since any stranger’s thought that is close to yours warms you like a flame of a candle or even a fire.

As for postmortem visions, the Egyptian Book of the Dead is closer to me personally, but “Confession of a Ghost” will definitely find its reader, thinking in the same information space. And the more often we probe the connections of the material world with the spiritual world, the faster we’ll reach the Age of Enlightenment, in which the spiritual life will become the reality of the overwhelming majority.

German Arutyunov,

Journalist, researcher of abnormal phenomena,

member of the Union of Journalists and of the Union of Writers of Russia,

founder of the Centre for Spiritual Development “Sphinx”

The newspaper “Literary news” №9 (195), 2021

V. G. Shyltzyn, “The Rose of the Universe”

If it were possible to classify literature, then “The Island of Charon” by Alexandra Kryuchkova would be quite logical to put on the same shelf with “The Little Prince” by Antoine de Saint-Exupery. The reverent attitude to the miracle of being and the models of interconnections, built from internal causes and stretched throughout the entire Universe, look similar in these authors, despite the difference in their initial circumstances and diametrically opposite endings.

Those critics who compare the prose of Alexandra Kryuchkova with Daniil Andreev are also right. The multitude of the worlds and parallel universes reflected in his “Rose of the World” could as well include the constructions found in her novel “Confession of a Ghost” and in the story “The Island of Charon”. The power of logical dependencies, filigreed by Kryuchkova, makes these works no less plausible than the philosophical bestseller of the famous mystic.

Alexandra Kryuchkova’s prose built an invisible bridge between two previously unconnected authors of the past. “The Little Prince“ of Exupery took care of the rose, and the universal phenomenon of Daniil Andreev also turned out to be a rose, but for him it was already the “Rose of the World“. Taking up the relay race of generations, Alexandra Kryuchkova invisibly and delicately takes care of the very same rose.

Vadim G. Shiltzyn,

member of the Union of Writers of Russia,

laureate of literary awards

The newspaper “Poetograd” No. 4 (400), 2022

http://www.poetograd.ru/arch.html

http://www.poetograd.ru/nomer.php?id=30662

https://reading-hall.ru/publication.php?id=30662

L. Ya. Reznik, “Nobel Prize Award in Literature”

A. Kryuchkova was nominated for the Nobel Prize Award in Literature 2023 by Eugeny V. Stepanov, doctor of philology, poet, CEO & President of the Union of Writers of the 21^st Century, and by Vladimir G. Boyarinov, poet, Honored worker of culture of Russia, CEO of the Moscow City Organization of the Union of Writers of Russia.

Leonid Yakovlevich Reznik,

Honored worker of culture of Russia, Honored writer of the MCO of the Union of Writers of Russia, Director of Moscow School of Arts after Yu. S. Saulsky

“The Book of Memories” 2022, ISBN 978-5-7949-0958-6, M.: — Moscow City Organization of the Union of Writers of Russia, NP “Literary Republic”, 2022 — 238 p.

Newspaper “Literary News” / “Literaturnye Izvestia” No. 01 (211), 2023, S. Kiulin, “A. Kryuchkova has chances to get Nobel Prize Award 2023 for the books of prose”.

DIALOGUE-TV:

* “Books review” No. 5/ January 2023 by O. Efimova.[1]

* “Books review” No. 44/ June 30, 2023 by  E.V. Stepanov.[2]

Russian Post, the letter No. RO100595262RU.

Newspaper “Poetograd” No. 01 (409), 2023, F. Maltzev, “Alexandra Kryuchkova can get Nobel Prize Award”.

“21 Writers of the 21^st Century”, V. V. Pavlov, ISBN 978-5-6049510-6-4, M. — NP “Literary Republic”, 2023 — 212 p.

Magazine “Literary Moscow” No. 01 (03), 2023, ISBN 978-5-6049510-4-0, M. — NP “Literary Republic”, 2023 — 100 p.

The Union of Writers of the 21^st Century web: A. Kryuchkova[3]

This book is dedicated to

· Ouranoupoli,

my favorite village

located on the border with the Holy Mountain Athos (Greece),

and its residents;

· Joice Mary NanKivell Loch[4],

a famous writer and a character of this novel;

· my Greek friends:

Dimitra Drosinos, Dimitris, Sofia,

Stylianos Drosinos & Nataly,

Nikoleta Firai & Nikos Ladgeris,

Roula, Kiriaki & her father,

Janis Antonakis, Leah, Souzanna,

Julia & Janis,

Socrates, Vasilios, Apostolis,

Efi & all Kokkinos family,

Maria Riga,

George Kiriakou,

Nikitas Martigakis;

· as well as to:

the Forces of Light,

Ray, Svetlana, Vadim,

Lubov M. Anisenkova,

Sergey M. Makarenkov

and other characters of my Matrix…

 https://youtu.be/JCaHyP-eqio

 https://youtu.be/L0Gh6DvmB3I

 https://writer21.ru/kryuchkova-a/

 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joice_NanKivell_Loch

CONFESSION OF A GHOST

PROLOGUE

Somewhere in the Universe

How long did I sleep? We were ONE.

“Wake up, my soul, it’s time for you to go.”

I came back from my dream, not remembering what I had dreamed about. Perhaps it was a dreamless dream. We were quickly moving along the endless corridors of Eternity towards one of the most important buildings in the Universe – the Heavenly Office, where everything earthly used to begin and end. I still didn’t know what would await me on Earth, but he instantly read my thoughts,

“Life in earthly body is short enough, Rukh. I am always there, remember me more often, and everything will be fine.”

“Will I be able to see you there?”

“You can feel me. We’ll continue to communicate in the same way – mentally, without words. It’s much more important than seeing with earthly eyes and hearing with earthly ears.”

***

We arrived at the Heavenly Office, witness to the ceaseless flow of souls, accompanied to Earth by their spirits – Guardian Angels. One of the Guards greeted us at the entrance to the building. He scanned everyone who came there and encouraged me,

“Enjoy your journey, Rukh, and have a happy return!”

We followed the corridors until my Guardian Angel stopped me at the door to the Astral Body Formation Hall, and he disappeared inside. In front of me in the queue, there was another Rukh, similar to me, like two peas in a pod – all incarnating ones before the formation of the astral body looked like white and fluffy lumps of pure energy of Light. Only the Guardians could tell us apart. The servants of the Chancellery in white robes were rushing past, busy as bees, paying no attention to us, the newcomers.

“Once upon a time they were incarnated on Earth too,” my neighbor whispered to me, “I wonder who they were.”

“Do you already know your destiny?” I asked.

“The Guardian does. The soul learns it descending the Stairs, reading the Creator’s plans for the incarnation, reflected in the Tablets and the heavenly passport. At the last step the passport is stamped and sealed. After returning to the Hall of Judges, the plan-fact reconciliation takes place, the verdicts are announced. That’s what the Guardian told me. However, the path is not predetermined rigidly, it can be changed within the Space of Options, limited by the records in one’s passport. Though, it’s a challenge to remember your plans on Earth! Everything is different there! Imagine having some arms, legs, a head, a torso! You’ll get inside the body and have to learn to control it! You’ll be forced to walk with your feet instead of moving in space with the power of thought. The earthly body constantly demands earthly food, not Light! And how many languages do they have? Almost every country has its own one, you can no longer communicate on Earth mentally!”

I was about to ask a couple of questions concerning the mysterious earthly body, but my neighbor was called to get formed, and my Guardian returned.

“Do you already know, Angel?”

“The Matrix of your Space of Options? Yes, but the actual path largely depends on your choice. Everyone has own cross, my soul. Life in the body is full of pain and suffering. Some have more, some have less.”

“Are you talking abstractly because you don’t want to upset me? I’ll find out for myself soon.”

“Undoubtedly. I promise to do my best to make your journey on Earth the best possible scenario. Try to remember the existence of me, the Heavenly World and its laws.”

***

We entered the twilight of the Astral Body Formation Hall, illuminated only by the light of stars, in the center of which there was a round stage with holographic signs, mathematical formulas and geometric drawings projected upon it.

“Now the Guardian of Time will announce the place and moment of your incarnation on Earth,” said my Angel. “The holograms will stop moving and display the initial location – the coordinates of the Cosmic Bodies in the 12 Spheres of your future life. Planetary spirits the formers will come upon the stage. You’ll perform with them your Dance of Destiny to the Music of the Spheres.”

“Dance? For what?”

“Each of the planetary spirits will provide you with the appropriate elements-atoms having their inherent characteristics for the formation of your astral body. The atoms don’t line up randomly, they form certain bonds with each other, depending on the aspects of the planets and stars at the moment of your incarnation. They create a unique pattern of the soul according to the Creator’s plan. The astral body — emotions and feelings — helps to communicate with the Subtle World on Earth and influences the physical body. During the dance, the chroniclers fix the celestial coordinates in the Tablets, the starting points of your Matrix of Destiny, and deduce mathematical formulas of possible scenarios in the Space of Options.”

I was on the stage, in the center of the circle. The audience froze in anticipation. The Guardian took a seat next to the chroniclers. The Guardian of Time announced to those present the coordinates of my incarnation, and the holographic images within the circle instantly changed, dividing it into 12 different-sized sectors – Spheres, or Houses. The four axes formed a cross so that I found myself in the central point of it. The planetary spirits took their places similarly unevenly and provide me with rays of energy, forming aspects still unknown to me among themselves. I no longer heard the verdicts of the chroniclers – the Music of the Spheres pierced me through pulsating in me with waves of a thousand shades of feelings, attracting many multi-colored atoms to their place strictly defined. Enlarging, I acquired contours, arms and legs appeared, I felt my own boundaries, and the planetary spirits in turn came up to me and circled with me in the whirlwind of the Dance of Destiny, spinning my body at a frantic speed, but in the rhythm of the Music, which was full of amazing depth and power.

The music faded. Everything was over. Ugh! I stood still on the stage, not yet realizing what had happened, but noticing a silver dress on my astral body – I’d incarnate as a woman. The Guardian took my hand and led me out. I felt the sadness in his thoughts and heard the sighs of the chroniclers.

“What does all that mean?” I asked as he opened the door to the Stairs. “Why are they sighing?”

The Guardian had no time to answer – a dark entity, from the witnesses of my dance in the Hall, chuckled smugly, looking into the Guardian’s eyes, and exclaimed,

“One more ours!”

“Don’t say hop until you’ve jumped over!” the Guardian answered, and we walked out the door into the Universe to the Stairs.

“Angel, why did the devil say that?”

“Never mind, everything is in our thoughts. So, the Staircase has 40 steps, but every soul descends to Earth along a personal corridor. Each step is a detail of your heavenly passport. Here it is, take it!” the Guardian handed me a little book with incomprehensible numbers, degrees, signs and formulas. “Everything becomes clear step by step as you descend!”

“Is there something bad? I want to fulfill my destiny and return to you here!” I exclaimed.

“You are a soul of Light, but not everyone on Earth remembers Heaven, and life sometimes puts one in a bind, and when there is a predisposition…”

“To what?” I kept on wondering from the frightening suspense, but the Guardian didn’t answer me.

***

At the House with the inscription “No. 1” on the front door, a girl in a white dress and a man in a purple robe were already waiting for us. They both had danced with me in the Hall.

“I’m Selene,” the girl smiled, “and he is Sirius. At the moment of your incarnation, we are right at the point of your first breath, above the door to House No. 1. Each House represents a Sphere of Life. You’ll pass through them all and get to know the planetary spirits with whom you’ve danced in the Hall to learn about your mission and destiny. The incarnated tend to forget everything, but the Astral Tablets remember everything about everyone and your Guardian will help or prompt you.”

“I’ll try to remember!”

“You have to,” Sirius clarified meaningfully, the Guardian sighed, and Selene stroked my head and said,

“In one of the scenarios, you’ll fail the test of life by violating the Heavenly law.”

“Am I going to kill someone?” I exclaimed in horror.

“You’ll return ahead of schedule,” the Guardian replied.

“No, this is impossible!” I exhaled in relief and laughed.

“It happens sometimes even to very bright and kind souls,” Selene stated. “Earth is full of temptations, not all thoughts are from the Guardian, and Heaven sometimes seems too distant and unfair. Before descending the Stairs, every soul has the right to move once to any fragment of any possible scenario of one’s future life, since all of them have already been fixed in the Space of Options. Think, Rukh, what’s there to see, what is worth getting known, or what important things can be done there now. After the incarnation, any information about such travel is unlikely to penetrate to the level of Consciousness, but in critical points you can remember a lot by connecting to the Astral Tablets through the Subconscious in order to correct the scenario.”

“Well… Let’s suppose there is a worst-case scenario, in an unknown segment of which something happens as a cause that leads me to an erroneous action-effect. Neither the cause itself, nor the moment of its occurrence can be guessed by me. So, I need to talk to myself a minute before the action-effect to find out the cause, in order to remember it on Earth beforehand and either prevent its occurrence or react to it differently in order to avoid the effect. Right?”

The Guardian sighed, Selene glanced at Sirius, and he said,

“We have no right to prompt you now, and if you formulate it wrong.”

“I don’t see any other options!”

***

Sometime in the Future

A rainy night. Me in the Future was sitting on the windowsill by the open window in a black hoodie with a rosary in hand. Noticing Me the Rukh, she turned around, stood up at full height on the windowsill and breathed a sigh of relief,

“Oh, finally! I’ve been waiting for you for so long!”

“But why?!” I asked.

“Why what?” she asked me calmly.

“Why don’t you want to live?”

“Everything about everyone is known there, especially to the Angel of my death!”

“I’m not an angel! I just need to understand what has happened!”

“In this case, you’ve got the wrong address, and we have nothing to talk about,” she said with annoyance and turned to face the rain.

“I beg you, by all the Saints, tell me why!”

She turned around, holding on to the window handle with her right hand, and with her left, still fingering the rosary.

“I don’t remember anything. It hurts remembering. The pain would have killed me, one of us had to die – either me or the pain. I prayed asking to erase my memory so as not to exit life, but it was only an illusion of choice! God heard me and erased my memory. Since then, I wake up in the morning remembering nothing, not even the day before. Such life is worse than any death. The road to Hell is paved with good intentions. You can’t escape your destiny! I tried to avoid what I ended up with. However, I’m not afraid, since I died at the same time as my memory.”

The Guardian hovered in the air in front of the window, and the same devil who had whispered to me in front of the door, “One more ours!”, appeared next to him. The drenched devil was rubbing his disgusting hooves and impatiently beating his tail on the slippery ledge.

Me in the Future noticed my gaze, turned to face the rain and, seeing the Guardian, cried out,

“It’s you!”

She was about to take a step towards the Guardian, whom she had clearly mistaken for an angel of death, as I rushed towards her, trying to grab her by the black hoodie in order to… but – what a horror! – it seemed to me, it happened precisely because of me, because of that movement of mine, the wave of energy, – she suddenly slipped on the wet windowsill and… with the window handle, that couldn’t withstand the load, in one hand, and with the rosary in the other, instantly collapsed into the darkness!

“No!” I screamed.

The happy devil disappeared, the Guardian sighed heavily and hugged me.

“Why didn’t you do anything? Why didn’t you save her? She remembered nothing! She had a rosary; she prayed, you see! And you didn’t listen to her! You knew that I wouldn’t be able to find out the cause and change anything, since you had taken her memory away!”

“Calm down, Rukh! Everything will be fine. We have to go.”

“Wait. Perhaps there is some hint here.”

I looked around. It was the kitchen. There was a table by the window with a candlestick in wax, some icons on the left wall, a stove and a sink on the right. The scanned fridge turned out to be almost empty – half a lemon and cottage cheese.

I left the kitchen for the hallway and went further into the room: again the icons on the walls, a fireplace, a rocking chair, a bed and a wardrobe. There was a prayer book on the bedside table. The contents of the wardrobe, in terms of the number of things inside, resembled the fridge.

“I don’t understand,” I whispered. “Was she a nun?”

The Guardian shook his head negatively. I returned to the corridor. As everywhere, there were icons on the walls. Suddenly, I noticed another door with a rusty lock and found a hidden room behind it, where – wow! – there were bags with miscellaneous stuff, covered with cobwebs and dust. Apparently, Me in the Future had locked our Past there.

“We have to go, Rukh!” the Guardian called out to me.

“Give me a second!” I said, for some reason rushing to the bookcase in the far corner, and began to scan the titles at lightning speed until my gaze settled on “Do you believe in ghosts?”

“I need this book. I want to take it with me!”

“Leave it. All books are stored in the Library of the Universe. You can read it going down the Stairs. Are you satisfied with such option?”

“At least something,” I muttered in response, and in a moment we were back at the mysterious House No. 1.

40 Before/1 After. House No. I. (ASC)

Starry Garden

Somewhere in the Universe

I was about to open the door to House No. 1, trying to disengage myself from what I had seen in my potential Future, when Selene stopped me.

“Don’t rush, Rukh! Let’s talk all the four of us in the starry garden,” she said with a smile and led me to the heavenly swing. “What do you think awaits you on Earth?”

“When the Guardian woke me up, I thought about light and joyful things. I’ve been told that earthly parents help the soul to get accustomed to the new space, then the children grow up, meet earthly love, create families in warm and cozy houses, take care of each other and work, doing something useful for the world. However, I don’t know what to think now. I still have no idea who I’m going to be there and what I have to go through.”

“Everyone is scared before the incarnation,” Selene reassured me. “Heavenly passport is not a sentence, it’s a labyrinth with corridors of predetermined options. It’s forbidden to go outside the labyrinth, but there is almost always the right to choose inside.”

Selene and I were sitting on the swing, while Sirius and the Guardian slowly rocked it.

“You are at the starting point of your destiny,” Sirius said, “at the moment of your first breath on Earth. This point is called the Ascendant, it falls into one of the 360 degrees of the Heavenly Circle, the Clock of Life, and in fact determines your entire life on Earth.”

“And what is that degree?” I asked, and the Canis Major Constellation flickered on the screen of the Universe.

“The magical degree of mystery and prophetic gift,” said Selene, “one of the most mystical, where the Sun connects with Sirius. Sirius, the Alpha of the Canis Major Constellation, the Heavenly Wolf, is a symbol of single people who don’t care about the opinions of others, they are drawn to exploring the Invisible World, which can lead to tragic results due to a weakened sense of self-preservation.”

“By the way, degrees have colors,” Sirius said. “Mine is purple, the sign of the initiates, it means a direct connection with Heaven and high spirituality. This degree is usually accentuated in ascetics and spiritual teachers, but sometimes in great scientists, writers, translators, interior designers – in extraordinary and mysterious personalities, more often geniuses, whose lives are full of mysterious events and ‘accidental’ coincidences.”

“You will anticipate future events,” the Guardian added.

“Sirius is a great magician,” Selene confirmed. “He is 250 million years old. The Royal star of the brightest light! The luminosity of Sirius exceeds the Solar 25 times. The star of the initiates who receive spiritual support from the Subtle World. Sirius gives you the keys to the Secret Knowledge, provides authority, fame and all sorts of honors. Sirius is accentuated in the passports of many famous people.”

“Who are all these people?” I asked, curiously examining the holographic portraits on the screen of the Universe.

“Albert Einstein, Nobel Prize winner in physics. He penetrated the Subtle World, explored Space and Time, predicted quantum teleportation and gravitational waves, dealt with the problems of cosmology and studied the effects of invisible fields,” said the Guardian.

“Helena Blavatskaya,” added Sirius, “she devoted her life to the Subtle World exploration, wrote many books about the Secret Knowledge, founded the Theosophical Society.”

“Nobel Prize winner in literature, poet, writer and artist Hermann Hesse,” Selene smiled. “He was interested in psychoanalysis, explored the soul and its states, studied philosophy and compared religions.”

“Sirius can be called the flame of immortality,” said the Guardian. “The souls incarnating under the patronage of Sirius leave a significant trace on Earth. Which one? It depends on the conjunctions and aspects of Sirius, and other passport data. In ancient Egypt, Sirius children were assigned the role of priests.”

“Remember, though,” Sirius warned, “I provide a person with tremendous energy that is difficult to control, even a small action can set off a fire. However, if my energy is not used or is used for evil, the person will be burned or bitten by it. I’m in charge of wolves and dogs as well.”

“Either one serves humanity,” Selene concluded, “consciously sacrificing one Self, for which one will receive fame and recognition, or one is recalled from Earth. My role is not so great, but the support of the Higher Forces is guaranteed to you throughout your entire incarnation!”

“Selene, the planet of Light, multiplies my strength,” the Guardian added.

“That’s right,” Sirius smiled, “Selene and I will try to protect you, Rukh, from the Black Magic. If you become a person emanating Heavenly Light, people will come to you for help. Selene inclines towards altruism, but energy donors attract manipulative vampires, and the Light beings are hated by the Forces of Darkness. The evil spirits will narrow around you in a tight ring, unlikely to leave you alone until you return to Heaven. Joan of Arc, accused of witchcraft and burned at the stake during the Inquisition, had a similar position of Selene. You won’t be burned, but you’ll have to suffer. Possessing extra sensitive abilities and the gift of healing, you can become a white magician.”

“Saint Seraphim of Sarov had a similar Selene,” the Guardian added. “You’ll love nature, it will be reciprocally, animals will obey you. It’s very beautiful on Earth, Rukh! There are mountains, trees, flowers there, the butterflies flutter, the bees work… Well, it’s time for us to go to the Library, to read the book from your Future!”

Library of the Universe

“Wow!” I exclaimed.

“The greatest book depository. Even drafts of ever existing in projection are collected here. And indeed, as one writer said, manuscripts don’t burn!”

“How to orient oneself here and get to the right book?”

“Formulate mentally what you need to find.”

We took chairs in the Reading Hall. As soon as I remembered the title, the book appeared right in front of me. I looked at the cover and read the author’s first and last name.

“Who is this Alice? Do you know her, Angel?”

“Certainly! It’s you.”

“What a surprise! I thought I would just communicate with ghosts. Perhaps the book indicates the cause for the erased memory. Oh no! No!” I exclaimed after reading the annotation. “These are stories written in childhood! The cause can’t be there!”

“All people come from childhood. There is nothing accidental, especially for the soul with Sirius and Selene on the Ascendant!”

The book opened at the story “The Letter”, and I read a mysterious message from the correspondence of third parties living at the end of the 19^th century and clearly associated with the Theosophical Society of Madame Blavatskaya. It ended as follows,

“…“Certainly, in my life, there have been also other inexplicable cases related to those who passed into the Other World, but I should confess to you that most of all I have always been concerned about the relationship of alive people, because it is what turns some of us into ghosts…

April 13, 1883”

P.S. The letter was found by the author of the book in the Astral Tablets on April 13, 1994. Underscores remained as in original.”

“What does that mean, Angel? She, that is me, as a child, got into the Astral Tablets, found that letter 111 years after it had been written by a third person to a fourth person, and for some reason published it!”

“Make a request to the Astral Tablets for the existence of the original.”

I concentrated, sent a mental request, and a transparent old paper with intricate female handwriting appeared in front of my eyes.

“Check the date,” the Guardian suggested. “Find the differences between the original and the copy. And note that a few words conveyed not in tracing paper but true in meaning, is not a bad result!”

Return to Athos

Greece

“Finally! I’m here! God, what a joy it is to come back here again and again!”

I was waiting for my luggage at Thessaloniki airport with the anticipation of a cup of coffee on the balcony overlooking the sea in my cozy hole in Ouranoupoli. In August, I used to rent an apartment on the top floor in Nicolette’s house, a 5–7 minutes walk to the ferry to Mount Athos.

Athos in Greece was not only a state within the state, an Orthodox monastic republic on the Holy Mountain, where women were not allowed. Athos was a peninsula that almost entirely had belonged to Orthodox Athos before the war with Turkey. Later, in order to settle the Greek refugees, part of the monastic territory was given to secular Greece with a shift in borders to Ouranoupoli, the city of Heaven (or Uranus, the planet in charge of Heaven), then a small village accessible for everyone. There was an early morning ferry to Dafni (the port of Mount Athos) there, and at 10 a tour ship to the Holy Mountain so that tourists could admire the monasteries from afar and venerate the shrines brought to them in boats by Athos monks. At the foot of the Mountain the spirit was breathtaking! — a huge pillar of Light went up to the Sky.

Oh, if I had been a man, I would have climbed the Mountain, lived in monasteries and … would I have returned? Happiness was to die in the Holy Land!

However, even in Ouranoupoli, you could feel the Gates open, and you were instantly heard in Heaven, every word and thought.

I loved Ouranoupoli. I loved everything there: the people, the sea, the food, the atmosphere of peace of mind and the Spirit of the Holy Mountain. Athos was my love at first sight, and my heart would forever remain there.

The luggage began to crawl onto the belt. Shifting my gaze from one suitcase to another, I noticed an Old Monk. I had met him before, but where and when? However, monks were everywhere on Athos, especially in August, the peak of pilgrimage, when many Orthodox holidays were celebrated, including the day of St. Panteleimon, after whom the Russian monastery on Athos was named, and the Assumption of the Virgin. I liked listening to stories about Athos, when monks, stopping for the night in Ouranoupoli, had dinner in cafes and shared their impressions.

I walked out of the airport building. Outside, as usual, I was met by Kostas, a friend of my friend Dimitra. He grabbed my things, and we were already rushing along the serpentine roads towards home. In an hour or an hour and a half, I would throw myself into Nicolette’s arms, grab the keys of my hole, drink a cup of coffee and run to the sea – the most beautiful, azure, paradise sea with a view of the fabulous island of Ammouliani, the Holy Mountain and the mysterious Tower; sea with fish and a white sandy beach, with few people and a shade from the olive trees. By lunchtime, I used to return home and work on my manuscripts until 18:00. That time I had with me some miraculously surviving stories from the book “Do You Believe in Ghosts?”

At 18:00 the heat usually began to die down, and I went for a promenade to watch the sunset on the border with Mount Athos at the dilapidated Zygou monastery, where one could swim in a bay hidden from prying eyes, and then to return to the Tower, the symbol of Ouranoupoli (a former hotel for monks, and later – museum), drink coffee with friends, exchanging stories, including those about Saints and icons. I loved Athos icons, I liked to look at them for a long time – to feel them, there were many alive and unique ones there! At midnight, I used to return home.

Ouranoupoli, Athos, Greece

“Welcome back!” exclaimed Nicolette. “Alice’s flat is waiting for its mistress! Coffee?”

I opened the door to the balcony and smiled, “Hello, City of Heaven! Hello, the Sun and the Sea! Hello, Athos and the Holy Mountain!”

Suddenly the phone rang, but the number wasn’t identified.

“Hello, Alice,” a familiar male voice said. “Welcome back!”

“Ray?!” I couldn’t believe my ears.

“Where are you now?” he asked.

“On Athos… Listen…”

“Athos?” he seemed surprised.

“I’m always on Athos in August… Ray, listen…”

“In August?!” he was even more surprised.

“Yes, listen to me! How can you call me? You are a ghost!”

“A ghost, so what? You have communicated with ghosts, haven’t you?”

“As with you now, not yet!”

“So it’s time to start it that way as well!”

“What do you want to tell me?” I asked, almost relaxed and resigned to the opportunity to communicate on the phone with ghosts calling live to Athos from unidentified numbers.

“Well, nothing special… Okay, I get it. See you.”

“Where? Here, on Athos?” I got surprised.

“Who will let me, a magician, go to Athos? In a dream!” Ray laughed, and the connection was cut off.

***

There were only two crowded streets in Ouranoupoli – the sea one, with cafes and shops, and the central or main one, two houses from the sea one, mostly with icon shops. The streets met at the Tower.

Dimitra’s icon shop was located on the main street directly opposite the Tower, and St. Marina, wielding an ax at the devil, the icon, purchased from Dimitra, was my first Athos icon. Dimitra and her family were Greek. We communicated in English.

“Hello, Alice! I hope Kostas rushed you here at lightning speed! How is the sea?”

“I’m in Paradise, thank you!” I smiled and glanced at the wall with hand-painted icons.

“You have Marina already, and the Holy Family, too,” Dimitra remembered all the icons that I had already got. “By the way, how is Marina doing? Has she already chopped up the devil with the axe?”

“Still in process,” I sighed. “I need the icon of St. Peter.”

“I’ve got Peter and Paul!”

“I have Peter and Paul. By the way, I go to the church of the Holy Apostles Peter and Paul, the Metochion of the Optina Pustyn Monastery. Do you know what they symbolize?”

“I’m not so pious, that’s why I’m asking you about icons, taking advantage of the fact that you like coffee,” Dimitra smiled.

“Peter and Paul are a symbol of the duality of the world, black and white, merged into one, left and right paths. Peter was considered the main Apostle in Catholicism, while Paul – in Orthodoxy. The Athos image presents them embracing in the shape of a heart.”

“White and Black Magic?”

“You can say that also, but I need Peter with the keys,” I clarified, continuing to inspect the hand-painted icons, but many of them I had already seen there a year before.

“With the keys to Paradise?” Dimitra asked.

“He has two keys,” I laughed, “it’s not a fact that both are to Paradise!”

“Here on Athos, you are already in Paradise!” said Dimitra, taking out the notebook, in which she kept a record of all the icons ordered on Athos, their receipt and sale. “No, I’ve never ordered Peter with keys. I’ll call the twin monks at St. Anna’s hermitage tomorrow, perhaps they’ll have time to paint the icon before you leave.”

I entered the icon shop of Janis’ family. His parents spoke Greek, but Janis studied Russian. He always congratulated me on Orthodox holidays by sending a photo of a hand-painted holiday icon from their shop. Janis had got a daughter recently.

“Alice! Welcome, dear! How are you? How is your cat?”

The cat wasn’t mine, but periodically he visited me and, walking around the flat, including open shelves with Athos icons, he put his forehead to the icons, just like a person. I photographed the cat to show to the Athos’ locals.

Janis’ father greeted me in Greek and immediately asked the girls who worked in their shop to make coffee. Janis showed me the new icons and shared the latest news, while I slowly walked around the space greeting the Saints, and they greeted me in return. Janis used to say that I felt alive icons. There were also watching ones, the Saints on them looked directly at you, following your movement in space.

“You have already Nicholas, and Alexandra too,” Janis remembered all the icons that I had already got. “What don’t you have?”

“The Stairs,” I admitted.

“Rare icon! Tomorrow I’ll call the cell of St. Nicholas to find out if they have a painted one, if not, I’ll order it to get the icon before your departure! You just need to choose an image. I’ll show you how we paint it, and the size. That icon helps souls to go through the Postmortem Ordeals. I hope nobody of yours died,” Janis opened an Internet page and showed me the options.

Having chosen the image of the Stairs, I looked around to find the desired size, and my gaze stopped on the bottom shelf in the corner rack, from where the Virgin Mary, clearly alive, was staring at me, and I involuntarily shuddered,

“That size.”

We used to drink coffee outside, at the entrance to Janis’ shop. It was customary there, shopkeepers drank coffee, chatting with passers-by, then crossed the street to have coffee with those opposite, exchanging news or silently examining tourists’ packages – the ones flashing more often indicated the most prosperous shop in Ouranoupoli. Janis usually told me about Athos, since he visited the cells, talked with the monks and took tourists to the Mountain.

“Have you ever met 12 hermits?” I asked.

“To meet them, you have to be a Saint,” Janis sighed and dived into the shop to the customers who had just entered it.

“I’m so glad you’re back with us!” exclaimed Leah, a Georgian of my age, who had lived there for almost ten years, an employee of Janis. “Thank God you are alive and well! You are very bright, even the mistress said, there is another kindness in Alice, a real one, from Heaven.”

“Thanks, Leah! Do you know the name of that icon, the Virgin Mary?” I showed it to Leah through the window.

“I don’t even remember where we got it from. I’ll tell you tomorrow!”

Janis was Dimitra’s nephew. Kiriyaki, or simply Kiri, was Dimitra’s niece. In that village, almost all were relatives, although not everyone was friendly with the others. Kiri inherited the icon shop of her father, who had retrained as an ice cream vendor two years before. The shop, like Dimitra’s, was small, but Kiri bought mostly big and expensive icons. I liked one of the icon painters who painted for her for reasonable money.

“Hello, Alice! I’m pregnant again, as you see!” she smiled.

“And a boy again?!”

“Yes,” she laughed and after some welcoming questions proceeded to review her new icons.

“Alice, it’s great to see you!” having entered the shop, Kiri’s father said, hugging and kissing me on cheeks three times. “For how long? You know, you’ll never leave! You’ll stay on Athos forever!”

“Do you happen to have St. Barbara with the cup?” I asked Kiri, pondering her father’s words.

“Not with the cup, another one. What do you need it for? It protects against sudden death, doesn’t it? Thus, you don’t want to die without communion, right?”

Kiri promised me to find out about St. Barbara, and I headed for Socrates.

Socrates was a friend of Dimitra, native Greek, but we communicated in Italian, although he spoke English as well. No one understood us in Italian, and it was useful to practice. Socrates was fond of rare icons and told me about them – emotionally! — similar to the Italian temperament.

“Oh Alice! Welcome back! Well, I’ll show you something!” he shouted from afar, and then pulled out his phone and found a photo, “They wrote an article about me in ‘National Geographic!’ Look! Do you see it? Here’s my name, the name and address of my icon shop! And those are my icons, from this wall! Imagine, some journalists came here and didn’t even say who they were and where they came from! You know, I always tell the truth about icons, and I told them everything! And they wrote it!”

“Congratulations!” I smiled and, having turned my gaze to the wall with icons, froze in my tracks.

“Coffee?” Socrates offered, not noticing my stupor.

“You knew it! I need this icon, I couldn’t find it anywhere. I’ve even supposed that it doesn’t exist!”

“Which one?”

“The Four Evangelists!”

“Ha! I always have something that supposedly doesn’t exist! You are here like a local, you know everything about everyone, who is who, who sells this and that at what price, you understand the painting techniques. Why do you need ‘the Four Evangelists’?”

“To rewrite the Future.”

Somewhere in the Mist

We took the lift to the top floor of a huge shopping center.

“Close your eyes and give me your hand!” Michael said mysteriously and led me somewhere, and then whispered, “Open!”

“Wow!” I exclaimed, since right in front of us, as if hovering in the air over the abyss, under the dome of the shopping center, there was an Island of Violets, to which a narrow bridge led.

“Don’t worry, the bridge is real, it won’t collapse! Here is an amazing cafe, where we are the only ones to have breakfast today!”

We landed on a sofa, immersed in violet thickets, the flowers surrounded us from all sides – real, large, beautiful and … sad. The waitress left us, taking our order, and Michael took out and handed me a gift box.

“Happy Valentine’s Day!”

“Thank you! Angels are always needed, one can never have too many of them,” I smiled when I saw a lovely silver Guardian Angel, and then, once again glancing at the flowers, I remembered, “Violets in Greece are a symbol of mourning! Imagine, the young Persephone, picking violets, was kidnapped by the Lord of the Kingdom of the Dead. Since then, the Greeks have been covering prematurely dead girls with violets.”

“Leave Greece apart! Better tell me why haven’t you emigrated to Italy yet? We talked with you a hundred times, there is nothing for you to do here! You know Italian. They take you for a local in Italy. You are young, smart, beautiful. So? Today we’ll register you on international dating websites. Remember the photo shoot in the fall! Lots of amazing photos! We’ll choose the best ones, and in a month, you’ll invite me to your wedding! You’ll see! What’s the point of wasting time? You are a miracle in feathers! Speaking of feathers, what are you writing now?”

“Nothing… I know what I have to. I saw it there.”

“About Another Reality?”

“Yes, perhaps the time for that book hasn’t come yet.”

“What did you see?”

I wondered how to explain to an earthly man what they had shown me in Heaven, and shifted my gaze to the flowers, but I noticed Ray on the bridge to the Violet Island.

“So what did they show you, Alice?” Michael asked, sitting with his back to Ray approaching us.

“Aggregation of atoms,” I breathed out to Michael.

“I delved into scientific books. So many discoveries in the fields of quantum have been made, and all that stuff about Another Reality, it just takes my breath away! Do you want me to bring them for you to read?”

“Alice, do you want a trick?” Ray asked as he sat down nearby.

“Okay, bring them,” I replied to Michael.

“Don’t be afraid,” Ray held out his hand to me. “Close your eyes.”

I looked at Ray with a question in my eyes, but I couldn’t disobey. We took a couple of steps away from the table, while Michael, as if nothing had happened, continued,

“Next time I’ll bring you three books at once. So, what are we going to do today?”

“Open your eyes, Alice,” Ray whispered, and I obeyed.

Ray and I were standing on the bridge. I turned my gaze to… Oh no! There, at the table, on the Violet Island! There was still me there!

39 Before/2 After. House No. I

Dark Tower

Somewhere in the Universe

“Scared, Rukh?” the Guardian asked at the door of House No. 1.

“Yes,” I admitted.

“Don’t be afraid. It’s not the place to get really scared.”

I obediently opened the door, stepped inside and expected to see anything, but … I ended up on a fragile suspension bridge, swaying from a gale force wind over a raging sea! The wind longed to break the bridge and throw it into the abyss. The bridge led to an island surrounded by a high stone wall, behind which there was a Dark Tower, going straight into the sky.

“Where are we? What’s happening?” I shouted to the Guardian, and huge waves crashed down, clearly trying to drown us.

“Let’s go, let’s go,” the Guardian led me to the iron gates of the fortress, and they at once opened obediently, and behind them…

…it was so quiet, as if the raging sea didn’t exist! A stone-paved path led up to the Tower, where a few ghosts flashed in the windows. Butterflies fluttered over beautiful flower beds on either side of the path.

“How strange everything is here! Even the flowers,” I involuntarily burst out, “they are beautiful and sad. Why?”

“These are violets,” the Guardian sighed, and I noticed an old monk approaching us.

“Hello, Rukh,” said the monk, piercing me with a deep gaze. “Health and strength to your Angel. The sea is almost always restless here. A storm is about to break out. Come on, let’s warm ourselves by the fireplace.”

We entered the Dark Tower. A candle appeared in the monk’s hand. He lit it with the power of his mind, and we climbed a narrow spiral staircase up to the top floor to a tiny door decorated with a skull and the inscription “Memento Mori”.

The first thing that caught my eye in the cell room was the absence of a roof, the starry sky spread over us with the Moon floating across it. A bare stone floor. A small window without glass, but with bars. A wooden table by the window, with old books, a pen and an inkwell. A rocking chair by the fireplace with a cracked mirror above it. The walls were adorned with candlesticks and icons with Saints, each of whom smiled in response to my mental greeting.

“My name is Saturn. We are inside your Self, Rukh,” whispered the old monk, sitting down into an armchair by the fireplace blazed instantly.

“House No. 1 is self-consciousness,” the Guardian confirmed, “what kind of person you are inside, not outside, your ‘ego’.”

“Egoism and pride don’t threaten you,” Saturn chuckled. “House No. 1 turned out to be not a luxurious palace, not even a castle, but the Dark Tower on an island that occupies only 13 degrees out of 360 in the Circle, designed for 12 Spheres of Life. You’ll be lucky with the number ‘13’, since your first breath falls on the 13^th degree of Cancer, and ‘your Self’ Sphere has 13 degrees.”

“The door opens at the moment of the first breath,” the Guardian clarified, “House No. 1 is also called the House of Life, and its owner is the Master of Destiny, in your case it’s the Moon. Since the Moon is too far from here, Selene is a fictitious planet, Sirius is a star, so Saturn plays the dominant of Destiny role, having the maximum impact on your Consciousness.”

“Angel, don’t rush! Jumping up the Stairs is a thankless task, you may hurt yourself,” Saturn stopped the Guardian and materialized two chairs for us. “The island is located in the sea, in the Sign of Water, Cancer. You are an emotional and sensitive girl, subtly feeling the non-manifested and hidden, our Subtle World, or Another Reality for people. They say that such as you live without skin and have amazing intuition. We are talking about the Astral or Starry body – a super-sensitive soul, which is always in search for protection and care, a stone wall. One day you will build a high stone wall, shutting yourself off from people because of the acute mental pain they have caused, and your Dark Tower that goes into Heavens in order to communicate with our World, occasionally inviting the chosen ones, with whom you don’t need to be afraid of being wounded or killed.”

“Cancer means a delicate body and an impenetrable shell, right?”

“Yes, exactly. Children are comfortable with you. They feel the world as you do. But with adults… At the slightest threat of discomfort, you’ll withdraw hiding into yourself. Caution, shyness, fear of expressing emotions for fear appearing ridiculous, molded from a different dough. Amazing imagination, but innate self-doubt and fear of change. The task is to reveal the talents generously provided by Heaven, and, stepping on the throat of fears, to share with people the results of the soul’s creativity.”

“And my mother? Won’t she protect me?” I asked.

“Of course,” Saturn sighed, “for people like you, the support, approval, love and care of loved ones are important. There is a strong attachment to the well of the Past and mother. The well is hidden in the basement of the Tower. Diving into it, you’ll become a deep personality.”

“Will I have a big family?”

“The family is not to be mentioned here,” Saturn sighed again. “Anyway, you’ll strive to build a cozy nest in a quiet harbor in order to feel safe. When you acquire a shell, people will no longer understand who you are – the stony expression on your face will become your mask. Unlike most earthly women, you are unsociable and laconic, though you know to listen and hear, you have the ability to speak without words. Look for those with whom you can communicate as customary here. Your Selene tends to help people. You are inclined to self-sacrifice. A devoted, honest and faithful, but easily inspired soul, you are open to magical influences, primarily by husbands and / or business partners. You’ll be deceived and betrayed, however, it’s better to be betrayed by someone than to betray someone.”

“Will I live by the sea?”

“You’ll love and fear it at the same time, painting it from childhood, even before you have seen it with earthly eyes. What did you feel walking across the bridge?”

“Fear,” I agreed with Saturn.

Suddenly, thunder rumbled outside the window and rain poured down instantly.

“Uranus is naughty,” Saturn sighed. “Well, I’ve said enough about your Cancer essence, the Moon will tell you the rest.”

Ghosts began to appear from the cracked mirror, surrounding me and pulling me into …

Library of the Universe

“I don’t understand,” I confessed to the Guardian, as I took a seat in the Reading Hall, “why are there, in my Consciousness, ghosts appearing and the monk living, and the sign ‘Memento mori’ on the door to the cell? Saturn said nothing about himself, the Moon sailed over the Tower in the distance, and the sea wanted to drown me.”

“Not all at once, Rukh! The Stairs must be walked, not jumped. Listen attentively and absorb the information. It’ll be easier to remember on Earth.”

The book flatted open at page with “The Girl and the Sea” miniature.

“She used to sit for a long time by the Sea at sunset, the Girl in a pink dress. Lost in thoughts about something, she was gazing into the Sky. There was a Mysterious Land in the clouds, where winged people lived. Lilac castles beckoned her to them, in their quaint gardens fabulous flowers were fragrant and magical birds were singing. The wind carried unusual aromas and echoes of enchanting melodies to the Girl. And she also saw familiar faces there, they smiled and called the Girl to their Heavenly Country, to the City of the Sun. She dreamed of getting to them, but didn’t know how to do it, because she had no wings. The Sun was setting into the Sea. Warm waves caressed her legs, singing a quiet kind song that she had heard from her mother when she was still a baby. The Girl looked around, but there was no one on the shore, and she felt completely lonely. The gloomy Rocks didn’t understand her, because they couldn’t feel anything, however, that was the reason they would never die. The Rocks, as usual, were only watching silently the picture at sunset: the Girl and the Sea. The Sun was approaching the horizon. The waves were whispering louder and louder. The Magic Country floated away, losing its outlines. The Girl was standing by the Sea, and her tears fell onto the waves, and the Sea became salty… The seagulls that flew to the seashore in the evening didn’t find anyone there. The Sun sank behind the horizon, and the Night came. Somewhere far away in the Sky, the seagulls noticed the outlines of an unknown City. They wondered, what kind of City it was, being situated not on Earth, but in the Sky. They had never seen such cities before! And the two most curious seagulls decided to make a flight to the mysterious City, but they had not enough strength to reach it. And the Girl disappeared. The Rocks no longer saw her there, on the seashore, at sunset. Only the book left by the Girl on the coastal stone reminded them of her existence.”

On the border

Ouranoupoli

I woke up to the alarm at 9:50. I had a strange dream, but Ray… what did he try to say? The Island of Violets actually existed. Michael, an excellent poet and deputy minister, had invited me once to that cafe to celebrate the release of his book, which included also some poems dedicated to me. Michael dreamed of celebrating my wedding in Italy.

I went down for breakfast. Nicolette’s mom used to cook herself. Her breakfasts were much tastier than in hotels. My room was more spacious, and what a gorgeous balcony I had! In the afternoon, the Sun left it, allowing me to dine enjoying the view of the islands in the azure sea; at night, the Moon used to float by, and a mysterious multi-beam star winked me. The house was built on a rock overlooking the sea, in a word, I lived on the top floor of the mysterious Tower in order to calmly talk with Heaven without fear of tsunami. Funny! I was lucky on “13”, that was the number of my apartment on Athos, my dacha and garage, my ex-husband’s flat in Moscow, the last digits of my phone number and so on.

Rising from breakfast, I ran into the maid and asked her not to clean my place every day, just to take out the garbage, since I liked to feel as at home.

The sea – sea – sea … After swimming, I used to plop down in the white sand by the distant rocks, and then to return home, buying on the way some ice cream and fruit in Acropolis Tavern’s minimarket, where I occasionally had dinner.

After reading “The Girl and the Sea”, which hadn’t much to be corrected, I fell into childhood memories, but at exactly 18:00 – I loved everything systemic, not digesting chaos and since it was too hot during the day – I went for a walk to the Athos border, taking with me the Akathist to the “Seeking for the Perished” icon of the Virgin Mary. On the way, I visited the Church of Saints Constantine and Helena, where there were the “Gatekeeper” (Portaitissa), “Quick to Hear” (Gorgoepikoos) and an old icon of St. Petka Paraskeva, beloved by the Greeks and me. The icon of Petka, I had bought on St. Stephen island in Montenegro, where I had lived in a castle on vacation a long time before, was the first hand-painted icon in my house. In Ouranoupoli, you could enter the church in any clothes and shoes, and Greek women didn’t cover their heads with scarves for the memory of the war with Turkey – a protest against Muslim customs. Inside the church, there was air conditioning and chairs for parishioners to sit, except for special moments of liturgy.

The road to the border with Athos started from the Tower and went to the left along the sea, perpendicular to the main street. In about 30 minutes you could see the Zygou monastery, the monument “Protected by UNESCO”, the golden coat of arms of Mount Athos, barbed wire and a small customs house, although in 99% of cases, if the sea wasn’t stormy, they got to Athos by ferry, not by land. I liked that rural road – past the vineyards and olive groves, the lands of local residents, and the tiny luxury hotel “Sketes”, where I wouldn’t have stayed, because the sea after the Tower was different, it changed dramatically, turning from kind and homely to spontaneous and harsh, as if the real border had been located at the Tower.

I reached the border and habitually stopped at the ruined Zygou, first mentioned in 941. Usually access to the excavation area was closed, but Sophia, Dimitra’s daughter, had taken me there and shown all sorts of interesting and curious things. I turned right and walked to the sea along the barbed wire, greeted the Holy Mountain and read the Akathist. Guards by the wire – wasps – were flying to scan intentions, but I wasn’t going to cross the border, and they left me alone.

Sophia had shown me a mysterious cove of stunning beauty to the right of the border. There was a small passage between the rocks, and during the evening tide you could get inside and out only by swimming, so it was no sense to take any value with you – everything had to be left on the rock at the entrance. I climbed one of the rocks to meet the sunset. The Sun was like a burning candle. Having taken a few photos, I found ghosts distinctly manifested on them, so I sent the photos to my friend, Svetlana, and, raising my head, I saw … I could swear, it was the same Monk from the airport! He walked slowly along the shore, sat down at the rock nearby and met the sunset too. When the Sun disappeared, I wandered back. The Monk followed me and turned towards the customs house. I exhaled in relief. There was something about him that distinguished him from other monks, but what?

Dimitra was chatting with her husband and brother at their icon shop opposite the Tower. She greeted me with a smile, offered coffee and asked about my day.

“I went to the border. How is Peter with the keys doing?”

“I’ve phoned the twin monks. They say it’s August and they are full of festive events. I can send you Peter by post in about nine months,” Dimitra offered, handing me coffee. “Today, a couple from Serbia has bought two printed icons, and a man from London, you won’t believe it, has taken away your favorite ‘The 4^th Generation’! As he’s entered the shop, got frozen and said, ‘I want it’.”

London… I felt something sank inside, and at the same time I saw the Monk, the very same one! He went to the square in front of the Tower, crossed it and…

“Sorry, I have a client!” Dimitra whispered and ducked into her shop, and I took a few steps towards the Tower, but Dimitra returned, “False alarm!”

“The Tower, you say it’s closed…”

“Yes, already for several years. They say the state has no money to maintain the museum. And there’s a problem with the roof. The tower is higher on the old postcards. We get earthquakes from time to time. The top floor collapsed, and there is no money to restore it,” she explained and held out something wrapped in foil. “My mother asked me to give it to you personally! Gingerbread, she cooks herself! For tea!”

After thanking Dimitra and her mother, I headed for the Tower and, abruptly slowing down, walked around it from the square side, then from the seaside. There was a lock on the fence, a lock on the door, and no light in the windows. However, I could swear by all the Saints, that Monk had entered it just a couple of minutes before!

…I couldn’t fall asleep for a long time, so I went out onto the balcony. It was too quiet. Too black the sky. The Moon wanted to tell me something, but the icon of the Virgin Mary at Janis’ shop appeared on the inner screen, and I heard, “Come on, Alice! Remember me, remember!” Yes, there was something important that connected me with the icon, but what? I went back to my room, lay down on the bed, turned off the night light, and tried to fall asleep again.

Somewhere in the Universe

In a building with many doors, people with wings were rushing at lightning speed. One of them, who looked like Guardian Angel, grabbed my hand and quickly led me down the corridor, as if we were late. In the queue at the Information Desk, I spotted the husband of my Moscow neighbor. He smiled and waved at me, wishing me good luck, or did it seem to me? – there was too noisy! – either from the wings rustling, or because at each door there were crowds of people, vigorously discussing something. We went up to the top floor and went through the door with the inscription “Live broadcasting”. A white-robed winged clerk was diligently scribbling words with a feather and an invisible ink in a ghostly book lying on the equally ghostly table. However, everything in the mysterious building seemed rather vague. Having finished with writing, he glanced at us and asked,

“Standard?”

“Yes, Bro,” nodded the Angel.

“What’s your name?” the clerk turned to me, I answered, he wrote down my name, put a tick next to it and handed the book to the Angel. “Put down the dates and time yourself. And sign it. There was a precedent here the other day. I was accused of putting the wrong number. They began to figure it out and found the Guardian’s fault. It was exactly midnight there, and the clock was a little behind!”

“When will it be sent?” asked the Angel, signing the paper.

“We have a new decree, three times a day in live broadcasting, so don’t worry, Bro, it’ll reach everyone! Good luck, Alice!”

I wanted to ask what that meant and where we were, but someone called out to me. I turned around and saw Ray. And instantly… the building was gone. There were no more people, no clerks with wings, just the black sky, the stars, me and Ray. Lightning ran across the sky. It flashed in red zigzags and died down, flashed and died down, but there was no thunder anywhere.

“Ray, what’s going on?” I asked.

“Lightning,” Ray replied calmly, coming close to me.

“What kind of lightning?”

“Telegram”.

“Telegram?” I was surprised. “To whom?”

“To the whole Universe, Alice,” Ray replied and … disappeared.

Ouranoupoli

I woke up. It was still night on Athos. I went out to the balcony. Absolute silence and too black sky, not a cloud, when suddenly … I saw the same flash as in my dream! The sky flashed with red zigzags and died down, flashed and died down, flashed and died down…