Confession of a Ghost. F.M. Dostoevsky award. Playing Another Reality

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.”