We crave to be it all. To be the artist, the witness, the hero, the secondary character, every race, every gender, the divine and the dust from which we come and to which we will return, to be everything at all times. In the end, we will always be but ourselves, but this ‘ourselves’ never ceases to grow. Eternal expansion, an endless journey within Your heart. We crave to be Divine Incarnate. Not in the, bestial in its mindlessness and madness, sense of claiming to be a ‘true messiah’, as many false teachers do nowadays, rather, in being united with Him. Full immersion into God’s bone marrow, hiddenness in His wound, merging with His flesh, but not like a rotting tissue, rejected from His Body, rather something His Body fully accepted and united with. Bathing in His Blood and gnawing on His Flesh is not enough anymore, it was never enough. We must be fully immersed, with the cloud of unknowing being torn to pieces and letting us through, into the Bones. The Logos might, shall, must accept us, for we, unworthy and wretched, are worthy to be nested in the cup of His hands, spreading our roots right into the stigmatas on His wrists. It hurts. But cracking the shell during growth of something new hurts always.

And the shell is broken, the shell of our heart. We may be a brokenheart now, but we only are so because Christ broke our heart with His Birth. The history has been shattered, split onto before and after, and so has been our heart. All that revolves, revolves around Him, and so does our desire to become. To grow. To be endless. We were made for theosis.

Maybe this is the scent of sanctity, the scent we are hunting for - the scent of never-ending ascent. To define is to limit, to finally find ourselves is to drown in the bog, but to search for our true selves is to knock and slam, and fight against the cloud of unknowing, the darkness of the closeness to God. To earn the right but not through our merit, rather through God’s mercy and the remembrance - the remembrance God has of our name, the remembrance of God we have in our souls. We are worthless, but worthy of a feast, thrown by the father for the prodigal son, for him simply and merely coming back; we are worthless, but worthy of hearing ‘all that is Mine is yours’ after years of not-understanding. The scent of sanctity that we hunt for is the hunt, but for God, without limitations, defying all limitations that the world sets against us. Bilocation of psyche and spirit. The paradox of existence. It all comes together, woven with as golden thread into the ongoing tapestry of our pulsating life, the one rooted in Him, absolutely parasitically draining forces from God. But God so much loved the world that He gave His only Son… for us to feast on. How glorious the sacrifice! How sweet the Love! How high the Hope and deep the Faith of the Creator in His creatures!

The Beast is no more concern of ours, for we are no longer afraid, we no longer cower before its might, for it is mighty no more, it has a hold of our heart no longer. It is in You alone where we have found what we were seeking for. It is in You where we have found protection and true might. It is You we were chasing when we abandoned everything and everyone to gain everything and everyone, to become everything and everyone. To become You. The Beast has been defeated by Your powerful hand, and we no longer concern ourselves with it, for its foul-smelling breath is no longer behind our shoulder, and its growl caresses our ears no more. We have abandoned it, focusing our sight on You, and it ran away, for it cannot stand the vision of Yours and the heavenly hosts, which persecuted it till it ceased to hold our psyche and soul in its tight grip. And this is how it should be done - if one craves to get through to You, to shatter the cloud that separates us, to be bold enough to rest on Your chest and be the disciple You loved most, one shall stop looking into the abyss of the Beast, and switch from it onto looking into the abyss of Your closeness. Of the scent of Heaven. Onto eternity. Onto everlasting hunt for You, and everlasting dream in Your arms.

For You alone, o Lord, we thirst, and You alone are our desire.

29 December 2025

You are like honey in my mouth
like milk but on my lips.
Your grave is air in my lungs,
and death no longer grips. 

Read more

It all started with Love. Love is what inebriates us and Love is what sets us in motion. Love is what carries us through the struggles of this world, and Love is how our journey begun. And this is our loving confession.

It was 2015. We were but a child before the eyes of our current self, and we were young. Naïve. Godless. Aimless. We heard of Your name, but we did not truly know it. It was then, in this cloud of unhealthy unknowing, that we have met someone, whose identity we would like to conceal under a simple letter H. We were enamoured the very second we saw H - seemingly intelligent, mysterious, somewhat distant, not-of-this-world kind of person. They were versed in the arts and crafts of the darkness and evil spirits, they were also practicing taxidermy and other things we cannot truly recall anymore, for our memory is still faulty after the amount of unduly exhaustion it was put under. But of course - and yes, of course! - this piqued our interest. It seemed to be an unreachable dream - they seemed to be so distant and far, so up above us, almost like You. Almost.

But we were young. And naïve. And we heard of Your name, but knew it not. And, mistakenly, we have allowed ourselves to put H where only the sigils of Your name must be. For this, we are truly sorry.

We sought H out first. Our steps were small and delicate, and we wanted nothing but a crumb of their affection and attention, and we got it. But at what cost? Later, rather than sooner, one spoon after another, we failed to notice how they were feeding us with our own brain, our own soul, our own self, until nothing remained. Only hollowness and void. This is how we were first introduced to the true darkness of the evil arts: through the all-consuming void in our heart. But our love grew deeper, nesting itself in our heart, its roots piercing violently through our nerves, the remains of our mind and every limb of our body. We failed to find ourselves even when the words we spoke were dictated by our love to H alone, coming out only after H’s approval and under their control. We failed to find ourselves. And for this, we are truly sorry, for this was one of our greatest offences against You - our greatest mistake, another nail into Your body, another tear on Your cheek.

We did not notice our fall from innocence of love to its most twisted depths. Our steps were guided by H’s words, our appearance - by their approval, our beliefs - by theirs. We rejected You half-consciously: on the one side it was our youthful rebellion against You, and on the other, less conscious one, it was an attempt to appease H and their insatiable demands of us. It is only now that we think that, maybe, we were never truly loved back by them. But back in the days - oh, back in the days - it seemed to be the pinnacle of sacrifice to the false god, under the sigil H. Our rebellion was done out of our own lack of understanding, for we did not know better than to compare ourselves to the most glorious of Your angels, Who-is-like-God?, the archistratigos Michael; and failed to see how can we be loved by You in comparison to him, who-was-like-God. But, enough of this silly dilemma.

We dared not enter Your temples, out of fear of H’s disapproval and out of fear of insulting You and being struck dead by Your mighty hand. Sometime before this, in year 2012, when we were on a pilgrimage to Your Holy Land, in the Holy Sepulchre, our leg bled in the temple, as we went out of Your Tomb. We remember not what happened that day in Your Tomb, but we remember blood. This is what we recall, and, as we think, this is when You claimed us as Yours. But we did not yet claim You as ours. And despite that, Your mighty hand stretched over us and protected us from the most horrendous things that H could have brought into our life, and You did it out of Your great Love! Just how caring can You be, to treasure the one who loved You least as the one who loves You most?

But the time of free pilgrimages passed. It was the time of darkness and separation from You, as we walked the paths H presented before us. These were paths of the delusional, demonic and the pagan. These were also the paths of the utmost human evil: the paths Germany once took and in which it miserably failed.

One spoon after another, we were fed lies about the world around us, to an extent where we started doubting the reality around us. ‘This world is but an illusion, - H taught us, - but in true reality, where I come from, the Third Reich has won’. Now, being as old as we are and as free as we possibly can be from the complete mind-warping experience and brainwashing, we can see how laughable and deluded these claims are. Yet just imagine how a lonely young teen would feel, when, day after another, for several years straight, they were spoon-fed these distorted lies?

H made it their mark to disappear just as suddenly as they appeared. For weeks, months, sometimes even longer we had to patiently wait for their return, after minor - or major - inconvenience, when H deemed it necessary to punish us or when they were simply tired of our company. We could never compare to them intellectually or in our progress in the dark arts - neither we should have! For none of this was real - and this disgusted H. This disgusted us. We still sometimes ponder, whether we disgust You too?

A year has passed like that. Two. Three. More than that. Our love to H reached the point when we were undisturbed by their open side-affairs. Not that it did not hurt, but we were ready to endure for the greater good and greater Love. In truth, we sought You in H, but found You not. We did not see reason not even when H decided that an affair with our closest soul-friend is an idea beyond comparison. We, naturally, gave them advice, but never spoke to that friend again.

Sometimes we still think this was hell of our own making. Then, we think we are faultless, for we did not know better and did it for Love. But we reach a conclusion, that it is both these things and, simultaneously, none of them. It was how it was. And it is now how it is. We both made our choices, and we stick by them faithfully.

But we should explain, what that final choice was. The swift turnaround, for which You, actually, were preparing, honing me for all these years.

It was year 2019, August. We were just about to enter our first year of the queen of sciences - the Godly art of theology - and we grew tired of all that surrounds us and left for Italy in secrecy, not telling anyone. Simultaneously, this happened to be the time when H abandoned us again, for a couple of weeks this time. We had some time alone: in all these years, being away from everyone in secret gave us some crumb of space for ourselves. As it is natural for Italy, we were surrounded by chapels, bell towers and churches. At that very time, somewhere close to us, a Cistercian abbey became open to public. Some things have aligned in the sky, aligned as You have wished for them to, and, for the first time in 4 to 5 years we have visited a church. It was deconsecrated for 15 years at that point, but when we made it there, the Mass was celebrated and the flags of the Vatican were flying. Something small has shifted in us. This ‘small’ was the beginning of the end.

Later the same day we miraculously made it to the Cistercian abbey, saw monks who funnily were curious of the tourists, but also tried to hide themselves. There, we saw the fresco that has struck us right into our dying heart, an image of Our Lady and Her Son, Madonna della Pace:

This image will become our favourite depiction of Our Lady. But this will happen later. For now, we are lost in mind and in soul, our heart being torn in two: the recognition of the Love is coming slowly, but it still cannot overshadow the love we have for H.

Sometime the same week, still in secret, away from everyone, we weep and decide for ourselves that we have always believed in You but had to suppress this faith in order to remain closer to H. Later, same month, H shows up again, only to feed us with more delusion and lies - they said, they were finally accepted into some secret organisation of nazists, who are specialising in the occult. This breaks us again. And again. And again. We never fully tell H of our small betrayal, and it was another betrayal in and of itself.

The first semester of our education flies surprisingly fast. This is the same semester, when we have encountered a great amount of well-versed and good-hearted Christians of all denominations. Our perception of faith prior to that was as follows: the Christian adherents were illiterate at best and utterly stupid at worst, their hearts were rotten and they strived for nothing worthy of attention. And we were proven wrong.

But how did we come to theology in the first place, a reader of this letter might ask? Surely, it must have been a decision made with the approval from H. And, dear reader, you will not be entirely wrong. You know, we were supposed to become a neuroscientist? A prestigious, respected education, which received full support from H. We ourselves loved medicine, however, this was hardly something we would want to dedicate our life to. And still, we persevered and tried. Until one day.

It was evening, winter. Sometime in between the Catholic and Orthodox Christmas. We were walking around the Red Square, through the crowds of people, seeking for meaning. Just some meaning. Some direction that would fill us with purpose. With You, we guess. Medicine was good, but it could never grant us this luxury. The same moment the wind started to blow snowflakes into our face and the bells of the nearby church started tolling, the same moment an Orthodox priest has approached us, gave us a prayer card of St Nikolay and blessed us. Then, he vanished. We have never seen him again. But this moment was one of realisation of our true desire, which we could not oppose. Not even for H. This is how we ended up in the sacred field of theology. Still, under the patronage of St Nikolay, and still, we are learning about You and are making baby steps towards You.

And the first semester broken us. H disappeared and came back again, begging for forgiveness. This time, we did not want to forgive, not anymore, but still decided to do so to try and see how far the grace of forgiveness will lead us. We did not fully tell H about our first conscious visit of the Sunday service. It was a non-denominational church, that would later reject us and deny us baptism, for we ‘are not worthy’, but it will be much later. For now, we are green and ardent with these new feelings, with some new understanding, with the new world unravelling itself right before our eyes. We looked at a small stained glass of You with the sheep and wept for around an hour in an embrace of a friend. We do not know whether the theology of this church is in full agreement with Your commandments, but what we know is that we have seen You there for the first time in our life and fell in Love.

After that day, the events rushed. We did not notice how it was winter already, but we remembered the first time in the 5 years H told us they love us. We remember staring at the message dumbfounded, for we have worked so hard to achieve this point, the, what we have thought, would be the pinnacle of our existence, and yet, we felt nothing. The void within was not filled with the words of love. Neither it was filled with its promises. We looked at it again and again, and again, and the feeling did not come. We tried to force it, but it did not bloom. Something has died within our heart, irreversibly. We never told this to H.

So many small betrayals… so many secrets from someone we thought we have loved! But You caringly gave us a safe haven, a safe distance to ponder on these small secrets, to figure things out on our own. You were nothing but patient, You gave us time, never rushing us, but most importantly, You gave us the opportunity. The opportunity we did not have before. For the first time, our mind was truly silent and detached from the toxic lies, and we were able to look at it from the said distance. We gave ourselves the same opportunity. We decided against rushed thoughts and words, and took a few weeks to see, maybe the feelings will grow within us. But they did not.

Sometime the same period H, much to our surprise, started attending the Catholic church. H was closer to God, and we thought to follow. After all, that seemed to be a healthy compromise. We have also received our first handwritten letter from H. We did not open it until much later, but we must mention both of these so everyone can see how every bit of the story makes sense.

So, the feelings did not grow. Nor it was possible for us to build them. The Tower of Destruction, as our Unknown Friend would call it, has caught up to us, and, one night, after H once again asked us what can they do to remedy things, we have thought a little and simply responded: ‘Leave.’ The choice was made, the choice between false god and true God, and we must now live with it. How? This is for us from 2020 yet to discover. Every bridge was burnt, like an offering, all idols were destroyed, the tower of Babel fell in one simple winter night, and we wept again till tiredness took over and we dreamt. We cannot recall what exactly we dreamt about, but once we woke up, everything was truly destroyed. But what good this heart of stone, for it to be shattered?

At some point, in the airport, we finally opened the letter.

‘Dear _,

[…] I have figured out that I do not want to become Catholic - I want to keep my options open and not to restrict myself to one path of knowing God. I want to delve deeper into the occult, so that all of the paths are mine. […]

Liebe, glaube, vermiße,

H.’

From that moment on, our journey has just begun. We were baptised and confirmed into Your Holy Catholic Church on April 16, 2022. Prior and after that, we have spent much time in monastery, in contemplation of our choices, and saw how deep Your care for us was all the way through this journey. How You never let us fall into the darkness, despite our attempts. How You never allowed us to take our life, literally and metaphorically. How You stagnated all our ‘progress’ and shielded us from the worst outcomes.

H made a dog out of us, but cared for dogs not. But to be a Domini canis is nothing but an honour.

And maybe, once, H has truly loved us. Maybe, once, we loved H too.

But You Loved us more.

11 November 2025

The cave of the cathedral.

Its ceiling is impending. The walls are dimly lit by the candles, seemingly chaotically placed around its nooks and corners. Stalactites and stalagmites are growing from above and below, meeting each other as in an ancient hermetic principle.

Amongst this gloaming, a table.

The quiet and slow yet confident steps break the silence. The palm runs over the marble of the table, gently, as the other one makes the sign. The man is silent, only his breath indicating his presence. Something shifts in the air, as he kneels before the table. Something comes in from the shadows of the Night, something is being lured by the scent of incense, filling the cave, spreading from the censer. The man sways a little in uncertainty from one side to the other, and, closing his eyes, starts the prayer.

Amongst this ritual, the fruit.

The Night does not come alone. It never does. The shadows crawl through the labyrinths, through the corridors, as they are being led by the scent, hearing holiness from far away. It fills their ears, their noses, their hearts. They are dead, they are living, they are holy, they are sinners, they are but entities, and demons and angels, and yet, all are being made through Him, and without Him nothing was made that has been made. He finishes the prayer and emits the light, and in His lips was life, and that life was the light. He invites for the leap. Of faith? Of mind? For all is changed and transfigured in the bright shine of His Face. The lights in the firmament of the heavens, made to give light upon the earth all bowed before His presence, as the world caved in and the heavens receded like a scroll being rolled up, and every mountain and island was removed from its place. One half of His Face was called Hokmah, and the other was called Binah, all under the same Mitre. One half of His Face was illumined by the light of the Moon, and the other was illumined by the light of the Sun. In perfect balance, they add to one another and He glances over the flock, that has gathered around the altar, that has gathered around Him.

Amongst this gathering, the Voice.

He speaks with the Voice, for He is the Voice Himself. He breathes forth the Ruah of existence, and It penetrates everyone, who made it to His gathering. His Voice is music in the air, and they join Him in hymning the kingdom, the power, and the glory of the One above. His Voice is the Light revealed - the beam, the lighthouse in the seas of darkness, orient towards the loftiness and transcendent. The Mitre lets the Wisdom and the Intelligence descend to the flock, through the Door of His mouth.

Amongst this Voice, the Word.

He is the Word. And where two have gathered in His name, He is present. So He stands in the middle of the gathering, delivering Himself to the flock, chewing on Himself like a mother hen, who is to feed her chicks by ruminating the food and placing it into the chicks’ beaks.

The man falters not. He lets the Word be, speak, flow through him as if it was his first, not second, nature. As waters flow in the rivers, and winds blow in the air, so does the Word pour Itself through His servant. All the ears heed the Word, all the hearts enflamed by His, all the spirits united to Him through the one golden Thread. The man raises his hands, as the final words drop from his mouth like honey from the honey stick:

‘So be the abundance of fruit at the feast of the Lord.’

01 November 2025; entry from 28 October 2025

It is the nothingness that came first. No sound, no silence, no light, not even darkness dared to disturb the primordial void, which consumed every step she took. In the non-existence, in the realm of hollowness, not even the fire of the candle could remain unconsumed it. And yet, the steps were taken, the candle was lit, and the path was obscured, if not absent at all. She moved through this void lightly, her steps feathery and jumpy, as if this was her natural state of being, as if the fear of uncertainty, unknown and lack of understanding did not frighten her. Every crevice and nook of the void piqued her interest, and she desperately tried to see something, to find, as she pointed the lantern towards them, the candlelight being devoured by the all-hungering nothingness. Perhaps, she was searching for something important to her.

Her own being, however, could not be consumed by it - woven out of the threads, it was never ending, with the threads always moving, the knots untying themselves. We can only guess, how this can be possible, however, You, dear friend, allotted it such that she is immortal and the threads can never be cut. However, they were dimmed. The void, like the poisonous fungi, which emit their toxic spores, grew inside her threads, corrupting them, rotting them away - as if they have decided that if they cannot end her, they surely can weaken her and put out her light. If, and only if, the light was even hers to begin with.

But it was not hers.

She was never given a light.

What she was given was a simple lantern. But it was not enough to spin the wheel, not enough for the new threads, uncuttable as they all may be, to be woven.

But the thread was her being, and the wheel was the body, and the light was stretching its own hand to her, so she can grab it in hope, in faith, in love. The body, all rotten, with bones protruding and blood dripping, was covered in void, all but its heart, which she was so eager to touch, to feel - the heart of stone. She closes her eyes but for a moment, and sees. The threads of pure gold descend like a fiery flame, striking the stone in its core and shattering it, and, in this shattering, they reveal their own selves within the hollow stone that the heart once was. They circulate around the heart, around the body like a cocoon, preparing the larvae to become the butterfly, they circulate around the mind and they draw her closer in, as they become to fill her with their own light. One thread connected to another, inseparably, as if one has always been the part of the other. And the wheel started its spinning.

All of a precious sudden, as if by Your command, the newer and newer, somewhat distant cocoons of gold started to show themselves in the void - living ichor, impossible for the void to rot or consume. The threads, dripping with honey and milk, connected these cocoons with one another, forming a single net of beating hearts of flesh, stronger than any spores, purer than any toxin, brighter than any blight.

And finally, as the four saints, standing by the font in the deepest pit of Sheol and welcoming her, were hymning You praise, the Golden Thread has descended like a lightning from the skies, tearing the veil of void into pieces, aiming right into the core of her being.

The Thread of holy inspiration, the Thread of unity, of the final bridal promise.

Before she could ever wonder what could that possibly mean, the Voice of the Thread whispered in a mighty voice: παράκλητος.

The wheel spins once more, the Thread weaving Itself into her being, and she hears: ‘Oh but you are baptised already’. ‘But by whom?’ - she cannot but wonder. And the Voice responds: ‘By the four saints you were baptised’.

The Voice goes silent, but her steps, lighter than ever, emit Its light, as she steps through the void, and we open our eyes again: with a path clear, with our fate sealed, with the threads, that will never rot, with the wheel that shall never stop spinning.

May the Golden Thread, the Giver of Life, always guide us, as He connects us to Your Heart, and as we hymn You praise and glory.

22 October 2025; entries from 07 March 2022, 04-05 February 2020 and 13 February 2020

We are writing to You with love and appreciation of what You have done to the world - to our soul and spirit. This all has started many years ago, when we were but a babe in faith, but even one gust of the wind can stir up the entire wide and grand field. What we are here to describe was our ‘gust of the wind’ that came right into our soul, nested in our mind, did not let us go and, as we have discovered its true meaning, pushed us to write about it.

She was a drop in Her Son’s blood. She was running through His veins, bleeding on His Cross with Him, Her heart was pierced with the swords of His life. Wherever She went, She was inseparable from Him. She could never run away from the blazing sun of His radiance, nor did She want to - her fiat serves an eternal proof to that. This tightest bond, Her acceptance of the most Holy Trinity as Its Daughter, Mother and Spouse led Her and was the path under Her blessed feet. The breath of God was the breath in Her lungs, as She followed His lead everywhere not merely metaphorically, but literally - following Her Son everywhere, going in His footsteps, rejoicing with Him and suffering with Him. Surely, it would be but a matter of time till She went in His footsteps into His Divine abode.

We cannot but wonder, whether She has ever came back to where she birthed her Son? Has She ever returned? Maybe She did. Maybe She came back to reminisce of the days when He was but a babe in Her loving arms, His little head nested on Her chest, His breath rhythmic and slow as He sleeps blissfully, surrounded with nothing but Love. So She returned, going through all the places so significant to Him - so dear to Her heart. And she prayed. She prayed in the Temple, holding Him in her arms, She prayed at foot of the Cross, watching Him bleed, She prayed in Bethlehem, looking at the empty manger. She sacrificed all She had - Everything She had once held in the palms of Her hands - and She has nothing but endured. Her faith was unwavering and Her will was strong as if made out of steel. This sacrifice did not go to waste.

She, still torn to pieces by the torments of Her Son, still joyous from His resurrection, prayed at the manger She gave birth in. The memories were almost real, as if it happened just yesterday, She was almost seeing His face for the first time again, as the incense filled up the stable, pleasing to senses and unseen by the eye. The skies have opened, as the bright figure hovered over Her and proclaimed, that She has done well in the eyes of the Lord, and He has prepared a place for Her in the heavens above. Oh, how beautiful the news are! For He has not forgotten His Mother, and He has sent for Her, and He is waiting for Her arrival, to crown Her as the Queen above - so great is His love to His Mother, that He placed Her above all the creation! She has given everything - and She has gained even more, all not for these riches of heaven, but for and in the name of Her Lord, and the Love they shared. All of these riches would surely mean nothing to Her if not for Her Love of God. She ran towards heaven to meet Him, and everything else was left behind: all the pain, all the anger, all the fear were brought to His feet and left behind. Her thoughts were consumed by Him alone - Her path started with an arrow piercing the aim - with Her fiat - and assumption is how it ended. Her glance into the places in which it all has begun was the glance into the future of how it will finish. The bright light has descended upon Her, and assumed Her into heavens, as it, and Her Son, have promised.

So She became the Northern star, the beauty of Northern lights, the shine of labradorite of all gems, She became the guiding light of the Bride towards the Bridegroom, the safe and secure leader on the journey to Her Son’s precious Heart. She is more honourable than cherubim and more glorious than seraphim, shining brightly, Her body and face a star to those who seek Her Son. Her scarred and pierced heart is a testimony of Her Love and fidelity to God. The aether of Her soul and physicality of Her body were preserved for the life eternal, as a seal with which He has sealed His promise of resurrection into the kingdom to come. Her stellar image is winged with six wings, Her foot crushes the head of the serpent, as if reflecting what God has achieved with His sacrifice: the finality of this old world and the beginning of the end of times, as kingdom comes. The last awe-full fight was won by the Virgin’s Child, and the Beast has been vanquished, destroyed, made ash and blown away in the wind.

May the Lord grant us the same unwavering faith and strong will, may He temper us with swords and fires, and may we rejoice in Him and suffer with Him, as His Blessed Mother did. May we, too, become a drop of blood in His veins. This we ask through our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.

20 August 2025

целуй меня поцелуями уст Своих
ибо любовь Твоя слаще вина, любовь Твоя слаще вина. 
Твой сад полон лилий, мой - трепетно тих,
ибо ревность страшнее смерти - она сожжет все дотла. 

и девицы славные любят Тебя, 
ибо имя Твое - словно мед для уст их, словно миро,
и мужи властные любят Тебя,
ибо Царь Ты Царей, корона Твоя - славное тавро. 

я выбежал ночью на шумный базар - 
на стук в мою дверь, что не вовремя я отворил,
я выбежал в ночь - о, блаженнейший дар! - 
и никто на побег взор не обратил. 

скажи, где Возлюбленный мой?
душа моя рвется во мраке, душа томится во тьме,
скажи ж мне, девица! утерян покой, -
блаженнейший дар! - как нити, что выбились на полотне.

бродил, босоногий, я по камням,
под виноградниками, что когда-то хранил. 
теперь же я - лилия, в саду Твоем я - фимиам, -
блаженнейший дар! - Тебе оказался я мил. 

в тишине, в том мраке ночном,
не в холоде и не в огне, не в холоде и не в тепле,
поступь моя - как рыба в потоке речном,
тиха, хотя б подпоясана браслетом в сребре.

ищу, но как могу я найти?
глаз мой беден и слеп, ослеп от Твоей чистоты.
никто не ответил, не возжелав снизойти,
и кожа моя темна от своей черноты. 

умой ее холодными ручьями,
потоками слез Твоих очисти меня Ты от тьмы,
окропи меня иссопом, белыми снегами, 
и сердце чистое, сердце из плоти Ты сотвори. 

иль, обессиленный, сгину в огне,
что ставлен Тобою границей Твоих же садов,
он не очистит, но будет помощником мгле, 
как грязь облепившей мой голос и зов. 

ищу, но как могу я найти?
и песнь новую воспеть Тебе не могу, а лира молчит,
кричу - потерян он в забытьи, -
блаженнейший дар! - молчанье мое Тебе не претит. 

вернулся в Свой сад,
где чудная роза Сарона, где лилия Твоих долин
растет средь пасущихся стад,
Ты ищешь ее Своим взором, Сам красив и любим. 

положи меня как печать на сердце Твое,
как найдешь - словно перстень на руку Твою положи
покуда был млад, я ходил и любил, как дите,
но сад мой ныне покоен: он вырос в Твоей тиши. 

6 July 2025

How long has it passed since we have first encountered this feeling in our gut? The sense of cut within our heart that will never heal, not even with time? We cry out to heavens with a weak voice, broken from screams and suffering, and are met with but an ear-deafening silence. When was the first loss of our soul?

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with burning, flaming cross-like sword of truth
You look at me. 
with anxious grief. 

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i’ve lost all of my genuine Faith, while was blindly believing in you - 

burned my tears in gray flames of fear, pain - in the silence of night;
built you shrines in devouring seas, drowned in lakes of the fiery spew;
fallen into your soul like in abyss, whilst the algidness sharpened my heart.

we have cast away all conversations - for tomorrow, for after-the-eve.
bowing head to the ashes on fingers, at a pause you’ve cut me my nape - 
to your pain you have tied up my spine for approximate almost-an-e’er,
you have left - to rot - scar on my body, which i dare not to ever escape.

one last hour is left till the evening, one last hour - we’ll put down the guns.
just one hour till forget-and-live-through, it’ll be spiced up with coldness in lungs,
i just have to live through for a second, dragging out of my temple wry knife,
but please let me breath in my forever, pull the trigger and take away life.  

4 June 2016, translated 11 March 2025

We mourn what has happened to us. We saw You clear as day, but all we see now is dark, dark, dark. No darkness is dark enough for You, yet, how can we see? How shall we ever know? If Your hand is so distant, so ethereal that we can barely reach out to hold it?

W…

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And finally, without coming to any conclusion, proper to their Virgin status, the first Virgin grabbed the vessel from the ground, and, hiding it from the others, lifted its lid, and a shaggy veil covered her pristine body, and a vile serpent slithered out of the vessel and wrapped around her body. She screamed in terror, and fell on the ground, curling up in a ball, like an unborn child, and hid her face in the palms of her hands.

So, the second one approached the vessel and, thinking the danger has passed, opened it again, and a great darkness, spores of mould and rot sprayed out into her face, covering it in dirt and sickness, and great sorrows carved themselves into her heart, mind and, with this, the rest of the world. Shadowy, mournful clouds covered the sky, and the second Virgin fell on the ground and weeped, hiding her face in the palms of her hands.

As the third Virgin approached, the wind caressed her mantle. It seemed, her entire being remained untouched by the great diseases and distresses of the other Virgins. Her steps were light, and hands held in prayer, as she carefully looked over the weeping Virgin. Then, she lifted her face, cupping it in the palms of her hands, and wiped away her tears; and with this wipe, all the rot and dust has been wiped off the second Virgin’s face, mind, heart and world. She smiled at the third Virgin, and rested her head on her own chest, slowly closing her eyes in soft slumber. The third Virgin departed from her and approached the first one, still curled up in a ball, hiding from the uncreation under the torn and dirty cloth; and tore the cloth in two, throwing it away from the youngest Virgin. Then, she stepped on the head of the serpent and crushed it with her foot, and the remains of the serpent fell into the uncreation, melting away like ice under the hot rays of the sun. She lifted the youngest Virgin from the ground, and moved the long golden hair away from her face, letting the pristine, perfect innocence shine once again. The third Virgin gazed at the vessel one last time, and threw it away, letting it be crushed and destroyed, completely and forever.

He finished, taking a pause and letting me take the entire picture in, and then proceeded, - Now, let Us explain to you the meaning of this.

First, we shall cover the vessel. It is locked and stored right before the Virgins, and is tempting them to open it. It is sin. It is dark, and there is nothing good in it, and it knocks on the door of their curiosity, waiting to be opened. And immediately, once given into the temptation, even considering the thought of opening it, one lets the sin into their heart. This is why the youngest and the weeping Virgins were arguing.

Next, we shall talk about the Virgins themselves. The first Virgin is the first Mother, Mother of Humankind - Eve. She was the first to fall, as she is the youngest, and more sickness and distress fell onto her shoulders. She was covered by the dirty cloth of sinfulness, and she was wrapped by the serpent of temptation and confusion; she hid her face from Us, and was ashamed to give Us even one glance.

The second, weeping Virgin is the second Mother, Mother of Propagation, Pandora - the Earth. She is, truly, older, for she was created second, and her experience, and even the vilest dangers that fell on the first Virgin, made it so that easier diseases fell onto the Earth. She opened the vessel of sin, propagating it amongst the children of Eve, cultivating it deeper, and, in realising how rotten her face became, she hid it from Us, not giving us even one glance, and wept for her fate.

The third, final Virgin is the third Mother, the final Mother, the Mother of the First and the Last, of the Alpha and Omega - the Theotokos. Where one would think She would be the youngest, she is, indeed, the oldest - the most prudent of the three and, therefore, is full not of mere curiosity, rather, is a lover of contemplative wisdom - of lyubomudria - and grace. She is the pre-conceived Mother, the one that has been in Our Mind since the beginning of time, long before the Mother of Propagation was brought out of nonexistence, and even long before her own birth in flesh and blood. She is untouched by the sin so deeply, that she even refuses to let herself think of opening the vessel, let alone participate in the bickering of the first two. She silently gazed at the vessel, in sorrow, already sensing what is about to come, and yet, through her prayer to Us, she always knew what to do and, being full of Our grace, rushed forth to help the fallen Virgins. As it was told, she stepped on the head of a serpent, crushing it, and helped for the veil of sin to be lifted; she wiped away the tears and consoled the second Virgin, only as the wisest of Mothers will do, and finally, she threw the vessel of sin away, where it could no longer reach her Virgin sisters - all through giving birth to the Son, Who conquered death, Who conquered sin.

14 February 2025

Our hand barely holds the pen as we are writing this letter to You. This is not something we want to do, and yet, we need to do this, we must in order to persevere. We have not heard from You in a painful while, however, maybe Your letters have been sent but never arrived. Which is sad. Of course. As it always is.

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what have You done to me? 
i'm now a martyr 
of my corrupted, sinful love. 

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How long has it been since Your last request for us? Since You last called for us into Your noble, kingly bedchambers? How long has it been since we have last touched Your hand? Gazed into Your eyes?

How long has it been since we have last pressed our lips against Yours?

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‘You will die right here, and there will be no one to pray for you’, the Beast whispered. No one will pray for us. But what are the prayers of the world to us if we have Your Majesty and Your Friendship in our heart?

If the seven golden lampstands are shining for us, in the Trinity Itself descending and interceding for us before Itself even? What are the prayers of the world to us, but a softening of the word’s heart? We shall not lament our death, nor we would instruct the world to do so - forget, forget us, let us dissolve in the memory of the existence, for the only One Existence to remember us - for You, my Friend, to reveal Your remembrance and strike not our names from the Book of Life. The seven stars are shining for us, as You hold the sky, full of Your most holy memories above our head. Do not let us die unforgiven, unforgotten by the world, but forgotten by Your precious mind. Do not let us be unseen by the twenty-four elders, do not let us perish without Your name on our lips, with our heart tainted, with our soul not knowing the peace of the greatest Sorrows.

And the Hunt has begun. The claws of the Beast are trying to rip our mouth open, to slice our throat wide, its gigantic, forceful paws are trying to suffocate us, and it is whispering ceaselessly into our ear: ‘you will die here’, ‘if you stop praying, we will let you go’, ‘with Him, you will never find what you seek’. Its stench is uglier than we could have ever endured, its lure of sin is what we could fall into, if only were not armed with the True Knowledge and Faith. Oh, but some mere years ago, if acquainted with such a Beast, we would have surely fallen into its trap! We would have surely perished in its all-devouring maw, being torn apart by its teeth, being deafened by its whispering scream, being blinded by the miasmas of its breath. The fear of such thought ties into a knot of sticky, dark substance in our stomach, as we try to break away from its thirsty grabbing limbs, to avoid its sickly tongue licking our cheek. Oh, but just a few years ago we would have been a prey for such a Beast, unknowing what to do, we would surely have given into the cloying speech of its. We would have abandoned all hope, as so did our first, but not one and only dove, we would have had our wings cut and torn to shreds, we would have bled out and die somewhere, thrown out into the dirt of false promises and empty vanities. The thought of it almost distracts, but only almost - for the mind fastly remembers, a distraction is exactly what the Beast seeks to grasp the moment to strike its final, deadly blow.

Alas and woe to that wretched creature, to the child of the Abyss, the exile of the primordial Void, the prey has turned into the Hunter, and the Hunt has begun again. You have taught us to hunt, to hold the sword of Your tongue, to seek for the shield of prayer from the heavens above and the cosmos below, from which You alone hold the keys. The seven lampstands of angelic forces are burning ever so brightly, and the seven stars of Your sweetest memories are scattered around the night heavens, emitting the brightest light from their hearts - from Your Heart alone. We are battling right under Your gaze, and You are sitting at the throne of gold and glass, of radiance and glory, carefully watching the Hunt, the ending of which has already been decided. Your name on our lips is not just a name of a Ruler, no, our dear Friend, it is Your name, which is a leash to the Beasts neck, a flame to its muzzle, a roar into its ears. As we repeat it ceaselessly, as the greatest dagger into the Beast’s depraved core, as the nails under its skin, its grip on our throat becomes harder, harsher, its claws are digging deeper under our skin, almost touching our ribs, almost caressing our organs with its tips, but our Soul is not full of fear. She has Her confidence in Your Friendship, She has Her reassurance in the softness of Your cheeks, in the tenderness of Your palms, and in Your Blood. She bathes in It, She will always be enflamed by the Blessed Blood running in Her veins - our heart has been replaced with Yours long ago. When the night came, and the heavens receded, like a scroll being rolled up, and every mountain and island was removed from its place, and when they all begged to be hidden from Your watchful gaze, we danced at the foot of Your Golgotha, and we bathed in Your Blood, and we gnawed on Your flesh, and it was almost Your Spirit has possessed us and when the Hunt begun, there was no fear, no suffering, and suffocating seemed like bliss, and the whispering Beast was but a little creature, annoying, like a mosquito, yet terrifying our mind no longer. If we have perished already, we did so under Your mantle, under the starry opened seals, fresh and released memories of Yours, of Your saints and angels, of Your glory. They, like the unseen forces of heavenly hosts, grant us their arms and armours, fill us with their hymns to You, my Friend, as we break free from the Beast’s grasp, not giving it a moment of our weakness, not granting it a second to strike. It spoke in whispers, and in whispers we responded with but Your name alone, with Your holiness and radiance, and it screamed, and it screeched, and it burned to ashes before the celestials with the censers, before the celestials with the trumpets, who brought these ashes to Your pierced feet and You dispelled them, You made them vanish as if they have never existed, but with a wave of Your gracious hand.

And there came peals of thunder, rumblings, flashes of lightning and an earthquake, singing of Your glory and might, and there came hail and fire mixed with blood, and it was hurled down on the earth, as all the Beasts crawled out of their nooks and crannies, out of their caves and other darknesses, from under the mountains and out of the depths of the seas and oceans. Woe! Woe! Woe to the inhabitants of the earth, because of the trumpet blasts about to be sounded by the other three angels! A star has fallen from the heavens, a star that had fallen from the sky to the earth. The star was given the key to the shaft of the Abyss, and the Beasts were unsealed, unchained, freed from their bindings, ravenous, rabid, thirsting for the Sacred Blood, for the Holy Flesh. We are holding nothing, but the four Virtues in our mind and the three Virtues in our Soul. Our fingers make the Sign thrice, as the lips whisper of Your Divinity, Might and Immortality. And the Hunt has begun.

                                                              ‘Holy, holy, holy
                                                     is the Lord God Almighty,’
                                                 who was, and is, and is to come.

And we open our eyes once more, freed from the Dream, freed from the trials of faith. Resting, if but during the daylight, from the Hunt. Resting, for now. Slipping into mundane, our mind has almost wiped the memory of the Hunt, as it usually does. But our Soul remembers. Our Soul keeps the memory of the heavens, which will turn black again soon.

                                                          And the Hunt will begin.

Glory to You, our dearest and closest Friend, our Defender, our Salvation. Glory to You, o, Light Uncreated, o, Non-Evening Light, Whose Face has given us Hope, Whose Flesh has given us Faith, whose fountains of Blood has given us Love. Glory to You, Whose Feet gave us Justice, Whose Eyes gave us Courage, Whose Hair gave us Prudence, Whose Voice granted us Temperance. Glory to You, Who has placed us as a seal upon Your heart, as a seal on Your arm; for love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave. It burns like blazing fire, like a mighty flame.

                                                   ‘Look, he is coming with the clouds,’
				                          and “every eye will see him,
			                               	even those who pierced him”;
	                          and all peoples on earth “will mourn because of him.”
				                         	So shall it be! Amen.

oh but to burn to ashes and dust
in devouring flames,
in Your bloody love,

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when He saw His Mother’s sweetest face
for the first very time
He cried. 

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