"The one for whom I walked to the cross, carries me in her arms."

Thank you, my love. Meeting you was a turning point in my life. That hidden part of a magical fairy tale, which usually starts from the end and is never voiced, touched me. I live in it. In the fairy tale with you. Where every moment is unpredictable. Where challenges alternate with rewards, solitude with unity, joy with sorrow, tension with relaxation. I feel a deep need for you, and I believe you feel the same need for me.

Let's dance, the dance of our life, and even death will not part us.

There have been times when in a certain community, you act oddly, inappropriately. You already feel out of place. They don't accept you as one of their own. At that moment, the mind seeks ways to prove that you belong, that you're even better than them. It's not about just saying or doing something to prove it; you'd want to devote your whole life to this cause. But is this a true desire? Not at all. It's all because of the hurt and non-acceptance of oneself. A person who forgets their deep-rooted Desire flounders in different directions, tormented by false cravings.

At least now, one can understand and let go of this.

We got lost
Wandered in dreams
Laid in the sands
Got slightly sunburned

Watched the stars
Sang little songs
Ate way too much
And danced along

With the kids close by
With Dasha far away
We felt eternal
For her three-day flight.

Why don't I want to write today? I force myself. Even grudgingly. What happened? I desire something very important and profound, possibly new and impressive. Do I want to feel something? I want to feel that I've touched grace. Or rather, that grace touched me. I want to feel grace. But you can't summon it, you can't drive it. In this matter, no practices, techniques, or manipulations will help. All these methods can only prepare the soil for the arrival of Grace, for the coming of the Spirit. And directly, they cannot grow in a person love, joy, peace, and further down the list, all that are the fruits of the Spirit. These lofty matters cannot become the fruits of Law, calculation, logic, correctness, reflexes, and so on and so forth. .... And the Spirit is like the Wind. "The wind blows where it pleases, and you hear its sound, but you don’t know where it comes from or where it’s going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit." John 3:8

Accept your every state, give each part of yourself a place to be, listen to yourself. Don't be afraid to start a conversation with yourself. Ask questions and answer them, even though this path promises nothing. Such a step into the abyss. A step with faith and hope.

In my life, these steps are justified. Specifically, the steps where you don't know what awaits you. And then there are the steps that follow the carrot tied to a stick. They go in an endless circle. Saliva flows, life goes on, and you're always just about to have everything in your hands. And you walk in a circle, chasing the "treasure" that runs from you at arm's length. And so, without end or edge.

Let's step forward, friends, deep within ourselves, deep into the truth, deep into the mysteries.

Night. The clock has just passed midnight. We turned off the lights. Finished talking. Stretched out to sleep. I look at the door frame. Its edges are illuminated by the moonlight, which somehow filters through the blinds and regular curtains. This frame fascinates me. Thoughts circle: if I don't fall asleep - I'll photograph this doorway, how it looks at night. If I fall asleep - I'll rest. Dasha sleeps, I lie down and look. I reach out to the phone, try to take a shot with a long exposure, but without a flash. The result is just one black spot, no way to recognize the door, but it's there. Took pictures, kept taking. Decided to go write. Now I'm sitting here, writing. Something indistinct resides inside me, wanting to express itself. What is it? I don't know. But I write with hope that it will soon emerge. Earlier, dark doorways used to be sources of fear for me. Now they're a mystery. You can gaze into them. To see the unseen. To see what's not there even in the light. To uncover a secret, an essence, something crucial, but always elusive. Lately, I find myself laughing at myself or at others when they claim to have grasped the very essence of things. All of it seems like the wind, which you can't catch. But you can feel it, you can set the sails and navigate through life. Just like that, jump out of bed and write incomprehensible texts. Give in to that unrecognizable force that inspires, that unveils the horizons of the unexplored.

A rocking chair. Street. Clouds. Porch.
Ksenia comes out from around the corner.
A sad pace. Eyes looking down.

• Ksusha, what happened?
• I accidentally hit Luba with a jump rope. She came under it herself... Come here, my dear. Sit on my lap. Don’t be sad; things happen. Ksenia lies in my arms.

- - - 

It seems to me that I slightly understand her. Those thoughts circling her mind, emerging here and there. "How bad I am, why am I so bad, but Luba is good, and I am wicked..." How heavy these thoughts weigh on her, how they engulf her. There are actions after which this burden rolls over her like an avalanche. She rightly feels like a victim (not a victim of our judgment), but a victim of her own thoughts. She feels terrible, sad, and self-destructive. It escalates so quickly, and from my side, I might inadvertently add fuel to her fire.

In a nutshell, the situation looks like this: Luba came under it, Ksusha couldn't control herself and hit Luba. Luba cries, she's in pain and needs consolation. But Ksusha shifts her focus to her own tragedy and forgets about Luba. Or she becomes even more angry at Luba because through her, she faced her unbearable self again. And I say/yell: Look what you've done! Go and apologize to Luba!

- - - 

And there she lies in my arms, and I comfort her. "You are a good daughter. Don't be sad. All of us sometimes do bad things. It happens. You are good. You are not the same as your actions. You don't need to meet all our expectations. You can be yourself, and we will love you regardless of whether you do as we want or not. Listen to your heart, Ksusha, there you will hear the answers."

These words, about the answers that can be heard in the heart, resonated with her. Throughout the day, she approached me three times, whispering: "How can I hear answers in my heart? Dad, teach me."

I postponed this conversation as long as I could. On her third request, I set a time. "Today, after our evening reading, we will talk about it before bedtime."

Of course, all day I pondered what to discuss with Ksusha before sleep. I don't have any method that even I could use to hear answers in my heart.

The time for our conversation arrived.

"You know, Ksusha, it's best to first ask questions in the heart. Questions that you really want answers to. Questions that move you. For example: Who are you? How are you? What matters to you? Why do you want this or that? Why sometimes don't you want something? ..."

"Dad, can I ask why I sometimes have thoughts that you don't love me?" "That's because your dad once thought he was very smart. All foolish people think so. And so your dad (me) thought, if Ksusha does something wrong, she should be put in the corner. So she would understand right from wrong. That's how I kept sending you to those corners. Instead of accepting you, hugging you when you made mistakes. I pushed you away. And you went to the corner. I thought I did it out of love. For you. But please forgive me, dear Ksusha, I was very foolish. I love you, Ksusha." "Dad, I don't remember any of that, what you're talking about." "Yes, Ksusha, you don't remember it, but you have thoughts. That I don't love you when you do something wrong because there were such events before. Forgive me, Ksusha, I didn't want to hurt you. But I was very foolish. I didn't want to love, I wanted to discipline. I love you." "Okay, dad." "Ksusha, do you feel better after our talk?" "Yes, dad, thank you. I love you. I know you love me. But why were you so foolish?" "I didn't listen to my heart, Ksusha. I didn't understand anything." "Well, okay, dad." "Ksusha, can I write about our conversation? And tomorrow, I'll read to you what I've written." "Yes, I agree." "Good night, beloved Ksusha." "Good night, dad."

He walked, gazing at the twigs. His thoughts wavered, at times converging on a single idea. He wanted to find the direct and tested paths that connected man to eternity, to God, to Jesus Christ. Now he answered himself: “There aren't such simple universal paths, perhaps I should come to terms with this?” Yet, driven by the wind, his thoughts sometimes focused on what was very close, right in front of his nose, and sometimes they shifted beyond distant horizons, to places unseen, where one could let their imagination roam freely.

All of this was a part of him, but it didn't hold great importance. He saw a life without people as meaningless. And only the moments of deep encounters with "a person" never lost their value. To be in the presence of a spouse, children, to observe their lives, to participate in their existence, to have the chance to glimpse into their vast universe, was a great gift.

He simply walked… He knew where the treasures were hidden...

The anime "A Silent Voice" inspires work on the feeling of guilt.

Through the film, one can feel how devastating guilt can be for a person.

In my view, guilt is the fruit of the Law (in the terms as used by Apostle Paul). And while the law is good, the consequences of the law can be destructive. Love, grace, openness, and acceptance can save a person. The law, on the other hand, traps him.

The theme of school bullying also resonated, which is approached from a different angle in this anime.

By the way, this film has a very high rating, and I liked it, although many questions remained after watching.

I step out to my beloved forest edge. The sun illuminates everything around, the eye rejoices, the heart fills with love, everything is embraced by trust and security. The forest is alive. This patch of forest can be easily overlooked from a helicopter or Google Maps. But who can fathom its depth? Everything that happens in this patch? The forest is vast in its essential depth. One could study it endlessly, and it will always be different...

The sun hid behind dark clouds, the wind howled, the forest plunged into darkness. Fear engulfed me. I don't feel safe. Even though I have a flashlight in my hands, and in that flashlight burns a tiny flame. But what is this little flame for such a forest, to illuminate it? I don’t know what to do. The memory of how the forest looks in the light inspires me. Now I don't recognize the paths, the trees. Everywhere I look, I'm scared. I am afraid of the forest, I want to illuminate it. I want to somehow make it bright. The forest remains silent; I can't find out why it's in darkness, why it's struggling, if it will ever end and if it will end at all?

My language is the language of the flame in the flashlight. It wants to break free and light up the entire forest. Branch by branch, tree by tree. My flame wants to save the whole forest from darkness. And this has happened before. It broke free, and the forest burned in flames. The forest burned to the ground. Light spread, but it wasn't true light. It was a destructive light.

This time, I entered the dark restless forest. I left the flame in the flashlight. The flame remained silent and listened to the forest. The tiny light of the flame in the flashlight gently warmed the forest. The forest knew that I, with my flashlight, was waiting for light. Both the forest and I knew we just had to wait. Understand and accept the darkness. Allow it to exist in the forest. Not to fight the darkness so fiercely, not to lose what you love. The forest also feared the flame. It knew the flame could burn everything down.

We stayed silent for a long time. We built trust in each other. We allowed the darkness to exist. The forest began to feel better. The forest began to speak, and I just quietly listened. With each word the forest uttered, the clouds dispersed, and the sun illuminated branch by branch, tree by tree.

Now when there's darkness in the forest, I'll find the strength within me to go and wait, to go and listen. I don't want to lose love; I want to wait for the light.

I run,
I grasp you,
fresh wind
that doesn't enter me.

But only when
I don't expect,
this wind
flies into my soul.

I've badly slept.
I've badly eaten.
I've barely died today.

We came to the forest.
I hugged a pine.
Wandered with Dasha into its depths.

...
The forest speaks in depth.
About my feelings, my dreams.

Today, I've encountered several times the value of my knowledge in augmented reality. I tasted the flavor of the money revolving around the topic I was working on. In our small town, an AR application was developed to animate a historical castle for 50,000 dollars. For some reason, I felt that money should have been in my pocket. Later, I consulted an American acquaintance about the logic of AR applications and the construction of user experience. And a few days ago, I conducted my first paid English consultation on AR application development.

It's striking how different this is from what I'm doing now. There, I felt like an expert; here, I'm like a freshman loser. Over there, it smells like money; here, it resonates with purpose. There, I'm at the forefront of technology, but the sources of my knowledge here are Socrates and the psychoanalysts of the past centuries.

Perhaps this internal struggle within me hasn't fully resolved yet. But one question, what would I do if I had less than a year to live, directs me to where I am now. Here, where I am close to my sense of purpose, to my desires, to real life. Here, where I can genuinely talk to you about what's genuinely and cosmically significant.

Understanding oneself allows making decisions again and again. Over and over, choosing one's path. Counteracting determinism with freedom. And using it.

Complete concentration, detachment from the surroundings, all attention on the main thing. And this goes on for several hours. It's experienced, re-lived, sensed. A state from which it's impossible to exit. Any interruptions into this focused zone cause a rush of annoyance and a command not to disturb. - This is how Lyuba (4 years old) plays.

I get immense pleasure when I see Lyuba play role-playing games. The outside world ceases to exist for her. All her senses are concentrated here and now, in this life game. All of it is very serious.

It seems to me I too played with such full engrossment without the ability to stop, first in childhood, then in college, and later when I established my company. We also created scenarios, assigned roles, and played with all our hearts. And I'd get really upset when someone from the real world intruded into our game, interrupting us, pulling us back into the realities of business.

What am I playing now?

As soon as I finish writing this, I'll start reading the book "Games People Play," which recently arrived for me.

A wonderful and profound film about experiencing guilt imposed from childhood. It's about how love, friendship, and empathy pull a person out of a vicious cycle of self-hatred. It reveals the possibility to live. It seems the Japanese made it, but it's so relatable to situations experienced by people in our homeland. I believe this movie can be therapeutic for those who are going through something similar.

I recommend a beautiful viewing.

Every person is imperfect, it can be said this is a criterion of humanity, the norm of being human. This is what allows us to communicate, love, empathize, understand, accept, and be accepted. Through all this imperfection, the best phenomena in the world shine through. An imperfect person: makes mistakes, hurts others, misses, breaks, causes harm, doesn't tolerate, shouts, can't love, doesn't understand...

All this is very human; there's no catastrophe in it. Every misunderstanding is covered by understanding, and every mistake is countered with a good deed.

I long suffered from a simple thought: "I have the right to exist only if I'm perfect."

This thought pushed me out of reality. Because in reality, I'm not perfect. But in my own invented (safe) world, everything revolves around one point - I'm awesome, I'm a superstar. It's nauseating to live with such a self-righteous attitude. The entire world, people around, things I do, they serve only one function for me: situations where I must be the HERO and people who must affirm it. The cycle is complete.

"Yahoo!!! I came up with a brilliant idea, now we friends will all pull together, work for free, and my family will survive on basics for a while. But then we'll make millions! - I'm awesome, I'm a superstar! After 3 months. Friends, I see all the flaws in this idea, we need to wrap it up. I managed to see the essence of things and overcome my past self. Let's disband and move on. We worked for free, and that's enough! - I'm awesome, I'm a superstar."

"Dear and beloved, are you struggling? Feeling bad? Don't know what's happening with you? - Don't worry, I'll sort everything out. After all, I'm awesome, I'm a superstar. And you're the wife of the world's best husband! Here's what I'll tell you. We have the best family in the world, you're the most beloved wife. We're the happiest people on the planet. Why are you so down? Why are you struggling? Perhaps something inside you broke, because objectively, everything's really great. But I'll help you fix everything inside you and see how everything is actually good and wonderful."

"Beloved, are you scared? - Don't be scared, everything's fine. Because I'm awesome, I'm a superstar."

"My dear, do you think I earn too little? - What are you talking about? Look at the homeless. Look at the women who are alone, without a husband. And you, you're practically a queen. I provide for the family, and you don't have to work. I'm awesome, I'm a superstar! You probably forgot that with me, you'll be happy even in a tent in the middle of a field."

"Kids, if you've done something wrong, go stand in the corner. This is my signature parenting technique. I brilliantly came up with it. I'm awesome, I'm a superstar."

"Our company, it's a company of friends. We never intended to make money, like all the other idiots. Only I, only I can give you all this. I'm awesome, I'm a superstar."

"Oh, I really messed up here. But look, see how fearlessly I admit my mistakes. I'm awesome."

"I'm the most sinful on earth, I'm not awesome, I'm not a superstar. Sounds cool. Look how critically I look at myself. What a sharp perspective on life. I'm awesome, I'm a superstar!"

"Do you want to advise me on something? Of course, I'm ready to listen to you and tell you how I've already thought it all out and did it. I'm not some fool, I understand and see everything in the world. And I also see that I see nothing and everything else that needs to be seen and known. I'm awesome..."

Almost teared up while writing this. I hug you all, my dear Dasha, children, parents, brother, friends, and work and project colleagues. You were the victims of the fear of imperfection, for which I dragged you into all these theatrical events of my life. Thank you for being there. Thank you for believing and loving me. Thank you for still loving me now.

My fear of being imperfect suffocated me. And through my nauseating righteousness, I suffocated you from different angles. With my infallibility, justification, and not admitting that you could struggle with me.

Now my choice is to be Human, a human who is endearingly imperfect and doesn't need that perfection, but rather needs love and a genuine orientation towards other people.

Now, I'm not awesome, I'm a human. I love myself.