ноч ⁽⁶⁾

A dirt road. A handrail. The creak of a wooden platform. A key in a rusty lock. The eerie clatter of chains. The oars are released. I was warned that if the locals call the police, just reassure them that everything is fine and that there's an arrangement. However, it feels like Dasha and I are stealing a boat in the middle of the night. Finally, we've unwound the chains. As we climbed in, we realized there's no guarantee the boat won't capsize. The phone flashlight does illuminate somewhat, but mostly blinds us. We decided not to go far. Goosebumps cover our skin. The sound of oars hitting the water. Occasional bubbles. From time to time, a fish jumps out. In the nearby forests, dogs bark. It was supposed to be romantic. Stars in the sky without any light pollution. The stars are beautiful. We even found a candle and lit it. The other one didn’t light. A thermos with hot tea. Small cups. Tasty candies. But through all of this, our vulnerability. Our fears laid bare before each other, that's where the beauty lies. We sat and shared our anxieties and fears, which was comforting. Every now and then, I'd get so engrossed in our conversation. The backdrop against which I saw Dasha (the lake surface, shadows from the dark forest, the dark forest itself, some distant lights, stars) resembled a Zoom or Google Meet background. An unreal backdrop. Another challenge was finding the dock. We'd been carried away by the unnoticed current. Reeds brush against the oars. The boat scrapes against another boat. All these sounds, like whispered human voices. We immediately thought there were people nearby. But it was only the sounds of the night. Such a little journey into the mysteries of our soul.

I'm afraid of many things. But I'd like to live my life facing those fears, with depth, meaning, and true love. True love conquers fear.

Thank you, my beloved, for agreeing to such an adventure.

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.

Here we begin, life is born, reveals its secrets, one wishes to be alone, wishes to be filled with the sense of life, its beauty. Feel oneself in all this. Start seeing life as it is, start seeing oneself.

...Then various things happen...

And here are the moments when the sun hides behind a fir tree. When children come out of the shower, and against their desire, are tucked into bed. Games quiet down. And we begin to read. We immerse ourselves in a fairy tale story, in the lives of other people and ourselves. This is the prism of the day, the prism of our life. The meanings, relationships, feelings, and dreams are revealed.

And then under the insistent "Please, read more," comes the promise to continue tomorrow.

Lullabies are turned on (until today they were Belarusian lullabies). And one can see how the children, immersed in their thoughts, are approaching sleep. And I am writing this text, or another one.

Precious time, precious life, meaning flies in the air, depth is revealed in silence.

Before, you might wake up in the middle of the night, your thoughts racing, knowing it will be hard to fall back asleep. And so, you'd go to the computer to work. You'd work, get tired, then return to bed...

Now it's different, now it's interesting to walk at night, especially when there's a lot of snow, and through the window, it seems as if it's already daytime because everything is so bright.

So, tonight, on the eve of the Nativity of Christ, I'm walking along with cleaning equipment, and from a new perspective, I'm discovering a small town.

I wish you a Merry Christmas, the birth of Jesus Christ!

Note: Translations might not capture the exact nuance of the original text but aim to convey the primary meaning and emotion behind the words.