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I wrote the names in the memorial note, handed it over with the icons for blessing on the Gifts of the Magi to the monk, touched the shrines and put on them my cross, my ring and the wool rosary, woven by monks from the same monastery and purchased by me right on the ship. People came and went, while I stood next to the relics.
“God loves you,” the monk smiled, gave me his blessing and crossed me goodbye.
The monks returned to the monastery, and I stood on the deck and looked at the Mountain. Repeatedly in the history of the Holy Mountain, the monks faced various problems and wanted to leave the place, but the Virgin Mary appeared to them, providing miraculous help, and they stayed. According to legend, one day She would leave the Mountain forever, Her most famous icon, “Gatekeeper”, would disappear from Athos, the Holy Mountain would go under water, and the Apocalypse would come.
***
“Leah, have you found out the name of that icon?”
“Yes! Janis called to Athos, and the monks said, ‘Seeking for the Perished’.”
I froze for a moment, and then I took out of my bag the Akathist to the same icon. Leah raised her eyebrows in surprise.
“I read it on the border with Athos every evening, Leah! I went to church school and sang in the temple. There was an icon unknown to me, near which I stood during liturgies, when I was not singing on the solea. Many years passed, and a colleague at work said that the icon was called ‘Seeking for the Perished’. A few years later, in a book of an Orthodox priest, I read that it helps in critical situations, on the verge of death, or suicide, at the loss of hope and support, against drug addiction, they pray to her for the lost people and ones killed and died not by natural death, for children left without parents. Thus, I realized the icon was mine. I’ll take it from you. After all, I felt it at once, not recognizing, since this is not the Greek type, and not the one from my temple, but definitely it is ‘Seeking for the Perished’. There are special features of the image: the fingers of the Virgin are closed in a strange way, as if a wall surrounds you and doesn’t allow you to collapse into the abyss; Her hair is loose, and there is no headscarf on Her head, as if She had been an ordinary woman.”
Janis came up to us. I took out my book “Temple of the Heart” and handed it to him, but had no time to say anything, since his father appeared and, after saying hello, began to talk in Greek quickly.
“Father Gabriel from Athos is here passing through Ouranoupoli, let’s go to him!” Janis summed up to me. “You can take his blessing. We have known him for a long time. He is a very good person.”
In the next door house Janis introduced us to each other and added that Father Gabriel understood English perfectly, knew many foreign languages, including Arabic and Aramaic, and read ancient manuscripts and relicts in the original.
“What kind of book is it?” Father Gabriel asked me.
“I was just about to ask Janis to transfer, I mean to donate it to the Library of the St. Panteleimon Monastery on Athos.”
I handed the book to Father Gabriel, and he began to examine with interest the cover with the image of two elephants, sitting on a bench in the forest with their backs to the reader and admiring the starry sky, one small and one large. Father Gabriel smiled, stroking their tails.
“This is me, and next to me is my mother,” I smiled. “The book is called “Temple of the Heart”, it consists of three parts: 40 verses like a 40-days monks’ pray for my mother, poems of my church school period, and echoes of the church choir. The book is dedicated to my mother, Patriarch Alexey II and the famous Russian poet Alexander Blok, because he once wrote about a girl who sang in the church choir, almost about me.”
“The Patriarch? Why?” Father Gabriel asked with interest, slowly leafing through the book and trying to read the titles of the verses.
“There was no Cathedral of Christ the Savior in Moscow yet then, the Patriarch served in the church where I studied and sang.”
“Sign it to Hegumen Eulogious, the head of Rossikon. In a couple of days, we celebrate the feast of St. Panteleimon, and we’ll give him your gift!”
“Recently, Father Gabriel has been appointed Archimandrite of Vatopedi,” Janis smiled after returning to the shop. “He is young, but God is moving him upward, he has already served at the Exaltation with the Patriarch of Jerusalem, in Jerusalem. He wants to take me with him next year. I’ll send you video of their liturgy.”
“While you were away, the icon with Christ holding the globe, surrounded by the Zodiac Circle with planets, left,” Leah informed us.
“Saturn with rings and the Moon,” I remembered that icon.
“Do you believe that the planets influence our destinies?” Leah asked.
“Destinies are written in Heaven, and the Magi were led to Christ by a star,” I answered. “At the airport of Thessaloniki, they sold expensive hand-painted icons depicting the Signs of the Zodiac, and on the sealed certificate it was written that these were copies of fragments of the ancient wall painting of an Athos monastery. Have you seen them, by chance, Janis?”
“No, but it’s quite possible. Have you visited the Mount today? What Athos’ shrines were brought by monks?”
“The Gifts of the Magi.”
Somewhere in the Mist
“Lon-Don, Lon-Don…”
I am very tired. It’s constantly raining there, and the Mist is spreading, swallowing everything and everyone. And me, it will swallow me too.
“Lon-Don, Lon-Don…”
The bell is ringing inside me, and we are sitting on a bench by the Thames with Sergey Dobronravov in silence. He is just as silent as me. He seems to be a writer. I’m very tired and I don’t even remember how we got there. Gloomy clouds are crawling through the bare and jails bars-like branches of trees.
“Lon-Don, Lon-Don…”
A man appears from the Mist. I’m scared to meet him. Why? I fall into the Mist, where we are standing with Sergey on the zero meridian in Greenwich, and I tell him, “Everything will change! Life starts from scratch here!” And we climb the Royal Observatory Tower, but out of the Mist – damn it! – the man reappears —
“Lon-Don, Lon-Don…”
I don’t see his face, but he laughs, maliciously, caustically, and I’m scared again. Signboards, signboards, lots of tables with books. I want to run away from there, away, into the Mist! My consciousness begins to split into atoms. I don’t want to think or to remember anything anymore – away! all these atoms —
“Lon-Don, Lon-Don…” —
I see them from the side, they are losing their interconnections and, like soap bubbles of different diameters, scatter away —
“Lon-Don, Lon-Don…” —
and burst, burst, burst, and with them invisible rays as access to the sector where my earthly memory is stored – fragment by fragment – go out one after another —
“Lon-Don, Lon-Don…”
It sounds quieter and quieter, and I feel calmer, I’ll soon remember nothing – that means I will become free, and nothing will hold me there any longer… nothing…
“Alice!” a sharp voice was suddenly heard. Ray appeared right in front of me, “Where were you at sea? Come on!”
I shook my head negatively, “I don’t remember.”
“Where did you feel good? Remember now! Quickly!”
I couldn’t resist him. He was stronger than me. And all those atoms started coming back to me, like in a movie rewind, and I…
Ouranoupoli
…I woke up on Athos. It was night outside the window. I went out onto the balcony, looked at the brightest yellow star and heard the phone ring.
“Ray,” I said in a tired voice, “I don’t understand how you can call me.”
“I don’t understand how you still don’t understand that I don’t call you,” he says calmly, but I was too weak to solve his riddles.
“What is happening to me? You know everything there. I’ve hardly dreamed before. And here, this is the third night in a row…”
“Go to the Tower.”
“In Ouranoupoli? It’s been closed for many years.”
“It’s open. From 9:00 to 16:00. Every day except Monday. Get up in the morning and go to the Tower without visiting any of your acquaintances along the way,” Ray said, and the connection broke off.
37 Before/4 After. House No. I
Children of Saturn
Somewhere in the Universe
Saturn was sitting in his armchair by the fireplace.
“Joice Mary NanKivell Lock,” he said, closing the book, “14 Fingers of St. Peter. Joice will serve on Earth for 95 years. Saturn is the planet of old people and long life, but as a guest of your Moon with her emotional reactions… On the one hand, a suppressed Self, on the other, an extraordinary endurance and a deep Self-digging. Reticence, few words speaking and seriousness are not such bad qualities inherent in hermits and monks. Moreover, brevity is the sister of talent. Unlike those who like to chat, promise mountains and then disappear, you are a true friend and always help in deed and word. Saturn is the planet of the wise ones. Saturn children are said to be born old and die young.”
“Can children be born old?”
“No, but it’s in childhood that something happens to them that makes them adults compared to their peers, grandparents play a significant role. Forced early growing up leads to the fact that no matter how old one is later, one tries to compensate for those carefree childhood years, one was deprived of, in order to feel like a real child.”
“Why are people deprived of childhood? Is it fair?” I exclaimed.
“Look how sharply you stand up for justice! Saturn’s children call for justice and reason, but most people think only of themselves. Leave to the Creator the right to decide the destinies. On Earth, it’s impossible to fully comprehend His intentions in order to correctly interpret what is happening. The spiritual path is not strewn with rose petals. Place the soul in comfortable conditions, and in 99% of cases it will lose touch with Heaven, plunging into the mundane and transient. Heaven has other plans for people like you.”
“Saturn is a teacher,” the Guardian clarified. “He gives difficulties as an exam.”
“In the worst case scenario, you’ll turn into a gloomy lazy person, cursing fate, into a miser-materialist, saving up for old age, hating people and Heaven at the same time, fixed on the bad and, as a result, attracting more and more negative events like a snowball. I don’t like such people, and they are doomed to constant physical and moral restrictions up to the deprivation of reason. I hope you’ll humbly accept the hardships of life and begin to radiate Love and Light, turning into a highly spiritual being who serves the world by constant and hard work and imperceptibly ascends to your own, albeit not the highest, Mountain. Saturn at its best is the rock of the Spirit, and no waves of the Moon can break you. In the course of searching for a stone wall somewhere on the side, being the Moon, you will turn into it yourself, being Saturn.”
“Is Saturn in my House No. 1 forever?”
“The planets move in their circle, like the hands of any clocks. The current position of Saturn shows you the Sphere where the major work is to be done. At the control points, the analysis of the soul’s mission on Earth takes place, decisions are made about the further destiny. At the moment of your incarnation, I’m 13 degrees from the point of your first breath, on the border with House No. 2. One degree is conventionally equal to a year of earthly life. Thus all the fundamental Saturn events will occur before your 13
birthday.”
“All? Will there be several?”
“Let’s talk about something pleasant,” Saturn stroked my head. “Each planet can have friendly and hostile relations with other planets. I’m friends with your Venus. She loves art and creative expression and has great taste. I’m good at maths, proportions, rhythm, concentration and hard work. The Moon is a symbol of a rich inner world and depth of feelings. This is a chance to open up through creativity – music, poetry, painting, sculpture and architecture. Don’t accumulate energy within yourself, transform the suffering of the Moon into something beautiful and filled with Love, like Venus, and wise, like Saturn. Speaking of literature, say not much, but deep. An innate low Self-esteem will protect you from pride, and Venus and I will bring well-deserved fame and recognition. Such aspect is found in outstanding figures of culture and art and in great mathematicians. Let’s go to admire the stars on the balcony, since the rain is over!”
We went to the balcony through the next room. The sky became completely cloudless, and the stars were so bright and close that it seemed easy to touch them with hand.
“Look, right above the Tower, there is the Canis Minor Constellation and one of the brightest stars, Procyon. We are in conjunction in one degree. Dangerous star, it promotes not only sudden rise, good fortune and fame, but also downfall. It gives courage and bravery, but enhances irascibility, straightforwardness and honesty, one may offend others with one’s words. If you start to do everything in a hurry or get angry at the world, a cute dog will turn into a mad one and bite you to death. If you treat your work with devotion and work painstakingly and humbly, Procyon will wag your tail and will definitely thank you.”
“Procyon is accented in the passport of Emile Zola the writer,” the Guardian whispered.
“I’m in House No. 1, at the Door to House No. 2, the Sphere of Finance. My influence extends to both Spheres, although I’m responsible for the other two,” said Saturn thoughtfully. “In particular, I manage House No. 7, the Sphere of Partnership and Marriage. Conjunction with Procyon promotes inheritance, gives patronage and support of VIP and old people, partnership with them in business and marriage. But not all that glitters is gold, Rukh, and the details are to be talked about not here.”
Library of the Universe
“Angel, will I have anything good in my life?”
“You’ll have me, isn’t that good?” The Guardian hugged me with his wing, “Life on Earth is short but interesting. You’ll be back before you understand that. Souls descend to serve the world. Happiness in the earthly sense is transient and conditional. At true hard times, remember that there is always someone who is even harder.”
The book opened at the page with the story “Farewell to Childhood”.
“Time doesn’t exist. It’s conditional and relative. You will learn to manage Time when you realize that it doesn’t matter how old you are on Earth. The main thing is who you feel you are.”
Joice the Ghost
Ouranoupoli
Without even having breakfast, I left the house and headed for to the Tower. Unlike many, Ray had never deceived me or said anything for nothing. However, Dimitra, whose icon shop was directly opposite the Tower, couldn’t help but know whether it was open or not.
You could get to the Tower through the central and sea streets, every cat on both of them knew me. I flew along the sea street, praying that no one would call me out, and the prayer worked well. The gate to the courtyard, as well as the door to the Tower, appeared to be open! Two women were talking outside the office on the right.
“Good morning! May I come in? Is it free of charge or not?” I asked, but they continued their conversation, as if nothing had happened and retreated to the room on the left.
“So it’s free,” I decided, and delved inside.
The door in the far left corner led to rooms displaying the finds from excavations on the territory of Athos, including the Zygou Monastery. I froze at the exhibits, studying their description. There were burial vessels dating back to 1100 BC, ritual accessories, copper helmets from the bottom of the sea dated to the 6
century BC, and women’s jewelry in the showcases. I liked especially the ring with a five-pointed star and a bird with open wings, and clay tablets covered with formulas up and down. After examining the exposition of the ground floor, I climbed the wooden stairs and went out to the balcony, with a beautiful view of Mount Athos, the sea and Dimitra’s shop.
Suddenly someone put a hand on my shoulder, I shuddered, “Not free of charge?!” and turned around.
“I’m always glad to welcome guests,” a ghost-woman said smiling.
“Good morning,” I whispered back in confusion.
“I am Joice Mary NanKivell Lock. Call me Joice. I continue to live here, in the Tower, although I left my earthly body in 1982, a little short of my 96
birthday. I’m buried in the local cemetery in Ouranoupoli, and you?”
“I am Alice. I live in Moscow. I’ve come here for summer.”
My answer seemed to surprise Joice. She took my hand.
“Let’s go inside, I’ll tell you about my Tower!”
We entered a tiny room, where there were several narrow and barred windows overlooking the sea, two wooden chairs, a fireplace in the center, a couple of shelves with books, a woven carpet on the wall and a table with … a typewriter!
“Yes, I wrote novels, essays and poems. Here are the survivors.”
I glanced over the old bookshelf, and the title with St. Peter caught my eye.
“Were you born in this Tower?”
“No, in Australia. I loved nature and the country life. However, I wanted to travel. After marriage with Sidney, he was a journalist and also a bit writer, we joined humanitarian missions and in various countries helped people affected by the First World War. In 1923, when the Greek-Turkish War ended, we came here to settle Greek refugees from Turkey. The territory of Ouranoupoli then belonged to the monastery of Vatopedi, the border of Athos was in Trypiti. By agreement with the state, the border was moved to the Zygou monastery, and Vatopedi provided land and buildings, including the Tower, to the refugees. At first, we lived on the island of Ammouliani opposite, and then moved to the Tower. I loved and still love it very much. We are where our heart is, and after death we are drawn to what or to whom we are attached on Earth.”
“Are all souls drawn or only the light ones?”
“Almost every soul has something dark in it. One local resident was tormented by his unfinished business, he lamented and wept, coming to me for consolation. Someone is drawn to the already committed shameful act in order to rewrite the Past, but it’s firmly fixed and unchangeable in the Chronicle of the World. I had a helper called Martha, her son after his death promised to make amends for his fault by helping those still living on Earth.”
