Dima, ou es tu?

I was sixteen, and still studying at school. On the day when I encountered Dima I was taking the Moscow’s underground to deliver myself for a photo session at a modelling competition. It was the time, which lasted for a year at most, when I was dreaming of becoming a model. In other words, I was completely, totally insecure in both my body and my head.

When I entered the wagon at one remote station in our beautiful underground, I immediately spotted Dima. The guy was charming, had dark hair and was laughing in a very sure way with two girls sitting next to him.

A cute guy and a student, I sighed. No way a person like him will ever notice my presence. I was wearing a terrible fur cap (to safeguard my hair for the photo session), while the only piece of style in my wardrobe was limited to the boots, which half of Moscow was wearing at that time. It was the period when limited pieces of fashion were attacking Moscow shops in masses. I might have skipped the rainbow coat (worn by the other half of the city’s population) but I had the boots. I sat next to the guy, however, as there was a vacant place. Taking out of my suitcase a book, I tried to loose myself in studying French grammar – the subject I was supposed to know perfectly, while attending a privileged linguistic college in my native town.           

“You speak French?” I heard a second later, and to my greatest amazement, this comment was coming from the cute dark-haired guy. He turned away from his fellow blonde student girlfriends and was looking intensely at me.           

“Yes, professionally,” I gave the most stupid answer, while removing my fur cap with my right hand and hiding a pimple on my check with my left.           

“Interesting,” the guy moved closer to me to look at my book. “Where?”           

“At the University,” I said in a confident way, while trying to adjust the position of my face in such a way that he wouldn’t notice my pimple.           

“Which university?”Despite the fact that I was only sixteen (and still at school), and blessed with pimples I knew which were the best universities, at that time, to learn French in Moscow.          

“The Institute for Foreign Languages,” I said proudly, forecasting my future at that moment, as it’s exactly where I landed for a year before moving to Brussels, let me think … two years later?   

 “Oh …” I could see that the guy’s interest in me was growing. Which was fine by me, as never in my life had a guy like him talked to me for such a long time, and yes, he was the cutest guy I had met so far.           

“Well …” he continued, “I also study French, at the University for Foreign Relations.”

Not only was he cute, he was also smart. At that time the institution he was attending was renowned as the ‘hottest’ place to get your degree.           

“Really?” I said. “I love French. It’s the love of my life,” I lied, since the biggest love of my life at that period was George Michael and Wham!           

“My name is Dima”, said the guy, while trying to hold my gaze for more than two seconds. It was exactly what I was trying to avoid, as my biggest problem at that time, apart from pimples, was that I was blushing on every possible and impossible occasion.

“My name is Ekaterina,” I answered, while wondering what on earth Dima saw in me, as the look on the faces of his two fellow girlfriends was suggesting that they were asking exactly the same question, and not in a very pleasant way.

“Voudriez-vous diner avec moi ce soir?” the eyes of Dima were really too close to mine this time.

I blushed. The thing was … I didn’t understand a word of what Dima had said. In perfect French. I was so blown away by his intense stare that it didn’t occur to me that I should also use my brain and my ears.           

“Fuck!!!!” was my answer in perfect Russian, when I noticed the name of the underground stop. “I missed my station!”And without giving it an additional, mature, balanced thought I literally jumped from the train.

And only on the platform seeing the departing train and Dima in the train looking (sadly?) at me did the meaning of his sentence entered my teenage brain. “Would you like to have a dinner with me tonight?” This was what he had asked me in French.

The Abbey in Brussels and the devil next to it

It was while I was living in Brussels that I couldn’t enter the abbey.

The abbey in Brussels is a truly beautiful view. It is spread on top of the lakes, called ‘Les Etangs d’Ixelles’, a really impressive construction, consisting of several amazing buildings, a church, and a beautiful park. I always wondered as to why not that many people walked on the grounds, but now I feel that maybe there was a reason. The abbey is meant only for those who truly seek, and so are her stunning grounds.

I had bought an apartment in Brussels, which was almost overlooking the abbey. One could see it from my balcony and it was a minute of walk away, across the ‘Avenue Louise’ with its posh shops and fancy restaurants. It is among my favorite areas in Brussels, a city where all together I spent six years in total, first as a student, and then as a headhunter in a really nice and good company which would find candidates for jobs that no one else could.

The apartment turned out to be a rather sad affair. There were constantly some problems with the structure of the whole building, with pipes bursting, and strange sounds coming at night. I also had there quite weird dreams, and once I moved to the apartment, construction works started to take place on my street, but this is something I seem to attract in my life. Once I move somewhere and try to call it home, big, complicated works follow my place of residence.

Tired of all the works and constant sounds I run one day out of my house, literally seeking some help. It was logical in my mind that a place of respite should be the abbey, and that I could do with staying there for a while, and the church is a nice place to be, for which my soul constantly cries in my sleeps and also my daily reality. Once I moved to Brussels I had a terrible dream with my soul longing to be in The Cathedral of Saint Vasily the Blessed in Moscow, and it was devastating to wake up and realise that I was, geographically speaking, too far away, and that there was something, or rather someone preventing me from entering the church. That someone is the evil or maybe just a bad person, who knows? But it wasn’t the devil, as depicted in the scary Christian narratives. He looked more like a man, who, by some terrible mistake, got in charge of a church, while he shouldn’t. Little but like the Vatican, which is, of course, a terrible truth to admit.

saint vassili

I took my bag from the apartment and precipitated towards the abbey. I was aiming at the church directly, but now I think that maybe instead, I should have knocked at the door of one of the abbey’s buildings and asked for immediate help. But I started to run towards the church and when I reached its doors, there was an angry man in front, with a dog next to him, and to whom he was throwing peaces of bread.

“Here, take it, take it!” the man was shouting at the dog and I pitied the dog as it seemed that the creature was under some sort of a nasty spell.

The dog run towards me when he saw me, licking my hand and obviously, wanting to stay next to me, but the man summoned the dog back towards him, and remained standing, guarding the doors to the church and swearing at me.

“You – dirty woman!!!” He shouted at me again and again, and I couldn’t proceed to the doors, enter the church and ask for help, while I was struggling and there was no one around and even birds stopped singing at that moment. It was just me, and the evil man with the poor dog next to the church. And for a brief second I felt that this was an entrance to the Vatican metaphorically speaking, hidden in the alley in Brussels. Brussels is a complicated city, with different languages and cultures, and where the administration of the European Union takes the whole geographical area, with a train travelling from Brussels to Starbucks transporting the employees for some sort of a meeting, on a regular basis and on enormous budget. The corridors of the administration of the European Union are not an easy task to grasp for any mind, and if I would compare it to a book, a novel of Agatha Christie comes to mind, or maybe Proust’s ‘A La recherché du temps perdu.” It is a long, complicated read, similar to the administration of the European Union, even if, of course, it is a cause for good, and it was created to avoid another world war.

Who was the man, I still wonder? There was such a strong negativity around him that there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t pass him and was stopped from entering the church, a beautiful, quiet space, hidden on the grounds of the abbey. Desolated and scared I walked away like a bitten dog, and proceeded to march towards the lake, and then up towards la rue d’Ixelles, and my soul was crying and so was I.

la cambre abbey Brussels

(La Cambre abbey in Brussels)

The devil and the cross

It was while being on holidays in the Canaries that I saw the power of the cross on the devil. The cross happened by accident, while the devil wasn’t just an occurrence, but a well-calculated presence in a good (five star hotel) in Playa Blanca, in Lanzarote.

We got a last minute deal with my former partner and our child. We didn’t have that much money, but saw an offer while looking at holidays deals, and there it was, a nice hotel with several swimming pools, with an all-inclusive option, in our favorite town in the Canaries, the beautiful Playa Blanca, right next to the ocean, where the wind is always breezing, and where the sun embraces everyone with its warmth in the morning. It is indeed a unique place – quiet and cozy, and where British tourists still travel in their minority, leaving enough space for local Spanish tapas and gentle artisanal music. There are no loud bars, and no casinos, and while there is one McDonalds, it is hidden away in an alley, not placed at a central place, as happened in other nice towns, countries, and spaces.

I was sitting at the café by the swimming pool of the hotel, having a break for myself, while my partner was looking after our son at the swimming pool. I had a notebook where I was frantically writing my thoughts. I was working on a book idea, where the subject line was based on the concept of psychic vampires, ruling a beautiful country, called the Republic of Light, and proclaiming everyone as ‘mad’ who dared to exhibit strange thoughts or ideas. Needless to say, the idea for a book was based on what I was also observing in my daily reality, and the dystopian motive was embedded in how I perceived our daily world.

I saw HIM from a distance, he was walking towards my table, and I failed to notice in the beginning that I was dealing with the devil. I was just flabbergasted that a strange man, with extremely weird energetic field around him, chose to sit at my table, staring at me all the way, while there were lots of empty tables around, and it was indeed very surprising as to why the man installed himself on the chair in front of me, and would just look at me piercingly, without saying a single thing for at least good twenty minutes. I glanced at him, and gave a brief smile out of habit (to be polite), while feeling goosebumps on my skin. It was a total feeling of fear that I sensed, but I still failed to understand the significance of the appearance of the man. My sanity was just telling me that I was simply dealing with a slightly deranged person. He was sitting at the table, looking at me, almost without blinking, and I couldn’t help but sense that he was trying to read my thoughts. My thoughts, however, were around psychic vampires and a heroine for my book, called Olivia Jenson, who could lucid-dream, noticing that people around her, the so-called ruling class, were sucking energy out of good people, and organized mass surveillance in order that everyone complies with a certain behavior. The concept of psychic vampires I borrowed from a good book by Ellen Dugan, called ‘Practical Protection Magick’, and while I tried to keep the idea of my own book in the domain of fiction, I couldn’t help but start having a definite sensation that in front of me, was indeed a psychic vampire, feeding on my energy and trying to read my thoughts, which (at that moment) were strolling around psychic energy and how my heroine would eventually liberate the Republic of Light and the world.

The man, if I describe him in more details, had that distinctive appearance when you can’t point exactly as to whether it is a man or a woman. I assumed it was a man, but it could also be a woman. He was blond, of stocky appearance, quite tall, and it was a voice, with high pitch, that made me jump but also start doubting that I was dealing with a man. But the gender of the person in front of me wasn’t my biggest preoccupation at that moment, it was the feeling of imminent danger and the realization that perhaps I was indeed dealing with something totally strange.

“How are you?” The man asked me, and the goosebumps returned on my skin and I started to feel that I would faint any moment, and the feeling of danger took massive proportions as I saw that my partner and my son were approaching the table, and I couldn’t have this man anywhere near my son, but at the same time there was nothing I could really do. He was firmly sitting on the chair and looked like someone who would never move, and I realized that I was under some sort of hypnosis and was almost fighting for my life. I sensed that I wouldn’t be able to chase him away or take my partner and my son somewhere else, as our society of normality is based on the assumption that everyone acts in a certain way, and I would be accused of being totally impolite and rude if I just said to my partner and my son not to approach the blond man. A huge scandal was in the air, but it was more than that, it was like an atom was above our heads, ready to explode any second.

Was it indeed a survival instinct that suddenly kicked in, judging from what I did next? Some higher force? I am not sure but I said to my partner and my son to wait for me, and run towards our room in the building to change into a tee-shirt. My decision had no logical grounding, as I was already dressed for the day, in a nice pink dress, acquired in Oxfam charity shop two years previously.

But here I was, suddenly feeling a need to change my attire. I quickly put on a tee-shirt of also nice pink color and matching shorts, and quickly run back towards the café, noticing from a distance that the man was still sitting there, and watching my son. It was a strange view, and I could sense that my partner was as puzzled as me, thinking: ‘but who is this man, and what does he want precisely?’

I also failed to realize the significance of my attire and it was only the frantic movement of the man who suddenly jumped when he saw me approaching that made me glance at my own tee-shirt. The man was standing now, laughing with a definite note of fright, looking at my tee-shirt in fear. He then turned around and left, leaving me and my partner totally stupefied by the whole experience.

I had a large printed cross on my tee-shirt when I checked it properly and I knew at once that I had dealt yet again with the devil, and he is the most powerful psychic vampire on earth, able to take many forms and appearances.

 

Bibliography:

Dugan, E. (1963). Practical Protection Magick: Guarding and reclaiming your power. Llewellyn Publications. Woodbury, Minnesota.

ORBC Family organization. (2019). ‘What Does the Cross Represent in the Christian Faith?’, online at https://www.orbcfamily.org/faith/what-does-cross-represent-christian-faith/

Cross at sunset, crucifixion of Jesus Christ

The devil’s ball

It was while living in Sheffield that I ended up attending the devil’s ball. I woke up in one of my lucid-dreaming and found myself waiting on the road, somewhere near a Dutch forest. If you are not familiar with lucid-dreaming, let me explain. It is a state when you wake up in your dream and realize that you are no longer dreaming but are experiencing an absolute, magical, parallel reality. Your physical body usually remains in its place, in your bed, but I heard of some shamans who can move their bodies in their sleep from one place to another with a simple power of their mind. They fall asleep in one place and wake up in another.

So, I woke up in my dream, and found myself standing on a recluse road, somewhere in the Netherlands. I just knew that I was in the Netherlands, out of deep knowledge of my mind. I also once woke up in my  other dream, travelling on the train, and knew at once that I was somewhere in Switzerland, although the purpose of my travel wasn’t entirely clear, and remains vague to me till today. Why Switzerland I wondered? But on the other hand, I was also experiencing a sense of absolute wonder while looking outside the train’s window. Yes, I could travel in my dream, and yes, I was doing it in reality, not just in my dream. I also sensed that my body wasn’t in my bed, in my cozy house in Sheffield, but indeed on the train, somewhere near Zurich.

While knowing that I was near a Dutch forest (however, I am not sure whether it was in the south or the north of the country), I was also aware at once that I was due to attend a ball of the devil, and visit his residence. I waited for a couple of moments, and a strange dog appeared, who would transport me to the house where the devil lives, deep in the forest, besides many trees, a place that I am not sure how it looks in reality. I didn’t see the house itself and thus, can’t describe it in details.

The flight on the dog, and it was similar to a flight, was exhilarating and magical. I couldn’t help but to think that, ‘wow’, I was really doing it and wow, it was really happening. I also knew that, despite the evidence so to speak, I wasn’t a witch, but strange things keep on happening in my life, and the appearance of the devil in many forms and appearances is taking place in my regular life (and not just in my dreams), with terrifying occurrence. What does he want from me, and why does he chase me – is a question I ask myself on a daily basis.

The dog was of an unknown breed and if I would describe it in more details, the breed was similar to a mixture between pit bull and bulldog, but there was more to it than just a breed. It was obvious that the dog was magical, and that I was experiencing a total emergence into the parallel world.

We arrived at our destination and entered the house, which had different levels. The moment between arriving and entering the devil’s domain was too brief for me to notice more. I can’t say, for instance how the house looks from exterior, but I noticed a few things from inside. It is based in a place where people don’t walk, away from the humans, and one can enter it by invitation only, but I might be wrong about all this, as my impression was that I happened to be there by accident.  Who had sent the dog for me was unclear. The devil himself? I am not so sure, as while being inside his house, I had a definite feeling that there was some sort of mistake and I wasn’t really expected there.

On the first floor there was a big bar, with guests exchanging the pleasantries and having some drinks, while in the basement, guarded by bodyguards, was HIM. I was pushed by some invisible force to approach the guards to go the basement, but at the last moment turned away. Was it a higher force preventing me from making the fatal step towards the basement, or was it my own inner strength which banned me from going down, and it was indeed deep, deep down, and I knew instinctively that where was a place from which I would never return.

Instead I approached the bar and ordered a drink (a glass of champagne) but it all became a blur and I don’t remember how I exited the devil’s domain and found myself back in my bed, waking up and knowing with absolute certainty, that yes, it had happened, and no, I wasn’t mad or insane.

master and margarita

(Illustration to ‘Master and Margarita’ of Bulgakov, found on ‘Russia Beyond’ website. The great writer depicted the character of the devil in an unusual and interesting way, while also describing a ball where Margarita acted as a hostess)

The devil, the monster from hell

I finished my last post promising to tell you about how I met the devil as depicted in the scariest Christian stories. However, since then I remembered that I had encountered the character way before in the 90s in Russia, much earlier than that time he appeared to me and my friend, and before I once saw him in one of my lucid-dreaming experiences (and where he showed how he really looks, and he can take many forms and appearances).

It is easier to write about it than talk, because people simply stopped believing in all that stuff, and it’s every day that I wonder how the Christianity survived till today, as everything in it can be judged as ‘delusions’ and according to the psychiatry, all Christians should be proclaimed as insane. I once read a psychiatric article where it was hinted quite clearly that Jesus had suffered from psychosis and exhibited all signs of being a bipolar. Needless to say it wasn’t a nice read, as for yet another time I started to doubt my own mind and my own sanity, because I believe in Jesus, and have seen the manifestations of parallel world many times. Denying this truth to me (and other people) is denying the whole reason of any existence based in spirituality, and once I tried to live a life denied of it, I stopped to see the aim of any life, or at least a life, based in some meaning. How can we wake up and not believe in Jesus, is a question I decided I don’t want to explore any longer. I have to add here that my own ‘search’ for Jesus took a long time, and not because I failed to realize until recently that Jesus is always around, but because I have been obscured by the presence of the devil almost my entire life. Yes, he is constantly around, and yes, I’ve met him and know for sure that he is as real as a glass of nice red wine I am drinking right now, while writing this post.

The problem with the devil is that he made his appearance in my life way before I received baptism in the Russian Christian Church (on my own accord, at the age of twelve), and hasn’t left me since, in terms of his presence. He appeared many times in my life, and I do wonder as to why he is so much interested in my persona. Do I have an interesting soul? Is it because I am indeed a holy fool (a concept to which I will come back again and again) or is it because I can contribute to humanity and he tries to ban me from doing good works? But I will try to quiet my ego for now and go back (in my mind) to that first time I met the devil in my life.

I was three years old then and was sleeping in my cot, on the sixteenth floor in our Moscow’s apartment. We lived on the top floor, and as was established later, the apartment was chased by the spirits or something similar, and my step-mother would discover some sort of insects all the time under the flower pots years later.

I woke up from a dream because I literally sensed a presence and then I glanced at the window, I saw HIM. He looked like a total monster from hell, with horns, and terrifying eyes, and I knew at once that it was the devil, and that he was interested in me.

Interestingly, I didn’t panic or anything like that at that point because, even at the age of three, I knew that there was no point in panicking. If I started to cry, the parents would arrive and tell me that he wasn’t real and that I had simply had a bad dream, and therefore, I did the opposite of child logic. I stared at him without crying and told myself aloud: yes, he is real, and what you see is not your imagination.

I also forgot that vision till later in life, but I had to resuscitate the memory once I had met him on that bench in Moscow, overlooking the church. You might ask me, but how do you know for sure? And the only answer I have, is that yes, I know, and the truth runs sometimes deeper than anything else. It is the whole core of your being which tells you that what you see and hear, while not visible to everyone else, is happening in reality. I also learned from experience that people simply don’t want to believe in uncomfortable truth, because once they do, the only remaining path is to embrace Christianity and pray for the return of Christ. And the path of a true Christian is indeed much harder than anything else.

I met the devil several times later in my life and will tell you more about the encounters. You don’t have to listen to me, of course, and you don’t have to believe in me, but I am sharing you my story from a vintage point of view of hexagram number 41 of the Chinese I Ching, line nine in the second place. The text of the oracle says: “…without decreasing oneself, one is able to increase to others”, which means that I share the story from the position of personal truth. You might believe and hear and see, but it’s obscured by what others reply to you in return. Jesus is real, and so is the devil, and the fight between good and the evil is taking place now on earth as never before.

In the next post I will tell you about how I attended the devil’s ball.  It was during one of my lucid-dreaming, just for those who might start saying, but is she insane? All these whispers (implying insanity) are just whispers of the devil preventing so many of us from saying the truth, according to my gypsies cards (demons, card 47, in straight position). But I studied all the enemy tools (including all Tarot cards and oracles) for years, and therefore, yes, I have the tools and the courage to say the truth as I see it, and not as others tell me it should be.

Hear, hear.

 

Bibliography:

Wilhelm, R. (1967). I Ching: a book of changes. Penguin.

Touchkoff, S. (1992). Russian Gypsy Fortune Telling Cards. Harper San Francisco.

0TheFool

(the fool in Tarot cards is, of course, showing us the path of a Holy Fool, it is all real, and it is all based in reality. Tarot cards taught me many lessons, and I am grateful for that)