Right after the Christmas holidays, we had a chance to travel to Kyiv for some business. It was a great pleasure to photograph Kyiv at night. A lot has changed over this year, but the light will return to where it was.

"Mom! Is dad leaving us forever?"
Ksenia said from her bed when she saw me putting on my jacket and preparing to leave in the middle of the night.

At that moment, I didn't know that soon I would be flying over the lights of the night city, thinking about its beauty.

When you fly, you see countless lights from the windows of those who remain on the ground. You pull away from them, and yet you return to them. You feel the beauty of the flight, dream of flying far, observing, feeling, loving, and praying during scary moments. It's especially good to pray during take-off and landing. Planes fly very fast, sometimes there's not enough time to truly appreciate the beauty, to really feel like a bird.

Today, as well, while flying over all those left on the ground, with empty thoughts, and only a feeling that it's very beautiful, I wandered over the nighttime tombstones. Even the children, seeing the first pictures, asked, "What is this colorful city?" And then, upon closer examination, they understood.

Note: Translating poetic or figurative language can be challenging, as it often involves capturing the essence and mood of the original text, which may not always correspond directly to literal translations. 

І відэа:

Having let me by the path,
Allowing me to wander and play,
My dear one goes home,
To wait for me and greet me there.

And I walk with deep gratitude,
Wandering, searching for words,
So that the cold heart might change,
And from it, love would ignite.

May our gazes be filled with love,
May our days be satiated with affection,
And in the air, may joy greet us,
Under the guitar, both my voice and yours...

K.S.Petrashka / Szczytno / 1 Nov 2022

A lot has happened in recent days, but I want to share like droplets of water.

Video:

Fog, dense fog. When there's fog outside, I'm not at home in the morning. It's not really morning anymore, but I'm still strolling around the lake. I observe the fog, the sun, the trees, and their reflections from different angles.

I thought to write something, but mere reflections, without intense emotions or revelations, seem trivial and untouched. Because of this, I feel somewhat lost; I wanted to write, but I have nothing to say.

I would not have written this text if not for one event. Something very joyful and human touched me.

It turns out, I'm not the only one wandering around the lake, photographing how the sun breaks through the fog. How it reflects off the water. A tall man, he chooses angles and perspectives. He crouches down, slightly changes his position, chooses the moment for a shot.

I slightly hesitate about what exactly attracted me in his actions, but I'm out of arrows to shoot (words to describe).

He does all this, photographing against a beautiful backdrop of a glass of brandy.

I think his pictures will be more colorful because the sun will not only pass through the fog and reflect off the water but will also be altered by the glass and the liquid between the glass. As I write this, I regret not getting to know him. Maybe he would've allowed me to take a few shots too.

That's the power of beauty, its pervasive light that shines on every person. It stops everyone in their tracks for a moment to feel life differently. I hope that the one who is late for an important meeting today will find such a moment for beauty.

The little train from Ramonkava, to help us all.

P.S. A couple of sneaky photos of this man.

The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

Right now, I won't talk about my experiences or the perception of the world; it will be more of a reflection after a long conversation.

This world, quite harsh, is not simple; it contains much suffering, pain, and trials.

Some of us face these trials unprepared, suddenly. After struggling, but having traveled the path, they realize themselves that it was not an easy path, but anyone who goes will overcome.

And then they start broadcasting their vision of this "harsh world" as a kind of norm. They start engaging in a good cause, "preparing" the younger ones for the fact that this world is very harsh. They see a mentoring mission in this. One might say they prepare for real life. They see the danger in someone thinking the world is good. That they will stay in ignorance of the world's harshness. These people with good intentions will educate the inexperienced, not even talking about the harshness, but showing it by example. To thoroughly prepare the young.

What we get in the end: to harshness is added more harshness, but this harshness is supposedly justified by good intentions. It's like parents who beat their children with belts a little less than their parents beat them because they are humanists. But yes, without this, there will be no upbringing because the world is harsh.

Maybe in these considerations, I mixed up many things, and everything is not so simple. But please, I even beg, STOP spreading harshness, stop being mentors of life. It's better to extend a hand of mutual assistance, acceptance, and love to one another.

The harshness in the world will not disappear anyway, and we will be each other's support in which a person can stand in this complicated world.

Walking, chased by fear, heading into the darkness.

Yesterday, I thought I needed to step out of my comfort zone, wanted to walk into the forest at night. Felt how everything would constrict from fear, how I'd get anxious, be alarmed by every sound, listening intently, wishing it would end, longing to return home quickly, to lock the door behind me, to relish the experiences that had passed and to write about them. Because it's impossible to write about something without truly living it.

Having thought about it yesterday, I decided that I didn't even need to go; it was terrifying just thinking about it. Thought I could just think, get scared, and write something. But I quickly fell asleep without writing anything.

This evening, I needed to refuel my car, went to fill up, and saw my forest. Not nighttime, but it was dark. I should go. It's not late, but it's scary.

I set off, walking and writing, feeling a mixture of emotions.

I recall the words of Jesus Christ: "Are there not twelve hours of daylight? If one walks during the day, he does not stumble, because he sees the light of this world. But if someone walks at night, he stumbles, for the light is not in him."

Yet I walk to Him at night, for where there's fear, there's a reliance on Him, there's a call to Him, there are thoughts about Him and the true self.

Fear kills Love, but perhaps it does so when this fear is hidden, when we perceive danger as something external, something that prevents us from stepping into fear. I have reasons to blame myself, where out of fear, I stayed outside, not advancing in love.

But fear, when you're already in it, is a peculiar thing. For such fear, it's essential to know why you're here, like a purpose, for what. Why did I wander into the darkness? To understand myself, to feel vulnerable, without various fantasies about myself. Felt it? Yes, I did. It's enough.

I'm feeling overwhelmed. Want to run, but I walk. Walk quickly. I wonder if I can walk slowly? This experiment is quite challenging for me. I can walk slowly only when I have good self-control, automatically I quicken my pace.

I see a light, light in the darkness is always God to me. It's joyful to see the light. The light is a guide. Poor moths are drawn to light. Maybe they get their reward for it?

Ah, I caught the moment when everything cuts off and feels colder inside. A piercing terror from a fallen branch nearby.

I walk back, breathing, recalling moments from the past when I was so scared in the night forest.

It's only around seven in the evening. Where's the calmness? Where's the peace? - It's not there.

But I accept myself as I am, because I have the right to be, no matter who I am, whatever I feel.

Jesus the Savior, help all those who are scared now, all those who are at war.

And in the morning, I wake up first. I head towards the bathroom to take a shower, I open the blinds on the windows, stretch out, look out the window, and there's something unclear there. Ahhhh, strong fog!!! I need to leave urgently, otherwise, I'll miss out. The memory of that beauty in the fog doesn't leave me at peace. I rush into the car; the windows and mirrors have frozen over, but so be it, I don't have far to drive.

I arrive and walk down the path; it's chilly, the sun is already high, and in another place, it's unlikely I'd recreate the magic. But perhaps I'll see something new?

I walk… walk… some bird is chirping, really, like a gate... seems like a magpie...

I encountered some branches, photographed them from various angles. It's so intriguing that when you look at them from above, they're white and beautiful. But from below, they're dark, sometimes even black.

I reach my base and feel that my feet are wet; I understand why, but why are my eyes wet? Perhaps because they have dried for so long? My eyes dried out, unknown for what reason, perhaps because of human cruelty.

I feel that I'm becoming more rigid. I feel it looking at myself from the side. Maybe I'm just starting to realize that I'm mortal? It's probably good that I began to understand, as I began to cling to life, to people, to beauty. Before, I always postponed everything. Thinking I first need to fulfill all duties, and then live afterward. I was always in a hurry to achieve something to start living. But to simply start living, it was frightening, I lacked the courage. And only impulsively I allowed myself to live, allowed with a feeling of guilt, as if I had done something wrong. Now everything is changing, I live more because time is limited.

I sat in my nest, I'll go... I'll fly home. They have already woken up there. There's a lot of interesting stuff today, even a bit scary.

I walk back... inhaling the air with closed eyes... searching for new forest scents...

And then Dasha woke up and asked: Where am I?

Suddenly, I felt more cheerful and ran home.

The Holy Spirit comes to me, either through salty tears in my eyes, through the encounter with marvelous droplets on the grass, or as now through droplets on my body that relieve me from fever.

In the photo is a blade of grass from the day before yesterday. It's curious that only on it there was dew, while others had none. I even returned to take a photograph.

• Ksusha, what did you draw on your leg?
• Leave it, Dad, it's beautiful.
• No, take it off, or the leg might get infected.

The next morning we go to the kindergarten by car. As we walk from the car, we occasionally have to stop and carry Ksusha. She won't let her leg be touched. It hurts her a lot. I can see she wants my comfort because she's in pain. But something inside me stops me from showing her compassion. It's the consequence of her own foolishness. Indeed, I didn't remove the "beautiful" elastic band on leg from the candy. That day was definitely not Ksusha's day, her leg didn't get better. And she was limping when I picked her up from the “snack time”. Ksusha cried, the teachers were very concerned about what happened and if it was being treated. I explained with irritation and tried in Polish to explain about the elastic band. We probably walked in silence. Because she's at fault, and she didn’t listen to her parents who speak the truth.

Meanwhile, in the evening, I start to run a fever, feel miserable, and all plans are canceled. Giving up on everything, I go to bed early. Dasha brings me a drink, the kids peek in. Before I fall asleep, I shout to another room: "Massage her leg!" I fall asleep...

I wake up when everyone's already asleep. I have a sore throat, I feel hunched. I lay down. I feel very sad. I wish someone would comfort me. It's especially hard because I understand why this happened to me.

In the morning, I went to the forest. I even saw a moose there. The sun warmed me up, and I took off one of the two hats. Then I climbed into the observation post to watch the birds. There was a strong wind blowing through my head, and it felt somewhat chilly. But with the adrenaline from the encounter with the moose, it was all worth it. "Beautiful," but the rest doesn't matter! Excitedly, I head home, once again with a small treasure, "a spotted moose". On the way, I stop by the store for a snack, realizing I should treat myself with some ice cream. I take a small one and quickly eat it so the kids wouldn't see. Well, that's the whole diagnosis.

So, here I lie, wanting someone to pity this fool, while everyone sleeps. And I ask God: "Lord, allow me to feel pity for myself." I felt warm, and I immediately thought of my daughter. My whole heart felt sorry for her. A father's daughter.

I fall asleep peacefully.

Certainty

Death. Dark and cold, painful. That's how I read in books and heard from others. But in my mind, death seemed quite different. Unclear how. In theory, it's something bad, but in practice, I never felt horror at the fact that someone died. On the contrary, I often imagined this scenario in my head. With obvious benefits and changes in my own life. I was repulsed by such thoughts, such disdain for relatives and acquaintances. I do not agree with these thoughts, but they came to me. To this, I can add my perception of death as a bright, life-affirming hope. Hope for how good it is for a person to meet God, with eternal joy. How good it is for him, how he is now always in space, knows everything, and is certainly not sad. How he met all his loved ones, hugged, and rejoiced. And of course, every person goes straight to Heaven! And this hope, it is like faith, some great certainty. I truly believed that this is how it is.

Wavering

I close my eyes. I understand that I live for myselfч. I don't care about other people, maybe sometimes. But I want it to be different, I want to love everyone, to be kind, and never to be bad. Or else they will judge, they will think I am bad if they know what's in my mind. And my calm attitude towards the death of loved ones does not give me peace. Perhaps I invented the great joy after death to justify my indifference to the death of loved ones. After all, I am not worried because I believe and see how good they are now. This thought torments me and gradually goes away. And again, I am fine, again I believe, again I am certain.

A week ago, I boasted of my certainty about the fate of people after death. And a reasonable person says to me: No one knows what's after death. No one knows... How cold and painful it is in the soul. No one knows. Life after these words can never be the same. No one knows. That's when I wavered, that's when I was shaken. Where did that confidence go? How to live on? Huh?

Escape

I love the morning, I love to walk, breathe, listen, and watch the day begin. Yesterday, someone told me that with my early walks, I meet God. Yes, truly. How can one not agree? I haven't read prayers for a long time, but I continue to meet God. I am very pleased with this arrangement. And there are many proofs that it's exactly this way. I tried listening to audiobooks during my walks, but it didn't stick. I walk, and I think about life, about my loved ones, about God. I thank Him for today. Especially grateful when, passing through the forest, I hear a bird, or the enchanting scents intoxicate me. And when I see something beautiful, I'm also very grateful. I perceive all this as received gifts, found treasures, like some unexpected windfall that cannot be acquired. Just wake up in the morning, and go search.

Today was special. I barely got up, the alarm was snoozed about 7 times, so instead of a good morning, I ended up waking closer to seven. It happens to me that if I oversleep a bit, the mood isn't great, and in general, I don't feel like getting up. But today was an unusual morning. I knew exactly that I was going to meet God. And that inspires. The kids were already rustling in their room, could wake up soon, and then the meeting with God would have been overshadowed. Quickly, I went to the door, and decided to put on my shoes outside. The door closes, and already I feel lighter. They won't catch me here. I go for a walk with a clear conscience and complete freedom.

The First Treasure

When I approached the forested asphalt path, I felt joy from the fact that the morning fog had not yet dispersed and was still thick. With gratitude, I stored this treasure in my treasure box. The beauty of the morning is that it brings a somewhat abstract and highly dynamic substance to the material world. Fog, which hides from the sun. It's evident that the fog remained mostly where it was shielded by trees, hills, and the forest. And only the new rays of light pierced through it. These sun rays materialized, making the entire path of sunlight visible. Like air that glows in certain places. As if in a dusty room, a bright ray of light enters through a window, and now its path is clearly visible in the reflection of floating dust. It's interesting because these rays are what destroyed the fog. It turns out that the subject of my fascination is the process of the fog's destruction. One could equate it with the burning of fire.

The satisfaction from such a treasure is immense; I take photos, observe the surroundings. Not many birds, so the whole impression is visual. I catch myself feeling satisfaction in a quantitative manner, glad that there is more fog than usual, or perhaps even more than I've ever seen before. In short, I measured with a metaphorical ruler and realized that I should rejoice. Although simple aesthetic pleasure was present too. How all of this is complex and confusingly mixed in my head. I wish it were clear, conceptual, and predictable.

More Treasures

I keep walking forward, because I'm always curious: what's ahead? What could be there? How might it be? It's a mystery waiting to be solved, a treasure that must be found. There are so many treasures on our path, tiny ones, grand ones, prepared just for us. I love collecting treasures, love making discoveries, accepting something unbelievably free of charge.

At some point in my journey, I see just a dark fog, so much fog that I can hardly see anything. This mystery, this limited field of vision, is so tempting, where with every step something new is revealed, where you can't see far, meaning you can't predict what awaits you ahead. Wonderful conditions for discoveries, for new impressions. One can dream that with just one more step, something incredible will appear.

I deviate from my usual path, taking a small trail among the trees. Fear rises within me. I'm afraid of boars, dogs, people, or maybe something else. I fear the unknown and yet I'm drawn to it; everything is mixed up. But the desire for something new prevails. So, I just keep walking, even though I'm scared. After a while, I emerge into a field. A large mown field, entirely shrouded in fog. The sun hangs low above this mist, large, visible, and perfectly shaped. And the entire field is dotted with white patches. It's the fog caught in the spider webs. There are so many webs in the field that it wasn't immediately obvious what they were.

Invisible to All

And here I am, in the midst of the field. I usually don't like walking across fields; it feels awkward. It's not a path or a road. Fields are typically in plain view. There's always this critical voice in my head, wondering, what will people think? What am I doing here? Usually, but not today. The fog envelops me, protecting me from prying eyes. I realize no one can see me, nor will they, as I can't see anything beyond a handful of earth in front of me and the hazy sun pointing the way.

For the first time, I felt like the character "Hedgehog in the Fog". I walk and think, can this really be happening? Walking aimlessly across the field, aware that I can't see what lies ahead, there's a surreal quality to it. It's very much like real life. You shield yourself with justifications, hide behind lofty goals or actions, but in reality, you're just wandering, understanding little, yet compelled to move forward. And so, you press on.

The Earth Burns Beneath My Feet

Suddenly, I see how the forest consumes a part of the sun. It becomes clear that I'm approaching some edge. About 100 meters ahead, the field ends, the forest begins, and beyond it, the sun gets swallowed. It's beautiful to watch the sun transform, hiding behind the trees. It's particularly captivating with the ever-present fog. Beautiful, intriguing…

But at some point, I realize that it's not just beautiful anymore. Something grander is happening. The space around me burns like the burning bush before Moses. It's extraordinary, mesmerizing, astonishing. Everything unfolding paralyzes me and screams: this is incredible. It's unimaginable that something can be this beautiful. Impossible to conceive, or even to dream about. My heart fills with joy, gratitude, wonder. Thoughts race through my head, this is it, this is the long-awaited encounter with God. An encounter with beauty, mystery, wonder, something impossible and incomparable.

Through the trees and the fog, rays emanate from the sun in every direction. These beams illuminate everything in their path. They fall evenly onto the ground before me, rise to the sky, and spread to the sides. I witness and feel the incredibility of what's happening to me right now. I take many photos. I want to preserve this, I want to share this miracle. For some reason, I really want others to agree that this is a true miracle. Though it's for me, my intimate, personal wonder. After these thoughts, I stop taking photos, but I can't leave, even though it's long past time to return. I stand, unable to leave, not wanting to depart. I pray, thank, rejoice, look, and can't believe my eyes. I reflect on my life, my path, which is also in the fog, where it's unclear where I'm going, what I'm doing here, or where I might end up. But this miracle gives me hope. Go on, wander, search, listen to your heart. And you will find Me, you will meet Me, and it will be the most anticipated encounter of your life, a meeting that will more than make up for all these wanderings in the fog.

To Home

My heart was filled with joy, faith, a miracle, and immense gratitude for such a response to my longing, to my search.

I went home, no, I didn't just walk, I practically flew. Inspired to return home and share everything that had happened to me.

The day continued; it was a very challenging one. Yet, the miracle of the morning transformed and recolored all the events of that day. It gave hope, light, and love to all difficult questions.

Grandma Toma

In the evening, we learned that the life of my Dasha's beloved grandmother had come to an end. Grandma Toma quietly departed for the other world. Tears, silence, conversations, prayers, watching movies, explaining to the children, reviewing photographs, more conversations, and tears again, amidst profound silence.

Yet, in my eyes, there's still the miracle that illuminated Grandma Toma too. How much I began to trust God, to whom Grandma went. Because He, having created such beauty, welcomes her to Him. That brought me joy. Warmth. Even though I don't have any specific knowledge about death and life after death. I only have a feeling. I only have my perception, maybe like dreams, like waiting, like longing.

Knowing about the various complex interpretations of Orthodox beliefs regarding life after death, I still significantly simplify my views, to those desired events that I wish would happen to all the people who die, and specifically with Grandma Toma.

I Imagine

There she is, now free to traverse vast spaces. Here she is with us in the room, where we sit around the table. And she is with us here, smiling at our unawareness. She comforts us, saying, "Here I am with you, my family. All is well." I also imagine that she has met her deceased loved ones who were waiting for her and whom she was waiting to meet. Their reunion is also filled with joy. This gives hope that we too will see her again after some time and share the joy and love. Not to mention the meeting with God and His Light and Love. But that's a bit more difficult to imagine. Although it's clear that we are parted now, and it's sad, and tears well up. And Dasha cries too.

Questions

And so you ask yourself a question, you are an adult man, you've imagined something about how and what will be. You've gathered everything you'd like to believe, but should it really be so? Where are the guarantees? Questions pierce faith, slightly shaking it, scientific mathematical models arise from different angles.

Answers

And so, this miracle with the sun through the fog comes to the rescue. And I begin to reflect: Here I am, a human being, making up something humanly good and beautiful for the grandmother and all the deceased. Yet I couldn't even conceive, wish, or imagine something similar to the beauty I encountered this morning. To that indescribable joy, miracle, something astonishing.

This is my answer from God. My perception of life with God after death is a reference point. Something that could be called 0. But God has prepared for people a joy that is inexpressible. Which is incomprehensible, and of course, not understood by us here.

And so, there's goodness in my heart.

Because if not what people themselves wished for after death, then something much better.

Thank you, beloved Lord!