Storm, storm rages! It rolls from side to side within me.
I always craved calmness before. Thoughts that instilled fear or simply anxiety were unwanted companions. And I did whatever I could to calm down. Mostly, it helped to go and easily sleep at any time of the day or night.
But now it's different. I feel the anxiety and I want to utilize it. I want to see what it brings with it. What it's about. There's no pleasure in this, but there's energy, and I need to use that energy. In all this anxiety, a certain existential meaning has emerged. Value. A moment I don't want to just miss or lose. Since I started savoring such states, the usual quiet life inside me seems bland. Like a dull routine. Though everything is good in moderation.
And right now, I'm reading to Ksyusha about the adventures of Tom Sawyer. Today was the chapter about the murder of the doctor in the graveyard at night. I wonder if I was hasty to read this to a seven-year-old girl. I'll go and pray with her for the night.
Kayaking is a wonderful thing. And the more wonderful it becomes, the quieter you go. Every paddle stroke on the water disrupts the beauty of silence and brings us closer to the end of kayaking. Similarly in life, we paddle to approach the end, rather than to live. On the other hand, when stuck in a dead-end, one needs to paddle hard to get out and move forward.
My dream: early morning kayaking in dense fog. Complete silence.
So Ksusha calls you at night, Kostya, to guide her through the dark corridor to the bathroom. Lyuba has climbed onto the bunk bed, her legs dangling near the steps, but she's so scared she calls for you. Laughing and yielding to their fears, you go and help. You strive to teach them to climb up and down, so that they won't be afraid next time... And you, little Kostya, you're still young, you're worried, and in your life, there's fear. And help comes to you, and it's expected of you not to be afraid of those little things. So, let's be small, helping each other, protecting one another.
My boundaries have passed through wonderful places, and my inheritance is pleasant to me. Psalm 16:6
At first, all public transport stopped for a day. Then writing, bathroom breaks, sniveling, running noses. Glance at my phone, not stressing. We pick up the kids, pack our stuff. Occasionally, I check the time. We leave. Navigate the route, jaw clenches, unease in the chest. Full throttle. Stinky sweat drips down my back, soaking my favorite hoodie. My ears buzz from fatigue, my temples from global injustice. Why did I think I had enough time? It's a blur now. There's a large bridge before the station to cross to our platform. My fatigue shifts to heavy breathing; I sense we made it in time. The aromatic aftermath of the rush stays with me. I conscientiously go to buy tickets from the machine. Five minutes later, I despise the German language, ticket machines, and myself. I figured it out, but we missed the train. Saved 8 euros though. Rush again, the kids are restless, not sensing the urgency. Lyuba gets offended, insists she's Lyuba, not restless. Ahh, another ticket machine. But this one seems more sophisticated. Ahhh, I can't get it right, ahh! Laid the laptop on the ground, chose tickets. Why did they get pricier? There's a discount. 45 euros, pay, pdf. We rush to the platform. The screen displays our train. And there it is. We sprint inside. Asked a passenger if this was our train, he nodded in agreement. Offered to double-check, asked a German if this goes to Cologne. He confirmed. I felt heroic. Settled in, chose seats, exhaled. Wondered why our train departs in a minute when ours is in 10? Silence. Maybe this isn't ours. I sit, doors close. We move. AAAAAHHHHH. It isn't. Ahhhh!!!! What to do? Ahhh? How could this happen? Options, checks, Google. The cost of the mistake + 55 euros to get off at the next stop, on the train we're already on. Anxiety mounts. Maybe they won't notice? Maybe they will? If they do, it'll be a disaster. Bought the ticket for the train we're currently on. Controller checks in 5 minutes. Sweaty relief and satisfaction from the decision. Scanned the QR, like everything was supposed to be. Everyone to the bathroom in turns. The girls are growing, it's harder to hold them over the toilet. The flush is as powerful as a black hole in space. Waited too early to disembark. Lyuba tripped multiple times before the door while the train waited for permission to cover the last kilometer. The train wedged itself against the station. The Gothic cathedral crowded, it seems easier for people from the station to pass through the cathedral's doors. People with luggage obscure the skies. Cars pollute the air. How to see one of Germany's oldest cities through this? Augmented reality is impossible here. Perhaps it's needed only in boring towns? No time for that now. Then we walked, walked, ate, bathroom, wiped the floor, yelled at the kids, cleaned up, left the leftovers, walked, listened to the crowd of environmental protestors, walked, ate, charged the phone, crowds, crowds, crowds, the LEGO store, put boxes in their place, herded the kids to the exit, escaped, walked on, terrible service at a famous café, decisions, Google, dreamed of home with forbidden food and complete relaxation. The museum is close, really cool, but not compatible with sweaty hoodie and muddy socks. Good thing there are many places to sit. Life becomes interesting again. Two things were recommended in Cologne: Visit the Cathedral and try the beer. I don't drink beer, and it's unclear if they make non-alcoholic. Ate, drank, bathroom, dressed, left, throttle, had enough time, boarded, still 30 minutes left. Good thing we got the LEGO giveaway, no background noise. The right train came, we moved to the second floor for a better view, no seats, sat without windows, jiggled around, mustered strength, kept searching for window seats. Found some. Placed kids further away. Relaxation ensued. Outside, it's beautiful, silence around, Arabic talk and Slavic request to bring kids closer. We decline, lazily enjoy. Soon we transfer from one train to another. All's well, timely, and close. Rush, exit to platform via elevator with a queue. The first group went without us. We'll make it. The second group went with us. Barely squeezed in. Positioned so the kids won't get crushed. In an hour, Borussia Dortmund's match. Wish you'd go faster. Everyone exited at the next stop. Exited, yay, only one km left to home. Have to go through the store, we fly out tomorrow. Store, all was good until the scream, "Daddy - need to pee". This store didn't have a bathroom, suggested another. The other said yes, but we'd have to wait. We wait, learn patience. Restrooms after numerous flights of stairs. A good bathroom. Made it. Barely got out. Got out. Then a bottle of non-alcoholic exclusive Cologne beer whizzed by me. Left many questions and thoughts. Craved relaxation, to shed the day's tension. But the beer bottle didn't assist, so I decided to convert my tension energy into this text I'm writing. Finished writing. The kids are asleep! Time to read. Realizing deeply, I love my Dasha very much. Kiss.
How suffocating it feels, how heavy when you've tried to suffocate but couldn't. Why is that? Perhaps it's because initially, you come and press your heel onto someone's neck. And there's a desire to stretch and stand taller. And you suffocate. Why? - To be above. To bring them to the light. To dazzle with your wisdom. And you crumble, realizing that your heel breaks against steel necks. They are strong, and at some point, they understand that not everything is right in your head. And they realize that your flexible heels slide on their unyielding steel. It's unbearably hard for me to admit that I suffocate, yet time and again I place my feet on others' necks. I can't stand myself.
Another matter is when the necks aren't made of steel. Then it feels like you've performed a high-tech operation with your heel. Helped someone see life from a different perspective... Disgusting.
"Hello everyone, I've finally mustered the courage to write! Actually, no, life pressed me so much that I had to come out of my shell. Besides, it's not even me writing this text, but some guy, a friend of my husband's. All because I don't write texts, I make awesome... "
I felt a great emotion when I revealed myself in this way (as the invisible author of the advertisement) and those who would post such an ad. To write in the name of a girl, and then in the text itself admit that the writer is a man, and then continue writing in the name of the girl. The lie in the text is disclosed by sincerity (hyper-sincerity), and then continues with falsehood. All this arises in my head, a kind of turmoil with mixed feelings.
That's often how it was with me. It used to be even more frequent.
Hyper-Sincerity is just that, formally sincerity. It pursues something bigger, something else. Because hyper-sincerity isn't self-sufficient. I feel it's an emotional-manipulative moment when, saying sincerely and very sincerely, we pursue some unspoken (or better yet, explicitly stated) objectives. This creates a sort of brew that transports us to the emotional realm.
The reader or listener pays attention to this; they are not defended against such moves because they begin to feel the state possibly felt by the person who wrote that text or says those things. They understand how they would feel if they wrote or said something similar. And it moves them; they witness something quite uncomfortable, something worth noticing.
And here I wanted to write that the author of all this doesn't feel anything. But I paused and felt. Feels, indeed. This combination of feelings inspires and energizes.
In general, hyper-sincerity made me strong when I was afraid of being exposed for lying. Or when there was something that could be revealed in me, something very painful. I strive to vocalize it through hyper-sincerity and stop being afraid.
A person who neither defends nor flees from fear might not need to use hyper-sincerity. And it would be good to live without the strain of hyper-sincerity. I think I'm on the way to that.
Last evening, Lyuba packed Ksyusha's backpack with full confidence that she would go to school tomorrow. She woke up almost first, insisted on getting dressed, put on her backpack, and went with Ksyusha to sit in the car, arrived at the school, greeted the headmistress. And then she went back to the car. They didn't take her in again. But they promised to admit her soon. Then, I bargained with Lyuba for a walk in the foggy forest in exchange for yogurt. After that, I also bargained to climb into the watchtower.
She was the first one who came and ascended to a place so dear to me. I embrace you, my beloved daughter, thank you for your trust and gentle nature.
Many of my photos are from the bike path that became last year's discovery. However, I haven't written anything about it. It starts at the edge of Szczytno and stretches 35 km in one direction, through forests, fields, and lakes, past roads and settlements. It used to be a railway track in the past. And the path unofficially begins from the current railway. About 7 km from the start of the path, there is an abandoned station called Ochodno. During today's trip, I decided to photograph it.
Note: The translation might not capture the exact nuance or poetic nature of the original text but aims to convey the primary meaning and emotion behind the words.
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.
I hadn't taken a walk in a long time. I had become stagnant. My spirit had grown moldy from the daily routine. And then the Sun, along with the Mist, awakened me to life again. This was a few weeks ago, the day before Christmas on December 25th. My car was all iced up, so I couldn't drive to the starting point of my usual path. I just trudged straight towards it. At some point, I no longer wanted to head to my usual path; I just wanted to walk towards the sun. And so, I walked, taking new routes, discovering new landscapes. God gifted me the sight of a miraculous display of beauty once again. Powerful rays of light passed through my body, warming my heart, giving it hope and joy. I was deeply moved. And I remember that moment with gratitude now.
Advice: Even when you're walking towards the sun, don't get stuck in the mud. You can use your brain and slightly bypass the danger and dirt.
"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.
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...
