FIRE FROM WITHIN
SELF-PORTRAIT
There he regains the ability to unite with the spirit he acquired in a past life,
and again, O descendant of Kuru, strives for perfection.
(Bhagavad Gita)
Chapter 1. Keys of the Night
On a warm August evening, the Sun was finishing its daily work. It had but a few more strokes to make before the celestial canvas, like an ancient scroll, could absorb the memories of the passing day. Thus, at the close of the day, the Sun, like an author on a gift book, placed its autograph in the immortal records of the Universe. At such moments, one may even gaze upon the Sun and feel how Its rays bestow Their immortal Love upon all living things.
Not waiting for the Sun to leave Its post, from behind the horizon appeared the one who would take over all responsibility and power for the other part of the day. The Moon ascended! And It did not just ascend. It appeared like an All-Seeing Eye, resolutely determined to unveil the starry Sky. Such, like a red fiery sphere, the Moon appears only during the full Moon, creating the sense of another Sun emerging.
At the very moment when day surrenders its keys to night, when the two celestial luminaries, the Sun and the Moon, meet in cosmic equilibrium, I drew my first breath in this life within the walls of a maternity ward.
Chapter 2. Timepiece for the "I"
The first breath in life, and with it the first voice – it is not merely a physiological need of the organism for oxygen. It is something more! It is something akin to a timepiece mechanism that was launched by the will of something or someone, or perhaps even ourselves. And it is immediately difficult to grasp whether the timepiece counts down or vice versa. However, it can be said with certainty that time became something real, something that separates and limits us in space.
Time and space became an inevitability for me. I sought to speak of this, yet to those around me, my narratives were a veritable test of their eardrums. Somewhere around the eighth month, I took pity on them and, instead of screaming, started babbling, but just as incessantly as I had screamed. Gradually, the babbling grew into something more serious and solid. Everything has its time. Yes, the same time that rendered my mind and body almost helpless. However, I cannot say that about my feelings.
From the depths of my nature, something constantly made itself known. These feelings issued from the center of my being. One could even say – they came from the heart. This was accompanied by strange and incomprehensible states: as if one simultaneously felt great joy and cosmic sadness, and that which one supposedly should have known, but did not.
From time to time, a question would arise: "Could my ‘self’ be the ‘self’ of someone else? Does anything exist if my "self" does not exist?” I considered these questions to be the most paramount, for everything else depends upon them – everything that can unfold in our lives.
Chapter 3. Veil between Worlds
My grandparents lived not far from our house. I had the opportunity to visit them every day, and I could even say that it was my second home. This home was not manifested in architectural forms, but in the special relationship between me and my elders. It was a world in which I was an equal resident.
My grandfather trusted me with things he trusted no one else with. He would leave the fire under my supervision. It was always a pleasure to watch the fire burn in the stove. Even now, upon the slightest activation of imagination, I can feel in detail what I felt then, watching the dance of the fire's flickering tongues. For this purpose, my grandfather had crafted a small chair that stood opposite the open oven door of the stove. In this way, contemplating this sacred act was as comfortable as possible. The fire burned, transforming wood into another form of matter. The same metamorphoses would occur with my mind whenever I gazed at the flame for a long time. And my mind, as if enchanted, for a few moments would release me from its control, and the timepiece I mentioned earlier would switch off automatically. Then, space and time held no absolute power, allowing me to glimpse behind the veil that separates the two worlds – the visible and the invisible. What I saw there is difficult to explain. It is like explaining that water is wet. But I definitely saw something. The heart knows the truth; the heart never lies. Perhaps the mind could not compare it to anything, and thus it defies description in that way.
Also, a guitar and a mandolin hung on the wall. There was an accordion too, but it was impossible to reach it without permission. The most accessible, at that time, was the mandolin. Its small size made the task easier, and I could easily reach it. And when it fell into my hands, and everyone was outside, the real action began. Luckily, the mandolin could not speak, or I would have heard a lot addressed to me. But even if it could, it would have said nothing, because it was my friend, and the music was sincere.
The guitar was a different story altogether. Like an impregnable peak, it beckoned to me with its form. My friendship with the guitar began later. Or maybe not. Maybe it was my friend from the very beginning, from the very first days. After all, I didn't even have to touch the guitar to feel its presence. If one was attentive, the guitar, when someone spoke, constantly reminded one of itself with a quiet, barely audible resonance of the strings and the body. This magical sound affected me even more mystically than the contemplation of fire. One can look at the fire or not look at it, but with sound, everything is different – there is no escaping it. The sound penetrated me and took me with it. At that time, I did not glimpse behind the veil between the worlds. It felt as if the worlds existed without any veils at all. It is like sugar dissolved in water – we do not see it, but it is in every drop. And the magic of sound affected me in such a way that I saw the sugar dissolved in water, as water and as sugar separately.
Chapter 4. Symbols and Signs
There are moments whose significance only increases with time.
Summer has always been a special time. The longest, long-awaited holidays, plenty of sun, warmth, and freedom did their necessary work. And the absence of the need to regularly attend a place where, besides imparting knowledge, they sought to shape a member of society deemed worthy in their view, had a truly positive effect on personal perception of the world.
Amidst the kaleidoscope of all these impressions and sensations, a rather unusual melody would occasionally trickle through, akin to the distant sound of a musical instrument. It would enter me, and then I would feel a sense of anxiety and worry about the future of us all, for all the people I knew and didn't know. Perhaps the period of the Cold War and the egregore in which we lived at the time created such apocalyptic moods, at least on a subconscious level, or maybe it was something else.
The summer holidays, before the final lap in the long marathon run called school, were as usual, but one singular event took place.
I was watching TV once, and there was a show called "Into the Animal World." The episode was about insects that were building their own empire right on a water stream. Nature perfectly manifested itself in the organization of their life, so everything was fine with them – the empire was constantly growing and developing. But then, unexpectedly, a moment came when the empire began to collapse under the sheer weight of its own created world. It happened so quickly that the water stream on which this empire was built washed away everything, leaving no trace. Everything was swept away by the water – as if nothing had ever happened.
The sight astounded me. The story about the insects reminded me of us – of humans. Exactly so: reminded. That's the perfect word to describe it. And in my consciousness, in turn, a trigger effect occurred. Something fired and flew forward. Perhaps I had felt something similar before, but it didn't have such a resonance. The ripples from the stone thrown into the waters of my consciousness did not subside; rather, they gained momentum and even turned into the tremendous wave.
I realized that something needed to be done. Following my decision, actions followed like a needle follows thread. I started looking. And those who seek inevitably find. And I found. My findings and discoveries led me along a path that held its own symbols and signs. This can be considered the beginning of a conscious choice.
Chapter 5. The Path
When a seed, having fallen into the ground, begins to sprout, this process cannot be reversed. It is just as impossible to call back an arrow that has been fired.
If a person truly aspires to something, then everything encountered on their path can serve as a means to achieve the intended goal.
Reading was the first and most accessible step on my path. I devoured everything that fell into my hands, starting with the family Bible – brought by my grandparents after the exile of Ukrainians from their historical lands – and ending with the magazines in the local library. Reading became a regular practice. I sometimes skipped lessons – which had never happened to me before – to read in solitude in nature.
The need for information was great. After all, during that period I was haunted by the feeling that "something was wrong." The story of the destruction of the insect empire served as a very vivid and convincing confirmation of these feelings. The model and vision of the world that society offered, and sometimes imposed, was failing. Thus, I eagerly sought literature that could reveal another, perhaps the true, side of reality. I sought that which could provide answers to the questions I had posed.
Reading the "necessary" literature paved new pathways in my mind and opened up new possibilities. It was as if an invisible hand were guiding and supporting me on the chosen path. The further I progressed, the more the invisible thread ball of my soul unwound. From the threads of this ball, the fabric of my personality was woven, and gradually it took on a defined form.
A strange story is attached to the acquisition of the Bhagavad Gita. After graduating from school and failing to enter the pedagogical institute, I got a job and was able to buy this book with my own money.
I am not prone to impulsive purchases. It often happened that books were bought on a second attempt, after deliberation, and with the thought – "I hope it's not sold out yet" – I rushed to the bookstore. But I bought the Bhagavad Gita immediately. I will not claim that I felt something familiar, something close – I just bought it, that's all. I bought it. I came home. I read... "Whoops!"... What a purchase! And so that it wouldn't irritate me, I gave it to a friend. About six months later, realization came. I apologized to the book and to my friend, and took up reading again. I read it in one sitting. I read only the translation of the authentic Sanskrit text, without the long and sometimes irrelevant commentaries. I read and intuitively understood the essence of what was written. That is how the meeting with my memory took place.
Later, I accidentally stumbled upon the Bhagavad Gita with a different translation and no commentary. I bought all the copies that were in the bookstore. I kept one for myself and gave the others to friends.
Chapter 6. Sadhana
Even great rivers like the Dnipro or the Ganges are no different from ordinary streams at their source. They all begin as small rivulets. But the further they flow from their source, the wider and fuller the river becomes. Its waters gather such potency that they sometimes turn into a tremendous force of nature.
The same occurred with me. With each new step, the shores of my awareness became wider and wider. I did not limit myself to reading alone, but also practiced regularly: training the physical body, as well as the subtle bodies of inner nature, which are invisible to the ordinary eye.
The fruits of my efforts came to me quite unexpectedly. And each time it was seemingly similar, yet somehow different. Small enlightenments and expansions of consciousness happened suddenly, precisely when I least expected them. And it did not necessarily occur during meditative practices or any other specific activities. However, the common factor was always that these states were preceded by a strong internal tension, like a bow drawn taut. And the flashes of consciousness, akin to the release of an arrow, did not last long, yet they left behind something incomparably valuable and important. I was receiving knowledge from within myself. This knowledge did not require analytical processing; it descended to where perception takes place without thought. It often happened that I would later find confirmation of my "enlightenments" in something I read or heard elsewhere later.
The primary sources on which my research relied were Christian, Hindu, and Buddhist texts. Therefore, it is logical that the figures of Christ, Krishna, and Buddha occupied an important place in my world. However, one problem arose. When I focused on Christ, I lost sight of Buddha and Krishna. And when I concentrated on Krishna, I lost the sense of Buddha and Christ. The same was true of Buddha. This problem bothered me. I felt a certain sense of deficiency and incompleteness. A few days of being in such a tense state had sufficiently drawn the bow of my inner nature, and following this tension, the release happened. The arrow flew out and flew forward. I did not expect such results. Everything happened quickly and very naturally, as if it had always been this way.
The primary sources on which my research relied were Christian, Hindu, and Buddhist texts. Therefore, it is logical that the figures of Christ, Krishna, and Buddha occupied an important place in my world. However, one problem arose. When I focused on Christ, I lost sight of Buddha and Krishna. And when I concentrated on Krishna, I lost the sense of Buddha and Christ. The same was true of Buddha. This problem bothered me. I felt a certain sense of deficiency and incompleteness. A few days of being in such a tense state had sufficiently drawn the bow of my inner nature, and following this tension, the release happened. The arrow flew out and flew forward. I did not expect such results. Everything happened quickly and very naturally, as if it had always been this way. The figures of Christ, Krishna, and Buddha merged into one. I saw no difference between them. Before my inner vision, a picture of the boundless Universal Ocean opened up. Christ, Krishna, and Buddha were but waves in this Ocean. I felt myself to be a wave of the Ocean as well. The problem of separation no longer existed – only the Ocean with thousands of Buddhas, Christs, Krishnas, and billions of living beings, who are just the same waves in these Universal Waters.
An incredible joy and peace settled in my soul. This state lasted for five or six days. It felt as though someone had administered drugs to me, though I had never had any dealings with real psychotropics. Everything I paid attention to was a source of joy and bliss. The cawing of a crow or the lowing of a cow walking home from pasture would send me into ecstasy. The sounds of nature and the world seemed like a divine manifestation of the One Life. It seemed I even understood animals, and when I picked up a pebble, I was filled with grace from the feeling of the One Life that was hidden even there.
However, the fairy tale gradually retreated, making way for the next work.
Chapter 7. Return to the Ocean
...unless a grain of wheat falls into the ground and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it yields much fruit and gives a good harvest.
(The Gospel of John)
Everything has its term. Everything has its periods of development. The ripening of a fruit is accompanied by the shedding of the flower's petals, and this is an inevitable necessity for the manifestation of the higher. Likewise, a butterfly can only emerge when the caterpillar no longer clings to its form. The death of a flower or a caterpillar is a transition to a higher level of existence. Likewise, when the time comes, a chick breaks the eggshell, and the world in which it lived is destroyed. The breaking and destruction of the previous form is like a door to a new life.
I do not know how to explain what prompted me, but I decided to pass through the narrow door of renunciation and liberation. I decided to give up the right to own anything in the material and spiritual worlds.
Letting go of what exists in the three worlds is not so difficult, but it is problematic to relinquish one’s "self". It felt as if my whole nature was being passed through a meat grinder, as if I am trying to crawl through a hole smaller than my body. Wild regret and sorrow, like uninvited guests, surrounded me from all sides. However, my intention was unwavering. And when I succeeded, I slipped out effortlessly. I immediately realized that renunciation is an impossibility, because in reality nothing ever belongs to us – not even our "self." The soul felt light, joyful, and simple – like a fish in water.
Manipulations of the matter of consciousness opened the door to a completely different world. Whether this can be considered the end of history; or the beginning of another? But everything was already different. Everything was simple and clear. The search ceased, and I felt myself moving towards where I had always been. Everything and everyone I needed was here. There is no need for action, nor is there any cause for inaction. The timepiece mechanism, which I thought separated and limited us in space, has stopped. Time and space, as creations of the mind, have unclenched their vises. The realization came that my "I" was never born and never died – only a Universal Play in different forms, like waves on the surface of the Ocean. The most important question – "Could my ‘self’ be the ‘self’ of someone else? Does anything exist if my "self" does not exist?" – lost its relevance. The eggshell of individuality, separating us from everything, broke: without euphoria, without special states of consciousness – as if nothing had happened. Love appeared before me as a way of existence, as self-awareness and a feeling of the One Life in its integrity and the diversity of creation.
When I try to understand who "I am", I begin to search and look inside myself. I cannot say that I begin to understand who "I am", because when I look closely, I feel that something somehow manages to remain elusive. But when I stop searching and just look, I see something that can be said to simply exist. And so every time – looking for myself – I find the One Life, which, constantly being in motion, is complete and unchanging, like the boundless and inexhaustible Waters of the Endless; like the ocean, which is the same, regardless of whether there are waves on its surface or not.
Epilogue
Three dolls decided to know the Ocean.
The first doll entered the water, stood there for a while, and walked out onto the shore. The doll was made of stone, so the water quickly drained off it without leaving a trace. It entered the Ocean again and again, but remained as it was—unchanged. Being in the water, it perceived nothing.
The second doll was made of cloth. After entering and leaving the water, it changed its form. The cloth absorbed a part of the Ocean, and the doll swelled: it became larger and more substantial. A part of the Ocean was inside it, and water even splashed around it. However, the doll could only speak about the Ocean within the limits of its form.
And then the third doll entered the Ocean. However, it could no longer get out of it, because the third doll was made of salt. The salt dissolved in the Ocean, and the doll dissolved along with it.
Only thus, by dissolving like salt in the Ocean, does true knowledge and enlightened arrive. But the paradox is that then one speaks nothing, for one has oneself become that which one knows.