people believe that spell-casters should write poetry from childhood. However, everyone starts writing at different age, and the quantity of years one writes doesn’t say anything at all. Everyone’s soul grows at its own pace. Many people think that they need to enter special institutes to learn to write good. You can learn to write perfect poetry. It’s impossible to learn to write spells. They are written in Another Reality. Its Great Power is present in them. Only the one to whom It provided the Key to the lock of the invisible Door, can become a spell-caster. Poems always belong to the Earthly Reality, as well as the poets themselves. However, there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.
I stood on a stage blinded by the light in the black-black basement. Yes, I am a spell-caster and do Magic. White Magic. The Magic of the Word. Every time I read, people looked at me as if I were a miracle, enjoying the flow of energies pouring into space, which I passed through myself and gave to them. They plunged into the lakes of Another Reality and, returning, didn’t remember what exactly I had read and in what sequence, but they talked about the magical state they had been during my reading. Their kind words used to warm me in return. However, there was a hungry flock of greedy vampires gathered in the black-black basement. I put my Soul into my words. I loved. He said I should take it as a game. Game with the Soul.
Returning home by metro, completely exhausted by vampires, I suddenly felt a colossal flow of energy beating to both palms. Good energy. I knew it as well as the opposite, negative one, which once used to enter me through my heels. Anyhow, I scanned the people opposite me and redirected the flow to the one who needed the energy much more.
I called Maria in Italy. Her abilities manifested themselves in early childhood. She showed the place where her mother would be buried in a year, although there was no cemetery there yet. After her mother’s death, Maria lived with the aunt, was often sick, more There than Here. When the war began, the girl left for Italy. Her personal life left much to be desired, but as she once told me, it’s always difficult to find someone who is stronger than you, but even more difficult if you can see. Maria saw everything that had happened to me lately, including specific dates and the appearance of people she had never seen, and the atmosphere of places she had never been, and ended our conversation, saying, «He was sent to you from Heavens to let you go through your own Path. Pray to our Saint!» At home, I have a collection of Orthodox icons brought from Holy Places scattered around the world. There is an icon with the Saint, I knew nothing about at the time of purchasing, but I was drawn to her. A few years later, I learned from Maria that it was the Saint protecting children with extrasensory abilities. That evening I turned to her for help.
At night I found myself in an intermediate dimension, from which one could pass to the World of the Dead. I realized myself, i.e. I realized that I was sleeping, and it was a dream. It’s better not just to become conscious in dreams, but to take something from the Earthly Reality into the dream. The strongest ones know to take something out of the dream. I’m pulling out only texts for now, but once I took a ring into my dream. I have never parted with it since then.
An unfamiliar man and girl came up to me and said that I had to get the Moonstone from the bottom of the lake. Why me? And why Moonstone? Anyhow, I obediently moved to the shore. The bottom was invisible. The water was dark and doesn’t move. Lake with dead water. Lake of Death? My Teacher says that the Moon is dead too. I lay down on the water surface without closing my eyes. Too deep! I would drown, having not enough breath.
«You can do it,» the girl encouraged me. «Everything is different here. You can breathe underwater or not breathe at all.»
I stepped into the lake, concentrated and went to the bottom, breathing. At the bottom, there was a huge shell with an irregularly shaped Moonstone, illuminating the lake from the inside with a ghostly glow. I pulled the stone ashore. What for?
4. Сон
– Тебя срочно вызывают в школу, – пробурчал сын, когда я переступила порог дома, и мгновенно скрылся в своей комнате.
Учительница была уже не молода и производила впечатление достаточно умной и доброй женщины.
Я могла предположить всё что угодно из возможных причин срочного вызова, за исключением ею произнесённого:
– Я не знаю, что делать с вашим ребёнком, это – кошмар! Он во всём хочет быть ПЕРВЫМ! Да разве это мыслимо? Он поднимает руку, не дождавшись, когда я закончу формулировать вопрос, первым сдаёт контрольные работы, напрашивается выйти к доске. Я уже не говорю о том, что он вечно придумывает какие-то игры для детей и хочет куда-то вести их за собой!
Мне было лет десять-одиннадцать, когда на зимних каникулах мама отправила меня на самую большую и известную в нашем Королевстве «ёлку», куда родителей тогда не пускали. Зал, где проходил праздник, вмещал безумное количество детей совершенно разного возраста. Когда мероприятие заканчивалось, детей выпускали ходить по кругу на площадь трёх Соборов, похожую на загон для лошадей и ограждённую железными перегородками. Родители, стоящие за ними в несколько рядов, пытались пробиться поближе, чтобы отыскать своё чадо в огромной толпе бредущих по кругу и успеть выцепить, пока ребёнок не зашёл на очередной круг.
Игра «Найди меня!» представляла собой настоящий стресс, как для детей, так и для взрослых. Во-первых, потому что зима тогда ещё была зимой – снег скрипел под ногами, и, простояв на морозе в ожидании встречи достаточно длительное время, родители могли простудиться. Во-вторых, потому что тогда здесь было принято
