Но у вас же написано
Ляль, а ты замужем? не унимался Врач.
Да, категорично ответила я.
А может, ещё раз подумаешь? Пошутил почти. У нас тут друзья есть, приходят в отделение и волшебную воду продают, якобы та избавляет от всяких Бук. Покупают, пьют, и половина выздоравливает. Думаешь, вода волшебная? Самая обычная, питьевая, но в бутылках с волшебной надписью. Хочешь, могу тебе тоже продать?
Нет, спасибо, грустно кивая, произнесла я.
Ляль, Врач улыбнулся, расслабься и живи себе, пока ничего не болит! Поверь, никто совершенно ничего не знает ни о Буках, ни о Бяках. Это просто игра такая, понимаешь?
Чуть ли не с детства мне советовали удалить маленькую родинку на моей маленькой спинке, но как-то всё не было на это времени. И тут, как назло, свободное время внезапно появилось, и в немереном количестве, а некто рассказал про замечательную платную поликлинику, где якобы никаких проблем ни у кого не возникает.
Я приехала, послушно заплатила за всё, что можно притянуть за уши к предстоящей процедуре, и зашла в кабинет Хирурга. Им оказался крепкий старичок старой закалки. Меня попросили раздеться, пройти в операционную и лечь на живот. Медсестра загремела инструментами. В тот роковой момент я произнесла одну из своих коронных фраз:
Только не «Новокаин».
Медсестра загадочно улыбнулась и крикнула Хирургу, который всё ещё находился в кабинете, а не в операционной:
Слышали, Иван Иваныч? Девочка не переносит «Новокаин»!
Слышал, слышал! радостно произнёс Хирург.
И вот они молча склонились над моей спинкой, чем-то протёрли её, и И я закричала от жуткой боли, почувствовав, как меня режут скальпелем наживую. Скальпель замер.
Без наркоза? я была в шоке.
Так вы же «Новокаин» не переносите, а у нас ничего больше нет! прокомментировал Хирург и сделал ещё один надрез.
Я снова закричала. Скальпель замер.
Ну и сейчас последний раз так же спокойно, как ни в чём не бывало, пропел Хирург.
От моего третьего крика в операционной материализовалась врач из соседнего кабинета с огромными-огромными глазами:
А чего это вы тут делаете? У меня аж пациент сбежал!
Да мы уже всё сделали, улыбаясь, ответила медсестра.
Уходя, я молча, но многозначительно посмотрела на Хирурга. На что он так же многозначительно произнёс:
А на войне?
Я поняла. Он играл в войну.
Но мне повезло я знаю иных врачей, которых уважаю. Они сначала внимательно выслушивают, потом думают и сообщают, что надумали, озвучивая «за» и «против», и если ты соглашаешься
В тот вечер я заехала в гости к очень умной и весёлой женщине, гуру в своей области, которая, прочитав мои заклинания полгода назад, сказала, что я занимаюсь настоящей Магией Слова, и ей жаль, что она уже «слишком стара», чтобы испытывать подобные эмоции.
И вот я не верила своим глазам: врач помолодела как минимум лет на десять!
Привет, Заклинательница! радостно воскликнула она. Не поверишь! Я встретила Его!!! Спустя двадцать лет! Представь, все эти годы я про Него вообще ничего не знала! Оказывается, Он живёт за океаном, приехал сюда, чтобы прочитать лекцию, поскользнулся, упал, очнулся гипс, попал к моей подруге в больницу, а я к ней заехала из-за ерунды!!! И теперь твои заклинания я пишу Ему по телефону. А ты ещё не встретила своего Прынца?
Может, и встретила. Только Он так не считает, вздохнула я.
Мне кажется, ты только не обижайся, нет такого человека, который смог бы понять и вместить тебя в себе. Мужики у нас нынче дохлые, слабые, ленивые. Они же лопнут от тебя! Чувствуют они, что ты сильнее и выше их на голову, и обходят за версту.
Иллюзия! Я самая слабая женщина на свете.
Смирись, дорогая! Чтобы так писать, как пишешь ты, тебе всё время должны делать больно. Со временем к боли привыкаешь, снижается порог чувствительности, поэтому тебе будут посылать новую боль, сильнее предыдущей, чтобы ты снова писала. Не жди ничего хорошего впереди. Лучше готовься к таким испытаниям, которые тебе даже в кошмарных снах не снились
Я приехала к Учителю, который когда-то был обычным врачом, а потом стал настоящим Белым Магом.
Вижу-вижу, что с тобой происходит, сказал он, улыбаясь. Как Он выглядит? Сколько Ему лет? Кто Он?
Я ничего о Нём не знаю И ничего не помню, прошептала я.
Всё же попробуй вспомнить. Представь то место, где вы впервые встретились.
Я посмотрела на белую стену напротив, попыталась сконцентрироваться. Внезапно воздух стал приобретать цвет и плотность, ещё чуть-чуть и я смогла бы пощупать его руками. Он завибрировал, начал перемещаться в пространстве. Комната поплыла. Меня закружило по спирали. Стены, в отличие от воздуха, плотность теряли, становились туманными, растворяясь в Иной Реальности. Казалось, либо я сейчас окажусь в том месте, либо то место окажется здесь.
Нет, я не могу, выдохнула я от перенапряжения.
Ты можешь всё!
Я снова попыталась сконцентрироваться, но теперь видела две тени на стене, как волны, бегущие навстречу друг другу, превращающиеся в единое целое, исчезающие и снова появляющиеся по разные стороны.
СЕМЬ СЕКУНД! удивлённо воскликнул Учитель.
Я вопросительно посмотрела на него.
Схлопываетесь за семь секунд. Энергетикой. Вы очень похожи. Ты ещё Его увидишь. И не один раз.
The Man Who Was Not
We met by chance in a bookstore. When I say «by chance», it means absolutely not by chance, but completely purposefully, that is, in a way deliberately programmed by the Higher Forces, based on cause-and-effect relationships, the chain of which we are not able to calculate logically. I dont believe in randomness.
Previously, books came to me through people. Random people I met instantly disappeared in an unknown direction, having managed to tell me only the title of the book that was worth reading and the name of its author. They voiced what was really necessary at that time. I learned to meet the right books directly, without intermediaries, a few years before, and since then they stopped sending me people who ran past rapidly in the Space of Options shouting out the titles of the books and the names of their wonderful authors. For example, when I was focused on a comparative analysis of the religions of our world, I went into a church shop and inexplicably, but immediately proceeded to the farthest dark corner, where on the bottom shelf of the rack, a single copy of something in a purple hardcover without any identifying marks, except for the price tag, was gathering dust. It was a photocopy of the comparative analysis of religions published on January 20, 1893, with the notes of someone who had read it in the 19
th
That day, I was scanning the contents of the shelves in another bookstore, when He gave me a strange look and walked past, turning my life upside down. People often ask, «What is He like, this Man of yours, Who Was Not?», and I dont know what to answer, because I always look not at, but through. I didnt see His face, didnt pay attention to His clothes. I felt amazing energy going beyond the personal space. The energy of a person who was stronger than me and could
Sometimes I see people as geometric figures. Try it, Im sure there is nothing easier, and you will definitely succeed. Sooner or later. If you really want to and if you are allowed to see. On the one hand, its quite funny, because its a kind of game, on the other hand, its useful, as it helps in communicating with these people. Ordinary people can be squares, triangles, circles, rectangles and zigzags (lightning bolts). Oh, yes, such people do exist too, take my word for it. Who are you?
For example, one of my acquaintances is a rectangle, and moreover, a vampire the most terrible combination, probably. No, her ears are quite ordinary, and her teeth dont betray her true nature at all. She speaks for a very long time, slowly and monotonously, in the sweet voice of the Fox from the fairy tale about Pinocchio, enveloping the victim with words, asking a lot of tedious questions or, worse, crawling into the Soul with indecently frank questions, which answers she doesnt need in principle, but its precisely the fact that you get irritated and waste energy by responding that brings the vampire into a state of euphoria. Even if I say that Im very busy, shell say goodbye for another ten minutes, because she understands perfectly well that I wont be able to hang up because of my basic good manners. So, one day she called me while I was in the bathroom. I politely apologized and promised to call back, but she clearly didnt like my proposal. She asked where I actually was. I told the truth. Then she asked what I was doing there, and I had the imprudence to answer honestly, «Im cleaning my aura of negativity.» What else do they actually do in the bathroom after a hard day at work? However, for my acquaintance, the answer became almost the discovery of America, and she bombarded me with questions, «Why are you doing this? Do you have problems? Maybe you can tell me about them now. How do you do this? What temperature is your water? Do you pin your hair up or should it be loose? What brand of soap do you use? What do you think will happen if you add a few pinches more of sea salt to your bath than the amount recommended by the manufacturers and indicated on the label? Are you dissatisfied with something? Probably, there is someone next to you?!» Since then, when she intends to call me, I find myself unavailable. For example, in the subway, where the connection is lost, or my phone suddenly runs out of charge.
However, there are also not quite ordinary people. I see them as three-dimensional, complex-composite, in each of them there are simultaneously several figures nested within one another or intersecting in space. For example, I am a pyramid inside a sphere, which is pierced from top to bottom and exactly in the center by lightning, that goes beyond the scope of the sphere. I became such figure over time, being a triangle from birth, I turned into a pyramid, overgrew with a sphere, and was struck by lightning in the end.
Looking at the Man Who Was Not with a different vision, I immediately realized that He was a complex figure too lightning inside a sphere located inside a cube. I needed him in order to remain on Earth. In the last period, each facet of life, one after another, suddenly collapsed, pinning me in a corner, cutting off oxygen, curling up like a snake loop around my neck. Standing on the edge of the Void, I was looking for a Door to Another, unknown to me Reality, but on the same earthly plane, so as not to disappear into the Other World until the hour of my next incarnation.
I felt lonely and wanted to talk with a person like me, at least similar to me, in our common language, inaccessible to others. I thought about Nonna, a famous clairvoyant, winner of the «Battle of Psychics» on TNT.
I wanted to meet her, but I had no idea where she lived in our huge world. Sighing heavily from an unrealizable dream, I went into a cafe next to my house to enjoy a tête-à-tête with coffee at least, but at the next table by the window I found Nonna.
«Hello!» I exclaimed in shock. «You are Nonna, I know! I need you.»
«What for? Is there anything I can do to help you?» She was surprised, because she always felt who she could help and who she couldnt.
«I just want to talk to you.»
«Okay, sit down,» Nonna sighed with relief. «Sorry, Im exhausted, a vampire has just called me.»
We looked at each other in silence for a while, then Nonna started spoking,
«Youre completely in a web. Torn between mother and son, you cannot combine them in this life. I see blood, a lot of blood, you are dead, just like me. You are one of us, you were There and opened the Door.»
I didnt tell Nonna what «web» meant. Spiders were the most terrible phenomenon for me in the Earthly Reality. I delved into myself for a long time to find an anchoring point, realizing that the reason belonged to the current incarnation, since in my early childhood I hadnt been afraid of spiders. Not getting to the bottom of the truth, I turned for help to Gera, one of my Teachers. She asked me leading questions, and I answered without hearing my own answers.
«Why are you afraid of a spider?»
«Its scary.»
«Why? Its so small and defenseless.»
I burst into a terrible laugh,
«Defenseless? Its huge and omnipotent!»
«What can it do to you?»
«It will kill me!»
«Imagine that you take it and put it in a box.»
«I cant even look at it from the outside and imagine it. How can I take it with my hands?» I shuddered.
«Okay, I take it and put it in a box. In a gift box. I tie it with a ribbon and a bow. What is this box like?»
«Its red. With black ribbons,» I answered automatically.
«Lets make a fire. Look, Im throwing the box into the fire. Its burning»
«It will never be burnt!» I screamed. «Its immortal! Eternal! It was, it is and it will be! It never dies! Look, the box has burned down, but its alive! Its crawling out of the fire!»
Gera sighed heavily. I almost cried. We parted on nothing, however, after walking about ten meters down the street, I stopped dead in my tracks because of an instant insight, a fragment from childhood that suddenly flashed before my eyes.
I was twelve. We were at our cottage. Sunday. Mom said that she felt really bad, that shouldnt happen after the surgery, she urgently needed to return home to the city to call an ambulance. We were sitting on the bench under an apple tree. I kept silent. It was starting to rain. I felt that the several options for the future existed the day before abruptly collapsed into the only one Death. I refused to believe it consciously and, as a result, I sent the terrible thought of Death to the Black Box of the Subconscious. And for a long, long time, almost until my mothers transition to Another Reality, I would think that she would definitely recover sooner or later. I understood that I was about to weep. Not to upset my mother, I ran, «escaping the rain,» to the barn in the farthest corner of the garden, where my friend, the little White Rabbit, lived. It was raining. I ran very fast, weeping, biting my lips just not to scream in despair. Having pulled the door towards me with all my strength, I buried my nose in the center of a huge web, neatly woven along the width of the doorway. A huge fat black spider with a large cross on its back sat right in front of me, and I screamed, «MA-A-MAAAAAAA!!!»
We talked with Nonna for a long time and even laughed at the ways the Knowledge used to come to us. She told me how my father had died. Then we opened our palms and held them opposite each other until Nonna said,
«Youre pushing, pressing hard! What a strong energy you have! I cant stand that, put your hands away, put them away.»
When I told her the way I wrote spells, Nonna exclaimed,
«Amazing! You dragged me along to another time! I fell through and saw a poor room, you and me inside, you were in another body, in something gray, some kind of shawl, and a kerosene lamp was burning there. What was that, Alice? Silver Age?»
I shrugged my shoulders, and Nonna continued, «Now I see a book, yours. With spells. Magic. On the bookshelves. It will be released in less than a year, and youll become a famous spell-caster, do you believe me? The number 37 comes to me. Take care of yourself! You can die. Surgery or something else. I see blood, a lot of blood. And if you survive, so then»
The fortune-teller in Rome predicted a terrible car accident for me, but she didnt tell me when. The palmist-astrologer in India didnt say what exactly, but said «36». Nonna said «37», a surgery or something with a sea of blood. However, I had already been dying, and Death is not as terrible as doctors.
I didnt get sick with anything and had practically no contact with the type of people who played the game «Lets heal everyone!» and called themselves doctors, until I died for the first time at the age of 11 and was brought back. My cousin dreamed of joining them since childhood. Every time she stated that out loud, our grandmother sighed heavily and, like monks fingering a rosary, listed all the items that her granddaughter due to her girlish memory would be able to forget during a surgery in the patients body. However, someone was very lucky, since my cousin didnt become a surgeon. She works with those called insane here.
However, after resuscitation, my physical body liked to play pranks. Periodically, it asked questions that puzzled the doctors. At first they tried to treat me like ordinary people, but my bodys reaction was exactly the opposite of the expected. Then they used a creative approach, setting up experiments, prescribing everything in a row. As a child, my mother taught me to be obedient and patient, but one day I couldnt stand it anymore and demanded at least some kind of diagnosis. The doctors resisted for a long time, pretending not to understand what I wanted from them, because all those years they tried so hard to help me, and despite the fact that several times due to their efforts I had ended up more There than Here, I was still alive. Apparently, I was too tired, so I showed excessive persistence, and a miracle happened. I was given a referral for an examination, as a result of which it turned out that what was happening to me was unknown to science, and, accordingly, I had to negotiate with my physical body directly, without intermediaries. Believe it or not, I was happy about such diagnosis. The doctors were upset just as much as I was overjoyed.