Мемуары

Life Is Not A Walk Across A Field

By on 10.11.2019

There are many people on the Earth who, in their forties, fifties or sixties, would like to tell others about their lives. However, I don’t know their reasons. Some of them probably see their lives as droll adventures, or just want to speak out, to share with others, sound off or express themselves. That all is not about me. Life full of bitterness and tragedy brought me to this. Yep, I had my bright moments, but the sun went behind the clouds too early, not even having had a chance to dip below the horizon. Sometimes, in the evenings, I wonder how I would get through the life if I had another chance. Odd as it may seem, humbly I answer to myself, perhaps, it would be the same way, since I couldn’t have got other ancestors, since I couldn’t have got other public or state order in that huge powerful country, where everyone, millions and millions of people, made it out in that way and didn’t even dare to make their moan. Thus I used my lessons, and, what is more important,  these lessons prevented my soul from dying previous to my physical death. During the Soviet our souls were out of value as we were not allowed to believe in God. There were no churches; people risked huddling to pray at home. Even the Bible was forbidden as an improper literature. In such circumstances one could easily have lost  himself.  That’s why I deem it important not to die ahead of one’s time. It’s only by the virtue of our souls that we are able to behold the Kingdom of God deep within us. And if it is not there, our life turns into empty and senseless existence. We all are different, but we all have something in common, something that unites all of us on the Earth – the Soul through the perception of the Divine Providence.

I remember my parents used to say at tea: “Life is not a walk across a field”. I couldn’t understand these plain words. I even found them laughable, even to say, childishly laughable since a child laugh and an adult laugh are completely different sorts of things. I couldn’t plug in the meaning of these words, ran off and echoed: “Life is not a walk across a field… Life is not a walk across a field… Life is not a walk across a field…”. And then laughed over and over till stomachaches. You know, I imagined this very field time after time, I even saw it in my dreams…, so huge…, with dry Astrakhan steppe…, with little green…, in  gray wormwood colors… And I ran and ran and couldn’t cross it. In dreams, you know, running is commonly tapered off, despite all the efforts, as if you stand still. Once, when I and my family lived in the countryside, I had a go to check up on parents’ words. I ran and ran… but couldn’t hold it for long… then drained and put it out of my head. These scenes from childhood emerge from time to time and remind me that the life is drawing in. I don’t think of that field any more, for in my life there were all sorts of fields and in my memories I still face all of them, grey, or blue, or pink with hopes for better life,  they bring once and again despair, then silence, then solid Love as an award from the Lord God.

But those parents’ words seem to be imprinted inside of me. And sometimes, being on the verge of sorrow tears, I wish I could see my mom and dad, even though just for a moment, and tell them: “Yes, you were so right, my sweetest ones. I can walk across almost any field. But the life… It is quite another matter”. I wonder how they would look at me then, what would they answer, if on earth they would answer at all. It might be, they would just hold me tight and caress my head gently with their hands, as they used to do in my childhood. Life is such a long and, at the same time, such a short thread, unsmooth, thorny, burning, deplorable, but still full of joy. Life is a blaming fire, a raging sea, an ocean with its ebbs and flows. It is happiness and sorrow together, laid end to end, since now and then we weep for joy and laugh in grief when lost and wasted, when we can’t make head nor tail of what is going on. Life is pains, diseases, sorrows and, naturally, the Love!

I noticed that with this very word, the Love, lots of exciting things can happen. And even right now, for some reason, uttering this very word, I hear a cough of the old lady that is sitting in an armchair… It is Mildred, an elderly woman from the foster home, where I work, or rather where my business is located. Thoughts become lesser, but love and compassion remain. They cannot pass while the Soul is alive. Seven years ago I turned over a new leaf in America. My new life started with serving the Lord, of whom I hadn’t had a clue then. At that time in Nevada I made first step on my thorny way in America. I remember I got a job as a caregiver in a foster house, as well as other Russians. The duty appeared to be challenging, but I was young enough…as I wasn’t even in my fifties then. It seemed to me as not too difficult, and, as always, I set the bar and raised it again and again. Then once I found myself secretly daydreaming about my own house for elderly.  Later there where moving to another state – Washington, purchasing a house and founding my own foster house. I remember it as if it was yesterday. I remember how Kent, my American husband, brought me over here, to Vancouver, and left me in a time-worn apartment with my old used furniture, run-down thoughts about myself and almost no money… Well, I could only afford to pay for the apartment, and that was all. But I had a dream, which I nourished and cherished carefully. I moved towards it. Like walking on sands, I sank into the depth and felt warmth that engaged me in the future of running a business and in the present of caregiving.

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В материале представлены кадры из фильма: «Ешь, Молись, Люби» от  режиссера Райана Мерфи

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