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Мне бы ветер в лицо,
А не свет монитора.
Мне б ладони твои,
А не тень разговора.
Мне б тебя обнимать,
А не слать электронные письма,
Мне б к тебе убежать,
Да винда вдруг опять повисла.
Мне бы в ушко шептать: "Люблю!",
А не жать непослушные кнопки.
Мне бы жить с тобою в раю
И забыть о неоновой ломке.
Мне бы звезды тебе дарить
И не думать о слабом коннекте.
Мне б реальность переменить...
Перестать мир делить на объекты.
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1. "Tao which can be put into words is not a constant Tao. The name which can be said is not a constant name.
Anonymous, possessing a name is beginning of heaven and earth, mother of all things.
Therefore the one who is free from passions, sees a wonderful secret [Tao] and who has passions, sees it only in its final form.
Anonymous and possessing a name have the same origin but different names. Together they are named the deepest.
Transition from the one deepest to another is a door to all wonderful". |
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People in Siberia do not know what a Rain is. They say, that the rain is when water falls down from the sky. Such an error is explained only by narrow empirical outlook and general sensual famine of inhabitants of those places where seasons are distinguished by snow thickness.
I am a Person of the Rain; the Rain is my life essence. Here, in this purgatory of permafrost, this weather phenomenon, close and clear to any civilized person, has got a sacral value for the last ten years of my afterlife. There is no necessity to explain for whom it is so. For whom else can it be?
Sitting in a Turkish manner on the stool, with a cigarette between teeth, I am writing these lines, looking on streams of water falling from heavens and understanding impossibility to find enough space for these heavens, streams, and wind and wet leaves on such a small notebook sheet. A girl, in a light dress stuck round her lissom body, is trying to cross the road and avoid the highest wave of mud from under wheels of a coming jeep. Can she think just for a second about the Rain and the global act of the Nature fertilization? The only thing understandable to her is an idea about her nakedness and hypothetical punishment from someone she does not know for something she does not know as well. Who will explain to her, that she is the only variable in this equation?
The rain in Siberia is no more than my reminiscences about the Rain. When the sky is covered with ferroconcrete clouds, the sun has died, and a day has become not simply a night, but the very denial of a day. Stormy flaws force trees to screech from pain, lightning flashes transform Life into a negative and this is the unique case of a positive negative known to me. It is possible to close eyes widely but all the same lightning will flash and sting your nerves like needles, and will claim Thor’s arrival. The first thunderclap sounds as a battle-axe blow against eardrums. It is sound and soundlessness, a word and silence. To hear thunder during the Rain is the same as to see an iceberg from a board of "Titanic". It is real. It is impossible. It sounds like the one palm clap. I stand struck with Thunder and Lightning in the heart of non-existence, having hands parted, my head thrown back and my cheeks are defenseless, feeling silent and quiet, and I am waiting, ready to accept the Sky in my embraces as the groom accepts the bride, as the Samurai accepts death, as the child understands life.
And it falls in flashes, in the Universe paroxysms, all seven heavenly spheres, one behind another, they are above me and I am in their lubricant, and the Nature’s bosom is convulsed. There is no I any more, completely, the Soul has died and revived in the Storm’s Eye. Only Peace, Emptiness, endless, initialless. And the Rain. The rain. A Zen. Long, monotonous...
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