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The realm of tormenting dreams. Sergey Vassiliev
Читать онлайн.Название The realm of tormenting dreams
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9785448596650
Автор произведения Sergey Vassiliev
Жанр Медицина
Издательство Издательские решения
At first I was for many people, perhaps, just a very bright and active person, which confused people in a way that I liked and ensured the triumph of the “mania”, thus suggesting me first of all the rightness of the path which I had taken. My mother decided that I would be a great man, since I am so self-confident. My father said that I was behaving and thinking like a forty-year-old man. Well, of course, the praise of parents is the most important for a child, and I was completely convinced of my normality, I did not seem strange and illogical to myself, but, on the contrary, much smarter than those who surrounded me, and, of course, in such situation I was expecting much more success in everything. My grandmother was overjoyed and surprised at my active mood during our communication, and even totally justified the idea of God by comparing me to Stalin, who spoke, as she knew, that he was also a god or, at least, no worse than a god… On the whole, my behavior was met within my family as a necessary, an accomplished stage of my development towards a strong person. But my parents did not rejoice for long, for I already said that I left the college and started to propagate, i.e. to give my love to those who, in my opinion, needed it so much, and these were all my numerous friends from the village, where I usually spent weekends and vacations. Why should I go to the university when I’m smarter than anyone else? What will they give me there? And in general – soon I will be able to materialize money, and so on… Let learn those who need this education, I have more important things to do: to perform miracles and to lead people is now important, and besides, I will acquire all the knowledge of the world from myself, my hidden potentials, and it was just a question of time to wait. So I quited my favorite college and decided to make quick money on politics.
The pre-election campaign began, my mom saying: “These are the richest people in the city, we only have to take money from them, but how?” I decided to offer them some agitators from among the village youth and so did: I came to them in the office and began to speak, I stunned them, I aroused their interest, they promised to come. I gathered the youth, I explained everything, but all drunken teenagers are unorganized and fearful. I had told my adult friends to come up. A party gathered in which everybody was ruined by alcohol and drugs, also the riches arrived, even they were influenced by the power of maniacal conviction. I almost told them that I was God when convincing. We looked at all that village rabble, said something about football, turned around – and left. Though I disappointed them, but, I must say, surprised the boys from my native village, this was enough for my vanity. The divine is for the God.
These teenagers, to whom I sincerely became attached, began to notice in me something odd because sometimes I gave out my thoughts aloud. “Vasya’s gone crazy”, one of my friends told me, totally sure, in his turn, of my adequacy. I was then busy with the opening the mind’s eye and a similar remark, as I still recall it in my memory, but at that time decided to dissuade others from such a mostly evil assessment of my temperament. But more and more I heard remarks about my insanity, and the girl I was in love with at that time told me, unable to withstand the passions, that everybody mocked at me. They made such assessment not at once; I can say for sure that many people, especially close friends, were for some time undoubtedly convinced that I am a real god, including that girl whose grandmother told my granny that her granddaughter proudly asserted that Serge is a god, and probably she was very pleased that love affairs took place with such an important person. I must say, the fact that I considered myself a god, did not at all controverted the necessary idea of my normality for people who loved me. So unusual were my relations with a huge number of my friends; for almost every work assignment connected with a fairly large farm, I brought with me a whole crowd of teenagers, motivating them with a kind of special power of my inner magnetism, and the kids did the hard work for free to help his so dearly beloved friend. There were cases when over twenty people appeared in the garden fields, and everyone was stimulated by the altruism of the other and, of course, by my special attention, which helped them to feel, I think, happier, and the work seemed to them a fun game. These “walks to Vasya’s garden”, repeated for many years and became a common thing. The nature of this phenomenon was in many respects a mystery to me, and the arisen idea of deification could become an “idée fixe” in such conditions, now the great organizer (in the opinion of many people) Vasya could have really be once that Krishna-boy, who cheerfully had led forward the children of his village in the pictures of Bhagavad Gita. And even after growing up to twenty years old, many of them, even the most stable and intelligent of my comrades, believed that they were friends of a real god. Some day I remembered, being already in deep depression, this suggestion to my friend’s mind, when Vovka expressed quite repulsive sarcasm in my direction, and he began to justify himself, saying: “We believed you,” thus dexterously hiding from the truth, which was the fact that, as I thought, his own maniacal attitudes were in full harmony with mine, and their union made my idea common, as also for Dimon, but these two comrades were smarter and more sober than many of the local guys and yet they got dexterously deceived.
These kinds of ideas were already believed from those books of the magician Castaneda, being in love with whom, we dreamed to go in our entire company to Mexico and find there the teacher of magic called Don Juan. This idea is evidently not much crazier than the one I was infected with, but we were all very much attached to each other, sharing the most secret thoughts and hidden dreams, undoubtedly merging in our search and reasoning into a unity, where the idea of one person could immediately become the idea of another without the intervention of any criticism, or for the sake of that other person, especially due to my deification, which assumed an important role for my great destiny and my friends. And they all believed almost out of habit, because I often took a leading position in relations with friends, who gathered in crowds in the garden to help in hard work, and heard from them no complaints, forcing them to believe that it was the best way to spend time. And if your belief is shared, it has a much greater chance of continuing to exist, and I must say that the guy who woke up the first suspicions of my madness was not from our company. And when a man is already called mad by the community, this makes him a stranger to everyone, because if you do not show your difference in comparison with the sick person, joining the almost direct condemnation, then you are treated like him, and many of them did so, at once forgetting their recent respect as a terrible mistake in their life. Like Pushkin’s: “But truth is: be my mind not clear, a plague will merit as much fear.”
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