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          A book of famouse journalist Maria Karpinskaya is an attempt to connect a world of imagination, or a private world of person with real world. This attempt has succeeded. Today on a border of times and centuries this surprising and magic book gets out. Surprising because it was written by a Woman who has past a colossal way of her soul.
             And why is she here with us? Evidently we will learn it slightly later, for the moment let's go, dear reader, to her Magic Country, where all what is written by her suddenly (or not suddenly) begins to become alive. Ahead to meeting with a Teacher who through her father's figure passed us his knowledges of the World, Earth and people on it.
               Ahead to her ship, where all of us are passengers, inhabitants of planet Earth! Smooth sailing to you!

A winner of the All-Union and International variety competitions, a winner of the International festival of actor's song of Andrei Mironov, an actress of "The Modern" theatre.

Valentina Ignatieva.



Author: Maria Karpinskaya.
Translation: Maya Nikolaeva.

Forty-fourth chapter of the book :


Мария Карпинская. Открытая книга детства


After the meeting with my Lord I woke up. But only would be better if I wouldn't wake up. That what I heard, what saw was more terrible than most awful dreams. The destiny threw me on islands of Revival. They were born in the very bottom of the death chasms. First I was delighted. In the heart a song began to sound: "Under the blue sky there is a golden town..."

I would happily rush about only with that song, but suddenly I heard another motive. It quietly whispered. I didn't distinguish the words yet. A not clear and vague alarm already lodged somewhere deep, and I felt sick.

Listen carefully, that's again my poet Volodya Oksikovskii sings. So strange, he is thousands of kilometers away from me and nevertheless it is audible! My God, he warns about imminent danger. Can you hear:

"On the island of Revival,
There where happiness once lived,
In the dark waters of amnesty –
A black fish of power.
The black fish doesn't know,
And it is lonely as a dream..."

And further it's not audible. What shall I do? And some people already bathe in these waters! It will devour them! I ran to the water and dived into the very depth. I don't remember further...

I was cast ashore by an unknown wave. Long I lay in an escaping consciousness. The forces slowly came back. I recovered and understood: I lost everything. There was only my life deprived of sense. I started to wander where my feet walked. A desert of despair burned all my being. Sand, sand - and nothing alive. Here it is a desert of my days. Here I'll take a shelter. I will give myself up to you.

Мария Карпинская. Открытая книга детства

In the distance a house became visible. The path to it was filled up with some old scraps of newspapers and all sort of garbage. On one of the newspapers an inscription: "How much is the truth now?"

Мария Карпинская. Открытая книга детства

Near the house, on a tree a swing hung. The wind of doubt started to blow. The swing began to creak. The ancient grandmother's icon appeared in the air. There a wound gaped on her cheek, the eyes were scratched out.

“I did it myself with a knife! Why! Ah, yes, that was a hatred to that Kazakh girl. Now Madonna is blind, doesn't see nothing. But why this wound on the cheek? Where did I saw it? I remembered!

Мария Карпинская. Открытая книга детства

Poland, Chenstokhovo. A Black Madonna. Who did it to her? Some blood, the blood flows. These are the traces from that fish of power. As there is a lot of blood.”

I ran along the path, grabbed the scraps of newspapers and began to wipe the blood. The newspaper didn't want to absorb and only carried blood spots more strongly over the Black Madonna's face. They turned into one big red spot on the snow.

“My God, again war, no!”
The throat rattled. I'm in pain.
"Voice! Where is my voice?" And it turned out and started singing:

                           “You will lick a wound on the Virgin's cheek -
                           With the tongue of Afghanistan.”

Theophan Greek, a memorial requiem! Oh, not! Can you hear!

There was a girl.

- I remember you. Masha, where you came from? You went to Paris. I loved you very much, Masha!

Masha was silent. There was a guitar, and it started singing:

                           “I learned a tariff,
                           By which to pay for light,
                           I penetrated into an essence
                           Of birds scorched by decline...”
                           (M. Volodina)

- Mashenka, wait, that is about him. He jumped out of the window, your darling, he couldn't live. How was his name, I remembered, Vladimir Bashlachev? So it seems? And the daughter, where is your daughter? I forgot her name. Not important, her name is a love child!

Masha began to cry and started singing another song, I missed the first lines and only heard:

"It is a dead season,
Not everyone will get out from here.
Only a murder
Brings victories to coats of arms.
I am a heroine, an Afghan mother,
I lay down under the tanks
And my face was crushed,
I am a sulfa, I am a sulfara, the desert.
I am burying in myself
My and other's dead".

(M. Volodina)

Sobs were breaking my breast. I was Prometheus. I gave them a fire. I was chained to the rock. He, this reptile, pecked all my liver. No, it won't happen! I rushed with a last bit of strength and fell in the sea of Hopelessness. Around the remains of my giblets rolled.

"Santa Maria, San..." - I rose, the lodge and the swing disappeared again. The torn off door hangs on one loop. I squeezed into the house of the childhood. Some dirt, desolation. Here is my sadness. The pots grew with mold. Some oven forks lie on the floor. The table and the foresten spoons are scattered over it. Here is a glass. Water! I am so thirsty. A tub. It's empty. What is it? On the floor there is a photo. I am forgetting about thirst. I rake up the photos from the floor, my hands shiver. I look at them.

Мария Карпинская. Открытая книга детства

There are a lot of faces. Where all of them disappeared? They perished? Yes, they were going to belief, but got on the mountain of Unbelief. They were absorbed by the valley of Lost Conscience. Only these faces on the paper are left for me. My God, why?! You remember how I loved them, as together we dreamed of future, as built the House of Love and Creativity. Now the despondency lodged in it!

I hate! I hate this silly woman. She was a terrible witch, with flying hair. She was called Verbiage. Then she slept with the whole information horde, and she gave birth to a sonny by the name of Despondency. I already then noticed him though this Verbiage hid him behind a mask of blind belief.

She prattled to everyone that she gave birth to a wonderful daughter, a beauty, only she is blind. She said that there is nothing to be afraid of as we have a good guide. But I smelled a rat. And Vladimir rang out in the ears:

"Finish to preach, draw,
All, who feel like it, preach...
If blind leads blind,
Both of them will get to a hole,
But the blind conducts the blind,
Creating him an advert!"

(v. Oxikovsky)

Well, why I didn't listen to him then? But in general it was already late. The car started to turn. And inertia, it can turn it for ages. And then what? As always - a country of slavery, and again:

“By what kind of centuries we are damned,

That we pray to the horde again,”

Now we pray to the information horde! And she already exposed her son as a Christ Redeemer, and wrote down herself as a Mother of God. If that will continue further we all be lost! No. You hear, destiny! I won't allow you to be gone in unbelief! From where it is: "POET IS NOT A MESSIAH. THE MESSIAH IS RUSSIA"?!

Mother of mine, why are you damned? Ah yes, someone said that it's a sacrifice.

“To whom?”

“To God?”

“I don't believe!”

I rushed away from the house, breaking the last loop. The door plaintively moaned and fell into uncertainty. The wind whipped my cheeks, the hairs streamed. They became elastic and turned into a parachute.

I flew over the chasm, flew for the first time. From above I began to see something of what earlier I didn't even guess. My dear friends, I saw a dragon of indescribable sizes with eleven heads. This chasm of Death was on his back. His jaws were open and from them a smoke and fire were coming down, and a huge crowds of people were coming to these jaws. Together with themselves they dragged their belongings, cars, children. The dragon's jaws were swallowing them, stench, grunting, cries, squelch...

Мария Карпинская. Открытая книга детства

I closed the ears. But the eyes saw everything. It was a live conveyor of death. Then they appeared on his back, and a new space in which there were villages and cities, forests and fields, bogs and mountains was formed. It was not our earth. It turned into an assemblage of disgusting garbage and collections of waste.

And people among all this chaos... They didn't live. They were dead. I went a bit down. Here the whole cities of sufferers - they are doomed because aren't capable to forgive.

Some strange people without memory scurried among them, that were the fast-promising. I saw some cities of broken hearts, I recognized some poets among them. There passed the acquainted satirists. On their bodies and souls the bleeding wounds of others. The crowds of losers were going through the stinking bogs of fear, and pedantist were getting stuck in the silt of doubts. The envious and proud people looked with the stupid muzzles at their children. On the barrows of former immortality sat the indifferent ones and smoked their joints. Nearby quietened and helpless in their nobility men were dying by slow death. They gradually were loosing their faces and became similar to whimsical and nervous women, complaining of life. Some men sat on the mountain, on their faces a trite greatness was drawn.

Below some crafty ones and flatterers were pushing each other. Slightly farther, at the foot of the hill, there were the eager of revenge, and further away - the desperate women, breaking their hands in sobbings and tearing the hairs on their heads. They tried to pass closer to the mountain. But they weren't let. A chaos reigned. Far away the people of oblivion sat in a full immovability. Many of them lost their faces. It was the ocean of lack of individuality. It surrounded the mountain with a ring.

I saw a lonely figures also. I went down below to see closely the faces and I didn't find the loneliness. On their faces there were some ulcers of pseudo-beauty from the know-all diseases, and I thought: how to call this loneliness, and I understood – loneliness from deprived of sense of rest, hiding excesses and vanity.

Some cobble-stones of unnecessary belief rolled everywhere. The fields grew with tall weeds of platitude, and a fat laziness gave a smacking kiss and sucked in all who stepped into this field. The part of people rested foreheads against the deadlocks of desire. They can't already be helped.

The voice prompted:

                           “Fly by, sister,
                           Here isn't valid
                           The purity of sheets”.

I rushed with the last bit of strength and began to rise. But it was not so simple. I was pulled to one of the jaws of the heads of the dragon. Unexpectedly a quiet languor slowly began to get into my consciousness. The body relaxed, there was a desire of captivity of improbable force. I wanted into this jaw, wanted till shout. I never before had such a strong and voluptuous desire. It held down my wings. The abyss attracted and called. I closed the eyes and rushed down as a stone.

I regained consciousness. I lie on the silk blankets. Some bracelets on the hands and feet and necklaces press as a gravestone. There is a hot and exhausting heat. An east country. A diversity of aroma smells. Seems it's India... The thought ceased to flow. I was overcome with laziness. A face of handsome man bent over me:

- I am your teacher. I will reveal to you all the secrets.

- And where are they?

- Who?

- The secrets.

Looking at me with a caressing look, which was involving my soul in a narrow opening of some strange vessel, he swallowed the saliva and made a purring sound:

- You was nearing me for a thousands years. I waited for you, dear. You are my wife. All the secrets are in tantra. I will love you.

I began to doubt. He sat me down, some silent women run in. They dressed me in a sari. Everyone left. For some reason I became sad. The night had come. He was making a night's puja - a tantric ritual with a magic penetration into the future. A gold figurine of a Goddess dexterously rotated in his hands and changed the clothes.

I sat, understanding nothing, and was all eyes. It was somehow awkward. He sometimes raised his eyes on me and mysteriously smiled. The Puja was made in order to simpler lay me on the love bed. I resisted. So time went on. I didn't give up.

He himself, as soon as morning would come, prepared an ablution, gave me to drink a coffee. After we would drive to the town on his motorbike. He brought me to different houses of very rich people. They submitted to him in everything. For some reason one owner took out a huge number of bags with money, and my teacher disposed where to bring them.

I felt strange. A suspiciousness got into the heart. What do all of them want? Every night his persuasions became more and more persistent. A heaviness in the heart increased.

- Maria, tell that you are my wife. Nothing is needed - only tell! - he began to persuade.

I understood that it will be a lie if I say such words.

- Forget that you are Russian. Forget friends. Forget Russia. You will have all the knowledge. You wanted it? Yes?

His tender look slipped over my hand. In drowsiness I removed a big ring with Alexandrite from my finger and put on his finger.

- I think so. I don't remember.

He brought me to some gardens.

- You see, all yours. All my country will be yours. Will you be mine today?

- Well... - I whispered inertly and lost my mind.

We lay on the floor of his cell. He was slowly taking off the last of my clothes. Completely naked! And suddenly I hear the words:

"He says: I give you the half of the world,
But I tell: I don't want!
He says: I will give you the whole world,
But I stand in silence.
He says: I will give you all Universe,
But I stand and laugh!
He says: well, you want,
I am each your hair, each thought
With money will load?
How he spoke!
How he spoke!
I wouldn't be able so!"

(v. Oxikovsky)

I heard Volodya's voice. He sings it. I shuddered:

- No, I don't want!

The Indian yogi was upset and even became angry:

- But who will ask you?

And here, as a lightning, an unexpected decision came: "If these desires are living in me and they are mine, let me die in a fire of passion. If not mine - let them perish!"

The desires were gone. I understood everything and thought soberly. I had a strength. And a rage.

"Ah, is that so, you are just a deceiver! I will show you now!" - I thought to myself, but told him:

- Take me, - and I turned into a butterfly. His mouth tried to gulp me, but the butterfly danced its dance in the dragon's mouth. He was enraged, and cried:

- - For twenty years in the Himalayas I was suppressing my dragon, but as soon as I saw you - he came out!

The butterfly rushed up to the very sky and disappeared behind the clouds.

But long to fly as a butterfly it's impossible. It has too short life. I turned into woman again. After all went smoothly, as over oil. I learned the main thing - transformation. And … an infinite chain of transformations from one millennium into another. Death - birth. Birth - death. For how long all this proceeded? Only God knows.

Once early in the morning I was woken by a delicate aroma of flowers, and a pure fresh smell made my nerves laugh. I raised my eyelashes. A lake. Some strange lake with white lilies and yellow water-lilies. The known couple in black loose overalls carried me by a small ship. On the water, with the gold patches of light, played the inscription: "SANTA MARIA".

What a bad dream I saw! In the distance at the horizon as a scarlet tape something familiar sparkled. "That is my "Wanderer" with scarlet sails! I missed it so much! Quick on the ship! The team waits for me for too long!"

The couple began to row more intensively. The ship came nearer. It shook imagination by the beauty and as a huge bird Rukh, stretched its silk wings. There is a song was heard:

"Angel in the sky
With the silk wings,
With a silk soul!
Angel in the sky,
Make everything, as before..."

(v. Oxikovsky)

I ascended to the bridge of my ship. There were only the ship's boy, the Beauty and the Black Dress coat.

- Beauty, but where all others?

- They are running around. Wandering everywhere.

- And what is this one, in black, does here?

- This one? He is looking for something all the time. He himself doesn't know for what.

- And you? You know?

- Of course!

And my Beauty started singing. I didn't know that she has such a beautiful mellow voice:

"About far away worlds, about magic gifts
That ones will fall under my feet.
About boundless seas, about open doors
Behind which they trust, love, and wait for me..."

My God, how she sang! What became with my Black person! He shone! His eyes were as two bright beams. Look. They are like stars. Their light will go to us eternally. And the song flew:

"A lot of things won't repeat,
A lot of things will be not right.
Now I am after thirty,
It is a time to dream -
About far away worlds, about magic gifts..."




от Жанны Де Арк

от Марии Магдалины

От Майтрейи

Здесь спрятан Ключ!!!

Тот, кто расшифрует текст, спрятанный здесь и построенный по принципу древних манускриптов, обретёт силу всех образов.

Я отрекаюсь от этого мира ,
Странник корабль летит в мир иной.
С собою беру только лиру.

Самые древние знания об истории человечества и вселенной читай в откровениях Марии.