CHAPTER 10. THE ESSENCE OF DESTINY

April 10, 1941.

"People consider themselves the highest form of creation, without ever thinking that besides them, countless living beings in this world fulfill their role, function, and purpose: could a man, without using any tools, loosen the earth with his flesh the way a worm does, if there were no worm in this world—would he agree to be devoured by a lion for the sake of the realization of natural processes, if there were no gazelle in this world?" said twenty-seven-year-old Alan Underwood to thirty-year-old Eric Gibson. At this hour, the two of them, components of the British army, were together in a trench near the port city of Tobruk.

"Those are not entirely finished, although quite remarkable words. Man is the highest form of creation because he uses the capabilities of his mind to a significantly greater extent than other living beings use theirs... And as for the gazelle, your words are just laughable—is a gazelle truly willing to be devoured? Don't its instincts resist a force and will more powerful than its own?"

"There's something to think about there... luckily, we have plenty of time for it now. By the way, how is Isabel? Is she no longer angry with you? She was in your arms just recently..."

"Isabel... yes, she was in my arms, but... you know, Alan... she really is extraordinarily charming... she's always gentle with me, she kisses and hugs me, she's polite in her behavior, but there is one single flaw in this perfection—she doesn't love me! It's hard to understand and see from the outside, but you can only see it with your heart. To many outsiders, our relationship might seem perfect in its idyll, and her grievances that I have to leave her due to my duty of service are just proof of that, but..."

"In my opinion, Eric, you are simply spoiled by her love... you've had your fill of it, and now it's not enough for you. If you see and understand everything, why don't you break up with her? You don't want to lose this 'temporary' and 'ephemeral' happiness, but at the same time you claim to be maturing and seeing? Why do you torment both her and yourself, if you understand that something is not quite as you imagined or saw it? Don't be a spoiled child! You may be in a relationship with the best of all women, and you don't appreciate it. You shouldn't perceive her whims as something that intentionally contains destructive impulses... A woman is a symphony of nature, and like any symphony, it contains both strengths and weaknesses..."

"A woman... and in your understanding, who is a beloved woman?"

"In my opinion, a beloved woman is the playing reflection of the Moon on the gently rippling surface of the sea at night: she illuminates a special path that only a special man can ascend—only the one who can walk on moonlight, and therefore is capable of being above earthly forms and perceptions, can reach the limits of the Moon so cherished by his heart!"

"You speak well..."

"I don't speak well or poorly: I speak with my heart and soul—when there is a door in the house, it is not appropriate to enter it through a window..."

"I suppose I'll agree with you... You know, after talking to you, I look at the sky and I see her eyes there—they are bottomless and boundless... the clouds remind me of her snow-white skin... and her figure... the figure of the most beautiful of graces!"

"And when I look at the sky, I see the human lives that the war has ruined: there, in the sky, I see life, and here, on earth—death! Death! Within the confines of war, I've had to see as many deaths as I have hairs on my head now—and although they are grey, there are still a great many of them..."

"Yes... these thoughts about love are leading us away from the current reality, from the war..." Eric Gibson said melancholically, returning all his thoughts and feelings into the depths of his being, like a shepherd dog herding sheep that had strayed from the flock. "You know, Alan, I look at your face and I see many wrinkles—they remind me of a great many different geometric patterns and figures..."

"These are all the drawings of war... In my time, during peacetime, I also loved to draw—often with my thoughts and feelings on the canvas of my own mind and soul! It was then that I understood that everything in this world, including people, is part of the universal canvas! I drew in my thoughts with everything—with the sun's rays, with raindrops, with snow, with a blade of grass, and even with the earth—oh, what paintings they were! They were priceless, because thanks to them I was getting to know myself, and therefore God! I was fertilizing the canvas of my pure consciousness with the colors of my thoughts! What didn't I think about then! About the nature of light, of a tree, of a grain!.. Light awakens us from sleep, it brings us into that very state when a person is in control of himself—night, however, takes away the light, and therefore puts us in a state where a person is not in control of himself, in a state of sleep: darkness deprives us of the ability to see, as if this darkness is a kind of fragment of death, which, through the embodiment and realization of its givenness, shows us its true face!.. In contrast to man, nature neither sleeps nor rests: a grain grows both day and night..."

"But a person also lives continuously, both in reality and in a dream!"

"Drawing these mental and emotional paintings, I never claimed to be a genius, nor did I demand that they be placed in museums: there is no truth in them, because they are overflowing with it!.. So, imagine this tree, which is near us, not attracting any attention to itself—among tens of billions of trees, it stands out in no way, it is the same as all the others: even when it is cut down at the root, it will be looked at as a working norm, but by no means as something special... But if after some time a canvas is made from it and paints are applied to it, obtained, for example, from the same environment as this tree, if it is placed in the most visited museum on earth, will everyone look at it the same way as before? The tree itself has not changed its nature, but people have changed it—they have changed it in a way that is beneficial to them! Remember the story of Corporal Godfrey! Many walked among the confines of our trench and stepped on an inconspicuous piece of nephrite, not understanding its value at all and not giving it any—but Corporal Godfrey took it out of the dirt, washed it, and carved a cross out of it: everyone expressed their admiration for the appearance of this cross and wanted to acquire it, even for hundreds of dollars, but Corporal Godfrey invariably refused them, not explaining the reasons for his refusal at all—they did not see in that piece of nephrite what he saw earlier... they gave it value only when it took on a pleasing form, and yet its nature had not changed and it had always been that way! It's the same with a person—he is great inside, but outwardly he may look bad or have nothing, but having gained wealth, success, and fame, which can be easily acquired with appearance, he will become valuable to everyone and will be honored by everyone..."