CHAPTER 25. MALLEABLE WAX

April 25, 2022.

“A small room. A blurry silhouette sits in the half-light at a writing desk. He is writing something on a pristine white sheet of cheap parchment. On the writing desk is a candle, which only slightly illuminates the whiteness of the cheap parchment for the person mentioned earlier—his path. This person is a writer, who at this hour is creating his story, his life: depending on his notes and his memories, that wax candle either burns brighter or becomes significantly dimmer—when he lives in darkness, the candle burns dimly and he cannot write further, and, accordingly, wastes the time of his life fruitlessly, but when the light becomes brighter, he creates!

“What is he writing about? First of all, he is interested in the question of what God looks like—the limited nature of human knowledge forces us to imagine Him as a person, as a tree, as a blade of grass, or an ant: in reality, He is faceless, for He is all-faced! God is all existing and non-existing energy: God is dreams and reality! He is everywhere and in everything—in the most terrible sinner and in the most virtuous righteous person!.. Next, he asks himself questions about faith and atheism... He remembers how he was accused of unbelief just because he did not observe all the canons of the Bible written on paper—he remembers how he remained silent in response to all those who accused him of this: they were convinced that he had nothing to say—he, however, did not wish at all to explain to them that in his prayers he mentions not only all people who are now alive, but also all the deceased... Throwing accusations of sins in his face, they did not suspect that on that very morning he prayed for the forgiveness of the sins committed by all people who had ever lived and are now living on earth...

“Another line... and a problem about a tree and the weather that arises from the flesh of this tree arises before his mental and spiritual gaze. How does a heavenly-tasting fruit arise from an ordinary stick, a bare branch? In winter, these are bare branches, but in spring, these branches blossom, and later a fruit appears that gives a unique sweetness to the body that consumes it: how can such sweetness be sealed in empty, simple branches?... Here, another moment, and he looks at his leg—he does not understand how it moves, does not realize all the processes taking place within him: a leg can be cut off and it will no longer move, but on his body, it moves—this is how the Almighty created man! From the point of view of the material world... not everything in it is explainable—every tree, like every person, blooms differently, in its own way...

“Another day... and he writes about human motivation and psychology—people assume that in their lives they achieve absolute success in the facets on which their abilities are built and which they define: they do not guess that true success in this world is unattainable, and accordingly, in order to taste its fruits, one must go beyond the boundaries of this world, beyond the boundaries of actual reality... After a while, a forest fire gives rise to thoughts in him: no matter how devastating this flame is, it is unable to destroy the forest completely, because even a completely incinerated forest has the property of absolute rebirth—this ash will be fertilizer for the future forest; it will be in each of its descendants... In a small cherry pit is the genetic code of an infinite number of trees—so also in our one thought, so also in our one feeling, there is a similar kind of fertility, which, in turn, is capable of giving rise to a myriad of thoughts and feelings... Throughout its life cycle, which, by the way, is infinite, that pit gives life to a new tree, which, in turn, gives life to an even newer one... and so on indefinitely... continuously, moving ever further and further an imperishable information, an eternal code!.. A person is also similar to that forest... Being betrayed, exiled, and persecuted, he has properties that are capable of granting him absolute rebirth... and the ash from his burning should serve as a bed, a bier, and a cradle for new life...

“Another minute... and he writes about a girl! He saw a rash on her face—he rejoices, for he realizes that she is not perfect: she is an ordinary person... she is not a goddess! Realizing this, he finds the highest pleasure—he counts himself among those who have grasped, who have known the truth, and seems to fly up on wings... Now, he is already comparing a woman's beauty to the condition of a car: when a car is in traffic or far from him, he admires its charm, its data, and its parameters; in his mind, it is desirable and flawless—but when he is closer to it, looks more closely, he distinguishes its scratches, flaws, and rust... Does he want it now? But only a few minutes ago, there was nothing he desired so much as to become its owner—this is how real reality hits and this is how a first glance deceives!..

“Another day... and he writes a dialogue with his friend on the flesh of the whitish parchment about his used BMW: his friend asks him why he bought it, because for the same money they would have gladly sold him a new car from the dealership... he answers him this way—'In what house would you like to live: in a new one, but made of brick, or in a used one, but made of shell rock?'...

“Next, he writes about human choice—a person cannot make an absolutely correct choice: sometimes one can perfectly solve a problem by making an incorrect choice... Hmm... what else should he write about? Maybe about the sun, which, being far away, warms us, but whose closeness, whose embrace is deadly? Maybe about goodness? All people and animals love kindness towards themselves and do not love evil towards themselves—so maybe the meaning of life lies in goodness? Or maybe he should make a note about his father, who invested his whole life in something that can be destroyed in a single moment and always despised everything that is imperishable? Or maybe he should write about the nature of destruction and annihilation? For example, of the very same stone!.. is it possible to destroy a stone by grinding its flesh into sand?... is it possible to destroy its atom? After all, it, crushed and riddled, will remain even in its smallest particle... it will be in the flesh of many, being one! Or, with the loss of its former form, does it cease to be a stone and should this matter be called sand? It turns out that the definition of certain things is entirely linked to the form of these things?...