dashing 90ths and my childhood

I grew up in relative poverty during “dashing 90ths” in Russia. Well, we could still afford eating several meals per day (I think that’s the subtle line between poverty and misery when people can afford eating, of course not what they really want, but at least several times per day); going to McDonald’s was a big deal, a real feast; school was de jure free as well as healthcare (I repeat “de jure”), at least there were no official school fees. The only thing that I could not have the cloths and devices I wanted to. I even started daring to want them only when I was a teenager. As for devices, I was not really interested, that was a healthy childhood without smart phones and Internet: television instead. It seems to me television was more reasonable then but I am not so sure about that. Anyway, it was the time when freedom (including freedom not to obey the law or, in other words, the anarchy) engulfed the country, there was no propaganda that’s for sure. People suppose it was dangerous. Maybe for some people interested in business but for me as a child, I can’t really say so. I have never thought of security as a child, I was never afraid. Neither were my parents really concerned about it. Now I would be.

It was also colder, much colder. I hated these twenty minutes from my house to school. It was absolutely dark in the morning and as if colder. I remember this unpleasant, I would even say even odious, sensation of freezing toes, fingers and nose. However, there were millions of brilliants sparkling in the snow under the light of street lamps and hat was so wondrous.

As I was watching Brazilian and Argentinean soap operas, I knew I had to be born there under more generous sun. Until now I haven’t discovered this continent, but I will.

I lived on the nine’s floor and our elevator was often out of order because of some stupid vandal boys playing with it. I was running up and down the stairs. I was so young then. The issue of housing had always been acute in Russia (remember Mikhail Bulgakov’s novels). We had our neighbours, some of them were more or less sweet, as much as a person can be while sharing the space with you, some of them were completely crazy. There was a small pretty girl called Amina whose father and mother (so nice and beautiful, much younger than her husband) came from Azerbaijan. Amina had a habit waiting for my father and for me also by our door and calling our names. I have to admit that animals and children love my father but I was afraid of him sometimes as he could thrash me if I misbehaved.

Some people say that the fall of Soviet Union was a social disaster, life expectancy and standard of living dropped dramatically. It feels like it was the time full of opportunities. But we failed. That happens. I cannot judge this period of our history. It was my sacred childhood, the future was so bright, I thought that I would never be anything like my parents; I didn’t even realise that it was actually poverty. It fell fully on aching heads of my then young and inexperienced parents who really fought their way through life. And it’s only now that I started understanding them and respecting consciously their efforts.






The photos are from here

meditating, Russia, Zen

having some moments

It’s rainy all around and it’s in the middle of December (Gosh, time flies!). An old man is reading a poem with exceptional charm to a random girl in a bus and telling her some facts about the author, everyone around is smiling including the jovial and lovely old man. And the next moment all the neighbors around the lovely old man are involved in a very artistic conversation but he has to leave so we are back to our practical thoughts. That’s Saint Petersburg for you at its best, the way I like it. Welcome home.

P.S. The sun has crawled out for several brief hours today. Yay! That was so beautiful and absolutely magic. Almost like this:


Normally during this season it looks this way


Or this way


All the photos are from here

meditating, Russia, Zen

banya is life

In the heart of the gloomy and rainy city of embodied ghosts overwhelmed by their daily routine, sad climate and thoughts how to make ends meet I discovered the real paradise named Russian banya. The true wooden banya in the very decayed centre of my city: the realm of heavy humid heat, blackened  wood, steam, basins and birch twigs, the bodies beautiful in their divine nakedness and in their artistic imperfections. Today, this moment they are all queens, goddessess, scrubbing each other’s backs with aromatic coffee grounds and rubbing their skin with coconut oil and honey, laying on the podium like Cleopatras radiating serenity and bliss amidst heavy pacifying heat, chattering like birds while drinking tea. That’s why I had to be born under this severe Northern sky.


meditating, Personal development

My sun is serious, no jokes


in the bush

I have never had any idea how people find their way in a forest. I grew up in a big city and I only know how to find my way in a concrete jungle but I love nature and don’t mind spending my time in a forest sleeping in a tent, washing under waterfall, feeling the smell of soil, cooking on fire and singing songs/listening to songs while looking at fire.

Bush is not a jungle: it can be as vast as jungle but it is less dense and, I would say, less exotic. In fact, it looks just like forest back home according to my vision: very peaceful, very transparent but more vibrant as it is an African forest with its African magic. Oh those cicadas, they make the bush tremble.

The story the bush is telling you is the story of peace, your head is pleasantly empty as if someone put a spell on your mind…the only task is to get rid of flies who try to break this peace by entering your eyes/nose/mouth and you understand perfectly these cows and horses suffering of flies and you wish you had a tail to fight. And how do people work in the bush? Digging deep, very deep, sweating, fighting with flies? Advantages of our technological civilization are earned hard somewhere in the heart of Africa and then sold back for a fortune. Well, it’s not a secret, it’s life.

Where is my beryoza? It is looking and smelling like back home

Sometimes the bush blesses you with a gift