Then everything began with writing Prose. The first prosaic work opened up new opportunities on the road to a creative career.
And then came other works: “To see the light at the end of the tunnel,” “At the edge of the Earth,” “This long road to success”, “On the other side of reality,” “In an endless search for yourself”.
My book “My first discovery of a miracle” was published in Ontario, Canada. Thank you, Altaspera Publishing and Literary Agency for this opportunity!
My first discovery of the miracle
To live for the sake of dream. The most sacred, the most desired. Do not believe in fairy-tales, but believe the dreams. The dreams which are so far away, entirely unreal. To feel the reality, experience the implementation of illusory fantasies, to see the light and move forward. My wild dream is writing. About everything. The creation. At the very thought of the creation, the sensation of freedom and unprecedented lightness overwhelms me. The thoughts and emotions are reflected on paper. Moreover, there is no strength left to restrain an impulse. To prove to yourself, to feel the reality. I turn the page and continue my writing.
The sense, feelings, inspiration, experience, creative imagination found their application and were transferred to the white paper, saturated with the color and paint palette as well as the scent of a favorite perfume. Composing is so daring, writing is a genuine art. To discover the person inside who is not afraid of emotions. To see the silhouettes, to watch their movement, emerging constantly into the world, which can drop a bombshell and become special. To create the text filled with delicacy, uniqueness and a fascinating storyline. To be able to say without words, to get the message across to the reader, to discover your own style of writing.
Once I took a sheet of paper and a pen with black ink and tried to write. Going behind my thoughts, I tried to capture the main, essential point. The very essence. I really have something to tell about. Lines followed lines easily, from page to page. The first creation, flushed with the whole range of emotions, possessed its own energetics, expressed sincerity. It has become my first discovery of the miracle.
To see the familiar life from the height of new sensations and impressions.
To create and perform. To find the ways of self-expression, to find them among supposedly simple objects; it’s even somewhat trivial.
To find and convert into the art. The small story, having found its route, is capable of heeling, move closer to the hope. I always considered that the primary objective of the writer is the creation of a narrative of the story. Only the years later, having fallen into the writer persona, I could realize how important it was to feel, sense every detail and clearly define the borders between the reality and the fancy. To live through the lives of the others, to leave the traces in the fates of the others. Not at all, the creation of the masterpiece – that is the main objective of the writer.
To be beyond the scope, in the heart of it all and timeless. To submerge into the depth and fly up high to the sky light. The little miracle where everyone will find something peculiar, will want to change relying upon the confidence of success. For me, the discovery of the miracle has come along with the possibility: to speak, to express my opinion, to be the part of the many destinies, to reflect our inner world and help to understand that we are capable of creating something new and that one must struggle for happiness every day. Our duty is to know how to be happy, even being given half a chance. To percept the world with a fresh approach.
The search of the possibilities to express yourself through the art with the purpose of showing your uniqueness, to feel yourself unique. To allow yourself to suspend the run a little bit, to dip into the artistic condition to a depth of thoughts for an instant. To feel the surge of happiness and preserve the sensation that you are unique. To live with the hope to plan the future, to return to the past, to reach the peaks of success and always strive for the sense.
Austrian philosopher Viktor Frankl, having finished the school of psychoanalysis, came to the conclusion that the main driving motive of the personality is the striving for the sense.
And this is true, since the man lives with the comprehension of his reason for existence. The living is always full of the reason.
The creation helps me to entrench myself in the complicated course of life, to recover poise, acting as the creator; to sense the significance of each impulse capable of changing everything, effecting, assigning a specific meaning to each small thing.
To try to define the true values. To get out a message and emotions, to always live with the hope.
Turning over the leaves of the album with the old photographs I come back to the past. Without trying to change anything I get a glimpse of the future, I continue to strive.
To create something new. The thoughts scatter because of the read lines. Each word and each action has its meaning. To leave your own imprint.
Turning around constantly, not to be complacent, to move forward. To turn the tide of the events, to charge the living with the sensation of happiness and enjoyment.
You are right here, right now.
Such a long way to success
Philosopher is a person who doesn’t boast
possessing the wisdom which the others – boasting – don’t possess.
Lucius Annaeus Seneca (the Younger)
How often do we come up with the ideas about the life purpose?
What have I created? What am I going to do? Which goals were set, which of them had been turned into reality and which had not.
I come up with these thoughts again and again.
Who am I: an ordinary man or someone beyond all of you – equally eager, each one endued with his own force, and believing in fortune?
What am I: an animate creature with downward thoughts or a soul striving for some light?
So many questions arise. And in every answer we see the particles of doubt, the lack of self-confidence and uncertainty with regard to the others. These other ones, being on the edge, “on the verge of disaster”, have reserved some internal space for the belief. The belief which, according to them, is enough for performing the wonder.
How many of us are able to believe in wonders these very days? Those precisely believe who are “on the edge”. The rest ones prefer to diverge from this belief for the sake of their self-admiration.
The urge to fly is so strong. Why, for what… It can be easily explained, but for sure it is never to be understood.
There is only one chance to know it – just experience. What makes the man embraced with his dream tick?
Some insane idea, striving for art, lure for glory?
The insane idea hides inside the head, willing to break away and splash out the emotions, make all issues clear.
This constant feeling of necessity of words. Then, some actions, and you feel like being one step away from the success.
Then there is only one step and the belief is born.
Striving for art is the primary foundation for creative activity.
To see the light at the end of the tunnel
To move towards it, obeying the bright gleams. What is there, in the other side of life… The only light and flickering silhouettes. To keep on walking without turning around. Without looking behind. Since now, it is all just forward. And what was before that? Remembering this, it seems now that that there was nothing at all. The only those flickering silhouettes.
It is whiter than white all around and it seems that there is not a single soul. The long-awaited tranquility, the eternal silence.
It is weird, but all strange things are portrayed here as familiar. Completely, beyond recognition.
The past slips through the fingers.
The strength has not given out; not at all, it just seems to hide in waiting.
Why am I here? The life is not ideal in all of its aspects and the striving for creation of one’s own ideal world will lead, finally, to the completion, to the obsession with the idea of performing the miracle.
Standing on the brink of a precipice, when the rest of strength is almost used up and there is no belief in salvation, we see the Light. Bright and inviting, it attracts like a magnet. One wills to look at it endlessly, to feel its warmth.
And there is no intention to come back. To the world where nothing lasts forever, where one can never experience such conciliation.
I catch someone’s unwinking stare. I am at risk of turning around and seeing nothing at that, but a silhouette.
The delight of tranquility. Perhaps, for the first time ever. Nothing of that nature had happened ever before. The determination to depart this Wonderful world has not come yet.
The corner of paradise, truly. More and more, the absence of the current vital problems urge to come before General Judgment, to confide. To stay.