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This story was told in the same book (by Kamil Ikramov) by Ivan Sanjiev, a survivor of the Gulag and formerly an activist in the Young Communists movement in Kalmukia, USSR. In 1930s he was given a special task by his superiors to plant a small golden statue of Buddha in the last open Buddhist Temple they had. There was only one monk there, the ‘gelung’. Ivan entered the Temple openly and the monk was very happy to see him. He said, ‘Come in, come in. All people worship Buddha but not all of them know that.’ Ivan hid the golden statue under the rug and then returned with armed people to arrest the gelung for hiding the gold from the people. When the monk saw the statue he figured out what happened but said nothing, only looked sadly at Ivan and preyed. The Temple was closed. In time Ivan himself was arrested and sent to Gulag for 25 years. Once there he was wandering through the polar tundra and met a man. That man was that gelung. They looked at each other and the gelung spit at him. - By the will of Buddha,- stated Ivan, ‘we both ended in the same place.’
I have a friend who is a devout Catholic. He is a fierce pro-lifer and considers abortion a source of all sins. He also promotes the idea that Catholicism is the perfect system for the everyday life. Once he organized a group of teenagers to demonstrate in front of the Planned Parenthood clinics. To his dismay the local Catholic bishop not only did not support him but told the kids to stop that foolishness and better hit the books. My friend was so upset that he wrote a letter to Pope about it. -You realize, I said to him, ’that if we had a fully Catholic system here that bishop could have sent you to jail for that?’ In another case my friend was very upset when he found out that in one penitentiary when religious inmates conducted seminars on their religions the atheists demanded that too. - They should not have seminars, he said, ‘Atheism is not a religion.’ - Does it matter? People, inmates will have the same occupation. Let it go. - No, that’s not right, Atheists cannot have it. So according to my friend those unfortunate atheists might as well rot alone in their cells. There is one very good verse by the Russian poet Mandelshtam perfectly attributed to this situation: - Why won’t you spend some time in a coffin, young man?
The most fiercely anti- clerical book was written by an American woman- writer Ethel Lilian Voinich in 1898 and is called ‘The Gadfly’. In that book a young man, a devout Catholic in the 19th Century Italy finds out that not only his confessions are reported to the police but he himself is an illegitimate son of his beloved priest-teacher. He renounces God and disappears, faking his death. In time he returns after a tough life and severely injured. He comes back as a radical revolutionary under a new name and a penname The Gadfly. After one of the skirmishes with the Austrian police he kills a policeman, gets captured and sentenced to death by a firing squad. His father meanwhile becomes a Cardinal in that province and it is his duty to confirm or oppose the sentence. He visits the prisoner and they recognize each other. In the dramatic scene Cardinal offers his son to help with an escape but the young man refuses to go unless his father renounces God and joins him. The Cardinal cannot do that. He leaves and confirms the sentence. On the day of the execution the Cardinal preys in the Church for the ‘suffering of God, the Father’ and then violently curses the ‘blood of Christ’. He succumbs to madness and dies from the broken heart soon after. All the stories above, real, apocryphal and fictional have one thing in common: they show the great spirit of Humanity, the conviction, the dignity, the powerful message of an independent mind whenever and whoever dared to use it. That’s Divinity in its magnificence, the miracle of the human being rising to the highest level of effort and/or encountering a real greatness or a really great problem which is practically the same. That’s where the dimensions collide and only the cosmic powers decide the fate.
A writer is a rogue goose. All other gees fly in a flock formation; every goose knows his place and time for honking. The rogue goose is undisciplined. He leaves the formation indiscriminately to have a look at it from aside. He roams back and forth, takes a peep at the leader, honks a little bit from behind, distracts everyone and writes on what he sees. Time passes and as he wants to return back to his place he discovers someone else there. Thus he either has to wait until they land for rest or join another flock in emigration. Those other birds could be cranes, storks or even crows. If he makes it he will become a rogue again. Whenever he goes and whatever he writes he never reaches a destination or enjoys a landing. There's only Kipling's God of Fair Beginnings and skies above and beyond. And the only way for a writer to make peace with the Deity is through the language of Poetry.
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