Yabloko na ladoni Page #4

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Don't do work useful for society.

It's better to be a beggar.

You see, people need guarantees.

That's why they go to work.

They are paid not for their work,

but for having rejected

the path of destitution.

My little boy, like any father,

I only wish you happiness.

I don't want you to be in poverty,

amongst the destitute,

against your will.

However,

I believe only those who beg

earn their daily bread

through their own labour.

Follow the poor.

Become poor.

People who are poor in spirit

can renounce even the spirit.

You can't even imagine

how free are those poor in spirit.

They are so free

they don't even need freedom.

They may not know who Jesus Christ

is and whether he ever existed.

Blessedness is not a feat.

Blessedness is neither a talent,

nor a chore.

It's just blessedness.

These people leave nothing

to the system, but their ashes.

I can't say what's happening to me.

That means I can't understand

what's being done to me,

and what's being done

to other people.

To understand

what's being done to everyone,

one should think differently

to everyone else.

But how can one do that

if no words are left?

If there were words,

then there would be thoughts.

What's left is to learn

the language of birds,

and become a social outcast,

because the writers

have used up all the words.

The system set a trap for them -

it pretended it was afraid

of their words.

And they fell for it.

They shouldn't have spoken

to this system in its language,

but they kept doing so,

and their native language

turned into a pillar of salt.

That's it. The system has created

a body made of language.

I don't have

my language any more.

There are no words

and therefore no thoughts.

As much as I want to think otherwise,

I just can't.

The situation

is under total control.

Dissent will mean hiding

one's thoughts.

That's why you shouldn't listen

to anyone, my little boy.

Don't listen to your teachers.

Don't even listen to me.

I'm stretching out my arms to you

while you're not here.

I don't want us

to talk in the language I use.

You've seen what it leads to.

My little one, you know...

...I'm afraid of your birth. Afraid.

I live in fear.

The fear is already here.

Here, in my stomach.

Because there is no fear

in the mind.

If the mind is capable

of seeing anything at all,

it can't be gripped by fear.

Those who step over their fear

cannot comprehend what lies ahead.

My little son,

I'm scared to come to you.

I'm scared to see your face.

The most frightening thing of all

is to come out of the fear.

I want to see you and experience fear

because of that.

On the same day I saw a young guy

who had been released

from a prison infirmary.

He was in prison,

along with his father.

His father lost his sight in prison,

and his movement coordination.

When his father was in prison,

the son gathered together

medicinal and narcotic herbs,

and threw them to him

through the barbed wire,

until he was put in prison

along with his father.

If only you knew how he was shaking.

You, little one,

have your own body.

Nobody knows about it yet.

This body is Easter.

It's called Easter.

The system doesn't own this body.

The paradox is that the death

of the system lies within itself.

Its life is its death.

My little one,

I've just had a feeling

that I'm talking to you

after your death,

that ten minutes ago

you were still here,

and now you are not.

That means

I've become younger than you,

because I've been left alive,

and you have not.

If that's so,

one shouldn't believe it.

One simply

shouldn't believe information

that comes from the system.

It's my fault.

It's me who believed

that you are no longer here.

Don't believe information

from the system,

especially if it's true.

Chapter V

HEALING OF THE BORN BLIND

These people

were ordinary epileptics...

until an abominable experiment

was conducted on them.

They were lobotomised,

their memories were erased.

Now they can't remember anything.

They can't even remember themselves,

who they are.

When a crowd fills the square...

...this blind boy hurries to work.

He begs.

Though he was born blind,

his stride is confident and fast.

He thinks all people are blind.

He really thinks

all people are blind.

His father and mother

are also blind.

They told their son

that everyone is blind,

and that no one

can see oneself.

But the blind boy

made his own discovery.

He figured out

that all people are women.

Every person is a woman,

and all voices

are the voices of women.

That's what he thinks.

Women give birth to children

who are also women.

And his fate was to be born a man.

That's why he is a cripple.

And his father is a cripple

because he was also born a man.

He believes that the only other man

is his father.

The blind boy knows that

female humans feel sorry for him.

They feel sorry for him

because he is a man,

and throw coins to him

to make his life better.

His blind mother knows that her son

is constantly drawn to women.

She keeps reminding him

that he shouldn't be

because he is a man.

"The thing you want to do,

you should do with your eyes."

My little son,

if only I could see,

I would make love with my eyes.

What a shame

I can't make love with my eyes.

If a female human

doesn't wish to notice him

she turns away, but he keeps

waiting and doesn't leave.

He knows that the woman

is also blind

and can't see he is a man,

a cripple, and needs help.

By midday, all the members

of the family meet up.

The blind man finds his wife.

And the boy,

the bread-winner, comes last.

He comes to his parents.

About 20 years ago,

the father and the mother

were in a psychiatric institution.

She was 20 then,

he was even younger.

When they fell in love

with each other in that institution,

as usual, they were supposed

to be sterilised to be made barren.

But they managed to escape.

By touch, they found a tree with

branches stretching beyond the fence.

They climbed that tree

and found their freedom.

And they had a son.

The blind boy has a secret though -

a secret place where

he stashes away a bit of money.

Before giving money to his mother,

he hides here in this corner,

and transfers some coins

from the full box to his secret box.

He keeps it

deep under his clothes.

Neither his father nor mother

know about it.

My little son,

I really want you to become poor.

I, your father,

wish that you become poor...

...because I love you.

My little son...

...I want you to decide

to keep your virginity.

You will start seeing it

as a living person,

and realise there is nothing

more important for you.

You should unite your poverty

and your virginity.

This is the only advice

I can give you.

Unite your poverty

and your virginity...

...and you'll begin

to learn love from love itself.

Poverty and virginity

will be your companions,

and you'll become more refined,

and your love will begin to take on

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