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Spirit of fire Festival painting Forest Bonfire Monks Stars

Black light tapestry "Spirit of Fire" - one of the three parts of the ALCHEMY TRILOGY ("Spirit of Water", "Architect", "Spirit of Fire")

Description in the form of a story "I'm flying into the light - but I'll burn in the fire"

The sun has long since plunged into the Varangian Sea, melting in the heart of Reitscher. The waves were no longer visible, but from the increased noise of the surf it was clear that it was raging in earnest. The weather here is very unpredictable. But it was already like a storm warning. At least there was definitely nothing to catch here. Two fishermen managed to twist the nets and park their boats until dark, thirty meters from the coastline near the forest. Karelian-Finnish jungle, dense and coniferous, severe in appearance. Entering which, you seem to enter a completely different, parallel, fairy-tale world. Just like in children's books. It is very light here, since almost all of it consists of pines and firs, occasionally there are birches and hazels. Literally having gone a few meters deep, you no longer feel the wind, do not hear external noises, real magical peace and quiet sets in. Like at home. It looks like the same feeling that every person is looking for in life, changing a bunch of habitats, activities, interests, social circles, partners, friends. Like at home. Here it is very similar to this. And the moss under your feet seems softer and more tender than any carpets, featherbeds, pillows, and even softer than the clouds themselves. Here, usually without any problems, you can build yourself an overnight stay from dead wood, moss, spruce branches and build a large fire. The guys set up a secure camp first thing upon arrival, brought firewood and even made a small shelter to rest in the rain.

Arriving home, all they had to do was strike a match and settle down more comfortably in a green cloud. They sat in silence, literally wrapped in moss, looking at the fire and the insects flying around it. The silence was occasionally broken only by the crackling of damp firewood and the thin squeak of three mosquitoes, one for each.

- Andriukh, your float was twitching often today, but even so I didn’t catch anything especially. Yes?

- I, - says, - Syoma, learned to control telekinesis while fishing.

- Is that how it is?

- But look.

- Where?

- Well, there. On the lid. - and points to the teapot that stood on the stones above the stove.

A few minutes later, a milk haze began to rise from the spout of the teapot on the stones and the lid began to levitate from one edge, and a fountain of bubbles gushed out of the opened space and yellow flowers stretched in puffs of golden steam.</p>

- Nuu? What do you say?

- Ready. - said Semyon, carefully removing the teapot and half pouring it into three mugs. - Yesterday I narwhal there at the edge of Ivan-tea and St. John's wort, while you were doing telekinesis.

- Yeah, great. - drinking a little three times, said Andrew. And after a pause, he added. - Yeah, it's cool to be a flower, isn't it? Fireweed, or chamomile? Or a pitcher? Or a lotus, you know? Like the Buddhists who all want to grow into a flower in some Thailand in their next life?

- Where did you get it from?

- Well, you know the mantra they all sing "Om Mane Padme Hum"?

- Well.

- Well, what do you know?

- Well, this is a prayer supposedly for the benefit of all living beings, peace and goodness to all, peace &amp; love like. This is the position in life. Do not kill and remain calm in any situation. Be kind to everyone and don't offend anyone. Somehow yes.</p>

- It's true. But this is the objective side. But subjectively - they ask for reincarnation into a flower after rebirth. After all, if you suddenly become a lotus flower in your next life, who can you harm? You hang out quietly at the equator, you grow in a tropical forest, your roots are in the cool earth, the stem is in a pleasant little water with colorful fish, you smile at the sun with a bud and look at yourself at the waterfall. And then you see some monk passerby will pick you up and take you straight to the altar to the Buddha. Imagine what a beauty. Nectar path. Absolute freedom. "Padme" is like a lotus, "mane" is me. Om is the beginning, hum is the end. And literally it sounds something like this: "Om, All-good Lord, please make me, please, a lotus flower at the end of my path."

- Hm. Interesting. Well, yes. - said Semyon, thinking for a long time and fell silent, periodically pouring tea. - What is your water lily! - he suddenly said, and a couple of coals flew out of the fire with a crash and flew away into the impenetrable darkness of the night under the spruce branches. - Here. Think, are you a butterfly? Butterfly? Do you see out? This one, for example? - a lot of insects, mosquitoes and several night butterflies flew over the fire. and one of them was with bright orange wings with black spots in white trim, like a dashing skin. Well, he's just handsome. - How is he in general? BUT? How did he even get here? Guess it's her? They put you in the dirt as a larva, you were born in a swamp in some kind, grew in rottenness, crawled through puddles. He ate whatever he got, what they bring, what you find. Then he got stronger, grew up, pumped up, became a caterpillar by right. Climb a blade of grass, a tree. You eat leaves, fruits, cabbage, berries, you drink dew crystal, rain water. Everything is good, healthy food. Move slowly only. Obese, lazy. It became unsafe. And yes, I'm tired. Closed in itself, clogged up. I meditated a little in my cocoon, thought about how, rethought everything, gained strength. Understood how you want to live, again prophet fell into this world. Yes. The same one, but you're not the same anymore. Now you are with wings, with the most beautiful charming wings, a graceful little body. And you eat only flower pollen, divine nectar. And you can move to any distance with incredible speed for you. Now you are rightfully a moth, and you know the value of these wings. And this life. Here is the path a. Well, of course, a silly one can burn in a fire. Like this. And the spark that flared up flew to the tops of the pines. But there's nothing you can do about it. Insects are insects because they cannot distinguish the light from the fire. Borders are not felt, the brakes do not work. I fly into the light - I'll burn in the fire. Their motto. And a man, for that and a man, that is not an insect. Go to the light and come to the light. - said Peter.

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