For my grandfather
Below are the notes about the relationship between my buried-in-cotton-wool consciousness and the Holy Spirit, that Holy Spirit which descended upon the apostles in the first century. By cotton wool I mean my self-induced stupidity and numbness as a response to my personal life and the life in the USSR in general. I read anything I could, listened to the music of all kinds, drew and painted, and tried to deal with the reality outside of my mind as little as possible, often pretending to be an idiot. Because of that, I am unable now to remember much of the factual canvas of my life in the USSR. On the contrary, the memories of the intermittent pecking of the Holy Spirit are very clear, contrasting with the amorphous fog. These pecks or specks and what came out of them show that anyone who truly wants to can find God and His Church in any circumstances whether s/he is screwed up inside or lives in a screwed up country or both.