Unpleasant stories about life in the monastery. Creepy stories of monasteries. MonkA cycle of stories about modern life in an Orthodox monastery
Misha helped those who carried out obedience in the monastery kiosk when men's hands were needed: to drag water into a barrel for tea, arrange tables and chairs in the morning, and also collect them in the evening or in case of rain. Wipe tables and remove disposable tableware forgotten by pilgrim shoppers…
Actually, a brother in obedience should bring water and arrange tables and chairs, who brings bread and pies on a cart and takes away empty boxes. But he is very busy with work, and it is not always possible to wait for him. And Misha is right there.
On weekends, when there are a lot of people in the monastery, there are so many people who want to drink tea with monastery pies that sometimes I am left without lunch. Get outside and clean up. And here is Misha:
Bring some water, eh?
Give me a rag, the kids spilled tea there, you need to wipe the table, in!
It's raining right now, let's start cleaning your furniture.
Misha is not working anywhere now. Decided to take a break in the summer. And in the fall he is going to get a job again. Misha is on summer vacation.
People who know him say that he worked as a loader all his life. And this winter - at the bus wash. They say he doesn't drink. A very meek person. But Misha's mental development is like that of a child.
He says to himself:
I am not very smart. I live in!
Misha, how did you study?
Smiling embarrassedly, he shows one finger, and then two fingers:
Cola and deuces! In! Finished 8th grade!
Misha, why did you leave work?
Buses washed! In winter! In! And you try to wash buses with cold water in winter!
Beggars sometimes stand by Optina, begging for alms. Misha does not ask for money.
Misha, what do you live on? You don't beg?
Not! I wash cars. They give me money for this. And sometimes they don't give anything. They laugh.
Today Misha was given a hundred rubles for his work. Misha is happy. He proudly shows me a hundred-ruble note: “Money!” Sits by the table. From time to time he takes out a hundred rubles, smoothes it, examines it, and again carefully puts it in his pocket.
Blessed Maria comes up to the kiosk, smiling like a child, she is already elderly. On the poster, hanging on the chest, it is written: "Help the orphan Maria for medicine."
Misha fusses, runs up to me:
In! Give Mary some tea! And pies! It's... with potatoes. And a poppy seed bun! In! I will cry! I have money!
And Misha joyfully holds out his treasure - a hundred-rouble note. Misha buys Maria what he loves, leads the old woman, makes her sit down and joyfully treats her. He is happy. He has money and he can spend it on a person in need.
Misha enjoys simple things - the sun and rain. Tea and a bun. A little sparrow pecking at crumbs from his palm. Ginger cat behind the calculator. Opportunities to help people. Misha does not have a crisis. He doesn't read newspapers and doesn't know about him.
Misha, are your parents alive?
Not! - Misha answers briefly and moves away.
He sits at the table, thinks, apparently, about sad things, then comes up:
Alyonushka! Do you know where I buried my mother? At the new cemetery! My mom was very good. She kept me strictly - in! And loved! And now I'm all alone. It's bad, Alyonushka, alone.
Well, nothing, Mishenka! And you are not alone! You are with me!
Yes I am with you! I'm helping you, right?!
Misha was treated to sweets. He brings them to me:
Alyonushka, sister, sweets, in!
Misha has a dream.
Alyonushka, you know, I want my little house! I will have a bathhouse there, in! I want to have two piglets, a lamb, and geese. Fine!
A policeman approaches the kiosk:
Misha! Bear! Why don't you shave? You have this, like Evo, comme il faut! Don Juan!
And turning to me:
Doesn't he bother you?
Misha is embarrassed by the word "comme il faut". I can see that he is very delicate. For all his simplicity, Misha could compete with the most educated person in subtlety of feelings. Misha blushes and tries to smile at the policeman, and I feel how uncomfortable he is for rude jokes. His heart is childlike and pure.
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Misha blushed and stood up. He glanced in my direction and meekly walked away from the kiosk. Sat on the curb next to the column. Is sitting. Lowered his head.
A man from a foreign car comes up to me a second time: “Pour some more coffee, please.”
I take a deep breath. I mentally say goodbye to the obedience I love and answer: "I'm sorry, but I can't pour you coffee until you apologize to my brother, whom you just offended."
The man is smitten:
In front of your brother?!
Yes, Misha is my brother. And your brother. He is very upset. Comfort him.
I look into the eyes of a man. I add softness in my voice:
Please!
The man's expression changes. As if meeting my gaze, he understands me and feels my tenderness for Misha.
The man goes to Misha, says something to him, pats him on the shoulder. They get back together and Misha is even treated to coffee, although he delicately refuses. The world has been restored.
A man gets into a foreign car, he looks cheerful. He waves his hand to us and shouts: “Hello Optina!”
Mishin's day ends happily.
God gives someone mind, someone wealth, someone beauty. And Misha has a meek disposition and a kind heart.
God's birds are scurrying around the kiosk. Those who do not sow and do not plow. And the Lord feeds them. The merciful Lord sends to everyone in need. According to the psalmist David, the Lord, “having satisfied his sons, and left the remains of his baby!” And these crumbs will be enough for the servant of God Misha ...
About Sasha and his treasures
Sasha is cold. The working day is over, and we can safely drink tea. I pour Sasha a full mug of hot tea, he drinks in small sips and talks about himself.
Sasha used to work as a minder on a ship. Despite his youth, he managed to visit 24 countries of the world. Sasha loved cheerful and noisy companies. Could take a lot on the chest. He will drink with one, he will fall asleep, and Sasha will go to another friend - he wants to communicate. He had many friends, many he treated. He made good money, but spent just as quickly.
And somehow he stopped seeing the meaning in this cheerful life. Something Sasha was missing. The soul is crying, looking for something, but what it does not know.
Once Sasha left a drunken company, because his soul became very bad. And everything seemed so meaningless that he went to the temple. Drunk Sasha comes to an empty temple, goes to a candle shop and begins to demand a priest:
And where is your pop - oatmeal forehead?
Not a pop, but a father.
Well, mother, father, so father. Give me dad here! I feel bad, mother, very bad. Help.
There was a truly believing woman in the candle shop. She did not call the police, but strictly said to Sasha:
Daddy is gone now. The service is long over. Here is a prayer to your Guardian Angel. It was he who tore you away from the drunken company and brought you here. Get up here to the icons and read a prayer aloud!
And Sasha did not argue. He himself does not know how and why, but unquestioningly knelt before the icons. Stands and tries to read a prayer. And the letters are scattered. Can't read at all.
Mother, read to me!
The sister from the candle shop knelt beside him and prayed loudly. And she cried. So she prayed through her tears. And Sasha cried with her. He listened, wept and whispered: “Lord, you are! Help me! My guardian angel, help me!"
When they got up from their knees, Sasha felt almost sober. He returned home.
And from that day on, everything in his life went differently. Drunk companies are gone. Sasha went to study at the institute and changed jobs. He married a believing girl. They had a son, Yaroslav. “A good name is Yaroslav,” Sasha says. “When you are small, you can call Yarik or Yasik.” Jasik's first teeth are being cut, and Sasha calls home every day.
He came to Optina for nine days. Been coming here for seven years now. He confesses, takes communion, goes to all services and akathists.
Sasha looks around and carefully takes out his shrines. He shows them to me - this is a prayer-book to the Guardian Angel, an old one, lovingly wrapped in a bag. The same, the first prayer that the sister from the candle shop gave him. Then Sasha shows a paper icon of St. Ambrose of Optina, which he acquired on his first visit to Optina - it is worn on the folds, but also lovingly wrapped in a plastic bag. Each time Sasha applies these icons to the relics and keeps them in a special section of his wallet.
He carefully puts them back, while casually pushing back large banknotes.
I always carry these icons with me. You see, as if by chance I’ll pat my pocket - here, with me, are my shrines. You know, I'm not afraid to lose money. Money that, they can be earned again. But the icons - yes! These are my treasures!
Yes, Sasha! Where your treasures are, there your heart will be also. Help you Lord!
Sasha and I correspond by e-mail. Returning home, he first of all christened his son. Who knows, maybe next time I will meet his whole family in Optina?
About the pilgrim Anna and the strange mother
In the morning I go to obedience and see my old friend Anna at the kiosk. We once met her on a pilgrimage to the Pskov-Caves Monastery, we became friends. And so Anya came to Optina. Knowing that I was here, she immediately went to look for me. And before the search, I decided to drink tea in the monastery kiosk.
Anya hugs me and cries.
What happened, sister, honey?
I pour Ann tea. I sit down at the table. Today is Monday. There have been no pilgrims-shoppers since morning, and I can listen to Anya's sad story.
“At an Orthodox exhibition in Moscow, I met a nun, Mother E., who promises help to those who get to meet her and receive her prayers. At the exhibition, she received people, as she had the gift of insight. We got in line in the morning and got to it only at 6 pm. When she found out that I taught English, my mother invited me to a monastery in Kaliningrad. Why she was interested in English, I did not immediately understand. But at the first opportunity I packed my things and went, because I am seriously ill, and in that monastery there is a unique and unusually healing source, called the Jordanian.
I took with me a large package of notes with requests for prayer help and the names of patients from the cancer center. Matushka E., according to her, prays privately for each at an individual request and promises to call by phone, to instruct what to do in each specific case. Arriving at the monastery, I immediately fell into the category of “favorites”, and mother herself took me to the skete. On the way, we stopped on business - in the courtyard and so on. According to the situation, I began to understand that they are not looking for spirituality here and the main task is business. The mystery with the English language has also been revealed: a lot of foreigners come here who can become sponsors, and you need to communicate with them.
When we arrived at the skete, I thought that I was in the Kremlin Palace, everything is so beautiful! We talked a lot - mother told me that neither the archimandrite nor His Holiness the Patriarch "understand" her gift of elderhood and therefore they sent her to the solitary confinement. This is how we communicated with her and ate a lot of delicacies. All day. In the evening in the skete, after dinner, mother gave her blessing to take communion, despite the overeating.
Then the mother spoke about her gifts. About how a monk on New Athos ascended into the air, and then asked her blessings, like a saint. How another monk lived in a hollow for 15 years and asked her to confess him, in awe of her gift. I remembered how once the priest, during the confession of my mother, knelt down and also asked SHE to confess him.
All this was told by the mother with tears in her eyes. Then we peacefully drank tea with sandwiches with cheese and gelled fruits, ate delicacies in unmeasured quantities. I was finally finished off by the fact that later on at the nightly sisterly prayer, to which one nun brought me, mother herself did not appear - she was already resting.
In the house church, I accidentally noticed a stack of thousands of notes (the very ones from the cell), which, as it turned out, are not even mother, as promised at the exhibition, but simple nuns, or maybe pilgrims like me, SOMETIMES read. I got sick. I myself brought the same notes from people from the cancer center who are counting the HOURS!!! before surgery and suffering from pain and metastases. These notes were their last hope. It's too painful for me".
This is the story I heard. I console Anya and send her to a hotel. And I am perplexed about one thing: how do such matushkas, who are prescribed to be in seclusion, participate in Orthodox exhibitions?
About the fulfillment of desires
And here is a completely different story, told by a visitor to my kiosk, pilgrim Natasha:
“I was supposed to go to Optina with my friend Nastya, but at the last moment, when I was already buying tickets, her father did not let me go, and I even cried a little about this. And then, already on the bus to Kozelsk, we met a neighbor. It turned out that she was also going to Optina and her name was Nastya! As if the Lord encouraged me: I will not stay alone.
When we arrived, we were accommodated in a hotel, in a room on the ground floor, where there is a huge four-story bed. The first three days I had a hard time - I can not wake up early; if I get up at 5-6 in the morning, I start to feel sick and I really get sick, apparently due to low blood pressure. And in the same place at 5 in the morning the lights are turned on, they wake everyone up, - well, you know ...
And behold, the Lord, the Most Merciful, looked upon my infirmities. True, through temptation: on the fourth day we come from obedience, but we don’t have our beds, the beds are bare, even without mattresses - everything was taken to Kozelsk for disinfection, since one pilgrim-wanderer found scabies. And we were transferred to the trailer. So cool! The blankets are new, similar in color to forest moss (my favorite color), the kupeshki are small, such separate cells, and no one wakes up at 5 in the morning ...
Further more. Before the evening meal, we sit with Tatyana, a neighbor in the compartment, she says: “Listen, I really want chocolate, I’m just dying, but where can I buy it? Around the forest, to the nearest store it is not known how far to go and where. We come to the meal, and there are on the tables little blue-brothers, and grated milk chocolate and spoons are laid out around them. Tatiana just opened her mouth. "Where?" - asks Sergius the repast, and he tells her: "The philanthropists donated several bags."
A few days later, Tanyusha wished marmalade in the same way. We come to the meal, and in the brothers-ladykas there are placers of melon-orange marmalade on the tables! How the Lord loves us all! How does one hear such trifles! Holds us in His palm.
And so all the time, as if Someone invisible cared ... I had to go home from Optina. Got on the intercity bus. So sad to part with the monastery. We were driving, the bus was full, and it so happened that only next to me there was an empty seat - the neighbor in the chair was late for boarding. We pass through Moscow. I thought: now they will pick up a passenger in my neighborhood - some kind of drunkard or foul language. After all, I had lost the habit of worldly, non-church people in Optina. I'm sitting like this, I'm worried. And sure enough: the bus slows down, a man enters, sits next to him. And who do you think it was?
Moscow is a huge city, anyone can take a bus. But as if to console me from parting with Optina, the Lord sent me a deacon from our Stavropol Alexander Nevsky Church as a companion. Moreover, he was returning home from the Optina Compound in Moscow! Wonderful are Thy works, O Lord!”
About Gena, a happy person
Gena is a tall, bearded worker in Optina. His obedience is to bring pies and bread to the monastery kiosk, take away empty boxes, arrange tables and chairs. Gene has to chop wood and carry water. There is enough work. But Gena is invariably good-natured and cheerful. He always smiles.
Gene, are you tired?
Am I? Listen: the father comes home, looks, and the son is sitting chopping firewood. “Son, why are you pricking them while sitting?” - “Yes, dad, I tried lying down, but it turns out worse!”
And Gena laughs with a happy laugh.
Gene is very kind. It is impossible to offend him. He simply will not be offended, because a meek person.
There were no special successes and achievements in Gena's life. The alcoholic father abandoned the family. Mom worked a lot and had little interest in her son's life. Her strength was only enough to ensure that their small family survived, did not starve to death.
Gena started drinking early. And when his mother died and Gena was left completely alone, he became a bitter drunkard.
Gena worked as a janitor. At work, he was appreciated because he worked well, conscientiously. Due to his kindness and meekness, he never refused additional work, he did not swear with anyone.
Gena, how did you manage to work if you drank heavily?
Duck how? I got drunk in the evening. And in the morning I’ll hangover and work all day cheerful. What people ask, I will do. They ask - how can you refuse? People are walking along my street - and everything is clean with me!
God works in mysterious ways. Who knows what would have happened to Gena further if his fate had not been reduced to apartment scammers. Gena himself is sure that "there would be no happiness, but misfortune helped."
Yes, these are my benefactors! If not for them, where would I be?! You know? It would have been in the ground for a long time! And so I am here, in Optina!
Fraudsters coveted Gena's apartment, and he inherited a two-room apartment in the center of Moscow. To deceive a drinking janitor was a simple matter for bandits. It's good that he survived!
And so Gena had to conclude a fictitious marriage under threats. And when the fictitious wife entered the apartment with her real husband, Gena instantly found himself in a lunatic asylum.
It's just some kind of horror movie, Gen!
No, nothing in a madhouse, it was normal. The attending physician loved me, he did not particularly stuff me with medicines. And then I could get out of there as a vegetable. You know, this is actually a terrible thing! They put a normal person, and then they give a couple of injections - and that's it. There was one, I played chess with him. The smartest man! He did not please any of the authorities. I didn't get to know about it. The less you know the better you sleep. They treated him a little - it seems that there is a person, and there is no person: he blows bubbles and walks under himself. Became like a vegetable - you know?
They let me go to church there, and I began to go to church for some reason. You stand - and the soul is easier. I cleaned the yard for them in the hospital. But something began to yearn. There are no relatives, no one worries about me, no one cares. No one, I think, you, Gene, do not need, not a single living soul. And now you don't have an apartment. There is now a strange woman with her husband lives. They sit in your own kitchen, look out the window at your favorite lilac. Matushkin's portrait was thrown, of course, into the trash heap. And your models of airplanes that you made as a child, too. And you took care of them. I once dreamed of becoming a pilot. What pilot are you? You are a janitor, Gena, and a drunkard!
And your dog, Grinka, was probably euthanized. (And my dog was the smartest, I'll tell you! I used to not sing myself, but Grinka is always full and satisfied with me.) Why do they need my dog? He, like me, is out of breed!
And some other janitor looks after your native street.
I began, therefore, to yearn. Here, I think, you lived, Gena, like a fool, and you will die in a madhouse.
And then I got sick, pneumonia began. Temperature 40 degrees. And so they injected me with some new, imported medicine, and I lost consciousness. Then they told me that I had a cardiac arrest. Death is clinical. And I ended up in another world.
And how is it, Gene, in another world?
Well, how? It cannot be explained. Here is our world - voluminous. And there - no. Talking about that world is like explaining to a blind man what color the sky is. Or a tree. Only when you come back, everything that is here is not so important. One thought - is there time for repentance?
I began to get better - and I have a dream. I am walking along the path, around - wooden buildings, an angel with a trumpet on the chapel, in front of the temple. And I feel that I feel so good in a dream that I understand - here is my place. Suddenly fell. I get up, dust myself off and go to the temple. This is where I woke up.
He began to get up on his feet and asked to go to church. I come, and there is the feast of the Most Holy Theotokos.
I'm on duty. Suddenly a nun comes up to me and says: “What, son, are you feeling bad? Come to Optina! That's your way!" Looked around - she wasn't there. Well, I think, here, Gena, and the hallucinations began. No wonder you lie in a madhouse.
But I remembered about Optina. Although I did not know then what kind of Optina she was.
They released me from the hospital. My doctor, a good man, quietly says to me: “Don’t go home. Unless, of course, you want to visit us again. Or far away. For eternal rest, for example. I went to Optina.
I come and see - there are wooden buildings around, here is a chapel, and on it is an angel with a pipe. Temple ahead. Everything is like in a dream.
Well, I think we need to go more carefully, now I must fall, as in a dream. I went slower, and there the ice was powdered with snow, I slipped - and bam! Fell! I'm lying to myself. And fell gently, not hurt. I think: well, you must! I get up and go to the temple.
That's how I stayed in Optina. Here, I've been here for two years. God willing, I would like to live here for the rest of my life. To die here.
And recently, my brother, with whom we work on the same obedience, called me: “Look, he says, Gen, what a miracle! In such a luxurious car, the husband and wife arrived, they themselves are dressed to the nines, rich, you see! They walk around the monastery walls for an hour, but they cannot enter! As if an invisible force won't let them in! Look, look - they'll leave right now!
I looked - "my" wife with her husband with his! They got into the car - furious! And they departed. Well, I think we should probably pray for them. It is thanks to them that I ended up in Optina!
Gena's story is interrupted by the cry of worker Vitya:
Gene! Go help! Your help is needed!
I feel sorry for Gene. He worked hard today, and you can see how tired he is.
Gen, this is not your obedience, rest!
They ask - how can you refuse? I'll go already ... Come on, with God, see you tomorrow!
Almost a detective story about puppies and the end of the world
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Here are the children - the children of one of the pilgrims - taking a touching part in the fate of the dog and its puppies. In the morning, puppies are taken out in a large box and offered to those who wish. "Gift from Optina!"
Mom sits next to me. This is a large mongrel white dog. The look is smart, caring and sad. She does not leave the box, even when she is hungry: she worries about her kids. When she is fed, she takes the food very delicately, carefully looks at the benefactor.
The puppies are fat and funny, many pilgrims stop and admire them. But they don’t dare to take it home: who knows what size and type of dogs will grow out of these funny puppies?
One pilgrim amuses everyone with a story about how a man with a bear on a collar walked around the market. And when they asked him who he was looking for, the man answered sternly: “Yes, I’m looking for a seller who gave me a cheap hamster a year ago. I want to introduce him to a grown hamster!” Everyone laughs and looks at the pot-bellied puppies with apprehension.
I, too, have to take part in their fate. The kids come running for a big box. We have to shift the goods and donate the box.
A little later:
Pour some warm water into our bowl!
I am perplexed: there is a column nearby, you can draw as much water from it as you like.
But the water is cold! Puppies can catch a cold! Pour us, please, warm boiled water for our puppies!
I run into my cell after dinner to get an old scarf for the puppies - it's getting colder outside.
There is a new pilgrim in the common cell. Dressed in black. She wants to call herself mother. The look is strict, intimidating, the speeches are the same.
Look! Everywhere signs of the Antichrist! The cross is being trampled!
Slippers are poked in my nose, on the soles of which there are patterns in the form of rhombuses.
Sisters, but these are not crosses, these are just diamonds! I say in a soothing voice.
Naive! These are the ones the Antichrist will seduce in the first place! We need vigilance! Show her, show her how the cross is trampled!
Somewhere I have already heard this ... And, yes, in Gogol's "Vie": "Lift, lift my eyelids!" I get creepy. What will they show me?
A feminine hygiene product is solemnly brought under my nose, the material on which, for better hygroscopicity, is made in the form of rhombuses.
Look, look, how they desecrate the crucifix!
Sisters, there is no crucifix here. It's a geometric diamond pattern!
Now my attitude is changing. Mother in black looks suspicious:
And who are you anyway? Are you Orthodox?
A little old woman jumps out and sarcastically reports: “And I saw how she feeds the puppies!”
Mother in anger
Dog-like! In a holy place! Desecrate the abode! It's because of people like you that the end of the world is approaching!
But the people are already slowly dispersing, frightened by her pressure.
Rather, I take a scarf and leave.
In the evening I intercede for a young pilgrim. She was reading a newspaper at the table, Arguments and Facts. I also read this paper. I bought it because of the speech of His Holiness Patriarch Kirill, printed in the entire third page.
Mother in black goes on a rampage:
You have defiled the table with your worldly, vile newspapers! How are we going to eat now?
When I stand up for the girl frightened by this cry, mother finally loses confidence in me. The look is killer. I understand that now I am her enemy.
The next day, as usual, I carry out obedience at the kiosk. Today is a weekday day, the monastery is deserted. I go out to wipe the tables while there are no customers.
Suddenly - a friendly roar. Familiar children run up to me: their faces are frightened, their eyes are wild, they stutter. Somehow I get them out: an aunt in black came with an uncle in a padded jacket, the uncle dragged the dog on a rope, and this aunt carried the puppies into the forest. In-he she went! The guys point towards the river.
Is it to heat? I get scared. I look around. There are no adults in sight.
Don't be afraid of anything. Nothing bad will happen to the puppies. Find an adult, some kind man. And follow us. Just don't go alone! Did you understand everything?
I lock the kiosk with a key and rush after the mother in black, who is hiding out of sight. I'm scared. Mother is clearly out of her mind. Of course, she is already in years, old woman, you can say. But, on the other hand, she is taller than me and twenty kilograms heavier. I catch up with her in the grove.
Terrible pictures come to mind: here I share the fate of puppies and drown in the swift Zhizdra. It becomes funny. Mother, of course, is not herself, but she will not drown me!
Mother really did not drown me. She just punched me like a professional heavyweight boxer. And I imprinted in a birch. Here is a blow! Klitschko is resting! I slowly slide down the birch and find myself sitting on the grass.
As an adult, I didn’t seem to get into hand-to-hand combat with anyone. I don't try to get up from shock. I sit silently and watch my mother scream and wave her hands in front of my nose.
It was this mother in black passion for public speaking that prevented her brilliantly conceived operation of drowning puppies and pushing back the end of the world.
The kids run up to us. And with them... father N. Well, of course, my smart kids! The kindest uncle is a priest. What happens next is like a blur. The mother in black is raging, almost jumping. And father N. calmly overshadows her several times with a cross.
And it deflates like a balloon that has been deflated. And disappears somewhere. Father N. comes up to me and helps me up.
How is your head not spinning? Can you stand?
Father, this is just some ironic detective story. Granny sent me into a complete knockout. But her strength is inhuman.
Yes, you are right about this. Strength is inhuman. Well, don't worry, you won't see her again. Let's go slowly.
The children, joyful, run forward along with the box and the puppies.
And for some reason I start crying. And, almost stuttering, through tears, I tell father N. about the newspaper, and about the diamonds, and about the end of the world. Father N. reassures me:
Well, nothing, nothing. End of the world, you say? Nothing, oh, the Lord is merciful, just live. Calm down, hush, hush. Everything is fine. Look, the sun is out. The whole world of God was illuminated. And weed, and people, and dogs. All God's creations. Blessed is he who has mercy on cattle. Walk with God, obey. The day is just beginning...
When I returned to the cell in the evening, even my mother's things in black were not visible. And on her bed sat a rosy-cheeked smiling pilgrim from Ukraine.
About Tasya, who snored loudly at night and interfered with the sleep of her cell neighbors
Tasya came to my kiosk to drink tea and pies. I didn’t even know then that her name was Tasya. Seeing her, I wanted to exclaim: “Yes, there are women in Russian villages!”
I poured tea for her and remembered the poet:
This woman is going to mass in front of the whole family in front,
Sitting as if on a chair, a two-year-old child on her chest.
Looking at Tasya, you believe the poet. Become her hero. A galloping horse will stop on its own. And his eyes are blue as the sky. And kind ones. Blonde hair, brown braid. Appearance is remembered.
And in the evening I saw Tasya in our cell. Busily unpacking her heavy knapsacks, she fed us tomatoes and cucumbers. Basom Tasya urged everyone to take part in the meal:
The bread is soft and fresh! Cucumber tomato! Salt them, sprinkle them with salt! Yummy!
And everything was fine until the night came. At night, she slept peacefully, it seems, only Tasya. The rest fell asleep. Because Tasi's snoring swayed the curtains on the windows. I have never heard such snoring. Maybe some epic hero snored like that. And even then, after a hard fight with adversaries and a ladle of mead.
Waking up, the cheerful Tasya wished everyone a “good morning”. She probably wondered why the rest were sleepy and not so cheerful.
After the weekend, the crowd of pilgrims moved out and the old-timers remained in the cell: me, Lida and Tasya. Lida has obedience in the fraternal refectory, such obedience is considered difficult and responsible. Like mine - in the monastery kiosk.
And Tasya, as a newcomer, was sent to obey in the garden, for weeding.
So we lived together for three days. And they stayed for three nights. On the fourth day, Lida told me:
I can not do it anymore. I didn't sleep half the night today. Something needs to be done about this. I already sleep with earplugs, but no earplugs help with such snoring. It's like trying to sleep next to a passing train. And very close. Between rails.
Linda, what are you doing here? Here we prayed in the evening: “Lord, give me humility, chastity and obedience. Lord, give me patience, generosity and meekness. So?
Well, like this. We prayed.
Here is a wonderful opportunity for you to cultivate patience, humility, meekness and generosity towards your sister.
Ol, you're kidding me, right? Here patience must be angelic. Do I look like an angel?
Tasha comes in. The look is sad, in the heroic figure sorrow. We become ashamed. Tasha looks like a big child. She wants to be comforted and cuddled.
Tasha, what happened?
Girls, you are probably going to be very upset. Just like me. We are separated from you. And I've already made friends with you!
Linda and I look at each other. Are we going to sleep peacefully now?
And Tasha continues:
We live for free, for obedience. A large group comes for a tour. They leave you and Lida, but they told me to go to the trailer. If I had money, I would pay for the weekend to stay with you. But there is no money. And it's very stuffy in the van. I don't know how I'm going to sleep there. My heart, girls, hurts a lot.
This is already more serious. I look at Linda. Her face is dark and thoughtful. She asks:
Tasya, didn't you say that you have a heart disease?
No girls! And you don't speak! I’ll work in Optina, maybe my health will get better. And how I felt good with you! You are kind, you are welcome! Save you Lord! Now I'm going to work and move to the trailer.
And Tasha leaves. And Lida and I are silent. Then she says in a trembling voice:
Ol! We are kind and friendly! Do you hear?
I am silent. My nose tingles and I want to cry. I take a deep breath and say:
Lead, I have a stash. For cakes and sweets.
And I have. Let's go, for a pie, shall we buy?
We take out our stash and silently go to the refectory. We go in, for some time we stand near the ruddy pies, inhale the aroma of coffee, admire the mouth-watering sandwiches.
Then, just as silently, without saying a word, we pass further to the desk of the duty administrators of the pilgrimage hotel. We get the money that Tasi does not have and pay for it. We return just in time for her arrival.
Tasya, you don't have to go to the trailer. The attendant came, they leave you with us.
Tasya laughs happily and alternately squeezes Lida and me in her heroic embrace.
My cute girls! I'm with you! Hooray!
And she sings in bass:
From a smile it will become brighter for everyone
And the elephant, and even the little snail!
Hush, Tasya, otherwise we will all be sent to the trailer together!
We can't help but squirm, watching Tasia try to portray the joy of "even a little snail."
Tonight I sleep soundly like a baby. In the morning I understand that I never woke up from Tasya's snoring. I sit on the bed and look at Lida. Lida stretches sweetly and says:
How well I slept today! And I didn’t hear Tasya’s snoring at all! Can you imagine?!
A story about non-random accidents
This is the story of the pilgrim Olga. Olga has been going to Optina for a long time, taking care of her spiritual father, Abbot A. Here is what she said:
“Before coming to Optina, I had many difficult worries. And during these worries-tests, I once again became convinced that all the accidents that occur in our lives are not accidental.
This story began on a cold April evening this year, when I hurried home after work. Tired, cold. The weather is cold, wet, slushy. Now, I think, under a hot shower, and then a fragrant tea, a book, a warm blanket - and into your favorite easy chair.
And suddenly I see a man standing on crutches near the neighboring house. The legs appear to be frostbitten. He looks quite sick. Dressed like a bum. The smell from him is a mile away bad. swaying. Barely stands in the wind.
Well, I think, you stand and stand to yourself. I don't have enough worries! I went to the entrance, I look around - it’s standing, swaying, it’s about to fall. I became ashamed.
You understand... When you listen to a sermon in church about who my neighbor is, do you remember this one from the Gospel? As people passed by a man beaten and wounded by robbers and no one stopped. Everyone went about their business as if it didn't concern them. And only one Samaritan had compassion, bandaged his wounds and took care of him. Remembered?
So, when you read the Gospel or listen to a sermon, you are indignant: well, what insensitive people, how could they pass by, not help a person in trouble?
Now, you think I would never pass by! And then you pass and you don't even notice it! Because the wounded man from the Gospel does not communicate with you in any way with the bum who smells bad. Understand?
What's wrong with you? Maybe you need help?
And he looked at me and suddenly sobbed like a child:
You are the first one to stop. Everyone passes by. And I can't stand anymore. I think, well, okay, I’ll fall, so I’ll lie down. I'm freezing, so I'm exhausted. I can't live like this anymore, my life is worse than a dog's.
I realized that this is a long time. But there is nothing to do. Gruzdev called himself get in the body. First of all, I sat him on a bench and asked where he lived.
And he is already so cold that his lips do not move. Pointing up. Well, we went with him somehow along the entrance, up the stairs. He leans on me almost completely, and I just turn my nose away.
I think that you are “lucky”, Olya, for sure, the fifth floor! It turned out, not a floor, but an attic! So, I think in our life there is always a place for adventure! You don't even have to look for them. They find us themselves. Hello Samaritan!
Now I will have to undergo a complete sanitation. Otherwise, they will be kicked out of work tomorrow.
Got up somehow. In the attic he has a bunch of rags - a bed is not a bed, a nest is not a nest. In general, the horror is quiet! And he says:
I haven't eaten anything for three days.
I ran to the store, brought food, ran home, poured hot tea into a thermos. She went up to the attic, fed him, gave him tea to drink. I see it has turned a little pink. And then he was pale, they put it in a coffin more beautifully! And he told me how he ended up in the attic.
Borya once left his wife with a little son. He left them for another woman, with whom he lived for 20 years. I never thought about my ex-wife and son. Didn't help anything. He did not formalize relations with a new cohabitant, he had an old registration - his wife and son.
And now the time has come when the past powerfully invaded Bori's life. Looks like it's time to pay the bills. The cohabitant died, and Borya was kicked out of the apartment by the relatives of this woman, who declared their rights to the inheritance. Where should Borya go? You have to live somewhere.
He went to his place of residence. And there the adult son answers him: “You didn’t need me when you were little. And now I don't need you. Go back to where you've been for twenty years."
And Borya returned to the house where he had lived for twenty years, made himself a bed in the attic. And he began to live there. Soon he lost his normal appearance, he began to smell bad. Neighbors began to drive Borya out of the attic. Then he froze his legs. They took him to the hospital. And then he returned to the attic again.
He began to get very sick. Several times the neighbors called him an ambulance, but then the ambulance stopped coming, because Borya did not have a residence permit. So today they called an ambulance, but she didn’t even come.
I called my spiritual father, and the priest blessed me to bring Borya to the orphanage that he had built next to Optina. But first it was necessary to treat Bora's legs in the hospital.
Well, I think that's the problem so the problem! They will not put Borya in a taxi, maybe they will refuse to go to the hospital without a residence permit.
But it all turned out as if an angel was guarding us, opening all the doors in front of us and removing all obstacles.
We are going, I look - and he has a road icon on the panel. Usually on such icons - the Savior, the Mother of God and Nicholas the Wonderworker. And this driver also has Ambrose Optinsky.
I ask: “Why do you have an icon of Ambrose of Optinsky?” He even got a little offended. And why not, he says, I often go to Optina, I read the Optina elders. I take nourishment there at Abbot A. A very spiritual father! And I was delighted and said: “Yes, this is my spiritual father! With his blessing, I’m taking Borya to the hospital.”
The driver laughs: “Well, you and I are like in Indian films: brother found sister! And it’s true, you and I are spiritual brother and sister!”
So he took Borey and me to the hospital and did not take any money. Left the phone. He promised to help Borya take him to the shelter.
In the hospital they say: “Only with the consent of the head physician can your Borya be admitted to the hospital. And you need to make an appointment with the head doctor in advance!”
They just spoke, I look - they whisper: “Out, the head physician has gone!” I run up to a strict tall man in a snow-white robe and quickly blurt out: “We need to send Borya to the shelter, and before that, he needs to be treated in the hospital!”
And the doctor looks at me carefully and asks: “What kind of shelter is this?”
Shelter, - I answer, - next to Optina.
Come on, come to my office. You will not be from A.'s father?
In general, solid "non-random" accidents. The head physician, as you probably already guessed, has been to Optina more than once. And he had to deal with Abbot A. and his orphanage.
So they treated Borya and sent him to a shelter.
You see, our world is really small. And how we are all closely connected with each other by a special spiritual connection!”
So Olga ends her story. I listen to this story and think: “Would I stop or pass by?” And I understand that I have no confidence in the answer.
My story is not like the confession of a person who has traveled a long path full of spirituality, made his way through thorns to the stars and felt all the hardships and blessings of a hermit life, away from home, in the bosom of the Almighty. I have always belonged to this world and have never been able to renounce it, no matter how strong my relationship with God was.
I was the most ordinary girl who graduated from school and dreamed of entering the theological faculty, and then go further, comprehending the theological seminary. I had no stigmata, no visions, no Orthodox upbringing, where the commandments would be the basis of growing up and personality formation. While my friends and peers were thinking about who they would like to become in the future, I knew that my path would lead me to the monastery.
I wanted to become a nun, to get away from the worldly, to simplify, to serve not myself, but God.
My life was exclusively secular, with the exception of the influence of my grandmother, who from childhood spoke to me about matters that were more subtle and incomprehensible to me - faith. I remember, as now, how one day she put before me a large book in a black cover, on which the Bible was written in beautiful but strange letters. We read it together. It was not clear to me what was written there, somehow not in Russian, but my grandmother promised that everything would come with time.
“Reading the Bible is one of the most important steps to understanding God!” - so my grandmother said, stopping my childish impatience. Grandma's faith and openness to everything that was connected with this amazed me. She took me to church, told stories of martyrs and their suffering, gave me icons, and literally took me by the hand to church sacraments. I didn't ask a lot of questions, I just trusted that Grandma knew what she was talking about. She also taught me modesty, the simple rules of a person who steps over the threshold of the temple, and also initiated me into the subtleties of prayer and confession. I did everything as she said, and after I left the temple with some ease, I went towards ordinary secular life.
Grandma's death was a tragedy for me. At that time, I was already almost 16 years old, and the first signs of critical thinking appeared in my mind. Mom did not share grandmother's ideas. It seemed to her that religion and her grandmother's approach to faith was hypocritical. And I realized it too late.
After I experienced my tragedy, a dream settled in my heart - to go to a monastery so that my grandmother could be proud of me, and also because I wanted to figure out: is the outside world preventing me from being sincere with God, or is there a catch in myself? basis.
So, I went through all the necessary stages before leaving. The first step is to withdraw from social life. The second is the cassava. The third is tonsure and vow. I spoke with a priest who came to visit us in the city, and he told me that in order to go to a monastery, no reason is needed. There is no need to be dissatisfied with worldly life, just the desire to save the soul is enough. I had several months to get ready, to finish all my secular affairs, to tell my relatives about my plans, to finally make up my mind. This is what I was doing. I didn't have any particular problems that would require my presence. I convinced my parents that I want this, and they did not convince me. I didn’t have a boyfriend, and I considered this an appropriate sign:
“While my friends are languishing in worldly feelings, I am free from the shackles of the flesh,” this is what I thought when I said goodbye to relatives and friends.
To questions about whether I was burying myself in my youth, I answered confidently that I did not consider going to the monastery a death either bodily or, even more so, spiritual.
Everything was voluntary. Nobody deceived me, nobody promised me a better life. I knew exactly where I was going. Six months before my tonsure, I volunteered at a Christian convention and there I met a lot of people who had roughly the same thoughts about faith, but none of them considered leaving the world. Except me.
So, my journey began with an arrival at the monastery, which was far from the place where I lived (the name of the monastery is hidden at the request of the author - ed.). Around were mountains, forest, beautiful nature, fresh air and some kind of ecstasy spread in the air.
On the threshold I met a woman dressed as a nun who was carrying a large canvas bag with something heavy inside. I volunteered to help her, forgetting about everything.
"It's good that Jesus sent you to help!" - she said and smiled a radiant smile.
It is very difficult to argue with such a phrase. An unforgettable feeling is to realize that Jesus himself sent you.
The nun did not accept my help - she simply clasped my hand in hers, and then went on her way, carrying her heavy load without any tension.
My obedience began, as I later realized, quite traditionally - with physical labor. I helped in the kitchen, cleaned the cells, and also helped those who were sick and could not change clothes and eat by themselves.
People from the world often turned to our monastery for help, and we helped. The sister with whom I served and helped her to dress the sick always said this:
"We cannot do big things, but we must do small things with great love."
I was very tired from a lot of physical labor. At the end of the day, I literally fell off my feet, but at first the thought of dropping everything and leaving did not visit me. I just prayed and thought that difficulties are just trials that will one day become part of my new life.
During my obedience, I managed to fall in love with everyone who was around. I thought about becoming a real nun, but I soon realized that I had made a mistake...
I was not at all embarrassed by the amount of work and great physical labor, I was worried that my temperament could not become truly monastic. I was meek and silent, I never asked controversial questions and did not break my vows, but in my soul I still had a question that I wanted to know the answer to since childhood: what is real and what is not?
The real was not the spiritual part of this complex world, but the physical. If you think that the most severe was the test of renunciation of the flesh, chastity, or long prayers, then I will disappoint you. Such conflicts can strike a person who is not spiritually prepared, and I was ready.
The worst thing is the conditions in which we lived. We worked exclusively by hand, did not use deodorants or any other cosmetic and hygiene products, bathed in cold water, regardless of the weather, did not save ourselves with fans in hot weather.
The textbook image of a nun is a woman struggling with the demons of lust and loneliness, but in real monastic life there are problems not with sex, but with hygiene. The realization that you are dirty, sweaty, smell bad wherever you can excrete any liquid, beat off all the lustful thoughts that could come to mind, and in most cases they simply did not have the strength. This is a romantic veil, someone's fantasy, a fetish, but not a nun's problem.
The novices slept together in the same cell, in beds standing at a distance of half a meter from each other. We did not have electric light sources, so we had to dress in complete darkness, as we got up at 4 in the morning. This seemed to be enough to make us feel a little odious, but on top of this uncomfortable morning routine, the rules of the monastery dictated that we hide under the sheet of our bed to change clothes, because it is a sin to see someone else's naked body.
When I officially became a nun, it was still not easy for me. Those bright feelings that I experienced while fulfilling obediences and, exhausted, hoping for the best, have passed. I began to think about how everything really looks.
The novices could not smile and joyfully answer the requests of other nuns.
I was constantly reproached for being “not obedient enough” and for having “too high self-esteem.” The last comment has always been very painful for me.
After I asked the head nun about why the novices eat stale bread and use newspapers instead of toilet paper, I was reprimanded and sent to additional work, which delayed my obedience for another six months.
By the standards of the monastery, it's like staying a second year at school - humiliating, but for educational purposes. Not the most flattering glory began to go about me.
Once the mother of our monastery asked my name, and after I answered her, I saw her frown eyebrows and heard the following:
"Oh sister, I've heard a lot about you."
I didn't know what to say to her. I didn’t come up with anything other than a cheeky “I also heard about you,” but I said nothing, obediently lowering my eyes to the floor.
In addition to physical difficulties, I began to experience psychological pressure as well. Not only did we have to kneel on the cold concrete floor for 4 hours every day, but our older sister said a very wild phrase every morning:
“Sisters, you must kill yourself. Your lazy and selfish nature keeps you angry."
We only had two monastic outfits. We put on one cassock, the other was washed by hand in cold water. So we changed clothes. One day the teacher sister followed me outside to watch me wash my clothes. She took out her crucifix and turned to me with the words:
“Sister, what a painful wound you inflict on Our Savior when you wash your clothes with such an empty soul.”
The sister meant that even the washing of the cassock had to be filled with care and love. I didn't answer, but I was emotionally very depressed.
The realization that with ordinary washing and the inability to remove stains from shabby fabric I almost literally tormented God was unbearable.
I began to blame myself for my anger. I didn't know if I could overcome my nature or if things would only get worse.
As an obedience, we helped in the local women's shelter: we cleaned, provided first aid to the sick, and also prayed. My sister and I cleaned the room, she washed the floor, and I cleaned the chests of drawers. In one of them I found tampons.
We did not have the usual hygiene products in the modern world. We wore cloth diapers, and during menstruation we put specially folded rags right into our underwear. These same linings we then washed by hand.
Seeing the tampon, I could not overcome the bad thoughts, so I just grabbed it and hid it in my belt.
When I left the room, I was overcome with such shame that I could hardly hold back my tears. I could not find solace in prayer when I thought that a woman should not use such simple things as hygiene products. This way of being simple seemed humiliating to me, and not a single nun who was able to overcome her ego would have supported me, even though in the depths of her soul, perhaps, she would have understood.
When my additional obedience was coming to an end, I no longer knew who I was, what I wanted, and why I was here. I have been blessed to return to the world. I left with a heavy heart, remembering the words of that kind sister who said that Jesus himself had sent me here, remembering her smile, tears welling up in my eyes.
My relatives helped me start life in the world again: they let me live with them while I was looking for a job, I thought that it was worth going back to study. In addition, I thought about psychotherapy. I was at a loss, deeply embarrassed, disappointed in myself and the whole world.
“How could you have gone in such a wrong way, pursuing such a good goal?”
I was ashamed that I left the monastery, and also that I decided to become a nun. I was ashamed that I didn't want it anymore.
A year later, I found a fragile peace within myself. I realized that being a nun is not a cross, it is a choice that must come on its own, but it can also be unsuccessful. Since then, I have heard many stories about how women return to the world and then come back, do not lose God, do not lose faith, breathe and pray differently. I thanked God for such a failure, because I learned a lot about myself. You should not rush to leave the world behind, but you should also not think that it is stupid to abandon the secular life in favor of the spiritual. I wanted to follow this path, but it turned out not to be mine.
I remember that “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven,” and I am one of them.
16:20, September 19, 2009, PAI = su.pol (2:5033/21.173) ==================== ... ======= =========== Msg: 866 of 942 From: Yury Sukachyov 2:5004/75.346 17 Sep 09 23:04:30 To: All Subj: Orthodox pedagogy as it is ======= === ... ====================
A pupil of the monastery wrote a letter to the President of Russia
2009-09-16 14:12:32
President of the Russian Federation D.A. Medvedev
copies:
His Holiness Kirill, Patriarch of Moscow and All Rus';
the Prosecutor General of the Russian Federation;
Commissioner for Children's Rights under the President of the Russian Federation
From imperfect ... to her Perova Valentina Evgenievna ... located at the address: Vladimir region, Suzdal district, pos. Bogolyubovo, st. Lenina, d. 51, Holy Bogolyubsky Monastery.
I actually live at:
Moscow, st. Profsoyuznaya, 27, building 4.
Dear Dmitry Anatolyevich!
I, Valentina Evgenievna Perova, was born on September 26, 1992. Until the age of 6, I lived in the Rostov region in the village of Golubinka. My parents, Tatyana Anatolyevna Perova (didn't work anywhere) and Yevgeny Mikhailovich Perov (first he worked in the police, then as an electrician), divorced because my father began to drink often. After that, we, three sisters Zhenya, Masha and I, with my mother left for the city of Kazelsk, st. Victory. We lived there for 3 years. Then, in 2001, my mother took me and my older sister Zhenya to the Vladimir region, Suzdal district, the village of Bogolyubovo, to the Bogolyubovsky convent. I didn’t want to stay in the monastery, but my mother said that Zhenya and I would live for two weeks and then she would pick us up, and she left with her younger sister Masha. She arrived a year later and also stayed in this monastery. There we were assigned to different groups, me and Masha in the younger one (in different rooms), and Zhenya in the older one. Mom in the monastery worked in the hayfield (in summer), in the winter in the kitchen. Seen very rarely (not allowed). Mom forbade writing letters to relatives, calling, took away all the addresses. My mother did not live long, she fell ill with cancer and died in 2003. When my mother was sick, we were not allowed to see her, we did not see her at all for two months before her death. It was difficult to live in the monastery, they were punished very severely, almost for nothing. If you look wrong, the educator will not like it, he can give a lot of bows to the earth, do 1000 without rest, put him on an unstable chair to pray all night. They can easily be deprived of food for a day or three days. They beat him with a belt buckle to bruises. And if you enter a room without the Jesus Prayer, you will be forced to open and close the door 1,000 times and read the prayer at the same time. We go to the service every day, whether you like it or not, they will still force you to go. It was very hard to stand, the services are long, 4 hours each, and you have to stand without moving. Because of this, many girls have sore legs and so do I. The doctor forbade us to stand for more than 30 minutes, but we stood anyway. In the summer we worked on the field, and the field is large, 4 hectares (this is a children's field). There were not many of us, 20 girls. They worked from 6 to 8 in the evening. And the break was short, one hour and 30 minutes. Or 2 hours. We were very tired, they constantly urged us on, and at night they got up at 12 o’clock, and we prayed together for an hour and a half, and those who fell asleep standing up were driven out into the corridor to pray all night. Me and another girl, Veronica Sarina, got tired of everything, and we decided to run away from the monastery. It was in 2007 in the morning, at 7 o'clock in the morning. This girl and I, while no one saw it, climbed over the fence behind the temple and fled to the city. Vladimir to Xenia (this Xenia also used to be in this monastery, and her grandmother worked as a lawyer, so we decided to run away to her). We did not stay there for long, only up to 12 days, because at that moment my grandmother was not at home and they came for us from the monastery by car, they twisted our hands behind our backs and dragged us into the car. Our teacher Malkevich Anastasia Sergeevna (m. Rafaila), the monastery driver and Veronica's mother came to pick us up. When they brought us to the monastery, they began to call us names, scold us very strongly, and ridicule us. And on the same day they put us in seclusion (that is, for three days not to eat or sleep, but to pray. These seclusions were frequent in the monastery. Adults were in seclusion every month, and children from 12 years old every post). And in 2008, they changed our teacher - Malkevich Anastasia Sergeevna (m. Rafaila) was appointed as an assistant to the dean (these are responsible for order in the monastery), and we were appointed teacher Efremova Natalia Ivanovna (she came to the monastery in 2007 and has a legal education). At first she treated us well. Then our former teacher began to teach her how to treat us, listed all the former punishments and what to punish too. Natalya Efremova overdid it, we prayed more with her, there were punishments almost every day. Then she ordered thick black nightgowns from the sewing shop and made her sleep only in them, and if you washed them and they didn’t dry out in a day, she made her sleep in damp ones. She forced the nuns to wear such nightgowns under the bottom of their outerwear, and those who did not wear them were very severely punished with a belt. Our tutor asked the monastery authorities for an ancient charter (rules by which monks live) of 1803 and forced us to live according to this charter, and there are strict rules. When in the morning our children's choir sang a service, and then two akathists at once, one girl, Sveta Kuznetsova, and I sat down during the akathist, when they were not singing, the regent did not like this, and therefore she wanted to tell the teacher about us. We asked her for forgiveness, but she still told. Natalya Efremova did not punish us, she went and told the authorities about us, and they decided to cut off our hair for this. We didn't know anything about it. In the evening, the teacher calls me and Sveta Kuznetsova and leads me to the main building to the Bishop's (where the bishop is received), we go in, the doors are immediately closed behind us and Dean Valentina Sumina (m. Lyudmila) leans on them. In this room were Archimandrite Peter, the abbess of the monastery, nun George, the treasurer, nun Arsenia (the aunt of the former tutor), and our former tutor, M. Raphael. The abbess silently takes scissors out of her pocket and gives them to Archimandrite Peter (Kucher Petr Petrovich). He first calls Sveta, cuts her hair, and then me. I was very upset because there was no one to intercede for us. After that, my older sister was transferred to live in the main building so that I would not complain to her and would not communicate with her. After that, the teacher became even more angry with me. She began to write all sorts of gossip about me. The fact that I steal money in the temple, go to the store, buy cosmetics and distribute it to the girls. She went to the authorities about this, and they came up with all sorts of punishments for me. Although everyone knew perfectly well that I did not steal any money, and even adults were not allowed to go outside the monastery. She also came up with the fact that I kiss with the boys in the monastery (they are not even allowed to look at them, they are punished for this with a belt). The authorities also believed this. Me and another girl, Ksenia Golovchenko, were punished very severely. We were put in different rooms without amenities and practically without furniture for 12 days without food (on some breadcrumbs and water). These rooms were cold, and we communicated through the window, because. the windows were on one side. At this time, we walked for 3 km to take exams at the Novoselsk school. The teachers didn't visit us at that time. Because of all this, I ran away a second time with Kristina Fedorova (a girl from our group). I don’t want to go back there and I don’t want to see these people either, except for my sisters. I want to go to school and get an education. I want to live a normal life. I ask you to protect my rights and interests, I do not want to be registered in the monastery.
Since August 19, 2009, I have been living in Moscow at the address: Ul. Profsoyuznaya, 27, building 4, phone: 8-499-128-66-20, shelter.
On August 31, 2009, the guardianship authorities of the Suzdal region came to me and wanted to take me away. I refused to go, because I am very afraid that they will return me to the monastery. My sisters Masha and Zhenya continue to live in the monastery. I really appreciate your help and protection.
09/11/2009 Perova V.E.
--- * Origin: Kaluga, Russia (2:5004/75.346)
First try
I went to the monastery several times. The first desire arose when I was 14 years old. Then I lived in Minsk, studied in the first year of a music school. He had just started going to church and asked to sing in the church choir of the cathedral. In a shop in one of the Minsk churches, I accidentally came across a detailed life of St. Seraphim of Sarov - a thick book, about 300 pages. I read it in one fell swoop and immediately wanted to follow the example of the saint.
Soon I had the opportunity to visit several Belarusian and Russian monasteries as a guest and pilgrim. In one of them, I became friends with the brethren, which at that time consisted of only two monks and one novice. Since then, I have periodically come to this monastery to live. For various reasons, including due to my young age, in those years I did not manage to fulfill my dream.
The second time I thought about monasticism was years later. For several years I have been choosing between different monasteries - from St. Petersburg to mountainous Georgian monasteries. Went there for a visit and had a look. Finally, he chose the St. Elias Monastery of the Odessa diocese of the Moscow Patriarchate, in which he entered as a novice. By the way, we met with his viceroy and talked for a long time before a real meeting in one of the social networks.
monastic life
Having crossed the threshold of the monastery with things, I realized that my worries and doubts were behind me: I was at home, now I was waiting for a difficult, but understandable and bright life, full of spiritual exploits. It was quiet happiness.
The monastery is located in the very center of the city. We were free to leave the territory for a short time. It was even possible to go to the sea, but for a longer absence it was necessary to obtain permission from the governor or dean. If you need to leave the city, permission had to be in writing. The fact is that there are a lot of deceivers who put on vestments and pretend to be priests, monks or novices, but at the same time have nothing to do with either the clergy or monasticism. These people go to towns and villages, collect donations. Permission from the monastery was a kind of shield: hardly anything, without any problems, it was possible to prove that you were your own, real.
In the monastery itself, I had a separate cell, and for this I am grateful to the governor. Most of the novices and even some of the monks lived in twos. All amenities were on the floor. The building was always clean and tidy. This was followed by civilian workers of the monastery: cleaners, laundresses and other employees. All household needs were met in abundance: we were well fed in the fraternal refectory, looked through our fingers at the fact that we also had our own products in the cells.
I felt very great joy when something tasty was served in the refectory! For example, red fish, caviar, good wine. Meat products were not consumed in the common refectory, but we were not forbidden to eat them. Therefore, when I managed to buy something outside the monastery and drag it into my cell, I also rejoiced. Without a holy order, there were few opportunities to earn money on one's own. For example, they paid, it seems, 50 hryvnias for the ringing of bells during the wedding. This was enough either to put it on the phone, or to buy something tasty. More serious needs were provided at the expense of the monastery.
We got up at 5:30, with the exception of Sundays and major church holidays (on such days two or three liturgies were served, and everyone got up depending on which liturgy he wanted or had to attend or serve according to the schedule). At 6:00 the morning monastic prayer rule began. It was to be attended by all the brethren, except for the sick, absent, and so on. Then at 7:00 the liturgy began, for which the serving priest, deacon and the sexton on duty were required to attend. The rest are optional.
At that time, I either went to the office for obedience, or returned to my cell to sleep for a few more hours. At 9 or 10 o'clock in the morning (I don't remember exactly) there was breakfast, at which it was not necessary to attend. At 13 or 14 o'clock there was a dinner with the obligatory presence of all the brethren. At dinner, the lives of the saints whose memory was celebrated that day were read, and important announcements were made by the monastic authorities. At 5 p.m., the evening service began, after which there was dinner and the evening monastic prayer rule. The time of going to bed was not regulated in any way, but if the next morning one of the brethren woke up the rule, they sent him with a special invitation.
Once I had a chance to bury a hieromonk. He was very young. A little older than me. I did not know him during my lifetime. They say he lived in our monastery, then he left somewhere and flew under the ban. And so he died. But they buried, of course, like a priest. So, all of us brethren around the clock at the tomb read the Psalter. My duty once was at night. In the temple there was only a coffin with a body and me. And so for several hours, until the next one replaced me. There was no fear, although Gogol was remembered several times, yes. Was there any pity? I do not even know. Neither life nor death is in our hands, so pity - do not pity ... I only hoped that he had time to repent before his death. Like all of us, we need to be on time.
Leprosy of novices
On Easter, after a long fast, I became so hungry that, without waiting for the common festive meal, I ran across the road to McDonald's. Right in the cassock! I and anyone else had such an opportunity, and no one made any comments. By the way, many, leaving the monastery, changed into civilian clothes. I never parted with the vestments. While I lived in the monastery, I simply did not have any secular clothes at all, except for jackets and trousers, which had to be worn under a cassock in cold weather so as not to freeze.
In the monastery itself, one of the amusements of the novices was fantasizing about who would be given what name at the tonsure. Usually only the one who tonsures and the ruling bishop know him until the last moment. The novice himself learns about his new name only under scissors, so we joked: we found the most exotic church names and called each other by them.
And punishment
For systematic delays, they could be put on bows, in the most difficult cases - on the salt (a place next to the altar) in front of the parishioners, but this was done extremely rarely and always justifiably.
Sometimes, someone left without permission for several days. Once a priest did it. They returned it with the help of the governor directly by phone. But then again, all such cases were like childish pranks in a large family. Parents can scold, but nothing more.
There was a funny incident with one worker. The worker is layman, secular person who came to the monastery to work. He does not belong to the brethren of the monastery and has no obligations to the monastery, except for general church and general civil (do not kill, do not steal, and more). At any moment, a worker may leave, or, on the contrary, may become a novice and follow the monastic path. So, one worker was put at the entrance of the monastery. A friend came to the governor and said: "What a cheap parking you have in the monastery!". And it's completely free! It turned out that this same worker took money from visitors for parking. Of course, he was strongly reproached for this, but they did not expel him.
The hardest
When I was just visiting, the governor warned me that real life in the monastery differs from what is written in the lives and other books. Preparing me to take off my rose-colored glasses. That is, to some extent, I was warned about some negative things that could take place, but I was not ready for everything.
As in any other organization, in the monastery, of course, there are very different people. There were also those who tried to curry favor with their superiors, were conceited before the brethren, and so on. For example, once a hieromonk who was under a ban came to us. This means that the ruling bishop temporarily (usually until repentance) forbade him to serve as a punishment for some offense, but the priesthood itself was not removed. This father and I were the same age and at first we became friends, we talked on spiritual topics. Once he even drew a kind caricature of me. I still keep it with me.
The closer the matter came to lifting the ban, the more I noticed that he was behaving with me more and more arrogantly. He was appointed assistant sacristan (the sacristan is responsible for all liturgical vestments), and I was a sacristan, that is, during the performance of my duties I was directly subordinate to both the sacristan and his assistant. And here, too, it became noticeable how he began to treat me differently, but the apotheosis was his demand to address him as you after the ban was lifted from him.
For me, the most difficult things, not only in monastic life, but also in worldly life, are subordination and labor discipline. In the monastery, it was absolutely impossible to communicate on an equal footing with fathers higher in rank or position. The hand of the authorities was visible always and everywhere. This is not only and not always the governor or the dean. It could have been the same sacristan and anyone above you in the monastic hierarchy. Whatever happened, no later than an hour later, they already knew about it at the very top.
Although there were those among the brethren with whom I perfectly found a common language, despite not only the huge distance in the hierarchical structure, but also the solid difference in age. Once I came home on vacation and really wanted to get an appointment with the then Metropolitan of Minsk Filaret. I thought about my future fate and really wanted to consult with him. We often met when I took my first steps in the church, but I was not sure if he would remember me and accept me. Coincidentally, there were many venerable Minsk priests in the queue: rectors of large churches, archpriests. And then the metropolitan comes out, shows his hand at me and calls me to his office. Ahead of all abbots and archpriests!
He listened to me attentively, then told me at length about his monastic experience. He spoke for a very long time. When I left the office, the whole line of archpriests and rectors looked at me very strongly, and one rector, who was familiar from the old days, took it and said to me in front of everyone: “Well, you spent so much time there that you had to leave with a panagia” . Panagia is such a badge of distinction worn by bishops and above. The line burst out laughing, there was a détente, but the Metropolitan's secretary then cursed very much that I had taken the Metropolitan's time for so long.
Tourism and emigration
Months passed, and absolutely nothing happened to me in the monastery. I very much desired tonsure, ordination, and further service in holy orders. I will not hide it, I also had episcopal ambitions. If at the age of 14 I longed for ascetic monasticism and complete withdrawal from the world, then when I was 27 years old, one of the main motives for entering the monastery was episcopal consecration. Even in my thoughts, I constantly imagined myself in the position of a bishop and in the vestments of a bishop. One of my main obediences in the monastery was work in the office of the governor. Documents passed through the office for the ordination of some seminarians and other henchmen (candidates for holy orders), as well as for monastic vows in our monastery.
Many henchmen and candidates for monastic vows passed through me. Some of them went from layman to hieromonk before my very eyes and were appointed to parishes. With me, as I said, absolutely nothing happened! In general, it seemed to me that the governor, who was also my confessor, to some extent alienated me from himself. Before entering the monastery, we were friends, we talked. When I came to the monastery as a guest, he constantly took me with him on trips. When I arrived at the same monastery with things, at first it seemed to me that the governor seemed to have been replaced. "Don't confuse tourism and emigration," some brethren joked. This is largely why I decided to leave. If I had not felt that the viceroy had changed his attitude towards me, or if I had at least understood the reason for such changes, perhaps I would have remained in the monastery. And so I felt unnecessary in this place.
From scratch
I had access to the Internet, I could consult on any issues with very experienced clergy. I told everything about myself: what I want, what I don’t want, what I feel, what I’m ready for and what I’m not. Two clergymen advised me to leave.
I left with great disappointment, with an insult to the viceroy. But I I do not regret anything and I am very grateful to the monastery and the brethren for the experience gained.When I left, the governor told me that he could tonsure me five times as a monk, but something stopped him.
When he left, there was no fear. There was such a jump into the unknown, a feeling of freedom. This is what happens when you finally make a decision that feels right.
I started my life completely from scratch. When I decided to leave the monastery, I had not only civilian clothes, but also money. There was nothing at all, except for a guitar, a microphone, an amplifier and his personal library. I brought it back with me from my worldly life. These were mostly church books, but secular ones also came across. The first I agreed to sell through the monastery shop, the second I took to the city book market and sold there. So I got some money. A few friends also helped - they sent me money orders.
The abbot of the monastery gave money for a one-way ticket (we ended up reconciled. Vladyka is a most beautiful person and a good monk. To communicate with him even once every few years is a very great pleasure). I had a choice where to go: either to Moscow, or to Minsk, where I lived, studied and worked for many years, or to Tbilisi, where I was born. I chose the latter option and a few days later I was on the ship that was taking me to Georgia.
In Tbilisi, my friends met me. They also helped to rent an apartment and start a new life. Four months later I returned to Russia, where I have lived permanently to this day. After a long wandering, I finally found my place here. Today I have my own small business: I am a sole trader, providing translation and interpreting services, as well as legal services. I remember the monastic life with warmth.
Just like yesterday, at 6:00 a wake-up man came to our place. Went in, woke up, left. This time I woke up very hard. Slept badly. Went outside. Warm. There is no wind. You can hear the chirping of birds and the "morning dawn" of a rooster from the farm. I went to the temple to look for the hegumen. Valery is fussing at the icon shop, he learned from him that the rector is still in the city and will be somewhere after dinner. I looked at the schedule - I need to help on the farm for the whole day. A little upset, because the plans were to go about their business. 
I went to the temple. Dark as usual. Several monks in their black robes sit on chairs waiting for the service to begin. Here comes the captain. He stood in a far corner, took a rosary from his pocket, fiddled with it and muttered something under his breath. 
The service began on schedule, at 6:30 the same monotonous singing poured through the temple. I decided not to stay in the service until the end. At 7:10 I decided to leave to film the preparation for breakfast. 
Andrei is on duty in the refectory today. 
Trudnik Vitaly as an assistant. Made a few shots. 
General shots of the "kitchen". 
I decided to try my luck in the service, maybe I can shoot something else there. I entered the temple just at the time when the captain was reading aloud. Made a couple of shots. Sat down on a bench. I'm waiting for the end of the service. I decided to work on the farm for a maximum of an hour, and then break my obedience and go about my work. At 7:40 my stomach gave a loud "boo-boo-boo" alert. It would be time for breakfast. Soon the stomach grumbling merged with the muttering of prayers. Service ended. Hurry for breakfast. The clock is 8:30. Home tomorrow morning. I'm planning on the morning ferry. I really want to have time to capture the city at the first rays of the sun. Still no abbot. What if he doesn't come back today? What then?! I really need him, I need his blessing so that I can shoot the cells of the monks, visit the prosphora, if possible, the altar, and take a few shots with him. In the meantime, I'll go to the farm to do my job. On the way, the phone vibrated again. There is a connection! To celebrate, he sent several SMS, called and answered a couple of letters. Andrei met me at the farm. Said to sweep the yard again. 
Along the way, he helped Vasily carry a heavy can of milk to the doorkeeper. Returned to his work. Away, Andrey is kneading a brew for the cattle. 
Someone is busy with the cows. Tomorrow a journalist will arrive and will interview the abbot of the monastery. Well, together we will go back to the city. Almost a third of the farm has already swept. It's time to start your direct work - the collection of material. 
First of all, I went to the most talkative inhabitant of the monastery - Father Valery. He was reading a book in the icon shop. He willingly agreed to comment. Father Valery is a novice at the temple. He lives in the monastery for about a year, performs the duties of a church shopkeeper. Novice Valery is 51 years old. I have never interviewed people in my life, so I asked only those questions that specifically interest me. For a long time I could not understand why people give up their lives, leave a comfortable civilized society and go to a monastery. 
“People go to the monastery for several reasons. The best and most worthy reason is, of course, love for God. An inseparable search for the living God and devote all your strength, all your zeal, all your labors to Him alone. Give him all your heart so that it is always in the Lord. There is another reason, this reason is repentance. This is a man when having exhausted all his life resources that he had in the world. Weakened, squandered his spiritual wealth, those talents that the Lord handed him, he squandered them. He remained, as they say, naked, the soul remained naked, the soul remained hungry, the soul remained unwarmed. And then, having come to his senses, a person repents and looks for such ways of repentance that are more conducive to this repentance, and here is the most toboggan, convenient, most convenient place, the most convenient way. It is the path of repentance, the path of purification, the path of salvation,” Valery answered my question, “Well, for me, the monastery is the house of God, this is the house of the Most Holy Theotokos, this is my vocation.” 
That's where it ended. Next, I had to go to the pasture to take a few shots of a shepherd with cows. Walk close to the local cemetery. Going outside the monastery, I felt a certain freedom, even breathing became a little easier. Having reached the coastline, I saw the outlines of a foggy city in the distance. Vladivostok. In addition, 3G Internet appeared on the phone. I was able to download a couple of instagrams, answer all letters and messages on social networks. 
With a player in my ears, I slowly walked through the cemetery to the pasture. An ordinary meadow, there are cows in the meadow, I counted about 10 of them. 
A shepherd in a green military suit. Sacred music softly plays from the receiver. Worker Valery acted as a shepherd today. 
Made a few shots. They called from work. Long negotiations led to the fact that without noticing it, he reached the monastery, forgetting to interview Valery. 
Having entered the territory of the monastery, I noticed how Father Spiridon was busy with the ZIL truck. He didn't mind me taking pictures of him. 
I took some good shots, asked about how it is to be a monk, what duties fall on his shoulders, how obediences are distributed. 
“The monastic way of life is a renunciation of the world. This is the fulfillment of the commandments of God, but above all - their vows, monastic ones. The monastic vow is a vow of obedience, a dinner of celibacy, a renunciation of the world. Man left the world in order to be related to God, nothing hindered him. The work in the monastery is distributed in such a way that everyone has some kind of obedience. The chef cooks for everyone. They work in the barnyard. Rukholny accepts and distributes things, washes, irons, also for everyone. It turns out that everyone does their own work, but all this work of everyone, it is included in the general obedience for organizing prayer and life in the monastery. But above all, it is salvation. The goal of monasticism is to save oneself and the whole world through prayer. And above all, save your soul. As the Russian proverb said: "Save yourself, thousands around you will be saved." Life according to the commandments of God far from the world. The goal of a monk is to connect with God in this world and the future,” Father Spiridon concluded his thought by comparing monastic life with the life of a soldier. Hard daily work to ensure the life of the monastery as a whole. 
Having finished with the questions, I decided to climb onto the roof of the building under construction. Perhaps it will offer a good view of the territory of the monastery. Uzbeks work at the construction site, I didn't shoot them. 
It is planned to place a garage, utility rooms, refectories, Sunday school, cells, etc. in this building. 
Privratnitskaya 
Apiary 
Monastic cells 
After heading to the farm, you need to find out about the number of livestock on the farm. At the same time asked a few questions. Worker Andrew. 26 years. Six months in the monastery. He asked only one question: "What is the purpose of coming to the monastery?" He answered slowly and uncertainly, probably shy. Don't know. Well, the goal was the search for inner habits, awareness of life, more churching, comparing yourself with people who have gone through the spiritual path, and against their background to see your difference from them. He is not yet ready for monastic life, he is looking closely. 
Our conversation was interrupted by the ringing of a bell - dinner. Long awaited lunch. I have never walked so fast around the temple grounds. For lunch today, vegetable soup, horns, mushrooms and salad. Tea or compote to choose from. 
Prayer before meals. 
After dinner I went to my cell to decipher everything that I managed to write down. You have to wait for the priest. 
After completing the work, I decided to check the presence of Father Piterim in the apiary. This time I got lucky. 
The monk took care of the bees, prepare the hive to feed the bees. At the same time I asked him about the construction of a new building on the territory of the monastery. According to Piterim, the abbot plans to place there a Sunday school, refectories, a car garage, a warehouse, as well as several cells for monks. 
Next, we talked about the apiary itself. There are currently 44 hives on the farm. 
They asked me to help. They dressed in a white robe, put a special panama with a net on their heads. The work was simple, it was just necessary to separate the parts from the hive and put them on the ground. This had to be done very carefully, because. bees really don't like the sound of knocking. There were no casualties. 
Then he went to help prepare syrup for the bees. Two buckets of water are poured into a can, then everything is covered with sugar, in a ratio of 2 to 1 (2 kg of sugar per 1 liter of water). 
After that, mix everything very carefully. The usual sugar syrup is formed, a little thick. Bees love sweets. The syrup is then poured into the kettle and fed into the feeder. That's all. 
The last task was quite simple, to help take out the plywood with wax. Vladimir prepares it for making candles. 
Everything, time to run to the service. Then the long-awaited dinner. Strong desire to eat. The service itself took 30 minutes. Hence the late dinner. After eating, the traditional rules. After the rules, I managed to agree with the rector about tomorrow's interview, at the same time I informed about my tomorrow's county. Unfortunately, I was not allowed to film the cell. They said that I already have so much that a simple layman would not see. Now free time and hang up as usual. I took a few shots of the library. 
Tomorrow at exactly 6 in the morning we get up, by 9 we need to stomp on the ferry to meet the journalist. An hour and a half to stay somewhere, wait for the end of the service in order to interview the rector. And that's all... It will be possible to say goodbye to everyone and go to the mainland. First of all, I’ll go to the editorial office, then to the bar, later I have to pay a fine for a loan, pay off another loan ... In general, do ordinary worldly affairs ... Again, plunge into the world of fuss, problems, city traffic ... But this is my world, my element. I feel comfortable living in this city bustle. Although the monastery is not so bad. No problem at all. There is an obedience, you fulfill it. Everything is strictly on time. There is practically no free time, there is always work. This gave me a little indulgence, because. My visit was working. Okay, this is the end of the description of the third day. Tomorrow is a new day. New impressions. Home tomorrow.
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