MY LAST SEA

 Do not be surprised. Today I decided to invite for an interview… True, it's a bit strange, but… I will not prolong it; yes I decided to invite for an interview myself. Of course, this does not mean that I am tired of everyone, bored and, for example, left, I just have not met me for a long time, I have not stood in front of me and, most importantly, there are questions that only I can answer and I have to answer. There is nothing to hide, years ago I tried several times, prepared properly, analyzed in detail and meticulously some episodes and passages of my past, but when it came time to face it, I did not dare to appear, naturally, seasoning my refusal with thousands of false testimonies. As they say, it did not work, or rather, our meeting did not take place. But I do not think there is a problem to worry or to make stories out of it. The world has remained as it was. I want to say that this meeting will not change anything, unless, of course, I run away again at the last moment. It may not even interest anyone, as it usually happens in such cases. The impression is that the writer writes for himself, and he secretly reads what he has written for himself. I do not want to say only him, although that is often the end of that dialogue. So, a theater of two or a performance with two actors, without an audience. No director, no guard, no make-up artist, no, at least a unique applause... Without decorations...Nothing disturbing. For example, I do not notice anything tragic. There is even some encouraging hint and hidden divination in these failed meetings. For me, at least, it is so. I may be wrong, but to be afraid of making a mistake means to anticipate nothing, to have nothing without thinking, even that doing nothing is an unforgivable mistake, an approach devoid of the graces of living in harmony with nature. Now how can I not try to find out the answer to a very ordinary question from myself, although I am not so sure that the answer will be sincere, I mean, without unnecessary patterns and charm. I do not hide, I have always been interested in what my interlocutor thinks about traditions, whether he is a traditional person or not ... And instead of an answer, my interlocutor always asked, 'and you?'

I must admit, I have often thought about it, but someone seems to have prevented me from speaking about it, even dared to advise as much as possible to stay away from the area, to say that people armed with large stones are waiting impatiently there for me. And I did not say that our long-established traditions and customs often hinder us, that their time of use has long since passed, that they are false, devoid of propulsive power...I've been afraid of thinking that we have entered the furthest depthsand we have neither the desire nor the courage to leave those places…

Me? I do not know where I am. I am like an amphibian. I'm not there, I'm stoned, I'm there, and I'm losing. An intellectual, writer, painter, actor does not dare to explain to the crowd that community thinking is barren, that that thought does not flourish in that community thinking, neither the past nor the present sows the fields of the future. And that writer, painter, actor, teacher becomes an inseparable part of the crowd, even the non-companion, the subject, the false owner of the false value system. And the deceived crowd thinks that the dictator is himself; that what is done, is done for himself, for the sake of his well-being and bright future…

Well, one more question, the answer to which I think you will be very interested in. Have you ever wondered why no one even noticed the silent aging of our villages, or how the houses of two or three hundred years old rest on their backs and shoulders so that they do not suddenly collapse and remain in shame? Let me tell you, it's still from our old tradition, you will not believe it, we will put a thousand and one accusers next to each other, as if where the traditions and customs, where the aging villages are, it is inconvenient to think, it is just a shame,both the enemy and my friendare listening… but ... how can I say that nothing has changed in our village for a hundred years, nothing has changed. Don't you think it's a matter of thinking?

… I was born in one of those houses and I still remember the smell of dampness, smoke coming out of the stove and old things… But, you know, I'm proud that it was made by my grandfather's, how many people in our family come from there , that already on the cracking walls are the big photos of my grandparents, my grandfather's grandfather, in thick wooden frames, like, say, fifty years ago…

I am afraid of losing… do you know who, the people… andthe desire to write……

What about freedom..?

Do you want to ask, if am I not afraid of losing it? Of course, not. Why be afraid when you do not know what it is - that is, the so-called freedom, that intangible self-consolation - it is kind of even illogical to lose something that does not exist, has not existed and cannot exist.

Yes, everywhere, every hour, I am afraid of those who give the name of the Lord… When I meet them, for some reason, I think that we have adopted a false Christianity, that we have deceived ourselves in this way...

Many people think about changing the world, there are people who are convinced that they were born with such a mission, it is their monopoly. And the sad thing is that the planet Earth has never lacked such people. They came and went, but the world remained the same. Do you know why, I say, because it is handmade, man did not participate, he could not participate in such a creation.

For example, I cannot even change myself, although I often have such a naive desire. And I did not hide it from anyone. But we can say with confidence that there is no result. And I do not think that's bad. If everyone decides to change one day, the world will lose self-control, the world can not breathe…

Wars… they destroy everything; they bring a person closer to another war, more savage, more deadly, more destructive… We talk non-stop about that ugliness,it is with us everywhere, next to us. We kill, we are killed… we are killed, we kill… We test the Lord again and again, force us to punish ourselves… give up on us.

Will we be left alone… Or maybe we are already left; I am afraid to think…

And you came and speak of freedom …

Do you remember that before the third war, the worms began to eat our trees? There were no trees left from Hadrut to Shushi. The worm destroyed everything. In the summer heat there were naked, drying trees…

Was it a signal… an advice… an alarm… a warning…?

The enemy came along that way, the way opened by someone else… accompanied by the worm.

And Shushi…

Not to mention… Shushi is the last sea I lost… the last…