Rусская библиотека им. Тургенева в самом нижнем углу латинского квартала.

Батарея, которая работает на всю силу, книги, которые навалены друг на друга и пахнут
как будто их не трогали со времен Тургенева.
И библиотекарь, Татьяна Ивановна, которая сразу предлагает принести собрание сочинений Набокова, Бунина,
и это за час до закрытия библиотеки.
Парты, заваленные книгами, постоянно кипятящийся чайник на подоконнике, отсутсвие структуры, постоянные разговоры обо всём, переходящие
от обсуждения печений к разговорам о философе Розанове и детской литературы с очень сложным русским языком.

Библиотекарь разговаривает с маленьким мальчиком на русском:
-Где ты родился?
-В Париже.
-А родственники?
-Бабушка и дедушка в России.
-А в каком городе?
-В России?
-Нет, а в городе каком? Россия, она большая
-...?!

Творчество начинается с заготовки сена в солнечный день. С внимания к сейчас и погружения в каждую минуту.

Something about nepali women.
I talked with one woman in Pokhara, a city in Nepal surrounded by mountains:
Me:«Which mountain did you like?»
She was smiling and answered fast: «Machupichucare».
Me: «Did you climb it?»
Her: «Nonono, it is a holy mountain… nobody can climb it».

P.S. How Buddhist society works? Can you observe things around you without necessarily touching them, destroying them, just knowing, that they are present and you are present with them.

Emotions, when you do not express them straight away may get deeper taste, almost like wine.
They can accumulate sun of those days, when they flowered and they may
Memories, when you do not express them write away may become your life and part of you.
HEre I write about our first days in Nepal.
I was prepared to see a lot of poverty. But actually what I saw was not the one, which I expected to see.
I saw many children with dirty cloths and with eyes of small hungry wolves,
I saw old men sitting on the streets and cleaning their metalic plates in order to prepare a bit of rice, stading
in the bag on a dusty road,
I saw women washing cloths just on the streets of Kathmandu, but I did not see
unhappy people, or people bagging because they were on a border of suffering.
Was it because everone is equally poor? Or because they do belive that their place now is indeed not too bad?
I did not know.

What will happen if we perturb the matrix in its one point?
Its spectrum will be perturbed naturally. But it is hard to imagine that this picture, showing perturbation of spectrum has an impact on the whole physics and if we are able to describe this analytically, we will be able to describe mountain rocks changing under the rain, decay of biological systems, erosion of materials… Just simple as that…

In a very cold country which was in the middle of an ocean, full of icebergs and half covered with ice, the small princess was living, of course at the last floor of the castle.
She was made from ice, as also her heart.
Once when she was walking along the coast of the ocean she saw almost frozen bird.
She took it and brought home where the bird drunk a bit of special elicsir, which despite of its cold temperature, made the bird to feel alive again.
«Tell me about other countries you've seen, the bird!»
«There are many people there.»
«What do they do all the time?»
«They walk, play. Also, when someone falls in love with someone else, then this person becomes so warm inside» — and the bird closed her eyes to get a bit warmer from her thoughts.
The princess felt some strange warmth inside just from thinking about it. Warmth for her, as she remember from the childhood would immediately become «death».
«But what if not?»…
(maybe it will continue other night)

Foto from Сказочное Крутицкое подворье

Mexican farmers, who were carrying our stuff, stopped for some time and did not move. Everyone in the expedition was surprised why they stopped without any command and stayed in calm for some time.
«Why do you stop?»
There was no reply from anyone from them. They remained silent the whole time until the end of the journey.
After they were told why they stopped.
They stopped to let their souls to catch up their bodies.

I want to write about parents,
who are those people, who were carrying about me, who were accepting so many, way too many crazy things I did in my small life:
when I flew with a parachute in high school alone, when I went alone to Crimea, went to expeditions at the end of the world, sometimes to abstract Hilbert spaces, from where some people may not return back, when I was copying fotos for hours from books…
There were many hard moments with them, but despite of everything people.

Sometimes, in the grey world the black-white fotos from my childhood make my life so colourful.