Читать книгу Tales Written by the Dying in Awe - Vysheslav Filevsky - Страница 33

Once, when I was yet in my earthly life, I transformed into a fog: I became gray, damp, cool, and formless. I remember my anxious feeling. Being a cloud is strange.

I do not know why and where I was born, but I found myself on a hill. I was not successful in maintaining the level of the hill, so I flowed into a lower place.

To live without a body is wonderful! But I felt a marked annoyance because my consciousness was unclear; something shadowed it. What was it, and why? I could not understand.

Scrubs, thorny weeds, and trees did not scratch me. On the contrary, with tenderness, I embraced them. And it seemed to me that the plants did the same to me. I dragged along the earth, and it did not scratch me. Both on the earth and on the plants, I left particles of my essence. I granted them moisture. They drank me! This is probably what a nursing mother senses. But a mother does not disappear. She takes nourishment and restores her forces. My forces were not being restored. I cannot say that it aggrieved me, but a feeling of weakness grew, of lassitude, drowsiness, and a special blithe quietness.

Spreading wider and wider, I got thinner. No, I did not disappear. But my flesh was becoming more transparent, rarefied, and warm. My consciousness was becoming clearer. The sun was transforming from a white spot into something light yellow and white-hot. I felt that it dissolved me as if I were the snow maiden. At first I tried to hide from it, and I flowed down into a ravine to a brook. I played hide-and-seek with the sun. But it found me through hazel branches, and, being content, it started smiling. I returned the smile to the sun and stretched myself to him. The game was over. Slumber got the upper hand.

I fell asleep, or more precisely, I somehow changed my form. And life continued to enjoy its existence without me – without the fog.