My Way

Throughout the blog’s existence I have been asked the same questions — “Who taught you?”, “Where did your knowledge come from?” and the like.

I will briefly tell about my first encounters with the Force.

It all began more than twenty years ago, in 1989, when I was still at school. At school I was active as a pioneer and community activist, and one of the public activities I led was a study group on history of religions, officially created for high school students as a supplement to the history course, but in reality mainly attended by progressive teachers. It must be said that, for those times, running such a circle in one of the city’s elite schools was somewhat problematic, because although perestroika was in full swing, public opinion had not yet broken away from Marxist-Leninist ideology and state atheism. But, in any case, the circle had an air of dissent, which made it all the more attractive.

In May of that year I was going through a deep personal crisis — a breakup with the girl I loved — and I was deeply depressed. Then one day a couple of middle-aged people came to a circle meeting (in truth they were about as old then as I am now, perhaps even a little younger, but to me they seemed very old:). I remember we were discussing the story of the prophet Moses and the origins of the Old Testament.

I was surprised by the presence of outsiders, but, deciding they were probably some police or KGB agents, I calmed down. They showed up at the next meeting, which was the last meeting of the school year, and after the discussion they approached me and, introducing themselves as Kolya and Sveta (names changed, though it really did not matter what their names were), invited me to go to Crimea on a ufology expedition.

Those who remember that time recall the boom in parapsychology, ufology and all sorts of extrasensory practices, and there were even people and entire organizations sponsoring such “scientific inquiries.” So to me, a progressive young person, the idea seemed interesting, and, besides, in my depressed state my dominant thought was “do anything with me, even use me as a guinea pig.” So I agreed at once. There were no particular objections at home; I had only just turned fifteen, but I had been an independent and headstrong boy, and no one contradicted me.

So we arrived in Alushta and went into the mountains. The route was not very long, with relatively short hikes (about 10 km a day) alternating with two- to three-day stops. I had attended a hiking club, and there was nothing remarkable about this trek for me at first. The group was fairly large, about fifteen people, and consisted of three distinct subgroups.

The first subgroup were the actual “ufologists.” They were seven men aged roughly 35–45, disheveled, unwashed, tobacco-stained and often drunk. Yet despite their unpresentable appearance, they somehow had lots of equipment — movie cameras, telescopes and other gear. During the stops they set these things up on hilltops and squealed with delight when they saw moving lights in the sky, then spent the whole night arguing about what they had seen so that by morning it seemed they had visited every planet and spoken to their inhabitants.

The second group consisted of their wives. Stout women in knitted trousers, khaki windbreakers and headscarves, they busied themselves with cooking, washing socks and talking about homemade preserves.

And the third group consisted of Kolya and Sveta, with a boy about my age (later I learned he was a year older than me; let’s call him Oleg). They kept disappearing, sometimes for a whole day, sometimes even for a day and a half, kept to themselves and yet enjoyed respect among the others of the group. From time to time they tried to draw me into conversation, but I was wallowing in my misery and loneliness, and paid them little attention.

In Kharkiv we continued to meet, and the meetings were rather odd — Kolya or Sveta would call my home without any warning, and they set a time without asking. At every meeting they told me things, showed me things, but made no effort to make sure I remembered or understood what they had presented. The next summer we went on our own to Crimea, to the same places which, as they said, had belonged to the Line since ancient times. There the teaching continued. My relationship with Kolya and Sveta was very tense. Their idea of teaching was deeply foreign to me: they simply bombarded me with information, expecting me to deal with it myself. It is not surprising that we quarrelled constantly.

It all might have ended there, but one morning Kolya and Sveta appeared carrying Oleg in their arms. There was something strangely exalted about them. Oleg’s clothes were singed. He did not look ill, only deathly tired. When I asked what had happened, they gave a strange answer: “The Wild Hunt.” For some reason I felt uneasy — either because of the phrase itself or the tone in which it was spoken.

From that moment I paid them more attention and even sometimes listened to what they said. It seemed they had been waiting for exactly that. They said they were Volkhvs of the Line of Semargl, claiming an unbroken line of fifty-four generations of apprentices. They claimed to have seen a sign indicating that I should become their successor. Later, upon returning to Kharkiv, they introduced me to their Master, the head of the Line, Nikolai Vladimirovich. He was an elderly and very ill man. Unfortunately, my association with him lasted just over a year, and he died…

As I progressed on the Way the situation intensified. I finished school, enrolled at university and continued my studies in the sciences and in the Volkhv arts. But after two years it became clear that our further coexistence was impossible. Meetings became ever rarer, and quarrels more frequent. Yet they had achieved their aim — a new spirit had taken root in me: the Spirit of the Volkhv.

But matters became more complicated. When I was in my second year at university (it had been three years studying with Kolya and Sveta), my aunt (my mother’s sister, who was only thirty-six at the time) fell ill with cancer. My mother, seeking help, went from hospital to hospital, from healer to healer. At last an acquaintance recommended a certain “Healer,” let’s call him Mikhail. Mother began taking my aunt to Mikhail, and she began to improve. One November, cold and damp, my mother was busy on the day of Mikhail’s reception and asked me to take my aunt to him. So I did. He saw patients in one of the hotels, and I, having brought my aunt, waited in the corridor. When the session ended, Mikhail (a tall man of around sixty, with grey hair combed back) brought my aunt out and looked at me fixedly. By that time I was suffering from a certain megalomania, buoyed by successes in my studies, so I took such attention to myself as a matter of course. We parted without a word. Three weeks later my mother again asked me to bring my aunt to Mikhail, which I did. The scenario repeated, but this time Mikhail asked me to come in to see him “for a few words.” He said he saw the Force in me and, literally, “wants to make me a god.” Naturally, I took this as a compliment and began to visit him on my own. It turned out that Mikhail was a member of a special “interest club” calling itself the “Traditional Order of the Knights of the Scarlet Dawn.” I do not wish now to discuss the degree of authenticity of this Order or its origins. That was not important to me. What mattered was that within this organisation — whose members, to be frank, were mostly occupied with phallic posturing and poaching each other’s students — there was a core that resonated with me that allowed me to bring order to my thoughts and to systematize my myth. I began attending the Order’s lectures and classes, received initiations, and rather quickly advanced through their ranks.

But then quite another story began. The Order was shut down, Kolya and Sveta moved to another city to open “Schools of Esoterica.” Mikhail also left our country. And I remained between two fires, between two traditions, the Pagan Invocation and Western Evocation…

Many years have passed since then; much has changed in me and in my vision of the Force. But the axis formed by these two schools’ work is alive and sustains me and my Way to this day. And I am certain I will not abandon it.