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As a child, and then in my youth, I had the opportunity to re-read the story "The Hot Stone" by A. Gaidar. I didn't understand two things then:
How Ivashko could roll a stone up the mountain so hot that Gaidar, saving matches, lit a cigarette on it. And secondly:
Why didn't the old man, a disabled man who had been disfigured by life, break that stone to rejuvenate himself?
Well, I still don't understand the first one, especially since if the stone heats up to 451 Fahrenheit by itself, there must be some nuclear processes with radiation emission, and it's better to avoid it by the tenth road, rather than asking a child to roll that stone up the mountain...
But a fairy tale is a fairy tale, I don't argue. Let it be.
But the second thing I began to understand in adulthood; most likely, that disabled Gaidar was proud of his wounds, because they served him as an indulgence from repression and he had the opportunity to finish his life in a collective farm kindergarten among people who surrounded him with warmth and respect.
If in his next life he had dodged the barricades where he broke his leg, the enemy's sabre, and the endless battles for a "bright future," he would have been on his way to Solovki or Magadan... And to go through the same thing again in a second circle...
I already understand him, and now I want to try on the possibility of the stone for myself. Here are some questions to ask myself:
- Do I want to see both my mum and dad young, healthy, smiling - of course I do!
- And to bury them again? And to bury my son, sister, relatives, close friends, comrades, the girl Toma, who was never washed from the Kurenivka clay?
If in my next life cycle I could prevent the Kurenivka tragedy, invent a cure for incurable diseases and old age, stop the war in the east...
Then I would love to! But for now, let it be as it was, let it be as it will be.
A well-known expression: "Why did Newton become great?" - Because he stood on the shoulders of giants; "In order for us to grow, someone had to lift us all on their shoulders, so I thought about it; and who, besides my mother and father, took part in my formation? Who guided and supported me as I climbed the steep staircase of becoming? It is said that an ant can be a messenger, capable of influencing our path even without our consciousness.
Not everything, of course, was kept in my memory, but I decided to share with you, dear friends, the most vivid memories. Perhaps some of you will find it not only interesting but also useful.
P.S. And if you still smoke but want to save on matches, go to that rock to light up, but don't forget to take a dosimeter...
