Cry of an Angel Clad in Clothes, or Sufferings of a Man with an Angel, in Place of a Soul
To whom, why am I writing these lines? Most likely to myself. Because, abiding in a holy place for years, just twice have I been recognized, and only by the people with the Soul that is, by God’s will, free from the mind. Man’s mind is a true stumbling stone, perhaps, an entire cliff facing the Soul. One cannot go around or leap it. To climb up over sharp stones, scraping your nails till they bleed and falling down the slippery ledges, sweet from the mind; then to get up anew after regaining spiritual strength and crawl again... is not for everyone. For it’s so lovely, cosy, sweet and warm at the cliff’s foot. The mind, from frail pants, creates illusions of all that you will wish for. So long as you keep wishing. Wishing for earthly love with a blazing hearth, for children to give birth to, for wealth, or fame – it’s all the same. So long as you keep wishing. Wishing, wishing, and it will all be given. In one illusion or another, it matters not, so long as you keep wishing. Wishing! Wishing for the earthly...
“But it’s so hard!” cry many people. No, it is not. So many times I’ve put the clothes on. I roamed an endless road with just a staff, feeding the flesh with only what I found. I was a king; for long I ruled over the countless peoples. And every time the clothing would be tight, the clothes would hamper me and hinder me from living. They’d shake with fear and get sick, and, like all others’, at first they’d wish for much until I’d tame them. That wild beast of which the dress is woven fears just his master, just the Soul. But many fear the Soul more than the beast; the Soul that hinders their lives just like the clothing hinders mine. I cannot understand such people. To waste the whole Eternity on only just one moment? What is the point here? To suffer in the arms of the beast’s skin, to serve the pants decaying day by day. Is life in this? But life is infinite! It has no suffering, it does not tear, for it’s impossible to wear out the Soul. The clothing has no Home; there’s just a closet where it is kept for only a short while. Only the Soul has a true Home. And it’s the Soul that, yearning for Eternity, begets this sense of Home, for which man searches his entire life.
Rigden Djappo
From the book by Anastasia Novykh «AllatRa»