Happiness increased, but there was a vague feeling that I'm leaving.

I don't remember in my childhood I ever had thoughts about possible
communication between Christ, a black Jesuit, the men in black, with high hats,
standing at the grave, such a tunnel in the meadow from my dream, and my
a small man in a case. A dream about the underground God was my first
this mystery man is the second. Today, however, I think I
vaguely felt a connection between the stone-talisman and the stone that was "me".
 And today, in my eighty three years, when I write this
memories, I still could not explain to myself the nature of the connection.
They are as different stems of the same underground root, stop  on the way
development of the unconscious. At some point, for me was a positive
impossible to accept Christ, and I remember that from the age of eleven, I started to
interested in the idea of God. I prayed to Him, and it worked for me
calming. There was no contradiction. I have not experienced lack of trust in God.
Moreover, He was not the "black man" and not "Her Jesus" is depicted on
the pictures where He appears in something bright, surrounded by people who
behave with him familiarly. He (God) is a being, no
like that, I knew, no one can imagine. It
seemed to me something very powerful elder. My feeling
answered the commandment "do Not make yourself an idol". God must not have
so familiar, as to Christ, which was not the draw of "the secret". In my
head there is a clear analogy with the secret in the attic.

 It started to bother me. It took up too much time, and I
would prefer to spend it on drawing battle scenes, or playing with fire.
The lessons of the law of God was unspeakably boring, and the math I was just afraid.
The teacher pretended that algebra is quite  the normal thing should
to take for granted, whereas I didn't even understand,
what is the number. They were not stones, flowers or animals, they were not
the fact that you can imagine, they were just a number - they
worked at the score. My confusion was strengthened by the fact that these
the number had not been indicated by the letters as the sounds, at least
could be heard. But, oddly enough, my classmates were in
able to cope with these things and even find them obvious. No one
could explain me that such a number, and I couldn't even formulate a question. With
horror I found that no one understands my difficulties. I have to admit,
the teacher tried to carefully explain to me the purpose of this
curious operation of translating the numbers into sounds. Finally it dawned on me that
the goal was a system of abbreviations, which many in the number
can be reduced to a short formula. But this in no way interested
me. I thought the whole process was completely arbitrary. Why the number
must be letters? With the same success it was possible to Express letters via
everyday things that these letters begin. a, b, C, x, y were not
specific and told me about the essence of numbers is not more than their subject
characters. But what most pissed me off, so this equality: if
a = b and b = C, then a = C. If, by definition, and was something different from b,
it could not be equated to b, not to mention S. When touching
equivalence, it was said that a = a and b = b , etc. That I could understand
while a = b it seemed to me a pack of lies and trickery. Similarly
I was irritated when the teacher, contrary to its own definition, has stated,
that parallel lines converge in infinity. It seemed to be the focus
which you can catch only a peasant, and I could not and did not want to deal with
it. A sense of intellectual honesty in me struggled with
these intricate contradictions that forever has done for me
impossible understanding of mathematics. Now, being an old man, I
unmistakably I feel that, if I like my school mates,
accepted without a struggle the proposition that a = b or that the sun equal to the moon, the dog -
cat etc - maths fooled me endlessly. Any
sizes would achieve the deception, I began to understand only when I was
eighty-four. For me, for life remained a mystery why I don't
he was good in math, because, without a doubt, I could well be considered. Incredibly,
but the main constraint is the considerations of a moral nature.
 The equation became clear to me only after the specific lookup
numbers instead of letters and rechecking the actual counting. As we
advanced in mathematics, I tried to more or less keep up, writing off
algebraic formula whose value is not understood, remembering only where
is one or another combination of letters on the Board. However, at some point I
stopped in time and was unable to replace the letters by numbers, because
the teacher from time to time uttered: "Here we will write such an expression",
and wrote a few letters on the Board. I had no idea where he got them
did it and why. The only reason I thought that it gave him
the opportunity to bring the whole procedure to the end and be satisfied. Because
my the misunderstanding I was so intimidated, did not dare to ask questions.
 Math lessons turned for me into a nightmare. Other
the subjects were easy to me. And because thanks to good visual memory
I managed for a long time not quite honest way to catch
math class, I usually had good grades. But the fear of failure
and a sense of insignificance in the face of the wide world spawned
in me not only dislike school but hopeless despair. In addition I
was exempted from lessons because of complete failure. Inthis
was a plus - I had more free time, but
hand, it was a new defeat, because actually I was not
without some ability to draw, but I had no idea,
it all depends on the tasks that we were given. I was able to draw only
what took my imagination, and I was forced to copy the head of the Greek
gods with sightless eyes, and, when I couldn't do it, teacher,
thinking that I need something more realistic, put in front of me
a picture of the goat head. This task I failed permanently,
this marked the end of my drawing lessons.
 I was twelve years old, when it happened, in some
extent determined my destiny. Once in the early summer of 1887 I
he left school at Cathedral square and began to wait for a classmate with whom
usually came back home together. It was mid-day, the lessons had already ended.
Suddenly I was knocked down another student. I fell and banged so hard
his head on the curbstone, a moment lost consciousness. For half an hour then I
felt light headed. At the moment of impact in my head broke out
thought: "I won't need to go to school". I was just in
a semiconscious state, but remained lying for much longer than it was
it is necessary, mainly because to get revenge on my abuser. Then
helped me get up and took him to a nearby house, where lived my two older
unmarried aunts.
 Since then, the parents once sent me to school or sat
lessons, I started dizzy. I did not attend classes for more than six
months that was on my hand - now it was possible to walk wherever they want
walking in the woods or by the river, to draw. I again painted the war, castles,
fires and storms, sometimes whole pages were filled with caricatures. (To this day,
before going to sleep, before my eyes are these grinning masks.
Sometimes I have seen among them faces of people I knew and soon
after that died.) But increasingly, I was immersed in a mysterious world, which
belonged to trees and water, stones and animals, and father's library. I
of world valid and, at times, felt weak shots
conscience. I spent time in the Diaspora, reading and games. Happiness
increased, but there was a vague feeling that I'm leaving.
 I totally forgot where this all started, but I felt sorry for
frightened parents who have already started to apply to all kinds of doctors.
Those scratching their heads, sent me on vacation to relatives in Winterthur.
In this town was the train station that brought me to real
delight. But upon returning home, everything went still. One of the doctors
decided that I have epilepsy. I knew how to look epileptic seizures, and
myself laughing at this crap. But parents were not amused.Once
the father went his friend. They sat in the garden and I out of curiosity
eavesdropping, hiding behind a Bush. I heard the stranger asked the father: "Well
how is your son?" "And that is a sad story,' said the father, - has not
know what happened to him. They suspect epilepsy, and that would be terrible. Those
small savings that I had, I lost, and what will happen to the boy,
if he can't earn a living?"