My only meaningful connection to the world

I tell this story because in the period when evolved
my skepticism, there was a case that shed light on the dual nature of my
mother. Once at the table started talking about the boring melodies of some spiritual
hymns. It was about the possibility of their revision. And suddenly, the mother murmured, "O du
Liebe meiner Liebe, du verwunschte Seligkeit" ("About love my love, you
damn bliss..." - it.). [We are talking about the clause: verwunschte
(damn) and verwunschte (the coveted).] As before, I pretended
couldn't hear, trying not to betray his glee.
 The dual nature of the mother was one of the main reasons my night
nightmares. Day gentle, at night she seemed strange and mysterious,
me terrible as all-seeing creature - half animal, a priestess bear
caves, ruthless as truth and nature. At such moments she was
the epitome of what I call "natural mind".
 I know, me too, there is something of this ancient nature and it
allows that are not always pleasant, to see people and things,  what they
is. I may be deceived if you do not wish to know the true state of
things, but deep down I imagine. This feeling is akin to
the archaic instinct or mechanism participation - mystical connection
with others. It's like an inner vision, when every act of vision
impartial.
 I realized this much later, after various kinds of strange incidents.
So, one day I told the story of the life of a complete stranger. It was on
the wedding of a friend of my wife. Neither the bride nor any of her family I didn't know. For
the table I was sitting opposite a bearded man of middle age, whom I
introduced as a lawyer, we spoke animatedly about criminal psychology.
To answer the specific question, I as an example I invented
history. Suddenly my the interlocutor's face changed, and at the table there was
silence. I paused in embarrassment. Thank God the dessert, so soon I
got up and went out into the hall, where, huddled in the corner with a cigar, tried
to comprehend what had happened. At that moment I was approached by one of the neighbors on the table
and with reproach said, "How could you do this to discredit the man?" -
"To discredit?! What is it?" - "Well, that story you told..." -
"But I just invented from beginning to end!"
 Imagine my surprise when it turned out that I all
detail told true story my counterpart. And at this point I
was horrified to find that I can't recall a single word of it - and to this
this day I failed. One of German psychologists in his autobiography
describes a similar case: once at the Inn he was caught in a theft
unknown to him the young man, as he saw it in his inner
vision.
 I can bring a lot of experiences from my life, when I suddenly
became aware what I do could not know. This knowledge
come to me as my own idea. My mother used itsame
thing. She didn't understand what was said, but in her voice appeared a certain
absolute authoritarianism, and pronounced it exactly what was required
this situation.
 Mother thought me intelligent for his age and, as a rule, communicated with
me as an adult, sharing what couldn't tell my father, making me
the child, his attorney. I was about eleven when I learned about
one case involving the father and I strongly streuartikel. I long puzzled
head and finally decided they needed to consult with one of your friends father
he, as was believed, was a powerful man. Without telling his mother, I
went after school in the city. It was noon when I rang the doorbell of this
man, however, she said that he was not there. Frustrated, I returned
home. Now I understand that it was providentia specialis (some
Providence. - lat.). Later the mother was again reminded of this fact. On
this time everything looked completely different - it's not worth a hill of beans.
Feeling deeply hurt, I thought, "What had to be
a donkey, to take this seriously, I'm almost done troubles!" Since
then, all Mama told me, I was divided in two, having lost faith in her. Me
never wanted to tell her that seriously took my
thoughts.
 But sometimes, in those moments, when she manifested her alter ego, she said
so to the point (in a point. - eng.), what made me shudder. In such
minutes mother was an incredible conversationalist.
 With father it was different. I have often wanted to share with him
religious doubts and ask him for advice, but I didn't do it: I
it seemed (I even knew this for certain) that he will answer only the way he tells
debt. I was right in my assumption, it turned out. Father
personally, prepared me for confirmation that I am mortally tired. Leafing through
catechism and hoping to find there anything but a vague, boring and
sentimental fantasies about "New e Jesus'e", I once came across a Chapter on
The Trinity. There's been something troubling me: unity, which
at the same time was triality. This paradox bothered me, and I
was looking forward to the moment when we get to this place. But when
finally came, the father said, "Further States about the Trinity, but we can skip that one,
because I don't understand". Admiring his honesty, I
was deeply disappointed and said to myself, "That's it. They don't
know and don't want to think. How can I share with them my secret?"
 I carefully tried  to bond with some classmates,
I seemed to be inclined to reflection, but in vain - the answer is no
response, the mere confusion that, ultimately, pushed me away.
 Despite the obvious boredom, I honestly tried to achieve without blind faith
understanding this attitude, in my opinion, matched his father's, and
to prepare for the sacrament - the last of my hope. This, I thought, just
traditional communion, a kind of annual glorification of our Lord
Jesus Christ, who died 1890 - 30 = 1860 years ago. But he said
once:  "Take, eat; this is my body" (Matt. 26, 26) so we can eat
the bread of the sacrament as if it were his body, originally intended as human
flesh. Similarly, we must drink the wine that was his blood. I was
it is clear that thus we'd have to take it in. It looked
so absurd and impossible that my belief in the existence of a great
secrets, hidden behind all this, and his involvement in it. It was
communion, to which my father attached so much importance.
 According to custom, my godfather was a member of the Church Committee. This
cute silent old man was the coach-house, and I often visited his
workshop. He came to us in vestments and a cylinder attached
he is solemn, festive look, and took me to Church where my father
standing behind the altar and read a prayer from the Liturgy. On the altar top
lay large trays with small pieces of bread. I knew that bread
baked by our Baker, but cakes rarely he was able (as a rule, she was
tasteless). From a pewter jug poured into a tin Cup of wine. My father
ate a piece of bread, took a SIP of wine - I knew the restaurant where he took, -
and gave the Cup to one of the elders. Everyone was tense and it looks like
unhelpful. I anxiously waited something special, but everything was the same as
at other Church services, baptism, funeral, etc. I thought
everything here was once and for all established sample: my father
most were concerned to complete the ceremony according to the rules, and
these rules included the recitation of certain words with emphasis. But
for some reason he didn't say anything about the fact that Jesus died 1863 years ago, at the
as in all other memorial services the date is highlighted. I don't
saw no sorrow, no joy, feeling that the holiday was unworthy
the person, to whom it was dedicated. The service did not go to any comparison with
secular jubilee celebrations.
 Somehow it was my turn. I ate the bread, as expected,
it was tasteless, the wine, I only took a SIP of his weak and sour, obviously not
best. Then there was a closing prayer; the people went on their faces
there was no grief, no enlightenment, only to read: "Well, that's all".
 I was walking home with his father, all the while thinking that I black felt hat
and a new black suit, similar to the one which are pastors. It was a strange
elongated jacket, ending at the bottom of the two wings, on both sides,
between them was slots and pockets where you can put nasal
the handkerchief casually, as do adult men. Suddenly I
felt their new social status: I was accepted into the male fraternity. Lunch in
that day was unusually good. I could walk in his new
suit. And yet I felt emptiness and nothing more.
 After some time I realized that nothing changed. Now I'm at
the top religious sacraments, forward of nowhere, and... nothing happens.
I knew God could do this to me remarkably -
to burn and can fill all around with an unearthly light. But at that ceremony
there was no trace of God. However, everyone was talking about It, but we were not more than
words. Anybody else and I did not find a part of the boundless despair,
in the limit stress of all forces and that wonderful grace at last,
which for me was the essence of God. I haven't noticed anything similar to
"communio" - no merge,  no unity... Unity with whom? With
Jesus? But he was just a man who had died 1860 years ago. Why
someone needs to "merge" with him? He was called "Son of God" -
therefore, he was a demigod like ancient heroes; how
an average person can "merge" with him? It was called "Christian
religion", but it had nothing to do with the God I knew. With
on the other hand, it was clear that Jesus was a man who knew God. It
was frustrated and cross pain and taught to love God as a good Father. Should
to be, and he was led a terrible form of God. I was able to understand, but
what was the purpose of this wretched memorial service with this bread and this
wine? Little by little I came to understand that the communion was fatal for
me: it devastated me, moreover, I like something lost. In this
religion I no longer felt the presence of God, I knew it would never be able to take
participation in this ceremony and will never go to Church - there all dead, there
there is no life.
 I felt sorry for the father, I understood the tragedy of his profession and his
life: he fought with death, the existence of which is recognized. Between them
and me opened the bottomless pit, and there was no hope to ever overcome
her. I could not hurt my good father, always such a tolerant
to me, couldn't get him to come into blasphemy for understanding
grace. Only God could require this, but not me - that would be
inhuman. God is not subject to human weaknesses, I thought, He is kind and
angry, He is in mortal danger, and each, of course, is trying
some way to escape. People are short-sighted clinging to His love and
goodness out of fear of Him temptations and Its destructive wrath. Jesus
also noticed this and therefore asked: "And lead us not into temptation" (Matt. 6, 13).
 So I broke with the Church and with the human world, such as
what they knew. I - I thought - suffered the greatest defeat in
life. Religious beliefs - my only meaningful connection to the world -
has lost its meaning for me: I could not share a common faith, but
was involved in something unspeakable, to "the mystery" inside of me. It was
awful. And that is just unbearable - it was rude and pointless. Some
deviljoke.
 "As man must conceive of God?" - I was thinking. Except in
I can come up with the destruction of God Cathedral or the kids sleep on the underground
the temple? It stuck me with someone powerful will. Maybe
responsible nature? But nature is nothing like the Creator's will. To blame
the devil? Also impossible - and it is the creation of God. So only God
there really is - only He is able to incinerate and to give
inexpressible bliss.
 What about the sacrament? Maybe it was my own
insolvency? But I preparing for it with all seriousness, hoping
to experience enlightenment, to avail ourselves of the miracle of grace, and nothing happened.
God was not in this case. God wished to turn me away from the Church and from the faith of my
father. I was cut off from all the people, because they believed not how
I. Knowledge of it dampen my life, and so continued until admission to
University.