VIII. Chapter 1. Succession of Witzraors

The demiurge of the suprapeople revoked his sanction from the demon of statehood when activities of the latter became dictated in the main by his own black kernel. At the very moment, the witzraor’s human instrument fell short of the involtation of the demiurge on the historical plane.

This is just a formula. But in this formula, all notions are anthropomorphized so as to make them commeasurable with our mental abilities. This will have to be done thenceforth as I do not have any other means of making my topic conceivable for the reader.

So, the king’s falling short of perceiving (or the right to perceive) the demiurgical involtation, his complete turning into an instrument of the infraphysical tyranny well reflects the spirit of the Alexandrovskaya Sloboda, that is, the period in Ivan the Terrible’s reign when his nickname was affixed.

The idiosyncrasy of such metahistorical and historical provisions lies in the fact that falling under the black kernel always and invariably leads the witzraor and his human instrument into confrontation with two mutually antagonistic principles: with the lightful dyad of the suprapeople and Dingra from one side and with Velga – from the other. For the inner forces of the anticosmos are torn with struggle and contradictions: this steady equilibrium is but the goal of Gagtungr, the goal achievable only through an all-out tyranny.

But tyranny has its inner invincible logic. Branching out into thousands of channels, into thousands of human individuals in the historical reality with their complex psychic structures, the tyrannical tendency ceases to be monolithic. Its channels break out from under the center’s control only to start harrowing the state’s body on their own. It would be naïve to think that the activities of the Terrible, as he was called, took on the forms that were dangerous for the state only by mere coincidence. Any tyranny is fraught with such forms, moreover: these are precisely its hallmarks. You can trace this process back to the reign of Caligula, Nero, or Domitian, so too the rule of Louis XI in France, Genghis Khan’s in the East, Aurangzeb’s in India, Hitler’s in Germany, and so on.

Istead of consolidating the state principle, the oprichnina (Oprichnina was the state policy implemented by king Ivan the Terrible between 1565 and 1572, translator’s note) only caused unrest, terror, and confusion all over the country. If not in the arbitrariness, sadistic cruelty, anarchic barbarity of the ruling minority’s antisocial passions, where else shall we search for a vivid manifestation of Velga’s influence but in the oprichnina?

None of his deeds, even the abolishment of oprichnina could have righted what the Terrible had already wronged: this was no longer a man but a disintegrating psychic being incapable of linear movement in any direction. And when, finally, he killed the successor to his throne in a fit of rage, even the demon of statehood turned his back on the Terrible’s degrading dynasty. It should come as no surprise that the last years of the king were nothing but a series of failures.

Did it become clear to the demonic consciousness of Zhrugr – however foreign it may seem to us – that the historical version of his own tyrannical tendency threatens him with a loss of much that he had acquired? Yet, a witzraor can step back only for the time being; he cannot change his principal tendency just as he is incapable of expunging his yetzerhara. Ivan IV got out of his hand, but Ivan V was already being primed – the very prince Ivan whose coming enthronization so much frightened and engloomed his contemporaries. The prince dies from the Terrible’s own hand as the former tries to save his young pregnant wife from his father’s lusting. Having knee stroked his step-daughter upon her belly, the old man finishes off by murdering his son along with the murder of the unborn grandson. Thereby the demonic involtation of the Rurik dynasty comes to a complete close. Let prayful Fyodor Ivanovich (Ivan’s next-in-line son, t/n) reign as he would please: he will not live long all the same, and it will not be him who will actually rule. A new, young, robust, wholesome dynasty is needed – an ascending one. None of the branches of the ramifying tree of the Ruriks is befitting: the parochial mindset, small-town superstitions, oligarchic tendencies, the spirit of rivalry, the animal-like attachment to the ways of the past – all this was inherent to the old family boyars (nobility, t/n). What is needed? The strong-willed cast of a genuine statesman. A bold yet precautious mind. A freedom from the feudal mindset of the boyars. A brimming over yet shrewdly concealed thirst for power. Finally, the capacity to encompass and comprehend the problems of the European scale. In other words, there was needed someone like Boris Godunov.

The obstacles have been removed, the road has been cleared, and the primacy of noble birth becomes temporarily paralyzed in the minds of people – for the first time in the Russian history, a homeless upstart takes the throne.

Yet: too late.

Glancing back from the far distant epoch, it pains – both for Godunov and the whole country – to witness how the demon of statehood tried to make amends for his doings; how he yearned to reclaim the help of the demiurge by promoting Boris as a personality suitable to both parties; how Boris was being inculcated with such measures that would do grace to any ruler. Crown prince Fyodor (son of Boris, t/n) was being reared with utmost care and acumen. It was obvious that he was being molded not only into a wise ruler but a highly moral individual worthy of becoming a kin-guardian, if the conciliation with the demiurge came to pass. At the same time, the tyrannical tendency shined through these undertakings, now with a wave of new disfavors and executions reminiscent of the Terrible’s days, now with the laws that are hard to see as anything but the final legitimization of serfdom (agricultural servitude to landowners not unlike slavery, t/n) in the era of Boris.

When in Pushkin’s (a celebrated Russian poet, t/n) tragedy Boris ruefully peers into the string of his benign political endeavors and their fatal fiascoes, he – as thought of by the poet – is inclined to see the cause of that in moral law which had rendered him, the prince’s murderer, unworthy of the crown. This is an aberration characteristic of those attempting to eagerly demand the immediate retribution during this lifetime and extrapolate the norms of human morality onto phenomena of a much grander scale that have its roots in metahistory. Aren’t we familiar with many a cases when infinitely greater crimes of power holders remained unpunished or, rather, unpunished here, in the viewable leg of their unimaginably protracted spiritual journey? Could Timur, Henry VIII, Louis XIV, Stalin – all these sovereigns who died a natural death in the ripe age and at the pinnacle of their might – have possibly understood why and how Pushkin’s Boris is tormenting himself? The truth, of course, is something else. More specifically, no figure nominated by the witzraor would have been sanctioned by the higher hierarchies; the matter is that the witzraor was left alone with the consequences of his tyrannical attempt with Ivan.

Just as Newton who, in spite of his genius, could not “rise” to the relativity theory in the seventeenth century, so too was Pushkin incapable of surpassing the level of the nineteenth century’s historical experience and metahistorical consciousness. His genius did show in the fact that he intuited the ethical nature of the conflict between the intentions of Boris and the unblessedness that weighed down upon him. It should come as no surprise that the great poet whose literary works date back some hundred and thirty years explained this conflict in terms of the king’s violation of moral law.

It is well-known what the Godunovs, when left on their own, had impressed upon history. And, perhaps, no one, having acquainted themselves with the Time of Troubles’ chronicles, would remain indifferent to the demise of king Fyodor Borisovich. Possessing such a purity and generosity of heart, having been so caringly nurtured in anticipation of the future tasks of a ruler, so courageous and kind, he died “for father’s sins” as a sixteen-year-old youth and in such a horrible death that the young warrior passed out from pain thus making it possible for his assassins to accomplish their deed. Yet, he did not die for the “sins” of Boris alone but for the sins of four Ivans, three Vasilies, Dmitry, Simeon, and so forth – in sum, all those who had woven this karma of the throne which this boy now suffered for. He died, because in that epoch the demiurge rejected everything, even the benign, inasmuch as it came from the witzraor or was used to the latter’s advantage. But something else is quite clear: the beautiful human nature and light personal karma of Fyodor II fended him from the afterlife karmic connection with the witzraor and the ways of the latter’s fate; this connection had been exhausted through the king’s martyrdom. Through his threshold of pain did he go in the hour of death. Thereafter, he would reap the beautiful fruits of what he had sown in life. Instead of the burdensome rule in Moscow which he was perfectly ready for, he took the weight and joy of the corresponding way in Holy Russia.

Preempting the current of events, I will call attention to the destiny of another personage of that epoch similar to the destiny of Fyodor II in none of its strains, yet close to it metahistorically – the destiny of Mikhail Skopin-Shuisky. This was the First Zhrugr’s last attempt to slide his channel into history, having selected for this end a successful warlord, valiant statesman, high-minded human being, and national hero. But a short series of Shuisky’s victories came to a catastrophic close just as the pacification of the state was looming large. At the feast of another Shuisky, a hapless ambitionist who had designs for the throne of the childless King Vasily IV, Skopin was offered a goblet with poisoned wine by the beautiful hostess.

Skopin-Shuisky’s death caused an outburst of national grief unseen since the demise of Nevsky. The capital, towns, villages, and monasteries were resounding with weeping. This flush of bereavement united all the strata of Moscow from the patriarch to boyars to commoners. In despair, King Vasily fell beside his throne ripping his hair and garments. Even the commander of the Swedish mercenaries, a Lutheran, kneeled before the hero’s coffin, his rough face wet with tears. – It would seem: what else could have possibly been proof that Skopin had been led by the demiurge of the suprapeople and was destined to become a kin-guardian, a savior of the country and its statehood, in those tumultuous times? – But, I would repeat, not always and not all stirrings of the national spirit stem from that hierarchy. Hadn’t the look of the demiurge been more penetrating than the sight of the masses of people and their leaders, he would not have been the demiurge of the suprapeople. Something unfathomable to the people, yet well-known to him, withheld him from blessing Skopin, from buttressing the destiny of this hero with the shield of his sanction. The nomination of Skopin, at heart, was the witzraor’s last cry for help. Thereby he would renounce his tyrannical tendencies, his past, at least, for the time being. In fact, this was a repetition of what had happened with Fyodor II.

In sightings similar to the nationwide grief in the hour of Skopin’s death, a metahistorian taps into a source of reverential feelings akin, as strange as it sounds, to an enlightening joy. Hopelessness is foreign to the metahistorical outlook. It is crystal clear to a metahistorian that a great people’s love and doings which have caused it are not amenable to the law of annihilation, if the doings were light-filled, and the love was justified. Having transitioned through death, the hero opens doors to ever new creative ways of influencing the historical plane, from the top downward. Skopin’s lifetime doings were not accepted by Yarosvet. But their lofty aspirations could not but bring their fruits, and his soul faced no obstacles upon entering the Synclite of the metaculture. What boundaries could delineate, what scale could weigh, what definitions could encompass the significance of the spiritual and creative contribution of Skopin – past and, perhaps, present – to the cause of saving Russia, to its metahistorical development, as well as the contribution of all the heroes of the past in their otherworldly existence?

Yet, having been precipitated by the inner metahistory of Russia, the Time of Troubles, as is known, was aggravated by the fact that, on the border with and partially spilling over the Russian land, was the newly formed Polish-Lithuanian state. Just as Russia had done, Poland entered a path of belligerent expansion.

In connection with the concept I am expounding on, I shall talk about this state only once, at this precise moment. It is clear that any speculations in regard to such a broad and complex subject as the metahistory of Poland would be injudicious here; besides, I am not authorized in making any. Yet, one thing is certainly needful: to pinpoint the existence of some infraphysical being under the statehood of that country which I would dare calling, without going into detail, the witzraor of Poland. Complicated relationships between this young and weak, yet besotted with ambitions creature, and the belligerent demon of papacy bolstered the crystallization of a certain mindset in Polish ruling circles. It could be boiled down to a rather emotional idea of creating a strong state on the easternmost outskirts of Catholic civilization, at the expense of and in opposition to Russia. In the ideal scenario, they envisioned the possibility of eradicating the Orthodox culture, Russia’s falling under the rule of the Polish statehood, and including the Russians as a small and backward nation among the satellites of the Roman-Catholic suprapeople.

Searching across Enrof for a human individual capable of becoming his temporary instrument, the witzraor of Poland discovered a being, totally ignominious, yet deeply convinced of its rights to the Russian throne and willing to make a deal even with the devil for that end.

Elucidation of the origins and the real name of this individual is, of course, beyond the purview of metahistorical contemplation. Here, it may lead only to the following: the unveiling of a certain component in this unknown which had an unshakeable conviction of its organic relation to the once ruling dynasty in Russia, its rights to the usurped throne, and the duty of avenging the usurper.

The iron-cast undauntedness, even obsessiveness of this idea is at staggering odds with flippant, giddy, erratic human temperament of False Dmitry. This man could vacillate between abject despair and groundless delight, make the most ill-considered plans, unmindfully yet wholeheartedly give himself up to carnal infatuations. He could lay all his designs on the line out of passion for a pretty she-Pole only to cheat on her the next day having been magnetized with Xenia Godunova’s looks. With the same ease, he could picture himself now in the emperor’s crown (not the king’s, precisely the emperor’s), now in the rags of an outcast. But the idea or, rather, the irrational feeling of his entitlement to the throne and of his regalness never waned in him. The last minute of his life is truly striking when he, sprawled on the Kremlin stone blocks, with his chest burst and one of his legs broken, beheld the unsheathed swords raised over him and outraged faces of his persecutors. About his right to the throne, nothing else was babbling away incoherently his hardening tongue.

Such a duality in one’s being is quite natural when encrusted with some foreign “ego”. Its bearer may be unaware of it (certain rare characteristics are needed to bring it to consciousness), but the mere presence of this foreign component leads to a disastrous discoordination between the life purpose of the individual and his or her mold, between his or her qualities and conduct. And this was precisely the case with the unknown who went down in history under the name “False Dimitry I”. At a tender age, perhaps, from the moment of his birth, there crept into and nestled in him one of those many unflaggingly dashing, homeless shells looking for harborage in living beings – those shells, those shreds, which a part of the Terrible’s being had disintegrated to, having fallen prey to Velga. Just to avoid redundancy in future, every time when speaking about those shreds of the personality, I will be referring to them as the “micro-ego”.

The conviction concerning his identity was, clearly, just an aberration of this man’s consciousness inherent to his simple cast that lacked in any mysticism or proclivity to self-analysis. The irrational feeling of his regality demanded a rational substantiation, justification. And it would not have been possible to find a more plausible substantiation than the one that, first, was prompted by his mind and then became merged with his principal idea.

Thus, the extraordinary destiny of False Dmitry was shaped (overall, stemming from inner reasons) by two factors: a shred from the deceased tyrannical kin-guardian’s being and the personality of the unknown himself. This disharmony spawned forth actions not only incongruent with the principal goal but fatally contradicting it.

In a long chain of bizarre – precisely for their simplicity – mistakes of the unknown, two are particularly standing out. One of those was through involving himself with Marina, a crafty, yet completely lacking in the sense of statehood, lady. As is known, it was precisely Marina who was one of the instigators of the conflict between False Dmitry and the Muscovites; it was she who had the szlachta (Polish gentry, translator’s note) bring along all the sloppiness of Polish governance, all its anarchy, arbitrariness, all its belligerent haughtiness. Another mistake of False Dmitry was his sheer ignorance of his situation in Moscow and of a whole series of blunders made during his reign. These blunders (starting from pardoning Shuisky after unveiling the first plot to blatantly neglecting all the traditional ways and practices of the Muscovites) poured fuel on the fire of the conflict until it brought about a catastrophe. This shows once again how foreign to his flippant and, overall, good-natured personality was his idea of life that he was obsessed with.

A metahistorical hierarchy that was most actively involved in the life of Muscovites at the time was, aside from Velga, the weakened demon of statehood. He was still alive, and nothing but a deadly combat between two witzraors could have eventuated out of False Dmitry’s rule. To vanquish the enemy in his geographical foothold, the Kremlin, where the Polish witzraor’s forces could hardly reach, Zhrugr was still capable of exerting himself. Most importantly, Velga no longer needed her instrument: having eroded the central power in the state, involved foreign forces in the country’s life, shaken all traditional norms and figures of authority in the entire generation of Russians with this imposture, the unknown played his role.

Speculations like those that False Dmitriy, with some of his mental properties, stood higher than the Muscovite society of the time, or that had not it been for the confluence of circumstances surrounding the successful state coup in May of 1606, the king would have continued the most progressive undertakings of his predecessors – these speculations are meaningless from the metahistorical vantage point. Whatever his subjective intentions were, False Dmitry remained an outlander that was not organically connected with Russian culture and statehood. On his shaky throne, he was bolstered neither by the hierarchies of the suprapeople, nor by the demon of statehood, nor even by that infraphysical she-predator whose powers had helped him before in the power struggle. An incomplete year is only a natural term for such a phantom-like reign.

In dealing with an array of questions like the contemporaries’ testimonies of various dark miracles around the lacerated and defiled body of the imposter, a metahistorian does not interest himself or herself whether all this actually came to pass as described. However distorted were the facts as reflected in the naïve fantasies of the magical-religious consciousness of that epoch, taken alone – and precisely the way they are described by contemporaries – these testify to a certain metahistorical experience of not just a few individuals but of human multitudes, acknowledged by various authors. Through these images shines a burning feeling of closeness to the raging, otherworldly forces for which the unknown was but a toy. What swarms were reveling over his corpse on Red Square that apocalyptic night – what and why?

The witzraor accepted into his material tissue none of the particles of the deceased: having no upper hand over the immortal part of his being that was falling headlong to the Pit of Shadanakar, he slashed it into a great many pieces and swept them across the planes from Skrivnus to Drukkarg. A new momentary human instrument of the demon imitated the very act with which it had held sway over: the physical remains of the unknown. And the canon, primed with False Dmitry’s ashes, fired toward Polish borders. Yet, this act of hatred and revenge proved to be suicidal.

Of course, it is not easy to accept certain things not only from the standpoint of the seventeenth century but also from the twentieth’s. It would seem an absurdity and insanity that, for example, one of the Terrible’s micro-egos possessed the unknown’s being, poisoned his soul throughout and, at the same time – just as what microorganisms do in the water medium – entered the process of swelling; that the afterlife of the unknown served as a frightening example of the pulverization of his being, not only in the physical but also infraphysical space; and, finally, that each of those particles entered a new cycle of existence leeching, as parasites, off the souls of the living and giving rise to historical phenomena unknown to previous epochs. For over a decade, they divide into fractions and multiply in the geometrical progression of sorts rapidly degenerating in terms of the individuals’ stature and range of activity. Finally, it all comes to ghostly formations known to history only by their nicknames. All further fractioning recedes from our view into obscure planes of infraphysics.

It is clear that the afterlife destiny of False Dmitry’s shelt, which manifested not only in juggling with the interests of the people and the state, but also with a host of noble acts and the whole tone of his personality amenable, it seems, to the ascending movement – the afterlife of this shelt could not be identical to the afterlife of the micro-ego leeching off of it. Regardless of some personal qualities of that man, his objective historical role – the undermining of the social and moral norms of Russia – followed on from his dark mission. The immediate afterlife stages of all dark mission bearers are just the same: falling into the Pit. Only centuries-long stay down there can redeem those dark missions which is followed – unless Gagtungr pulls the shelt of the wretched one back to Gashsharva – with a new stage: redemption of that karmic freight in the shrastr that was created by the individual during his or her stay on Earth, as a ruler and consolidator of the state. That is why the imposter is based now in Drukkarg toiling as a slave stone carrier alongside other sovereign prisoners.

Meanwhile, around every particle of the disintegrating micro-ego of the Terrible, there appear dark-etheric vortices, there billow movements of Kazaks, a service class gentry, the impoverished peasantry, lumpen, the have-nots. A time comes when ruling the country in earnest is none other than Velga.

Her awakening and coming out of Gashsharva and into the shrastr of the metaculture, vortex-like coils of her violet and black coats whizzing over the suprapeople, mark the scene every time when the demon of statehood’s might is on the wane. Her emergence is even more so precipitated when the tyrannical tendency of witzraors and their ravaging of millions of human destinies devalues human lives and exposes all human scum. Not “the gods are athirst” but athirst is the great transphysical she-predator – one may say so in regard to such epochs.

She surfaced from her depths, preceded and followed by those devilish swarms which were stamped in, as the people’s otherworldly experience, in countless fantastical stories of the time.

It may appear, sometimes, that her frenzies are reminiscent of the ancient orgies of the karossa: the selfsame rampancy of unbridled elements, the very outbursts of bravado and whirlpools of lust; at times, it may be hard indeed to distinguish between the historical projections of these two principles. Yet, this similarity is but superficial, a mere result of the entanglement of these two principles in a deadly fight, for the She-annihilator, first and foremost, threatens the She-molder of the people’s flesh. The impulse of destruction and defilement, the mayhem of centrifugal anti-state forces, roiling waves of civil wars, all fighting all, pulling foreign destructive forces into the vortex of the all-out chaos, clashes of infinitely differentiated particles – this is a historical projection of the otherworldly doings of Velga sucking, part by part, the living material substance of the people, its arungvilta-prana into infraphysical crevices.

This chaos sent huge ripples to the surface of history when King Vasily Shuisky was still there. His reign is nothing but the death throes of the first witzraor: these were the spasmodic, nearly blind swings of his tentacles, tossing his head on an unimaginably long neck, the shuddering of his body being mauled alive by the enemies.

With a stamp of disgrace, inadequacy, and irreparable spiritual deficiency have been marked this reign, from the beginning all the way to the end. As is known, Shuisky was proclaimed king by a spontaneously gathered crowd on the square only, four years later, to be ripped off the door posts and dragged out of the palace, held tight by his hands and voiced “on his behalf” to the utterances required for taking the monastic vows. Reflecting the immense humiliation of the witzraor, the mirror of the historical plane shows us the dumbfounding concluding episode: the infirm Shuisky in Polish captivity, in Krakow, in full view of the court and szlachta, kissing Sigismund’s hand. Since the time of Russian princes’ travels to the Golden Horde’s Khan, the Russian statehood had not experienced such a humiliation.

What does the good-for-nothing personality of Vasily IV signify? What precisely is this nonentity of his? Evidently, the involtating powers of the demon of greatpowerness were rapidly declining. On the other hand, some other outcome of the falling-out with the demiurge could hardly have been anticipated. The circumstances were such that he was forced, if I may put it thus, to grasp at any political figure that possessed two qualities at the very least: being organically bound up with the old statehood principle as well as the thirst for power.

It was a rueful reign, as Zhrugr could see his own progenies budding forth from him, each ready and lusting to devour him and take his place. They were incarnating into those kernels of the new statehood which appear to historians as emerging in the vagaries of revolutionary movements. There were not enough powers for the struggle – now Pollacks, now Swedes were called upon for help. Thereby, the foreigners were shown the straight path into the heart of the country. Moscow owned but a shred of the erstwhile vast state. After Skopin’s death and the dethronement of King Vasily, the hours of the First Zhrugr were counted. He died at that metahistorical moment which the interregnum in the historical plane corresponded to.

The procreations of Zhrugr were writhing about, fighting one another, and making haste to condense their dark-etheric tissues – multifarious formations appearing in the main as armies, militias, bodyguards, even, at times, as gangs of outlaws. Perhaps, what I am going to say would seem rather abstruse, but I cannot circumvent this fact: the future witzraor would have to devour the heart of his predecessor and father, the focal point of his feelings and will that was homelessly dashing about in a state of inexplicable yearning for the expanses of Kragr – that plane where battles of witzraors rage – after his demonic shelt had sunk to the depths of Uppum, a world known as the Rain of Eternal Misery. There was no end to the skirmishes and mutual destruction of Zhrugr’s juniors just as with Velga’s interminable ravings. Smashed was the vessel of the societal organization. Navna was rising as a resplendent mist, while, below, the waves of infraphysical forces were billowing and blocking her descent toward the people.

Meanwhile, the Polish witzraor was initiating a new onslaught.

Russia was fortunate indeed that this witzraor, whose temperament had reflected so tellingly in the obtuse statehood of the szlachta Poland, was, if I may say so, his own worst enemy. Unwilling to rise above his momentary arbitrariness, he could not lay the necessary groundwork for his human instrument to materialize his witzraor involtation. Nor was he able to choose for his instrument an individual whose individual qualities would meet the demands of the designated tasks. Had the movement been led by a more strong-willed and foresighted individual, with a mind more lucid than that of Sigismund III, the events would have turned out differently: the Polish dynasty would have taken hold of the Moscow Crown, and it is hard to imagine the possible historical vicissitudes in the aftermath of such an event.

Still, the Polish witzraor’s destiny maintained the ascending momentum. The Pollacks took possession of the heart of Russia – the Kremlin, and all around the beheaded, yet living country was seething.

What did Yarosvet himself come to realize drawing on this apocalyptic epoch’s dreadful experience? Not even daring – it would be naïve on our part to try to think over this experience together with him with our tridimensional consciousness. But the equivalent that projects into this consciousness – invariably simplifying along – is roughly as follows.

For Yarosvet to accomplish his goal on Earth, for the suprapeople’s Collective Soul to give birth to Zventa-Sventana from him, the suprapeople is to mature into creating a worthwhile material vessel. Such a vessel can only be a societal organization exceedingly more elysian than any state can ever be. Any witzraor of the Russian suprapeople will be bearing inside the distorting and ruinous yetzerhara. Yes. But who else, save the mighty Zhrugrs, could protect the suprapeople from being enslaved by the witzraors of other states surrounding it? Who else would warrant creating new upon new generations of Russian people to karossa Dingra? Who else would guard Navna from the danger of captivity by foreign witzraors or her disembodiment and return to heavenly Rangaraidr? (Not as a great collective Self with the fulfilled mission though, but as a monad that has failed miserably in Shadanakar and is now compelled to start anew its creative ascension in the uncharted times, spaces, and forms). Roads to the future worldwide brotherhood were wrapped in unfathomable darkness. But to avert the impending doom of the suprapeople, to secure its further physical existence, there was only one way: to decide in favor of one of the witzraor’s procreations, to pour new life into it, to bless it for the battle with the foreign enemy and for its further agelong existence as a great state – as the only possible way, for the time being, of protecting the Collective Soul.

And made the choice was. The potential bearer of the most robust kernel in the societal organization, the most full-blooded strata of the nation turns out to be the middle class: craftsmen, traders, lower clergy. Old-time moral norms were still there just as the proclivity to acts of bravery and self-sacrifice, the willfulness to mold life and create, the inner wholesomeness, the purity.

Through the patriarch Hermogenes, a great kin-guardian of the Time of Troubles, the demiurge of the suprapeople made an appeal to its grassroots. Hermogenes paid with martyrdom for putting the word out, but this was picked up by the kin-guardian Minin. The gold and silver that poured into the young militia, having bolstered and magnified it, was a physical semblance of those higher forces which poured into the young witzraor from the upper sources of the lightful will and authority: Yarosvet and the Synclite of Russia. There came the time for a mighty outpouring of will of the second demon of statehood and of Yarosvet himself into the historical plane, the outpouring that swept through more and more strata of the people, turning nobility, tradesmen, clergy, Kazaks, and peasants into those partaking in the feat and pulling the militia into Moscow, under leadership of the kin-guardian Pozharsky, so as to conclude the all-Russia bloody drama: the succession of witzraors.

When Velga, wounded by the new Zhrugr in the under-earth Drukkarg, crept away into her Gashsharva, squirming as the faded and torn-apart black blankets, and the witzraor of Poland pulled back into the confines of his country to lick the wounds on his stubbed tentacles, the new Zhrugr devoured the heart of the former, and a new dynasty crowned by Yarosvet and the powers of the Christian Myth began its work on the new historical societal organization of Russia.

to the next part: 8.2. The Egregor of Orthodoxy and Infraphysical Fear
to the previous part: 7.3 The Era of the First Witzraor
to the beginning: «The Rose of the World». Table of contents