The year 1956 did not begin well. They found out again we were agents of imperialism. Judging from that these agents must be everywhere. And we are actually in a very important place here. A tiny fire station is towering in front of our windows; and it is probably in the interest of the "western imperialists" to find out whether and when, for the benefit of this regime, the reliable men of strong arms and muscles of steel shall haul a broken fire engine out of the fire house and, with a mighty onslaught, shall begin extinguishing the world’s blaze with gallons of water from the nearby pond, only to thwart every bad intent of imperialists. And it is probably we who shall send message to London or Washington , so that those warmongers could start a fire somewhere else and thereby worry the camp that builds up peace so strenuously that the camp’s inhabitants must tighten their belts for the states of [that camp] to pay all those expenses for – weapons. However – strange are the paths of divine prudence.
There was yet another event – at the beginning of the year my brother died. His dead body was resting in a coffin in a catholic chapel and in front of it were two wreaths of red flowers that the "party" had put there for him. A priest performed some kind of ceremony and the procession went to the graveside. There was another priest’s speech, then the clergyman stepped back and two political speakers came on his place. The first one did not arouse my interest very much; he was just too normal. But the other one? – Giving withering looks to loafers and mourners at moments where he knew by heart, without having a look at the paper, what he was supposed to say, he came to pronounce finally:
"Well, Olda, we promise you that we will continue in the struggle for the good of our children, the words you used to repeat so often." (Olda=Oldrich – CZ name)
An old-man’s snide and sarcastic smile came out in my within. The orator was saying words my father used to say more than forty years ago. Using those words, my father was always justifying the refusing of better life opportunities he was offered. I gave it a thought: It is quite possible that people and children could hear their fathers and brothers saying the same words in the tempestuous year 1848. Or, maybe even in the great French revolution, or at the time of the Roman Empire, or even in the glacial epoch. And if we could understand what animals say, then maybe, we could hear a pterodactyl, fighting with a brontosaurus, saying those words. Who knows…
However, one thing is sure – if people do not change, then we will have to "fight for the good of our children" next hundreds or thousands of years. And at the same time we have to always pay attention lest some looter misuses that struggle to punish the whole nation…
Finally the funeral was over. Going away from the grave I had to reflect about for what profound experiences my older brother had won the high appreciation denoting him a progressive fighter, while I had been always regarded as a national enemy. Anyway, here are his merits, the list of which will maybe make the reader a bit tired.
Immediately after my father’s death my grandma asked to take him, partly since he was my mother’s stepson, partly because he was the only Catholic in our family, a soul that could, in our grandmother’s view, come to harm in the family of "pagans". But later he would steal grandpa’s corn from the granary and would sell it as he was in permanent need of money for amusements and smoking. Grandpa did not admit that motive and turn him out of his house. So he would take jobs in the country, going from one peasant to another. And since he sang like Orpheus, girls marched after him like geese after the gander. They were inviting him to dance, which he would have liked to accept, but he would often have no suitable dress to put on. So they bought him a nice suit and he – sold it on after the dance party.
Being so tormented by the ruling class of the First Republic (in CZ 1918-1939) he finally had to enter the military service. The cruel regulation of the "decaying world of capitalism" held him in captivity for long, two, years. But as everything has its end, so did his military service. Then he did not know what to do. He had a girlfriend who kept an eye on him, then dressed him and eventually led him to the altar one day. But he could not exist on that. One day he came to see his uncle; there was some kinsman on a visit who was a managing director in some factory, and so he got a job in the factory.
He was married and his wife would often complain that he was coming back home very late after he had got his pay – not seldom as late as on Sunday morning. That was actually the only reason for her complaining. But later, his restless spirit was overcome with an unease of someone who aspired to reach higher and higher goals.
Well, he would then go to the pub where he played "ferbl" (CZ-hazardous card game; the name comes from German Färbel-colours). He was losing himself in sensual pleasure when sliding a card and very often was shouting in excitement: "That’s enough!!" or "More!!"
But a restless mind does not stick to anything very long. So he launched out into some "ground" activity that could, after a small modification to the political organization, turn into an "underground activity". He told me mysteriously one day: "See the fine lady over there? She goes out with that guy, that one dates that man and so on and so forth, and they are all married."
I had some doubts about it.
"You may take my word for it," he said. "We are three guys, we track them crawling on our bellies carefully to get as close to them as possible when they are in the woods and we wait for the crucial moment to come…"
That adventurousness of his came in handy for him later, as it swept him along to the "native party", where he recognized his true proletarian origin. He came even so far as to begin doing world politics. In one dialogue with me he accused Truman and Churchill of doing terrible things in the world, he predicted a revolution in France to come by two or three years, which should establish a just government, and other things. Upon my objection he replied:
"Of course, you will pull together with capitalists. You are one of them, aren’t you? Your way of thinking is just capitalist."
Now, his life ceased. And the speaker with the withering look was pronouncing the words of sorrow: "It’s a pity he can’t be of help to us in the second five-year plan." Then finally, accompanied by heartrending grief, they lowered his coffin into the deep grave, all surrounded by a red glare of socialism. If I were a rational Catholic, I would have checked to see whether he, being in the red glow, was not sinking into some flames. Hell is somewhere down there, after all. But what can I – an unchristened child – know about it? Besides, the priest alone hesitated and then spoke with deliberation: "Lord in His prudent divine justice will perhaps absolve him from his sins if he committed some…"
However, even if the priest had known well, he could not have said anything more. There was a professional speaker, the man with the withering look, standing behind him, and the reign of terror threatened with its "justice" in our country…
In the village where we temporarily live people say: If there were just nothing in that spying of theirs, they would arrive. But then the frosts broke up and we did arrive. The men of steely decisions, however, still hesitated to push out the fire engine put out the world fire started by imperialists and to strengthen peace. And so, gradually, also the keenness of hawk’s eyes peeping and snooping under our door and elsewhere abated. Now I am finishing my work at manuscripts. Mrs L’s daughter, being a teacher of Czech language, had a possibility of advising me on grammatical structures, but the lessons came too late. Even so late that I cannot use the helpful advice any more. The reason is that I am no longer able to write anything. I tried it recently but found myself repeating. I do not think this is necessary. So I can but note: Everything is going in reverse order in my case. I am getting a lesson of Czech language now that I have written all books. However, at the same time I do not think that the formal imperfections in my books are that bad. Those few corrections the teacher of Czech made in my manuscripts render the explication more lucid, that is true, but there are in reality only a few. That means that I did not come off that badly with the spirits I had appealed for help the other day…
My wife too, is nowadays feeling better. Despite the chronic inflammation of nerves in the upper cervical backbone she seems to be relatively calm and, God willing, I will live in the autumn of my life, to see also here, the sky of my predestination becoming sunny. I would like to reach the confirmation of what I once said:
Her realization is the purest and maybe even the most superior one, because it is not defiled by reason. And I would like to append a comment here:
Everyone else of us retained reason during the realizations. That is why we have to try hard now lest fate should plot for us something like a punishment of such kind that we would have to incarnate again with natural intelligence and in poor social conditions.
It is the year 1956, exactly ten days after I began writing my autobiography. Mrs L. is celebrating her tenth mystical birthday and the mystical transmission is maturing in her, while I am approaching the thirtieth anniversary of my mystical awakening. I find it all a truly auspicious presage. Auspicious – because I do not regard my work completed yet. It is necessary to forge the third and further links in the chain of the holy dynasty. I have no illusions at the same time. The permanent fight prepared me so that I can immediately put away all interest in my work. I am aware I have been here with the same experiences for 30 years, so there has been enough time for all who seek. This fact makes me cold and prudent. And then: Each work has its beginning, its peak and the time of completion; otherwise, one would go astray in the jungles of activity…
So I can say: Had it not been for the unpleasant reality that the deplorable and poor opportunists, with the eyes of an experienced politician and a policeman in one person, found out that we lived near a fire-shed only to carry on espionage and thereby to deprive the "happy" people of our People's Democratic Republic of labour by our allegedly trying to bring back the former conditions and, if they had not denounce us as saboteurs and enemy agents of Western imperialists (King of Maros), I would probably live in relative contentedness.
The reason of my saying so is:
And so I am standing here now, actually as someone who has succeeded in achieving the possibility to pass on the Teaching…
And I should actually confess: I am not alone who lives the mystical life of a votary of Mahayana. There is yet another being here who corroborated, by her life and endeavour, my theory, pronounced a long time ago, about the problems of the Teaching. She is a being who opened the floodgates blocking the way of communicating the Teaching in that she proved that the path I myself have gone is passable for other people, too. And so before my eyes a presage looms that torch of learning that was lighted in me will not go out immediately in the second member of the succession but will be passed on for the good of the world and the human beings.