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ALL THE LIGHTNING OF A WINTER BLIZZARD
(a true story)
I
For a long time, I fought the witches who lived in our house. I learned about this when I started practicing psychic abilities. I'd sometimes relieve a neighbor's headache, and an hour later another one would come along and complain of feeling unwell. I'd treat her leg, and the neighbor would come running again. This happened so often that I soon lost all doubt: she was deliberately sending illnesses. And after my treatment, everything would return to her.
Later, other "people" with a similar style of work emerged. I continued to relieve pain, and even began ordering church services. (A magpie, a mass for St. Macarius against witchcraft, a prayer service for good health, and I lit candles to Panteleimon the Healer). Apparently, I was really bothering them. They decided to take revenge on me. II
One winter evening, as the orange sun majestically descended into the snow-covered gardens, I heard rapid clapping in the stairwell. I went to the door and peered through the peephole. Witches were gathering in the neighboring apartment for some kind of ritual. I then assumed the ritual was aimed at me. Unsuspectingly, I went for a walk.
By the time I returned, it was past midnight. Two yellow lights were burning brightly in my neighbor's kitchen window, casting silhouettes of white and dark spots on the walls. The light must have come from burning candles, because the flames flickered, and the configuration of the white and dark spots changed, echoing the curves of the flames.
I stopped. The more I watched, the more my heart filled with a vague unease. After standing there for about ten minutes, I went up to my apartment and went to bed, but I couldn't fall asleep soundly and tossed and turned until morning.
I woke up satisfied: my last workday was coming – Friday. I tore off a page from the calendar. Today is December 29, 1982. That evening, I'm invited to the observatory for the "Winter Solstice" celebration. I had the day off, so I went skiing.
III
Returning home that evening, I changed clothes and drove to the observatory. Even on the way, a strange, aching feeling arose inside, as if an unknown force were trying to stop my heart. I felt like I would die that night. Fear gripped my chest like icy needles.
The devil's play began the moment I grabbed the handle of the conference room door. A bright flash, like lightning, pierced the sky. I pushed the door open and immediately realized it wasn't a door and didn't lead to the observatory's conference room.
IV
The room wasn't filled with people. Glassy eyes, a precise rhythm of movements, the chill emanating from their bodies confirmed it. The music was like the call of the desert. Have you ever heard dogs on a full moon? That was the music. It tore at the soul and consciousness, causing them to fade. Six girls came onto the stage. Each held a candle. They danced gracefully in a circle, dripping wax into a pitcher of water. I saw with horror that after each circle, my face was reflected in the water of the pitcher, like in a mirror. Consciousness was fading. I barely remembered: who am I and where am I?
Suddenly, Valya, a good friend of mine, emerged from the crowd. Looking at me with chilling eyes, she said:
"Well, Eleven?"
I shuddered. In the Pythagorean language of numbers, eleven is the number of magic, the number of the archive, the mirror of the Highest in the Lower. (The archive and mirror of the Universe). Eleven is the sign of secret knowledge. What do they want to do to me? Crush me with the power of their secrets?
Valya suddenly disappeared into the crowd. A black goat was brought onto the stage. Something about the goat's appearance reminded me of myself. I looked away and began examining the walls, hung with the signs of the zodiac. There were 13 of them. The 13th poster depicted the observatory I was currently in, and the signature "AO" (Astronomical Observatory—the 13th Sign of the Zodiac).
I decided to leave immediately. I went out into the hallway. A dwarf stood by the door, sipping blood from a pot-bellied bottle. I ran out of the room and hailed a taxi on the highway. To my horror, I saw a mummy of a pharaoh instead of a driver. I sat silently in a corner the entire way. To my surprise, they didn't take my money.
When I got home, I saw my eldest son grabbing my youngest by the hair and slamming his head against the floor... My wife screamed, "You're a wolf." Upon closer inspection, I realized their individuality had been paralyzed, and they were all held captive by some evil force.
Without saying a word, I began an active karma yoga exercise, mentally cleansing not only the apartment but also my soul.
After a while, a blush appeared on my wife's cheeks, and the children calmed down. And then, just when I was about to finish mentally "cleansing" the room, the evil force began to rage. My wife screamed, "Beat him!"... The children and my father-in-law suddenly pounced on me and began beating me. I began to retreat, defending myself from the blows. The neighbors, alarmed by my wife's screams, called an ambulance. An hour later, two burly orderlies took me away from my angry family!
\/
At the clinic, they gave me an injection and left me in a solitary room. Looking out the window, I began to reflect. Lines from an avant-garde poet surfaced from the depths of my memory: "When the whole city is swept by blizzards, And the fields smell of grain, Then the snow will creak like the door of your hut..."
Stopping at the phrase "and the snow will creak like a door," I remembered that the conference room door had opened into something other than our world. So, something connected with snow will bring me back?
"Lord, hasten this outcome," I began my prayers.
A clap of thunder brought me out of my prayerful state. Outside the windows, a huge ball, the size of a fifteen-story building, was flying across the sky. It seemed to be constructed from hundreds of vortexes, myriads of dancing snowflakes. Blue lightning flashed in the center of the ball, and peals of thunder could be heard. Clumps of snow broke off and fell from the ball. And I felt that it wasn't snow falling, but rather my misfortunes fading away. I collapsed on the floor and fell asleep.
At my morning checkup, the doctors pronounced me completely healthy. The entire city was covered in soft, sparkling snow, which crunched pleasantly underfoot.
Returning home, I tried in vain to remind my family of the events of the night. No one remembered anything. They all said I hadn't come home but spent the night at the observatory.
The suffering I've endured has strengthened my spirit, and now I can walk calmly on any road.
According to eyewitness accounts, the infernal forces can construct a simulation of the real physical world and temporarily shift the exorcist's focus of awareness to this simulation. The evil ones perform this operation constantly.
A simple example. The author knows two powerful psychics, V. and A. When they worked together, they handled the most severe illnesses. Then they switched to exorcisms. Then one evening, in company, V. said to A., "You're a fool." He said it out of the blue. He spoke to a friend with whom they had lived happily ever after for ten (!) years.
A. spat in V.'s face in response. He responded in kind. It came to blows. They were separated. They were asked to explain the reason for the argument. V. says: "I'm sitting quietly on the couch, listening to your conversations. I see multicolored stripes appearing in the room. Nenozhko's vision began to blur. Suddenly, that scoundrel A. spits at me. Can you imagine what a scoundrel he is! So, I replied..."
So, V. sincerely didn't remember the words "And you're a fool." No one believed it. Then, at the group's request, V. was hypnotized and gave the same information. So, he was sincere. So, what happened? The most likely version. Hell prepared a imitation of V. and briefly swapped V.'s physical body with his imitation. The imitation insulted A., and the latter began to respond to aggression with aggression. Then Hell reversed everything: V.'s physical body returned to its place and immediately fell under A.'s spit. That's it. Friends became enemies, and individually, V. and A. were unable to cure serious illnesses. So we're stuck at the level of headache relief.
What's the conclusion? When someone insults you who shouldn't insult you, don't start a fight with them! That's all demons want. Better yet, say, "My eyes belong to the Lord," and watch... The hellish imitation is immediately removed, and the person returns to normal. They don't remember what happened. But replacing a person with an imitation isn't all that evil forces can do. They can cast entire groups of people into the imitation.
NIGHT TAXI
This happened in Luhansk. The author, together with A.L., a specialist in precious stones in folk medicine, performed an exorcism. During the exorcism, it became clear who had sent the demon being exorcised. It would be interesting to see a living black magician. We bought flowers and a cake and went. We talked about life, the weather. They introduced themselves as relatives of the neighbors. They treated us to tea. The tea tasted more disgusting than the brine from Mineralnye Vody Spring No. 6.
The conversation ended at 2 a.m. Not a word was said about magic. The owner was blocked from the astral plane—don't count. We used the same technique. We went outside. The trolleybuses were no longer running. We hailed a taxi. The author got into the front seat, A.L. in the back, behind the driver. Off we went. As soon as the taxi started moving, the streetlights went out. A moment later, they came back on. But the street was somehow different. When the lights went out, the road was clear. And when they came back on, a woman was standing in the road, hitchhiking. The driver stopped.
"To Slavyanogorsk, urgently. A relative died," the woman said,
showing a telegram. "We'll pay five hundred." (It was the fall of 1991. Five hundred rubles was still a lot of money.
"Get in," the taxi driver nodded. The woman blew her whistle. Two guys emerged from the bushes. They were broad-shouldered, like professional thugs, and dead drunk. The guys got into the backseat, and so did the woman.
Before the taxi had even pulled away from the curb, one of them declared:
"There's no vodka in Slavyanogorsk. The store's closed. How can we bury someone without vodka? Driver, turn back! We have twelve bottles of 80-proof vodka left at home. We need to pick them up."
The driver replied:
"We'll be right back. But you'll have to pay extra. We'll quickly throw these people in and turn around."
"I don't get it, driver! Turn around now! Or I'll throw this bastard out!"
And sure enough, he opened the back.
And indeed, he opens the back door and starts pushing A.L. out onto the asphalt. The author looks at the dashboard – the speed limit is 100 kilometers per hour. And that's within city limits! The author turns to the guy and puts his hand on his knee:
- Countryman, have you had too much to drink? Close the door.
A glimmer of awareness flashed in the guy's eyes:
- Oh, forgive me! My God! What a beautiful woman! And I wanted to throw her out of the car! For God's sake, forgive me. You know, I had a little to drink.
The door slammed. The author turned away and began looking at the road. Two minutes later, the situation was completely repeated. Even the same phrases were spoken.
Before everything had time to calm down, A.L. was almost thrown out of the car for the third time. So. What to do? Aha. Imagine the troublemaker in a bright white cocoon. Then a spell. Quiet!
Thank God. Immediately, the second one jumped in:
"Get out of the car!" and reached across her silent friend's lap for the door handle. I had to turn around and bring him back to his senses with a pat on the shoulder. Then I put him in the white cocoon too.
A woman jumped in and addressed the driver:
"You bastard, where are you taking us?"
Just in time. The car sped through the forest. Broken tree trunks were visible. A shallow, narrow lake stretched along the side of the road. A strange landscape for downtown Luhansk. The woman grabbed the driver by the throat and began to choke him. The car zigzagged, trying to crash into the trees. And this at 100 kilometers per hour!
The driver coughed, but didn't slow down.
I had to quickly beam down the blue beam on the driver and the woman. Put the car in the blue light (blue light - accident prevention). This caused the guys in the backseat to howl out of control. They opened the door again and tried to push A.L. out.
The driver wheezed. The car swerved. We miraculously missed a concrete pillar by ten centimeters. The door slammed shut by inertia. So, the situation had to be brought under control. "Lord, look through my eyes."
And then the car flies out of the forest onto the illuminated avenue.
The taxi brakes. The woman lets go of the driver's neck. The driver says to the author and A.L., "This is where you are."
We pay and get out. The car takes off at full speed. And suddenly the streetlights went out. And then came back on. The world became familiar. We arrived at the house where we were staying with friends. As soon as we entered the house, A.L., who had just demonstrated her fortitude, became dizzy and lost consciousness. There's nothing to be done—such are the consequences of an exorcism. It's always like this. It's always been like this.
We were lucky, by the grace of God.
(a true story)
I
For a long time, I fought the witches who lived in our house. I learned about this when I started practicing psychic abilities. I'd sometimes relieve a neighbor's headache, and an hour later another one would come along and complain of feeling unwell. I'd treat her leg, and the neighbor would come running again. This happened so often that I soon lost all doubt: she was deliberately sending illnesses. And after my treatment, everything would return to her.
Later, other "people" with a similar style of work emerged. I continued to relieve pain, and even began ordering church services. (A magpie, a mass for St. Macarius against witchcraft, a prayer service for good health, and I lit candles to Panteleimon the Healer). Apparently, I was really bothering them. They decided to take revenge on me. II
One winter evening, as the orange sun majestically descended into the snow-covered gardens, I heard rapid clapping in the stairwell. I went to the door and peered through the peephole. Witches were gathering in the neighboring apartment for some kind of ritual. I then assumed the ritual was aimed at me. Unsuspectingly, I went for a walk.
By the time I returned, it was past midnight. Two yellow lights were burning brightly in my neighbor's kitchen window, casting silhouettes of white and dark spots on the walls. The light must have come from burning candles, because the flames flickered, and the configuration of the white and dark spots changed, echoing the curves of the flames.
I stopped. The more I watched, the more my heart filled with a vague unease. After standing there for about ten minutes, I went up to my apartment and went to bed, but I couldn't fall asleep soundly and tossed and turned until morning.
I woke up satisfied: my last workday was coming – Friday. I tore off a page from the calendar. Today is December 29, 1982. That evening, I'm invited to the observatory for the "Winter Solstice" celebration. I had the day off, so I went skiing.
III
Returning home that evening, I changed clothes and drove to the observatory. Even on the way, a strange, aching feeling arose inside, as if an unknown force were trying to stop my heart. I felt like I would die that night. Fear gripped my chest like icy needles.
The devil's play began the moment I grabbed the handle of the conference room door. A bright flash, like lightning, pierced the sky. I pushed the door open and immediately realized it wasn't a door and didn't lead to the observatory's conference room.
IV
The room wasn't filled with people. Glassy eyes, a precise rhythm of movements, the chill emanating from their bodies confirmed it. The music was like the call of the desert. Have you ever heard dogs on a full moon? That was the music. It tore at the soul and consciousness, causing them to fade. Six girls came onto the stage. Each held a candle. They danced gracefully in a circle, dripping wax into a pitcher of water. I saw with horror that after each circle, my face was reflected in the water of the pitcher, like in a mirror. Consciousness was fading. I barely remembered: who am I and where am I?
Suddenly, Valya, a good friend of mine, emerged from the crowd. Looking at me with chilling eyes, she said:
"Well, Eleven?"
I shuddered. In the Pythagorean language of numbers, eleven is the number of magic, the number of the archive, the mirror of the Highest in the Lower. (The archive and mirror of the Universe). Eleven is the sign of secret knowledge. What do they want to do to me? Crush me with the power of their secrets?
Valya suddenly disappeared into the crowd. A black goat was brought onto the stage. Something about the goat's appearance reminded me of myself. I looked away and began examining the walls, hung with the signs of the zodiac. There were 13 of them. The 13th poster depicted the observatory I was currently in, and the signature "AO" (Astronomical Observatory—the 13th Sign of the Zodiac).
I decided to leave immediately. I went out into the hallway. A dwarf stood by the door, sipping blood from a pot-bellied bottle. I ran out of the room and hailed a taxi on the highway. To my horror, I saw a mummy of a pharaoh instead of a driver. I sat silently in a corner the entire way. To my surprise, they didn't take my money.
When I got home, I saw my eldest son grabbing my youngest by the hair and slamming his head against the floor... My wife screamed, "You're a wolf." Upon closer inspection, I realized their individuality had been paralyzed, and they were all held captive by some evil force.
Without saying a word, I began an active karma yoga exercise, mentally cleansing not only the apartment but also my soul.
After a while, a blush appeared on my wife's cheeks, and the children calmed down. And then, just when I was about to finish mentally "cleansing" the room, the evil force began to rage. My wife screamed, "Beat him!"... The children and my father-in-law suddenly pounced on me and began beating me. I began to retreat, defending myself from the blows. The neighbors, alarmed by my wife's screams, called an ambulance. An hour later, two burly orderlies took me away from my angry family!
\/
At the clinic, they gave me an injection and left me in a solitary room. Looking out the window, I began to reflect. Lines from an avant-garde poet surfaced from the depths of my memory: "When the whole city is swept by blizzards, And the fields smell of grain, Then the snow will creak like the door of your hut..."
Stopping at the phrase "and the snow will creak like a door," I remembered that the conference room door had opened into something other than our world. So, something connected with snow will bring me back?
"Lord, hasten this outcome," I began my prayers.
A clap of thunder brought me out of my prayerful state. Outside the windows, a huge ball, the size of a fifteen-story building, was flying across the sky. It seemed to be constructed from hundreds of vortexes, myriads of dancing snowflakes. Blue lightning flashed in the center of the ball, and peals of thunder could be heard. Clumps of snow broke off and fell from the ball. And I felt that it wasn't snow falling, but rather my misfortunes fading away. I collapsed on the floor and fell asleep.
At my morning checkup, the doctors pronounced me completely healthy. The entire city was covered in soft, sparkling snow, which crunched pleasantly underfoot.
Returning home, I tried in vain to remind my family of the events of the night. No one remembered anything. They all said I hadn't come home but spent the night at the observatory.
The suffering I've endured has strengthened my spirit, and now I can walk calmly on any road.
According to eyewitness accounts, the infernal forces can construct a simulation of the real physical world and temporarily shift the exorcist's focus of awareness to this simulation. The evil ones perform this operation constantly.
A simple example. The author knows two powerful psychics, V. and A. When they worked together, they handled the most severe illnesses. Then they switched to exorcisms. Then one evening, in company, V. said to A., "You're a fool." He said it out of the blue. He spoke to a friend with whom they had lived happily ever after for ten (!) years.
A. spat in V.'s face in response. He responded in kind. It came to blows. They were separated. They were asked to explain the reason for the argument. V. says: "I'm sitting quietly on the couch, listening to your conversations. I see multicolored stripes appearing in the room. Nenozhko's vision began to blur. Suddenly, that scoundrel A. spits at me. Can you imagine what a scoundrel he is! So, I replied..."
So, V. sincerely didn't remember the words "And you're a fool." No one believed it. Then, at the group's request, V. was hypnotized and gave the same information. So, he was sincere. So, what happened? The most likely version. Hell prepared a imitation of V. and briefly swapped V.'s physical body with his imitation. The imitation insulted A., and the latter began to respond to aggression with aggression. Then Hell reversed everything: V.'s physical body returned to its place and immediately fell under A.'s spit. That's it. Friends became enemies, and individually, V. and A. were unable to cure serious illnesses. So we're stuck at the level of headache relief.
What's the conclusion? When someone insults you who shouldn't insult you, don't start a fight with them! That's all demons want. Better yet, say, "My eyes belong to the Lord," and watch... The hellish imitation is immediately removed, and the person returns to normal. They don't remember what happened. But replacing a person with an imitation isn't all that evil forces can do. They can cast entire groups of people into the imitation.
NIGHT TAXI
This happened in Luhansk. The author, together with A.L., a specialist in precious stones in folk medicine, performed an exorcism. During the exorcism, it became clear who had sent the demon being exorcised. It would be interesting to see a living black magician. We bought flowers and a cake and went. We talked about life, the weather. They introduced themselves as relatives of the neighbors. They treated us to tea. The tea tasted more disgusting than the brine from Mineralnye Vody Spring No. 6.
The conversation ended at 2 a.m. Not a word was said about magic. The owner was blocked from the astral plane—don't count. We used the same technique. We went outside. The trolleybuses were no longer running. We hailed a taxi. The author got into the front seat, A.L. in the back, behind the driver. Off we went. As soon as the taxi started moving, the streetlights went out. A moment later, they came back on. But the street was somehow different. When the lights went out, the road was clear. And when they came back on, a woman was standing in the road, hitchhiking. The driver stopped.
"To Slavyanogorsk, urgently. A relative died," the woman said,
showing a telegram. "We'll pay five hundred." (It was the fall of 1991. Five hundred rubles was still a lot of money.
"Get in," the taxi driver nodded. The woman blew her whistle. Two guys emerged from the bushes. They were broad-shouldered, like professional thugs, and dead drunk. The guys got into the backseat, and so did the woman.
Before the taxi had even pulled away from the curb, one of them declared:
"There's no vodka in Slavyanogorsk. The store's closed. How can we bury someone without vodka? Driver, turn back! We have twelve bottles of 80-proof vodka left at home. We need to pick them up."
The driver replied:
"We'll be right back. But you'll have to pay extra. We'll quickly throw these people in and turn around."
"I don't get it, driver! Turn around now! Or I'll throw this bastard out!"
And sure enough, he opened the back.
And indeed, he opens the back door and starts pushing A.L. out onto the asphalt. The author looks at the dashboard – the speed limit is 100 kilometers per hour. And that's within city limits! The author turns to the guy and puts his hand on his knee:
- Countryman, have you had too much to drink? Close the door.
A glimmer of awareness flashed in the guy's eyes:
- Oh, forgive me! My God! What a beautiful woman! And I wanted to throw her out of the car! For God's sake, forgive me. You know, I had a little to drink.
The door slammed. The author turned away and began looking at the road. Two minutes later, the situation was completely repeated. Even the same phrases were spoken.
Before everything had time to calm down, A.L. was almost thrown out of the car for the third time. So. What to do? Aha. Imagine the troublemaker in a bright white cocoon. Then a spell. Quiet!
Thank God. Immediately, the second one jumped in:
"Get out of the car!" and reached across her silent friend's lap for the door handle. I had to turn around and bring him back to his senses with a pat on the shoulder. Then I put him in the white cocoon too.
A woman jumped in and addressed the driver:
"You bastard, where are you taking us?"
Just in time. The car sped through the forest. Broken tree trunks were visible. A shallow, narrow lake stretched along the side of the road. A strange landscape for downtown Luhansk. The woman grabbed the driver by the throat and began to choke him. The car zigzagged, trying to crash into the trees. And this at 100 kilometers per hour!
The driver coughed, but didn't slow down.
I had to quickly beam down the blue beam on the driver and the woman. Put the car in the blue light (blue light - accident prevention). This caused the guys in the backseat to howl out of control. They opened the door again and tried to push A.L. out.
The driver wheezed. The car swerved. We miraculously missed a concrete pillar by ten centimeters. The door slammed shut by inertia. So, the situation had to be brought under control. "Lord, look through my eyes."
And then the car flies out of the forest onto the illuminated avenue.
The taxi brakes. The woman lets go of the driver's neck. The driver says to the author and A.L., "This is where you are."
We pay and get out. The car takes off at full speed. And suddenly the streetlights went out. And then came back on. The world became familiar. We arrived at the house where we were staying with friends. As soon as we entered the house, A.L., who had just demonstrated her fortitude, became dizzy and lost consciousness. There's nothing to be done—such are the consequences of an exorcism. It's always like this. It's always been like this.
We were lucky, by the grace of God.
