Saturday, January 20, 2018

The Glass Ele-phant
By © Anton Vendamencsh, 2017

Chapter 3/ Putin’s Comment on Christianity 1

(Russia’s President Putin does not necessarily agree with me or I with him. Nevertheless, on the surface of it, we are in agreement that “There were those years of militant atheism when priests were eradicated, churches destroyed, but at the same time a new religion was being created. Communist ideology is very similar to Christianity....” The following explains my perspective in greater detail.)

I have argued in many a blog in the past that the notion of God arose from the necessity of a man to prove his capacity for love by self-sacrificing his life on behalf of the life of his community. Were the sacrifice not forthcoming and communicated, the community would die—sooner or later. Once the sacrifice became established, the community gave the sacrifice unreserved adulation, which is why God—by virtue of charisma—also became King. Still, the man was first God, before he became God-King.

In the course of time, the God-King became repressed due to the fact that certain men could gain greater material profit for themselves when the community was divided and its men and womn were at each other’s throats. Unfortunately, the God-King, too, became demoralized and corrupt, and, thus, despised by a large segment of the community. This is most obvious in the case of the French King Louis XVI, who was guillotined in 1793 during the French Revolution. Because no one remembered how the role of the King came about, the rule of kings became passé thereafter, and he was replaced by the most divisive form of government possible: parliamentary Democracy.

While most theologians are likely to dismiss the notion that God arose out of the need to bond humans, it is evident in the fact that the modern community has been torn apart by so-called government of parliamentary ‘democracy’. The major cause of the sundering of the community is the violence of the wealthy and those who seek to become wealthy.

The reason why there is no such thing as a modern community (unless we persist in calling a dysfunctional crowd and its fantasy borne assertion that for all evidence to the contrary it is a viable community) is that wealth—even if it does not extend past that o the middle-class—and not community is everyone’s priority. All efforts by the people to reconstitute themselves as a community born of God and Nature are repressed by various overtly and subvertly violent police actions, which are supported by so-called laws issued by the lawmakers of Parliament. One wealth making effort at the present time is that of the U.S. President Trump, who plans to make (mostly in the face of a rising China and the Clintons’s appropriation of the U.S as its private fiefdom) a failed America ”great again”. And how will that happen? By threatening war on weaker nations such as North Korea, Iran, Venezuela and keeping numerous conflicts boiling in places such as Afghanistan, Ukrain, Iraq, Syria, Lybia, and fostering new conflicts such as between India and Pakistan. The politically illiterate and fascist U.S. citizenry aplauds.

The politically illiterate Latvijans, the people with whom I share a common fate, too, have been persuaded by the American oligarchy that the disintegration of their national community is due to Russia Russia Russia, rather than communism dressed up in middle class city-zen* clothes by their fake leaders. For example, it is more important for the current Latvijan Foreign Minister that the public knows he is gay (Latvijans are expectantly waiting for their Foreign Ministry to be converted to a same-sex wedding palace), rather than take the responsibility for Latvija being occupied by the boots and propaganda of NATO forces under the command of a U.S. General.

*City-zen—a more accurate spelling of the word ‘citizen’, the dweller of a city as opposed a countryman, a dweller of wood or countryside. A city-zen is a virtual being who lives in a city, which is a virtual and human-built environment.

The current native Latvijan is a descendant from the inhabitants of former Livonia, which was occupied by the neoChristian Germans during the 10-11th centuries. As a consequence of the occupation, the native people became both nameless and historyless. While a segment of the population merged with the Lithuanians, who merged with the Poles, the larger portion remained in place and was forced to forget who they were or had been. Their self-rediscovery occured after the Great Northern War (1700-1721) between Sweden and Russia, which war was won by Russia. In that war the northern part of what is now Latvija was devastated. The people who survived, survived because they hid in the woods and swamps of which the area has plenty. In the area of Valmiera (Wolmar in German), some 50 km from the Estonian border, ”only the wolves howl”—so wrote general Sheremetyev to tsar Peter the Great.

The war devastated not only the native population, but sent the ruling German nobility (under the aegis of the Russian tsar) into a panic, because there was no one left to work for them. To save the situation, the baroness (generalin* von Hallart) of Wolmar who was a friend of the wife of German Graf Zinzendorf from Dresden, Germany, went on a visit to Dresden, to try persuade her friend to persuade her husband, who was a supporter and provider of shelter to a radical Christian offshoot of the Hussites (later known as the Moravians). The Graf was persuaded, and in 1729 a number of members of the sect arrived in Valmiera to lay out the groundwork for more arrivals in 1737. The history of Latvijans was set in motion during the Summer Festival of 1739. It was a revelatory experience. My forebears were among the Christian artisans and would be rescuers.

*The title ‘generalin’ was somtimes accorded to women of high rank by Russia. In this particular case, generalin Hallart’s husband had been a highly regarded Russian general at the Saint Petersburg court. When the general died, the Russian tsarina Catherine I let his pension remain with his widow. This enabled the generalin to support the Moravian church, from which support came both the Latvijan and Estonian nations.

What distinguishes the ‘remnant of the Hussites’, who became known as Hernhuters (Cepurnieki) in Latvija, was that they did not believe faith in God was all that was needed to be considered God’s children, but that one had to live in a manner to do God proud, and this could be achieved only by providing others with an example worth emulating. In the case of the Moravians, they persuaded the native nobodies of Livonia to leave the wood and swamp not only by bringing them the word of God, but by working shoulder to shoulder with them in the field. It was governmnt by direct example that provided the harisma necessary to move a forgotten people from violence instilled lethargy.

The Hernhuter movement was so successful that it began to worry the German barons and their Lutheran ministers. In 1743 on their behest the Russian tsarina Elizabeth issued an order (ukaz) that told the Moravian instigated movement to cease all activities. The movement had no alternative, but to go underground.

Slowly, in ways that no one quite knows how, in ways unacknowledged by historians to this day, the movement went up (by 1739 the movement among Latvijans was some 5000 strong), then down (confessions of sin became near hysterical) and revivalist, then secular [secret meetings, with watchmen/ (?armed) guarding against spies and intruders, took place in wood and granaries]. It was out of this by historians unmentioned metamorphosis into a secular movement that the Moravian Christians reemerged as latter day communists, aka Bolsheviks*.

*Unbeknownst to most westerners, the name Bolshevik derives from the name of a mushroom delicacy known as Boletus edulis or as in Latvija by the name of ‘baravike (varabeka=the Power mushroom). By means of a shift in consonant sounds (as per Grimm’s Law), the name came to be pronounced ‘Bolshevik’.

Saturday, January 13, 2018

The Glass Ele-phant
By © Anton Vendamencs, 2017

Chapter 2 / My Father’s Military Record

[The following military record of my father in English by way of my nephew Christopher Abers with the assistance of his wife who translated it from Russian. Comments within brackets [], as well as all links and asterisks are mine (AV).]

1916 August 1—I volunteered [age 24] for military service and joined the Reserves 6th Engineering Battalion and was made part of the 8th Company.

1917.February 21—I volunteered to study at the Constantine Artillery Academy in Saint Petersburg Constantine Artillery Academy in Saint Petersburg and was a 1st level volunteer.
May 23—I was promoted to assistant lieutenant at the war academy.
July 1—I was made head of my class and Sergeant Major of the Battery.
August 15—I graduated from the war academy and was made part of the army/marines, promoted to lieutenant, and was sent to the artillery brigade.
September 4—Did my best to be transferred to Riga and with that in mind accepted a post in the Reserves 1st Mortar Battery, submitting my previous post to another officer. Once my training was completed, I took a two week leave of absence and went to Riga. While there Germany unexpectedly invaded Latvia; with great difficulty, I avoided being captured and returned to Saint Petersburg. There I was sent to the Reserves 1st Mortar Battery.
September 15—In the regiment, I was registered in the 3rd Mortar Battery and was a commanding officer for new recruits of the “Martevoja Battery.” I was a student technician—an official committee member for Moscow’s Military Engineering Academy.

October—From here on out what I write will be based on my memory, for records in Rostov were destroyed.

November—Following the October Communist Revolution, due to conflicting ideology, and having received threats from military leadership, I resigned from active military service and was transferred by the Moscow Military Engineering Academy to the Ukraine, where acquaintances helped me find a job as a manager for the Nadejadinskij coalmine*. This coalmine belonged to the Defense Department; there I worked as military personnel. I began to work in the coalmines in November of 1917.

*I am unable to locate Nadejainskij on a map, though it surely must be located in the eastern part of Ukraine, where most coal mines are located. As I scanned place names on maps, one name stuck, re , as it seems a possible alternate spelling for Nadejadinskij.

1918  August—Resigned as manager [at the coal mine].
November—The Ukraine was ruled by Hetman and German occupying forces. In Kharkov, as refugees, in appalling conditions, lived the four women of my family*. To provide funds for them, I made a trip to Riga** going through occupied territory—Baranovichi and Vilnius.

*The four women could only have been my father’s three sisters (Marija, Anna, Marta) and his mother. Marija, so I was told, died of typhoid fever somewhere in Russia. The others survived and became part of my extended family.

**The funds in Riga were provided by my granfather, who with his second wife were publishers of the best known and largest Latvijan newspaper in Riga, the Latest News (Jaunākās Ziņas).

1919  January—Having received funds in Riga, I headed back with the hope of swiftly returning with my family to Latvia; for I assumed that the Hetman Government was still standing. January was spent traveling to Kharkov.
February—The Communists invaded Kiev  and I was trapped under the communist regime. To avoid being drafted by the communist army, I enrolled in the Kharkov Institute of Technology as a 5th year student and thereby was freed from draft duty.
June 3—The White Army, General Denikin, occupied Kharkov and I was mobilized.
June 6—On my request, I was sent by the White Army to work in the 2nd Railway Battalion.
September—As a junior lieutenant, I worked as a train station superintendent, performing various technical jobs related to train movement. Then I was transferred by my superiors from the 2nd Battalion to the 4th Railway Battalion. There, at Headquarters for Army Transportation, I was ordered to work as an aide-de-camp and was a lieutenant for communications.

1920  February—By order of General Denikin, was promoted to Senior Lieutenant.
April—After the fall of Rostov, as the White Army retreated [it is worth reading the last section of this link, re ”Commanded White Volunteer Army”—AV.] I was made an officer in charge of the technical military train and later an aide-de-camp for several railway defense brigades at Army Headquarters. My frequent requests to be relieved of my duties in the Denikin Army and be given permission to return to Latvija were denied; the same was happening with all military officers from Latvija; for the Denikin Army did not recognize Latvija as a sovereign nation. I also sought the help of Latvija’s representatives to the Ukraine, Jansons and Bahmanis but...

April—General Denikin ordered all Latvijan military personnel to be freed from military duty*. I then left the army and traveled from Novorossiysk through Istanbul and then to Latvija.

*after the Red Army led by Semyon Budyonny shattered the flank of the White Army at Voronezh.

May—In Warsaw, I placed myself at the disposal of Colonel Hartmanis of the Latvijan Military who then ordered me to Riga. There, I promptly submitted myself to military debriefing.

Comments: I gather from the text that my father’s loyalties were with the tsar, if only because with the capture in 1919 of Kiev by the communists, he enrolled in the Kharkov Institute of Technology to escape being drafted into their army, but with the arrival of General Denikin was ‘mobilized’ (apparently willingly) into the White army.

When in 1941 my father was being deported to Russia, his closest companion on the train and at the Astrahan prison, so called Little Kremlin, is said to have been a Latvian military officer by the name of Ozols. Apparently, he found strength in such company. He is said to have commented to his fellow deportees that he expected that his family, too, was being deported.

The dough of the doughnut in the Primal nightmare (see EC642) is sucking into itself, by means of a quantum energy jump, ever more objects. I suspect that the empty core of the doughnut is a visual representation of what the Chinese philosophers call Qi or Chi. Just because the wind is invisible does not mean that it is not there.

Saturday, January 6, 2018

The Glass Ele-Phant
By © Anton Vendamencs, 2017

Chapter 1 / A Birthday Present

It was my fourth birthday. It was a sunny day in Yuhrmala, what was and still is a resort city of the well to do in Latvija. The family cook, who I regarded as my aunt, brought the cake out on the veranda. I was nearby under the chestnut tree, where the gardener had built a sandbox large enough to accommodate me and my friends, the children of our next door neighbors. One of my birthday presents was a tricycle. As all my friends wanted to give it a try, I was told to be generous and let them.

The cake had four lit candles. Mathilda called for all to come and get it. My friends and I rushed to the table that had been placed at one corner of the veranda. I, the birthday child, had the honor of blowing out the candles.

I had little memory of the four years past, except when in later years a photograph or the mention of an event roused the sense of a memory. For example, when I look in the mirror and note my left eyebrow, I can see there a small scar, that I received after I fell out of my stroller and sustained a cut above that eyebrow. Then there was also the dream, that kept returning. Indeed, until about the age of four, it returned often enough to be remembered.

In the dream, I was caught—as if by quicksand—in a whirlpool of dough that was turning like a galaxy around a hole at its core. The hole was empty, but in the dough round about it, there were stuck numerous objects: some were huge raddishes and turnips, others were carrots, my hobby horse with real horse hair was there, too. Though I was outside the doughnut, I was close enough to fear being sucked into it.

When the circle of dough was about to close over me, I awakened and ran to find Baba or Babu, my nanny. When Baba, short for Babushka, could not calm me, we both went to find my mother, who usually was at the other end of the apartment or house in the guest room. In order not to embarrass herself before the guests as an inattentive mother, mother then accompanied me and Babu back to the childrens’ bedroom (I had a sister a couple of years younger than myself), where after getting a few pats on my head, I was encouraged to sing in Russian: ”Nam nye strashem sery volk...” (Who’s afraid of the big bad wolf...). Assured that I was brave enough to face sleep, I then closed my eyes again.

After the candles on the cake were blown out and the cake was consumed, other gifts were presented. My friends were not forgotten and received token gifts: a balloon, or a small basket full of lollypops, or paper streamers, the latter which were immediately thrown about and littered the balcony tiles in colorful spirals.

My father, who had left work at the newspaper early to attend the celebration, too, had a package for me. It was a long closed cardboard box. Someone said: “I wonder what that could be?” Of course, I also wondered.

Father said: “Go ahead, Anton, open it.” Baba untied the string that kept the box closed.

I lifted the lid. But when the box was open, I still could not see the gift. It was hidden behind wrapping papers that were wrapped around what looked like a stick. “What do you think it is?” someone asked. Was it another toy shovel, like the one I had received a year earlier? I had no idea. Father came to my aid and unrolled the paper wrapping as if it was some kind of a bandaid.

A dark brown object lay before my eyes. I recognized what it was immediately.

A rifle.

Of course, it was but a toy rifle, but at that moment it seemed to me that it was the real thing. Though I had never seen a real rifle ever before, the toy intruded its reality. Somehow I knew that it signified death. From a small brown stock emerged a black metallic barrel. The barrel had an ominous black shine to it. Just below the stock was the trigger housing. I was seized by a paralyzing fear. Not knowing what else to do, I began to cry.

The guests were appalled and my father was embarrassed. Had he judged wrong? Was I really not grown up enough to be introduced to the real world? What was to be done to shut up the cry-baby? I understood father’s embarrassment, which is why I remember the birthday, but could not control myself.

Looking back, I wonder whether maybe something similar had happened to father when he was four years old. Maybe he had learned then something that made him judge a rifle useful. In any event, this is not the first time that I have wondered what made father chose the fac simile of an instrument that kills for his four year old son’s birthday.

Since my father was born in 1892, what was it that had happened in 1896, when he was four years old? Today, in my 85th year, a look at Wikipedia, shows me nothing particularly violent as then happening. Or perhaps father had the First World War and the Soviet Revolution, which happened nearly twenty years later, in mind. At the time of the First World War, 1914, father was 22 years old. At the time of the Soviet Revolution and Civil War, in the latter of which he participated under the command of General Denikin on the side of the Russian tsar, father was 24.

In 1937, the year of my fourth birthday, father was 45. Though the tsar of Russia was long dead, was the toy rifle a sign that father was trying to raise me as a supporter of the Russian monarchy? Looking back all these years, I wonder. On second thought, I do not think so. Nevertheless, he used his service in the White Army to try persuade the Soviet Cheka not to kill him when 1941 rolled around. In effect, he was suggesting that he was not an enemy of Russia. Indeed, the Cheka did not kill him just then.

Father picked up the toy rifle and called me to his side. He showed me how to insert a pink roll of paper caps in a chamber set just above the trigger and just below the cocked hammer. He then lifted the rifle to his shoulder, aimed it into the air, and squeezed off several of the caps. He then held the rifle for me to take.

Babu, then took me by the hand and led me to a child’s wheelborrow that was filled with candy wrapped in silver foil.