About the author

Philosopher, poet, essayist. Graduate of the Faculty of Philosophy at Saint Petersburg State University. Areas of interest: cultural history, religion, and mythology.

Artist statement

Words as thread, words as cord
They stitch up wounds, they scorch like whips
Like a dark forest blocking the road
They lead to fog, delusion, mire

From them we weave the face of the world
That pours into the soul each moment
As a cat plays with a ball of yarn
Our mind gets tangled in it

When on the road we lose the goal
And forest hides the fir within itself
And we forget our native home
And who we were there once

But you — like me — are master of words
You give them shelter and a roof
You define their essence and their weight
It is yours — this whole strange forest

In it you are judge and helmsman
Gardener and watchman
And I — the same as you
Break branches and bushes

To feel, to find
My path and start again
Not merely wander in the forest
But see and know within it

Its unprecedented span
And power of roots and birdsong
The intricate run of patterns
The calm of stones, the murmur of rivers

To dispel that fog
In you and me the source is given
The gift of discerning things
Without it you belong to no one, even yourself

Do not tire of seeking an answer
Not everything is always “yes or no”
Explore the connection of everything with everything
Whence, what, how, and why

Everything that exists has a name
What you see here, what is only rumor
And behind the slightest play
Of what your mind can see

To find each thing its proper place
Of root, trunk, fruit, and leaf
To bind together all currents of deeds
Your science, power, and lot

Words are only skin, not flesh
A visage, not brain and bone.
By sound they ring in the soul
But only another will behold it

Behind the veil of outer speech
You hide with it heat and blaze
With words you hide pain and fear
With words you build shock and ruin

For life, speech is like clothing
Without a spark it cannot attract
And life without speech is like a dream
Elusive, bodiless it is

With words of songs and poems
We honor memory of those now silent
In our treatises and works
We keep the secrets of stars and herbs

Words are rich and empty
Be generous and sparing with them too
And you will strike people’s hearts
With pearls of your ideas

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