Anastasia and the Wild Irish Eyes (Anastasia Series III Book 8)

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If a very young girl tried to touch you or herself inappropriately would you call her a slut? Or would you take her age into account and then wonder about her behaviour? I use that example because that's a warning sign that children are being sexually abused. Normalisation of sexual behaviour. Children aren't adults. So ask yourself this.

What exactly was going on in these boys lives that this constitutes acceptable or sought out behaviour for them? I mean you can say "fuck those vermin" all you want. But you're not addressing the problem. A young girl is dead. I'm asking why is she dead. You're beating your dick thinking about how best you can prove you want to harm kids. Do you think these boys are just a victim of their environment? What punishment do you think is appropriate if that's your position?

Not OP, but I don't think the "concrete box" is appropriate. We don't hold children to the same standard as adults, what the punishment is fitting is not something I would have the faintest idea about though probably true for everyone in this thread. I have no idea. The article mentioned the boys had "peculiar interests" which were not being disclosed at the time. This is notable to mention but doesn't offer much insight. For that level of planning though it seems like they got inspiration from somewhere. It's possible that after their arrest videos or images of fantasy murder or rape were found, but it's a guess.

But it still leads back to the why? And I have no idea. It's almost unprecedented. It's an all too common problem. People would rather dehumanise the perpetrators than actually spend time trying to fix the root problems that cause such behaviour. I hoped I wasn't the only one here who thought that violence being wished upon children was despicable. This young girl dying is tragic. The circumstances that could lead to children of that age carrying out the act is also horrifying and tragic and should be examined.

Graphic crimes elicit highly charged emotional responses. It's a normal knee-jerk reaction to a very heinous situation. It does actually which is why we have separate sentencing guidelines and why persons under 18 cannot be considered legally respomsible or require their parents consent to things like medical treatment. One of is here is attempting to dehumanize a child to. It isn't me. Yes, it does to some extent. This is an extreme case but we can throw out what we know to be true just to satisfy our anger.

It's a favourite one of abusers. And the girl is the victim here. Not these little shits. But I'm sure you want to deflect from that because you clearly have your own reasons for wanting to portray shitty people as victims. Now, go scream about "witch hunts" and "pitchforks". You know you're dying to ;. The type of tape more commonly known as duct tape.

Strange choice for a ligature but then I wouldn't exactly be able to put myself inside their heads very easily. Probably like black and yellow or red and white stripes, that kinda thing you'd use for blocking off dangerous areas or marking live wires, etc. How do you even think about doing something this evil at that age? You can't say they were just stupid or young.

It's pure evil. The prosecution mentioned 'peculiar interests'. I would say they'd been watching some fucked up stuff online. Absolutely disgusting. Gets me so angry every time I look at this case. These two scumbags will be walking around Dublin City Centre in the next 10 years as free men I can promise that. Our justice system is unbelievably bad these lads will get like 2 years in juvenile prison and get watered and fed and have a roof over their head. Why not name and shame these two horrible little rats. I hope Ana and Anas family get justice and them rats get what they deserve, maybe if the court does not do it maybe someone else should take matters into their own hands because of that was my little sister or brother or anyone that was related to me they would not be breathing right now and I would not be typing this as I would be behind bars, for a good reason doe.

Now comes the part where everyone will cream themselves, competing to describe in as much graphic detail as possible, what violence they'd inflict upon two mentally unwell 13 year old children. You know; the person you keep forgetting in your desperation to defend the behavior of two murderers; the person who was actually dealing with bullying and mistreatment yet managed to not brutally murder and sexually assault anyone. But carry on pretending you're "compassionate" rather than a slimy manipulator trying the favourite tactics of abusers and shitty people everywhere of portraying shitty people as victims and pretending that criticising them is worse than the behaviour itself.

Tactics straight out of the shitty person's playbook ;. Well it doesn't say anywhere that a forensic psychiatrist diagnosed them with a major mental illness and declared them as mentally unwell at the time the crime was committed. While it's very likely they have some form s of personality disorder, this doesn't mean they were "insane" at the time the crime was committed nor that they could not understand their actions and the consequences of their actions, in fact, considering they had an active plan to carry out and lie about the crime suggests that they weren't suffering from a major mental illness.

Insane isn't a proper term or definition. It implies there is a one size fits all approach deciding whether someone was culpable for their actions or that everyone who is mentally unwell acts the same way. Neither is true. This doesn't suggest this at all. You have a very poor understanding of mental illness. Many people who have suffered from mental illnesses have constructed detailed plans before they've committed attacks due their disturbed reasoning.

He became obsessed with Jodie Foster, tracking her movements and inevitably come to the reasonable conclusion, in his mind, that by shooting the president, akin to the scene in TAXI DRIVER, that she would fall in love with him. I want to bring it back to the heart of this though. These boys were 13 years old. And everything else has to be viewed through that light. Not from a "pitying" sense. But from the perspective of child mental development and what could have led up to the events here. I think it's likely they have a personality disorder because most violent offenders do.

I have a decent understanding of mental illness actually. I said suggests, not guarantees. Those who have an psychotic major mental illness generally don't plan their crimes nor lie about it recognising they've done something wrong. Here's an extract from a piece in the Indo lol but it's written with the help of Prof.

Harry Kennedy the head forensic psychiatrist at CMH who's widely respected worldwide. Literally nobody is saying any of that, so you can save your concern. The question here is whether people like this can actually be rehabilitated, and if that is enough. It's one thing to murder someone in the heat of an argument. But for a 13 year old to carry out a crime like this points to a seriously fucked up psyche.

The last thing we want is for them to do this to another innocent person. I'm glad someone can agree with me. In the early days of psychiatric care, and still in some parts of the world the best way people thought to deal with mental health patients was to beat the fuck out of them. In that case, then, the Siberian cedar would be the stronger. It says in the Bible: " Could it be that no one has paid any attention to all this? Has no one put two and two together? The Old Testament, the science of the past century and the cur- rent one — are all of the same opinion regarding the cedar.

And Elena Ivanovna Roerich 18 notes in her book Living ethics: " Druids also called the chalice of ce- dar resin the Chalice of Life. And only later, with the loss of the re- alization of the spirit, was it replaced by blood. The fire of Zoroaster was the result of burning of the cedar resin in the chalice. Elena Ivanovna Roerich [Rerikh] — Russian religious thinker. Travelling through Asia with her husband, the prominent Russian artist Nikolai Konstantinovich Roerich, she became fascinated with Oriental religions and de- voted her career to studying and writing about them.

In she and her husband founded the Agni Yoga Society, a non-profit educational institution in New York. The ringing cedar 13 So, then, how much of our forebears' knowledge of the cedar, its properties and uses has been passed down to the present day? Is it possible that nothing has been preserved? What do the Siberian oldsters know about it? And all at once my memory harked back to an experience of many years ago, which caused a shiver to run up and down my spine. I didn't pay any attention to it back then, but now During the early years of perestroika I was president of the Association of Siberian Entrepreneurs.

One day I got a call from the Novosibirsk District Executive Council back then we still had Communist Party committees and 'Executive Councils' , asking me to come to a meeting with a prominent Western businessman. He had a letter of recommendation from the government of the day Several entrepreneurs were present, along with workers from the Executive Council secretariat.

He was wear- ing a turban, and his fingers were adorned with precious rings. The discussion, as usual, centred around the possibilities for co- operation in various fields. The visitor said, among other things: "We would like to buy cedar nuts from you. I remember the incident very well, as even then I wondered why his appearance had changed like that. After the official meeting the Moscow Interpreter accompanying him came up to me.

She said he would like to speak with me. The businessman made me a confidential proposal: If I could ar- range delivery of cedar nuts for him -— and they had to be fresh — then I would receive a handsome personal percentage over and above the official price. The nuts were to be shipped to Turkey for processing Into some kind of oil.

I said I would think It over. I decided I would find out for myself what kind of oil he was talk- ing about. And I did On the London market, which sets the standard for world prices, cedar nut oil fetches anywhere up to five hundred dollars per i4 Book i: Anastasia kilogram! I rang up an entrepreneur I happened to know in Warsaw, and asked him whether it might be possible to market such a product directly to the consumer, and whether we could learn the technology involved in its extraction.

A month later he sent me a reply: "No way We weren't able to gain access to the technology And besides, there are certain Western powers so involved in these issues of yours that it would be better just to forget about it. I bought a shipment of nuts and financed a study And the laborato- ries of his institute produced approximately kilograms of cedar nut oil. I also hired researchers, who came up with the following informa- tion from archival documents: Before the Revolution and even for some time afterward there was in Siberia an organisation known as the Siberian Co-operator.

People from this organisation traded in oil, including cedar nut oil. They had rather swanky branch offices in Harbin, London and New York and rather large Western bank accounts. A member of the Bolshevist government, Leonid Krasin, 23 met with the head of this organisation and asked him to return to Russia. During the s he served as Foreign Trade minister as well as the new government's trade representative in London and Paris.

The ringing cedar 15 But the head of the Siberian Co-operator replied that he would be of more help to Russia if he remained outside its borders. From archival materials I further learnt that cedar oil was made using wooden only wooden! The quality of the cedar oil depended on the season in which the nuts were gathered and how they were processed. But I was un- able to determine, either from the archives or the institute, exactly which season was being indicated. The secret had been lost.

There are no healing remedies with properties analogous to those of cedar oil. But perhaps the secret of making this oil had been passed along by one of the emigres to someone in the West? How was it possible that the cedar nuts with the most effective healing properties grow in Siberia, and yet the facility for producing the oil is located in Turkey? After all, Turkey has no cedars like those found in Siberia. And just what 'Western powers' was the Warsaw entrepreneur talking about?

Why did he say it would be better just to forget about this issue? Might not these powers be 'smuggling' this product with its extraordinary healing properties out of our Russian- Siberian taiga? Why, with such a treasure here at home with such effective properties, a treasure known for centuries — for millennia, even, do we spend millions and maybe billions of dollars buying up foreign medicines and swallow them up like half-crazed people?

How is it that we have lost the knowledge known to our forebears? Our recent forebears yet — ones who lived in our century! And what about the Bible's description of that extraordinary hap- pening of over two thousand years ago? What kind of unknown pow- ers are trying so earnestly to erase our forebears' knowledge from our own memories? Yes, they are trying to wipe it out. And, indeed, they are succeeding! I was seized by a fit of anger. I checked, and yes, cedar oil is sold in our pharmacies, but it is sold in foreign packaging! I bought a single thirty-gram vial and tried it.

The actual oil content, I think, was no more than a couple of drops — the rest was some kind of di- luting agent. Compared to what was produced in the Consumer Co- operative Institute — well, there was simply no comparison. And these diluted couple of drops cost fifty thousand roubles! Just the sale of this oil would be enough to raise the whole of Siberia above the poverty level! But how did we ever manage to let go of the technology of our forebears?!

And here we are snivelling that we live like paupers Well, okay I think come up with something all the same. I'll produce the oil myself — and my firm will only get wealthier. I decided I would try a second expedition along the Ob — back up north, using only my headquarters ship, the Patrice Lumumba.

I loaded a variety of goods for sale into the hold, and turned the film- viewing room into a store. I decided to hire a new crew and not invite anyone from my firm. As things stood, my firm's financial situation had worsened while I was distracted with my new interest. Two weeks after leaving Novosibirsk my security guards reported they had overheard conversations about the ringing cedar. Some of them even agreed to go on a volunteer basis. Others asked for extra pay for this operation, since it was not something they had agreed to when signing up for work.

It was one thing to stay in the comfortable conditions aboard ship — quite another to trek twenty- five kilometres into the taiga and back, carrying loads of wood. My finances at the time were already pretty tight. I had not planned on selling the cedar. After all, the oldsters had said it should be given away Besides, my main interest was not the cedar tree itself, but the secret of how to extract the oil. And of course it would be fascinating to find out all the details connected with it.


Little by little, with the help of my security guards, I realised that there would be attempts made to spy on my movements, especially after I left the ship. But for what purpose was unclear. And who was behind the would-be spies? I thought and thought about it, and decided that to be absolutely certain, I would somehow have to out- smart everyone at once. Encounter tK"" Without a word to anyone, I arranged to have the ship stop not far from the place where I had met the old men the previous year.

Then I took a small motorboat and reached the village. I gave orders to the captain to continue along the trade route. I hoped I would be able, with the help of the local residents, to look up the two old fellows, see the ringing cedar with my own eyes and determine the cheapest way of getting it back to the ship.

Tying the motorboat to a rock on the shore, I was about to head for one of the little houses close by But spotting a woman standing alone on the riverbank, I decided to approach her. The woman had on an old quilted jacket, long skirt and high rub- ber galoshes of the kind worn by many residents of the northern backwoods during the spring and fall. On her head was a kerchief tied so that the forehead and neck were fully covered.

It was hard to tell just how old this woman was. I said hello and told her about the two old men I had met here the previous year. I was amazed. Her voice sounded very young, her diction was crystal clear. She called me by my first name and right off used the informal form of address. I thought now we must have done so, since this woman knew my name. I asked her deciding to continue in the same informal tone : 'And how do you call yourself?

This gesture of a country woman in a quilted jacket and galoshes, standing on a deserted shore and trying to act like a lady of the world, amused me no end. I shook her hand. Naturally, I wasn't going to kiss it. Anastasia gave me an embarrassed smile and suggested I go with her into the taiga, to where her family lived. That's not too much for you? But can you show me the ringing cedar? It is only extremely rarely that they find themselves in direct contact with people from our civilised society These contacts do not occur in their places of permanent residence, but only when they come into the villages under the guise of hunters or travellers from some other settlement.

Anastasia herself had been to two big cities: Tomsk and Moscow. But only for one day each. Not even to stay the night. She wanted to see whether she might have been mistaken in her percep- tions about the lifestyle of city people. She had saved the money for the trip by selling berries and dried mushrooms. A local village woman had lent her her passport. When asked why, she replied that the pieces of cedar would be scattered among evildoers as well as good people. In all probability the majority of the pieces would be snatched up by passport — in this case, an internal identity document required for any kind of travel within the Russian Federation or the former Soviet Union.

Encounter 19 negative- thinking individuals. In the final analysis they might end up doing more harm than good. The most important thing, in her opin- ion, was to promote the good. And to help people through whom the good was accomplished. If everyone were benefited at random, the imbalance between good and evil would not be changed, but would stay the same or even get worse.

After my encounter with the Siberian oldsters I looked through a variety of popular-science literature along with a host of historical and scholarly works describing the unusual properties of the cedar. Now I was trying to penetrate and comprehend what Anastasia was saying about the lifestyle of the cedar people and thinking to myself: "Now what if anything can that be compared to? They were written up in the paper Komsomolskaya Pravda under the headline: "Dead-end in the taiga", and were the subject of television programmes. I had for- mulated for myself an impression of the Lykovs as people who knew Nature pretty well, but had a rather fuzzy concept of our modern civi- lised life.

But this was a different situation. Anastasia gave the impres- sion of someone who was perfectly acquainted with our life and with something else besides that I couldn't fathom at all. She was quite at ease discussing our city life, she seemed to know it first-hand. We walked along, getting deeper into the woods, and after about five kilometres stopped to rest. At this point she took off her jacket, kerchief and long skirt, and placed them in the hollow of a tree. All she was wearing now was a short, light-weight frock.

I was dumb- struck at what I saw. If I were a believer in miracles, I would put this down to something like extreme metamorphosis. For now here before me stood a very young woman with long golden hair and a fantastic figure. Her beauty was most unusual. It the Lykovs — a family of 'Old Believers' that lived in self-imposed isolation in the taiga unknown to the outside world through most of the Soviet period.

They were discovered by a party of geologists in Their story is told by Komsomolskaya Pravda journalist Vasily Peskov in his book Lost in the taiga available in English translation. Everything about this taiga girl was alluring, simply spellbinding. There were no cosmetics covering her perfect features. Her lovely well-toned skin bore no resemblance to the weather- beaten faces of people I knew who lived in the Siberian backwoods. Her large greyish-blue eyes had a kindly look, and her lips betrayed a gentle smile. As indicated, she wore a short, light-weight smock, something like a night-shirt, at the same time giving the Impression that her body was not at all cold, in spite of the degree tem- peratures.

I reached Into my bag and took out sandwiches, along with a travel bottle filled with good cognac. I offered to share It with Anastasia but she refused the cognac and for some reason even declined to eat with me. While I was snacking, Anastasia lay on the grass, her eyes blissfully closed, as though invit- ing the sun's rays to caress her.

The rays reflected off her upturned palms with a golden glow. Lying there half-exposed, she appeared absolutely gorgeous! I looked at her and thought to myself: "Now why do women always bare to the limit either their legs, or their breasts, or everything at once with their mini-skirts and decolletage? Is It not to appeal to the. Fight against their fleshly passions and thereby denigrate women with their lack of attention? Or make advances toward them and thereby break a God-given law?

To convert a Celsius temperature to Fahrenheit, multiply it by 1. Encounter 21 "Anastasia, you're not afraid of walking through the taiga alone? I thought: "How is it that this so extraordinarily alluring young beauty could not be afraid of anyone or anything?

She didn't offer any strong resistance, although I could feel a con- siderable degree of strength in her resilient body The last thing I remember before losing consciousness was her saying: "Do not do this Calm down! A fear of what, I couldn't grasp — as sometimes happens in childhood when you find yourself at home all alone and suddenly become afraid of something. When I woke up, she was on her knees, bending over me. One hand lay upon my chest, while the other was waving to someone up above, or to either side.

She was smiling, though not at me, but rath- er, it seemed, at someone who was invisibly surrounding us or above us. Anastasia seemed to be literally gesturing to her invisible friend that there was nothing amiss going on. Then she calmly and tenderly looked me in the eye: "Calm down, Vladimir, it is over now. You will be able to understand it all later. It's you! It's only that you yourself began to resist. It was offensive to me.

It was offensive to her You just do everything you can to tempt us! You bare your legs, stick out your breasts, walk around in high-heeled shoes. That's very uncomfortable, and yet you do it! You walk and wriggle with all your charm, but as soon as I'm not that way You all want the same thing, only you all act It out differently.

So why did you, Anastasia, take off your outer clothes? The weather's not that hot! And then you lolled about on the grass here, with that alluring smile ofyours I put it on when I leave the woods and go out among people, but only so I can look like everyone else. I just lay down to relax in the sun and not disturb you while you were eating. Well, you did! Of course, you are right about every woman wanting to attract a man's attention, but not just to her legs and breasts.

What she wants is not to let pass by the one man who can see more than just those things. And what is this s more' that must be seen, when it's your legs that are front and centre? Oh you women, you're so illogical! Maybe we should get along, Vladimir! Have you finished eating? Are you rested? But I replied: "Fine, let's go. We continued our journey to Anastasia's home, her outer clothes left behind in the tree hollow.

Her galoshes too. She was still wearing the short, light-weight frock. She herself picked up my bag and offered to carry it. Barefoot, she walked ahead of me with an amazingly light and graceful step, waving the bag about her with ease. We talked the whole, time. Talking with her on any subject was most interesting. Perhaps because she had her own strange ideas about everything. Sometimes Anastasia would whirl about while we were walking.

She turned her face to me, laughing, and kept on walking backwards for a while, quite absorbed in the conversation without so much as a glance down at her feet. How could she walk like that and not once stumble, or prick her bare feet against the knot of a dry branch? We didn't seem to be following any visible path; on the other hand, our way was not hindered by the tangled undergrowth so common in the taiga.

As she walked she would occasionally touch or quickly brush by a leaf or a twig on a bush. Or, bending over without looking, she would tear off some little blade of grass and When berries were handy, Anastasia would offer me a few to eat as we walked. The muscles of her body didn't seem to have any unusual features. Her overall physique appeared quite average. Not too thin and not too plump. A resilient, well-fed and very beautiful body But, from what I could tell, it possessed a goodly degree of strength and extremely sharp reflexes.

Once when I stumbled and started to fall, my arms outstretched in front of me, Anastasia whirled around with lightning speed, quickly placing her free hand under me, and I landed with my chest on her palm, her fingers spread wide. There she was supporting my body 24 Book i: Anastasia with the palm of one hand, helping It regain Its normal position. During all this time she went on talking, with not the slightest sign of strain. After I had straightened up with the help of her hand, we continued on our way, as though nothing whatever had happened.

For some reason my mind momentarily rested on the gas pistol I had in my bag. With all the Interesting conversation I hadn't realised how much ground we had actually been covering. All at once Anastasia stopped, put my bag down under a tree and joyfully exclaimed: "Here we are at home!

A neat little glade, dotted with flowers amidst a host of majestic cedars, but not a single structure to be seen. Not even a hut. In a word, nothing! Not even a primitive lean-to! But Anastasia was beside herself with joy As though we had arrived at a most comfortable dwelling. Where do you eat, sleep, take shelter from the rain? I have everything here. Let's have a tea-kettle, so we can at least heat up some water on the fire. Let's have an axe.

And It would be best not to light a fire. She doesn't even have a kettle?! The water in my bottle is all gone. You saw when I ate. I even threw the bottle away Now there's only a couple of swallows of cognac left. To get to the river or the village Is a good day's walk, and I'm so tired and thirsty Where do you get water from?

What do you drink out of? She quickly took me by the hand and led me through the glade into the forest, admonishing me along the way: "Not to worry Vladimir! Don't get upset. I shall take care of everything. You just rest. Get a good sleep. You will not be cold. You are thirsty? I shall give you something to drink right away" Less than ten or fifteen metres from the glade, beyond a clump of bushes, we came across a small taiga lake.

Anastasia quickly scooped Beast or Man? Drink it, please.

  1. Technology.
  2. Anastasia Dukova | Griffith University -
  3. Everybody I Love You.

How can you drink raw water out of some puddle in the woods? You saw how I was drinking borzbomi 1 On board ship even for washing we pass the river water through a special filter, chlorinate it, ozonise it. This is pure, living water!


Good wa- ter! Not half-destroyed water, like yours. You can drink this water, just like mother's milk! Look," Anastasia raised her cupped hands to her lips and took a drink. I blurted out: 'Anastasia, are you some kind of beast? Because my bed is not like yours? There are no cars? No appliances? But even more precisely — his civilised existence. Yes, of course, you do. But I am not a beast, Vladimir.

The word Man with a capital M is used throughout the book to refer to a human being of any gender. For details on the word's usage and the important distinction between Man and human please see the Translator's Preface. Subsequently, after spending three days with Anastasia and observ- ing how this strange young woman lives all by herself in the remote Siberian taiga, I began to understand a little something of her life- style, and to be confronted by a number of questions regarding our own. One of them still haunts me to this day: is our system of education and bringing up children sufficient to comprehend the meaning of existence, to arrange every individual's life-priorities in the correct order?

Does it help or hinder our ability to make sense of Man's es- sence and purpose? We have set up avast educational system. It is on the basis of this system that we teach our children and each other — in kindergarten, school, university and post-graduate programmes. It is this system that enables us to invent things, to fly into Space. We structure our lives in accordance with it. Through its help we strive to construct some happiness for ourselves. We strive to fathom the Universe and the atom, along with all sorts of anomalous phenomena.

We love to discuss and describe them at great length in sensational stories in both the popular press and scholarly publications. But there is one phenomenon which, for some reason, we try with all our might to avoid. Desperately try to avoid! One gets the impres- sion that we are afraid to talk about it.

We are afraid, I say, because it could so easily knock the wind out of our commonly accepted sys- tems of education and scientific deductions and make a mockery of the objects inherent in our lifestyle! And we try to pretend that such a phenomenon does not exist. But it does! And it will continue to exist, however much we try to turn away from it or avoid it.

anastasia and the wild irish eyes anastasia series iii book 8 Manual

Isn't it time to take a closer look at this and, just maybe, through the collective effort of all our human minds together, find an answer to the following question? If you take all our great thinkers, without Who are they? Not to some super academy, mind you, but to the forest! Why did Christ Jesus go off, away from his disciples, into the desert, mountains and forest?

Why did a man named Siddhartha Gautama, who lived in India in the sixth century A. After which this recluse came out of the forest, back to people, complete with a set of teachings! Teachings which even to this day, many cen- turies later, arouse a multitude of human minds.

And people build huge temples and call these teachings Buddhism. And the man him- self eventually came to be known as Buddha. Serafim Sarovsky ne: Prokhor Sidorovich Moshnin, — a monk of the Sarovsky Hermitage near Tambov, who had a gift for healing and foretelling the fu- ture. He was particularly concerned about improving the situation of women and in the s helped establish what would become the Holy Trinity Serafimo-Diveevo Women's Monastery Canonised in , he is now one of the most revered saints of the Russian Orthodox Church.

In the s he founded a monastery deep in the Radonezh Forest north of Moscow now the site of the town of Sergiev Posad, until recently called Zagorsk. He was canonised in Monasteries and majestic temples were raised at the locations of their respective solitudes. Thus, for example, the Trinity- Sergiev Monastery In the town of Sergiev Posad near Moscow today attracts thousands of visitors each year. And It all started from a single forest recluse. Who or what enabled these people to obtain their wisdom? Who gave them knowledge, who brought them closer to understand- ing the essence of life?

How did they live, what did they do, what did they think about during their forest solitude? These questions confronted me some time after my conversa- tions with Anastasia — after I had started reading everything that I could lay my hands on regarding recluses. But even today I haven't found answers. Why has nothing been written about their solitude experiences? The answers, I think, must be sought through a collective ef- fort. I shall try to describe the events of my three-day stay In the Siberian taiga forest and my impressions from my conversations with Anastasia, in the hopes that someone will be able to fathom the es- sence of this phenomenon and put together a clearer picture of our way of life.

For now, on the basis of all that I have seen and heard, only one thing Is crystal-clear to me: people who live In solitude in the forest, Including Anastasia, see what Is going on in our lives from a point of view completely different from ours. Some of Anastasia's ideas are the exact opposite of what Is commonly accepted.

Who Is closer to the truth? Who can judge? My task is simply to record what I have seen and heard, and there- by give others an opportunity to come up with answers. Anastasia lives in the forest altogether alone. She has no house to call her own, she hardly wears any clothes and does not store any pro- visions. She Is the descendant of people who have been living here for thousands of years and represents what is literally a whole differ- ent civilisation. She and those like her have survived to the present day through what I can only term the wisest possible decisions.

Very Who are they? When they are among us they blend in with us, trying to appear no different from ordinary people, but in their places of habitual residence they merge with Nature. It is not easy to find their habitual dwelling-places. Indeed, Man's presence in such places is betrayed only by the fact that they are more beautiful and better taken care of, like Anastasla's forest glade, for example.

Anastasia was born here and is an integral part of the natural sur- roundings. In contrast to our celebrated recluses, she did not go off into the forest simply for a time, as they did. She was born in the taiga and visits our world only for brief periods. And on the face of it there seems to be quite a simple explanation for the strong fear that overwhelmed me and made me lose consciousness when I attempted to possess Anastasia — just as we tame a cat, a dog, an elephant, a ti- ger, an eagle, and so on, here everything around has been Earned'.

Anastasia told me that when she was born and while she was still under a year old, her mother could leave her alone on the grass. The taiga recluse first looked at me in surprise, but then ex- plained: "There should be no problems of finding food for Man. One should eat just as one breathes, not paying attention to the food, not distracting one's thought from more important things. The Creator has left that task up to others, so that Man can live as Man, fulfilling his own destiny" She snapped her fingers, and right away a little squirrel popped up beside her, hopping onto her hand.

Anastasia lifted the creature's muzzle up to her mouth, and the squirrel passed from Its mouth Into hers a cedar nut seed, its shell already removed. This did not seem to me anything out of the ordinary I remembered how, back at the academic complex near Novosibirsk, a lot of squirrels were quite tamed' — in this case meaning 'brought into an interrelationship with Man 5. Academic town' — home of the Siberian branch of the Russian Academy of Sciences as well as Novosibirsk State University — where the professors and researchers live as well as work.

Here I was simply observing the process in reverse. But this here was the taiga, and I said: "In the normal world, our world, everything's arranged differently If you, Anastasia, tried snapping your fingers at a privately-run ki- osk, 7 or even beat on a drum, nobody would give you anything, and here you say the Creator has decided everything. Whether it is for the better or for the worse, that is up to you to divine. Her position is simple — it is sinful to waste thought on things like food, and she does not think about it.

But for us in our civilised world, as it happens, we are obliged to give it thought. We know from books, reports in the press and TV programmes, of a multitude of examples of infants who have found themselves out in the wilds and ended up being fed by wolves. Here in the taiga gen- erations of people have made their permanent residence, and their relationship to the animal kingdom is different from ours. I asked Anastasia: "Why aren't you cold, when here I am in a warm jacket? In my case this capacity of the human body has not been lost, and so I have no need of any special clothing.

Anastasia put me to bed in sorne kind of cave hollowed out of the ground. Exhausted after my wearying trek, I quickly fell fast asleep. When I woke up, I felt a sense of bliss and comfort, as though I were lying in a magnificently comfortable bed. The cave, or dugout, was spacious, appointed with small feath- ery cedar twigs and dried grass which filled the surrounding space with a fragrant aroma. Later, Tari Kelly emerges as the second act's most pleasant surprise, her big voice and strong stage presence making you wish her character the Countess Lily played a bigger part in Act One.

Her lusty romp with Vlad brings the house down, the audience nearly stopping the show with applause.

But Lila Coogan is the star, her voice pleasant, well supported, and full. For me, her performance falters only in its lighter moments fending off a pack of St. Petersburg thugs, for example, though the unconvincing fight choreography might be as much to blame. I was equally impressed by Joy Franz , whose take on Anastasia's grandmother, the Dowager Empress, is different from and harsher than Angela Lansbury 's in the movie but just as effective - and her singing nearly as lovely. It's worth noting that I was alone in these sentiments during post-show conversations in the theatre lobby, my fellow patrons less taken with Coogan's and Franz's performances than I was, so your mileage may vary.

There was just one performance that left me nonplussed, and it's a minor one: Fred Inkley 's hammy turn as a cartoony Count Leopold. Another hot topic of conversation in the hall: the show's use of digital projection, an increasingly popular trend on Broadway and the source of some controversy among those who prefer practical sets and effects it's the same debate happening in Hollywood and on theme park message boards. ANASTASIA is lit beautifully but relies almost entirely on projected backgrounds, sometimes gorgeous and convincing but at other times too obviously digital and downright distracting.

The Act One finale, in which a rapidly moving background creates the illusion of train travel, ought to come with a motion sickness warning. But then, right after that, there's a stunning reveal of the City of Lights. Both camps can walk away pleased. The movie's songs still stand out as the strongest, but even if the new numbers aren't consistently memorable, they aren't lazy either. The melodies are interesting enough, and the lyrics almost always engage the plight.

Anastasia and the Wild Irish Eyes (Anastasia Series III Book 8) Anastasia and the Wild Irish Eyes (Anastasia Series III Book 8)
Anastasia and the Wild Irish Eyes (Anastasia Series III Book 8) Anastasia and the Wild Irish Eyes (Anastasia Series III Book 8)
Anastasia and the Wild Irish Eyes (Anastasia Series III Book 8) Anastasia and the Wild Irish Eyes (Anastasia Series III Book 8)
Anastasia and the Wild Irish Eyes (Anastasia Series III Book 8) Anastasia and the Wild Irish Eyes (Anastasia Series III Book 8)
Anastasia and the Wild Irish Eyes (Anastasia Series III Book 8) Anastasia and the Wild Irish Eyes (Anastasia Series III Book 8)
Anastasia and the Wild Irish Eyes (Anastasia Series III Book 8) Anastasia and the Wild Irish Eyes (Anastasia Series III Book 8)
Anastasia and the Wild Irish Eyes (Anastasia Series III Book 8) Anastasia and the Wild Irish Eyes (Anastasia Series III Book 8)
Anastasia and the Wild Irish Eyes (Anastasia Series III Book 8) Anastasia and the Wild Irish Eyes (Anastasia Series III Book 8)

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