Simple Truths of Life

Preface

In my early childhood three events occurred that influenced the rest of my life. Two of them led to many misfortunes and negative habits, while the third helped me find the meaning of life.

All the events described in this book really happened to me, Evgeny Meshkov. As you will know from reading my book, I had to go through a lot in order to stop being afraid of telling the truth, even if for many of my contemporaries this truth may seem fiction.

In this book, I talk about such things as the meaning of life and the purpose of the Universe, Auras, Higher Self, telekinesis, sexual relations, psychology, etc.

The names of some people were replaced with the letters of the alphabet so that their identity could not be easily established. Since this is a narrative about real events that happened to me, I did not want to imagine anything – not even the names for disguising some people. I almost never refer to those people after my first mentioning of them, and so the reader should not have much difficulty remembering one-letter names.

The content of this book, despite small references to representatives of some minorities, does not reflect any bias on behalf of the author towards those minorities, and does not carry the purpose of offending anyone.

The book “Thiaoouba Prophecy” by Michel Desmarquet (First published as “Abduction to the 9th planet”, Arafura Publishing, ISBN: 0-646-15996-8) has been used for references in this book with written permission from the copyright holder.

***

In addition, after the first publication of this e-book, I would like to expand this preface based on the feedback I received from some people.

The genre of this book is biography and memoirs. There is a good reason for this – I had to write a lot of details about my life so that readers could better understand my connection with people from the planet Thiaoouba (which is the main reason for my decision to write this free e-book) and the possible reason why they gave me help at a certain moment in my life. This book is a kind of collection of everything that I have learned and what I want to share with people. Then such a genre, covering many very different topics, gives people the opportunity to learn about how I overcame many of my problems. It shows both the cause and the effect – the conclusions that I drew from my life experience. I believe that this knowledge is important not only for people who have similar problems, but also for everyone else, since this knowledge and experience reveals a broader global problem that we have on the planet now and which affects all people without exception. The inclusion of other details gives an idea of what it is like to live with such knowledge, when not many people believe you, including those close to you, and you yourself have no choice but to tell the truth – otherwise you will make a mistake, for which you will have to pay.

I tried to write this book in a simple style without any stylistic literary embellishments, just talking about important events in my life and the subsequent knowledge that I gained from it.

Someone might say that some episodes from my life could be removed from the book. But the point is, those “unnecessary” narratives may well be the reason why the people from Thiaoouba helped me. I still do not know the exact answer to this question myself, and I have only some guesses. Of course, this means that I had to write about all the mistakes of my life honestly and directly – clearly realizing what some people will think of me and how they will see me in their eyes. At the same time, other people will have a different picture in their heads. This perception depends on the knowledge that each person has, and since different people have different knowledge, it is impossible to please everyone – so I wrote the book as I thought was right at the time of writing it.

The age rating for this book could have been 16+, not 18+. I myself, when writing, was aiming for 12+. But due to some flaws in the law and because some things can be interpreted in different ways by different people, the book got 18+ rating. The publishing company decided to protect itself by making the book 18+, but there is nothing too blunt in it – all the things I talk about people who are twelve years old or more may already know, and remembering myself and my friends at the age of twelve I would say that they most likely know.

The “Manifesto” chapter in this book could be a separate book, but I believe that it belongs in this volume, because without my explanations as to why I know that Michel Desmarquet’s book about his unusual journey to Thiaoouba is completely true, a stand-alone Manifesto would not make a lot of sense, and many people simply would not understand why I take the content of Michel's book so seriously.

Chapter 1. The Beginning

I was about five years old when my friend A, his grandmother and I were sitting on a bench in front of the Big House – as we called it in my family – on a clear summer day in the village of Malye Gorki, Vladimir Oblast. The Little House, where my mother and I used to come during the warm months, was later attached to the bigger one.

During our idle pastime I heard how to the left of me a gate leading to the Little House opened. I thought at that moment that my mother was coming out, since no one else could go from our part of the garden plot, as my mother and I were the only one in the Little House that day. My father was in Moscow, and my aunt Liza, or great-aunt Liza, formally speaking, always went outside from the side door of the Big House, located to my right.

When I turned my head towards the creak of the gate, I was surprised to see there a bright yellow outline of a humanoid figure, glowing with other bright shades of yellow and gold. It quickly slipped into the garden and disappeared behind the wall of our Little House. At that moment I heard the plates rattling in the kitchen.

Having run into the kitchen, I saw that my mother was calmly washing the dishes. She saw nothing and nobody.

Upon returning to my friend and his grandmother, I began to actively try to tell them about what I saw a minute ago. This was the first time that I had encountered skepticism in my life. I learned back then that people are not only inclined not to believe in what they have never seen themselves, moreover, they can ridicule those who begin to talk about what is not yet a universally recognized fact.

Interestingly enough, that childhood friend had previously talked about how he saw something like a ghost that jumped over the fence of an abandoned house, standing across from mine. Now, when I am writing this book, I understand that I am myself skeptical of his story. In addition, as you will understand later, fences are not an obstacle to real souls of the dead.

Nevertheless, thanks to that unusual experience with a bright yellow figure, I learned that there is more to this world than is customary to think. I thought for a very long time that it was a ghost. Looking ahead, I will say that later I found out that that figure simply could not have been it. But first things first.

I think it was the same summer when I entered the Little House to see my drunk father beat my mother. Being a five-year-old child, I did not know what to do. I simply could not do anything. My two elderly great-aunts, Liza and Klava, were also not able to help my mother in any way. I was very worried and cried, thinking that I could lose my mom.

I do not remember exactly how much time had passed when I heard my village friends calling for me to go outside. In tears, I quickly jumped out onto the porch to say that I could not go out. I remember very well how one of my friends laughed then at my appearance. I understand that she did not know what was the cause of my tears, but, as you will learn later, even in this situation she made a mistake by allowing herself to laugh at a person in trouble. Nevertheless, this was yet another instance when someone laughed at me.

Fortunately, my father soon stopped beating my mother. She was alive, and we even managed to walk together to Lakibrovo, the neighboring village where my aunt Zina used to live. I called her myself when we were already at the fence of her house.

After some time, we gathered our courage and the three of us went back to Malye Gorki.

Then I only remember how on the outskirts of our village Zina gave me Kinder Surprise before going back to Lakibrovo.

Apart from the memory of the grim incident of that day, everything else seemed exactly the same as it was before…

My mother and I slept that night in the Big House, along with the aunts. When in the morning dad entered the room of the house, he was very surprised to see my mother with a huge bruise under her eye. He did not remember anything regarding the events of the last day and papa was somewhat stunned when he was told everything.

After that day, I promised myself that I would never drink vodka.

I do not remember exactly how much time had passed when I, A, and, if I remember correctly, Denis, were outside near a neighboring house. I could not understand for a long time why A laughed whenever I said something. From my point of view, nothing was happening that could amuse him so much. Then for some reason he began to specifically repeat the syllable of the words that I spoke…

This is how I realized that the incident with my drunken father had an effect on my speech, and I became a stutterer… But I still did not know then the seriousness of the situation, and what it would lead to.

I will say right away that my father was a pretty kind and softhearted person when he was not drunk. Drinking used to have a much worse effect on him than on many other people. From a calm person he turned into a very loud and mobile. Sometimes he did things that he could never have done if he was sober. But, fortunately, he never brawled again like on that fateful day. It also took him a very long time to recover from drinking bouts. I am glad that one day he did not drink on my birthday at my request. Alas, despite my mother’s and mine admonitions against drinking, he still could not overcome this addiction, which eventually brought him to the grave.

The last momentous event of my childhood occurred when I was about six years old. I cannot describe everything in detail, so as not to ruin the life of other people. I can only say that after meeting that guy who was about my age, we often spent time together outside and became friends.

I do not remember exactly how, but it all led to the fact that he taught me to masturbate. It was mutual masturbation, and I do not think that I touched myself back then – only he did. I did not understand then what we were doing and why. I was feeling neither disgusted nor good. It was just a new life experience, about the consequences of which I could not know.

I think a year has passed when my friend wanted to try oral sex with me. I did not like this idea at all, and I constantly refused his requests. He said that he and his other friend, whom I never knew personally, did this and there is nothing wrong with that. But I continued to feel deep inside of me that this was not something that I would like to do.

It took some time, a year or two, before I finally agreed to have oral sex, which we performed on one another. Fortunately, we did not try any other sexual penetrations.

This went on for several years. There was a time when our friend caught us. She immediately turned around and left. Once she used her knowledge so that we would stop pestering her – otherwise everyone would have known. I think that if other friends had found out, it would have been a disaster for me at that time, but now many years later I can almost calmly write about my experience in this book, which many people of different worldviews and cultures may read.

One day our friends called us to travel around the neighboring areas. I loved to travel in nature and wanted to go with them. But did not do it. While friends left, we went to our favorite place where no one could see us. This was the beginning of the school holidays, and for many months we had not seen each other. He began to touch me in the southern latitudes, and if before I was excited in a second, at that moment I could not get an erection. It was an unspoken sign that my homosexual experience had come to an end.

My friend and I never talked about what we did in our childhood.

This experience had consequences in my life. I remember how another friend from Moscow and I were playing at his house when we were about ten years old – give or take. I remember exactly that while he was playing with a plastic Godzilla toy, there were thoughts in my head that I was not very interested, and I was more interested in girls and in sex with them, and not in toys. I myself had toys in my childhood, but I did not often play with them.

In my preschool years, I did not go to kindergarten and often spent time in the village with friends. I really enjoyed being there. Clean air, greenery, nature – everything gave me joy in my carefree childhood. For a long time, I was the youngest in our company. While my friends one by one started going to school, I continued to stay in the village with my mother for the warm autumn months, so that later my father would take us to Moscow for the winter.

In Moscow, I lived with my mother in a small one-room apartment. Although there was a time when we lived with my father in his two-room apartment. But then Mom found photographs in his closet where my father was with another woman. Her hair was dyed red and, as we learned later, her name was Marina…

My parents had a big argument, and my mother and I never visited my father for a long stay at his place again.

At the age of seven, I went to study at school No. 376, which is located next to my house on Khalturinskaya Street. I sat at the first desk in front of a young beautiful teacher who once suddenly told me to go down from the clouds, and then: “Wake up and sing!” – Did I dream in class that day? My desk mate was B.

In the first grade, everything was fine – or I thought so. The only thing I remember is how every time I cheerfully answered at the blackboard in front of the whole class, one guy sitting at his desk in the back rows always clearly stuck his head out to look at me. And I thought – why?

On the summer holidays of that year, I got my answer. About when I was six years old, my parents brought me to a doctor who studied and treated stuttering. I was prescribed some medications that I had to drink with water in slow sips. In my eyes at that time, it all did not seem negative. Visiting a doctor, taking medications – it was just another new experience in my childhood life. And in those summer holidays, I finally understood what stuttering had in store for me.

A and C were constantly teasing me because of my speech. They gave me a nickname, and for a long time I could not understand its connection with me. Did I look unusual? It did not seem to be so – many people called me beautiful in my childhood and youth. They did not answer my question – “What’s that got to do with me?”, and I received the answer only many years after…

Around the same early years of my life, I sometimes began to fantasize before going to bed. I clearly remember how I once fantasized about death. The fantasy took place in the village, and, I think, that fantasy arose because I subconsciously understood that my life was starting to go not the same way I would like it to go. Of course, I, like many others, did not want to be the object of ridicule, even though only a few people projected this negativity on me.

Meanwhile, the time has come for a second grade. Our class teacher had changed. The young woman left, and now we had a rather strict woman, who was much older.

If in the first grade I actively and vigorously spoke in class, in the second one I already completely understood that I am different from all the other people because of my stumbling speech. I was uncomfortable. If I were asked to draw the time spent before the second grade, then I would use bright light colors, for example yellow, but the second grade is the first year when these colors turned into gray faded shades. The desk at which I was sitting changed too. The bright place at the window was replaced by a more darker one behind the second desk near the wall.

I remember clearly the moment when our teacher asked me to read aloud the text in the book. I was already fully aware that I was reading with constant speech stutters. My tongue refused to obey me, and I could not do anything about it – no matter how hard I tried. All the time that I was reading, I held the sheet of the book with my finger so that it would not close, and when my torment came to an end, I removed my finger from the page to find in its place a pronounced wet spot from sweat.

Chapter 2. School Years and New Mysteries

I began to be afraid to speak. In school, every time a teacher was about to ask someone to answer a question, my heart would begin to pound quickly. The pulse immediately calmed down if someone else was asked.

In the following school years, I began to worry about whether I would have to answer or not on the way to school.

Chatting with friends was also difficult for me. I remember clearly the moments when a friend or acquaintance was mistaken in some question, and I knew the exact answer to the topic being discussed, an answer that could help another person, but I was so afraid that I would stumble on one word that I just could not allow myself to open my mouth. I just stayed silent.

One such moment happened in the village during the summer holidays. I walked then with friends in the evening. We walked a long circle around the village, and our conversation touched on unexplained phenomena. My experience with the bright yellow entity was ideal for our conversation… If only I could force myself to overcome the fear of speaking. The thought of all the negative that could have happened if I had started to stutter blocked all desire to share my unusual experience.

In school years I once thought about the fact that I was speaking absolutely normally in my imagination, to myself, and also when I was alone and was talking aloud to myself – it was simply impossible to stutter. It is a pity that at that time I did not give much importance to my remark – after all, the solution was so close!

When I spent short school holidays in Moscow, I went to visit my grandmother and grandfather on the paternal side – my mother’s parents died before I was born. They lived on the outskirts of Moscow, near the MKAD. Their two-room apartment was on the top floor of a seventeen-story building. The windows overlooked a ravine and a stream below, and the forests beyond the ring road. As a child, I liked to look far ahead into the distance from their windows, as well as at what was happening right under the house.

My parents gave me the Dendy game console, and I constantly took it with me to my grandmother, so that I had something to do when I did not walk with my grandfather and grandmother outside – I usually sledded down the hills in front of the house.

Grandma was very pious. She had several icons hanging in the red corner of the room and in the bathroom. She often read various prayers.

At one time, my mother and I came to grandparents on March 8th. Then my grandfather wanted to teach me singing in order to try to help me this way with my speech stutters.

Alas, in the early morning when my mother and I returned home, and I was going to go to school, my grandmother called to report the death of my grandfather. I cried that morning very hard because of his death. I think this was the first time when I thought deeply about death. Does anything happen when we die?

In subsequent years I sometimes had this question again. For example, I remember thinking about life and death when I learned about the death of Steve Irwin.

At another time, on May holidays, my mother and I were going to go to Malye Gorki, but our alarm clock broke, and father could not take us in his car. Back then I really liked to spend time in the village. There had never been a single case that I did not spend the summer months there. That evening, before falling asleep, I wished to wake up at five o’clock in the morning – the time when we needed to get up to catch a train. What surprised me was that when I woke up and looked at the digital clock of the VCR, I saw “5:00” on it.

Thus, we were able to go to the village.

I talked about this interesting case with Lena, a village friend, when we burned a fire in the dugout in my backyard.

Then I became more confident in the environment of my old village friends, as a result of which I stopped being afraid to speak and spoke almost without hesitation in the summer in the village.

I think that it was that same day when I had the following dream: “Night. I walk through the grass to the backyards in the direction of the dugout, from the chimney of which smoke is coming out. I do not know why, but instead of going to the front door, I go to the dug hole of our fireplace’s chimney. I look down and see how a thin hand, completely covered with black short hair, moves around firewood with a stick in our fireplace. Then I had a clear thought in my mind that it was – a werewolf.”

I woke up. It was a gray, cloudy day.

We had breakfast in the kitchen of the Big House when Uncle Vitya came to visit us at eleven o'clock. He briefly said that he saw a smoke coming from our dugout as he walked past it through the backyards, walking from a bus stop, which is one and a half kilometers from our house. I thought then that Lena was there, who was the only one who, except me, came to the village on that rainy weekend.

Having finished eating, I went to the dugout. I calmly went to its entrance and opened the door. There was no one inside. I immediately noticed how coals were smoldering in the fireplace of the dugout, and a barely visible smoke was coming from them. It was at that moment that I for the first time remembered the dream that I had that night…

I immediately went to collect Lena, but she was still sleeping. It was about twelve o’clock, and she often slept for a very long time.

Of course, now I understand that the girl most likely would not go to burn a fire in a dugout in the backyard on a cloudy day – and on any other. I asked another friend if he was in the dugout that day, to which he answered negatively. In addition, he would not leave the coals not extinguished. Each time we burned bonfires, he always extinguished them to the end, being a responsible person. The question of who made the fire that day in our dugout remains unanswered, as well as why I had a dream about it, and why in it I saw someone completely covered in black fur…

It is worth saying that almost all the unusual cases that happened to me before my eighteenth birthday took place in the village.

There was a moment when I woke up in the middle of the night. I heard floorboards bend in the kitchen of our house. The frequency of steps indicated that someone was walking in a slow, calm step. I thought that my mother was returning home from the toilet, but when I turned my head towards the door, I realized that my mother was sleeping in her bed. Nobody else could walk in the kitchen that night – my father was in Moscow, and aunt Liza very rarely went to our Little House during the day, and she certainly would not have walked in our kitchen in the middle of the night in the dark. The Big House has its own exit to the garden.

Another incident occurred when I was sitting on the porch of the Little House while repairing my bike. I remember clearly how I felt then that someone was looking at me from behind. I turned around, but there was nobody – neither in the kitchen, nor on the terrace. But I could feel someone's presence.

Many years later, when I began to sleep on the terrace, something hit twice very hard on the door of the terrace. A couple of seconds before that, my mother went outside, but she never slammed the doors like that, on the contrary, she always closed them very quietly and calmly.

And the other night, when I was lying in the bed of the terrace, preparing to sleep, I felt a cool clot fly slowly over my face.