I ask myself who i am, what force brought me out of my moscow apartment, forced me to cross my native threshold and threw me across continents, cities, capitals, warriors, conspiracies, rebellions, revolutions, plunged me into many adventures, into many dangerous adventures. What moved me, who i was, who i became, why all my life i was with my state, with my army, with my people, sharing with it its great misfortunes, its fall, its resurrection, its delightful insight, why i remained its integral, unshakable part, which made me tireless in my pursuit of the statement. A swarm of wolves pits where history falls, to dig, and then describe, i am a catcher of history, i take out this history that has fallen into a pit, taking it out, i place it in my frames, together with history i myself fall into these wolf pits and i extract myself from these wolves yam and i put myself in my novels, i capture the story. And even if they are not written, they are covered with darkness , and are given to the tomb of oblivion, but writing is like animation, i do not let history into the tomb of oblivion, i stand on the threshold of this tomb and drive history away and populate my ramana with it. Historical events were personified by historical figures who bestowed their attention on me. Kimersen, the leader of north korea, shook my hand, i remember his soft, almost disembodied handshake, the frozen smile on his full face, and he walked past me, walked away, almost without touching land. In kabul, i was received by the president of afghanistan, najabullah, two months before his painful death, when he was hanging mutilated on a tree branch in the center of kabulul, he received me at his residence and complained that the soviets had stopped sending him aviation kerosene and tank oils, and the army stopped at that time. Victory day smelled like gunpowder, and i remember how the whites of his african eyes sparkled fiercely while singing. In tehran, i visited iranian president ahmadi nejad. He accepted me into his family, poured me into a bowl black and gold fragrant tea, we drank tea and philosophized on the topic of divine justice. A wonderful russian gunsmith, arkady georgievich shapunov, the creator of the amazing pantsir antiaircraft missile system, which is fighting in the donbass today, and the korenet antitank missile. He gave me his attention and his friendship. In southern lebanon i walked through recent battlefields where columns of israeli tanks had invaded lebanon and fought devastating battles. They showed me a huge mountain, covered with forest, in one of which there was lebanese operator, along with the rocket. I took out my phone and called shipunov and asked him arkady georgievich, where do you think i called you from . And he thought, he said, probably from where they always shoot, and you know where i am, the lebanese worship your carnet as a deity. Those who deserved immortality avoided decay, my novels were like the egyptian pyramids, historical events were mummies, not subject to decay, i myself, who lived a huge life, became a sarcophagus of history, accidents played a huge role in my life role, the smooth flow of my life was bumped into by chance, this sudden obstacle. Changed the direction of my whole life, in the spring in my open window the air trembled and trembled, in this air airplanes appeared, huge and shining like ingots of silver, whitening like precious sparks, with each spring they became more and more, the sparkle grew, and i didnt know i was simply amazed that this was evidence of an imminent space boom. Airplanes and after graduating from school, i entered the aviation institute, and also unexpectedly, by chance, i ended up in pskov, it changed my entire consciousness , discovered a new person sealed in me, moscow youths, i suddenly found myself under the huge pskov sky, among the delightful snowwhite pskov churches, among blue fields of flower flax, on the shores of blue lakes and. These were the architects , restorers, boris kabeltsyn, all right smernov, who revived churches and monasteries destroyed during the war, archaeologist grozdilov, who looked for birch bark letters in pskov, geichenko, an amazing wizard, sorcerer who revived pushkinskoe nest in mikhailovskoye, tvoragov, silver head, collector of ancient books and libraries. These were people with amazing bright russian energy, they inspired life, they made pskov a delightful, luminous city, where they aspired. The most eminent and bright people of that time, writers, artists, thinkers, all aspired to pskov, as today they aspire to athos , perhaps pskov is the russian athos, Lev Nikolaevich gumilyov, Anna Andreevna akhmatova appeared here, poems were written here, amazing religious doctrines were formed, philosophical treatises, im so lucky that im still a young man. Was accepted into their circle, into their sacred brotherhood, and then over the years i saw how this brotherhood thinned out, how the light quietly went out, and my friends left one after another, as if boarding a boat sailing away, disappearing into the haze of lake pskov, so the last ones left, my friend sava yamshchikov, valentin kurbatov, they boarded. They sailed into the pskov lake in a canoe, i was left alone on the shore, looking into the lake fog, thank god, the pskov bells woke up again and began to sound when tikhan appeared here in pskov as ruler shevkunov, and his through his efforts and his bright power, pskov again turns into russian athos. Pskov gifted me with sublime friendship when i, together with my friends. Restorers, measured the ruins of a destroyed pskov temple and on the white wall the open inscription no mines was painted in black paint. Pskov gave me the first love of my life. A girl in a golden dress climbed onto the roof of an old church that had given birth to grass. Strawberries ripened in this grass. I looked at her, suddenly i felt. My mouth was sunstroke, she suddenly became different, she became beautiful, and the world around became different, became beautiful, i myself became beautiful, i suddenly saw all the red strawberries growing at her feet, the lake where we stood suddenly became dazzling blue, like the robe on rublevs angels, the grass became emerald, and the girl precious and beloved, this. Which slowly moved, approaching the cross, i remember, i stood among the people in the temple, the priest, to the copper cross in his hands, i wanted to go up to kiss the cross, i approached it, but every time, approaching, something got scared, left the line and again stood at its tail. Again slowly approaching, the cross attracted me, drew me to itself, but some secret force did not let me in, turned me away, i was in a state of turmoil, and having overcome my weakness, i went up to the cross, kissed the warm , coppersmelling crucifix, experiencing a delightful feeling, a concert for the ninetieth anniversary vasily lonovoy. The kremlin premieres on february 23 at the first. To the day of defender of the fatherland. To be honest, it was unexpected for me. I called my father first. Not everyone becomes a hero of russia every day becomes. The gold star hero of the Russian Federation medal inherits the traditions of the gold star hero of the soviet union. When she once called me and quietly told me that i saved people today. He had already become a hero for me, even before he was given this title. The regiment commander arrived, we all lined up, they gave me the st. George cross, you can see a photograph of Semyon Mikhailovich budionov with royal awards, st. George crosses, st. George medals, suovors, kutuzov, Alexander Nevsky of the order named after all these people, each has their own day with the order, and the motto of the order is service to the fatherland, benefit, honor, glory, premiere of the award. Russia on february 24, on the first. In the tiny village of mala, i lived with a blacksmith, helping him forge horseshoes in his forge. With long tongs i held a whitehot iron in my hands, and he hit it with his ringing hammer; outside, tied to a rope, a huge stallion snored, moving his fiery eye. Here in pskov i discovered the miracle and misfortune of russian history, the emergence and fall into the abyss a series of russian empires that arose. Frame, and then misfortune , scourges, suffering descend on him, and he ascends to calvary, to the martyrs cross, dies there and does not go to the grave, remains in the grave for three silent, sad days, and then again rises from the grave and ascends to the heights. I was tormented by the gaps in russian history, through these gaps, Historical Energy flowed out and left the light guide of russian time. With his friends decided to erect a hall near isborsk, in which all these broken russian times would be united and arose a mighty flash, i decided to build and launch a russian reactor. Vskov is perhaps the only russian province where all five russian empires kissed this wonderful land, left their imprints on it, i wanted to go around all the ethyl places and collect them. In places near the pechora road, she built a mountain out of it, hot with gems , cut down a crucifix from a huge siberian larch, i remember how this crucifix, erected on an armored personnel carrier , moved across the whole of pskov, and then it was erected on this mountain, it seemed that the crucifix of its peak touched the pskov skies, the land offering began , i carried land into this hill from the five great russian empires, i took the land from the truver settlement where cheln truvar, one of ruriks brothers, the founder of the first russian state, landed, took the land from the town of vybbuty on the bank of the velikaya, where the princess was born olga, an equaltotheapostles christian, here she worked on the river as a carrier and met her future husband. Prince igor, i took land in the small town of butnik, where the holy prince vladimir, the founder of the first great russian empire, was born, these lands sprinkled into the hill, i took land from the shores of lake chutsky near the crow stone, where the ice battle took place, Alexander Nevsky with dogs and knights, an amazing Russian Church still stands here. In which miracles happen, and all the lamps light up by themselves. I took the land of the st. Elizaevsky monastery, where elder philotheus, the creator of the famous moscowthree rome theory, lived. He took land in the pskovpechersk monastery, where tsar Ivan Vasilyevich the terrible came and where he set foot. These lands of the Second Russian empire, the moscow kingdom, i took it. Poured into semiprecious stones towards the hill. I took the land in the village of mikhailovskoye, in the kern alley , where pushkin wrote his amazing poems and kissed his beloved, for pushkin is the main shrine of the threehundredyearold romanov empire, perhaps the main goal for which this empire was created. I took the land at dno station, in that tragic place where the romanov empire ended. And tsar nicholas signed the abdication, and where his tragic road to golgotha began. I poured these lands of the third romanov empire into a hill. I took the land on the banks of the cheryokha river, where many years ago there was a tiny red battery that fired several shells at the approaching kaiser armored train. It was then, on february 23 , 1918, that the holiday of defender of the fatherland was born, which we celebrate throughout the day. I took land in a forest clearing where a german dod once stood. On which the soviet soldier Alexander Matrosov fell with his chest, having accomplished his immortal feat. I brought these lands of the fourth stalinist empire to the hill, poured these lands into a pile of meteorites. And today, the fifth, emerging russian empire, i took lands from the location of the airborne division, from where the sixth Airborne Company went to the chechen war. Lay like bones in the techa mountains, not letting a thousand strong enemy detachment pass, here at this manmade parachute, on which all the dead paratroopers can be seen, i took the earth, brought it up the hill, i went down into the caves, into these russian catacombs, where the altars stand, day and night monks pray, and where the amazing russian is buried old man, seer, father ioan christiantin , i brought in the hill, when all the lands from the five russian empires met in the hill, when my lonely trips on the old broken volga ended, among the rains, snowfalls, sunshine, when i poured the last handful into the hill, the russian reactor was ready for its launch, the hill was illuminated by the pskov ruler eusebius, the pskov residents and inhabitants gathered for the sacred ceremony. Many towns and villages, thousands the entire province, monks standing in a row raised chants to the heavens, and paratroopers fired into the air with machine guns, they glorified the construction of the hill, when the illumination took place, a miracle happened, the stone hill became glassy, transparent, a mighty fire kindled in its depths, and the heavens above the hill lit up, condensing over the hill. The storm clouds suddenly parted and the azure was revealed, a crucifix descended from the sky aest, a prophetic bird, and then from the cross he descended to the ground and walked among the people, and people looked at the ast and said oh, this is a miracle, a miracle, since then a russian reactor has been working day and night near the pechersk road near isborsk. Im secretly i arrogantly think that this reactor breathed mighty strength into the russian state, and we regained crimea, and then raised an uprising in the donbass, and now we are returning to ourselves the territory that was torn away from us, restoring the trampled russian truth. The hill with a crucifix on top is a metaphor for the russian dream. This is the temple on the mountain, this. The hill is not a monument, not a cherished cross, it is our spiritual weapon that moves across russia, from ocean to ocean, it appears near donetsk and lugansk, bringing our russian victory closer, tsar pyotr fedorovich, now kiss the boot and march to the obos, pugachevs people are already in the capital. Why werent they detained . It is he . Answer me, he is. It was god who conquered you. Great, golden age, big premiere. Tomorrow after the program time. I really dont want you and i to quarrel over this matter. Ill still go to medim. Who are you for . Lets go, its uncomfortable, but theres no need to drag me anywhere, peredek, everything here is peredak. People who fight for the greatness of their homeland are a special contingent, i dont want to lose them because of this crap, i wounded my brother yesterday, i its better not to go to the police right away , they dont look at their appearance, sometimes a person stretches 40 times, and maybe hell shit himself, a friend volunteered and we thought youd help find him, but who cares. Please, ill have a child from him, help me find him, please, my daughter is being held hostage at school, they promised to let him go, how many faces, you can hear everything clearly, that for you, rosina, running, my homeland is for me, this is what i cant live without, 20. Premiere on first. In the sixties, the russian intelligentsia was seized by a sweet excitement, a strange anxiety. We, contemporaries of the red era, living among military parades, party congresses, komsomol meetings, revolutionary victories and achievements, each felt like russians. Collective farms, state farms, Construction Projects of communism, the dawn of the wonderful, unquenchable ancient times was still burning, and i, together with others , left the cities and went north to the pomors , to the shores of the white sea, or to the smolensk forests, to the perovsky chischeby, like an enchanted wanderer, full divine quest, i collected folk songs and sang in choirs, took. Where old men and old women gathered strictly, they sat down on benches and brought glasses of sweet wine, they drank and began to sing, at first quietly, dimly, and then louder, more harmoniously, brighter, and the hut suddenly became dirty, became golden, and you and the choir rose up, somewhere high, above the roof, above the clouds. Filled with light and beauty, whoever has not sung in folk choirs has never experienced this amazing bliss, under the kargopol, moving through pine forests and lakes, i reached kish mountain, from where, as i was told, seven lakes are visible, i i approached kishgora covered with a thunderstorm, a downpour, a hurricane; on the top of the mountain stood a destroyed, sagging wooden church, i climbed. Russian toys, horses, easter eggs, wood carved into amazing products, all these moths and horses were covered with amazing flowers, grown in the gardens of the heavenly russian paradise. Then, in my youth, i first saw ilya glazin, young, passionate, beautiful in his own way. Adoration of russia, artist, philosopher, collector of russian antiquities, amazing talker, he charmed me, not a single russian movement, not a single russian undertaking could have happened without glazuny , low bow to you, ilya sergeevich, you painted my portrait, and now it hangs in my house, and looking at this portrait, i see not myself, but you, my dear beloved teacher, this journey among the people of the russian intelligentsia resulted in me in an unexpected, seemingly insane impulse. I left moscow, the Research Institute where i was busy developing antitank missiles, my mother and grandmother, my cheerful friends, and went to live in the village, as a forester, in the forests, as a forest walker. It was an invaluable experience for a person who could observe the cycle of russian nature. Day after day i watched its mysterious transitions, from winter to spring, from spring to summer, from summer to autumn, again to winter. I could notice how at the beginning of march the days were becoming brighter, longer, and more radiant. And in these luminous days they begin. When forests, birches and bushes on the roadside wake up, they turn into multicolored balls, golden, scarlet, blue, emerald, filling with multicolored juices. The spring of light passes the spring of water, when everything around it begins to melt, drip, murmur , flow, melt water floods the whole world, and the village floats among these melt waters, and the soul rejoices, greeting. This spring flood, and then the spring of grass comes, when everything suddenly begins to turn green and blue snowdrops bloom under the birches, and the slopes of the avrags are covered with white and golden flowers, there are more and more of these flowers, finally they merge into a huge russian herb with countless numbers of porridges, clovers , bells, daisies, plantains, shepherds purses, bindweeds, among which they fly moths, butterflies, bees, bumblebees, colorful flies, the heat is blazing in the flowering russian meadow, and you drink, you wont get enough of these honey aromas. Russian nature, for a russian person, is russia itself, its divine soul, for which the russian person in exile mourns. My forest lands approached the walls of new jerusalem. Then the monastery was a ruin, a ruin, with collapsed