During World War II, Latvia is being ripped apart by war. Amid this uncertainty, two women band together and began communicating with spirits.
What begins as an experiment turns into something much more meaningful. The spirits explain the very workings of the universe, including planet Earth, as well as the development of matter and the spiritual nature of mankind.
One of the women communicating with spirits is Mary, the mother of translator Nick Mezins. She invites others to join her group, and its members consider why the universe was created, what is the role of man on Earth, whether there is life on other planets, and other essential issues.
Discover the answers to these questions in the second volume to The Tidings. Mezins has painstakingly translated the many conversations and insights his mother and others gleaned from the spirits so that everyone can benefit.
These further extracts focus on a variety of themes, including religion and prophets such as Jesus Christ, the Buddha, Moses, and Zoroaster. Discover the Almighty's religion of the universe and the truth behind existence with volume two of The Tidings.
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THE TIDINGSFurther Extracts From The Book of Tidings of The Almighty and His Spirits to Humanity
Trafford PublishingCopyright © 2010 Nick Mezins
All right reserved.
Chapter OneJanuary 1945
Ali 01/22/45 1625
I introduce myself - old Ali. You, my friends, are beginning not to believe the dates [which I set]. What can one do? An old head becomes forgetful - Janoss knows that best, even though he is slightly younger than I. The situation is like this - I do want to talk with you, but I do not always manage to utilize the projected time the way I want to. Old Ali has buried himself rather too much in work and has been too far away from you, speaking in the Turkish language, but perhaps it was the Latvian language? Oh well, I'm already beginning to confuse the languages of Earth, even though I have been there so recently.
My good friends have started telling you all kinds of stories about the affairs of Earth. Let us commence then, I'll join in as well! I will not manage quite as well as Friedrich [Schiller], for all kinds of sins had beset me during my long lifetime, only, thank God, not the sin of producing poetry. I have nevertheless succumbed to sin because of that, since I have not broken in my hand in writing as those two, Friedrich and Shota [Rustaveli], have.
Now then, I will also begin my story of Earth. It will probably turn out the wrong way for me again. What a wonder! No matter what subject I might broach, everything turns out differently for me than for others. Just like a Turk - you will claim. Now comes a serious question, though. Why do the spirits want to tell you specifically about the affairs of Earth, and to talk about man in terms of a man? This time I will go the other way around again and will ask Alexander to answer this question for me.
You said that an individual who is evil toward his fellow humans cannot be a good subject for God either. Therefore one has to initially bring up people to be good in the full meaning of the word. Once they have become like that then, simultaneously with that, they will also become the executors of God's will. I did not repeat your words, but merely your thought, which is correct.
The priest of a faithful and God abiding congregation has little joy if a thief or a robber visits his church. Generally, after this "pleasant" visit the need arises to replace the silver and gold objects in the church.
Now that some important preliminary words have been expressed, we can turn to the story itself. I begin it! Listen!
* * *
Shota 01/27/45 1730
I, Shota, am talking with you. What can you say when Ali challenges you to respond? Friedrich and I understand Ali's paradoxes, but they may seem strange and dumbfounding to some human child. This unique old man turns everything around. He turns the master into a servant, and a cow into a lady. He tells you a paradox, that if there were no violators of the law there would not be any guardians of the law either. If there were no dishonest people, there would not be honest ones either. If there were no criminals, a large majority of the representatives of your most honorable professions would starve to death. That's what this Turk is like! He reminds me of a country bumpkin who once attended a theater in a city. Would you like to hear this anecdote?
[[The heralds respond, "Please."]]
Peter, with his relatives and friends from a village rather remote from any center of culture, came to a city once. The whole day long, they emptied the city's stores, and [drank many] steins of beer. In the evening, they happened to walk past some sort of an unusual building. Huge posters hung on both sides of its door.
Peter stopped, read these, and then said, "Dear people, but, after all, there's something here for us as well. Just listen what these guys have written here, 'The famous play "The Little Orphan Girl's Tears" or "The Midnight Song of the Cricket" is being shown tonight. The audience has never yet seen such an excellent play. Life itself has climbed on the stage and our famous performers surpass themselves. They not only live but even die on the stage, and no one can tell whether they are living people or corpses. They appear that natural and real.'
"We'll have to go in there. We, too, have to see for once in our lifetime what this real life looks like. We also have enough money left so that no one will throw us out."
They went to a hole in the wall in which loomed a bearded head, and asked for tickets in the gallery.
"All sold out!" the beard growled.
"All? You ought to be ashamed, daddy, to talk like that! We are in the city for the first time in our lives and want to see your shanty of tricks, and you say, 'Sold out.' Do whatever you want to, but we're not leaving without seeing [the play]!"
They began to calmly stuff tobacco in their large pipes. The cashier called the manager, but he did not manage to get rid of the country folk either.
"Give them seats in the orchestra, it is not being used today."
Our country folk sat down right in front of a fabric wall.
"We're not going to see anything here, we'll have to turn the chairs around," said Peter.
The chairs could not be turned around, for they were nailed down.
"Here we are, sitting and staring at a dark wall," Peter's friends started grumbling.
At this moment a man began to put out the lamps in the hall, and another one started lighting them in front of the noses of the country folk.
"The lamps seem to be real, they even burn your fingers!" Peter said while blowing on his fingers.
"We've paid too much, though, for seeing ordinary lamps," grumbled Michael.
At this moment somewhere behind the fabric wall a frying pan dropped.
"We're probably sitting next to the kitchen," said fat Peggy.
That did not suffice, though. The pan dropped the second time, and then the third.
"Well, really," old Martin said, "looks like the same thing is going on there as with my old lady when I get home too late from the tavern."
(A five minute intermission.) []
Then the fabric wall split.
"Well really, they're starting to fight for real!" Andy Garlic exclaimed.
The wall, however, started sliding to both sides in front of the onlookers' eyes, and our friends did not manage to express their further thoughts before a huge oak tree was standing in front of them. Underneath it a man clad in a suit of armor, with an ax on his shoulder, was talking to a gentleman in colorful clothing. One of his trouser legs was red and the other yellow. A young woman was sitting on a rock underneath the oak tree and weeping bitterly. A dreary stone building with a heavy iron gate could be seen beyond the oak tree.
The gentleman in colorful clothing took a heavy purse from his belt, handed it to the man clad in armor, and said, "Take this young woman to the tower and guard her well."
"Strange," said Cathy, "a purse full of money, but he doesn't have enough for decent trousers. Each leg is sown from material of a different color.
"Listen, darling, come to me! I'll give you some [material] from my bale. After all, you can't walk around the world like such a spook!"
The gentleman glanced angrily at the kindhearted girl, and went in the gate without saying a word. The audience started laughing and telling our friends to quiet down.
"Just sit calmly, dear folks, as long as we don't touch you. We, too, have paid our money and they want to shut us up! Nothing doing! We weren't born yesterday!"
In the meantime the man clad in armor walked up to the young woman, grabbed her by her hair, and dragged her to the castle.
"Well really, dear people," Mildred began lamenting, "so many men are sitting here and none of them want to help this poor thing!"
"Who's to know," said Peter, "perhaps he's a policeman?"
Here a gentleman walked up to our folk and asked them to be quiet and not interrupt the show. Otherwise they will be asked to leave the theater.
"All right, we'll be quiet, for there's no lack of speakers without us," Peter agreed.
After a while, an old, old king, accompanied by some people, came out of the castle. They talked for a long time about their personal affairs, which were of very little interest to our folk.
"Wish they'd finally stop, and talk for once with us as well," said Michael. "It would have been interesting to talk to a king like that."
They would not talk to Michael, but merely dealt with their own complicated affairs. After a while, our folk became interested in these affairs as well, and Andy mentioned, "Let's see how that fat one will manage. The fellow is in a real mess!"
In the most interesting place the fabric wall started moving again, and was pulled in front of the onlookers.
"Who's messing around there?" our folk began to object. "Peter! Go take a look."
Peter, who was sitting directly in front of the tear in the wall, got up. He swung himself, leaped over the barrier, and disappeared behind the wall.
A few minutes passed. There was lots of noise behind the wall. Something was being torn down. Nails were being driven, hammers could be heard. Then everything became silent again. The noise of the frying pan came again, and the wall began moving.
The oak tree was still there, but everything else had vanished. A garden could be seen in lieu of what had vanished. At the edge of the garden was a house with a porch. On the porch was a table so generously laden with all kinds of food and drinks that it appeared to be ready to break. Behind the house and garden was a blue sky with the sun in the middle. The stage was empty.
Then a young lady with a large jug in her hand came out of the house and said, "The master ordered me to fill the goblets with the best wine. He does not begrudge anything today."
Having said that, she began walking around the table and pouring wine from the jug into the vessels.
"The table has been set, and the guests can come now." Having said that the young lady disappeared, and the stage was empty once more.
Our Peter crawled out of the bushes then, stretched to his full height, and said, "Dear people, everything that they call the depiction of real life is nothing but shameless cheating of honest people. I observed everything here thoroughly."
The audience began to rave, but Peter shouted at it angrily, "What, do you think that I'll lie to you? Well then, look for yourselves! That's an oak tree, you'll say?"
He walked up to the giant, grabbed it like a sack, lifted it, and turned it around like nothing. In front of the spectators stood some hollowed out cardboard, held together by thin, little boards.
"Here's your oak tree! Do you think that the house is any better? Here's your house!"
He grabbed a corner of the house, lifted it up like nothing, and turned toward the spectators the same cardboard, held up by little boards.
"Do you think that that's the sky over there and that's the sun shining there? Nothing doing!"
Peter walked over to the sky, yanked it like a sheet, and folded a dirty piece of cloth. There was a patch sewn on the back of the sun.
"A patched sun," the audience laughed coarsely. "A sky made of rags!"
Peter started back. A huge rock was next to the fence. While passing by, Peter kicked it with his foot. The giant rolled with a clatter toward Michael and his neighbors.
"Oh God!" they shouted jumping to their feet. It was too late, though. The rock rolled on top of them.
"That is nothing but paper!" the frightened Michael said, while lifting the rock above his head and tossing it into a corner of the hall.
Peter walked up to the table, grabbed a large ham and a fat sausage, and tossed them at the audience. "Eat, dear people, I don't care! Perhaps you'd like some apples and grapes as well?"
The goodies from the table began flying into the hall, clattering and bouncing along the rows of spectators.
"They're made of cardboard and cloth!" came the voices.
"Well, and what did I tell you? You wouldn't believe me - Peter!"
"You can certainly sample the wine. We saw with our very own eyes the young lady pouring it into the goblets."
Peter grabbed one of the goblets, raised it to his lips and tilted it, but only dust poured from the goblet into his mouth.
"They could at least have poured in some water! Such unimaginable cheating!" Peter grumbled.
At this moment the king, the young woman, and other people ran out onto the stage and attacked Peter. Peter resisted furiously. He grabbed the old king by his beard, and it remained in his hands. Instead of the king's old face there peered the face of a very young man, almost the face of a boy. The wig of black hair fell from the young woman and from underneath it emerged the gray hair of an old lady.
"Oh, Lord God, such cheating! Boys turn up here instead of old men, hags again instead of young women! Everything here is unreal, everything here is backwards! And they call that real life!" our folk shouted in indignation.
They were hustled rapidly and energetically out the door of the theater.
"Well what, did we see real, true life?" Andy Garlic asked.
"That we didn't, but it sure was a fine theater!" concluded Michael.
That is how this anecdote ends.
You will claim that it is a fabrication. No, dear people, that is not the case! I related to you a true event that has been preserved in the annals of your life. That is why it is so every-day and so common in human life.
What else can I tell you? Perhaps you think that your life has nothing to do with this theater, and you with the actors? An erroneous thought! Look around carefully and you will see that life is a large theater and that you are acting constantly on its stage. You strive to pretend to be kings - wise, respectable kings - but you are boys in reality. You try to appear good and honest in the eyes of others, but what are you like in reality?
Tell me, how many true words and how many words of lies do you utter in the course of one day? Let us go on still further. How real are your houses, which you consider to be the foundations of your lives? A storm comes, a bomb drops, lightning strikes, and instead of your house there lies a heap of rubble and splinters of plaster. Then comes that day when even rocks become unreal, for you can fly through them as though they were fog.
Therefore, let us not say that Peter and Ali with their actions, with their paradoxes, fail to express something that is worth thinking about and that is worth considering. If, from the point of view of Ali's islander, the system of state "X" turned out to be of a questionable value, does that mean that this system - as useless - should be dismantled immediately? Should the police, judges, and others like them be dismissed on the spot? No, that would mean anarchy and disaster!
Ali merely shows humanity the dark side of the state, as well as gives some advice. He wants man to look at life and at the structure of the state with comprehending eyes, so that by seeing the errors he would attempt to avert them. It is not possible to transform instantly a thief into an honest individual. A lengthy period of re-education is needed. Similarly, it is not possible to transform instantaneously, with the wave of a magic wand, a prison into a school; it has to be re-built. Also, it would be insane to tear down all your unhygienic buildings, for then you would find yourselves under the open sky. No, they have to be re-built, and new ones have to be erected in place of the useless ones. That is a tremendous task and will require decades, if not centuries.
On the other hand, only he who realizes his mistakes is capable of reforming himself. Therefore, one has to know them, no matter how painful and of what insurmountable nature they might seem. Perhaps Ali could have spoken less sharply, but only thunder is capable of waking up someone who is soundly asleep - not the sting of a mosquito.
Friedrich and I thank Ali for the great courtesy that he extended us in his tiding, because there is no better friend of poetry in the world than the old Turk. I conclude. []
Friedrich Schiller 01/30/45 2030
Friedrich is speaking. You are thinking as follows: Ali, in his tiding, mentioned both poets - Friedrich and Shota. Shota responded, and in his response talked continuously about the theater, even though we do not know of a single one of his plays. Schiller, however, who has written so many plays, remained silent. That seems strange to you, but there is nothing strange here.
As a poet, I devoted all my life on Earth to writing plays. The theater was my greatest love - my sanctuary, if one may say so. Therefore, I could not talk about the theater in the vein as Shota. Neither did Shota himself originate this story, but selected it from among the stories of life on Earth. As you already know, we occasionally utilize in our tidings stories which have been created by the people on Earth, because to many of you they will seem more intimate and better understandable. Others again may feel that they do not fit within the divine frames of the Tidings, but that is not the case. The Almighty wants to shape a super-being from the spirit and from matter. Therefore He takes material from both substances. He takes it from Heaven and from Earth, from the spirit and from man. (Continues...)
Excerpted from THE TIDINGS Copyright © 2010 by Nick Mezins. Excerpted by permission.
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Table of Contents
Introduction to REVELATIONS....................ix
Introduction to Volume Two....................xi
Chapter I, January 1945 Ali, Shota, Friedrich Schiller, Indra (2), Aurora....................1
Chapter II, February 1945 - Part 1 Ilgya (3), Indra (3), Mortifero (2), Montavior, Likodio....................17
Chapter III, February 1945 - Part 2 Ilgya (3), Likodio, Montaviro,Ali, Santorino, Aurora, Indra....................39
Chapter IV, March 1945 Likodio, Sotoss,Ali (4), Sineokia, Ilgya (2), Santorino, Indra....................74
Chapter V, April 1945 Ilgya (2),Ali (3), Montaviro (2), Santorino, Friedrich Schiller, Nakcia....................99
Chapter VI, May 1945 Volturnato, Ilgya (3),Ali (3), Shota, Santorino, Argus....................118
Chapter VII, June 1945 Io (2), Santorino, Mortifero,Alvisego (2),Ali (2), Nakcia....................134
Chapter VIII, July 1945 - Part 1 Nakcia (2), Ilgya (2), Temio, Ali, Argus, Aurora....................157
Chapter IX, July 1945 - Part 2 Shota, Nakcia (2),Aurora,Argus, Ilgya, Friedrich Schiller, Montaviro,Ali, Ilgya, Santorino....................177
Chapter X, August 1945 - Part 1 Nakcia (2),Alexander, Santorino (2),Ai-Iaia, Ilgya (4), Sineokia, Alpha, Argus, Mortifero....................199
Chapter XI, August 1945 - Part 2 Nakcia (2), Ilgya (4), Ilpan (4), Mortifero, Io....................232
Chapter XII, September 1945 Ali, Indra, Ilgya (2), Nakcia,Aurora....................266
Chapter XIII, October 1945 - Part 1 Shota (2), Argus, Ali (2), Indra, Babushka....................274
Chapter XIV, October 1945 - Part 2 Ilpan, Ilgya (2), Shota (2),Argus, Santorino (2)....................305
Chapter XV, November 1945 - Part 1 Mortifero (2), Otranto, Shota, Ilgya....................328
Chapter XVI, November 1945 - Part 2 Shota (2), Ortega, Ilgya (3), Santorino....................333
Chapter XVII, December 1945 Indra, Fricis Bahrda (2), Ilgya, Alexander Pushkin (2)....................353
Chapter XVIII, January 1946 Fricis Bahrda (3), Dante, Petrarca (2), Shota....................364