A quick reminder! Vysotsky became a mega celebrity being completely banned as a performer of his author’s songs. (Vysotsky’s closest American counterpart would be Bob Dylan. However, describing deficiencies of the Soviet life, Vysotsky managed to speak about them with light humor, irony and laughter.) However, he was allowed to embody Hamlet on the stage of the Moscow legendary Taganka Drama Theater. This theater had earned many outstanding international awards. Actors joked: “Every time when the Communist Party needed to refresh the interest toward Russia, they sent us to international theatrical festivals to collect awards.” Nevertheless, at home Vysotsky did not have a single legal concert during his 42 years on earth, not a single concert poster, not a single article about him in a newspaper or magazine, not a single printed poem or book written by him or about him! But his husky voice was heard over that giant country sprawling from the Baltic Sea to the Pacific Ocean. The tickets to his illegal concerts in working class clubs, mostly at night time, were sold out, and halls were filled with hysterically excited crowds from wall to wall and beyond…
Vysotsky allowed the happy attendees to record his performance. As it has been said already: the countless times recorded tapes spread all over the country with the speed of the brush fire… The availability of sound recording devices was an entirely new thing in the Soviet Union, and the communist party and KGB lost the control over the spontaneous spread of Vysotsky’s uncensored songs on the magnetic tapes. These amateurish recordings were not sold but changed hands as gifts.
33 years after death, in 2013, Moscow modern journalist Fyodor Razzakov and Mikhail Kryzhanovsky, former KGB and CIA spy, published their book “Владимир Высоцкий — суперагент КГБ” (Vladimir Vysotsky ― KGB Super Spy), Moscow, Algorithm, 2013. The publication of this work made the Russian Internet to explode. The pro and contra discussion revealed additional information regarding still not definite circumstances of Vladimir Vysotsky’s death. It was said that they (KGB) “zachistili yego” ― “cleaned him up,” meaning, murdered Vysotsky “to prevent the leakage of vital government secrets” in connection with his deepening cocaine dependency. (Look up the subchapter “Rumors about Victor” in this book).
Hard to believe, the post-communist era Russian Internet publishes rumors that the people’s beloved bard, the national hero, was officially “cleaned up” on the top of his fame, and… nothing happened! The case was not reopened.
Now you probably think that in the afterlife, such person would be rest in paradise. However, it did not happen! Not even close! And this is why I am writing about his life in the astral world. Fame becomes a “prison” for celebrities everywhere, in a capitalist world and the communist world, and in the afterlife alike!
According to Tibetan wisdom, fame has it place in human life if it leads to quickening of enlightenment and diminishes human suffering. In other words, the fame is not the culprit, but the attitude may become a famous prison’s warden, to put it mildly.
The Russian Al Capone
VV: ― I am Vladimir Vysotsky. However, the problem is that Vladimir Vysotsky and I are two different entities. I cannot neither entirely merge nor part ways with my name. And I ask myself, is he my shadow or I am the shadow lagging behind my splendid name. However, when I am drunk, or stoned we join for a short time, and I create ugliness that makes my hair stand on end. Sobering up, I cannot believe that this was me who had been so destructive. However, I cannot take back anything, not a shred of what was accomplished getting high on drugs. My terrible name is wooing me always, as if protecting me from becoming an average Joe, a toy in hands of some political system chosen for me in my next round of reincarnation what may happen any day soon.
What can be more important than not getting lost in the crowd of human leftovers? They want me to have a low incarnation for washing off my Russian bezpredel – limitlessness in consumption of vodka, narcotics, and having sex with prostitutes of all nationals, all skin colors. They have died suffering OD, or from their pimps’ bullets for hiding earnings.
However, my heaviest sin is the debasement of the new souls, mostly Russians. Down there they saw me as a god. But here I punished them, having no idea what for. I forced them to work for me by churning out cocaine and tasting it. It built fast their cocaine dependency. I wanted them to be complaisant, out of the will, trustful without questioning, wax-like soft and obedient. When I got them so far, I named them “my people”!
None of them put up any resistance, not even my friend, the Taganka Theatre great, truly multitalented actor Valera Zolotukhin, almost as famous as I was. None of them said, “I’ll kill you!” or “I’ll not do it!” None of them complained, and again, as at the beginning, when after my death I arrived at the other side I was ready to puke and commit suicide. At that time, the death wish was evoked by the terrible look of my egregore, but now it was aroused by realization of my failure. Back home, writing and performing for them about their misery, I strained my throat for nothing, my so-called husky voice did not awake anyone; “zilch” was the name of all my achievements. The load of Russian slavish obedience, which I was supposed to move, remained immovable. Nothing happened; nothing changed. Russia continued supply the Other Side with souls disfigured by hopelessness and marked by poverty and inertia. They made up crowds of faceless, angry, unhappy people acting only if told whom to hang, where to dig, and do the dirty work from what so many other nations have been exempted.
T: ― Why you, Vladimir Vysotsky, feel aversion toward this crowd instead of love and compassion? … Perhaps you see yourself as part of these people? Who asked you to change Russia? Are you sure that they saw you as a god? Maybe it was you who, like Marlon Brando hero in “The Apocalypses,” took the notice of morphing from a human being into a god? Have you ever tried to face the fact that your aggressive despotism comes from your prolonged usage of cocaine. They say with Lennon happened the same. You hate “your people” who idealized you, because, in a way, you are one of them.
After some silence, Vysotsky continued.
VV: ― I lost hope and said, “God left us because we are a hopeless lot! Let bow down to the devil and strike a deal!” So I found him and offered my cooperation. He listened patiently and said “Prove it to me!” And I did! I send my people to find excrements, left behind by cocaine users on earth. I made them select rich portions of it and bring home, on the territory of your third chakra dump. We saw it as an abandoned wasteland where we washed the incoming raw material, our “ore,” like they washed gold at gold mines. A friend of mine was a big boss at the Siberian goldmines, and he showed me how they did it. So, here I was able to instruct “my people” properly. The next step entailed drying out the fresh product in our self-build “stoves.” The last step, the packing, was easy. Then I had to figure out what to do with the waste and how to distribute our novelty, turning it into currency to help boys and me in the land of strangers.
The devil said, “Think!” And I gave it a thought. Soon my Russian experience whispered me word “Bribery!” Devil laughed his head off and said that my record permits him to pick me up any instant and to lock me up in hell for a very long time. However, he added that something invisible was still keeping me in the company of so-called “good people.” Devil decided to find out what it was to avoid confrontations with Divine Bureaucracy. Besides, where would I disappear? He could collect me anytime he wished.
Astral world doesn’t know any morning or evening hours. However, the waves of earth rhythms break against our consciousness like eagle’s wings beat the prison’s walls. At morning time, we want coffee, and at night time we want cocaine. And happy Devil observed our fast fall despite having everything that we, the idiots, dreamed about in the Soviet Union ― vodka, cognac, cigarettes, women, women, and women. We have here agreements, fist fights, arguments, negotiations, rejections, hatred, rituals, friendship, love, hope.
The physical laws of the astral world differ from earth’s laws, but we remain the same. Dying is a long process, and we download here all our mental and moral dirt, so we have something important to do here, learning from what we have been made of. We grow so slowly…. And if someone will tell you something else, he or she does not know the first thing about life in the subtle world…
In order to dictate you this, I stole your energy. Three days in a row I watched how you were meditating and pulling light through your clean channels into your system. I threw a lid over your “gate” and scooped away every drop of light to dilute the gray fog in my sick astral brain.
I am aware that I try to stabilize myself at the dangerous edge. One more swing and I will find myself in the hell. In other words, they will lower me beneath the earth frequencies. The benefactors like I need eons to crawl out from hell.
Down there, on earth, singing “Koni priveredliviye”—“My Restless Horses” (one of most loved Vysotsky’s song) and begging heaven to let me stay at the edge a bit longer, I was so young! At that time, I had no idea what it meant to stay at the edge of the abyss! I reached this edge only here, in the astral world. I found myself at the edge of terrifying abyss ― down there with the gate not to paradise, but hell. Now I think how to get back where I would be if not burdening my conscience with that hellish cocaine machine!
T: Then destroy it? What does hold you back?
Vysotsky ignored my question; then continued, as if talking to himself.
VV: ―They charged me with breaking the law. They will pick me up for punishing boys for every sign of disobedience. They say that my mistake was breaking the law of freedom of choice and therefore broke the holy cow of the astral order – the law of non-violence! The law of free will and no-violence cannot be challenged here. They called me an Eastern satrap, the tyrant, and they applied tyrannical measures to tame me!
VV: ― It all went wrong, Tanika, and our bilingual book Channeling Vysotsky went wrong as well. I was not ready for that work, and you were not ready as well. Maybe we still are not ready for such kind of work. Maybe there was no real need for that book at a time, or the right person was not found who could invest in marketing…
When I look at the path ahead of me, I see a mountain locking the pass in afar. When I speed up, the mountain starts to recede, as if mocking me; I attempt to catch up with it, but it still retreats, and the distance between me and that mountain, signifying the success, remains the same always… After what I’ve done, will I be allowed to rise again?
T: Dear reader, the next time when you would pass a beggar, a homeless, a man with a sign, do not get irritated. Yes, you are rushing to an important meeting! You know that you have to donate him a dollar, but have no time to stop and find in your messy pockets that piece of the green paper. And if you, finally, do, his three-word thank “God bless you!” would shower you with unbearable feeling of guilt. Find a minute, or half! Find that dollar, and notice that suddenly you became lighter and calmer! And nobody can say with certainty who needed that exchange more, the beggar on the street or you – to stop for an instant in your automatic rush! Probably, the man with a sign was an average beggar, but still, there was a chance that you had received blessing from a former leader, a pharaoh or celebrity… The next time you applaud to a celebrity does not skimp on sending him a wave of your most sincere “thank you” for his or her outstanding performance. Give to a celebrity, do not take the last drop of energy from him pressuring for his attention.
Vysotsky’s voice fell silent long time ago. My third eye broke through the veil observing something extraordinaire unfolding in the otherworldly large open hall. The French door led into a lavish flower garden with old branching trees. Strangely moving shadows accentuated a little table set with the elegant champagne flutes.
They were all there, Marlene Dietrich, Myrna Loy, Bette Davis, Elvis Presley, Cary Grant dressed in evening gowns and suits. There was every conversationalist from this book, and people whom I was not able to identify. They wore festive attires. Humphrey Bogart in flawless black attire seemed to be the host. He lifted his glass with sparkling light wine and spoke.
HB: ―Volodya, I know you are not a saint, but a crazy Russian, an alcoholic, as we all tend to be here. However, the laughter of yours that you brought here with your Russian Soviet era anecdotes was so invigorating that it saved many souls from deepest depression. Looking at you, I learned that the laughter of Russian souls sucked into the American sphere of influence for one reason or the other, mostly to develop their inborn talents in their next incarnations in Western Hemisphere came from the land of big suffering. But your laughter was so loud and pure that it echoed across the universe teaching the hopeless to trust the power of our mind capable of discover good and funny in everything, everywhere, and in any given situation.
Volodya, we part for a very short time. Thank you for your laughter, we will meet soon again. Farewell Volodya, and hello, Volodya! When you are done, I know, heaven will make you come back to America for your outstanding entrepreneurial abilities, unique in this tender astral world… You will find what to do down there, in the land of free market economy…
They all greeted and hugged Vysotsky. He was a hero in their eyes, and they wished him easy reincarnation.
The picture of farewell festivity was floating away and out of my sight melting into the astral fog. Only faint clinking of glasses continued to echo in my ears.
I was still drinking my coffee when I heard a smothered whisper:
“Hi, Mister Presley, on your request they searched for your highest ranking future incarnation. They asked me to guide you into the council room!”
Elvis asked, “Will it occur in my upcoming incarnation?”
“Sorry, no! It will happen in the 11th incarnation from where you are today. You talent will be not diluted; it will not disappear, but you have so much to cleanse, learn and grow. We have to go!”
Another voice intercepted: “He will be born in Vienna, he will be the Shalyapin-type celebrity, deeply rooted in his people’s culture, with immense power of expression. This was why they met, Shalyapin and Elvis with the help of your friend Vysotsky, as you described it in your book.”
Watching the farewell ritual, I did not notice how Hans Holzer appeared in my kitchen.
HH: ― Tatyana I do not know what to say. If I did not see with my own eyes everything what did happen here, the farewell for Vysotsky, organized by Humphrey Bogart, the crowd of celebs, I wouldn’t believe a single word of yours. But I saw it, and I am dumb… Let me find out, if this is true that they found Elvis on the top again in one of his future incarnations. I will be back in a minute…
However, he was stopped by the concluding part of the farewell party.
HH: ― Can you see the robots? They are there to arrest Vysotsky? … Once this Russian was a king… Was he the Vienna Maximillian? Oh my God, in every cycle of rebirths, he has been the king at least once! This was why he was so sure being above me that I could not understand…
Holzer said goodbye hurriedly and disappeared, as if trying to catch up with robots who were accompanying Vysotsky away from the crowd of Hollywood celebrities.
Vladimir Vysotsky’s dream came true. He conquered his peers at West. But not through his artistic abilities, rather through laughter born by the Russian despair and not so Russian entrepreneurial talent.
Why Did You Gather That Soiree?
The next morning I overheard voices from afar. “True to the end for the better or worse!” It reminded an oath of allegiance. Stupid I, of course, the king was back, and his Neverland knights were greeting a Roman emperor! In other words, Vysotsky returned and was already brainwashing his “people.” Someone advised, “Give him coffee, and he will go back to the reincarnation can!”
Suppressing my irritation, I advised inviting over the soiree host to share a cup of coffee with Vysotsky?
Humphrey Bogart showed up immediately. The nuances of various expressions slipped across his face. Finally, he burst into laughter.
HB: ― “Vladimir, my brother, gangsta Al Capone, I will not call for another farewell reception for you, but I honestly admire you. Tell me how you got out from the reincarnation camera? I know, you were locked up in there, and robots were guarding you?
“Easy!”― was a fast answer, and Vysotsky started to explain the details of his escape.
Coffee, a glass of kefir, and hot oatmeal were on the table. Humphrey Bogart liked the kefir most. He said, “I used to have it… You know, you have to drive at work, but your head is splitting… you down some kefir, and you are OK again.”
Vysotsky’s suspicious voice interrupted Bogart’s panegyric to kefir: “For what did you gather that soiree?”
Bogart did not answer; a sort of withdrawal started to emerge in his eyes and he gave up Vysotsky to robots on the spot, adding: “Before America can use your services, you have a lot to learn, Al Capone!”
The connection between astral Hollywood and Russians, who produced cocaine, was severed. Was this bridge broken for good?
Probably, Vysotsky overstayed his welcome in eyes of everyone involved ― hierarchies, robots, friends and foes. But he continued to be the “king of his kingdom” having no intention to abdicate, change hats – to take off crown for some snapback cap of a commoner. He continued ask for extra attention in order be perceived “as the most important person in the building”, and his cocaine pranks (a sure way to get attention!) became more and more theatrical and dangerous.
One night a surge of sudden pain woke me up – as if something hard had fallen on my head. The strange smell made me open a window and switch on the fan. Crawling back in bed, did I lose consciousness? It was like falling into a dark well. Another wave of pain brought me back. I got up and took a hot shower. The headache did not subside.
One of my spirit friends informed me that Bogart’s robots took Vysotsky back to the reincarnation “can”, but he managed to escape again. Of course, there were zero chances to slip out of the hermetically closed doors. Nevertheless, Vysotsky has returned from any detention facility and “re-education” camp suspiciously soon, in a day or two after being apprehended for extra loud troubles. And this had lasted already years. How did he escape?
A thought of suspicion took roots in my mind. He had to have a devoted friend or a capable “executive” in the astral world. When “one hand” locked him up, the other hand ― the hand of a dark guardian angel made the door sprang wide open for Vysotsky to walk out with dignity and sneering smile on his lips. Probably, Vysotsky’s escapist adventures were based on bribery. The question was who played the role of the mysterious guardian in Vysotsky’s endless theatrical staging?
Probably, his executrix had free access to cocaine and a large net of “helpers” who delivered the bribe invisibly and no questions asked.
Yes, in Vysotsky’s surrounding, there was an eerie Asian character called behind the back Chinaman. He pretended to be an old soul not attached to any name or number or particular identifying symbol. Despite this high-fly defiance he used to “flip on” names of archangels, lamas, or some famous people depending on his needs or goals. We met him as a Tibetan lama. It was him who performed a fake surgery on Elvis. …This soul had his set of problems, including cocaine dependency, anger, envy, and disagreements with God. In other words, Vysotsky and Chinaman who called himself Archangel Gabriel, my guide Thomas, Russian icon painter Andrei Rublev respectively, found each other. Vysotsky supplied him with cocaine, and, in return, he gifted Vysotsky with freedom. The win-win situation in the astral world!
After Vysotsky’s next escape from a detention facility, the guarding robots declared a real “wolf hunt” on him. He barricaded himself in my aura mobilizing “his people” to protect him. Was he asking for sacrifices when shielding himself with the crowd of “his people”? In Vysotsky’s classic song “The Wolf Hunt,” the unruly wolves were surrounded by hunters with loaded rifles. Here, apparently, robots will not shoot or kill the insurgents, but, eventually, they would capture the entire gang making “people” share the leader’s destiny. Before I knew it, I heard myself shouting in Russian language, “Surrender, do not fight against robots for your fake icon, you do not have to share his fate, there are no guilt on you! There is no need to rush into hell out of false comradery; agree to reincarnate back home as soon as possible and think, think, think what had happened to you! Never create idols and never bow to another human being!”
To whom was I shouting this, to them or to myself?
Things started to unravel fast. Vysotsky was apprehended again. About half of Vysotsky’s “people” accepted reincarnation back to Russia.
As many times before, Vysotsky was back the same day angrier than ever. Probably the fiesta began again. In cocaine euphoria, Vysotsky forced his loyalists to beat and damage my seventh chakra. Later, the consulting spirit doctors announced their diagnoses: “As a result of contusions inflicted to the medium’s 7th chakra, the odds are that she will be born with a twisted face in her next incarnation. The healing has to start on earth before her death and transition to the subtle world.”
Vysotsky had achieved resemblance with historic Al Capone who had a sad habit to bruise his fellow gangsters’ faces personally during his fits of violence.
I was left to cope with the prospect to be born as a crippled person in my next incarnation. At morning hour, Vysotsky showed up apologizing in a tone as if he had spilled a glass of water on the kitchen floor. I exploded, and… cursed him. Terrible words jumped out of my mouth putting environment on fire for quite a time, until I was utterly exhausted. I cannot take back the word, and I do not want to. When I chilled out, I saw my Himalayan guide in front of me. The conversation between him and me is nobody’s business. However, to me it proved that our guides exist after all!
Another conclusion that this story can lead to is an interesting hint regarding invisible connection between present lifetime and the next one. During our stay on earth, we already create the design or image of our future body 24/7 – by our thoughts, intentions, dreams, actions and reactions.
Finally, the day had arrived when the story of Elvis Presley’s and Vladimir Vysotsky’s stay in my aura ended peacefully and to the satisfaction of all parties involved.
During morning meditation, a vision was unrolling in my inner space. It did not stand out by originality; it contained the same mythological images that fill so many meditative visions. I saw the ocean, blue sky, golden sunshine, a peaceful beachfront, and a tall cliff nearby. On its wide shoulders, it was carrying a city dump with its waterfront cutting down into beach sand. On the upper edge of that damp, facing the sea, sat a red box made from painted timber boards. I knew that in that box was the hellish cocaine “production machine.” My intuition made me send light to it. The time stood still. A force seemed to focus golden rays on that box. In about one hour the vertical cracks began to appear in the cut of dump. The cracks widened slowly letting light shine through; then the slices of dump started to crumble. The box’s red planks got loose, and as if propelled into the air, they arced in all directions before sliding down onto beige stripe of sandy beach.
Then the details of rusty metal, dirt and clouds of white powder followed landing on then beach next to red boards. The ocean waves were washing its booty until a stronger wave took it to the sea floor.
I knew, I had done my part, and Vysotsky and Presley new adventures in the afterlife would be no more my concern. Finally, our paths would part.