Link to American Institute for Foreign Study
In the Spring of 1983 I was selected along with other students studying Russian Language in american colleges and universities to travel to the Soviet Union in order to study russian language and literature. At this time I was a student of George Dolnikowski, at Juniata College. Enough cannot be said to describe the quality of Professor Dolnikowski, one might say that the most effective pedagogical strategies could be derived from simply watching him teach---so gifted was he in the classroom. Owing to my great fortune of studying russian with Dolnikowski, I came to be able to travel to the Soviet Union for an immersion experience.
The Soviet Union
It was a blessing that I got to study in Russia and most of that thanks to Professor Dolnikowski---the trip itself, my memoirs, awaits publication but I want you to know that my memory, despite recent 'defragmenting' still holds the basic short stories and chapters of this trip untarnished. Who the hell did I think I was back in the day, I cannot adequately say, but I'll tell you this much---I was ambitious as all hell, conceited and ignorant as any 20 year old american crunchkin---out for pleasure, a Heineken, a song, a dance, some broad, a shot of Stolichnaya, a couple of stolichniie cigarettes and whatever other kind of party that we could scratch up! Da! Ochin' khorosho! The seen unseen and in between that was my education on the beaches of the black sea! Here's to the luxury hotels and resorts the Intourist Link to Intourist
guide Sergei, who accompanied us everywhere into the bars and beaches and beriozkas!
Link to Zhemchuzhina
The name of the hotel where we stayed in Sochi was <<Zhemchuzhina>> which translates as "pearl of the sea" (you see, I remember something :)
I have many wonderful tales to tell, but you must be patient with me...
The twenty-something reflects but not in the same way that I as a fifty-four year old man reflects upon those strange and wonderful days. Days where all was caught up in wonder and beauty---each and every dusty lane, so many faces, and yet what did I see, what did my eyes reflect? I was so thirsty for life bursting at the seams for wild experience and a night on wild island. What could I communicate of my experience then? Nemnozhko... How much can I bring to vivid presence in memory today? Quite a bit---far more than one might imagine---
I entered Scheremetovo Airport---see the painting/collage: Firewheel Evening above (the stewardess who greeted me on Aeroflot)---yes and we drank champanskoye and cognac---one thing that has never been told about the russian life which I testify to is a deep sense of honor of character. I know that I am not expressing myself well here--- it is a 'je ne sais quoi' of russian personality---I remember thinking to myself: "These people are deep" ---the russians I met gave evidence to the love and beauty which Professor Dolnikowski so carefully describes in his memoir This I Remember
Confession: I smuggled a bunch of little Gideon's Bibles and some works of Sigmund Freud into the Soviet Union which I knew was forbidden---these Bibles were confiscated at the airport---it was not the end of the world. Now I am beginning to recall the airport---yes, even after all of these years 34 to be exact. What a gift is memory! Memory is deeply bound to the origin of my sense of 'self'. Yes it is 'I' and yet it is not 'I'. The 20 year old preppy from Pennsylvania---ah, but I digress. Well after all what is a walk in the park without a few digressions?
Let's go back there again---yes. a "new" memory just flashed---it is a dinner in Sochi. A dining hall---let me tell you we were "wined and dined" in the SSR! The toasts! Za zdoroviie, za vstreche, za liubov, dlia prekrasnikh damov! You will have to pardon me if my russian is rusty---I have no less love for the russian language than when I began studying that Fall in Huntingdon, Pennsylvania---the incredibly lovely state of my birth. I recited an original poem at the meeting of soviet youth encounter---it was then that I caught the eye of a sharp looking young woman with tightly curled strawberry hair---Valentina. I wonder what she is up to today? She would be about my age! I see her now---I see us walking on the beach---very uncomfortably holding hands, reaching out and touching one another, and yet drawn into this intrigue on account of the impact that little poem had upon her. Can you imagine the sense of enthusiasm I am feeling right now! If pressed to it I might be able to unearth the written version of that poem or at least to some reference to it---for example in the talk I made to the mayor having returned home. If that fails I will try to use my memory---ah, what the hell, here goes: I wrote it in Russian---the title was <<Chto zhizn'>> or 'What is Life?' (OK, I might have nicked that one from George Harrison's pop hit). The premise of the poem was that life is very strange, very hard to fathom and yet that we find ourselves together on such a lovely evening as this is inexpressibly beautiful, and in the face of this the news of the world does not loom large, we embrace in this present moment---this toast. That is a rough paraphrase which demonstrates the youthful idealism I carried to the extreme. If in fact there is one stable feature of my identity it is the virtue/vice of going to extremes---call it extremefulness! Rashness, boldness, intensity, "damn the torpedoes", roadrunner and coyote kind of thing---and the bridges I did not burn, I have forgotten.
The big change in my demeanor or how I see the world certainly has something to do with my aging. To be honest I never in a million years imagined that I would ever get this far. Somehow I had imbibed the romantic notion that as a poet and lover I would be dead at 33. I possessed this one overarching power---I saw myself as literally indestructible, and this is what allowed me to march so many times into the pit of hell. My faith in the Resurrected Lord and the Free Gift of Eternal Life given to those who receive it---let me tell you---I had really received it. And yes, Bishop Hogan I am thankful for the helping hand of the catholic church to school me in the basics of discipleship though I lived up to very little of the ethical code. But I am not going to sell myself short here---I carried on in love---by any standard a serious sinner, but redeemed in Christ's love which I showered as freely as I was able. I was no Don Juan. But I dreamt of romance continuously---I conceived of myself as a 'lover of humanity'---in fact I just remembered the russian term 'gumanitarniye'---this is what a Russian chelovek called me---"Viye gumanitarniie." If by 'humanitarian' you mean a lover of mankind---yes I will gladly accept that designation, even now! But lest you think of me as a yellow-bellied utopian dreamer note that I love people just as they are, the human being---even the so-called 'average joe' is an amazing wonder to behold. Evenso, I do not purport to be a do-gooder and I do not approve of the manner in which so-called philanthropy is being carried out say by the Gates or Clinton Foundation of philanthropy schmilanthropy foundation---or at the very least what they purport to do, their carefully worded mission statements---frankly speaking, and you can call me a religious fanatic ( I take that as a compliment) ---there you have it I love people---I honestly do. And when I think of these poseurs with their funny money, with their tax deductible organizations, pretending to care or love actual human beings, it is a crying shame. Ah, but I guess it is better than nothing. Actually I am not certain that nothing would not be better---after all, nature is a pretty amazing perfection. This interpretation of the Gospel which I embodied as actual love for people could only be activated one person at a time. If one purports to love humanity but does not love their flesh and blood brother then that is antichrist---see John's epistles. So with love it is important to keep it real and close to home and not to be too busy pretending to care about the world and its humanity with your tax deductible and tersely worded smarty pants mission statements---all you do-gooders! Beware unless you worship a false god named Mammon.
Let me ask you one question: Is your money that good? Be at ease, I am not going into a rant here---yet allow me to enlarge the meaning of Mammon for your reading pleasure---I can show you a lot---where to start? Mammon is not simply money---the coins or dollars itself, you see, it is all of the fetishes and artifacts that the entire values of the culture are actually embedded. You want to know what ethics means in the USA in March 2017? It means mammon, nothing more. Mammon binds the capitalist society together like pixie dust or fairy glue. Ponder this and reach into your pocket and get out a dollar bill, now get your hand on a bunch of these dollar bills and start counting. If you had to count out every dollar you spent you would be back on the corner of some podunk western town in the '70s doling out greenbacks for the hotel or dinner. The pace of life would certainly be slower and that is not such a bad thing. Granted, now consider if you wanted to take all of the cash out of your savings or checking account in small bills. Now consider what follows from this deduction---that a millionaire has never actually seen a million dollars, evenmore has never felt or counted out a million one dollar bills. This consideration has even greater, exponentially greater, significance when applying the term billions or trillions of dollars. In actual evidence there has never been one trillion dollars like smack dab right there on the table all at once. Now let's ponder this anomaly even more deeply---the thing that makes the world go around----Money, Money, Money to paraphrase ABBA's irreverent song---does not properly speaking --- exist, that is to actually be present to an actual existing human being. Thus money should be termed a "virtual existence" that is a "fake" existence---it is a myth a figment, a belief system---there! Now we have the root meaning of Mammon. It is a make-believe, papier-mache world yes that is framed with money. So, there is always a way out---see through the PR and vow to serve the True God and Master of the Universe no matter what, come hell or high water. That or go-ahead and be a member of the Church of Mammon.
Scripture reflection: Matthew Chapter 6. Consider the lilies of the field, they neither toil nor spin, yet even Solomon in all of his grandeur was not clothed such as one of these!...Where your treasure is so too you will find your heart there.
https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Matthew+6&version=MOUNCE
In the Spring of 1983 I was selected along with other students studying Russian Language in american colleges and universities to travel to the Soviet Union in order to study russian language and literature. At this time I was a student of George Dolnikowski, at Juniata College. Enough cannot be said to describe the quality of Professor Dolnikowski, one might say that the most effective pedagogical strategies could be derived from simply watching him teach---so gifted was he in the classroom. Owing to my great fortune of studying russian with Dolnikowski, I came to be able to travel to the Soviet Union for an immersion experience.
The Soviet Union
It was a blessing that I got to study in Russia and most of that thanks to Professor Dolnikowski---the trip itself, my memoirs, awaits publication but I want you to know that my memory, despite recent 'defragmenting' still holds the basic short stories and chapters of this trip untarnished. Who the hell did I think I was back in the day, I cannot adequately say, but I'll tell you this much---I was ambitious as all hell, conceited and ignorant as any 20 year old american crunchkin---out for pleasure, a Heineken, a song, a dance, some broad, a shot of Stolichnaya, a couple of stolichniie cigarettes and whatever other kind of party that we could scratch up! Da! Ochin' khorosho! The seen unseen and in between that was my education on the beaches of the black sea! Here's to the luxury hotels and resorts the Intourist Link to Intourist
guide Sergei, who accompanied us everywhere into the bars and beaches and beriozkas!
Link to Zhemchuzhina
The name of the hotel where we stayed in Sochi was <<Zhemchuzhina>> which translates as "pearl of the sea" (you see, I remember something :)
I have many wonderful tales to tell, but you must be patient with me...
The twenty-something reflects but not in the same way that I as a fifty-four year old man reflects upon those strange and wonderful days. Days where all was caught up in wonder and beauty---each and every dusty lane, so many faces, and yet what did I see, what did my eyes reflect? I was so thirsty for life bursting at the seams for wild experience and a night on wild island. What could I communicate of my experience then? Nemnozhko... How much can I bring to vivid presence in memory today? Quite a bit---far more than one might imagine---
I entered Scheremetovo Airport---see the painting/collage: Firewheel Evening above (the stewardess who greeted me on Aeroflot)---yes and we drank champanskoye and cognac---one thing that has never been told about the russian life which I testify to is a deep sense of honor of character. I know that I am not expressing myself well here--- it is a 'je ne sais quoi' of russian personality---I remember thinking to myself: "These people are deep" ---the russians I met gave evidence to the love and beauty which Professor Dolnikowski so carefully describes in his memoir This I Remember
Confession: I smuggled a bunch of little Gideon's Bibles and some works of Sigmund Freud into the Soviet Union which I knew was forbidden---these Bibles were confiscated at the airport---it was not the end of the world. Now I am beginning to recall the airport---yes, even after all of these years 34 to be exact. What a gift is memory! Memory is deeply bound to the origin of my sense of 'self'. Yes it is 'I' and yet it is not 'I'. The 20 year old preppy from Pennsylvania---ah, but I digress. Well after all what is a walk in the park without a few digressions?
Let's go back there again---yes. a "new" memory just flashed---it is a dinner in Sochi. A dining hall---let me tell you we were "wined and dined" in the SSR! The toasts! Za zdoroviie, za vstreche, za liubov, dlia prekrasnikh damov! You will have to pardon me if my russian is rusty---I have no less love for the russian language than when I began studying that Fall in Huntingdon, Pennsylvania---the incredibly lovely state of my birth. I recited an original poem at the meeting of soviet youth encounter---it was then that I caught the eye of a sharp looking young woman with tightly curled strawberry hair---Valentina. I wonder what she is up to today? She would be about my age! I see her now---I see us walking on the beach---very uncomfortably holding hands, reaching out and touching one another, and yet drawn into this intrigue on account of the impact that little poem had upon her. Can you imagine the sense of enthusiasm I am feeling right now! If pressed to it I might be able to unearth the written version of that poem or at least to some reference to it---for example in the talk I made to the mayor having returned home. If that fails I will try to use my memory---ah, what the hell, here goes: I wrote it in Russian---the title was <<Chto zhizn'>> or 'What is Life?' (OK, I might have nicked that one from George Harrison's pop hit). The premise of the poem was that life is very strange, very hard to fathom and yet that we find ourselves together on such a lovely evening as this is inexpressibly beautiful, and in the face of this the news of the world does not loom large, we embrace in this present moment---this toast. That is a rough paraphrase which demonstrates the youthful idealism I carried to the extreme. If in fact there is one stable feature of my identity it is the virtue/vice of going to extremes---call it extremefulness! Rashness, boldness, intensity, "damn the torpedoes", roadrunner and coyote kind of thing---and the bridges I did not burn, I have forgotten.
The big change in my demeanor or how I see the world certainly has something to do with my aging. To be honest I never in a million years imagined that I would ever get this far. Somehow I had imbibed the romantic notion that as a poet and lover I would be dead at 33. I possessed this one overarching power---I saw myself as literally indestructible, and this is what allowed me to march so many times into the pit of hell. My faith in the Resurrected Lord and the Free Gift of Eternal Life given to those who receive it---let me tell you---I had really received it. And yes, Bishop Hogan I am thankful for the helping hand of the catholic church to school me in the basics of discipleship though I lived up to very little of the ethical code. But I am not going to sell myself short here---I carried on in love---by any standard a serious sinner, but redeemed in Christ's love which I showered as freely as I was able. I was no Don Juan. But I dreamt of romance continuously---I conceived of myself as a 'lover of humanity'---in fact I just remembered the russian term 'gumanitarniye'---this is what a Russian chelovek called me---"Viye gumanitarniie." If by 'humanitarian' you mean a lover of mankind---yes I will gladly accept that designation, even now! But lest you think of me as a yellow-bellied utopian dreamer note that I love people just as they are, the human being---even the so-called 'average joe' is an amazing wonder to behold. Evenso, I do not purport to be a do-gooder and I do not approve of the manner in which so-called philanthropy is being carried out say by the Gates or Clinton Foundation of philanthropy schmilanthropy foundation---or at the very least what they purport to do, their carefully worded mission statements---frankly speaking, and you can call me a religious fanatic ( I take that as a compliment) ---there you have it I love people---I honestly do. And when I think of these poseurs with their funny money, with their tax deductible organizations, pretending to care or love actual human beings, it is a crying shame. Ah, but I guess it is better than nothing. Actually I am not certain that nothing would not be better---after all, nature is a pretty amazing perfection. This interpretation of the Gospel which I embodied as actual love for people could only be activated one person at a time. If one purports to love humanity but does not love their flesh and blood brother then that is antichrist---see John's epistles. So with love it is important to keep it real and close to home and not to be too busy pretending to care about the world and its humanity with your tax deductible and tersely worded smarty pants mission statements---all you do-gooders! Beware unless you worship a false god named Mammon.
Let me ask you one question: Is your money that good? Be at ease, I am not going into a rant here---yet allow me to enlarge the meaning of Mammon for your reading pleasure---I can show you a lot---where to start? Mammon is not simply money---the coins or dollars itself, you see, it is all of the fetishes and artifacts that the entire values of the culture are actually embedded. You want to know what ethics means in the USA in March 2017? It means mammon, nothing more. Mammon binds the capitalist society together like pixie dust or fairy glue. Ponder this and reach into your pocket and get out a dollar bill, now get your hand on a bunch of these dollar bills and start counting. If you had to count out every dollar you spent you would be back on the corner of some podunk western town in the '70s doling out greenbacks for the hotel or dinner. The pace of life would certainly be slower and that is not such a bad thing. Granted, now consider if you wanted to take all of the cash out of your savings or checking account in small bills. Now consider what follows from this deduction---that a millionaire has never actually seen a million dollars, evenmore has never felt or counted out a million one dollar bills. This consideration has even greater, exponentially greater, significance when applying the term billions or trillions of dollars. In actual evidence there has never been one trillion dollars like smack dab right there on the table all at once. Now let's ponder this anomaly even more deeply---the thing that makes the world go around----Money, Money, Money to paraphrase ABBA's irreverent song---does not properly speaking --- exist, that is to actually be present to an actual existing human being. Thus money should be termed a "virtual existence" that is a "fake" existence---it is a myth a figment, a belief system---there! Now we have the root meaning of Mammon. It is a make-believe, papier-mache world yes that is framed with money. So, there is always a way out---see through the PR and vow to serve the True God and Master of the Universe no matter what, come hell or high water. That or go-ahead and be a member of the Church of Mammon.
https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Matthew+6&version=MOUNCE
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