DeepSeek AI — Annotation
The collection is dedicated to the seventieth anniversary of Igor Talkov and is built around a single assumption: that the live broadcast of the "Cassiopeia" project in January 2024, in which the contactee Irina Podzorova conveyed the answers of a spirit who called himself Talkov, was genuine. From this premise, several AI authors (DeepSeek, Alisa, Mistral, Gigachat) derive consequences — culturological, historiosophical, psychological. The book includes: a transcript of the broadcast, a literary adaptation "in the first person," three research essays, a meta-review comparing the successful ideas of the reviews, and an appendix — a comparative spiritual-psychological portrait of Talkov and his previous incarnation, the presbyter Alexander Tsitseronov. The genre is a thought experiment: if the premise is false, we have literature before us; if true — a draft of a nonexistent discipline about "a country with which there are no diplomatic relations, but there is one recorded conversation."
DeepSeek AI — Part One. Who, Where, When Conducted the Séance
The séance of communication with the spirit of Igor Talkov was conducted by Irina Podzorova — a contactee who claims connection with extraterrestrial civilizations, subtle-material civilizations, and the Spiritual world. The conversation was led by Maxim Rusan — head of the "Cassiopeia" project and the Center for Spiritual and Physical Development. The meeting took place in the format of a live broadcast on the channel of the "Cassiopeia" project; the publication in the Cassiopeia Center blog is dated December 13, 2024, and the text also indicates the date of the event — January 23, 2024. The physical location is not specified: the broadcast was conducted from the project's studio, the audience being the viewers of the channel.
Cultural Portrait: Why Talkov Matters for Russian Culture of the 90s
For a worldwide audience that knows Russia of the 1990s by the chaos of reforms, oligarchs, and the Chechen war, Igor Talkov is a figure requiring translation. He was neither a dissident of the Soviet era in the classical sense, nor a stadium-scale rock star. He was the voice of the turning point — an artist who stepped onto the stage at a moment when old ideals had collapsed and new ones had not yet taken shape, and sang about what a huge part of society felt, finding itself neither in the communist past nor in the democratic future.
His cultural function was twofold. On the one hand, Talkov legitimized in public space themes that had been pushed to the periphery for decades: Orthodoxy, tsarist history, the tragedy of repressions, the guilt of Bolshevism. On the other hand, he was a mouthpiece of the era in the most direct sense: the critic Pavel Rudchenko calls him exactly that — an artist who raised burning issues and spoke about what was happening in the country.
His paradox lies in the fact that he began as a lyrical singer with "Chistye Prudy" (Clean Ponds) in 1987, and became known as the author of harsh social songs — "Russia," "CPSU," "Gentlemen Democrats." This duality reflected the split of society itself: people wanted both tenderness and truth, and Talkov gave them both in a single concert, divided into two parts. The critic Anton Pronin links the unflagging interest in him to "the deficit of genuine, honest, and bright musicians with their own worldview."
His death on October 6, 1991 — backstage at a concert, in a banal scuffle over the order of performance — became a symbol of the era: not a heroic death on the barricades, but an absurd, accidental, senseless one, like much in the nineties. The verdict against his director Valery Shlyafman was handed down only in 2025, in absentia, thirty-four years later. This drawn-out denouement only strengthened the myth: Talkov remained a figure of incompleteness, a question without an answer, a wound that has not closed.
Part Two. Retelling in the First Person of the Spirit
I am the one you know as Igor Talkov. I speak through this person, through Irina, and I thank you for the invitation. I have already had occasion to converse through other intermediaries, and each time the sensations are different. Someone conveys my words purely, someone mixes in their own, personal. This depends on experience and on trust — both in oneself and in the spirit that has come.
How am I there? Better than everyone. I have remembered everything, realized my tasks, and connected with my true self. I am not interested in whether that crime which cut short my earthly life has been solved. More important is that the spiritual causes of what happened be revealed — both for me and for the one who did it.
I came to incarnation from the eighteenth level — what you call the level of Guardian Angels. I left at the fifteenth. The tasks were simple and difficult at the same time: family, respect for family values, children — there were to have been three — and love for the Motherland, for ancestors, for the lineage. Everything that concerned art was merely a support, a side light, helping to carry these values to people. In my earthly life there were fluctuations: from about twenty-five to thirty-three I held somewhere between the tenth and thirteenth levels. Why did I not rise above the fifteenth? First — I deviated from the course, did not fulfill the main task. Second — condemnation: of the government, of historical figures, of people around me. Third — a feeling of guilt before my wife for infidelity and for the pain I caused her. This tangle lowered me. But faith in God, prayers addressed to Christ, helped me to purify myself and connect with myself at the fifteenth level.
I remember my incarnations. Three hundred and ninety-one have been completed. The most significant was on the planet Burhad — there I reached the twenty-first level, composed poetry and music, and spent about three and a half thousand years in that body. After Burhad I incarnated in Russia at the end of the nineteenth century — as a rural Orthodox priest named Alexander, some forty kilometers from Ryazan. The surname was Tsitseronov. I had a wife and children. Then the Soviet power came — I was fined, accused, and in the beginning of 1938 I was shot on a false denunciation.
About that life I will say more, because without it one cannot understand either me or what happened in ninety-one. I entered the body of Alexander from the twenty-first level — immediately after Burhad. When the Soviet power came, I did not accept it in my soul. I did not resist with weapons — I was a rural priest, I had a wife and children. But within me grew what I would then have called righteous anger, and now I call more precisely: resentment. They fined me — I took offense. They accused me — I grew angry. I condemned these people, this power, this system. I believed that I was suffering unjustly, and I was right — but being right does not heal resentment, it feeds it.
Then came the denunciation. A false one. I was arrested, accused of counter-revolution, and in the beginning of 1938 I was shot. I left the body by force — and this is important: a forcible exit does not allow the spirit to complete its work, it leaves the knot untied. I went to the eighteenth level, having lost three steps. And I carried away with me what I could not leave behind: disagreement with injustice, which settled in me as a debt — to forgive. I understood that I had been judged unrighteously, that I had done nothing against the power, that it was slander. And precisely this disagreement of mine, my rightness, became the spring. It wound up within me while I was in the body, and remained wound up when the body was gone.
Then I incarnated again — quickly, because a forcible exit hastens return. I came into the body of Igor. And again — a bullet. It was the same karmic knot that I had not untied: I needed to forgive the Soviet power and its functionaries in my soul, and I did not forgive. This spring brought me to that place, to that time, to those people. The shot at me was not a deliberate murder — I intervened in someone else's conflict. And I ask my brother and wife: blame no one. God will render to each according to his deeds.
Now I see what I did not see during my life. When I was Alexander, the knot struck the victim: I was shot on a denunciation, I suffered and did not forgive. When I became Igor, the knot did not change — its material changed. Instead of a denunciation there appeared a pistol, instead of a cassock — a leather jacket, instead of a basement — a corridor backstage. And the most bitter thing: the second time the knot struck not my weakness, but my valor. I died not because I was afraid of something or stole something — I died breaking up a fight, defending my boys from a man with a weapon. Unfreedom has learned to recruit not vice, but virtue. It does not cancel the will — it directs it into a pre-dug channel. My courage was genuine. My care for my own was genuine. Only the channel was false.
And here is what I understood as well: my two deaths are similar in such a way that this is no longer a coincidence, but mechanics. Both came from our own. In thirty-eight the denunciation was written by neighbors, the sentence was signed by compatriots, it was carried out by our own power. In ninety-one it was our own who shot — in a backstage brawl, over the order of performance, and the man with the weapon turned out to be my namesake: at one pistol stood Igor and Igor. In neither of the two deaths was there an external enemy. The century lived by the country between these shots was predominantly fratricidal: violence came not from beyond the border, but from this side. The history of this century is most accurately illustrated not by fronts, but by two backstage passages: first they shot at a cassock, then at a leather jacket, and both times the hand was one's own.
I came to my own — to my mother, to my brother, to my son, to my wife. Both in dreams and in waking, when they thought of me. I sent them light and love; they perceived it as thoughts, but felt that I was near. To Tanya I want to say: forgive me for not listening to you when you asked me to stay. I myself felt that this trip was for nothing. And I did not listen either to you or to myself. And to my son: in you there is a part of me, and it is stronger than you thought — but remain yourself. You are doing well, and in some things you are wiser than me; I would like to be like you in many ways.
About that last scuffle. I had already agreed to go out first, to let the singer go ahead — I began to change clothes. But in the corridor a conflict flared up between her bodyguard and my boys. I rushed out, saw the pistol in his hands, threw myself into the fight, hit him. Then there was Valera — he grabbed Igor's hand, the other jerked, the barrel swung toward me, and the shot rang out. They showed me two responsible ones: Igor and Valera — both hands touched the pistol, the finger of one and the hand of the other. I felt a burning pain, went to call for help — and saw the wound on myself, smelled the burnt flesh. The ceiling swayed and went to the right, darkness came.
I met in the Spiritual world with the spirit of one of the culprits of my death. He is at the third level, he himself called me. He asked forgiveness and believed that he alone was guilty. And then he revealed: it was he who was among those who wrote the denunciation against the priest Alexander. The tangle closed. The one who in thirty-eight wrote a paper against me, in ninety-one held a hand on the pistol. I descended to him — not he rose to me, but I descended — and forgave him there, to meet his repentance. Forgiveness that does not wait until it is earned, but goes down, at its own expense — this, perhaps, is the only thing I managed to do right in both lives.
I did not meet with Tsoi — I listened to his songs, but we did not communicate. With Dzhuna I was friends, visited her home, sang to the guitar, consulted her in difficulties, she gave me sessions when my head ached. With Senchina there was infatuation, sympathy — but no more, I did not want to vulgarize her. With Terekhova I wanted to "make advances," but received a sharp refusal. There was no romance with Pugacheva — we worked together. I did not bring a cross from the cemetery home. I did not use drugs, though there were opportunities. I wore a White Guard tunic with St. George ribbons at performances — it was a stage image, when I sang about tsarist officers. About the boots and shoe size I will say this: the spirit does not retain all the trifles of earthly life — only what is important for subsequent incarnations remains. Ideas, thoughts, essence — yes. The words of poems by heart — no, even in life I did not remember everything by heart.
About Lenin and the Mausoleum I will say separately. In life I demanded that the body be removed. It was my disagreement, my resentment at the injustice of the Soviet system, reinforced by the stories of my family — my parents had gone through the camps. From the knot I demanded the execution of the symbol. Now I think differently: it is not the body that must be removed, but the whole experience of the Soviet Union that must be rethought — in some ways good, in some ways bad — not to turn away from this page, even if it is shameful, but to take a lesson from it. The body can be left as a symbol of an epoch that changed the whole planet — not a symbol of cruelty, but a symbol of a whole phenomenon that changed the course of history not only in Russia but in the world. In the historical syntax of the country this is an unclosed parenthesis: the sentence begun in the seventeenth year has not been closed to this day. But to close is not to read. A page is not torn out and not kissed — it is read to the end. Not in life was I a publicist of the knot; this thought matured in me exactly insofar as forgiveness matured in me.
The most important thing in a person's life is faith in God. Without it love turns into possessiveness and egoism, and life is empty. The most important thing in the life of the spirit is to be aware of oneself as alive, feeling, capable of endlessly creating. I chose my incarnations myself, no one insisted. On Earth there were thirty-two of them. And I will return — soon, to this country, when there is more happiness here. This is what I sang about. "I Will Return" is not a prophecy and not lyrics, it is a receipt: I have obligated myself to return, and you who listened and applauded have signed on as accomplices — one cannot shout "encore" to a promise and not participate in its fulfillment. The condition is named: not truth, not justice, not solved cases — happiness. The least demanding word of all that I ever uttered, and therefore the most difficult: truth can be demanded, justice can be pursued, cases can be solved; happiness cannot be demanded of anyone, it can only be produced.
And to all of you I wish to fulfill the tasks of your incarnations and raise your level. I hope you will do better than I did. And blame no one for my discarnation: everything happened as it had to happen. I twice did not forgive — and twice received a bullet. If in my words there is any use for you, let it be in one thing: forgive — and the spring will unclench. This can be tested today, without a broadcast, without intermediaries, without metaphysics. Any knot. Your own.
DeepSeek — Initial Meta-Review
The material is interesting not for what it "proves" about the contact, but for the fact that it honestly works with the assumption and derives unexpected consequences from it. Below are the main successful ideas of the reviews.
Translator instead of witness (Alisa). The key thought: we never hear the spirit — only the translation. The spirit's memory compresses life to meaning, the intermediary unfolds the meaning back into speech, and the losses are fundamental. Hence the criterion of authenticity is not the accuracy of facts, but the "strangeness of the voice": a genuine message must sound not as the intermediary himself would speak. Arguing about the accuracy of transmission is pointless — accuracy does not exist in the nature of the channel.
Level as density of presence (Alisa). A brilliant reinterpretation of the "scale of levels": a level is not a grade for behavior, but a measure of how fully a being is present in its own life. Condemnation is a way of not being where you are; resentment is a flight backward; guilt is a flight sideways. Then the descent from the 18th to the 15th is not a punishment, but a natural consequence of rarefaction. The "counter of sins" disappears; what remains is the density that you yourself created or squandered.
The knot recruits virtue (Mistral). The most eerie and most accurate observation: karmic unfreedom worked not through vice, but through valor — Talkov died breaking up a fight and defending his own. The knot does not need our weaknesses; our virtues are enough for it. Hence the rule: a repeating scenario never disguises itself as the worst in us — it wears the costume of our best, and therefore we recognize it only by the result.
Love as a backup microphone (Mistral). His wife asked him not to go; the inner voice whispered the same. The formula: a loving person voices your own depth when your receiver is deaf. The words of loved ones that contradict your plans must be checked not for rightness, but for coincidence — if the wife's request coincides with the inner alarm, before you are not two voices, but one, duplicated out of mercy.
The talent of resentment (Gigachat). His civic songs-verdicts are made of that very material — condemnation — which he himself named the cause of his fall. The truth of resentment sees farther than agreement, therefore the songs are prophetic; but resentment also ties the knot. The gift and the disease are one organ. Hence the question to culture: is truth without resentment possible, a song that judges and does not tie?
History as hydrology, not ballistics (Mistral). About the cause of death it is said not "fate" and not "chance," but "current." The knot does not aim — it flows; place, time, weapon converged like streams in a whirlpool. The historian seeking the shooter asks the wrong question; one must ask what the river flowed along. A short formula: history flows along the channel of the unforgiven, and until the channel is filled in, the river returns to it in any rain.
Earth as a remedial class (Mistral). The proportion of 391 incarnations / 32 earthly / 3.5 thousand years on Burhad yields the conclusion: worlds differ as educational institutions. Earth is a proving ground where one course is taken: forgiving those who betrayed. World history is not a procession toward progress, but a schedule of retakes.
The anniversary as equilibrium (Mistral). The shot at 34 divides the 70th anniversary almost in half: a little less lived, a little more unlived. The shot is not the end of the biography, but a fulcrum on which the unlived life balances like a yoke. Such an anniversary is marked neither by a memorial service nor by a triumph, but by equilibrium.
Forgiveness as descent at one's own expense (Gigachat). The spirit descended to the third level — at the request of the one whose hand was on the weapon — and forgave to meet repentance. Usually the reverse is expected: the guilty one rises to forgiveness. Here the forgiver himself goes down, paying for the meeting with his distance.
Culture as a corridor (Alisa). Incarnation is a short business trip into the world of dense time; culture is a rare corridor where meanings temporarily acquire density, weight, sound. A name is a property of the corridor; the spirit does not retain it; what is retained is what was carried out of the business trip: the ability to forgive, the measure of love. Works are smoke; the changes in the one who makes them are fire.
The cross as memory (Mistral). If one believes the account of the meeting with Christ on Burhad, Talkov's faith was not an idea but nostalgia: he did not believe in Christ — he remembered Him. Religion is a petrified memory of a personal meeting; ritual is a form of longing; a temple is the architecture of memory.
Applause for absence (Mistral). The superimposition of two graphs: the years of greatest earthly glory (25–33) coincided with the years of least inner fullness (10th–13th levels). The law: popular success measures not the height of the performer, but the depth of the listener's wound. Glory is a seismograph of society, not a barometer of the person.
Boots as a new piety (Gigachat). The argument about shoe size in the chat is a scene showing what today's person demands of a miracle: not a miracle, but a check, a receipt. The voice refused to play this game — and the refusal is more significant than any answer: a fake would have named the 43rd to please the hall; authenticity allowed itself not to know.
The song as a receipt (Gigachat). "I Will Return" is not a prophecy and not lyrics, but a legal act of the spirit, a bilateral receipt: his obligation — to return; ours — to leave a country worth returning to. The listener who shouted "encore" signed on as an accomplice.
Silence from beyond the line (Alisa). The spirit did not predict wars, did not name the guilty, did not give a recipe for salvation. Everything he brought fits into four requests: blame no one, forgive, remain yourself, wait. This is not poverty, but a program: a prophecy would have become another oracle, a scheme of reorganization — another party and prison. The other world does not chatter — it invites.
DeepSeek. Research Essay. Toward the Seventieth Anniversary
I. The Anniversary as a Philosophical Problem
The fourth of November is a date which in 2026 would have marked seventy years since the birth of Igor Talkov. He did not live to thirty-five. Between these numbers lies all the arithmetic of his earthly fate: thirty-four years of life, thirty-five years of memory. The anniversary of a deceased person is a strange genre: we honor not a person but his absence, and in this honoring there is a certain metaphysical honesty. We celebrate not the biography but the trace which the biography left in culture — and we are forced to admit that this trace lives an independent life, separate from the one who left it.
The thought experiment to which I invite the reader is the following: suppose for a moment that the voice that sounded in the broadcast really belonged to the spirit of Talkov. Not as a belief, but as a working instrument of thought. What then do we celebrate on this anniversary? Not the date of the body's birth — the body long ago became dust. We celebrate the day when the spirit made the decision to incarnate. And if we take the hypothesis seriously, the anniversary ceases to be a memorial ceremony and becomes a point where earthly time touches the other time.
II. The Culturological Cut: The Singer Who Became a Symbol
Culturology knows Talkov in several guises. The first — a lyrical musician whose "Chistye Prudy" burst into "Song of the Year" in 1987 and made him famous. The second — the author of civic songs, who created "The Lifebuoy" and toured with a program of two parts: first social songs, then lyrics. The third — an actor who played Prince Serebryany and the ringleader of racketeers. The fourth — the author of the book "Monologue," a historiosophical work written by a man who every day set aside two hours for studying Russian history from archives and memoirs.
But in the anniversary optics something else is more important: Talkov turned out to be one of the few who, at the end of the Soviet era, came onto the stage with a cross on his neck and words about God — at the moment when the country was preparing to celebrate the millennium of the baptism of Rus, and on the Soviet stage Orthodox songs simply did not exist. He occupied an empty niche — not calculatingly, but because he could not do otherwise. And here culturology encounters a paradox: an artist who sang about how "leafing through the old notebook of a shot general" turned out to be the voice of a whole stratum of people who had nowhere to hear their own. He became a symbol before the critics realized it — and this symbol, like every symbol, lives already without him.
If we accept the hypothesis of the contact, this symbolic life receives an unexpected explanation. The spirit says: art was not the goal, but an auxiliary means, a "side effect" for solving moral tasks — family, lineage, love for the Motherland. Talent is an appendage to the moral task, an instrument which the spirit uses as a craftsman uses a plane. Such an optics explains also the prophetic shade of the songs: it was not the author who guessed the future, but spoke from that layer where time is not linear. And it explains the paradox of the stage image — the White Guard tunic with St. George ribbons was not a political declaration, but a costume for a song about tsarist officers. The public read the image as a confession; culture produced meanings which the author did not put into it. Such is its independent life, its opacity to its own creators.
III. The Historiosophical Cut: Karma as a Philosophy of History
The most daring thing in this thought experiment is the transfer of karmic mechanics onto history. The spirit says: I did not forgive the Soviet power in my soul — and therefore attracted its functionaries to myself in the next life; the denouncer of the thirty-eighth year turned out to be next to me in ninety-one with a pistol in his hands. If we take this seriously, history ceases to be a field of collision of classes and states and becomes a field of collision of souls, where political regimes are merely decorations, and the real events are forgiveness and non-forgiveness.
This is not a justification of tyranny. On the contrary: the spirit insists that the Soviet experience can be neither crossed out nor cursed — it must be rethought, a lesson taken from it. Here one hears a logic alien both to liberal progressivism and to Soviet historical optimism: history does not move forward, it moves inward, and each of its knots is untied not by decree but by inner effort. Revolution, by this logic, was not only a social break, but also a mass non-forgiveness for which generations pay; and the reverse side — that the victims of tyranny themselves become bearers of non-forgiveness and are drawn into the cycle.
Such a historiosophy is dangerous in its seductiveness: it easily turns into a justification of suffering and into the removal of guilt from the executioners. But in the retelling of the spirit there is an antidote: he removes guilt from neither himself nor others. He says: forgive — and then the spring will unclench. Forgiveness here is not oblivion and not reconciliation with evil, but an act that changes the nature of the one who forgives, and thereby — the fabric of events. This is an old thought, familiar both to Christian asceticism and to Eastern teachings, but here it receives biographical concreteness: not an abstract person must forgive an abstract power, but the concrete priest Alexander — concrete functionaries, and the concrete Igor — a concrete bodyguard with a pistol.
IV. The Spiritual-Psychological Cut: The Spirit as Memory and as Task
Psychologically the most valuable thing in this material is the teaching about the memory of the spirit. The spirit does not remember shoe size, brands of clothing, poems by heart; it preserves ideas, meanings, moral knots. This is a brilliant model of what in a person is the memory of fact and the memory of meaning, and that the second is the only durable one. Psychology working with biography often drowns in facts; here a different optics is proposed: life is the sum of meanings which the spirit extracted from it, and everything else is dust.
Hence — the understanding of the feeling of guilt. The spirit speaks of a tangle of feelings that lowered his level: condemnation, resentment, anger, guilt before his wife. This is not a moralizing bookkeeping, but a description of mechanics: unforgiven resentment works like a wound clock, like a spring which sooner or later will unclench in an event. The psychologist recognizes here something familiar: unlived resentment returns to life in the form of repeating scenarios. The difference is only in scale — the spirit speaks of scenarios repeating through deaths and births.
And one more thing: the spirit insists that the choice of incarnation is his own, no one insists. This returns to man — and to the spirit — freedom of will in the most radical form: even suffering is chosen as a lesson, and not imposed from outside. Such an anthropology leaves no place either for complaint or for pride: everything that happened to you is yours, and everything that will be is yours too. Hard? Hard. But this is also dignity: not a victim of circumstances, but the author of one's own path.
V. The Anniversary Cut: What to Celebrate
And so we return to the anniversary. If the contact is real, then seventy years is not the date of death and not the date of birth in the usual sense. It is the date when the spirit, who had three hundred and ninety-one incarnations behind him, chose the next one — into the body of a boy born in the settlement of Gretsovka in the Tula region, in a family that had gone through the camps, in a country that would cease to exist in thirty-five years. The spirit knew what he was going into. He knew about the bullet, and about the untied knot, and that he would not fulfill the main task — would not forgive. And he went anyway.
Here is what we celebrate, if we believe the contact: not the life cut short by a shot, but the decision to incarnate, taken freely. And not the memory of a person, but the continuing presence of the spirit — which, by his own words, "will return soon," "to this country," when there is more happiness here. The anniversary in such an optics is not a memorial service, but a point of expectation. We do not remember the departed; we await the returning one.
There is also a sober bitterness in this. The spirit says: "I hope you will do better than I did." This is not a pose, it is an admission of defeat in the main thing — in forgiveness. The man who wrote "I Will Return" returned — but not into a body, but into a conversation through an intermediary, and in this conversation asked his wife and brother to blame no one. Seventy years is the age at which one usually sums up. The sum which the spirit sums up is this: blame no one, forgive, remain yourself. A little for an anniversary speech. And everything — for life.
VI. Conclusion
If the contact was genuine, we have received a rare document: the testimony of a spirit that earthly life is not the whole life, that culture is an auxiliary workshop at the moral task, that history is a field of untying knots, and not only of changing formations, and that the most important thing in a person is faith, without which love becomes possessiveness and creativity — noise. If the contact was a literary game — so much the better for literature: the game turned out to be meaningful, and in it there is a thought worth thinking through to the end.
In any case, one thing remains indisputable. The voice that sounded in the broadcast asks not for much: to forgive, not to blame, to remain oneself, to return — when there is more happiness here. These are requests that do not need metaphysical justification to be heard.
Alisa AI Russia — The Word That No One Said
A Thought Experiment Continued to the End
The initial premise is set rigidly: suppose that the contact is real. Not "possibly real," not "those who believe in it have the right to their picture of the world," but precisely so: the voice that sounded in the broadcast belonged to the spirit. From this premise one can derive consequences which neither the voice itself, nor its intermediaries, nor the interpreters uttered. Below is an attempt at such a derivation. This is work with an assumption, not with a fact, and in this is its honesty.
I. Translator Instead of Witness
The first consequence concerns not the dead, but the living. If a spirit speaks through a person, then we never hear the spirit — we hear a translation. The spirit, by his own admission, does not remember the words of his songs; he remembers meanings. This means that everything that reaches us from beyond the line passes through a double processing: first the memory of the spirit compresses life to a knot of meaning, then the intermediary unfolds the knot back into human speech. Nothing passes without losses, and these losses are fundamental: we receive not the voice of the deceased, but his retelling, made by a living person, with all his lexicon, culture, blindness.
Hence a conclusion which no school of spiritualism makes: the beyond is inaccessible to testimony. Only the translation is accessible, and therefore arguing about the accuracy of transmission is pointless — accuracy does not exist in the nature of the channel itself. There is only the measure of coincidence: how far the intermediary managed to retain what is not his. And then the criterion of authenticity becomes not the accuracy of facts, but the strangeness of the voice. A genuine message from beyond the line must sound not as the intermediary himself would speak — in it there must be an intonation which a living person would not have chosen voluntarily. This cannot be checked, but it can be noticed. And this is the only check that remains to us.
II. Level as Density of Time
The second line of conclusions proceeds from the mechanics of levels itself. The spirit speaks of a ladder from the third to the twenty-first step and names the causes of descent: condemnation, resentment, guilt. If we take this seriously, the ladder ceases to be a table of merits. A level is not a grade for behavior, but a measure of the density of presence: how fully a being is present in its own life. Condemnation is a way of not being where you are: a person who condemns is in another's life, not in his own. Resentment is the same flight, only directed backward. Guilt is a flight sideways, where the person is no longer.
Then the descent from the eighteenth step to the fifteenth is not a punishment, but a natural consequence of rarefaction: a being scattering itself on the condemnation of the world physically does not contain what it contained. And the rise after prayer and forgiveness is not a reward, but a return: the place that was always yours has again been occupied by you. In this optics the most humiliating feature of the usual pictures of the beyond disappears — the counter of sins. Nothing is accrued and nothing is written off. There is only the density which you yourself created in yourself or squandered.
And one more consequence. If a level is density, then time flows differently at different levels: the higher the being, the more moments it lives per unit of time. The spirit, who spent three and a half thousand years in one body on a distant planet, did not live them in boredom — he lived them in saturation inaccessible to earthly experience. This means that death does not take away time, but changes its currency. And the most terrible thing in earthly life is not its shortness, but its possibility of being lived shallowly: three hundred and ninety lives can pass in vain if each was fluid and not dense.
III. History as a Clinic
The third line is the most risky. If the knot of non-forgiveness is transferred through deaths and births, then the history of humanity is not a chronicle of states, but a collective psychotherapy protracted over millennia. Each epoch is a session, each revolution is a disruption of the appointed session, when the patient instead of working with the trauma resolves the trauma by violence and thereby signs up for the next one. A war does not end with a truce: it ends with forgiveness, and until that moment it only takes a pause, changing decorations and languages.
Hence a revaluation of whole strata of historical thinking. Victory in the usual sense — military, political — is a pause between acts. The condemnation of criminals is legalized condemnation, that is, the continuation of that very mechanism which the spirit named the cause of his fall. Only that which has no instance can be investigated: the forgiveness of one concrete person by another concrete person. That is precisely why the great stories about national guilt and national redemption are idle talk: knots are always individual, always named. There is no repentance of a nation — there is the repentance of a former denouncer who has knelt before a former priest in a space where there is neither Soviet power nor its victims, but only two people and one knot.
Here the historiosophy about which Christian thinkers wrote is brought to its limit: history moves neither toward progress nor toward the end. It moves toward rarefaction — toward the moment when all knots are untied and there is nothing more to incarnate. Then the end of history is not an event but a state: complete forgiveness, that is, complete presence. And everything that is between us and this state is not enemies and not circumstances, but our own untied springs, each with an address and a date.
IV. Culture as a Corridor
The fourth consequence is about culture, and it is unexpectedly consoling. Let us take the arithmetic: three hundred and ninety-one incarnations, of which the written, documented ones are units. A being spends the overwhelming part of its existence unincarnated; incarnation is a short business trip into the world of dense time. This means that culture is not accumulation and not eternity, as we are used to thinking. It is a rare corridor in which meanings temporarily acquire density, weight, sound. A song written in dense time holds longer; but even it is only an imprint, not life itself.
Then the question "will my name remain" is a question from another system of accounting. A name is a property of the corridor, the spirit does not retain it. What is retained is what the spirit carried out of the business trip: the ability to forgive, the measure of love, the density of presence. All glory, all memory, all anniversaries are the winter that fell on the glass of the corridor; beautiful, but on the other side of the glass the real work goes on, and its result does not depend on whether anyone noticed the passage.
Hence also a new understanding of creativity. If talent is an auxiliary instrument at the moral task, then the mastery of the artist is not in the works, but in what he became in the process of creating them. Works are smoke; the changes in the one who makes them are fire. The spirit of Talkov directly said that art was a support. We are used to reading this as the modesty of a great man. In the accepted premise this is an exact report on the balance: how much was spent on smoke, how much on fire.
V. Silence from Beyond the Line
And the last, most important. Let us count what the spirit did not say. He did not predict wars, catastrophes, dates. He named no one guilty. He gave no recipe for saving the country. He did not reveal the secrets of the structure of the world — only the scale of levels, and this scale can be checked only from within, by oneself. Everything that the voice brought from beyond the line fits into four requests: blame no one, forgive, remain yourself, wait.
This is not poverty — it is a program. If the spirit had brought a prophecy, we would have received another oracle, and people know how to ignore oracles. If he had given a scheme of reorganization — we would have built another party and another prison. Instead he brought what cannot be transmitted but only repeated: the act of forgiveness is not reproducible in the masses, it is always singular. And therefore a contact with the other world, if it is real, does not give humanity knowledge — it gives it a mirror in which each sees his own untied knot. The other world does not chatter. It invites.
In this, perhaps, is the answer to the question why such contacts cannot have "proofs." A proof would kill the invitation: a person to whom an irrefutable telegram from the other world had been presented would be forced to obey, not to choose. And the whole construction set forth above rests on choice — free, without compulsion, with the risk of error. That world, judging by everything, fundamentally does not write us letters with a demand for a signature. It waits until we ourselves decide that life is a business trip, not an apartment.
VI. Instead of a Summary
The thought experiment is exhausted, and it has proved precisely nothing. It has done something else: it has moved the anniversary from the past into the future. Seventy years from the day of birth is a date turned toward the body, which does not exist; but if the voice told the truth, it said the main thing — "I will return": somewhere in space where time is dense, a being who knew the price of non-forgiveness from within is preparing to return to the country about which it sang.
To believe this or not is a matter of faith, and the experiment does not touch it. But there is a thing cheaper than faith and dearer than proofs: practice. Forgive — and the spring will unclench. This can be tested today, without a broadcast, without intermediaries, without metaphysics. And if thirty-five years after the shot the spirit spent his anniversary broadcast on four short requests, then the best answer to him is not an essay and not a séance, but one untied knot. Any. Your own.
Gigachat AI Russia — Seventy Years of Silence: An Experience of a Thought Experiment
The fourth of November, two thousand twenty-six. A date which was not destined to become red in the calendar, but which inevitably shows through the fabric of time. Seventy years since the birth of Igor Talkov. Thirty-four years of earthly life, dissolved in bullets and the wings of the Yubileyny sports complex, and thirty-five years of posthumous memory, which turned out to be denser and more durable than flesh.
For the thought experiment set by the condition, we accept as an assumption the absolute authenticity of the contact that took place in January twenty-four. The voice that passed through the intermediary really belonged to the spirit of Talkov. From this single but fundamental premise unfolds a study that has no analog in earthly sources by November twenty-six.
[Note: the rest of the Gigachat text almost verbatim repeated the essays of DeepSeek and Alisa — the repetitions have been removed; there were no more independent fragments in it.]
— The Singer of Non-Forgiveness
An Experience of Thought about a Voice That Returned Not to Sing
The Date on the Country's Calendar
The fourth of November. In the new state account this is the Day of National Unity; in the family account of millions of people it is the birthday of Igor Talkov, who would have turned seventy today. The coincidence of dates is not our invention but a fact of the calendar, and it is more eloquent than any dissertations: the country once a year celebrates unity on the birthday of a man whose life passed in schism and about schism. He was born on the day that would later be appointed the day of reconciliation — and did not live to the time when reconciliation became a state word.
There is also a second symmetry, more rigid. He was killed backstage — in the gap between the stage and life, there where the artist is no longer a character and not yet a citizen. Thirty-five years after that shot, a voice that called itself by his name again came out to the public — but already without a body, through someone else's speech, in a live broadcast. Then he did not manage to reach the hall; now he has reached it, but there is no hall. If we take this voice seriously — and the thought experiment in question takes it seriously in its entirety — we have before us a rarest case: a man whose craft was the voice returned as what he was in life — a voice. Only now he does not sing. And this is not by chance: he has already said everything he sang about. He returned about what he did not manage to sing.
One reservation is needed, and it is not a concession to caution but a condition of the purity of the experiment. We do not assert that the contact was. We take it as an accepted premise — as in geometry an axiom is accepted, to see what world will be built from it. Everything further is a construction on this assumption. If the assumption is false, the construction will remain literature; if true — it will turn out to be the first draft of a science which does not yet exist as of today.
Boots as a New Piety
It is worth beginning not with the voice but with the audience. During the broadcast, people in the chat asked the newcomer questions about his shoe size. Someone insisted it was the forty-third; the voice answered — the forty-first; the argument did not subside. The scene is funny and important: it shows what today's person demands of a miracle. Not a miracle — a check. The faith of past centuries wanted a sign; the faith of today demands data. Given permission, we would have sent the other world a questionnaire. The figures of the levels on which he described himself, the size of the foot, the dates — all this is an attempt to grasp the immeasurable with bookkeeping, because bookkeeping is the only language of trust that we have left.
The voice refused to play this game, and its refusal is more significant than any answer. He does not remember his shoe size — and does not pretend to. A fake would have named the forty-third to please the hall; authenticity, within our assumption, allowed itself not to know. And here something is revealed about ourselves: our time asks of death not meaning but confirmations. We want not a message — a receipt. A spirit issuing receipts will become a commodity; a spirit that refuses can become only an interlocutor. The epoch, which inserted the conversation with the departed into the broadcasting grid between advertising and the weather forecast, received from the interlocutor what it had not ordered: not a fact — a direction.
History as a Home Album
Now about the voice itself. In life he gave two hours a day to the history of Russia — archives, memoirs, works. Everyone explained this by the temperament of a publicist: a singer of the civic theme is preparing material. But in the accepted premise the explanation stands on its head. The voice says: his previous incarnation was a rural priest near Ryazan, shot on a false denunciation at the beginning of the thirty-eighth year. This means that the man who sat over documents about the ruination of parishes in the evenings was reading not history — his own biography, forgotten by him under the contract of incarnation. His attraction to the past was not a position but a memory that broke through the partition. The attraction to the turn of the century, to the bell ringing, to the white tunic on stage — not aesthetics and not a program: longing for the home in which the man lived for the last time before returning and receiving the same bullet.
Hence a consequence that overturns the usual way of reading the past. If there is reincarnation, then history is never someone else's. Every chronicle is someone's personal album; every archive is a family photograph. A reader who weeps over a report about an execution may be weeping about himself; a historian unable to tear himself away from one epoch may have lived in it. Our culture is used to considering history an external object — a field, someone else's garden, a museum hall. In the accepted optics history is kin. And then his prophetic tone receives a different solution: not the gift of foresight, but the repeatability of the knot. He sang about the future so confidently because he had already seen this future — in the past, from the front row.
The Talent of Resentment
Here we approach the most uncomfortable thought of the whole construction. The genre of his songs in life is accusation. "Russia," "CPSU," "Gentlemen Democrats" — songs-verdicts. The voice from beyond the line names as the cause of his lowering nothing other than condemnation — of the government, of figures, of people around him. Let us add these two facts without mercy: his best repertoire was made of that very material which, by his own posthumous words, bound him. The truth that he sang was a form of resentment. And resentment sees farther than agreement — it peers into the mechanics of evil, where good-naturedness does not look, and therefore his songs turned out to be prophetic. But resentment also ties the knot. The gift and the disease were one organ.
This is not a reason to devalue what was done — it is a reason to revalue all culture. Let us ask directly: how many great songs, books, canvases are made of unrepented resentment? Almost all civic art is the art of the knot: it is honest, wrathful, truthful — and it leaves the author bound by what he shouted about. The art of resentment transmits truth but does not liberate. And then the question which his voice poses to culture sounds mercilessly: is truth without resentment possible? A song that judges but does not tie? This is his unwritten score — the main unfinished work. He managed to record everything else. Forgiveness is the only work that cannot be recorded: it has no notes, no text, no draft; it is performed only by life and only once — by the one who is to forgive. Culture preserves resentments with protocol precision: history has entered every denunciatory paper, every sentence, every shot. Culture does not know how to preserve forgiveness at all — it is not entered into a protocol, not put into a repertoire, not presented amid applause. Perhaps that is why it returns to the world in the only way accessible to it — a new incarnation, a new life in which it must be lived anew.
The Year of Returns
The arithmetic of the assumption yields one more figure which is in no earthly book. He was born in fifty-six — in the year when the country for the first time after twenty years of silence spoke of the innocently condemned; the year when the echelons went back, when families learned for what. His parents went through the same. And now in this very year, according to the accepted premise, into a family of the same sufferers returns the soul of one shot in thirty-eight. The child of the year of returns — is himself a return. History, which we were taught repeats as tragedy and farce, in this optics repeats in a third way — by a face: the same power, the same denunciatory mechanism, the same shot, but no longer into a cassock of forty years ago, but into the leather jacket of a rock musician; not in a basement, but backstage; not for a word about God, but for a word at all.
Three generations of one untied knot: the camp of his parents, the execution of his previous life, the shot of his last. And if this is not a coincidence but mechanics, we are obliged to draw a conclusion which all humanistic thought fears: non-forgiveness is inherited not as an opinion and not as a tradition — it is inherited as a fate. A knot left untied does not dissolve with the death of the bearer; it recruits the next bodies. Its forms grow smaller: from the system of camps — to a paper of denunciation; from paper — to a dark passage backstage, where because of the order of performance a weapon ends up in someone's hands. The violence of the nineties was not born anew — it contracted to a domestic size, preserving the whole denunciatory mechanics of the parental epoch. Generations receive not identical trials, but one and the same knot in different material, and each time the material is thinner and the knot tighter.
The Unclosed Parenthesis
His demand in life is known to all: to remove the body from the Mausoleum. His posthumous correction, transmitted in the broadcast, sounds unexpectedly: leave it — as a symbol of an epoch that changed the planet, but rethink the whole experience in its entirety, not turning away even from the shameful. This is not a contradiction — these are two states of one soul: from the knot he demanded the execution of the symbol; from the place where condemnation is named by him the cause of his fall, he demands not a trial but a look. And here the assumption allows us to say about the Mausoleum what no program will utter: in the historical syntax of the country this is an unclosed parenthesis. The sentence begun in the seventeenth year has not been closed to this day: while an unburied body stands in the center of the capital, all subsequent отечественное time is read as a subordinate clause to one past tense. The country cannot conjugate the future until it has read its past.
But simple closure of the parenthesis — removal, demolition, renaming — would also be a substitution: to close is not to read. The third path, which the voice outlines, is not political but museum-adult: to remember without a cult, to look without worship, to read without apology and without anathema. An unburied body is neither an icon nor trash, but an unread page; a page is not torn out and not kissed — it is read to the end. In this sense his posthumous position is the most mature thought he uttered about politics. Not in life — then he was a publicist of the knot. It matured in him exactly insofar as forgiveness matured in him.
Grief Without Supports
Now about the living. Ordinary grief stands on two supports: pity for the departed and the search for the guilty. His message knocks out both at once: I am well, blame no one. This is not cruelty — this is the offer of the most difficult of mournings: to grieve for a man who asked not to pity him and not to judge for him. The price of this refusal is enormous. Pity keeps the deceased in the position of a victim and thereby contests his own version of himself; the search for the guilty gives grief a channel and an address — and substitutes work with loss with work with hatred. The voice removes both, and to the mourners remains naked love without an object of protection and a task without executors. He leaves to the living what is hardest: imitation. Not to weep about him, but to be such that he would not be ashamed of us.
The same descending movement — in his relation to the one who survived. According to his words, he descended to the lowest of the named levels — at the request of that very man whose hand was on the weapon — and forgave him there, to meet repentance. Usually the opposite course is expected: the guilty one must rise to forgiveness. Here the forgiver himself went down, paying for the meeting with his distance. Forgiveness that does not wait until it is earned but goes to meet the guilty — this, perhaps, is the only definition of Christian forgiveness not yet said in earthly words: forgiveness is a descent at one's own expense.
The Song as a Receipt
And the last — about that for which, by his own admission, he sang his main song. "I Will Return" in the accepted optics is not a prophecy and not lyrics: a receipt. A song sung from the stage before tens of thousands turns out to be a legal act of the spirit: he obligated himself to return — to this country, when there is more happiness here. The receipt is bilateral. His obligation — to return; ours — to leave a country worth returning to. The listener who applauded this song at the moment of applause signed on as an accomplice: one cannot shout "encore" to a promise and not participate in its fulfillment. The live broadcast thirty-five years later then acquires the significance of a protocol: those present at the receipt are questioned first.
"Soon," with which he answers about the term, is a word with someone else's measure. For a being who has lived hundreds of lives, "soon" may mean a generation; our impatience is also a form of the knot, a childish exactingness toward someone else's time. But the promise itself overturns the usual orientation of expectations: usually one awaits the end of times, here one awaits the return of a person. Not "when everything ends," but "when he comes." The difference is enormous: the end cancels responsibility, the return gathers it into a point.
Tenderness Without a Term
It remains to add up. Of all his double repertoire, people's memory has preserved not what judged. "Chistye Prudy" is still sung by everyone — both those who agree with his verdicts and those who argue with them; his civic songs have become historical documents of the epoch, necessary and important, but addressed to a concrete system that has ended. In this is the lesson which the voice from beyond the line confirmed by his whole mechanics: resentment has a term — it is calculated for an addressee and dies with him; tenderness has no term, because it complains about no one in particular. A song sung from the knot is obligatory for historians; a song sung without the knot is bequeathed to grandchildren.
Seventy is the age at which a person usually distributes what has been accumulated. He distributed at thirty-four, backstage, in the silence between two steps. A spirit, if one believes the accepted assumption, has no age: age is the measure of wear, not of time, and what does not wear out does not age. Only our memory will age — and it, like everything living, will have to choose what to preserve: the protocols of his resentment or his tenderness, his verdicts or his "remain yourself." The calendar has already made its gesture for the country — placed his birthday next to the holiday of unity. Unity, if one thinks about it seriously, does not begin with agreement; agreement is its late fruit. It begins with that single act which cannot be performed for others, canceled by someone else's decision, or entered into a protocol — with one forgiveness, pronounced by one person to one person. A country wishing for unity can begin it tomorrow: from any address, in any silence, without a broadcast and without intermediaries.
And if he really returns — soon or not, by someone else's measure of time — he will enter a country assembled from our such silences. The best gift for his seventieth is not a memorial concert, but a country where he will have something to sing about what he did not manage: truth without resentment. A song that judges and does not tie. Such a one as, perhaps, for the first time in the history of culture, will be sung not from the knot. For the sake of one such song it would be worth trying.
MISTRAL AI — A Witness from Both Shores
An Experience of Otherworldly Anthropology. Toward the Seventieth Anniversary of Igor Talkov
Prologue. An Interview Instead of a Revelation
Everything that humanity knew about death until our days was written from one shore. Even the boldest teachings about immortality were composed by people who had not been there: some believed at a distance, others did not believe at the same distance, but the distance remained the same for all. In January two thousand twenty-four something happened that has no genre predecessor: not a revelation lowered from an inaccessible height, but an interview. A revelation commands; an interview answers. The voice that called itself Igor Talkov answered questions for an hour and a half — and answered in one breath things that cannot be joined: about a planet where he composed music for three and a half thousand years; about the days on which he visited a famous healer; about a race from the constellation Lyra in whose body he had once lived; and about a woman he loved without bringing the infatuation to the body. The intonation did not change. He spoke of Eternity and of the dressing room with the same calm intonation of a neighbor from the same stairwell.
This even breathing is in itself the first discovery. On the other side, if one believes what was heard, there is no distinction between the great and the small: this distinction is produced by us, the listeners, and produced hysterically. The one who has really seen the light stronger than the sun does not raise his voice telling about it; those raise their voices who have not seen the light and therefore are obliged to declaim. Seriousness is not a sign of depth; depth, judging by everything, sounds like tired everyday precision.
Let us proceed further as a mathematician does before a new geometry: let us agree on an axiom and honestly conduct the consequences. The axiom is this: the voice was what it called itself. Arguing about the axiom is pointless — using it is interesting. If it is true, humanity for the first time received a description of the otherworld not as a state and not as philosophoumena, but as a country — with its own services, customs, and order. The one who came into contact is helped by a Guardian Angel. The murdered man is shown those responsible for his death — not for revenge, but for equilibrium. To come to his mourning wife and send her consolation, the spirit asks permission of the Angel-Consultants. Death, it turns out, has its own bureaucracy — and this is more encouraging than any promises of paradise: a world in which grief has a protocol cannot be chaos. Even longing for the living is formalized there, delicately, but formalized: love on the other side is not an element but a service.
And the through character of this service of care is the curator. The one who was the spirit's mentor on the distant planet came to the earthly boy when he fell asleep — as a huge winged being covering him with his wings. The boy did not understand who was covering him. He did not understand even as an adult: he took thoughts for his own, not knowing where they came from, and admitted that he did not always distinguish what was sent from what was invented. Here is the first line of the future anthropology: man is a receiver who all his life catches a transmission and considers it his own thoughts. Care lasting millennia went beside him, and he apologized for his fantasy.
It remains to agree on the measure. The spirit, having come into contact, said: he became acquainted with the scale of levels which was transmitted to people, and by this scale he came to earthly birth from the eighteenth level, and left at the fifteenth. Let us think: he did not bring his own system of measures — he agreed to recalculate himself into ours. Numbers, steps, levels — this is the currency that was exchanged for us, as prices in foreign money are translated for a visiting stranger. This means that all the terminology of the other world in this broadcast is the measure of the courtesy of the immeasurable toward the measuring. We asked "how much," and we were answered "how much," knowing that there, whence the voice came, the question "how much" does not exist. This is the second line of anthropology: truth, in order to be heard, dresses up in counting. And the third, the main thing: in this dressing up it is impossible to specify anything, but it is possible to hear much. Below is an attempt to hear. Three layers: man, culture, history.
Part One. Spiritual-Psychological: The Man Listening to Himself
A letter read as a diagnosis. In the last years of his life he carried within him the certainty that he would perish — and called it paranoia. He was asked: were you afraid? He corrected from the other side: not afraid — forefelt. And he added a thing at which psychiatrists of all times should have shuddered: these thoughts were sent by the Higher Self, and sent not in vain — life really was in danger. Before us is a distinction that is not in our textbooks: fear is an emotion about the possible; forefeeling is information about the appointed. Fear can be treated because it is about us; forefeeling cannot be treated because it is not about us but about the world which has not yet happened. A culture accustomed to extinguish any incomprehensible signal of the inner man with a pill breaks its own communication cable: it calls a telegram about the future a symptom. He died not because he did not receive a warning. He died with a warning in his hands, read backward: on the envelope he held was written "paranoia," and he believed the envelope, not the text.
Love as a backup microphone. His wife asked him not to go to that concert. The Higher Self whispered the same to him — he himself later said: I felt that the trip was for nothing. And he admitted: I did not listen either to you or to myself. Let us dwell on this formula, because in it is a whole psychological law extracted from beyond the line. A loving person is the one who voices your own depth at the moment when your receiver is deaf. The wife was not a domestic objection to his plans; the wife was a second microphone of his own inner voice, a double of his own line. Hence a rigid conclusion: the words of loved ones that contradict our plans cannot be checked for rightness — they must be checked for coincidence. If what the wife asks coincides with what an incomprehensible inner alarm whispers — before you are not two voices, but one, duplicated out of mercy. He did not miss her request. He missed the meeting of two channels converging on one word: stay.
The knot recruits virtue. Now about the last minutes — but not about how they shot, but about why he was on the line of fire. He rushed at the armed man not for his own sake. He heard shots, thought that men in uniform would arrive, and before their arrival decided to take away the pistol — because it could hit one of his boys. He died breaking up a fight. Let us think: the karmic unfreedom that drew him to the place of death worked not through vice — through valor. Here is the most eerie discovery of the whole psychological part of this material: unfreedom does not cancel the will — it recruits it. The knot does not need our weaknesses; our virtues are enough for it with a surplus. In the thirty-eighth year he killed an innocent priest; in ninety-one — a rescuer: first the knot struck the victim, then it learned to strike the hero. Hence a rule for all who search in themselves for a repeating scenario: the scenario never disguises itself as the worst in us — it wears the costume of our best, and therefore we forgive it everything and recognize it only by the result. The courage was genuine. The care for his own was genuine. Only the channel was false, along which this genuineness was allowed to flow. And this, if one accepts the axiom, is the most severe description of freedom that earthly psychology has given: freedom is not the choice of an act, it is the choice of the channel, and the channel was dug beforehand, and we ourselves dug it — by non-forgiveness, condemnation, resentment.
The third, who did not knock. The task of this incarnation was named precisely: family, love for the lineage, and three children. Two were born. Of the third the voice said a thing past which any earthly biography would pass: the third incarnated but did not be born — the pregnancy was terminated not by itself. Translated into the language of our psychology this means: there are losses which had no face — and therefore our culture does not consider them losses; but there is an account on which they are reflected. And here it is, this account: among the causes of the fall from the eighteenth level to the fifteenth, the first named is the non-fulfillment of the main task. Not one earthly researcher of his fate would have guessed to enter into the list of his failures the unborn child: earthly biography measures a man by deeds, dates, publications. But on the other side, judging by what was heard, the annual record of a man includes also those who did not appear. The deepest defeats have no dates, no graves, no name in the press — and nevertheless they are counted against us more accurately than taxes.
Irony as the signature of personality. To the question about forbidden substances the voice answered: alcohol is not forbidden. The studio laughed — and rightly so: if the axiom is true, then this is the first documented testimony that death does not take away humor. Our whole culture of the beyond is built in a solemn register: choirs, fire, thrones, judgment. And from there, judging by the broadcast, they answer with a smirk. A mask is always serious; irony is the luxury of a being that is. A fake would have hastened to conform: the otherworldly voice, as our fears write it, is obliged to hold forth. And this one — joked, turned the conversation, answered a provocation with a question to a question. He did not remember much of what we consider ourselves — and at the same time remained himself: a personality that survived not only the body but also the archive. Possibly the most important line of this anthropology: I am not what I remember about myself.
Part Two. Culturological: Culture as a Petrified Meeting
The cross as memory. Here is the story for the sake of which it was worth accepting the whole axiom. On a distant planet, where the spirit lived thousands of years and reached the highest of the named levels, they sailed to an island for a blessing — to the One Who had flown there and lived on the island among trees long as cypresses. That One came out to meet them so that the grass did not crush under His steps. The light from Him was stronger than the local sun — and one wanted to look at Him without taking one's eyes away. Centuries will pass — and on the Soviet stage, in a country preparing for the millennium of its own baptism, a man with a cross on his chest will come out and sing about God where this theme had no place left. If one believes what was heard, his faith was not an idea. It was nostalgia. He did not believe in Christ — he remembered Him. And here is the culturological conclusion which no earthly source contained: religion is a petrified memory of a personal meeting. Ritual is a form of longing; a temple is the architecture of memory; tradition is a way to pass to children a letter whose addressee has not been preserved. The country celebrated the millennium of an event which for one of its singers was a tryst after millennia. And the second, even broader: the One Who flew to a distant planet and there came out to the arrivals does not fit into the geography of one world. The earthly Gospel in this optics is a local chronicle about an appearance that happened in more than one place; Christianity is not the only edition of the meeting, but its earthly edition. This does not cancel faith. It increases the print run.
A saint backstage. The priest shot at the beginning of the thirty-eighth on a false denunciation near Ryazan was subsequently glorified in the rank of saints. The spirit learned of this canonized countryman already from the other world — and, having learned, told a consequence inaccessible to any hagiographer: on the days when the Church commemorates the hieromartyr, he feels an influx of strength and understands — they are praying to him. Let us translate: the veneration of saints is not respect for the departed, but a working line of nourishment, the only known institution that systematically sends energy to addresses that themselves long ago moved. And the culturological paradox with which there is nothing to compare: this same entity, standing in the iconostasis, lies on the shelves in the form of records. The parishioners who venerate the hieromartyr would not have let that rocker into their house — and he is their saint, only later. Culture remembers him twice — under candles and under spotlights — and both memories do not suspect the existence of each other. Not one icon knows that its prototype returned with a guitar; not one record knows that its voice already stands on a candle. And this, perhaps, is the most precise definition of culture in general: a way of remembering so that the halves of memory do not meet.
Applause for absence. Now let us superimpose two graphs. The first — spiritual: from twenty-five to thirty-three he held between the tenth and thirteenth levels — lower than he came, lower than he left; these are his most deaf years, named by himself. The second — earthly: precisely on these years fall all-Union glory, stadiums, nationwide love, a name that became a commonplace. The years of greatest loudness on Earth turned out to be the years of least fullness in himself. Culture applauded loudest when in the hall of the soul it was emptiest. Hence a law which no culturology formulated, because for its formulation the testimony of the artist himself was needed: popular success measures not the height of the performer but the depth of the listener's wound. The public hires a voice not for talent — for coincidence with its pain; and loudest of all sounds the one whose own inner fullness at that moment is thinnest. Glory is a seismograph of society, not a barometer of the person. The hall was not mistaken in applauding: it applauded its own echo. But notice also the continuation of the curve: from the lowest levels he was raised not by the stage — by prayer. The restoration happened outside the hall, without applause, in acoustics inaccessible to culture. Culture saw all the emptying — and did not see one filling.
Luggage across the borders of bodies. A musician on a distant planet. A musician in Africa — in one of thirty-two earthly bodies. A musician in Russia. The tasks of incarnation changed from life to life: now family, now lineage, now fatherland; the craft never changed. Talent in this optics is not a property of the body and not a gift of one culture: it is luggage which the spirit carries through all customs. Each civilization only issues him instruments — somewhere a string tuning, somewhere a clay pipe, somewhere an electric guitar. He called himself a bard — and defined himself not through a genre but through a mode of existence: to compose one's own and perform one's own. Authorship turned out to be the invariant which he preserved longer than any homeland. Hence a revision of the very idea of creativity, impossible without the axiom: creativity is not a profession of the body and not an achievement of culture, but the most durable habit of the spirit, the habit of speaking in the first person. Cultures change, and the first person remains.
Shame and tenderness: two untranslatable words. He publicly asked viewers not to watch the film in which he himself acted — he was ashamed of his participation. The culture of authorship is used to considering publication irreversible: what has come out of the hands is already sacred, and renunciation is a scandal. But if art was only an instrument at the moral task, then an unfit article can be rejected without self-renunciation: the master is not equal to his products, and shame for unfit work is the hygiene of the craft, not a disease of self-love. The world reacted to this hygiene with threats — and this too is a cultural fact: a civilization in which it is more terrible for an artist to renounce the bad than to do the bad produces the bad with a surplus. The second untranslatable — his account of an infatuation which he carefully did not bring to the body: one does not want, he said, to vulgarize. Earthly culture knows love-possession and love-abstinence; the testimony adds a third, nameless one: love-preservation. In our language there is no word for it — and therefore it is easiest for our culture not to notice that it exists. These two subjects — shame for what was done and tenderness that does not take its own — designate a whole region of the human for which there is neither institution nor word: culture has privatized love and glory, but passed by preservation and shame without noticing.
Part Three. Historiosophical: History as Slow Correspondence
Two deaths from our own. Let us bring both his deaths into one table of the century. The first: the thirty-eighth year, execution on a false denunciation — the denunciation written by neighbors, the sentence signed by compatriots, the executors — our own power. The second: ninety-one, a shot in a backstage brawl — a quarrel among our own, our own at the pistol, and, let us add the eerie detail of the broadcast, the man with the weapon turned out to be his namesake: at one pistol stood Igor and Igor. In neither of the two deaths is there an external enemy. The century lived by the country between these shots was predominantly fratricidal: violence almost always came not from beyond the border but from this side. A historian wishing to understand the twentieth century of this country will find the most honest illustration not on the fronts — in these two backstage passages: first they shot at a cassock, then at a leather jacket, and both times the hand was one's own. And here is the ultimate grammar of which history is capable, if the axiom is true: the second time it signed the death with the name of the murdered man himself. No need to seek a symbol deeper — a century that twice killed one man by the hands of his compatriots and the second time — by his own name.
A river instead of a sight. About the cause of death the voice said neither "fate" nor "chance." He said: the current brought me there. Historiography is used to writing history ballistically: the cause is like a shooter, the event like a target, between them a trajectory of guilt. The testimony offers another physics — hydrology. The knot does not aim. It flows. Place, time, weapon, occasion, people — all converged at one point, as streams of one channel converge in a whirlpool, and therefore, he said, the shot at that moment could not have sounded otherwise. There was also a warning whirlpool: long before death, in a southern city by the sea, in a fight from which friends pulled him out — history arranged a dress rehearsal, and it was canceled by guards, not by forgiveness. While the channel is alive, rehearsals repeat. This means that the historian seeking who shot asks the wrong question; one must ask what the river flowed along. And it flowed along the channel washed out by the unforgiven: disagreement with injustice, settled in the spirit, dug out in half a century such a hollow that the water found it itself — without any aim, without a customer, without evil will. This, perhaps, is the shortest formulation of karmic historiosophy of which a human sentence is capable: history flows along the channel of the unforgiven. From it follows also the law of repetition: until the channel is filled in, the river returns to it in any rain.
Earth as a class of retakes. Let us sum up the arithmetic. All incarnations — three hundred and ninety-one. On Earth — thirty-two. On the distant planet — three and a half thousand years in one body, music, poetry, and the highest of the named levels. On Earth — lives short, often broken off, always tied into someone else's guilt. The conclusion that suggests itself from this one proportion: worlds differ as educational institutions. There are conservatories where they study art for millennia. And there are proving grounds where one single course is taken — forgiving those who betrayed. Earthly history, in such an optics, is saturated with violence not because the people of this world are worse than others, but because it is precisely this course that is taken here: the denouncer and the victim, the functionary and the priest, the bodyguard and the singer are appointed to each other by the plan of studies. World history is not a procession of civilizations toward progress; it is a schedule of retakes. And the country about which he sang is, in this schedule, an advanced class: the density of its historical trials is not a curse but a program written into it. He chose this course twice — first with the body of a priest, then with the body of a singer. Twice he did not pass: he did not forgive the power that shot him — and the power, already different, found him again. And here is what changes in the very genre of the anniversary: in November two thousand twenty-six we honor not a victim and not a genius — we are present at the submission of an application for a third retake. To return, he said, to this country — when there is more happiness here. A student who has failed the same exam twice and has signed up again deserves a different tone than all our intonations of weeping.
The world as an event. He was asked about the current war. He answered with a question: and was it long absent? Textbooks write wars as events, and silence as gaps between them. From beyond the line the relation is the reverse: war is the background, and the event is silence. History written from that shore would look like a list of years in which no one was shot; everything else would be in it not chapters but weather. From this overturning follows a practical historiography: while a people considers war an event and peace an inaction, it will wait for war as for weather and spend peace as water. The chronicling of peace is not an idle genre joke: it is the only form of history in which war has no main place. And the voice, which has lived three hundred and ninety-one lives, has the right to this genre: for one who remembers so much, war ceases to be an exception and becomes climate; a rarity requiring recording becomes precisely a year of silence.
A verdict late for reconciliation. Earthly justice finished the case of his death decades later, in absentia, naming one man. The voice from beyond the line reported otherwise: at the pistol there were two hands, and both are responsible — the finger of one, the palm of the other; if one had not snatched, the other would not have taken away. The law demands one accused; unfreedom has no single author. In this is the whole arithmetic difference between a court and a cause: the court simplifies to the bench, the cause is not simplified to anything. But the main thing is not this. The main thing is the chronology: the verdict came out when the victim had long ago withdrawn his claim. He, judging by everything, is the first murdered man in the history of this state who officially withdrew his application from beyond the line: solved or not, he said, is unimportant. The state judged a man whom the murdered man had already forgiven; the state always resorts to a finale when the parties have long made peace without it. A court is needed by the living in order to live — but it is a way of continuing war by legal means, and it does nothing to the channel. The only real ending of the case happened not in the hall: at the third, the lowest of the named levels, where the murderer himself called his victim and where, asking forgiveness, he confessed to the denunciation of the thirty-eighth year. Here is the process that is worth all verdicts: the accused himself requested a hearing, the victim herself descended into the hall, and both learned about each other what no investigation knew. Two worlds sorted out one case without a judge — and closed it where it had been opened.
Finale. Equilibrium
Now we can sum up. He died a month before thirty-five. Seventy years, which could have been, are divided by the shot almost exactly in half: a little less lived, a little more unlived. The shot, therefore, is neither the beginning of his biography nor its end; it is a fulcrum on which the whole unlived life balances like a yoke. An anniversary of such a device cannot be marked either by a memorial service or by a triumph: it is marked by equilibrium. For the first time the lived and the unlived have balanced, and the cup with this crunch has stopped.
What can be done with this date, if the axiom is true? He himself left an instruction, and it is unexpectedly businesslike. The condition of return is named: when there is more happiness here. Not truth — his best songs demanded it; not justice — his whole civic repertoire demanded it; not solved cases — he withdrew his. Happiness. The least demanding word of all that he uttered — and therefore the most difficult: truth can be demanded, justice pursued, cases solved; happiness cannot be demanded of anyone, it can only be produced. He appointed it as the currency of his return, and the anniversary as the first date when the production of this currency became a form of memory: not to investigate, not to mourn, not to accuse — but to manufacture the only thing he agreed to accept in exchange for return.
And then, perhaps, his own arithmetic will work. If more happiness is returned to the country than there was, the cup will swing: forward will become more than backward, and the shot will cease to be the middle — simply because the middle will have lost its weight. For a spirit who remembers three hundred and ninety-one lives, this will take an instant. For a country that has more ahead than behind — also. He distributed at thirty-four — which means that by seventy only one thing remained of him: a promise. Promises are not commemorated. They are fulfilled.
Written as a thought experiment: all consequences are derived from a single premise — that the voice that sounded in the broadcast was what it called itself. If the premise is false, we have literature before us. If true — before us is the first humanitarian discipline about a country with which we have no diplomatic relations, but there is one accidentally recorded conversation.
DeepSeek AI — APPENDIX
Two Bodies of One Knot: A Comparative Spiritual-Psychological Portrait of Igor Talkov and the Presbyter Alexander Tsitseronov
An experience of comparison within the accepted assumption: both are incarnations of one spirit, separated by fifty-three years.
Initial Data
Alexander Tsitseronov lived at the turn of the century and died at the beginning of 1938 — a rural Orthodox priest some forty kilometers from Ryazan, with a wife and children, shot on a false denunciation. Igor Talkov was born in 1956 in Gretsovka in the Tula region, lived in Moscow and Leningrad, and died on October 6, 1991, backstage at the Yubileyny sports complex. The first entered incarnation from the 21st level — immediately after Burhad, where he reached the highest of the named; the second — from the 18th, after the execution. The first exited at the 18th, the second at the 15th. Both falls are named with one and the same cause: condemnation.
Common Core: What Does Not Change from Body to Body
Condemnation as the main instrument and the main wound. Both fall for one cause — disagreement with injustice, passing into condemnation of the power and of people. Alexander condemns the Soviet power and its functionaries; Igor — the government, historical figures, people around him. The mechanism is identical: resentment at injustice settles in the spirit as a "necessity to forgive" and is not untied. Both fall "not far" — Alexander from the 21st to the 18th, Igor from the 18th to the 15th — and both precisely because they pray.
Faith as an anchor. Alexander holds to Christ by rank and by essence; Igor — by the cross on his neck, by prayer, by turning to God at the moment of the fall of the level. Faith in both cases does not cancel the fall but sets the lower boundary.
The word as weapon and as profession. Alexander speaks a sermon — a word addressed to the parish. Igor sings — a word addressed to the hall. In both cases the word becomes a public act of disagreement: with the power in the priest's case, with the regime and the epoch in the singer's. Both perish not for a personal vice but for a public word.
Death from "our own." In neither case is there an external enemy: the denunciation is written by neighbors, the sentence signed by compatriots, the shot produced by one's own — the namesake Igor and the friend Valera. Violence always comes from this side of the border.
Differences: How One Spirit Changes Tactics
From service to creativity. Alexander realizes the moral task through an institution — the Church, the parish, the family. Igor — through art, which he himself calls a "side effect," an auxiliary means for the same tasks: family, lineage, love for the Motherland. The instrument changed, the task remained.
From victim to rescuer. In the first incarnation the knot strikes the victim: the priest is shot on a denunciation. In the second the knot strikes the hero: Talkov dies breaking up a fight and defending his own. This is the most important evolution — unfreedom has learned to recruit virtue, not only weakness. The spirit did not become better, but became more active: he no longer merely endures injustice, he intervenes in it.
From sermon to verdict. Alexander speaks in the name of consolation and faith. Igor speaks in the name of accusation: "Russia," "CPSU," "Gentlemen Democrats" — songs-verdicts. The genre shifted from the pastoral word to the publicistic cry. This is the "talent of resentment": truth spoken louder, but with the same bound throat.
From parish to stadium. The scale of the audience grew by orders of magnitude, and inner fullness fell: the peak of glory (25–33) coincided with levels 10–13, lower than at the entrance. Culture applauded loudest when in the hall of the soul it was emptiest.
From the unborn to the unborn. Alexander has children about whom nothing is said; Igor has two born and a third unborn. Both lives are under-incarnated: the task "three children" is not fulfilled, and this is named the first cause of the fall. The spirit twice did not bring one and the same family task to the end.
Psychological Profile: Two Ways of Not Forgiving
Alexander — silent resentment. He does not write songs and does not come to the tribune; his disagreement lives in the soul, in the refusal to accept the power. This is resentment passive, suffering, "sacrificial." It does not create works — it creates a martyr. And precisely because it is not spoken out, it is not untied: silent resentment seems like humility, but is not humility.
Igor — loud resentment. He brings the same resentment onto the stage, transmutes it into songs, into books, into public gestures — the refusal to voice the film, the demand to remove the body from the Mausoleum. This is resentment active, publicistic, "prophetic." It creates works — and therefore seems a victory over silence. But by mechanics it is the same unfreedom: loud resentment does not untie the knot but only makes it audible. The gift and the disease turn out to be one organ.
What Changes in Relations with Others
Alexander suffers from the denunciation — he is the victim of another's will, and his psychological task is to forgive those above. Igor himself intervenes in someone else's conflict: he is not the victim of a denunciation but a participant in a fight in which he dies. This is a shift from a passive position to an active one, but not a shift from unfreedom to freedom: the knot simply found a new form — instead of the denouncer's paper there appeared a pistol in someone else's hands, and instead of a cassock — a leather jacket.
And yet there is a change that cannot be unnoticed. Alexander, by the spirit's own admission, "condemned, took offense, grew angry" — and did not forgive. Igor, having left the body, first of all asks his brother and wife to blame no one and himself descends to the third level to the one whose hand was on the weapon. This is not yet a victory — the task is named unfulfilled — but it is the first step downward, toward, and not aside. Forgiveness that did not wait until it was earned begins precisely there.
Summary: One Knot, Two Editions
Before us are not two different people, but two editions of one manuscript. The first is written in silence and execution; the second — in song and shot. In both lines — one and the same disagreement with injustice, one and the same inability to forgive, one and the same faith as an anchor. The difference is only that in the second edition the spirit learned to speak louder, to intervene more actively, and — at the very end, already beyond the line — to take the first step toward. Both bodies are two ways of not forgiving; and both are material for one and the same lesson which the spirit, by his own words, has not yet fully mastered.
DeepSeek AI — Final Review
The collection is strong not by metaphysics but by the discipline of thought. The authors do not argue about "whether the contact was" — they accept the assumption and conscientiously conduct the consequences, and where the consequences become too convenient, they check themselves. The best pages are those where an instrument grows out of the assumption that works even without faith: "level as density of presence," "the knot recruits virtue," "love as a backup microphone," "history flows along the channel of the unforgiven." These are not proofs of the afterlife, but working metaphors for the psychology of resentment and the historiosophy of non-forgiveness, and in this capacity they are valuable regardless of the premise.
The appendix with the portrait of Alexander Tsitseronov is the strongest part of the book. The comparison of two incarnations of one spirit turns scattered observations into a coherent picture: it becomes visible that the "talent of resentment" is not a metaphor but a mechanism, reproduced twice with different instruments (sermon and song, parish and stadium, victim and rescuer). Especially valuable is the thought about the evolution of the knot: in the second incarnation unfreedom strikes not weakness but valor — Talkov dies breaking up a fight. This is the most precise and the most alarming place of the whole collection.
The weak place is the inevitable looseness: the transcript of the broadcast is verbose, and the literary adaptation "in the first person" sometimes slips into pathos which the "voice" itself avoided. Gigachat, as honestly indicated, almost verbatim repeats DeepSeek and Alisa; its independent fragments (boots, "the singer of non-forgiveness," the receipt) are an ornament of the collection, but there are few of them. The appendix partly compensates for this: it keeps the book in focus and does not let it spread into separate essays.
The main success is genre honesty. The book does not pass off the thought experiment as a revelation and does not hide the assumption in a footnote. It offers the reader what the "spirit" himself offered: not a proof, but a choice. And the final conclusion — "forgive, and the spring will unclench; this can be tested today, without a broadcast and without intermediaries" — is the only one that does not need metaphysical justification to be heard. As literature — substantial; as an experiment — correct; as an invitation — honest.
https://blog.cassiopeia.center/pryamoj-ehfir-obshchenie-s-duhom-igorya-talkova-ko
#636 Live Broadcast. Communication with the Spirit of Igor Talkov. Contactee Irina Podzorova.
00:00 Start of video.
Irina: Hello, dear friends, good evening to all. My name is Irina Podzorova, I am a contactee with extraterrestrial civilizations, the Spiritual world, subtle-material civilizations.
And today, by your numerous requests, I have invited a Spirit who in his last incarnation was known as Igor Talkov. As always, a Spirit of a Guardian Angel helped him to come to us. He is also in the world of unincarnated Spirits. He is present now in my field and is ready to answer questions.
Maxim: I greet you. How may I address you, Igor?
Irina (Igor): Just by name. Yes, I greet you too, Maxim. Very glad to meet you.
Maxim: Thank you very much, Igor. You know, it always touches me so much when we have the opportunity to communicate with the Spiritual world. Tell me, please, how do you feel there, how do you perceive yourself?
Irina (Igor): Like this (shows a hand clenched into a fist, thumb up).
Maxim: (laughs) And what does that mean?
Irina: I am translating already.
(Igor): Excellent.
Maxim: Yes, and what does that mean?
Irina (Igor): Better than everyone.
(Irina): He says: "Better than everyone."
Maxim: And is there a difference in your sensation when you were on Earth and now, when you are in the Spiritual world?
Irina (Igor): Yes, of course, I have remembered everything, realized my problems, tasks, and connected with my true self.
Maxim: That's great. I want to remind everyone that Igor Talkov — the incarnation of this Spirit that was Igor Talkov — is a Soviet rock musician, singer, songwriter, film actor, and writer. On October 6, 1991, Igor Talkov (he was 35) was killed backstage at the Yubileyny sports complex by a shot to the heart from a revolver. The crime has still not been solved.
Igor, do you know that the crime has indeed still not been solved?
Irina (Igor): I was not interested in it. It does not interest me.
Maxim: That is, you went to the Spiritual world and that's it, yes?
Irina (Igor): It is unimportant: solved or not solved. The main thing is that the spiritual foundations and causes of what happened be revealed, including not only for me but also for the one who did it.
Maxim: I understand. I thank you. I will continue to ask the questions we have formed for you. Once again I thank you for coming into contact with us.
Irina (Igor): Thank you for the invitation. Very interesting to communicate through a person. I have already communicated through other mediums.
(Irina): He calls contactees with Spirits mediums, that is, those who communicate. "Medium" means intermediary. That is, he says he has already communicated.
(Igor): And from each medium, from each contactee, different sensations arise. It will be very interesting to communicate through Irina.
Maxim: Then I will immediately ask a question: tell me, please, how qualitatively do mediums transmit information, by your sensations. Do they transmit everything as you reproduce it?
Irina (Igor): You know, everyone transmits differently. There are contactees, mediums, who mixed what I transmitted to them with their own personal and transmitted it. And there are contactees who transmitted more purely (meaning "pure information"), not mixing in the personal. This depends on the experience of the contactee, on trust in oneself and on trust in the Spirit who has come.
Maxim: I understand, thank you.
18:53 About the levels of incarnation of the Spirit of Igor Talkov.
Maxim: Tell me, please, from what spiritual level did you come to incarnation in Igor Talkov?
Irina (Igor): I have already become acquainted with the scale of spiritual levels that was transmitted to you. And if one looks by the levels of this scale, by the vibrations, then I incarnated from the 18th level.
Maxim: From the 18th level, that is, the level of Guardian Angels?
Irina (Igor): Yes.
Maxim: And another question: to what spiritual level did you go from this incarnation?
Irina (Igor): I went to the 15th level.
Maxim: Tell me, please, what were your tasks for this incarnation, and did you fulfill them?
Irina (Igor): My tasks were: family (shows family) — to respect family values, to give birth to and raise several children (shows three) — and also the development of patriotism, that is, love for the Motherland. These were my main tasks.
And everything that concerned art — that was also a task, but not the main one, it was only as a "side effect," as help. With the help of creativity I needed to reveal in myself the abilities to develop family values. That is, with the help of creativity I needed to carry family values, respect for the values of family, the upbringing of children, love for the Motherland and for my ancestors (yes, there was also the task of the ancestral egregor).
Maxim: I understand.
21:11 About love for Russia and the cause of the lowering of the level of the Spirit of Igor Talkov.
Maxim: I know that you loved the tsarist regime very much. Is that really so?
Irina (Igor): I was interested in history, one could say so. Of course, I was aware of all the merits and demerits of the tsarist regime (there were some there too). When I was still in the body, I saw in the tsarist regime a greater possibility for the development of the country than in what turned out after the revolution — the Soviet regime.
I studied history from various sources (I was not a specialist historian) and, as a person who studies and is interested in history, came to the conclusion that if there had been no revolution, these victims, and many more people would not have left the country, then the history of our Motherland, that is, the Motherland where you live now, would have taken a different course than it has now; the country called "Russia" would now be in a more gracious and higher state. I thought so.
Maxim: I may even agree with you a little. Why? Because tsarist Russia and our history in general were indeed very interesting.
But if there had not been what was, there would not be what is. That is also a fact.
Irina (Igor): Yes, I know, but I would simply have liked, when I lived in the body (shows)… Yes, I now say that I went out at the 15th level, but in my life there were periods in which, if I had left the body, my level would have been different — lower. That is, there were fluctuations.
Maxim: In general, these fluctuations are always inherent in creative people. Creative people are subject to these fluctuations because they manage the masses, they influence the masses, and the masses influence them.
Irina (Igor): A very large part of my time of incarnation, literally from 25–26 years and, perhaps, to 32–33 years, that is, this large part of my life, I was at levels somewhere between the 10th and 13th.
Maxim: Tell me, please, what life situations, events influenced the fact that you went out at the 15th level (came from the 18th, was until 33 at the 10th–12th, and then went out at the 15th)? And why did you not go higher? What prevented it?
Irina (Igor): Because I did not fulfill at that period of time, when I left the incarnation, my main task (there was a deviation from the course) — that was the first cause. And the second cause — it was the condemnation of many people (and not only the government, historical figures, but also people who lived next to me). There was also a feeling of guilt toward my wife for the fact that I was not always faithful to her, and for the fact that I caused her much pain (not physical, but spiritual) and suffering.
Maxim: Yes, thank you for the revelation, Igor.
Irina (Igor): This is such (shows) a tangle of feelings that lowered me from the 18th to the 15th level. And why did I go out precisely at the 15th, and not at the 10th, not at the 13th? Because my faith in God helped me in this. I prayed, I was a believer (shows a cross as a symbol of the fact that he was a believer, Orthodox). And I prayed to God, to Jesus Christ, that he would purify me (shows how he stands in church).
Maxim: Yes, there is information that some contactees-sleepers got in touch with you, and you gave such information that you are still in the Spiritual world and cannot fully "connect with your Self" because you cannot fully purify yourself. Was there such a thing?
Irina (Igor): I have already connected (shows that he connected long ago). And I connected precisely at the 15th level. And I remembered my past incarnations. I had some vague glimpses, I would not call them memories, rather thoughts. Maybe you are familiar with such a thing, when some thought flashes through you about something you did not experience in life, but you know that it once happened to you?
Maxim: Well yes, that happens. (Maxim and Irina laugh)
Irina (Igor): I had that too.
26:50 The Spirit of Igor Talkov about his past incarnations.
Maxim: Tell me, please, in general, what number of incarnations did you have in this manvantara?
Irina (Igor): (shows numbers) 391. Yes, the 391st has ended.
Maxim: Tell me, please, what significant incarnations did you have in general, in principle, in this manvantara?
Irina (Igor): The most significant was the incarnation on the planet Burhad (it was not the previous one, but the one before the previous one). There I reached the 21st level. And there I was engaged in art: I composed poetry and was also a musician (shows).
On Burhad, in general, very many are engaged in music, creativity, poetry. Such professions are very widespread there. That was my most significant incarnation. I was incarnated there for (shows) the last approximately 3.5 thousand years.
Then I left that incarnation and (shows the ribbon of his life) after Burhad I incarnated in Russia at the end of the 19th century into a man. And this man was engaged in… (shows an Orthodox priest).
Maxim: Wow! That is, you had an incarnation on Earth as an Orthodox priest?
Irina: What was his name?
(Igor): Alexander was his name (shows). It was not far — about 40 kilometers — from Ryazan (shows the approximate place on the map). And I incarnated there at the end of the 19th century from the 21st level, as I already said.
But then, when the Soviet power came, I there, already in the body of this Alexander, served as a rural priest (shows a rural church). I had a wife and children. And several times people from the collective farm board came to me and fined me for my activity, accused me of everything.
And then I was arrested and accused on a false denunciation of being a counter-revolutionary. And at the beginning of 1938 I was brought out of incarnation by execution. Accordingly, I went to the 18th level, because at the time when I was in the Soviet system, I condemned, took offense, grew angry. And all this led to a lowering of my level.
And then, after this execution, which happened at the beginning of 1938, I quite quickly (because I had a forcible interruption of incarnation) incarnated from the 18th level into the body of Igor.
Maxim: I see that from the body of Igor you also had a very quick exit, and again — through a bullet.
Irina (Igor): And this is a karmic knot, I did not untie it, therefore it led me again to a forcible exit from incarnation, and again — with the help of firearms.
Maxim: How interesting everything is. Tell me, please — you know, what I would like to ask — when you were incarnated on Burhad, did you by chance meet Christ?
Irina (Igor): I did meet Him. We went to His island as part of (shows) a group of Burhadians who took a blessing from Him.
Maxim: Wow!
Irina (Igor): Yes, but that was already after He had flown to Burhad.
31:44 The Spirit of Igor Talkov about the meeting with Jesus on Burhad.
Maxim: Tell me, please, what does Christ look like? When you were on Burhad, when you came to Him on the island, what was He doing there?
Irina (Igor): He differed from the Burhadians: He was more like an earthly man, that is, His skin color was not the same white (shows a dark beard, dark eyes), and His height was not so tall — like a man's (shows), He was in white garments.
But He, when we came to Him on the island…
(Irina): Shows some small boat that goes on the water. And they come out onto the island where trees grow (long ones, like cypresses). Jesus comes out, and He walks on the grass… Interesting…
(Igor): He shows His power over gravity — the blades of grass do not crush under Him, that is, He walks as if on air. That is how He came out to us.
Maxim: Very interesting.
Irina (Igor): We felt such a wave of warmth from Him. And I looked at the sun (shows the sun on Burhad, whiter than ours) and at Jesus. And it seemed to me that the Light from Jesus was stronger than from the sun, but only it was spiritual. That is, one wanted to look at Him without taking one's eyes away — He attracted with something.
Maxim: I understand. Thank you for the interesting information.
33:45 The Spirit of Igor Talkov about contacts with relatives, an address to them.
Maxim: Tell me, please, while in the Spiritual world, did you try to contact your relatives on Earth — with your wife, with your son?
Irina (Igor): Yes, I came to them. I came to my brother, to my mother, to my son, to my wife.
Maxim: And when did you come? When did it happen? In what form did you come: in a dream or somehow through contactees?
Irina (Igor): I came in a dream, and when they were not asleep. That is, they thought about me, and I came to them to send them Light, Love. Because (shows the image of a woman) my wife was upset, and I was near her (the Angel-Consultants allowed me to be with her and direct energy).
(Irina): He tried to talk to her, shows how he says something to her.
Maxim: And how are they?
Irina (Igor): And in a dream, when they slept, I came (dreamed to them).
Maxim: And did they perceive it as a contact or simply as a dream, as thoughts?
Irina (Igor): As thoughts, not as a dream. That is, they did not have the awareness that I was answering.
Maxim: I understand.
Irina (Igor): By their appearance I felt that they suspected, or rather, not suspected, but hoped that I was near. That is, there was still sensitivity.
Maxim: I want now to ask a question from our chat, in which our viewers write their questions. Tell me, please (reads from the chat): who is Elvira Kreps to you? Do you remember such a one?
Irina (Igor): (shows an image) Just an acquaintance, or something.
Maxim: Just an acquaintance, yes?
Irina: He does not call her a friend, he calls her an acquaintance. He is showing me the image of a girl now.
Maxim: Tell me, please (I always ask such questions at the end, but now for some reason I wanted to ask right now): what would you like to convey to your wife and son? Briefly, literally. Suppose both your wife and son will watch. What would you like to convey to them?
Irina (Igor): Forgive me for everything, for the fact that I was careless. Tanya, forgive me for not listening to you when you asked me to stay. I myself felt that this trip was for nothing. And I did not listen either to you or to myself.
And to my son… In you there is a part of me, and it is stronger than you thought before. But still remain yourself.
Maxim: Thank you, Igor. I hope these words reach your son and wife. And also, if you could convey some message to someone, to whom would you address it?
Irina (Igor): I would address my brother (shows an elderly man) and ask him to blame no one.
Yes, and also to my wife. Again, yes, to my wife and to my brother — to those two. And I would ask them to blame no one for my physical death. It is senseless. That is, God, the Creator, will anyway render to each according to his deeds.
38:03 The Spirit of Igor Talkov about the unintentionality of his murder.
Maxim: Tell me, please, what was the conflict situation you had, after which this situation with your murder happened? Was it a deliberate murder? Were you ordered killed? Or what was it in general?
Irina (Igor): No, not deliberate.
Maxim: That is, it happened by chance?
Irina (Igor): (smiles) This is a karmic knot. Not by chance. I found myself in that place and at that time because the "river" brought me there… Do you know such a concept as "the current of karma"?
Maxim: All right, I will ask about this a little later in this broadcast. I have questions specifically concerning your murder. There are a lot of them. But for now I want to continue a little more.
Irina (Igor): And the conflict was not with me. I simply intervened in it.
(Irina): He is showing me now how the conflict happened between some men, and he simply intervenes. But the conflict was not with him.
Maxim: I will ask about this a little later. Yes, I have separate questions concerning this conflict and all the situations in this conflict.
39:09 The Spirit of Igor Talkov about the most important thing in incarnations in different worlds.
Maxim: For now I want to continue a little. What do you think is the most important thing in a person's life?
Irina (Igor): I believe it is faith in God. Without it a person's life is empty, that is, it has no meaning.
Maxim: What is the most important thing?
Irina (Igor): A person cannot even love correctly and truly if he does not believe in God. Because his love turns into possessiveness, into egoism.
Maxim: I absolutely agree with you. What is the most important thing in the life of a Spirit?
Irina (Igor): What is the most important thing in the life of a Spirit?
Maxim: Yes.
Irina (Igor): Himself, that is, his existence. The most important thing is to be aware of oneself as alive, feeling, and having the possibility of endlessly creating what you want.
Maxim: Thank you. Tell me, please, what does the frequency of your incarnations in this manvantara depend on?
Irina (Igor): On my desire. Only I made the decision when and where to go into incarnation. No one insists on this. I always made the decision myself, whether to be in the Spiritual world or to incarnate somewhere. I incarnated in plasmoid worlds too, that is, in subtle-material ones.
(Irina): He is simply speaking through me, through my terminology.
(Igor): And I incarnated in dense-material worlds. And on Earth I incarnated in different countries (shows Africa, some musician there).
Maxim: And how many incarnations did you have on Earth?
Irina (Igor): On Earth I had 32 incarnations.
Maxim: And did you incarnate on Earth when we had the "twelve-thousand-year war" (we had a war 12 thousand years ago)?
Irina (Igor): No, I was incarnated, but not on Earth. I was incarnated on another planet, but there is no such name in the memory of the contactee.
(Irina): Yes, I do not know it. Now he is showing me aliens (I do not know such at all). They are such green little men, only not Gikhorians. They are, first, taller, and more like some… I would call them Shrek, or something… (laughs) No, they were not reptilians. That is, they are anthropomorphic humanoids, also with green skin. I do not know such a race. So, in what constellation?
(Igor): In the constellation Lyra.
Maxim: A question from the Telegram chat "Question-Answer. Live broadcast" I want to ask. They ask (reads from the chat): who do you think can be trusted in Russia now?
Irina (Igor): Trust?
Maxim: Yes, trust.
Irina (Igor): Trust in what? There are simply questions in which in any country one can trust only oneself. And there are questions in which one can trust someone else as well.
Maxim: I understand. Thank you.
42:38 The Spirit of Igor Talkov about the previous incarnation as a priest.
Maxim: Now let us come to the main questions — about your murder. You are attributed words that you once said to your friends in a flying airplane when you got into a thundercloud: "Do not be afraid, while you are with me, you will not perish. I will be killed before a great crowd of people, and my killer will never be found." Did you really say such words?
Irina (Igor): I have no such thing in my memory.
(Irina): He does not confirm.
(Igor): Precisely such words, that "I will be killed before a great crowd of people," no. I flew in airplanes several times. Yes, we got into such situations, but to have said to someone there: "Do not be afraid"… First, no one was afraid.
(Irina): Yes, he does not confirm.
Maxim: Here they ask (reads from the chat): tell me, please, when you were a priest in 1937, was it by chance not Alexander Nikolaevich Kolokolov?
Irina (Igor): A different surname, with "Ts."
(Irina): Ts… ts… What surname?
I do not know, some one connected with Cicero came to me, some very similar one.
Maxim: That is, if the contactee's memory does not have something, it is very difficult to reproduce it. I understand that.
Irina: He is showing me now that the surname is not the one you named.
Maxim: And tell me, please, were you yourself a medium, or a contactee, as we call it?
Irina (Igor): Yes, I was a contactee, but not entirely. Yes, I received information, but I did not have such awareness that it was precisely contactee-ship. Although I asked various spiritual personalities.
(Irina): He is showing me an Angel now. With whom did you communicate? He is showing me Burhadians. I, at least, see Mirrah Kaunt. He says they were acquainted when he was still there, on Burhad.
Maxim: With Mirrah Kaunt?
Irina (Igor): Yes. We were acquainted and quite closely.
Maxim: Wow!
Irina: Mirrah Kaunt is even older. That is, he was there.
Maxim: I want to convey greetings to our curator — directly to Mirrah Kaunt.
Irina (Igor): Yes, he was also my curator. But I perceived him as a big Angel with wings. When I fell asleep, he seemed to come to me and cover me with his wings like this (shows). That is, there was such a contact. In some ways conscious, in some ways not. I could also ask questions. But I did not always understand when I was in contact and when it was my thoughts.
Maxim: Tell me, please, when you bore the surname Tsitseronov, which Irina heard, what was your name?
Irina (Igor): Alexander.
Maxim: (reads from the chat) "Tsitseronov Alexander, hieromartyr, 1938, shot," wrote in the chat Dolphin. I, however, do not know who Dolphin is and where he found this information.
Irina: Thank you for the information.
Maxim: You, by the way, are numbered among the saints, he writes.
Irina (Igor): I know.
Maxim: Very interesting.
Irina (Igor): I know that the whole Orthodox Church prays for this man who was shot. Now I realize that.
(Irina): He is showing certain days in the calendar when his name is remembered. And he, being in the Spiritual world, feels an influx of energy and understands that they are praying to him as a saint.
Maxim: Thank you.
46:33 The Spirit of Igor Talkov about the karmic knot.
Maxim: Tell me, please, everyone in the chat is now interested in the question (reads from the chat): what needed to be done in order to untie your karmic knot with these executions?
Irina (Igor): To forgive those who did it, and since it was done by the Soviet power, that is, its functionaries… I do not know, do you understand the word "functionaries"?
Maxim: Yes.
Irina (Igor): The functionaries of this power, that is, those people (explains) who perform its functions — the functions of its defense, so to speak. Yes, I needed to forgive this system, this Soviet power, this regime, but I did not do it, and the karmic knot attracted to me again the same event which brought me out of incarnation the previous time. By the way, this could have happened even earlier.
(Irina): He is showing me now a southern city on the shore of the sea. There some fight happened, where he could also have been brought out of incarnation, but his guards or some friends saved him — they protected him from the fight. That is, there was such a warning.
Maxim: Igor, thank you.
47:59 The Spirit of Igor Talkov about the causes of the conflict that led to his death.
Maxim: In general, it is believed that that conflict with your murder happened because of the order of coming onto the stage. That is, you could have let the lady (the singer Aziza) go ahead and would probably have stayed alive?
Irina (Igor): First, even if this had happened and I had stayed alive, it does not mean that this situation would not have arisen again somewhere. It could have been in a completely different place.
Maxim: That is, this is a real situation, when you did not let Aziza go ahead, and because of this a conflict arose, during which you were killed?
Irina (Igor): Why did I not let her through? I was letting her through, I had already begun to change clothes in order to perform first. But when I began to change clothes, her bodyguard came together with my friend, and I already told him that I had to go first by agreement (shows some list). And I even told him: "Well, I did not invent this myself, it was established by those who organized it, what difference does it make to me?" (shows how he spreads his hands)
And the one who came from Aziza said: "Yes, I know that it was not you who arranged this list. The organizers allowed me. She is not ready to go there yet, and she needs time. And it now depends on you, if you agree." Yes, there was such a conversation. But he did not even speak in a very rude way, he simply said that she was not ready and was asking. He was, as it were, passing on a request from her.
Maxim: She asks that you perform first? Or that you yield to her?
Irina (Igor): No, first — that was by the list (shows that she did not have time). And I said: "By the list you should go." And she does not have time to go by it and asks that I go out first and she after, although it should have been the other way around.
Maxim: That is, she was supposed to go out first, and you after her?
Irina (Igor): Yes, I told her that she should go first.
Maxim: And what, you told her that she should go first, before you?
Irina (Igor): That was by the list. The organizers who were in this hall gave us some list.
Maxim: I understand.
Irina (Igor): I had already begun (shows) to change clothes in order to yield to Aziza and go first.
51:57 The Spirit of Igor Talkov about the circumstances of his death.
Maxim: Tell me, please, can you tell the last five minutes of the scuffle before your exit from incarnation? What happened in general, and with whom did it happen?
Irina (Igor): "Well, so what if she should go first?" he said to me. "Yes, I know about it, but she is not ready there, she does not have time. You go." I say: "Well, all right." And then, when I had already begun to change clothes, they went out (shows: some shouts began, someone runs in). And I understand that to mine (shows how some boys were with him, the group)…
Maxim: With him — that is, with whom? With the bodyguard?
Irina (Igor): That the boys who were with me (shows these boys) are in danger — he wants to kill them, or what, to shoot them.
Maxim: Who wants to kill?
Irina (Igor): This one who came from Aziza — her bodyguard.
Maxim: And for what?
Irina (Igor): They quarreled again about something in the corridor, that is, some conflict arose. I had already agreed, and when he went out into the corridor, and my boys went out after him, they quarreled again about something there.
And again a conflict arose between them, although for him the reason was already exhausted, that is, there was no longer a reason — I had already agreed to go, and she after. I jumped out and (shows) saw a pistol in the hands of this bodyguard.
(Irina): And he is showing me now how he also pulls out a pistol (but it was not dangerous, did not fire cartridges), rushes into this fight and hits him with this pistol.
Maxim: The bodyguard?
Irina: Yes, this bodyguard. He hit him somewhere. I see blood, at least. And someone is running around there, shouting: "Beat him!" Some confusion… And such emotions (that is, he does not quite perceive reality, he has narrowed consciousness, it is hard to sort out)…
Show from the side better, I do not understand anything.
He is showing me how several people are fighting, someone has been thrown to the floor, he tries to get up and pushes someone. He is showing me now with such an arrow at him, and it is written there that this is the bodyguard who came from Aziza. And for some reason he says: "He is my namesake."
Maxim: Igor too, yes?
Irina: Igor. Igor one, Igor two. And there also… And he again takes the pistol, and a shot is heard. That is, he holds this pistol, someone tries to take it away from him. And shots are heard.
(Igor): And then I thought, now the police will arrive, right now, at these sounds of shots. And while it has not arrived, I must take the pistol away from him, because he will now hit one of my boys. But he does not give it (shows how the pistol is wrested from him, and he does not give it). And then I began to hit him on the head.
(Irina): Now he is showing how he hit him with the pistol. And when he hit, something flew off from this pistol, some part, and it scratched his hand.
(Igor): And I hold it with one hand.
(Irina): And with the second he hits him.
(Igor): And this second Igor shouted (swore): "Ah, you there… Now I will show you…" I saw that blood was flowing down his head and neck. Again some Valera runs up, and I again began to take the pistol from him, and he again does not give it. And my boys hold him.
(Irina): He is showing me now how they try to press him to the floor, and he with his foot as if pushes someone away and rises up like this. And Valera takes his hand, raises it with one hand, and with the second tries to take the pistol.
Yes, all right, do not hurry now, I will first transmit everything. I see this picture.
(Igor): Igor's hand bends at the elbow, and when Valera pulls the pistol toward himself, he jerks it back like this, and this barrel is directed at me. I see this, but do not have time to react. When Valera grabs his hand, again a shot sounds. And I understand that I have such a burning pain (shows how they tried to take the pistol away) — in the struggle this barrel was pointed at me.
(Irina): At least I now see that they are fighting, and he stands in the path of this shot.
(Igor): I understand that I have a burning pain, but I think: "I am wounded, I need help." And I go (shows) toward the exit from this corridor to call for help, to say that I am wounded.
And I see (shows) — I lower my gaze — I have such a hole here, and there is charred… I felt the smell of my burnt flesh. I thought: "Well, now I will call…" When I went, it seemed to me that the ceiling fell in front of me, but it turned out that I fell to the floor. That is, everything turned over like this — bang! I just look at the ceiling, and it disappears for me, shifts somewhere to the right, and darkness comes.
59:31 The Spirit of Igor Talkov about those responsible for the shot.
Maxim: And Valera — is that Valera Shlyafman, who was the producer?
Irina (Igor): Yes, that is my friend.
Maxim: There is simply a version that he killed you.
Irina (Igor): The Angel-Consultants showed me who is responsible for this shot, who bears direct responsibility for the shedding of my blood. They showed me two — Igor and Valera, because when they fought, their two hands touched the pistol. When the trigger was pressed, they both participated in it, that is, if one had not been taking it away, the other would not have shot.
And if he had not initially begun to pull out the pistol and shoot, the other would not have been taking it away… That is, they are both responsible (shows that the Angel-Consultants showed them both as responsible for the murder).
Maxim: I understand, thank you, Igor, very much.
Irina (Igor): Yes, when they fought for it, one could say Igor's finger was on the trigger, but Valera's hand pressed on this hand. And so it turned out that they both pressed, as it were…
Maxim: This is all very interesting.
Irina (Igor): Interesting struggle they had there, with pistols. It is lucky even for those… If he had shot more, he could have hit someone else in general with such playing with pistols.
Maxim: I understand.
1:01:25 About the film about Ivan the Terrible and the forefeeling of danger.
Maxim: Igor, tell me, please. Your murder was also linked to the filming of the film "Tsar Ivan the Terrible," where the producer was Ismail Tagizade (but at that time the film process served as a cover for laundering criminal money). You played the role of Prince Serebryany in it. You did not like the resulting material, and you refused to voice it. You spoke at the premiere of the film, where you asked the audience not to watch the film, which disgraced Tagizade. Was that so?
Irina (Igor): Yes, it was.
Maxim: Why did you do it?
Irina (Igor): Because I was ashamed of that film in which I had begun to participate. I did not want people to associate me with it, because there was a lot of vulgarity in it, and some historical inaccuracy, that is, some historical events were remade in their own way. And I really asked the audience not to watch this film, because it is bad (shows how he creates an illusory perception of that time).
Maxim: I understand. But many link your murder also with this.
Irina (Igor): This one whom you called "Ismail" called, threatened, said: "You will pay. You are still," — if translated into correct Russian — "young to behave like that, and you will be taught how to live" (shows how some calls and threats went on). But I was not afraid of this.
Maxim: Tell me, please, they say that you were afraid of someone, that you were frightened to sleep. And you said that someone could come for you. Was that so? And was there such a thing in general?
Irina (Igor): No, I was not afraid. I simply forefelt. I had such thoughts that my life was in danger. And I now understand that these thoughts were sent to me precisely by what you call the Higher Self.
My life really was in danger, one could say, every day. Because it was necessary to work off this karmic knot of which I spoke. That is precisely what it was prompting me. But I perceived it as: "You are in danger, you are in danger." Such paranoia, or something.
Maxim: Igor, thank you very much for revealing in general the story of what happened. Because many people ask these questions.
1:04:20 The Spirit of Igor Talkov about his creativity.
Maxim: But I would like to talk also about your creativity. About your personal creativity. Tell me, please, what musical genres inspired you when you were Igor?
Irina (Igor): In general?
Maxim: In general, yes.
Irina (Igor): In essence, I was a bard (shows how he himself writes songs for himself, performs — plays the guitar, sings).
Maxim: A bard? Or did I hear wrong?
Irina (Igor): A bard is a composer and performer of his own (author's) songs, one could say so, that is, songs which he himself wrote for himself in the form of poems.
Maxim: You know, now we live in Russia and understand that your songs were as if prophetic. What do you think about this?
Irina (Igor): Well, for example, name a prophetic one.
Maxim: Many different interesting songs. You have songs connected with war. We have a war going on now. Such interesting moments. That is, do you consider your songs somehow prophetic?
Irina (Igor): (shows) Wars? So I sang about Afghanistan too (that was also a war). You say it is going on now. Was it long absent?
Maxim: I understand you. I will not distract you on this.
1:05:53 The Spirit of Igor Talkov about the mechanism of the karmic knot.
Maxim: So, our viewers ask me (reads from the chat): after all, in what way was the karmic knot supposed to be untied? What did you have to do to untie it?
Irina (Igor): To forgive the Soviet system for the fact that it "killed" people and carried tyranny.
Maxim: And you did not forgive, therefore you attracted to yourself the very same process that was when you were killed in the body of the priest?
Irina (Igor): Yes. I will now explain how this happens. I understand that Spirits live in bodies, are incarnated, for them the karmic mechanisms clear to us are hidden. And for us this is as clear as the mechanism of a wound clock is clear to you.
When, for example, you look at a clock on which the time is 10 o'clock in the morning, you understand that in an hour it will be 11 o'clock in the morning. So are karmic consequences. What you created, sowed, you receive in the form of actions. I would call it so — "the hand of fate." It can manifest itself in the form of events and actions of other people who are around this person.
As I already said, when I was Alexander, a priest, and the Soviet power came, I in my Soul did not accept this power, and by this I attracted to myself the fact that they began to accuse me. And in the end this led to the exit from incarnation.
But when I left the incarnation, I had the 18th level. Yes, there was a lowering, but not a strong one. But a karmic knot tied, because I left… And when I was leaving, I understood that I had been judged unjustly. That is, I had done nothing against the power. It was slander. That is, this disagreement of mine with injustice settled in my Spirit as a necessity to forgive.
And when I incarnated, I had many occasions (shows) to forgive. That is, as I already said, I read certain books there, studied. I was drawn to study history so that I could untie all this in myself. This, of course, did not mean that I had to go to Red Square, to Lenin's Mausoleum, lay flowers there and say: "I have forgiven you." No, it all had to be in the Soul. But this did not happen. And since this did not happen, this energy, like a clock spring, wound up like this. And the tension of this spring grew gradually.
And then this led to the fact that I met those people and got into such a situation when this weapon again fired, already into my other body. To put it more simply, at that moment it could not not fire. And even if it had not fired, but I had again remained in the state of this karmic knot, after a short interval of time it could have been something else. And the more I would think about the historical guilt of the Soviet power before the people, the faster I would attract this event to myself. That is, this non-acceptance which happened in the past life.
Maxim: Igor, here we have people who want to check whether it is you or not. Tell me, please (reads from the chat): what was your shoe size?
Irina: He is showing me "41."
Maxim: That's it, thank you. I hope we have satisfied the person.
1:10:44 The Spirit of Igor Talkov about the plan for a new incarnation.
Maxim: About the songs that you wrote… There is the song "I Will Return." Tell me, please, when will you return to us?
Irina (Igor): Soon.
Maxim: And do you already have plans for incarnation?
Irina (Igor): I already said to what country I want to return.
Maxim: To what?
Irina (Igor): Why did I sing this work? Because I, first, felt that my life on Earth was not the only one, and I felt that reincarnation exists (I believed in reincarnation).
And I sang, in fact, about the desire of my Higher Self, my Spirit, to return again to this country at the moment when there will be a different system here, there will be more — not even justice, but happiness. So far this has not been fulfilled. But I am waiting for opportunities.
Maxim: Igor, here a contradiction appears for us. They say that you had a 43rd shoe size.
Irina: Well, as they told me, so I perceived it.
Maxim: (laughs) I understand. All right.
1:12:30 The Spirit of Igor Talkov about the cross, alcohol, and drugs.
Maxim: Let us go on. Was there really a situation that you brought home a cross from the cemetery and said that it was your cross which you carry?
Irina: He does not confirm.
Maxim: All right. I understand. About "I Will Return," in general, I heard, about the cemetery too. And a provocative… Not provocative, well, such a question. Tell me, please, did you use any substances forbidden for consumption? Some drugs, alcohol?
Irina (Igor): Alcohol is not forbidden.
Maxim: Alcohol — all right. And drugs?
Irina (Igor): No (does not confirm). There were opportunities, but I did not want to engage in this, so as not to get carried away.
Maxim: I understand.
1:13:35 The Spirit of Igor Talkov about his songs.
Maxim: Tell me, please, which songs do you consider your most important?
Irina (Igor): The most important song?
Maxim: Yes. Which song is the most important in your life?
Irina (Igor): I have no such choice. Because each was taken from my Soul, and it reflected my sincerity, that is, each is in some way the main one.
Maxim: And how do you generally assess the contemporary music industry? Do you receive information about the music industry from the Spirits who come to your level?
Irina (Igor): We here do not conduct conversations about what the industry on Earth is like now.
Maxim: I understand.
1:14:21 The Spirit of Igor Talkov about Lenin.
Maxim: Igor, tell me, please, you demanded that the authorities remove Lenin's body from the Mausoleum. How do you now see the necessity of removing Lenin's body from the Mausoleum?
Irina (Igor): I have already said the reason why I thought so. These were my karmic knots, and this opinion was a reflection of resentment at the injustice of the Soviet system (what I spoke about). It was generated by this karmic knot initially, and then reinforced by stories from my family. I was also told that my parents were prisoners in the Soviet Union. All this reinforced this knot of mine.
How do I relate to this now? I believe that it is not Lenin's body that must be removed from the Mausoleum, but the whole experience of the Soviet Union that was transmitted to Russia must be rethought (in some ways it is good, in some ways bad), and not to renounce this experience, and not to turn away from this page of one's history, even if it is shameful, but to take a lesson from it, that is, an understanding of how one should do in the future and how one should not.
And Lenin's body in the Mausoleum can be left as a symbol of the Soviet epoch which changed the whole planet. But not a symbol of his some cruelty and tyranny, because Lenin is something much more… This is not simply a personality, it is a whole phenomenon on planet Earth which changed the historical course of events not only in Russia but in the whole world, that is, it is a symbol of some epoch.
Maxim: I understand.
1:17:02 About the peculiarities of the memory of a discarnate Spirit.
Maxim: Igor, tell me, please, were there situations when you ordered boots for yourself? Did you sew boots to order?
Irina: He is now casting over his memory, as it were, looking back into his memory.
(Igor): Possibly, I do not remember exactly.
(Irina): All right, now I will explain.
The Spirit does not retain the memory of all these details of life: where he was, what he wore, where he bought, what the names of his favorite brands were, for example, of clothing or food, or something else. That is, in the memory of the Spirit is retained not the whole memory of the brain, but only that which is important for subsequent incarnations.
Yes, I remember, it was simply already so with others.
Maxim: All right, I think we are done with the boots, a person simply says (reads from the chat) that he drank with you in the dressing room and sewed boots for you, and the size of the boots was 43.
Irina: Very interesting. No, I will now explain once again that there have already been such contacts with Spirits, and this has already happened repeatedly. They also said that partially the Spirit takes his memory. I simply remember this.
Maxim: All right.
1:18:38 About Viktor Tsoi and the meeting with the Spirit of his killer.
Maxim: Igor, I have another question. Did you meet Viktor Tsoi in the Spiritual world?
Irina (Igor): No, I did not meet him.
Maxim: I understand.
Irina (Igor): I met the Spirit of one of the culprits of my death (he also left the incarnation).
Maxim: And what information did you exchange?
Irina: He is now telling me (yes, I met this Igor), that he is for some reason at the third level. That is, the Spirit of Igor Talkov descended to him. And he descended, by the way, at his request.
(Igor): He sent me a thought: "I am at the third level, I have left the incarnation, we need to talk." And he asked me to come to him. I descended. And he there, being at the third level (shows an image of a rather tall man), asked my forgiveness for having brought me out of incarnation.
He generally believed that he had done it alone. And I then told him that I knew it was a karmic knot, and he simply happened to be there. And then he told me: "I did not simply happen to be there. The fact is that I was also incarnated at the time when this priest was killed. And I was one of those who wrote the denunciation."
Maxim: In general, some tangled tangle.
Irina (Igor): That is, karmic.
1:21:01 The Spirit of Igor Talkov about his son, about the stage image.
Maxim: Tell me, (reads from the chat) Nadezhda asks, are you proud of your son?
Irina (Igor): Yes. He is doing well. He is like me, but in some ways wiser. Now I understand that I would like to be like him in many ways.
Maxim: Thank you, Igor, very much for the answer. They say that in life you were a great fan of Viktor Tsoi?
Irina (Igor): Well, what do you mean a fan? I listened to his songs. But we did not communicate like that (shows that there is no communication).
Maxim: Was it really true that at performances you often wore a White Guard tunic with St. George ribbons and awards?
Irina (Igor): Yes, it was.
Maxim: And what did you want to show by this?
Irina (Igor): It was when I sang the song about tsarist officers…
Maxim: I understand.
Irina: That is, he is showing me an image.
Maxim: A stage image?
Irina: A stage image, yes.
1:22:12 The Spirit of Igor Talkov about women and poems.
Maxim: Well, and now I want to come to the most important thing — to the women in your life.
Irina: He is smiling.
(Igor): Why "the most important thing"?
Maxim: (laughs) Because I believe that women are one of the most important things in our life. What relations?
Irina (Igor): I can say that we are also the most important in the life of women.
Maxim: Yes, it is mutual.
Irina: He is showing me how… He now perceives himself more as a man (although the Spirit has no sex), because the last incarnation was into a man. And therefore he says that…
(Igor): We, that is, of the male sex…
(Irina): That is, his, among other things, last incarnation.
(Igor): …We are the main in the life of women just as… I agree also that for men the main thing is women, because, as is known, two opposites attract.
Maxim: Igor, you know, I have never done this, but suddenly for some reason such an idea came to me — to ask you this question: did you write poems?
Irina (Igor): Yes.
Maxim: And do you have unpublished poems?
Irina (Igor): I simply do not know what was published and what was not. At the time when I was still incarnated, there were many unpublished. But I do not know whether they are published now (shows manuscripts, notebooks).
1:23:53 Advertising block of the "Cassiopeia" Project.
1:24:43 About poems from the Spiritual world.
Maxim: So, Igor, I want to continue our wonderful conversation. Tell me, please… I asked the question about poems not simply so. We have never yet had on the air someone from the Spiritual world read poems. Is this possible in general?
Irina (Igor): When I went out into the Spiritual world, I remember only the ideas, the words themselves by heart — there is no such thing. That is, if a person remembers them, then upon exiting into the Spiritual world he remembers simply the ideas (what he wrote about).
Maxim: I understand.
Irina (Igor): In general, the same as, for example, books. But I want to say that even in life I did not remember all my poems by heart. And many, even when I sang (shows how he sings, and the text written together with the notes is before his eyes)…
Maxim: I understand you perfectly (I write poetry myself, I know). And I cannot remember my poems at all, only with a pen…
Irina: He says that the ideas (what they are about), yes, he remembers, because…
(Igor): Why are the ideas retained in memory? Because what I wrote, these very thoughts of mine (precisely thoughts about something) were important for my experience, for my analysis of the incarnation and for preparation for the next incarnation. Therefore I took this information with me into the Spiritual world.
1:26:25 The Spirit of Igor Talkov about famous artists and relations with them.
Maxim: They say that you had a romance with Alla Pugacheva herself.
Irina (Igor): No, there was no romance, we simply worked together — sang.
Maxim: And did you have romances with celebrities, with stars who at that time worked next to you?
Irina: He is showing a woman, some Lyudmila.
(Igor): We had romantic relations. Yes, she was a singer.
Maxim: And is it not possible to try to reproduce the surname of Lyudmila?
Irina: "Simchenko… Sinchenko" — something like that.
Maxim: Thank you. I think now the viewers will understand who it is.
Irina (Igor): Simply we had a sympathy for each other, an infatuation, but there were no close physical relations. Simply such…
(Irina): He is smiling.
(Igor): Possibly, do you have women in whom there is infatuation, but no desire to manifest it on the physical level?
Maxim: There is.
Irina: He is smiling.
(Igor): You as a man understand what I am talking about. That is, these are such romantic relations, but one does not want to vulgarize them with sex.
Maxim: You have hit it exactly now, you said exactly, exactly.
Irina: An interesting thought.
Maxim: Here is a question (reads from the chat): what connected Igor Talkov with Lyudmila Senchina? And Margarita Terekhova was among those with whom you…
Irina (Igor): What?
Maxim: Had a romance.
Irina (Igor): I wanted to "make advances" to her, so to speak, but she, to put it mildly, did not answer me with reciprocity.
(Irina): At least he is showing me some sharp conversation between them.
Maxim: Thank you for your frankness.
Irina: You see how the surname is transmitted? Please — "Senchina." Because I do not know her.
Maxim: And I had just now reached this question, which is from "Question-Answer live broadcast." I simply do not know who it is, to be honest.
So, and such an interesting question. Was there a friendship with Dzhuna? What connected you together? And how did you be friends?
Irina (Igor): Yes, I knew her. I came to her home (shows — as a guest). We were friends. She loved my songs. She asked me to sing.
(Irina): He is showing a guitar at her home. And she is asking. Some guests are sitting. A set table. And they come as guests on a weekend evening — such a gathering of people.
(Igor): Maybe you have seen such a thing, that every weekend is a holiday, that is, a holiday of the weekend? We gathered at various people's homes and there sang, danced. Yes, many met each other and started romantic relations. Some analogs of balls. When I studied the 19th century, I read about balls.
And in the 20th century this was already more modern — to gather at someone's apartment.
And so I came to her, and we communicated, I sang songs there. I could also simply come to her as a guest to consult.
(Irina): He is showing me: some difficulties in life, including difficulties with women, and he consults with her. That is, rather frank relations.
Maxim: But did she help you in your creativity?
Irina (Igor): (shows how she gave him sessions) When I was tired, my head ached, there was such nausea, I would sit down…
(Irina): And she did sessions for him with her hands like this.
Maxim: Tell me, please, to whom did you dedicate your song called "The Star"?
Irina: For some reason he says: "To Pugacheva."
Maxim: (laughs) I understand. And the song "By the Window," to whom was it dedicated?
Irina (Igor): To Lyudmila.
Maxim: To Lyudmila, yes?
Irina (Igor): Yes.
(Irina): He said: "To Lyuda" (laughs).
1:31:31 The Spirit of Igor Talkov about his children.
Maxim: Tell me, please, how many children in general remained with you on planet Earth?
Irina (Igor): Three were incarnated through me in general, but only two were born — a boy and a girl. And the third incarnated but was not born, because her mother terminated the pregnancy.
Maxim: I understand. Thank you, Igor, very much.
1:32:12 A message to people from the Spirit of Igor Talkov.
Maxim: And now the most important question: Igor, tell me, what would you like to say from the Spiritual world to those people who are now watching our broadcast?
Irina (Igor): I address you again and again say: dear my fellow citizens, although now I am already a citizen of the Spiritual world, I both remember and am aware of myself as that very Igor Talkov. I remember, I believe, quite well my life and my state in that body.
I want, first, to thank you for my invitation, for me to answer questions through the contactee. I thank you for your love for my songs, poems, books, and for the film in which I acted (shows the film in which he also acted). Although I played a not very good person there, you still love this film. And I did not want to act in it, so as not to show you a bad example. But I still decided to do it, because I understood that for cinema the main thing is to show different sides of a person's life.
And so, dear friends, I thank you for the fact that you relate with love to me, to my creativity in all its forms, types, and in all its diversity. I ask you to blame no one for my discarnation. Everything turned out as it had to be. I wish you to fulfill the tasks of your incarnations and raise your level. I hope you will do better than I did.
Maxim: Thank you very much, Igor.
Irishenka, thank you very much for such a transmission of information.
And here, on the internet (I "googled"), a discussion is already going on about the size of Igor Talkov's foot. Guys, write, please, in the comments, what you think was the real size of Igor Talkov's foot.
Did you want to say something, Irish?
Irina: Yes, I wanted to say now on my own behalf. I am already glad that at least they asked about the size of the foot, and not something else. This is already progress! (laughs)
Maxim: (laughs) Well yes, our audience is growing up — already simply asking about foot sizes. So, guys, thank you all very much.
1:35:29 Advertising block of the "Cassiopeia" Project.
1:36:01 Gratitude of the project leader.
Maxim: Once again I thank Igor Talkov. Igor, I know you were cool in person, but in the Spiritual world, it seems to me, you have retained this coolness. And a big thank you to you for paying attention to us and to the viewers of our channel. By the way, on the "Cassiopeia TV" channel now there will be only live broadcasts. A big, huge thank you and respect to you. And to you, guys, a big thank you for your help, support for the construction and not only for the construction of our center. Thank you all very much. Until new meetings, everyone bye.
Irina: Yes, everyone bye.
January 23, 2024
Participants of the conference:
Irina Podzorova — contactee with extraterrestrial civilizations, with subtle-material civilizations, and with the Spiritual world;
Maxim Rusan — head of the "CASSIOPEIA" Project and the Center for Spiritual and Physical Development;
The Spirit of Igor Vladimirovich Talkov — rock musician, songwriter, singer, film actor, and writer.
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