< Felix Komarov

Beautiful play of light on thin mica wings,
Beautiful crystal clear streams chimes,
Wonderful aroma of freshly cut grass, with light notes of burning,
Perfect elasticity velvet skin and the cold of the first snow,
Taste great old wines and juicy mango fruit ...

Five gates of knowledge and bliss, the five gates of defilement and suffering.
Vision, hearing, taste, smell and touch form the illusion of existence,
Their endless weave simultaneously generate me and the world.
Symphony and military marches, pictures and swastikas on the walls, poetic elegy and hit list, deeds of love and hate crimes, her mother's arms, and the last the mercy of the executioner ...

There is no peace without me and I am not without peace.
How wonderful is the magic of the appearance and disappearance of everyone and everything.
Who is born and who dies,
Who asks questions and waits for a response, who are suffering and looking for a way out of suffering,
Her dream is to find God, and afraid to stand in front of him ....
The endless kaleidoscope of the five senses, to create countless patterns named after me.

As the waves without water as the wind without air as the sun without light ...
No view, without seeing, hearing, without Heard, touch, no touch, smell, no smell, taste, without partakes.
And even in complete darkness and silence, and in the absence of odor and taste, touch, and without the knowledge of the place and time ...
They echo continues to weave illusions network, filling memory remembrance of me.

Snow white and the sky is blue, the river is cold, and the fire burns, the rain pounding on the roof, and the sugar melts on the tongue ... in the bardo of life and death, dream and birth, continues being an eternal holiday.


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