It seems like the world today is full of millionaires who’ve earned their riches from publishing books on how to get the universe to fulfill your every desire, be it money, fame, or what have you. The methods may vary, wrapped either in economic theory, popular positive psychology, philosophy, or religious practices. The essence, however, is immutable: the universe’s resources are infinite, and, if you do it right, you can go about getting whatever it is you should want. It’s uncommon for someone to admit that, after giving in to the temptation to learn the basics of magic, having become disappointed, they’d abandoned it all. At the same time, there are certainly requests that the universe necessarily fulfills, and without any methods or magical rituals. At least that’s what Stanislav Kucher, The World magazine’s returning author, believes.
I was no more than five when my mother first told me, "If you really, really want something, just ask the universe and your wish will come true. There’s only one condition: it has to be a really important wish, one that makes you a better person." I didn’t quite understand what the "Universe" was, how to tell what was important from what wasn’t, or what it meant to become "a better person." But, that very day, I began communicating with the universe. I asked for some Eskimo bars, a tank that fired rubber bullets, and for my mom and dad to have more time to play with me. Getting no answer to my requests, I concluded that the universe was more of a Freken Bok than just some pleasant fairy, and I decided not to bother with it any more.
About a year later, my parents left for a long business trip. I went to another city to stay with my grandmother and started school at a different kindergarten, where I didn’t get on with my teachers or peers straight away. To put it bluntly, it was pure hell. The boys constantly bullied me, the girls ignored me, my feelings would get hurt, and I’d cry all the time... All the while, the strict teacher would call me a whiner and a crybaby. One time, she made me sit in the middle of the room on a single chair facing a long bench. She ordered the remaining 15 students to sit on the bench and loudly chant, "Cry, cow, give us milk!" How much is it? Two cents!" This educational process lasted about ten minutes and had a serious effect on my life.
I didn’t say anything to my grandmother, but I cried almost the whole night, my face buried in my pillow. Before I fell asleep, I remembered the universe and asked it to help me stop being such a crybaby.
I became certain that the Universe was listening and had delivered the first step in my path towards understanding something: the huge difference between those wishes of ours that are truly significant and those that are merely trivial, meaningless whims.
This time, the universe responded promptly. The next day during lunch, two of the worst bullies flipped over my bowl of soup and started taking turns pushing me, chanting the same words from the day before. I almost burst into tears, but suddenly some unknown force clamped my fingers into fists and forced me to spin around, as if in dance. My body seemed to take on a life of its own, and I was watching it all from above: a blow knocked one of the boys to the floor cinematically, the bowl of hot soup overturning onto him in the process, the other boy turned around and ran away with yet another who had come over to help them. Finally, pleased with itself, my body approached the teacher and declared calmly: "Put me in the corner, Ms. Ivanovna, because I got those guys good."
I became certain that the Universe was listening and had delivered the first step in my path towards understanding something: the huge difference between those wishes of ours that are truly significant and those that are merely trivial, meaningless whims.
When my grandmother came to get me, they went on and on about what a cruel and cold-blooded fighter her grandson was, threatening to expel me from the kindergarten. But the world was no longer the same. Everyone suddenly wanted to be my friend, including my enemies and even girls, previously unapproachable. I don’t recall ever feeling any kind of schadenfreude; on the contrary, I actually felt a bit sorry for the two boys and the teacher. It seemed that they, for some reason, were simply lacking their own connection to the universe. And that was something that I had. I became certain that the Universe was listening and had delivered the first step in my path towards understanding something: the huge difference between those wishes of ours that are truly significant and those that are merely trivial, meaningless whims.
That path has since brought me to a number of striking discoveries, many of which initially raised doubts about the adequacy of the universe’s mind. When I was 12, for example, I overheard my grandmother and mother talking about how children living without a father tend to lack masculinity. I made the request that the fate they described wouldn’t be the case for me. I also asked for courage, which I thought I could use more of. As a result, the Universe gave me several unexpected runins with rough kids in dark alleyways. We were unequally matched each time — I was afraid, it showed on my face — and, simply running away from a fight is shameful. That evening, I told my grandmother about my concerns, and she — a self-identifying "non-party Bolshevik" and an atheist — suddenly quoted the words of her grandfather, a priest from the Kursk province. She said, "When people ask God to give them strength, He gives them the opportunity to show strength. When they ask for courage, He gives the chance to show courage. This applies to all of our worthy qualities. God’s not a wizard who grants you wings. You’re already born with wings. But, if you ask, He’ll help you spread them."
"But you don’t believe in God!" I said, surprised.
"God, the Universe, Nature, your inner voice... What difference does it make what we call that strength you felt?" Grandma smiled slyly and continued: "The main thing is to learn to listen."
"Did you learn?"
"Hardly. But even the ancients said that this is the most important thing for a person to learn. And the older I get, the more I realise that they were right."
Despite my mother and grandmother’s advice, during this "learning" process, which began 40 years ago and continues to this day, I asked the Universe for more than just to "make me a better person." I’ve also asked to be more successful, richer, more famous, luckier in love, and the list goes on. You know, all the "drugs" that we dwell on from very early on and that we continue to dwell on for all our lives. Of course, I’ve asked for various nice things. It would be a sin for me to complain — almost all of these wishes have come true. But after the euphoria of getting them, there was always the initial calm satisfaction, and then adjustment, boredom, eventually resulting in a hangover that bordered on disappointment. I could’ve done without asking for these things, because, as it turns out, lasting happiness isn’t about a bunch of cool stuff.
As I’ve said, my conversation with the universe is an ongoing one, and what I know most of all at the moment is this: Mom was right about something. It only makes sense to ask for one thing — to become a better person. Not to become the best out of everyone, but to become better than yesterday in some way or other. In that case, whatever new challenges destiny gives you are suddenly nothing but a response to your request. This realisation has given me an incredible sense of liberation, an indescribable thrill, the ability to enjoy life here and now, the qualities raved about by saints and mystics.
And I don’t always manage to get there myself. But I do understand the meaning of the game, and I really enjoy the process. There’s just one thing: when you really involve yourself in it, things that seem like steps forward (a sudden stroke of luck, getting together with a beautiful woman, getting that coveted promotion), can actually hinder your chances of flying to new heights. To understand what you really need from the Universe (or is it that the Universe needs something from you?), consider beginning with the question of what’s unnecessary in your life. It’s actually a lot harder than it seems. But you’ll get it — soon enough, you’ll really get to know the Universe, and, at last, it’ll let you indulge in all the little things, from the movement of the clouds to the moment you catch the sunset.
