Even from our school days, we remember very well those for whom essays were given with such ease, as if telling a joke in the company of friends. And if you want your work to be used as an example, at least occasionally, here are some practical recommendations on how to correctly write a beautiful essay (essay) on Russian (or other) literature based on the work.
How to write an essay/essay on literature: making a plan
Before you write your final essay, you need to clearly think through what plan you will use to do it.
The plan is drawn up so that the flow of thoughts (even if you have one) is built into coherent, logically consistent sentences.
Immediately after receiving the essay topic, ideas and images will begin to appear in your head (of course, if you have read the work). On a rough piece of paper, jot down the phrases or words that come to mind first. Then they can be developed into a whole essay.
So, think carefully about what you want to say about the topic. Then write down your thoughts on paper in a column. And only then decide in what order you want to display these thoughts on paper. This is necessary for a clear and clear structure of the work.
How to write an introduction to an essay on literature
In the introductory part, information must be written as if it would be read by a person completely unfamiliar with the problem. Here you should reveal the topic, problems and relevance of your essay.
Questions you can ask yourself will help you with this:
- What work are you writing a composition/essay on?
- What do you know about the author of the work?
- What is the genre of the work (comedy, drama, romance, etc.)? What aspects would you like to reveal in your work?
How to write an argumentative essay: let's get to the main part
The beginning is half the battle! Great, if you are done with the introductory part, let's deal with the main part of the work.
Here you need to highlight all your thoughts that the work evoked in you, the emotions that you experience towards the chosen character or the circumstances in which he found himself.
Each of your thoughts will have to be supported by examples from the original text of the work. If you say that the problem of war worries the hero, then you need to give examples in which this excitement is transmitted to the reader.
Feel free to give your own assessment of the character or the circumstances in which he finds himself. This makes any essay brighter, stronger, and gives its author authority and expertise.
The main part is mostly your own thoughts about what excites you about the whole story. Show here the evolution of your thought, from what point in the work an important thought arose, how it evolved and what conclusion you ultimately came to.
How to write a conclusion in an essay on literature
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Templates and examples of correct structure as one state that the conclusion should be followed by a summary.
Many people begin an essay not with an introductory or main part, but with a conclusion. They say that after drawing up brief theses, it is much easier to consistently describe your reasoning.
So, in the final part you need to answer for yourself the question that you posed in the introductory part. This is a kind of short theorem, derived from the entire lengthy proof given in the previous parts of the essay.
Here are a few examples of how to write a good essay/composition:
Essay example 1
Essay on the topic “Me and my career”
Essay example 2
Essay on the topic "Man and Society"
Once you are done with this part, be sure to review all the work to ensure it matches the original plan. If the essay is structured in a sequence that has been thought out in advance, you have succeeded! Congratulations! If not, don't be upset - our authors They will help you by checking and correcting your work, and if necessary, they will help you write an essay/composition from scratch!
As journalism developed, it experienced divisions. Gradually, genera were formed (information, analytical, artistic journalism), genres were distinguished (report, article, correspondence, feuilleton, sketch, essay, etc.), types appeared (political, economic, literary-critical, moral-ethical, etc.). ), styles (polemical, satirical, propaganda, agitation, critical, etc.).
The essay as a genre has been transformed throughout time. As a result, the essay still does not have clear boundaries that define its forms, types, and clear distinction among other genres of journalism. This has led to the emergence of disparate opinions from many scholars expressing their views on the relationship of essays to one genre or another.
Essay (French “essey” - experience, sketch) is a genre of philosophical, literary-critical, historical-biographical, journalistic prose, combining the emphatically individual position of the author with a relaxed, often paradoxical presentation, focused on colloquial speech. This definition is given to this genre by researcher S.I. Chuprinin. Chuprinin S.I. Life according to concepts [electronic resource] // http://magazines.russ.ru/znamia/2004/12/chu13.html . - (Date of access: 04/13/2013).
In the explanatory dictionary of the Russian language Ozhegov Ozhegov S.I. Dictionary Russian language: about 100,000 words, terms and phraseological expressions. - M, 2009. - 1359 p. essay - a prose composition of small volume and free composition on a private topic, interpreted subjectively and, usually, incompletely.
In the large encyclopedic dictionaryBolshoi encyclopedic Dictionary. - M., 2008. -1248 p. the following definition of essay is given: a genre of philosophical, literary-critical, historical-biographical, journalistic prose, combining the emphatically individual position of the author with a relaxed, often paradoxical presentation, focused on colloquial speech.
Based on the above definitions of essays, we can come to the conclusion that this genre is also a kind of philosophizing by the author on a particular topic.
This means that the essay is not only fiction with its characteristic features (tropes, style, etc.). Separating from it, an essay can approach both journalism and philosophy with its endless reasoning.
But there is also a clear boundary between philosophy and essayism. Philosophical thinking implies the principle that truth is more important than mere opinion, and truth is inseparable from its own logical or intuitive knowledge. Essayistic thinking remains based on subjective human opinion. Pure subjectivity, spontaneity of thought and feeling, situationality, caprice and arbitrariness - this is what an essay is, according to V. Kovalev Big Encyclopedic Dictionary. - M., 2008. -1248s...
Thus, the essay is more of a literary phenomenon than a philosophical one. The main thing in an essay is the author’s “I”, his thoughts on a specific topic and attitude to an exciting issue.
In newspaper and documentary journalism, the essay genre is more often considered as a “hybrid” type of text, where the use of essay elements depends on the individual style of the author.
To answer the question of what style the essay genre belongs to, one should find in it the genre-forming factors of both analytical and artistic journalism. The main genre-forming factors of both analytical and artistic journalism include: the subject of display, the target setting or function and the method of display.
First, we should consider the essay as an analytical genre. These include essayistic texts by A.A. Tertychny Tertychny A.A. Analytical journalism: cognitive-psychological approach. - M., 1998. - P. 134.. In his book he writes that in analytical publication the subject of displaying the author's thought is almost always located in the external world in relation to the essayist himself. Although sometimes it can exist in inner world author. In this case, we will already be talking about introspection.
The next genre-forming factor is the target setting. Indeed, what genre the finished text will be depends largely on whether the author of the material aims to describe in detail, in all details, an event or phenomenon, touching on the causes and forecast of its development, while creating analytical material.
The essay should be considered from the point of view of artistic journalism.
Unlike scientific ones, literary texts are distinguished by linguistic imagery, polysemy of concepts, generalization of a specific fact, and classification of phenomena. Another difference between scientific and literary texts is obvious in the object of the material: in scientific publications- these are objects and events of the surrounding world, in the artistic world - mainly the person himself with his attitude to the external, with his perception, believes V.L. Tsvik Tsvik V.L. Introduction to Journalism. - M., 2000. - From 56..
Texts written in an essayistic manner carry precisely the author’s thoughts on the subject, his personal attitude towards the phenomenon, his direct or indirect encouragement to action by the reader.
If we talk about methods, the availability of funds will be obvious here artistic expression, phrases, words that brightly or subduedly express the attitude of the author himself, etc.
Attributing the essay to artistic journalism, A.I. Galperin Galperin I.R. Essays on stylistics in English. - M., 1958. - P. 175. also puts forward its main functions. It is important to influence the audience, to convince them of the correct (one’s own, subjective) views.
I.R. Galperin, Galperin I.R. Essays on the stylistics of the English language. - M., 1958. - P. 212. puts forward the main objectives of the essay: “We can talk about an influencing function, but this influence occurs over a longer period of time (compare, for example, with oratorical speech), that is, its effect is slow"
In addition to the author's personality, the essay is characterized by the presence of several more characteristic features. Firstly, this is topicality, the relation of the event to at this moment time. Secondly, the availability of means of artistic expression. Thirdly, it is the style of the text that reflects the temperament and personality of the author.
A characteristic of an essay should be its dialogical nature. Regardless of the form of presentation of the author's thoughts, composition, the dialogue between the author and the reader remains the main feature of this genre. The simplest technique is to have rhetorical questions in the text. The reader mentally answers them.
There are several types of essays. Literary-critical or artistic-critical. Such works are defined by the work of art itself; the author only reflects his view of music, painting, literature, etc. using various means of expression.
The existing classification of essays into narrative, descriptive, analytical, critical, reflective, etc. is quite questionable, since any essay text can combine several of these characteristics at the same time.
According to A.A. Muravyova A.A. Muravyova Essay [electronic resource] // http://zhurnal.lib.ru/m/murawxewa_a_a/esse.shtml . - (Date of access: 04/13/2013)., it would be more correct to divide essayistic works into: a personal, subjective essay, where the main element is the disclosure of one or another side of the author’s personality, and an objective, or “serious” essay, where the personal element is subordinated to the subject descriptions or some idea.
So, in the course of considering the history of the emergence and development of the essay genre in journalism, some features were identified. The origin of the essay genre began long before the appearance of the first printed media, or rather, with Lucian’s “Recitals,” Plato’s “Dialogues,” and Cicero’s treatises. The ancient Russian genre “The Word” is also considered to be the origins of essayism.
The essay genre actively manifests itself in changing times for society, when a fundamentally new worldview, different from the previous one, is being formed.
Being at the same time a philosophical, literary and journalistic genre, the essay nevertheless moves away from philosophy and increasingly relates to literature, since, unlike philosophy, in essayism the first place is not truth, but intuitive or experimental knowledge. At the same time, the essay genre is more journalistic than literary, because if in literature there is an unreality of a hero, place or time, then the text of the essay reveals to the reader the true reality, but reveals it in the way the author himself accepts it.
The genre, the essay, is close to analytical texts, thanks to the subject of its reflection, located in the outside world; evaluative; goals such as describing the phenomenon in detail, giving the event a forecast; thanks to theoretical approach author in writing the work. This genre is even closer to artistic and journalistic genres, since the author’s empirical approach is possible; typification of real-documentary reality; the author's emotions are ahead of the fact; the texts always use means of artistic expression, and the text itself appears in a free flow of thoughts; The essay is inherently paradoxical.
From here it becomes clear that the essay is a related genre that skillfully combines the characteristics of both analytics and artistry, this is due to the breadth of functions performed by texts and the choice of the author’s approach in his own work. What comes first: a fact or his own opinion, largely determines the fate of his text.
There is an increasing essayization of printed materials. You can give the most shining example- the emergence of a blog that realizes itself precisely in the essayistic style of writing.
A large amount of information leads to the fact that the audience has the opportunity to choose not only a text that is interesting to each reader individually, but also the point of view of the writer and the author himself.
Journalism is becoming more personalized, the author himself is no longer an impersonal source of information, now he interprets this information, thereby arousing the interest of the reading audience in his person.
It shook. Stopped.
- What's happened? What's happened?
- Wake up! Tram station.
- That's it! Which one do you like?
I'm leaving. Came out.
Both on! And went.
I'm so handsome today.
Mold (steps)
You changed spatial structure, bastard. Our congruence has disappeared forever. You radiate in a different plane of polarization of existence. You and I are out of sync! The connection between us is broken. You are changing. You are changing! Ah! - Ah!
You go to another subspecies. Ahh! Forever!
But he was no longer listening. That's why I didn't hear it. It radiated a deep purple, deeply satisfied spectrum. And he drummed his new thoughts and feelings in an unimaginable high-frequency range - UV (soft ultraviolet). The frequencies of radiation formed into a rhythm, then into a motive. Something was being born.
Song! It was still that song!!!
His body was breaking, and his senses were high. He took a step out of the crowd of his kind. Yes! Forever!
It crystallized from mold and became the progenitor of single-celled algae.
Step. This was another step.
Inside his body, the energy of the sun was transformed into living, new energy. Photons were converted into electrons. Chlorophyll appeared. Damn photosynthesis.
Time will pass. Plants will arise from algae. Step. The time will come, the flower will open. One more step. The flower will give nectar. One more step.
Nectar – gift – honey.
Here.
THE REAL IS NEAR.
A Buddhist monk, very young, hungry. I slept on the boards and, as usual, dreamed about the beautiful fairy of flowers. When he opened his eyes, she was lying next to him, curled up like an animal, sleeping, flickering. He was afraid to move, he was afraid to breathe. “Now I’ll blink and my fairy will disappear,” he thought.
The young man did not blink, he swallowed, but the fairy did not disappear. Fairies, if they are real fairies of course, always appear at the CALL. Unless of course this is a real CALL. She opened her slanting violet eyes and asked with a smile:
Do you want to drink?
He croaked:
- Want.
- Drink! And she extended her palms like a boat. Nectar shimmered in them.
Drink.
- Do you want to see?
- Want.
“See,” she allowed.
“I see,” he answered.
“I have to wake up or I’ll go crazy.”
-Are you on alert?
- I'm watching.
- You see, the Sun is rising.
- Do you see?
- I see!
And so he regained his sight.
I love her, this Fairy - she is honest, which means she is real!
The present is nearby, but it is forbidden.
AUTUMN. AWESOME.
It was late rainy autumn. There was slush and chilliness outside the window. Br-rr-r-r. Anyone warm and joyful, emerging from comfort into dullness, became like that himself. Br-rr-r-r Then the person hurries back to the warmth of the shelter. People hurried along the street, not noticing Charm. And Precious stood by the rowan tree and looked at the world with huge eyes, and waited and waited. He will come. He will definitely come. He's about to come. I don’t know how to wait, I know how to love, the beauty said to herself.
She stood all wrapped in a blanket of love. A large stray dog settled down at her feet. Dogs feel love. The beauty was waiting, shimmering with a rainbow, smiling. He still didn't come. He was afraid. He looked around the corner and marveled. She's so strange.
Time has passed. He grew bolder and dared to love - he came.
TIRED OF BEING AFRAID
Laughter bubbled and burst inside him. Laughter escaped from him like steam. The body shook and bent in convulsions. He tried to stop, calm down and quickly blend into the crowd and disappear. But this cowardice of his made him laugh even harder.
Today he saw the whole world in a new way, and for some reason he felt very funny.
His face turned purple, and he himself became hot and wet. He turned away from the square and saw himself in the mirrored window, and a new attack rolled over him like a wave. Taking a deep breath, he saw a dog looking at him with deep interest. Her serious face caused new explosion laughter, which has already turned into painful spasms.
He fell into the dust, large hot tears rolling from his eyes. For some reason they did not mix with the dust, but shone brightly in the sun. It couldn't go on like this for long, he couldn't breathe in any more air, and finally he vomited.
... He lay on his back and looked blissfully into the sky. Passers-by tried to lift him up, asked questions, bothered him, and he looked at them and smiled stupidly.
As he staggered home, a dog ran after him.
Near the house, old women sat on a bench like mushrooms. He sat down next to them, the dog lay at his feet. Five minutes later the old women were already crying with laughter. Literally everything made them laugh: the surprised elongated faces of their neighbors, the sunset, and their old house. But most of all - a dog who winked first with one eye and then with the other. After another fifteen minutes, all three were taken away by ambulance.
KNIGHT and GRAIL.
The crusader slowly gained strength, he entered into the image of a warrior. The air vibrated around him. The moment was lost. The tramps felt it. The indestructible knight took a step towards the chieftain, smoothly drawing out his sword. The robbers ran away screaming.
CHECK CONNECTION
First, first, I'm second.-
- Get in touch.
- Get in touch
Second, second.
- I am the first.
- The first one is in touch.
Fearless
The dervish, a wandering monk, looked boldly and directly into the small and evil eyes of the khan. Khan was furious. This ragamuffin dared to mock him in his stupid parables. They don’t work, they wander around, they live on alms and they also confuse people. Everyone who was next to them lowered their eyes to the ground. Oh, and the Khan has a heavy look. Although the dervish was brought to his knees, he did not look afraid. He looked indifferently over the khan's head somewhere into the distance. His sparkling eyes reflected everything that the khan was now throwing at the ragamuffin dervish. Fury and fear are two sides of the same coin, and these coins rang loudly back into the khan’s soul. Khan was even more turned on by such unheard-of audacity. But the more he pressed, the more he became lost in a hitherto unknown feeling.
It was new, and he could not understand it. Horror slowly but surely rose up my legs. A cold nervous trembling hit the khan more and more strongly and he could not do anything about it.
You are Satan, you are the offspring of Iblis. Kill him, kill him. But the faithful warriors did not even move. Some force bound them. And this numbness frightened the khan even more. The hero conquers fear. The fearless simply don't have it. There is no one to scare. The dervish, the wandering monk went on his way, and the khan went on his way.
Imp.
There’s some kind of devil inside you, a little devil,” my mother told me as a child. - Why do you laugh when there is a funeral?
So they're all playing the fool, Mom. – I can’t understand how they can stand it for so long without laughing?
Why did you poke out the eyes of all the photographs with a needle?
They are looking wrong. - Why? - Well, they look like dolls.
Why did you scare us all to death at the river? He dived and disappeared.
I learned to live underwater, Mom. I almost succeeded.
Did you recently fall asleep in the weeds?
- I don't remember. But when I woke up at night, it was amazing. I didn't know who I was or where I was. It seemed to me that I woke up in another world. That was great.
Or you look at a glass of water. And then he falls. And it seems you can catch it. But no. The glass breaks. Joyfully. And then you scold yourself. After all, he could have caught it.
When I grew up and began to go to work like everyone else, at work I would say something right, absurd, but fair to the boss, thereby making everyone around me uncomfortable. And I watch from the sidelines, smiling, as the dullness of philistinism blossoms with the bright colors of just anger.
And I also remember how in my youth I fell in love with the most harmful, clumsy and awkward girl. No one was friends with her. But the devil whispered in my ear - This will be a thing! Against all odds, make her fall in love with you! I boldly rushed into battle. We even fought with her twice. But I learned how to care for a woman. Trouble has come, open the gate. I fell in love with her. And she laughed all the time:
Don't be offended by me and my quirks. The girl told me.
This is the devil inside me! Well, you understand.
Now three free, brave little devils are running around us.
Confrontation.
You lose! The tormentor said triumphantly.
-You lose! Do you understand this? -Freak?
The torturer repeated again. - You're in trouble!
He understood everything and therefore had no desire to talk with this hero. He smiled inside, to himself. Broken lips don’t want to smile, it’s painful and difficult. But he smiled, he couldn’t help but smile. They were unable to extract either confession or repentance from him. And without this, their victory cannot be complete, and most importantly, righteous. Why is self-humiliation and repentance of the victims so necessary for all torturers? This, like a hunter who has killed a free, beautiful animal, really wants it to justify him. It’s not enough for the torturers to catch and discredit a person; they need to crucify him, snatch out that pearl that they lost, or rather, renounced. They can forgive anything, but this is not the happiness of being sighted. They simply cannot stand such a person.
The tormentor sharply threw back his head and looked intently into his eyes. And, oh horror, he saw a smile and the joy of light in the swollen eyes. The duel between the two systems ended, as always. He was declared insane.
HE did not fit into their sane world.
Why are you laughing, come on, look at me. Why are you giggling all the time? Aren't you interested in what I'm talking about?
He told her offendedly.
- Very, very interesting! I'm just admiring you.
-You are so smart and beautiful.
- Well, give me a kiss. And she kissed him tenderly on the head, and he walked away, melted.
And the smart, really smart and also handsome guy thought hard and for some reason blushed. Did you praise or scold? Something was reaching him. He was becoming a man. He learned to see the world and himself through her eyes. When you love, it's easy. He learned to see the world through the eyes of Vasilisa the Wise, Vasilisa the Beautiful, his wife.
LION boy
The boys were playing on the playground.
-You're wrong! - You're not playing by the rules.
-No! - I'm right and lion! -How is this a lion?
Yes, I'm a lion! I growl when I want and therefore I play by my own rules.
I announce the surroundings with my roar. Now there is a lion coming, he is about to eat someone.
And you are a coward in the crowd, and you are a coward in fate. I don't like living by the rules of the pack. It's better to live in a pack, but it's boring.
I'm right only because I definitely feel REALITY.
-I'm a lion boy
He again dreamed of the spiral symmetry of the young Galaxy system.
It was spun in a spiral along the orbits of the planets. He was drawn to the luminary. An unknown force beckoned. The meteor left a lush tail behind it. It was his cosmic body that evaporated, he melted. He flew and sang. The inviting call of the luminaries is love for comets - attraction-evaporation. When the meteor is again carried along an oval orbit into distant Space, it will not lose sight of its Sun.
When he emerged from the depths of sleep in the morning, the taste of apricot was clearly felt in his mouth. He propped himself up on his elbow and kissed his wife.
She said:
- Ah!
Tartarus is not hell.
- And what?
- Tartarus is not a place of imprisonment and retribution. It arose when Zeus told the Titans lies. And they accepted it, believed it, or rather, were forced to believe it. He bound them with iron chains of illusion. Morality and Law are their names. Remember Prometheus, the fighter against God. He alone resisted, for which he was crucified on Elbrus. PROMETHEUS is translated as directly seeing.
Titans are forces of nature. They cannot be frightened or bribed. But they can easily be perverted, corrupted and forced to serve.
Example. Depletion of the ozone layer and global warming.
Tormenting in an imaginary, non-existent slavery, the titans created the copper walls of Tartarus, in which they are imprisoned.
Listen, we live in the same world.
- Here!
(Verse Titans move)
BODY CHECK
The young doctor listened to my heart through a tube. I enjoyed her light touch.
No one has ever listened to my heart. From her fixed eyes I realized that she was now somewhere far away. But we connected with her, through this wooden tube, into one organism. She listened to me, and I listened to her and looked at her hair. My heart was pounding in her ears...
She woke up with a jerk and abruptly said to me:
- Get dressed.
I smiled at her guiltily. The young doctor quickly wrote something down on a card.
“Sorry,” I blurted out.
I got dressed, took my card and went out. I stood in the corridor and looked out the window. It was raining lightly.
The doctor stood in her office and also looked out the window. It was raining lightly. It was quiet outside.
Tomorrow I will come to her again for a medical examination.
The doorbell rings - no one. The call again. He opened the door again with a sigh. This time he was not deceived.
Madness was at the threshold. She stood and waited. It was silent. He wanted to close the door. I couldn't. “I called it myself.”
Well hello! Madness said and entered into him...
It's not scary to live like crazy people, it's even fun. It becomes scary for those who live nearby. Nightmare.
He left his home.
Then he left his madness.
It turns out you can live without both. Living in freedom is great. But not everyone can take the step.
The woman was sitting on a bench, her hands folded on her large belly, her eyes closed, she was resting. Smiled.
A new life was developing within her. An unearthly smile wandered across his face. The warm autumn sun caressed her face and hands. Sparrows were chirping in the park. The light of love, peace, and happiness emanated from the pregnant woman. Gioconda.
But there is a flower in each of us. If we fertilize the heart-flower with Heaven, an ovary will appear, and we will become pregnant with the Soul. The fruit will appear.
I know one pregnant man - Buddha.
WHITE KNIGHT
...a young knight in sparkling armor on a white horse defeated everyone in the tournament and solemnly received a silk scarf from his lady. He tied it around his neck and smiled. That's all. It's all over.
Stop camera. Removed. Thanks to all. Everybody's Free. The director bleated his usual mantra.
“It’s all over now. “We can change clothes and relax,” the young man thought.
On the way home, he bought a scarf and tied it around his neck. It turned out beautiful. He wanted to feel like a knight, but for some reason he didn’t want to look for the lady of his heart.
Love requires from a person spiritual strength, the desire to love. And he loved himself in art. And for his soul he had a cat, to whom he gave a scarf. They played nicely before bed.
Crows circled high above the ground. There were many of them in the evening sky. They flowed from one swarm to another, and back again.
The crows reminded me of either midges or schools of fish. They surprisingly combined free flight - gliding and internal order - submission. Something united them into one organism. But what?
The man turned his gaze to the square below and was surprised to notice the same swarm, but of people. He was already late for work, watching the sky and earth.. The man lowered his eyes and doomedly hurried to the trolleybus.
And above, in the sky, crows swarmed as before. From the height of their flight, the birds saw people; the city resembled an anthill or a swarm of bees.
The waves softly kissed the shore, giving rise to the quiet rustle of kissing lips. The sea was calm and openly visible in the depths.
The sea - a languid woman - melted under the blinding disk of the Sun - a man. They barely touched each other, giving birth to soft, lazy waves that rolled along the surface of the sea. Ecstasy is inevitable.
They say that Life began in the surf.
When you kiss a woman, remember the sea. It's great when you can have them
Connect.
OLD COYOTE
An old shaman from the Sheshen tribe has baked eyes. They bake for a long time, even if they are closed. He explained to his grandson:
They bake because I no longer have tears.
- Aren’t you in pain?
- No, I'm used to it.
- Is it possible to get used to pain?
– I don’t know, I’m used to it.
– Do you hear, Light Foot, the stream babbling? This is how time flies. It runs slowly but constantly. It is stronger than a giant, time can change the world. And this small stream is his great friend.
Ha, a small stream changes the world. - Ha.
The stream knows its way well and rocks are not an obstacle to it, because it has no barriers... It always knows its way.
But the person doesn’t, he doesn’t know. He has become blind, now everything is an obstacle to him.
You noticed, Light Foot, people complain all the time.
Even our young Sheshen no longer know or feel their red path.
-Have they become bad?
- No, baby, time has changed. A person cannot be bad. The coyote keeps his nose in the wind so that he can always feel his way and, like a stream, will not turn away from the path.
How can you smell your Path?
– You just need to awaken yourself – yourself! Your SPIRIT will show the way. Heaven will call. If you hear it, you'll go.
- Is it difficult?
– It’s not difficult, but scary. Try to go through the entire old cave without light and find the way up. Can you?
“I’ll try, Old Coyote, I’ll try.”
Osceolla rejected again
Again a stranger in native land.
He was a Seminole chief
But there are no more Seminoles.
Now alone
and on the edge..
.
His heart turned to stone
And the soul became depopulated.
From the rocks he looks at the world, at eternity
The Indian stands, not breathing.
The Indian is standing, night has fallen.
The Indian stands there, cooling down.
Everything around was quiet,
dissolved.
Only incense blows from heaven
KISSED THE SKY Osceola
He sings
Indian sings about freedom
Lives only in her
PENITY
The monk, who had long been hunched over, sat in a secluded corner of the monastery - prayed, repented. Severe penance was imposed on him, punishment for the sin of masturbation and distraction during prayers. And now he wandered, in the twilight of his consciousness, sighing sadly. The monk suffered and, unnoticed by himself, fell into a slumber. And at the same time, a small solar ball separated from the top of his head. The golden ball floated higher and higher above the monastery and became larger and larger.
It was getting light. The darkness began to brighten. And then a huge fireball appeared above the horizon - the Luminary. The luminary and the monk's fireball merged. The monk's face brightened and he smiled blissfully. Two monks found him sleeping.
“We should report to the authorities, he’s sleeping again,” said the first monk.
“No need,” said the second. - Look at his face.
- Which? – asked the first one.
- Beautiful!
MANEGE
The child sat in the playpen and looked forward into space through the net.
They threw various toys into his playpen in the hope that he would at least give his parents a break.
The child habitually shouted at high note, he was not interested in toys, he needed Will and LOVE.
Do you see your playpen, do you feel your Will?
IT'S LIKE THAT
It was a long time ago, or maybe not long ago.
The young Vietnamese peasant straightened up with a deep sigh. Then he stretched his whole body up and looked at the sky.
God, what a wonderful cool morning, how wonderful it is to work on your land! He is his own master, his own master! - the young guy thought to himself.
Not far away, behind his rice field, monks were mincing.
They hurried for the reward they received for the blessing. This exchange is called a service.
The monks saw a young, naked peasant working day after day, without straightening his back, in the mud of a rice field. They looked and smiled in a special way, in a Buddhist way, they know how to do it. They felt a little sorry for this creature, which was little different from its water buffalo counterpart. The monks hurried forward to do their good deeds.
The young peasant bent down again and continued to plant rice in the water.
RICE is bread for eastern world.
The guy worked quickly and easily, for some reason he was having fun. He sang quietly as he worked.
Poor monks, he thought. - Day and night they offer prayers and do not see all this beauty.
He straightened his aching back and admired the distant gray mountains and emerald green fields.
And the sun rose higher and higher and from above generously poured its light and blessing on its children.
It's like that!
“That’s all right,” his golden rays rang.
The light was shining, people were maturing.
KNIGHT and GRAIL.
The knight was returning from the third crusade. He was stupidly tired from this trip. He wanted to go home. In the peace of native walls. A person is drawn to go on a hike, then go home. And then, at home, I really want to wash off the dust and blood, and most importantly, the shame.
When he was watering his mare, six robbers, or rather vagabonds, slowly approached him. There were a lot of tramps on the roads back then. Catholicism was at its height, its dogmas, like stalactites, grew slowly but firmly.
I will share food with you good people.
“No,” said the chieftain. -You will give us everything. He probably plundered a lot of goods in the holy lands.
The crusader slowly gained strength, he entered into the image of a warrior. The air vibrated around him. The moment was lost. The tramps felt it. The indestructible knight took a step towards the chieftain, smoothly drawing out his sword. The robbers ran away screaming.
The knight touched his chest. There, in his chest, was his only wealth. It was there. The Holy Grail glowed with emerald light inside his chest.
CHECK CONNECTION
First, first, I'm second.-
- Get in touch.
- Get in touch
The time has come, he was called. His name was. He felt an inner call, like an echo in the mountains. He fell on the sofa, arms outstretched - wide open. Birds of thought flew out of his head in flocks. They were blown away by the gaze-wind. It originates in the depths, freeing consciousness from the yoke of vanity. The ringing in my ears turned into a mosquito squeak and burst. Breathing time slowed down and disappeared. The heart beat slowly, strongly, calmly, inaudibly. The first wave passed through the body, then the second, the third. They merged. The white flash-explosion continued. He disappeared from this world, united.
Second, second.
- I am the first.
- The first one is in touch.
Heavy clouds were crawling over the suburban platform. Bright stripes of light, as if through a curtain, pierced a layer of clouds and beautifully illuminated our sinful earth. The set of the play called “Life” was illuminated.
Granny, covered in bundles and bags, was hurrying to catch the approaching train. I was in a hurry. She ran...
There was already the last flight of stairs left when one of the knots fell apart and grandma’s simple belongings scattered down the steps.
The train is still standing, and the granny’s despair reaches its limit - what to do? Grab the rest and rush through the inviting doors, or collect and wait for the next train? Despair.
It was as if two invisible hands were tearing her mind apart. Thunder and lightning.
The grandmother threw the bags, threw the bundles off her shoulders, kicked them and spat on it all in the heat of the moment. With her hands on her hips, she stared blankly into the distance, where the sun was slowly setting.
“I wish I could stand like this all my life,” the grandmother thought.
A little bird flew over her head, chirped loudly, turned over in flight and disappeared into the sky.
And in my grandmother’s soul a pretty little girl was dancing. As a child, she was perky and combative.
Tears flowed down her face and along her wrinkles, mixing with small drops of rain.
The train started moving, and through the cloudy windows of the train, concerned people looked at the strange old woman standing motionless on an empty pier. They were driving. They made it in time. They're lucky. The train carried them forward - the performance continued. There is only one less actor.
And music flowed over the empty platform.
A child was dancing.
WOW!
- Woman! Why alone in the mountains? -Yes?
I got lost, fell behind on the excursion, and the bus left.
“I will guide you,” said the middle-aged, strong horseman and led her through the pass.
The woman trotted after him happily.
They spent the night in the hunting lodge, he prepared dinner and laid out her burka by the fire. And she didn’t know how to thank him.
They silently looked into the fire, and suddenly she began to sing, unexpectedly for herself, in a clear chest voice...
The woman remained with him forever in the mountains. -WAH!!!
A crack snaked across an antique vase.
She appeared when my wife screamed in horror.
swayed in front of her King Cobra and hypnotized my wife. The child woke up and cried.
The wife's scream lasted endlessly on one high note, the snake swayed, the child cried - time stood still.
I clapped my hands, the snake crawled away, my wife fell silent, and the vase broke.
The snake flowed and disappeared into the old ruins, looking for a saving shadow. The heat crushed all living things with a hot stove.
The shadow from the wall was large and velvety. There was enough space for both of us. Me and the snake. We looked at each other and were silent.
Unnoticed by myself, I fell asleep. In a dream I saw a snake. We looked at each other and were silent.
When the sun set, I woke up and didn’t know where I was! I was sitting on a velvet cushion in a beaded robe next to a fountain, and a girl was sitting opposite me. I laughed and told my concubine what an amazing dream I had about ruins, the sun, and a snake.
I learned to wake up in another world at another time. Time is sleep, fire is water.
Komsomol members
The candle burned on the table and warmed the entire barracks with its amber light.
The Komsomol builders looked at it and dreamed of summer, comfort, love, a new city - a garden. They were young and pure. They were warmed by faith.
In the morning, impacts on the rail drove them into the slush of the shock construction site.
A candle burned under the sweatshirts and in the eyes.
An English reporter swore and wrapped himself in a fur coat. He looked at the young and happy builders with surprise and misunderstanding. There must be some secret here? The reporter thought to himself. The mysterious Russian Soul.
There were no candles in the Englishman's house; he had electricity.
KARAPUZ
- Angels, Angels, I see you! – lifting his light head up and pointing his sausage finger at the sky, the boy muttered this phrase monotonously. Spinning and dancing at the same time. He alone could see the Angels. He saw through the spheres of the universe how Angels floated in the violet sky, making crystal sounds, indulging in love. The Angels could do nothing else. The angels rang and lived in love. They were surprised to find that they were being seen by an earthly child.
Angels, Angels, I see you! – the child repeated tirelessly.
Large white doves spiraled down from the sky. They sat on a branch above the child’s head and looked in surprise at the plump and impudent boy. The boy happily jumped on the spot, slapping his thick thighs with his palms, and kept shouting: “Angels! Angels have come to me! Mom - look!”
The pigeons cooed and the boy screamed. Mom looked at him from the window and thought: “What to do with this child? Maybe I should show it to a doctor?”
The sun was setting. People were returning from work. And the fat little one talked to the birds as usual.
Another day passed in an urban village.
The night violet bloomed and smelled in the dark. No one can see, no one needs her tenderness, her ladyship.
“And it’s very good,” the violet told herself, “you don’t need to prove your beauty to anyone. No one will pick me up in a bouquet and give it to my sweetheart. Either she complained or she made excuses.”
But the violet cried in the dark.
But the violet cried with the evening dew.
And the sky twinkled with starry eyes.
And the sky whispered to her with starry lips
“You can’t be seen in the dark, but it’s easier to be yourself
You can't be seen in the dark, but I'll open a flower
You will forget yourself in the dark and blossom in freedom
You drink the dew-beauty of the earth, and look like a flower into the sky."
The night violet smiled, bloomed and smelled in the dark. And a thin, delicate aroma flowed over the earth.
The child ran his finger along the foggy window.
It has been a damp, rainy autumn for a long time. Mom went to the store and he was alone.
The child drew with his finger and watched as the droplets rolled down, leaving paths behind them.
The room was warm and quiet, but outside the window it was brrrrrrr. Having finished with one glass, he moved on to another. The boy ran his finger over the glass, and amazing patterns appeared on it, monograms that connected something in this world.
The boy moved his finger along the glass and intertwined, connecting the visible and the invisible.
The angel silently kissed the child on the forehead, and the boy joyfully smiled at the dove sitting on a branch outside the window.
The boy ran his finger along the glass and smiled. The sky was clearing.
The shield was ancient, copper with deep marks from swords and axes. For many generations it hung on the wall, making us proud of our ancestors. Even women secretly touched him.
The copper rivets were arranged in three rows in a circle, much like the sun.
When war came to the mountains, I took this shield, although it did not provide protection against cannons and bullets.
... Our detachment was surrounded in the gorge by the Russians. The sun rose and reflected on my shield. I stood in front of a pile of stones that served us as shelter, with an old saber and shield. Because of the embankment, the mountaineers called me back, but I was not afraid - I had a shield.
The Russians have left...
The shield was ancient, copper with deep marks from swords, axes and bullets. It still hangs on our wall.
He choked on the pulp of a watermelon, trying to quench his thirst. He fled from the uranium mines of Turkestan. And finally I came across a melon plant. He smashed watermelons on his knee and plunged his whole face into the sweet pink pulp. He ate and drank at the same time.
Having eaten, he felt someone's presence. Behind him stood an old Turkman with two shepherd dogs and shook his head. The ZEK was silent, and fear flowed in a cold wave down his back.
There was a painful silence. It went on and on. ZEK doomedly sank onto the sand. But the old man and his dogs silently disappeared into the sand.
In the evening he drank tea in the yurt. The old man’s large family gathered around, everyone was looking at him.
... In the autumn, when there is slush outside the window and he drinks tea, he remembers Turkmenistan and that tea.
***
PSYCHIATRIST
“Honey, do you know? “I love my crazy people,” the doctor said dreamily to his wife, “only with them can I be myself.” They are like dogs - when they love, they love, when they don’t love, they growl. They are honest."
“I want to go with you, I’m interested,” said the wife.
... After work they didn’t speak for three days and then got divorced.
“I love my crazy people,” said the doctor, looking in the mirror, slowly shaving his stubble, purring the usual tune. He didn't miss his ex-wife, he was preparing for a new working day.
PROFESSOR
The radiance spread, flickered, floated. A light spot enveloped his entire figure. The old professor was resting in his office. He was reclining in an old leather chair. Now he couldn't think about anything, he was now in touch. Now he has become a creature of light again. And the light shimmered in him, lived.
When he finally came to his senses, he spent a long time restoring his earthly memory; he wanted to eat and love. And tomorrow he gave a lecture. The students were very interested. The Noosphere is not the Internet for you, gentlemen, students.
He had a powerful back. On both sides of the spine there were hills of spinal muscles. Flows of energy along the spine descended in tight waves from above and ascended from below, without mixing or interfering with each other. Atlas held the sky. The spine - like a tree trunk - connected Heaven-Uranus (Father) and Earth - Gaia (Mother). It still stands today. This is the axis of the Earth. Magnetic forces from the Earth's core move in and out through it, creating a protective field around the planet. Hard cosmic rays bloom with the northern lights, forming an ionizing layer where they touch, this is its shield.
Titan, the son of the Earth, holds the Sky, leaning on the Earth.
The arrow flew, tearing through the air, hissing and whistling.
Light, flexible, long, she flew, admiring herself and freedom. She flew without knowing her goal. She didn't need it. The flight itself captivated her.
Her song, the song of the wind, could only be heard by the old war bow. He looked after her, he knew the goal, and she, young, graceful, with striped eagle plumage, laughing, flew further and further. She laughed at him, and he admired her.
Having reached the zenith of her flight, she realized with fear that the flight was over, and now the fall had begun. She rushed towards the ground. Having sunk deeply into the ground, the arrow trembled sadly for a long time with its elegant plumage.
The arrow was brought back to the old bow and placed in a tight quiver with the sisters.
The old bow taught its arrows not only to fly, but also to thirst for purpose.
When the time came and the bow was drawn to its full extent, and the arrow flashed like lightning, her target beckoned her, her target called her. But before the arrow and the target became one, the old war bow was already there.
An isomorphic transformation suddenly happened to me.
Hyperspace swelled with hyperemia and spat me back into the modern continuum. It's finished! HOORAY!
The dimensions aligned, I cooled down, renewed. The algorithms of consciousness and subconsciousness turned out to be absolutely identical. The young organelles vibrated and produced protons. Hooray! The pituitary-hypothalamic zones were harmoniously conjugated. And that’s worth something!
The greatest transformation is complete!
I went outside. The soul sang. An old friend approached me.
Will you drink?
- But of course!
Ahead of me was the night and a new isomorphic transformation.
AND WHAT YOU PULL BY THE Whiskers of a SLEEPING TIGER,-
PULL THE DRAGON
The teacher taught the student:
“Life is yours, my friend, the endless body of a dragon. People flow like water over scales, slide over the tiles of the world, and their destiny is the groove of habit. Then you won't be able to escape. Everything is Khan! Life is a dream.
Is that why you came to me? From melancholy, spiritual frustration. Because you are still young and inexperienced. Therefore, it means that the resin-resin in you has not yet hardened, it has not taken on bark. Tell me, kid, have you ever wanted to pull the dragon’s whiskers, or rip off the scales and tiles at least once? Then the dragon will rise up and look into your Soul with the golden eyes of eternity! And he will ask, “Who are you?”
The inspired student rushed to the teacher and tore out a piece of it gray hair from the top of the head. Clutching hands, they looked furiously into each other's eyes.
The dragon woke up.
A golden glow spread around, slowly gaining strength.
Don't pull the whiskers of a sleeping tiger.
Yank the dragon.
A dusty detachment of warriors rode along a narrow, winding gorge. This is all that remains of the magnificent twelfth Roman legion. They no longer feared a rockfall from above, an ambush ahead, or a pursuit from behind. They were released.
They must report to the Senate of Great Rome that the tribe of mountain Aols are not barbarians or cowards, and they will speak with Rome only on equal terms.
Great Rome no longer sent its famous legions. I did not send any ambassadors to these wild, distant mountains. The Aols died out on their own.
The sword dulls on the scabbard, but sharpens on the stone.
You decide for yourself who you are - if you are a sword, don’t hide, if you are a stone, lean in and love the sparks, and if you are a sheath, open up.
Children of war.
Their eyes give them away. The embers of pain flicker in them and do not burn out. In all the hot spots of the WORLD, this childish look is the same. Entire generations grew up who did not know PEACE. They have learned to fight well, but they don’t know how to live in harmony with the WORLD. In the name of what ideals can the SOULS of children be crippled?
The politician’s face on the poster is so pure and bright, almost an icon. Posters and politicians are temporary, but CHILDREN are not.
Children of War grow and grow, their eyes give them away. WAR burns inside their SOUL.
The question arises. Maybe someone needs all this?
This simply cannot be explained by politics alone.
The owl glided silently over the river. She loved to eat not only mice, but also fish. And to be honest, this was no ordinary owl. She loved the flight itself, the open surface of the river, and she knew how to be happy. At all. Just.
This is how a young fisherman was once happy. He was young, independent, successful, but most importantly, the girls became dumb and shyly lowered their eyes under his flaming gaze. Ono loved and knew how to sing. His voice was captivating and penetrated deep into the soul.
When night fell on the village, his song sounded, and many young ladies could not sleep until the morning.
Once upon a time moonlit night by the river he looked into the emerald eyes of the mermaid, but she did not become numb and did not lower her eyes...
The fisherman disappeared.
Now he's an owl, but it's okay - he's still happy.
PYRAMID
The parched lips were cracked, the burning eyes were sunken, and thick shadows lay around them. A man staggered through the desert. His thoughts swarmed only around water. My head was buzzing, and a rare, thick pulse was beating like an alarm bell. It was already the end of the second day that he was looking for water.
The sun was setting, the day was dying. And a man died with him. Life left him in beads of sweat. Doomed to settle on the sandy soil, he swayed and raved. He drank mineral water, swam in the fountain, champagne fizzed in a tall glass.
He opened his eyes and red circles began to float. Then he lay down on his back and looked at the sky, the almost violet, transparent, evening desert sky. Having resigned himself to the inevitable, he lay with his arms outstretched and waited. A desert fox ran past him, then several hedgehogs scurried past, all of them running calmly and purposefully.
More for company than for reason, the man crawled after them on all fours. Behind the dune, a low, about ten meters, pyramid opened up, built of sandstone. A trench spiraled down from the top. Evening and morning dew collected in droplets. At the foot of the pyramid there was a “bathtub” - a monolith of sandstone with a hollowed-out container - a reservoir that stored and accumulated moisture.
There were wolves, hedgehogs, hares, and gazelles standing in line. There was no commotion or fighting. Over the centuries, everyone seems to have learned to get along.
A man stood in line without fear, and a wild camel lined up behind him. Having drunk to the gills, the man fell asleep right there near the pyramid.
In the morning he cleaned the gutter and bathtub and could not marvel at the simplicity and genius of the ancient people.
He began to take care of the pyramid. During the day he slept in her shadow, and at night, at night he looked at the starry sky.
He fell in love. Maybe for the first time in my life. It was love in general. Drops of dew settled on the stones of the pyramid, and along with the moisture the sky settled, all the stars, all the worlds were in the dew, united, alive. He drank and filled himself up.
... When they found him, he was crazy and tried to hug and kiss everyone, singing and dancing all the time.
They managed to keep him in the mental hospital for no longer than a month.
... The sun sets, and through the desert a man is walking. The pyramid is calling him.
PIPE
The trumpet sounded like distant thunder. Its peals rolled like stones over the hills and valleys. The heavens shook from its roar, the stars turned pale and disappeared.
The Carpathians were preparing to welcome the Sun. Three trembita slowly rose to the heavens and then dispersed in different directions.
The silver velvet roar shook out everything gray and hateful, and the world sparkled with the washed colors of the morning. The dew shimmered like real diamonds.
The trumpet finally fell silent. The sun has risen, the dew has dried, but the roar continues to roll across the ground.
Somewhere very, very far away, in seventh heaven, a heavenly trumpet is probably blowing, its peals sound like the music of the spheres.
Sometimes it is heard on Earth.
The wings grew slowly but constantly. They came out through the skin in the area of the shoulder blades, causing severe itching and tingling. They rose above his head and connected with large flight feathers, forming a snow-white arc-aura.
The rising sun painted them a soft scarlet color.
Slowly, very slowly, the man straightened them out. The wings were still wet and fragile. The fresh morning breeze gently flowed through them, drying and strengthening the feathers.
Having straightened it to the end, the man raised his wings above his head, a dazzling snow-white halo enveloped him from all sides, making the man himself ridiculously small. Feeling the power of the wing, the man gently swung his wings back and forth. A blue wave of goodness swept through the valley. These waves know no limit because they are not fighting with anyone.
The sun was rising, the man was standing, his wings were filled with white light... The world was changing...
At night, when darkness covers the mountains, he, filling the world with subtle light, will lose his feathers.
Before dawn he will fall asleep, and then everything will happen again.
TWO WORLDS
The beast looked through the thickets and became mute. People were bustling about on the shore, a lot of people, children were running. The women cackled over the cooking, and the men grilled kebabs and opened bottles and got smart.
The wolf looked and pressed himself into the ground, narrowing his eyes anxiously. Smells, sounds, and most importantly, the unusual tension emanating from people pressed on him - something broke and disappeared from his forest.
He tried to understand people, but could not. And people did not notice anything around them at all - neither the forest, nor the river, nor the sky. They just used it all. They chopped branches, threw garbage into the bushes and shot at bottles with a pistol. People felt like masters of this world.
The beast looked through dense thickets and went numb. He kept trying to understand what THEY were and couldn’t find an answer. People themselves didn’t know him, because they never asked themselves this question.
The Beast looked, and the Masters, it turned out, were blind from birth and therefore ruthless, just as small children who do not yet know what someone else’s pain is can be ruthless.
People simply DID NOT SEE THE WORLD.
The beast looked and was speechless...
The signal was heard...
A Dragon was flying high above the clouds. The power enveloped him in a shimmering shell. She was his essence, it was she who carried his huge scaly body in space.
The dragon flew, reveling in the flight, he was flying home after a job honestly done. Lightning danced in his eyes, and discharges ran through the scales of his skin.
The dragon was filled with liquid cold fire of harmony. The dragon liked this job - saving worlds.
A Dragon was flying high above the clouds. His heart and the heart of the mountain connected and a tunnel was formed. A few moments later the Dragon was already circling over his lair.
Through the dense thickets of the forest, the Beast looked up, beyond the clouds.
***
EVENING
The fire burned down as it cooled down, and I couldn’t take my eyes off the flickering coals. The darkness moved closer and put its cool palms around my shoulders.
The brake was gripping me deeper and deeper. I couldn’t take my eyes off the dying coals, I couldn’t throw my jacket over my shoulders.
A night moth landed on my hair, and the two of us looked at the coals. In the distance we can hear dogs barking, the wind moves the bushes, but we cannot move. We are comfortable with this numbness.
They called me from home, but I am silent. Something inside comes to life and begins to move. I now remind myself of a chrysalis in which the transformation from a caterpillar into a moth takes place. The moth holds me by the hair, as if to say - just a little more, just a little more. Your chest is buzzing and spinning, your stomach is hot, your eyes are swimming, and your lips naturally stretch into an idiotic smile.
Friends come up to me and kick me, laughing. I don't move inside, but I fall to the side.
The moth flew away and I blinked, I moved.
Having risen, I begin to entertain the guests and offer barbecue.
At night I hugged my pillow.
LAKE(meditation)
White petals fall on the water - these are my gardens blooming.
YES!
My lake became like a bride.
YES!
And I sit on the shore and look at it, and am reflected in it.
I'm silent.
YES!
And he sat there for a long time, calm and motionless.
YES!
And for a long time I looked at my lake
And suddenly, slowly at first
And then everything goes faster
The streams flowed and the petals floated
Spirals and tangles of petals emerged
The heavenly pattern was reflected on the surface of the lake like a dream.
HOORAY!
The pupil also reflects the SKY
I was amazed by the action
After all, I was motionless and there was no desire
But something, something happened
The window has opened!
The SKY shed a life-giving spirit on the lake
And it came to life, my lake
Springs gushed from its depths,
Then everything started moving and spinning
And the water column brightened
And having overflowed with vigorous water,
The lake poured out moisture
To my sinful land
Looks like we don't have long to wait
When the gardens bear fruit and the children laugh
And I still remained motionless.
A drunkard was staggering along the road. The face was blurred, and the stupid smile of a somnambulist wandered across it.
He stopped working miracles - they turn into a circus, he stopped preaching - they turn into fairy tales. He simply showed Love-Freedom in its purest form.
A drunkard was staggering along the road. People look at the World only in images that are understandable to them. Look and see essentially different things.
A young lady walked towards him, or rather swam.
When he looked up, he saw contempt, and she saw blue bottomless love. You can drown in it, but it’s easier to get scared. And the young lady reflexively recoiled. Flushing, she tutted further. She was completely engulfed in the flames of noble indignation. The flames hummed in the wind behind her. She moved further and further away from her Teacher, but irreversible changes began inside her.
A drunkard was staggering along the road. Another proud frozen creature was moving towards him.
The moth was flying in the night and saw the fire of a candle.
- I love!
And it burned down.
I wish I could do this too - to see the light of heaven at least once, to open up and burn in love.
***
When the Tatars took the last supplies of food, the last horses and cows, when they took everything! Horror, tears and confusion fell on the village.
BUT at the same time, something incomprehensible, witchcraft began. When the sun began to set, a child suddenly laughed, then laughter, like a fire, engulfed everyone. Laughter covered the people like an ocean wave.
The guard Tatars' hair began to move. Freedom broke into people.
The Tatars fled in horror.
- Shaitan has possessed the Russians!
This was the beginning of the end of the Tatar yoke.
He was plowing the field.
The sun had not yet risen, but it was already light. And suddenly a burning joy pierced him - this is his field, his land, and he is the owner, he himself is on his own Earth.
His father was no longer alive, and he only now heard his words: “There is no greater happiness than the happiness of working on your own land. You are your own master and no one has power over you.”
He fell and hugged the Earth. The earth breathed into his face. Thick tart aroma. He went into ecstasy and poured out.
Now he understood how to love a woman - all at once and at the same time. That's how it is!
The grandfather came up and said: “Get up, grandson. I see it’s time to send matchmakers.”
When the sun set, he was still plowing, and a smile wandered across his face.
Monks walked along the road and looked at the plowman with pity. In their eyes he was almost equal to his oxen.
And he looked after them with pity, wiping away the sweat and did not compare. They were waiting for him at home. The owner.
The embryo ceased to be one when the heart began to beat. Now he is a fruit. The flesh became fertilized by the soul. The brain has not yet matured, but consciousness is already pulsating like a heart, aware of itself. For the first time a woman can feel real contact with YOUR child. Now she will never be alone.
The embryo lives and develops in the warm, safe world of the mother. These months of pregnancy are a whole life for him. He understood and accepted this world.
The fetus really did not want to be born, that is, to die. The fetus is afraid.
Just like we don’t want to die. What birth is for a butterfly is death for a pupa. But from a crawling caterpillar emerges an ephemeral creature, a butterfly.
When a person has anxiety in his chest. This is the embryo of the Soul coming to life. Attention, be careful - childbirth is possible.
TIT
(Better a bird in the hand than a pie in the sky)
A tit was jumping on the windowsill. She flies here every morning at this time. I always cut lard for her, and for this she sings for a long time under my window.
I don't have any lard today. I have nothing at all: no wife, no job, no money. But I have a tit. She turns her head and looks at me with beady eyes. And I look at her with a heavy, hungry gaze from behind the cold window.
The doorbell rang. On the threshold stood Galya Busel (crane), my unfulfilled love. She came from America. She hugged me for a long time, cried, screamed. And I quietly asked her: “Galya!? Do you have lard?
He slept and had a dream:
The constrictor boa constrictor glared at white rabbit. "I love! How I love you!” The boa constrictor streamed through the greenery towards its target.
Gently wrapping his rings around the warm little body, he whispered to the rabbit about a divine feeling - love. The boa constrictor was in languor, and, overflowing with sweetness, the rings closed.
He woke up in a cold sweat. The wife was not sleeping, she was admiring her rabbit.
ASTRONAUT
His eyeballs twitched slightly, his head was thrown back strongly. The air escaped noisily through clenched teeth.
Fiery worlds rushed through him, he did not have time to understand them, he simply swallowed them, choking on speed and light. Bright flashes and gigantic spaces tore his consciousness apart. And he couldn’t stand it - he let it go, expanding to the size of star clouds. He finally stopped twitching - he floated, basked in the energies of unknown luminaries.
When he came to his senses, ambulance I was already slowing down at the emergency room of the hospital on duty. The doctors could not look him in the eyes - his head began to feel very dizzy.
He was released a day later immediately and with relief.
He stood alone in the park, on the playground, with his head thrown back strongly, looking at the sky. The astronaut was getting ready for a new flight. The wind rustled around him and he smelled of ozone.
The Endless Sky has now become his home; he feels cramped on Earth.
The pine forest rustled like the sea. The amber trunks were warm and slender. Even under the pines it was light and dry. The soft carpet of pine needles bounced under my feet.
The forest was reserved. You can’t talk here, you can only be silent, listen to the place.
In the middle of the forest there was a small clearing, like an island, where you could stand and listen to the sound of the surf. It was born high in the crowns, filling both the earth and the sky and filling the clearing in circles.
The man opened up to this noise and after some time a response surge was born in his chest, his body slowly began to sway, and his breath intertwined with the sound of the sea. The breath of the ancient Drevlyans is a quiet song where the SPIRIT merges.
... Years have passed. The first one was built from the pine trees of the protected forest Christian Church. Magi and sorcerers were executed, and the altars were destroyed. The people were beheaded. Zealots of religion deliberately distorted the commandments of CHRIST - GOD IS LOVE.
...Centuries have passed. I, the great-great-great...grandson of the ancient Drevlyans, approach the ancient temple, kiss the golden trunks-logs, press my ear to them and quietly sing, swaying, the songs of the protected forest.
At night I again dream of golden pines, golden waves.
***
Professor of Philosophy
The devil was small, young and nimble.
He sat deep in thought on the shoulder of the philosophy professor. He was tired of these flat lectures from the famous professor. Basically they were about nothing and this uncertainty greatly tormented the students and him.
The devil was thinking how to show the professor the depth and simplicity of real philosophers - the ancient Greeks.
The devil hit the professor on the bald head with his tail. AND!..
And they found themselves in the middle world, between heaven and earth, in the space of philosophy, i.e. in a world of love for wisdom. Where there is no distortion by form, but there is the pure Essence of things. They turned out to be very similar to the professor and Socrates. The streams subsided suddenly and beauty was revealed. And the slightly warmed soul responded gratefully.
When the professor was resuscitated, he vomited in his own department. Long and hard. Then he could not come to his senses for a long time. He giggled all the time and tried to hug the young laboratory assistant of the department. The professor was taken home.
In the evening, after getting drunk in a diner and hugging his friend the devil, he finally knew the joy of free communication and the depth of Greek philosophy. Now he knew exactly HOW to communicate with the guys. Do not teach and torture, but enjoy the knowledge of this beautiful world.
Near the entrance he met his first love:
- Clara! Darling! Do you know where I've been? I have real friends now.
For the first time he dared to kiss her directly on the lips.
The devil sighed with relief.
COLD FIRE
Cold fire burned him from the inside.
He fell ill two days ago when he went to the distant caves of the Kyiv Lavra. He was the last one on the excursion. He decided to fall behind and stand at the holy relics alone. Having blown out the candle, he reached out with his consciousness and hand to the holy father. They merged. He saw everything - his whole life. Feat of the Spirit.
Now the cold fire was burning him from the inside, burning out the gray mold of vanity.
He was lying in the corridor - there was no room in the wards. A consumptive blush bloomed on his cheeks. My thoughts were confused. Chaos. He felt delirium approaching. “I have to do something, otherwise I will lose consciousness and go crazy.” Fear and light fought in him as equals.
He got up, walked over and opened the window. The frosty air refreshed the face, but did not help the Soul. The cold flame flared up. And then he screamed. People can't shout like that. Everyone who heard him had their hair rise. Fear left him forever.
Nurses ran to him, a doctor and a nurse hurried, patients looked out of the wards in fear.
He turned to them, a cold fire flashing in his eyes. The man recovered.
He stepped towards the people.
LITTLE GIRL.
A girl was sitting on a bench, her legs dangling. She was eating ice cream and looking around. Cars drove past her, people hurried, clouds floated, dogs walked. She was the only one sitting and dangling her legs. She hummed.
The girl knew for sure that she was the center of everything. And the funny thing is that it was true.
SALAMANDER
In flames forest fire Salamander danced. And a flock of hunters settled around the fire. They were finishing the first box of vodka. Hunting tales poured in one after another. And Salamander danced in the flames.
When they fell into a heavy, drunken sleep, the fiery water of vodka and the fire of the fire merged. A Salamander danced in their feverish brain.
They didn't go hunting in the morning. They lit a huge bonfire. Having leveled the coal, they danced as Salamander danced.
They came home without weapons, without loot, burned, but happy.
That night they loved their wives as they had never loved before. All the women became pregnant. The Salamander danced in the eyes of the born children.
GRANDFATHER
The old peasant sat and squinted into the sun. The September sun no longer burned, but warmed, caressed his old bones.
Closing his eyes, he bit and swam in the amber living ocean of light. No one needed him anymore, he was an old worn-out man. For the first time, he could take time for himself. He was in no hurry; his worries no longer tormented him. He simply enjoyed the light of the sun and the smells of the garden and the blessed peace.
But then Death came and said: “Now I need you! Went". He raised his heavy palms and, looking in disbelief at the old woman with the scythe, said: “I can rivet your braid.”
***
MEDITATION.
The sound flickered in the darkness. It was so dark that sparks flashed and circles floated. It was so quiet that my ears were ringing. What am I doing here? Alone, at night, in the bathroom, without light. I'm waiting. Moments tick by and nothing happens. I'm waiting and I know for sure that something will shift inside. And so…
The broken connection will grow again in me and I will become myself. Every night I come to the bathroom and wait. But nothing happens.
The sound flickered in the darkness. It was so dark that sparks flashed and circles floated. It was so quiet that my ears were ringing. And then it happened...
In front of the Buddha, disciples - adepts - sat in orderly rows. Many of them have already learned the taste of the Teachings and laws of the Guru. Diligence and reverence were reflected on their faces like a seal. They were waiting for the Lesson.
Buddha looked over the Heads and was silent. He waited for the wave of his light to hit their chest and fill it with heaviness and pain, when the flower of Anahata's heart chakra swells and opens. When the aroma fills your chest and flows with sweet languor. When the eyes become clouded with Love and the world will sway and float.
In the fist of his left hand rested a lotus flower, with his right hand he slowly released the bud by the stem, layer by layer, row by row, the petals opened, and now on right palm Agni the flower sparkled and blossomed with pink light.
Slowly, smoothly, he repeated the Lesson. Again and again.
The students waited tensely, perplexed, silent. Their eyes were watching. The ears listened, but the lesson slipped past them. The Teacher stood in front of them, on his right palm a lotus was born again and again, and the waves, like the surf, hit their hearts, and just like the surf rolled back into the Ocean of Light.
The students sat in orderly rows and waited for the Teacher to play enough and finally begin his Lesson.
And then, in the penultimate row, second from the right, a young man swayed, clasping his hands. He grabbed his chest, his face was distorted by chest pain, he began to choke, his heart opened slightly and was now filled with booze. It seemed to him that he was falling into an abyss, the fear of death looked into his eyes.
The teacher again hid the lotus in his left hand.
The student, having caught his breath, looked at him in a daze.
Buddha, smiling brightly, shook his head: “Yes. Yes. You have heard the Lesson."
Slowly, time after time, layer by layer, the Flower was born...
In prayers, in meditations, many times he came, he asked to the Buddhas.
And every time he heard “No.”
Or rather, he didn't hear anything.
Fasting and other improvements brought nothing. He felt pain. He couldn’t live like everyone else, or rather he didn’t want to.
He sat near the river and died.
He sat and cried, and there were circles in the water.
He lay there, and the world floated around him like a river.
And he saw...
He was very old and therefore learned not to be afraid of death.
And death forgot about him
Having hugged a tree, he became a Tree.
Having lifted a stone, feeling its weight, he became a stone.
He began to appear among people less and less.
He learned to MERGE.
To be and not to be at the same time.
Soon he completely disappeared without a trace,
People didn't notice he was missing.
He became a spirit
***
Changing himself from the inside, he shifted in space, he could wander.
Worlds flowed through him, they were reflected in him, as the sky is reflected in dew.
He flipped through the worlds like pages.
He searched, found and woke up.
He was lying in the stroller again.
Drooling and babbling.
CONVERSATION WITH BUDDHA ONE OF MANY
Buddha: Tell me, why are you so afraid of death?
After all, you have never lived. Your whole life is just waiting for death. You are not here. You're just a dream swept away.
He: And who is talking to you now, Teacher? Here is my flesh and the shadow of this flesh.
Buddha: You are a dream. And your shadow, the evil one, also sleeps. Your whole life is a game. You're playing too hard, honey. You are so used to the game that you don’t hear or see everything outside of it. The world has disappeared for you, and you have disappeared for the world.
But death will destroy this dream. The theater of life will be swept away, and everything that has been accumulated and treasured will disappear overnight. Death tears away our veils and you scream in fear, clinging greedily to life.
And you miss the last chance to see the light of truth. You will end your life in agony. Unconsciousness is the lot of the cowardly.
There is nothing more terrible than human cowardice. It prepares your body for slavery, and your soul for imprisonment. Just as a lion with a cowardly heart is pitiful, so is a man pitiful in his suffering, complaints, and entreaties. THERE IS NO END TO THEM.
You have wrapped yourself in a blanket of lies and stand in soullessness and lack of faith. Living with a false soul is like real death.
Your dream is yours alone. We stole our own freedom. We created a theater for ourselves. We ourselves are actors and directors ourselves. And you clap for yourself, and you cry from yourself. Is this what you call life? - Dream!
Him: My name is Akbar.
Buddha: A dream has no name, but only one name. You have forgotten the name of God. You are a dream, a mind game. Go suffer. You tired me. After all, all words are deception, nothing can wake you up, unfortunate one.
He: But tell me how to live and how to die, Teacher??
Buddha: Just look truthfully, honestly, directly at the world.
When you yourself throw away the veils of pain and the slave chains of the mind fall, then the fear of both life and death will disappear, then you will not need me. We will meet as brothers.
He: How will you recognize me then, Buddha?
Buddha: Oh, I recognize infinity by the fragrance of God.
PINERY
The quiet rustling of the pine tops
Fills my chest with sweet pain,
And childhood is like waves,
Flooded me
Dissolving with every wave
Grains of sand of worries.
Giant Dwarf
If you fall without fear,
Look straight and long
Frozen, without blinking,
You can see the flint mountains,
Valleys, gorges,
And also shady bamboo groves.
Under sudden gusts of wind
Yellow leaves fly up and fall.
The black branches tremble forlornly.
Clear blue sky
Will not give us any more warmth.
Only reflected on a smooth mirror
City pond.
INDIAN EPIC
In the living world there is a stratification into the plant world, the mineral world, and the animal world. So the world of people has its own division - its own levels of consciousness, its own levels of human evolution. Varna, translated from Sanskrit, reflecting color, i.e. color of the aura. Spanish name for Varna
Ready-made essays for different topics.
“Banks are willing to give money to those who can prove that they do not need it.”
The bank provides its services to those who have funds and sources of income.
The banking system is a set of national banks and other credit institutions operating within the framework of a single financial and credit mechanism. The banking system consists of two levels: the Central Bank - the main bank of the country, and credit institutions. The functions of commercial banks can be divided into active and passive. One of the active functions of a bank is issuing loans. Credit – provision to an individual or legal entity in need of money, the right to carry out his expenses at the expense of the bank, subject to guaranteed compensation to the bank for the amounts spent. The basic principles of lending are: urgency, payment, repayment and guarantee. Loans may differ in the method of lending, in the terms, in the nature of the loan and in the subjects of lending. In this statement, the author raises the problem of the active functions of the bank. I agree with the author. Firstly, how wealthier person, the greater the likelihood that he will repay the loan on time. Secondly, it is more profitable for banks to work with wealthy clients, since they take out loans for larger amounts, thereby providing the bank with greater profit. Thirdly, working with wealthy clients is associated with minimizing risks and increasing the prestige of the bank.
In Russia, credit institutions must obtain a license to operate from the Central Bank. The development of the Russian banking system does not lag behind other countries. Mortgage loans are in particular demand, the volume of which in 2012 exceeded the pre-crisis level.
Due to my age, I cannot take out a loan, but I believe that if you approach this issue wisely and responsibly, you can, thanks to a loan, get out of a difficult financial situation.
It is more difficult for less wealthy people to get a loan than for rich people, but sometimes this is the only opportunity to solve their problems.
Cheloyants Naira, 10 A class.
“What makes a man rich is his heart”
L. Tolstoy.
You can't judge a person's wealth by the thickness of his wallet. Only the presence of high moral qualities allows a person to be considered truly rich.
Morality is the degree to which a person has mastered moral values and following them Everyday life. A person may not commit bad deeds because he is afraid of punishment or values the opinions of other people. But the highest degree of development of spirituality is relying in one’s behavior on certain principles. If the desire for profit and pleasure turns into an irrepressible passion, a person’s whole life is subordinated to greed. Insatiable greed and acquisitiveness crowd out everything from the human soul moral qualities. Such a person finds justification for all bad deeds or even crimes if they increase his treasures.
In the etymological dictionary, the word “rich” means “preserved by the gods.” According to Christian teaching, the Lord makes a person rich so that he can use his wealth for the benefit of other people. Then, according to the golden rule of morality, a person will receive respect and kind treatment from others. None material goods will not replace beauty human soul, and this is precisely what attracts other people to us, creates a wide circle of communication.
A striking example moral behavior is the charitable activity of the Russian merchants. Generous donations for the development of culture and education, care for orphans, the disabled and the homeless - all this was a common expense item for Russian merchants in the second half of the 19th century. The most significant results of the charity of the Moscow merchants were: Tretyakov Gallery, Bakhrushinsky Theater Museum, Alekseevskaya Hospital and many other institutions. Nowadays, the traditions of charity have begun to be revived.
I believe that we should continue this trend, and then the number of truly rich people will only increase. When I become economically independent, I plan to spend part of my Money for charity.
Money and material values are not important in themselves. What makes a person rich is his kindness, his mercy, everything that a person values.
Pavel Zaitsev.
“Be more polite to the people you meet while climbing up, you will meet them again when you go down” W. Mizner.
Human life is unpredictable; there are not only ups, but also downs.
Throughout life, a person adapts to his environment. From infancy to old age, a person is included in the process of socialization - assimilation social roles and cultural norms. A person’s position in society is never the same: we perform many social roles, belong to different strata, and have different social status. A person’s position in a stratum, in M. Weber’s opinion, is determined by four main criteria: income, power, education, prestige. The position in one or another stratum is not static. Sorokin introduced the concept of social mobility - a change in the place occupied by a person or group of people in social structure. Social mobility can be individual or group. The reasons for group mobility can be social upheavals, wars, natural disasters. Individual mobility may depend on education, abilities, change of place of residence, change in marital status. There is a distinction between vertical mobility - when a person moves up and down across strata, and horizontal - when movement occurs within the same stratum. Indicators of mobility are speed of movement and intensity. As a result of movement, a person may lose his previous status and be unable to adapt to the new stratum within which he finds himself. Such people are called marginalized. Depending on mobility there are different open societies, closed and mixed type societies - when changing the stratum is prohibited by law, but in fact is possible. Throughout life, a person can improve his education, repeatedly change his place of residence (migration and emigration), change his Family status, do business, make a career. As a rule, other people help an individual move up the social ladder, and not just his personal abilities. But many, having reached the top, forget about those who once helped them, and begin to look down on their friends who are lower in social status. I believe that the behavior of a person who has achieved some heights in life largely depends on his upbringing and on the life principles that he adheres to. While at the top, you must always remember that life is unpredictable, and one day you may find yourself in the shoes of those you now laugh at and despise.
You will learn what an essay is and what its features are. I’ll tell you how material is written in this genre and what formats it comes in. We also cannot do without examples. Let's look at both good and bad examples.
Essay (from franc. essai "attempt", "trial", "essay") - This literary genre prose work of small volume and free composition. Expresses the author’s individual impressions and considerations on a specific subject and does not pretend to be an exhaustive interpretation of the topic.
You can be as subjective as you want here. You are not tasked with covering the entire topic. You do not claim to have an opinion in the last instance. These are just your thoughts on a specific topic.
Michel Montaigne is considered the founder of this genre. His book " Experiments” consists of essays on a variety of topics. For example, about honor, conscience, money, morality, and so on.
The continuators of the tradition were Denis Diderot, Voltaire and Andre Maurois. But these are classics.
Andre Maurois
Dmitry Likhachev
Dmitry Bykov
Yuri Olesha
Essay is also an artistic and journalistic genre that finds wide application V modern world, print and literature.
Instead of facts, the originality of the author’s thinking comes to the fore. Now you don’t need to surf the Internet looking for a topic and newsworthy topic. There is a reason here too. But it’s more likely just a thought, some topic that you grabbed hold of and decided to speculate on.
This is where you show your intelligence and emotions. This is an option to show your style, because you are not limited to a specific style. You can use any expressions and all the colors of the language.
There are no limits here!
This great shape to show your intelligence and erudition. This is one of the ideal formats for a blog. If you look at blogs and websites, they most often consist of articles and essays.
Form and types of essays
There are certain types of essays and their forms. Here is a small classification of this genre.
Main types:
- Subjective ( personal) - a certain side of the author’s personality is revealed
- Objective - refers to some idea or subject of description. For example, some specialist writes material on a certain topic.
- Spiritual and religious
- Philosophical
- Fiction-journalistic
- Literary critical
- Artistic
- Historical and other
According to literary form:
- Letter
- A page from the diary
- Lyrical miniature
- And so on
It also happens:
- Analytical
- Descriptive
- Critical
- Narrative
- Reflective and so on
How to write an essay
Now let's talk about how to write an essay correctly and interestingly.
First, let's look at the criteria for this genre:
- Small volume and specific topic
- Personal approach to disclosure, subjectivity
- Free composition: impressions, memories, associations
- Free use of the lexical composition of the language
- Atmosphere of trust, conversation
- “I am in the world” and “the world is in me”
Essay volume and topic
The volume of essays for scientific materials is between 2 and 3 thousand characters. As a rule, this is for students and professionals. Rarely occurs anymore. There can only be even less.
The only exception is the literary genre. In it, the essay can be of any size because it is a free genre. It can consist of one phrase or an entire book.
The size should be such that you can speak out. To have time to say the most important thing before the reader gets bored.
The next sign is a specific topic.
We don't write essays on the topic " world peace" There is no need to end up with the diaries of a village philosopher after a bottle of moonshine. You need to limit yourself to a specific topic and problem.
Approach and composition
This is also a personal approach to revealing the topic. What do you personally think about this? What are your emotions and sensations? Subjectivity is a hallmark of an essay.
The next thing is free composition.
There are no rules about where to start and how to end. You not only describe your impressions. But you can also describe memories and associations.
For example, you write about how you went to a Moscow bakery. On the street they saw how a young man decided to help an elderly man cross the road.
This made you think about the morality of modern youth. Your memories of Moscow are not today, and 1943. Then you were a child and also observed a similar situation.
That is, in the essay genre you can escape into time and space. Remember something and tell about some associations. This will be a free composition.
Phrases for essays
Another sign is the free use of the lexical composition of the language. These are all the essay phrases that Word highlights for us.
Microsoft Word is an editor for documents. Therefore, he often emphasizes words with a bright expressive coloring. This includes Old Russian and expressive words (cracked, smacked, ranted).
When writing an essay, this should not worry you! After all, in this genre you can use all the richness of the lexical language.
Atmosphere and rules for writing essays
There is still an atmosphere of trust here. This is such an intimate conversation with the reader over a cup of tea in the kitchen.
In the essay we try to show ourselves in the world and the world in us. These are two sides of the genre. What you see and how you feel. And also, what place do you occupy in relation to this event.
Essay writing rules:
- Write about what is interesting
- About what you think or feel
- Write the way you want
It turns out that writing in this genre means trying to be free. But writing freely does not mean haphazardly.
In order for what you write to be interesting to other people, you need to enliven everything with your interest. Learning to write is tasty and fun. Learn to fly freely.
Essay on the topic of
Many people face the problem of how to write an essay on a topic that is right for me. As a rule, there would be no theme, only desire.
I will say that there is an endless number of topics in store for each of us. They are all hidden in our own inattention.
Therefore, first of all, you need to learn to notice the surprising in the inconspicuous - something that you want to write about.
Another important part is to be able to save the found topic. Therefore, it is better to write it down in advance than to simply try to remember it.
In general, it is very easy to choose a topic here.
You can write about what comes to mind now. Or about what interests you most in life. You can even write about your fear or dream.
Events
The theme can be events. This is what is happening around us. Large, small and even barely noticeable. Each of them has its own theme. And if you yourself participate in this event, then you can see it from the inside.
It is very useful to write about an event without delay.
If something happened recently, you can remember details that then begin to be forgotten. And if you add fantasy to the event, it can become an excellent theme for a fairy tale.
Situations
The theme lies in the situation. You gradually stop noticing any usual state of affairs. But you can look at any situation anew if you find a new point of view.
In the literature this technique is called “ defamiliarization"from the word " strange».
Look at the familiar through the eyes of a Martian who arrived on Earth for the first time. You can also look at the situation through the eyes of a child or even a cat.
Impression
It seems easier to derive a theme from new impressions. But even in old ones you can find something important that was not given importance before.
If something is driven into memory, it means there was a reason for it. Therefore, once again work through all your impressions. I'm sure you'll find something interesting for yourself.
Experiences
This is an even more fertile layer to write an essay on the desired topic. Each experience immerses you in some theme.
Experiences are internal events. They are even deeper than external and any other impressions. You just need to think about which genre is best suited to write about a particular experience.
People
Each of those people who are close to us is also a treasure trove of topics. Another person has his own events, impressions and experiences. Therefore, you need to communicate with such people. Ask them or listen.
By talking with people, you can learn about amazing turns in life. And the person himself is also a special topic.
Try to look closely stranger, which is located near you. Imagine who he works for and what his character is. What unusual happened in his life.
Items
Objects also serve as themes. You can write an essay on a topic from an object that you accidentally got. It seems that every thing wants to be solved.
For example, it looks like an ordinary stone.
But if you touch it with your imagination, it can become a meteorite. It could also be an alchemist’s magic stone or a souvenir from distant lands.
Essay structure and plan
Now let's look at what the essay plan should be and what to write here. Here is the structure of writing the material:
- Introduction
- Main reasons
- Additional reasons
- Denouement
- Conclusion
Some of you may not know how to start an essay. But don't worry! There is nothing complicated here. IN first part (administered) it is enough to indicate how you are going to solve the problem.
Don’t write too much here!
The size of the introduction should be small. Just describe in general terms the solution to the problem. Or you can immediately ask the reader a question, and then reveal it in other parts.
It will be even better if you put intrigue at the beginning of the essay. This will very well stir up interest in the material. This is especially useful for some specific and complex topics.
IN parts 2 and 3 you must demonstrate to the reader that you understand the topic. Here you need to show that everything is balanced.
For example, in the second part there will be reasons that support what is in the fourth part. It will be "For". And in the third part there will be reasons against what is in the fourth part.
But this is only a conditional division.
The second part is where you may have your strongest reasons for and against. And in the third part there are some additional reasons.
The main way to write good material- this is writing according to plan. But it shouldn't be too detailed. There were diagrams that were written out inside and out. But the essays in such cases did not turn out the best.
Essay writing plan is an understanding of what you should not tell at the very beginning. This is the ability to leave your main idea just for the denouement. That is, for the fourth part.
Denouement- this is what you claim and state very clearly. It must be something from the second or third part. Add some information from yourself personally. It is important specifically for your essay and statement. Therefore, the fourth point is a denouement.
As a rule, this will be the most voluminous part of the entire material. In it, you again list facts supported by quotes. Only what is relevant to the question is clear, logical and in order.
Paragraph 5, like 1, should be small. It is logically deduced from the fourth point. This is a conclusion from everything said earlier.
Essay Examples
Let's look at some essay examples. At the same time, we will analyze the mistakes that many authors make. To better anchor the topic, you will be provided with both good options, and bad ones.
Bad options
Let's start with the bad stuff. Here is just a small part of the material.
This was an attempt at an essay on the theme of the concert.
The world itself is not shown. There are only emotions that overwhelm the author. But we don’t separate them because we ourselves didn’t understand what kind of event it was. We didn't see anything. Therefore, we are not interested in this.
Here is a second example on the same informational topic.
This is just an event. This may be appropriate as a start. Another example like this might be suitable for a story or article.
But this is not an essay at all!
Why? Because there are no emotions here at all. The world is just shown here. Our task is to maintain balance.
Good Essay Sample
Let's look at some good examples. The first example of an essay is material from Avdotya Smirnova “ Farewell to Slavyanka" It is dedicated to the topic of spirituality.
Firstly, there is a malicious and confidential tone here. Phrases and images were used that would be clearly inappropriate in the article.
Let's just look at the completion of the material. That is, how the author addresses managers, accountants, deputies, and so on.
It is clear that this is quite a free style and association.
At the very beginning of the text there was an appeal to readers ( it's not necessary). It's just a way to create a conversational effect.
There is a reflection of our reality in the 90s and the author’s emotions on this topic. Agree, it was interesting to read such material.
Another good example essay.
Here it is no longer as caustic and figurative as in the previous sample.
It can be seen that somewhere it looks like
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