From the author: Dedicated to HARMONY How pleasant it is to sit and listen to the sounds of a large orchestra. It's nice to see how one person, with his movements, brings harmony of sound into the orchestra, and these sounds fill the hearts of all listeners. But few people think that every person is the Great Conductor of his Life. Yes, when a trumpet thunders in your soul, interrupting with its brass protest all the other instruments of your soul - you want only one thing - to get rid of the trumpet, or to run away from this unbearable, inharmonious sound. And here is this man, who does not know that he is the very best conductor of his music and harmony, runs with his batons from his noise and din, buries himself in the routine of everyday and work problems, trying to somehow drown out the unbearable howl of soulful copper pipes and trombones. And it happens that by force of will he silences the hated instrument, in the hope for the long-awaited peace and quiet. And the protest went away, but bad luck, the volume of the concert decreased, and the squeaks and creaks of thousands of violins of hostility and disgust began to be heard. The drum beats began to beat out of place with their outbursts of anger, the piano groaned with heaviness, and the piano gave out the sounds of resentment and tears. The bass guitar filled everything around with its jealousy... And there was no point in listening to such a concert, although the trumpet was already silent, but all this chaos became so huge and clumsy that the conductor simply ran away from himself, trying to forget that he heard in myself, rushed in an attempt to forget this terrible music that poured out and splashed out of a person at every turn of Life, with every new step forward, with every new decision, deed and action... And then the man forgot that it was his concert of Life, and he forgot it like a bad dream, but did not forget that he had sticks in his hands, and they demanded their implementation, and the man understood that he could control these sticks, but he had no strength or strength to return to his concert. And he walks around with his stick-ambitions, and tries his best to manage other people’s concerts, so that the trumpets in the souls of other people never sound, because it was unbearable for the conductor to listen to this sound, because it reminded him of his disharmony. And he doesn’t even listen that in some cases, the trumpets of strangers play harmoniously, beautifully... But there is no way for a person to see and hear this, because he ran away from his orchestra, ran away and is running away from everything that would, in one way or another, remind him of his defeat, and he fights this in full confidence that he is right. And for years he can loiter around, uselessly hanging around other people’s concerts. And the time comes when the instruments themselves understand that they cannot shout to a person, cannot reach them... And thousands of violins begin to play on the conductor’s nerves, driving him into a frantic state, introducing him into unprecedented irritation, inflating him to the skies, and just as unexpectedly from there pushing, hitting the ground, and then all the rest, all the instruments, fall on his head, all indiscriminately fall on the conductor with a rumble, burying him under an unimaginably gigantic heap of fragments of art and creativity and......silence ensues, silence in which death came to all of them emotions, the realization of the futility of the conductor’s play and behavior came, and the conductor realized that it was he who was to blame for everything, and it was he who was responsible for his harmony in the soul, for the music that should have flowed from all the pores of the physical body, carried in every moment that very particle of Light, warmth, comfort, harmony... And the conductor of his Life cries over the wreckage of his instruments, and now, just like before, he does not understand that he is still the same conductor... And not all the instruments are damaged, and that the thin voice of the flute is already playing, and that it plays in such a way that you can listen to it forever, and go and follow this song all your life. And finally, our conductor listened to this voluptuous song, listens to it, gains strength, rethinks his life, and thinks about how to restore other instruments and use them so carefully in the sounding symphony, so as not to interrupt, not to disturb the sounds of the flute, the very one that revived.