From the author: On the Other Side of Choice. And eat the fish, and don’t wash the frying pan. “The taste of copper money in the mouth under the tongue... Charon dips the oar into Lethe. I don’t know myself today And I confuse the verses in every song.” Carrier. Charon. It cannot be bypassed on the way from the world of the living to the world on the other side of reality. He should receive a reward for the crossing. The person crossing is required to pay a fee. I thought about how often I have met these Guardians of the Threshold in myths and fairy tales. Three-headed Cerberus, who needs to be fed, and the same-headed Miracle Yudo on the Smorodina River, the Slavic analogue of the Styx. And the Witches' Huts on the edge, on the Edge of the Forest, on the Border, and the Trolls on the Bridges connecting the two banks of the river, and the Minotaur, the Sphinx, and... I know many stories about the moment of transition to a new state, a new reality, a new life. Or death. The guard does not ask for my payment. He doesn't seem to care whether I go or not. I wasn't invited there. However, if you want to go “to the other side”, a fee is required. Perhaps these will be my chains. The chains of my slavery are on “this shore,” but how dear they are to me! I became close to them, they grew in. And what a pity it is to give away what is “native”, even if it burdens life. And the Guardian doesn’t ask you to give them to him... with cold indifference, I don’t care if you go. It’s less of a hassle for him to carry around your chains and then “write them off to the warehouse.” At this Threshold, I don’t understand the need to give up my chains; it seems to me that I’ll happily carry “my cross” further, to that happy shore. And then they will somehow... dissolve on their own... if there is no longer a need for them. I am not ready to part with this little value, and I am only marking time on the old shore, looking over the Guardian’s head at my bright future. I cannot leave work where there is a stable salary. I can't give it away. Both schedule and stability. Yes, there, beyond the crossing, there is my dream, there is business, interest, but... but there is no confidence in the future. Come on, I’ll work where I am now, and when I manage to start my own business, then I’ll leave my hateful job. But after. After. Eh? “Dear Guardian. I hereby assure you of my respect... and could you... well, as an exception...” But the Guardian, it seems, does not belong to my reality. He is between worlds. And he doesn’t hear. Like a computer program, heartless... Can I bring old relationships there? hey Guardian?? I can’t now, I can’t leave my man!! I live with him! Here, where should I go?? For a rented apartment? Dear Guardian... After all, people don’t go barefoot to buy a new pair of shoes?? I will cross Your bridge, to where happiness falls from the sky, I will immediately, immediately leave my idiot as soon as a new groom falls on my head! More precisely, he will fall at my feet and faithfully lick my heel. Then I'll give it back... current one. There's a lot of business! Take it, God, it’s not good for me... I want wealth. What can I give you, Guardian, if I am a beggar? Guardian, are you out of your mind? Now, I’ll cross the bridge, I’ll get rich there, and... then... then. Give your future rich husband your freedom? Let's not now, well, it's an unequal exchange, right? My youth in exchange for gold is not fair. I don’t want to be in a golden cage, and society is against it, they’ll condemn me. Is this what you want, Guardian? Let me go, you understand that instead of freedom, I will now offer my body, and... where are you pushing me? To the panel? “Leave your hope for freebies, leave your ignorance, leave laziness and lack of profession here. You have something to leave!” the Guardian would say if he was bored and wanted to talk. But he is between worlds, and sometimes comes into our dreams with advice. Listening to the wisdom of a two-million-year-old man in your dream is almost like talking to the Guardian. The taste of copper money in your mouth under your tongue... Charon dips his oar into oblivion. I don’t know myself today And I confuse the verses in every song On the other side of the choice you really have to get to know yourself again. Because a fair part of me will remain for the Guardian. The part that was sacrificed will remain. By my own free will. Your Irina Panina! Together we will find!