Part 1Part 2It turned out that clocks-both mechanical and electronic-placed in a strong CSE field started running inaccurately-Time must also have a part in it. All this was the manifestation of the Will of Matter, constantly moving, transforming, and eternally existing. It turned out that back in the 20s the French physicist Louis des Broglie was awarded the Nobel Prize for his discovery of these waves, and that the latter were used in electronic microscopes. It turned out... well, many other things transpired in my experiments and research, but they would lead us into solid-state physics, quantum mechanics, elementary-particle physics, i. e far away from the main characters of our narrative: insects... Meanwhile, I did manage to devise instruments for an objective registration of the CSE-instruments that accurately reacted to the proximity of insect nests.
Here they are in the drawing: sealed vessels with straws and burnt twigs-drawing coals-suspended on spider web threads. There is some water at the bottom to counter static electricity hindering experiments in dry air. If you point an old wasp nest, a bee honeycomb, a bunch of cereal ears to the upper end of the indicator, it slowly moves a few dozen degrees... There is no miracle here: the energy of scintillating electrons of both multi-cavernous bodies creates a total wave system in space, whereby a wave is energy capable of performing a mutual repulsion of these objects-even through obstacles, such as a thick-walled steel capsule (see photograph).
It is hard to imagine that its armor is powerless to stop waves of a tiny, light wasp nest seen in the picture, and that the indicator inside this heavy, solid capsule "runs away"-sometimes as far as 180 degrees-from this long-vacant nest. Yet it is so. Those who have doubts are invited to visit the Agroecology Museum near Novosibirsk-you'll see it for yourselves.
The same museum displays an always-active honeycomb painkiller. It is a chair with an overhead cap that has a few empty, but intact combs of the honeybee ("dry" honeycombs, in the beekeeper vocab) in it. Anyone who sits in this chair will after a few minutes almost certainly feel something (please write to me what exactly you feel, I'll be grateful), while those with a headache will in just a few minutes say goodbye to the pain-at least for a few hours. My painkillers are successfully used in many parts of the country-I made no secret of my discovery.
The hand will clearly sense the emanation if you take it from below, palm up, to the cap with bee honeycombs. The cap could be made of cardboard, veneer, or better still, of tin plate with tightly sealed seams.
Yet another gift from insects...
This was my reasoning at first: people have been dealing with the honeybee for thousands of years, no one has ever complained of anything unpleasant, except of course stings. I held a dry honeycomb over my head-it was working!
I decided to use a set of six frames. Such was the story of my rather simple discovery. An old wasp nest works quite differently, even though the size and shape of its cells are very close to those of bees.
The important difference was that the honeycomb material, unlike that of wax, is more crumbly and micro-porous: it is paper-like (by the way, it was wasps that invented paper, not people: they scrape old wood fiber and mix it with their sticky saliva).
Walls of the wasp honeycomb are much thinner than those of bees, the cell size and pattern are also different, as is the outer shell, also made of multi-layered, loosely wrapped paper. I had reports of a highly unpleasant effect of a few wasp nests in an attic. And besides, most multi-cell devices and objects that will manifest CSE in the first few minutes have a far from beneficial effect on humans. Honeybee combs are a rare exception. And when in the 1960s we had bumblebees living in our Isilkul apartment, I often observed the following.
A young bumblebee on its first trip away from the hive did not take the trouble to remember the entrance and would spend hours wandering around the windows of our house and of a similar-looking house nearby. And in the evening, giving up on its poor visual memory, it would land on the brick wall, precisely outside the hive and would try to break right through it. How did the insect know that right there, four meters away from the entrance, and a meter and a half below, behind the thick, half-meter wall was its home nest? At the time I was lost in conjectures, but now I know exactly why the bumblebee behaved like that. An amazing find, wouldn't you agree?
Now let us remember the experiment in which hunter wasps returned not just to a given location, but to an entirely different place where the lump of soil with their nest had been moved: no doubt, they were able to find it because of a wave beacon created by the nest cavern. And there was another mystery revealed to me by my insect friends. It turned out that to attract their pollinators, flowers use not only color, odor, and nectar, but also a similar wave beacon, powerful and unstoppable.
I discovered it with a drawing coal-a burnt twig-by passing it over large, bell-shaped flowers (tulips, lilies, amaryllises, mallows, pumpkins). Already at a distance I could feel a "braking", as it were, of this detector. Soon I was able to find a flower in a dark room standing one or two meters away from it-but only if it had not been moved, because a "false target" would be left in its old place-the "residual phantom" I already mentioned. I do not possess any supersensory abilities, and any person after some training would be able to do the same. Instead of coal one could use a 10-cm-long piece of a yellow sorghum stem, or a short pencil whose rear end should be facing the flower. Some people would be able to feel the flower (a "warm", "cold", or "shivering" sensation emanating from it) with their bare hands, tongues, or even faces. As many experiments demonstrated, children and adolescents are particularly sensitive to Waves of Matter.
As for bees that nest underground, their "knowledge" of the CSE is vital for them first of all, because it enables the builder of a new gallery to stay away from a neighboring nest. Otherwise the entire bee-city cut through with intersecting holes would simply collapse.
Secondly, plant roots cannot be allowed to grow down into the galleries and honeycombs. Thus roots stop a few centimeters away from the honeycomb, or else, feeling that nests are near, they start growing aside.
The latter conclusion was confirmed by my many experiments on sprouting wheat seeds in a strong CSE field, as compared to seeds germinating in the same climatic conditions but in the absence of the CSE. Photographs and drawings show both the dying of roots in the experimental batch and their sharp deviation in a direction away from my "artificial honeycomb".
Thus bees and weeds back at the lake had long ago made a pact-another example of the highest ecological expediency of all Being. And in that same spot on the globe we see yet another example of people's mercilessly ignorant attitude to Nature...
The bee-city is now gone; every spring thick streams of fertile black earth soil run down, between filthy heaps of trash, to the lifeless, salty puddles that not too long ago were a string of lakes with countless flocks of sandpipers and ducks, white swans, and hovering fish-hawks. And by the steppe thinned out by bee holes, one used to hear the hum of hundreds of thousands of bees that for the first time led me into the Unknown.
I must have tired the reader with all these honeycombs of mine... A separate thick book would be required to describe all my experiments. Therefore I will only mention one thing: my pocket, battery-powered calculator often malfunctioned in the CSE field: it either erred, or sometimes its display window would fail to light up for hours. I used the field of a wasp nest combined with that of my two palms. None of these structures had any effect in isolation.
I will also note that hands with their tubular phalanxes, joints, ligaments, blood vessels, and nails are intensive CSE emanators capable of giving a powerful push to the straw or coal indicator of my little instrument from a couple of meters' distance. Practically anyone could do it. This is why I am convinced that there are no people with supersensory abilities, or rather that all the people have them... And the number of those who from a distance can move light-weight objects on a table, hold them suspended in the air or "magnetically" attached to the hand is far greater than is usually thought. Try it yourself! I look forward to your letters.
There once was an ancient folk game: one man sits on a chair, and over his head, four of his friends "build" a grid of horizontally stretched palms with slightly spread fingers-first right hands, then left, with 2 cm gaps between them. In 10-15 seconds, all four synchronously put their pressed-together index and middle fingers under the armpits and under the knees of the sitting man, and then they energetically toss him up in the air. The time between "collapsing" the grid and tossing the man must not exceed two seconds; the synchronicity is also very important. If everything is done right, a 100-kilo man flies up almost to the ceiling, while the ones who tossed him claim he was light as a feather.
A strict reader may ask me how it is possible. Doesn't it all contradict laws of nature? And if so, am I not propagating mysticism? Nothing of the sort! There is no mysticism, the thing is simply that we, humans, still know little of the Universe which, as we see, not always "accepts" our, all too human rules, assumptions, and orders... Once it dawned on me: the results of my experiments with insect nests bear too much similarity to the reports of people who happened to be in the vicinity of... UFOs. Think and compare: temporary malfunctioning of electronic devices, disrupted clocks-i. e., time, an invisible, resilient "obstacle", a temporary drop in the weight of objects, the sensation of a drop in human weight, phosphenes-moving, colored flashes in the eyes, a "galvanic" taste in the mouth...
I am sure you have read about all this in UFO journals. I am now telling you it can all be experienced in our Museum. Come visit! Was I standing on the threshold of yet another mystery? Quite so. And again I was helped by chance, or rather by my old insect friends. And again there were sleepless nights, failures, doubts, breakdowns, even accidents... And I had no one to turn to for advice-they would have just laughed, or worse...
But I can say this, my reader: he is happy who has a more or less adequate use of his eyes, head, and hands-skillful hands are particularly important!-and trust me, the joy of creative work, even of work that ends in failure, is far higher and brighter than earning any diplomas, medals, or patents.
Flying an Anti-gravitational Platform
(excerpts from a diary)
Judge it for yourself from my diary excerpts-obviously simplified and adapted for this book. Pictures and drawings will help you to evaluate my story... A hot summer day. Far-away expanses drown in a bluish-lilac haze; the sky's gigantic cupola with fluffy clouds stretches above the fields and coppices. I am flying about 300 meters above ground, with a distant lake-a light, elongated spot in the haze-as my reference point.
Blue, intricate tree contours slowly recede; between them, there are fields. Those, bluish-green ones are fields of oats; the whitish rectangles with a strange, rhythmic twinkling are those of buckwheat. Straight ahead of me is a field of alfalfa-its green color is familiar, it resembles the oil paint "cobalt medium-green". Green oceans of wheat on the right are of a denser shade and resemble the "chrome oxide" paint. An enormous, multi-colored palette floats further and further backwards.
Footpaths meander between fields and coppices. They join gravel roads which it turn stretch further out, toward the highway, still invisible from here for the haze, but I know that if I flew on the right side of the lake, I would see it-a smooth, gray strip without a beginning or an end, on which cars-small boxes-are slowly crawling.
Isometric, flat shadows of cumulus clouds are picturesquely spread around the sunny forest-steppe. They are deep-blue where they cover coppices, and are various shades of light blue over fields. Now I am in the shadow of one such cloud: I accelerate-it's quite easy for me to do that-and leave the shadow. I lean forward slightly and feel a warm, taut wind coming far down below, from the sun-warmed ground and plants. It comes not from the side, as on the ground, but strangely from the surface up. I physically feel a thick, dense current with a strong odor of blooming buckwheat. Of course this jet can easily lift up even a large bird-an eagle, a stork, or a crane-if it freezes its spread wings. But I have no wings and am suspended in the air not by the upward jet.
In my flight I am supported by a flat, rectangular little platform, slightly bigger than the seat of a chair, with a pole and two handles to which I hold on and with whose help I navigate the device. Is this science fiction? I wouldn't say so...
In a word, the interrupted manuscript of this book was abandoned for two years because generous, ancient Nature, again through my insect friends had given me another Something-and it did so, as usual, elegantly and inconspicuously, yet swiftly and convincingly. And for two years the Discovery did not let me go, even though it seemed to me I was mastering it at a break-neck speed.
(Note: Grebennikov would have been approximately 62-63 years of age in 1990-1992)
But it always happens this way: when your work is new and interesting, time flies twice as fast. A light spot of a steppe lake is already much closer. Beyond it, the highway is visible with already distinctly discernable boxes of cars. The highway is about 8km away from the railway that runs parallel to it, and if I look closer, I can see the poles of the power line and the light-colored embankment of the railway. It is time to turn some 20 degrees to the left.
I am not seen from the ground, and not just because of the distance: even in a very low flight I cast almost no shadow. Yet, as I found out later, people sometimes see something where I am in the sky-either a light sphere, a disk, or something like a slanted cloud with sharp edges that moves, according to them, not exactly the way a cloud would.
One person observed a "flat, non-transparent square, about one hectare in size"-could it have been the optically enlarged little platform of my device? Most people see nothing at all, and I am for the moment pleased with it-I can't be too careful! Besides, I still haven't determined what my visibility or invisibility depends on. Therefore I confess that I consciously avoid people in my flight and for that purpose bypass cities and towns, and even cross roads and footpaths at high speed, after making sure there is no one on them. In these excursions-no doubt, fictional for the reader, but for me already almost casual-I trust only my insect friends depicted on these pages. The first practical use of my discovery was-and still is-entomological: to examine my secret places, to take a picture of them from above, to find new, still unexamined Insect Lands in need of protection and rescue. Alas, Nature established its own, strict limitations on my work: just as on a passenger plane, I could see but couldn't photograph. My camera shutter wouldn't close, and both rolls of films I had taken with me-one in the camera, the other in my pocket-got light-struck. I didn't succeed in sketching the landscape either; as both my hands were almost always busy, I could only free one hand for a couple of seconds. Thus I could only draw from memory. I managed to do that only immediately after landing-though I am an artist, my visual memory is not that great.
In my flight I did not feel the same way we do when we fly in our sleep.
It was with flying in my sleep that I started this book a while ago. And flying is not so much pleasure as it is work, sometimes very hard and dangerous. One has to stand, not hover, the hands are always busy, and a few centimeters away there is a border separating "this" space from "that", on the outside. The border is invisible but very treacherous. My contraption is still rather clumsy and resembles perhaps... hospital scales. But this is only the beginning! By the way, besides the camera, I sometimes had trouble with my watch and possibly, with the calendar too: descending on a familiar glade, I would occasionally find it slightly "out of season", with a two-week deviation, and I had nothing to check it against.
Thus it is possible to fly not just in space but also-or so it seems-in time as well. I cannot make the latter claim with a 100% guarantee, except perhaps that in flight, particularly at its beginning, a watch runs too slow and then too fast, but at the end of the excursion starts running accurately again.
This is why I stay away from people during my journeys: if time is involved alongside gravitation, I might perhaps accidentally disrupt cause-and-effect relations and someone might get hurt.
This is where my fears were coming from: insects captured "there" disappear from test tubes, boxes, and other receptacles. They disappear mostly without a trace. Once a test tube in my pocket was crushed to tiny bits, another time there was an oval hole in the glass, with brown, as though "chitin" edges-you can see it in the picture. Many times I felt a kind of burning or an electric shock inside my pocket-perhaps at the moment of my prisoner's "disappearance".
Only once did I find a captured insect in the test tube, but it wasn't the adult ichneumon with white rings on its feelers, but its... chrysalis, i. e. its earlier stage. It was alive-it moved its belly when touched. Much to my dismay, it died a week later.
It is best to fly on clear summer days. Flying is much more difficult when it rains, and almost impossible in winter-not because of the cold. I could have adapted my device accordingly, but since I am an entomologist, I simply do not need winter flights.
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