shut up!

The word "gibberish" meant talking incessantly and meaninglessly. About the weather, about politics, about fashion. I think that the main trouble of mankind is that it talks all the time. People have forgotten how to be silent.

In the early 90s, when a catastrophe could happen to my body, one very clairvoyant (she was even taken to work at the KGB Brain Institute at one time) gave the highest quality advice: “If you want to save your life in this in a vain world, spend at least one day a month (or better a week) in silence. And it’s even better that this day be unloading in the sense of food. ”

In Russian, which I always turn to for advice, there is a proverb: “Silence is golden!”

I think that the main trouble of mankind is that it talks all the time. People have forgotten how to be silent. The word "gibberish" meant talking incessantly and meaninglessly. About the weather, about politics, about fashion... It doesn't matter what, just to chat. All mankind talks in the evenings. It fusses. Brains on one side, aura in tatters…

If people didn't overeat and were silent more often, many troubles on the Earth simply wouldn't exist.

It is interesting that in our time there was such an expression: "I heard you (a)", very popular among managers-koekaker. It spread throughout the social order, which I call "the manure of history." Someone once said, and now everyone repeats, thinking it's cool. I recently discussed with a young woman - a producer, the premiere of a documentary film about Prophetic Oleg on REN TV. We talked for about ten minutes on the phone, and suddenly, after my next advice, she says: "I heard you." I couldn't take it. I forgave her “trailer”, “teaser”, “stand-up” and other freak words, but when, after ten minutes of talking, she said “I heard you”, I got up: “What is this? Did you hear me just now? Haven't you heard me in the last ten minutes?" Thank God, she understood the stupidity of this managerial, supposedly cool, expression and giggled.

Poets feel the truth. They know how to be silent. That's why they have poems. A poet cannot leave a restaurant after chattering and hanging out and immediately start writing love poems. Nothing will work.

Unfortunately, not everyone knows Lenya Filatov among the youth today. He was very close to me. He passed away early. Of course, the older generation remembers him as an actor, and as a director, and as a poet. But even when at a press conference with journalists I talk about how we were friends with him, young journalists hang out: “Who is this?” I have to explain. We must pay tribute, many people remember Lenya if I mention the tale about Fedot the Archer. But he was also a poet. My friend Vladimir Kachan wrote music based on his poems - these are still one of my favorite songs. They helped me in my life. I consider my favorite works that support me and work like some kind of energizers - I listened and recharged.

To which of the soloists I did not offer, everyone refused to sing these songs - they say, this is unrated. In general, education is not in the ranking today. A woman complained to me in a letter: “I work in a library. Somehow I'm sitting, reading a book, there are no visitors. A director from the modern generation comes and says: “What do you read all the time? So soon there will be nothing to talk about with you!

Lenya was a sage poet. Already in the 70s he wrote poems about how important it is to be able to be silent in life.

My clairvoyant friend was right. I was saved by the ability to isolate and isolate myself from the endlessly chattering society.

Moments of silence

Close your eyelids tightly And do not open your eyelids, Listen and answer:

What century is it today? In a universe that has gone mad, As in a kitchen among the troughs, We are stuffy from dixends, Parliaments and bullfights.

We all do not want to believe that the world is exterminated Heresy pleasing to the heart, named "silence". We are drawn to the deaf squares - Away from the squares,

Cleaned from filth, Cars and queues.

Perhaps this gravel, Stool and jasmine - The last of the guarantees At least somehow improve the world. Surely our gods Are not powerful and free To demand from the era Moments of silence,

Short, like a shot, Piercing, like a scream... And how many forgotten truths Would be revealed at this moment,

And how many beautiful ladies would not reborn into fools, And no matter how many vain bullets flew out of the muzzle,

And how many “Napoleons” Hesitated to shout “Blow!”, And no matter how many scorched ones Did not collapse into the feather grass, And no matter how many arrogant pawns Did not get out of the tail, And no matter how many of our choristers

managed to live to a hundred!

Councils are in vain... Discussions are not needed... That's all there is to it, brothers, - A moment of silence...

Author: Mikhail Zadornov