Why will I go to the "Immortal Regiment"? About those who are against the "immortal regiment" for patriotic reasons.

Not every modern holiday is filled with meaning. This can be understood by answering a simple question: “What are we celebrating?” It is unlikely that many will be able to intelligibly answer about June 12 or December 12. Not so since May 9th. Perhaps, without exception, all citizens of our country know what kind of holiday this is and why we rejoice and celebrate this date. This happens because everyone had or has a grandfather, grandmother, great-grandfather or great-grandmother who fought or worked in factories, lived starving in the village, giving the last for the front, died or survived on it.

If the witnesses of those great events left this world, then they look at each of us from black and white photographs, from a mirror, because some are like their grandfathers like two drops of water, or through the eyes of our children. And that is precisely why this holiday can be considered real and very human.

His human face comes through even through officialdom federal channels, when Vladimir Putin takes the hand of a veteran whom the FSO officers tried to push back, apologizes and walks by his side for a long time and discusses something. This is impossible to play, this is not a performance, but a life in which the son of the same front-line soldier did not allow the impersonal state machine to chew the veteran in his gears of "ensuring the safety of the first person."

The President of the Russian Federation invited the WWII veteran to lay a wreath at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier

Precisely because it real holiday, the organizers do not need to think about the "turnout". People themselves go on their legal day off not for barbecues and shopping, but for many hours and many kilometers in the heat or cold, along with portraits of their relatives and friends, who, perhaps, during their lifetime never paraded through Red Square. In Moscow alone, more than a million people came to the action this year, in St. Petersburg - hundreds of thousands. And so in every city, town and village. Funeral services are traditionally held in churches throughout the country, church communities visit the graves and put them in order.

At least one political movement or party can bring the same number of people to the streets? But our grandfathers and their feat can.

This is the people

The head of the "Immortal Regiment": Our enemies feel the power of the Russian world

Stock " Immortal Regiment” was born from below, as an initiative of students, and in a few years turned into an all-Russian movement. Because despite all the ups and downs and ideological incidents of the 20th century, we still feel like a people. Not by the working class, not by the Caucasian race, and not even by a group of individuals. By the people. Because the people are not only those who live now. These are our grandfathers and our unborn children, this is a living organism, consisting of many cells. If you like, this is the perfect formula of a society where a father holds his son by the hand, and he carries a portrait of his grandfather in orders and medals. And then everything recedes into the background: status, education, income, and the main thing remains: we are aware of ourselves as descendants and full-fledged heirs of the heroes who broke the back of themselves scary monster throughout the history of mankind.

In confirmation of this - the actions of the "Immortal Regiment" around the world. On all continents, people who for one reason or another left Russia suddenly felt this call of blood and became real again, even if they almost forgot how it was.

The only exception is the aggressive minority, hysterically grinning and spitting. People who can't come to terms with the fact that Russia didn't end in 1917 or 1991. They voluntarily cut the umbilical cord that connected them with the people, the country and our history, and now from their vacuum they are surprised and do not understand how one can take those events seriously. Here are the positions of the opposition politician Gudkov replicated by the liberal media:

One cannot seriously demand from people to acutely experience the events of the last century, when they were neither in the world nor in the project ... A country from which the future was stolen is slipped into a stale past: take it, it’s not a pity. At one time they even tried to impose the year 1612 - but it didn’t work out, and they decided to focus on the 45th.

These people now cause not anger, but pity. Because they do not know what we know, who were in the Immortal Regiment column. Sooner or later, Gudkov, and I, and you, we all will die. And when we meet our grandfathers there (and Gudkov meet his own!), with what eyes will they look at us? As affectionate and cheerful as in the photographs we carry?

On May 9, the traditional "Immortal Regiment" will be held around the world. According to the organizers, residents of 100 countries will come out this year with portraits of relatives who died during World War II. 95% of Russians support the action, everyone joins it more people in all cities of the country. Last year, 850,000 people walked along the central streets with the names of veterans in Moscow, this year one million have already been declared. Platon Besedin - about why we should join the column of memory.

The "Immortal Regiment" was born in 2011 among the people and from the people. He matured from the very history of Russian, where the main thing has always been a connection with the ancestors, historical memory. That which protected the country in the most difficult times. And from a regional event, the "Immortal Regiment" has turned into a multi-million procession, now covering 100 countries of the world.

Andrey Platonov has a story "Spiritual people". It is dedicated to one of the battles near Sevastopol. German bullets press the Russian soldier to the ground so that his head cannot be raised. But, shrinking, he remembers his mother's face and, gaining strength, goes on the attack. The soldier dies, but only physically - the victory of the spirit over the body grants him immortality.

Is not fiction- that's how it really was. I talk a lot with veterans, those who went through the war on the battlefields and in the camps, and they all say: you remember your home, mom, dad, loved ones, you remember what you did and what you could not do. The connection with the house keeps you alive, does not let you go crazy from the routine and the proximity of death. And these same people - veterans - told me how they lived, their grandfathers and great-grandfathers before the Great Patriotic War. They lived hard: hunger, cold, poverty, they took away the last. But when the enemy came, the exhausted people rose up, stood up as a single living wall to defend their homeland, and won victory in the very terrible war throughout the history of mankind.

For Stalin? For the party? Of course not. German records - both Goebbels and ordinary soldiers - note the amazing, inhuman perseverance and heroism of the Russians. They sacrificed themselves, they went forward, and the darkness receded. And their fight was not for the party and not for Stalin, but for those who lived in their hearts, who inhabited their land - for parents, for grandfathers and great-grandfathers. For the motherland. Therefore, they won, although everything was against them.

Someone will yelp "crushed with meat." Someone will mumble about the wisdom of command. Someone will hint at the mistakes of the Germans. So be it, but this small one for victory. The main thing is what comes from the depths. This is the tree of achievement. It is not done in spite of, only because of. Achievement is not born out of nothing. Its basis is continuity, when there is a memory of others, when you live for someone and something. And at the root of this is a memory that gives birth to a dream. Memory is focused on the past, dreams are on the future, and between them is the present. That is why what happens on the Immortal Regiment is so important.

In the second half of the 19th century, the Russian philosopher Nikolai Fedorov wrote about a collective resurrection. A very Russian idea: after all, people's memory preserves faith in the triumph of truth as truth and justice after death. And a person is alive as long as the memory of him is alive. The Immortal Regiment is an act of collective resurrection. Everyone remembers a loved one, someone who has passed away - the memory resurrects him, and he stands next to him. And when there are thousands, hundreds of thousands, millions of such people, they all remember what binds them, the living and the dead.

You can't imagine it - you can only experience it. The Immortal Regiment is as natural as life itself. It is born from the depths of people's memory and from the feelings of each person. Death no longer has power. She shrinks away. And everyone who stands in the column holds a photograph not of the dead, but of the living.

I ended up in the Immortal Regiment a year ago. Not with photography, but for work - I had to record takes for the film. On May 9, I used to celebrate with my grandfathers - they are alive. But here I am - for the first time - in the Immortal Regiment. Around me are people with photographs. They crumple, step from foot to foot, talk. But suddenly the column starts to move. A lone cheer is heard, another one, more and more. And these cries merge into one inseparable, monolithic one. "Hurrah" rushes over the street, and the column goes, and along with those who are alive, in the ranks are those who, it would seem, died. But they go like they're alive. And it is seen - inside it is especially obvious - not people are moving, but an army of fireflies - a radiance emanates from them, and the world around becomes different, no longer taking life. And tears well up in the eyes, and the heart sings, and the soul responds.

Nowhere and never can you experience such a feeling again. Because only a person - his spirit, his memory - can change reality. And when a person is not alone, the effect becomes powerful. Millions of people remember at the same time each one of his own, personal, but at the same time united - the temporal canvas is torn, faces appear from eternity. How alive.

Last year, 8 million people took part in the procession - in Russia alone. This year there will be even more people. Different people. With different perspectives. But all of them will stand in line with the rest, forget about politics, economics - about everything that is trying to divide us. They will forget - and they will hear the voice of the only important thing, that which connects with the ancestors, the land, the Motherland. And everyone will become himself, and everyone will become different, and others will become whole.

This year, the Immortal Regiment will be held in 100 countries. The largest march will be in Moscow. The organizers expect about a million people. The column will begin to form at Dynamo at 13.00 and move towards the Kremlin. The time and place of collection in any city can be specified on the official website of the movement. Anyone can become a participant, but it is better to come with a photo or portrait of your hero. Pillars and banners can also be made by yourself or ordered at the photo center.

The one who was in the regiment will remain there forever. Those who have not yet been will feel this feeling. And will no longer come out of the light stream. Immortality is the unity and continuity of historical and personal memory. As long as we remember, we are alive. And our ancestors walk beside us. They are also alive. Thanks to us. And we are alive thanks to them. The connection of generations, the connection of times cannot be interrupted. This is not only a tribute to the Victory, but also a new victory. Ours - each individually and all together. Therefore, on May 9, I am in the Immortal Regiment, and you?

I would like to draw readers' attention to some tricks and manipulations that TCEs do.
The first manipulation is carried out when they say that a girl is coming from school (obviously a whole one), which means that the action is going to an administrative resource.

The second lie: why did the esteemed Daria Tarasenko get the idea that the children went there under duress?
Apparently based on their fantasies, not otherwise.

Now a few theses about depth.
Firstly:
The school is about educating children. She can educate well, very well or badly. But she somehow does this upbringing. It all depends on the teacher, on the program, etc... The teacher is a professional. He may be high class, or worse, but he clearly knows parenting techniques better than most parents.
Well, what is actually wrong with the fact that the school sent the children to the action? Were they carrying not real veterans? Is it a scam or what is it?
Children joined the action on May 9, the celebration of May 9. Helped to organize the action, to make it more mass.
Perhaps it would be very good if the child was told about who it is and he would learn it. But that would be really good. Well, he at least took part in the general celebration, became a part of it.
But our valiant media, of course, are trying to make this all look like a terrible coercion that should by no means take place. Obviously, TEC knows better how to raise children, and therefore imposes its methods and its point of view on teachers. So maybe we don't need schools anymore? Why do we need professionals, if every cook in our country can consider herself a teacher? Each reporter can impose his point of view on the teacher and the school, under pain of dismissal and exposing him to ridicule. Those. TVK is engaged in TOTALITARISM!

Secondly:
And someone asked what happened to the girl? How is she at school now? How do her classmates treat her?
And it was definitely necessary to arrange a public disgrace of the girl from this situation?
I think that journalists do not care about this girl. They only care about their rating and their salary. Those. loved ones. You have to show the truth! Long live the truth, even at the cost of other people's lives. After all, it's true! But here they are somehow not used to risking themselves, but it’s time to spit on other people’s fates. This is also a typical position. Is it true, dear Daria Tarasenko?

"As if such an approach," they say in the report, "doesn't discourage those who do it from the heart."
What are journalists interested in here? For the fact that the stock will be less? Or maybe because she grows even more?
You do not worry. Do not beat off. I personally heard a lot of people wanting to come next year with their posters.

Actually, why do I think that the squeal is just because of the fear of the action.
Our esteemed liberals are afraid of such actions, because it is an element of rallying the people. May 9 is already a rallying holiday, and the Immortal Regiment enhances this effect. Moreover, have you ever wondered what millions of the dead are looking at the living? Millions dead heroes who gave their lives for the future of their children.
Have you ever thought that they kind of demand something from their children, from there from the past? That this can somehow affect people who are watching and participating in the action?
Remember the song "From the heroes of bygone times":
"Their eyes are supreme court for the guys that are now growing up, and the boys can neither lie, deceive, nor turn off the path "

So, we, as the ancestors of great heroes, cannot be curtailed, we cannot be given slack, we need to be strong and restore the former greatness of our country, pride in it, and show the whole world that we have our own path, the path bequeathed by our ancestors, heroes who gave their life for our future. Those heroes whom we betrayed in 1991, and before whom we now feel guilty for exchanging their gift to us for 300 varieties of sausage and jeans. And only the atonement of guilt will help clear the conscience. And redeem through the restoration of the lost.

Therefore, our "beloved" liberals are afraid, but how the people want to restore the country's former greatness, under pressure from their ancestors. Well, how does he no longer want to go side by side with the West, but restore something resembling the "scoop" hated by liberals?

All people are different. Some are noisy, some are quiet. There are those who need to go noisy big company, joke, have fun, sing songs. And there are - who sit on a hillock under a sprawling birch and look thoughtfully into the distance.

And let the quiet ones not retrain the noisy ones. And sociable - to pull those prone to loneliness from their hillock. Let them not.

I did not go the other day with the children to the Immortal Regiment. I didn't stick my father's photos on the cardboard. And I didn’t tie the St. George ribbon. That is, a girl near the hypermarket handed me a ribbon, I said: I don’t need it.

I can't say what other people think about it. I can only say what I myself think.

I think the dead are alive. I am sure about that. I'm a Christian. I believe in eternal life and I don't believe in death. And about the dead in the third person, as if they are not, I think it's not good to talk. They are alive, they are nearby. That is, my dad Zabezhinsky Aron Zakharovich, captain of the guard, commander of an artillery battery, holder of three military orders and three medals, who went through the entire war from the first day to the last, from Leningrad to Vienna and Budapest, who died in August 1974 with a shrapnel in his right lung - he is alive. I remember him, I love him, I pray for him.

This last thing, in the sense of "I pray" - this seems to me, a Christian, in general, the only sensible and main thing that I can do for him. Clean up the grave, plant flowers on it, drink a glass or two for him, walk along Nevsky Prospekt with his portrait ... He does not need all this. But praying to God for him, maintaining fellowship with him in my prayer for him is the only and most important thing I can do. The Lord, who arranged this whole world, did not give us another and higher way to continue to love him. Here. This is one reason why I did not go anywhere, but remained sitting on a hillock.

The second reason is the pope himself and his attitude towards the war. He hated to think about the war. This heroic man could not stand it when people talked about heroic deeds, courage, at least a little bit of heroism in his presence. He said that war is death, corpses, dirt and horror.

He said:

“We did what we did. But they did it horribly. And how many of their people lost mediocre. And those aliens were killed countless.

He could not stand pathetic talk about the war, about courage, and even about memory. I could not stand the phrase "no one is forgotten." And he demanded better to be silent, silent and silent, because all words lose their value.

So dad in his earthly life never wore his military orders, did not go to parades and did not speak to schoolchildren. And he didn't even answer my questions. He spoke again and again about dirt and death. So will dad really like it if I stick his portrait on a cardboard and carry it among others of the same kind along Nevsky?

Again. We live as if our dead are dead. And as if all that is left of them in this world is no longer theirs, it is already our property. I do what I want. Including their memory.

Just imagine your father, grandfather, great-grandfather, already weak, already in wheelchair. And we all together raised them in our arms and carry them along the Nevsky in the crowd. With all due respect, we do. Let's salute them, so to speak. Will they like it?

All people are different. Whoever thinks that his father or grandfather would have liked it, let him carry a portrait.

I don't know about others. I'm sure I wouldn't like it.

So I don’t go myself, and I don’t carry his portrait.

I know he won't like it.

People say: this is unity. People say: this is memory.

And it seems to me that memory is such a quiet phenomenon. Quiet. Sat quietly. I remembered a little. I prayed a little.

But again, it seems to me. I do not impose on anyone.

That's why I'm on the hill. And thoughtfully eyes - into the distance.

“Lord, save your unbaptized Aaron, your servant, and have mercy.

Last year, in May, my son and I decided to go next year to the procession of the Immortal Regiment.
We decided to take our grandfathers and great-grandfathers to Red Square.
They fought, honestly went through the whole war, got us the Victory.
Victory, and just the opportunity to be born and live.
They are worthy of marching along Red Square, in the ranks of the same victors, just as they once marched through all of Russia, all of Europe.
So we thought.

Collected photos, and blessings of relatives. Prepared banners. We found out at the appointed hour - where and when the meeting.
And let's go.
Everything is simple.

I must say that I am a child of the Soviet era.
Then May 9 was a holy holiday, and it never occurred to anyone to question this (be that as it may, it was somehow simpler and brighter with heads then).
But as a person who did not know the war, I KNEW that it great holiday, I understood with my head, mind, intellect.
I saw films, read books, heard stories of veterans.
I imagined, and sometimes even saw in my dreams.
But, of course, I could not feel everything, and remember how they remembered.

Sometimes, watching a movie, or listening to someone's story about the war, I suddenly got used to it, tried to imagine - but how is it?
How is it - when 4 years on a campaign ... when death is around and your friends are dying before your eyes, and there is no end in sight ... when you go to a terrible strong enemy and you can die at any moment... when you yourself have to kill - even enemies, but living people... when you don't know anything about your closest and dearest for months... when it hurts and is scary, but you have to perform a feat?
How is it?
After all, now, in orders, they are unconditional heroes. And then, in the 41st - they are just boys and girls ....
And I could not understand, I could not unravel this secret of theirs.
It seemed to me - I could not, my peers - could not. They were different. They had something that we don't have.

First, we went with the lad to the subway. And I immediately felt that something was not right, not as usual.

I feel it well - how it is around. Including the subway.
I spend a lot of time there. Such is my map of life - I am a man from the masses, and with early childhood I am among a large number of people.
And while everything is on the rise.
I can't say that I like big crowds. On the contrary, I don't like crowds.
You can't see people in the crowd, there is some kind of mass there.
And just like now, no matter what processes are twisted by a person ... They are also twisted by a crowd, only thousands of times stronger. And earlier in the crowd, in large crowds of people, I just felt something and I felt bad, I frankly suffered. Now I spend a lot of time in the subway, in large crowds of people. But sometimes I see behind this crowd of people. And when I don’t see it, I move away from these interferences of the crowd and I can even feel alone in this crowd - quietly and calmly.

This time in the subway it was somehow completely different.
There was no "mass", there were people.
About half were carrying banners of the Immortal Regiment. Most of the other half, without banners, but with St. George ribbons, flowers, flags. They were driving there.
And this is a very different feeling - almost everyone on the subway goes to the same place, with one goal. With a common goal.
People looked attentively at each other, smiled.
Those who entered again at the stations came in, looked around in surprise and also began to smile.

We went to Mayakovskaya.
And right at the station, on the platform, there was a Holiday.
Smart people, flowers, portraits of heroes.
People were in no hurry, waiting for each other.
They rejoiced at meetings, kissed, looked at portraits.
And I caught some strange pleasant sensation inside. Couldn't name him at all.

Terrible weather awaited us outside.
Very cold, gusty wind in the face with cold rain.
And rivers of people.
From everywhere - from the metro, along Tverskaya, on the square.
Lots of police, metal detector frames, volunteers.
Loud music from loudspeakers. Songs of the war years.
Again a dense crowd - go through the frames. And again - no discomfort.
Everyone around is somehow ... calm, or something. Joyful but calm.
Then we went along Tverskaya towards Manezhnaya.
They didn't hurry. Other people were walking by.
I noticed that many, like me, looked around a little bewilderedly, peered at people.

We went quite a bit. And they got up.
There are still 20 minutes before the start of the procession, and the whole of Tverskaya - from Manezhnaya to the Mayakovskaya metro station - is already densely packed with people.

We waited for the start, standing in a dense mass of people, under the roar of music from the speakers. In the rain, in the icy wind.
And I couldn't figure out what was going on?
Inside is warm, joyful and spacious…
It’s as if I’m standing in a wide field, near a birch grove, the gentle sun is hot and a light breeze is pleasantly refreshing.
What an inconsistency!
According to all the rules, from external discomfort and discomfort (for me, in any case), I should have already precipitated.
Or shrink inwardly to endure it all.
And inside me some kind of thick, warm and powerful stream overflows without the slightest interference and flows out of me into something big in common, and again flows in and overflows inside.
I even forgot for some minutes why I was here, and forgot about my grandfathers.
I kept trying to figure out what it is I feel?

But I remembered quickly.
There were a sea of ​​portraits all around. Very young and old people. AT military uniform and in civilian clothes, privates and generals. And red banners, and Russian tricolors. And some icons. And next to the portraits of Stalin. Balls, flowers. And people.
For some time I looked at everyone and again tried to understand - what's wrong? Something unusual felt, but could not understand.
And I didn't understand it then. Now I'm just starting to understand...

Firstly, people were calm and joyfully bright at the same time.
Most were in larger or smaller groups, but there was no revelry, no such feigned celebration as one often sees at New Year's and other such festivities.
Strange, but even small children, and there were many of them, despite the weather, behaved calmly and did not pay attention to themselves, as is often the case in large crowds.
People were talking calmly. Both within their local companies and then between companies.
I listened to the conversations.
Almost everyone talked about their heroes in portraits. Some of the stories they heard. stories about themselves.
Nearby, a man told how for several years their whole family had been looking for a grandfather who had died somewhere in Europe. And they found it in the cemetery of some small Czech town. And how then went there with the whole family.
Under the loud sounds of military songs, it was all so opportune that I, hanging my ears, did not hesitate to approach one or the other.
There was a feeling that for many years people were just waiting for this opportunity, just like that, to show off their heroes, to show how proud they are of them.

Secondly, it was unusual to see in one common mass of such different people.
Different by age, wealth, nationality, social status.
So tight, shoulder to shoulder.
Sometimes, outwardly, the contrast rushed into the face.
But there wasn’t… there wasn’t something that is usually there, that hurts the eye and ear.
I feel this often inwardly, even if there is no conflict outwardly. And here - some kind of community, a natural community, in my opinion, even especially not realized by anyone.
But those of higher status often did not hide their bewilderment, looked around and looked a little bewildered. They probably don't get to be in such a crowded crowd very often. But they, too, were impressed by some unusual and, apparently, pleasant sensations. They stood quietly, as everyone looked at the portraits, talked. Waving flags and looking at the sky.

It was cold and wet, and the people began to dance a little to "Smuglyanka" and sing along to "The Blue Handkerchief."

Then something came to life far ahead, and began to approach. Everyone froze.
And then it became clear that this "Hurrah" is rolling along the human river.
And everyone picked it up so happily that when it reached us, I not only shouted “Hurrah” along with everyone, I just felt it with my body like a wave that swept through me and picked me up and rolled further somewhere far back.
And there were several such waves.
And it's impossible to describe.
There are feelings and sensations that will diminish any words ...
And each such wave left something in me.
Something so voluminous and exciting, why tears themselves appeared.

And after these "Hurrah" was an unforgettable moment. A truly cathartic moment!

For some minutes, the loudspeakers fell silent. At the same time, the frown became somehow stronger, it got darker, the rain began to fall stronger. Suddenly the wind blew up. Everyone around was quiet. We could hear wet banners flapping in the wind. And suddenly from the loudspeakers literally burst:

“Get up, great country!

Get up for a fight to the death!

With dark fascist power!

With the damned horde!…”

Everyone knows this song. Lifting the wounded huge country to battle.
It was not written by a person. It was written by the Motherland itself. The same Soul of Russia.

And the people next to me immediately began to sing.
They sang so that not goosebumps ran down the back, but fiery paths.
They sang so, as if they had come here only for the sake of it.
It was as if they had been waiting for the opportunity to sing it for a long time.
So I immediately realized that we are all not different, we are all the same as our heroes in the portraits.
Only we were luckier than them.
So far lucky, anyway.

And then we went. It didn't go fast, it took a long time.
But it was so easy to go. Such incredible joy!

I kept walking, listening to myself and looking for a comparison - well, what can I compare it with? What does it look like?
I looked at people, I could not see enough. I looked at the portraits. They are the same! It was as if something had peeled the skin off the people. The one that - age, status, condition, nationality, importance, Political Views. And the sea of ​​all that alluvial that troubles people's minds. Which begs the question - why is this all? For what? What is the price of victory? Did so many have to die? Is it necessary to disturb the dead? All these questions, disputes around Victory Day can only be generated by those who did not go through with the Immortal Regiment, who did not reunite in their souls with their ancestors, who did not understand in one painful moment that everything is one - they then and we are now, fascism then and fascism now, Motherland then and Motherland now. No difference.
Only evil changes masks and tools, improves in methods and techniques.
And maybe we didn’t bring grandfathers to this procession. And they brought us foolish ones to it, so that in one innumerable formation we would stand side by side and understand (who is capable) or at least feel that we are all one, and there is one Motherland, and there is one Victory.
And God grant to all of us, so that she remains alone, so that we do not have to get her again!

We walked to the end of Red Square for more than an hour.
In a huge human river.
And nothing knocked me out of this smooth current state.
So what played more here - mine internal state, or some unusual external processes, but they definitely took place - I don’t know. Although my boy, far from understanding global processes, was also in a very unusual mood for himself. He, too, was flowing in some kind of internal process.

I saw absolutely unusual holiday around.
Nothing like on mass holidays I have never seen or felt. I kept trying to determine - what is unusual, what exactly is not the same as always? I saw a lot of tears all around.
Not sobbing, not crying, but tears - bright, when it is simply impossible to restrain feelings, even the brightest ones.
And they weren't old people. There weren't many of them at all.
They were my peers, or a little older or younger.
On many faces I saw confusion, surprise and joy at the same time.
I think for many there were openings that day. Let and at the level of feelings and emotions only.

Now I think I understand what it was.
It was Soul.
Our common, which is in everyone.
Which, surviving, hides behind husks and shells.
And often it even seems that she is no longer there. And here she is, suddenly looking out.
And then she won.
It is precisely the common one, ours and theirs - those who have already gone to the other side.
Therefore, it was and is Her holiday.
And everyone who sincerely came to this holiday, She met and greeted.
There can be no such great joy only from a personal holiday.
And you can’t understand it with the mind, you just need to come and allow yourself to feel it.

Interestingly, leaving the Red Square, the human river went through the streets in the same stream.
We walked along Bolshaya Ordynka, also carried portraits held high.
The accordion players played. People periodically stopped around them. Sang military songs. With such heart and joy.
I also sang.
And they walked again. And I did not want to leave, despite the rain and stiff hands.

Then a lot of people at the subway.
And again, this is not the way it usually is. When you painfully endure this slow movement in a dense crowd.
Everyone here was like family. It was a continuation of the holiday.
And again in the metro people smiling at each other and at their heroes in the portraits.

I also looked at my grandfather and smiled.
I never saw him. And he didn't know me.
He died many years before I was born. But he smiled at me so warmly. That it seemed to me that we met him, I showed him Moscow.
And he was pleased.

“Any long battle forces the warring parties to come closer to the essence of what is happening to them, and therefore, overcoming their own ideology, and to their own essence.
If that essence is not enough, then the battle will be lost in the end.
Because any external process can feed only on internal content. The time of an external process depends on its timeless content…”

V. Lomovtsev “Melody”