Aging, as we have been taught to understand it, is one of the deepest myths in human culture. We grow up believing that we must age and decline in a predictable way, as if it's written into our DNA. But what if that belief is not only outdated but also completely wrong? What if the concept of aging is more a matter of mind control than biology? The truth is that aging is a mental construct, a program of thought that we collectively agree upon - an agreement that leads to a slow decline, not because our bodies are programmed to age, but because our minds believe they are.
Our DNA does not inherently contain an “expiration date”. The cells in our bodies are constantly regenerating, even as we age. In fact, our bodies are in a constant state of renewal, skin cells are regenerated every few months, lungs are renewed every year, and even our brain cells are completely replaced every three years. Yet despite this incredible capacity for renewal, many of us find ourselves in the process of de
Dear people, let me tell you something...
There will never be an end to our problems—there will always be something new, something different, something more complicated on our path...
We change eight million times per second... Per second!!! Change is the only constant. We are always changing, changing, changing, and life always moves forward... onward, onward, onward...
Whoever has understood this has truly understood!
There will always be problems, always difficulties, always something we didn’t expect, yet it happened... We must accept this and enjoy the path we’re on... and solve one problem after another... and look—you’ve solved a thousand problems, and just as you rested and slept, the thousand-and-first has already arrived...
Sometimes you fall, sometimes you get dirty, sometimes life hits you so hard your guts spill out... You must get up, dust yourself off, heal, put a smile on your face, and keep going! There’s no other way, my brother! Well, of course, you could kill yourself—b
I started hanging out with Günter, with whom I went out for beer almost every evening after the course. Usually, he’d slip me a note that said something like: "I’ve had a rough day. Will you go to the Bermudadreieck with me?" Instead of writing "dreieck" (triangle), he’d draw a triangle. Oh, how I waited for those little notes—without them, I’d have been so bored. They reminded me of the notes we used to pass in school during class, the ones that said: "Dajana, I love you." Of course, it never said who wrote it. I didn’t dare turn around in class because I was embarrassed. My head buzzed: Who? Who? Who? It "ruined" fourteen days for me, as I spent entire nights wondering if it was Davorin or someone else… I never found out who wrote it.
But let’s go back to the beginning of 1991. The Bermuda Dreieck is part of Vienna’s first district, named after the Bermuda Triangle because, supposedly, people "disappear" there. Probably because they’re drunk... And it’s also one of the few parts of V
With my legs spread apart, I lie on the gynecological chair. I’m extremely nervous, completely beside myself. My child… what should I do… I keep thinking. I could still escape this horrible room, away from these people who show not even a shred of understanding for my condition—no, they don’t care about me at all. They’re just here to do their jobs routinely.
The gynecologist, in his forties, reveals his hairy arms beneath the short sleeves of his white coat. He hasn’t even looked at me. He’s chatting casually with the nurse—something about loans and a new car. In fact, he’s so engrossed in his own problems that it’s as if I’m not even there, legs spread open, as if he’s just drinking coffee in the hospital cafeteria. As if on this table lies only a doll, an animal they need to open up, cut, remove, and sew back together. I hate him. Actually, I hate both of them, but most of all, I hate myself.
What should I do, what should I do? The thought races wildly through my head.
But I can’t kil
It was mid-May 1996, in this hotel in Los Angeles. I noticed the piano as soon as I entered the hotel. Oh, that hotel—so beautiful, like something out of a fairy tale from A Thousand and One Nights… No one ever played that piano.
Once, Julia and I were fooling around there, and then I played "Čuk se je oženil" ("The Owl Got Married") on the piano for her, and she sang me some American song…
The piano. I had always wanted to play the piano. To me, people who play the piano… they’re something special. Artists who hold a unique place in my heart.
The piano just stood there. It was a May evening, so pleasant. We were standing outside in the garden, talking. Suddenly, all those glittering lights in the hotel turned on. It was so peaceful, serene. And then, from this magnificent hotel—which stood in that dirty city like some kind of illusion, so unreal you had to pinch yourself when you saw it to believe it was actually there—music began to play.
Someone was playing the piano.
I became electrifi
Why don’t some people write how old they are? Well, I’ll be 62 this year, but I like to say 26. I joke like that when someone asks my age. I do the same with my daughter, who dreads the question—she’s 28, but I congratulate her on her 82nd birthday. :) People, don’t take this seriously. Actually, because time flies so fast, just subtract 20 from your linear years. So, I’m really 42, which is how I feel.
Folks, how old we are in linear—3D (third dimension) time—doesn’t matter at all. We’re only born once. In 5D (fifth dimension), there’s no time—no aging, no sickness, no death. What’s important is that we’re anchored in the eternal now. We shouldn’t let our minds run to past horrors or fear the future.
Because we exist now and simultaneously forever. Those who understand will get it. Our DNA has no time and no setting for death. All of that has been artificially imposed on us. We’ve been programmed to believe we must die, age, and get all sorts of "incurable" diseases—treated with dru
Embrace your pain,
embrace your unrest,
embrace all that feels "upside down"
within you and around you...
embrace your own death...
become simply no one and nothing...
Help everyone
you meet, if you see they need help—
do not look away.
Transcend yourself,
just forget yourself,
forget your pain,
cast it out,
and turn into the eternity
that has always lived inside you.
(db 4.5.2020)
***
zagrli svoju bol
zagrli svoj nemir
zagrli sve što je "naopako"
u tebi i oko tebe...
zagrli svoju smrt...
budi jednostavno niko i ništa...
pomogni svakome,
kog sretneš i vidiš da mu je potrebna pomoć
ne gledaj ustran
prevaziđi se
jednostavno zaboravi na sebe
zaboravi na svoju bol,
izbaci je
i pretvori se u večnost,
koja je u tebi oduvek
(db 4.5.2020)
I am grateful for Raphael because he always comes and heals me whenever something hurts... You just call him: "Dear Archangel Raphael, come into my stomach and heal it completely!"
All of us always have angels around us, whose task is to protect and help us. But they don’t act on their own—we must call them and give them a task. We must invite them and tell them what needs to be done.
And so, dear people, if you realized this, you wouldn’t need to go to doctors or hospitals—you would just call Raphael to come and heal you, like I do... I do this every day. I also call Archangel Michael to protect me or my family... The angels come immediately and joyfully fulfill the tasks we give them!
When my son was in first grade, he had a routine medical checkup at the end of the year and came home with a diagnosis of a heart murmur. I was terrified because I had also visited a fortune-teller who told me my son was sick.
At that time, I was reading a lot about angels and came across a story where a w
Dear friends,
Those of you who know me are aware that I often speak about resurrection (in Slovenian, "vstajenje"), and you know I’ve been deeply engaged with this topic for a long time. A few days ago, someone messaged me asking if I could connect them with a person who had died and come back to life because they wanted to ask them something... So, I sent them links to Dr. Inna Jarovaja’s and Natalija Taranushenko’s Facebook pages—the first has been teaching about resurrection for years, and the second translates from Russian to Serbian...
Then I started thinking: Who has actually returned to life? Who has been resurrected? And then I remembered... myself.
Because I was resurrected. Grabovoi resurrected me on March 12, 2001, during the birth of my second daughter, Kiki, in Vienna.
Let me tell you the story...
On March 11, 2001, my husband rushed me to the hospital in Vienna’s 14th district because my labor pains had already started, and my water had broken. The nurse had told me to come
I was floating above the intersection in front of the underpass to Tivoli. To my right was the Railway Health Center... Suddenly, I realized I was in the air—almost parallel to the bridge where the train tracks were, or... even higher. I occupied the entire space above the intersection, higher than Hotel Lev. I was... completely spread across this intersection.
And then, suddenly, I became aware of it... I thought, What the hell am I doing up here in the air? Am I dead or something??? I’m dead!!! I’m dead!!! No... I’m not!!! But I... I’m floating... flying? Where’s my body? Or rather, who am I now, where am I?
I looked down—there I was below... meaning my body was there. Žare was walking beside me.
Slowly, I descended back into my body. We were walking on foot, my hands were bloody, I was covered in blood. Žare was bloody too. I was speaking slowly. We were talking... Oh, of course, I was being dramatic. Saying I was already twenty-five and my life was ruined. And he... didn’t say much.