Alexandr Korol

Like in the movie “K-PAX.” Or maybe he truly is someone — maybe it’s not just a voice speaking through him, maybe he himself is someone. I don’t know. For now, he’s just an old man with a garden, and I’m just a boy who writes books. He doesn’t have a flying saucer, and neither do I. I hope that in the future it becomes clear who he really is, and whether he actually knew everything or not. And actually, if I remember the Mystic-Old-Man, he also often told me that he knows who I am, but he can’t say it, because he doesn’t want to get punished by the boss. By whom? By God, the system, the higher power? By aliens? He’s afraid to get in trouble from someone if he tells me my future or tells me who I am. And so the Mystic-Old-Man is afraid to say it. Just as I see it, Big Alexander doesn’t say anything — not because it’s scary to say it, but because it’s simply impossible to do so. Otherwise, they would ruin the path I’m on. I’m walking a path, and I must remain within that percentage of unknowing that I’m meant to stay in — that’s the whole point of the journey. That’s important. That’s good. I don’t feel even a single percent of hunger or questioning. I have no burning questions, no curiosity that keeps me sitting at home thinking, “Who is Big Alexander?” or “Who am I?” or “When will I finish my books?” or “When will the spaceship arrive?” or “What does the philosopher’s stone look like?” I don’t ask any of these questions at all. Because it’s pointless to think about this — you simply understand that you are a part of nature, a part of the system, and when the time is right, it will show you, and when the time is right, it will tell you. So I don’t ask these questions. I know only what I’ve been given to know for this moment.

Question: When you arrived in Karelia and lived there, could you describe in more detail what feelings you experienced simply from being on that territory, on that point of the planet?

Oh, just imagine — over the course of almost a year while I was there, very few people came to visit me. But what’s really interesting is... So, essentially, imagine a construction site, mud — nothing’s there. A swamp and a little house, you know, with a bed and a wood-burning stove. That’s it. There was nothing “wow” about it. And when the summer of 2020 came, during the pandemic, a friend from America flew in to visit me there, then a friend from Sweden