.

...It's pointless, but I am still writing  this so that people can remember!

I am wandering, lost between the shattered walls of Time. Time which carries every transient thing along and washes it away. I'm taking notes so that I can raise an impassable barrier before the years which rush wildly. May words keep embraced the events and memories and prevent them from sinking into fathoms of oblivion. Only God knows whether what is written will survive and what will be said by the people coming after us. "It's vanity" - they will say...

They might be right. Yet, who could escape from visions and thoughts, being for ever part of the fairy world of that holy place which is wrapped in the ghostly veil of the legends and is full of the remains of things created by men? Things which were blown away by the winds of time so long ago. Who could escape when his life-path is always crossed by the neverlasting shadows of the past?

The Eternal Man - one last haunting shadow of the dead ruins. He is the eternal and anxious spirit and only God knows when and what winds had brought him to this wilderness. He is the primary priest and the remote ambassador of the Great pagan gods. Moreover - he is one of the first disciples of Christ who escaped from worldly vanity and came here. He is one of those miserable men, banished from oppression and misfortunes, who found their last shelter in the crannies of the forest. To think of that unknown abbot who hid the Bulgarian treasures in the secret depository to save them from the oppressors. He is the mysterious black monk Rimm Papa - the guardian of the ancient wealth. Human imagination could hardly see the abyss of time which had given him birth.

The Eternal Man. I met him for the first time one spring morning near the ruins of the old rock monastery. The mist was lazily dragging its white cloths over the rocks around. The sun was trying to spin everything in its light web like a huge golden spider, as if it wished to save it forever. Then I saw the a black figure of a monk on the path which disappeared in the mist. His eyes were hidden behind the wide hood, but I could feel the persistence in his gaze which invited me to follow him. I turned round and ran away. I stumbled and fell down, feeling that he was walking behind me.

He came at night. He simply emerged in the darkness and talked to me: "There is no place for you to escape. A man couldn't escape from himself. You are mine now. I'll be coming to you at night." Here he is - standing in front of me in a black cassock worn out with time, staring at me with serious eyes. Since that night,  the visions have become my life and the meetings with the Eternal Man - my destiny. Meetings? Who knows whether I've ever met him or I've been fancying everything? He is coming to me every night and I know he won't leave me alone, unless I listen to his stories. Besides, are these stories worth listening to? He doesn't utter a word about it. Each story is told when the right time comes, but I know already that I am part of the stories and my soul will not find peace, if I don't tell them.

Vision One

Not far away from the coast there is a beautiful spot. Soaked in the early rays of the sun, warmed by the tender scent of the sea, it looks like sleeping in the cradle of memories...

Once upon a time, millions of years ago, the waves of the ancient Sarmatian Sea were beating the shore here. Wild and waste was the land and only the the winds  crossed the neverending sea space. Thousands of years passed. Gradually the sea drew its waters back and thick forests covered the old sea bed. Wild brooks drifted clear flows of water and their chant filled the vicinity with ringing sounds. Birds' songs echoed in the forest. In this no man's land the rocks loomed high like lonely strangers bound for the unknown. The sun and the wind carved their wooden fairy-tales on them.

Nobody knows when the first words uttered by a human broke the peace of this place, but many many years ago the ancient Getae1 lived here. They built a sanctuary of Zalmoxis, the Great God, in the dark abyss of the bottomless cave wrapped in the mysterious dusk of the thick ancient forest. Many years before that, as early as the Getae's grand ancestors had lived, this God-painter took a chisel, a hammer and made the rock look exactly like himself. Thus the Stoneman came into being. Then the god hid himself deep into the rocks. The Getae mourned for him as if he were dead. Four years later he appeared again and they proclaimed him Supreme Priest and God. He used to live deep under the ground where mortals couldn't reach him at all.

Vision Two

For five days on end had the Macedonian troops been besieging the fort of Odessos2. The high walls guarded the defenders safely and nothing could shatter their resistance. The bonfires of the conquerers  were burning far beyond the fort all night long. Then, on the next morning, the Macedonians set for the fort again, determined and relentless. The besieged inhabitants of Odessos shot immeasurable number of arrows and spears at them. The stink of the corpses poisoned the air.

There was still no end to the siege. Yet, the conquerers' attempts to enter the fort failed. Finally Philip, the king of Macedonia, gave in. He offered Odessos friendship and alliance, then he sent the prisoners-of-war back to the town. At last the people of Odessos opened the inaccessible gates for him. A long procession of inhabitants congratulated the king for being a great warrior. First there came the Getae's priests dressed in the traditional white clothes. They were holding citharas. Festal songs echoed in the distance, praising peace and friendship. When the festivities reached their peak, the Macedonian ruler, accompanied by the priests only, submitted gifts in a nearby secret sanctuary of Zalmoxis, the great God of the Getae. To pay his respect to the events and strenghten the alliance Philip

gave orders for a new town to be built in the vicinity and that it should be given his own name.

Vision Three

Great and full of glory was the ancient Odessos in the course of the first centuries after the Saviour's birth. The former market-place, established by Greek sailors, had turned into a big and beautiful town. Its chapels and palaces made of white stone were shining under the bright sun-rays, while the Pontus's3 clear waters reflected the strong fortified walls. A forest of masts was setting up high in the port. The ships of Odessos crossed the sea waters from the banks of Istros4 and Taurica5 to the Helespont6 and the poles of Hercules7. They were loaded with corn and slaves, wine and fragrances and spread the town's glory all over the Roman Empire. Noisy multi-lingual crowds gathered along the streets and squares of the ancient town.  Enthusiasm and decline, grandeur and poverty merged into a whole like  a colourful stream. Unknown strangers sauntered among the crowds, preaching obedience and love of mankind. They also foresaw the end of the mighty Empire. Their disciples were subjected to lots of frightening torments, many  Golgothas appeared every day. The oppressors tried to destroy the new faith by fire and sword.

One day from Rome there were brought several aristocrats accused of preaching Christianity. They were sentenced to live in exile in Odessos - the remote province of the Empire. After being prosecuted for their preaching by the authorities, they left the town and hid themselves in the near forests. There, in small caves near the deserted sanctuary of a strange pagan god, the exiles began their lonely life, far away from the sinful and severe world.

Vision Four

Years went by. The Saviour’s teaching had long ago won the hearts of   the numerous population of the Empire. Even the almighty rulers had to submit to its power.

And the old exile monastery, like a life-giving fountain, continued to attract more and more disciples who admired the miraculous sacrifice of the first martyrs. A House of God  was built nearby to cherish their memory. Next to it, there rose the high towers of a small fortress  which provided  shelter for monks and laymen in danger. Those were times of unrest and troubles. Black thunderclouds gathered along the boundaries. New tribes and peoples sought their place under the sun. Their attacks shattered the once powerful empire. Like a raging flood, the wild hordes wiped out everything on their way. Hidden in the thick forest, the monastery turned again into a coveted shelter for many people. It was surrounded by the smoke from many burned down human settlements and the forest echoed with the cries of children. The church filled with terrified people. Fervent prayers for mercy and peace flew to  God Almighty. But nothing could stop the stream of barbarians. Soon the secret paths to the sanctuary were discovered and that was the end. A handful of defenders survived, disappeared in the underground labyrinths and were never heard of again.

Vision Five

Time passed. Quiet and peace took over the place once bubbling with life. The wind alone rushed through the ruins. And the humble figure of a lonesome monk would show up for an instant and disturb the peace. Then everything went quiet again.

But down in the valley new tribes and peoples were groping like toddlers for the road to their spiritual enlightenment. There, over the remains of the old Empire, the state of the Bulgarians was founded. But time was needed for God’s truth to come upon the new nation. The ancient pagan gods were still powerful and it was hard for the seeds sewn long ago  by God’s son to grow again in people’s hearts. And when the Bulgarian knyaz Boris, blessed by God, and his people adopted Christ’s faith, divine light shone again over this heavenly land. Dozens of years went by. The Bulgarian people lead by the wise teaching of the Saviour was blessed with happiness and abundance. And the glory and power of its pious tsars became well-known all over the world.

Then times of hardship came. In the South, among the ruins of the long gone empire, the evil and the odious lust for power rose again. The Byzantines, ignoring  Saviour’s lessons, invaded Bulgarian lands and put them to fire and sword. Absorbed in peaceful work and construction, the Bulgarians could not resist the fearful might and soon fell under the heavy oppression of the Constantinople rulers. Years of grief and tears followed. The blessed Bulgarian land was plundered by mercenaries and scoundrels. Infamy, corruption and debauchery reigned, the Byzantine rulers were much more interested in looting than in observing the laws of God and those of their Emperor. Running away from trouble and distress, many people left their homes and became monks, others settled in deserted and inaccessible places and lived there as hermits.

The time was ripe for the ancient sanctuary, One day several monks found refuge in this deserted place, long-forgotten by God and people alike. It was spring. Gentle wind was caressing the young grass and dancing among the blossoming boughs. Exhilarated, God’s creatures were flying and rejoicing. The ancient forest, hiding the old ruins in its blue peaceful eternity, had been waiting for someone to reveal their centuries-old secrets. Everything had sunk in blissful peace and even the devil, the eternal enemy to all God’s creatures, had lapsed into silence - as if he had been asleep ever since the creation of the world. Fascinated by the enchanting view, by the peace and quiet created by a totally different world, the refugees decided to remain there forever. They were soon joined by other monks. To thank God for their miraculous escape and to rekindle the flame of kindness and faith, the monks decided to revive the old Christ glory of this place. Soon after, the cave monastery became well-known to everyone striving for humanity and simplicity in those times of evil and hatred. Like a bright lighthouse it was sending off spiritual rays, and the subdued bell chimes echoed in the distance and warmed the forlorn hearts.

Vision Six

Years slipped by. The sacred monastery lived in reverie like a quiet harbour. The monks spent their days in peace and prayer, praising God. And the glory of this House of God was spreading all over the world.

But the Antichrist resented the noble deeds, the prosperity and the piety. To test Christians’ patience and humbleness, he sent them a numerous rout of infidels. The Turks dispersed and flew like black ravens over all Bulgarian lands. The divine light was dimmed. People perished, flames and ashes replaced the creation of centuries. The monastery was flooded by monks and laymen from all over the country driven away by violence and ruin and telling terrifying stories. And those who came here carried things they cherished most - gold-plated books and exquisite icons, precious church plates. The treasures from 12 ruined monasteries were kept here to be rescued from the Turks. Because people come and go but the beauty, created by their hands, must be preserved. Then a decision was made to hide the collected wealth in the secret treasury. It had existed near the monastery for centuries but only few knew the way to its entrance. One night, when everyone was asleep, the abbot called several monks and they hid everything. It was not long after that when the tide of invaders reached this quiet shelter. Frightened, the melodious choir of forest birds hushed in the blazes and moans of the massacred last liturgy. Bloody flames cast sinister shadows over the grim faces of the invaders. Their fury knew no limits - the long-chased treasures had vanished without a trace. Together with them, the last Father Superior had also disappeared in the secret underground labyrinths.

Vision Seven

Years passed. Completely abandoned, the old monastery remained buried in dust and oblivion. The ruins and the human paths got overgrown with bushes and creepers. The images on icons and murals were fading away like blown candles. The wind and the natural elements wiped out the inscriptions and all traces of past glory. Only the images of the Saviour and the Mother of God survived by a miracle  and stared, pensive and rueful, in the desolation. And the Christian name of the monastery vanished in time, forgotten by everyone. Only its Turkish name had remained like a dark shadow from the past: "Aladja" - The Bright-Coloured.

Rumours remained and multiplied about hidden treasures and ghosts of mysterious monks wandering among the ruins. Tempted by the rumours, a young monk tried to unravel the mystery. He discovered the entrance to the treasury and one night plunged in the depths of the rocks. On the following morning, some monks, passing by the ruins, found him lying unconscious there. The sufferer's beard had been twisted in countless tufts and forced into the nostrils of the unfortunate adventurer, while his hands and his cassock’s pockets were full of jewels. His broken story told  the monks about endless tangled corridors under the ground, unfathomable abysses and secret traps unknown to ordinary people. At the bottom of the underground labyrinth, the young monk had finally come to a huge cave. An amazing scene burst out upon his view. Piles of books and icons, gold and silver crosses, precious church plates, enormous gold statues of unknown  pagan deities were lying around. And the whole treasure was glistening in  streams of ghastly light. And in the farthest corner of the cave, a majestic old man was sleeping in a stone bed lit by the flames of burning candles. Suddenly he woke up and roared at the disturber of the world of death: "Who are you, scoundrel, and how dare you disturb the peace of this sacred place?". Instantly, everything around shattered. The Earth thundered fiercely and the cave vaults cracked. Everything spinned before the eyes of the monk and he lost consciousness. When he came to, he saw the faces of the  dismayed monks who had found him. He could not recall the way back to the cave and did not know how the jewels had come into his pockets. When the monks did not believe his story, the young monk took them to the place where the secret entrance was but they could find nothing there.

Vision Eight

It was long time ago - as long as the days of the Turks. The scoundrels of the fearful Kurdoolu  infested these lands. Nobody dared get near the ruins of the old monastery at night because, as the story went, in the morning nobody would come back alive. Rumours spread about the treasures hidden there, at night stray lights appeared under the ancient trees and in the rocks. And everyone avoided the evil stone ruins struck with fear.

      At that time, a tramp lived in the abandoned cells, heedless of the stories. At daytime he roamed the nearby villages trying to make a living, and at night, when darkness engulfed the rocks, he would fall asleep listening to the mysterious whisper of the forest and the ruins. One night the tramp was woken up by indistinct noises. A nearby owl hooted three times. Dull bell chimes echoed. Quiet religious chants sounded and mysterious lights began dancing among the ruins. Suddenly the figure of an old monk loomed in the darkness. His eyes glowed like embers and his long beard was sweeping the floor. He sat next to the stone bed of the tramp, who had been struck with fear and started telling the story of the monastery in a quiet voice. At first cock-crow coming from the nearby villages, the monk vanished. He came every night and continued his story . One night the monk told the tramp that not far from the ruins there was an old crypt dating back to pagan times where countless treasures had been hidden. At that very moment cocks crowed and he disappeared again. The following night the tramp waited for him but the mysterious visitor never showed up again.

Then the tramp decided to look for the treasures by himself. He explored the place. Nobody knows for sure whether he had discovered the secret treasury but he told the people from the villages around that he had found an ancient crypt with forty-nine caves and abysses inside. At the bottom of the last abyss, the tramp had reached a big iron door, locked with an enormous padlock. When he tried to unlock the door, a terrifying voice came out from behind the door and the frightened tramp ran away. The villagers did not believe him but his stories came to the ears of the Turks. A pasha came from Varna with his soldiers. They caught the tramp and made him show them the entrance to the treasury but when he took them there they did not find anything. The Turks were furious, so they blamed the tramp that he was helping the sultan's enemies and put him in jail.

VISION NINE

...Today no living person knows where the entrance to the secret treasury is and many treasure hunters are still looking for it. The ancient forest and the rocks carefully keep their secrets. In moonless nights, some dare-devils have ventured to go close to the ruins, they have told of weird flickering lights and dull bell  chimes coming up from under the earth.

It is quiet today. Only the wind is blowing in the ruins and telling their stories in a queer language. At sunset and sunrise, in the hours for prayers, the unfinished chant of the monks is coming again. The liturgy has begun and a voice is whispering the words of prayer which mingle with the polyphonic choir of forest birds. And in early spring morning when the milk-white veils of the mist wrap the place, the lonely figure of the mysterious monk looms up from the depths of the rock. The local people have called him Rimm Papa. Every spring he comes again and wanders in the forest and around the ruins. Whenever he meets someone, he asks: "Are there still any sticks for driving horses on the Hachucka9, do cows still calve, do women give birth to children?". And when he gets the answer that everything is still the same, Rimm Papa says: "There is still time!". Then he closes his eyes and disappears. And he will be coming again, as long as the monastery and the century-old forest are there. When they disappear, something extraordinary will happen - but nobody knows what it will be.

The eternal old man does not come any more, but every night I am  there, in the ruins. I am searching for him but cannot find him anywhere. It was the same last night. It was after midnight. The sky was tar-black. The moon was hiding behind the shaggy clouds, and an owl hoot sounded like a sinister laugh. The ghosts of the dead were wandering  around. The wind twisted and dispersed them on bushes and rocks. I could hear the song of the monks... And the whisper of prayer... And a stifled moan... But there was no one around me. The old monastery was dead. Only the Eternal Man was somewhere down there in the dark labyrinths of the underground treasury. I could see him - kneeling on the bare stone floor among the mess of scattered treasures - fragments of time and human vanity. He's staring piously up at the distant sky - because it was God himself and His whole army of angels waiting there for him. I could hear his words coming to me through the rock depths: "Now you are holding the thread in your hands and it's up to you to reach the end of the ball."

I can’t sleep at nights. Has the time come for the Eternal  Man to open the doors to the secret treasures? I don’t know... I think that people are still blind and deaf. They follow fake prophets. They see with their eyes not with their hearts. They can not see the beauty but only the rough metal, its hard glitter burns their souls. So, let the dark secret traps still remain set. And you, Old Monk, you will still have to wait! People themselves  should cross the abyss with a bridge which will take them to the Eternal Fountains!

Once human soul has bathed in them and come out pure and revived, then it will see the divine light and will hear that music coming from the heart of Eternity...