For Bulgaria. With love.
Somewhere out there exists a person – deep and strong, unshakable. With faith even in the hopeless; with wisdom even in the unenlightened. He conquers slowly – like life itself, and unconditionally – like water. Relentless. This person carries a quiet pain deep in his chest. A muffled grief that you only faintly perceive, holding your breath from its sheer power. This person never offended anyone, never reproached, and with fatherly kindness, for years, he took upon himself the sorrows and troubles of others… A spirit like his wanders through Bulgaria. For centuries.
The appearance of such a person is neither accidental nor isolated. There were others before him, and there will be others after. In all nations and in all corners of the world. And in our lands. The reason is one, found in every history and religion, and it sounds something like this: deep within the earth’s depths, a seed is sown – a seed of faith and truth. And, touched by the breath of God, this seed sprouts and gives birth to humans…
This is how this man was born. He carries the ancient wisdom of our lands. He does not revile, nor does he deny. He rejoices with fullness – as in the times of Orpheus. He does not destroy in order to create – as in the Word of Christ. This man would cry like a child if you took even a grain of his faith… and would remain silent as a stone, even if you trampled upon his dignity.
This man is gentle and warm – like a plowed field… humble. Quiet and human. Familiar. But he is also fierce – like the Balkan Mountains; bony, inaccessible. He has known the dark secrets of the forest, the terrifying truths submerged at the bottom of mountain lakes. Solitude. That so very human solitude. The inhuman solitude…
This man is my Teacher. He, this man, is Bulgarian.