My dramatical story and the quest for God

[Daniel Hoseini]

Hello. This testimony is about faith, difficult struggle with sin and dramatical quest for God and the truth. I don't have stories of supernatural wonders that I can offer you. I want to tell you about my path to God. Of course, it is still far from being completed, but, nevertheless, it would not be bad to look back now for my own benefit, and maybe for the benefit of readers, analyzing everything that I have experienced we can learn from our experience or mistakes. I must tell you about my life in general. At the same time, I warn you that I will have to tell a lot of negative things from my life. My story is a psychological drama. Therefore, if you find it psychologically difficult to deal with negative information, then know for yourself whether you want to read this.



My name is Daniel Hosseini. In Russia, for some reason, I had the surname Popov after my mother. I was born in 1985 in Voronezh, Russia. My mother, Inna Vladimirovna, is a native of Voronezh. My father, Sher Mohammed, is a native of Afghanistan. Two or three years after my birth he took me to Afghanistan for a vacation. There I was circumcised and they dedicated me to Islam. But never in my whole life I practiced it, and father didn't give me an Islamic upbringing. Their cohabitation I cannot call family, because there was no love and piece between them. But the first 5 years of my life were not so bad as the later years. My childhood and school years were extremely difficult. My parents didn't give me any upbringing and love. I spent my early childhood in the yard adjoining the house where I lived. But there I was constantly humiliated by my peers as a "black-ass*d nigro"; So they teased me every day by calling me names like "Negro, Negro, black-ass*d." From this, I became withdrawn, embittered and extremely wild. In fights in early childhood, I showed extreme cruelty - Feeling the energy of man-hating racism I hit them on the head with a stick, threw stones at them. But I don’t remember this anymore, I only remember that I also got it badly. It was the same at school, but at school I was extremely coward (maybe because then I grew up without a father). I studied in general very bad. Never seeing the meaning of my life in anything, I had no motivation to study, and no dream of a future profession. Nobody prepared me for the future. And I did not see any future prospects for myself. When I was 5-7 years old, my father began to live separately from us. And we, mother, I and my younger brother lived together in a one-room apartment. Mother never worked (and didn't want to, apparently), and we lived on my father's money and the child benefits from the state. I don't know exactly what my father did. And in general, I don’t know much about my parents, since they didn’t tell me anything special about themselves. I heard that my father worked as a businessman selling cars from Germany, but I doubt that his work was limited to this. When I was 12 years old, my parents and I began to live together again in my father's apartment (I wanted it then), but there was never any love in the 'family'. So for what reason my father began to tolerate my extremely quarrelsome mother again, I do not know. And how they met and got married is not clear (when I much later was on Athos as a novice, I was repeatedly asked this question). When I asked my mother about it, she simply waved her hand and said nothing. My father said that when he lived as a student in a hostel in Voronezh, my mother came to him and extremely humiliated herself before him, trying to make him her boyfriend. He refused for a long time, but then bowed to her pleas, he felt sorry for her and he allowed her to be with him. And when I was born from their extramarital intercourse, they entered into a civil marriage. There was an almost constant feud between my parents. In early childhood, I remember my father constantly saying in his squabbles with my mother, "what an ass I am that I married you! It's over! We're going to divorce tomorrow!" But the days passed, and for some reason there was no divorce. I also saw violence at home and got used to it. Then, when my younger brother was born, I also began to use this violence against him. Often in my soul I sincerely repented of this, but the passion and lack of self-control took over.


In 1999 we emigrated to the Netherlands. What interest this emigration was for my father, I do not know. I had heard that he got some problems with 'mafia' because of money and wanted to be saved from their threats. Sometimes he even kept a loaded gun at the ready. I even wanted to try it out, but God saved me from this crazy idea. I only know that I myself wanted to emigrate to the West, which seemed to me a boon, perhaps because of the impressions of those gifts and treats that my father brought us from Germany. So I fairly often begged my father to do this, but later regretted it bitterly when I was there as a refugee, to my sad surprise. In November 1999 we left Russia, on a tourist visa for Germany, as far as I remember. In Germany, while staying with relatives in the city of Essen for a short time, my father took a decision to emigrate to the Netherlands. With the help of acquaintances or contacts of my father, we entered the Netherlands, stayed some days illegally there and at last surrendered as refugees. My parents falsely testified to Dutch officials that we were supposedly refugees from Afghanistan. And on the basis of these false testimonies, we were accepted here as refugees. For a long time we lived in this state until 2008. In 2001, my father emigrated to another country (UK) by himself, entering there illegally, as I later heard it from him. In december 2008, we received a residence permit in the Netherlands. Since then we have been living separately from each other. Later I will tell more about it.

Life in the refugee camps was a nightmare for me. Although we were provided with everything financially, the new, unusual for me habitat among various refugees, not always respectable people from Africa and Asia, and the endless expectation of obtaining a residence permit were unbearable suffering for me. Our request for asylum in the Netherlands was repeatedly denied by the authorities (apparently they realized that my parents gave them false testimony), but, nevertheless, we were not deported anywhere. Apparently my mother managed to lie in such a way that it made a convincing impression on everyone (judging by the testimony from those archives that I received later from the Immigration and Naturalization Service). In the refugee camp, we shared one multi-room apartment with other neighbors. It was a family from Azerbaijan - Alekper and Zinaida and their two children. We had a complicated relationship with them. I heard about love affairs between the 4 adults, which brought forth not only friendship, but later also jealousy, envy, mistrust, hatred... that they expressed in quarrels, gossips.

After immigration, my father began to beat me harder and more often, and later there were more violent beatings of my mother because of my behavior and her 'whoredom', as he called it. My mother slandered very much both me and my father when spending her time and gossiping with our neighbors in the living room, which was built for two families in every building of that refugee camp of Grootegast. She tried to show to everyone in every way that she is Russian, not Afghan or Muslim. She hated and slandered me because of my Afghan, Muslim genes. She blamed my genes hoping to escape in this way her responsibility and blame for my ugly behavior and lack of good manners. She tried to persuade herself and the world that she is clean from any guilt, that all the blame was on me and my father. By this she alienated herself from me and rejected me as her child, but ‘loved’ my brother as being ‘somehow closer to her.’ Later, in 2019 it became clear to her that my brother has the same ‘Afghan genes’ in him as I do, when he hit her on the head and she had to call the police. When I was beaten, it was not clear to me what they required of me. I copied my evil character and behavior from my mother, and they beat me for the behavior that I copied from them. Neighbor Alekper also beat me furiously. However, I can say something good about my former neighbors. When my father wanted to kill me with a stool, Alekper stood up in time and stopped him, perhaps saving my life, despite the fact that he beat me later himself. I spent my time at the Dutch language school for refugees, where other teenagers from the camp also participated. At home, I was reading an encyclopedia of history in Russian, which my father left with relatives in Germany and then took from them on my fervent request. This had a kind of positive and negative impact on me in the process of forming of my personality. After all, since I was closed up in myself, unsociable and asocial from childhood on, I lived in the world of my thoughts, fantasies, speculative images. And any information read or seen had an impact on my inner world. I was in a split state of communication with myself.

 

[Daniel Hoseini]

During that period, we changed our refugee camps several times. And everywhere I had the same troubles and difficult condition. After my father went away, it was very difficult for me to live with my mother because of her unbearable nature and her constant desire to control everything around her, which had a very bad effect on my psyche. I left my studies in 2003, not seeing any future prospects for myself. I lived with the nightmare thought that this state of cohabitation with my mother and life in a refugee camp would last forever and I would neither be deported nor given a residence permit. Then I started to touch, it became an irresistible addiction for me, which did not leave me alone for a single day. Now, thanks to increased ascetical exercises and some positive changes in the past years, I refrain from this (thank God for that). I didn't have a job either. And we were not allowed to work. In 2002 I received baptism in the Russian Orthodox Church of St. Transfiguration of the Lord in the city of Groningen. My mother brought me to this parish, at my insistent requests. For I was then so dependent and shy that I could not do this by myself, although I was 16 years old. After the baptism, she asked me for a baptismal certificate in order to make a copy. Apparently, for my mother, this was another argument for the Dutch authorities not to send us to Afghanistan as Christians, although she herself did not go to church regularly. I have never seen her confessing or earnestly praying in the temple. Hieromonk Onufry (Vaillant) baptized me in two weeks, so quickly that he didn’t even assign a catechumenal period for me to prepare for it. He only gave me, at my request, a text with the Creed. May God reward and bless him! I knew little about Orthodoxy then, but thanks to reading a book that a good friend of mine gave me, I knew cognitively the basics. But the problem was that I wasn't integrated in the tradition and what's worse, I didn't see the need for it. And because of my hurrying with baptism, my mother brought also my brother to the baptismal font, but he is absolutely not interested in faith or God whatsoever. Later he even told his dream wherein he saw Jesus coming to him, while he fled away from Him. So I regret now very much my impatience, irrationality and dishonest attitude towards God and the lack of common sense and logic. I had faith indeed, but there was no one in Orthodoxy to instruct and confirm me. Even fr. Onufry, a Dutchman of mixed origin, did not consider it his duty. But what motivated me to be baptized? Perhaps I wanted to become a member of the Church, a community of Christians, and this would give me a hope that this would bring improvement for me in my gloomy state of being. But I didn't realize that the essence of a true Christianity is to have a living, honest and personal relationship with God and that I had to work hard on myself in order to achieve it. And yes, God accepted me and appreciated the faith hidden in my heart, and I feel that after baptism and chrismation I received the tangible grace of the Holy Spirit. However, alas, I did not know what it was for specifically and how to use it. The day after the baptism I also had some sense of the fear of God and the spiritual awareness that every deed, thought and movement of my soul is being counted by God and that will be decisive for my fate on the great Day of Judgement. But I did nothing with it, because I didn't know how should I change myself. The merciful Lord was waiting for me to understand this and become a person responsible for his actions. And so I became Eastern-Orthodox, but after the first enthusiasm I stopped going to church and continued to live in my closed state of traumatized loner. I tried to understand who I am and what I should be. I tried to see myself as a Russian and even went into nationalism, with which I got accidently infected in Russia from some Nazi guys (I will tell more about it later). Then I began to rave about inventing another ethnicity for myself, since my father is an Afghan, identifying myself with another people with whom I am not related and being proud of their history. But probably there is no need to go into details here, because this is pure insanity in a state of idleness. And I am terribly ashamed for all these delusional sins. I was confused because I was of mixed ancestry, and could not determine who I was. Now I understand that an intensive unseen warfare with the demons had begun right after my baptism. They do their best to prevent Christians to be saved and take the place in Heaven that they loosed by following Lucifer and revolting against God. They wage their war through thoughts and fantasies that determine our life. My another problem was that eastern-orthodox church doesn't evangelize like Jehova's witnesses and in fact is sick with ethno-phyletism (which says 'Orthodoxy is for Orthodox ethnical nation, no external evangelism is needed') which it itself condemns as heresy, but nonetheless tolerates this kind of mentality of some 'cradle-orthodox'. Then, about a year after my baptism, thanks to increased inner suffering and suicidal despondency, I realized that I had to go to church weekly and fulfill my Christian duties. I also began to realize that Orthodox Christianity is a religion for all peoples, so I shouldn't feel inferior in the Church because my dad is an Afghan Muslim and I'm not white. Earlier this stereotype (I mean ethno-phyletism) was a big obstacle for me in the matter of religion, but there was no one to help me overcome it, like all my other complexes and stereotypes. Partly it was because I myself was not able to comprehend it and express it in words.

I began to borrow various spiritual books in Russian and some in Dutch from the church and read them at home. However, a period of new religious euphoria brought me to a new catastrophic extreme. As I said, I dropped out of school, but I dropped it in part because I got carried away with the ideas of monasticism from books, although I did not know how to live like a monk or as a hermit, and besides, I began to touch. But alas, from this I did not understand God's indication that the way of life that I chose is not pleasing to Him. And now I regret it terribly. Monasticism was a kind of escape from my miserable life for me. I did not live by living faith and communion with God, but followed religion as an abstract ideology, which was formed in my mind through reading spiritual books, acquiring in my fantasies the features of a kind of monastic ideal. And I tried to embody this ideal, and it also turned out crazy and illogical.


In 2005 we were transferred to a new place of residence in the province of Limburg, in the south of the Netherlands. I hoped that in this new camp our fate would be finally determined and we would somehow be deported somewhere. This move was a boon for me. I started visiting a new church in nearby Eindhoven and an Orthodox monastery in a place near Asten. I went to the church of St. Nektarios (of the Ecumenical Patriarchate) and later I helped the priest there as an altar boy, and the priest, the now deceased Presbyter Silouan from Belgium, had a beneficial effect on me. Father Silouan was influenced by Elder Sophronius (Sakharov), who, in turn, was disciple of St. Silouan of Mount Athos. Elder Sofroniy came to England from Mt Athos, and thanks to him the monastery of St. John the Baptist was established. Fr. Silouan (Osseel) visited that place often. And although, unlike Elder Sofrony, he was not distinguished by the ascetic severity of life as a married priest, there was something special, bright, loving in him, which distinguished him from other ordinary priests. Gods grace found its place in him somehow. His Orthodoxy was not some abstract set of dogmas and dogmatic theology, but living spirituality and communion with God, which took place in the secret cell of his heart, of which even he himself was not always aware. A visit to this church and a weekly communion (unlike the more rare communion in the aforementioned church of the Moscow Patriarchate) had a calming, beneficial effect on me. However, there were still a lot of problems I had to solve in myself...


Well, I'll stop on this positive note for now. I thank and praise God for giving me strength to survive through all this hell on earth in my life. The next part will be more positive. Thank you for your attention. All your questions are welcome. God bless you!


To be continued.

The flat where I lived in Russia.

This is the refugee camp of Grootegast where I originally lived. Now it is gone. (Sorry, I couldn't find better photos on Google).

Parish of St. Transfiguration of the Lord in Groningen

Parish of St. Nektarios in Eindhoven (altar boy in white on the right side of the bishop is me)
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Priest Silouan Osseel, may his soul rest in peace.

 

[TheManWhoSinned]

Dear Daniel,
I am sorry to hear of your difficult childhood. I want to assure you that we are all children of God and he loves us equally but judges us on our deeds only. Your skin colour doesn’t mean anything. We are all brothers. I would like to advise you to still show respect for your parents as this is one of our Father’s commandments. Notice that it says respect, not “love”. Now, you shouldn’t blame yourself for anything you feel towards them because anyone in your place would struggle with the same emotions. I would also like to commend you for recognising the way of Christ as the way of the light and deciding to follow it.
Now, I would like to give you some practical advice if you accept. First, I would suggest start where you can start. You are right now where you are and there is endless potential before you. You just have to take the steps that are necessary to put in order what you could put in order and little by little you will stumble towards the kingdom of God. You don’t have to live as a monk to please God, although if that’s what you want, then more power to you.I personally believe that the meaning of life is to be good and better yourself. Create a family and raise children. Make sure that they get proper care, good education and with the blessing of God you will transform your life. When people walk with God they are stronger than anything.

In my personal experience, my connection with God has always been a great support and it was the greatest thing I know of. It tells me what is right and what is wrong. I can recommend you a youtube channel that you can use as a practical guide to transforming your life. Just search for Jordan Peterson - he has helped many people, myself included. I believe he is an Angel sent by God himself. Also, I recommend to stick with his personal development content and refrain from engaging with the political stuff in the channel. I have been there and it doesn’t serve any purpose.

God bless you Daniel. May the Lord help you find your path in Life.

 

[Daniel Hoseini]

I would like to advise you to still show respect for your parents as this is one of our Father’s commandments.

Thanks. I can only respect my parents just as I respect other unknown people, not more than that. I appreciate their positive side, no matter how small it may be; at the same time I don't close my eyes to their bad side. I refrain from judging or condemning them (calling them names) or other people, because it is a privilege of God to judge. On the contrary I ask God's forgiveness and blessing for them and everyone who had wronged me or treated me unjustly. That's what I learned. That's the only way I can respect them.

In the past I used to extremely blaspheme my mother (some guys (Mikhail Petukhov) from my courtyard taught me that), while at the same time I cowardly feared my father. In Russian there are some widespread extremely offensive and filthy words that are officially forbidden to use in public. May be because of how she unjustly treated and emotionally hurt me in the past, I used to call her with these names. Nevertheless it was a big sin to use this words against anyone. And I thank God for His longsuffering and patience with me. When I started with this habit, I felt some sadistic kind of evil in me. It felt senseless and I didn't enjoy it either. In the depth of my heart I wanted to hear answer from her for all the treatments from the past wherewith she hurt me and broke her relation with me. But she never apologized, she saw me as a evil, bad continuation of my father whom she abhorred, even though she could behave outwardly kindly. For her I was bad and destined to be like him because I had his genes in me. Nevertheless I was wrong, because I acted not in accord with God's justice. It's only up to God to punish someone for moral evil and injustice, not for us (except if you work for judicial authority in your state). But that passion of slandering took root in me then. And holy God punished me severely: I saw sometimes in my dreams a demon at my bedhead. It was always the same dream: a feeling of ultimate, paralyzing fear which seemed to come from the bedhead. So I slowly looked in that direction and then I saw some dark, evil creature with horns. He didn't or couldn't touch me, but the fear struck me so hard that I couldn't move or even shout. I thought then that it was a punishment from God for blaspheming mother and tried to stop it, but it became a passion in me. Once I tried to make a deal with God (stupid idea). I begged Him to give me within a month a device for computer games, promising Him that in return I would stop blaspheming my mother. Surprisingly, God answered my prayer. Some Afghan friends of my father gave me few weeks later money (may be as a token of friendship, to please my father). It was just enough to buy that device. So I demanded from my mother to go to that shop with me and buy it. It happend, God heard my prayer, even though He was free not to do it. We didn't have a computer back then, but it was a device for games that meant to be connected to televisor. But after getting it, I didn't keep my promise, I wanted to forget about it. And so my device crocked, at school I was publicly beaten and humiliated by some fat-bellied, blonde guy (Sergey Makashov) who for some reason always envied and hated me, even though he often pretended to be my buddy. So I meanly lied to God, was not ashamed of it, and God left me over to public humiliation. I praise God for His justice and mercy and repent of my sins. I pray for forgiveness and learn from my mistakes to be honest servant of God now. You can pray for me too.

The courtyard where I grew up and suffered. Now it looks differently, a bit poorer.

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The school #41 where I was used to be beaten and humiliated. Looks differently now.

 

[Daniel Hoseini]

Before I go on with the 2nd part, I would add some postscript to the first part.

I tried to see myself as a Russian and even went into nationalism, with which I got accidently infected in Russia from some Nazi guys (I will tell more about it later).

Remembering this, it seems that my peers were not committed Nazis, but learned this from others and from each other and teased me just for their own pleasure, and not for the sake of a serious struggle for the survival of their "Aryan race". I remember only one peer who, in the last year of my stay at school, when he saw me, experienced some serious anger in himself when he said "woo, black-ass**." And when I was 13 years old, I remember how I went into the entrance of my flat, and on the ledge of the porch were some three young guys (it is quite possible they were drug addicts); and one of them quite seriously, without any vulgar humor, asked me, "You're not Russian, are you, you goat?" It was a complete surprise for me and I did not know what to answer. I just said "I don't know". To which he answered me "I will give you vagina now!" (in Russian it's a forbidden filthy expression of threatening someone with violence). Luckily, he didn't and I moved on. It happened that adults also humiliated me on a racial basis. And when I ended up in Holland as a refugee, no one really humiliated me here on a racial basis, although in my opinion the Dutch in general are outwardly more blond people than the Russians in Voronezh. And thank God they did not humiliate me. But the trouble was that I could not get rid of the psychological injuries I had received. And I didn't know how to help myself; what happened with me? why am I not as normal and sociable as other people? - I asked myself. I suffered from an inferiority complex. In my subconscious, it seemed to me that in order to be a full-fledged person, I must be the same as those who used to humiliate me as a black-ass. Later, when I became Orthodox and read the spiritual literature of church authors in Russian, I remember that Russian patriotism was praised there. They seemed to praise Russia as the best and noblest country in comparison with other countries of the world; and Russians, as the most noble nation. And then in my subconscious it seemed to me that I also had to be a full-fledged Russian in order to be a full-fledged and right person. However, I could not consider myself a full-fledged Russian, because the native Russians did not consider me their own because of my foreign appearance. And this problem was the reason for my complexes, isolation, fixation on myself. For a very long time I could not voice it; I was just embarrassed to even think about it. Why ashamed? Because it was a shame to admit to myself that I have no homeland, because in that homeland I were an outcast; that I do not belong to any people (ethnos), because my people did not consider me as one of them. And thus, neither I could overcome this psychological problem in myself, and no one else could help me get out of this inner nightmare. And in general, it seems to me that all people are very embarrassed to talk about such topics impartially. In Holland, I visited psychiatrists, and the only thing they could do was to determine their diagnosis for me. My initial diagnosis was "Pervasive Developmental Disorder not otherwise specified" (a kind of autism). And in the refugee camp where I lived, in addition to this, I suffered a lot from my environment - my parents treated me in an evil way, my father beat me and actually threatened to kill me, my hysterical mother constantly upset my nerves with her mistreatment and her senseless tantrums for any reason and without reason; my flat neighbour, Azerbaijani Alekper, being somewhat disposed towards my mother, taking advantage of my defenselessness, beat me. In such a depressing state, I was ready to become a fascist, fiercely hating everyone who oppresses me. And after a couple of years it gave its evil results. Having already been baptized, but far from being established in the faith as an Orthodox Christian, I lived in the same refugee camp, but in a different apartment and with different neighbors. It was a young couple from Ukraine, Vladimir and Natalia with their little child. Natalia was prone to talking, while her husband was constantly busy with something in his room. Initially, Natalya and I talked about Orthodoxy, since I was not yet established in church life, and she had some experience here, being a novice in some monastery in the Ukraine, although she herself did not often go to church in Holland. And I hoped that she would help me here, but for some reason she did not want to continue to talk with me on this topic (later I heard accidently from the small talk of my mother that her husband was Jewish. So may be she didn't want to offend his religious feelings by mentioning orthodox-christian faith). And since my mother and I had constant hysterical squabbles, the neighbors always supported my hysterical mother against me, forcing me to humble myself before her. So did Natalia. One day, avoiding conversations on the topic of religion in everything else, she said to me with such a caustic word: “Do you know that being rude to one's mother is the worst sin? Why do you go to church?” This sunk into my soul and the memory of this incident troubled me for a long time afterwards. And then I again became angry with my new neighbors, and after a while, in a fit of fury inspired by the devil, I uttered a terrible phrase in spite and in revenge on my neighbors. Raising my right hand to the top, I said the Nazi salute "**** Hitler!". (I learned this from a classmate Alexandr Sawin in Voronezh, although I am not sure whether he was a convinced Nazi. Earlier, at a Dutch language school for refugees, I said this salute as a joke, for which the teacher reprimanded me. Ah, with what terrible shame I remember all this now! Hitler, a antichrist of the devil, would fiercely kill me if he had seen me, because I, as a non-White person, am 100% subhuman (like a Jew) according to his ideology. Now I understand that I not only violated the commandment of love for enemies, but also uttered an essentially satanic phrase, which in fact can be tantamount to renunciation of Christ. In spite of this I am also guilty of humiliating some Africans with n***** word. I am very much ashamed of it too. I was not myself when I did it. Subconsciously I tried to be cool and full of prideful confidence like my bullies before. But I thank the merciful Lord that, considering my sick mental state, He forgave me.
Later, having read historical literature, I reached such insanity that I began to publicly consider myself belonging to a people with whom I have no kinship (the "great ******* nation", as I said). Those people have nothing to do with me and my psychic problems, so no need to mention them. And all because of that internal problem in the soul, the psyche, which I could not solve myself. Now I've found myself - I'm just a Daniel, Christian, the one who is called for Heavenly citizenship where we all will eternally be and look like Jesus Christ and I don't need to be anything more than that. I am a person with Dutch citizenship, but without ethnicity, but this does not bother me anymore.

The essence of my postscript is to testify that racism, Nazism, prideful nationalism is a diabolical evil ideology from which a Christian should stay away.
Once in Western Europe, I brought my injuries here with me, which ruined my life for a long time (just like the evil that my parents did to me, especially my mother).

So I confess my sins from the past. Forgive me and pray for me. May God forgive and bless my parents and all my evildoers. May God bless you.

The second flat where I lived in Voronezh

 

[Daniel Hoseini]

In these two parts based on my tragic experience I testify of these truths:

Stay in Baexem refugee camp (May 2005 - September 2007). When I moved to a new place of residence, I experienced a sad impression. I simply did not know when and how this whole ill-fated odyssey would end. As soon as we arrived there, my mother freaked out, which made me very ashamed in front of everyone (however, such behavior was always characteristic of her). And again we began to live in one room, as once in Voronezh. However, I found a way to fence myself off with wardrobe’s and a curtain; and in this corner of mine I hung icons, read the morning and evening prayers, akathists to the Most Holy Theotokos, the Psalter and spiritual literature. By the way, a book with akathists was given to me by a pious Russian woman from Groningen, Valentina, with whom I kept in touch for some time. And then it occurred to me that I could read all these akathists and psalms in a row until I got tired, which I did. It hadn't crossed my mind before. This practice of prayer and correspondence with Valentina was a great comfort to me at the beginning. And so I believe that this period of my life as a refugee was the best in terms of its spiritual state compared to the past. But I also experienced a lot in myself that darkened him. I started visiting the parish of St. Nectarios in Eindhoven. Father Silouan surprised me with his hospitality; the fact that he took an interest in my internal state and wanted to help somehow. He suggested that I stay overnight in his parish from Saturday to Sunday, since the parish has at its disposal a large hall in front of the temple premises, as well as an attic where there are enough mattresses on which guests can sleep. I was very surprised by such unprecedented generosity. May the Lord reward fr. Silouan a hundred and a thousand times of good for the kindness and generosity that he showed me! And of course this church practice was the main consolation for me during this period. However, the week does not consist only of Saturdays and Sundays, there are also other five days in which I needed to live somehow. And I felt sorrow in my soul these days. They didn’t give me any work or study; brother Milad bothered me with his loud and vulgar music, my mother walked (not in the sense that she was fornicating, although it used to be like that, as I heard it from my father before; but in the sense that she went around to different people for gossip, including a lot of gossips and negative talk about me). And I experienced this painful loneliness, fear, uncertainty, a gloomy state ... I wanted some kind of change, any change, and I myself did not specifically understand what I want and what kind of future I can strive for. And all this brought me to the point that I went to a desperate act. I went and told the civil servants in the refugee camp the whole truth: that I am from Russia, my parents gave a false testimony, and I want to return to Russia. I had no idea where I would go, with whom and where I would live, and in general what would happen to me if I would return to Russia. I was disturbed by fears that I would be imprisoned for the rest of my life for no reason, where the police would subject me to sophisticated, terrible torture in order to force me to give some false testimony, and I was afraid that I would not stand it out and will violate the commandment of God not to lie; I feared that the co-prisoners would constantly smoke in the same cell with me, tormenting me with their stench, and accustom me to drugs; or that they would put me in a solitary confinement, where I will go crazy, but I won’t die, just as I didn’t die in the refugee camp, despite all the psychological torments ... (By the way, in the refugee camp they often turned on loud alarm system on purpose. Probably in order to let people know: You are not welcome here, return to your homeland).

However, despite all this, this existence in the refugee camp tortured me so much that I went for such a crazy act, if only something would change. Soon I went to The Hague, to the Russian consulate, to request an appropriate document for entry into Russia. My mood was heavy. With great difficulty and many hesitations, I came to the consulate building, stood at the door, not daring to call, but the local gatekeeper opened the door for me. And I went in, went to the window to the civil servant, I told and wrote why I came and what I want. It was very difficult for me. And when I returned, my mother and brother freaked out terribly. But thanks to this, the true attitude of my mother towards me was revealed and all the poison that previously was hidden in herself came out. If once she told me “you are Russian”, now in a state of her hysteria she began to vilify me “he is not Russian, he is black, they don’t like blacks in Russia; he forgot how the boys teased him black-ass*d”. And in general, I warned her that sooner or later I would do it if everything continued like this, but then she answered with a smile, “okay, okay”, thinking maybe that I wouldn’t have enough mind; that I'm as dumb as my dad; but now she paid the price for underestimating me... Well, from the consulate I still could not get a laissez passer to enter Russia. The matter was at an impasse. But my father, with whom I spoke regularly on the phone, also upset that I "rat out everyone", suggested that I come to him in England. I could not imagine how I would live with him again when he beat me and I never got along well with him. I did not hope that I would be able to get there legally, and illegally I did not want to go there. But I agreed to his proposal and informed the head of my case in the refugee camp, an employee named Biserka Kreso (Croatian name). Remembering her, I am very grateful to her and appreciate all the efforts that she made, wanting to help me. When I announced that I was ready to return back and leave Holland, I was sent to her to carry out the appropriate bureaucratic work on voluntary return. And when I did not receive a response from the Russian consulate and said that instead I wanted to go to my father in England, she, like her colleagues, was ready to work with me in this direction as well. Now, remembering this, I am very surprised that they agreed to this, since it was no longer a question of returning to the homeland, but of further emigration to another country. Apparently, the almighty grace of God touched their hearts, which allowed them to show me a good disposition. I thank the Creator for this.

Well, thanks to this whole procedure, I was able to go to an educational institution intended for those refugees who are preparing to return home, as well as for those who are not integrated into Dutch society and do not know the language well, despite the fact that they live in Holland many-many years. This school taught the basics of carpentry, metalworking, some other types of labor, English and Dutch. Volunteers taught at this school, the equipment was second-hand and not of high quality. And I began to go to this school on weekdays. I chose carpentry, English, and also took a short course on the basics of private entrepreneurship. I was glad that after a long period of mind-numbing idleness I had something to do, I was glad to work. Thank God! I have been attending this school for over a year. About the same time, fr. Silouan also offered me to work in the temple, cleansing and maintaining the interior decoration. This was also the mercy of God to me. Thanks be to the all-merciful Creator! And in my free time on Friday, Saturday, Sunday, as well as on holidays, I worked for the glory of God in our church: I vacuumed, washed the floor, wiped sacred utensils to a shine, washed dishes, cleaned the toilet, cleaned the walls of the temple from a layer of soot from incense smoke and performed any other household work to maintain the decoration of the temple and other premises of the parish.

Baexem refugee camp. This building was first a Roman Catholic monastery, then a police academy, and now it is a refugee camp.

Establishment school "WereldWijd" (worldwide) in Eckelrade where I used to go. I made similar things out of wood.

 

[Daniel Hoseini]

So the days passed, life was filled with some meaning. At the same time, I felt anxious because of the gradual bureaucratic procedure that has improved the quality of my life so much. I was very afraid in my heart that I would have to return to the Russian consulate again. But, fortunately, it passed me. I still had to do something, go to different authorities, but I don’t remember exactly about it. I remember in the summer of 2006 the Lord blessed me even more. My church acquaintances in Groningen, Ludmila, her son Sergey from her first marriage, and her Dutch husband, who themselves lived in the province of Friesland, invited me to their home to take care of their cat for a few weeks while they were on holiday in Russia. May the Lord reward them for this a hundredfold with goodness and blessings! Needless to say, I was very happy about this, because for a while I will be spared all this noise, insidious gossip, stench and crampedness in the refugee camp. Friesland is a special province in Holland. The so-called Frisians live there - a special ethnic group that has its own special Germanic language. If in other provinces there are many dialects and accents of the Dutch language, which are mostly spoken by people of the old generation, then the Frisian language is already a separate language, the closest to English, and the Frisian tribe is scattered not only in Holland, but also in northern Germany and Denmark. Well, I was glad that I was staying for six weeks in their house to guard their beloved cat and enjoy external peace, however, even there I could not find inner peace from thoughts, memories with which demons evoke emotions and negative passions in people's hearts. This is how I spent 2006. The following year, 2007, my bureaucratic procedure for emigrating to England came to a standstill: the British consulate in Amsterdam did not issue me a visa, as I had expected. In the summer of the same year, I again went to Franeker to my friends to look after their cat while they were back in Russia. However, this time the summer was not as good as last year. This summer, I also stayed for several weeks at an Orthodox monastery, where only priest-monk E. lives. And there something bad happened to me. In connection with this, I will not mention the name and origin of this hieromonk and the location to save his reputation. God be his judge. The time of summer holidays came and I, trying to escape from all the hardships mentioned in the refugee camp, tried to stay in this monastery as long as possible with the consent of this hieromonk. The fact is that I could live in the hall of our parish of St. Nectarios, working for the good of the temple. Father Silouan was kind to me and allowed me this. But there was one obstacle. At that time, we rented the premises of the parish from a nearby Roman Catholic community of old women called "Sisters of Love". On weekends, services were held in our church and after the liturgy there was a meal in the hall where we ate, drank tea, coffee and talked with each other. On the rest of the days, the temple and adjacent premises were empty. I do not know now whether these premises were rented only for use on weekends or whether we had the right under the contract to always use them. But since I lived there for some time, I aroused strong indignation in the head of this community, an old woman named sister Theofrida, who frightened me with police if I would stay there. Therefore, I did not know what else I could do but go to the monastery and in due time stay in Franeker until I could go to school again. So I did, but this time I sinned by my unwillingness to endure the tribulations in the refugee camp. In retrospect, it seems to me that the Lord wanted me to endure this affliction in the refugee camp and from my kinsmen until He would rescue me from it the same year.

But alas, I could not recognize the will of God and His Providence for me, I could not calm down at the thought that the Lord would not leave me to my fate, but that He cares and provides for me, I could not believe with my heart and not identify myself with my thoughts, fears and emotions. I still continued to live with my head and my poor logic, and not with the true logic of the Logos. So, I began to visit the aforementioned monastery, where I also helped this hieromonk in conducting divine services and household work. Having read spiritual literature and perceiving the information received from it in my own way, I tried to act in accordance with the ideals that I read about. Having read that priests, abbots and other persons of the clergy should be obeyed, respected in everything, not judged in anything - so even if they obviously sin, one must turn a blind eye to this and inspire oneself to think how holy, good, correct, worthy of honor and respect the priest is, - I had the idea that if so, then an Orthodox priest and clergyman is in principle infallible as the Pope of Rome, that his word should be taken as a law, that you can completely trust him and tell everything about yourself, and that exactly this is the ideal of obedience and humility taught by such "supermen" and miracle workers as John of the Ladder, Barsanuphius and John, Isaac the Syrian and others like them. Now I believe that this was my false stereotype, for which I paid a heavy price. I don’t know exactly how the aforementioned great monks fulfilled the virtue of obedience and humility in their lives, but I now think that if I want to practice these virtues in my life, then it’s not enough for me just to read books, but I need to have a mentor in front of me, to whom I would have a deep (and not self-suggested or imposed from the outside) reverence and respect, and from whom I could learn this. In this way I would be able to distinguish true obedience from false, true respect for the clergyman from excessive and not pleasing to God. But alas, I have never had such an experienced mentor who devoted himself entirely to the Way and Truth. Well, returning to the course of events, I began to try to show complete trust and obedience to the aforementioned hieromonk E., thereby trying to translate the ideal perceived in my own way into reality. I told him as much as possible about myself, opening my soul to him, complaining that I couldn’t stop jerking off for a single day and I didn’t know what I need to do to stop it. I even went so crazy and was so influenced by the demons that I sinned by asking him for permission to jerk off in the toilet and watch porn. So terribly I was enslaved to the heterosexual passion. It seemed to be a generational curse caused by my mother, a real enslavement that I couldn’t be freed from. Thus, because of me, he was led into temptation, but I could not even imagine such a thing, because in my imagination the hieromonk is a superman, he is infallible and invulnerable to any passion, and even more so he is alien to homosexual passion. Since I, realizing myself a heterosexual guy, was a stranger to this passion, then even more so an Orthodox clergyman cannot have anything to do with it. And what a breakdown of stereotypes I experienced when I saw with my own eyes that this was not so. He wanted to give me a massage, I, trying to be obedient, went for it and got naked in front of him, as he wanted. In my mind, there was no sin here, because I thought that none of us was sick with sodomy. And when during the massage he asked me if I was pleased, I answered him "How can I be pleased when you are a man (not woman)?" Then, during the next massage, I felt that something was really wrong. When I opened my eyes, I was shocked by what I saw. But it is probably better not to describe it in detail, so as not to tempt any of the readers. Jumping up, I said that this was not a massage. The next day I left there with the intention of never returning, and to this day I have not returned there. For a long time afterwards, I was still worried with anger at priest-monk E., I was so amazed and shocked by this unexpectedness. Yes, there is my fault here too, I myself have sinned and I repent. But I do not at all realize that I am guilty of sodomy or enjoyment from his touch, but I am guilty of being too naive in following my stereotypes, so that I was ready to go even to such extremes for the sake of obedience and humility. Forgive me, brothers and sisters, and pray that God forgives me too. Well, may God forgive and bless hieromonk E.

Mother Mary, may her soul rest in peace
I have learned from this accident that the priests or priest-monks are the same people as we are, with the same passions that we have, even with some extraordinary passions that some of us have. We must not be afraid of them when some of them impose their despotism on us, demand absolute subjection from us (‘obedience’), oppress us with fear and threaten with excommunication. It’s better to be excommunicated and alone while striving to be honest slaves of God and free from any fear of men. One of such priests even told me once that the priests were regarded as gods in the period of early Church. I think by saying this he wanted me to regard him as God too. But the commandment of God says: ‘I am the Lord thy God, have no other gods beside Me.’ And so I broke forever my relationship with him later.

Then, after returning to the refugee camp, I no longer had any hope that I could continue to go to school. Everything I could learn there, I already learned. So it didn't make sense for me to go there. And the idea came to me that I could look for a volunteer job. Ah, if only I had thought of this earlier! I started looking for it on the Internet, turned to the center for volunteer work and found a couple of places in the social sector (in my experience, volunteer work is primarily social work here, work with people). But a couple of days later, a miracle happened. The abbess of the local Orthodox convent of the Nativity of the Most Holy Theotokos, Abbess Mary, herself contacted me by phone, offering me to work on the arrangement of the chapel. This was a few days before their patronal feast of the Nativity of the Most Holy Theotokos (Mother of God Mary) on September 8th. She learned that I was looking for a job from one of our parish priests, Fr. Joseph Moes.

Father Matthew, may God bless him forever.
And, taking my phone number from him, she called me. It was an unexpected joy for me, a miracle of God, for which I still thank the Creator. In the future, Mother Mary helped me go to the monastery on Athos, and upon my return she provided me with significant support for my improvement in Holland. In contrast to what I experienced in the monastery of hieromonk E., my stay at the women's convent was not stained with any sins of fornication; only in the caravan house where mother Maria placed me, despite some interruption at the beginning, I could not free myself from masturbation. But in general, neither I felt tempted by the nuns as women, nor they from me. It was because I was aware that they were nuns and because of the way they were dressed. And I still have a good relationship with the sisters. Well, after a short time in the same year, I received a Dutch residence permit thanks to a special government order that went down in history under the name Generáal Pardón. In this way, all those who stayed in Holland for a particularly long time received a residence permit, there were also some other conditions for issuing this pardon. The term Generaal Pardon literally means "general forgiveness", and in our case it can be understood in two ways - whether the Dutch government apologizes to the refugees for leaving them to languish for a long time in the disenfranchised, humiliating state of refugees; whether the Dutch government itself excuses the refugees for burdening them with their persistent stay in their country, despite all requests to get out. Well, the residence permit allowed me to leave for a year to Athos. Well, I'll tell you about this next time. So far, here's what I've been able to write. It was not easy - I had to think a lot, and sometimes I had to overcome heavy sense of shame in myself. Forgive me my sins and pray for me. Thank you for your attention and respect and God bless you, dear readers!

And here I am with the sisters of the covenant in the municipality of Asten. I was invited to take a photo with them, although I don't understand why. The names of the sisters from left to right: nun Macrina from Holland, Paisia (from Great Britain), Andreya (from Greece), abbess Maria (from Holland), nun (and now abbess) Johanna (from the USA), novice (now just a laywoman) Dorothea (from Holland), nun Taïs (from Sweden/USA), me God's servant Daniel, and novice Marina (from Great Britain) who sits below.

The chapel of Mary the Guide that I worked on in the beginning. It wasn't blue back then.

Mother Mary (the video has even English subtitles)

 

[Daniel Hoseini]

The first stay at the convent of the Nativity of the Most Holy Theotokos (September 2007-February 2008). So, thanks to the miracle of God's Providence, I found myself on the territory of the convent, I also performed all kinds of work and attended all morning, noon and evening services. I remember that I was standing early in the morning at Matins, it was dark in the church, because apart from the lights of the lamps and a few candles, the church was not lit up by anything; I listen to the quiet monotonous prayers of the nun, but it was autumn, and chestnuts and acorns from the branches of trees fall on the roof of the temple. This left in me a special unforgettable impression of peace and freedom from all the worldly fuss to which I was accustomed.

I had known nun Maria much earlier, when I was in Baexem. In the new place, I began to look for nearby Orthodox churches. I found one in Eindhoven, and the other turned out to be a convent in Asten. Somehow, with grief in half, orienting myself on the map, I rode a bicycle to this monastery. Losing my way more than once, I overcame obstacles through forests, cornfields, and other unfamiliar terrain. In Holland, cycling is very developed, especially due to the fact that the population density here is very high and it would be very bad if all people traveled only by car. There are bike paths everywhere. And the bike has always been my main means of transport. Fortunately, the Dutch are generally very careful drivers, so even if you drive on a small road, you usually have nothing to fear. Well, having reached the monastery with great difficulty, I examined the temple and then drove back, out of fear that twilight would overtake me on the road if I had to mess around again on the way back (although it was August then). I remember that at that time I had just enough coins to buy and light a candle. And I considered it a good sign from above. On the way back I saw Father Matthew for the first time. He lived with his wife Anke at a distance of about half a kilometer from the monastery in a special house. Then he walked along the road to celebrate Vespers with the sisters. The next day I went there again, this time with more confidence. When I accidentally saw Mother Mary in the church for the second time, she asked me "Can I help you?" I replied that I had come here to pray in the church. I sat down on the stasidia to read the Jesus Prayer until the evening service began. Mother Mary found my behavior rather strange, and she walked around the church, a little nervous. Then for the first time I saw how she, being a woman, entered the altar of her church and lit lamps everywhere, and this also made an impression on me. And in general, everything I saw there was some kind of a positive energy of the Orthodox Church of the Greek tradition. But, as it turned out, the vespers that day were postponed because of minor repairs in the hall and the porch, which were carried out by some Greek worker. Before that, I sat in anticipation of Vespers, reading the Jesus Prayer. I remember that something seemed to prompt me to get up at the sight of Mother Mary walking around the church a little nervous. She probably expected that I, like all normal guests, first of all had to get to know her, to talk. But alas, as already mentioned, I was always unsociable and closed up in myself because of the traumas I experienced. I just didn’t know how to change myself here, although so many people pointed out to me that I was uncommunicative and that it was bad. But I couldn’t openly tell everyone what I suffered in my country from my environment and parents.

She stopped me when I was already reading a prayer with my eyes closed. After saying that the Vespers service will be postponed, she treated me to a simple Dutch meal - sliced bread with peanut butter, honey, tea or coffee. Then I left. So I visited the monastery for the first time, leaving deep impressions in the mind of Mother Mary with my appearance and strange behavior for two whole years. And apparently all this time she could not forget me. Well, in September 2007, she took me in her little red car to work with her. On the way we talked a lot about different things, getting to know each other. Having learned from me that I wanted to enter a monastery, she wanted to help me. The fact is that my desire to go to the monastery was not positive. I saw this as just a way to get away from life, from mother, from a hostile environment. I was young and burned with the desire to have a woman, to marry, I was always struck by beautiful blond Dutch women with their beauty, slender figure and affability, but with my poor mind I suppressed this instinct in myself, although I could not stop jerking off. I used to think about suicide a lot, and my parents didn't care. My mother told me more than once, “D*mn you!”, “Sell your soul to the devil” (this is when I really wanted computer games), “You are the scum of society,” etc. And when I first somehow heard that suicide is a sin, I was very surprised by this - if no one needed me, then why does God need me? And indeed, something always prevented me from doing this on myself. Having such thoughts in my head, I was very far from it in my soul. But having not been taught the skills of life in the "big world", not knowing how to start living separately from my mother, being afraid of other difficulties in making living, and not understanding myself, I saw or inspired myself to think that the only way out is to go to a monastery. It was for me a kind of sinless suicide, leaving life and all its problems. This is what motivated me to choose to enter a monastery. Forgive me - I often have to interrupt the story to explain some points and nuances. Let's get back to the story. When I arrived at the monastery, Mother Maria settled me in an old green trailer house. I was very glad about it, although it was cold there in cold weather. During the first days, I worked on the construction of a small, recently erected chapel of the Most Holy Theotokos Hodegetria (Guide) at the very entrance to the territory of the monastery. Then I was assigned another job - to make a new door for a dilapidated greenhouse where vegetables grew. By the way, with many efforts I managed to carry out this work. I had to work with very hard wood, saw it, drill it, nail it, insert glass in it. Thanks to what I had previously learned, I carried out this work. Although I think that I do not have the talent of a carpenter, and therefore I produce wood products with great difficulty and many mistakes that have to be corrected along the way. And when I made this door, it was already on the trestles, and at the bottom there was a large cement block.

And suddenly, for some reason, one trestle falls under the weight of the door and the door with glass fell on this cement block. But great was my surprise when I saw that the glass did not crack at all! Mother Maria immediately came to look at the door, and what a blessing that I did not have to upset her with a failure. For me, it's just a miracle. Thanks to the merciful Creator! I also did other work - I uprooted weeds, sawed planks for icons, milled and made recesses in them with a chisel, worked on the roof of a small bell tower and carried out some other carpentry work. The sisters allowed me to eat with them in the refectory on the second table, where guests usually sit who have been honored to dine with the sisters. But there were a lot of things that I was not entrusted with - Sister Tais always made candles, Sister Joanna baked prosphora, some sisters painted icons, and all of them themselves organized services without a priest, who served only on certain days the liturgy and other services preceding it. In the monastery, in addition to the main temple, there were many chapels – of saint Seraphim of Sarov, Xenia of Petersburg, Dorothea. The last two chapels are named after the heavenly patrons of the two great benefactors of the monastery. Thus passed my days, in such a place I had the great honor and grace to live. But the main happiness for me was that the Lord delivered me from the unbearable cohabitation with my parent. Glory to the good Creator! I just gave a small description of this monastery, because then it became a part of my life and now it is my past. And now let's move on to how I got to Athos.

Unexpectedly, I learned that the abbot of the Athos Caracallou monastery, Mr. Philotheos (Philotheos), making a trip around Germany to receive confession and nourish the Orthodox, is going to come to us, to the great joy of the sisters, although he once stayed there only once. And when I first saw him, I, approaching him for a blessing, felt embarrassed at the sight of his senile bearded face and the special monastic appearance in general. It was similar to how I was shy about Santa Claus as a child. He spent several days with us, tonsured nun Makrina for monasticism and when he confessed all the sisters, it was my turn. However, our conversation was not a confession, but simply talk through Mother Mary, who acted as an interpreter from Dutch into Greek. She herself lived in a monastery in southern Greece near the ruins of the ancient city of Bura. From there she again came to Holland at the invitation to set up a convent. By God’s miracle, some person donated the building and territory of his chicken coop in the middle of the meadows for this. Here her monastery was built, which was still being equipped. So, after talking with me a little, Elder Philotheus read a prayer of absolution over me. Sometime later, when I had already received a residence permit and a Dutch exit identity card, Mother Maria turned to him for help in sending me to Athos. He replied that he was ready to take me to him. Thus began a new page in my life. I am surprised by all this favorable set of circumstances - both a residence permit, and moving to a convent, and the arrival of such an extremely rare guest as Mr. Philotheus, his consent to accept me, the generosity of Mother Mary ... What is this if not a clear manifestation of God's care in our life? Eternal thanksgiving to God! Having bought a plane ticket with her own money, mother Maria and I went to Greece. I went to Athos, and she to her monastery in the Peloponnese. In Thessaloniki, our paths thus parted. But what happened next, I will tell later.

Abbot of the monastery of Karakallou, Mr. Philoteos. In the Greek churches, such abbots are called elders, even if they do not possess any miraculous gifts from above. Also, not all priests have a blessing from the bishop to take a confession from the lay men and teach them personally. Experienced Athos hieromonks like he, have this privilege. On the contrary, in Russian church every priest is allowed to take a confession and teach.

 

[Daniel Hoseini]

My stay in the monastery of Karakallu on Mount Athos (February 2008-January 2009). I was glad to be able to fly a plane and travel to another country for the first time in 8 years. (Although before that, in 2005, I also stayed a couple of days in a Roman Catholic monastery with an Orthodox rite in Belgium, in the town of Chavatogne, where Fr Silouan took me with him for a holiday, along with our other parishioners. I remember with what joy and freedom I had a conversation with Mother Maria on the plane, looking down at the ground from a height. Remembering all these miracles of God's Providence in my life, I think that the path to the goal is much more interesting and full of meaning than the moment of achieving the goal itself. In Thessaloniki, we were received for the night by a hospitable couple, Nikolaos and Alexandra - believers, church people, who, to my surprise, treated us very well, as was their tradition of hospitality. May the Lord reward them! The next day, another kind man took me to Athos in his car. First we drove from Thessaloniki to Ouranoupolis, a small seaside port near the closed territory of the Athos Peninsula, from where you can legally get to Athos by ferry. Passing through Macedonia (a region in Greece), I remember a meager hilly country, a land that has survived many devastating wars, invasions and sufferings in its history, which is now occasionally adorned with new villas. Then, boarding the ferry, we slowly sailed to the Athonite port of Daphni. Along the way, one could admire various monasteries located on the western slope of the Athos mountain edge, including the St. Panteleimon Monastery. From Daphne we again went by car. Athos forests impressed me with its virginity, being untouched for a very long time. And at the sight of temples and monastic buildings, for some reason it seemed to me that I was in the world of Buddhism. It’s just that I didn’t have the experience of pilgrimage to Christian shrines, and I came into contact with elements of Buddhism thanks to American films with martial arts, which I was fond of for some time in Russia. I could only compare Athos with this. Arriving in Karakallou, all my bright, joyful experiences ended.

Monastery building. The third window from the right side of the lower row of cells on the front wall on the left side of the building was the window of my cell.

Even before entering the monastery, I already felt some kind of xenophobia towards me (rejection of strangers), as if I was not welcome here. Indeed, the gatekeeper we met, pater Theologos, was rude and unfriendly to me. But since I had the necessary pass document, he still had the honesty to let me through. After going to the guest reception room, I was treated to a piece of lukumi and Greek sweet vodka "ouzo", which I, for reasons of piety, refused. (However, I do not condemn those who drink alcoholic beverages - apparently they have some need for it. I pray to God never to need it for myself). That week the abbot was not in the monastery. He again stayed in another monastery outside Athos for the spiritual nourishment of its inhabitants. And they gave me a cell where I could stay in anticipation of his return. During these 3-4 days, I attended divine services, ate at the refectory, and in my free time I walked large distances to the town of Karyes, where the buildings of local government, the Holy Kinot (Synod), the post office, the police, monastic cells, and everything else necessary are located. Interestingly, when I arrived there, it was carnival or another week before Great Lent.

When the abbot arrived, he appointed me a work in the carpentry workshop, where I was to help two other monks - Leonty and Panteleimon. Leonty behaved rudely with me, but it was felt that in his heart he was not like that. He had a soulful sense of humor. Great Lent has begun. The first two days and Good Friday were especially strict fasts, in which we ate only a couple of pieces of bread with tea, nuts and some pieces of fruits before going to bed. In general, the food that was served there was usually quite satisfying and nutritious, like that of the laity. The usual food was their monastery bread, Kalamata olives, feta cheese, halva, as well as wine from monastery grapes. There was never any meat. And in the interval between the morning and evening meal, one could go to the dining room and treat oneself to delicious Greek sweets. During Lent, soup was served as a main course on weekdays, and dishes with seafood and caviar (tarama) were served on weekends. Life there was generally good, and all that was required of you was humility, obedience to the abbot and other paters, to be like everyone else and not stand out. At least that's how I understood it. But in this I was not lucky, as I will talk about it later. In the meantime, fasting was going on with its special divine services. In general, daily divine services outside of Great Lent consisted of Midnight Office, Hours, Matins, Liturgy, Vespers, Canons and Akathists to the Most Holy Theotokos or to the Apostles Peter and Paul (since it was a monastery in honor of the Holy 12 and 70 Apostles) and Small Compline. After Small Compline, one could venerate holy relics laid out daily for pilgrims. Among other things, there was the head of St. Apostle Bartholomew. It was covered with steel padding, which had a small hole where one could kiss the skin. It is amazing how the skin of a corpse of a man who died more than 1900 years ago survived. I asked Fr. Herman: “But these relics are not embalmed with anything?” He frowned slightly in thought and calmly shook his head no. The brethren were allowed to take communion three times a week (daily on Bright Week) - on Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday after the previous fast days, although there were liturgies every day; so sometimes no one took communion at all, except for a couple of lay pilgrims. Pilgrims arrived there in large numbers every day. And the monks were supposed to be an example for them.

The main temple of the monastery (katholikon):

I remember how I gradually began to understand the meaning of everything that was sung and read at divine services, although it was Byzantine Greek (canons, troparia, chants and other prayers) and archaic Greek (Psalms and other Holy Scriptures). I studied modern Greek using textbooks. During Lent, I managed not to jerk off and it was a miracle. Then came Easter, end of the fast. And there was a custom there to put some sweets at the cell doors of novices. This is where my carnal sufferings began again. Having a full stomach and having treated myself to sweets, I again began to touch (in my cell). And then I realized that I would not stay here for a long time. Just after Easter, I again had to return to Holland in order to renew my travel document. The wait for some reason was quite long at that time - I had to wait a couple of months. At this time, as before, I continued to study the Greek language. Then, in Holland, the novice Marina helped me with this. The little time that we spent together flew by somehow very quickly, although I would not say that we were in love with each other. And she helped me a lot in practical terms. Then, when I returned to Athos again, my stay there was no longer as promising as at the beginning, perhaps. But alas, I did not know how to be honest with myself, and did not understand this then. Before that, I once had a prophetic dream where nun Maria looks at me as if I were some kind of small child and says to someone with a smile something like “he still has a lot to learn.” The dream ended with her joyfully exclaiming to me with a question in Greek "páme?" (shall we go?). I immediately woke up, but it was daytime, and I looked to see if she was really calling me. But there was no one outside. But even this did not help me to think thoroughly about the right choice of life path. Returning to Athos, I again began to live according to the monastic routine. God arranged it so that this time in my work I dealt only with pater Panteleimon. (On Athos, not only hieromonks, but also ordinary monks are called fathers, “pater”). Father Leonty asked for leave from this obedience, because he was very tired of it. At first, it was hard for me with Panteleimon. He was also young, almost my age. When there were some misunderstandings between us or I did not follow his will in everything, he used to freak out in front of everyone, complaining about me because I helped the brethren too much in the refectory to clean the dishes, which is why I was late for my assigned work; or when I refused to get my hands dirty with caustic glue; or when, for security reasons, I refused to hold the board with my bare hands on the machine of the band saw, using instead wooden devices for safety... Because of this, I also got troubles from the abbot. It was enough for him to listen to Panteleimon to be on his side. I did what I could. Then everything somehow settled down, we got used to each other. The abbot regularly called me to him for a conversation; there was no confession, in the strict sense of the word. Sometime later, the abbot began to test me in such a way that I could not bear it. He usually served the Liturgy on Saturday and Sunday. In general, Saturday, Sunday and other festive liturgies were especially solemn, the singing was more drawn out, that's why it lasted a couple of hours longer. On other days, other hieromonks served the Liturgy, especially Father Germanos from Odessa, Ukraine.

And when I approached the abbot for communion, he at first, as it should be, solemnly loudly, as in the case of everyone, said “novice (“dokimos-monakhos”, that is, “trial monk”) Daniel takes communion of the Holy Body and the Precious blood of our Lord Jesus Christ for the remission of sins and eternal life.” Then, in my case, it became more and more difficult for him to pronounce it, and he began to call me simply a 'servant of God', but I was pleased with that too. Later, while taking communion, he did not say anything at all, doing this only with me. Maybe he was embarrassed because of what I told him about my accident with the aforementioned hieromonk E., so that he could not determine the degree of my guilt and, in general, how to understand it all. Being in such embarrassment from my story, he probably could not properly give communion to me, because of his feelings of disgust at the sight of me. However, I'm not a gay or transsexual to be humiliated like that, as I thought. I could not put up with such dishonor and, having received an opportunity, I asked about the reason for this humiliation. He got indignant and replied that it was his business. He got emotionally excited with indignation in that conversation and in anger ordered me to go home, which I did a week later. Then I turned to Fr. Pavlos, who was in charge of administrative affairs, with a request to help me leave as soon as possible. But before that, on the advice of the novice Demetrius, I went on foot on a one-week pilgrimage to the southern Athos cenobitic monasteries - the Great Lavra, Agiou Pavlou, Dionisiou, Grigoriou, Simonas-Petras, Xiropotamou. Usually I was accepted everywhere as a pilgrim, only in the Skete of St. Anna they denied me hospitality. In each monastery, after the evening services, one could venerate the shrines - holy relics and other objects, for example, in Agiou Pavlou part of the gifts of the Magi to the born Jesus is kept. With great difficulty I climbed to the top of Mount Athos. Departing from the Great Lavra, I found a path leading to the top of Athos. Walking along it for a long time, I came to a flat place on the mountain. There was some kind of building, possibly a skete under construction, and a cross. From there, I could see the clouds below with my own eyes. I thought it was already the top. But when I looked in the other direction, I saw an even larger rock. There was a peak that had to be climbed up. Then it was January, the peak was covered with snow, but I found the strength of will to climb to the very top, although my hands suffered greatly from the cold and snow. However, due to clouds/fog, I was unable to enjoy the view of the land below. By the time I got down to the skete building, it was getting dark. And what was my surprise when I saw that the door of the aforementioned skete was not locked, there was no one in the room, but there was a bed with a coverlet, so I could spend the night there in relative warmth! God bless these people for saving my life by leaving the door open. I decided to go to the top of Mount Athos because I needed some confident feeling of a heroic man under God’s care and protection to prove myself that I am not a nameless, faceless, shameful freak that the abbot Filotheos thought I was. It’s because I felt terrible, very insecure at that moment after being humiliated in Karakallou. But after my ascension I got some confidence indeed and felt myself better and more normal. After all this, I returned to Holland. And this is again thanks to the support of my benefactors Nikos and Alexandra, who, although they were upset by my failure on Athos, of their own free will sheltered me again for the night, paid for my plane ticket, and took me to the airport. Mother Mary took me to her place, to my surprise. Meeting kind people is also the grace of God in our lives. Therefore, may God help us to be as good as possible ourselves.

Οn the top of Mount Athos

I must still pay respect to Abbot Philotheus, that, despite his stern character, he still blessed me for the holy communion during the Liturgy just as he blessed others. He also blessed me as well at the beginning of the services, even after our quarrel. I appreciate the measure of goodness and self-control that was in him. I don’t blame him for the harsh and unjust treatment, because I deserved it for my sins in Voronezh and refugee camp in Netherlands. May God forgive and bless him. Later, I heard that the brethren were sorry that they kicked me out, but I did not receive any written apologies or an invitation to return. And this is not necessary - since I could not stop jerking off there, then why should I dishonor monasticism with my presence there?! Thank God that I was not honored with tonsure as a monk and did not take vows.

The novice Pahomios, a Dutchman of Surinamese or Caribbean origin, came there after me, as if replacing me there. It's interesting to know how he got there. Once we sat with the sisters and abbot Philotheos in the refectory of our convent in Asten during his visit there. The abbot got curious about my origin. Nun Mary told him that my father is from Afghanistan. Mr Philotheos was instantly shocked at hearing that. But then he tried to get himself together from the shock and said like this: 'Now that all of us are of so different origin, I noticed that we miss something. None of us is black. So we need one black person to make us complete'. Therefore, Mother Superior Mary suggested to Father Superior Philotheus that he accept brother Pachomius into his monastery, and Philotheus accepted him. It was a couple of years after my return. May the Lord help him on his monastic path.

 

[Daniel Hoseini]

The next 13 years after my return were very hard, but there are some positive improvements. I had to endure great inner sufferings in my attempts to find my place in a worldly society and the meaning of life. I am forever very thankful to nun Mary who helped me very much hereby. She also allowed me to live on the territory of her convent before I could move house. She reposed in the summer of 2016. Before that moment fr. Matthew moved to Cyprus and the divine services were celebrated by different other priests. May her soul rest in peace. My sufferings were caused by my assumption that my enslavement to masturbation was God's calling for me to get married, which implies having a good job and education with a high diploma and a stable place in our capitalist society in general. But I was mistaken. 3 of my attempts to receive a worldly education failed. Now I work as a simple postman and I still have no wife. But I came to two greatest discoveries: that a person's life is not concentrated in the head or thoughts, but in the metaphysical heart or subconscious mind, where we can descend with our conscious mind to cleans it of demons through prayer and God's grace so that it becomes a worthy dwelling place for God; and that I can stop masturbating, but with great effort. Before that, I embodied in my life the statement of the philosopher Kant: "I think, therefore I am." Now it sounds for me more like "I love God, therefore I am." The urgent need to stop with fornication made me to look everywhere for a way out. I had to practice exceptional and hard ascetical exercises in order to intensify my prayer of repentance. I did this because there is no other choice for me. No physical pain and suffering comes close to equal the sufferings of unrepented sinners in hell. They would eagerly accept all the sufferings on earth if only they could get a second chance to improve their life on earth. Realizing this, I am aware that there is nothing so important as to live for God and work for Him. I used to think that the love of a beautiful woman is the greatest bliss on earth and that this happiness is the meaning of life itself. Now I am convinced that God our Creator and our personal relation with Him is our meaning of life. He, His very being and existence, gives us this meaning and purpose if we diligently and carefully seek Him and do our best to love Him in practice in all the areas of life. It can be hard to love Him and always choose to put Him on the first place, because of our old man, old self. So it takes a great effort to overcome ourselves for His sake. In this way God stops to be an abstract philosophical concept for us, and becomes a living, real Entity for our perception. But we must force ourselves to put Him on the first place always and in this way create a loving relationship with Him.

Another positive change is my practice of aikido for some time with Ad Voogels sensei. I was taught and I absorbed some good manners of respect, self-control, friendliness, love from the tradition of Japanese samurai, but not all the bad and ungodly practices of the bushido culture. I learned to meditate as a way of sitting in silence and breathing. Of course, I don't do this to achieve some kind of metaphysical Buddhist nirvana, but to be calm and thus live in harmony with the world around me. May God bless him and all his students and accept him in His eternal Kingdom.
It is during this meditation that I experienced my first and the only one supernatural encounter with Jesus in my life so far. It happened when I struggled hard to forgive some people in my life who ruined my life by their evil in my childhood. I behaved then my self emotional and condemned on two forums the Russian Nazis, seeing them as responsible for my sufferings. There were other people too whom I couldn't really forgive. So the Lord Jesus said to me during my meditation "I am not happy..." It was a soft, silent voice from inside of me. He said something else, but I couldn't hear it because of my thoughts or demonic voices inside me. This gave me a motivation to improve myself. In this way Jesus trains me as a military officer trains his soldiers by always rebuking them and never praising them, even when they do their best. It is because he knows human psychology, he knows that praise can cause slackening and even pride, while the awareness that we are still not good enough motivates us to strive to be good enough to please our Leader. That's my only one supernatural testimony of my encounter with God. But it doesn't feel supernatural.

Summing up my testimony, I can say that my conversion to Christ didn't start from baptism only. But it consisted of overcoming and repenting of many-many false worldviews, stereotypes and ungodly thought patterns that I absorbed from the world around me. Because if we keep some false worldview in us, then our conversion is still not complete. So let's purify our hearts in synergy with God's grace in order to be illumined and deified by God and see Him as He is in the age to come. Amen.

Me after a seminar with Curtis sensei from Maui, Hawaii

Me when I was 10-11 years old

Me as a postman

Me and the mayor of Helmond Elly Blanksma-van den Heuvel (Her full Roman-Catholic name is Petronella Johanna Maria Godefrida Blanksma-van den Heuvel. It's because people from the Roman-Catholic church have 4 baptismal names).

 

[Daniel Hoseini]

I am continuing my story in the form of a sincere and detailed confession here My Confession

I hope you can forgive me and pray that Jesus Christ may be formed in me and in all of us (Galatians 4:19)

And now some other photos of people and places that are part of my life and history:

His Majesty King Willem-Alexander of Orange-Nassau dynasty (clothed in long purple), the one who deigned to grant me mercy and give me Dutch citizenship. May God save the king.

The clergy of our orthodox parish in Eindhoven. From left to right: acolyte Artemy,
His Reverence priest Matthew from the neighbouring convent,
Irina, wife of the priest Arkady,
His Reverence priest Arkady Vernikov, may his soul rest in peace,
His Eminence Metropolitan Athenagoras, the bishop of our archdiocese,
His Reverence priest Silouan Osseel,
His Reverence priest Jozef Moes
lector Serafim

His Right Reverence priest-monk Onufry Vaillant from the parish in Groningen

The parish of the holy Transfiguration of the Lord in Groningen

The school in Helmond, where I studied ICT

The school in Eindhoven, where I studied Helping Assistance in care and well-being

The factory Dorel where I used to work assembling small Maxi-Cosi chairs for baby's in the car.

The place where I worked for the past 5 years.

Our school Torii of ki-aikido in Helmond

May God's blessing be upon these people and places, as well as yours people and places.