Being a passionate one, I don’t merely wish for beautiful things to happen in my life—I desire them with intensity. I pour energy, love, joy, and hope into those desires. And many of them, infused with that bright, golden charge, come to life. But not all of them. Apparently, the ones that don’t make it are taken by the Little Black Man—the inner figure who quietly steals whatever I’ve made too precious.
Even without deep analysis—just a gentle awareness of inner dynamics—it’s easy to see what happens. A desire filled with joy and light rises like golden helium. It floats upward, dissolves in the radiance of blessings, and returns in real form. But if too many desires pile up, they decay. They’re never given the clarity of thought, never fed with pure intention. They stagnate, wither in the basement where the LBM keeps them—wrapped in chains, claimed by his own hunger. And so, many of our most cherished dreams remain that way: untouched, unmanifested.
Eventually, I decided to confront him. After opening the basement door and letting the stale air out, the Little Black Man and I had a talk. We came to an agreement: the dreams down there were as necessary to him as to me. I supply the images, he supplies the passion. It was time, we decided, to bring those forgotten dreams—those “mummies”—back to life. But to do that, they had to be released.
I remembered a story a psychologist once told me. It was a warm summer day. The windows were open, and pigeons gathered on his sill. Charmed, he threw breadcrumbs, and the birds gladly accepted. Then, his curiosity sparked—he tossed some crumbs onto the floor. Slowly, the birds trusted him enough to fly inside. At that moment, he closed the window.
Instantly, the energy shifted. The birds panicked—not trying to understand, just trying to flee. They weren’t searching for a way out, but for escape. Of course, he reopened the window and let them go. But he walked away with a truth I never forgot.
And really, how different are our desires from those birds? We all come from the same nature. The laws apply equally.
So we got to work. At first, the Little Black Man feared the desires might fly away and never come back—that we’d be left with nothing. But I reminded him of the pigeons. And together, we shouted, “Freedom to Yuri Detochkin!” and opened the gates.
We lifted every bruised and neglected dream up to the light. Revived them. Gave them breath. Straightened their wings—and released them.
To our amazement, it worked. Desires, it turns out, have a peculiar way of multiplying. Once they tasted freedom, they began to burst from their cocoons. They didn’t scatter. They didn’t vanish. They were mine—deeply mine. At first, they zoomed off wildly, but soon they circled back, full of joy. Joy given, joy returned. They flew around me like multicolored butterflies in a dance of light.
I wish I could describe the elation that filled me. The sense of lightness. With the basement cleared and the air renewed, I felt just like those shining creatures—alive, free. The world itself looked different. Even the snowy night in Moscow sparkled with color and clarity. I walked home, glowing with a quiet kind of joy.
There’s something powerful in letting go. Only when we release do we truly gain. Only when we stop gripping so tightly can the things that are meant for us arrive. Because anything held hostage—whether it’s a hope, a person, or a version of ourselves—takes up space. And space, once filled, leaves no room for the real thing.
This is our mind that makes it good or bad. What are you lacking? Money? Love? Success? Maybe you have something else—lack of worry about losing money, staying away from bad relationships, being constantly hunted by paparazzi? I really loved a phrase I read recently: “As soon as you start thinking that you can add something to your happiness, you immediately stop being happy.” Happiness—a feeling of your life being full and complete—is deeply subjective.
You can feel it any time, in absolutely any situation. Especially if you already have so much… For the past three days, I’ve been driving a nice car around beautiful Florida, wetting my feet in the Atlantic, enjoying the tropical beauty, getting together with people I love—while some of my good friends are freezing in Moscow. It’s all so relative. I’m enjoying all I have. Why should I choose to suffer because I don’t have something, when I can choose to be happy because of what I do have? It’s an art I’ve been trying to master…
Often, what we think we want isn’t what we truly need.
Only by giving can we receive. Only by giving…
After letting the first wave of long-held dreams return to flight (I should go back and check if any were left behind), I remembered a line that’s stayed with me for years. And this time, it landed differently.
“Kindness is not a piece thrown to a hungry dog. Kindness is a piece shared with a dog when you are just as hungry as it is.”
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