This book was written so long ago that the world, having cracked in half, managed to fly into pieces, but we, being in blissful ignorance, did not even suspect about our future. But what would have happened if we had known? What difference could it make? The question of what my book is about always baffles me, because a book is a mirror in which everyone sees his own reflection, sees himself as he did not become, or does not see himself at all, having long since ceased to be reflected. Perhaps it is about the place of the medium in the modern world. What is this - a gift or a curse? About false prophets and prophecies, about how they, like the Matrix, program human life. About mysticism that everyone has encountered at least once in their life. About those who try to look into the otherworldly looking glass, and the consequences of this step. People are waiting for the light at the end of the tunnel, but for some the light is so bright that it burns to the ground. And we, the survivors, collect the ashes of the unfortunate person in handfuls, and someone throws them above us, blowing them in the wind, and someone keeps them behind glass for the edification of descendants.