Page 224 - The Mirror of My Soul. Vol. 1

Nicolai Levashov. The Mirror of My Soul. Vol. 1. Born in the USSR

then, why not!? In fact to organize it I only needed myself, some place and, naturally,

persons interested in my ideas. There was me and persons interested, and there was no
problem in finding a place. The only disadvantage was the fact that I had no right to
issue certificates to the attendees that they had taken this particular course.

I said that I would think about their offer and, if they were not over-eager to get a
“paper”, then most likely I could organize my own school. Among the group of people
who organized the course in Donetsk there was a journalist, Valentina, who asked for
my telephone number and showed a desire to write an article about my actions in
Chernobyl. Soon she arrived in Moscow and we met once or twice. No article ensued
from all this, but this woman tried to awaken an American businessman’s interest in me.
I even met with him once, but it brought no results. However, there is one thing for which
I am sincerely grateful to this woman—she introduced me to my future wife Svetlana. It
happened to be very amusing as I found out later.

Svetlana worked then as a TV journalist for the Polish department of the European
broadcasting company “Antenna”. She looked for people who were endowed with
unusual natural gifts, mostly in the territory of the USSR It was she who found many of

those people, whose names later became very famous in the country at the end of the
80’s and the beginning of the 90’s.

So, the Donetsk journalist Valentina met Svetlana and asked her whether she would
be interested in Levashov, who transformed human brains. Oddly enough, when she
gave me Svetlana’s telephone number, she unexpectedly disappeared from my life—I
never heard anything about her and she never called me. Most likely, her role was to
organize our meeting, to be a connective link in our fates and that was all! And I am very
thankful to her for this!

Almost at the same time, in April 1991, “military operations” against me started

again. One late evening my car alarm was activated. I looked out of the window and saw
nothing. I thought that someone simply touched the car with his hand. In the morning I
went to a meeting. Often my cousin came with me to these meetings. And that morning
was not an exception. Before, in the evening of the previous day, I had filled up the tank
of my Mercedes and four spare cans, which I always kept in the boot. Those, who
remember those times, know well, how things were with fuel and how long it was
necessary to stand in line to fill up the car.

So, I went to the meeting. It was April. The road was covered with slush. I was
driving and suddenly paid attention to the pointer on the fuel gauge which “went”
downward very quickly! It went down literally before my very eyes. At first I thought
that the sensor of the level of petrol was broken. I stopped the car, checked all the
contacts and set off again. But nothing changed—the pet-rol in the tank of my car
continued to decrease incredibly quickly. I stopped again, but this time I did not switch
off the engine and got out of the car.
Before this incident I had no idea where the fuel pump was located in a Mercedes.
But I clearly knew that the problem was under the right front wheel of the car. I bent
and.., saw a very curious picture. A petrol fountain gushed out of the petrol pump (as I

knew it later). Under pressure it hit the bottom of the car, the drops of fuel scattered in
different directions. Near it there were clamps of the electromotor, which set this fuel

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