Divination for Christmas is not a Christian tradition. I must say that the church has always been against fortune-telling. There are explanations for this. The fact is that the culture of the Slavs is very unique. Long before the advent of Christianity, the Slavs worshiped pagan deities.
It was not possible to eradicate pagan traditions and customs from the church and the new faith. Almost all Christian holidays are superimposed on top of the previous, pagan ones. On the site of the pagan temples, new, Christian ones were built. The pagan and Christian traditions of the Slavs are very closely intertwined.
Fortune-telling for Christmas is nothing more than the oldest pagan tradition of fortune-telling on Christmastide. Christmastide is a pagan holiday that simply did not exist in Christianity.
Christmastide starts on January 6 and ends on January 18. It was during this period that invisible portals open for the revelry of unclean and otherworldly forces, which help to look into the future.
Fortune-telling is far from a Christmas tradition and has nothing to do with it. The Church prohibits fortune-telling, as it sees in this a connection with an impure, otherworldly force. Christmas fortune telling just fits into the time frame of Christmas fortune telling.
Divination for Christmas falls on the night of January 6-7, before Christmas Eve. They guess only at night, they start at 12 o'clock and until the morning. This is the time for the free life of evil spirits.
Our people love to guess until Epiphany - until January 19. Accurate fortune-telling for the groom is carried out on the night of Katerina and Vasilyev's Day.
The Day of the Great Martyr Katerina falls on December 9, and St. Basil's Day on January 14.
It is strongly discouraged to carry out a magic ritual of fortune-telling on Christmas in a leap year.
The fact is that the leap year is special, according to the Julian calendar, extra days were added to February. This added day was named Kassianov.
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In the fall of 1916, following a "general student appeal", I ended up in a sapper unit of the tsarist army, but stayed there for a relatively short time - after the overthrow of the autocracy I returned to the university. This happened, however, after the stay in the troops of the Soviet of Workers 'and Soldiers' Deputies, night patrols in the city and clashes with Kerensky's cadets. The resumed academic life turned out to be not very long - everything that happened outside of it was both more necessary and interesting. I volunteered for the newly formed Red Army, where I spent about five years in the modest position of a junior commander. He took part in the defense of Petrograd against General Yudenich, sailed in a minesweeper - a harbor tug - the gray waves of the Gulf of Finland, catching mines scattered by the British interventionists. It was a difficult, but at the same time a wonderful time of hopes that never for a minute dwindled that the life won in the struggle should bring happiness and rest to the Soviet Motherland. The military unit in which I served was part of the Petrograd garrison, and this gave me the opportunity not to break ties with the literary environment. Entry into it began much earlier, and here I owe a truly happy coincidence. Even in my first year at the university, my acquaintance and rapprochement with the family of A.M. Gorky, where I happened to become a student-tutor, belonged. Almost two years spent under the hospitable Gorky roof turned out to be, in fact, my second university.
Always sympathetic to young people, to their creative endeavors, Alexei Maksimovich attracted me in 1918 to cooperate in the publishing house "World Literature" founded by him. And with this, my work as a poet-translator began. It was here that I got to know A. A. Blok, communication with whom I consider one of the most significant events in my life. And the years of the first five-year plans became the time of accumulation of life and creative experience. Wanderings around my native country played a decisive role, when I had to be a direct witness to the inspired creative work of the country that finally breathed freely. I saw the Dnieper steppes, scorched by the stifling July, where in the stone spurs a seemingly gigantic dam of the Dnieper grew; in the Lori Gorge of Armenia, I heard the hot breath of the shops of the copper smelter. I spent two summers with geologists of Central Asia in the Zailiyskiy Alatau mountains. I saw the first freight train passing along the Kazakh foothills on the rails of the newly built Turksib. But the main thing in all these unforgettable impressions were people, with their new attitude to work, to the fraternal multinational community in it.
One after another, my collections came out during these years - a lyrical chronicle inspired by life itself. They contained responses to events of social significance, and the nature of our South, Central Asia, and the appearance of our hometown on the Neva, and the names of figures of Russian national culture, and simply the lyrics of the heart. From the very first days of the Great Patriotic War, I joined the people's militia, and during the four years I spent on the Leningrad, Volkhov and Karelian fronts, I experienced perhaps the most significant period of my life. Many remarkable things passed before my eyes. I happened to be a participant in the breakthrough of the Leningrad blockade, the liberation of Novgorod, the crossing of the Svir River. I also saw the victorious fireworks at the walls of the Moscow Kremlin.
The years of war that passed for me first in the vicinity of Leningrad, then in the Volkhov and Karelian forests, in the inter-lake areas of Ladoga and Onega, returned to me the feeling of my native North, which in my youth was overshadowed by the vivid impressions of the southern sea, Caucasian mountains and Kazakh steppes. Our modest northern nature - an inexhaustible source of love for our native land - entered the poems. This topic, as well as the images of our historical past and folk art associated with it, became especially close to me in the post-war years. Perhaps this was facilitated by the fact that I have always had an addiction to the world of colors, forms and sounds, to that eternally blooming garden of life, where a person of our era is destined to be a tireless and demanding gardener. Here is the little I could tell you about the outer movement of my life. But I, like every poet, have my own, inner biography - my poems. They will tell better than the author himself could have done, how his soul grew, directly responding to what excited and inspired her, what she wanted to convey to people - friends and contemporaries.
The path has been long and a lot has been written. But now, looking back at the past, it seems to me that small collections of poetry, in small editions before the war, only outlined the main milestones for further creative growth. Maturity came later. During the war, three books of poetry were written, which are valuable to me personally because life has finally brought me to my main theme of the Motherland and the People. These are "The Voice of the Motherland" (1943), "Ladoga" (1945), "Native Roads" (1947). They were followed by "Poems. 1920-1955" - one-volume (1956), "Ivolga" (1958), "Russian Dawns" (1962), "Poems about Leningrad" (1963). Detgiz published the book "Reading Pushkin" (1959), the publishing house "Soviet Writer" - a memoir story "Pages of Life" (1962), which tells about meetings and communication with wonderful people who determined a lot in my literary fate, about A.M. Gorky, A. A. Blok, S. A. Yesenin, A. N. Tolstoy.
In these and previous years, I have been doing a lot of poetic translations of Western European progressive classics and poetry of our fraternal literatures. Several librettos have also been written for operas staged on the stages of musical theaters, including The Decembrists (music by Yu. A. Shaporin). There is a wise proverb: "The way does not know the way." The people distinguish between the concepts of "path" and "road". The "way" is more significant for him, more important. He is always dictated by the heart and always alone, while the "roads" are diverse. With gratitude I remember the people of inspired creative work that I have met over the years, and the great deeds of my Soviet Motherland. It would be difficult for me to judge how this path developed. Let the verses speak about it - a lyrical reflection of what has been experienced and changed. " (Publication source: Vsevolod Rozhdestvensky. Selected. M., L .: Khudozhestvennaya literatura, 1965.)