The Power of Desire: My Adventures with God

By Gallina Binelli

What Gallina Binelli has accomplished in her lifetime . . . brings a whole new level to being driven. It’s difficult to decide what is more astonishing – how she has tackled each obstacle in her path or the depth of her desire to know the divine force at work in her life and the world. Binelli has embraced many religions or spiritual guides in her life, with each serving a unique purpose for a period of time. Her journey began at the tender age of 12 when she opened herself up to a greater power as a way to cope with and navigate the trials of boarding school in a country far from her mother.  Through the next eight decades, her power of desire drove her forward — and continues to do so to this day. Don’t be surprised if you find yourself on a new path following your own “power of desire” after reading Binelli’s book. —Margaret Moses, Founder, Youth With Promise

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hillcrest Media Group
• Release date: Jul 28, 2015
• ISBN: 9781634135986

Book preview

Evolution

Prologue

Shanghai, the exotic cosmopolitan metropolis in the Far East, beckoned my mother with a siren’s call of hope and opportunity. Cradling me in her arms as she looked from the window of her train compartment at the approaching station, she was filled with fear and excitement. We arrived in Shanghai from Harbin, in the province of Manchuria, which originally was part of Siberia but now belonged, by conquest, to China. All the battles of the past were no longer to be seen, but still their history permeated through the streets and buildings and in the nervous energy of its occupants.

But I am getting ahead of the story, as there were many painful experiences before the possibility of a new beginning, long before I came into being. The story of my life began in Russia and the Ukraine, where I was conceived. My mother, Mussia Pavlenko, was a Russian Bourgeois; my father, Andre Sobchenko, was Ukrainian. Just as they had married they were caught up in the fury of the advancing revolution and surrounded by enraged peasants invading the towns.

They fled from the ravaging revolution of the Bolshevik Party—or Red Russians, as they were called at that time. Russia in the early twentieth century was at the mercy of conflicting authorities. The Romanov Aristocracy was being challenged by the wave of the European Enlightenment, where ancient cultural, social and religious customs and dogmas were being challenged and overthrown. The political, economic, and social breakdown continued until my parents’ departure in 1922. Eastern Europe was being torn down brick by brick, title by title. Ultimately, whether Bourgeois or Proletariat, many people became refugees within their own country, especially if they were Jewish or Bourgeois. Everywhere in Russia and the Ukraine people pillaged, burned down homes and factories, confiscated and vandalized properties, and killed anyone who got in their way. They blazed a trail of devastation—leaving wounded, abandoned, and miserable people to their fate in a famine-stricken and epidemic-endangered country. Russia and the Ukraine were in a state of total chaos.

Those who had the means, like my parents, immigrated to wherever their circumstances dictated. Europe, North and South America, and China were the most popular choices. My parents had waited too long to be able to migrate to Europe or the Americas, so China presented herself as the only choice. It was always my father’s intention to return home to his family, so he only looked for a place to weather the storm of the revolution. My mother, on the other hand, had no family to return to. My father was the only hope she had of escaping the painful memories of the past.

My mother had tragically lost her parents to a murderous mob when she was twelve years old. She then went to live with her uncle, who took over her inheritance. When she was around fifteen, her uncle was shot by a gang of men led by an employee who had been fired for cheating the uncle. Like many others seeking revenge from their former masters, these peasants took advantage of the revolution to settle old scores.

She found her way through family friends to the Ukraine, where she met my father Andre in Kiev. He fell madly in love with her and agreed to take her to China. As she was a Bourgeois, chances were good that she would be murdered if she stayed in the Ukraine. It must have been a hard decision for Andre; his family had risen through the ranks of society to become landowners, and he had strong family ties. But my mother could be a very persuasive woman.

Planning their escape took some time. When they finally fled Kiev for China, my mother was eight months pregnant with me. The journey to the Chinese city of Harbin was long and dangerous; there were soldiers and revolutionaries all along the way. There was no prevailing law to create civility. As the social laws that held every class in its respective place unraveled, it became a savage environment. A certain madness afflicted the inhabitants of Russia and the Ukraine; the need to tear down any form of authority erupted from the soul of the Proletariat. No longer would the peasants or the working classes keep their eyes downcast; instead they destroyed any vestige of the culture that had ruled them for centuries. And life seemed to be at the mercy of chance.

The train my parents took to China crossed Siberia heading toward the eastern coast. The flat and endless plains didn’t offer any comfort. At every station they had to show the hard-won documents that allowed them to travel. At any time they might, on someone’s whim, be pulled from the train and executed.

Eventually they landed in Harbin, which seemed to be the only town that offered safety and a new beginning. There was a large Russian community there, filled with those who had similar stories. New friends helped them to find their footing in the cultural upheaval of the times.

During the whole trip my father had been anxious about my mother’s condition. There was little he could do to make her comfortable. In Harbin the chance for safe accommodations was unpredictable. The streets were jammed with roaming children of all ages, people young and old; everyone seemed worn out and tired. There was hopelessness stamped on every face. Give me shelter! Shelter! seemed to echo silently through the crowd.

Work, lodging, and food were scarce in Harbin, a city flooded with immigrants. In the surrounding towns, the repercussions of the communist revolution and the consequences of the recently ended World War I were spreading toward the east and reaching the Chinese borders. China itself was in turmoil, dealing with European colonialism and impending troubles with Japan. All around, the atmosphere was restless. People were aggressive and distrustful of each other. You never knew if you were dealing with an opportunist—as there were many at the time—or with someone who was trustworthy and helpful.

My mother’s time for delivery was approaching fast, and my father was getting more desperate by the minute. Lodging in hotels, inns, public facilities, or rented rooms proved unobtainable, as all were fully booked. Neither bribes nor compassion got results. Nothing opened up to lift them out of their predicament, which left Andre unable to help my mother in her situation. At that moment he would have given anything to secure shelter to accommodate the birth of his first child.

Lost in thought, Andre stopped in the middle of the agitated crowd. He was unable to decide which way to go. Feeling desperate, and losing what little hope he still had for miracles, he stopped amid the current of people flowing in all directions. With his entire being he prayed for help.

As though by chance, Destiny seemed to have heard him. A tap on his shoulder brought him back to the crowd. He turned around. A modest-looking passerby stood close beside him and asked, What is your problem?

My father, with tears in his eyes, looked at the man and pointed at my mother. Her time has come to deliver and we have nowhere to stay.

The stranger replied, I am a humble man, but I can offer a clean garage. At least you will not be in the cold. His generous offer was not an option for them, but a solution. Finally, they made their temporary home in a hospitable garage. On the very next day, in the early morning of September 9, 1922, I was born on Chinese soil.

Chapter 1

Shanghai, 1922

The situation between my parents may not have been very harmonious; this I shall never know. Not long after I was born my mother took me, still a baby, and fled to Shanghai—with-out Andre—to start life. Even though she was only seventeen years old at the time, she was endowed with a great deal of courage. Still, she had little experience with a helpless baby in tow. She quickly understood that Harbin was full of newly arrived immigrants and short of opportunities for obtaining a livelihood. It was never her intent to return to the Ukraine with my father, and as she was no longer pregnant she seized the moment to flee. Being beautiful, charming, and very determined, her talents and ambitions were not going to let her succumb. With a child in her arms, she arrived in Shanghai, the most important internationally populated town in China. My mother faced the challenge head-on.

Extreme situations sometimes have their advantages, as they trigger the best in all of us. The ability to survive requires courage. To my mother’s credit, she was not easily intimidated. Armed with all her charm and courage, with her baby wrapped in a big cloth on her back, she would face the crowds in Shanghai—speaking aloud in Russian, English, and French—until she could find anybody who could understand her. As she wandered through the crowded streets, looking from person to person, calling out in hopes of some recognition, all of a sudden there would emerge from the multitude an eager person, maybe just as anxious as she was for language contact. Bolstered with confidence from each successful connection, she established a circle of friends in no time at all and was able to settle down in Shanghai.

In those days Shanghai was divided into several quarters; there were the Russian, French, English, Japanese, and German quarters. Temporarily, communication and business were made possible in a town that was bubbling with several languages due to the huge inflow of foreign immigrants. It was a wise choice as a destination for a foreigner, because Shanghai enjoyed an advantageous situation, being an extraterritorial zone within Imperial China.

China was of great interest to foreign powers because of an abundance of raw materials that could be exploited. An abundance of tobacco, tea, silk, and especially cheap labor was quickly taken advantage of. Important international companies were attracted to these opportunities, and opened factories and businesses all over the country. Shanghai offered a fertile ground for these and many other transactions, and possibilities abounded for all entrepreneurs.

My mother lost no time in swimming in this advantageous current of prosperity, and quickly found a niche to exploit her abilities. Alone to make her decisions and organize her priorities in life, she realized that her first step was to provide 24-hour care for her child. In the beginning, meeting her work requirements was all that my mother could handle, so she found a qualified Russian nanny.

There was very little time available for motherly care and affection. This was reflected in the development of my character. The reason I could not picture in my mind my mother’s face—or remember her voice or feel her loving caress—as I look back in my life, is because I seldom had enough quality time with her to register any such experiences.

* * *

As the years passed, my mother established herself socially and economically in Shanghai. By the time she was twenty-one, she had showed an outstanding capacity for entrepreneurship by creating a lovely children’s store with exquisite taste in the selection of refined clothing. Having been brought up in Russia, in an elite Bourgeoisie atmosphere, provided her with the requisite finesse that she never lost, but expressed gracefully throughout her life.

By this time I was already four years old, and a young Chinese girl was chosen to be my amah. She was always to accompany me, play games with me, take care of my meals, and take me to the park every afternoon. I just loved to take my little net and hunt the grasshoppers on the grass. Sometimes I even caught butterflies, but I never kept them.

My amah and I got along very nicely. Until one day when I was about five years old, she, preoccupied with some work, suddenly became aware that I was very quiet. As she went looking for me she found me with a pair of scissors, busily cutting all the papers I could find and discovering how nicely I could cut. She quickly came to take them away before I could hurt myself. Well, I was not going to let that happen, not with my new toy.

As she gently asked me to give her the scissors, explaining how dangerous it was and that it was not a toy, I replied that I did not think so. She then took hold of my hand and would not let go, and I would not let go of the scissors. She was determined to take the scissors away from me before I hurt myself. She then used both her hands to work the scissors out of mine, but I was determined to keep them and with my little hands I tried to wiggle my way out of her reach. When she was about to force the scissors out of my hands and I saw that I couldn’t hold on to them any longer, I tried to bite my amah’s hand. What I did, and my stubborn attitude, greatly concerned her.

Right then and there the game was over. She took hold of the scissors, scolded me for being stubborn, and told me to say I was sorry. At this point I was not going to apologize; instead I became angry. As she was authorized to discipline me if necessary, this was going to be my first punishment for disobedience. She went to the kitchen and brought a spoon full of dry corn. Going to the far end of the room, in a corner, she spread the corn on the floor and told me I was to kneel on the corn until I said I was sorry.

Eventually I fell asleep sitting on the corn. She let me stay there until I woke up. It was getting dark. As I looked around, I saw her sitting on the floor beside me. I looked at her with a guilty look. Smiling at me, she stretched her arms and I snuggled with her. Very softly, as though afraid to be heard, I told her I was sorry.

On one of the daily outings with my amah, while I was busy hunting butterflies, my father surprised me in the middle of the park. I was so excited and happy. Although I had not seen him since I was a baby, I knew instantly that he was my father. As soon as he saw me, he came running toward me and lifted me up in a passionate embrace, swirling me around with joy! I must have inherited his passionate nature, because even now I do everything with passion and zest. As a Ukrainian landlord, he had a down-to-earth nature; his life always seemed to be tinged with an emotional flare that made any experience with him special.

That would not be the only day that we would meet. He had sworn me to secrecy, and I treated our meetings like a game. One day by surprise, and much to the horror of my Chinese amah, he took me on a motorcycle ride. He bought me candy and gently told me how much he loved me. I remember his beautiful shiny motorcycle, how soft the leather of his jacket felt on my cheek and how it smelled. I still think I can hear his words, and his soft, soothing voice. In my little heart I felt so comforted by him, so loved. We had a lovely afternoon. When he brought me back he said that we would meet again. Little did I know that this would be our last encounter. I never saw him again.

My amah told my mother about my father’s visits and our motorcycle ride. From that point on, my mother could not trust anyone to protect me from being kidnapped by my own father, so she made other arrangements to hide me. Deep in her heart she was terrified that he would take me back to the Ukraine. There he had family, and possessions, and properties in the countryside. If he did take me there, she knew she would never see me again.

Chapter 2

Shanghai, 1927

The following day she inquired at a local American boarding school for young children, asking if I could be placed there immediately. At five years old, I was at the right age to enter the first grade. Strict orders were given at the school that I should see no one except my mother. Although I was too young to understand the full implications it was to have on my life, this admittance to the boarding school was the first time I found myself to be truly on my own, which continued to be my reality for the next twelve years of my life.

Only Destiny knew that I was at the threshold of a life that I was to build, step by step, as a solitary soul. The plan was simple; each day had its dues to comply with. What was necessary was to have the right attitude—that’s where the catch was. There would be no family crutches, no sponsors, just options and opportunities for me to choose wisely and act diligently. My life lessons were about to begin and I was not prepared to meet them.

My first day at the boarding school was in October, Halloween time. The recreation room was decorated with witches, brooms, and plenty of decorated pumpkins. The décor was colorful and very attractive. Ordinarily a room full of witches would scare any child, especially one who was completely unaccustomed with this holiday. But as everyone was having such a good time, I saw that there was nothing to be afraid of. In the center were big wooden buckets filled with water, and the most delicious red apples were bubbling and inviting the excited children to get one without using their hands. From the ceiling hung ropes with little apples tied along the way down, challenging us to eat them without using our hands.

We were all having a wonderful time. There were so many different kinds of candy and all sorts of carbonated drinks. The day passed quickly without our noticing it. Evening came, and we were all exhausted from hunting witches and catching apples. As bedtime approached, I started to realize that I was not going home. I remembered that the day before I had said good-bye to my amah. I had grown accustomed to her. She was always sweet and gentle; that may have been her Oriental nature. She had a kind way of solving our little differences with a peaceful and wise agreement.

As I was waiting in silence for my turn to be readied for bed, I started thinking of that morning. My mother had brought me to the school with my luggage. She did say that now I was a big girl already and would be going to a boarding school with many other children. I had heard the words, but I don’t think I really understood their meaning. Did my mother mean that, being a big girl, I was not to have an amah anymore, and I would have to do everything by myself? Going to a boarding school would mean that I would not have a home anymore. I held on to the hope she had left me, that she would come to see me on the weekends.

As my turn came to be attended that evening, I was shown where my bed was, my sleeping clothes, a face towel, and the bathroom with the basin of water by the side. All the other children went along with the routine of changing their clothes and washing their faces. I just followed. When we were all ready and standing by our bedsides, the teacher told us to kneel down and all together say our evening prayers. This was my first initiation into a religious practice.

I went to bed with so many mixed feelings. In my short little life, I seemed to have had many changes in my routine. I thought about the people closest to me. My mother had to dedicate so much of her time to settle her business and establish a life in a new country. There were many adjustments and important decisions to be made along the way. I thought of my father and wondered if I would ever see him again. I never got to know the reasons he had come to Shanghai from Harbin, nor had my mother ever expected him to come. Life seemed to advise her to be ready and alert for any surprises. I was not aware of all the details of my mother’s life; yet in my heart I could feel the commotion and frustration because of her restlessness. This is how I inwardly justified her lack of demonstrated motherly love.

Thinking about the new prayer that I had just learned, I feel asleep. The emotional toll of the day resulted in a heavy exhaustion.

I must have been very tired because early the next morning, to my surprise, I realized that I had wet my bed. Alas, I had no amah to turn to and no mama to go to for protection. Eventually I had to get up and confess to the teacher, in front of all the girls, what had happened. There was no excuse for this lapse.

The teacher mercilessly took the wet sheet, wrapped it around me, and shut me in a dark closet to stay until I would promise never to do it again. Closed in the darkness of the closet, at first I cried and screamed. I felt ashamed, angry. Panicking and at a loss, I was abandoned to the mercy of a cruel school discipline.

After a while I calmed down. Deep inside my heart, I felt that I had learned my lesson. I would never go through this embarrassing experience again. Not only did I learn my lesson, but also I clearly saw that I had to go through it alone. I faced my quiet guilt and overcame the incident courageously. It was not to be a problem anymore.

Yet this experience created within me another problem that would take