The Bag in the Cupboard. Part Two of Three.

The funeral arrangements were made by the Mother on auto pilot, she had no help. She planned the wake, complete with sandwiches, tea and coffee. The husband was no help, completely useless by being perpetually drunk.

The funeral was hard on the family. The viewing of the body distressing, the Grandmother collapsed and was taken to hospital. The dead girls favourite song was played, her older sister devasated. The husband, still drunk, thanked everyone sincerely for coming and sharing HIS grief. The Mother did not cry.

The Grandmother was put on a plane, to be consoled by family living in the USA. The Mother breathed a sigh of relief. The husband, still drunk, refused to return to his business, the couple became bankrupt. The Mother still did not cry.

The family moved to a neglected old farm, miles out of town, where they did odd jobs and lived rent free. The elder daughter was put on the school bus every day, and came home in tears every afternoon. The Mother investigated and found the dead girls favourite song was played frequently by the bus driver She spoke to the driver, he did not play the song on the bus again. The Mother still did not cry.

The Grandmother returned from overseas, only to remember the horror of the past. The Mother now had another member of the family to look after. She supported her family by propping them up mentally and physically, always with the veneer, a smiling face. The Mother still did not cry.

In time, she gained a reputation. They called her the Ice Maiden. She did not celebrate the anniversaries of the death, she did not place Memorial notices in Newspapers. She did not visit the Cemetary. She still did not cry.

Two or so years later, while visiting an area hundreds of kilometes away, the Mother saw an acquaintance from the small girls pre school days. The woman asked, "How is ****** and *****? The Mother stared in horror. She answered " ****** is well and ***** is dead", turned her back and walked away.

Some years later, the couple divorced. The Father still drunk, moved to another State. The Grandmother still griefstricken, pulled herself together and started to live life once more. The Sister fared a little better, until becoming a Mother herself.

And the Ice Maiden? With no-one to support and prop up, she had time to think. She suffered a nervous breakdown, gave up her job, and was housebound for two years.

To be continued.

The Bad in the Cupboard. Part 1 of Three.

Five children, aged between 7 and 10, playing, laughing, enjoying a day full of sunshine. Two live there, three are visitors.

One of the three comes accross a well, this is a cause of great excitement. He has never seen one before, and calls the others over. Between them they manage to lift the lid, and peer down into the gloom, unable to see the bottom. It is 120 feet deep.

One older boy gives one small girl a shove, she looses her balance and starts to fall. The girls sister, 2 years older, grabs frantically at her clothes, unable to gain purchase. Finally, she manages to hold on to a foot encased in a sneaker, her little sister dangling precariously over the edge. Both girls are screaming for help. The other children do not come to help, they stand mesmerised, staring. As if in slow motion, the shoe and the foot part company.

There is no initial splash, just a dull series of empty sounding thumps echoing, as the small girls body bounces from one side of the shaft to the other. Eventually, after what seems like many minutes, there is a loud thump, and a small splash. She has reached the bottom of the well, and the end of her young life.

A little after 2 hours, her body was recovered and bought to the surface, smashed to pieces like a broken porcelain doll. The skull in 3 pieces, with one beautiful eye completely missing.

The parents identify the body. It is an horrific sight. The father suffers complete nervous collapse, and has never spoken of the event since. The grandmother blames herself, as she was minding the two girls. She still cries every night. The sister's life is never the same again, she blames herself because she let her sister fall. The event will haunt her to the end of her days. The family are never able to live in the house again. The well was their water supply. The eye is still down there. The marriage dissolved under pressure.

Finally, we get to the mother. She was working that particular day, satisfying the craving for money, to support her Western lifestyle. She also blames herself, of course.

This event was I hope, done in the innocence that comes with childhood, in a land where there is no war.

It is bad enough a child dies, let alone being killed in war.


To be continued.

Yesterday's Children

This is subject to copyright and written by my Mother, the book is Yesterday's Children by Elizabeth Yoel Campbell, and the 2nd edition is being released later this month. The book has been edited by Carolyn Karam-Barkley, who has done a brilliant job. http://wwwyesterdayschildrenbook.com/

"Although I am not quite 80 years old, I have yet experienced life as it must have been lived in the Middle Ages. For the first few years of my life I lived in a walled city with great iron studded gates and narrow cobblestoned streets, flanked by two storey high adobe walls. Small latticed windows pierced the walls at the highest level and strong solid doors, always locked, barred entrance to the stranger. What goes on behind those doors is impossible to tell. Is it a rich man's abode, light and airy inside, with priceless hand woven carpets, silk cushions, golden ornaments, perfumed lamps and bejewelled harem wives, or a poor man's home, a warren of dark rooms and darker passages, where maybe twenty families live, four, five, six to a room? No, no one can tell from the outside. For one does not want to attract the evil eye, nor the attention of the greedy and fierce tribesmen, who from time to time and without warning, descend on the hapless inhabitants of un-walled cities, to sack and pillage, then withdraw to their mountain tops, where no government troops dare to follow".

"Our town walls are as thick as they are high, and when all the visiting caravans bringing in their wares from far off places like Samarkand, Bukhara, Isfahan, Khoisan, Baghdad, Basra and places further to the East are safely in, the gates clang shut and afterwards only a special permit from the Governor, or knowledge of the password can let you in or out".

"Inside those thick walls are granaries and storage's for all the necessities of life to feed the inhabitants in times of siege or famine, and barracks for the soldiers who guard the walls twenty four hours a day, always on the lookout for trouble, inside or out".

"By sunset the caravans have arrived at their destinations in the great caravansaries to seek food, shelter and rest for the night, after their arduous day long journey from their previous night's shelter across the desert and the interminable mountains. They open out on to the great bazaars to give easy access to travelling merchants to barter or sell their goods, purchase local wares and make ready to set off with the caravan next morning".

"There are acres and acres of bazaars crisscrossing each other, covered and vaulted, the only daylight coming in from the skylights set 25 feet or more at the apex of the arches. To us children, the bazaars are an enchantment, a wonder filled Aladdin's cave, a visit there to be prayed for, to be dreamed about".

"Just before sunset, after the caravans are out of the way, the streets are swept clean and water from goatskins is sprinkled on the parched ground to cool and settle down the dust, in readiness for the call to evening prayer. I can still smell the fragrance of water on parched earth and the Petunias growing inside private gardens...and then, thin and sweet in the evening air, comes the lilting voice of the Muezzin from his high perch in the minaret towering over all other buildings".

"By now everybody is heading for home and wherever he is, on hearing the Muezzin's call "Lah, Lah el Inlah, Mohammad Rasul Allah" ( Allah is great and Mohammad is his messenger), a Muslim spreads his prayer rug, which he has carried with him all day, to answer the call to prayer several times during the day, turns towards Mecca and performs the rituals of his faith without embarrassment. The prayers over and the Muezzin now silent, he picks up his rug, shakes and folds it reverently and goes home to his waiting family".

"At our home, as in every other house, oil lamps are being lit now. Some are very beautiful, gold and ruby glass, others in poorer families are made of tin. In warm weather, most people have their evening meal and then sleep on the flat roofs of their houses, for the city is malarial and troublesome mosquitoes stay close to the ground, in the damp vegetation of the garden".

"Out in the street all is quiet now, gates locked and barred against the evils of the night. But on the roof tops all is light, alive with laughter and expectancy, for this is the time for the main meal of the day and the man of the house, having toiled all day, is eager for his dinner and time with his family. This is the time for fragrant pilaf, spiced yearling lamb, chilled sherbet and yoghurt and many delicious fruits of the land. The lamps and lanterns are alight, tablecloths laid, and dishes set out in readiness. The roofs have high parapets for safety and to guard privacy, but you know that people are on their rooftops all over town, because you hear laughter and whispering voices nearby, and see the reflected light from lanterns on parapet walls in all directions stretching in to infinity, or so it seems to me".

"It is quite dark now, the voices around us stilled in sleep. The servants have cleared the remnants of the meal and gone down to their own quarters somewhere in the depths of the house. Finally, we are sent off to bed to sleep under the stars, which is absolutely magical. The deep silence of the night descends and wraps us round in slumberous peace. For a while I lie awake on my back gazing at the stars in all their glory, so far, far away. But tonight they do not seem so far away. To me it seems that I could stretch out and pick one and keep it for my very own. I gaze and gaze, fighting off sleep, wondering if somewhere out there among those millions of worlds, there are other little girls who would like to be my friends and come down to play with me. As far as star gazing goes, I am a true daughter of those far off Assyrio-Babylonian forebears who first turned star-gazing into astrology and then into a science".

"Something wakes me up. Not a sound, (apart the perennial chatter of Sufi Chai, (the river) outside the city gates) light or whisper anywhere. I listen and listen and then-yes-it is the sound of donkey hooves on cobble stones down below. I run to the parapet and climb on to a chair. In the pitch dark I see a lantern bobbing up and down as it approaches and then just for a brief moment a man comes into my line of vision, running ahead of his master astride his donkey, to light the way. The master is a Mullah on a mission of mercy, perhaps to be at the bedside of a dying man. For no-one (except on illicit business) would be out at this time of night without a pass, or knowledge of the password. Papa, being a doctor, knows the password, which is changed every few days. The 'word' is passed on directly to Papa by the Governor himself, the two being close friends. Papa is at the Governor's compound almost every day, for there is always someone sick in his large household."

"As the Mullah's light is swallowed up by the night, I hear the Town Crier's voice approaching and every few metres he stops and calls out at the top of his voice 'It is now ...O'clock and all is well. Sleep well all of you true believers, for Allah is Great'. Then he too vanishes from sight. I still do not want to go back to bed for I am waiting for something special. Then I hear it, clippity clop, clippity clop, the sound of horses hooves of cobble stones and the chink of weapons on metal. They too come into view and by their lanterns I see they are armed to the teeth, fierce looking men - and they have to be. For this is the Night Watch and because of them we all sleep more soundly. They too vanish in the velvet darkness, the noise of their passage gradually diminished by the distance".

"There is a hush now and all the world is sleeping. The silence is so deep and eerie that I seem to hear dim, unintelligible fairy voices singing the songs of Arabian Nights Sirens and calling me from the stars above. Suddenly I am afraid and very lonely, I no longer like the night. Finally I find Mama and Papa's bed and climb in to be held in their arms and comforted, before being carried back to my own bed. I am happy now for the night holds no more terrors".

"The night is warm, the breeze has dropped and the poplar leaves which have been rustling all night as if singing a lullaby to the children of the land, are quiet too. All nature seems suspended, waiting for the rising of the sun and the renewed life it brings with it. That is good and I am happy, for I like playing in the sun".

Visit the website: http://wwwyesterdayschildrenbook.com/

The Wings of Change

Something is not quite right in my small part of the world. I can't quite put my finger on it, but I am sure this is the right time for change. Change from the silly theme, back to my roots.

Middle Eastern and Scottish. A great mix, Middle Eastern passion versus the dour Scot. East meets West, intermingles and balances out, living together in harmony. The way it should be.

The air is heavy with the heat of Summer, the humidity high, and the blossoms fragrant. I feel sleepy, but there are things that disturb me greatly. I dream of my Mother's last days in Maragha, about 20 kilometers east of Lake Urmia. She and her brothers and sisters watched my Grandfather die tragically, whilst trying to defend them from the dreaded Coral Snake.

My very brave Grand Papa, the only Doctor for hundreds of miles. At one time kidnapped by Kurds to help their wounded, and then released and sent back to the walled city, only to be used on other occasions.

Grand Papa, a member of one of the 5 Assyrian clans of Baz, a leader is his own right. Grandmama, again Assyrian, from Armenia, named by Reza Shah as Ghozal (beautiful).

The story is very long, with political twists and turns.

A diary of times past, and well worth the telling.

The Spooky Room and Angel

I have been involved in Wicca for quite a long time now. My interest evolved quite slowly and very much to my surprise. In fact, it scared the living hell out of me.

I was driving to a friends new home, and became very lost. Along the way I saw a property with a For Sale sign , the garden lush and overgrown. I felt an urgent need to see inside. Just as I was about to knock, the door opened, and before me was a woman with the most striking green eyes I had ever seen. She held my attention for quite some time. Before the day was out, I had bought myself a house. I felt such affinity to that place the moment I laid eyes on it.

It began about 2 weeks after we moved in. One of the girls contracted measles, I had put her in my bed for some needed peace and quiet. About half an hour later I went in to check on her, the room was freezing and the hairs on the back of my neck began to prickle. I could see the steam coming from my breath.

Let me explain. It was February, a late afternoon in Perth. The Freemantle Doctor had given us a miss that day and it was stinking hot, around 43 degree's. The house was double brick and had high vaulted ceilings, which helped it remain reasonably comfortable in the heat. There was no air conditioning.

I stepped in and out of the room several times, to make sure I wasn't dreaming. I called the others, on the pretext of visiting their daughter/sister. I wanted to see if there was any reaction from them. There was, "it's a bit chilly", " it's freezing in here", and "it's creepy". At this point I had not mentioned anything about "the room". There was even a reaction from my dog Becky, who loved to be on my bed. She refused to go in. She sat just back from door, hackles raised, growling.

That was the first time "it "happened.. My other half thought I had gone slightly loopy. When he was working away, I couldn't sleep in the bedroom. I slept with one of the kids, or on the couch. I bought extra blankets, I even had thermal pj's sent over from Victoria, and was still cold. No, definitely not joking, or crazy either.

The kids named it the "Spooky Room", except for the one who had measles. I found that very strange at the time. She explained later that she was burning up, and felt comfortable in "there".

Anyway, the rumor's ran rife within the school community. My bedroom gained quite a reputation. Some weeks later, there was a knock on my door. It was one of the Mum's from the school, we had seen each other before, but had not met as our kids were in different classes....so, she introduced herself to me, and said she had heard I had a problem with "The Spooky Room"

She went on to explain the previous owner was a member of the Wiccan community, and used the Ouija board every Friday night, quite successfully. I was dumbfounded, and just stared at her. I didn't believe in that rubbish. I must have appeared quite rude, she talked for about 10 minutes before I asked her in for coffee.

We did a lot of talking, over many weeks. The more she talked, the more interested I became. I researched a lot. I had no Internet at that time and the local library was quite outdated, although I did happen upon some copies of Grimoire's that were extremely interesting.

This story is by no means finished, I'll call it Installment No. 1.

Wings of Hope and Angels

For my blogger friend, who thinks this site is dark and a bit depressing. I hope this picture cheers you up, Pegasus is exquisite.

Iraq is, at this point destroyed. Lives, livlihoods, sanity, are all gone. It is burnt and razed to the ground. There will never be another Iraq, as we knew it. This is a given, for her citizens. Millions of displaced Iraqi's are spread over the Middle East, most not welcome in their host countries. Hell, they're not even welcome in their own country, just ask the Americans, I'm sure they will tell you. A lot living in squalor, dying of disease, and lack of everything you or I would take as granted.

If perchance the US were to leave Iraqi's to fend for themselves it would possibly be called abandonment, by a lot of do-gooders. Really though, those who can have left the nest, leaving what's left to the vultures. You know, those Iranian, American Turkish, Kurdish, Israeli, Shia militias. Oops, forgot Blackwater and the other private contracters. Anyone else want to join in the militia group? Why not, the more the merrier.

The US is in debt to China, up to it's neck. Their rising mortgage crisis is damaging their credibility and their economy is shot to pieces. Bush and his war mongering mate, Cheney, have destroyed the strong economy of two countries, for a war that cannot be won. It makes you wonder how gullible the American voters are. Isn't is about time the citizens of that "fair" country got rid of their government, who have shown themselves to be corrupt to the very core.

It's about time we, Britain and Australia got off our backsides, and did something about this mess. That we helped cause it, is morally bankrupt, that we let our elected leaders join Bush is more than remiss, it is gross negligence.

Bush's Gift to Iraq & No Angels

The Gift
Copyright AL

The tears fall
As she lays dying
Screaming in pain
She follows us
On the path to death
Destruction
Darkness

We took her
Broke her
Tore her down
We broke her heart

Hatred fills her veins
She knows we did this
For oil and lies
Hating us for it
We have given her
Something to fight for

Her heart is filled with love
For killing
For hatred
Hatred for us

She is now
A place of pain
A place of death
A place of sorrow

Dying
Suffering
Torn and bleeding
She still strives to live

Christianity and the Angel of Death

Christians these days, do not associate themselves with being the cause of death and destruction. That is strange, given our history of invasion and colonisation.

Here is a little example of Christian Terrorism, how very apt for this to turn up, via Layla, at this time.

http://uruknet.info/?p=m37419&s1=h1

It was us, was it not, that invaded the "Holy Land" first? What do I hear to that? No comment.

We have a long history of invasion, destruction, and death. We cannot see it. That was back then, right? Yes, but it is still happening now. No, I'm not talking about Iraq, amazing!

We are often reminded by the media and the USA, of the age old feud's in the Middle East, between Sunni and Shia, Palestinians and Jews, Turks and Kurds, the list goes on and on. "They are killing each other" Unfortunately, that is partly true. Do we ever associate the rivalry with current day events in the West? The answer is no, of course.

Now, a reminder. The Hell's Angels and the Gypsy Jokers, as an example, are tribes that are warring. The rival gangs we hear about in Western cities, are tribe's of a sort.

These people are raised as Christians, or at the very least, in the so called "civilized" West. These "civilized" people are killing each other with guns, knives, and whatever else they can lay their hands on. If one of them is killed, there is a revenge killing, or a savage brutal beating.

What would you call this? Gang warfare. In tribal terms, or even soldiers terms, it would be "looking out for your family", or "watching your mates back". An Americanism, "we blood, bro, you kill my blood, we kill your blood". This is all out war, yet no-one can see it. Why? Because it is part of everyday life. There are none so blind as those who cannot see.

What we refuse to see, is that this IS tribal, it IS war. Did I hear you say they don't blow each other up? Really?

Dare I mention Northern Ireland? Or are they all Muslims too?

Angels Crying and Christian Terrorists

The following came out of a discussion on blogocrcy, the topic was of tortured kidnap victims and offering terrorists the ability to sit and talk of their grievances, over tea and cake. The hypothetical subject, a child has been kidnapped, by, who else, except those of the Muslim Faith.

On the blog, no-one pointed out that Christians are just as capable of terrorism as any other religion. The terrorists were repeatedly referred to as Muslims.

The following, from a blogger:

Of course if she died yet could have been saved you could
always pray at her graveside & try to explain, “Sorry dear, I couldn’t save you on moral grounds.

My response, based on real life:

At the time, I did try to explain that one to my Mother and Grandy, but they didn't take it very well, and were absolutely distraught. No-one could save anyone on moral grounds. The morality of the Americans had disappeared.

No-one could pray at the graveside, the cemetary, blown up by the Americans was unavailable for burials. Apart from that, the body bits didn't match, or were unaccessible due to miniscule sizes. Sort of like a jigsaw puzzle, with missing pieces. No coffins either, just cardboard boxes.

The US terrorists were offered tea and cake, to placate their thirst for bloodlust and torture, fuelled by self righteousness and outright lies. With the thrill of the kill fresh in their minds, they refused, and shot them one by one. The shootings continue to this day.

There are make believe scenarios and there are real one's. Some of you seem to be unable to decipher differing types of torture, and who applies it. You choose to ignore the fact that terrorism in Christianity exists.

Trapped Iraqi's, USA and Angel

Do you ever have the feeling that you are not seeing anything outside you own little world? That you are encapsulated, confined, and sheltered?

This is what is happening to me. I feel guilty, I have been neglecting to take note of the human face of misery that is Iraq.

I haven't forgotten, it has just slipped by me. It's so easy to get enmeshed with small things in life, that seem to spiral out of control so that you can't see the wood for the trees. Today, I woke up, and the outrage has returned.

The every day punter is sick and tired of hearing about Iraq, I really believe they don't care. It has come down to an article here and there on the main news channels . Bits and pieces, just the insurgents killed "how ever many" today. The "how ever many" don't count, they are only Iraqi's, and no-one gives a damn.

An interesting article from ICH today http://www.news.com.au/story/0,23599,22471872-2,00.html. US snipers baiting Iraqi's. Just how low can the US Military go? Apparently all the way, USA. Utterly, totally disgusting. How can you NOT care, when it is done in your name?

The following quote is very interesting, being compared to Bushism's. There are many quote's from Bush that are nearly word for word with Hitler. Makes you wonder at the mentality of the man.

Through clever and constant application of propaganda, people can be made to see paradise as hell, and also the other way round, to consider the most wretched sort of life as paradise" : Adolf Hitler .

The following is from Bush:

In my line of work you got to keep repeating things over and
over and over again for the truth to sink in, to kind of catapult the propaganda. George W. Bush

Note the similarities between the two. Do you equate Bush with Hitler? The answer is no, you don't and the scary thing is, you should. This is what you have invited into our world, the leader of "freedom and democracy" is nothing more that a megalomaniac, just like Hitler was, and with the same type of views. One small difference though, Hitler hated Jews, and the US President loves them.

Angel's, Iraq, Nukes and Flying Bush's.

If trees could fly?

There is an interesting article at ICH, today. As there is most days. But, this one is a little different, and so are the comments. Have a sticky beak at the article here: http://www.informationclearinghouse.info/article18325.htm

Apparently there are some funny going's on at Barksdale Air Force Base. Tut, tut, does this mean the US is up to no good? Again?

According to one of the comments on this article, it is an extremely sophisticated process to arm a nuclear bomb. You don't just load the nukes, and then drop them. It doesn't happen this way.

If sophistication is the key, why was it so easy for the US to 'nuke' Japan, during WW11? It must have been more sophisticated then, seeing it was so simple? Right.

Really though, this is not what I wanted to write about. It is one of the comments, that has me thinking.

"The worst part about all this is that no one else in the world even cares what happens to the American people and who will come to our rescue? NO ONE"

Well, which of you cared for the lives of innocents when Iraq was bombed? You did? LIAR. Did you all stand, mouths open, when you watched Operation OIL's first hours? Were you crying at the time? You were? LIAR. You were cheering your soldiers on, while our people were being mutilated, and blown to pieces. You weren't? LIAR. You were yelling in triumph, US military kicking butt in Iraq, while our kids were dying in our arms and you didn't care! You did? LIAR.

And you continued to show your arrogance, by video taping all your disgusting carnage. You posted them on you tube, in the hundreds, you were so proud. You didn't? LIAR .You didn't vote for your President? LIAR. He did not get into office using thin air.

I don't care for your administration, your President with a capitol P, nor his 700 odd contingent that arrived in Australia with yet another "shock and awe" campaign. We were, by the way, truly grateful the '"shock and awe" was the exact opposite of Iraq's version. As it turned out, it was Australian comedians that shocked, making headlines, and also Bush's inability to remember where he was, and what he was here for . Austria and OPEC?

It's about time you got off your backsides, and did something about your embarrassing problem. Bush is your liability, your shackles and the noose around your neck. The reputation of America and her people are at an all time low.

DITCH YOUR PRESIDENT AND THE CURRENT ADMINISTRATION.

And for heavens sake, make your vote count, regain your reputation, if indeed it is possible..

Angel , Demons , Four B's and X.

The demon in this instance, is Bush and the US administration. At least one of my B's, possibly two, voted Bush back into office.

Just prior to the last US election, my Uncle B the first, sent me an email. Told me that if Al Gore was elected, he was going to leave the US in disgust and move to Aus. and to look for a property nearby for him.

I got the shock of my life. I could not believe he wanted Bush to serve a second term. Being a dutiful niece, I would never disrespect him by telling him I thought he was nuts. I did not send a return email.

I have another Uncle there, Uncle B the second. He also surprised me, not by voting for Bush, but by telling me the US was God's own country. He was bursting with the pride that we see in their military forces. I can remember, when I was much younger, being told by this B that the country X, was the land of milk and honey.

Then there is Aunt B, she is the third of my B's and is one classy lady. She is also in the US, but very covert in her thoughts. She sent me some pictures of Tabriz, where she and my mother were born, saying she would hate to see anything happen to that beautiful city. I figured there was a hidden meaning mixed in there.

None of them have said one word about Iraq. I can't believe they said nothing. Have they been struck deaf? Do they not read the paper, or watch the news? Or is it laundered, smoothed over so as not to invade their delicate senses?

Thank goodness for my Mother, who is distraught at the devastation wrought in Iraq. Mum has no trouble voicing her disgust regarding the USA, possibly because she does not live there. She has some very interesting stories to tell about CIA 'black' ops, misinformation, intervention, and the last Shah of Iran. I will save those stories for another time.

Who is the fourth B? That is Bush, and thank Ishtar he does not belong to my family of B's.

As for country X, there are branches of my family everywhere, with roots reaching into Iraq, Iran, Turkey, Armenia, Syria. They are all lands of milk and honey, according to each individual branch.

Slaying Angels

There have been other times in history where genocides have largely been ignored by the Christian West. This story has been told to me by my Assyrian Grandmother many times. God rest her Soul.

Assyrian lands were hemmed in by ring after ring of Christian hating Kurds, who in the past had often made armed incursions into their lands. In spite of this and because of benefits to both sides, certain trade routes had remained open. Now, one by one, these routes were being barred. Outgoing goods never reached the markets. Incoming goods never reached their intended recipients, being either filched or confiscated. Tea, sugar, flour, kerosine for lanterns, and ammunition for self defence, or hunding of wild game, and for protection of their flocks from wild beasts. All gone.

Turks, the overlords had never seen eye to eye with the fractious Kurds, except in times of Jihad. This was a constant worry to the Assyrians. At this time the Turks and Kurds had a blossoming friendship, a joining ot the two, making very strange bedfellows indeed, all in the name of Jihad against the infidel Christians, even though these Christians were in their own land.

Thousands of rabble had taken up the cause against the Christians. The Turks and Kurds were well armed, the ring around the Christians was tightening slowly, with ululating voices chanting "Jihad, Jihad". The Assyrian lines grew thinner and thinner, until there were only mostly women and children left. A lot of them chose to jump over the side, and die, taking their children with them Those that did not jump, were disposed of when Turk and Kurd had no further use for them.

Around this time, a million and a half Armenian Christians were massacred in Turkey. When the lust for Christian blood and cooled down a little, thousands of mostly old men, women and children were driven like sheep into the harsh Anatolian desert and made to march without food or water, until they dropped from sheer exhaustion.

No apologies or acknowledgements have ever been made, by either Turk or Kurd regarding the Genocide of the Assyrians. No compensation has ever been made to the Assyrian clans for the green lands they had carved out with such care, from a once barren land.

All appeals to Western Powers have been ignored, as Turkey is a valued ally to the US, these days.

As for the Poor Kurds, 'victims' of the so called 'wicked' Saddam Hussein, they carried out yet another Assyrian massacre, this time with Arab help, wanting to finish off once and for all what their kin had failed to do in Turkey in WWI. When Justice and self interest come into the the equasion, we all know which side is the winner.

Angels Dying Inside

This is how I feel tonight. A few harsh words, a slight of hand from a much trusted friend.

Why is it people say things that hurt you, destroy your self esteem, and then tell you it was a joke, or they didn't mean it?

Apologies over and done with, but it's too late, the damage has been done. The words used will remain a barrier for me towards this person. Also, I have a long memory when it comes to personal insults.

It does not take much to tip the scales when it comes to the fragility of our outer shells. Attacking the 'man', is something I rarely do and I hate it when others resort to this modus operandi.

What's that old saying, once bitten, twice shy? From now on, I am "twice shy" with this particular person.

Iraqi Dryad's

I know you are wondering what this has to do with Iraq, right? A magical image, something to take your mind off things. Just look at her, isn't she something special?. She is a Dryad, yes a weird name.

According to Micha F. Lindemans of the Encyclopedia Mythica, she is a female spirit, or nature nymph, who preside in the forests, http://www.pantheon.org/articles/d/dryads.html

Each nymph is born with a certain tree, over she watches. If she lives IN the tree, her name changes from Dryad to Hamadryad.

Should the tree perish, then she dies with it. If this is caused by a mortal, then the Gods will punish him/her for that deed. Apparently the Dryad's themselves will also punish any thoughtless mortal who would somehow injure "her" tree.

I wonder about the missing "Shadow's" of the palms in Baghdad. Are the US soldiers being punished, not only by the Resistance, but by the Dryad's as well?

Those Palm Tree's in Baghdad were something special, it therefore seems logical to assume the Dryad's were special also.

Iraq needs all the help she can get, if it comes in the form folklore, so be it. We need to help, not sit on our backsides. Our voices need to be raised a couple of octaves louder, and don't think you are only one voice, and you won't count. You will count, you and every other person who join together in voicing your displeasure in your Government's actions.

YOU MUST MAKE IT COUNT.

Yazidis Thread

Erf and Orang, just in case you happen to land on this spot:

In relation to Peacocks, Angels, Eggshells, and Imploding Threads of Erf

The Iraqi women have sent a prayer to their guardian angel. The Peacock's tail feathers have been plucked, along with his marbles, therefore rendering him useless. There is now no need to walk on eggshells and my composure has been regained.


This is my thank you to you. I hope you enjoy watching this http://youtube.com/watch?v=xs-Z-8xSnSc, as much as I enjoyed performing it.

Education and the Assyrian Cause

Today was terrible. I got hooked up on blogocracy with a guy called **** ** ***** *****. You know the type. One of those that thinks everything he hears on the news, or reads in the papers is 100% true.


I tried to educate him a little, regarding my family history, and Great Uncle Patros, and the http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D_apDyzm3ag Assyrian mess. Also this , Assyrian Martyr's. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=37k8C74INVk&mode=related&search=

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S7oDBIjbldw dedication.


All I ended up doing was spilling the beans of my personal history. It went way, way over the top. Tim, at blogocracy pulled the thread. I'm glad he did.

I said things I normally wouldn't say, describing them fully, in minute detail, my beautiful cousin Shushan, her repeated rectal rapes, at the hands of US soldiers and her subsequent suicide. The deaths of my niece and nephew, and their funerals, and the rape of elderly Aamia Sharifa

I asked him to put himself in my shoes, and how would he feel? I was that upset when I read his reply, I turned the computer off. I can't even remember what is was now, and can't read it again because the thread was pulled. Just as well, I suppose.

It's people like him, that believe this "war" is straight forward, and there are no twists and turns, that caused this in the first place.

Bushista's, don't you just love them? Those self righteous, puffed up tossers should be made to spend a few weeks "In the Shadow of the Palms" with family in tow, and learn by first hand experiences of a war zone. Maybe in down town Baghdad, or in Mosul.

They should walk the walk, before they talk the talk.

I have just remembered what he called my point of view - Logical Fallacy. I had to look it up, and don't fully understand. There was another logical fallacy regarding history -'just because you believed it to happen, doesn't mean it did. Confusing

Anyway, if you come accross him, he is a nasty piece of work, and is best to stay clear.

Trapped

We all live in some sort of web, trapped by life. It happens, and life goes on.

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Panic/Anxiety Disorder, Depression.


Depression is something we all have, at one stage in our life. Whether we admit to it, is another thing entirely. For most, it is something that last's a few weeks at a time. For others it is a noose around their necks, that gets tighter and tighter.

There are those that don't believe Depression is "real", and tell you to pull yourself together, and get on with life. Try explaining it to them, it just doesn't work.


There are two schools of thought on Panic/Anxiety/Depression.

1. Depression sets of Panic/Anxiety.
2. Panic/Anxiety sets off Depression.

I don't feel I had the Depression side, although thinking back, I probably should have. If it recurred, I know I would.

PTSD, Panic/Anxiety, is my area, I know it intimately and hate it with a vengence. My Panic Attacks started round 15 years ago, after I started a new job, in a high pressure area. I had absolutely no training for this position, and thought I knew it all. By the time 6 weeks were up, I was a mess, having panic attacks, but not recognising what "it" was.

Vomiting, shaking, crawling skin, rapid heart rate, frozen on the spot, unable to talk, no sleep, night sweats, buzzing head, violent headache's, irritable bowel syndrome, duodenal ulcers. The final insult, my hair fell out.

One day, I just didn't go to work. I couldn't. I rang and told them I was unable to continue. It was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. It took 2 years to claim some sort of life back and another 8 before I felt I was truly able to face a return to some form of work. I am, to this day still taking a 'maintenance' dose of meds. Neither I, nor my Doctor envisage my life without it.

Luckily my family were supportive, and my husband truly amazing. I do not know if I could have faced it alone. I will never know, and I don't want to. I am, once more in a high pressure job, and am coping well with a 6 day week.

I might add, in amongst this my daughter, Mandy, died in an accident.

This is only a small part of that journey. I want people to know that there is light at the end of the tunnel, and not to ever give up hope.























.

Hope and Apathy

I am not good at writing blogs. I sort of sit here, like this. I keep looking at the blank page, as if it is going to fill itself, and a topic will jump into my head.

Mayby if I had a Djinn?

As are many at the moment, I am sick of the fighting, the killing and sectarian nonsense. More so in Iraq, than the Middle East in general. This interview with a pro Resistance Iraqi might finally be the thing that binds them together.

http://www.informationclearinghouse.info/article18155.htm


I have made my views known to our government, in no uncertain terms, regarding Australia's involvement in the region. It has done nothing to help the situation, but it has made me feel better.

We have an election happening here soon, and I am pretty sure our PM is going to be voted out of office. I hope the new PM will listen to the voices of the people, and heed our wishes.

There is a general apathy here, when it comes to the Middle East. No-one seems to be bothered, the general impression I get from others, is that all Middle Easterners are crazy, gun toting murderers, that kill eachother. I know that to be an untruth. They haven't seen our committment to family, our history, our culture, and our laughter. Well, maybe not so much laughter lately.

I try and explain that it is a by-product of constant warring, there is no rest, no happiness, no hope. Not to mention the things we take for granted, like water, electricity, hospitals, and money. A lot of things are possible if you have money, but then again, some things are not. Layla mentioned 'the last Iraqi', he had money and it still didn't help him.

I hope the Resistance is able to pull this off, and unite once more, all Iraqi's.

She Is Dead

Copyright AL

For those of you that wonder.
Don't.
The anniversary of her death
Has just passed

She is...
the Whispering Wind
the Warm Sunlight on my face
the Stars in the Sky
the Beating Wings of a Butterfly
the Pure White Snow
the Moonlit Night
the Turbulent Waves
the Swirling Leaves
the Morning Dew
the Dancing Flames
the Misty Morning
the Dark Night
the Tears on my Face
the Ache in my Heart
the Emptiness Inside
the Earth
the Air
the Fire
the Water
She was 7.