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Global Gold Rush |
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Rushing to Dig |
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One of many treasures |
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Shelling stops digging |
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$99 million in gold |
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Lucky Seven |
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Waiting for news |
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White powdered gold |
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Bills for pills |
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Yellow reminders |
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Earth’s real treasure |
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Shrouding the conflict |
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I’m aghast at the lack of information about what’s really been taking place in the Middle East. Barely a whisper is heard about the Bactrian Gold hiding in the national bank vault in Afghanistan’s capital.
The Bactrian Treasure was discovered by Afghan and Soviet archeologists around 1979 prior to the Soviet invasion of the coveted territory, only to disappear until recently. More than 20,600 gold ornaments from the era of Alexander the Great were found in six desert burial grounds—a small fraction of the unexcavated burial sites still remaining. Unfortunately, archeologists were forced to abandon the “dig” due to heavy artillery shelling nearby. But even more worrisome was how to keep the national treasures from further harm.
For almost twenty-five years, the cache was effectively hidden from view. Some feared it was lost or had been melted down, but in 2003, the cache was “rediscovered” in secret vaults under the Presidential Palace in Kabul, along with $99 million in gold bars. The Soviet archeologist was summoned to Afghanistan to help identify, confirm, and catalog the treasure pieces he and the team had exhumed from the graves a quarter century earlier.
According to a recent documentary, the gold bars and the antiquities are currently at rest in the capital city’s bank, evidently a much safer venue than the palace. Seven keys to the seven locks of the underground hoard are held by seven men from various countries whose presence is required to simultaneously open the sarcophagant pile of power.
No wonder there are Special Forces in Afghanistan! U.S. and allied troops are on public relations campaigns throughout the capital city under the veil of “nicely” locating and ousting insurgents. (This is a far cry from the Rules of Engagement in Iraq: “Shoot anyone who looks like the enemy,” as one new recruit was told.)
Could it be that the rainbow of troops is there to sniff out potential threats to the gold bars and priceless gold trinkets now safely tucked away in the bank’s underground treasure room? I’d guess the multi-national troops on the scene represent the seven countries of the seven key-holders.
Meanwhile, good Christians back home have again, as during the Crusades, rallied for God and country, thereby playing into Act 666, Scene 2007 of the flip-flopping morals of their so-called leaders. Instead of dedicating time to discover that most Afghanistans—like most Americans—are good, hard-working people in pursuit of life, liberty and happiness, the preferred born-agains remain visionless by their disciplined blind allegiance to the cross.
Is there a Christian out there who knows about and therefore questions the fact that Arbusto (“Little Bush” in Spanish) is the only off-shore rig in the Persian Gulf? That the future mega-tourist city of Dubai will need the assurance of fuel for its construction of artificial islands on which to build hotels, marinas, and casinos? That troops in Afghanistan ignore drug lord’s activities and look for the “illusive terrorist” that is fueled by drug profits?
Terrorism, however, provides a good excuse to have armed troops near the bank with Black-hawk birds circling in the event that extrication of the coveted gold is necessary. The Taliban already tried to grab the gold but failed, thanks to the U.S.’ bombing raids against “terrorists” in Afghanistan following September 11—long before Iraq was designated as the Twin Towers scapegoat by our Good Shepherd politicians.
Failing to capture the gold, the Taliban have been “forced” to align with the drug lords for acquiring their weapons to destroy us infidels. Next time you see a yellow ribbon ‘round the old oak tree, think gold. Most likely, that ribbon will turn red with the real blood of your sacrificial child upon the slimy altar of those who preach peace and pretend to care about you and yours. And thus the heavenly flip-flop continues when it behooves the glorified gatekeepers.
One of the definitions of republican is “…one of the two major political parties evolving in the U.S. in the mid-19th century that is usually associated with business, financial, and some agricultural interests and is held to favor a restricted governmental role in economic life.”
The opening statement of our Pledge of Allegiance is our opiate to assure economic “sanctity” happens. “…and to the Republic for which it stands,” means that we’re republicans regardless of party affiliation, and democracy (social equality) is just something we package in imperialism and sell to the highest bidder.
The Republic’s “restricted” role is in economic life (how convenient for corporations), but not in busy-body antics attempting to control how you think and with whom you sleep. Present scandals suggest religions and politicians should do their own bed-checks once in a while, and maybe a few push backs from the trough, too.
Further opiates can be found in Movie Land or the resurrection story. Hollywood’s Jewish version might be Clark Kent entering a phone booth and emerging as Super Man to save the world. It’s enough to give one a headache.
Regardless, truth or lies have failed to whet our appetites for the material and the carnal. We’re always searching for the next fix through our mindless marketing dealers, while they whisk our children away to fight the holy wars of their secluded employers on Wall Street.
The numbers of people in the U.S. alone who are popping handfuls of pills every day is staggering. Diet, anti-stress, and boner pills fuel the appetites of legalized druggists as poppies for opium fuel the drug lords’. Both are manufacturing white powdered gold, which we gladly trade for the paper or plastic they’ve collectively allotted us.
With or without pills, testosterone has killed more humans than all diseases throughout all ages. Contrary to popular belief, this is not nature’s way of culling the weak for the strong—it is man’s way.
Screw the boner pills—what we need are sanity pills—or at least a testosterone deterrent. Saltpeter in their Starbucks? More estrogen in their sausage links? Less hops in their beer? Unfortunately, ladies, we’re dealing with outdated masculine modes, codes, and mother-lodes.
If there is a prayer that one could pray in every language, and if there is at least one god who is not a glutton for killing, might it not be that we would pray to come to our senses? The fields may be red with poppy blooms but must they be fertilized by the warm blood of mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, and babies yet unborn?
The sacrificial lambs that our children of all religions have become end up on the banquet tables of the over-fed fat-cats as lamb chops and mint sauce. And don’t forget the blood-red wine they use as a chaser. For our children’s sake—if not for your God’s—let’s all call our children home.
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