I find it ironic timing-the recent archaeological discovery of a six-foot tall Persian woman born over 5,000 years ago. The woman with the golden eye was found in the ancient necropolis of Shahr-i-Sokhta on the Iran-Afghan border. She is believed to have possessed supernatural powers and no ordinary soul could master her.
Iran is going to need a historic force like this golden eye, beyond this material world, to protect the country from a foreseeable future of war.
Believed to be the skeleton of a fortune-teller dating back to 2800 BC, the female habitant of this “Burnt City” as it was then called- a bustling, prosperous metropolis and trading post at the crossroads of East and West, was able to predict its fate–four stages of civilization and three times burnt down.
Perhaps her reappearance at this time in history is a reflection once again of doomed cities being forced to adopt new civilization.
Failing to exercise any relevant power in Afghanistan has led to a massive turnover in NATO, and left foreign leaders at a loss on how to intervene. And inevitably facing a week(s) away foreign attack on its nuclear test sites and possibly other strategic targets, Iran will also be in great need of the golden lady's protective gaze. Her massive eyeball of ore burning powerful rays of light into the bellies of the city's enemies. But will it be enough wave power to fend off the United States military? Most think probably not.
The inevitable is evitable and I run into growing numbers of people who know I am an Iranian, question me about this nouveau war and whether I have family in the region. I simply nod my head yes and walk away with a feeling of absolute gloom. But this news of a golden eye, a massive Amazon woman of supernatural cleverness has given me refreshed hope. Maybe it's a sign, a peace offering from the burial gods of the Burnt City saying look what happened to us, can't you ever learn?
When I rise I am jitttery and not at peace, even though it will not be my home where those US bombs are dropped. Not even my parents home. They came to the United States in the seventies, and I live in the US and Europe. But it still does not stop me from the dreaded fear that my cousins and aunts will be bombed. I cannot escape this bitter feeling.
In my daily work, I am a defender of human rights, a genuine revolutionary for egalitarian change. But increasingly I am realizing that perhaps the only hope for the salvation of my country– will be loosely dependent on late antiquity Zoroastrian spirit. Perhaps then the supernatural will come and rescue me from my nightmares.
A child of the Iranian Islamic Revolution once removed (I moved to the US in 1976 and instead suffered mean taunts from American families who thought my family was related to the American hostage takers in Iran), I recognize that I am not at the forefront. Never mind then that my stomach turns at the thought of seeing Iranian children in hospitals with shrapnel wounds and mothers screaming on streets for the dead. Much like the daily images of our Afghani and Iraqi neighbors.
I have no choice but to turn to illusions of magic priestesses with golden powers. I recognize I am thousands of miles away, but still try desperately to connect to my golden lady by virtual text message. Dear Golden Eye, my country sends an SOS — look what happened next door.
P.S., send a little love to Afghanistan as well, if you get a chance.
