With my pet lion
With my pet lion
This is Farhad Sepahbody with greetings and salaams from Sedona, a fast-growing village high in the mountains of northern Arizona. Sedona's stupendous environment and stunning beauty attract all sorts of strange beings from simple tourists to New Agers and illegal aliens who disembark from UFO's.
Sedona has also become the recent home to many new adventurous residents who are irresistibly "drawn" here. Tom Dongo, the author of the "Mysteries of Sedona" told me that " people are attracted here by a magnetic force few understand, but a power few can resist. Some arrivals find fulfillment and accomplishment beyond their wildest dreams while others drift away after a time, frustrated and disillusioned, never really discovering what they sought. Perhaps because they didn't listen.
There is a saying that either Sedona treats people wonderfully - or it chews them up and spit them out. Quite true - and there is a very valid underlying reason for it. The types of energies that exist in this area tend to very quickly bring out the best in people or the worst. Ask any metaphysical resident, you have to be very careful of what you think - what you have on your mind - because those thoughts instantly begin to manifest. Whether good for you or bad for you - you learn not to be careless about your thought process." Of course, following this warning, I became very careful.
Deep in the canyons exist unseen beings that for years local residents, ranchers, and psychics alike have called the Rock people. In one of my hikes I discovered the Lemurians, they are Rock People, in a way. That was three years ago and my first unexpected encounter was uneasy on both sides. In the beginning, these entities believed I could not see them and for a while the relationship was edgy. But now, matters have changed and they made me their ambassador. The Lemurians turn up, I suppose, from Alpha Centauri or perhaps the Zeta Reticuli star system which was recently unveiled by the Hubble Space Telescope after the Columbia astronauts finally patched it up. They are are not too happy about the fact the space telescope is functioning again.
Anyway, last week I had a small chat with them, including my friend the Lemurian whom I baptized "Rostam", for he is chubbier than the other beings. He was back from an inter-dimensional journey that took him several weeks. The somehow irked Rostam informed me that he had heard from insiders in Washington D.C. that a certain Dr. Rolls Royce of the Voice of America, a sort of New Ager himself, is planning to knock off his programs to Tehran, Iran and instead beam VOA broadcasts to Zeta Reticuli. However said, "with their pre-historic hardware and at the speed of light they operate, it will take more than two millions light-years for the signals to reach their destination."
"Although we have come to earth to accelerate the evolution of man, we still think they are not ready to learn about our latest transmitters using Zeton particles traveling at many million times the speed of light."
" Quite so! I
promptly replied, but there is no need to worry, the earthlings transmit to Tehran on
15105 kHz. frequency, that is to say on the 19 meter band and I can hardly hear these
Persian programs here on my planet even though I own the latest Sony short-wave
receiver."
"By the way", quizzed the Lemurian with his funny E.T. smile, "do you know
why V.O.A. beams to Iran on 15105 kHz. frequency?"
"No why?," was my reply.
"Well, it's because their frequency is located right next to Tehran's radio which
emits on 15084 kHz., so each time Iranians switch on the radio, instead of endless sermons
and educational programs of imposed ignorance, they get the Voice of America. Officially,
they keep quarreling on your planet, but in the cosmos it's a sort of wavelength
marriage!"
"Neat", I said.
"And do you know why Dr. Royce plans to stop his programs to Iran?
"No again, I haven't the slightest cue".
"Well, the Persian Service Director, has been for long fed up with Iranians and their
unstable tortuous character. They don't know what they want or whom they are. An
acquaintance of yours was the last straw. He pestered so much the VOA with the result that
no one there will further stomach your compatriots.
"Well what did he do?" I asked curiously.
"Look into the Crystal, the recorder of all things past, present and future. I'll
only switch on some past events for presently you are not allowed to see the future. Your
Legendary King Jamshid was the only Persian allowed to stare into the Crystal and see the
future. He called his magic viewer "Djam-e-Djam," although it was ours and we
have taken it back".
I gaze into the magic Crystal and see a small figure, it is ambassador double-X strolling
down Manhattan's First Avenue in his shiny elevator shoes, nonchalant, aimless and hands
in pocket: the perfect tourist, were it not that he is in exile too. As he nears the
United Nations, his attention is drawn by a tumultuous vociferous crowd in the distance,
clustered opposite the United Nations, near Dag Hammarskjöld Plaza.
As they say, curiosity killed the cat, and this time, he who likes to play jokes on others, well, the drollery will be his. Irresistibly attracted, sensing a good time, a garden party, he nears the assembly. Lo and Behold, they are fellow Iranians chanting human rights slogans and oh, good fortune, amongst the crowd, he recognizes a young Iranian female stringer for the VOA. What a jolly good opportunity to spend away time and flirt with such a pretty, single and attractive girl. Without thinking twice, (love is blinding), he jumps into the crowd and approaches his cute prey. Trouble is, that either she is too clever or entirely fails to appreciate his assiduous courtship. That evening on the VOA Persian program his name and the identity of some other luminaries are beamed to Tehran.
"Darn, I said laughingly to the Lemurian, I have almost forgotten this strange episode". And I added do you know what? I was in Virginia at the time, ambassador double X called me, throwing out furiously that all this was my fault, because I had, a year or so ago introduced the damsel, (felan shodeh) to him. Go and phone at once the VOA, and tell them that it is against all common decency, against all ethics to reveal names on their broadcasts. I do not know anyone at the VOA, I replied. Later on, I heard the ambassador raised quite a fuss.
Subsequently, when I began working as a press correspondent to the United Nations, I saw again the pretty VOA stringer in her little room on the second floor of the press section. There, the view on the East River is quite remarkable and extends all the way into Long Island. I liked the ambiance, we had cup of coffee and among many things including a pending UN resolution she said quite bluntly: "You know, your ambassador friend is quite a coward. If one does not have the guts to stand for his ideas, one does not jump into such a public demonstration".
"He fell for your pretty green eyes," I replied, "you should have spared him, for we live in trying times". When I last saw Ambassador double X, he was still fuming over the incident and avoids all gatherings.
As for the intrepid demonstrators, many dejected ones have since departed for mother Persia, including some of the most boisterous bandleaders. Others have abandoned hope blaming the entire dismal state of the opposition on the three blind mice or a coterie of highly inexperienced yuppies.
By the way, the VOA is not the only U.S. agency interested in the Zeta Reticuli star system. Sir William Randolph, publisher of the Sedona Eccentric, clued me one late afternoon that "Although rumors have been rampant for years, it was not until recently that definite evidence was uncovered by him linking the CIA to secret internment camps near Sedona.
The true facts are that for years now the CIA, under the guise of a Sedona vortex tour company, has been kidnapping both local New Agers and tourist New Agers and taking them to an internment camp constructed secretly on a site near nearby. There, without any one knowing, they have been forced to undergo unbrain-washing and Pentium 500 kHz chip implantation in their brains to suit the unsavory and, needless to say un-American aims of the CIA.! "
When I asked why the New Agers were being kidnapped by the CIA, Sir William responded, "Why, because of the UFO's! New Agers are the only people other than the CIA who believe that UFO's really exist and the CIA can't put up with that. Not only that, there is the problem of the illegal aliens who disembark here from the UFO's The CIA was forced to do something to discourage that and internment was the only answer."
"Pentium chips? that's old stuff they are already in use in new computers," I replied, "However if you find one at a decent price, I'm a buyer, my old asthmatic notebook needs an upgrade." It is a bit restive that I left Sir William.
"Life is fragile bit of luck
in a world based on chance."
Mary Ann Leeper, Ph.D.,
I do not have to use the Celestial Crystal to reminisce Parviz Sepahbody. Wonder where he is now. Call it association of ideas, since one remembrance automatically brings to mind another. He is my venerable cousin and used to be a Persian diplomat. I share with him a number of experiences, happy and otherwise. Here is one:
The Presidential Suite at the Waldorf Astoria is high up the "Towers" and has a very important guest. At the entrance of the hotel, the flag of Iran unfurls gently in the morning breeze. The golden lion and sun shine in a ray of sunlight. All is well, we are in 1969 and His Imperial Majesty the Shahanshah of Iran is on a state visit to the U.S.A., invited by President Richard Nixon. It is a day to be proud of indeed.
I was then at the United Nations appointed for the duration of the General Assembly to the Third Committee, the one which "entre autre" deals with human rights. Iran is not on the agenda and why should it be? Everything is hunky dory in Iran: a prosperous economy, peace and stability. Many social improvements for the better are in process and to sum it up, Iran is on the world map. A regional power in the making to be reckoned with. All that makes me proud to be an alternate delegate of such an envied country. There are of course, as with any land, a few less rosy aspects. A couple of blocks away from the Waldorf Towers, a bunch of students are yelling slogans including the eternal one, Sadegh Ghotbzadeh who was to become later Foreign Minister and finally was executed by the very Islamic Republic he sired.
The orders came for me to quit the Third Committee for the time of the royal trip and join the "Rekabe Mobarake Moloukaneh," the Royal entourage and proceed to Washington for the State Visit. My job will be to write, send, decipher telegrams and also deal with press clippings and participate in all events, including a Grand Gala at the White House.
I am summoned by Court Minister Alam, come and see me immediately in the Royal Suite, he says over the telephone. I am wearing a special identity pin given by the American Secret Service which allows me to move freely through a multitude of spooks and other agents guarding the elevators, corridors, and entrance of the Royal Suite. As I enter the suite, I articulate a quick hello to Alam and notice His Majesty standing by the window, both hands in his vest.
Following my respectful bow, His Majesty says: "Ha two Sepahbodys, it's a family affair on this trip". It is then that I discern at a deferential distance, "daste beh sineh," arms crossed in front, my cousin Parviz Sepahbody, Consul General of Iran to New York. He seems a bit nervous and unsettled, Who wouldn't be in front of the King of Kings, center of all powers?
The Shah pointing to the windows addresses him: "Who are these people and what do they want?" From this height, it is impossible to hear the students below or whomever they are, just a few ants in the vast Manhattan expanse brandishing some placards, but I am glad not be be in the shoes of the Consul.
"Oh, aham those, Your Majesty" stutters my cousin. -- Everyone in the room listens intently, ready for the kill including ever grouchy Dr. Ayadi, the Shah's personal physician who, as a ghost, had silently stepped in from an adjoining room.
"Yes, Inha, those," repeats the Shah slightly flushed and meaning business.
"Well Your Majesty they are hangers-on brought especially for the occasion by the SAVAK!"
"What! the SAVAK?" repeats the Shah frankly astonished. I am flabbergasted. So is everyone in the room. This stupidity I envision, will be the end of my cousin's career as well as mine. "Akhare kar," in other words the end. My cousin has turned nuts, his brain is cracked...
"Mr. Consul, do you mind explaining me why would the SAVAK do such a thing? I am listening, speak up," orders the Shah.
"Well you see, Your Majesty, it is my most humble duty, my royalist obligation to report this to Your Majesty: "The SAVAK are troublemakers. Especially this ugly, oily guy Rafizadeh, he should not be trusted. Previously, we never had trouble here. It all began with his arrival in the United States. He has to justify his high salary and enormous expenses. So he organizes trouble where there was none before. He antagonizes Iranians and also organizes some students against Your Majesty. It is all very detrimental. That's it Your Majesty, your servant has performed his patriotic duty and told Your Majesty the honest truth."
"Hum,Hum, really? Go now says the Shah with a strange smile, and see that everything is right at the mayor's dinner tonight, and by the way, I'll come for tea at your new residence this afternoon". That was the end of conversation. My cousin is dismissed from the room and I remain planted and embarrassed.
"In Sepahbody maghz khar khordeh" says Dr. Ayadi after my cousin left. Then came the Shah's amazing answer: "Na kheir balkeh rast migeh, fekr kardam, enghadar ham divaneh nist". "This Sepahbody has eaten donkey's brain for lunch." No replies the Shah, he is not that stupid, indeed he may even be telling the truth!"
Court Minister Alam gave me a bunch of cables and softly said "don't worry the Shah is in a good mood". I breathed deeply and left.
N.B. Now that the bloom is off the
rose, a couple of weeks ago, I borrowed a book from the University of Northern Arizona in
Flagstaff, it is from the very same SAVAK agent Rafizadeh and is entitled WITNESS,
published by William Morrow and Co. New York. Lo and behold, here is what he writes in his
introduction:
"I was a firsthand witness to a reign of terror and played a unique role during a
very special time in history. To be precise, I was chief of SAVAK in the United States
throughout most of the reign of the Shah Mohammad Reza Pahlavi of Iran.
During my lifetime, I evolved from a boy who admired, even worshipped, what I took to be
the Shah's progressive and enlightened rule -- to a double agent who willingly functioned
as an informer for the CIA and ardently worked to bring about the Shah's downfall..."
According to Abbas Aram, Minister for Foreign Affairs of Iran, God bless his soul, it was impossible to be both.
Nasser Ovissi who was then a young diplomat made the sour experience. He was a capable diplomat and alas for him, a highly talented painter too. His works were exhibited in Tehran's galleries and also abroad. I suspect newspapers were writing more about his paintings than the ministry's involvement on the world scene. Nasser Ovissi's time to be named abroad had long arrived, after all you choose the diplomatic career to serve abroad.
Even though Ovissi took to painting in striped suit, Aram remained adamant: "If he wants to be a painter so be it, but if he wants to go abroad, no I won't let him, next thing we will have architects too and God knows who else as diplomats!" So each time his nomination to a position abroad came up for the minister's signature, it went straight back and unsigned to the personnel department. This situation continued for a long spell.
I respected Aram, he truly was an extremely gentle person with an excellent heart. In addition he liked both books and cats. He had many of them in his humble house in Seminar. I guess he took a liking to me because I was a cat fancier and fed some stray cats in the ministry. Perhaps knowing French and English was also considered an asset by the minister.
Aram had as private secretary a young Cambridge educated diplomat named Parviz Radji, who later became the Shah's last Ambassador to London. One sunny day, Paris Radji, a first-rate speech writer, decided to leave the Foreign Ministry for a better paying position with the Prime Minister. He went, leaving his boss high and dry in the middle of a major speech to be delivered at the Regional Cooperation for Development (RCD) that involved Iran, Pakistan and Turkey. This R.C.D. as we called it still exists, although with a different name. We had some good ideas, many of our programs still subsist, only names have shifted, like everything else in Iran.
I was asked by Aram to write the speech. "You can never be as good as Parviz Radji" he said. With this bit of high encouragement I spent most of the night writing his speech. In the morning, I offered my masterpiece to the Foreign Minister. He had a cursory glance at it and said: "It's lousy, awful! go and see Radji at the Prime Ministry, he will help you." I did just that for Radji was a friend. When I came over, he looked at the speech and said : "You don't know Aram yet, just tell him I wrote it."
Upon my return to the Foreign Ministry I presented my hard labor as Radji's special parting gift for him. The deeply touched Foreign Minister jubilated and said: " See, that's how one should write allocutions". A couple of months later, in 1965, he asked me to accompany him on a long official tour with the King to Brazil, Argentina and Canada. Needless to say, I was delighted.
It was a wonderful but consuming trip with so many different functions to attend and beautiful sites to see. Perhaps the many thousands of miles, perhaps also the high altitude had made a toll on Aram who was no spring chicken. We were exhausted and arrived finally to San Carlos de Bariloche, high in the Argentinean Andes mountains by a beautiful silvery lake.
Aram was extremely tired but still insisted to work until the wee hours of the morning. The diplomatic pouch from Tehran had arrived and late at night in his suite, he asked me to sort all the papers and reports. Among the papers to be signed I saw our good friend Ovissi's nomination to Rome. Just the sight of this sheet of paper plus a nomination to the Eternal City of painters would infuriate Aram.
His eyes were red and almost closing from fatigue and I advised him to get some sleep. I had deciphered cables most of the day and I was drained. But Aram insisted to sign more documents, they were stacked high. It looked like the Everest. I presented them one by one. He kept reading and signing but paying less and less attention.
"You are right he said, I must go to bed, hurry up, give me the last documents for signature." I did just that but Satan made me slip to him Ovissi's nomination. The Foreign Minister signed it without reading. The next days the pouch went back to Tehran with most documents duly inked, stamped and approved.
We left for New York then Canada and Paris. In the City of Lights, the minister declared that the trip went well and that he was highly satisfied with my work. "Take a few days rest here, you deserve it." I thanked him profusely.
Upon my return to Tehran, it was a stormy and raging Aram who summoned me in his office. "You tricked me during the trip, this darn painter Ovissi is now in Rome, of all places! he did not waste a minute to get there and it would be inauspicious to recall him now, it's all your fault, I am waiting for an explanation!"
"I am sorry Sir, I did not see this document, it must have slipped between the papers, you must have signed that nomination without looking. Your Excellency worked too much, too hard and too late at night".
"Damn it!" was the minister's reply and then he added, "I forgive you this time, in two weeks we are going to the Soviet Union with His Majesty. Get ready and study the files, it's an important visit." Aram was a remarkably fine person. He was incarcerated for a time in the notorious Evin prison and when subsequently released, he was a sick broken man. He died shortly after. Many were those who served during the Shah's regime, many were executed or died after their release from jail. My thoughts and prayers go to all of them. Most tried to serve the country the best they could but fell victim to a revolution they did not understand, a revolution which devoured even its own children. Seventeen years have now passed since those terrible days. President Rafsanjani in one of his Nowrouz messages has called upon Iranians who have left their homeland to come back home and serve their country, but there is a lot more he should do before that happens for good.
For my part, I earnestly hope that there will be a general reconciliation in my torn land someday soon. But where in the world is Nasser Ovissi? You guessed it, around Washington D.C. He has a successful gallery, exhibits and sells his works all over the world. Even the Lemurians would like to make an acquisition or two. I must see to that. If you don't believe my story... just ask him.
BACK
![[IMAGE]](leftbutt.gif){kind=small}