Dear Mr. President:

The following is a letter I sent to president Obama with my sincere desire of getting his ears ring the forgotten truth in his head like the bells of Notre Dame. After all, was he not the one who promised to acknowledge the Armenian Genocide while he was walking tall as a candidate? So, if this letter ends up in the trash-can without being read, alas, then I definitely ask for forgiveness from mother nature for committing a green sin against her and the tree from which I borrowed two sheets of paper to write on. I promise! I'll pay the tree back somehow.

Axxxx Axxxxxxxx
xxxx x xxxxxxx Ave
xxxxxxx,AZ 852xx

March 02, 2010

President Barack Obama
The White House
1600 Pennsylvania Ave, NW
Washington, DC 20500

Dear Mr. President:

Unlike your predecessor, Mr. Bush, you are a man of letters, a prescriptive professor, and a deserving Nobel Laureate; more importantly you are a compassionate decent human being who couldn't have been more perfectly positioned in this special place and time of our lives. In fact, I had, and continue to have, great faith in you, as the leader of the free world to soar to unprecedented heights of moral altitude in regards to the rawest of all human-rights issues, namely: Genocide and its Denial thereof -- specially, the non-acknowledgment issue of the Armenian genocide. Incidentally, Mr. President, apropos of your stentorian call to recognize the Armenian genocide, while you were still an aspiring presidential candidate, started off most magnanimously, but fizzled mournfully on a sour note soon after you took office.

I, for one, descendant of genocide survivors, hereby, take the liberty to act as a sounding board for the benefit of the remaining living few centagenarian survivors of the Armenian genocide. I have a strong visceral feeling that the survivors want to know the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. What could have possibly shook your principled posture that rattled your, once, firm and rock-solid ethical stance vis-a-vis the Armenian genocide? Most importantly, why did you opt to shoulder an unbending neck of self-restraint that disallows your head from dropping a natural nod of acknowledgment to this irrefutable historical fact? The Ottoman Turks, on the other hand, did not falter nor waver in making deep-dyed history as they perpetrated the first genocide of the 20th century in the killing fields of Anatolia. Why are you, then, still a little uneasy about reaffirming the incontestable historicity of those haunting events, Mr. president? Conversely, Turkish genocidaires were not a bit squeamish nor hesitant, as you seem to be now, when they let rivers of blood gush out of the necks of the Armenian race.

To date, there are a handful of genocide survivors alive who are quite determined to hang on to dear life, and still hoping against hope that you may find it in your heart to serve them justice, as the last leg of their life's arduous journey crash off the last withering page of the last crumbling chapter of their tragic existence, knowing full well that their lives will close twice, for soon they'll be facing, not one, but two-deaths-in-one for which you are, forgive me for saying so, dear president, an unwitting facilitator -- not by "action", mind you, but by "non-action".

For the love of God, Mr. president, I exhort you to -- please, please -- give these genocide victims peace! give them the justice they deserve! Acknowledge them! Don't sign them off into oblivion! These frail victims, I'm sure, will be happy to fill your pen with the ink of their last drop of blood just to see your heart-guided left hand do the right thing by signing on the dotted line which has been left blank for nearly 95 years now.

In closing, I say this to you Mr. president: When it's not necessary to deny, it's equally necessary not to deny. May God the Almighty guide you and show you the way.

Sincerely,

Axxxx Axxxxxxxx

Not Just Jews, Armenians Were Amongst "The Chosen People" Too

Jews? Chosen people? Perhaps, but it was the Armenians who had the menacing misfortune to be chosen first! The Ottoman Turks chose them first and, some 25 years later, the Nazi Germans chose the Jews next -- for slaughter, that is, and annihilation.

When the Turks perpetrated the first genocide of the 20th century by systematically massacring 1.5 million Armenians culminating in 1915 in western Armenia, all of the world's major powers, during and after these tragic events, were indifferent about it and they all chose to look the other way except for one -- Hitler. The Fuhrer took heed, for he had finally found the perfect genocide-template that the Turks had created before him, just as reminiscent in the following quote when he said in 1939 before his diabolic scheme to exterminate the Jews was put into action "Who, after all, speaks today of the annihilation of the Armenians?"

Miraculously, these two, ancient, proud, and resilient peoples are still standing today despite of the unspeakable atrocities done to them; both Jews and Armenians share the same unmistakable face of Holocaust victimhood today.

Despite of the commonality of pain that these two peoples share. Some Jews quickly forgot what "never again" and "enough is enough" meant to them. I write to you with a heavy heart today to express my disappointment with the current Jewish official denial stance vis-a-vis the Armenian Holocaust. To date, the majority of the influential Jewish power brokers and the powerful Jewish lobbies, the likes of the ADL, still engage ad nauseam in genocide denial activities on behalf of Turkish genecidairs. These aforementioned Jewish brethren are being very myopic in this regard, they should never expose their people's behinds by playing leapfrog with a diabolic unicorn of genocidal magnitude. As you may already know, no group of people could ever get full inoculation against future atrocities of genocide; also, if you abet barbarian butchers in denying a genocide, you automatically depreciate the memories and default the legitimacy of your own Holocaust victims.

I am happy to inform you that today there is a coalition to recognize the Armenian genocide, which is a grassroots group whose goal is to achieve official recognition of the Armenian genocide by the United States government. The coalition is the outgrowth of a dialogue between members of the Boston-area Jewish and Armenian communities. The group was formed in reaction to the Anti-Defamation League’s lobbying for the Turkish government against recognition of the Armenian genocide.

Please click on the link below to learn more. Participate by signing a petition on line to help bring about justice to the forgotten genocide victims.

http://www.recognizearmeniangenocide.org/
http://www.change.org/actions/view/tell_congress_to_recognize_the_armenian_genocide

AMAZING! Andrea Bocelli

Close your eyes, as "sight" has very little to do with what Mr. Bocelli does anyway. Use your own God-given insight instead. Open the lids of your third eye chakra and discover the hidden ear within. When you find it, you will know, as your boundless emotions will lift you to heavenly heights upon the soaring wings of this musical masterpiece.

Let those who have souls to hear with, listen! Feel the melodic message being voiced to you through Andrea.

Are You the Driver or the Passenger in Your Life's Journey?

I came across this story that needs to be rendered verbatim. Its depth and breadth in meaning and profundity need NOT any layering of any kind, except to say: Visualize yourself sitting in that metaphorical cab, if you will, and assume the role of either driver or passenger as you must, and try to experience life's journey from point "A" to point "B" as it unfolds. Additionally, to be enlightened in realms of deeper understanding, just reverse seats in that proverbial cab and you'll acquire even greater moral mileage; you will experience the mysterious twists and turns of life's journey as you approach your final destination in this world and, without warning, you may find yourself standing before the gateway of the great beyond. The following is the story.

I arrived at the address where someone had requested a taxi. I honked but no one came out. I honked again, nothing. So I walked to the door and knocked. 'Just a minute', answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor.

After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90's stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie.

By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets.

There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.

'Would you carry my bag out to the car?' she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, and then returned to assist the woman.

She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb.

She kept thanking me for my kindness. 'It's nothing', I told her. 'I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated'.

'Oh, you're such a good boy', she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, and then asked, 'Could you drive through downtown?'

'It's not the shortest way,' I answered quickly. 'Oh, I don't mind,' she said. 'I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice'.

I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. 'I don't have any family left,' she continued. 'The doctor says I don't have very long.' I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.

'What route would you like me to take?' I asked.

For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator.

We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.

Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.

As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, 'I'm tired. Let's go now'

We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico.

Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her.

I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.

'How much do I owe you?' she asked, reaching into her purse. 'Nothing,' I said

'You have to make a living,' she answered.

'There are other passengers,' I responded.

Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.

'You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,' she said.

'Thank you.'

I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.

I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away? On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life.

We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.

You Don't Have to be Sick to Get Better

Ask yourself this question: "If I could get better without getting sick, would I still wait for the heavy fists of fate to break down my mind's locked door before opening it myself willfully?" The answer might seem like a resounding "No" and yet people remain stubbornly closed-minded to this simple notion of reasoning -- Something must go awfully wrong in our lives before we could hear life's urgent knocks on our doors, or feel its unmistakable presence at our doorsteps. And even then, at that crucial moment in time, the vast majority of us would rather take a squint-eyed peek through the dark peephole in the door than open it.

Much like a house, our minds reside within an edifice of walls with windows and doors which we control -- with our free will, we open them, or close. Some people choose to shut their windows firmly on a breezy day, and swing them wide during a storm; they opt to draw their curtains tight from dawn to dusk blocking the sunlight from entering, while they leave them open from nightfall to daybreak, thus inviting waves of darkness to penetrate ... and so it goes.

So why, do you suppose, we so often, foolishly slip our mind's wrists into these self-imposed shackles with a hideous smirk on our face? In other words: Why do we hurt one another? Why do we open our copious mouths before engaging our little minds? Why do we cut each other up so bad and sprinkle salt on open wounds we so proudly inflict? Why? W-H-Y? ... Honestly, I do not know why! You have to find out for yourself. Dig deep within your heart and try to gain access to your soul and see if your "conscious" has left you a forwarding address. Try to invite this rightful resident -- your estranged spiritual essence -- back into your inner being while life still pulsates in your veins. After all, today, right at this minute, what guarantees does anyone have that the table of life would not suddenly fold their empty chair tomorrow?

A Single Rose for the Living is Better than a Costly Wreath at the Grave

A few days ago, I had a heart-to-heart phone conversation with one of my acquaintances in Canada. Just as we were about to conclude our conversation, the dear person on the other end of the phone read to me a deeply heartfelt and penetratingly poignant little poem packed with universal truism-- so unassumingly simple and yet unequivocally profound. I was touched by it so much so that I took the liberty of translating it. I do hope my humble attempt did some justice to its integrity and purpose, and to the core of its intended meaning and message. Thank you, Azniv, for sharing it with me, just as I am happy to share my translated version with my guests:



Now, is the Time

I would prefer one heartfelt rose,
Hand-picked with love from a garden;
Than those ornate flashy bouquets,
Sent while I'm gone in a sudden.
Now, is the time!

I would prefer one lil sweet word,
While my ears could still hear it;
Than late praises and accolades,
For my body would not feel it.
Now, is the time!

If you do have one smile for me,
Let it light up on your face NOW;
My heart won't feel your silent tears,
When shed on my gravestone somehow.
Now, is the time!

Of all the gifts that you could give,
One timely flower would be nice;
Late arriving bouquets are deemed,
Worthless as death would shut my eyes.
Now, is the time!

Godforsaken Moment-in-History of Western Armenia

God must have been looking the other way at that one moment in history when the biggest human tragedy befell the Armenian nation. Even, the legendary count of 1001 churches of mighty Ani was no match to push back evil on that godforsaken day.

If you are an Armenian, diasporan or not, click here to watch a series of 5 videos ... You, too, will be walking, albeit vicariously, the lands your forefathers once so proudly did.

Sit back and experience the emotional journey you're about to embark.