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Yet Sidon’s papyrus records tell another tale. Only one new baby was brought into the world that day, in Sidon, not two new kids, as you were led to believe, but that one shiksa baby “Eliána.” It was “Baby Eliána’s” sickly mother who hemorrhaged during labor, her own life bled away giving birth to her kid!
This rare and tragic event occurred in Sidon Township, two day’s walk from Jerusalem. “Baby Eliána” slipped from her dying mother’s un-aborted womb, in an impartial birth; and this was where the shiksa baby case should’ve been decided in the first place, in Sidon Town Court, close by to where “Baby Eliána” was born, where the truth was apparent, absent the fash bureaucrats who butchered Elián Gonzalez’ jurisdiction, which, his tale here / with, is fast coming next!
Yet first dear peers, of the two women who plead their case before King Solomon: They were both registered midwives, called on for the hemorrhaging mother, to help deliver “Baby Eliána.”
At first baby sight the midwives were both delighted with “Baby Eliána,” because the new baby, though orphaned at her birth, gurgled with ivory soap style; and between their bickering back and forth before the wise and Holy King Solomon, the two midwives waxed equally euphoric about their caring love for “Baby Eliána.”
King Solomon was not your typical schmuck with earlaps, born yesterday. Solomon may’ve been born in the night, as all the Hebrew Sages tell, but not last night. The Holy King Solomon had a thousand wives, a natch a rill sense of humor, and his own, in-house Child Protective, managed by the local B’nai Briss Ladies Auxiliary. The Holy King Solomon was also thought, far and wide, the greatest love poet to have ever lived, the author of The Song of Songs.
Upon the bell ringing true, from Onlion S. Shem, when nature called them together take whiz of the Court, King Solomon mused his ruling. Without prejudice, the Holy King Solomon planned on dismissing this shiksa baby case and remanding “Baby Eliána” to his own Child Court Protective for an immediate diaper change, as the baby’s soiled diaper was stinking Solomon’s Courtroom up to its Holy rafters!
A wet nurse was also required, right away quick, for the forlorn kid had been stupidly fed some out-of-date colicky goat’s milk; and then, after those two measures, some in depth interviewing of qualified women for permanent foster care, leading to adoption. That is what the wise King Solomon intended.
But the pleading pseudo mothers’ nonstop squabble over “Baby Eliána” challenged the King’s even temperament, besides almost wrecking, yes wrecking King Solomon’s favorite Thursday lunch, that a rack of baby lamb chops, broiled med-rare, washed down with goblets of kosher merlot, for good circulation.
Sew this bold idea of King Solomon’s, loudly calling on his personal butcher at the noon hour, to chop the Baby Eliána kid in half, right after lunch, ruled on the spot when his butcher interrupted the trial to announce King Solomon’s baby lamb chops were only a heartbeat from the table; and upon that, King Solomon’s instant ruling that even silenced the fussy baby smelling up his docket, was hark, only a lark dear peers, the Holy King Solomon’s court ordered lark, a brilliant lark on the wise King Solomon’s part as he rose to depart for a pre-lunch prayer.
Yet hearing Solomon’s gut common sense, word for word from his mouth, deciding the case as he went, and how the two pseudo mothers dealt with the Kings decision, on that unbearably humid, diaper loaded day in King Solomon’s most High Temple Court is not what you've ever heard or smelt before, except in your bones, where history is written.
Relative to our more recent struggle over Elián González, even Elián’s name rings an ancient bell. In the words of Sage Yogi, laid bare, on this true “Survivor” case that seems today sew fresh, though near six years past, our fair Sage Yogi says, “It was deja Eliána all over again.”
Cutting to the bone, King Solomon muses, we should have used our cutting edge technology, instead of a night court adminis traitor’s door busting writ to chop this “Eliána” kid in half, sew both sides could have won their case. The kid's father, Juan Miguel, should have been returned to Cuba with a state of the art computer, rigged for Internet, a video cam hooked up to his monitor, and a spiffy digital cam recorder for home movie shoots at the park.
The same setup would have done as well for his son, Elián, in Miami. Using Internet telephony and video chat, dad and kid could have been on line 24 / 7. Elián and his “papa,” Juan Miguel, would have been instantly united, eyeball-to-eyeball day or night, by virtue of a mouse click.
In the event Elián snatched a buck from Marisleysis’ dresser, and disappeared from his adopted house before dinner, skate boarding after the ice cream truck, it would have been for his “papa,” in Cuba, to tell Elián’s great-uncle Lazaro, in Miami, to give Elián a couple slaps on his rear end, ground the skate board, and order the kid to bed early without any nachos for snack.
On a Monday evening, before bedtime, Marisleysis could have read to Elián, “The Three Bears and the Chicken Soup,” and the next night, over the Internet, Juan Miguel could've read to Elián that Cuban original, “Little Red Riding Fidel-hood.”
Communicating via Internet, Elián would have been Bo jangled in the best of bi-lingual worlds, his papa close by always, his own life day by day, growing sweetly rich, laced with freedom and love, which makes the world go ’round. Case dismissed with saving grace.
Every rescue anniversary, Elián could have announced his love of both countries with a personal televised pitch for economic peace and trade between his homeland and the U.S. of A. The natch a rill economic door between the two countries might have been jammed wide open from this miracle child, his U.S. emigration bringing on true commerce, with Cuba’s cut brown sugar rate saving the American people múcho billions of after tax dollars on their sweets.
But this Eliánomic grace, here, a carefully orchestrated saving of face, was not yet meant to be, though in the plainly spoken words of Founding Father, Benjamin Franklin, he, of principled $100 fame, “A billion dollars saved is a billion dollars urned.”
Peers-ships! In order to understand Elián Gonzalez’ immigration case, and understanding means to get beneath; to get at the reel deal behind Elián’s saga, and sense the role of our LAN’ Lord uh pin heaven, here in His promised land, and why president Clintstone arranged for a government agency to sacrifice the kid’s freedom, we must yes, revisit King Solomon’s original “Baby Eliána” case, that from a yesteryear collectively time stamped in our memories:
King Solomon, knowing by midmorning, upon three shakes of his member, that both of these ‘mothers’ were lying thru their teeth; and knowing for certain before they became so engrossed in their pleading, that “ v. Baby Eliána,” now before him, should have been decided in Sidon Town Court, the closest place to where the shiksa baby was born, where the facts were apparent, the Holy King was only trying the case to be fair.
As long as these two women had made it this far he let them go on with their falsified bicker. From the bench he watched them proceed, the both taking turns, shifting the fussy, diaper loaded baby, an arm’s length back and forth between them.
Then King Solomon’s chief chef butcher came through the side door into Solomon’s Court, loudly announcing that Solomon’s baby lamb chops were ready to come off the spit. Boing!
As King Solomon arose for a lunchtime prayer over his rack of lambie chops, he spontaneously ruled on the baby case before him, starting out with an “enough already,” that instantly followed by a gavel smash totally silencing his noisy courtroom, in clue ding even the colicky shiksa baby.
It was sooo quiet after Solomon rising slammed his eucalyptus gavel down, that when King Solomon said, “We shall chop this baby in half right after lunch, so each of the mothers gets the baby,” you could hear the rustle of Solomon’s glad rags in that pin drop silenced courtroom.
But the Holy King did pause as he turned toward the side door, which, all the Sages tell us, was to his left, and the King, from his bema, stood focused on the gavel silenced kid. Then King Solomon extended his right arm, his hand vertical, as though lining up the baby for his butcher, loudly announcing to his court butcher, for all in his cluttered courtroom to hear, “Butch, when you chop this baby down the middle,” his fingers karate joined, moving to the right, “leave her nose to the right side half. From where I stand, this baby’s schnozzle does favor the woman before me, on my right.”
Immediately Onlion S. Shem proclaimed, “Case decided. Trial is over. Lunnch time,” and then Onlion blasted King Solomon’s official shofar with a long dour trumpet like note. Upon Onlion Shem’s horn herald, Solomon began singing as he rustled toward the door, “Rack of lambie here I come, here I come, here I come, rack of lambie here I come God bless our sacred chops.” Responding to the Holy King’s rule, the barren mid-wife to Solomon’s right crooked her neck, put her own nose to the air, and noisily declared for her own supportive claque, “You see, I told you so the baby favors me, not that shicksa dirt bag over there!”
But the other would-be mother was devastated by the King’s hard-nosed decision. Then this midwife Marisleysis hurdled King Solomon's railing, which had never happened before, or since, and she ran over to King Solomon who was almost out the courtroom door.
She fell at King Solomon’s feet, clutching his robes. As best she could, Marisleysis composed herself. An octave above earshot, the comely Marisleysis begged King Solomon, “Don’t kill Baby Eliána. Oh! Please, oh great King Solomon," she begged, "Take my life instead. Take my life instead,” she pleaded, “Let the baby live.”
Had this gullible comely Marisleysis cried out, as all the great Sunday school Sages retell, “Don't chop Baby Eliána in half. Give her to the other one to raise,” then, in his Holy wisdom, the great Hebrew Prophet would have denied the forlorn woman’s plea without comment, simply because in the first place, the Holy King Solomon was only half serious; kidding around.
What King Solomon understood, what the Holy King knew for certain on that that diaper-loaded, smog-fried day, was that neither of these mid-wives was Baby Eliána’s true mother! Of these two would-bees, who plead the whole morning long in his Highest Court, the both of them were born again consummate High Court liars, the both outrageously bearing their fibster false witness for the custodial rights to a colicky shvartza shiksa baby!
But this forlorn Marisleysis did not just say, as you yourself might have thought to say, “Don't chop Baby Eliána in half. Let the other one raise the baby.” Indeed, the fair Marisleysis in King Solomon’s court spoke as a true loving mother, from the depth of her own, near broken heart.
Like an actual true-to-life mother, Elián’s mother, Elisabet Broton, the original Baby Eliána’s mom who died giving birth her first time around, centuries before, this midwife Marisleysis past was willing to give her own life sew Baby Eliána could live, because on sight of her, at birth, in her heart Marisleysis loved the baby.
On that, King Solomon saved himself all the papyrus work from dismissing the diaper-loaded sticky case and arranging a place for the newly orphaned shiksa, under his own Child Protective, before hearings for adoption.
Instead, he gave the baby over to the righteous, though gullible comely Marisleysis, who plead her finale at his feet, because God above showed King Solomon that Marisleysis would be a great protective mother for the stinky-diapered shvartza shiksa baby.
Regarding the Holy Torah’s Holy teachings on the story of King Solomon and “Baby Eliána,” King Solomon authored his own case law, with Onlion S. Shem in charge of the well.
The LAN’ Lord uh pin heaven, Holiest of Holies, held King Solomon’s inky middle ear, the same as when God spoke to Moses the Teacher. God led His Holy King Solomon to rewrite Marisleysis’ speech, hers plead at his feet, for his ears only, because God, in His down-the-road wisdom, knew that we, His chosen people, would be en massed with Solomon’s rags for another “Baby Eliána,” this time around, an innocent Cuban refugee, Elián González, who was entitled to his life, his liberty, and the pursuit of his own kid happiness in America, the LAN’ God promised.
Resurrections in the extreme are self evident, and across the millennia, few and none between.
Sew it was lettered in The Book ov Lev It A Kiss, God's inspired, ever unfolding Television Scripture, the ever unfolding Book of living prophesy God inspired, for His chosen Poet Prophet, Jacklegs to give, on this His good ship mother earth, as Moses the Teacher, Dante, and old blind Homer gave, but this time, worldwide live, on all channels television, frum duss cun till dawn,
“This is the Promised Land.
His 'Vehicle for World Peace,' runs and puns through every spoken tongue. The twelve ‘our’ video trans crypt, was writ for all the worlds’ peoples to sea, listen to, and be a part of all at once, sew, wun sin fir all, the course of human history, on our good ship mother urf, can change die wreckt shin, by dawn. Big order.
He walked and talked with God who created the world, who revealed His word unto the poet’s mind. Note well, our Jacklegs was 40 days and 40 nites, with God the Halogen, in the wilderness.
Jacklegs is knot the one and only prophet ever to live. He is today's.
The Poet Prophet is going to perform his multi-lingual poem for all the world’s peoples at once, and whilst the Poet Prophet is doing his part, busily telling His vision, God, the LAN’ Lord uh pin Heaven, creator of the universe, will move through His Prophet, via your television sets, into your living rooms, and into your hearts, to change your minds, the way you sea your world and all of His worlds to come. People will claim it’s the Apocalypse, Judgment Day, a pox on yer lips. Correct. And you by the seat of your pants, in the Jury’s Bach’s. You can't beat that! Judgment Day is right around the corner; and you, __________ (print, don’t write), are beyond reproach, off the hook, on the Grandest Jury. As they say, in the box.
King Solomon muses:
Do you imagine J. Edgarina Hoover would let slip out, our Cosmic Wrapper, the Lenny Bruce like Bach's Poet Prophet whose words appear as most art, yet written down to perform live for all man kind? Are you beneath their radar @ alphabet-learning.com? Get the full "New World Hors D'oeuvres" via the PayPal Check Out before you read another word. Every thing you need to know for now is on the page, waiting to be mouthed.
Elián Gonzalez, the child before us five years ago yesterday, was rescued at sea on Thanksgiving Day, an intra religious holiday for all the diverse peoples who may cup God’s country, America, the land of personal freedom and liberty God promised to you and to me, to all of us, really. On Thanksgiving Day, America’s door springs wide for all the homeless and hungry. On Thanksgiving Day, God’s promise in clue did Elián Gonzalez, a motherless refugee.
Donato Dalrymple, the one day only fisherman, recounted he saw a pair of bottlenose dolphins, jumping on the sea top as though breaching whales, but standing flip flop on their tails, and he convinced his cousin, whose boat it was, to hold off trolling for fish and instead, steer by the bottlenoses to see what was going on, where they came upon Elián González, in the words of this one day fisherman, “in the water, as beautiful as a freshly plucked flower on the sea top.”
Donato’s cousin knew how to swim, and he clambered into the ocean with the two wild dolphin lifeguards treading near. The cousin heaved Elián from the calm sea top into Donato’s outstretched arms. Donato lifted Elián onto their boat and cradled the worn out kid to his bosom.
This one day only fisherman, Donato Dalrymple, is your typically innocent, humble servant of God. It was God’s plan to have Donato Dalrymple go fishing with his cousin that day, and rescue Elián Gonzalez. Donato’s cousin would have kept to his fishing reels. Left to his own recourse, the cousin would have dismissed the pair of dolphins as just a couple playful wild strays, horsing around with what looked to be, from a quarter mile off, some flotsam, an old inner tube adrift on the open sea.
Elián’s dolphin bodyguards tread by the cousin’s boat to see whether or knot Donato would toss them a fish, and to be sure the kid they’d baby sat all the way up from the Florida Straits to the eastern seaboard of United States was safe. Then the two untethered bottlenoses swam off to catch up on some much needed lunch, as the pair of ocean gadabouts hadn’t had a bite to eat, like their charge, Elián Gonzalez, for more than a couple whole days.
King Solomon muses:
Elián Gonzalez survived Mother Nature’s treacherous open sea because the bottlenose dolphins hung out with the ocean stranded kid more than a couple full days, a most extraordinary dolphin behavior as has ever been noted, in a 1000 years and as many bottlenose dolphin tales.
Nonstop, the dolphins supervised Elián fifty hours straight, swimming alongside our helpless refugee, nudging the kid’s inner tube to ketch the coastal Gulf Stream. And during the long drawn-out stretch, when curious sharks came by and reinforcements were required, extra dolphins happened to show up, to guard the drifting kid from potential shark brushes. Who trained these bottlenoses?
In God’s eggs pan ding Universe God is the ruler, and of His Cosmic Universals nothing is for sure. On board His good ship mother urf there is a first time for everything, oar, you don't slip it into the same river twice; or put another way, whatever is, is, whomever she is, relentless Mother Nature or the spirit high above her.
The dolphins inspired, were a special pair. They kept watch and kept Elián afloat by swimming beneath him whenever he dozed, using their ocean worthy tails to keep this weakened, sleepy kid from slipping off into the choppy sea. By propping Elián back on his inner tube whenever the six-year-old fell asleep and began to slip, the bottle-nosed dolphins, inspired by their own un-muzzled sight of the Holy Mendel Spirit, for two days running, kept the special kid alive. Had the trip, splish splash, taken longer, the dolphins would have been there, slip sliding along.
Elián’s ocean survival was a miracle from God, believed in by all of the Cuban refugees who believe in God. For the Cubans, Elián Gonzalez was a refugee message scent from the Highest of Holy Spirits, though why the kid was ripped remains an unexplained issue for all who saw him, years ago on TV, especially the Cuban Americans who lived close by to him, in Miami-Dade County.
But the Elián misdeal was a way cup for America, not simplypallah tics unusual for Miami-Dade’s Cubans, as Elián’s true story, in one crafty "Slick Willy" shaft was fash recast!
Yet America’s people cannot be faulted for their failure to grasp Billy Clintstone’s stacked deck, his pollster driven twist before Elián’s US freedom was revoked. It is knot only the poorest of our folk, struggling thru the traffic as they must, to stay afloat check-to-check, put bread on their tables and pay their cable bills.
Working and wirkt, living in a blizzard of conflicting latest dope, all our ho hum potatoes, finally at home, ensconced in their castles, cannot find time to mull the news for any rhyme and reason. Instead, the classic middle folk fall out on their couches whilst all the talking heads shred the day’s current events, they followed by fresh skews and views from television’s late night comics.
Solomon, the Holy King muses: When the tribes of Israel were enslaved,complacently living rent-free in Egypt, and loath to depart Pharaoh’s fruitful land for roofless freedom in the wilderness, God, sew to awaken His children, ulcerated the Pharaoh’s heart. Yul Pharaoh Ramses decreed that his Hebrew slaves should suffer a serious batch of filmable afflictions. A rarely noted translation for the Hebrew word “affliction,” is tax, which Ben Franklin thought should be flat, determined by spen ding. Keep what you churn:
The day is here
It is the tax on the people’s hands, the fruits of their labors that covered Ms Janet Reno’s Rule-of-Law enforcers who soldiered Clintstone’s storm troop orders to press ahead and butcher Elían Gonzalez’ life in U.S.A. Our Attorney General Reno, the enforcer, claimed her Rule-of-Law performance was on our behalf, though she seemed more an entity unto herself, having been given her lockstep orders from high above us, but not of us, we the innocent, lawful people, the Poet Prophet muses.
According to Holy King Solomon, squadrons of bilingual angels hang out all around the Florida Straits, on watch full time, to minister the refugees’ souls when their boats capsize, and their souls are swallowed by the raging seas, or their bodies, having been mauled by hungry sharks, are bled into waves of shock, heralding the souls’ departures, heaven bound.
When the bilingual angels first heard Elián’s mother, Elisabet, counseling her Elián over the crashing sea, that God would watch over him and he, Elián, would get to Florida and she, his mother, would always be with him, God’s super mother, His Mendel in charge of all kids, appeared to the sea top angels.
This highest spirit Mother, above the waiting angels and bottle-nosed dolphins of the uncaged sea, also heard Elisabet Broton’s cry out to the LAN’ Lord uh pin heaven, that He should guide her son Elián, and this spirited Mendel realized why she, a super-charged spirit, was upon that windy sea top neighborhood, with God, the Father, the unsayable Universal Caller close at hand.
When something is truly miss tickle, as are the musings of the Holy King Solomon, his, a careful retelling of Elián’s sea top story with the Mendel Spirit Lady clearly visible, both to Elián and to the dolphins; when presented with some sing truly mystical, we miss a lot, but we get a tickle.
The word, ‘understanding,’ comes from the Greek, and means, to get beneath. Suffice, the wily dolphins so inspired, clicked beneath our stranded Elián, and kept the kid afloat, so you, too, dear peer-ship mates, herewith, will cut straight through the marrow in the bone of Elián Gonzalez’ butchering, to get beneath, slough the chaff, and understand for yourselves the full truth of your not so long gone President Clintstone; revelate as to why he stoned your democracy, and staked our constitutional rights, to keep his missing legacy, like the Russian sub mariners, submerged.
“History is written in men's bones.” The dolphins knew that Elián would not make it to our US shores without their handy flippers, round-the-clock vision and tail assistance. It appears beyond us, but we sense God’s intervention when His truth is refracted for our collective mind.
Peerships! New World Hors D'oeuvres is cosmic prose, the publication of which spells the end of Hillary Rodham Clintstone's presidential ambition. Find out why George W. sealed his father's presidential papers, in New World Hors D'oeuvres. Judge for your selves that history will impeach BOTH Bush the Elder and his son. Upon your book order, at no additional charge, the text will also arrive in your email box, in an Adobe PDF format. Peace Order your copy today! |
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