The Gifts of Eden Ch#5

It was the fall of 1978, I had recently turned 21, and I was on an airplane en route to the University of Missouri, where I was to start my senior year. It happened to be one of several colleges who had accepted my application, but this particular college had something the others did not: it was the furthest from my hometown of Fairmont, California and my mother!

The first three years of college hadn't been so bad. Of course I had no friends, which left me lots of free time to study. And study I did. As an anthropology major, I was excited to learn about the new Ph.D. who was coming on staff. Dr. Juris Zarins was an expert on ancient Middle Eastern languages and civilizations. He had just returned from a four-year assignment as archaeological adviser for the Department of Antiquities in Saudi Arabia. I was hoping I could glean some helpful information that might bring me closer to the location of the Garden of Eden. Although I had searched for three years, I had made little progress. Every note was archived in the hope someday I would be able to put all the pieces together, but nothing substantial thus far.

The flight attendant came down the aisle with a tired smile on her face. She pushed a condiment cart before her, picking up trash and unfinished drinks from the passengers as she went. As she approached my row, the enormously corpulent man in the window seat on my right reached across to hand his unfinished drink to her. At that moment the plane hit some rough turbulence, and began shaking violently. Everyone's eyes flew open wide, and I watched as the drink flew slowly up, then down into my lap. Now my eyes were wide open too. The musty scent of whiskey began to float up from my lap where the icy drink had fallen.

"Sorry," the fat man muttered apologetically, shrugging as the plane continued to bounce.

"Ladies and gentlemen," came the Captain's voice over the intercom, "We're beginning our descent into Springfield Regional Airport, so we'll be asking all passengers to put up their trays and bring their chairs to an upright position. Please notice the "Fasten Seat Belts" sign is now lit, so if your belts are not already fastened, we'd appreciate it if you'd do so now. The weather in Springfield Missouri is currently 69 degrees and clear. The local time is 8:30pm, on Saturday, September 9^th 1978, and we should be disembarking on time at 8:54pm. Thank you for flying American Airlines Flight 1191, and we wish you all a good night!"

The plane began to lean forward as the pilot headed in for a landing. The turbulence seemed to be pretty much gone, but there were still occasional bumps in the ride. I tried to look out the small window past the man beside me to no avail. I imagined the many lights transforming into actual buildings and roadways as the plane drew closer. We touched town with a lurch, and the engines went into full reverse thrust. All the passengers were leaning forward as the place rapidly decelerated. A scant few minutes later, and we had taxied to our terminal, and the plane came to a complete stop.

Everyone jumped up at once in a frantic effort to get off the plane first, and of course this resulted in the entire plane standing like sardines as one person at a time exited to the concourse. Eventually I made my way off, and into the terminal. I spied a tiny sports bar across the terminal, and made my way there, doing my best to avoid being jostled by travelers too busy to look where they were going. I sat down at the bar, and glanced up towards the TV monitor near the ceiling. The sound was turned all the way down, and I wasn't really interested, but it gave me something to look at besides the massive pimple on the tip of the bartender's nose. It was so distracting, I honestly didn't know what the rest of the man looked like.

"Look, man, we got Bud, Bud light, Coors, Coors light and Miller. Whaddyawant?" He stared at me, annoyed.

"Forget it," I said, and rose from my barstool. I started looking around for a bathroom.

I noticed a restroom about one hundred feet away, and made my way toward it. As I entered, I saw the few people I passed along the way giving me dirty looks. I remembered I had the spilt drink in my lap, and I looked down at myself to see.

It looked like I had wet my pants. And it stunk of booze. "Great," I thought. Now everyone thinks I'm a wino." I pushed the men's room door open and walked inside. There was a row of urinals on the left side, and a few sinks on the right. Along the rear wall were a few enclosed toilets. I scanned the place, and it seemed deserted. I walked to the nearest sink, and turned the water on. Unfortunately, the faucet had to be held down in order to stay on. So I held the faucet on with my left hand, and tried to rinse my pants with my right hand. All I succeeded in doing was getting wetter, so I abandoned the rinse altogether. I scanned the room for paper towel dispensers, but the only thing available was two air dryers bolted to the wall. I pressed the button to turn the nearest blower on, and turned the nozzle down towards the floor. The dryer came on with a high pitched squeal. I leaned backwards and extended my lower half as far under the hot air flow as possible, until I felt the fabric starting to dry. I noticed my reflection in the mirror across the wall, and it appeared I was molesting the hand dryer. At that very moment a man about 30 years old walked in with his young son, who couldn't have been more than four years old. He looked at my crotch thrust up into the hot air dryer, and stood there staring at me for a moment.

"C'mon, son, lets go," he said in a bit of a panic. He spun the boy around, and dragged him by the arm from the restroom over the protests.

It took about ten minutes, but eventually I managed to dry my slacks. I departed the bathroom, and looked for a map of the airport. I needed to find my luggage, and catch a cab back to my apartment near the college campus, about ten miles away. I was tired, and it had been a long trip. When I finally arrived home, I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

A click, followed by the static of a clock radio not focused on any particular station began my day. The blaring noise persisted as I tried to remember where I was.

"Oh, yes," I recalled groggily. I was back in my apartment after a summer break in California. I yawned, stretched, and slowly brought myself up to a sitting position on the side of my bed. I looked at the cheap clock; it read "6:45am". I had to be at my first class at 8am, and it was the first day of school, so I shuffled off to the shower.

My apartment (if you could call it an apartment) was actually a rented room with a dual hot plate, a tiny 2 cubic foot refrigerator, and a closet converted into a cramped bathroom. My landlady was a middle-aged, rather rotund woman known simply as Miss Abigail. She meant well, but could be quite obnoxious at times. She never seemed to be happy about anything; there was always something wrong with any given situation. Knowing this, I had trained myself to keep quiet, because the slightest complaint about the living conditions resulted in a lengthy tirade about the injustices, slings and arrows of being a poor, mistreated landlady at the hands of a cruel and unsympathetic tenant.

Despite my resignation to my plight at the hands of dear Miss Abigail, I had never gotten used to the shower, which would run hot, then cold, then hot, then cold, until I finally gave up and got out. This morning was no different, so I was still wiping soap off my face and shoulders as I exited the tiny bathroom.

I dressed leisurely, looking through the small, round attic window that served as my only portal to the world outdoors. The sky was clear, and it looked like a beautiful day. I scanned the neighborhood, looking down the old street at the town coming to life. The next-door neighbor was warming up his old, rusty Ford pickup truck as steam bellowed from the rattling tailpipe. The retired woman across the street was in her bathrobe, curlers, and oversized slippers picking up her morning newspaper. She squinted at the morning sunrise, and puffed on a thin, long cigarette. Turning away, she went back up the porch steps, and absently scratching her bottom through her robe, she disappeared into the house. A dog started barking in the distance, and I could hear a far away siren fading as it moved away from the vicinity. Row after row of the old neighborhood stood stalwartly, silent sentinels paying homage to the 1940's and 1950's when they were first constructed. Each house had a mighty oak tree in the front yard. The rows of trees were old, tall and strong, and their upper branches stretched across the street meeting their counterpart on the other side, so the road beneath was sheltered in a canopy of foliage. Autumn was in full swing, and copper and brown leaves shifted lazily on the lawns and street as the soft wind blew to and fro.

I finished dressing, and retrieved my new school schedule. I had three classes with the new instructor Dr. Zarins. "Old World Archaeology", "World Prehistory" and "People and Cultures of the Middle East". I was really looking forward to meeting him, and hoped he would share his research in Saudi Arabia with the class during the school year. I made certain I took as any classes with Dr. Zarins as possible, because nobody had done more research on ancient civilizations than him. I figured you couldn't get much more ancient than Eden, so it seemed like a good idea at the time.

I arrived early for the class. A man was writing on the chalkboard, and I walked in to greet him.

""Yes!" the man replied. He turned to face me. He was smiling, a warm, friendly smile. He had a gentle demeanor, as though he had no malice in his composition at all. His large glasses reflected the classroom lights, and his full head of hair matched his light moustache. "Juris Zarins, and you are?" he asked.

"Samual Weatherspoon," I answered, shaking his hand. "I've really been looking forward to meeting you."

"Because I've been trying to find the Garden of Eden since I was 17 years old, and I think you can help me," I blurted out.

Dr. Zarins smile faded a bit, and he looked me over slowly. "The Garden of Eden! Why do you want to find such a thing? Don't you believe it is only a legend?" he asked somewhat seriously.

"I don't believe that at all. I believe it is real, and I believe I can find it. I just need help from someone who knows about things no living person remembers. Somebody who has torn apart ancient history and dissected it piece by piece. Somebody like you," I answered, unafraid of appearing to be a fool.

Dr. Zarins was silent, and his eyes seemed to focus not on me, but straight through me for several long moments. He pondered at length, then finally he spoke.

"Well, Samual Weatherspoon, we may have something to talk about at that. Let's see how you do in my class, and take it from there. I'm very busy, and cannot waste my time on frivolities. If you are truly serious, I will know soon enough, and then we will speak of this again." His broad smile returned. "Have a seat, Mr. Weatherspoon. Class is about to begin!"

It was Christmas Day 1978, and I had completed my first Senior semester at SMSU. I was the top student in all my classes, and had gone out of my way to excel in all three of Dr. Zarins' classes I had enrolled in. We had not spoken of Eden since the first day of our meeting, and I was wondering if I would ever have the chance to pick his brain for clues about my Quest.

I had just finished writing a letter to my mother, and had little else to do. Miss Abigail was in the house below entertaining her Christmas guests. I could hear seasonal music echoing through the walls, and I began to feel a bit homesick. I couldn't afford to go home for Christmas, and I had no friends or family in Missouri, so my studies were pretty much my entire life. Most of the time that was no problem, but during the Holidays I got a little melancholy when I ran out of things to do.

I wandered over to my hotplate and spun the knob to "High". The heating element under the leftover can of chili and beans began to glow crimson. I looked around for a spoon to stir it, but all I could locate was a large serving fork. I blended the mixture as well as I could, and scooped it into a cereal bowl a few minutes later. I sat in a chair by my window and began to eat. I would hear the strains of "We Wish You a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year" playing in the distance. I sat motionless for awhile, my meal growing cold in my lap. I finally put the bowl on the counter top, and lay on my bed face down. I fell asleep crying quietly. The party continued on downstairs, and I heard Christmas carols in my dreams.

I dreamt I was riding in an all-terrain vehicle across the sands of a barren desert. Dr. Zarins was driving the vehicle as we bounced through the wasteland. The wind was blisteringly hot, and the sand was blowing mercilessly everywhere. We had shielded our eyes with goggles, and covered our faces with scarves so we could breathe and see.

"Why do you tarry, Samual?" spoke Zarins. But the voice was not his, it was Gabrielae's. I stared at him, and his face changes slowly. His eyes began to twinkle through the glasses, and I watched as his arms became thin and translucent. Soon, Gabrielae was beside me, in Dr. Zarins' clothes, driving the jeep madly across the arid sands. "You must not delay, Samual. You must push on with your Quest." She looked at me sweetly, and touched my left hand. I felt a glow, and saw that the mark of her kiss from so long ago was still there, glowing brightly now.

"I don't know what to do!" I cried. "I have tried everything, what more can I do?"

I felt confused and miserable. I looked at her again, but it was not she any more, it was Dr. Zarins in the drivers seat.

"Why haven't you come to me again, Samual? How am I to take you seriously if you do not persist?" Dr. Zarins looked at me through the dusty goggles. "Research takes perseverance, Samual. You must persevere."

Zarins shifted the jeep to a higher gear. "The enemy is near," he announced. I spun around and saw an army was chasing us, mounted on camels. Their dark robes waved magnificently in the desert wind, and their swords were drawn and held high over their heads. They were catching up to us, and I could hear their cries as they shouted. I felt very afraid, and as they drew closer I saw the leader was Mortach himself, fearsome and hideous in his rage. His eyes flashed, and his sword was held high as he came alongside the jeep. Soon we were surrounded, and our vehicle came to a complete stop. Menacing grumbles came from the mounted army, and as they dropped their scarves I saw they were all like Mortach, although not as large. Mortach rode his camel to the front of the jeep, then dismounted with a thud. He held aloft his gnarled ebony staff, and a dark light sprang forth from it like black lightening, striking the windshield of our vehicle violently. Smoke flared, and the stench of melting rubber and metal filled my nostrils. When the wind cleared the smoke away, there were strange characters burned across the windshield:

Mortach thundered toward my car door and slowly brought his head within inches of my face. "Khalas; imshi!" he growled in my right ear. My heart froze. His foul breath and dark power seemed to paralyze me completely. Then Mortach the Dark threw his head back and let loose a fell, blood-curdling cry. His forces joined in, and I closed my eyes in terror. Then all was silent.

I dared to open my eyes, and I was alone in a grey fog with Dr. Zarins. I was shaking all over.

"He said, 'Enough; go away!'" The professor answered. Dr. Zarins was staring at the dark characters on the windshield of the jeep.

"Yes," he said as he continued to stare at the foreign letters. "They are Arabic. They read, 'Seek not the Garden!'" He turned and looked at me. My eyes began to water. I was no longer able to focus on anything. The gray fog was swirling all around me.

"Dr. Zarins? Dr. Zarins!" I called, but there was no answer. The smell of smoke was returning again. I tried to turn, but was unable to. I concentrated all my might on turning around, and suddenly I broke free and fell onto the floor with a crash.

The fog was gone, and I was in my bedroom, with my blankets wrapped around my feet. The burner had been left on, and wisps of smoke were circling up and away from it. "Good grief," I muttered, as I tried to unwrap my legs from the covers. Finally free, I went across the room and switched off the overheated appliance.

I looked out my window, and saw that it was the middle of the night. It was silent, except for the tree branches outside rustling in the light winter breeze. On the floor beneath my desk was a tattered old box full of papers, my notes thus far about my Quest. I pulled the box out and put it on top of the desk. Blowing the dust off the lid, I opened it. I reached in, and removed the contents. Perhaps it was time to try again…

Several hours later, I saw the sun beginning to break over the horizon through my small window. I put my pen and paper down, and stretched my arms, yawning loudly. I rose, and walked over to the mirror outside my bathroom door. I was not a very attractive guy. My legs were thin, my glasses were large and thick, my hair was dark, unkempt and unmanageable, and far too long, I had random blemishes on my face, and my waist was too thick. I needed a shave, and I dared not imagine what my breath must be like. It seemed like a good time for a shower. I reached through the bathroom door, pushing the shower curtain aside, and twisted the water knobs as they creaked and squeaked. A spattering of rusty water coughed into the shower for a few moments, then finally cleared. As I undressed, I noticed the steam beginning to wisp out of the tiny bathroom. The water was finally hot. I figured I had about five minutes before it started going cold again, so I stepped inside and pulled the shower curtain closed behind me. I turned my back, allowing the sputtering stream of hot water to massage my neck and shoulders. My eyes closed, and I breathed in the steam rising around me. I relished the moment, as my relaxed body luxuriated in the warm embrace of my most excellent shower. I thought I heard a toilet flush in the distance, and the water suddenly went very hot in my shower as the cold water was diverted downstairs. "Yikes!" I yelped, leaping out of the shower like a madman. "So much for that!" I announced to the empty room.

Several minutes later I had finished dressing. I walked to the desk, and sat down. I looked out the small circular window at the street, quiet and abandoned on this winter day. It was strangely still this morning. I glanced at my clock radio, and saw the time was a little before 8am. I shuffled my feet on the floor, and stared at the phone in a trance for some time. Then I abruptly snapped out of it, and began rummaging through my books for the school telephone directory. Locating it, I flipped to the "Staff" pages, and ran my finger down the columns of listings. There, at the end of the list was "Zarins, Dr. Juris." His home and office number were listed. I picked up the phone, then hesitated. Then I dialed his home number.

"Well, I was just thinking about you. I had this strange dream last night, and…oh, never mind. What can I do for you, Mr. Weatherspoon?" he asked.

"Dr. Zarins, I had a dream too. Were you in a jeep in the desert with me?" I asked excitedly.

"Yes Samual. There was the writing. 'Seek not the Garden'. Yes…."he was whispering.

"Yes, Samual, I think perhaps we should." He was silent for a minute, then he cleared his throat and spoke in a normal tone. "Mr. Weatherspoon, meet me at the department office in an hour."

Approximated an hour later I was pacing in front of the Anthropology Department at SMSU. It was chilly, and there was frost on the lawns. I was rubbing my hands together to keep warm, having rushed out of the house in such a hurry I had forgotten to bring a winter coat. My sweater was warm, but not warm enough for the dead of winter. I kept looking at my watch anxiously, wondering what was keeping Dr. Zarins so long.

I felt a tap on my shoulder. I jumped, and my heart skipped a beat. "Samual, its just me!" It was Dr. Zarins. "Lets go inside where its warm" he said, his keys jingling in his hand. A few minutes we were in his office warming our hands in front of a small space heater. There was silence for a while. Then he finally spoke.

"So, you want to find the Garden of Eden, do you?" he asked, his eyes peering directly into my own.

"I can't explain, but it is a Quest I must undertake. I cannot tell you much more than that, you would think I was crazy"

"Some would say you are crazy even looking for a mythical place like Eden," Dr. Zarins pointed out.

"Perhaps," he replied. "Well, where to begin? Settle in, I'll make us some coffee, and I'll tell you what I know, and what I believe about the origins of man, and the Garden of Eden in particular. Then we'll see what comes of it. You have proved yourself to be a true archaeologist, you have worked hard and been patient, realizing that answers take years, and even then they lead to still more questions. The search is never over, my young friend!" He smiled knowingly.

"Samual, where do you think the earliest civilizations came from? Do you think they really came from a magical garden, or from Africa, or perhaps Asia?"

"Because in the Bible it tells of the location of the Garden of Eden. Here, I have a Bible with me. It's in Genesis Chapter two, verses eight through fourteen…" I began to read:

And Jehovah God planted a garden eastward, in Eden; and there he put the man whom he had formed.

And out of the ground made Jehovah God to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight, and good for food; the Tree of Life also in the midst of the garden, and the Tree of the Knowledge of good and evil.

And a river went out of Eden to water the garden; and from thence it was parted, and became four heads.

The name of the first is Pishon: that is it which compasseth the whole land of Havilah, where there is gold;

And the name of the second river is Gihon: the same is it that compasseth the whole land of Ethiopia.

And the name of the third river is Hiddekel: that is it which goeth toward the east of Assyria. And the fourth river is the Euphrates."

"You see? We know where the Tigres, or Hiddekel river is, we know where the Euphrates is, it’s the other two, the Pishon and the Gihon that are missing. Regardless, this clearly points to the Middle East, probably modern day Iraq."

Dr. Zarins thought for a moment. Then he spoke slowly. "Why do you think the Bible has the answers?"

"Because the Bible speaks of the Garden of Eden. If the Bible does not know the location, then the Garden does not exist. To find Eden, I must believe the Bible is accurate!" I replied.

"I see," Zarins smiled. Wouldn't it be nice to have some corroborating evidence?"

"It would, Sir. That's what I think you can help me with. You've been there, and you're an expert in ancient civilizations. If anyone can find Eden, it's you." I sat back and waited for his reaction. He sat quietly for a time, then his eyes met mine. He removed his glasses, and looked at me.

"Perhaps," he said quietly. "People have tried for thousands of years to locate the mythical Garden of Eden, Samual. But the locations of the Pishon and Gihon have never been discovered. Some say Eden was part of Atlantis, other suggest Mongolia, some India, many Ethiopia. Learned scholars and historians, well versed in the history of these oldest known areas of civilization have tried in vain to pin point the missing rivers. In Turkey, both the Tigris, also known as the Hiddekel and the Euphrates appear in the mountainous regions. Mt. Ararat where Noah's Ark was supposed to have landed is there as well. But I think most people accept the same theory as you, Samual. Just north of the Persian Gulf seems to be where all roads lead. But this is a very large area. And still there is the matter of the missing rivers.

But like you, Samual, I believe there is more to the story! I believe the Garden of Eden is actually UNDER the Persian Gulf! Moreover, I believe the story in the Bible is not a literal description of the beginnings of man, but a synopsis of the earliest civilizations of that time and place so long ago. Samual, I have studied these very verses over and over. I have spent years in the Middle East chasing down clues. I have consulted with experts in the fields of geology, hydrology and linguistics. I am convinced Eden, or what was once Eden, is indeed beneath the waters at the tip of the Persian Gulf, where Kuwait, Iraq and Iran all converge.

Around 30,000 B.C it was the middle of the Ice Age. Sea levels were 400 feet lower than today, and there was no Persian Gulf. The area received its water from the Tigris, Euphrates, the Gihon, the Pishon and all their tributaries. This created a natural 'paradise' in the region.

About six thousand years ago, that same area was an astonishingly fertile and green place. There was wildlife everywhere, as evidenced by animal bones discovered by various digs over the years. Ancient human tools and implements abound in these areas. The people had only to forage, or gather whatever they needed. It was literally a Paradise, where no cultivation and little hunting was required, the land provided everything you needed in lush abundance. However, in the outlying areas, Mother Earth was not so hospitable. People had to refine skills in hunting and cultivation in order to survive and prosper. While the Edenites lived a life of luxury, in effect depending on God for their needs, the surrounding hunter-gatherers grew self sufficient and able to survive without such providence. We call the peoples of these two cultures the 'Ubaid', the same civilization which founded the oldest of the southern Mesopotamian cities such as Eridu, Ur and Uruk. As the outsiders moved closer and integrated more with the Edenites, they began to assimilate their technologies. They became more self-sufficient and less dependent upon the land for their provision. As the area continued to flood while sea levels gradually returned to normal, the fertile regions were swallowed up by the increasing Persian Gulf over the years. Eden was lost over time. And as the climate continued to evolve and change, Eden passed from the memory of people altogether.

In effect, Adam and Eve had all they needed. But they 'sinned' by taking matters into their own hands, relying upon their skills rather than God's gifts. Their punishment was expulsion, being driven out by the increasing waters, never to return.[1] There is much more to this, but it would take literally years to explain it all to you, Samual. Suffice it to say that even if you do locate the very spot where the Garden of Eden once existed, it will avail you nothing, because today it is nothing more than mud under a body of water. If, knowing this, you still wish to pursue the matter, you may assist me in my research. Perhaps some day you will fulfill your Quest. But not today." Zarins drained his coffee cup, and looked at me.

[1] Dora Jane Hamblin; http://www.ldolphin.org/eden/

Smithsonian Magazine, Volume 18. No. 2, May 1987

Executor: Mary H. Ovrom, December 1, 1997