How Alien Portals and a Kebab Made Me Question Everything! (I've always questioned everything!)

I remember my theological tutor reminding me that history doesn't repeat itself, but it rhymes. If history truly repeated, we would have full knowledge of our lives, as if each moment were predictable. But as we all know, life is not that simple. The universe, God, fate—whatever name we give it—moves in spirals, chaotic yet patterned. These patterns may appear unstable, but perhaps, within the chaos, there is a hidden rhyme we have yet to see.

This brings me to the Roman Empire—hear me out. Rome's influence spanned continents, its power unmatched for centuries. But what if, and it's not a stretch to argue, that the USA is the new Roman Empire? The signs are all around us. Look at the architecture of Washington, D.C.: government buildings with imposing columns, echoes of imperial ambition etched into stone. Like Rome, the USA has its frontiers, its modern-day 'Hadrian's Walls,' meant to guard against perceived barbarians.

But where are these frontiers today? Rome built walls to keep out the Picts and the Gaul’s, tribes they saw as threats to their order, their way of life. But were they truly barbaric, or were they simply resisting domination by a force they saw as foreign and imperialistic?

In today’s world, America’s outposts are not physical walls but nations in conflict. Look at Ukraine, Israel, Afghanistan. These nations, consciously or unconsciously, serve as the USA’s strategic frontiers, outposts of influence and power, much like the Roman legions stationed far from the heart of the empire. Ukraine finds itself as the frontline in a proxy war between Russia? Israel, long supported by American military and financial aid, stands as a geopolitical bulwark in the Middle East. Afghanistan, until recently, was a theatre for America’s 'War on Terror,' an attempt to maintain control over a region fraught with instability.

If the USA is the new Rome, then Ukraine and Israel are akin to the Roman provinces. They serve not only as buffer zones but also as symbols of America’s reach—just as Rome's empire was sustained by its colonies and military outposts. But what happens when these outposts become too costly to maintain? When the frontiers are stretched too thin, and the centre can no longer hold? Rome, at the height of its power, was unstoppable, but over time, the weight of maintaining its empire—its military, its economy, its political alliances—became too much to bear. The empire crumbled, not from a single blow, but from a thousand cuts.

Is the United States now in its own period of decline? America’s influence, like Rome's, extends far beyond its borders, but we must ask: at what cost? Just as Rome diverted resources to its far-flung territories, the USA invests billions into maintaining its global presence. But internally, the cracks are showing. Political division, economic inequality, racial tension, and environmental degradation—these are not new problems, but they have deepened. And as Rome learned, no empire, no matter how powerful, can thrive when its foundations at home are weakening.

Ukraine, Israel, Afghanistan—these are not just battlegrounds or political chess pieces. They are mirrors, reflecting the growing instability of an American empire that might already be in decline. The question we must ask ourselves is whether the USA, like Rome, will eventually fall, undone by its own ambition and overstretched power.

In the chaotic spirals of history, perhaps the patterns are becoming clearer. Empires rise, and they fall. But within the chaos, there is always a rhyme, a pattern we have yet to fully comprehend. Is this the final verse of the American Empire, or merely another chapter in the endless cycle of human history?

Life, with all its twists and turns, often leads us into the most unexpected conversations and encounters. We walk through the world with our plans, our expectations, only to find ourselves stumbling into moments of chaos and unpredictability. The Persian kebab shop encounter is a perfect example of how the most ordinary situations can suddenly spiral into the strange and the extraordinary reflecting the inherent unpredictability of life itself.

I found myself in an obvious place—a kebab shop—hungry and thinking nothing more than what kind of sauce to have on my meal. But as life often does, it threw me an unexpected curve. The kebab owner, a Persian man from modern-day Iran, opened-up about his life. He left during the revolution, long before the shift towards Islamic ideology reshaped his homeland. His story was already steeped in chaos—fleeing a country torn apart by politics and ideology.

As our conversation deepened, we talked about the Iraq War, a topic loaded with its own set of chaos and unpredictability. Weapons of Mass Destruction that didn’t exist, false pretences, and geopolitical ambitions—everything we knew seemed like an intricate web of half-truths. I casually hinted that the war might have been about money, rubbing my thumb and finger together. But then came the twist, the unexpected corner.

The kebab owner shook his head, eyes gleaming as he handed me a can of fizzy Vimto. "No, no, no, my friend! It wasn’t about money. It was about America getting their hands on alien technology at the site of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon," he declared, a statement so bizarre, so out of nowhere, that I found myself speechless. The world froze for a second as I processed what he had just said. "Alien technology?" I finally managed to repeat, somewhat dumbfounded.

He went on, calmly adding garlic sauce to my kebab, "Yes, my friend. It was an alien portal."

I sipped my Vimto, trying to stay grounded as he casually asked me if I wanted more sauce. That’s the thing about life—it throws these moments of surreal absurdity your way when you least expect it. And while conspiracy theories often invite disbelief, they’re born from that same chaos, the unpredictable narrative we try to make sense of.

This kebab shop conspiracy, however wild, speaks to something deeper—the human need to explain the inexplicable, to find patterns in chaos. In a world where official narratives seem increasingly fragile, where the reasons behind wars and political moves are questioned, sometimes the bizarre feels like it makes as much sense as anything else.

After all, the notion of alien technology buried beneath the sands of Iraq is no stranger than some of the more conventional explanations for war. Conspiracy theories like this one, however outlandish they may seem, often stem from a deep-rooted distrust of official narratives. The idea that the U.S. invaded Iraq for something far more extraordinary than oil or power might sound laughable to some, but it reflects a broader sense of scepticism—an uncertainty about the true motives behind global events. In a world where we're often left questioning the stories we're told, sometimes the fantastical feels just as plausible as the official reasons.

As I went home, still thinking about alien technology and the possibility of a portal that could allow us to traverse time and space, I couldn’t shake the imagery of the chaos we face today. I turned on the news, watching as Israel—an outpost of the USA—continues to face conflict, the so-called 'barbarians' at the gates, spreading havoc, mayhem, and grief. But here's the thing: no one is born a monster. We are made into monsters by the world we live in, by the systems that raise us, and the endless cycles of violence and control. And now, it feels like there are far too many monsters to count.

As our leaders stood at the UN, calling for peace, for hostilities to cease, I couldn't help but wonder: Is this just a pretence? A carefully orchestrated performance? The civilized world nods in agreement at the call for peace, but how much of this is an act, a veil hiding the real motives underneath? Are we witnessing the slow erosion of the West’s way of life, inching towards collapse? Because that’s what it feels like—a civilization on the cusp of falling apart.#

The truth is, dissent at home is something our leaders fear more than anything. It is not the external 'barbarians' that worry them, but the unrest brewing within their own borders. And so, they maintain the narrative, they present a story of control, of stability. But do we believe it? Can we still trust the official explanations, the surface-level appeals to peace and democracy?

Carl Jung once said, 'In all chaos, there is a cosmos, in all disorder, a secret order.' This is the crux of the problem. The world we see is filled with chaos—wars, conflicts, lies—but beneath it all, something else is happening. And if we cannot believe in the stories we’re told, what are we left with? The mind begins to wander to alternatives, to the things that lie outside the realm of the conventional. Alien portals? Hidden technologies? Perhaps. The point is not that these theories are true or false, but that we are left grasping for something more, something beyond the neatly packaged narratives we’re fed.

The idea of an alien portal at the site of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon feels as strange as anything else, but perhaps it symbolizes the greater mystery of life itself—the things we don’t understand, the truths that remain hidden, waiting to be uncovered. We look to the skies, the ancient lands of Iraq, or the fractured streets of Israel for answers. Maybe the portals we’re seeking are not technological at all, but cracks in the stories we've been told, opening doorways to new ways of thinking, new ways of seeing the world.

We are left at the threshold, wondering if the performance of peace, the calls for civility, are the last act of a civilization nearing its end. And if that’s the case, what comes next?