The Basque Bloodline | Descendants of Atlantis

Perustin pyöräilyvät teitä valmistavan ornotin vuonna 2013. Mielestäni parasta Shopify saan se, että voimme harjoittaa liiketoimintaa ilman teknistä osaamista. Voimme hallinnoida yrityksen taustajaristeelle mien ja front-endia sekä myydä verkossa, vaivatta. Jos Shopify olisi pyöräilyvaruste, sollisi mielestäni itse polkupyörä. Sillä asiat hoidetaan ja meidän liiketoiminta me hoituu Shopify-sa. Aloita ilmainen kokeilu, Shopify piste.com sivustolla. Vääräilyvät on tullut kokeilu, joka on tullut kokeilu. Mutta se on tullut kokeilu, joka on tullut kokeilu. Sain se, että se on tullut kokeilu, joka on tullut kokeilu. Se on tullut kokeilu, joka on tullut kokeilu. Vääräilyvät tullut kokeilu. Vääräilyvät tullut kokeilu, joka on tullut kokeilu. Ja se on tullut kokeilu, joka on tullut kokeilu. Atlantika. Vääräilyvät tullut kokeilu, joka on tullut kokeilu, joka on tullut kokeilu. Vääräilyvät tullut kokeilu, joka on tullut kokeilu, joka on tullut kokeilu, joka on tullut kokeilu. Vääräilyvät tullut kokeilu, joka on tullut kokeilu, joka on tullut kokeilu, joka on tullut kokeilu, joka on tullut kokeilu, joka on tullut kokeilu. and Poseidon, receiving for his lot the island of Atlantis, be get children by a mortal woman and settle them in a part of the island. Gods having children with humans. The Samarins told the same story and they called the Visers. Right, beings who came down, shaped humanity and shared their blood with it. In the book of Inak, divine beings mate with humans and create the Nephilim. Every culture uses a different name, but the story is the same. Near Lizzy people, different texidos, saying Lizzy. But when divine blood is mixed with the humans, the offspring are often evil and violent, like the Nephilim. Plato wrote about that too. But when the divine portion began to fade away and became diluted, too often and too much with the mortal and mixture, the human nature got the upper hand. The blood thinned and Atlantis fell. The families of the old blood escaped into the mountains and never let their blood thin again. There's a version of the gold business that sells you a rare coin and triple melt value and calls it a collector's item. That's not what's going on here. Golden Crest deals exclusively in IRS approved Golden Silver, the stuff that actually qualifies for a retirement account, backed by government mints in the US, Canada, Australia, South Africa and Austria. No limited edition, anything. No numbers or certificates. No pitch about how this particular coin is about the skyrocket because only 500 were minted. When you're moving part of the 4.1K or IRA in the physical metal, you want something with a real liquid market value. Not a collectible that's hard to sell back in a fair price later. Golden Crest's team will walk you through exactly what qualifies, handle the roll over paperwork so it's tax and penalty free, and set you up with improved custodian and insurance storage. 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Now they just argue. Sometimes those arguments turn violent. Sometimes entire families go to war. Tonight, in a stone house near the Citadel, a young woman of the old line is having a difficult pregnancy. Her husband has a good name, but his family isn't of the old line. The midwives have seen this for years. Always in mixed marriages. The mother will survive childbirth. The child never does. The midwife almost says Suri Nekhu out of habit. She stops herself. You don't wish luck on a child who's already gone. The kings gather and announce what the midwives already knew. Old blood doesn't mix. When it mixes, the children die. Nobody can explain why it works this way only that it does. The old families make a decision. They call it the rule. The rule says the old line can only marry within the old line. And the children born against the rule get thrown into the sea. It's the only way to keep the blood pure and to keep the peace. That decision outlifts the island. Because deep under Atlantis, the ground is restless. The air is getting warmer and the water is coming. The old line is called Shannen Maldonado. The old line is called the old line of the land. During the last ice age, the Bay of Biscay wasn't a Bay. The Bay of Biscay wasn't a Bay. Bisc fishermen have names for huge parts of land at the bottom of the Bay. The families say the names are older than anyone could say. Headed down from ancestors who knew that land when it was still land. Mainstream science says that's impossible. The names would have to be thousands of years old, kept alive without writing, without maps, and without the ability to go hundreds of feet underwater. Science assumed the Basques showed up about 6,000 years ago. By then, the Bay was already a Bay. There was nothing to name. So the Basques claimed to be an ancient civilization. Mainstream science says they were superstitious sailors. But then, the bottom of the Bay was mapped with sonar. And all the underwater valleys, hills, and rivers are right where the Basques said they were. Yes, see, Grandpa's bedtime story just passed peer review. But skeptics had an answer for that too. The entire sea floor is covered with hills and rivers. It's easy to guess. But in 2021, an artifact was discovered in the area. A 2000-year-old bronze hand. And written on it was the word "sorry Neko." The rule is a generation old now. And the old families keep it the way they keep the harvest calendar. They marry each other. They bury the children of those who don't. And they mark their houses. A Smith works copper by fire light. A hand. Flat, thin, life-sized. With a hole punched at the wrist. He scratches five words into the bronze. Every family knows them by heart. They go up on doors across the old quarter. The hand tells everyone, "People of old blood live here." A mother lists her daughter so the girl can reach it. It's the same woman who buried a child in the years before the rule. This daughter was born of old blood and this daughter lived. The girl presses her palm flat against the bronze and says the word or mother taught her. "Sorry Neko, good fortune." The ground starts to move. The first shock knocks the market stalls flat. The second opens cracks in the walls. And the sea in the Great Canal begins to move the raw way. It pulls back toward the ocean, dragging ships with it. The king's order and evacuation and whole households move at once, down to the water, onto the boats. ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ The sea comes back at sunset. By morning there is no harbor. There is no city. Just water to every horizon. A handful of boats drift east for days, rationing water, watching for a land that doesn't come. A grandmother holds a child against the wind and starts talking, because the child won't stop shaking. It's her again. She's an old woman now, and the girl in her arms is her granddaughter. She tells her about the Green Isle, the beautiful place where their people lived before the water came. She tells it slowly, carefully. By the third night, the child is telling it back to her. She teaches her the word too. The one her own mother taught her on a door that doesn't exist anymore. Sori Neko, beneath the boats, the drowned country slides past, the elders name what they're passing over, the valley of two rivers, the high meadow, the deep water, spoken out loud so the children learn them. Land rises ahead, a green coast, and behind it mountains, the boats come ashore, and a man carries something wrapped in a cloth up the beach, holding it against his chest like a child. He unwraps a small bronze hand, and before he drives the nail, he says the word into it. Sori Neko, then it goes up in the first door of the new world. Atlantis is gone, but its people and its story survived. In the ruins of an Iron Age settlement in northern Spain, an archaeologist found a flat piece of bronze. It was a hand, life-sized, thin as a coin with a hole punched at the wrist, and it was found where it fell 2,000 years ago, at the doorway of a house. The village was burned by the Roman army, but the ash sealed the house and everything inside. The team thought it was a helmet decoration, nobody noticed the writing until months later. When the bronze was cleaned, it revealed five words in an ancient Iberian script. Experts knew the first one, Sori Neko, good fortune. The modern Basque word is Zori Neko, and 2,000 years only two letters changed. The last word is close to the Basque word to give, so maybe it's an offering or plea to the gods. Until the hand of Erie Legge was found, Ling was thought the Basque were illiterate, make sure wonder what else they got wrong. This is the oldest Basque sentence ever found. Three of its five words are still debated, but the first one, any Basque speaker, can read on site. That shouldn't be possible, because languages change, Greek changed and Latin bled into dozens of languages around the world. An English speaker would have trouble speaking to English speakers 200 years ago. A thousand years ago they wouldn't understand a word. A thousand years ago when I couldn't understand English from last Tuesday. What's a risk? And who's stupid? Is he dangerous? I honestly don't know what those words mean. No paper. Almost every language in Europe from Irish to Russian sits in one big family tree. Not you scare. It has no relatives anywhere. Ling was spent careers trying to connect it to African languages, Native American languages, even ancient Samarian. Nothing sticks. I try every language on earth. And earth, the search area might need an update just saying. Uscara has some Latin words, but they're borrowed and came along very recently. It's a language that comes from nowhere, unless you count the middle of the sea. Because they have a word for Atlantica, but not a word for their own country. The Basque don't even have a word for themselves. They call themselves Uscaldum, which means one who has Uscara. Not someone from a place, someone who speaks a language. And the language refuses to die. Rome tried, then the Visigoths, then the Moors. Uscara survived. In 1937, Francisco Franco's regime banned Uscara. It survived anyway. Not through books or media. It was illegal. Instead, it was spoken quietly at dinner tables. Parents taught their children just as they were taught. Just as their grandparents were taught going back thousands of years. A secret language you can't read. Somebody write it down. I don't tell the IRS. DNA from a 5,000-year-old grave in northern Spain only matched one group of people still alive today. The Basques. And even their bones looked different. They have broader shoulders and bigger frames. Basquals, measured in the 1800s, were closer to chromagnon than other Europeans. Different blood, different language, different skulls. At what point does science just admit that these are X-men? 5,000 years, the rule held. And though the Basques now live in a valley between the mountains, they know their blood is of the sea. Thousands of years ago Atlantis fell and millions died. But by luck, or the will of the gods, a few escaped. And the Basques have a word for someone who's blessed or lucky. So are you naked. High in the mountains where the snow closes the passes half the year, there's a door where the bronze hand nailed to it. The woman who lives behind it came here on a boat. She was the girl who wouldn't stop shaking. She's an old woman now herself, and tonight her own granddaughter is asking questions. The girl knows the story, the rings of the city, the red metal flashing in the sun. The night the sea took it all back. She can tell it in order, beginning to end, because that's how she was taught. And that's how she'll teach it. Tonight she's asking a different question. She wants to know why she can only marry inside the old families. The old woman gives her the only answer anyone has left. She doesn't explain the why, because she doesn't have it. The why is stayed behind on the island, and whenever one keeps a rule, nobody living is seen with breaking a cost. What survived is the keeping. Marry inside the old families, mark the door, say the word. The girl puts her palm in the bronze hand, the way her grandmother taught her, the way somebody taught her grandmother. The island will soften into a bedtime story. The green aisle, a beautiful place far away, gone. Nobody will write it down, and nobody ever writes the rule down either. It lives where the language lives, in the mouth, and in the blood. Thousands of years later, we drew that blood out of their arms and put it under a microscope. An isolated society in the mountains between Spain and France carries blood that matches nobody. These big language related to nothing. They tell a story, but an ancient island that fell beneath the sea. It's a great story. But is it true? Well, the story starts with Plato, and that's the biggest problem. Most scholars think he invented Atlantis as a warning about power and arrogance. Everything tonight was dramatized from Plato and the Basque's legend. Even if Atlantis were a real place, people still can't agree on his location. There are a few candidates like Bimini Road and the reshot structure in Africa, but the geography isn't quite right, so they're just theories for now. There's no physical evidence either. Nobody's found the Egyptian records shown to Solon. There's no ruins, no artifacts, no proof of an advanced civilization at the bottom of the ocean. But there is plenty of evidence of settlements underwater, and we find new ones all the time. Ships have brought up tools, pottery, gold, even wine. But it's all Stone Age, Iron Age, and Bronze Age stuff. Unless you count the Antichythera mechanism, which is pretty incredible for its age. But nothing about it says Atlantis. "At the thousand-year-old computer and nothing about it says Atlantis, yeah, okay, okay, nothing about it says Greece either." And the Basque legend of Atlantica probably isn't Basque. Nobody can find it anywhere before the modern world fell in love with Atlantis. It looks like something the fans made up, and I'm one of the fans. But I want to see real evidence, not an internet meme. Same with the fishing names. We couldn't find those anywhere outside Atlantis folklore. Uscara is an orphan language with no parents, that's true. But there are others, like Japanese and Korean. But Chinese has seeped into almost every Asian language, just like there are Latin words in Uscara. So a few languages might not have parents, but they've got neighbors. The Bronze Hand of Irulegi has skeptics too. The worlds don't match Uscara as well as the story's claim. But the blood is strange. Science knows exactly what our age negative blood is. That gene is shown up in ancient bones all over Europe. But nobody knows why the recessive genes stuck around so long, or why it's so prevalent in the Basques. The Basques probably aren't the children of Atlantis, but they still might be the children of a flood. When the ice melted, the rising water took the coast, and whoever lived there got pushed into the mountains. However, the Basques out there, they stayed, and maybe they had to. When an R.H. state of mother carries an R.H. positive child, the first babies usually find, but the ones after can die. A Basque woman who married inside the valleys mostly carried children like herself, safe. A Basque woman who married an outsider buried babies. And nobody really knew why until the 1940s. Even if the Basques didn't create the rule, their blood may have enforced it. That gives the Basques a unique identity. It's a story they all share. And I think that's why America feels so divided. We no longer have a shared story. We all live in our own story now. We keep what we like. We throw what we don't, even if we throw out the truth. We sort ourselves into tribes that only tell one version of the story. In every tribe. Scribesquares, its version is the whole story, and it never is. The Basques kept one story alive for 5,000 years. We can't keep one through an election. I don't know how a country gets its story back. I don't think anybody does. But I can always pray. Sorry, Neku. Thank you so much for hanging out today. My name is AJ. You're a Psychofish. The oldest Basque artifact is a baronsian that says good fortune. As a guy with no hands, I find it culturally insensitive, beautiful, but insensitive. This has been The White Files. 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I feel the crack at it, and got stuck inside my old home, with them chaos truck, I'll be in only two hours. Do you stand, look you've read, fake the moon, land in a loan, on a film set, I wear the shadow people there. The raspberry is just for the smiling man, I'm told, and his name was Cole. I can't believe, I'm cancer with the fidget, had no fish on Thursday night, Wednesday day two, and when I have the read, I'll do the lie. Oh, I ever wanted what you can see, the truth, took one of them, and we'll be on through the lie. The mouth man, side and side, and the solar, don't still come to a god, the secret city underground. Mysterious number, stations, when it's supposed to, predict stockade, and what the dark watchers found. In a simulation, don't you worry though, the black night satellite, told me so, I can't believe. I'm cancer with the fidget, had no fish on Thursday night, Wednesday day two, and when I have the read, I'll do the lie. Had no fish on Thursday night, Wednesday day two, and when I have the read, I'll do the lie. Girl, it loves to dance, yeah, girl, it loves to dance, I'm the dance floor, because she is a camel, we can't walk the dance, where the feeling is right away within time. You