• About PeterSIronwood

petersironwood

~ Finding, formulating and solving life's frustrations.

petersironwood

Category Archives: psychology

The Impossible

05 Thursday Mar 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, poetry, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 33 Comments

Tags

courage, dog, flagpole, life, poem, poetry, story, wolf

IMG_9802

That shiny steel flag-pole that spired skyward in our back yard:

It was too high; it was too slippery. 

I was too weak; I was too young. 

I was just a little boy, barely four years. 

It was too thick; I couldn’t do it. 

There was no way; it was utterly and finally impossible. 

I’d tried a thousand times and never got a foot off the ground. 

My dad had stayed behind in Portugal (why?). 

My mom and I lived alone in Kent (why?). 

And, I tried — tried to climb that pole, tried, and tried. 

But some things, some things, you see, are never meant to be. 

One day — I played in the yard alone (where was Mom?) 

C66B81BF-A326-480A-90AA-CFA7CA0F8FDD_1_105_c

I could smell, feel, before I saw It charging: –That dog of fangs, 

That terrible wolf of the wilderness — god of tooth and claw

Barking its horrible happy knell of death —

Its ruff raised, its snarling snipe, its gurgling growl,

Black lips baring back those snipping, chattering, yellow teeth — 

Close and closer. I clambered and climbed the impossible pole, 

Shinnied to the very top and held on for a minute, for a lifetime. 

CF4778AA-2006-40ED-9AA7-6C21734ECA7F_1_105_c

Thank God for challenge; thank God for Life in all its fierce forms; 

Thank God for courage and — thank you God for vicious dogs. 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Author Page on Amazon

Beware of Sheep in Wolves’ Clothing! 

The Loud Defense of Untenable Positions

Index for Best Practices in Collaboration & Teamwork

Photo by Tomu00e1u0161 Malu00edk on Pexels.com

Ambition!

04 Wednesday Mar 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, poetry, politics, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 9 Comments

Tags

ambition, greed, irony, life, materiality, mindfulness, poem, poetry, SHRUGS, spiritual, truth, worship

IMG_1442

I’ll be Number One!
They’ll say I’ve won!
Biggest man in all the land!
Forego the loving touch
Of a lovely lover’s hand.
A tracing finger
Long will linger —
But no so much
As a mountain carved,
A fountain named,
A people starved,
A nation flamed!

Some children caged!

 

D27C46AA-C37E-4AB7-8FE8-8DA937E31A91

I hunger yet
To win the bet;
To march the march
Through desolate lands;
Light the torch
On tortured hands;
Found a city;
Show no pity;
Conquer all;
Steal the ball!

1B365626-62A1-43F0-95FC-CF9CA6EF3B06

I may not know
Of crystal snow
Or love in bed —
Silky hair wet
Falling full across my face;
Laughter; holy grace —
But instead
I get
No forced solitude.
I have the multitude
At beck and call
And in my thrall.
On flashbulb feasts
I will dine,
Roasted beasts,
And finest wine!

E056DBCD-67B8-415B-9ECF-A7DE15F7164F_1_105_c

And when the game
At last is won
And My Own Name
Heads everyone’s,
I’ll laugh and flash
From bed of death:
I held the lash!
No wasted clock
On balderdash
Or poppycock.
I rushed ahead
To this final bower
My ultimate power.
So I could lay
Beneath cold ground
Beneath the sound
Of crashing drum
— beat
And brashing horn
— blast
And marching man
— feet
And now at long
— last

With my last breath,
Content.

Perfectly content.
Serene.
Perfectly serene.
Yet —
Yet, I wonder —
Is it too late?
Have I missed … ?
Could I just have a chance to — ?

Oh.
I see.
It’s over.

BF8B251B-9BD3-46BC-899C-35F77188D0F6

Author Page on Amazon.

The Game— What does one do, if one has so much wealth and power that you literally want for nothing?

Don’t they realize how much better off they are now?

02 Monday Mar 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, politics, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

colonialism, environment, exploitation, Global South, life, poem, poetry, truth

cascade creek environment fern

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

The people, true, they may have been in bliss,
Fishing, hunting, laughing all the while,
Greeting each the other with a smile.
But listen to my vision, listen to this:
I see customers! I see consumers! I see cash!
A way to keep our profit from a crash.

pile of gold round coins

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Let’s demonstrate our agribusiness joys,
Export industrial wastes and noise!
I see markets for cigarettes and cow’s milk!
You can hardly call it a rip-off, a bilk,
Because they will be so much better off
If they drink themselves to Korsakov.

IMG_5572

And yet it sometimes happens in a craze,
These people — they don’t realize their days
Are so much better now than once they were.
They get to smell the smoke and hear the whirr;
Smoke camels; watch re-runs; drink Miller Lite;
And work in factories under cool florescent light!

photo of landfill

Photo by Leonid Danilov on Pexels.com


Author Page on Amazon

Series of posts on stories and storytelling. 

A sample story from Turing’s Nightmares.

A sample story from Tales from an American Childhood. 

When cultures collide: The Myths of the Veritas. 

The Bubble People

01 Sunday Mar 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, poetry, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 11 Comments

Tags

awareness, being, bubbles, mindfulness, now, poem, poetry, summer

F8495CCE-9CA2-434D-A4FB-539BB040CFC3

And there are little blue bubbles
All around their heads.

At least,
That’s the way I see it.

He goes swizzing down the highway,
Weaving slightly,
Unaware,
Unaware,
That he is going 35 or 85 in a 65 zone.

C4AE5680-36D4-44A1-84F8-5ACCDC6B3CEF

Inside the little blue bubble,
Stocks are being bought and sold.
His head leans thoughtfully to the left
His left hand bracing the Nokia
And blocking his view of passing cars
And of the lushly verdant scenery that is
No doubt one reason he chose to live
In such an expensive place as Westchester.

Inside the little blue bubble,
Business is being transacted —
Serious stuff —
Money changes hands.
And hopefully, more than his fair share
Rubs off on his palms like dried green mold.
If enough little scraplings of green powder
Are heaped together,
The man in the little blue bubble can buy —
What?
Perhaps a better beeper, phone, or larger car.

closeup photography blueberry fruits

Photo by Lisa Fotios on Pexels.com

In the park,
The children come and go,
Talking of Mike and Angelo;
Looking perhaps for the lame balloonman.
But the woman in the little blue bubble
Doesn’t see or hear them;
Turns her head and puts a finger in her ear,
The better to block the whiz of whirring skaters.
There’s a deal on the line.
There’s money to be made.
She doesn’t hear the bees whine,
Doesn’t feel the elm shade.

E66140B2-E0A0-4EF0-97D2-84B6D863C6EF

And the spring mischief in me paints a sudden vision:
I could go and tap her on the shoulder,
Dance her off her feet and back to life
In this sunny day park of now.
My eyes dart to her face, searching,
But she is lost —
Lost behind the foggy blue bubble.

“Before I built a wall…” I mutter
And stroll back slowly the way I came.

IMG_8467


The above poem was originally written two weeks before 9/11/2001. It seems even more apropos now.

———————————————-

Author Page on Amazon

Start of the First Book of The Myths of the Veritas

Start of the Second Book of the Myths of the Veritas

Table of Contents for the Second Book of the Veritas

Table of Contents for Essays on America 

Index for a Pattern Language for Teamwork and Collaboration  

 

The Lost Sapphire

29 Saturday Feb 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, politics, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

fiction, jewels, life, parable, Paradise Lost, ruby, sapphire, short story, story, truth

BCAA0C2B-9EA0-4A13-92E0-3A4031D84334_1_105_c

 

I cannot recall where or when or how I had first gotten the giant blue sapphire. Of course, even at five years, I knew it might not be a real sapphire; at least, that’s what my parents insisted. They called it “just glass.”

But, they might just possibly be wrong. After all, I could look into it forever. And, if I looked real hard, I could see the dim, midnight blue outline of things beyond and through the stone, transformed by the magic of the stone into something quite out of the ordinary; something heavenly, mysterious.

So far as I could tell, my parents never actually saw the stone; certainly they never looked through it. They’d just glance at it and say, “Oh, yeah, it’s blue glass.” Well, it seemed to me that it must be a real sapphire. Besides making things look beautiful, there was something else — something mom and dad never even tried to understand. It was this. If something happened I didn’t like; if I were sad because my dog was “put to sleep” or scared of getting a shot, I could look at this sapphire and it made me feel better! It made it all: Okay. If I listened carefully, it spoke words of wisdom and comfort. It was obviously worth a lot more than my parents knew.

True, there was a tiny chunk broken out of one corner. But that didn’t really matter. The stone was still perfect. Perfect, something to be kept forever.

Forever, that is, until Jimmy moved next door. Jimmy was ten years old and had a two wheel bike. Jimmy towered up nearly as thick and high as an adult. But Jimmy was still young enough to see the powerful magic in the sapphire. One bright Saturday morning, on the green grass of the “devil strip” between the white sidewalk and the forbidden black street where the deadly cars zoomed, I sat in the grass watching the magic sapphire, listening for its words of wisdom. Jimmy came and plopped down beside me. He flashed the red reflector from his bike in the sunlight. Oh, how it sparkled into my eyes!

“Do you want this ruby?” asked Jimmy innocently.

“Oh! Okay. Thanks!”

Jimmy handed it to me and let me flash it in the sun. It was so much brighter than the sapphire! It sparkled fire!

“Great,” said Jimmy, “Let me have the sapphire.” He snatched it from the grass where I had lain it, jumped up and ran into his house.

android android wallpaper ball bling

Photo by ARUNODHAI VINOD on Pexels.com

I stared dumbly at the huge shut door, then back down at the red reflector in my hand. Maybe this was a good trade after all, I thought. It was really bright all right. And when you moved it in the sun, it made different starburst patterns. After all, it had come from a full-sized two-wheeler. But still…something was missing. Then, a buzzing filled my ears. I suddenly realized that the reflector was just pretty glass! There was no magic to it. It didn’t speak; it just buzzed its foolish empty buzz. I couldn’t look through it to other things. It had no depth. And worst of all, it could never make anyone feel better, not even a little bit. “I thought you meant…for a minute…” I mumbled to the big kid behind the thick wooden door.

I considered telling my mom and dad. Maybe they could get the sapphire back! I hated telling them. You just don’t tell parents about kid troubles; it’s against the main unwritten law of being a kid. But maybe they could get my sapphire back! When I finally told them what had happened, they said, “Well, you made a trade.” I tried to get Jimmy to trade back, but he had none of it. Jimmy soon moved away, never to be seen again. But I kept the red reflector — not to look at because that would seem somehow unfaithful to the spirit of the sapphire — but just in case Jimmy came by one day wanting to trade back.

And later, much later, I used my allowance to buy special clear marbles — called “Peeries” — emerald green and dark blue with bubbles in them, and my dad got me a cool science kit with a clear rainbow prism that threw color into everything, and then one day I looked into the deep, sparking blue eyes of a blond girl named Jennifer and later into the sparkling blue eyes of a beautiful woman named Wendy and then into real diamonds and computer screens and experimental results and statistical analyses and conclusions, insights, and science fiction.

All of those things were good and all of these spoke to me.

But I still wonder where the blue sapphire is and how to get it back. How to get it back? The magic. Not clever illusion; not something made to look nice; but true and actual magic.

Are you out there, Jimmy? Because I still have your red reflector if you want to trade back.

97A1C1D8-3CE1-4B32-A639-D4B78A623CE2

(This story first appeared summer 1997 in the e-zine, The Empty Shelf. Somehow, it seemed apropos to today).


 

Author Page on Amazon

Start of the First Book of The Myths of the Veritas

Start of the Second Book of the Myths of the Veritas

Table of Contents for the Second Book of the Veritas

Table of Contents for Essays on America 

Index for a Pattern Language for Teamwork and Collaboration 

Race, Place, Space, Face

26 Wednesday Feb 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, poetry, politics, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

love, peace, poem, poetry, race, racism, time

fullsizeoutput_1372

Space

Allowed the growth of Race.

Race is all about crossing Space
In the shortest Time.

F7CA676E-E4E2-4BF7-973B-9B57EBB6C77F_1_105_c

To save Face,
Many of one Race
Insist they own Space;
Want their own Place.

To win Face,
Someone might fake the Time
It took to cross a Space
And claim a Place
On the winner’s stand and Time,
Their grand Smile
For awhile, so in Style.

Style is a sign of Race,
Of Place,
What kind of Face
Do you want to Grace
What comes into and on your Place?
Your Face?
Your Grace?

29F8267B-8CC2-4FD4-85EA-B9E842DF9CD8

Is there any kind of Reason or Rhyme
To the Time
That we spend trying to Smile —
Trying to use Style
To win Face over Face,
If it means that Life
Is Rife with Strife?

3FC757BE-A645-4C45-B75F-BD101D6225AC_1_105_c

If there were more Time
And we listened for the Rhyme
Would we finally See
Eternity?
Infinity?
The ultimate futility
Of Racing Race over Race,
Face over Face?

IMG_9189

How Odd of God
To give us Life
And then program us to a Life of Strife.
Perhaps the Miller’s Wife
Was right all Along —
The Strong
And stupid “Might Makes Right”
Is just another way of saying: “Fight Fakes Sight.”
For if we could truly See
The Space
The Time
That separates you and Me —

680174EA-5910-4F9B-8C75-C15B3136FB06_1_105_c

Is nothing but illusion and a sick Joke
Not worth the Choke
Of atomic Fire
Ruining Desire
Forever and forevermore
(It isn’t worth the bleeding sore).

IMG_9815

We could reach our hands Out
Across the Space
And Shout:

“Race
Has gone! We’ve won, we all shall Live!
Place?
We do not care; we all shall Give:
Love to our common planet, our Space.
Love to our common people, our Race.
Love each moment of our common Time,
Echo, echo each to each our common rhyme.
Our common rhyme.”

IMG_0442

I think, it’s about Time.
Let’s save this Place!
Let’s forget Race.
Face it, Face
Is a Race that can’t be won;
We’re already one.
We are already One.

7551D277-6606-4C1B-9E06-5E4E44C81A64

We can pull and we can Push;
We can blow ourselves to Mush —
But the fact remains that we are One
So whoever wins hasn’t truly Won.
They are only has-been nth Place.
We are all the Human Race,
And we all share this little Space.

Listen to the echo of our common Rhyme
Let’s use Love — Love to fill our common Time.

A13D392E-DFD8-47ED-9D4C-5C3F3E6318CF


———————————————-

Author Page on Amazon

Start of the First Book of The Myths of the Veritas

Start of the Second Book of the Myths of the Veritas

Table of Contents for the Second Book of the Veritas

Table of Contents for Essays on America 

Index for a Pattern Language for Teamwork and Collaboration  

Serious Fun and Games

25 Tuesday Feb 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, psychology, Uncategorized, Veritas

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

codes, Design, games, greed, legend, life, love, myth, relationships, Veritas

woman holding white plumeria flower

Photo by The Lazy Artist Gallery on Pexels.com

Tu-Swift watched the small party leave and chewed the inside of his lips. Though he understood the “rationale” that Many Paths had given for the composition of the search party, he suspected that her real reason for leaving him out was more personal. She wanted to keep Tu-Swift close at hand. True enough, his knee still didn’t act quite right. He would walk along just fine for a time and then, he would just slightly misjudge the ground and a rock might slide a little to one side or the other and his knee would suddenly “give out.” Riding wasn’t much better. Although he was now second only to Jaccim in skill, he couldn’t ride for long. Tu-Swift wanted to be among those who first encountered the Veritas beyond the twin peaks. He had dreamed of being there when she was reunited. What, he wondered, if she never returned here? He stared at the long and beautiful ebony hair of Cat Eyes and remembered how it had pleasurably whipped his face on that wild flume ride. She turned back and grinned at him; waved; he could see the sunlight making a kind of dark rainbow in her hair. He waved back. Tu-Swift hadn’t noticed Sooz walk up behind him so that when she spoke it startled him. 

“You like her, don’t you?” 

“What?! Oh, Sooz, sorry. I … well, yes. I mean, don’t you?” 

Sooz smiled with her mouth but her eyes remained tight. “Oh, yes, she’s quite smart. It’s been fun working with her — and you — to better understand that game she brought with her from the ROI. Want to play?”

IMG_0673

Indeed, many of the Veritas had made some contribution to understanding the game, but Cat Eyes had been crucial in understanding. True enough, thought Tu-Swift, she was smart, but mainly, she had helped the most because she had seen the game played. Although, as a slave, they had never asked her to participate in the giant settlement of the Z-Lotz, she had in the last few weeks, under the direction of Many Paths, been able to calm her mind, shut her eyes, and systematically “revisit” memories of watching the game played. She had not only seen in her mind’s eye what the throws and moves were; she could also recall what had been said and note the reactions on people’s faces. Playing the game proved to be fun for those Veritas patient enough to learn it including Tu-Swift and Sooz. And playing the game improved the speed with which they could decode the characters written on the many leaves that Eagle Eyes and Lion Tamer had returned with. 

“I would like to play with you, Sssooz. How about another game instead?” 

Sooz blushed. Tu-Swift and Sooz had been working on a secret code for communicating between the two of them. They said the same word, but in different ways. They would change how long they held on to one of the sounds that nature had long ago given the Veritas and that variation would change the meaning. The also said the words with a slightly different tone structure. They had worked together for several weeks on a kind of magic trick and were about to perform it in front of Many Paths and She Who Saves Many Lives. Tu-Swift and Sooz had made a pact not to let anyone else in on the secret quite yet. If they could pull off the trick in front of those two — and Eagle Eyes — then, they would reveal it to everyone. 

A7A8D582-4B4A-4A7C-99CD-F4B9ADB9E82A

Tu-Swift believed this could prove useful as one of the new weapons of the Veritas. Many Paths had asked Tu-Swift to lead an effort to develop weapons that could be used without anyone noticing, including, if it came to that, the Z-Lotz who might try to kill or capture all of the Veritas. Tu-Swift had not wanted to contemplate being captured again, and the idea that all of the Veritas might be enslaved was horrendous. And yet, he could see the wisdom of preparation for such an eventuality. He reckoned that if he and Sooz could fool Eagle Eyes, Many Paths and She Who Saves Many Lives, they would be able to communicate secretly even if the worst came to be. 

Tu-Swift pulled a piece of birchbark from inside his tunic, walked over to a nearby charred log and broke off a small piece of charcoal. He carefully wrote a few strokes on the birch bark and handed it to Sooz. She read aloud, “Kiss me.”  

close up photo of woman s face

Photo by Charry Jin on Pexels.com

Tu-Swift leaned over and whispered, “If you insist.” He kissed her lightly on the lips. It felt good. He wanted to write her some more when a small and very familiar voice called his name. 

“Hi Tu-Swift! Are you two playing a game? Can I join?” 

It was Day-Nah. Day-Nah was gradually becoming more friendly with all of the Veritas but  still felt most comfortable when he was with Tu-Swift. Usually, Tu-Swift enjoyed his company but he scrunched his face up at the current interruption. I will have other opportunities, I suppose, thought Tu-Swift. He glanced at Sooz who noted the chagrin on the visage of Tu-Swift and chuckled. She smiled at Dah-Nah and said aloud, “Ssssure, Day-Nah, we wouldddd love to have you join in our reading game.” She winked at Tu-Swift with an eye that was hidden from Day-Nah. 

Despite the momentary disappointment, Tu-Swift had to smile at her hidden message which promised much more later. He looked at Day-Nah and smiled at him as well. “We’re practicing making marks and saying them. Here. You put some marks down. Let’s see whether we can say what you meant.” Tu-Swift gently took the birchbark from Sooz, stroking her hand as he did so and surreptitiously smudging what he had just written. He handed the birchbark and piece of charcoal to Day-Nah. He had expected Day-Nah to put down one word. Instead, Day-Nah was making a whole forest of marks. At last he handed the birch bark back to Tu-Swift. 

Tu-Swift shifted position so that he now saw shoulder to shoulder with Sooz. Together they looked and read aloud. “?We go? ?See the whole collection? ?Again?” Tu-Swift sighed and glanced at Sooz. She made the slightest nod. They stood and walked across the cleaning and over to one of the many storerooms of the Veritas. Many Paths had asked for the table acorn-smashing table to be cleared. Several stumps already provide sitting. In the early spring, this table was used for mashing acorns that had been softened and de-bittered over-winter in the swamp. For now, people of the Veritas at various times came in and practiced decoding the marks. Everyone had been instructed to be very careful not to harm the delicate leaves of bark.  

It took a moment for the trio to become adjusted to the dim light. Day-Nah, the youngest, had adjusted the most quickly. He took the first leaf and stared at it. It seemed laid out differently from all the others. This first leaf of thin bark had many large spaces in it while all the other leaves were largely filled from top to bottom. Only a few spaces popped up here and there. Day-Nah began to turn his head this way and that. 

Tu-Swift’s inner eye suddenly showed him that flash of the long dark rainbow hair of Cat Eyes and he sighed. He said aloud, “I hope our searchers are able to find our cousins — there is no map. Jaccim says he knows the way, but I think his horse may know the way better. You know, horses are pretty amazing Sooz. I hope you someday get to ride one. They are big, but there’s no need to be scared.” 

horse near trees

Photo by KML on Pexels.com

Day-Nah muttered, “Map?”  

Tu-Swift shook his head. “What map? They don’t have any map. We’re taking about horses now.” 

Day-Nah, who generally seemed quite attuned to Tu-Swift’s every move, ignored Tu-Swift. He furrowed his brow and said again, “Map?” 

Sooz said kindly, “What map are you talking about, Day-Nah?” 

Day-Nah lifted up the first leaf and said, “This map.” 

Tu-Swift’s brows furrowed and he shook his head. “That’s not a map Day-Nah. It’s just the first leaf.” 

Day-Nah ignored them and put the first page up against a nearby pot so that it was nearly vertical at one end of the table. Then, he began arranging the leaves on the table. After about half of them were arranged on the table, Tu-Swift said, “Come Day-Nah, what is this nonsense. I thought we were going to practice. What are you doing?”

Day-Nah said again, “It’s a map.” He continued arranging the leaves carefully. “Now, go over to the door and tell me what you see.”

Tu-Swift sighed. “I won’t be able to see the marks from there. I mean, I will be able to see them but I won’t be able to tell which mark is which.” 

Day-Nah, said with some insistence in his voice, “Try it.” 

Tu-Swift sighed. He tried to be lenient with Day-Nah. As traumatic as it had been for he himself to have been stolen from his tribe, he imagined it had to be even more traumatic for Day-Nah. But now the kid was being annoying. He shook his head and walked over to the door. He stared at the leaves carefully laid out on the table. 

FE330504-4067-401B-9EAA-E0B393F875CE

“Are you happy now, Day-Nah, just as I suspected, I cannot decode a single one of those marks from here. I almost have them memorized but I cannot actually discern them. They are just … just … Turtle in the sky!!” 

Sooz looked at the wide-eyed expression on Tu-Swift’s face. “What are you talking about? Have you both gone crazy?”

Tu-Swift gestured frantically. “Come over here! Come over here, Sooz! Look!” 

Sooz dutifully stood though she shook her head and slowly walked over. “My eyesight’s not any better than yours, Tu-Swift. I don’t even think Eagle Eyes could…” 

And then Sooz saw it too. The small markings could not be discriminated from each other but when the leaves were arranged thus, larger characters stood out. Those characters could be made out. She said them aloud: 

“Life must balance. Freedom and discipline. Work for self and work for tribe. Work for self alone ended the world for Orange Man and then greed ended the world. Now, we rebuild.” 

Tu-Swift swallowed hard. That was the essence of the story contained in the pages. The Orange Man had destroyed a tribe — and himself. But — the world? Everyone knew that too much greed was very strong and very bad medicine. How did Day-Nah know this was a map? With a sudden inspiration, Tu-Swift opened the shutters of one of the storehouse windows and walked outside. He peered in at the leaves arranged on the table. Now, he could see yet another pattern of characters that stunned him into a long silence. 

“Love/Unity makes Life. Greed/Division makes Death.”

shirtless man sitting on a rock

Photo by Darren Lawrence on Pexels.com

—————————————————-

Author Page on Amazon

Start of the First Book of The Myths of the Veritas

Start of the Second Book of the Myths of the Veritas

Table of Contents for the Second Book of the Veritas

Table of Contents for Essays on America 

Index for a Pattern Language for Teamwork and Collaboration  

The Pie of Life

24 Monday Feb 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, management, politics, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Business, capitalism, Democracy, ethics, fairness, life, marketing, socialism

close up of tasty looking baked goods

Photo by Nishant Aneja on Pexels.com

There isn’t just the one pie, of course. A decent bakery will have quite a variety. Pecan pie, warm, with some vanilla ice cream — the warmth and richness of the pie while the creaminess of the melting ice cream! Key Lime pie — sweet, sour, and a hint of exotic bitterness. Chocolate cream pie — is it really more of a candy or a pie? On occasion, I’ve made pies from scratch that are filled with freshly picked blackberries or raspberries. If you’ve never had one fresh out of the oven — barely cool enough to eat — you should really treat yourself. The same goes for apple and cherry pie!

berry blueberries blueberry cake

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

Most people in their daily lives are generous. They find it’s more fun to share a wonderful pie than secretly steal every piece for themselves. Most people you know and most people I know realize that in order to get anything significant done, they have to work with other people. And, while I, like many people, love to play competitive games and sports, all of life is not a competitive sport. It isn’t about taking the most pie you can regardless of consequences.  

In a zero-sum game, we imagine that there is only one pie. We have to split it and if you get more, I get less. 

But is everything in life like that? Is anything in life really like that? Even competitive sports like tennis where one person or team wins and the other loses is not truly a zero sum game. There is the benefit of fitness and improving your game and the sheer joy of playing. And most of life is like that — including pies. When we think about how to split the pie, we may want to consider other things such as: 

farm land during sunset

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

How did the pie get there? What is the proper share for the people who grew the wheat? The miller who ground the flour? The truck driver who drove the flour truck to the store? How about the grocery clerk? The bagger? The person who cooked the pie? How about the person who tinkered around until she or he developed an excellent recipe? How about the people who had lived for thousands of years with the cinnamon trees and then had their villages and way of life destroyed so that the cinnamon trees could all be cut down? How about the people who cut the sugar cane? How about the policeman who protects the pie and the fireman who comes to save the bakery if it catches fire? How much should they all get? 

Trying to “determine the fair share” by measuring everything and “calculating” it by formula would be endlessly tedious. The inefficiency and waste and lack of innovation in the former Soviet Union demonstrated the futility of detailed central planning. In many places, society has developed a system of exchange based on money. The idea is to let the market “decide.” 

That system only works when people have approximately equal power and when they have equal justice under the law. When capitalism is combined with unequal justice, it quickly devolves into tyranny. Owners of corporations can get almost all of the pie for themselves and leave only enough crumbs for the workers to barely stay alive and eke out a living. To the extent that workers can be replaced by robots, it isn’t even necessary to give workers crumbs. 

Suppose your young child is deathly ill with pneumonia and needs penicillin. Suppose I am the only pharmacy in town and the roads are closed so that the only way for you to get the necessary penicillin is through me. As the pharmacist, I may have paid all of one thin dime for the medicine you need. But, assuming you love your child as much as most parents do, I can charge virtually any price. Any price. Think of that. I can not only gain your car, your house, and every dime you own. I can also make you an indebted servant. 

baby child close up crying

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Imagine a world in which there are many employers and many workers. Each worker has many possible jobs they could do and every company has a choice among many workers. In such a system, there is some balance of power. An employer who pays low wages or who provides bad working conditions will find themselves without enough workers to get the work done and go out of business. Similarly, a worker who goofs off or insists on very high wages will not be hired. But do we have a balance like that? In a land of many small companies and many small family farms, there is some balance. But today? In many cases, there are a small number of very large corporations who together hold almost all the power. 

If, in addition to the imbalance of workers versus owners, the rich owners have now bought much of the government. Legislation to protect workers and consumers is not even being brought to a vote in the Senate. The Trumputin administration is rolling back food safety regulations, air pollution regulations, water pollution regulations, and healthcare. The justice department and the US intelligence agencies — who used to be filled with nonpartisan experts — are being destroyed from within. Ultimately, it means that every penny of wealth created by workers can be stolen by the richest and most powerful people in the country. Even now, some of the richest corporations and people pay zero taxes.

woman in black dress holding balance scale

Photo by JJ Jordan on Pexels.com

 

Many of the corporations don’t really have competitors. They spend money on lobbying and advertising. They don’t want to spend money on innovation and invention because that changes the nature of the game and so — they could potentially lose their monopoly power. In other words, none of these people are spending much resource on inventing new types of pies. They are protecting the rules that give most of the pie to them. Similarly, companies buy start-ups of potentially disruptive innovations, not in order to integrate inventions into their product lines but to prevent those start-ups from becoming competitors. 

Since most of us in America will soon be paying our tax bill, it might be time to consider this:

If you work two full time jobs in America, you can barely make ends meet and you will pay taxes on your earned income — not a lot — but more than some billionaires. If you are a highly talented writer, actor, consultant, scientist, and you work 80 hours a week, you might earn $200,000 a year and you will pay a lot of taxes on that money. On the other hand, let’s suppose that you inherited $10,000,000 and you invest $4,000,000 in the stock market. You will easily make $200,000 a year on that money while doing nothing for the whole year. You can spend your time watching TV, playing golf, or dressing up lizards. But your tax rate on the $200,000 you got for nothing except being born rich will be less than the talented person who works full time. 

How we divide up the pie makes a big difference. And we are becoming less and less fair about that and — perhaps even worse — we are no longer putting as much resource into growing the pie and inventing new types of pies. Meritocracy is being replaced with cronyism and a “might makes right” mentality. 

close up photo of spider

Photo by Michael Willinger on Pexels.com

While competition is a part of life, it is not the whole of life. Life cooperates with other life all the time and at every level. In our bodies, if we are healthy, the cells of every organ work together to promote life for the whole. In cancer, a few cells decide to suck all the resources into themselves. And — that’s what happening here in America. 

How’s it going where you are?  

Do you invent new kinds of pies? Do you help improve the recipes? Do you get a fair share? Or, do you find yourself fighting all day just to get a very little bit of a very large pie? 

white and brown bird

Photo by Dominika Roseclay on Pexels.com

————————————

Author Page on Amazon

Index for a Pattern Language for Teamwork and Collaboration  

Piano

23 Sunday Feb 2020

Posted by petersironwood in poetry, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 11 Comments

Tags

life, music, piano, poem, poetry, synesthesia

4299C386-2C7D-4F31-88D3-E84AFE551465

 

Strike! the keys then smoothly skim along.
Strike! piano then sing your song.
Strike! down harder as the music flies.
Strike! once more as the music dies.

Murmur so softly to the moonbeams of blue
Whisper quiet to the desert night.
Rolling, caroling, dancing, whirling,
Murmur down to nothingness and silence long.

Triumphantly, the snow falls now,
Majestically were love’s enow.
Chord full rich. Chord weird whines.
Empty fifths flow futilely along.

The rhythm picks up in a waltzing gate
And all the dancers can hardly wait.
The melody’s thinking, “All is great!”
This orgy of music will satiate.

Mellow and sadly, slowly going,
Seeds of sorrow steadily sowing,
From painful pathos fire growing,
Mood and madness never slowing.

Strike! the keys both loud and strong.
Strike! piano then live your song.
Strike! down harder as the music flies
Strike! once more as the music dies.

55604266-EDA8-45E3-9D1A-DDDE8E216D93

 


Author Page on Amazon

Start of the First Book of The Myths of the Veritas

Start of the Second Book of the Myths of the Veritas

Table of Contents for the Second Book of the Veritas

Table of Contents for Essays on America 

Index for a Pattern Language for Teamwork and Collaboration  

 


A Suddenly Springing Something

22 Saturday Feb 2020

Posted by petersironwood in creativity, family, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 32 Comments

Tags

cats, kittens, life, love, poem, poetry

adorable animal baby cat

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

I thought it was an apropos time to remind people of what really matters: life, love, truth, curiosity. This poem was from 2004. The cats bookending the poem are cousins to Jones and Sirius and taken at the approximate age when this poem was written.

A Sudden-
ly

Spring –
ing

Some –
thing!

Two Courageous
Ridiculous
Sputtering
Kitteny
Little
Furry
Balls of Hellfire!

Two Demanding
Loving
Roving
Fighting
Biting
Leaping
Back-bending
Over-arching
Maddeningly
Swaying
Pouncing
Little Furry Balls of
Hellfire!

Jones and Sirius:
Two Snooping
Into every
Teeny crevice
Nosing out
Empty cans
Empty wrappers
For every scrap
Of cheese whiff
Or oil drip
In the cracks of tin foil
Growling
Little Furry Ball
Of Hellfire!

A tag-team, dynamic duo;
One cave-black and one marmalade;
Skittering over my keyboard
Chasing the cursor on my screen
Grabbing at my sox, my belt,
Chasing my tying lace-tips
Scrabbling up my shins
Snapping at my pencil and my pen
Jackknifing dive without a when
Little Furry Balls of Hellfire!

Purring, sleeping, curled and cuddled
Into the crook of my arm
Warmth feeling warmth
I laugh inside, I smile inside
At my little furry furies
Who remind my mind
Of Gandhi and Goodness.

Ultimately, Love,
Love is Strong
And will outlast
The longest Wrong.

cute short fur black kitten with blue eyes

Photo by Lad Fury on Pexels.com

Here below are the real Jones and Sirius, but grown up. Jones, left, loved everyone and everything. He stayed curious & affectionate till the day he died. Sirius proved to be a very smart cat, but would brook no non-sense. He was the most difficult cat any of our vets ever had to deal with. Yet, he was affectionate with us and with Jones.

A9BEF067-4F4A-43CB-8D03-4984AB1FD0AB

 

1501AD95-B215-428B-B1A6-FE8D037FDB65

601B457C-A539-4A1F-85BC-06A597EB9749

← Older posts
Newer posts →

Subscribe

  • Entries (RSS)
  • Comments (RSS)

Archives

  • April 2026
  • March 2026
  • February 2026
  • January 2026
  • December 2025
  • November 2025
  • October 2025
  • September 2025
  • August 2025
  • July 2025
  • June 2025
  • May 2025
  • April 2025
  • March 2025
  • February 2025
  • January 2025
  • December 2024
  • November 2024
  • October 2024
  • September 2024
  • July 2024
  • April 2024
  • March 2024
  • February 2024
  • January 2024
  • December 2023
  • August 2023
  • July 2023
  • May 2023
  • April 2023
  • March 2023
  • February 2023
  • January 2023
  • December 2022
  • November 2022
  • October 2022
  • September 2022
  • August 2022
  • July 2022
  • June 2022
  • May 2022
  • April 2022
  • March 2022
  • February 2022
  • January 2022
  • December 2021
  • November 2021
  • October 2021
  • September 2021
  • August 2021
  • July 2021
  • June 2021
  • May 2021
  • April 2021
  • March 2021
  • February 2021
  • January 2021
  • December 2020
  • November 2020
  • October 2020
  • September 2020
  • August 2020
  • July 2020
  • June 2020
  • May 2020
  • April 2020
  • March 2020
  • February 2020
  • January 2020
  • December 2019
  • November 2019
  • October 2019
  • September 2019
  • August 2019
  • July 2019
  • June 2019
  • May 2019
  • April 2019
  • March 2019
  • February 2019
  • January 2019
  • December 2018
  • November 2018
  • October 2018
  • September 2018
  • August 2018
  • July 2018
  • June 2018
  • May 2018
  • April 2018
  • March 2018
  • February 2018
  • January 2018
  • December 2017
  • November 2017
  • October 2017
  • September 2017
  • August 2017
  • July 2017
  • June 2017
  • May 2017
  • April 2017
  • March 2017
  • February 2017
  • January 2017
  • December 2016
  • November 2016
  • October 2016
  • September 2016
  • August 2016
  • July 2016
  • June 2016
  • May 2016
  • April 2016
  • March 2016
  • February 2016
  • January 2016
  • December 2015
  • November 2015
  • October 2015
  • September 2015
  • August 2015
  • May 2015
  • January 2015
  • July 2014
  • January 2014
  • December 2013
  • November 2013

Categories

  • AI
  • America
  • apocalypse
  • cats
  • COVID-19
  • creativity
  • design rationale
  • dogs
  • driverless cars
  • essay
  • family
  • fantasy
  • fiction
  • HCI
  • health
  • management
  • nature
  • pets
  • poetry
  • politics
  • psychology
  • Sadie
  • satire
  • science
  • sports
  • story
  • The Singularity
  • Travel
  • Uncategorized
  • user experience
  • Veritas
  • Walkabout Diaries

Meta

  • Create account
  • Log in

Blog at WordPress.com.

  • Subscribe Subscribed
    • petersironwood
    • Join 662 other subscribers
    • Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
    • petersironwood
    • Subscribe Subscribed
    • Sign up
    • Log in
    • Report this content
    • View site in Reader
    • Manage subscriptions
    • Collapse this bar
 

Loading Comments...