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Eagle Eyes Begins to Tell her Tale

21 Saturday Dec 2019

Posted by petersironwood in America, management, politics, psychology, Veritas

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Eagle Eyes, legends, Many Paths, myths, stories, tales, Trunk of Tree, Veritas

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Though still somewhat exhausted from her journey, Eagle Eyes felt like pitching in with the preparations for the upcoming feast. Whenever she closed her eyes to rest, visions of flames the size of trees danced behind her eyelids. Even the familiar and normally pleasurable sounds like the beating of drums or the cutting of wood startled her and made her flinch. She could see again in her mind’s eye, the horrible torture and death that she and Lion Slayer had witnessed in the City of the Z-lotz. Though she had very much been looking forward to re-uniting with Trunk of Tree, she felt a strange distance from him upon her actual return. 

She spied Many Paths sitting alone and weaving some leaf-plates for the feast. She hunkered down beside her and smiled. “Do you mind if I help?”

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Many Paths smiled. “Of course not! I always welcome your company! And I really missed you. Of course, I worried about you as well. Each day, I wondered whether it was even wise to send so many after Tu-Swift….” Here, her voice trailed off and she sighed. “Damn!” She exclaimed as she cut the inside of her index finger on the sharp edge of a reed. “I have to be more careful,” she muttered. 

“That happens. It’s understandable that you still have much on your mind. I hate to add to your burdens, but, can you tell me anything about why Trunk of Tree seems so cold to me?” 

Many Paths sighed and sucked on her cut. She took out a small leaf of Witch Hazel from her medicine pouch and held it firmly on her small cut. She looked at Eagle Eyes. 

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“Perhaps. I am not sure. I can tell you my best guess, but it is really only that. You should talk with Trunk of Tree frankly and ask him yourself. But you should know this. When days passed and we saw none of you return, he began to question my judgement as leader. He thought that we should have sent out a massive war party. No, no, don’t frown. I don’t really blame him. I questioned whether I had done the right thing myself. There were so many unknowns. Like so many braves before him, he got it in his head that because he was stronger than I am, he should be the leader. He spoke to others among the Veritas. And, although there were some who were privately questioning my decision, his way of approaching people — he did not gain any real following.”

Many Paths sighed as she finished weaving one plate and began on the next. “I think that in order to make his case more strongly, he assumed or at least argued that all of you were dead — including you. I am quite sure that part of him is quite happy to see you. But at the same time, the return of so many of the search party, notwithstanding that we still have no sign of Tu-Swift or Shadow Walker, has dispelled any slight support he might have had. So, your very presence reminds him that he was wrong — at least about all of you perishing. It still might be that he was correct. Maybe we should have sent out a large war party.”

“No, you were not wrong. A large war party — or what we call a large war party — Many Paths, I have to tell you, the place that we saw was huge. It was filled with uncountably many people. And there were many strange things. Even if all of us had attacked such a place, I fear all of us would have perished. And, I have no idea how these killing sticks worked or how many there might be. But why should he be ashamed of being wrong? Everyone makes mistakes.” 

“Indeed, Eagle Eyes. Everyone makes mistakes. It is not worrisome that he was wrong. Obviously, I am happy you and so many others survived. It does bother me that he is so stubborn. But there is more you should know as well.” 

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Original Artwork by Pierce Morgan

“What, Many Paths? Did he find another woman to take pleasure with because he thought I was dead?” 

Many Paths stopped weaving. “Not so far as I know. However… he did approach me. No, no, no. Nothing happened! He thought that since you and Shadow Walker were both ‘obviously’ dead, he and I should wed and rule ‘together’ though it was clear from his talk that what he really meant was that he would actually rule and I would support him.” 

“So you considered his proposal? You were willing to abandon Shadow Walker — and me?”

Many Paths shook her head violently. “No! No! I listened to what he said. I never thought that — he is not my — I never thought you were dead. I was — I am still sure that Shadow Walker is alive. I can feel his life out there heading our way. When I received your eagle and the bit of cloth you tied to it, I realized that you had probably survived a fire and that such fire, though far away, had colored our sunsets and sunrises for days. Of course, I showed this cloth to Trunk of Tree but he dismissed it. The two of us never had any kind of coming together. I’m sorry. I know he’s your friend but I do not believe he should be leader. You, Eagle Eyes — you I think could be a fine leader. But Trunk of Tree, to tell you true — I think he is too full of himself to be a good leader. Look over by the chestnut tree.” 

Eagle Eyes glanced over at Trunk of Tree who leaned back against the trunk of a very large chestnut tree and glowered at the two of them. In his hands, he turned a large rock over and over in his hands. She could see the rippling muscles of his forearms. She wished she were being caressed instead of a rock.

Eagle Eyes looked back at her friend, Many Paths. “Are you sure you did not encourage him to come after you?” 

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“Of course! I am very much in love with Shadow Walker and very sure he is still alive. I am less clear about Tu-Swift. But in any case, I was also sure that you were alive as well. I wouldn’t betray you. I can’t imagine myself with Trunk of Tree even if you and Shadow Walker were both dead. You have good reason to be exhausted and yet here you are — you’re helping me make plates. Trunk of Tree has mainly been busy stirring up trouble, frankly, and there he sits while nearly everyone else is aiding to make the feast. I admire his strength. I admire his courage. He is good looking. And he is a good leader on the battlefield, but he wants to make everything a battlefield. An idea comes to him and he wants to immediately do it without thinking through the consequences. No. Not for me. I did not lead him on, I assure you. Not even a little.” 

Eagle Eyes did not want to believe bad things about Trunk of Tree. But she knew her friend Many Paths to be honest and open-hearted. “I believe you, Many Paths. Of course I do.” 

“Thank you, Eagle Eyes. Thank you.” 

They wove plates for a time in silence. Many Paths said, “But tell me more about your adventures! What did you see on your journey?”

“Oh, we do have other discoveries to share, though surely none are as important as the killing sticks

“I agree, Eagle Eyes, but what other discoveries?” asked Many Paths. 

“Take a look at this!” Eagle Eyes drew from her pack a strange object shaped like a brick. She took two sides of the brick and opened it to reveal a host of white cloths inside. “These very thin hard cloths or skins make excellent tinder for fire starting! It’s a clever arrangement to carry so much tinder in such a small space!” 

Many Paths took the strange object from Eagle Eyes. As she examined it, she quickly realized that each of the skins was nearly filled with odd stick figure drawings. “Look here, Eagle Eyes. Each of these skins, if that’s what they are, has many markings. Someone went to a lot of trouble to draw that many little pictures!”

Eagle Eyes took back the weird object and glanced through all the layers. “You’re right, Many Paths. It’s true; there are a sea of them, each one different from any of the others. Yet, these two are the same, and these. Wait. No, they are not all different, but there are many different types of picture.”

“How odd.” Many Paths turned the object over and over in her hand. “It cannot be a story because then the pictures would change from beginning to end. Why would they do this? For decoration I suppose, but you can only see a few hundred at a time and the object itself doesn’t look durable. Maybe it has some religious significance? Is it not true of the Z-lotz that they are very religious?”

Eagle Eyes nodded. “They make a show of religion, from what we understand. But, it may be a ruse. We shall see.” 

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“Anyway,” said Many Paths, “this also prevents a mystery, but does not have the priority of your disturbing news about killing sticks. What else did you see?” 

“We found a door. It was made of something so strong and hard. It was as hard … it was as hard as ice, but unlike ice, you could not break it or chip it. And, it was heavy. It took many strong pushes to open that door. We saw more of this odd material in the large walled camp. But let me ask you another question. Why are you sure Shadow Walker is alive?” 

“I cannot really explain it. I feel connected to him. Of course, I feel connected to Tu-Swift as well. But when I take out the Sixth Ring of Empathy…it could just be wishful thinking. I also feel that Shadow Walker will do everything possible to ensure the safety of Tu-Swift. When I touch the Sixth Ring of empathy, I often feel that he is doing the same. It could be wishful thinking, but somehow, I don’t think so.” 

After a moment, Many Paths looked about her and saw that the Veritas were beginning to gather for a feast. She could only perceive small snippets of conversation, but there was a general air of excitement. People were glad that so many of the Veritas had returned and it appeared as well that some sort of vengeance had destroyed the village of the People who Steal Children though it was their own fire arrows that destroyed them. Everyone was eager to learn what others had seen most recently. 

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When it came time for storytelling, though she didn’t know all the details, she strongly suspected that the tale of Eagle Eyes would be the most dramatic. But she was reluctant to end all the tales with the tale of the killing sticks. She judged it better, on balance, to begin with Eagle Eyes and Eagle Eyes agreed. 

As she stood to begin her tale, she realized for a moment that she was tired, very tired. But she was home. She glanced around and caught the eye of Trunk of Tree. She smiled at hime and he seemed to give a genuine smile in return. Of this much she was sure. Like everyone else, he very much wanted to hear her tale. She decided that though she would look at everyone, she would return her gaze to Trunk of Tree. She would make him feel as though he had been with her the whole time. In this way, she hoped to bond them once again with her experience which could become their common experience with a decent telling. 

She began: “You all remember that at the feast of Beltane, we were attacked by surprise with People who Stand on Horses. And these people had fire arrows to destroy as though they had forgotten the Legend of the Orange Man. We discovered that Tu-Swift, the brother of our leader Many Paths was missing. To our great horror, we discovered that these People who Stand on Horses are also a People who Steal Children.” 

Original Masks by Sarah Morgan

Original Masks by Sarah Morgan

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The Myths of the Veritas: The First Ring of Empathy (Book 1 starts)

The Myths of the Veritas: Feast and Fire (Book 2 starts) 

The Myths of the Veritas: The Orange Man (An older, isolated tale). 

Introduction to a Pattern Language for Cooperation and Collaboration. 

Index to Patterns so far. 

YIKES! I just realized I need to buy some more Holiday gifts!!. 

Eagle Eyes Returns

16 Monday Dec 2019

Posted by petersironwood in apocalypse, politics, psychology, Veritas

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

empathy, ethics, leadership, legend, myth, parable, story, truth

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The news of the return of Eagle Eyes and Lion Slayer spread through the tribe quickly. When Hudah Salah first heard the news, she feared to believe it. She feared she might have misunderstood the language of the Veritas. As she scanned the faces around her and saw them all looking at her expectantly, she realized that she had heard correctly. Tears of joy streamed down her cheeks and once she determined which way her husband would be coming she began to walk toward him in a quick but dignified fashion. As she spied the familiar figure of the man she had been promised to as hardly more than a child, she forgot her studied decorum and trotted and then sprinted toward him calling his name. A grin consumed him and he ran toward her as well falling into a long, tight embrace. 

The trio of berry pickers had just arrived in the Center Place of the Veritas when Eagle Eyes swung into the view as well. Trunk of Tree approached her awkwardly. She noticed something amiss in his bearing or she would have run into his arms as well. But perhaps, she thought, he has found another in my absence. For his part, Trunk of Tree saw her hesitation and considered that she was entering camp after a long absence in the company of another man, one for whom she obviously felt some affection. He frowned, not sure what to do in such a public forum. But Lion Slayer seemed to have eyes only for his own wife.  

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Many Paths embraced them both and suggested that rather than answering a thousand questions, they should all prepare a feast while their newly returned friends would have a chance to reconnect with their loved ones. After the feast, Many Paths suggested, the tribe should hear their tale from beginning to end, without interruption. After that, everyone could ask whatever questions they wished. Nods and assents as to the wisdom of this plan spread and the preparations were made. Many Paths saw that Lion Slayer took his wife by her hands and they made their way to their small tent. She also noted that Trunk of Tree spoke awkwardly with Eagle Eyes. After a few moments, Eagle Eyes walked over to Many Paths and the two of them embraced warmly. Eagles Eyes whispered to Many Paths during the embrace, “Many Paths, you can’t imagine how happy I am to see this place again. I look forward to sharing our adventures, but there is something I feel I must share with you immediately.” 

Many Paths glanced at Trunk of Tree who stood awkwardly nearby. She whispered back to Eagle Eyes. “Certainly, though Trunk of Tree needs your assurance soon.” 

Eagle Eyes stepped back a half pace. “I’m not sure he wants my assurances — or me. He seems much more distant than I pictured. Do you have any idea why?” 

“Yes, I think he was — it’s a long story, truly, but what is your urgent news? You and I — we can catch up later and I will say what I know about Trunk of Tree and what I surmise. Anyway, you should prepare yourself for the feast. First, what is your news?”  

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“I will say more later, to the whole tribe, if you deem it wise. Everyone got separated in a fire and Lion Slayer and I looked for our companions but found no-one. A large caravan left the village of the ROI, which burned down, by the way, to a very large place such as I have never seen. It had many walls and there we saw … we saw someone — perhaps, the leader of this City torture and kill someone.” 

“I am sorry you had to see that, Eagle Eyes.” 

“No, you don’t understand. It was the way he did it. He pointed a kind of magic spear at the man but did not touch him at all! Yet, it caused great damage and pain nonetheless. Three times he pointed this — we came to call it a ‘killing stick’ — and each time he pointed it, it made the sound of thunder and the flash of lightning. And, three times, blood flowed from another wound. We argued about whether we should try to steal this but if we were captured….”

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“No, you did the right thing. This is disturbing. But go now and rest for the feast. Talk with Trunk of Tree. You each thought you might be lost from the other. Some awkwardness is understandable. While you were gone — please don’t — never mind. Talk with him first, and we can talk later. I want to consult with She Who Saves Many Lives about your important news. You and I must talk more later.” 

They held each other’s hands and looked deeply into each others eyes. They nodded and parted, each to consult now with another. Eagle Eyes walked back to Trunk of Tree with her hands out. Many Paths, turned to seek She Who Saves Many Lives, but the minute she turned, there was the elder walking toward her. Her gait was graceful and purposeful, though it lacked the springiness of youth. 

Many Paths quickly related the observations of Eagle Eyes about the killing sticks. 

She Who Saves Many Lives staggered upon hearing the news and grabbed hold of a nearby wood stack for support. She bowed her head and shook it slowly side to side and muttered, “I should have told everyone. Or, at least told you.”

“Whatever do you mean? Told me what?” 

She Who Saves Many Lives sighed. “I had a dream, a prophesy dream, about such things. I should have told the tribe, or at least you, but I did not.” 

“Why?” 

“Indeed, Many Paths, now I think it a mistake. But the reason I did not tell the tribe. If they all knew that such a powerful weapon existed in the hands of our enemies and that we do not have such weapons, would it not panic them?” 

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“I don’t — I don’t know for certain, Revered One. But Eagle Eyes and Lion Slayer witnessed it first hand. And they did not panic. They made their way back despite such a weapon. They lived to tell the tale. Have you not always said that decisions are best when based on what is actually true — that we cannot pretend wishes are facts.” 

“I have said that. And I believe it. Yet, it is also true that moods can be contagious. I wouldn’t want to have everyone give up without a fight because of all this killing stick or a prophesy dream about such killing sticks. A dark mood of hopelessness can be every bit as deadly as these killing sticks.”

Many Paths nodded. “Shadow Walker was just now saying the same thing.” 

The Older Shaman frowned. “Shadow Walker? Is he back? Are you okay?”

Many Paths looked at She Who Saves Many Lives and said, “What? Oh, no, he’s not back. I miss him. But sometimes…he feels so close to me. I took out one of the rings of empathy while I was walking back with Easy Tears and Trunk of Tree. I felt such longing for Shadow Walker and that I mindlessly fingered the Sixth Ring of Empathy, I imagined that he was so close. I could hear him talking and saying the same thing about moods being contagious and about not knowing whether to share some truth with someone else. I miss him. But somehow, I am sure he is okay. First, let us feast and then let us hear the tale of Eagle Eyes. Then, if it comes to you, you might share your prophesy dream about the killing stick.”

“Yes. It was more than just the killing stick, though that itself is worthy of thought. Everything was dying. But, I should share something else with you. It wasn’t only that I was afraid of spreading a dark and hopeless mood. There was one very odd thing about this prophesy dream. It disturbs me.” 

Silence. Many Paths began to wonder whether such a wise one as She Who Saves Many Lives had also the difficulty of choosing among so many ways to proceed, or whether there was one clear path but it was a difficult one to follow, or even begin. Many Paths imagined herself at the edge of a cliff overlooking water a roiling far below. A hundred enemies she knew would torture and kill her ran screaming toward her. She would jump. But it wouldn’t be easy. What to say? What to say, Many Paths wondered. Then, she simply smiled, moved forward a step and took the hands of She Who Saves Many Lives in her own, letting the warmth of their hands flow through each other and making a circle with their arms.

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In this way, each of them really felt, as well as knew, that they were both close cousins, leaves on the same twig of the great tree of life. There was no need for secrecy. It’s all about all of us learning for all of us. All of us realize that it would be easier to leap off that cliff with someone else.

She Who Saves Many Lives continued, “Whenever I have had a prophesy dream before, I feel a strong wind in my face. I feel as though I am walking…not really walking…but floating forward, being drawn toward what I am about to see of the future.”

Many Paths nodded as she looked intently into She Who Saves Many Lives. 

“But in that dream…in that dream I felt wind at my back, yet I was sucked backwards. I don’t know what this means. I have always heard in the tales handed down to me of dreaming in the former way. Is it thus with you as well?”

Many Paths said, “Oh, I hardly think my dreams really qualify as prophesy dreams…” 

She Who Saves Many Lives tilted her head back and forth and clicked. “Many Paths. Come on. No need for false modesty. We’re trying to solve a problem here. Have your prophesy dreams had you going backwards or forwards or both?” 

Many Paths nodded. “All my prophesy dreams save one have been as the first one you described, being drawn forward. But I also heard about prophesy dreams always in the terms you described long before I ever had one myself, so I suppose that could influence how it appeared to me, or indeed, how I remembered it.” 

She Who Saves Many Lives nodded, “Or even how you describe it to me since you would still like to be in my good graces. Which you always will be, incidentally. But let’s get back to the one that was not like that. In that one you were going backwards?”

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Artwork by Pierce Morgan

Many Paths shook her head. “No, I wasn’t going backwards. I stood there and watched things happening all around me. It was as though I could see every direction at once. It was like…when you are in a dance and everyone is singing around you and all the voices go together, but if you try, you can pick out the singing of each person because each person’s voice is slightly different. You can hear where everyone is all around you. It was like that but I could see as well as hear all around me. All my senses were everywhere! And, there were patterns. There were patterns sliding across patterns. But in my dream, there was not past. Nor future. There was only present. And present extended everywhere — everywhere at once. The past, the present, and the future were simply different ways to look at the patterns and only from one angle. The dream seemed to be telling me that past, present and future are all one. It makes no sense, but that is what it seemed.” 

A long silence fell between them: the old leader and the new leader. Each considered the words of the other. At last, Many Paths realized that though she loved to gain the wise counsel of She Who Saves Many Lives, Many Paths herself was now leader. In her judgement, once the tale of the killing sticks was told, everyone should dialogue about these killing sticks. At that point, she guessed She Who Saves Many Lives would volunteer her dream as well. The tribe as a whole must decide what this meant for them. For her part, Many Paths found it hard to believe the tribe would ‘panic.’ No, there were many ways to kill. Even if there were many killing sticks among the people who steal children, even such as those must drink, they must sleep, they must breathe, they must eat. But this was something for the whole tribe to think on. She felt again a deep longing for Shadow Walker. Without thinking, she began to tumble the Rings of Empathy in her hands.

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Author Page on Amazon. 

The Winning Weekend Warrior focuses on the mental game for all sports including tennis, golf, softball, ping pong, basketball, etc. 

Tales from an American Childhood recounts early experiences and then relates them to contemporary issues and events. 

Fit in Bits shows how to work more exercise into daily activities. 

Turing’s Nightmares contains 23 short stories to explore the practical & ethical implications of AI & robotics. 

Mapping Out the Road Home

10 Tuesday Dec 2019

Posted by petersironwood in America, politics, psychology, Veritas

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

horses, legends, maps, myths, stories, Veritas

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The small group sat around the campfire in silence for a time, each relishing privately the fact that they were still alive. Shadow Walker looked at Jaccim and broke the silence, saying in Veritas and illustrating his points with gestures, “Thank you for showing us the ‘flume’. I think you may have saved all of our lives.” 

Tu-Swift looked at Cat Eyes and tilted his head and smiled at her. She quickly translated in case the others misunderstood the sign language. All nodded. 

Shadow Walker spoke again. “I hear no more drumming. I think the — you call them ‘Z-lotz’? — have given up their search. But I still do not feel safe here, though at least we are surrounded by unburned forests. Apparently, the fire did not know how to ride the ‘flume’ to these lower grounds. We have fresh water and we can hunt. I, for one, am quite hungry. We will hunt to gain back our strength, but then, we must find our way back to the lands of the Veritas. Can you help me make a map? We can all work together and have the best chance of not getting lost. Perhaps you can all point out where you think game might most likely be as well?” 

Cat Eyes and Tu-Swift cleared some ground near the fire. As he worked, Tu-Swift spoke aloud, “We need to find food and find our way back home, but once our bellies are full and we know which way to walk, or hobble, at least, I want to find out more about the use of strange markings for talk at a distance.” 

“I will help if I can,” said Cat Eyes as she smiled at Tu-Swift. 

Shadow Walker turned suddenly, obviously startled. He put his finger to his lips. “Deer!” he whispered. “Or elk. Listen!” 

Shadow Walker slowly put his sword in hand. Hunting was certainly easier with bow and arrow. Trapping was easier still, but in this case, he thought, our swords will have to do. His well-trained eyes caught a bit of movement and pointed. He gestured for Tu-Swift to grab his sword and circle slowly around, but the deer turned and headed right toward them! How unusual, he thought. 

Soon everyone could see that neither deer nor elk approached, but a rather large horse. Tu-Swift recognized the dappled mare as one of the ones he had set free. Her colt accompanied her. He approached slowly, careful not to startle the creatures. He spoke in a low soft voice, telling the horse how beautiful she was. 

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Jaccim chuckled and said something in ROI which Cat Eyes translated into Veritas. “He says that you are quite talented with the horses. Jaccim says that if it were up to him, he would treat them more like you using more love and less pain to train them though this is not the way of the ROI.” 

Tu-Swift continued to approach the animals very slowly. Meanwhile, Shadow Walker glanced at Cat Eyes and then to Jaccim. “Cat Eyes, can you ask whether they are edible and tasty like deer?” 

Cat Eyes smiled, “Oh, they are edible. I can answer that myself. But horses are much more useful as transportation. The ROI and the Z-Lotz only kill them for food when the animal has become too old to work or has broken a leg. They also use the hooves of such to make something that causes two things to stick together. I know you are hungry, as am I. I have never been here, but I suspect game should be easy to find. I saw deer scat and rabbit scat both when we crossed a trail near where we came out of the water.” 

“How can you trust such a large and powerful animal though? It seems it could bite you or knock you down and trample you.”

“Indeed. I suppose they could. But watch Tu-Swift. He is not afraid. Though we have no ropes to ride with. I have seen some ride such animals by holding on around their large necks. But if you wish to use them, we may need to make some ropes or weave some vines together. Look.” 

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Cat Eyes pointed to Tu-Swift who now stood right next to the mare still talking quietly and patting and rubbing the animal gently. “I think Jaccim is right, Shadow Walker. Tu-Swift shows great cunning with horses. If you are going to fight further with the ROI or the Z-Lotz, our people would do well to understand horses better. In this way, both Tu-Swift and Jaccim could prove useful. We will find sustenance, I do believe, without killing this one who has come to us in trust.” 

Shadow Walker, sword in hand, had been slowly approaching the mare and her colt. He had been planning to try to kill the smaller animal. It would be less dangerous and would still fill their bellies, giving them strength they needed for their journey. As he drew nearer, the words of Cat Eyes began to penetrate his warrior mind and he could not help smile at the colt who sidled up against his mother and seemed quite unafraid of Tu-Swift. The colt reminded him of Tu-Swift. He recalled how devastated he and Many Paths had felt when Tu-Swift had been stolen. If he killed the smaller animal, the mare would be equally devastated. 

Shadow Walker stopped advancing & turned back to speak with Cat Eyes. “You’re right. We may find great use for these animals. We can find other game. Perhaps Tu-Swift can convince these animals to come with us.”

As Shadow Walker spoke these words, he realized that he had not seen the wolf pups for awhile. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw them returning to their fire circle and each held a rabbit in its mouth. 

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Cat Eyes laughed lightly and pointed to the pups, “It looks as though some of your friends have already been hunting. I see vines of ground nuts there and some Solmon’s Zeal by that path. We can bake the roots in the coals as soon as I can dig these up and clean them. Can you clean the rabbits with your sword?”

“I suppose I could,” answered Shadow Walker, “but I’ll have an easier time with this.” As he spoke, he took a flint knife out of a sheath in his belt. 

Jaccim spoke aloud. “Here you go, Boy. Tu-Swift. Use this to capture the horses!” He held aloft a length of rope. Something about his gesture, his voice, or the sight of the rope spooked the horses and they trotted off into the dense forest. 

Tu-Swift hobbled back and shot a glance at Jaccim. He shrugged his shoulders. 

The group finished preparing the meal and ate quickly. One the edge had been taken off their hunger, they returned to the task of collaboratively creating a map. When they were satisfied that the map was as accurate as they could make it, Cat Eyes quickly reproduced their sketch on a piece of dried deerskin. They agreed on an initial direction, gathered up their belongings and began what they hoped would be their three or four day journey back to the Center Place of the Veritas. 

They followed a deer path through the forest and soon came to more open land. Tu-Swift looked back toward the stream and on above that to a small stand of charred trees that marked the graveyard of the village of the ROI. Despite his persistent limp, he felt glad to be alive and free. He smiled, for in the distance, he saw a small herd of horses following them from perhaps a mile away. 

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They walked for a time single file, with Shadow Walker and Jaccim in front, the three ROI women, and Tu-Swift in back with the two wolf cubs. As Tu-Swift walked, he found himself juggling many ideas and feelings. The ideas twisted and turned in his head so rapidly that it reminded him of the terrifying, yet exciting ride in the ‘flume.’ Cat Eyes strode directly in front of him and he liked the way the sunlight played in her hair. Tu-Swift desired her greatly, though that made him feel guilty and wonder about Sooz and whether she would still be looking forward to Tu-Swift’s return. Besides, Cat Eyes seemed very much older and wiser than he was. She seemed a person filled with much light, but there were also very dark shadows somewhere in her soul. Cat Eyes happened at that point to glance back at Tu-Swift. She did this periodically, to make sure they were not moving too swiftly for him to keep up. She waved to him in a friendly way and pointed back at the horses and smiled. Then, she made a gesture that seemed to mean that she really liked him! Or, perhaps that she really liked horses. Or, perhaps that she really liked that the horses were following. Or, perhaps that she too was glad to be away from the place of her captivity. 

Sign language could prove quite ambiguous. That made Tu-Swift’s mind explore his memories of the stick-figures on the deerskin and his dream. He felt sure something magical lay in that small leather pouch that he could spy tied around Cat Eyes. Then, he reminded himself to put his mind back to the task at hand. The ministrations of Cat Eyes had improved his knee, but one false step into a hole, tripping over a root, or stepping into a hole and his knee could end up worse than before. His eagerness to see all his friends and especially Many Paths grew with every step. Would he eventually be able to train the horses, perhaps with Jaccim’s help? Would he and Sooz still be best friends? Then, he again reminded himself that he needed to keep his eyes and minds on the task. One step at a time. One step at a time. 

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Gateway to my Books on Amazon — Gifts for the Holidays

The Winning Weekend Warrior

For the amateur athlete in any sport. This book focuses on the mental game. 

Turing’s Nightmares

Speculative fiction meant to raise practical as well as ethical issues about AI & robotics.

Fit in Bits

Suggests many ways to work more exercises into the daily activities of those who are very busy. 

Tales from an American Childhood

This book recounts early experiences and then relates them to contemporary issues and events. 

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Free blog posts (no ads). 

The First Ring of Empathy (Beginning of this tale).

Introduction to a Pattern Language for Collaboration

Index to the Pattern Language for Collaboration  

  

The Loud Defense of Untenable Positions

07 Saturday Dec 2019

Posted by petersironwood in America, politics, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 25 Comments

Tags

Democracy, fascism, government, Impeachment, politics, truth

The Paradoxically Fierce Blind Defense of Untenable Positions. 

Quick! How do you know the earth is not flat? 

sky earth galaxy universe

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

If you’re like most people, the question seems absurd. Everyone knows the earth is not flat, you think. Why should I have to prove that? It’s silly. 

You’re so sure that the earth is round that you probably do not have a ready answer. You might know enough about astronomy or general science to put together a fairly convincing case, but unless you’re an elementary school teacher, or have family members who belong to the “Flat Earth Society” you will likely have to construct an answer “on the fly.” 

Although you might be “annoyed” at having to produce a rationale for something that “everyone knows” it is unlikely you will get downright enraged. If someone challenges you, you’ll likely just shake your head and walk away. Or, you might try to convince them that the earth is round. 

man wearing brown suit jacket mocking on white telephone

Photo by Moose Photos on Pexels.com

You likely haven’t given much thought to how to “prove” that the earth is round; at least not since you were a kid. But there’s another and more insidious reason why you cannot “rattle off” a defense of the “earth is round” thesis. 

There’s no money to be made. Not only science, but commerce is premised on the fact that the earth is round. Since (nearly) everyone already knows the earth is round, no-one is being paid to make disturbing videos that seem to “prove” the earth is round. No-one has a troll farm somewhere paying people to post things on facebook or twitter to push the position that the earth is round. 

Let’s take another example. Imagine that you’re walking down the street one day and you look up from your iPhone long enough to notice a man who appears to be trying to walk through a brick wall. He bangs into it; backs up a few steps and walks into it again. 

You were just about to beat your personal best in Candy Crush, but you sigh and ask the man, “What are you doing?” 

“What does it look like? I’m walking through this wall.” 

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The scenes from the Harry Potter movies where magical folks get to the Hogwarts Express via walking through the wall to get to platform 9 3/4 flash onto your internal TV. But you realize that is a movie about a magical world. Every instance you can come up with where someone walks through a wall is a cartoon or superhero. Perhaps this is where the guy got the idea. But here he is trying it out in real life. But he does’t just try it out once. Here he goes again. You don’t know how long he’s been doing this, but you’ve seen three trials, all with the same, and quite predictable result. 

You realize that if he keeps walking into the brick wall, he will eventually be injured. Moreover, a person who is so clearly self-destructive might do other, and even worse, self-destructive things. Would it be possible to talk them out of this behavior with logic or facts? That seems doubtful. After all, assuming they didn’t just pop up on the street from a completely different universe where walking through brick walls works, he’ll have already had plenty of opportunities to learn about the world. 

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The more absurd the false beliefs are, the more vigorously people will defend them. You’ve spent no time practicing arguments about why the earth is round or why you can’t walk through brick walls. On the other hand, someone who does believe in these things will have had many occasions when those beliefs were challenged. Nonetheless, they won’t be very successful in convincing others that, say, the earth is flat. But every time they try to make that sale, it will convince the person who constructs and voices such arguments, even more deeply that the earth is flat. So, even though they might tell this story 100 times and every single person remains unconvinced, by thinking that they have to “stand up for themselves” they will try out any sort of non-sense to bolster their position. And, if there were serious money to be made by convincing some people that the earth is flat, you can bet there would be a never-ending series of propaganda offerings to push in that direction. And, while most people will continue to believe the earth is round, occasionally someone will hear enough crap to really begin to wonder. 

Now, let’s go back to our original flat-earther who has just failed to convince one hundred people that the earth is flat — but at the same time, he (let’s say it’s a he named Milhaus) has practiced convincing himself 100 times. And now, a miracle occurs. Milhaus happens to run into Doubting Dolly who has heard or read screes promoting flat earth to the extent that she now experiences a certain amount of doubt. The two of them strike up an excited conversation in which each one reinforces the beliefs of the other. Mihaus is thrilled! Imagine! He’s been scoffed at as ridiculous 100 times. But now, right here, he finds an acolyte — someone who now shares his beliefs. The chances that Doubting Dolly will find such screes depends a lot on whether there is any extrinsic reward for writing and promulgating such screes. Flat Earth conspiracy theories don’t lend themselves to making money off such lies. 

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Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Other currently popular lies, on the other hand are promoted initially by people with vested narrowly selfish interests. But once enough “Milhaus”-types get converted, these falsehoods, however bizarre, get repeated over and over. For instance, the oil company oligarchs have known for years that their business model is seriously damaging human lives, changing climate, and putting much of life at risk. What do they do? They spend millions creating and promulgating false narratives. 

Ironically, then, people who hold untenable, counter-factual positions often are more practiced at their arguments than people who simply put forth the truth. Moreover, they not only are more practiced, they are also more emotionally involved. The average person who belongs to the “Flat Earth Society” has hugely more of their identity wrapped up in the idea of a flat earth than the average person has their identity wrapped up in the idea of a round earth. Of course, there are no valid arguments for a flat earth, for walking through a brick wall, or for interpreting the Constitution as saying that the President should be treated as a dictator. As a result, proponents of such things tend to scream and pound the table a lot. 

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The screaming and table pounding is not just out of frustration for not having any valid arguments. For people suffering from PTSD, or who have been in abusive relationships, or grew up in an abusive household, yelling and screaming and pounding the table reminds them of terror and a remembrance that the only way to avoid pain is to make daddy happy. Oh, let’s find out what Pappa Putin wants and give it to him! Maybe we’ll get lucky and he won’t end up treating American citizens as badly as he’s treated his own countrymen. Maybe. But don’t count on it. 

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Author Page on Amazon

Beware of Sheep in Wolves’ Clothing!

24 Sunday Nov 2019

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

≈ 29 Comments

Tags

cowardice, Impeachment, Putin, religion, treason, Trump

The more common expression “Wolves in Sheep’s Clothing” originates from the Bible. In the King James Version, we have: 

Matthew 7:15-23 King James Version (KJV)

15 Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves.

16 Ye shall know them by their fruits. Do men gather grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles?

17 Even so every good tree bringeth forth good fruit; but a corrupt tree bringeth forth evil fruit.

18 A good tree cannot bring forth evil fruit, neither can a corrupt tree bring forth good fruit.

19 Every tree that bringeth not forth good fruit is hewn down, and cast into the fire.

20 Wherefore by their fruits ye shall know them.

beige and gray wolf on the green grass

Photo by Adriaan Greyling on Pexels.com

There are actually two common sayings that come from this verse. First, “Beware of wolves in sheep’s clothing.” Second, “A tree is known by the fruit it bears.” These are both wise aphorisms that are appropriate to many situations. For instance, people may appear to be gentle or feign liking you when their real intention is to put you off your guard which makes it easier to take advantage of you. The second one is particularly apt when looking at the concept of “fake news.” Amazingly, many people now call “mainstream media” like the New York Times, The Wall Street Journal or The Washington Post, “fake” despite the fact that they have been around for a long time and still make significant proportions of the money from subscriptions. Meanwhile, they see as “true,” the unsubstantiated claims of purely on-line media completely paid on the basis of how effective their “click-bait” headlines are, many of which are developed by Russian troll farms. Sad, and partly dealt with in earlier essays which you can access here. 

Social Media and Divisiveness

However, in this essay, I want to turn the first famous phrase around so that we have: “Beware of Sheep in Wolves’ Clothing.” Bn this expression, what I mean is that people present themselves as brave fighters for your rights or for the truth when they are actually simply sheepishly going along with a crowd. Americans particularly value individualism and bucking authority to do what is right. In some cultures, people would feel far less positively toward the “lone wolf” crusader. But here in America, we don’t like to be thought of as “sheep.” We tend to respect folks who are brave individualists doing things their own way. 

herd of sheep

Photo by Jose Lorenzo on Pexels.com

This high valuation of uniqueness is often used by clever sales people to make you think what they are offering you is a “special deal” that would “get them in trouble with their supervisor” if it became known that they were giving you such a wonderful and unique deal. Of course, in reality, it isn’t a special deal at all. It’s the same line they give everyone who they try to sell insurance or cars or houses to. But they make it out as though they are being a bit of a rogue by bending the rules for your benefit, and that therefore, the two of you are in league; you are both “in the know” for this special deal. 

While the deal is presented as unique, the product may be sold as being popular. In fact, the product or service is often presented as being in very short supply. “Grab this special deal before it goes away, because so many people desire this product. Luckily, there’s one left just for you — but only if you act now, (before you have a chance to compare prices, terms, and products).” 

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Photo by Mike on Pexels.com

Here’s a common variant. Someone comes to your door claiming that they were “in the neighborhood” anyway working with “some of your neighbors” to — pick one: clean gutters, install solar tiles, cut trees, clear underbrush, pave driveways, put in satellite dishes, etc. Since they are “in the neighborhood anyway,” they can give you a special deal on the gutter cleaning, brush clearing, etc. Obviously, this “special deal” is only available for “right now” because otherwise, they’ll have to make a trip just for you. 

No doubt, for many people, including me, part of the appeal of Barack Obama was his uniqueness. The offspring of two parents of quite different heritages, he spent his early life dealing with a much wider variety of people than most American politicians. 

Donald Trump portrayed himself as very much the “outsider to politics as usual.” He claimed to be “different” from the “swamp” of politicians that typically infest Washington DC. Instead, he was a highly successful businessman, according to him, and knew how to get things done, according to him. He was feisty, so he said, and “not afraid” to “tell it like it is.” He eschewed “political correctness.” He portrayed himself as someone unique and self-defined — in other words a “Wolf.” 

He is not. 

He is not brave. He is not courageous and he is not unique. He is not even, by most measures, anything approaching a “self-made man” or a successful businessman. He was given a fortune by his father. By most accounts, he’s particularly inept as a businessman (it’s hard to know exactly because, although he promised to release his tax returns, he never has, and in fact has had his lawyers fight releasing them at every turn). He would be far richer today if he had simply invested his inheritance in an index fund.

https://www.newyorker.com/news/our-columnists/as-a-businessman-trump-was-the-biggest-loser-of-all

He has a “track record” of portraying himself as richer, more famous, and more successful than he really is. You can read about any of this elsewhere (see links below), but let me skip that and tell you about my limited personal experience. About a decade ago, Trump bought a golf club that I belonged to. He made some nice improvements, by the way, to the clubhouse and these were real improvements. He also put up several posters of himself portrayed as “Man of the Year” on the Time Magazine cover. If I owned a golf club, I would not personally put up illustrations of how great I am. But, I thought: “Well, it’s a matter of personal taste. I find it braggadocios but fine.” Except is was a lie. A lie that came true a decade later! In 2016, he really was named “Person of the Year” and really did have his picture on the cover of Time. But it was definitely a lie when he put up the posters. 

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Photo by Johan Bos on Pexels.com

That was far from the most egregious lie even at that time. Given all the lies that he has told since, I hesitate to even use the word “egregious.” It seems that the very concept of egregious has been egregiously extended by Trump into what we see as “normal.” His posting a false cover was certainly nothing like the whoppers he’s told since in the seriousness of import, but it struck me at the time as egregious, so I’m keeping with it. Before Donald bought our golf club, they, like most, hosted several “Club Championships” each year. The winners had received cups and their names were prominently displayed on plaques in the clubhouse. When Donald bought the club, many people quit the club, including several former club champions. Donald had their names removed from the Championship Plaques and put his own name there as champion for those years. He had not only not won those championships. He hadn’t even played in them. 

What kind of a person would feel anything but shame for putting their name undeservedly on a championship plaque? If you did it, for any reason whatsoever, I would imagine you would feel embarrassed or ashamed whenever you looked at it. I know I would. It takes a certain degree of courage to enter an athletic contest. You could fail miserably and publicly. You might win. Winning might take all your courage, whatever the sport. But putting your name on a trophy for something you never did? That takes no courage. That’s the act of a coward. Eventually, he got so much grief over this from the members that he took his name off those plaques. That should also be noted, because that too shows his lack of courage. 

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#45 portrays himself even today as the champion of the “common person” even though he lived in a gilded penthouse, in fact, commenting on what a dump the White House was upon arrival. Trump portrays himself, not just as “the champion” when he isn’t; he portrays himself as a brave champion fighting the “forces of evil” which include (in his rhetoric) the Main Stream Media, the Washington insiders, and so on. In fact, he is not brave at all. 

He had his dad bribe doctors to lie repeatedly about mythical “heel spurs” to prevent being drafted into service. He or his proxies released a video supposedly showing him sneaking up on a “Professional Wrestling” (in other words, fake wrestling) referee and sucker-punching the ref. Trump regularly urges others, for instance, an entire crowd, to gang up on protestors in his audiences and beat them up. 

people at theater

Photo by Monica Silvestre on Pexels.com

Such calls to violence are not mere stage tricks. They have consequences. People have died. Never has Donald Trump been put in danger by his calls to violence. He’s never offered to “fight” anyone in his ranting tweets. Without a shred of evidence, he’s named people in the media, Democratic donors, and Democratic politicians as “enemies of the people” as well as entire races, countries, and religions. “Inspired” by such lies and calls to violence, there have been mass murders and attempted murders. Right before the 2018 elections, as you would undoubtedly recall with respect to any other presidency, pipe bombs were sent to Kamala Harris, Corey Booker, and Tom Steyer, CNN, George Soros, the Obamas, and the Clintons, among others including former intelligence head, James Clapper.  

https://www.nytimes.com/2018/10/26/nyregion/cnn-cory-booker-pipe-bombs-sent.html  

Sending pipe bombs is a cowardly act, but if so, isn’t encouraging people to do it even more cowardly. What were the consequences for Trump? None. 

A brave man stands up for his actions and their consequences. A coward induces others to do his dirty work for him and then moves on.

On October 27, 2018, a gunman entered the Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburg, Pennsylvania, and attacked worshippers killing eleven innocent people and wounding another six.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pittsburgh_synagogue_shooting

This coward was more indirectly, but no less importantly, inspired by the hate-speech of Trump. For example, after an innocent protestor was mowed down by a White Nationalists, Trump famously said there were probably good people on both sides. His foreign policy and public statements encouraged an increase in people applying for asylum at our Southern Border. This he described as an “army” attacking our country. That also played into the sick logic of the attacker. 

What were the consequences of Donald J. Trump when these innocent people were gunned down in cold blood? 

Nothing. 

The right of free speech is vital to our democracy. But it is not an unrestricted right. You cannot, without penalty, walk into an operating room and start screaming at the doctors. You cannot yell obscenities at the top of your lungs in the middle of a restaurant. You cannot yell “FIRE!” in a crowded theater. You would face consequences if you did any of these things. 

two person doing surgery inside room

Photo by Vidal Balielo Jr. on Pexels.com

Unless you are the President of the United States, that is. He un-bravely incites others to violence that results in innocent deaths and a perpetrator likely spending the rest of their life in prison, but suffers nothing himself. 

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Photo by Cameron Casey on Pexels.com

What a ‘brave’ wolf. Most people care when they have any involvement whatsoever in the harm of innocent others. Isn’t that true of you? And the people you know? Suppose you invite a friend over for dinner and they are involved in a serious car accident on the way over? All you did was to ask them over for dinner. The accident is not your fault. Not at all. You did nothing wrong. Nonetheless, if you’re anything like the people I know, it would certainly run through your mind that if only you had not made the invitation or if only you had reminded them to drive safely or … Hopefully, you’ll recognize that you aren’t really at fault and “forgive” yourself and not only see logically, but feel as well that you really are not to blame. But if you encourage hatred against a whole group of people and then some of those people get hurt, you certainly are partly responsible. 

August 3rd, 2019, a gunman drove 650 miles to El Paso and used an automatic weapon to destroy the lives of 22 innocent Hispanics and wounding another 24. His language on-line is much like Trump’s in concept and wording, but the shooter claims he had these beliefs before Trump. That may be true, but do you think having the President of the United States express those same opinions might influence the chances you would plan out and execute a mass murder?    

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2019_El_Paso_shooting

Will Trump bear any responsibility for all those lives needlessly lost? No. The shooter, however, will likely spend the rest of his life in jail. 

Look at the record of how Trump has treated all his “top notch” picks for various positions within his White House. They are the best thing since sliced bread, until they are fired, which he rarely has the courage to do face to face. Imagine being the President of the United States and not having the courage to fire your employee face to face. Among other things, you’re the head of the greatest military force in the history of the world and you’re surrounded by the extraordinary people of the Secret Service! And, yet, Heel Spurs is afraid to fire people face to face. Wow!

And now the incontrovertible evidence mounts even higher that he isn’t even doing this all for his own interest. He’s doing it for Putin! Yes, yes, Trump is making money hand over fist for his Crime Family, but it’s peanuts compared to what he’s handing over to Putin which is nothing less than world leadership! 

Putin desperately wants to reconstitute the USSR before he dies. His biggest impediments until now was NATO and its member states. And America was a particular thorn in the side of his ambitions. Until now. Because now, Trump is cowered to do Putin’s bidding. Putin’s agenda, which Trump has been working on since even before day one of his Presidency is three-fold: 1) isolate America from her allies; 2) divide the country; 3) weaken the military, state, & intelligence functions of America. 

Pulling out of the Paris Climate Accord; pulling out of the Iran deal; dissing the leaders of democracies while cozying up to brutal dictators; suddenly withdrawing support for the Kurds; throwing shadows corruption on the legitimate government of the Ukraine when their president ran on an anti-corruption ticket — all of these things isolate America from her allies. For most of us, they are also bad decisions, but whether a decision is bad is a matter of balance and potential disagreements. Doing the bidding of Putin against our national security and national interest is something else. It is treason, clearly, but it is also an act of almost transcendent cowardice. 

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Photo by Skitterphoto on Pexels.com

The divisive rhetoric of the President also plays right into Putin’s hands. It isn’t just that it plays to racism, misogyny, Islamophobia, homophobia, and other absurdities though that’s plenty evil in and of itself. It’s purposeful on the part of Putin and Trump damned well knows it. It isn’t just using “bad language” or being inarticulate or not being “politically correct.” Trump urges violence of some Americans against others. For God’s sake! What President of America does that? Of course, it’s in Putin’s interest to have a divided America. It’s not in our interest or the interests of our allies and trading partners. They would like to see a reliable and stable America. That’s in everyone’s interest. But to intentionally divide the nation against each other when the only two benefits of that are: 1) Trump keeping his base riled up and 2) Vladimir Putin being that much closer to his USSR 2.0? That is the essence of cowardice. 

We should be able to see by now, that the replacement of experienced professionals in the State Department, the Military Command, the Intelligence Agencies, and the Justice Department with complete lackeys doesn’t only allow “Trump to be Trump” and run the details of the government for his own profit. It also destroys the effectiveness of these agencies and causes the public to lose confidence. Who benefits from all this? Putin, of course. Just to take a recent example, three US Soldiers who were convicted by Courts-Martial of war crimes were “pardoned” by Donald Trump. What does this do? It lowers the morale of the armed forces. As does the ban on trans people and his unwillingness to visit troops anywhere near a war zone. As does issuing orders without planning. As does casually giving away important intelligence. Cowardice, plain and simple and extensive. 

animal agriculture farm market

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Sadly, it turns out that Trump is not the only sheep who pretends to be a voracious wolf. There are many such sheep in the GOP Congress as well. They rant and they rave and they shout and pray. But at the end of the day, they do Putin’s bidding. They support isolating us from our allies, even promulgating lies about our allies — lies that are all part of our enemy’s propaganda operations. 

These roaring GOP sheep support dividing the country against each other. They could have censured Trump the very first time he showed his racist side. But they didn’t. Nor the second time. Nor the third. Nor the thousandth. Many of them won’t even face their constituents in town halls. 

Mitch McConnell refused to bring up for a vote any of the many bills that the House passed to deal with serious American issues. And, at the same time, the Russian trolls are spewing out messages on Facebook and Twitter that basically say: “Its a do-nothing Congress.” or even “What good is Congress?” 

It is a series of Babushka Sheep. Look inside. 

men in black and red cade hats and military uniform

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

It isn’t turtles all the way down, after all. 

It’s cowardice. It’s sheep. However loud these sheep howl, they’re still sheep.

But you don’t have to be. 

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It’s Your Call!

19 Tuesday Nov 2019

Posted by petersironwood in America, psychology, sports, Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

cats, Democracy, fascism, Feedback, games, politics, sports, Tennis

It’s Your Call

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Tennis is played on a so-called court. As a matter of fact, when tennis began, it was literally played in a courtyard and people could hit the ball off roofs, etc. But, now the game has become much more regular. Historians believe tennis began in the 12th century. At that point, the ball was hit with the hand. At what point does it become close enough to modern tennis to deserve the name? I don’t know. My cats have been known to play a kind of primitive tennis with me and, more rarely, with each other. 

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The most elaborate example of the latter was something I walked in on. Under the kitchen table were three of our cats batting back and forth the lifeless body of a small lizard who had unfortunately managed to sneak into our house. The cats are well-fed so there was no rushing or fighting over the meat. No, they were batting it back and forth. I don’t know how long they had been playing this little game, but at the point I observed them, they seemed rather bored. I can tell you that when I play tennis, almost all the time, almost all the players exhibit enthusiasm for the game. 

Tennis, it turns out, is much like the game my cats played. Just as the cats did, there is a defined space within which a small object (lizard, tennis ball, etc.) gets batted back and forth. Sides (one or two people to a side) take turns batting the ball over to the other side. This back and forth continues until one side is unable to return the ball into their opponents side of the court. The ball must pass over the net before bouncing and it must land in the opponent’s side of the court. In tennis, as in baseball, if a ball hits the line (even a little) it is “in.” So, knowing when the ball is “in” or “out” is quite critical for scorekeeping purposes, just as it is in nearly every game or sport. “Baseball,” they say, “is a game of inches.” And so is tennis. And football, and hockey, and gymnastics, and basketball, and golf! There are boundaries — and often it is both critical and hard to determine where something falls with respect to those boundaries. 

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For that reason, professional tennis tournaments have not just one, but several people whose sole responsibility is to determine whether balls are “in” or “out.” There is also a “chair umpire” who has several roles but one of which is to serve as a kind of “over-judge.” He can “overrule” one of the linesman as to whether a ball was in or out. More recently, technology has added yet another layer of “presumed certainty” about whether a ball was in or out. Everyone assumes — or has agreed to act as though they assume — that the technology is perfect. As someone who spent many years working with technology, I think it is perfectly safe to assume that the technology is not perfect. But it is, in pro tennis, the final arbiter. 

The kind of tennis I play, “Club Tennis” or “Friendly Tennis” is quite another matter! Our prize money is nil. Our trophies are nil. That doesn’t mean people don’t play their hearts out! But who gets to say whether a ball is in our out? We don’t have technology or line judges; we make our own calls. Here is the over-riding rule of “Friendly tennis”: people call the ball “in” or “out” on their own side of the court. There are three major reasons for this. First, when you hit a ball, you intend for it to be “in.” Second, if the ball is “in” that is to your advantage in winning the game. Both of these are “psychological” effects that impact everyone to a greater or lesser degree and will tend to make them “see” their close shots as in that are really out. The third reason, however, is much more important and it is purely physical. In nearly every case, the person who is attempting to hit the ball is way way closer to the ball (and the line) than anyone else. 

Sometimes, however, there are mitigating circumstances. The person hitting the ball may be running hard and tracking the ball in order to hit it. It sometimes happens that they will admit to having no idea whether the ball was in or out. The first recourse is to ask their partner whether they saw the ball clearly. They might also ask their opponents. Remember: it’s a friendly game. But that does not mean it always stays free from controversy. 

You are supposed to call a ball “out” only if you are sure it was out. What “sure” means though can vary quite a bit from person to person. There are also physical reasons why some people’s line calling is better than others. Many players in our games wear glasses. I won’t go into all the various issues with glasses. If you wear glasses you already know and if you don’t, you couldn’t care less. (Unless you’re extremely empathic and then, you might want to read “The Myths of the Veritas” which delve heavily into empathy; go ahead; give it a try; it’s free with no ads). People also differ in how much they compensate for the effect of parallax. If I am receiving a serve, for instance, I am likely to see a ball that’s slightly long as “in” while the server will tend to see it as “out” even if it is barely in. If a serve comes to my side and lands near the line, the effect of parallax is to make them look “out” even when they are slightly in. Some people are aware of these effects and some aren’t. To make a long story short, people don’t always make the best call. 

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We have the exact same issues that we had when we played baseball, football, in grade school. The only difference is that now that we are in our 70’s we don’t spoil our day and tell Johnny we’re not going to play with him any more. Instead, we revert to “It’s your call” even when we “know” that our opponents have just called one of our hits that was really in, out. 

In the same way, in life outside the tennis realm, we can sometimes see problems that the person nearest to their problem cannot see. We may know that you are eating too much for your own good, or drinking too much, or would be happier in the long run if you studied harder. We might say that, under the right circumstances, to a good friend. But — at the end of the day, it is “their call.” 

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Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

As I’ve argued elsewhere, there seems to be an urban/rural difference in how hard one pushes to let people know they are screwing up. It isn’t only an urban rural split. It seems to me, that many conservatives are afraid that liberals want to make them do and be and like all the things they do! But liberals, you see, by the very nature of the word “liberal,” don’t want to have everyone the same. It’s okay with almost all liberals if you go bowling, or play tennis, or watch NASCAR. We’re not going to force everyone to eat quiche or adopt a “gay lifestyle.” I have to admit, I do think there are some liberals who would be happy to write you an extremely detailed “prescription” for your life. But they are really rare exceptions, in my experience. Liberals, just like conservatives, do want to have laws that prevent people from hurting others for no reason. 

There are interesting edge cases that people may differ on. Is this “your call” or “our call”? That has changed over time as people have multiplied across the earth and as science has understood more and more of our interactions. In the middle ages, when people began congregating in large cities, they lived in (what we would now call) disastrously unsanitary conditions that were ideal for plagues. Dump your sewage into a place that flows into the water supply? Sure. It’s your sewage after all. But now we know that is not a good idea. 

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When I was a kid, my dad and my grandpa would “rake the leaves” in the fall; rake the leaves into a big pile; and then burn them. And, everyone was doing that. Now, I would guess that such is illegal in most places in the US. We realize that the smoke doesn’t simply “disappear” but is, in fact, bad for other people. You are burning the leaves on your land, but the smoke doesn’t stay there. Now, we’re more savvy than when I was a kid. But it’s much more than that. There are also a lot more of us! When I born, there were about 2.4 billion people on earth; now there are more than 7 billion. But it isn’t only the number. Many of us around the earth, including me, are using up a lot more resources than we did back then. We are using materials like plastics and sending more and worse chemicals out into the environment we all share. I still believe in the general principle that it’s your call, in terms of how much pollution you are willing to live with. 

As I’ve mentioned before, Air Fresheners are a good example of a bad example. So-called “Air Fresheners” do nothing of the kind. They make you think the air is fresher because they have perfume in them. Not only that; they typically include carcinogens, a chemical to mess with your hormones and another chemical that deadens your sense of smell! You see? Air Fresheners, some people might call the “Bill Barr” of household products. They label themselves as “Air Freshener” but they are really noxious stuff that only makes the whole situation worse. 

I’m afraid that what is “your call” will continue to shrink in some ways if humanity keeps expanding the population and using up more and more resources. On the other hand, the space of what is your call is also expanding. Whether it is sports, clothing, food, games, movies, TV, books, experiences — even with the choice of burning autumn leaves in your backyard gone, you have way more choices available to you than your parents or grandparents had. 

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If there is one person in a car driving alone, they can pick the music they want and play it loud. They can change stations every two seconds. Or not. But if there are six people in the car, it’s going to be more complicated. That’s not because people hate your music or hate you. Now, you could take the attitude: “It’s my car, so I’ll pick whatever music I please!” And then, you might choose to play disco music at full blast. You could. But if you do that, then as soon as possible, people will choose note to ride with you. That’s okay. But don’t complain that you’re ever more isolated. It’s not your choice of music that isolates you. It’s your insistence that everyone is subjected only to what appeals to you. 

And, then we come, at last, as we seem to inevitably do, to the crisis at hand.  

It’s our collective “call” to determine who our leaders are. Some prefer someone who is stately, intelligent, and diplomatic. And, some prefer Donald Trump: bombastic, often inarticulate, and crude. Styles and tastes differ. It’s your call. Personally, I don’t think style is irrelevant, but I don’t think it’s vital either. 

But being an agent, witting or unwitting, of Vladimir Putin, rather than of America, is not a question of style. Doing what is in Russian interests and against the interest of America over and over is not a matter of style. Nor is dividing the country against itself. Nor isolating us from our allies. Nor destroying the morale of our intelligence agencies, our military command, our State Department, and the Justice Department. 

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If it were possible for you to have a dictatorship and for me to stay in a democracy, that might be fine. I would caution you that you wouldn’t really be the least bit happy about living in a dictatorship, but in the end, that’s your call. Also problematic is the fact that dictators are almost never satisfied with the absolute power they have and want to keep extending it to other areas. 

Donald Trump doesn’t want to just be dictator of the Republican Party (which he pretty much already is). He wants to be dictator of the entire country. That is destroying and will continue to destroy everything good about America. It’s the whole country. It’s not just your car. Before finding out just how horrendous it is for everyone to live in a dictatorship, go live for a few months at least, in a cult that has a dictator and see how you like it. You might like it. You might not. It’s your call. 

But America is not going to let our entire country go to ruin. No-one has the right to make that call. 

That would be like one of my tennis opponents saying, “The ball was “out” and furthermore, from now on, everyone’s tennis rackets are mine and you can only play when I say so and I win every game no matter what happens! 

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You know. It’s possible it could happen one day. We’re old. People have strokes. People get dementia. I hope none of my regular tennis players go insane like that, and if they do, I hope they get appropriate care. 

We’re not crazy enough to “give in” to such absurd demands! Not even if he yells and screams and says, “It’s my call!” 

Because it isn’t. 

It’s our call.

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Author Page on Amazon. 

The Myths of the Veritas 

Trumpism as the new religion

Why the Rule of Law is important

City Mouse and Country Mouse

 

Lion Slayer & Eagle Eyes Return

07 Thursday Nov 2019

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

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

empathy, leadership, legends, management, myths, story, Veritas

Although Lion Slayer had not specifically been tested or trained the way that Eagle Eyes had, since he was a human being, he could read the excitement on the visage of Eagle Eyes as she crouched down, turned back and scurried back toward him. 

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“What did you see? What’s there?” asked Lion Slayer. 

“I saw an old friend! The Mountain of Twin Peaks! We are only two days from our Center Place. Sorry, I mean…well, the Center Place of the Veritas. Who knows? Perhaps we will soon see all our friends! Let me go back to the crest and scan the horizon for trouble for awhile. If all looks well, we should continue our journey.”

“I pray to soon see once again Hudah Salem and that she is well. And, for Fleet-of-Foot as well.”

Soon, they both lay on their bellies at the crest and scanned the land below them for any signs of trouble. It occurred to Eagle Eyes that Lion Slayer was unlikely to see something that escaped her own eyes, but she kept that to herself. And, she could well be wrong. Just because she could see details and patterns that escaped most people did not prove he was incapable of recognizing patterns that she could not see. After all, he had spent years seeing patterns in a different environment than she had. He might well see dangers that she would have missed. As Shadow Walker discovered, a snake may find you by your heat. She imagined for a moment being a snake finding Lion Slayer by his heat. That line of though, for some odd reason,  reminded her that Lion Slayer looked strong and handsome.

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After a time, they glanced at each other, smiled, and nodded to signal their agreement that it was time to move forward. Though they had spotted no trouble, because they were visible on this downslope for a good distance in many directions, they moved only when the wind stirred and kept from moving in lock-step. Soon, they reached the cover of a large wood. They entered the forest in good spirits. Eagle Eyes had reassured Lion Slayer that they would very soon reach lands that she was intimately familiar with. 

“If we’re lucky,” she claimed, “we may make tomorrow night’s feast!

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Meanwhile, Trunk of Tree had somehow convinced himself that he would make a better leader than Many Paths. Try as he might, he could not convince others to share this opinion. All he did as he sought out support was to distance himself from others. Prior to his questioning of Many Paths, he had actually been popular and well-respected among the Veritas, both for his strength and for his not inconsiderable military instincts. But this campaign, he reflected is going very badly for me. He brooded on his failure and recalled that ALT-R had used POND MUD in his various schemes. As he paced back and forth along a line of wild blueberries, he turned the problem this way and that. Aloud, he said, “Who can be my POND MUD?” 

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As chance would have it, Many Paths had come with Easy Tears to pick some blueberries and overheard his odd question. Preoccupied as he was, Trunk of Tree did not notice their presence. Many Paths found herself tempted to keep around the bend out of sight to see whether Trunk of Tree would say anything else. But she felt a mild dishonesty fringed such an action so she playfully announced, “Well, met, Trunk of Tree. I don’t think that things ended well for POND MUD, nor for ALT-R either. But I am sorry if you are mourning him. I felt bad that we lost both of them to the forces of greed and deception. In the end, it was as though they were the offspring of The Orange Man.” 

Trunk of Tree glanced back and forth between the two young maids and his cheeks reddened. “Well, I’m not really mourning him. I was just curious — do you know anything about their friendship? I mean, I don’t see why POND MUD did whatever ALT-R said. Do you understand it?” 

“Not fully,” answered Many Paths truthfully. “I did find out that POND MUD somehow got it in his head — well, because ALT-R told him so — that ALT-R had saved his life! Nothing could be further from the truth. I am almost certain that ALT-R tricked POND MUD into getting in the quicksand in the first place. And he could easily have pulled him out with a vine or brach or rope, but he made POND MUD really scared and convinced him he had to literally put his face in the mud in order to get out.”

“So….? Did you set him straight?” asked Trunk of Tree. 

“I tried to. I think many people told him the same thing. But he kept asking more people. He was looking for a certain answer — that ALT-R had saved his life. But no-one else thought so. That just made him — somehow — believe ALT-R … harder? Is that the word? As though he insisted on hanging on to this false belief. I don’t fully understand that part.”  

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The three of them began silently partaking of the delicious berries. After a time, Many Paths said, “Have you ever started to lose your balance and then the harder you try to right yourself, the more out of balance you become? It felt a little bit like that. POND MUD couldn’t help himself and when he did, he began to feel guilty — as though he were betraying his friend ALT-R to even consider whether he had been telling the truth. Ironic, eh? ALT-R was using him — abusing him really. But whenever POND MUD thought along those lines, he felt guilty so … so he was more peaceful inside to just believe the lies of ALT-R. I don’t really know, Trunk of Tree, but that is my surmise.”

“How stupid of POND MUD!” exclaimed Trunk of Tree, a trifle too loudly, it seemed to Many Paths. 

“Indeed,” answered Many Paths. “I feel sorry for him. I keep wondering what I could have said to allow him to see the truth that was staring him in the face.”

Trunk of Tree got a faraway look in his eye. “Perhaps you didn’t properly use the Rings of Empathy. Maybe…just maybe it takes actual physical strength to force insight onto someone.” 

Easy Tears frowned and tilted her head at that comment. Many Paths gave a sardonic smile. “You might be right, Trunk of Tree. I do not have such an understanding from She Who Saves Many Lives. It’s not…It’s just a ring. Well, seven of them. I use them to … connect with people; not control them. I have never tried to use them in the way that you propose.”

“Exactly! You’ve never even tried! That’s the problem with women! You and She Who Saves Many Lives aren’t using the true power of the rings! If a man had them — a man who had power in his heart and soul and body, he could make people see the truth! That’s why I think I should be leader. I would not be afraid to use the power of the rings!” 

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Many Paths reached into the crevice between her breasts and pulled on a leather thong. Out through the neck of her tunic a small leather pouch popped. “Well, let’s try your experiment then. Here. Easy Tears is enjoying those blueberries! As am I! But here, borrow the rings and see whether you can convince her they are no good.” 

“What? You can do that? You would do that? You would give me the Rings of Empathy? You’re a fool, but thank you.” He held out his hand and Many Paths plonked down the pouch into Trunk of Trees ample hand. “I’m not giving them to you. I’m lending them. Have a go.” 

Trunk of Tree could hardly believe his good fortune. He had plotted and schemed to obtain the Rings of Empathy and Many Paths had given them to him! I can get everything now. He held all the rings in his hands and begin concentrating as he intoned, “Easy Tears, you do not like the blueberries. You hate them in fact. You will give all of yours to me.” 

Easy Tears began trembling. She fell to the ground and muttered in a strange voice, “I love blueberries. Oh, no, I hate blueberries. I love them. I hate them. No, no. The power of the ring is too strong. Oh, they are burning me. The blueberries are setting me on fire. Oh, no!” She began rolling uncontrollably on the ground. 

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Many Paths could see that Easy Tears was convulsing with silent laughter.  Many Paths quickly knelt down beside her and whispered into the ear of Easy Tears “Don’t humiliate him. Break it to him gently.” 

Trunk of Tree held his hands high and shouted with joy. “You See! You see! I can harness the magic of the Rings!” 

Easy Tears was laughing so hard now that her face was wet with tears and she couldn’t catch her breath. 

Many Paths considered joining in the fun and leading on Trunk of Tree. In some fundamental way, that would be cruel. Wasn’t it just as wrong to bully Trunk of Tree with her superior insight into human nature as it would be if he used his superior strength to bully someone? Among many possibilities she considered that she wanted to sow doubt in his mind quickly but also gently. “Do you remember, Trunk of Tree, that wrestling trick you taught me when we were kids? I think you called it “willow wand”? Is that right? And the harder someone rushed at you…”

“Why are you asking about wrestling?” sneered Trunk of Tree.  Did you see how I bent her mind with these rings?! I don’t understand why you never tried it. Or, maybe you did but you’re not strong enough to make it work!”

Many Paths sighed. 

“Trunk of Tree,” she began, and noted that a hint of exasperation had crept into her voice. She tried to concentrate on what she admired about Trunk of Tree and spoke again, this time with genuine affection. “Trunk of Tree, you know what a great jokester Easy Tears is and how she has facility to fool others with play acting. Right?” 

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“What are you saying? That she faked it? That was a real curse. Look at her even now, she writhes in pain. I am sorry, Easy Tears. I didn’t know how powerful I would be with the rings.” 

“Oh, Trunk of Tree,” chuckled Easy Tears, “You went along with my play-acting splendidly! I think we may have really fooled Many Paths there for a moment! Right, Many Paths? Admit it. You thought, just for a moment that maybe they really were magic. Come on. Admit it.” 

Many Paths nodded and smiled. Easy Tears had some brilliant thoughts. This way, I can ‘take the fall’ for the joke and save Trunk of Tree’s pride, provided only he’s smart enough to play along. “You did. You did. For a moment there, you two had me going. What’s that sound? Drums. Listen. Two of our own approach. It’s Lion Slayer and Eagle Eyes! They’ve returned! Let’s go hear their tale!”

Many Paths turned and ran toward the Center Place of the Veritas, deftly snatching her pouch with the Seven Rings of Empathy out of Trunk of Tree’s hand before he could even react. Soon, Easy Tears and Trunk of Tree were running behind her, eager to hear what news they had brought. At least for now, Trunk of Tree’s thirst for power seemed to have evaporated like a morning mist under the rising sun. But winter is coming. 

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Author Page on Amazon.

The Myth of the Veritas: The Forgotten Field. 

The Orange Man.

The First Ring of Empathy. 

What Could Be Better: A Horror Story

25 Friday Oct 2019

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

≈ 22 Comments

Tags

fable, greed, halloween, horror, karma, story

In anticipation of Halloween, here is a kind of horror story. I might not recommend it for kids under 12 although I remember being fascinated by this stuff. I saw the movie THEM! about giant ants when I was about nine. Wow! But anyway, a few stories to tingle the spine. 

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Photo by Connor Danylenko on Pexels.com

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What Could Be Better?! A Horror Story

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Karmic Decisions, Gamma Section, Milky Way Division, Department 78776-G-164c, Species – Human; Sub-species Greedypigs. 

“I’m here to do what?” screamed Joe. “This can’t be real.” 

“What? What do you mean ‘what?’ You never heard of Karma while you were a —- let me see — oh, yes, here it is — ‘an earthling’, is the expression you use. So, when you were an earthling…excuse me, I don’t mean to laugh, but in our language it’s a commonly used synonym for ‘Greed-Meister.’ And, here you are waiting for an assignment based primarily on your being of the subspecies, Greedypigs. You get it? No, you don’t get it. You’re greedy.” 

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“Well, that doesn’t sound so bad to me,” piped up Joe. “No Siree. Many of us on earth, most of us, I suppose, are downright greedy. Nothing wrong with that! That’s what put a man on the moon. And what cured polio and all sorts of good stuff.” 

The giant Worblastic Filtermeister tilted one of his heads to the left and one to the right. He regarded the earthling, also known as Joe, with a quizzical dozen eyes. “I’m no expert on earth species and culture and so on. So many galaxies; so many planets. But how many billions do you think Jonas Salk made on the polio vaccine?”

“I don’t know. I’m not much good at trivia. Can we get on to my assignment? Time is money, they say. And, I did make a lot of money on earth. I’m already at the top of the pyramid of earth species so … what’s next?” Joe, the earthling, shrugged his dual shoulders and scanned the eyes before him. It was weird trying to make eye-contact with a twelve-eyed being. “Do I get to be CEO of a major multinational? Or are we going all the way to a God or something?” 

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“You think earthlings are the top species? Oh, Lord, there are so many misconceptions in that. Oh, my. My oh my,” said the Filtermeister. “I thought we could chat a bit, but you are in a hurry.” 

When you watch another earthling roll their eyes, it can be mildly disorientating. But when the eyes rolling in front of you are each as large as a basketball and there are twelve of them going in various directions — ! For Joe, it was nauseating. He could not watch. He just had to look down at his feet. His shoes looked despicably dirty. Where had he been? Wait. It isn’t just the shoes. What the hell is going on here, he thought. He felt as though he were shrinking. He yelled out, “Where am I going? Am I a god now? I’d be good at that! I tell people what to do all the time. Isn’t that the essence of a god? To be the boss?” As Joe spoke, he tried to yell louder and louder, but his voice continued to weaken and whine up to a higher pitch. At last, he couldn’t even recognize his own voice. It sounded teeny and … metallic. 

Joe had a sudden urge to dig a hole. He had no idea why, but he did; the urge was powerful. He began to look around for a shovel but saw only a forest of giant grasses all about him. He was surrounded by smells he barely recognized. Grass. Yes, but what was that one? Snail? And ant trail? And, oh, Joe thought that swallowtail caterpillar smells delicious! From far above, there was thunder. Or, no, it was a voice. The Filtermeister! For a moment Joe recalled, he had been an earthling talking with a Filtermeister, a Filtermeister who would decide his next ‘gig’ as he put it. What was he saying?

“Nothing! No billions at all,” thundered the Worblastic Filtermeister. “Do you really think everyone who worked on the Space Program worked as hard and as long as they did just to make money?” 

Joe heard these sounds and each of the sounds echoed to a meaning. But these meanings were far away. Far, far away like church bells two towns over which required a cold and favorable wind and even then you weren’t sure you really heard them. And what did they have to do with the business at hand, which was to dig a hole and pronto. And I have no shovel! But wait! What’s a shovel? Joe glanced toward his feet and saw that all of them had built-in shovels. How cool! I am amazing! And, though I may be tiny, I am strong as steel! OMG! In a flash it seemed, a nice cool dark cavity had appeared, carved out by the — by me! My ancestors. They gave me these legs. Cool! Nice work. But, I need a door! 

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Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Soon, Joe lay still at the bottom of his small hidie-hole and waited. Good God, have I ever been this hungry before? For a moment, Joe remembered again the Filtermeister. Oh, yes, he had been given this wonderful life because he had been such a good human. Good karma. I told him I was greedy and so I am. It feels quite natural for me. I will eat that entire caterpillar! I deserve this life of luxury! Wait! Wait! I hear it coming! He tore open the shutters and threw up the sash, as it were. In a split second he had sunk his giant fangs into the side of the caterpillar. Oh, my GOD this is delicious. Somehow, it’s even more fun because of all the squirming! What is that? Some ebony-winged beast is trying to steal my caterpillar. “Leave it alone! It’s mine! I got here first! I don’t need to share my kill with anyone!” 

Too late, Joe realized that the beasts goal was not to steal the caterpillar but to hurt him. That’s not much of a sting, he thought. Wait till I get my mandibles on her. Joe slung his body forward like a catapult  — except  — nothing happened! He tried to wave his frontmost arms. Nothing! What strange magic was this? It seemed like such a minor wound. Joe tried every muscle in his body but couldn’t move a thing. 

She took a strong stance, put two legs shamelessly on his side and flipped him over on his back. Now, the bastard was getting ready to sting me again, thought Joe. He steeled himself. OW! That hurt worse than the first one. Another! Oh, god. This went on for some time. At last, that sorry chapter in his life was over. She stopped stinging. She looked quizzically at him, compound eyes to compound eyes. She ran her forelegs over her mandibles and licked them suggestively. She began buzzing her wings. She arose like an angel of death. 

Hopefully, the poison will wear off soon, Joe thought, and I’ll go back to eating those luscious caterpillars. Out of nowhere, this ran through Joe’s mind: “I survived the crash of 2008 and I’ll survive this.” What on earth does that even mean, he thought, but it made him feel better for a few days. He kept telling himself that the paralysis would wear off. Every few minutes, he would find himself thinking that this would be the minute when he recovered. But it wasn’t. And each moment, he forgot that he had had his hopes up the previous moment. For a solid week, he convinced himself that he’d look back to those painful stings as the worst part of a very long and happy life.

Then — they hatched. All of them. Within minutes of each other. They were greedy. Oh, yes, they were greedy.

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Sadly, the stinging definitely wasn’t the worst part of Joe’s life. Not by quite a bit, in fact. The mysterious flying lady with the whirring wings had not meant to hurt him with her stings. She was merely depositing her eggs inside his body. When they hatched, they began to devour him from the inside out, carefully avoiding the truly vital organs that would end his life. For it was fresh, living flesh that they greedily desired. Every pain fiber in his body screamed nonstop. The poison kept his limbs completely still. But the poison did nothing to mute the constant scream of his pain. Joe could only scream the one word: GREED! Endlessly.

Joe looked back on those painful stings as the best part of a very long and excruciating life. He tried to call back the winged terror. “Please, he wanted to say. Sting me again. Anything’s better than this.” But Joe couldn’t talk. He couldn’t move at all. And the wasp wouldn’t have been interested.

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———————————-

Author Page on Amazon 

The link below is to a work of “pure fiction” however — the protagonists and their “back stories” are true. This is a story that takes place in a nearby but parallel universe.

https://petersironwood.wordpress.com/2017/07/28/if-only/

Essays on America: Sexual Fantasies for Political Gain?

23 Wednesday Oct 2019

Posted by petersironwood in America, politics, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Impeachment, politics, psychology

Sex. 

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That’s the missing puzzle piece. Oh, sure, you may be saying to yourself, but which puzzle?

In order to explain that, I shall have to back up a bit. Let’s go back to early November, 2016. I have to admit that I was shocked that more than a few hundred people in America would support Trump. 

Over time, I’ve come to realize that people support Trump for a number of different reasons including: 

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  1. They’ve replaced their (difficult to live up to) Christianity with Trumpism which instead actually celebrates the “sins” of Christianity. They don’t support Trump despite the fact that he grabs women by the privates, is unfaithful, swears, ducked the military through fraud, made his money through fraud, or that he lies through his teeth constantly. They support Trump precisely because of these things. 
  2. Some may believe they are on a “team” with Trump and it would be disloyal to switch teams no matter what he does. Of course, a look at Trump’s actual behavior makes it obvious that he feels zero loyalty. “Loyalty” never crosses his mind except that he knows it’s a button he can sometimes push to get compliance from some people. 
  3. Some substantial number of folks don’t think politicians really ever do much that actually impacts their lives. Red, Green, or Blue — it’s all hot air. Mostly, they just drone on about stuff. But Trump? He’s fun to watch! 
  4. Of course, some do support him because they don’t just excuse his racism; they are simpatico with his racism. Or, his misogyny, or his xenophobia, or his homophobia. Or, whatever the hate target du jour is. 
  5. Among the extremely wealthy and powerful, there may be a handful who actually calculate that Trump will be good for them personally. They already have all the power and wealth they could possibly need but that makes them rather bored. So, they play a game to keep themselves amused. That game costs millions of lives. But that just makes it more fun. And, in the service of doing well in that game, they see Trump as an ally.

But even with all of that, there’s a missing segment. And, none of these, or even all of them together quite explains the ecstatic and joyful pain that I see on so many faces among his crowds. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t have anything against joy. And, many politicians have enthusiastic crowds, but this is of a different character. True enough, some just stare blankly ahead. But some have a kind of fire in their eyes and it is not the fire of patriotism. Hold that image and let’s turn for a moment to a seemingly unrelated question. 

adult anger angry angry face

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Why would so many conservative politicians rail so noisily against gay rights, gay marriage, and — in short — gays? Of course, many of them who scream the loudest actually turn out to be gay, but that’s another story. What if the reason they hate gay behavior is that they want the energy of male attraction — including homoerotic energy — to be funneled in a different direction – toward submission of a social/sexual nature – to the next person up the chain of command? 

For some people, this kind of subservience makes human relationships much less baffling. I must kiss up to the person I’m under but I get to screw over all the people below me. That’s what they love about a hierarchy. It’s a sado-masochistic orgy laid atop the work that must actually get done. Not so many years ago, industrialized societies mainly had very gender-segregated job sites. The men had their homosexual hierarchies and the women had theirs. 

photo of a person kneeling in front of book

Photo by Abdullah Ghatasheh on Pexels.com

In fact, this aspect of our society is so pervasive, even to this day, that we regularly refer to acts of aggression and dominance with words that are meant to define sexual behavior. “Oh, yeah?! Well, F*** Y**!” This is really rather perverted when you think about it. Sex evolved to speed up diversity and ensure the survival of the next generation. It’s kind of a sacred. In the best case scenario, it’s a mutual, shared, beautiful thing as well. So, why hurl about sexual words as though sex is hurtful and aggressive? 

Because for some people, it’s all about power. That, for them is sex and the proper way to have sex is also for one person to have complete power. Such folks could be impassioned by a vision that includes all sorts of perversions that the dream of being powerful enough to impose on someone else. 

aerial photo of high rise building

Photo by Matias Di Meglio on Pexels.com

This dynamic is not just with wild-eyed rally attenders. It’s also true of the professional politicians. According to this hypothesis, Mitch and Lindsey don’t just submit to Trump’s craziness because they are afraid he’ll call them names or ruin their re-election chances. They actually get off on being subservient to a tyrant.  In much the same way, Trump doesn’t only submit to Putin because Putin’s got dirt on him. Trump enjoys it! It satisfies his Dick-tater envy. Putin, you see, gets to do anything he wants. If he had a friend procure 13 year old girls, nobody would dare cross him about it. If journalist tell the truth about Putin, they might just wind up dead. Trump pines for the day that AmeriKKKa will be completely under his “thumb.” He doesn’t want anyone to “stand up to him.” Everyone should bow down and bend over. Everyone should be on their knees. And, for some people, the thought of this is actually exciting. Many others find it completely disgusting, but that just makes it more exciting for those who are into that sort of thing. 

Those who find it disgusting fail to see that Trump’s obesity and lack of character and shallowness and ugliness and cruelty do not detract from his appeal; they add to it. If he were young and handsome, like Trudeau, say, it wouldn’t increase his base or increase the passion they feel. It would diminish it. That’s the “sex” piece of the puzzle. 

It’s not actual sex of course. But that doesn’t make it any less powerful. The multi-billion dollar porn industry in the USA is alive and well. Estimates vary wildly about annual revenues, but they vary from 7 to 97 billion dollars. Of course, sexual fantasy and innuendo are rampant throughout much of the larger 1/4 trillion dollars of overall advertising. So, just because the sexual fantasies don’t play out in reality doesn’t mean they can’t be powerful. 

advertising architecture attraction attractive

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

You wouldn’t be surprised to learn that this plays a part in the passion that some fans have for rock stars such as the Beatles. They were talented! But they were also rich and famous. For the most part, people would fantasize because they found the Beatles (or sometimes one of them) attractive on multiple dimensions. But when people see themselves as a failure, someone unattractive may seem to be someone they are more deserving of. If someone has deep guilt, then, being forced to engage in sex with someone unattractive and mean is more degrading and therefore more satisfying. For some, being humiliated or humiliating someone else is a turn-on.

Incidentally, you’re free to have any fantasies you want, sexual or otherwise. You are free, in our country, to go to Putin’s Puppet’s rallies and fantasize about being his slave. I don’t care. But be aware that on-lookers know what’s behind the chanting and screaming.

 

On a happier note, here are my hopes. 

  1. Some folks will find something deep within themselves — perhaps God — and realize they are fighting on the side of the devil. They will renounce Trumpism and go back to being Christian. 
  2. Folks will review all the people that Trump has betrayed. Then, they will say to themselves, “Gee, if he’s betrayed all those people maybe he won’t stand by me even though I went to a rally and bought a red hat.” 
  3. Folks will tire of the Trump Show and find something less boring. It’s like living next to the El. At first, you think you’ll never sleep again. But gradually you get used to the noise or the lies or the treason and it’s less entertaining every day.
  4. Some folks will read my wonderful essay on labelism and immediately shafts of golden sunshine will stream down through the cathedral windows and they will see how literally silly it is to judge people totally on their category.
  5. Very rich folks will realize that if they act on the wrong side of saving our ecosystem, they will lose. 
  6. I am hopeful that folks in the base will find actual romantic love and won’t feel such a strong need for fantasy. Failing that, perhaps they’ll find other fantasies that are more satisfying; e.g. —- ?

——————————————

Author Page on Amazon

https://petersironwood.wordpress.com/2017/01/09/trumpism-is-a-new-religion/

https://petersironwood.com/2019/09/19/essays-on-america-at-least-hes-our-monster/

https://petersironwood.com/2019/02/17/you-bet-your-life/

https://petersironwood.com/2019/07/11/essays-on-america-labelism/

https://petersironwood.com/2019/09/10/essays-on-america-the-game/

 

The Truth about Clouds and Gods

17 Thursday Oct 2019

Posted by petersironwood in America, politics, psychology, story, Veritas

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

belief, faith, legends, myths, psychology, religion, truth, Veritas

Eagle Eyes awoke first. She smiled at the cool mist that enveloped the edge of the forest where she and Lion Slayer had bedded down for the night. They agreed that stopping, and eventually sleep, would be more prudent than pushing their weary bodies further possibly causing injury in the dark journey over unfamiliar ground. Eagle Eyes loved clouds and especially the ones that came right down to you. She smiled again. 

mountain forest

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Ever since she had been a little girl of four winters, Eagle Eyes had spent much time looking skyward. Partly, she loved watching birds soar, dart, turn, glide, bank, and dive. Understanding how the shape of their wings related to their rainbow palette of actions — that first insight about form and function is what began her fascination with shapes. But Eyes of Eagle also enjoyed watching the clouds move, form, reform, transform. They formed dragons, horses, people, deer, and so on. She imagined she could fly up to visit the clouds so she could discover what they were made of. 

One day, when Eagle Eyes was about seven, she had mentioned her cloud obsession to She Who Saves Many Lives. The tribe elder smiled and knelt down in front of the child, Eagle Eyes. 

“Now, my dear. What do you think clouds are made of?” 

Eagle Eyes had said, “She Who Saves Many Lives, I do not know. They look a bit like the fluff that blows off the cattail. They look a little like the seeds of milkweed and dandelion as well. Well, not the seeds really but the wings of the seeds that allow them to fly. But sometimes, I imagine they are more like dough before it is cooked. Sometimes, when mother makes tea, the steam that rises from the tea reminds me of clouds.”

dandelion nature sunlight

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She Who Saves Many Lives had smiled again. “You do have quite an imagination. What if I told you that one of those guesses is exactly right? At least to the best of my knowledge. How could you see which one is correct?”

Eagle Eyes had thought as hard as she possibly could. “Well, I think I like the one where they are dough the best because that would feed the whole village!” 

baking pastry dough bakery

Photo by Life Of Pix on Pexels.com

She Who Saves Many Lives had nodded. “I suppose that might be the most fun to imagine. And, if it were actually true, it would be wonderful. Which do you think is most likely the true state of affairs?” 

Eagle Eyes thought about each of them in turn. “I think it’s like the steam of the tea. I’ve watched how the cattail fluff blows and most of it ends up on the ground. Which is what the cattail wants anyway. So it can grow a new baby plant. And the same for dandelion and milkweed. It never goes up over the mountains like clouds do.”

white clouds under blue sky

Photo by Darius Krause on Pexels.com

“I don’t see why there would be dough in the sky. I was helping once and dropped the dough on the ground. People were not happy. How could it be way up there? It falls! I know!”

“Well, Eagle Eyes, you are exactly right. And, though you cannot fly up to the clouds, sometimes, the clouds come right down to visit us!”

“That would be fun!” exclaimed Eagle Eyes. “But I still don’t see why I can’t have the one about the dough. I mean, it’s not really true, but we could say it is and it would make people happy to know all that dough is up there in case everyone got hungry.” 

She Who Saves Many Lives sighed loudly. “Why do you suppose the Veritas search for nuts and greens? Why do you suppose we hunt and fish?” 

“She Who Saves Many Lives, everyone knows that! So we can eat! All animals have to eat!”  

The tribe elder nodded and asked the girl, “That’s right. What if everyone decided they didn’t need to hunt. They didn’t need to fish. They didn’t need to find acorns or hickory nuts. They could just take a big chunk of dough out of the sky to feed everyone’s belly? If everyone believed that all clouds were dough, they might not do any fishing and hunting and gathering and starve instead. It is always thus with the truth. It is fine to have pretty stories, but don’t mislead people into thinking the pretty story is actually a true story. This is why the Veritas value truth so highly.” 

“I see,” Eagle Eyes had said brightly. “Can we play hide-and-seek now?” 

“Eagle Eyes! Eagle Eyes! Are you all right?” Lion Slayer had awakened and now stood staring down at the blank expression of Eagle Eyes. 

“What?!” exclaimed Eagle Eyes. “Oh. Sorry. I was daydreaming. Let’s get ready and go.” She looked about her and noticed that the fog had dissolved. 

“Daydreaming about what, Eagle Eyes?” inquired Lion Slayer. 

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll tell you the story once we are making good time getting back. We need to deliver our news to the tribe.” 

Soon, they were on their way. At first, they walked, then, they jogged. As their sore joints and muscles warmed up, they began to jog faster. Eagle Eyes related her reverie to Lion Slayer. 

He took it in silently for a time. Finally, when they sat for a break, he said, “We also value the truth highly. But there are higher truths that must be believed. So, we believe all things were created in a flash. All this” — Lion Slayer swept his hand around the grassy field — “was created in an eye blink by the One and Mighty.”

Eagle Eyes removed her moccasins, stretched her toes and massaged her feet. “How do you know about this instant creation? What I see around me is usually slow change. But sometimes change happens quickly. I see that too. A tree may grow slowly for many years and then be stuck by lightening and its nature changes from a living growing thing to a dead hulk. And, the fire that nearly killed us…that was a fast change! In fact, I’m not sure I ever properly thanked you. If you hadn’t found a way out, I probably would have perished.” Eagle Eyes shivered. 

Lion Tamer shrugged. “We were both lucky. Or, the One and Mighty saved us.” 

“Whatever the reason,” said Eagle Eyes, “I am happy to be alive.” Eagle Eyes rolled to a spot from which she could rest her feet on the trunk of a tree. “Ah, that feels good. Try it. It will let us get going again more quickly. Here. There is a spot beside me.” She patted the ground.

Lion Tamer arose and walked a few paces closer to Eagle Eyes. He glanced at her beautiful, well-muscled thighs. He decided to stare up at the treetops instead. They both looked up at the canopy of green above. Lion Tamer found his eyes drifting back to Eagle Eyes. “Perhaps we should get going. I am eager to be reunited with Hudah.” 

“Yes,” mused Eagle Eyes, “and I with Fleet of Foot. Although we may also be hastening the time of discovering we are the only survivors of that fire.” 

Feet still in the air against the tree trunk, Lion Slayer wiggled his feet. “The One and Mighty will protect them. You will see.” 

“I hope you’re right. Does the One and Mighty always do as you desire?” asked Eagle Eyes. 

“No. But the One and Mighty always does the right thing,” replied Lion Slayer. 

“Always? How can you know that?” 

“I have faith. It is our way. Our tales are handed down from tribal leader, father to son, since the beginning of time. So, we know them to be true.” 

“True? The Veritas have tales too. We have a story, for instance, about how language began. I think there is some truth in it. People may have begun by making noises of animals for fun, or to reassure them, or to make hunting them easier. But eventually, people used the noise of an animal as a word for the animal. But I don’t imagine every word of the legend is true. And, we have the sound of zzz in our language but you do not. Could it be we have more bees around? I don’t know.” 

“You speak of tales and legends, but what we pass down is only the truth. Anyway, we should go.” 

“Yes. But you believe all the legends? I heard many of them while visiting.  I mean, do you believe it’s really true about the crystal mountain and the all-killing mountain of fire? You don’t think these are metaphors but literal truths?” 

finalpanel1

Lion Slayer did not hesitate. “They are true. All of them.” 

“We should go.” Eagle Eyes swung her legs back down to the ground and scrambled nimbly to her feet. “That feels better!”

Lion Slayer did the same. “You’re right! I’ve never used that technique before. We don’t have so many trees handy as in these lands.” 

They set off again, first walking and then jogging. After a few hours they came to rocky lands and followed a small trail single file to the crest of a hill. As they approached the crest, Eagle Eyes slowed to a walk and then got down on all fours and crept to the top so that she could espy any possible enemies before they spied her. She saw, not an enemy, but an old friend that nearly made her jump up incautiously and shout for joy. 

4B6A1004-D8CC-4D79-BD63-4AC265A4BD06

———————————————

Author Page on Amazon

Poetry & Short Stories

The Veritas Myth about Language

The Legend of the Orange Man

The Start of Book One: The Myths of the Veritas

The Start of Book Two: The Myths of the Veritas

———————————————

Introduction to a Pattern Language for Collaboration 

Index to the Pattern Language for Collaboration 

First of Three Essays on the Pros and Cons of Artificial Intelligence

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