• About PeterSIronwood

petersironwood

~ Finding, formulating and solving life's frustrations.

petersironwood

Tag Archives: fantasy

Myths of the Veritas: The Fifth Ring of Empathy

25 Sunday Jan 2026

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

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

accuracy, beauty, diversity, empathy, fantasy, fiction, leadership, legend, life, myth, peace, planning, politics, power, religion, speed, story, style, truth, USA, Veritas, writing

IMG_4324

The day after the Prophesy Dream of She-Who-Saves-Many-Lives dawned clear and clean. The air smelled as sweet as ever and sweeter still to the shaman who had dreamt of a world of dirty air. The clear morning sun rainbowed on raindrops on every bush. Trees sported their first leaves of spring which are as various in colors as those of autumn but because the leaves are yet babies, She-Who-Saves-Many-Lives could see much more deeply into the land about her. It filled her heart with gladness even more deeply on this spring morn. She decided that she would share her dream with all of the Veritas, but only after she took the time to craft the telling so that each would receive the gift as she had — the gift of great gratitude. For she well knew that experiencing that dead white world as she had made her redouble her appreciation for the real world but that simply telling others about her dream would not be enough to gift them the same great gratitude. It would take time to decide how best to share her gift. 

Meanwhile, She-Who-Saves-Many-Lives walked to the main village to see who among “The Six Who See Through Animal Eyes” was already at work on their various tasks. The eyes of the shaman, though old, remained clear and her mind remained retentive so that as she passed through the village greeting this person and that person from among the Veritas, she observed many things both small and large. And, among the small things she noticed were a number of crushed ants. She looked around for Pond Mud but he was nowhere near. On a hunch, she decided to visit the place where she had shown Pond Mud the strength of ants. As always among the Veritas, and as she had been trained all her life, her footsteps were as silent as those of bobcat. Before she reached the clearing with the broken cabin, she could hear the angry voice of Pond Mud. And though the eyes of She-Who-Saves-Many-Lives were as clear as ever, she well knew that her hearing was not so good as that of a youth such as Pond Mud. As she approached, she could hear the tone of voice of Pond Mud become sweet and she greatly suspected that he had heard her coming despite her silent way of walking. 

He met her at the entrance to the clearing and spoke first, “Ah, She-Who-Saves-Many-Lives, it is good to see you. I am headed back to the village. I was just trying to learn more about ants though I well understand that I am no longer in contention for another ring of empathy. Such learning is still a good thing. Anyone can see that.” 

“I am glad to hear you say that. The statement is correct. Anyone can see that. Though some choose not to see. I hear that you have become still better friends with Alt-R. Is this so?” 

“Yes, She-Who-Saves-Many-Lives, we have been training together to become still better hunters. And, that skill, as you well know, also requires seeing through the eyes of animals. May I accompany you back to the village and I will tell you something of what I have learned?”

She-Who-Saves-Many-Lives wished to examine the clearing but decided it could be better done later while Pond Mud busied himself with other tasks. So, she returned to the village still feeling great gratitude for the fullness of the life around her. 

During this day, she observed the Six-Who-See-With-Animal-Eyes at their various tasks as well as much more. When Alt-R and Pond Mud, along with several other hunters, went to practice spear throwing, she returned to the clearing. Alas, her hunch had been correct. Pond Mud had not simply been observing ants; he had been systematically killing them. Even more disturbing, many had been tortured. And, even more disturbing than those actions, had been the dissembling of Pond Mud. He had known what she would like to have heard — that he had taken her lessons to heart. Her mood soured for this was the sort of deception that could destroy a village or indeed an entire tribe. It would have to be curbed very soon and most likely shared with the entire tribe. She held out some hope however, that the heart of Pond Mud could yet be turned to good. For if not, he would certainly be exiled, a rare and severe punishment which invariably lead to  a short and lonely life. 

fullsizeoutput_192b

As the delicate beginnings of spring gave way to the fullness of another summer, the tasks of the Six-Who-See-With-Animal-Eyes gave way from planning to building. Soon, the time came for all to recount their learning. When She-Who-Saves-Many-Lives saw that this was so, she called each of The Six to her as one. She asked each pair in turn to describe their experiences for she wanted to judge not only the maker but also the mentor as well as how they recalled events differently, as people do, and how such differences were resolved. The shaman also knew that each of The Six could learn from all these experiments in trying to use the way of how-to of another.

The first to report on their experience together were the hammock-builder, Fleet-of-Foot and his mentor, Trunk-of-Tree. According to Trunk-of-Tree, he first tried to show Fleet-of-Foot how he would make a hammock with great thought as to its longevity and strength so that it would last against time and some misuse. Fleet-of-Foot had resisted such advice and had immediately begin building the hammock. Six such hammocks had Fleet-of-Foot constructed over three days time and each such hammock had collapsed.

photo of hammock

Photo by Voicu Oara on Pexels.com

 

Fleet-of-Foot admitted that these hammocks had broken but he claimed it was because Trunk-of-Tree had given him faulty materials and bad advice. At long last, in frustration, Fleet-of-Foot had challenged Trunk-of-Tree to show him how he would build a hammock and instead, Trunk-of-Tree had spent an entire morning making tools, and laying things out, and not even starting on the hammock. Fleet-of-Foot grew impatient because obviously, Trunk-of-Tree had had no intention of showing Fleet-of-Foot how to build a hammock. When Fleet-of-Foot came back a few hours later, the hammock was finished. This they agreed upon, and as to its sturdiness, but Fleet-of-Foot was sure that Trunk-of-Tree had cheated by getting others to help him make his hammock. Otherwise, argued Fleet-of-Foot, how could slow Trunk-of-Tree make a hammock in a day when fast Fleet-of-Foot finished no hammocks in three days? 

She-Who-Saves-Many-Lives had much to say about this experiment, but she held her tongue and first asked the others from among The Six what they thought. After some long silence, Shade Walker said this, “I have known both all my life and have never known Trunk-of-Tree to cheat or lie. Fleet-of-Foot is fast; of this, there is no question. But he also sometimes rushes into things so quickly that he ends up taking more time. I have myself only made three hammocks so I am not so expert as Trunk-of-Tree and perhaps mine are not quite so sturdy but they were all finished in one day.” 

She-of-Many-Paths spoke next. “I have never made a hammock. But I have been listening to many expert craftsman in our village and every such has cautioned me to take the time to plan the work carefully. Whether it is making spears, making spearheads, making pottery, or baking bread, it is critical to ensure that you have a good plan; that you have chosen your materials well; that you have prepared and tested at each step along the way. So, I can well believe that Too-Fleet-of-Foot could charge off along the wrong path six times in three days while Trunk-of-Tree could take a more deliberate path to create a hammock in one day.” 

Easy Tears knew it was his turn to speak but did not wish to offend anyone. “I cannot really tell because I was not a witness to these recounted events. I believe that each told us of their own experiences as they now recall them. And, ultimately, both were successful because now there is a hammock that was not there before and Trunk-of-Tree served as mentor and judge.” 

She-Who-Saves-Many-Lives nodded to Eyes-of-Eagle who spoke carefully, molding the shape of her argument and the shape of each sentence and each word. “I find that trying to create something in the way of another how-to is a difficult task. So, it was with Trunk-of-Tree and Fleet-of-Foot. Fleet-of-Foot grew too quickly impatient and rather than trying to build in the way of Trunk-of-Tree instead built in his own way of how-to which was not sufficient to the task. Rather than learn another, more careful way from someone who knows and uses the careful way, he insisted on sticking with his own way though that way did not work. However, Trunk-of-Tree, though he took his time with the hammock, was likewise impatient with Fleet-of-Foot and ended up building the hammock himself which was not his assigned task.”   

{Translator’s Note}: In the original, these recountings, have apparently been preserved in great detail. Though scholars differ, I tend to believe the details are correct despite their being passed down orally because the Veritas developed many methods to ensure the accuracy of their traditional learning stories and because the details of their skills were vital to their survival. Since most modern readers have little little experience weaving baskets or making a hide tent, I omit much of those details in my summaries. Instead, I focus on the lessons learned and the decisions of She-Who-Saves-Many-Lives. 

Now, as was her way, She-Who-Saves-Many-Lives asked Fleet-of-Foot and Trunk-of-Tree whether they had found any further learning while listening to the comments of his compatriots. 

Fleet-of-Foot immediately began, “Wonderful comments. I learned much. However, the important thing is that I was asked to produce a hammock in the way of how-to of Trunk-of-Tree and such a hammock was indeed constructed. I caused that to happen by my actions so I believe I completed my task. Fast is good. But sometimes, the fastest way to accomplish something is to have someone else who is even faster do the job. Either way, faster is better.” 

IMG_3510

She-Who-Saves-Many-Lives stared at Fleet-of-Foot and sighed. Still, she did not speak. Instead, she turned to Trunk-of-Tree. The latter’s face flushed as he said, “Fleet-of-Foot is indeed impatient, but so was I. My job was to mentor Fleet-of-Foot in the way of how-to for strength and longevity yet after three days, I gave up and made the hammock myself. I believed that if I demonstrated to him that I could make the hammock more quickly by being careful and planning each step that Fleet-of-Foot would learn the lesson. I made this judgement based on my own way of how-to. I would have learned the lesson this way. But this is not the way of learning of Fleet-of-Foot. He is too impatient to learn in this way. He left even before I finished; in fact, barely after I had made preparations for the work. He believes I encouraged or cajoled others to help me, which I did not do, because I failed to teach him the slow and methodical way of how-to. So, I too failed in my task.” 

She-Who-Saves-Many-Lives again turned to “Fleet of Foot” and prompted, “And…?” Fleet-of-Foot answered thusly, “Trunk-of-Tree may have failed but I did not. We should see who else besides me deserves the next ring of empathy.” 

She-Who-Saves-Many-Lives chuckled. “I have dreamed of such a one as you, Fleet-of-Foot, and when the time comes, I will indeed, shrink our group as is befitting, as well as sharing my dream. I would now observe, however, that Trunk-of-Tree has shared a great learning for all of us. What would have sufficed for him to have learned the lesson of patience did not work for you. On the other hand, you have shown no learning whatever. The tree of your learning has not added a single branch or leaf so far as I can see. Fleet-of-Foot, you wished to win a race; lost the race; then showed no interest in discovering how you could have won the race. This is the way of “Fast-at-First-and-Slow-at-Last.” 

So, in turn, did each of the pairs recount their experiences and learnings. 

girl s orange dried fruits

Photo by Min An on Pexels.com

Trunk-of-Tree made a basket very slowly and carefully. Yet, no-one wanted to trade very much for such a basket; not nearly enough to satisfy Trunk-of-Tree’s desire for compensation for so much time spent. Easy-Tears had been quite content to watch the strong hands of Trunk-of-Tree working the reeds over and under and through. It had been quite mesmerizing. She had said almost nothing during the making, but when Trunk-of-Tree found no-one willing to trade much for his basket, she showed Trunk-of-Tree how the addition of a some brightly colored dyes in a pleasing pattern changed such luck and how such additions made his sturdy basket much more desirable in the eyes of the clan. Trunk-of-Tree had been quite surprised at this common reaction. He had thought the purpose of a basket was to hold things and this goal he had accomplished quite well. However, Easy-Tears had shown him how just a little extra work, though not making the basket stronger or more functional, could greatly increase how badly others wanted such a useful basket. 

Shade-Walker and Eagle-Eyes recounted their adventures in jug making. At first, Shade Walker had mainly loved the feel of the wet clay spinning through his hands. With the hands of Eagle Eyes guiding his, however, he learned to enjoy the sight of the evolving shape as well. In the end, both had gone on to make a series of beautiful jugs. Eagle Eyes had ended up loving the feel of the wet clay, although what she had loved the most was the feel of Shade Walker’s fingers, she admitted. 

Eyes-of-Eagle explained that she found if very difficult to make a dream catcher under the tutelage of Fleet-of-Foot since she herself had wanted the end result to be beautiful and Fleet-of-Foot kept encouraging her to proceed more and more quickly. However, as Fleet-of-Foot at last perceived that his constant encouragement toward ever more speed made Eyes-of-Eagle both more error prone and more testy with him, he instead encouraged her by telling her that she was amazingly fast. Everyone could see that Fleet-of-Foot was again interested in speed; however, in this case, his interest had been more in speed of becoming more intimate with Eyes-of-Eagle than in the speed of making a dream catcher. 

background beautiful cloud clouds

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

She-of-Many-Paths told of how she had wanted to make a tent for Shade Walker. Shade Walker had liked watching her and had asked if she were enjoying the process of making the tent. She had blushed — and had said that she was very much enjoying herself. After they get over their awkwardness, they had talked about the various ways of how-to and had decided together that being grounded and having a satisfying process are very much akin. Though these are different ways of how-to, one helps provide the other, they had surmised. This they shared with The Six and the shaman and all had agreed. 

Upon recounting and subsequent questioning, all learned that Easy-Tears had wanted the travois to be popular and had difficulty even understanding what She-of-Many-Paths meant by constructing a travois so that it encouraged a “grounded” view of life. Easy-Tears had been watching She-of-Many-Paths and Shade-Walker for some time however, and decided that what She-of-Many-Paths really wanted was Shade-Walker. Easy-Tears suggested that if She-of-Many-Paths wanted Shade-Walker, it would be best for everyone to be done quickly with the travois project so that She-of-Many-Paths could spend more time with Shade-Walker who had lately been spending much time with Eagle-Eyes, their long fingers inter-twined with those in the wet clay which they shaped together. In return, Easy-Tears had promised to teach She-of-Many-Paths the path to popularity and thereby to further increase the interest with which Shade-Walker would view She-of-Many-Paths. 

At the end of day, after every such recounting and dialogue, She-Who-Saves-Many-Lives quietly took out a small, folded deerskin. This deerskin held a number of rings of hemp woven into a complex, repeating, yet ever-changing pattern. “The time has come,” she began, “to chose which among all the Veritas is ready to take on the next challenge. All of you have done well and should now be more of a contributor than ever to the Veritas. I have challenged you in many ways to see and feel as others do. In this, you have all shown much skill in the ways of empathy.”

“As you know, each of us is a small leaf on the very large Tree of Life, a tree that has been growing and expanding through all of earth. We are all connected: the people who are the Veritas, other people, other animals, every bird, every plant. We are all connected. With empathy, you may be able to tune in to the tree itself. As you have observed, when we sing and play music and dance, the self-same beat is in everyone and every drum vibrates. If two strings are of the same length, and one is plucked the other may also vibrate. The life in all is in all.

“Learning to tune in to the music, to the beat of another person, or to the great Tree of Life is a great gift to be greatly encouraged. However, you must understand that this is the Tree of Life itself that you are tuning into in order to understand others. When you do such tuning in, you must do so for the good of others, for this great Tree of Life. If instead, you tune in only to serve your own ends, you are using the Tree of Life in a way that destroys the tree itself. Empathy is a way to make us whole. It should never be used to divide us. 

IMG_5295

“Fleet-of-Foot, you had some ability to understand the way of Trunk-of-Tree. This knowledge you used to subvert the task at hand. You therefore emerged from the womb of this great opportunity for you to have learned patient working instead unchanged. You also used your understanding of Eyes-of-Eagle, not to help her learn other ways, but to flatter her to try to get her to become closer to you. Ultimately, this way of using empathy always pushes others away. Some may understand quickly and some may take years. But ultimately, tuning in to the Tree of Life in order to bend it to your own purpose will fail for you. It may also, as shown in my dream, cause the Tree of Life itself to fail. 

“Easy-Tears, you were honest and helpful in your work with Trunk-of-Tree. You helped him to understand in a deep way that the surface beauty of something, while it may not be of much value to him, is nonetheless of value to others. In this, you did well. However, you tried to use your knowledge of the affection that She-of-Many-Paths has for Shade-Walker to try to get her to accept your lack of being able to understand the way of how-to of grounding every action. She-of-Many-Paths saw through this ruse and told us honestly of what happened. Yours was also a misuse of empathy. You were not primarily interested in helping She-of-Many-Paths as you claimed, but were more interested in getting your task finished. Moreover, if you really understood deeply Trunk-of-Tree and She-of-Many-Paths, you would see that a surface popularity is not what draws them together. Rather, they are being drawn together by the Tree of Life itself; e.g., their own future children.

“Please understand. Your own ways of how-to are each valuable. And you are all skilled in empathy. For now, I bestow the Fourth and Fifth Rings of Empathy on only those who tune in to the great Tree of Life to help the great Tree of Life. If I become convinced at some future time that others have also learned this great lesson, they too may receive the Fourth and Fifth Rings. For now, please come to me to receive your rings for you have earned them.”

Trunk-of-Tree, Shade-Walker, Eyes-of-Eagles, and She-of-Many-Paths each came in turn, knelt before the shaman and received their double rings. Each such person had much to think about and they walked back to their lodgings in silence.  

IMG_3518

  ——————————————————

Author Page on Amazon

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

Roar, Ocean, Roar

Imagine All the People

The Dance of Billions

The Orange Man

Pattern Language Summary

At Least He’s Our Monster

The First Ring of Empathy

The Second Ring of Empathy

The Third Ring of Empathy

The Fourth Ring of Empathy

Travels with Sadie Teamwork

The Walkabout Diaries How Beautiful and Green

Somewhere a Bird Cries

Corn on the Cob

The Self-Made Man

Math Class: Who Are you?

Myth of the Veritas: The First Ring of Empathy. 

21 Wednesday Jan 2026

Posted by petersironwood in management, psychology, Uncategorized, Veritas

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

competition, contest, empathy, environment, fantasy, fiction, love, myth, politics, shaman, truth, Veritas, writing

Myth of the Veritas: The First Ring of Empathy. 

fullsizeoutput_1a4c

In the heyday of the Veritas, when the people had prospered and spread far beyond the lake of reeds and bubbling streams, yet long before they forgot the field of flowers, there lived among them many who dedicated their lives to learning and teaching. The people of the Veritas sometimes variously called them “Shaman,” or “Wise One,” or “Great Leader.” And among these, one in particular they called, “She Who Saves Many Lives.” They devised this name because of many wise insights she had but also because she literally saved individual lives with her knowledge of healing herbs and ways but also because she helped to save even the lowliest creatures in the forest, field, and stream. Of course, none of the Veritas chose to kill any of the creatures wantonly but only for need. For all of the Veritas saw that the lives of the Veritas all depended on the prosperity of all of life. “She Who Saves Many Lives” went beyond this and developed ways to encourage many of the creatures of forest, field, and stream to be healthy and fruitful. In this way, the Veritas themselves were also healthy and fruitful. 

{Translator’s Note}: Try as I might, I find this part difficult to translate into modern English. I seem hamstrung by our modern notions of “agency” and “responsibility” and “choice.” It wasn’t that the Veritas “decided” it would be in their “long term interests” not to kill creatures for no purpose other than to show that they could. Such actions were out of harmony and out of character with their very existence. Consider the following modern metaphor. People who are gifted musically spend much of their lives improving their skill. The very best of them may be able to play in a symphony orchestra. The whole point of their playing is to be part of the creation/recreation of beautiful music. A flautist in such an orchestra does not “decide” not to make horrid screeching noises rather than participate in making beauty. Theoretically, of course, they could. Or, they could bring fire-crackers and set them off in the middle of the symphony. But why would a person who dedicates their life to making beautiful music do such a thing? In a similar way, insofar as I can tell from artifacts, scholarship, and the entire mythic structure of the Veritas, these people did not consciously “decide” not to wantonly kill their cousins in other parts of the Great Tree of Life for no reason. Any person of the Veritas would gladly want to help the forests, fields, and streams to flourish. However, one of the talents of “She Who Saves Many Lives” was that she apparently saw many new ways to facilitate such flourishing. 

sparks of firecracker

Photo by Suvan Chowdhury on Pexels.com

The other phrase I’m not entirely satisfied with is the name of the Shaman herself. A more literal and more accurate translation of her name would be: “She Who Fosters the Entire Tree of Life with a Focus on Her People but Who is Ever Mindful of the Music of the Entire Tree” I think you can see why I chose the shorter name!

“She Who Saves Many Lives,” though strong and healthy and young, yet foresaw that while the Great Tree of Life would grow and prosper for many, many moons, her individual life would, at some point, come to that same end that awaits all individual lives. Thus it was that she wished to help choose and prepare the next Great Shaman. And thus it was that she devised a series of seven tests. The tests would be carried out in public and any who thought they would like to dedicate their lives to learning and teaching and healing could try their hand at these tests. 

“She Who Saves Many Lives” crafted seven types of beautiful rings. Each type of ring was studded with a different type of beautiful polished stone. Each such ring would be given as a prize to those who passed the tests she devised. Each such type of ring, “She Who Saves Many Lives” called a “Ring of Empathy.” The first type of such rings were known to be made of bronze and each bronze ring sported a crystal of clear calcite. These she made openly and all could see her exquisite craftsmanship. Those who wished to try their skill at the trials came to her before the spring rains began and let her know their intention. Each time another initiate wished to be admitted to the trials, she made another ring. However, she said nothing whatever about the nature of the first trial, nor indeed any of the trials. She created them all in her own mind. When various would-be contestants came to her to watch her work, they tried a number of clever ploys to try to learn the nature of the trial so that they might better prepare themselves. “She Who Saves Many Lives” merely smiled at each such person and wished them good luck. 

IMG_6737

At last the spring rains came and spring flowers bloomed all around the end of the lake of reeds where “She Who Saves Many Lives” made her home when she was not traveling amongst the many villages of the Veritas. At last, the spring rains gave way to the hot dry period. When the new moon first began to show its crescent, it signaled the appointed day of the trial. A dozen came to try their skill in the trial but many more from all the lands of the Veritas came as well in order to see who would prevail. “She Who Saves Many Lives” gave each contestant a small piece of deer hide with a rough map of the area. On each map, the symbol of each of the contestants was designated at a particular nearby and noteworthy place. Each of the participants knew each of these symbols and recognized the places as well, for all people in those days wished and worked to know the location of every tree, path, stream, and boulder. 

{Translator’s Note}: The Veritas, so far as I can tell, did not at this point have what we would call a “written language” but they did make maps, some of which have survived to this day. Many (but by no means all) of the symbols on these maps would be interpretable by modern humans of most cultures. In addition, everyone not only had one or more spoken names, but also had at least one unique symbol. Such symbols typically reflected something of the physical or behavioral aspects of that person and were therefore much easier to remember than most modern names are for us to remember. 

Each contestant was well aware of the symbol for each of the others. Each of the twelve maps were identical and showed the location that each of the twelve contestants was to go to as quickly as possible. Once there, further instructions would be sent by drumbeat. Having the final instructions sent in this way was not only the most practical method of distant communication; it also increased the drama for everyone. 

brown wooden percussion instruments

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

{Translator’s Note}: No-one knows the precise coding for the drumbeat language of the Veritas. I can, however, say with a high degree of certainty that it was nothing like Morse Code. The drumbeats were more like a hierarchical description of the instructions and each series of beats further refined the instructions. In what follows, I try to give some sense of that, but it’s largely a guess as to specifics though the details are unimportant as to the outcome for the participants. The only necessary point is that each contestant understood what the instructions meant.   

Welcome. Contest. Be smart. Be accurate. Be quick. Mark on the map. Numbers. How many do you see? How many do each of you see? Mountaintops. Begin! Run back with your map. Filled with 12 sets of marks. 

In this way, the first contest of the Veritas began. As you can see, although “She Who Saves Many Lives” called this an empathy test, it really required a number of skills in addition to empathy. It required a knowledge of the terrain, good eyesight, the ability to understand a new task quickly, good spatial visualization, and good foot speed.

Within ten minutes of the end of the drumbeats, some of the contestants could be seen entering the outermost ring of the sacred circle, running swiftly with their maps. Soon, all twelve of the contestants had breathlessly handed their maps to “She Who Saves Many Lives” who had so far given no hint as to how many contestants would be entered into the next phase of the contest. All the contestants gathered in a semi-circle around “She Who Saves Many Lives” and at her instruction, everyone in the crowd sang a song of praise for all who had attempted the task. Then, without a word, “She Who Saves Many Lives” bestowed bronze rings adorned with a calcite crystal on the ring fingers of those she deemed worthy to continue on to the next contest. There were ten, who collectively came to be known by the Veritas as “Those Who May See Through the Eyes of Others.” All ten had correctly and perfectly counted, not only the mountaintops that they themselves could see from their own assigned positions, but had also accurately counted how many each one of the other contestants could see as well.

landscape nature night relaxation

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

“She Who Saves Many Lives” did not herself use that designation for the ten. For this had only been the first, and easiest of all the tasks she had devised for being able to see through the eyes of others. When she thought of them collectively, she privately called them, “The Ten Who Can Count Mountaintops with the Eyes of Others.”  

————————————————-

Now, dear reader, you may now see that I have included these translations of the Myths of the Veritas because they very much relate to the fields of “User Experience”, “Human Factors,” or “Human-Computer Interaction” despite the fact that these tales quite apparently predate modern technology. To the Veritas, choosing a new leader for their people was never a matter to be left to chance, or visions, or a contest to see who could lift the most or lie the most. A leader of all the people should be able to see the world through the eyes of any of the people. How else might such a leader help insure a decision was for all the people and not just for a few? 

—————————————————

Magic Portal that Allows Books to be Delivered to Your Porch! 

The Orange Man

The Forgotten Field

The Impossible

Somewhere a Bird Cries

The Last Gleam of Twilight

They Lost the Word for War

After All

All We Stand to Lose

Guernica

Where Does your Loyalty Lie?

My Cousin Bobby

The Update Rule

What About the Butter Dish

You Bet Your Life

Essays on America: The Game

Essays on America: Wednesday

When Greed is the Only Creed

Facegook

The Dance of Billions

Roar, Ocean, Roar

Imagine All the People

A Cancerous Weed

24 Wednesday Sep 2025

Posted by petersironwood in America, poetry, Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Democracy, fantasy, life, poem, poetry, politics, truth, USA, writing

Like poisonous vines

Of cancerous deeds

Whose only needs

Are parasitic hate

And never-ending whines.

Cancer-weed grows darkly while it lies in wait.

Photo by Roman Pohorecki on Pexels.com

Be a reed;

Be a fire;

Be a seed—

A seed of love.

Star above.

Tuneful lyre. 

A ray of light.

Destroys the blight.

The parasitic worm of hate

Cannot survive when bathed in light

It fears both fight and flight

It knows not love

Only a hurtful shove

And rusty metal glove.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Be a seed

Be a reed

Be a light 

In darkest night.

A bloated orange tick;

Ever envies normal dick; 

Ever scoffs at those who earn;

Ever scorns those who learn;

Divides to conquer and to kill;

It’s its one and only skill.

Be the fire;

Be the light;

Light the night;

Juice the wire.

Empty stalks of uncut grains.

Empty talk from worm-fueled brains.

Families broken on wheels of greed.

The Rule of Law is sold for song.

A pedophile’s pathetic need

Trumps anyone knowing right from wrong.

Photo by Matheus Bertelli on Pexels.com

Be the spark

That lights the dark.

Be the throng.

Who rights the wrong.

But my 401K is doing okay!

Who cares if it all goes south one day?

I’m so straight—not one bit gay!

I’m all white and no bits black!

I love a fight when none hit back!

Photo by Marco Milanesi on Pexels.com

Be a reed.

Be a seed.

In darkest night,

Ignite your light.

Who cares if millions die in endless war?

Our minds can’t think ahead so far. 

Even though a thousand years of tyrants are the same.

Their cruelty and greed is insane shame. 

Be the fire; 

Be the light;

Light the night.

Juice the wire. 

Be the fire; 

Juice the wire.

Light the night.

Be the light.


Roar, Ocean, Roar

Imagine All the People

After the Fall

After All

Dance of Billions

All We Stand to Lose

The Game

Peace

The Only Them that Counts is All of Us

Math Class: Who Are You?

Where does your Loyalty Lie?

Absolute is not Just a Vodka

My Cousin Bobby

That Cold Walk Home

Donnie Gets a Blue Ribbon

The First Ring of Empathy

The Orange Man

The Three Blind Mice

Do Unto Others

29 Tuesday Dec 2020

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 13 Comments

Tags

afterlife, fantasy, fiction, heaven, hell, shortstory, St. Peter, story

“I’m not doing that while we’re driving, Adam! It’s too damned dangerous!” 

“Don’t be ridiculous. Anyway, Nikki, you do what the hell I say or … “

“LOOK OUT!”

Nikki lay on the cold marble floor. She thought she must have suffered the worst hangover in the history of humanity because she had no recollection of how she got here — or what ‘here’ even was. Somewhere nearby, lights — very bright lights — shone against the marble floor. She opened her eyes to behold a scene of opulence and hard-edged beauty.

But, if this really is a hangover, she asked herself, where’s the headache? Where’s the infernal dryness? On the other hand, she reasoned that she still had no recollection of how she got here. Was she “on assignment” as Adam called it. Or…she had been with Adam. He had asked her…they were in a car. She scowled and mumbled, “That bastard must have drugged me.” 

She got to all fours. Then, she stood, carefully splaying her arms out in case she lost her balance. To her amazement, she was not dizzy or off-balance in the slightest. Ahead of her, an empty hallway seemed to beckon her. She felt the answers to her many questions were at the end of it.



She walked gingerly at first, but soon gained confidence that somehow, there were no ill effects from whatever drug her pimp had slipped her. She looked ahead and whispered in a shaky voice, “Hello? Is anyone there?” 

“It is I,” boomed a voice. 

“Holy Mother of God, man! Don’t scare people like that! You’ll give someone a heart attack!” 

“Keep looking and you will see me. I am not, regrettably, the Mother of God. Just St. Peter. I’m pleased to meet you, Becky.”

“Becky? No-one’s called me that … for years. Not since….” Her voice trailed off. Who are you really?”

“Oh, I assure you Becky. I really am St. Peter, Becky. Do you mind if I call you that.” 

Silently, Becky shook her head. “I don’t mind. It’s just…I think there’s been a mistake.” 

St. Peter’s face had become clearer to her now and she could see the corner of his mouth curl up in a smile. “Mistake? Well, no, I don’t think so. We don’t really do the whole ‘mistake’ thing. You know?” 

“Well, if you’re the St. Peter who greets people coming to Heaven, then, I’m sure there’s been a mistake. I am a … or … I was a … you know … ‘working woman.’ I’ve known for a long time I was headed to Hell and … check your data base or your Excel Spreadsheet or whatever it is you people do and send me on my way. Let’s get it over with.” 

Becky, aka Nikki, watched St. Peter as he tilted his head this way and that as though to get a clearer, or deeper, look at her. She sighed. She didn’t mind when her ‘clients’ stared at her. She kind of enjoyed it in a way. She could relate to the pleasure that they were feeling because of her. But this felt different. Uncomfortable. Weird. As though he wasn’t staring at her body at all, but into her soul. No-one looked at her that way. Certainly not Adam. 

“Hey, St. Peter. What happened to Adam? Is he okay? Or is he dead too?” 

“Ah, well, yes Adam. Adam Smith. He is indeed dead. All taken care of. Was he your friend?”

“Friend?! Hardly! I mean, I thought he was for a time. He pretended to be….” Becky’s voice trailed off. “Look, is this like — are you free therapy or something? Can we just get going on the whole ‘Hell’ thing?” She paused. “Please.” 

“All right. Off you go then. Nice meeting you, Becky.” 

Suddenly, Becky found herself surrounded by deafening noise. Flashing lights. The smell of gunpowder. And burning flesh. She heard someone call her name.

Photo by Johannes Plenio on Pexels.com



“Becky! Give me a hand with this one! Hold this compress hard so he doesn’t bleed out. Simon! Timothy! Help me get him onto this stretcher!” 

Somehow, Becky knew what to do. Despite her best efforts, some of the man’s blood seeped onto her hand. It didn’t matter. She was damned well going to make sure he lived. “Come on, mister! Don’t go blank on me! What’s your name? What’s your name, soldier? Hey, Hey! Do not glaze your eyes over. Look at me! What’s your name?” 

The man locked his eyes on hers. “Tom.” 

“OK, Tom. Listen to me. We’ll have you back in the OR in no time. I know it looks bad and feels bad, but I’ve seen worse. Much worse. You’re going to make it. I have no doubt whatsoever. Here. Put your hand on mine. We’ll work together to keep you together.” 

Simon and Timothy held the wooden handles and picked their way over the broken ground. At last they came to the Red Cross Tent. On this day, like the others, she did her best to save lives, sometimes succeeding, sometimes failing. It seemed as though she had been a triage nurse forever. 

Endless cold, endless danger, the stale food and the staler jokes. 

Becky could not imagine anything that would give her more pleasure or allow her to feel more fully alive. 

—————————-

The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

The Tree of Life

Good Morning!

The Isle of Right

Comes the Dawn

Listen! You can Hear the Echoes of your Actions. 

Roar, Ocean, Roar!

Ah, Wilderness!

Blood-Red Blood

Mother’s Day

Comes the Reign

Life is a Dance!

A Cat’s a Cat and That’s That!

Is a Dream?

The Sunless Sunday of Faith

Camelot is in your Heart

The Impossible

The Bubble People 

Race, Place, Space, Face

A Suddenly Springing Something

Author Page on Amazon

As Gold as it Gets

28 Monday Dec 2020

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 34 Comments

Tags

fantasy, fiction, karma, short story, story

“I’m not doing that while we’re driving, Adam! It’s too damned dangerous!” 

“Don’t be ridiculous. Anyway, Nikki, you do what the hell I say or … “

“LOOK OUT!” Nikki screamed.

Adam looked about him and wondered aloud: “Where the hell…?” He shivered from the cold. The fallen leaves were powdered with snow. He heard no-one. Saw no-one. “Where the hell am I?” he asked no-one. 

A faint path led to a briar bush and beyond that a faded, mottled blue and teal door stared out from a stone wall. Apart from that, the woods seemed to stretch forever in all directions. Adam mumbled, “I must be in some weird-ass dream. Whatever.”

After convincing himself it had to be a dream, he found himself acting more bravely. He strode up to the door and pulled the knocker up and let it fall upon the heavy door. Three times he did this, not really expecting any result, but what the hell. It was something to do, he reasoned. 

Adam jerked back as the door swung open. Inside, a huge room opened up. It was filled with light. He looked down at his well-polished rattlesnake boots. They gleamed more brightly than ever before. He squinted. He mumbled, “This is definitely the weirdest dream I have ever had.” 

Adam found a single chair. He sat. Before him, a hazy golden figure loomed. 

“Hello, Adam.” 

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Oh, my God! Adam had never heard such a resonant voice. It seemed to come from everywhere at once. Generally, Adam considered himself to have been blessed with the gift of gab. But now, he was speechless.

“It’s all right, Adam. Everyone is taken aback at first. I’m St. Peter.” 

“What? The St. Peter? Like…like, I’m in heaven?” 

“Well, let’s not jump the gun, Adam. You and I need to have a bit of a chat first. Before we choose your next chapter.”

Then, just like, St. Peter popped the most dreaded question of every job interview: “So, tell me about yourself.” 

“St. Peter, I’m happy to meet you! I’m Adam. Adam Smith.” Adam smiled his most winning grin here. “Not the invisible hand guy, but my parents named me after him. And, indeed, Sir, or Saint, I am indeed a businessman. I did quite well. Took care of my bit…my bit of the business which was management quite well. Last year I was voted best dressed pim…pimple-free, and handsomest self-starter in all of LA. City of Angles! I should be here! I’m rich. I’m powerful in my own way. Know what I’m saying. Given your name and all that, I don’t know whether you’re interested — you got the whole ‘Saint’ thing going but your name is ‘Peter’ so — but anyway, if you are interested, I could fix you up real good if you know what I mean. I know you get a lot of applications for heaven and you can only take so many, but I’m a self-starter. Right? And I can help out. What do you say? Heaven. Okay?” Now, Adam smiled an even bigger grin. His cheeks hurt.

St. Peter asked, “And what is your idea of heaven, Adam?” 

“Well, easy! Kind of like on earth, but better. Everything gold! Unlimited wealth! Everything gold! No cops! What say? Am I in like Flynn?” 

St. Peter, and the bright room, and the door Adam entered all disappeared. In its place, Adam found himself on a street of golden mansions! He looked to his left — elegant mansions as far as he could see. He looked to his right — elegant mansions as far as he could see. Ahead of him was a well-appointed gold mansion with his name emblazoned on a huge sign. He walked up and sure enough, the front door opened at his touch. Inside, he feasted his orbs on the sight of gold floors, gold walls, gold furniture, and gold ceilings. His jaw literally dropped. “Now, this is more like it!”

Adam sat in a golden chair. He picked up the remote, also gold, and turned on the TV, also gold. It showed pictures of golden mansions. On every channel. “Wow! This place is cool! What do you think, now, Dad? Thought I’d never amount to anything. Hah! Here I am in heaven! Hear that, old man! I’m in fricking heaven!. A heaven of gold!” 

The next morning, Adam grew bored. And hungry. In his beautiful golden kitchen, beautiful golden dinnerware sparkled in golden drawers. No food though. It wasn’t clear exactly how this works, thought Adam. That’s all right. I’ll figure it out. He went out the front door and turned right; walked up the sidewalk to his neighbor’s front door and knocked. No answer. He peered in through an unfrosted window and saw that his neighbor’s interior was solid gold like his.

“No-one home, I guess” said Adam to no-one in particular. As he walked back out toward the street, he noticed for the first time that his neighbor’s mailbox matched his precisely. He walked over to at least find out what his neighbor’s name was. 

He read the name: ‘Adam Smith’. “What the hell?” said Adam.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Then, he noticed that the address was also the same. 

666

Adam ran down the street, knocking on every door. 

No-one answered. 

Adam looked at every mailbox. 

They all said the same thing: “Adam Smith, 666 Streets of Gold.” 

He screamed. To no-one in particular, “What kind of heaven is this?!” 

He sat in a lump on one of the identical porches. He looked at his lap. He turned over his hands and noticed that scrapes and bruises decorated his white knuckles with red and blue.

Adam said, to no-one in particular, “I’ll just keep knocking on every door till I find someone.” 

In high school, Adam had not paid much attention in any of his classes, but math class he especially despised. He had no idea what the hell the teacher had been talking about when she started talking about infinity. It seemed like an abstraction with no meaning whatsoever in the world of Ghetin High School. 

Photo by Karolina Grabowska on Pexels.com

Now, however, Adam would have plenty of time to discover the true meaning of infinity.

Karma: A Horror Story

Who Speaks for the Dead?

Plans for us; some GRUesome

Ramming your Head into a Brick Wall Doesn’t Make you a Hero

Myths of the Veritas: The First Ring of Empathy

Author Page on Amazon

That First Time is So Special

01 Tuesday Dec 2020

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

COVID, COVID19, fantasy, fiction, health, masks, pandemic, Sci-Fi, story

477-K-435-J glanced at his comrade. “You look nervous. You doing okay?”

“I’m not nervous! Just leave me alone. I’m fine.”

“Geez. OK. Have it your way. Look, it’s no big deal. I was nervous my first time too. You’ll get used to it. Kind of. I’m 477-K-435-J. You?” 

“Really? How did you know it was my first time? Oh, I’m 45-PP-45-PP, by the way. Pleased to meet you.” 

“Likewise. For one thing…look, you’ve got this all twisted the wrong way. May I? I just want to straighten this out for you.”

“I … okay.” 

“There we go. That’ll make it easier. Now, look. Truth is, 45-PP-45-PP, you should be nervous. Our enemy has some pretty potent weapons. You’d be an idiot not to be nervous. Poison gas is no fun.” 

Photo by VisionPic .net on Pexels.com

“Poison gas? They use poison gas?”

“Sometimes. Nitric oxide. Nasty stuff.”

“Thanks. Now, I have something else to be nervous about. It’s just … they so damned big. And, they have brains. Big brains.”

“Oh, believe me, that’s the last thing to be nervous about. Sure, they have big brains, but do they use them? That’s the question.”

“Why wouldn’t they use them? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Yeah, I agree. Hell, we all agree. It’s one of the great mysteries of near-life. But, luckily for us, we don’t have to solve that. We just need to use the fact that they don’t use them very often to our own advantage.” 

(Long pause). 

“How do you know — how do you know where to put it in?”

“It’s kind of instinctual. You’ll know. Anyway, there are lots of places. It’s not just like there’s one perfect place. We all develop favorites. Personally, I like the lungs best. It feels — it just feels right. Warm and wet. And, they really suffer, just like an enemy should. Best of all, it makes ‘em cough. That’s a free ride to the next sucker.” 

234-HH-432-99 joined in. “That’s not what I like best. Sure, it’s warm and wet. But so are the mucous membranes in the mouth. The mouth is where it’s really at, if you ask me. To them, it’s quite an intimate place. That makes it all the more fun for me!” 

477-K-435-J shook slightly. “Nah. Lungs. More damage. More spread.” 

234-HH-432-99: “Ridiculous. Trust me, kid. There’s no greater feeling than penetrating one of those mouth cells and squirting your RNA into it. You are the boss then! That cell does what you tell it to. And what you make them do is make more of you! I love it. Whoever came up with that one…they deserve to be…to win something.”

477-K-435-J “Yeah, yeah. But no matter how much you screw over their mouth, they can still breathe. And if they can breathe, they have energy. And they can use that to send their destroyers out.  

234-HH-432-99 suddenly screamed, “Hit the deck!” 

Without the slightest idea what was going on, 45-PP-45-PP did as he was told. “What the hell was that?” 

Photo by Ketut Subiyanto on Pexels.com

477-K-435-J replied, “That, kid, that is something you want to look out for. It’s a god-damned mask is what that was.” 

“Huh? What’s a mask? Does that kill us too?” 45-PP-45-PP reflected again on how much danger he was in. 

234-HH-432-99 answered, “No, it doesn’t kill us exactly, but most of the time, it prevents us from fulfilling our mission. Get caught up in one of those damned masks, and you won’t be screwing their mouth cells, their lung cells or any other cells. You’ll just … disintegrate … and die with no sons and no daughters to carry on your alphanumeric designation. It’s as though you were never really alive at all. Well, actually, you’re not. But you get my drift. You’ll be forgotten and nothing to show for it.”

45-PP-45-PP said, “Holy crap! How do we avoid them? A bunch of those things would ruin our whole plan.”

477-K-435-J added, “Yes, you’re right, but we’ll be fine as long as enough people don’t wear them or don’t wear them properly.”

45-PP-45-PP had the distinct feeling that his more experienced comrades were putting him on and making fun of his ignorance. “Yeah. Right. They have a way to prevent our spread and don’t use it. It may be my first time, but I’m not stupid enough to fall for that one! If you want to razz the new guy, you’ll have to think of something more clever than that.” 

234-HH-432-99 said, “No, kid. We’re not putting you on. Your buddy ain’t puttin’ you on.”

45-PP-45-PP still felt he was being punked. “So you’e saying they have a weapon to keep up from doing in their lungs and doing … any of their cells … and they don’t use it? Why? That makes no sense! I don’t believe you.”

477-K-435-J said, “Look, it doesn’t matter whether you believe me or not. But we’re all in this together so why would I lie to you? No-one knows why they don’t use something that could save their life of the lives of their families. Some of their own kind have started rumors that the masks don’t work or that they infringe on their freedom.” 

234-HH-432-99 piped up again. “Hell, not only that! Some of them don’t even think we exist! They think we’re just a hoax!” 

45-PP-45-PP knew they were putting him on now. “Yeah, right. 1.5 million dead world-wide and 63 million sick …. And we’re a hoax? Come on. Give me a break. Just because it’s my first time doesn’t mean I’m totally naive.”

477-K-435-J shrugged, in his viral sort of way. “Look, kid, believe what you want. But trust me. Lungs. That’s where it’s at. And when… hey! Hey! Look sharp. This guys about to scream at someone, he’s surrounded by others, and none of them are wearing those damned mask. We’re in luck! Come on, troops! We’ve prepared our whole lives for this. Drill ‘em and kill ‘em! Drill ‘em and kill ‘em!” 

Soon the chant filled the air. 45-PP-45-PP joined in and all his nervousness, his uncertainty, his fear melted away. “DRILL ‘EM and KILL ‘EM.” He felt inexpressible lust at the thought of raping a species whose only outstanding natural weapon was its brain — a weapon so many refused to use. He thought to himself, in his viral manner, They deserve to be drilled! They deserve to be killed! He turned to the comrade who had first befriended him and said, “477-K-435-J, I’m going for the lungs!” Then, to himself:  “Warm and moist! Yum! You are mine you little slut cell! You’re going to birth 10,000 of my little babies! Whether you like it or not! You’ll see who’s a hoax!”

“Drill ‘em and Kill ‘em! Drill ‘em and Kill ‘em!”

And so they did.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

———————————————————————————

The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-Academic 

Unmasked 

Plans for us; some GRUesome

The Watershed Virus 

Thrumperdome

Author Page on Amazon

IS A DREAM?

30 Monday Mar 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, creativity, poetry, psychology

≈ 13 Comments

Tags

dream, fantasy, imagination, innovation, poem, poetry, religion, REM, truth

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

Is a dream
Is a dream
More than merely the sweet but senseless scream
Of the heat-oppresséd brain
Soundless
Groundless
From the drip drop drain
Of chemical overflow — I don’t know —
Random neurons on the go go go?

10552CE1-44CC-4FEB-8973-0E7F4500CF87_1_105_c

Is a dream
Is a dream
Maybe something more —
Something from the core’s core
The inner inner being’s being’s store
That is the outer out of all of it and all
Closing the circle
From the very very small
To the universe’s universe and all?

3403641F-071C-4611-A35F-AF9A548C7577

Original drawing by Pierce Morgan

Is a dream
Is a dream
Progress Reports from worlds we somewhere create
Building those great green meadows
Those roiling purple oceans and the wild fangéd beasts
Orgies and ogres and fencing and feasts
Shadow worlds where we fly and die and love and hate?
Somewhere across the galaxy a house stands
High on a rocky crest above the blue-green sands
And all the twists and turns of that strange place
Are but reflections of the flickers on our lids and face.

IMG_3191

Original drawing by Pierce Morgan

Is a dream
Is a dream
A searching striving blindly groping for the One Great Light
The true Truth that will astound us; lay us flat
Knockout punch us with the crystal clear of its utter it-ness
So we lay paralyzed, helpless, beached in awe
Our whole life strange, deranged, and rearranged
Making sudden sense so simply put
Like a wild child’s smile
But only flashing for awhile…
On waking, the lamp extinguishes the Light
As artificial praise will do the wild child.

518097DB-ACEA-4793-8867-6AABF5F85DF1

Is a dream
Is a dream
Just the dumping of the shredder basket by the night crew
Our mighty triumphs of the day and defeats
Little more than last month’s memos
No-one any longer cares; yet no-one dares deny
The overwhelming importance of tomorrow’s report
Destined to be edited and commented upon and committeed
Re-issued, dated, filed, archived, and then all copies shredded.
So too, so too, the very paper fabric of our lives?

BBBC47A1-B5B7-48F3-A03D-A58102A13B91

Is a dream
Is a dream
Maybe — Perhaps — could it be a trifle more
A beacon lighthouse glowing guide to misty shore
Where you and I and all of us could be;
Put right our jade and sapphire spaceship earth at last
Scoff the troubles of a silly selfish past
Our eyes wink open and awake we’d finally see:
Shimmering, vibrant, the radiant rainbow of reality.

sky earth galaxy universe

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com


 

Author Page on Amazon 

Fit in Bits suggests many ways to work more fun and exercise into daily activities — even if you are at home and have no special equipment.

Free videos illustrating some of the exercises.

Turing’s Nightmares describes possible futures of human-computer interaction in a world of Virtual Reality, Artificial Intelligence, Ubiquitous Computing, Big Data Analytics, and explores the social and ethical implications.

The Winning Weekend Warrior focuses on the mental game for all sports: strategy, tactics, and self-talk.

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

By Any Other Name (selection)

13 Friday Mar 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

creation, drama, fantasy, God, heaven, Peter, play, Sci-Fi, St.Peter, story

This selection, hopefully a momentary diversion of frivolity, is from a full-length play entitled: By Any Other Name. It describes an alternative version of creation on earth in which God delegates the last little bit — designing the brain of humankind — to an angel named Peter. Here, we see Peter finally admitting to God (in heaven) that he messed up the design because he didn’t fully understand the requirements.

IMG_3071

God: [On a heavenly golf course, speaking to Lucifer]. So, there I was on the fifth hole, you know, that dog-leg to the right (gestures) that kind of slopes down? So, anyway, I’m right on the fairway, but on the damnedest clump of grass you ever want to see. What do I do? Well, to be fair, I lift it [gestures bending over and picking up a golf ball] and put it on the normal part of the fairway a few yards away. And, who do you suppose comes by just then but Thor of all people. You know him and his holier than thou attitude! And, of course, he misinterprets the whole thing and thinks I’m just trying to get a better lie or something. [God, as though suddenly aware of Peter’s presence, turns to him]. And, by the way, that reminds me, Peter. Zeus said that he stopped by earth and that those creatures are dressing in clothes. Do you know anything about that? You didn’t screw up the implementation did you?

64AC5B76-C6C3-40D5-A26D-9CB06754678A_4_5005_c

Peter: [looking around as though for support; bows his head]. Um, er, no God, I mean Lord no. I mean no, Lord. [ticks off on his fingers]. We were on schedule and under budget. Significantly under budget. And, as for the creatures…well…they are just fine. It’s just, [looks up briefly, then back down] you know, with that big a brain, some weird things happened, that’s all. [looks up] If I may be so bold as to offer a suggestion, I don’t think we ought to endow worldly creatures with such large brains any more. I believe that the Bachman equations clearly show…

God: Peter, you are tiresome. Don’t tell me about Bachman equations, NOW! I’m in the middle of a golf story here. Just bottom-line it. Did you and your buddies screw up or not?

Peter: [bows head again and folds hands together as though in prayer]. Thy will be done, Lord.

God: Uh-huh. Damned right! Well, I’m going to check back in a few thousand years, Petie, and you’d better not be lying to me. Or, you’ll have a tough time getting a martini to stay cold, if you catch my drift.

orange flame

Photo by Francesco Paggiaro on Pexels.com

Peter: Sure, God. No, we did fine. Really. I mean, the creatures themselves are a bit messed up, but…you know…nothing major.

God: Uh-huh. [turns back to Lucifer] So, anyway, Thor says, to me, he says: “put the ball back, God.” I’m like: “I’m supposed to play the ball where it lies. Right? But what is the underlying essence of ‘where it lies’? Isn’t it that I should play the ball from the essential underlying reality which in this case is that I have hit a great shot that is on the fairway that is supposed to be essentially of the very essence of fairness?” [looks questioningly at Lucifer; then slowly turns back to Peter]. What do you mean by ‘a bit messed up’?

Peter: Well, nothing really. It’s just that….I mean they did take that command, you know, [shakes body from side to side] to go forth and multiply rather seriously.

God: Uh-huh. Well, nothing wrong with that. That’s part of the plan. All animals enjoy sex. So?

Peter: Well Sir, it’s just that….I mean they have just about covered the planet, you see. Many of your other creations, um, no longer exist, to put it bluntly. (shrugs shoulders and puts hands out, palm up).

close up photo of lion

Photo by Gareth Davies on Pexels.com

God: [Makes fists]. What!? These creatures that you made are destroying my creations? What?! [Walks closer to Peter]. What do you mean? ]Talking directly into Peter’s face now]. You mean to eat, a few, or as in whole species are gone?

Peter: [head deeply bowed] Well, I’m afraid, I rather mean, as in whole species are gone.

God: WHAT DO YOU MEAN?! HOW MANY? TWO? THREE? HOW MANY?

Lucifer: [Remains silent during this interchange but his face and body language show that he is enjoying it immensely until finally his smile is a caricature of frozen delight].

Peter: [drops to knees and holds hands up to God imploringly]. Well, Lord, really somewhat…er…more than that.

God: How many Peter? How many?

Peter: Actually, um, at last count, that is, er, thousands, at least.

God: HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE. THAT WAS NOT IN THE DESIGN SPEC!

Peter: I’m sure. Lord knows, you’re right. But, the truth is, they have pretty much gone off on the idea that the earth was, um, given to them by you for their own purpose and they um, pretty much cover it with themselves and their own food supply and…

God: WHAT ARE THESE THINGS YOU’VE MADE?! THIS WAS NOT ACCORDING TO SPEC! [begins pacing]. You botched it. I swear, you are going to pay for this, Peter, and pay dearly. [Goes back over to Peter and pulls him up straight; then looks deeply in his eyes with his face very close, still holding Peter by the lapels]. What kind of creature would go around killing other whole species? Where is their reverence for other life forms?

snow capped mountain

Photo by Life of Wu on Pexels.com

Peter: [Peter shrugs]. Well, to be fair. They also kill each other at quite a rate.

God: You mean for food? Kind of gross.

Peter: Oh, no. Not for food. Because. Well, I’m not really sure why. You know, we just have the report summaries and I…

God: [Lets go of Peter and paces]. Don’t these creatures appreciate the beauty of the natural world that I made for them? Or what?

Peter: Oh, they do. [shakes head vigorously up and down]. Yes, indeed, God. Well…except, there isn’t that much left, actually.

God: [turns on heel back toward Peter again and approaches him, grabs him]. What do you mean, not much left? There’s a whole beautiful planet!

Peter: [bows head]. Yes, God, I know. At least, there is where they haven’t sort of… replaced it.

God: Replaced natural beauty? My creation!? With what, pray tell?

photo of landfill

Photo by Leonid Danilov on Pexels.com

Peter: Various things. Parking lots, highways, shopping malls, factories, land fills….

God: Enough! [Drops hold of Peter. Walks away shaking head. Stops. Turns back toward Peter]. You did remember to put in sufficient hypercortex, right?

Peter: Oh. Um. Well, God, I distinctly heard you say, hydrocortext.

God: Hydrocortex? What on earth is that?

person holding string lights photo

Photo by David Cassolato on Pexels.com

Peter: We…we.. didn’t know, Lord.

God: Hypercortex; [points to his head]. you know, the projective bundle of fibers from the cortex back to the hypothalamus so humans can apply their intelligence to their appetites! You did put that in, right?

Peter: Well. Um. God, I distinctly heard you said ‘hydrocortex.’

God: [sighs and puts head down in hands rocking back and forth slowly]. This is just totally unacceptable work, Peter. And what about the serotonin levels? You did get that right, yes?


 

Author Page on Amazon

The Myths of the Veritas

Best Practices in Collaboration & Cooperation

Subscribe

  • Entries (RSS)
  • Comments (RSS)

Archives

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

Categories

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

Meta

  • Create account
  • Log in

Blog at WordPress.com.

  • Subscribe Subscribed
    • petersironwood
    • Join 661 other subscribers
    • Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
    • petersironwood
    • Subscribe Subscribed
    • Sign up
    • Log in
    • Report this content
    • View site in Reader
    • Manage subscriptions
    • Collapse this bar
 

Loading Comments...