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Too Many Tu-Swifts?

10 Tuesday Mar 2026

Posted by petersironwood in America, creativity, psychology, story, Uncategorized, Veritas

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coping, dissociative state, dreams, fables, fantasy, fiction, gratitude, hope, leadership, legends, myths, psychology, short story, stories, strategy, truth, Tu-Swift, Veritas, writing

{Translator’s Note}: Sometimes, when one finds oneself in an emergency room, they ask you to rate your pain on a ten point scale. It seems that the Veritas had quite a rich and varied vocabulary for pain — and for pleasure. Although it is clear that the Veritas could count (at least that; though the academic debates are raging now about how they could have made the astronomical predictions that they apparently made without advanced mathematics), they would have found the concept of “rating” pain or pleasure bizarre. Even in my own childhood, the idea of rating something as complex as a movie (let alone a human being!) on a numerical scale would have seemed preposterous. As for the Veritas, precisely because they have so many dimensions and nuances of pain, there are not very many instances of any particular token. So, what follows is, as always, my best effort attempt to describe the pain of Tu-Swift. 

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Tu-Swift literally forgot who he was; or, more precisely, Tu-Swift trifurcated. The Tu-Swift that he considered to be him found himself embedded in stickiness, as though he were a hapless bug caught in the web of an onrushing horror of hairy legs and giant fangs. Yet, the more he struggled, the more entrapped he became. He could sense but not really see the spider. He could not even control his eyes. An invisible force focused them on the scene ahead where two other versions of Tu-Swift struggled with each other. 

Tu-Swift (the observer) felt a surge of pride at the image on the right. He appeared taller, stronger, prouder looking than he had ever remembered feeling. But despite the outward beauty, something was wrong here. Instead of being connected to life in general and the Veritas in particular, he felt himself to be “it” – the only thing that mattered. From that odd perspective, he didn’t have to “know” how things worked and how to solve problems. He only had to tell a convincing story convincingly — so convincingly that people would mistake it for the truth. He felt strong when he looked at this shadowy reflection of himself; strong, and a little ashamed. He felt ashamed because he recognized that that had been pretty much how he saw the world when he was yet a toddler. Still, it was tempting. In a way, it would be so much simpler never having to know what is actually true; never having to take the needs of others into consideration.

baby child close up crying

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

On the left, the Tu-Swift avatar looked small and somehow — broken. This version of himself made him feel weak and powerless. It (he) sat cross-legged on the grass and petulantly broke blades off. Tu-Swift spoke to the boy. “Get up! Get up!” 

The boy on the left spoke back. “I can’t. It’s too much effort. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Look!”

The boy pointed at something behind Tu-Swift. He struggled mightily to turn to see what it was, but he could not turn his head. But he could feel the searing heat of the spider. He could only stare at the two boys before him and suddenly, he saw the boys disappear into a web of memories. He did not have to be exactly like the boy on the right or exactly like the boy on the left. He could pick and choose the situations when he wanted to be one or the other, but he was in no way limited to those two boys. He could pick and choose from everyone he ever met. Why had he not seen this before? It was like choosing a mask or garb for a ritual dance. Only … it need not be superficial. Thinking like Many Paths — that was more than putting on a mask. I think better with her.

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He grabbed what he wanted from each of the two boys and immediately felt the searing heat of the monster that burned and blackened everything before it. Tu-Swift began rolling. His pain changed from an ember of deeply burning ruby red to a thunderstorm of flashing blue light and every bolt struck deep into the knee of Tu-Swift. Each bolt exploded outward in further flashes of blue so that, for a moment, his entire left leg erupted in blue pain. 

After a few such rolls, Tu-Swift felt the freezing cold of rushing water. It stung and made him catch his breath, but it felt wonderful and somehow safe. But cold. What’s wrong with my knee, he asked himself. “Where is everyone?” he said aloud. His thoughts now began to once again unravel as he muttered to himself.  

“Need … to take … inventory. Right knee. What is wrong with you, knee?” Tu-Swift, in his altered state, half expected he knew and answered himself back. “But something … something is very wrong. I fell. Need shelter.”

Near the river bank, on one side, lay hard rock cliffs. Tu-Swift managed to crawl into a cleft in such a cliff. His self once more disintegrated.  

photography of flowing plunge waterfall

Photo by Anne-sophie Parent on Pexels.com

This time, instead of seeing two other versions of Tu-Swift, he saw everyone he had ever encountered, or at least, that is how it seemed. Just as he had always been able to hear the voice of Many Paths offering apt advice, he now realized that he could get advice from anyone in the tribe; or those of other tribes; even from the People Who Steal Children.

Tu-Swift imagined the voice of Shadow Walker calling out and showing him how to speak with drums or the sounds of birds. Those turned out to be important skills and he was filled with gratitude for Shadow Walker. And, he imagined he could hear the memory of Hudah Salah also calling out his name with her strange accent. It was exciting to think that people could speak so that only some might understand. Of course, he had been told that there were other tongues besides that spoken by the Veritas people. But it wasn’t until he had really heard such voices that he understood how important it could be to know other languages. Now, it was real and he was filled with gratitude for Hudah Salah for opening his eyes. 

Tu-Swift realized that his own eyes were extremely tired. And he mentally waved farewell to the multitude of people out there ready to lend their knowledge to whatever task was at hand. He closed the eyes of every Tu-Swift he could and fell into a deep, unknowing sleep. 

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Author Page on Amazon

The Creation Myth of the Veritas

The Myths of the Veritas: The Orange Man

An Essay on Gratitude

Life Will Find a Way

Math Class: Who Are You?

After All

The Self-Made Man

Somewhere a Bird Cries

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

The Impossible

Is a Dream?

Imagination

Trees Die at the Edges

27 Friday Feb 2026

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

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creativity, despression, fantasy, fear, fiction, hope, innovation, leadership, learning, legends, life, myths, politics, psychology, stories, story, thinking, truth, writing

When Tu-Swift had awakened after his first day of stable duty, he initially thought that these people who stand atop horses must have beaten him. When he considered the matter, he realized it was simply that his body was not used to the particular work. That did not lessen the pain. 

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When he awoke after the second day of duty with the horses, however, he was even sorer and his hands were blistered. As he awoke, and the dim light shattered his night dreams, the physical pain stabbed most when he first began moving. He had long ago learned, as had all the Veritas, to put physical pain out of mind. He chose not to do this. Focusing on his physical pain helped fuel his resolve to escape this place and to take his small companion with him. The aches and burns also kept a deeper, darker pain at bay — the doubt that he would ever be rescued. 

He imagined the voice of his sister, Many Paths, encouraging him not to fill his belly with the first plausible hypothesis that came to mind. Yes, it was possible that the Veritas had been utterly destroyed in the surprise attack, but was it likely? He reminded himself that the Veritas had not only defeated the surprisingly numerous Cupiditas, but also withstood two potential enemies — the Nomads of the South and the Fierce and Formidable Warriors of the North without even fighting them. 

The Veritas might still be engaged in battle with the horse people. Or, they may be on their way to rescue him but it would take longer on foot. They might have already been here with a small party and seen that this compound is too heavily guarded for a small force. That seemed somewhat unlikely, but still possible. Surely, if they had gotten close, they would have signaled or queried him with the modified calls of birds. And, he would have responded to let them know he was here. The modified bird call language was not sufficiently nuanced for him to know how to warn them that there was another child here in need of rescue. 

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He silently thanked his tribe for all that they had taught him about survival. But Day-Nah was a problem. It wasn’t his “fault” that he was so young and small, nor that he knew so little of the language of the Veritas. While even Fleet of Foot could surely not outrun a horse on open ground, Tu-Swift felt he stood a good chance to outrun his pursuers if he could find the right kind of terrain. But Day-Nah? A better option for him would probably be to hide high in a tree or in a small hole until they gave up looking for him. Tu-Swift realized he knew little about these people who stand on horses and steal children. Day-Nah was not much use as a slave so perhaps they would give up on the search without much persistence. 

Three large, well-muscled men came to awaken the children and left them each a bowl of food. Soon, they were pushed and pulled out into the large open place with horses and foals again. The men gestured and made it clear that Tu-Swift should separate and catch more foals and tie them up. As they entered the clearing, Tu-Swift noticed that poison ivy vines hung heavy on the trees surrounding the paddock. 

He recalled the words of She-Who-Saves-Many-Lives when he had remarked to her a few summers ago about the poison ivy in his own village. The elder shaman had explained how trees needed each other to survive high winds and to kill off parasitic intruders such as poison ivy and boring insects. In the manner of such a teacher, she had gone on to say that it was the same with the Veritas. Each member of the tribe helped nurture and protect all the others.

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“Trees die at the edges. That is the way of it. And, so it is with us. A person alone in the vast world is much more at risk than the tribe,” she had pointed out.

At the time, he had take much comfort in her words. 

Today, however, a great sadness and despair threatened to overwhelm him because now he himself was a “tree at the edge.” 

A memory now flashed into his mind — a huge spider web that he and Shadow Walker had happened upon. Shadow Walker had invited him to observe with him for a time. The spider hung out at the very center of his web. Whenever a flying insect strayed into its web, it would rush to the bug, bite it, and wrap it with webbing. Once, however, it happened that two bugs hit the trapping web at the same instant. The spider rushed off to wrap up the larger one for later consumption. Spider then returned to the center. Spider seemed unable to remember where the second insect had landed. One by one, he carefully and methodically thrummed the strings, one by one. At last, one of the strings caused a renewed struggling by the insect. Instantly, the spider travelled up that spine of his string to the hapless bug, bit it, and prepared it for later consumption. Shadow Walker had questioned Tu-Swift who at last saw that the bug’s fear had caused it to give away its position and hastened its own death. 

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Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Shadow Walker waited until Tu-Swift had seen this before putting it into words. “Fear is natural when one is trapped. But we are humans. We can wrap our fear in our own thoughts for a time and hide it – and ourselves – until we find a way to escape. To further cement the point, Shadow Walker grabbed Tu-Swift by the wrist and held him tight. “Get loose!” 

Tu-Swift had tried to jerk his hand away. He pulled and tugged, but Shadow Walker was much stronger. It seemed hopeless. Then, he realized that Shadow Walker was encouraging him to think — not simply to react. He looked at his wrist and noticed that it was more of an oblong than a circle across. And Shadow Walker’s hand was not a completed circle but a circle with a gap. Rather than struggle, Tu-Swift had relaxed. He imagined sliding the edge of his wrist out through the slight opening where Shadow Walker’s thumb and fingertips came together. Tu-Swift imagined a swift jerk of his wrist through that opening. He forced himself to relax still further. Then…zip! He slipped his wrist out through the gap before Shadow Walker could react.  

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Fear could kill you. And calm thought could save you. Tu-Swift had learned this lessons well. 

Tu-Swift took deep breaths of the cool clean air. Even the horses smelled good to him as he breathed in their sweet odor. He looked around at all the life that thrived around him. None of it survived and thrived through sadness. Feeling sorry for oneself might be “justified” but it was not the path to survival. The path offering promise, the path of resolve spoke to his inner heart of courage. He would wrap his fear and sadness up for now so that these captors of kids could not see it. He would think instead.

He gestured to one of the three burly ones who accompanied Dah-Nah and Tu-Swift to give him a switch such as they all carried to whip the horses with. The man complied assuming that Tu-Swift wished to use the whip to help separate mare and foal. Instead, Tu-Swift used the handle of the switch to draw his plan quickly in the sandy soil outside the paddock. When he began, one of the men reached to take the switch away, mumbling some words in anger. Then, the men began talking to each other in their odd and unfathomable language. At last, they allowed him to continue his drawing.

He first made a drawing in the shape of the current paddock. Then, he showed an addition with many narrow quick turns. Now, he used his hand as a horse to show that his hand was too big to fit through these narrow passages. He reinforced this analogy by making sounds mimicking the horses and whinnying when his hand was “stuck.” He gently took one of Day-Nah’s hands in his and showed how the small boy’s hand would fit through these narrow passages. Then, he gestured out to the horses. He pointed to one of the nearby mares, a beautiful palomino. Again, he showed how his hand unable to get through the passage. Next, he pointed to her foal and used Dah-Nah’s hand to go through the narrow passage. Dah-Nah’s face lit up. He understood. Surely, the men would as well, he hoped. 

Original Masks by Sarah Morgan

Original Masks by Sarah Morgan

And, slowly, one by one, the men’s faces revealed that they all “got” Tu-Swift’s idea. They felt a little chagrin that they had not thought of such an obvious ploy themselves, but the ROI were a practical lot. If they found an idea that they could use, they used it. They did not reject it out of hand as the Z-Lotz might have done simply because they had not thought of it themselves. 

The men made it clear that the boys themselves were to construct this addition. The largest of the burly men pointed to a large set of cut planks that had already been cut to use for fence repairs.

Tu-Swift nodded enthusiastically. He returned to his drawing. He showed how he would keep the existing fence in place while they constructed the maze addition and a smaller place for the foals to gather. When all that was finished, they could remove the piece of fence that would prevent the foals from entering. 

Tu-Swift had transformed his fear and despair into a plan. He thought to himself, “Not all trees die at the edges. Not these two.” 

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Author Page on Amazon. 

The Winning Weekend Warrior focuses on strategy, tactics, and the ‘mental game’ for all sports including golf, tennis, baseball, and others. 

Turing’s Nightmares illustrates possible ethical issues around AI and robotics with 23 scenarios of the future. 

Fit in Bits suggests numerous ways for the ultra-busy to work more fun and exercise into daily activities such as sitting in meetings, walking to your car, shopping, traveling, playing with kids, etc. 

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

Life Will Find a Way

The Walkabout Diaries: Life Will Find a Way

Your Cage is Unlocked

Somewhere a Bird Cries

Wednesday

Dog Trainers

Tools of Thought

Fish have no Word for “Water”

All We Stand to Lose

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That Very Special Species

07 Monday Oct 2024

Posted by petersironwood in America, nature, poetry

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Tags

hope, poetry

The Ostrich is famous for it. 

And the trio of mythical monkeys. 

But here’s the thing: it’s people, people.

Photo by George Becker on Pexels.com

When ostriches see an enemy close at hand, 

They run or fight.

They don’t stick their head in the sand

(Or somewhere worse). 

When monkeys face danger,

They don’t cover their eyes and ears. 

Their senses find the way to fight for fears.

Stubborn as a mule, they say.

And, true enough, mules can be stubborn

When you try to steer them somewhere they don’t wish to go. 

Photo by Zeynep Sude Emek on Pexels.com

And, then, there are the storied buffalo stampeding 

And the legendary lemmings

Who hurtle off a cliff just because they can. 

But surely, people, people are surely the champs!

(At least when it comes to being chumps!)

Humans pride themselves, 

Indeed, Define themselves

As the smartest critter who ever lived

The wise, 

The sapient, 

The *Special*.

Humans write it into many religions:

“We are special!” 

Photo by Min An on Pexels.com

Indeed, we are special. 

Capable of curing diseases. 

And intentionally spreading diseases. 

That’s special. 

Capable of finding other planets in the universe!

And trashing the one we know is habitable.

That’s special. 

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Capable of building America

And trashing it for a poop bag of lies.

That’s special.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

This evening as we walked along the dark and foggy road,

Sadie-dog spotted a boy—about fourteen—

Riding a black bicycle, 

Wearing gray clothes, 

Fog gray, in fact.

No lights.

(AI-generated image. FYI, I specifically said, “no bike light”)

 

To me, this is foolishness. 

But only if, like me, you know: 

In general, people cooperate.

Photo by Rebecca Zaal on Pexels.com

If instead, you imagine most are out to “get you”

Then, you see your invisibility as an aid. 

How many sand traps (and worse) do we ostriches have our heads in?

How many cliffs do we have yet to go over?  

(AI generated image above)

These are some of the most destructive lies: 

(Sound familiar?)

The myth of the self-made man.
The myth that total competition to the death is what is natural. 

The related myth that most people are only out for themselves.

Photo by Stephen Andrews on Pexels.com

The sand is starting to sift.

The tilt begins to shift.

The night grows longer.

The fog grows stronger..

All it takes is to forestall to think. 

All it takes is an ill-timed blink.

Be the light.

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Author page on Amazon

The Dance of Billions

The Joy

Roar, Ocean, Roar

Guernica

Me Too!

My Cousin Bobby

The Update Problem

The Stopping Rule

Wednesday

Labelism

You Bet Your Life!

At Least he’s Our Monster.

The Orange Man

Come to the Light Side

The Self-Made Man

Cancer Always Loses in the End

Where does your loyalty lie?

The 4th of July: Fire Works

03 Sunday Jul 2022

Posted by petersironwood in America

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Democracy, fireworks, hope, IndependenceDay, July4, poem, poetry, politics, USA

“A rose is a rose is a rose.” — Gertrude Stein “A fascist is a fascist is a fascist.” — Anonymous

I had a dream, American, (But now I can’t),

Iconic and ironic in its inner core.

The Founding Fathers, somewhat smug & ignorant 

Of Life and Love beyond the European  shore 

Unwittingly might see a noble people dark

As less, and bless twin evils: Slave & Masterhood. 

Yet dimly saw perhaps a democratic arc.

Provide for ways to grow a land of humanhood.

Remember to find the light — wherever you can. And then add to it. No matter how small, it helps.

 

Alas that dream seems dashed upon the rocks of creed

A manic sycophantic oliphant has come

To overturn both logic, love with crap & greed.

Pretending not to notice what we’ve learned; plays dumb.

It tramples rights of non-white, poor, and double X’s.  

Projects itself upon a pedestal, and hexes.

The real strength of the oliphant is less than you think; because it is fragile as anything based on a lie inevitably will be. Strength requires being tied to reality without being enslaved to it. We can imagine and strive toward something better.

Endless support of nature means endless support of beauty. The value of natural beauty on this earth far exceeds even all the wonderful works of artists and artisans in every land. That’s not to say such things aren’t wonderful and up-lifting. They are. But if we destroy the natural world, even if we could somehow live, we would be immensely poorer no matter how “rich” we were.

They practice witchcraft of a very shifty sort

And thus, with evil devils, they themselves consort. 

The logic they pretend to worship, they contort. 

They gorge on earth and every shred of life they can.

They cite the lies with which our history once began

Ignoring all the truths since learned so they can ban —

All life is not black and white. In fact, very little of it is.

The lives and loves of what they do not understand.

They stuff their ears to drown the sound of those they’ve banned.

They cover eyes to blind their brains to flames they’ve fanned. 

The air and sea are fouled: – by blood-soaked, unlearned hand.

They point their blame toward each direction in the land.

If everyone caves, they’ll expand their demand. We’ll all be damned.

Even at sunset, find the light. Even after sunset, find the light. The light will lead to truth and the truth will set you free.

It cannot stand. Fallacious fascism falls and fails. 

It won’t be folx, but traitorous cheats who’ll fill our jails. 

The Fire of Love is Fire that Works: The Fire of Life.

Fulfill America’s Dream. The Dream beneath the Dream. 

Help everyone see and feel the Theme beyond the Theme. 

The Fire of Love is Fire that Works. The Fire of Life.

We need a land that works for everyone who’s here. 

For rich, and poor; for men and women, straight or queer. 

For blue, for yellow, red and white. Behold the Light!

For each heart knows that “Cheat and Lie” cannot be right. 

Divide’s a trap for fools. It’s history that schools:

Don’t follow those who promise jewels then break all rules.

Photo by Johannes Plenio on Pexels.com

Instead, we’ll stand, hand in hand, across the land. 

We’ll sing a song still better than the one we planned. 

We’ll sing clear air; we’ll sing our forests back to green.

We’ll sing of love; we’ll face the truth; grow strong and clean. 

We need not join dictatorships of scum and hate. 

That’s not the arc of America’s fate. That’s not our gate. 

It’s over on that hill of green. That place of sun? 

That place of light and love? There’s room for everyone!

The Fire of Love is Fire that Works. The Fire of Life. 

The future is ahead of us. A thousand wars of strife 

Will not turn back the seasons nor the sun. The Light 

Will grow the Tree of Life beyond the Fear and Fight.  

Come climb the hill and in the valley far below 

You’ll see the hands around the campfire and its glow. 

You’ll hear the singing. Join and you’ll help quench the strife.

The Fire of Love is Fire that Works: The Fire of Life.

The Fire of Love is Fire that Works: The Fire of Life.


Author page on Amazon

The Myths of the Veritas: The First Ring of Empathy

Dick-Taters

The Broken Times

Sonnet Supreme Sedition

American Dream

American Dream 2

Dance of Billions

The Three Blind Mice

Stoned Soup

Absolute is not just a vodka

We’re all in this together

After All

Plans for US; some GRUesome

Story about a child sociopath

The Extreme Court

Clarence

Fish Have no Word for Water

Guernica

The Crows and Me

Small Steps

27 Sunday Feb 2022

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Democracy, hope, Humankind, Kindness, life, Resist, Resistance, Ukraine

Small Steps.

Take small steps. 

Be kind to those around you. 

The ruthless dictators of the world stand poised to take their last stand against democracy; against decency; against a world of enough for everyone.

They need inequality. You don’t. 

They need lies. You don’t.

They need wars. You don’t. 

They pretend they have great power. They don’t. 

If Putin’s army decided to do it, they could turn back and liberate their own people.
If Putin’s inner circle decided he was too unstable to rule, they could put in a new “leader.” If he’s a dictator, he too will eventually become unstable. It’s an occupational “hazard” that is a certainty.  By surrounding themselves with “yes-men” and cowardly sycophants afraid to tell the truth, dictators virtually guarantee that they will overestimate their own power and capabilities over time. The same thing happens to drug lords, autocratic bosses, and abusive spouses. 

Human beings are fundamentally social animals. 

Be kind to those around you.

No matter how strong, or smart, or creative a person is, if they really disconnect from their society and their world, they will accomplish little. They can destroy. Just like cancer, they can kill. But they cannot actually accomplish much. 

No-one has infinite energy and attention. A dictator spends so much energy on protecting themselves and consolidating their power, that they have almost nothing left over for actual governance. In addition, since they surround themselves with feckless chickens, they never even get the information that they would need in order to improve their governance.

Dictators destroy the free press. That helps them mislead the people they enslave. At the same time, in ensures that they lose touch with reality.

How can we help save democracy half a world away? 

Photo by RF._.studio on Pexels.com

Be kind to those around you.

Be vigorous in pursuing the truth.

Be kind to those around you.

Get involved in your local politics. Make sure your own elections are fair. Make democracy strong where you are. 

Be kind to those around you. 

Photo by Eileen lamb on Pexels.com

Dictators and would-be dictators seek to divide the people so they hate each other rather than the one who actually wants to enslave them. 

Be kind to those around you.

Dictators not only know no true love themselves; they hate love. They will seek to destroy it. They need a society where mothers inform on their daughters and sons inform on their fathers; where wives inform on their husbands; where brothers inform on their sisters. The dictator wants all loyalty to accrue to them — though they have zero true loyalty to anyone else.

Be kind to those around you. 

If you feel dislike or hatred for another group, ask yourself who benefits from that. Hint: It won’t be you. It won’t be the person(s) you dislike. So who does benefit? While you’re trying to figure that out, you may as well take small steps toward a better world — small steps that hurt no-one. 

Be kind to those around you. 

Any step in that direction is a step in the right direction. 

——-

Author Page on Amazon

Absolute is not just a vodka

Stoned Soup

The Tale of the Three Blind Mice

Siren Song

If you’re so smart, why aren’t you rich? 

Dictatorships: All for one and none for most

We’re all in this together

The “All for me!” Bee 

Life will find a way

Fish have no word for water

Con-Con Man’s Special Friend

Come together right now

The Mud Pit

Lying to your kids

Happy Darwin Day

The Power of the Unbrella 

P is for Politics

Essays on America: The Game

Brick By Brick

12 Sunday Dec 2021

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

bunker, CivilWar, Defense, hermit, hope, poem, poetry, war

Brick by brick.

Photo by Tim Mossholder on Pexels.com

Brick by brick, brick by brick.

I built my plastic kevlar house.

I knew I had to insulate myself.

Photo by Thang Cao on Pexels.com

To make it strong, impenetrable, 

I avoided windows, glass of any kind.

No way to break in; no way in at all. 

Photo by ShonEjai on Pexels.com

I painted blue each and every room.
Uniformity is cost-effective, after all.
I knit an outer shell for camouflage. 

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

In my attic: electronics spread galore!
To warn of approaching enemies.
I spent my days staring at orange LCDs.

Photo by Marina Hinic on Pexels.com

Ever vigilant for each and every breach, 

“Safe at last; safe at last,” I told myself. 

This is how I spent those endless days.

Photo by Kindel Media on Pexels.com



“Safe at last; safe at last,” I muttered.
I thought at last, I’d venture out
I tried to usher courage to my heart.

Photo by Min Thein on Pexels.com



I had misplaced the key; destroyed Feng Sui.
I couldn’t find the slightest hint of door.
Doors can so easily get unhinged … like me.

Photo by Colour Creation on Pexels.com

I had — had I— forgotten to carve one?
So, now I must begin again. I must unbuild.
Brick by brick. But I cannot find the tools. 

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

I’ve built a prison meant for fools.

Designed by excellent, redundant rules.

My tears, my tears, begin to lake in pools. 

Photo by Sourav Mishra on Pexels.com

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Brick by brick. 


How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

The Watershed Virus

Absolute is not just a vodka

The Bubble People

Ah Wilderness

Author Page on Amazon

Milkweed Seeds

22 Thursday Apr 2021

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

faith, hope, milkweed

From Wikimedia Commons

I really loved them as a young child. Each one felt so silky! You had to hold her just right so as not to ruffle her delicate “wings.” If you gripped her tightly, you would cripple her and instead of sailing away on the breeze to her destiny, she would plop to the ground at your feet. Then, she would look up and shake her little seed husk at you and wonder how you could be so clumsy.

It wasn’t only that milkweeds looked and felt cool and seemed expressive. According to lore and superstition, they were magic! If you captured one and then made a wish on it, and let it go, your wish would come true! 

Even as a small child, I was rather a doubting Thomas. But then again, even though I could see no possible way it could work like that, why would my parents lie? Maybe it could work. Maybe it would only work sometimes. And even if I didn’t believe my wish would necessarily come true, there was always a chance, right? If this little ritual played itself out with a group of friends, that made it even more fun because they believed it would definitely work. 

Who would imagine that milkweed plants would develop a parachute for their seeds to spread? You know who else likes milkweed plants? Monarch butterflies. And do you know one reason they like them? It makes them taste bad to predators. Since they have a distinctive pattern, the predators avoid them. And not just them. Some butterflies have apparently evolved to look like Monarch butterflies so the predators also avoid them even though they don’t feed on the milkweed and presumably taste bad, though I cannot confirm this with personal observation. I have never tasted butterfly.  (Well, not knowingly). 

Many of those spritely silk spheres fall on fallow ground. Some don’t receive enough water. Some sprout deep in some sad and sunless sewer. Deprived of light, she shrivels and dies. Others may wash out to sea. More than a few swirl helpless into toxic substances. There are a lot more of those around these days. Have you noticed? Milkweed has. And so have millions of other species. Yet, they are surviving. Barely. And the Monarchs are surviving. Barely. 

And what about us? What about we humans? If we are surviving by destroying entire species at a rate to rival a direct meteor hit on our planet, what does that say about us? That we are thriving? Or just surviving? 

Meanwhile, the milkweed seeds still disperse. It seems a fit symbol for hope. Because, every so often, a milkweed finds those perfect conditions and she grows into a beautiful plant who in turn provides nourishment for a beautiful bouquet of butterflies, including the Monarchs. Not all milkweed seeds thrive, but when they do, they really know how to thrive and enjoy their thrivingness. They are an apt symbol of hope.

Called “Butterfly Milkweed” — (not the kind with the large parachute seeds)

If you do something kind for no benefit or reward, that too is a symbol of hope. You have dropped a pebble of kindness into the fountain of society. If enough people do that, the water itself will stay vibrant and healthy. If hardly anyone drops a pebble of kindness, the society will stagnate and stink. I have seen milkweed seeds stuck on the surface of polluted puddles. Such seeds … and deeds … do not always strike fertile ground. But when they do, it can be amazing! 

And  by simply making a wish on the magic milkweed seed; by doing a kind deed; if there are enough seeds, enough deeds — the tree of life will flourish. And so will you.

———————————————-

Math Class: Who are you?

Imagine all the people

Listen: You can hear the echoes of your action

Ripples 

I can’t be bothered

Tit for tat

It couldn’t happen to a nicer guy

Myths of the Veritas: All that Glitters …

08 Wednesday Jul 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, creativity, family, health, politics, psychology, Veritas

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

escape, fiction, hope, innovation, leadership, legend, myth, religion, story, tale, truth, Veritas, Z-Lotz

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Over the next several days, Shadow Walker’s memory and thinking improved. That turned out to be a good thing because otherwise, even though he asked, indeed insisted that Tree Vines tell him in excruciating detail everything he saw from a number of public executions, he himself would have become hopeless. But Veritas were trained from an early age to push away hopelessness and instead to plan. Of course, this did not make them impervious to circumstances. Understanding the reality of one’s circumstances, even if unpleasant, always proved crucial to maximizing one’s chances for survival. 

As Shadow Walker and Tree Vines reviewed the latter’s memories of the killings together, Shadow Walker probed for more and more detail. Veritas early memory training, it became clear to them both, proceeded along similar lines and had similar benefits on both sides of the Twin Peaks. Tree Vines had learned more of the Z-Lotz and ROI languages than Shadow Walker. He explained to Shadow Walker that his friend Eagle Eyes, if she had survived, would likely be in prison not too far away. Rumors were that NUT-PI had planned some sort of giant celebration with lots of torture and killing to take his people’s attention away from a rampant plague that was killing scores of people. Apparently, NUT-PI had at first refused to believe there even was a horrible disease among the Z-Lotz, and then he claimed it was only the impure in spirit or those who were disobedient to him or his interpretations of the Great Sky Bear’s law who had anything to fear. Many from among the most devout of the Z-Lotz had also died. 

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Food and water were scarce. On the one hand, Shadow Walker felt the need to conserve his energy for an escape attempt that might require every ounce of energy. On the other hand, he also needed to keep his bones and muscles strong. So, he exercised for short periods of time, but very vigorously and he encouraged Tree Vines to do the same. The exercises themselves helped them from slipping into a vague and vacant hopelessness. Shadow Walker encouraged the other prisoners to follow suit. At first, only a few joined in, but when the other saw the obvious improvement in mood, they began to join in. 

Shadow Walker avoided dwelling on those aspects of his current reality that most distressed him but he did need to note them. Most disconcerting of all were the uncertainty about Eagle Eyes and the fact that his pouch containing his six Rings of Empathy was missing. He assumed someone had stolen it when he had been clubbed on the head. Somehow, playing with the rings always made him feel closer to Many Paths. Now, he had to be satisfied with closing his eyes and imagining he had the rings. 

Another disconcerting thing was the weight and discomfort of the large extended collar that hung around his neck and then opened up into a kind of chest covering. It seemed to be made of the same stuff as the strange metal door that he had encountered on his first visit to the Z-Lotz and the sword that he had taken in the burnt forrest. All the prisoners had these strange shiny collars. These collars seemed impossible to remove and each prisoner’s had some of the strange marks that Tu-Swift had begun to decode. Every few hours, Shadow Walker’s mind returned to the idea of somehow using these collars as weapons. They should be useful. They were made of the same strange stuff as the swords … but how could they be used when they were so tightly attached? The puzzle maddened him and Tree Vines shared his intuition about their potential value, but other than trying to smash a guard with the chest plate, they couldn’t work out how to remove the blasted thing in order to use it as an effective weapon.

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On sunny mornings, which predominated in the summer, a bright shaft of light streamed into the otherwise dank and cheerless cell. Tree Vines smiled one morning as he sat in this shaft of light and said to Shadow Walker, “Watch this.” At night, a fair number of rats stole into their cell searching for bits of food the prisoners had dropped or overlooked. The prisoners generally shooed them away. Tree Vines used the sun’s reflection off of his metal shirt to chase the rats away. Shadow Walker chuckled appreciatively. “At least, these damned things are good for something.” 

One morning about a week after Shadow Walker’s capture, everyone in the cell awoke early because of a great commotion and chatter among the guards. The prisoners could also hear the hum of activity outside. Their only window was too high up to see anything except sky, but they could tell that a great many people seemed to be gathering and chatting excitedly about something. Soon, the prisoners themselves were speculating, mostly in Z-Lotz, about what was up. The door to the prison cell slid open and many warriors entered along with the guards. For a moment, Shadow Walker considered trying to run out the open door, but there were too many warriors and they were too concentrated. They had swords and clubs and their demeanor made it clear that they would brook no nonsense. They strung a long chain through a hole at the back of the collar. The guards held the ends of the chain and ushered the group outside. 

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They were greeted by a beautiful summer day. They were led over to a long bench. The prisoners needed to squint against the sun which was now high in the sky behind the throne on which NUT-PI sat in his golden crown. Shadow Walker strained to lean forward so he could better look to the left and right. He could see Eagle Eyes! He tried to catch the eye of Tree Vines but with his neck constrained and three people between them, it proved impossible. Shadow Walker caught a glimpse of the man’s face. A worried smile seemed to play over his features like a summer day with racing shadows from passing clouds. Shadow Walker glanced up. There were no clouds today. Only a circling flock of birds high above. 

Shadow Walker craned his neck forward and backward trying vainly to whisper to Tree Vines. He saw that the female prisoners had all been outfitted as well with the same metal collars which, in the case of the women and girls, covered their ribs and stomachs but not their breasts. Suddenly, a loud gong sounded and reverberated through the stone walls of the Z-Lotz city. A man with a very loud voice stood next to NUT-PI intoning: “SILENCE! You may cheer when the rape and torture begin. First, let us hear from our great leader. If you talk while he talks, you will miss the entertainment. You will become part of the entertainment.” Everyone fell silent.

NUT-PI stood and a thick fake smile spread across his lips as he spoke. “Thank you so much for your attention. Our great city has suffered a plague brought by strangers to our fair land. Luckily, because of my leadership, we have defeated this enemy as we defeat all enemies — with strength of purpose and fierce loyalty to me and the words of the Great Sky Bear told through me! Now, that we have defeated this plague, it is time for some much deserved entertainment. First, on offer, we have three score young women and girls. I don’t want to spoil the surprise ending but for starters, they will all be brought before me and forced to look at me.  I can watch them look at my eyes while they are raped. Then, I can watch the life drain out of them as they are slowly strangled. Or not, as is my fancy. Then, we will do the men as well. But first, they can watch their wives and daughters be raped. Guards, bring them one by one over here for my pleasure. Start with the youngest.”

Despite the threat of death, some of the women began to scream and beg for mercy. One voice rang out above the rest. It was the voice of Eagle Eyes. She was not begging for mercy but singing some weird toneless, loud, and long scream. What was she doing, wondered Shadow Walker. She’ll get herself killed right away! He heard a distant echo of her scream from the … no, it wasn’t really an echo, he realized. The pitch was higher. What — ? Then the motion caught his eyes and they reflexively shot upwards. He saw a score of eagles diving toward NUT-PI. A moment later, he saw them them too. At first, his mouth stood agape, but then, he grabbed his nearby Killing Stick and took aim at them. All at once a host of … bees or butterflies flew around his face. He fired the Killing Stick. So far as Shadow Walker could tell, he missed all the eagles, but several of the nearby Z-Lotz screamed and fell. 

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Shadow Walker shook his head. He couldn’t believe that someone had trained bees or butterflies to … no, no… he realized suddenly that they were not bees or butterflies. Those are reflections, he said to himself. Eagle Eyes and many of the women were adjusting their shiny collars to reflect the sun into the eyes of NUT-PI so that he couldn’t see clearly. Forgetting the guards warnings, he shouted to Tree Vines. “Focus the reflection of your collar and chest plate onto NUT-PI’s face. Tell the others to do the same!” 

At first, a host of reflections scattered around NUT-PI, the gong, and the throne. NUT-PI waved his hands at them as though he were scattering a swarm of bees. Then, a thin and piteous scream emerged from his lips as more and more of the reflections converged on his face. He dropped the Killing Stick as he tore at his eyes and tried to cover his face with his hands. The back of his hands began to burn. The smell of burning flesh seemed to antagonize the eagles who now pecked at the squirming writhing NUT-PI. Blood began to pour from various places. NUT-PI screamed out, “Kill them! Kill them!” 

His guards looked at each other, wondering who it was they were supposed to kill. Prisoners? Eagles? The Z-Lotz? No-one wanted to be responsible for misinterpreting an order. They were still wondering what possible order to follow as NUT-PI collapsed and fell silent. The voice of Eagle Eyes rung out loud and clear. “Your King NUT-PI is King no more. He dead. He defeated by messenger from the Great Sky Bear. Shadow Walker! Guards! Unchain new King. Unchain Shadow Walker! Fulfill the great prophesy of Great Sky Bear! He has used the power of the Great Sky Bear to become new king!” 

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Shadow Walker felt even more confused than when he had been banged on the head and awakened in prison. He squinted and frowned at Eagle Eyes. He vaguely felt the chain being slid out of his collar and the guards did something to unlock it. He had constructed numerous example plans for escape but none of them looked anything like this! Eagle Eyes had her own plan apparently. He walked toward the throne, his mind racing about how to embrace and amplify her plan. A conversation with Cat Eyes sprung into his head. Many of the Z-Lotz did not even believe anything about their religion, but they all acted as though they did. If that were true, maybe he could convince them that he was their new king. No, he corrected himself. He didn’t need to convince them. He only needed to act as though he were king and they would accept it. They had accepted NUT-PI as their ruler — clearly a deranged and cruel leader who cared almost nothing about his own people. He had been a coward at the battle of the three roads and he was a coward in ruling and a coward in death. 

Play the part, Shadow Walker told himself. Play the part. Slowly and with as much dignity as he could summon, he strode to the throne. The birds jumped away for a moment as he neared and he noticed among the wreckage of NUT-PI’s finery, the leather pouch which held his Rings of Empathy. He snatched it up. He looked out at his audience of prisoners, ROI, and Z-Lotz. He could see that many were still sick, swaying feverishly and covered with ugly red dots on their faces and hands. This was NUT-PI’s idea of “conquering” the plague? No time for that. People expected him to be leader, so that’s what he needed to be, at least for now. He glanced at Eagle Eyes and allowed the slightest flicker of a smile to cross his face. 

Shadow Walker turned to face the crowd. He wished he could speak more fluent ROI or Z-Lotz, but he didn’t. So he used sign language to enhance communication. He forced himself to speak in a strong steady voice.

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“Greetings, brave and strong people of the Z-Lotz and ROI. I have bested your king. I am now king. That is your way. Our way. The way of the Great Bear in the Sky. The Great Sky Bear told me to come here. The Great Sky Bear said that the Z-Lotz need new King. Old King did not help you cure your plague. Old King was cruel. Old King hated families. Old King liked killing. Great Sky Bear does not like killing for no reason. Great Bear of the Sky loves you. Great Sky Bear loves all things that swim, fly, and walk. Great Bear of the Sky does not love Killing Sticks. Shadow Walker swallowed hard. He wasn’t sure what would happen if he tried to break the Killing Stick. Perhaps it would kill him first. He considered taking it and throwing it in a lake or burying it, but destroying it immediately would be far more dramatic…and far less safe. He noticed where people had been hurt. The Killing Stick was pointed toward them like a spear or an arrow. So, he made sure that part of the Killing Stick was pointed away from everyone as he smashed it against the stones behind the throne. 

After he did that, he heard a cheer. It was Eagle Eyes. But many joined her cheer. He did not want to lose that energy and have people begin to miss NUT-PI. So, he continued to speak. “I bring you great news from Great Sky Bear. No more are we to steal children. The Great Sky Bear loves families. The Great Sky Bear loves families together, not apart. Release the prisoners! The men had already released themselves, but now the guards released the women and girls as well. It seemed that nearly all prisoners were part of families. Shadow Walker reflected that all of these people had come to the middle of town to watch entertainment, so he’d better provide some and quickly, he reckoned. But what? What?

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—————————————-

The Creation Myth of the Veritas. 

The Myths of the Veritas: The Orange Man

The Myths of the Veritas: The Forgotten Field

The Myth of the Veritas: The First Ring of Empathy.

 Author Page on Amazon.

First of several stories about a child sociopath. 

Three poems about a pandemic: 

The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

     The Watershed Virus

Trumpism is a new religion. 

 

Wake Up!

24 Wednesday Jun 2020

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

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

fiction, hope, innovation, legend, life, memory, myth, prison, story, truth, Veritas

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Shadow Walker couldn’t understand where the bright light was. It seemed to be everywhere and nowhere. The noise overwhelmed him, seemed to jar his bones and make his teeth chatter.  Breathe, he told himself. Breathe. Disgusting. Sour. Rotten. He was spinning. The bright lights changed to blue and then red and back to blue. “I can’t think straight,” he mumbled aloud. Shadow Walker slowed his breathing. The word “inventory” came to mind. He slowly and carefully took stock of his body, part by part. It was all there; sore, but no broken bones. He moved his hand to his head. Apparently, a tree burl had grown on his head. But that cannot be, he thought. I must have fallen. I’m in a hole. He blinked and listened to the roar. 

Not a roar. Those are voices. Whose voices? Many voices. They were speaking gibberish. Gibberish he had heard before. ROI and Z-Lotz. Why were people speaking those languages? A picture came to mind — a beautiful young woman bathing. Then, she was speaking. They were pointing to some vines high up in a tree. Another image: crawling through the grass. He drew close to the beautiful woman. Her scent was nice. Not like now. Who was she? She was not the only woman though. There was another. If only the pain were less, I could think better. 

The light at least had grown dimmer. He could now make out mountains and in this vast landscape, no plants grew. He closed his eyes and saw the image of another beautiful woman with eyes like those of a cougar. He mumbled aloud, “I wish Cougar Eyes were here. She could translate this sea of words into something I could understand. Where the hell am I?”

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He stared back onto the giant landscape. Something was very wrong with it. He blinked a few times and suddenly realized that he was not staring at a giant landscape at all. He stared at a dirt floor a few inches in front of his face. He was lying on his side. He tilted his head to take in the room. 

I am in a prison, he thought. But why? He pushed himself up to a sitting position. A single shaft of sunlight struck the floor near where he had just been lying. He closed his eyes and nearly fainted. He sat alone on one side of this prison room, he realized. The other three sides showed a few dozen others hunched against the other three sides. They reacted to him — his sitting up — by pointing and jabbering — but he only caught an occasional word that made any sense: “death” “NUT-PI” “ceremony” “yesterday” or “tomorrow” — he couldn’t be sure which. Again he said and said aloud, “If only Cougar Eyes were here.” Across the room, a thin, frail, long-bearded man arose and hobbled toward him slowly. He stood directly in front of Shadow Walker and then awkwardly sat down in front of him and began speaking — in Veritas!

“Excuse me, Sir. My name is Tree Vines. Did you say ‘Cougar Eyes’ just now?” 

“Tree Vines! You speak Veritas!” 

“I do. Yes. I am Veritas. But I don’t recognize you. I suppose you have grown quite a bit since I last saw you. But did you say ‘Cougar Eyes.’?” 

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“Yes. I don’t recognize you either. I am Shadow Walker. Cougar… that’s not right. Tiger Eyes. No. Something. Her name escapes me. I have been struck hard on the head. I don’t know how I got here. Where are we?” 

“You are in a place called Hopeless because all who come here, die here, or — or out in the public square. NUT-PI mostly lets us die of slow starvation, but sometimes, he likes to put on a show. I am afraid that is likely your fate. According to what I overheard from the guards, you came here two days ago with a woman. Was this woman by any chance called ‘Cat Eyes’?”

“Cat Eyes! Yes. No. I mean, I do know a woman named Cat Eyes. But that is not the woman I came here with. She’s — her name is — also something to do with cats or eyes or fish. But no. Cat Eyes — not Cougar Eyes — she — I found her in the village of the ROI. Like you, she speaks Veritas, but she also — but I cannot recall how I came to be here. I cannot…my mind is not working properly. I’m sorry. But you speak Veritas. Yet, I don’t recognize you.”

“Nor do I recognize you. Though I have been among the Z-Lotz for a long time now. I set out long ago on a journey to find my daughter, Cat Eyes, and was captured and used as a slave here in their city. My master became deathly ill ….”

Shadow Walker interrupted, “What? Wait. Cat Eyes is your daughter?” 

“Yes. Yes. Her irises are shaped like those of a cat. And you know her? Is she well?” 

“Tree Vines, the last time I saw her, she was well. She led … several of my tribe went to try to reach the Veritas beyond the Twin Peaks. She went with them. She said that’s where she was from.” 

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“That’s right! But how — I don’t think they could get there. She was stolen from us when she was young. She was taken by these people who steal children. My wife and I set out to follow the trail and try to find her. Several of our tribe accompanied us. But we came to a sheer cliff. No-one could find a way in or around. The others turned back, convinced there was no way over the mountain. My wife and I stayed and at last, a huge hole appeared in the side of the mountain itself…a kind of giant door. We could see nothing but we were desperate and slowly approached this hole hoping it might lead to her. Before our eyes had adjusted to the strange dim light inside, a troop of horsemen came riding out. They struck us with clubs and I woke up in the City of the Z-Lotz. I was chained and beaten and made to understand that I was their slave. They made me change my name to Tree Vines to make fun of my thin muscular limbs. I used to called “Of The Night” but I seldom think of that now. I was never allowed outside my master’s house. I am not sure whether my wife…sometimes other slaves came and I tried to ask about my wife, but we could never talk long. I gave up on life. I poisoned my master, not to kill, but to make him ill, and they found out or rather guessed — and put me in here. But only the ROI and the Z-Lotz know the secret of the giant hole in the mountain. I don’t think she could get through. But why are you here?” 

“Tree Vines, it is good to hear someone speak Veritas again. And, hearing your words has helped me recall some things, but I am still not — I don’t know why I am here or — we came — there is something here that we need. I came with — a different woman because she was here before and she sees — yes! She is called ‘Eagle Eyes.’ She can see really well. But not well enough to keep us from being captured — or killed.”

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“I’m sorry to say so, Shadow Walker, but they are going to kill you. By the light on the floor, I see it is nigh on to the Summer Solstice and they have … festivities planned … in fact, I would do the mercy of killing you, but we must find a way to kill each other or they will have me take your place. They make everyone — even the slaves and prisoners — go and watch the torture death. It would be better to die here.” Tree Vines, shook his head slowly from side to side. “It’s very bad. I’m sorry.” 

“Everyone dies eventually. But I am going to kill as many as I can. Meanwhile, tell me as much as you can about this ceremonial death so I can find my best chance of escape, Tree Vines. Or, would you rather I call you Of The Night?” 

Tree Vines sighed. “No, that name will just confused me. Call me Tree Vines. I will tell you of the killing rituals, but what else can you say about my daughter? Please. Tell me. What sort of person is she?” 

“Your daughter is strong, beautiful, and very smart. I will give you the short version and if fortune looks favorably on us, I will tell you all you want to know later.” 

“Fair enough, Shadow Walker, but — this prison is called ‘Hopeless’ for a reason. NUT-PI uses a special rod to wound people and torture them. No-one has ever come close to escaping.” 

“Killing sticks! Yes! That is why we came here. To find out more about them and possibly steal one. My young brother in law, Tu-Swift, was also taken by the People Who Steal Children. We followed the trail and eventually I found him. He was living as a slave among the ROI and they were using him to train horses. We escaped with Tu-Swift, but the ROI followed us and used fire arrows to attack us, but the fire spread by the wind back to their own village and burned it to the ground. Most of them abandoned the wreckage of that village. But beneath the burned armory, we found a wounded ROI man named Jaccim. Your daughter was tending to him. She is a very good and kind person. And, as I said, very smart. She helped Tu-Swift learn to decode markings so that messages may be sent without the sender of the message being present.” 

“So, Cat Eyes was not hurt or injured or tortured?” 

Shadow Walker sighed. “The ROI…the Z-Lotz…I don’t know for certain. She looks to be unhurt on the outside. But her heart — that I cannot say. She avoids talking much about her time in captivity. But she was very excited to learn that Jaccim knew a way through the mountains. And, we sent a small party to try to connect with the Veritas who live beyond the Twin Peaks.” 

Tree Vines chewed nervously on his lips. “You let her go with one of the people who steals children?” 

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“Jaccim actually seems like a decent person. Your daughter cared for him and I brought him medicine. And, he spent a fair amount of time with us. Tu-Swift vouches for him. What we discovered — actually mostly Cat Eyes — is that the ROI do not seem to even question what they are asked to do. If it’s effective and efficient, they are happy even if it something like stealing children. I don’t think on his own, he is likely to do bad things. Anyway, it wasn’t just the two of them. One of our strongest warriors, Trunk of Tree went as well as Fleet of Foot and two of our friends from the Nomads of the South. Your daughter is very resourceful. She spoke once of poisoning her captors as well. But she didn’t get caught.” 

Here, Shadow Walker tried carefully to study the face of Tree Vines to see whether he regarded this as a reproach since he had been caught. There was a frown, but Shadow Walker didn’t think it was from reproach. 

“I am — I am glad to know she is alive. But now, I am worried all over again. You let her go with one from among The People Who Steal Children. She is still a child herself. She — you have no idea how she is. And, now, it seems unlikely either of us will ever find out.” 

Now, Shadow Walker frowned. “Your daughter is very much a young woman now. She definitely has a mind of her own. She insisted that she wanted to go. We dialogued about the pros and cons, but all of us, most especially your daughter insisted on going — she mainly wanted to see you — and her mother. But what do you mean, none of us will ever know?” 

“Shadow Walker of the Veritas Center Place, there is a reason that this prison is called Hopeless. No-one can escape.” 

“Tree Vines of the Veritas Beyond the Twin Peaks, I know well why they call the prison Hopeless. It is precisely so no-one will even try to escape. It is a label they chose. They mean to demoralize us. We will find a way out and you, I believe, will yet be reunited with your daughter. She is very resourceful. I told you she helped Tu-Swift decode the marks of the Z-Lotz.” 

Tree Vines tilted his head and tightened his lips. “You mentioned these marks before. Do you remember what any of them look like? I wonder…. No, it couldn’t be.” 

“Oh, I remember them all! Once Tu-Swift realized that each mark is like a stick figure drawing of someone making a sign, you see, and then your daughter and Tu-Swift together realized that each mark was only the initial sound of the word that the hand signs signify, we were able to decode the entire birchbark collection that Eagle Eyes … managed to take from here.” 

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“Did my daughter, Cat Eyes, ever mention the work of the Veritas beyond the Twin Peaks to understand the ancient artifacts we discovered?” 

“No. No. Not that I recall.” 

Shadow Walker glanced around the prison. He noted that none of the others were talking. Each seemed to be cocooned in their own private prison of hopelessness, they all sat, backs to the wall, arms wrapped around their knees, heads down. Perhaps they had sent their souls into another place since this one was so … filled with death. Each of them sees the others act hopeless so they do too. It’s perpetuated from one prisoner to the next. The name — hopelessness — and the expectation — those are better guards, I think, than any of the human ones out there. 

“Listen.” Shadow Walker drew closer and began whispering. “I intend to break out of this prison. But I may need the help of others. Do you know which of these men is to be trusted? Is it possible there is a spy?” 

Tree Vines inhaled deeply. He had become inured to the stench. “People in here don’t talk much. I’m not sure I’d really trust any of them. On the one hand, they are probably not great fans of NUT-PI. After all, they’re in prison. On the other hand, if they heard of your plans they might inform the guards in the hope of securing better treatment. That’s how NUT-PI operates. He betrays everyone but has everyone believing that they will he lucky exception. Anyway, plans are hopeless. You only have a day — perhaps two — before they will use you for entertainment.” 

“What sort of — entertainment?” 

Tree Vines drew still closer. “Are you sure you want to know?” 

Shadow Walker, despite his body still being wracked with pain, felt a small smile on the right side of his mouth. “Oh, yes. I definitely want to know.”

Tree Vines said, “If you want my advice, spend your last days thinking of something good, not dwelling on the horror that lies ahead.”

Shadow Walker’s smile spread. “I assure you that I will spend very little time dreading. I will spend my time planning, imagining, trying alternatives, imagining consequences, imagining alternative consequences, like a tree growing limbs from trunk, and twigs from limbs and leaves from twigs. I will find a way out as surely as I found a way in.” Shadow Walker paused for a moment and then looked into the eyes of the other man. “And you are coming with us.”

“You really think you can do it?”

“Either that or die trying. I’m not going to spend my days … underground. Now, tell me about how they imagine that they will use my death to provide entertainment?”

“All right. Well, the first thing is that it is always different. But variations on a theme. There will be some sort of sexual perversion involved. You can count on that. And there will be a lot of pain involved. And, the audience of — well, different people are in different positions but everyone is there — even the prisoners. It is our only entertainment — and — you will think me sick — a despicable man — but we all cheer, even though the person being tortured to death is one of us. Crazy when you think about it.”

colosseum rome italy

Photo by Davi Pimentel on Pexels.com

“Okay, thank you Tree Vines. But I need you to be much, much more specific. What weapons of torture? Where is the person relative to the audience. Where are the prisoners?  I realize it may all be different, but there will be patterns and if I can understand those patterns, I can see the weaknesses, the cracks in those patterns, that will always be there regardless of specifics. I already know what some of the cracks are because they are flaws of NUT-PI himself and will always limit his thinking. For instance, he is a colossal coward. And, he assumes (without knowing that he does so) that everyone else is the same. So that colors his predictions. He rules largely through other cowards because he can use fear to manipulate them. But it also means that very few, if any, are truly loyal to him. Even if there are such people, he will never be able to trust anyone. He will not be able to tell who are the few who truly want what he wants or think he is a god from those who will simply act that way to curry temporary favor or avoid punishment. These are general patterns of weakness, but there are many more for a system such as NUT-PI and the Z-Lotz have set up. But I also need to understand their cruelty in great detail so I can see the weakness patterns there as well.”

Tree Vines had a grim look on his face. It was painful to reveal some of the many possible tortures, but guilt tripled his pain. He along with all his fellow prisoners had cheered and he kept asking himself why. “All right, Shadow Walker. First of all, they always have the person restrained in some way. Perhaps his hands will be tied behind his back. Perhaps he’ll be suspended from a pole. Perhaps he’ll have one leg in a chain with a heavy ball attached.”

Tree Vines paused. “Do you want me to go on?”

“Yes. But take yourself back. Instead of saying, ‘sometimes this, sometimes that’ tell me of one particular torture from beginning to end; everything you saw, you heard, you smelled, you felt. Everything. Just like I was watching right beside you.” 

Tree Vines paused. He actually found himself smiling. He had been taught this skill at a young age, but he hadn’t used it in years. For the first time in an endless string of gray days in Hopeless Prison, Tree Vines felt hope. 

——————————————————————

Author Page on Amazon

The Myth of the Veritas: The First Ring of Empathy

The Myths of the Veritas: The Orange Man

The Myths of the Veritas: The Forgotten Field

 

 

John vs. Worrier

02 Saturday May 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, creativity, management, politics, Uncategorized

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

anxiety, blind, blizzard, fiction, hope, lost, New England, psychology, self-help, snowstorm, story, winter

snow covered mountain during golden hour

Photo by Stephane Hurbe on Pexels.com

The blizzard had passed; now, calm, serene. Snow glittered on the Boston suburb of Woburn. “Perfect time for a walk,” John thought. Sun played hide and seek as he set off to scale the “mountain” whose summit offered Boston skyline glimpses. 

The woods were beautiful, bright and deep. Across the spit of land between marsh and lake, Sunday afternoon, he strode with confidence. Atop the summit, Boston glowing gold in sun.  

administration ancient architecture blue sky

Photo by Rakim Davis on Pexels.com

Then, Storm’s other half hit.  With vengeance.

Wading waist high through snow drifts, John could hardly see ahead. He’d climbed this hill a hundred times. He knew the way, if only he could see anything beyond white horizontal hordes of sleety flakes; if only he could hear beyond wind howling through his head.   

cold freezing frost frosty

Photo by Egor Kamelev on Pexels.com

The rain/sleet/hail/snow pelted relentless. John shivered. He felt ice needles trickling down his neck and biting through his gloves. 

“Crap. Can’t be more than four miles from home.”

“People have been lost in wilderness, run circles and died within a hundred yards of major highways.” 

“Who? Oh, you again. I told you to go away. Anyway, that’s not going to happen to me.  This isn’t wilderness anyway. It’s suburban Boston. I know this land. If only I could see….”

close up photography of a snow

Photo by Constantin Dorin Adrian on Pexels.com

“Notice how snows falls into your boots? Note you’re breathing?”

“Whatever. I’m making progress. I’m strong; moving through these chest-high drifts.” 

“Progress? A funny term. You’re moving. Toward what though? No sun, no visibility. Towards what?”

“I know where I’m going.” 

“Using stellar navigation or solar?”

“Shut up!”

An hour later, home with kids, weather and worrier defeated, John wonders only for the briefest moment if things might have turned out differently.  He laughs and Worrier sighs and pulls the lid back in place atop his sarcophagus. 

white painted tomb

Photo by Matthias Groeneveld on Pexels.com


Index to Essays of 2019

Index to Fiction of 2019

The Blog in Review for 2017

Index to “Pattern Language for Collaboration and Teamwork” 

Author Page on Amazon

The beginning of The Myths of the Veritas. (Stories that explore leadership, empathy, and ethics in times of crisis).

Tales of an American Childhood (Amazon)

 

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