The Illness that’s Everywhere

15 Sunday Sep 2019

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

Tags

Eagles, greed, hope, leadership, legends, life, myths, pollution, Veritas

“I don’t really feel sick. Not exactly,” said the white-haired lady.

Many Paths sat down on the edge of the pine bough bed and looked down warmly into the eyes of She Who Saved Many Lives. She squeezed her mentor’s hand a bit tighter as she asked, “Can you tell me how you feel, Great Leader?”

She Who Saved Many Lives chuckled a bit. “That’s you now, dear.” She squeezed the hands of Many Paths and returned the warm gaze. “You’re the Leader.”

“It is more like everything feels sick,” she continued. “Not a lot, but some. I see, feel, hear, sense — an illness that is slight for now but growing and that it is — everywhere.”

Many Paths now grew worried. Perhaps, as sometimes happened, something bad grew in the brain of She Who Saved Many Lives. Or, maybe she was being metaphorical and vague on purpose. That was one of her many “tricks” to get you to think for yourself. Maybe, she is even now about to teach me a lesson. I would certainly welcome it, thought Many Paths. Her mood had improved. She could at least hope that her mentor was teaching her.

“It’s most like a dizziness. As when you spin around in a circle for a long time. Then you stop and the whole world seems to be spinning. You lose your balance and fall. And that is what this feels like as well. Something in the world is very much out of balance. It is falling. And though the earth still lives, there are those about in the world who would make earth herself fall.”

“And that makes you dizzy?” Many Paths still thought a teaching lesson was not the only hypothesis, but the best.

“It does when I look upon it. I want to understand what it is and how it came about and how to stop it of course. And when I study into it, that’s when I myself start to feel that dizziness. How can anyone want to destroy life itself? They want it to be imbalanced! They want life to stop!” She Who Saved Many Lives sat up and Many Paths could see her mentor’s forehead was wet.

Many Paths thought perhaps rest was the most important thing to prescribe for her patient. But her “patient” was anything but; she seemed obsessed with trying to find out what was imbalanced. Many Paths decided to pursue the conversation.

“How could the world get out of balance? If it were in balance to start with, why wouldn’t it stay in balance?”

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She Who Saved Many Lives nodded, “I have asked myself that same question. As you no doubt would appreciate, there are many possible answers. It might be that none of them are correct. It is possible that the imbalance was always there but too slight for us to notice. Over time, the imbalance became so large that it was impossible to return to balance.”

Many Paths remained more concerned with her patient than with such a philosophical discussion. But her curiosity had nonetheless been engaged. She Who Saved Many Lives had a gift for that.

“I can see how a small imbalance could lead to a larger one. But it may also be true that imbalance and balance are themselves in a cycle. When a person is a tiny toddler, they fall a lot! They have very little sense of balance. At last they grow into adulthood and they have good balance. Then…no offense meant…but as you get very old, your sense of balance becomes worse. Then, you fall again.”

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“Yes, and of course, each of us individually dies. For us, as a separate being, we grow so far out of balance that we die. And yet normally, the whole of life is not thrown off balance by that. But my sense of things is that people are “falling” at all ages, not just toddlers and old folks. It is something — I don’t think there is a better word than “evil” — some idea or way of thinking that is not only wrong in some circumstanced, but actually aimed at self-destruction. I think of NUT-PI and also from our own tribe, ALT-R and POND MUD. But it is not just them. Somehow, they or people like them are infecting others. It may be that I myself am ill. And because of that, I sense illness elsewhere. But I don’t honestly think it’s like that. The illness is everywhere — and it makes me sick to think of it — that there are life forms out there — as recounted in The Myth of the Orange Man — that want to destroy life itself for some trivial greed.”

For a time, the two women sat in silence, each considering the words of She Who Saves Many Lives. Many Paths at last began, “I have felt something similar. I felt it when POND MUD and ALT-R betrayed us. But after we won the Battle of the Three Paths, it seemed as though the world was well again. Then someone stole Tu-Swift. Stole him. Who would steal the children of others? And then, in trying to find Tu-Swift, others left — and no-one is back. No-one. They may all be dead for all I know. Everything is sick. Yes. Very sick. And I don’t know how to cure it.”

Many Paths looked for a time into the eyes of She Who Saves Many Lives for an answer, for a clue. Any moment now, she hoped, her mentor would ask one key question and this would all fall into place. At last, Many Paths realized that was not going to happen. Saves Many Lives had not been teaching at all. She was as confused as Many Paths. Saves Many Lives had reminded Many Paths that it was now her turn to be Leader. Many Paths took a deep breath and gave the hand of She Who Saves Many Lives one last squeeze and stood up.

“But we will find out how to cure it. We will find out. But for now, let us both get some rest. Tomorrow may bring good news or bad, but it will be another day. Many Paths smiled, turned, and exited the Cabin of her mentor. She looked out onto the Center Place of the Veritas. She smelled the cooking fires, and she heard the happy chatter of her people punctuated now and again with a laugh. It suddenly hit her that she loved this entire tribe and loved it with the same ferocity as a mother grizzly loves her children. She would find out what this illness of the world was and together they would cure it. They would fix it. Surely, life itself would come to her aid.

She walked over to the edge of the broad, swiftly flowing stream. She smiled as she remembered the clever way that Eagle Eyes had turned this stream into a weapon in the Battle of Three Paths. She could see the pink and gold of the sunset clouds reflected yet transformed by the churning water. She knew that somehow and some day, all would be well once again. Life, after all, was robust. It also flashed through her mind the nearby spot where KAVA-NUT had been attacked by a trained eagle! That was something to behold. If we can enlist nature….

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Many Paths looked upward imagining the great eagle swooping down. She imagined that she could actually glimpse the eagle in the fading light…careening over the trees. No. It was an eagle, she decided, and headed this way! Could it be…? Many Paths quickly flung several folds of her robe over her forearm so that the Eagle could land there. She put her forearm up parallel to the ground and the Eagle alit.

Many Paths recognized the Eagle as one of the ones that Eagle Eyes had trained. This one appears to have a badly broken leg, she thought. But as she calmed the Eagle, hooding its vision with her hand, she noticed that something was attached to the Eagle’s leg. She had to breathe deeply to calm herself enough to remove the something without spooking the Eagle. It seemed to be some sort of message.

———————————-

The Creation Myth of the Veritas

The Orange Man: A Parable of Lying and Greed

The First Ring of Empathy (The Start of Book One)

Fire and Feast (The Start of Book Two)

Previous Most Recent Chapter in the Myths of the Veritas

An Essay on How we sometimes Confuse the Label with the Thing

Author Page on Amazon

Essays on America: The Game

10 Tuesday Sep 2019

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

≈ 10 Comments

Tags

criminal, Democracy, evil, games, life, society, sociopathy

The Game

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The Game has no rules. Not really. I suppose you could say that the one rule is that there are no rules.

Not everyone can play The Game. So, that might count as a rule about entering and leaving The Game.

To Enter the Game, you need to be a Player.

And, to Leave the Game, you need to die. (You can’t “quit.”)

dog and house toy on monopoly board game

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Those are the two rules about whether you can play, but there are no rules within The Game.

But how does one become a Player?

Fame is not enough. Wealth is not enough. Good looks, or sharp wits, or intelligence, or encyclopedic knowledge, or special talents? No, that is not enough.

What is important is that you have Power and that you will execute your Power without regard to any human ethics or sense of fair play or human sensibility.

But what exactly is this Game?

To answer that, we must look at its origins.

Original Art by Pierce Morgan

Have you ever been bored?

I certainly was — as a kid. But not for long. Because when I was bored — no TV, no friends, and long before video games or the Internet, I would read or I would make up a game and play that game. As an adult, however, I’ve been very busy as most of us have. I have plenty to challenge me, entertain me, make me laugh, and make me cry, both real and artificial.

Likewise, I imagine that most of you have been more tired or worried or overjoyed or experiencing any one of a hundred emotions much more often than you’ve been bored.

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But let’s imagine that you had been born into different circumstances. Let’s say that you were born into so much power and wealth that you could afford literally anything provided only your parents approved. And, once you could carry cash around on your own, you could even circumvent that restriction fairly easily. You may not have been able to buy true love, but you could certainly buy enough sexual favors to keep you satisfied. You could access any drug you felt like without any fear of consequence so long as you didn’t do anything boringly inconvenient like OD.

Because, you see, if you did overdose, it would call attention to the fact that you and your mates could use drugs without a meaningful fine and without any jail time, provided only that you ditched your parents’ mansion for a month or two and instead lived in another mansion that would set you straight. Similarly, many of life’s challenges that most people have to face are not really challenges for such folk. They don’t have to worry about getting into college, or getting a job, or being popular, or finding a mate, or getting drafted into the army, or getting sick and not having to be able to afford the drugs, or getting arrested for such trivialities as shoplifting, doing illicit drugs, speeding, sexual assault, or vandalism.

Human nature being what it is, even this kind of upbringing will not produce only sociopaths. Some people from such circumstances do turn out to be wonderful, productive, generous human beings. After all, they will get access to a marvelous education and if they are thoughtful, they may see that the world would actually be a better place if more people could live better lives. That happens a lot.

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But not always. Many people born into such circumstances will not feel true love toward another human being. They will not take advantage of the educational opportunities by learning how to be a better human being. Some might learn particular skills like finance or law that they feel will help keep them in power. But education for them, like everything else, is only a means to an end.

Imagine how you would feel if you had everything you could possibly want? Ecstatic? For a while perhaps. Happy? Maybe. But again, the way most of us are wired, with zero challenge there is zero sense of true accomplishment. You would be bored. Since real life offers no challenges, you’d like to play a game.

The Game.

The Game with no rules that is only open to the very bored and very powerful.

To be a Player, you must have enough power to make it interesting to the other Players. And, you must be willing to play unethically. Otherwise, you’d be boring because you’d be so easy to beat.

Just because you can’t be a Player doesn’t mean you don’t have a part in The Game. You do have a part. You are the dice. You are the cards. You are the little tokens that more around the board. There are 7 billion of you. It’s a complicated game! And because it’s so complicated and so open-ended, it never really gets boring for The Players.

Although the game is open ended, there are certain patterns of moves that recur quite regularly. A common move, for instance, is to start a war. Another is to steal a great deal of wealth. Another is to “take over” another player — to “own” them so that they have to do what you say.

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These “moves” in The Game, of course, can cause great pain and suffering to millions of people in the real world. So what? Many of them are also trophy hunters. It’s kind of a signal to other potential players: “No, I don’t care about life. But I care about winning. And I won over this lion (or elephant). So there!”

Similarly, The Players really don’t care about how the people feel who die in a war or what it means to their kin; not any more than you would care if you’re playing monopoly. You might care about what token you use. I think the train and the dog are quite popular; the iron not so much.

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Similarly, The Players often have some sort of persona that they prefer; gangster, thug, bon vivant, playboy, philanthropist, celebrity, politician, professor, entrepreneur, etc. Somewhat inconveniently, their persona shares a body with their real character so if the persona is mobbed, the real person beneath gets rushed, and touched, and man-handled. A great deal of time and effort goes into protecting The Player from the consequences of their actions in “the real world.”

I cannot see the whole board, but it’s clear that The Players moves right now are, among other things, destroying the ecosystems that we rely on. By the very nature of The Game and The Players, they couldn’t care less provided the “real world” consequences will occur after their death. It’s no accident, of course, that most of The Players who are on-board with ecological suicide are old, white men who are not going to live much longer anyway. It’s of absolutely zero interest to them whether people die in hurricanes, or lose their crops, or their houses are flooded —- BOR-ing! What really matters — to them — is winning the game and “taking over” other players along the way.

If that’s all that matters to us — the dice, the cards, the board, the checkers — if all that we care about is whose team is winning The Game and nothing about the consequences for billions of human beings and for other living beings on this earth — then that’s what will be.

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But if we do care, then it’s time to end The Game.

Before it’s too late.

In other words, now.

———————————————————————-

Series on SHRUGS (Super Hyper Really Ultra Greedy Swindlers).

Post on how interconnected all life on earth is.

An antidote to boredom: gratitude.

Author Page on Amazon

Essays on America: Ice

04 Wednesday Sep 2019

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

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

arctic, carbon dioxide, Climate change, environment, ice, life, methane, politics, science, truth

“Have a nice day.”

In the San Diego area, where I live, people really do often say, “Have a nice day.” And, generally, that happens, at least weather-wise. It is typically between 55 and 75 degrees Fahrenheit (13 to 24 degrees Celsius) year round. Right now, we are having a slight heat wave. When I went to play tennis this morning, I filled a cup 2/3 ice and 1/3 water to help me stay cool and hydrated on the court. Although we played at 8:30 am, the temperature on the tennis court was already high. As I filled my cup (to almost running over), I was once again struck by the odd properties of ice.

One of those properties is that ice is less dense than water. Ice floats. That turns out to be a good thing. But it’s also an unusual thing. Many substances contract as they get colder and expand as they get warmer.

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There’s another weird thing about ice. It takes as much heat energy* to change a cup of ice at 32 degrees Fahrenheit (0 degrees Celsius) to a cup of water at 32 degrees Fahrenheit as it does to warm that water from 32 degrees F to 176 degrees F!! That is hot water! Exposure to water for two seconds that is only 150 degrees F will give you third degree burns. You do not want to touch water that is 176 degrees Fahrenheit (80 degrees Celsius)!

Just contemplate that astounding fact. It takes as much heat energy to change a cup (or any other amount) of ice to water at that same temperature as it does to heat that ice cold water up to way beyond scalding.

brown surface beside body of water in a distant of mountains under white clouds during daytime

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“Well, okay,” you might say. “But who really cares?”

You do! Or at least you should. Because all that ice that is melting at the Arctic and in Iceland and in Greenland — that is a big frigging deal!

And I think you would immediately know it’s a big frigging deal if Global Warming heated the ice cold water in the Arctic Ocean to scalding water that was so hot it killed all the fish, dolphins, whales, crabs, and seaweed in the ocean. It would kill you almost instantly if you tried to swim in it.

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Actually, what is happening is worse than that.

Why? Because although water is reflective, it is not nearly so reflective as ice covered with snow. Chances are, you may have heard the expression “snow blind” which is a temporary blindness caused by the sunlight bouncing off snow and hurting your retina. But you have not heard the expression “water blind.” Although there can be glare off the water, it is not nearly so severe. So, when the ice melts, it not only represents a huge change in heat energy; it also speeds up the further heating of the planet. The sunlight once reflected off of ice covered with snow and that helped keep the planet cooler. In those areas where the ice and snow have melted, much less of the sun’s energy is now reflected off into space.

Actually, what is happening is worse than that.

Why? Because the arctic heat is also thawing permafrost in arctic lands. This means that methane which is trapped beneath the permafrost is being released into the atmosphere. Alas, methane, like Carbon Dioxide, is a greenhouse gas. So, the increased level of Carbon Dioxide in the atmosphere is not only itself causing the planet to heat up; it is also releasing huge quantities of another greenhouse gas: methane.

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Unfortunately, in the first two decades after being released into the atmosphere, methane is 84 times as “effective” as Carbon Dioxide at trapping the heat energy in the earth’s atmosphere. Agro-business and manufacturing also produce methane. This means more warming and less ice.

As it turns out, there are many possible variations of ice. The exact number of different types varies depending on what “counts” as another type. You know that “solid ice” is different from frost and snowflakes and candle ice. Under extreme pressures, many kinds can be produced in the laboratory. But none of them is Ice Nine.

Ice Nine is a science fiction substance created by the mind of Kurt Vonnegut in his wonderful book, Cat’s Cradle, which is well worth the read.

In Cat’s Cradle, a scientist discovers another form of ice which “freezes” at room temperature. Not only that; if even a tiny “seed” of this Ice Nine touches a larger body of water, that entire body of water will turn into Ice Nine. So, an over-arching suspense arc of the book is whether or not humanity will be able to “contain” Ice Nine or whether it will basically destroy life on earth.

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Ice Nine is fiction. But global climate change is not fiction.

Whether we humans can get our act together in time to prevent turning Global Climate Change into Global Climate Disaster is not clear. Many people are working very hard to prevent that. But many other people apparently think it will happen after their individual life is over so they don’t really give a damn about how many of their descendants will suffer or how many other life forms they destroy. And a few people, those I call SHRUGS (Super Hyper Really Ultra-Greedy Swindlers), are actively trying to hasten the Global Climate Disaster by rolling back environmental regulations, setting forests afire, and denying that Climate Change is real.

Why?

That’s the subject of the next post.

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In actual practice, the amount of heat will vary depending on the insulation and ambient temperature. If you heat ice water up on your stove, for example, at first, in addition to the heat you provide from the gas flame or electric coil, your house temperature (perhaps around 72 degrees F) will also be heating up that water. But once the temperature of the water reaches a higher temperature than 72 degrees F, some of the heat you apply from the stove will “leak out” into the rest of your house. And the higher the temperature of the water, the more will leak out into the rest of your house.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cat%27s_Cradle

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A Tale of Two Nannies

13 Tuesday Aug 2019

Posted by petersironwood in America, politics, Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

family, life, nanny, parenting, politics, truth

A Tale of Two Nannies.

Some decisions are difficult. Some are easy. I’ll let you decide for yourself, discerning reader, which kind of decision this one is.

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Briefly, I need a nanny for my kids. One is named, let us say, Donna. The other is named, let us say, Serena.

I didn’t really know either of them personally, but I find out something about each of them.

Serena came from a good family. Everyone spoke highly of her and of her family. She had worked at the local library and from my casual observations, seemed to get along quite well with children. She was soft-spoken but assertive and articulate. She was also young and athletic.

Donna came from a crime family. She swore like a sailor. Many people had accused her of various crimes including theft, tax fraud, insurance fraud, obstruction of justice, and pedophilia. So far, none of these had resulted in her going to jail.

By chance, I happened to see her hanging out, joking, and laughing with known drug dealers and murderers.

When I confronted her about the shadiness of her background and acquaintances, she pooh-pooh’d it as nothing but slander by jealous bitches out to steal her God-damned job and I had God-damned better hire her or she was going to sue me and everyone else she could think of!!

So two questions.

Which one should I choose for the nanny to my kids?
Is this really a hard decision?

Author Page on Amazon

Myths of the Veritas: Book One

Myths of the Veritas: Book Two

Which wolf do you feed? The “bad” wolf or the “good” wolf? Of course, sometimes, decisions involved complex trade-offs, but sometimes we “know” what the right thing to do is and instead do the convenient or selfish thing.

Finding the Mustard

12 Monday Aug 2019

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

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

environment, experiment, Feedback, learning, life, politics, racism, truth

{A departure from the Myths of the Veritas, this is just some thoughts while making dinner}

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To the best of my ability, this is the view I had when I poaching salmon for dinner tonight and realized I had almost forgotten the mustard. I spied it immediately.

Then, (while using the mustard) I began to ponder a blog post from a few weeks ago on the importance of making sure that you looked for “the whole enchilada.” But just now, I relied on a small number of cues and it all worked out fine. What’s the difference?

The difference is that I am looking in my refrigerator for something that I know I have. Even in a large grocery store, there are a limited number of products in jars. But in my fridge? Very few. And, let’s face it; much of modern life is like this. We spend time at work, at home, at the gym, on our commute and we are on familiar ground. We see familiar things. We talk to familiar people. So, all these little algorithms we develop *work* pretty well most of the time.

But — they do not work very well at all if applied to *new* situations, or *new* places, or *new* knowledge or *new* people. If I were to find myself looking in the refrigerator in Italy or Malaysia and relied on the exact same cues, it would be far less likely to work!

It isn’t so much that these little algorithms or pattern recognitions don’t work. They don’t. But so what? The problem comes when we *assume* or even *insist* that they still work. Mostly, they don’t. So, when you are in different situations, you need to slow down and search & ask for help & think & test. And, if you do, it’s mostly all OK.

But if you insist that your knowledge *should* work in situations where it does not…you are going to make yourself uncomfortable much more than you need to.

Quite apart from the unfairness that xenophobia wreaks upon “others”, it is sad to me that it prevents so much that is interesting and wonderful about living in the 21st century. We have this *astounding* and *amazing* opportunity to learn from a thousand cultures and peoples. Instead, we are ignoring them, or destroying them, or sometimes incorporating a useful piece of technology.

Left to their own devices, people from different places, cultures, races, etc. can generally work it out. But if a rabble rouser preys on your feelings of discomfort and helps you focus on it, they destroy that natural accommodation and mutual learning. Of course, they are doing it to gain power over you, and they don’t care that they are blinding you to a cornucopia of possibilities.

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Once the flames of hatred are sufficiently fanned, you will never be able to see that “other” as a human being who is fundamentally just like you, but whose ancestors and cultures learned different skills and customs in order to survive. You will never see all that you can learn from each other. You will never see that you have been manipulated into fearing, and hating, and even killing so that someone else can become richer, or more powerful, or be able to flout laws that they don’t like. And that is a very sad thing.

Myths of the Veritas: Book One

Myths of the Veritas: Book Two

Myths of the Veritas: Diversity as a Testament to Our Success as a Species

The Whole Enchilada

Author Page on Amazon

Essays on America: Wimbledon

15 Monday Jul 2019

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

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Corruption, Democracy, dishonesty, fascism, innovation, life, politics, truth

Wimbledon.

An amazing venue. An amazing tournament.

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This year, in particular, offered up a host of amazing matches; e.g., Federer vs. Nadal; Federer vs. Djokovic; Serena Williams vs. Simon Halep; all the matches of Coco Gauff. And many more. The quality of tennis keeps improving. And not by accident. It’s due to fair competition.

In match after match, not only in the finals, players threw themselves into the fray to run, perceive, plan, hit, decide, and use their emotional energy in positive ways. What makes this, and every sports event, wonderful is that it is a fair contest. And because it is a fair contest, people train hard, push hard, try their damnedest to win.

The opponents make each other better. And, then, after they have trained as hard as they can train, they play as hard as they can play and we watch the drama that reveals the limits of human performance.

Imagine instead that the outcome were to be predetermined by those in power. Because someone bribes the dictator, or is otherwise connected by favors or blood, the winner is chosen by the dictator. Then, everything is “show” to make it fall into place the way the the dictator wants. Maybe some of the competitors would be drugged. Maybe some of them would meet with accidents. Maybe the line calls could consistently shade one way.

Would fans even get any joy in watching? I suppose some might. After all, I do enjoy watching 007 movies, Star Trek, etc. even though I already know which side will win. But then, why bother with a tournament? Why not just make a fictional movie about tennis and the dictator’s favorite tennis player?

Who would want to enter such tournaments if they knew that the outcome depended on your connections to the dictator rather than on their skill and strategy? Who would bother to train hard for the event? Who would even be attracted to the sport in the first place?

If you were a top quality athlete, if some sports were “open and fair” and other sports were predetermined by the dictator, which one would you want to play in?

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Of course, in a dictatorship, it isn’t just sports that are corrupted. Every aspect of life is corrupted. You can poison the food and water and get away with it — if the dictator likes you. You can run your company into the ground and be bailed out if you are aligned with the wishes of the dictator. Government officials will be advanced according to how corrupt they are rather than how well they do their jobs. You can be a brilliant academic, but if your views do not align with what the dictator thinks will protect and expand his own power, you’ll be passed over for promotion. That’s the best case scenario. You could find yourself in a prison camp.

And under these circumstances, why should people try hard to discover and disseminate the truth? Why should anyone make the best possible product if the dictator might jail you because you are competing with the dictator’s son-in-law?

Under dictatorship, everything in life decays into a moldy shadow of what it should be. Creativity is stifled. Your brilliant discovery won’t be approved by the dictator because the dictator didn’t know about it ahead of time (by definition). On the other hand, the dictator might “prescribe” findings and discoveries such as the existence of phlogiston. Experimental results will be manipulated and the population will begin to believe in a reality that is less and less aligned with the actual facts.

Do you think this is an exaggeration? It isn’t. But don’t take my word for it. Read about writers, film makers, singers, movie stars, athletes that were not in “favor” with Stalin or Mao.

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Do you, like most workers, take pride in doing a good job? Why bother if the dictator can brush away your team’s product in order to promote the competitive product made by the dictator’s daughter, say? Absolute power is an addictive drug and a dictator will never voluntarily give up power. They insist on more. Of course, no-one can know everything and the worst kind of dictator is the impulsive/cover-up kind. They don’t bother to understand a situation but make snap judgements. Then, everyone is required to scramble to pretend the snap judgment was actually a good — no, a great decision.

The lies and mediocrity will proliferate. In many cases, cruelty will be extracted from “enemies of the people” intentionally. Beyond that, there will be almost no incentive for government to be effective under a dictatorship. Do you think the Bureau of Motor Vehicles is inefficient now? You haven’t seen anything like the inefficiency of a dictatorial state! But if things stay on the current trajectory, you will.

Once honesty becomes replaced with loyal lying, everything crumbles. Everything.

Your body only stays healthy and alive because it sends all sorts of communication signals. If your body “lies” to itself and sends false signals, you will soon find yourself in terrible health or worse.

It is the same with a nation. If public officials lie, it destroys government in and of itself — and it also encourages the rest of the population to lie, cheat, and steal.

Game. Set. Match.

Author page on Amazon.

Eagle Eyes Eyes an Eagle

20 Thursday Jun 2019

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, psychology, Veritas

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

forest fire, legend, life, myth, ROI, story, Veritas

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Eagle Eyes ran desperately to escape the flames that chased her down the hill. Her eyes burned from the smoke, but she hated the lack of visibility more than the pain. She needed to run quickly and yet, could hardly see her next footfall. So much for having the eyes of an eagle a tiny voice in her head said scornfully. She might or might not break a leg, she calculated, but being eaten by the fire would surely kill her, so on she ran. For a moment, the wind shifted and she could see a clear path before her with only a small fire to avoid and she ran even faster in that direction. Suddenly, the path before her burst into a wall of flames. She looked around desperately and caught a glimpse of another person off to her right. She couldn’t tell who it was in the murky air, but whoever it was seemed to be running directly away from her. She turned and ran in that direction.

The shadowy figure before her suddenly veered to the right, stopped, spun around and ran off at a different angle. She ran toward the shadowy figure. She soon outdistanced the flames and found herself doubled over, gasping for air in a grassy field that was unscathed by fire. Even better, she breathed clean air. She thought of how grateful she was and suddenly collapsed.

When she regained consciousness, she found herself on her belly. She raised her head, glanced down and saw human feet right beside her. She jumped and spun into a defensive combat posture. Eagle Eyes took in the posture and bearing of her enemy and had decided where to strike when a voice yelled “Stop!” She recognized the voice. It was her own voice, echoing in her head. She felt faint.

The man before her was Lion Slayer. He was trying to smile at her but grimacing in obvious pain.

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“Ah, Lion Slayer. Well met. Sorry, I thought you were…I guess I thought you were one of those who steals children.”

“I understand. I was also terrified! Because of this.” He held up his injured arm. “And worse. We could be both crisply burned to a crisp. What of the others? Have you seen them?”

Both of them looked toward the open, undamaged field that lay before them. Neither saw any sign of their compatriots. Then, they turned and regarded the crest of the hill behind them. It lay a charred ruin and behind that they could see towering flames and billowing black smoke. They turned and looked at each other.

Eagle Eyes frowned. “Should we go back for them?”

Lion Slayer looked down. “I would like to. Of course. But we were very lucky to escape those flames once. We will do them no good dead.”

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Eagle Eyes considered. With a sudden shudder, she recalled running through the flaming field, unable to draw breath, unable to see more than a few feet in front of her. “I hate fire. At least this kind of uncontrolled fire. It destroyed everything and everyone. I hate fire arrows.”

Lion Slayer nodded. “As do I. Eventually, it will burn itself out and I will find Hudah Salah. And the others. But now, we should move even farther away. The wind can shift again and bring the fire this way and this time, we might not be so lucky.”

Eagle Eyes also nodded. “We must be wary as well to be on the lookout for the People Who Steal Children. If we escaped, some of those might have as well. And our friends. Come, let me tend to your wounds when we get down there. Beyond that creek, there are trees. On the far side of the creek we may find jewelweed or yellow dock to help with your burns.” Here she pointed off in the distance and began walking. Lion Slayer walked beside her, constantly scanning the horizon for enemies of the human or fiery variety.

“I see some far trees. I do not know these plants, jewelweed and jello dock, but we have a kind of cactus — we put the jelly on burns.”

The eyes of Eagle Eyes brightened, “Oh, yes, I know that one. You brought some on your visit! But I don’t think it grows near here. It’s ‘yellow dock’ by the way, not ‘jello dock’.”

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“Oh, sorry, yes. I wasn’t sure anyone noticed the gifts we brought. Perhaps you have no need of such things. We call it ‘aloe’.”

“Oh, yes, all of the Veritas were grateful for your gifts. I especially thought those…what did you call them? ‘Scarves’? They were quite attractive!”

“Like this one?” He pulled out from his robe a finely made scarf and held it out to her. It looked to have originally been blue and white, but now it was mostly black. “I found it easier to breathe through this. It keeps out very many of the smoke. We use them for sandstorms.”

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Presently, they arrived at the creek. Sure enough, on the far side, yellow dock grew in abundance. Finding a long-abandoned campsite near the margin of the woods, Eagle Eyes made a cold wrapping of boiled leaves. To cool them quickly and more completely, she swung them in the air until they were cold to the touch. She gently laid them on the blistered skin of Lion Slayer. She was surprised that he hardly flinched. She glanced back across the creek and saw a group of people! She hoped it was Fleet of Foot! And, the others, of course. She tapped Lion Slayer on the shoulder and put her finger to her lips for quiet. She gestured for him to turn and look. He did so, stood, and began to shout, “Hudah! Hu-mmmph!”

Eagle Eyes sprang up in a flash and clamped her hand over his mouth. She put her mouth right next to his ear and, in a loud whisper said, “Wait! There are too many. Those are the People Who Steal Children!”

Lion Slayer turned looking back and forth between the figures on the horizon and Eagle Eyes. She appeared so insistent, gesturing him to get back behind the cover of nearby trees. He backed away into the trees. When they were in a fair distance but could still look out he turned again, “You cannot count how many there are! Not from here. Hudah may be there!”

Eagle Eyes put her finger to her lips to signal quiet. She whispered again. “I can count them from here. Twenty have passed by and more are still passing.”

“But then, our friends may have been captured!” he protested.

“I doubt that very much. So far, no-one resembling Fleet of Foot or any of our friends have passed by. And Fleet of Foot would probably rather fling himself into the fire than be captured. That man loves his freedom, believe me. I know him well.” For some reason, she blushed after she said this and her hands became sweaty. She glanced away from the horizon into the deep dark eyes of Lion Tamer.

She stammered out, “I mean, Shadow Walker’s probably much the same. And you. Wouldn’t you rather die in the fire than be captured?”

“No. I would fight. I hate captured. But hate fire burning more. This hurts!”

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At least he’s whispering now, thought Eagle Eyes. Maybe he’s trainable. Anyway, that’s not my job. My job is to look for our friends. But now, there are too many together. I cannot really see everyone. But we must remain here until…. She decided to share her thoughts with her comrade. “I cannot get a good look at everyone. There are too many. But if our friends are there, I can tell you that they are definitely captured and vastly outnumbered. Once they all pass by, maybe we can follow their trail and we will get a better chance to see about hour friends.”

When Eagle Eyes saw that there were no more passing by, she signaled Lion Tamer to follow her. He frowned and whispered, “It’s dangerous. Let me lead.”

Eagle Eyes nearly laughed aloud but stifled herself. “It much much more dangerous if you lead. I can see better. Oh, don’t make that look. You know it’s true.”

Lion Tamer sighed. He knew it was true, but somehow, he felt he should go first. It was how things were done. But not by the Veritas, he reminded himself. Their leader is a woman. Without a very good record so far, he thought silently.

Eagle Eyes got down on all fours and began creeping up the hill at an angle. She turned, put her fingers to her lips and gestured Lion Tamer to get down. He did so and they slowly moved forward through the tall grass whenever the wind came up. She turned to to say something and Lion Tamer was not there! She looked all around and then saw him coming through the grass. She crept up to him and whispered, “Stay close. Where you can see me. And hear my whispers. We don’t want to be found out. Stay close!”

Lion Tamer followed his instructions, but it made him very uncomfortable. He could see her only all too well. Much of her clothing had been burned. And Veritas women wore hardly more than men did. At her insistence, he was so close, he could not only see her, but smell her as well. And, he liked it. A lot.

Lion Tamer sighed. He thought to himself that he must put this out of his mind, at least for now. If they were discovered, they might or might not be able to outrun their enemies. Eagle Eyes stopped and held up her hand behind her. She turned and put her mouth near the ear of Lion Tamer. She whispered. “We are close enough for now. They have no horses. None. And they are not very well organized. I think it most likely that they simply ran from their village. I still see no sign of our friends, but we will creep closer after nightfall if conditions are right. Come.” She gestured toward a small gully overgrown with weeds.

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He lay next to her, without touching her, but close enough to feel the heat of her body. He reminded himself of his wife, Hudah. How would he feel if he survived this fire and she did not? He hoped he did not have to discover the answer to that question. Hudah suited him just fine, though the Veritas women intrigued him. And this one…her eyes were not only effective, but deep and beautiful.

Something caught those deep and beautiful eyes and she glanced up. An eagle circled above, its majestic wings reflecting a red glow from flames burning. Eagle Eyes made an incredibly high pitched whistle. The eagle immediately banked left out of its circle and descended rapidly toward them. Eagle Eyes heard Lion Slayer gasp beside her and she lay her fingers on his lips to hush him. She slowly drew a piece of dried meat from a pouch. She gathered much of the cloth that remained and wrapped it quickly around her forearm just before the eagle alit upon it. She whispered to it gently as she fed it the meat. Eagle Eyes tore a tiny strip of cloth from her garment and wrapped around one of the eagle’s legs, whispering gently as she did so. The eagle stared at her as she said, “Go home. Go home. Go home.” The eagle finished the meat and flapped back up into the sky.

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She turned to look at Lion Slayer, whose mouth lay agape below staring eyes.

“Will that work?!” he asked.

“I’m not sure. I’ve trained many eagles. Luckily, this was one of them. But I can’t say for certain.”

“You are an amazing … you are amazing,” said Lion Slayer, shaking his head slowly from side to side.

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The Creation Myth of the Veritas

The Parable of the Orange Man

The Myths of the Veritas: Beginning of Book One

The Myths of the Veritas: Beginning of Book Two

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Fire Arrows

17 Friday May 2019

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, psychology, Veritas

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environment, escape, fire, hate, legend, life, myth, politics, story, Veritas

Eagle Eyes suddenly put her hand up thus silencing Tu-Swift in his recounting. She pointed to a spot on the horizon. The others stared but saw nothing. She made the sign for “fire” and then pointed to another spot and again made the sign for “fire.” The sun now began to rise behind them but shadows still obscured the valley between their small party and the people who steal children. A cool breeze freshened behind their backs. The wolves would not be able to catch a scent if they were being pursued. All of the party trained their eyes on the places where Eagle Eyes pointed but nothing appeared to them. They stared into the valley below: grassland, scrubby trees, and on one side a forest of conifers. On the other side, another forest bordered with birches and aspens.

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The wind, they knew would carry their voices as well as their scent so they deliberated in quiet. If they stood their ground here atop the hill, they would have some advantage in a fight. If their enemy approached on horses, they would not be able to outrun them. They might be better off to stay and fight from the high ground. Tu-Swift shot his hand out and nodded vigorously, making the sign for “fire.” He too saw these flashes of flames. Soon, the others detected these fires that multiplied and flickered in the nearby woods. Shadow Walker, Fleet of Foot, and Lion Slayer each strung one of the bows that Tu-Swift had stolen and lay arrows beside them, ready to shoot when the time came.

A hail of flaming arrows suddenly streamed toward them. Shadow Walker laughed. What a terrible aim they had, he thought to himself for he could see that the arrows would fall well behind them. Lion Slayer saw this as well, but he yelled at the others to run and follow him. “Fire!” he screamed and began to run down the hill away from the forest of evergreens toward the birches. Shadow Walker frowned for a moment thinking Lion Slayer a coward not to stand and fight. A jumble of thought-images flickered through his mind: Lion Slayer, lion, a lion slain, a fire, The Legend of the Orange Man and then he understood and urged everyone to follow.

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Shadow Walker understood that their enemy had not aimed at them but at the grassy expanse behind them. Even now, the dry grass was taking hold and burning quickly up the hill behind them. Lion Slayer had realized immediately that running away from the evergreen forest was their only hope. The entire party now ran headlong down the side of the hill away from the forest. Shadow Walker glanced back and could see their pursuers now emerging from the edge of the forest. He saw that they were not atop horses. Perhaps they could out run both them and the fire, but if they loosed another volley of arrows they could start a new fire. He stopped for a moment, turned back and picked up the small friend of Tu-Swift who was falling behind.

It seemed to Shadow Walker that fire now roared all around them. Thick black smoke hid each from the others and they continued their descent, running blind. Shadow Walker’s foot landed on a loose rock and he fell heavily while Day-Nah flew off his back and tumbled away from him. The fire seemed to suck life out of the air around them. Shadow Walker crouched on all fours attempting to catch his breath. He stood but saw no sign of the others. Flames surrounded him. He was disoriented and could see nothing and he heard no voices above the roaring flames. Wolves! He heard the wolf pups and, having no other beacon, ran toward the sound of their voices.

Shadow Walker’s feet suddenly splashed into cold water. He had come to a broad shallow river. Here, smoke hung still heavy in the air, but there were no flames surrounding him. A splash beside him made him spin around ready to kill but it was the small friend of Tu-Swift. Shadow Walker heard coughing and saw Hudah Salah splashing toward him. The air began to clear around them.

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Wind is a fickle friend. Those who loose fire — or hatred — upon a land or a people, can never predict with certainly where those flames will lead. Fed by the fuel of fierce desire to destroy and flowing with the ever changing winds, foolish indeed are those who think these movements may be directed and channeled.

This day, the winds had shifted and the fire now pursued the pursuers and the fire burned toward the people who steal children. Though slower on the downhill side, it chased the ROI into the forest, but did not stop at the edge of the forest. Encouraged by the richer fuel within, the blaze now devoured its way back into the fir and pine. Another small fire had begun when one of the ROI had pulled back his lit arrow, and before he could release it, the weakened nock broke and the flaming arrow had fell at the bowman’s feet instantly igniting the grass around him. The breaking of the bow stung his arms and in his surprise, he ran into the forest rather than attempting to put out the small fire around him. Of course, it quickly grew and like his larger cousin, relished the change in wind that allowed him to charge into the fuel-rich forest.

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As the air cleared around Shadow Walker and Hudah Salah, the rescue party began to see that in the distance, a great fire was destroying the forest — and all the creatures within. Easy Tears soon joined them along with the wolf pups. Fleet-of-Foot and Day-Nah also joined them. The stream water was cold. Shadow Walker looked about. Though there was no immediate threat of fire, he knew that winds were unpredictable. If the wind shifted directly toward them, the fire would find nothing to burn. In front of him, in a direct line to the forest of firs, the entire grass hillside had been burned to ash. On the other side of the burned grassland, the evergreen forest bloomed red and black. Huge flames leapt to the sky. The fire seemed intent on burning back toward the center place of the people who stole children. But fire is unpredictable. It might then turn and come up the other side of the valley after them. But where was Tu-Swift? Where was Eagle Eyes? Where was Lion Slayer?

Shadow Walker began to realize that his ankle was badly sprained. He gestured the others to come to the edge of the stream to parley. That sat for a few moments in silence. Each of them had just barely escaped death, after all. No-one seemed badly burned or injured. But three of their party remained unaccounted for. Shadow Walker sat on the edge of the stream, shivering with the others, keeping his turned ankle in the icy water. He focused his energy on telling it not to swell. At last, he opened his mouth to speak, but the small thin voice of Day-Nah spoke first.

“Tu-Swift?” he questioned. “Tu-Swift run? Tu-Swift hide? Tu-Swift?”

Shadow Walker almost choked up with tears. He cupped his hands around his mouth, gestured for the others to follow his lead and they all turned toward the center place of the ROI and shouted “TU-SWIFT! TU-SWIFT!” Then, they cupped their hands behind their ears to amplify any returning call. Nothing. “Eagle Eyes! EAGLE EYES!” Nothing. They did the same for Lion Slayer. Nothing. Then, they all turned in a slightly different direction and did the same. They completed this circle twice with no response. The roaring, sparking fire was the only sure sound though on several occasions they all thought they heard screams of agony.

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At last the sun shone over the peak of the hill; the smoke clouds no longer hid its warming rays and they began to parley on whether the people who steal children had survived to chase them further and whether and how and where to search for those missing from their party. Hudah Salah regarded Shadow Walker’s ankle with a grimace. She tore some of her garments and took his ankle gently into her lap where the wrapped cloth tightly about it and tied it. “Too tight – you loose. Too loose – you tight. Understand?”

Shadow Walker looked into her face. He could see genuine caring and concern and beyond that he saw her fear – that her husband, Lion Slayer might have been lost to the flames. This tore at the heart of Shadow Walker. He had come here to rescue Tu-Swift, who was nowhere to be found and he may have lost two of their party and still not returned Tu-Swift to Many Paths as he had promised.

He stood at last, and hobbled a few steps. He would be of no use searching. They worked together to devise a search plan. They would communicate by alternating whistling like an eagle and drumming with sticks. If anyone saw a sign of the return of their pursuers, they would warn the others. If they met up with any of their missing party, they would likewise let the others know. They would meet back at the stream at sunset. Shadow Walker and Day-Nah would stay behind to relay messages and Shadow Walker would try to learn more from Day-Nah. Though Day-Nah’s ability to speak Veritas was limited, he hoped he could learn something, and he began to query the little fellow. “Tu-Swift? Where Tu-Swift?”

The child repeated back. “Tu-Swift! Tu-Swift — good!” This was followed by gibberish more unintelligible to him than the hissing of a snake. But Salah Hadam, who had just gathered up her pack, and headed off to search, snapped around. She spoke to the boy rapidly in some foreign tongue. They spoke excitedly back and forth for several minutes and the others also turned back. Fleet-of-Foot could stand it no longer.

“What is he saying? Is he of your tribe? Where is Tu-Swift?”

Salah Hadam, generally quite demure, put up her had as though to push away Fleet-of-Foot and looked him in the eye and said, “You. Stop! He talk!” She turned back to Day-Nah and they continued to converse. Shadow Walker had no idea what she said, but Fleet-of-Foot understood much of what they said. He stooped down beside Shadow Walker and spoke in a stage whisper.

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“This boy does not know what happened to Tu-Swift. They were together running down the hill quickly to escape fire. Black smoke and fire everywhere. Tu-Swift had helped Day-Nah get up after you dropped him and had yelled, “Run, Day-Nah. RUN!”

“Day-Nah had looked over to see Tu-Swift but he saw nothing. He had vanished into smoke.”

Fleet-of-Foot realized that this conversation would continue for awhile and he set down his pack beside Salah Hadam and began translating as best he could to all the rest. One by one, the rescuers set down their packs and began listening to Day-Nah’s story.

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How do you Re-culture a Culture?

11 Saturday May 2019

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

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collaboration, competition, cooperation, culture, essay, innovation, life, marketing, sports, teamworkd

We now live (at least in the USA) in such a divided and divisive political climate that I hesitate to bring up something that sounds political but really isn’t. I don’t even have a position, at least as of yet. It’s just a thought I had while I was reaching out to people in India and inviting them to my blog.

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Here it is. The USA has a very competitive and individualistic culture. It’s been that way my whole life, but now, it’s insanely so. For one thing, people spend proportionally much more time watching TV and playing on the Internet than they do interacting face to face. In effect, everyone is “competing” not just with local talent, but with people from all over the country. In a nation of 330,000,000 people, 329,999,999 of them will not be the best runner in the country. The vast majority of people will never be winners. This may be why lotto and the Reader’s Digest drawing may be so appealing to so many.

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But it isn’t just running, and throwing, and high jump where we see competition. We have contests around human activities that have traditionally been mainly about bonding and cooperating, not about competing and winning. We have contests about cooking, and dancing, and singing. I grant you that in the past, small communities might have a dancing contest, once a year. But most of their activity was cooperative activity face to face, and certainly not cutthroat competition. Now, the contest is not part of the yearly festival. The contest is all there is. And, for the most part, the contest is all that is broadcast.

It seems that we here in America, with many exceptions and so on, have a culture of individuality and contest is everything there is. Oh, and of course, money. For instance, for far too many Americans the first question they ask about anything is “how much money?” I’ve seen articles that purport to tell retirees what the best place to retire is. Some of those articles focus solely on the financial aspects. Some articles ask which college provides the best education but all they really talk about is ROI.

We’ve actually accomplished a lot as a nation with this kind of crazy culture. It helped us achieve in terms of invention, discovery, and innovation. But what if the problems of the 21st century are of a fundamentally different nature? What if most of the problems we faced in the 20th century resonated well with a culture that encouraged competition, but that now, as we embark on the 21st century, the nature of problems has shifted. Perhaps now we face problems that require a much more collaborative and cooperative cultural attitude in order to solve?

Naturally, these are large trends that I’m talking about. Not every single problem we faced changed lock-step overnight. Let’s examine some examples though. A 1930’s problem might be: “How can we clear cut this forest as cheaply as possible?” And the logging company that solved that problem “won” and got rich. A 2030’s problem might be framed this way: “Is it feasible to provide material by using this forest in a sustainable and humane fashion? How?” One lends itself fairly well to top-down direction. One does not. The reader can guess which is which.

depth of field photography of brown tree logs

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A 1950’s problem might be: “How can we entice consumers into buying one of our new cars when their old car still works?” A 2050’s problem might be: “How do we provide a transportation system that is effective, efficient, and pleasant for everyone involved?” One is about manipulation and disregards collateral damage. The other collaboratively looks to a sustainable solution without side-effects that are so negative they outweigh the good done by the transportation system.

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Can American culture evolve quickly enough to be a partner on the world stage in the 21st century? If not, the absolute best we can hope for is slow decay full of internal bickering and hostility as people point fingers and shout loudly in order to establish blame.

Do we really need to change our culture and change it quickly to avoid that? Or, is the emphasis on competition and individuality still the right way to go?

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Other countries and cultures are already ahead of us in cooperation. Look at the cost versus benefits of their health care systems for one.

How can we change and work together as a culture to a develop a more cooperative view when we seem to be so divided and competitive? That is a real puzzle.

Do you have a piece of that puzzle? I’d love to hear about it.

Or, do you think we should “double down” on competition and individuality? I’d love to hear about that as well.

—————————————————

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Unstrung Bow & Unsteady Arrow of the Cruel

05 Sunday May 2019

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

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innovation, legend, life, myth, politics, story, truth

The Unstrung Bow & The Unsteady Arrow of the Cruel

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Tu-Swift discovered that waiting, just waiting, can often prove more difficult even than a hand-blistering day of shoveling horse manure. He returned to his training. “Inventory” he whispered to himself. After recalling everything about himself, his surroundings, Day-Nah, and the circumstances, he carefully went over the plans, if he might even call them that. He wished he had a weapon. His small sharp stone was no match for their odd looking bows, all of which they methodically hung up in a row on the outside of a building next to the barn, their strings dangling. Beneath each bow, a quiver of arrows stood upright on the pounded dirt. Tu-Swift’s brow furrowed as a strange thought came to edge of his mind. He nearly swatted it away as reflexively as he might swat away an annoying fly.

Like all the Veritas, he had been taught that theft, like every manifestation of greed, was wrong-headed. It would be feeding the “bad wolf” within himself. He would never steal from another of the Veritas. But these people who stood atop horses had stolen him. And, he suspected, that they had also stolen Day-Nah. So, maybe stealing some of their bows would be….It took a lot of work and effort to make a good bow; this he knew from personal experience. But to steal a person from their family, from their tribe? Surely that was far worse. Those bows, along with the arrows, had been loosed upon his tribe. On the other hand, trying to carry several dozen bows would be too awkward when trying to escape. He dug out his hard, small stone and turned it over in his hand. Tu-Swift chuckled inwardly. “You are not much of a weapon, little stone, but perhaps you can defeat a stronger one.” He thought he would try to manage stealing three of the bows and a quiver of arrows.

black and brown bow on grass field during daytime

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Tu-Swift looked out into the dark, silent, and empty courtyard of the Center Place of the child-stealers. He heard no-one stirring about. He could hear the noises, faint and distant, of the horses nickering and of people snoring, but he could not detect any footsteps. He signaled Day-Nah to stay close and to stay quiet. Despite his young age, Day-Nah was quite adept at being careful and quiet. Careful to slink along in the shadows, they slowly made their way toward the paddock, from stump, to shed, to bush, always seeking some way to stay hidden in the darkness. Now, however, to get to the hanging bows, he would have to venture into open ground. If one of the guards saw him, they would raise an alarm. Others might think he was simply a youth on his way to relieve himself.

He grabbed a handful of the bows and brought them into the vacant log building. He inserted his thin stone knife into the nock at the bottom of an unstrung bow and twisted. The nock snapped just as he had hoped. He worked as quickly as he could. After disabling the bows, he gestured for Day-Nah to stay inside while Tu-Swift ventured back outside to gather another armful of bows and quivers. He quickly snuck back inside and repeated the process. This time however, instead of completely breaking off the nock, he cracked it enough, as best he could judge, that attempting to string the bow would finish the job.

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By being so organized, he reflected, these child-stealers had made themselves more vulnerable. That seemed odd, but Tu-Swift did not follow that path and instead looked about in the dim light for a place to hide arrows. Working quickly, he placed most of the arrows underfoot and bent them up enough to crack them without severing them.

Although concentrating on breaking as many arrows as he could, he realized that this place was quite unlike anything among the Veritas. Nothing in this place seemed round and living. It all looked hard and sharp even in the semi-darkness. He whispered softly and gestured to Day-Nah making him to understand that he was to hide these bows and arrows. He went outside and gathered the rest of the bows and arrows. As he did so, he could perceive a slight glow on the horizon. The moon was about to rise!

He went back inside and slung the arrows around the odd room, stomped on all the quivers, save one which he saved for himself. Then, he made Day-Nah understand that he needed now to be very quiet. He took his hand and they peered out into the courtyard. Still no-one appeared. Why were there no sentries? Did these people who stole children not suppose someone would come to rescue him? Another thought for another day. The moonlight now showed itself in patches between deep shadows as they padded their way to the meadow where the horses and mares were near each other though separated.

Tu-Swift picked up two sticks from the woodpile and banged them together, trying to sound as much like a woodpecker as he could. “We are with the horses in the meadow. I am about to set them free on your signal.”

Immediately, he heard another “woodpecker” answer: “We are here. Set them free. Then run to our sound.”

He and Day-Nah went over to the small new pens that Tu-Swift had constructed to separate the foals and mares. He pulled out a few rails of wood and the foals were now free to go. The foals however did not seem to notice, instead sticking close to their mothers. Tu-Swift again cautioned Day-Nah to remain quiet. He saw shadowy figures emerge from the nearby grove of firs and they began dismantling the fence. A flash of moonlight happened to fall on the face of Shadow Walker and Tu-Swift could barely contain a cry of joy from escaping his throat.

The horses had been nickering nervously from the smell of so many unknown humans, but now a few began rearing up and pawing the air. In so doing, they discovered that their feet were no longer strongly tethered. The mares whinnied and reunited through the broken fences with their foals. Tu-Swift then heard a wonderful sound – the sound of Shadow Walker saying it was time to join up. He grabbed Day-Nah’s hand and they ran toward the fir grove. The horses seemed to be scattering everywhere.

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As they ran into fir grove, he could hear yelling and many footsteps back in the main courtyard. Although he had learned almost nothing of the language of those who steal children, he could tell from the frustration in the voices that the warriors of those who steal children began to discover that their bows were not in their proper place. Better yet, they began screaming accusations at each other rather than searching for their lost weapons.

The Veritas party proceeded quickly through the fir grove through the trail that they had marked. Shadow Walker bore Day-Nah on his back. After running quickly for a time, Shadow Walker put up his hand and they all stopped to listen. They could hear a great many voices – the tribe who steals children sounded much like a broken hive of bees. Shadow Walker stood Day-Nah on the ground for a moment. Shadow Walker bent and put his hands on his knees to help catch his breath. He lifted his head and caught the eye of Day-Nah who said in heavily accented Veritas, “I run” and he used his hand to gesture a run, scissoring his fingers back and forth as Tu-Swift had done. Shadow Walker looked at the boys wide dark eyes and nodded.

Now, the rescuers and the two boys jogged at an easier pace for nearly two hours, circling part-way around the stronghold of the tribe who steals children and back toward the home of the Veritas. Just before dawn, quite exhausted, after clambering up a fairly steep hill, they sat down to rest and stretch for a moment. Eagle Eyes scanned the horizon for pursuers but listened intently as Tu-Swift quickly recounted what he knew of this tribe who perches atop horses and steals children from their families. The boy spoke so quickly that Eagle Eyes had trouble understanding, but Hudah Salah appeared to follow the tale without difficulty.

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~ Finding, formulating and solving life's frustrations.

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