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~ Finding, formulating and solving life's frustrations.

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Tag Archives: religion

IS A DREAM?

30 Monday Mar 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, creativity, poetry, psychology

≈ 14 Comments

Tags

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

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

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

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Original drawing by Pierce Morgan

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

IMG_3191

Original drawing by Pierce Morgan

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

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

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

sky earth galaxy universe

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com


 

Author Page on Amazon 

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

Free videos illustrating some of the exercises.

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

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

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

Beware of Sheep in Wolves’ Clothing!

24 Sunday Nov 2019

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

≈ 29 Comments

Tags

cowardice, Impeachment, Putin, religion, treason, Trump

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

20 Wherefore by their fruits ye shall know them.

beige and gray wolf on the green grass

Photo by Adriaan Greyling on Pexels.com

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

Social Media and Divisiveness

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

herd of sheep

Photo by Jose Lorenzo on Pexels.com

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

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

alloy asphalt auto automobile

Photo by Mike on Pexels.com

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

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

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

He is not. 

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

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

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

blue and white hate has no home here printed signage

Photo by Johan Bos on Pexels.com

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

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

selective focus photography of white hen

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

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

people at theater

Photo by Monica Silvestre on Pexels.com

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing. 

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

two person doing surgery inside room

Photo by Vidal Balielo Jr. on Pexels.com

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

grey steel grill

Photo by Cameron Casey on Pexels.com

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

focus photo of brown sheep under blue sky

Photo by Skitterphoto on Pexels.com

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

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

animal agriculture farm market

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

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

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

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

It is a series of Babushka Sheep. Look inside. 

men in black and red cade hats and military uniform

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

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

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

But you don’t have to be. 

—————————————-

 

  

The Truth about Clouds and Gods

17 Thursday Oct 2019

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

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

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

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

mountain forest

Photo by Djordje Petrovic on Pexels.com

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

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

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

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

dandelion nature sunlight

Photo by Nita on Pexels.com

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

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

baking pastry dough bakery

Photo by Life Of Pix on Pexels.com

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

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

white clouds under blue sky

Photo by Darius Krause on Pexels.com

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Always? How can you know that?” 

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

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

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

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

finalpanel1

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

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

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

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

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

———————————————

Author Page on Amazon

Poetry & Short Stories

The Veritas Myth about Language

The Legend of the Orange Man

The Start of Book One: The Myths of the Veritas

The Start of Book Two: The Myths of the Veritas

———————————————

Introduction to a Pattern Language for Collaboration 

Index to the Pattern Language for Collaboration 

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

BRA-BRILL’s Audience with NUT-PI

28 Tuesday May 2019

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, psychology, Veritas

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

cruelty, cursing, greed, legend, myth, power, religion, ROI, story, Veritas

{Translator’s Note}: Among the ROI, the Z-LOTZ and the Veritas, swear words, as best we can tell, refer to religion, excretion or procreation. At least among the tribes that I’ve studied, no-one swears by referring to ingestion, coagulation, thinking, moving muscles, or other functional aspects of life. However, it appears that the different tribes varied in their preferred choice of swear words; I will not bother to translate these directly into their English counterparts; instead, I’ll use a more “polite” word but you will know doubt be able to tell what was really meant. These tribes all seemed to have shared another odd trait. They actually used both crude and polite forms of cursing. It was considered more powerful and more satisfying to use the “polite” forms. It showed, so the reasoning went, that you were fully aware of the fact that you were cursing; that you were still in charge of your faculties.

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One of BRA-BRILL’s lieutenants rushed up to BRA-BRILL. “Sire, we must slow down a bit. The women and children are having trouble keeping up. There may be further Veritas about who would capture our women and children for their own purposes. For that matter, so might the wolves. Might we take a short break so everyone can catch up?” 

BRA-BRILL turned his lifeless eyes to his lieutenant. “Oh, thank you so much my fine lieutenant for bringing this to my attention! I did not realize that there were Veritas about. I did not realize that our entire procreating village has been destroyed! Thank a diety we have brilliant people about such as you to set me straight! You are nearly as valuable as an obstruction to a defecation! Come here. Come closer. Attaboy! Now, hand me your sword, you diety-forsaken ever-procreating excretion. Come on. Do it.”

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The soldier realized he should have sent one of his own lackeys to make a suggestion. What the hell had he been thinking, making a suggestion himself? Maybe it was the shock of being awakened to an alarm and soon after being caught in a forest fire. Still…

BRA-BRILL took the sword and smiled, “Thank you. This is indeed a fine blade.” BRA-BRILL turned it in his hand and made a couple of sweeps with the sword through the air. “A fine weapon.” Suddenly, BRA-BRILL twirled the blade and struck the messenger across his thigh causing a substantial gash. The soldier fell heavily to the ground. 

“Oops. My hand slipped. No matter. Now, you can serve some useful purpose. You there! And you! Come take this wounded soldier and tie him fast to yonder tree. Make sure he cannot escape. He will draw any wolves or lions off our trail and perhaps the Veritas may find him and torture him for some truth. Well, come to think of it, best to cut out his tongue as well.”

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The soldier lay on the ground with his hand pressed to his thigh, trying to slow the escaping rivulet of blood. “NO, SIRE! No, please!”  

BRA-BRILL loved it when he had a chance to mock others.  In a fair imitation of a small child’s squeaky voice, he repeated, “No, sire. No, please!” 

“You disgust me, bodily function, now go serve some useful purpose. I’m just following your advice, after all.” With this, he curtly motioned to the two guards to take him away and cut out his tongue. As the bleeding soldier was carried off to be set as wolf bait, he turned to see some of his people had stopped and stared. “Get back to marching! ALL of you! Unless you procreating anatomy-parts want to join procreating visage as procreating wolf bait!” 

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BRA-BRILL’s mood had improved considerably after this incident, but he knew that tough times lay ahead. NUT-PI was every bit as … focused … as he himself was. The truth was that BRA-BRILL was about to stop anyway, not so others could catch up but because he was exhausted. All the fine food he had had access to as well as the servants that did his bidding meant that he was now considerably overweight and walking any distance tired him quickly. “Procreating horses!” he muttered to no-one in particular. “How the mythical and horrid afterlife did all those procreating horses get away? Procreate!!” 

BRA-BRILL liked swearing. It made him feel powerful. In this case, though, he had another purpose. He wanted to be all “sworn out” by the time they reached the city of the Z-LOTZ. They were all an odd lot and some of them objected to a person simply expressing themselves in the most natural way. He didn’t need that kind of trouble. He strongly suspected that NUT-PI believed none of the malarkey that the Z-LOTZ believed, or at least professed to believe. But that didn’t mean some jealous priest or other wouldn’t call BRA-BRILL out if he used profanity within the walls of their “Sacred City.” 

“Sacred City. Hah!” BRA-BRILL sneered aloud at the idea. Just more horse manure for the weak-minded, he mused. “You there! Yes, YOU! Bring me some meat and bread and wine.” 

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The hapless youth who had been pointed at was not sure who, if anyone, had brought such provisions. This was not, after all, a planned and organized march. Usually, the ROI would have spent weeks planning a trip to see the Z-LOTZ. He had just witnessed the wrath of BRA-BRILL when irked. He would try to find something pleasing among the people and if he failed, he would sneak away into the woods and try his luck with the wolves rather than risk displeasing BRA-BRILL. “Yes, sire! I’ll be back soon!” He scampered off and began querying the ROI about provisions, making sure everyone knew that they were not for him but for their leader. 

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A few day’s march brought the numerous throng of ROI to the city gates of the Z-LOTZ. They were hungry, thirsty, and exhausted, but all were ordered to remain outside. Word came that NUT-PI would see BRA-BRILL but he was to come unarmed and alone. When BRA-BRILL heard this, he began to sweat. He carefully slowed his breathing, but his bone dry mouth still tasted of metal. He muttered under his breath, “Procreating waste!” There was little for it though. He would have to comply. Though he had taken much more than his “fair share” of the provisions found among the ROI, he also felt hunger and thirst. So, he thrust his new sword into the ground and marched off to see NUT-PI, surrounded by four guards. Each sported a long pike and wore leather armor studded with metal. 

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Soon, he stood in a courtyard before NUT-PI who sat upon a high chair. He tried to lick his lips and took a deep breath. “Well met, oh great NUT-PI! I bring you…” 

“Silence,” NUT-PI said in little more than a bored whisper. “Speak to me again before I give you leave to do so and I will cut out your tongue as you did with your lieutenant.” 

BRA-BRILL almost spoke again. Instead, he slammed his mouth shut, wondering how the painful afterlife NUT-PI found out about the lieutenant. 

Again NUT-PI spoke softly. He hissed as he spoke, almost like a snake. “Come forward now and kneel before me.” 

BRA-BRILL shambled forward and knelt in the sharp gravel in front of NUT-PI. NUT-PI regarded him coldly with unlit eyes. “Did you bring the required number of women and children as slaves?” 

BRA-BRILL tried to swallow but couldn’t. “Close but also vital information, Sire.” 

“Close?” NUT-PI snickered. “I asked you a simple question. Surely, even you have the intelligence to answer my question. I will say it slowly for you. Did. You. Bring. The. Required. Number. Of. Women. And. Children. As. Slaves? Yes or no?” 

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BRA-BRILL tried to think but found it difficult when his knees hurt and his mouth was so dry. He decided that trying to be clever would be too risky. “No, Sire.” 

“So you failed in the only task I asked you to accomplish. Is that right? You failed. Did you fail?” 

“Yes, Sire. I failed.” BRA-BRILL looked down. He began to fantasize about cutting NUT-PI to pieces but shook it out of his mind. 

NUT-PI smiled. “Well, it’s not your fault, after all. You have no real ability, do you?” 

BRA-BRILL gritted his teeth together. “No, Sire. I do not.” 

NUT-PI continued. “No, you do not. And now, not only have you failed to bring me the required number of slaves. You have allowed your village to be burned down. And, now you bring your entire people here…for what purpose? I suspect you wish to beg for food and water for them?” 

BRA-BRILL saw a possible opening and decided to chance taking it. “Oh, Sire, no. It is true that we are hungry and thirsty but we ask for none of that. What we can do is offer up valuable information about a tribe that call themselves The Veritas. They came in great hordes to attack our village and burn it down. They destroyed many of our weapons and stole our horses as well. But we come to offer to help you hunt them down and destroy them. If you will accept our humble gift.” 

NUT-PI sneered at BRA-BRILL with open contempt. NUT-PI began to drum his fingers on the arm of his large chair. He was in no hurry. After all, NUT-PI was not the one kneeling in sharp gravel. He gestured to one of his slaves and she brought over some grapes and bread. NUT-PI began slowly and sensually taking tiny bites of the food. He arranged his face into a large smile as he ate, chewing each bite over and over. 

BRA-BRILL saw the world shrink and grow dark. Just as he was about to pass out, NUT-PI spoke again. “Guards, take this pathetic man back to his people, such as they are. Bring me the inadequate number of slaves here for me to take first picks. I will see whether any are capable of pleasing me. If there are, I will consider his entreaty for food and water. If not, well, if not, just take the slaves and use the rest of the ROI for target practice.” 

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BRA-BRILL tried to rise on his own, but he couldn’t make his legs move properly. He put his hands on the ground and pushed off with his hands, staggering to his feet. He was marched out of the presence of NUT-PI. 

BRA-BRILL felt as though he had won a great victory. After all, he had escaped with his life, at least for now. He would find a way to oust NUT-PI and make him pay! He swore to himself that he would do that no matter what it took. For now, he would have to play a waiting game. 

The guards unceremoniously threw BRA-BRILL to the ground and began rounding up the slaves to be taken before NUT-PI. Preparing slaves provided one of the most fun aspects of their jobs. They would oversee the cleaning and dressing of the slaves. Occasionally, they were rewarded with one to share. 

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Finger-Pointing among the ROI

22 Wednesday May 2019

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

≈ 1 Comment

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chaos, Dictatorship, fire, greed, leadership, legend, myth, religion, ROI, story, war

Among the ROI, it was common for each person to become a specialist in one or two of the tasks of the tribe. One such person, named Jaccim Nohan, specialized in capturing children. Indeed, he had been one of those who had attacked the Veritas at high feast and had carried off Tu-Swift on the back of his horse. Between slave-gathering raids, he worked with the horses and when all the horses of the ROI had begun to run off, it fell to him and two others to attempt to recapture them. Most of the horses had run far south, but a few, perhaps attempting to reconnect with their foals, had instead galloped about the village adding to the general confusion. 

Nohan ran after them to little avail. The noise made by the ROI themselves added to the terror of the horses. As one of them ran by, Nohan noticed that a fair length of frayed rope still trailed behind one of the chestnut mares. He thought to grab the rope and quickly wind it around a strong post. In this way he hoped to stop at least one horse from dangerously galloping to and fro among the villagers and soldiers. 

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At first, his plan seemed to be working well. He grabbed the rope and the horse turned toward Nohan. The rope slackened and Nohan spotted a sturdy nearby post. He quickly grabbed the rope and began tying it in loops around the post. The horse reared up, spooked, and turned away in a panic. The horse broke the post in two and the loops of rope entangled around Nohan’s forearm. Suddenly, he found himself being dragged through the village. He tried several times to disentangle himself from the rope, all the while cursing himself and the horse. 

Nohan’s clothing and then his skin disintegrated from the friction. The horse dragged him near the paddock and into a large pile of fresh manure that Tu-Swift and Day-Nah had constructed only a few days ago. The horse felt the tug and turned back to regard the situation. Nohan managed to free himself of his bonds before losing consciousness. The last thing he recalled was the chestnut mare pawing the air over him. 

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The ROI soldiers imagined that they were under attack from a large army and immediately sped to the place where their bows and arrows were kept. As each arrived, they looked in disbelief to see that all of their bows were gone! A few went inside the armory to retrieve swords and clubs. Inside they found a few bows in working order as well as some arrows. As hastily as a group of disorganized men who are used to being told what to do in a very organized fashion can, they gathered their weapons and headed to the barn to get atop horses to fight the enemy they thought numerous. But there were no horses to be had! 

The head magistrate for the ROI, BRILL-BRA had been sound asleep after a long wine-filled orgy with several young slaves when the chaos began. He shook his head. That, he decided, was a mistake for a massive headache ensued. He threw on a robe and stumbled out into the square and saw the chaos. He wobbled unsteadily over to a large hunk of resonant metal which was suspended near a central dais and struck it hard. A few people nearby heard it and stopped their running uselessly about and came to the circle of benches near the large platform which BRILL-BRA had surmounted. He continued to ring the gong whose sound penetrated through the general din. More and more people began to stop their craziness and remember their discipline. Eventually, almost all the uninjured came to hear their leader’s orders. 

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BRILL-BRA had no more idea what was happening than anyone else. But he recognized an opportunity to consolidate his power and so he took it. He “called on” various members of the ROI to explain what had happened, shushing anyone who was not “called on.” As the various members of the tribe spoke up, he began to piece together a picture of what had happened. The ROI had made many mistakes. The biggest blunder? Raiding the Veritas in the first place which had yielded only one potential slave. That slave had apparently managed to escape, taking another boy with him. Now, the ROI were short in their agreed upon number of slaves that they owed the Z-Lotz. Well, that was easily solved. He’ll find a scapegoat or two from among the ROI and take their children to make up the shortfall. More of that later, he thought. Apparently, there were no horses available right now, so he realized if they had any hope of recaptured the slave boys, he would have to send out a raiding party soon. 

He asked for volunteers and was heartened to see that all the young men of sound body volunteered. Inwardly, he snickered yet again at how easily manipulated they all were. Outwardly though, he arranged his face as appropriate to moods of fear, and hatred, and occasionally belittling the enemy encouraging his own people to think that the Veritas had used witchcraft and magic to multiply the effectiveness of their vastly superior numbers. It would be in no-one’s interest, he rationalized, to let them know what he suspected — that a mere handful had thrown their village into such disarray. That handful would be tracked down and killed before long. Better yet, perhaps a few could be captured alive and tortured to death for the entertainment of his followers. 

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Painting by Pierce Morgan.

BRILL-BRA chose a party of a dozen men whom he knew to be fast runners and good archers. The rest would be posted as guards around the village. This move solidified the atmosphere of fear and hate that he wished to prolong as long as possible. His people, he knew, proved much easier to manipulate and lie to when he kept them in a near constant state of anxiety and anger. The attack group soon set off toward the Veritas central place. BRILL-BRA thought it likely the Veritas would choose the most direct path back toward their home. For his part, BRILL-BRA spent a few more minutes rousing his audience to fear and righteous indignation about an enemy who would use dark magic to overcome the obviously superior ROI people. He promised revenge and then, told the people to go and repair the village while he, BRILL-BRA would undertake the most difficult task of all — which was to determine who among them had been derelict in duty. Of course, this also had the desired effect of putting everyone on edge. For they knew that anyone could be so accused and the penalty would be severe, if not fatal. 

Except for the dozen in the raiding party, the ROI worked to restore their village and to try to capture the escaped horses. For his part, BRILL-BRA spent a pleasant day interviewing candidates for his wrath. He had learned from NUT-PI, now the leader of the Z-LOTZ, the trick of making the suspects kneel on sharp gravel while he grilled them. Torturing his own people always put a smile on his face. With them kneeling before him, he always felt superior. And after all, he thought, I am superior. After all, they are the ones in pain and I am the one in charge. He smirked as they struggled to try to keep their composure and swear their loyalty to him while he pretended to consider what they said. After a long day of this, he finally feasted heartily and ordered some more slave children to be brought for his pleasure. This too, he enjoyed, not so much for the sex, per se, though that indeed was pleasurable, but more for the joy of knowing he had complete control over someone else’s body.   

He woke in the morning to the glorious glow of sunrise, a sunrise unusually vivid and red. He ordered one of his personal guards to bring him the three daughters of L-SIDNEY. They were a bit on the young side, but he fancied them. He decided to blame L-SIDNEY for the fiasco, mainly because he wanted his three daughters. The choice was also easy to rationalize because L-SIDNEY had been one of the three men who had been responsible for training up the two male captives to help with the horses. Since the horses had escaped along with the two kids, it seemed only fitting to make him pay by giving him his daughters. It wasn’t strictly necessary to come up with an explanation like that, but it helped. It gave the ROI people the semblance of a rationale so that they would be more comfortable with what would otherwise merely seem like random cruelty.  

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Guernica by Picasso

BRILL-BRA also planned to take the daughters with him (once he tired of them) to help fill his quota for the Z-LOTZ. L-SIDNEY himself — BRILL-BRA toyed with various torture deaths. Slow burning was nice. Stoning was okay too, provided that people were only allowed small stones. NUT-PI had some wonderful ideas along these lines, many of which BRILL-BRA had never seen in person but was eager to try. As he nibbled on his food and fantasized about torturing L-SIDNEY, he vaguely noticed something odd about this morning’s sunrise. The crimson sky seemed to grow in intensity rather than diminish over time. And, then, there was that odd noise in the distance. It drew nearer. Well, he thought, someone else will take care of that. He laughed as he contemplated trying out the torture of growing bamboo shoots through the body.

His pleasant reverie was shattered by a shouting guard outside his cabin. He vowed to torture the guard as well. He stepped outside to find out who his second victim would be and then saw that the entire sky was red. At the southern edge of the village he could see flames devouring the fir trees. “CRAP!” he shouted. The guard screamed “FIRE!” and did not wait to take his leave. BRILL-BRA screamed more profanity and ran back inside to grab his small bag of precious stones and metals. The roar of the fire grew deafening and he could actually feel the heat. The ROI were running everywhere. They were too panicked to stop. BRILL-BRA ran too. 

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Meanwhile, Jaccim Nohan awoke in great pain and confusion. He ached everywhere and his ample though shredded flesh ached. He crawled out of the large pile of horse manure and saw that the entire sky glowed red. Though still at some distance, he could feel the heat of the fire. He did not feel strong enough to make his broken body run. Into his mind flashed an image of the fruit cellar that lay beneath one corner of the large lodge used for dining and for storing weapons. It lay only forty yards upwind of the barn. He crawled as fast as he could just as the flames began to emerge from the fir forest. Adrenaline managed to help his broken body traverse the distance and crawl into the landing. From there, he sat on the stairway and used his hands to lower himself, step by step, into the fruit cellar. He did not know whether he could survive but he hoped so. In one corner was a cistern of water used to soften dried fruit and he wet some cloths and pulled them around himself and awaited his fate as the flames roared and cracked outside. Nohan’s pain so overwhelmed him that he felt unsure whether he wished the flames would spare him or consume him. 

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The Alliance of the ROI & the Z-Lotz

13 Saturday Apr 2019

Posted by petersironwood in America, psychology, Uncategorized, Veritas

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Business, legend, myths, politics, religion, search, story, Veritas

Eagle Eyes chatted quietly with Easy Tears, and their conversation drifted easily among many topics. Suddenly Eagle Eyes stopped in her tracks. Her eyes spun to something sparkling among the rocks. She thought that perhaps it was merely a piece of shiny rock but as she drew nearer, she realized it was not a rock, or at least nothing like any rock she had seen before. Soon, the others drew near and stared down with her. Even the pups busied themselves sniffing its edges.

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A hand-sized ornament had drawn the attention of Eagle Eyes. It consisted of a perfect full-moon shape within which were inscribed three smaller circles. Every member of the search party found the ornamented piece intriguing. Apart from the pups, Shadow Walker touched it first. “It is of the same — or at least very much like — the circles of cold rock at the bottom of the wall door we moved.”

In turn, the others touched the cool circle of rock. 

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Easy Tears said, “Whatever this is, it gives me chills. It feels like touching…death, actually.” Lion Slayer picked up and turned it in his hands. “I see one. Long ago. My father’s father called it, ‘Tree Quarto’ or something like that.”

Hudah Salah whispered something into the ear of Lion Slayer. He nodded and said to the group, “Yes, Hudah remind me that this is a symbol used by the Z-Lotz. Grandfather showed us one when he tell us the Legend of the Unholy Alliance. I dream about it night before dawn, but then forgot when I … when I awoke.” He glanced at Shadow Walker. 

Shadow Walker smiled, “When I woke you up. Sorry. What can you tell us of that legend?” 

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Lion Slayer frowned as he began. “The Legend of the Unholy Alliance” has been told in our tribes for at least six generations. I am not storyteller, but this symbol is supposed to represent the world – the larger full moon shape; and the three smaller full moon shapes represent body, mind, and spirit.” 

Shadow Walker waited while Lion Slayer gathered his thoughts. Easy Tears broke in. “So, this is a symbol that the ROI like?” 

“No, Easy Tears. It is a symbol of the Z-Lotz. That is where the unholy alliance comes. Far beyond our lands, the Z-Lotz ruled but they often fought with the ROI. At last, so the legend goes, the greatest leader of the Z-Lotz and the leader of the ROI had a parley. They agreed to stop fighting. The ROI care nothing for the spirit world, nor really for much of anything except to get more and more as fast as possible. They make deal. Z-Lotz agree to leave the ROI alone and not try to make them believe all the impossible things that the Z-Lotz believed. 

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“But in return, the ROI, promise to pretend to believe and wear the symbols of the Z-Lotz. In return, the Z-Lotz would not only leave the ROI alone; they would pretend that anything that the ROI did was commanded by Giant Sky Bear himself, which the Z-Lotz pretended to be able to talk to. In this way, the ROI were able to conquer many people’s by force and then teach these conquered people that it was their lot in life to be slaves because it was commanded by Giant Sky Bear. The ROI never believed it, of course, for they cared nothing for such things, but these lies proved helpful in convincing the slaves that there was no point in resisting because they would be struck down by the powerful claws of the Giant Sky Bear. The ROI gave the Z-Lotz many material gifts as well. Though the Z-Lotz pretended not to care about material gifts, they never refused any such gifts.”

Fleet of Foot thought perhaps Lion Slayer was finished so asked a question. “And, did the Z-Lotz actually believe this Great Bear in the Sky would really do that? Or, did the ROI? I am confused.” 

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“Fleet of Foot, you ask good question, but we do not know. We do not know what they truly believe. I have never even met ROI or Z-Lotz. But when our legends are tested, they are generally accurate. I suppose that beliefs actually vary quite a bit among the ROI and among the Z-Lotz, but they all steadfastly pretend to believe such things and this allows them to manipulate people. At least that is what legend says. So, if our supposition is correct that ROI were stealers of children, and they are wearing this symbol of Z-Lotz, that would tend to be in alignment with legend. It does not prove it, of course. But it seems consistent.” 

Eagle Eyes asked, “But do your legends say that the ROI make or use these cold, smooth, hard rocks?” 

Lion Slayer glanced at his wife, and she shook her head. “Not that we recall. No. I am sure I would have remembered such a tale. Such a soul-sucking object, I would have recalled. Neither of us has heard of such before.” 

Shadow Walker put the ornament into his knapsack and the six continued swiftly on their journey. 

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The Myths of the Z-Lotz

The Myths the ROI

The Creation Myth of the Veritas

Myths of the Veritas: The Fifth Ring of Empathy

01 Saturday Sep 2018

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

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empathy, myth, politics, power, religion, story, truth, Veritas

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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The Myths of the Veritas: The Forgotten Field

03 Friday Aug 2018

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

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collaboration, competition, cooperation, experiment, life, peace, politics, religion, science, truth, war

The Myths of the Veritas: The Forgotten Field

{Translator’s Note}: I should have made it clear that I am not so much creating these stories as translating them from the original language family known by pseudo-linguistic scholars as the Veritas language; a language remarkable mainly in the mythical nature of their myths. This is quite different from every other set of creation myths because so many (though not all) of the people of every other religion know that their story is the “correct” one. There is no way to tell which myth is true, because they are all myths. However, there is a way to tell whether the sun is still in the sky. Go out and look. And say what you see. And if you disagree, solve the problem together. Fighting it out is completely stupid. What you need to do together is uncover the truth. But I diverge from the task. Back to the translation: 

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The people of Micah’s tribe lived long and prospered untold generations in many camps on all sides of the lake of reeds and bubbling streams. Using their gifts of sounds, made whole into the patterns of language by the careful work of the story-weavers, they prospered greatly. In a nearby valley, the people soon found the field of flowers. Whenever someone felt sick at heart as sometimes happened, the wise would walk with the world-weary to the field of flowers. Here they would sit together talking quietly among the buzzing bees about this and that. Sometimes, the wise would spin tales to help the weary once again see the unity of life; the essential oneness of all things; the long view; the broad view. The weary grew weary no longer and the pair returned to the nearby village, both renewed as to purpose. Now, the brick-makers made bricks with love in their heart for they could see that their bricks were part of a pattern that made life better for everyone in the village and their children and their children’s children and their children’s children’s children. The bread-makers baked bread with love in their heart for they could see that their bread was part of a pattern that made life better for everyone in the village and as well, for their offspring for all generations. The bead-makers polished beads with love in their hearts for they knew they were making the world more beautiful with each passing day and that they could teach their children and their children’s children to do the same. 

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As the people prospered, some explored well beyond the shores of the lake and settled on the sides of mountains while others journeyed to edges of deserts. Still others moved to the depths of the forests. Over time, the people began to build different buildings that were suitable for different locales. Over time, the people began to weave different kinds of clothing as appropriate to different climates. Over time, the people learned to hunt different game and to gather different plants. Over time, they began to weave different sorts of baskets. Over time, they began to weave different sorts of stories as well. 

{Translator’s Note}: Is this surprising? Would you expect anything else? Doesn’t this seem to comport precisely with your own experience in life? Oh, well. Back to the story. 

Yet, the people did not fight battles over whose stories were correct. If the were stories about things that could no longer be seen or heard, and had no impact on one’s actual life, everyone agreed that everyone could have their view. 

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When it came to things that could be proven, one way or another, all the people worked together in a spirit of curiosity because all wanted to know the way of things. Some of every tribe went together as friends into the field of flowers. And, here they thought, and they spoke and they listened. And they agreed on ways to test that which they did not know. And, the people checked each other’s logic and it happened many times that new ideas came from their speakings and listenings and thinkings. 

All the people worked together, though they built different sorts of buildings. All the people worked together, though they wove different kinds of clothing. All the people worked together, though they hunted and gathered differently. All the people worked together, though they wove different sorts of baskets. All the people worked together, though they wove different stories. 

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And the people saw that the very fact that there were now so many tribes and so many ways of building and so many ways of weaving and so many different ways of hunting and so many different stories was a testament to their strength as a people. If they had not flourished and expanded and become different, they would be but a tiny tribe with one kind of building and one kind of clothing and one kind of hunting and one kind of story. Far from being reasons to fight, these were reasons to celebrate. And whenever they sought to settle a disagreement, they began with a recognition of their common ancestry and acknowledged that it was only because of their tribe’s success that they spread out to different situations and that these situations led quite naturally to different ways of doing things. This is what the people did every single time. 

Until, they forgot. They forgot to go to the field of flowers. And they forgot to go in a spirit of love. And they forgot to begin by acknowledging their common ancestry and they forgot to acknowledge that their differences were a testament of their mutual success. This was something to celebrate! But they forgot.  

{Translator’s Note}: You can see in the primitive pattern of repetition the kind of immature thought process that a culture like this is prone to. In our modern societies, we have obviously moved far beyond that to systems that exaggerate the differences among people (for profit, mainly but sometimes just out of hate) and cause arguments and prevent common resolutions and instead make more profit out of sending other people’s kids off to be maimed or killed in wars and also, by the way, to maim and kill people that they don’t really know from Adam. And, how much do the surviving soldiers really gain from all that compared with the destruction of lives and property that they do on orders? But I digress. Yes, I was simply making the point that we are so much more evolved now than were the Veritas. Now, we do not only build buildings; we bomb them down. Now, we do not only weave baskets, we shred them to pieces. Now, we do not only weave stories to entertain or to teach the truth but we weave stories to deceive. Oh, incidentally, How and Why they Forgot is a different myth to be translated soon.

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Myths of the Veritas: The Orange Man

31 Tuesday Jul 2018

Posted by petersironwood in America, psychology, story, Uncategorized

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deception, falsehood, greed, legend, liar, lie, life, myth, politics, religion, truth

(A continuation of the thread: the myths of the Veritas. The immediately preceding myth describes the creation of humans).

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In this age, each person had enough. But one day, a man, who happened to be astoundingly fat and orange had an astounding idea. Enough was not enough. He had plenty to eat. But it occurred to him that he would feel even more satisfied if other people had less. So he decided to steal some of the food of others to test whether this would indeed make him feel even more satisfied. It worked! On the second day, he again went to steal from his neighbors, but they objected. Still, he tried to steal their food so they would be hungry and in their hunger he might again feel even fuller and more satisfied than ever before. 

His neighbors grew impatient and when the one they called Orange Man continued to try to steal his neighbors’ food, they eventually beat him with their fists and drove him away. He sat alone in a barren cleft of rock and out of the sunlight and thought long and hard. “True, I am satisfied with enough food. But I felt so much better when I had more. Perhaps I will go in the night when everyone else is asleep and steal their food. Because when they are hungry, I will feel so much better when I am fat and full.” 

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That night, when everyone was asleep, Orange Man snuck into the camp of his neighbors and began to steal their food. But Orange Man was quite fat and graceless and soon woke his neighbors who quickly surmised what he was up to and again drove him out of the camp. Now, the people were genuinely angry with him and told him that from now on, he would have to gather his own nuts and catch his own fish. None wanted to share with the greedy Orange Man. 

That night, Orange Man went hungry. He had had enough all his life. He tried to steal more than his share and now he was hungry. From this experience, many might learn the value of sharing. But not Orange Man. Instead, he plotted and schemed; schemed and plotted. How could he steal from people when they were all on the lookout for him? That was the question that obsessed him. 

He had never learned to make a fire on his own, so he was cold as well as hungry that night. He at last cried himself to sleep and began to dream. In his dream, he saw all the people sitting around their campfire talking and laughing. They were not only sharing their food. They were sharing stories. This was not a strange dream, for indeed, this is exactly what they did every night in good weather. They shared their food. They shared their fire. And they shared their stories so that they could work together better; make better houses; find game more easily. 

The next morning, Orange Man awoke more hungry than ever and very very angry. He was angry with his neighbors for not letting him steal more than his share. He was angry with the gods for making them too smart to give away all their food to him. Surprisingly, he wasn’t even a little bit angry with himself for being so greedy. Nonetheless, he was too hungry to mope all day. He needed to find some food. So, he went foraging for insects. Some of the bugs were much too fast to catch, but many were not. Of course, while searching for bugs, the Orange Man saw many weeds and twigs but he had never bothered to learn which ones were edible and which ones were poison. He happened to be staring at a twig trying to see whether there were any bugs under it, when all at once the twig walked. It was not really a twig at all! It was just another bug that looked like a twig. Once he realized it was a bug, the Orange Man grabbed at it to eat it straight away.

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Before he could snatch it up, however, the bug waved one of its little insect claws back and forth and stared into the little insect eyes of the Orange Man with its little insect eyes. Weird, thought the Orange Man just as he gobbled it up.  It wasn’t very tasty compared to some bugs, but it gave him pleasure to eat it because he was angry at the bug. He didn’t know why he was angry. Indeed, it never occurred to Orange Man to wonder why he was angry but if he had thought about it, he might have realized it was because the bug made Orange Man change his mind. First, he thought it was a twig and then he had to change his mind and realize it was a bug. And, then the little bug had seemed to wave to him in that annoying way that other people seemed to wave at friends. Of course, as a child, Orange Man may have felt love, but he worked hard all his life to kill love within himself and eventually he succeeded. 

After another afternoon of eating bugs, Orange Man at last grew thirsty and he knelt down to drink from a nearby lake. As he did so, he could see his reflection in the water. There he was, fat, ugly, and orange. Orange Man ate up many more bugs that afternoon and was less hungry than the night before. He fell into a fitful sleep and dreamt that night of returning to the lake for a drink of water. Again in his dream, as he had done in real life, he knelt down to drink. But in his dream, he heard frogs creaking and croaking. They seemed to be saying, “Greenie, greenie, greenie” and this time, when he looked at his reflection, instead of being fat, ugly, and orange, he appeared to be fat, ugly, and green. How could this be, Orange Man wondered. Even in his dream, he remembered that he was orange. This weirdness wakened him with a start, the sound of the frogs reverberating in his ears: “Greenie, greenie, greenie.” Is it possible that he saw himself as green because the frogs were saying the word “green” the whole time he was looking? 

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The next day, the Orange Man had much to think about. So far, words and stories had been used by the people mainly to work together by sharing knowledge. On a few occasions though, people told stories for entertainment. They made up stories about the stars and how mountains came to be, and how deer grew antlers. Everyone knew that they were simply made up stories. But now, the Orange Man thought of the bug that looked like a twig and how the frogs made him look green even though he was orange. What if I told people a story about where to find game but it was really just a made-up story to get people to go hunting and leave their things where I can steal them? 

The next morning, the Orange Man decided to test his plan. He went to the village and told everyone that he had seen a giant mammoth just over the layered ridge at the edge of the village. Most were skeptical, but a few argued that it might be worth a look since felling a mammoth could help feed the village through many moons. The Orange Man jumped up and down and yelled and screamed telling them that they should all go because a mammoth is a huge animal and they would need everyone to hunt it. One young boy named Micah pointed out that it wouldn’t be a good idea for everyone to leave the village. “Rats may come and eat all our food,” the youngster argued. 

“I’ll stay here and protect the food,” offered the Orange Man. Try as he might, twisting the truth this way and that, he was unable to convince everyone to go on the mammoth hunt. A few braves went off and returned at dusk. They were, of course, empty-handed but they also reported to the tribe that they had seen no evidence of a mammoth. There were no tracks, no spoor, not so much as a toppled sapling to indicate a mammoth. The eyes of the tribe turned toward the little insect eyes of the Orange Man. He yelled and screamed and jumped up and down and said they were blind or liars or both.  

It was hard to get a word in edge-wise because the Orange Man screamed continuously, but at last when he stopped to take a break, Micah asked, “What is this word that you used? What is a ‘liar.’?” 

That stopped the Orange Man. He had called them liars because that’s what he was doing. None of the people in the tribe had ever used language to intentionally mislead others for their own gain so they were unfamiliar with the word as well as the concept. In a flash, the Orange Man realized he had made a mistake to use such a word. “Oh, Micah, you must have mis-heard me. I said, ‘They must be blind as briars.’ or something like that.” But Micah knew he had heard a new and different word. Several others chimed in as well. But the Orange Man would hear none of it. 

“Look, I saw a mammoth. I have very good eyes. The best eyes, in fact. If you hunters can’t find it, you’re not very good hunters. But I don’t really care. Go hungry. Don’t find the mammoth. I don’t care. More mammoth for me. I’ll go get it myself. I’ll bring the mammoth back here single-handedly and show it to you big as life! Good-bye.” 

No sooner had the Orange Man uttered these words than he realized he had made a big mistake. Before people started questioning him, he strode off, refusing to engage in any questions and answers about how he would kill a mammoth all his own. Day after day, the Orange Man ate bugs, planned lies aimed at convincing the villagers to leave their village while he and he alone guarded it. And each day, he tried to be more and more convincing about his lies. But each day, the villagers became harder and harder to convince. The Orange Man was careful never to use the word, “liar” again, but people discounted what he said nonetheless. 

At long last, The Orange Man decided that it would be easier to convince another tribe of his lies. So, off he trudged across the plains to find another tribe. IMG_1224From a mesa, he observed the tribe from afar and watched them come and go, waiting for a time when the village was unguarded so that he could go in unseen and steal everything for himself. But people always hung out in the village, grinding corn, drying skins, or sitting around campfires talking. All in all, he found it quite disgusting. Why wouldn’t they leave so he could steal their stuff?

Then, one day, he had a wonderful inspiration. Buffalo! He would tell the people in the village that a great herd of buffalo was coming to destroy their village. They would all have to leave immediately and leave everything behind because there was no time! He too was fleeing from the buffalo but, he would caution them not to wait for him but to save themselves running as fast as they could to the next bluff to save themselves from trampling. He went into the village at dusk, yelling and screaming and waving his arms. He told them that a great herd of buffalo were coming to destroy the village and that they should save themselves and run to the bluff and clamber up it as best they could. Some of the villagers indeed panicked and began to gather up their children. But some of the villagers put their ears to the ground and heard no such stampede coming. Several of the villagers did not wait to see the outcome, however, and ran off as fast as they could. In their haste, a few fell and one woman dropped her baby on a rock which broke its soft head and killed it. But not everyone left the village and so Orange Man was not able to steal anything. He claimed that he had a potion back at his camp which would bring the broken baby back to life and he hobbled off to get it, or so he claimed. Of course, when he saw that everyone was not leaving the village, Orange Man realized he needed to leave before it became obvious that no giant herd of bison was coming.  

Several days went by before the Orange Man ventured to try again. He was heartened by the fact that his lie about the bison herd had almost worked. Several people did flee the village and at least one person died and several were injured. This, he chuckled at, but it wasn’t really the full scale all-out panic he was aiming for. 

That night a great thunderstorm flashed all about him. Atop the mesa, a bush was struck by lightening and it smoldered and flamed. He took some of the smoldering branches and made a little fire in a crook of rocks, feeding it dry firewood he had stashed nearby for just such a lucky occasion. Finally, he had found fire to keep him warm. Then, he had a great inspiration: Fire! “That’s it!” he thought. He would tell people a great fire was coming to destroy their village. Surely, that would cause panic and this time, everyone will leave the village and I can steal everything. 

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The next morning just as the sun rose, the Orange Man walked toward the village, rehearsing his lies in his head to make them more convincing. When he came in sight of the village, he trot-wobbled up the path waving his arms and yelling at the top of his lungs, “FIRE! FIRE! Run for your LIVES!” Sure enough, the villagers were worried. But they all recognized the Orange Man and although they did not yet realize that he was simply lying to steal all their stuff for himself, they did realize that his judgement was not sound. So, instead of immediately racing out of the village, they instead scanned the horizon for signs of smoke. There were none. Indeed, the ground was still damp from last night’s rain. While lightning sometimes did cause prairie fires, this seemed unlikely in the present circumstances, and no-one believed him. He shouted and screamed and waved his hands but no-one believed him. There was no smoke. At last, realizing that he would again leave empty-handed, he headed back to his mesa to gather some bugs and grubs. Well, he thought, as he trudged back. At least I have my fire now. 

The days grew hot and dry. The Orange Man grew still fatter on his diet of grubs and bugs. Then, at last, he reckoned that perhaps the people would have forgotten his lies and be willing to believe him again. This time, however, he would be smarter about his lies. He waited for a dry windy day and took a torch from his fire with him. He descended the path at the edge of the mesa and walked toward the village. He again planned to trot-wobble into the village while waving his arms and screaming about a fire, but this time, he would be smarter! He laid his lighted torch into some of the brush and grass near the edge of the village. This time the villagers would see smoke and maybe even see flames. This time, they would all panic as he hoped. After setting several small fires, the Orange Man trot-wobbled down the path to the village. As he approached, he began shouting, yelling, and waving his hands wildly. “Run!” he yelled. “There’s fire coming! FIRE! RUN!” Oh, yes! At last, this time, his lies were working! He could see that indeed, this time, people were grabbing things at hand and running away. It’s the smoke, he thought! I’m so smart! And, they are so stupid! Everything in the village will be mine. He smiled a broad smile at the stupidity of people who would fall for such a lie. The Orange Man turned back to glance at his little smoke trick to see what it looked like. What he saw, however, pounded his heart right through his chest and out the other side. Rather than clouds of smoke, what he saw was a wall of fire behind him. Now, the Orange Man trot-wobbled in earnest. He immediately fell over his own feet. He crawled back to his feet, but the cuffs of his pants were already on fire. He frantically waved and twisted but the fire burned his pants and soon the flames engulfed him. His last thought was, “It’s not fair! I’m so much smarter than everyone else. I deserve it all.” 

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Indeed, it wasn’t fair. Everyone from the village also perished in the flames. No food was left to plunder had there been anyone nearby to plunder it. Many miles away, it happened that Micah looked up from chipping an arrowhead to see plumes of black smoke on the horizon. For some reason, the thick, ugly, black smoke reminded him of the Orange Man. He wondered what had become of him. Once again, Micah wondered what that word had meant. An odd word: Liar. Liar. 

It seemed to Micah that everything the Orange Man said had been for the sole purpose of getting the villagers to leave so that the Orange Man could steal everything. But why would someone do that? After all, the Orange Man had not been starving. Far from it! He was the fattest person Micah had ever seen. Perhaps he had wanted just some of the things in the village; things he had no way to craft himself. But if that were the case, why not just trade for one? The Orange Man could have traded something he was good at for something he wanted whether it was blankets, spears, or baskets. Theft was extremely rare among Micah’s tribe. Perhaps the Orange Man had come from a tribe where everyone stole from each other rather than making and trading things. Micah shuddered to think how terrible it must be to belong to such a tribe as that. The rest of the day, as he gathered acorns, Micah contemplated what “Liar” meant and he concluded that a liar was a kind of thief. If you said something that you knew was not true, it must be to steal something. 

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It occurred to Micah that while the Orange Man might have wanted to steal blankets or baskets or food, he would have stolen much more than that. He would have stolen the soul of the tribe. As they worked together, loved together, hunted together, ate together, sang together, the words of the tribe were a bond that held them together, each to each. This was so because everyone was doing it together and each word spoke, carefully measured, acted like an arrow aimed at a larger prey. Together these arrows could bring down a mammoth. But the Orange Man would use these words like arrows aimed at other Humans. A liar could destroy the entire tribe! Micah did not then know that the Orange Man had literally destroyed a tribe with fire in order to make one of his lies more credible, but Micah foresaw that if people in a tribe lied to each other, it would ultimately destroy the working togetherness of the tribe and therefore the tribe. 

If someone said that they would watch a toddler and then they didn’t, the toddler might wonder into the river and be drowned. If a hunter said they would be ready with a large boulder up above to smash the prey that someone below was luring into a narrow canyon but then never showed up or never dropped the boulder, the person luring below would be eaten or trampled. Just as the mortar held their bricks together to make a house, the truth held the tribe together as a whole; a whole who could survive long winters and floods and dry spells and fend off predators. A tribe of liars would destroy themselves. Micah shuddered at such a prospect. He tied the ends of the great blanket filled with acorns he had gathered, for a chill and a fog lay heavy in the air. He trudged back to the village and heard the distant voices of his tribe, the Veritas singing together sharing their food and their love and their songs of true talk. 

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Anti-Pattern: Cascading Betrayal

23 Saturday Jun 2018

Posted by petersironwood in America, management, sports, Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

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authoritarianism, Business, competition, Democracy, ethics, Facism, life, pattern language, politics, religion, Totalitarianism

Cascading Betrayal

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A very interesting little book that I recommend is Jane Jacobs’s Systems of Survival. In it she argues that there are two systems of ethics and morality: an older one, the “Guardian Syndrome” whose values include: Shun trading; exert prowess; be obedient and disciplined; adhering to tradition, respecting hierarchy, being loyal, deceiving for the sake of the task, making rich use of leisure; being ostentatious; and taking vengeance. Most of us might recognize these from history and stories about the Middle Ages in Europe but many other kingdoms and empires of earlier times also valued such things more than most of us do today. On the other hand, a newer system of values has been developing since the Renaissance. In the “Commerce Syndrome,” people tend to value things such as shunning force, competing, being efficient, being open to inventiveness and novelty, being honest, collaborating easily with strangers and aliens, dissenting for the sake of the task, respecting contracts, investing for productive purposes. 

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In modern societies worldwide, both systems are at play and they can often be in conflict. For instance, you have friends that you feel loyalty to (Guardian Syndrome) and you work for a corporation which asks you to sign a contract that says you will not steal from the corporation and that you will report anyone who does (Commerce Syndrome). You observe your good friend taking supplies from the company storeroom for personal use. You ask the friend to return the goods but they say, “Oh, come on. The company makes billions. They can afford it. It’s just our little secret.” You can’t dissuade your friend. Now, the conflict in values causes you a conflict. Do you “betray” your friend and honor your contract? Or do you betray your contract and collude with your friend? 

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Within American society (the one I happen to be most familiar with), these values are not evenly distributed. For instance, Silicon Valley seems quite centered on the “Commerce Syndrome” while small towns, sports teams, and the Catholic Church, for example, seem more centered on the “Guardian Syndrome.” 

People whose values are almost totally aligned with the “Guardian Syndrome” will tend to stay loyal to their boss, leader, team, political party, even when the boss, leader, team or political party does something stupid, cruel, unethical, or illegal. For a time, people in positions of great power can keep their power through, for example, the dispensing of favors, defining agreed upon untruths, or taking vengeance on the disloyal. 

abandoned architecture auschwitz auschwitz concentration camp

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Such a system is always somewhat fragile as demonstrated by the constant stream of rebellions, crusades, and wars in the Middle Ages. A state or organization based purely on the “Guardian Syndrome” is even more difficult today. If one tries to keep to a pure “Guardian System” in the midst of a highly interconnected and interdependent world, it will fail sooner and more spectacularly. 

One issue is that it is no longer possible for people not to be exposed to the actual truth. Lying to a populace in which only 1% of the population could read and write was fairly easy. Trying to do it in the computerized and recorded world of today is nearly impossible. Some people will remain loyal and refuse to call out the Emperor for having no clothes. But someone will. And, it will be caught on tape. And, the tape will be shown to vast numbers of other people who have no loyalty to the Emperor. They will all see he’s naked and have no compunction about saying so. 

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As a result, a modern “Emperor” will find it difficult to keep all but the most fanatic fans from dismissing his attempts to control through politics and pageantry. The Medieval mechanisms of dispensing favors and wreaking havoc via vengeance will largely prove ineffective. Once such an Emperor begins to lose power, more and more people will begin to realize that they are much better off to “play by the rules” of the Commerce Syndrome. As a result, people who might have stayed loyal to the death to the Emperor will instead begin to defect. As more and more people defect, this will further weaken the Emperor’s power base and make it more likely for even more people to defect. 

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Naturally, the Emperor will attempt to use whatever power they have left to prevent defections, but in our modern interdependent and interconnected world, this is increasingly difficult. Most modern countries — and their leaders — realize that material prosperity in the 21st Century depends on many of the values of the Commerce Syndrome. A society that tries to remain “closed” like North Korea, for instance, will find themselves at a distinct disadvantage when it comes to invention, comfort, prosperity, and the happiness of its citizens. What little resources such a country does have will be increasingly funneled toward weapons of war, security, police, prisons, and the suppression of truth. While these measures may serve to consolidate the power of a modern emperor in the short term, in the long term, too many people will have too little physical comforts to feel much loyalty to the emperor. Support will continue to erode and eventually everyone will see beneath the invisible clothes. An early signal of such a collapse will be a cascade of betrayals. 

By contrast, in a modern state, loyalty is earned through such virtues as fairness, competence, innovation, and collaboration. In other words, people dispense loyalty on the basis of what people do, not because of what they promise to do and not on the basis of some bogus claim to royalty based on how and where they were born. Cascading betrayal is typically a symptom of an attempt to revert to an earlier state of human social evolution. It is another descriptive short-hand Anti-Pattern. It can be avoided by allowing feelings of loyalty to grow naturally from watching someone in a role of power make and keep promises over time and by watching them do what is in the best interest of the State; not by watching them take actions which mainly enrich the emperor. 

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———————-

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

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