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~ Finding, formulating and solving life's frustrations.

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Tag Archives: war

Seed, Ground, Water, Light, Love

10 Thursday Mar 2022

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

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Tags

cooperation, council, Democracy, legend, myth, peace, politics, story, Veritas, war

——————

After some delicate and delicious love-making with Shadow Walker, Many Paths decided to check on She Who Saved Many Lives. If she seemed well enough, it might also be good to see whether her mentor had any further wisdom to share about Many Path’s plan to gather all the tribes. Her goal was to bring about peace but she realized that in trying to accomplish that, she might trigger the very things she hoped to avoid. Her tentative plan was therefore to gather as much wisdom as she might from many sources — but not to wait overlong. As the story goes, she thought to herself, if you waste the entire warm season deciding where to plant, you will starve in the season of great ice and snow.

Many Paths called out to her friend and mentor and received a surprisingly strong and cheery response. “Come in, Many Paths. Come in! I’ve been meaning to ask your advice about something. Do sit down. I will get you a cup of tea this time.” 

Not for the first time, Many Paths wondered whether it was actually possible for She Who Saved Many Lives to see into her heart and mind. After serving them both a cup of spicebush tea, ever so slightly flavored with mint, She Who Saved Many Lives went to her work area and brought over two patches of weaving. She placed one on each knee of Many Paths. The older woman smiled and said, “It never fails to amaze me how strong a weave of reeds is! It’s so wonderful. Just as I hope our community is.”

“I have had that exact same though,” Many Paths replied. Then, she laughed and added, “Likely because you pointed that out to me before I was even old enough to remember.”

The Elder Shaman tilted her head and nodded ever so slightly. “Perhaps. But you have made so many wonderful discoveries. And, not only you but the entire tribe. That’s because you have been open to learning and seeing what is there. But enough of that. I did have a question for you. Which of these two do you think is better?”

Many Paths frowned. “Better for what? What are you making?”

She Who Saved Many Lives considered, “A basket to carry things.” 

Many Paths nodded, “What things and how many? This weave has these stiffer switches to help support the weight. If you’re making a small bag to collect mint, for example, you wouldn’t have any need. If you’re making a large bag to collect apples, however, you would want the extra structuring support.”

Photo by Pierpaolo Riondato on Pexels.com

She Who Saved Many Lives nodded. “Yes, yes. That sounds obvious when you say it. I guess the fever must have addled my brain a bit. Anyway, thank you for reminding me. Soon, I will have to decide on what I want to use the bag for; then I will know which one is likely correct. Now, what did you want to ask my advice on?”

Many Paths took in a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I am quite sure I didn’t say anything about asking your advice.” 

She Who Saved Many Lives nodded. “I think you’re right. Sometimes I confuse us.” She laughed. “I know it sounds crazy but any way, I will get back to my weaving — or at least deciding why I’m weaving and let you go about your business — unless, of course, there was something else you wanted to talk about.” 

Many Paths chuckled. “As it turns out, I did want to ask your advice about something. You know I want to convene a  — Let me ask you another question first. Are you going to teach me how to see into another person’s mind?”

She Who Saved Many Lives laughed surprisingly long. At last, she caught her breath and said, “Many Paths! You won all seven rings of empathy! Of course, you can see into others. Of course, you can never be perfect at it. But you already do it. I knew you were busy. Yet you came to see me. You probably wanted to see whether I was dead or not, but even your footsteps and the way you called out told me you had something else on your mind. In fact, whether you knew it or not, you assumed I was alive. There was no edge of anxious worry in your voice. It was friendly — but also a bit — plaintive. I knew you wanted something from me. Now, you can see I have very few possessions. I find too many to be intolerably distracting. I am not going to help you with any arduous physical task. What is left? You want to offer me the opportunity to share my experiences; that is a great gift. For once we die, what else is left? So, naturally, I am more than willing to try to see what grows from our discussion.” 

Many Paths looked down and slowly shook her head. She realized that she could read people. She simply forgot sometimes to do it. If you really take the time to put yourself in their sandals, of course, you can make a good guess at what they’re thinking, she thought. Aloud, she said, “Yes. You’re right. So, I want to convene the tribes and I am wondering how, exactly, to go about it. How can I make sure it helps bring greater peace and doesn’t somehow spark off violence. Maybe it’s better not to try?” 

She Who Saved Many Lives replied, “I can say that no-one has attempted to bring all the tribes we know about together — not in my lifetime or the lifetime of my mother or the lifetime of my mother’s mother. During that time, there have been many wars and other atrocities. People stealing other people’s children? Even in our own tribe, we had some who forgot they were not the Tree of Life but a small and temporary part of the Tree of Life. I judge it’s worth the attempt.”

Many Paths. “As to how…?” 

She Who Saved Many Lives said, “What comes to mind for what you are trying to do is more akin to growing things than it is to making things. I am making a basket, and I will use it for a time. I don’t ever imagine that it will live forever any more than that I will or you, my dear. But if I know your heart correctly, you don’t want to make a thing, which will at some time break or dissolve. You want to make something grow for a hundred years, like a giant oak. Ideally, it would be an oak that would seed still more oaks when old mother oak also died.” 

Many Paths nodded. She realized that her mentor had described her desires precisely even though she herself could not have articulated so succinctly. “Yes, that’s exactly right.”

She Who Saved Many Lives nodded. “Let’s suppose then that you want to plant something so that it’s likely to grow. What do you need?” 

“A seed. Fertile ground. Water. Sun. That’s it. Is there more? Love! It’s all more likely to grow with love.” 

She Who Saved Many Lives nodded. “Yes. That’s it. I would start with the love. You already have that. Then, you need to know what seed. The seed determines what will grow though not exactly how. But you will need the ground, water, and sun so it can grow at all.” 

Many Paths continued the thought stream. “If you know what the seed is, then, you know what kind of place to look for. You know whether you need to plant it in bright sunlight or in shade. You know whether it needs very fertile ground or if it can grow in dirt and rocks. And, you know whether it needs to be in very wet ground or if arid ground will do.”

“Yes,” Many Paths, “and it occurs to me, that you might choose a place with enough light first, because, you can make the ground more fertile and bring more water, if need be. But brining light is more difficult.” She Who Saved Many Paths sighed. “Once, apparently, we knew how to bring light as those which lit the tunnel that leads to the Veritas on the … on the other side of the mountain.” 

“I do wonder, Old Mother, whether such light would is strong enough to grow plants. And then, Shadow Walker used reflections of the sun, along with other captives, to escape from the City of the Z-Lotz. It seems too contrived and elaborate for growing plants, but … perhaps writing is a little like that when it comes to providing enough truth so that peace can grow. It allows you to bring the light of wisdom to places that are many days walk from where they started. More importantly, you can place the light in a different time as well. We have all learned so much from the books uncovered in the great library. But, as usual, you are right. We must determine what type of thing we want to grow. That decision will determine the type of seed. The type of seed will determine the proper material, sunshine, and water.”



Many Paths arose and began pacing around in the Old Leader’s shelter. “Of course, since the outcome could impact everyone, I need to know how everyone believes it should be. Or, at least, find out as much as they know about how they want it to be.”

“Yes.” She Who Saved Many Lives considered for a moment before answering. “I suspect some will have many ideas about that while others may not care that much. Nearly everyone wants peace. On other matters, there may be great differences.” 

Many Paths sat back down. The two sat in a comfortable silence for a time. Many Paths rose at last and said, “Thank you for sharing your wisdom. I will look for some to walk with me a bit and contemplate the plants and their nature and try to see among them what it is that the people may be seeking. I’m glad you seem so much better.” 

“As am I, Many Paths. You know, you give me much to live for.” She Who Saved Many Lives smiled and added, “But I do think I will lie down for a nap now. Though some time in the near future, I might accompany you on such a walk.”

Many Paths left and saw Shadow Walker coming toward her. From the look on his face, Many Paths judged he had some news. His smile broadened as he approached and he said, “Hello my love! Can we go for a bit of a walk?” 

———————

Author Page on Amazon

Myths of the Veritas: The Orange Man

Myths of the Veritas: The Forgotten Field

Myths of the Veritas: The First Ring of Empathy

Dick-Taters

05 Saturday Mar 2022

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 74 Comments

Tags

Democracy, Dictatorship, politics, Putin, Ukraine, USA, Vote, war

Putting a dick-tater* [see below*] in charge of things has always been a very very bad idea. 

But in today’s world, this bad idea is worse than ever! 

There is still the problem that such a position appeals mainly to cruel and cowardly people. That results in the person who is in that position surrounding themselves, not with the best experts in the country, nor the most diverse range of opinions, but with people they can cow. 

Hence, you end up with someone predisposed to greed, cruelty, and cowardliness surrounding themselves with others who are cruel, greedy, and cowardly. The entire government decision making process ends up narrow, uncreative, and stupid. It was that way in ancient times and in the Middle Ages.

In those days, however, the whole of accurate human knowledge was much more limited than it is today. Today, even an actual genius (not a self-declared one) will know only a small fraction of the knowledge relevant to a given problem. That’s a bit of an issue for democratically elected leaders as well, but at least there is some chance that elected leaders will listen to a range of experts and make a decent decision. But in a dick-tater-$hit**, that almost never happens. 

Although a dick-tater is supposed to have infinite power, it’s actually just a public fiction. Of course, the people as a whole are way more powerful than the dick-tater. But the dick-tater tries to put everyone in fear of each other. They divide in order to conquer. If the people would all stop obeying stupid orders, the dick-tater-$hit would crumble. But it takes a lot of bravery to be the first one to disobey their orders. The first one will be killed. 

It takes even more bravery to be the second one. Because the second one to defy the Putintate (or whatever it’s called) has already seen the effects of radiation poisoning (or whatever other cowardly action was taken to silence the first). And, perhaps it takes even more courage to be the third person to work for the people rather than just please the dictator.

I enjoy playing chess myself. But it’s not that fun to simply stare at an empty chessboard. (I have actually done that to see how I can allocate my attention to various squares in the matrix, but that’s the subject of a different essay.) It gets old though. It’s certainly more fun to play chess. If you have no pieces however, it’s basically a boring game. It only works because you have pieces to move. If the pieces move on their own and express their basic nature as separate human beings, it’s disconcerting. But it’s even more disconcerting if there are no pieces whatsoever because you’ve murdered them all. 

NOTES:
* I use the term “dick-tater” because I think it shows a better derivation. Latin for “Say often or prescribe” is where “dictator” comes from. And although some dictators and would-be dictators are mouthy or whiney, they don’t really *say* things at all in the way most of us do. Most people, most of the time, say things so as to better communicate and to coordinate our work for the community. The purpose of a dick-tater is to control, not to share truths. So, I don’t like relating what a dick-tater does with words like “diction” or “predict.”

When we think about toxic masculinity, however, we often refer to someone who only has his own interests at heart with the answer to this question: “What do you call it when a needle when stabs into your skin?” Or, we sometimes use a person’s name — one that rhymes with “ick”. And the use of this word “dick” in that way is not at all inclusive of the many characteristics of male anatomy. When we say someone is a “dick”, we’re not saying he’s shaped like one, or that he changes size a lot, or that he’s used for urination. We refer quite specifically to someone being a dick as acting, perceiving, and actually being a certain way. It doesn’t really even have anything to do with sex, per se, although certainly a “dick” is likely to approach sex, like everything else in a selfish, dickish way. He might be prone to “grab women by the pu$$y” or rape them or pay for sex. But that has nothing to do with, e.g., the actual miniscuality of the mushroom in question. True, microsize might be part of the motivation for someone to “become a dick” (since they don’t really have much of one), but it need not go that way. 

The essence of the term refers only to the psychology behind what is being done. What is behind every perception, action, and decision is being an absolute coward. This is basically why the dick-tater seeks absolute power. He or she is too chicken to face a fair contest of any kind. They might lose. That is also why they are prone to pay for sex or sexually assault or molest someone younger. In all cases, they don’t have to face whether or not they will be accepted by their desired partner. It’s too scary for them. They might be rejected. But not if they can be bullied or forced or paid off. The slime invades every aspect of the dick-tater’s life.

No-one really knows exactly what causes people to be extremely (or sightly) sociopathic. It seems correlated with a lack of unconditional love given on the part of the parents. Criminality does tend to run in families but it’s unclear how much of that is due to which sorts of factors. In some ways, maybe it’s a lot like learning any other family business. This family tends to have good cooks. That family tends to have good crooks. In each case, the people in the family learn from each. Within this family there is an innately determined ability to imagine the result of combining tastes, while in that family people seem to have the natural talent to cause great wastes. 

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Let’s move on to the “tater” part. When I think of a “tater” I think of “tater tot” and that too seems wildly appropriate. The “tater tot” is very appealing. And, it’s also very bad for you compared with most other foods; it’s high in fat, in calories, and in fast-absorbing carbs. And, typically, it comes with added heart-unhealthy sodium. So, in terms of what it means for a society, few things could be more appropriate metaphors. It looks attractive and yummy but what it really does it tend to kill you while it makes you feel good for a moment. But your kids and grandkids and great-grandkids won’t feel that moment that you’ll relish. All they’ll feel is endless frustration and despair of the situation you put them in. And utter hate.

Can you really blame them? 

The word “tater-tot” also has within in the two words, “tater” and “tot” and again both of these seem appropriate. A “tater” is a slang word for “potato” — a food which is something we can almost all relate to. I can’t think of anyone I know who doesn’t really like potatoes. Some only like French Fries while other prefer a Baked Potato. I like potatoes every way made that I’ve ever had: Baked, Fried, Scalloped, Potato Salad, German Potato Salad, boiled, mashed. The only “problem” with potatoes is that they don’t really solve the hunger problem very permanently. They are high calorie and the energy is quickly absorbed. This means your pancreas secretes insulin to drive your blood sugar level back down. And, since our biochemistry mainly evolved before French Fries, our pancreas thinks we are having a huge meal and sends way more than enough insulin. And, that drops your blood sugar level again.
So fifteen minutes after eating the French Fries with salt & ketchup (Yes, of course, I love them!) You feel wonderful! Yum! But an hour and a half after eating them you may feel hungrier than you did before you started! 

Photo by Robin Stickel on Pexels.com

That seems totally appropriate as a metaphor.

At last, we come to “tot.” It’s almost too easy and obvious, isn’t it? Many of us go through a phase as a toddler where we try this “I am the dictator of the world” and everyone must cater to me.” It doesn’t happen to everyone, but to far more than actually become dicks. It takes time and experience to understand how to be kind to people in all its complexity, but the basics are pretty easy, actually. So, most kids are “nice” to others most of the time. But there are a few who are not. And, then almost everyone has a bad day now and again. Now, personally, I was much more of a dick at age 13 than I was at 7, 8, 9, 10, or 11. Hormones? I don’t know. I just know it was so. Your mileage may differ. But, I think generally speaking, we would agree that dick-titorial behavior is childish behavior. It’s childish to be so self-centered that you care more about your own ego than about the fact that you’re killing women and children who have done nothing to hurt you. Nothing. 

So, where were we? Ah, yes, a dick-tater-$hit is a balancing act. Everyone around the dick-tater is afraid of that dick-tater. But at the same time, the dick-tater is scared of everyone around them! This means, among other things, that the dick-tater is always looking for external enemies in order to keep his inner ring from turning their gaze toward him and thinking how much better a job of it they could do. To avoid internal division, the dick-tater is always fomenting discord to outside enemies or to the “undesirables” within their own society. 

Good luck with that one! Because there is absolutely no way anyone can tell with certainty who or what is going to be called a deadly evil in a dictatorship ten years down the line. Just because a dictatorship begins by forbidding gay marriage in year one doesn’t mean they won’t require it next decade. “No, they couldn’t. They wouldn’t.”  Well, don’t be so sure. TFG, would-be tater-tot, was a liberal (gasp!) On many issues such as abortion, before getting into politics. Of course, he needs the support of his fans in order to gain absolute power, but not to keep it. Once the machinery of a dictatorship is well in place, it is very easy to target different groups at different times. If someone thinks they’re safe because the current dick-tater pretends to be a lot like them, they’re simply fooling themselves. First of all, they’re a lot less like the dick-tater than he would have you believe. Second, even if he were your identical twin, he’s out to steal from the people and if he can do that better by throwing you under the bus, he would sacrifice that twin brother. That’s what it means to be a dick-tater: No-one else really matters; you sizzle them with flashy illusion but there’s nothing lasting or substantive; you appeal to the selfish child that lives in everyone. That child was formed before you learned about logic and evidence and facts versus opinions. Why appeal to the rational mind who might (in fact, likely would) see right through your web of lies? Instead, promise them something wonderful and undefined. Whenever you need a bump in popularity, tell them you’ve achieved one of those wonderful things. 

You don’t actually have to achieve anything. You simply have to direct newspapers and social media what to say about your wonderful achievement. Oh, and let’s not forget to jail or poison any journalist who reports on the truth. Eventually, people will begin to catch on despite the dick-tater’s insistence on the web of lies. Eventually, everyone knows the emperor has no clothes. But he simply makes it known that anyone who mentions it will be decapitated which is ironic in that it’s actually the state that needs to be decapitated. 

[Notes: (cont.) ** The suffix “$hit” is appended dick-tater in order to form the word for the type of government. I find the suffix: “ship” leaves me adrift. Maybe running a country is like running a ship? I think the most we can say about “ship” is that it is used to make a collective out of individuals. Partners form a partnership. Towns form a township. But…? Dick-taters make a dick-tater-ship? I guess to some extent that is true. The people closes to the Dick-Tater also have to be pretty cowardly. And so on. The further away you get from the dick-tater, the braver people tend to be. They almost have to because they have far less power. The dick-tater rules because he has power. But what is that power? He doesn’t physically have control over very many.

There are agreements throughout the society that enforce the power. On any given day, everyone could wake up and simply stop enforcing them. After all, they might ask themselves, “Why should the dick-tater be the only one in the country allowed to break his promises? Anyway, I promised I would protect Mother Russia from attack, not that I would attack my neighbors who pose no threat to me.” Those are uncomfortable questions for a dick-tater to answer. So he won’t. To survive in a dick-tater-$hit you need to bribe people. Hence, the dollar sign. Because the rule of law means nothing and the truth means nothing and fair play means nothing and raw power means everything, you and me and everyone we care about will be in something and believe me that thing we will be in is not a ship. 

Destroying the idea of democracy is like trying to chain a cloud, Vlademort. Give it up.

Absolute is not just a vodka

The Siren Song

Poppa Goes the Weasel

All for One & None for Most

The Orange Man

Con-Con Man’s Special Friend

Thrumperdome

Stoned Soup

The Three Blind Mice

Essays on America: The Game

Donnie Plays Bull Dazzle Man

Donnie Plays Doctor Man

Donnie Learns Golf

Donnie Plays Soldier Man

Donnie Visits Granny

Donnie Gets a Hamster

Donnie Takes a Blue Ribbon for Spelilng

Donnie Gets his Name on a Tennis Trophy

Donnie Lets his Brother Take the Fall

Donnie Watches a Veterans Day Parade

Ramming Your Head into a Brick Wall does not Make you a Hero

“There is always light if only we are brave enough to be it.” — Amanda Gorman

Fire & Ice

23 Thursday Dec 2021

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Democracy, fable, fire, ice, peace, story, war

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Fire: “What are you doing here? Fool. I’m god here. You’re neither wanted nor needed. It’s over. Have an ice day!”

Ice: “Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

Fire: “Bah. In war, it is I who kills. Flame-throwers, the gunpowder propelling bullets, bombs, and best of all, but rarely used, atomic fire. Oh, it warms my heart to see.” 

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Ice: “Yes, but I am your best partner, though you know it not.”

Fire: “You? Hah. Okay, I grant you, frostbite and cold have destroyed the bodies of many. Napolean and Hitler and Lord knows who else’s armies. But still.”

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Ice: “No, you’re foolish and rambling as ever. I’m not talking about how I can help you kill. I’m talking about how I prepare the ground for you. Make people not care. Encourage the turning of a cold shoulder, a blind eye. Without me, people might never turn to you.”

Fire: “I doubt it. Fire begets fire. Hate begets hate. What does your little chill of indifference have to do with it? Be gone or I’ll melt you to water.” 

Photo by Tim Erben on Pexels.com

Ice: “Perhaps. But I might douse you to smoldering embers. I suggest you think about it. We can work as partners. Each making the other stronger. Actually, we have been partnering, but I’ve never gotten the credit I deserve. You’ve ignored me too long.”

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Fire: “Hah! Not nearly so much as you have ignored me! You’re useless without me!”

Ice: “Fine, if that’s the way you feel, then this is goodbye. Forever.”

God smiled. Humanity prospered.

Author Page on Amazon

Essays on America: Ice

Take a glance Join the Dance

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

What about the butter dish?

Essays on America: The stopping rule

Essays on America: The Update Problem

Happy Talk Lies

Where does your Loyalty Lie?

My Cousin Bobby

The Loud Defense of Untenable Positions

It’s not your fault; send me money

Absolute is not just a vodka

Brick By Brick

12 Sunday Dec 2021

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

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

Brick by brick.

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Brick by brick, brick by brick.

I built my plastic kevlar house.

I knew I had to insulate myself.

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To make it strong, impenetrable, 

I avoided windows, glass of any kind.

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

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

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

Photo by Marina Hinic on Pexels.com

Ever vigilant for each and every breach, 

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

This is how I spent those endless days.

Photo by Kindel Media on Pexels.com



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

Photo by Min Thein on Pexels.com



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

Photo by Colour Creation on Pexels.com

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

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I’ve built a prison meant for fools.

Designed by excellent, redundant rules.

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

Photo by Sourav Mishra on Pexels.com

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Brick by brick. 


How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

The Watershed Virus

Absolute is not just a vodka

The Bubble People

Ah Wilderness

Author Page on Amazon

Fish Have No Word for “Water”

11 Saturday Dec 2021

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 22 Comments

Tags

pantoum, poem, poetry, war

Photo by Aneta Foubu00edkovu00e1 on Pexels.com

They had long lost the word for war.
Along with so much more.
The reptile brain (alive and well)
Transformed green Eden into orange hell.

Along with so much more:
Libraries, friends, gardens and such.
Green Eden charred to fiery hell.
It had seemed so easy once upon a time.



Survival. Now. Seeds they sow, row on row.
Along with so much more.
Bullets spent; home-made tent.
Green Eden charred to orange hell.

Photo by Tim Erben on Pexels.com



So much mud! A desperate thud.
Survival now: “Reality Show.”

They had long ago lost the word for war.
Bullets spent. A home of tent. 

Every day it seemed to rain.
So much mud! A desperate thug
Had reigned: ineptitude on full parade.
They had lost the word; they had lost the word for war. 


Absolute is not just a vodka

Trumpism is a new religion

Happy Talk Lies

Try the Truth

A lot is not a little

Author page on Amazon

Death-Cultery on Parade

18 Wednesday Aug 2021

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

America, coronavirus, COVID, essay, pandemic, peace, truth, USA, war

Should we really be all that surprised? 

One quarter of the country is prepared to die and have their loved ones die for the sake of what they know or should know to be lies. 

But what happens in war? 

At least one side, and more typically both sides are willing to die and put their families at risk for what they know or should know to be lies. They don’t typically go into combat for their own benefit! They do it for country. They do it for their religion. They do it to protect their families. They do it in reprisal for some real or imagined actions in the past. But very few would willingly walk into combat hoping to “get more out of it” than they put into it! That would be like running through a rich neighborhood during a heavy lightening storm. Sure, you might be struck by lightening or hit by a falling tree and die or be permanently injured. But — hey! — there’s also a chance you might be able to sue one of these rich suckers and make millions! Yeah. That could happen. But, as I say, that’s not why most people put themselves in harm’s way.

So, to recapitulate, war itself is based, at least partly, on lies. 

Are we doomed to keep repeating the same mistakes over and over and over and over again? 

IDK

But consider this: 

Suppose there are two teams Purple and Green. These two teams have a competition in something. It doesn’t much matter whether it’s soccer, baseball, debate, ice hockey, figure skating, cheerleading or anything else. What matters is that each side wants to “win.” But it also matters, and more than a little bit, that each side also wants to enjoy themselves. They value other things in addition to winning or losing. Some enjoy the companionship. Some enjoy the challenge. Some enjoy improving. Some enjoy the sunshine. It doesn’t have to be the same value for everyone. 

The point is that tennis is not a zero sum game. It’s true that a particular match has one and only one winning team. But there are other benefits. Everyone is a “winner” in the sense of the challenge or the emotional ups & downs or the sheer joy of movement. The score is only one part of the value of the game. The same is true for all sports and for almost all human endeavors in the real world. It is very seldom a zero sum game. We can almost always find some state of affairs as being bad (all out atomic war destroys the entire human species) 

Similarly, both the Purple and the Green team want to keep the game going. In most cases, they also want to have cordial social relations with all the other players. So, in the vast majority of cases, people “handle” disagreements about the score, the line calls, etc. within the bounds of civility. Let’s suppose that one person of the four is a narcissistic sociopath who thinks he’s always right and insists he’s always right no matter how egregious his line calls. Eventually, such a person would destroy the game. It wouldn’t take a majority. A single sociopathic teammate could spoil it for everyone. But only if everyone else lets them get away with it. 

Have you ever watched an all-out bench-clearing brawl between to baseball teams or two hockey teams? Every time I’ve seen it, it’s really only triggered by one person and accepted by one person. So, two, among those whole teams, are sometimes enough to ignite a kind of “war.” While a brawl isn’t the most pleasant experience I can imagine, it’s even worse among professional athletes. It’s potentially career-ending. For most, it’s a potential financial hit from the world of brand endorsements. There could be legal trouble. For a few, there might be regret. Similarly, guess what? Most people do not benefit from war! It’s so obvious that I hesitate to say it, but it seems as though people do not see it as obvious. A very few people get very very rich. Many people die; many are seriously and permanently injured; many people’s homes are destroyed; families are separated; possessions are destroyed; plans are accomplishments are destroyed; peace of mind is destroyed; forests and wild places are destroyed; innocent animals are destroyed; friendships are destroyed; trust is destroyed…I mean, are you starting to see a pattern here?

War is about destruction. War does not create beauty. War does not feed the hungry. War does not heal the sick. War does not comfort the soul. War benefits the few; never the many. 

At the extreme, there is dictatorship which will always be much more incentivized to war than will a democracy. The dictator will use the fact that there’s no free press to whip up hatred against an enemy. Then, he’ll attack (but pretend the other side started it), etc. Now, if attacked, the democracy has little choice but to respond. Encouraging a bully is a losing strategy. Going to war is also losing. War is never about winning. It’s about losing less. And going to war is better than giving in to a bully. If you succumb to the bully, you have no life any more. The bully is a parasite on you; one that you cannot get rid of while he sucks your blood and everyone else’s in the nation. Parasite is just another name for dictator.

In any case, a small number of people can start a war which, in turn, benefits only a small number of people, at most.

That doesn’t seem like a good system to me.

It sounds like “an accident waiting to happen.” And, it has. Over and over and over and over again. 

When will we ever learn?

And, while three fourths of America has battled their butts off for over a year and a half — socially distancing, wearing masks, making masks, getting vaccinated, staying healthy — in some cases working heroically — quite literally — heroically to fight the war against COVID. While that’s what’s been happening with about 3/4 of Americans….

One fourth of America has decided to join in the War on COVID — on the side of the virus! They refuse to get vaccinated; refuse to wear a mask; refuse to socially distance. Why? Because they’ve been ordered to by the leaders of a death cult. Make no mistake. This has nothing to do with personal freedom. If it were about personal freedom, there might be as many as seventeen people nationwide who would prefer to be intubated for weeks than to wear a mask for minutes. If it were really about personal freedom, the vast vast majority would choose a few moments of discomfort rather than dying or being permanently disabled. Ironically, most of  the cult leaders have been vaccinated, and when they’ve fallen ill, they’ve received expensive top notch care that you or I or the COVIDites will not be likely to receive.


Something there is that doesn’t love a war, not even a war on truth.

——————————-

The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

The Watershed Virus

Masklessness is not Manliness

Plans for us some gruesome 

Imagine all the people

Author page on Amazon 

Little Grandma

25 Monday May 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, family, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

death, family, life, Memorial Day, relationships, truth, war


 

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“Little Grandma” (as we all called her) was 86 when last I saw her alive on what was to be her deathbed. She smiled and asked about my broken arm. She was old, bent, wrinkled — and tired — so she said. I guess it was from her Native American bones that I inherited my love of nature, my peace with all of it; all that is natural and beautiful on this tiny jewel of a planet — the wild iris, the rose, the caterpillar, the crimson sunset and the rain.

The rain. But of course, there are a thousand kinds of rain. They come in so many colors, moods, and sounds. Tall sheets of rain seen from miles across the “Big Sky” country; cold, drizzly little fall rains; sudden laughing summer showers; lashing hurricanes that flood and kill and toss trees like broken toys.

When we buried you, “Little Grandma,” it was a gray day steel steady rain of tears from a sky that held unseen clouds. It was the rain, I guess, that drowned out the meaningless words of the poor man in the black robes babbling uselessly to comfort me. The grass was very green in your little spot beneath the black, dripping elm.

burial cemetery countryside cross

Photo by Mike on Pexels.com

On the rain fell, on the ancient little church, on the little crowd of black umbrellas, on the stones of the graveyard, gradually, gradually, fading out even the words carved in stone — but not the words carved in my heart, “Little Grandma.”

We don’t think of “Little Grandma” as a fallen soldier. In her longish life, however, she saw her children and then her grandchildren go off to war. Seldom even a heavily redacted post card. Never a call on the satellite phone. And her grand-daughter’s husband was killed in a war. So, I thought of her on Memorial Day — and all the other millions of women who kept life going — and all the while never knowing whether their sons and husbands would ever return whole — or return at all. Now, of course, women are also war-fighters. But haven’t they always been?

flight sky sunset men

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com


Author Page on Amazon

Citizen Soldiers: Part 1

 

Blood-Red Blood

24 Sunday May 2020

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

≈ 12 Comments

Tags

ecology, environment, green, life, love, peace, poem, poetry, war

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Those tortured in the name of Our Dear God,
Racked, burned or sawed, bleed blood-red blood.

Sailing to Freedom, they slaughter
Their trusting brothers with reddish skin
And all their blood is blood-red, blood-red.

The black skin of slaves under the lash
Bleeding the blood-red blood.
Soldiers North in marching blue,
Soldiers South in riding gray,
Bleed their blood-red blood.

person s hands covered with blood

Photo by NEOSiAM 2020 on Pexels.com

The white skin of soldiers entrenched
Breathing the deadly golden mustard gas,
Coughing their lungs, their blood-red blood,
Coughing on their uniforms of blue or gold.

The Cambodian Killing Fields flow bright
With blood-red blood spurting from under yellow skin.

Genocide in Tamil —
Drunken driving in Toledo —
Bombs in Northern Ireland —
Whether the children wear green
Or orange, blood-red is their blood.

woman in black tank top blindfolded

Photo by Thuanny Gantuss on Pexels.com

Only that is clear. Blood is blood.
That, and the tears.
The tears are clear.
But what of hearts and thoughts?

In Flanders Field, so they say,
The poppies grow, red-blood red.
We know where hatred grows —
The fields of greed and fear.
But where on this green earth
Is there a space for love to grow;
For that magic drop of clearly know
That can save so many seas of blood?

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Waterloo and Gettysburg
We can quickly find on a map.
Battlefields, Killing Fields,
Killing Camps, Hiroshima —
These we can pinpoint oh so easily.

Harder to see are the loving fields.
They lay only hidden deep within
That uncharted country of our own hearts.

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I have a question for you.
I have a question for me.
Haven’t we shed enough of each other’s blood?
Are we really still surprised to see
Our enemy bleeds blood-red blood
Just like you and me?
Can we find something else to do now?
Some new game to play?
Are you not bored, like me,
With shoot and burn and slay?
How about a game that does not end in bloody red?
How about a game that ends in green, say?
How about working together to re-make Eden?
Let us make the woods and fields green again
Like a sparkling miracle of loving creation.
I think that might be more fun.
I am getting sick and tired of blood and red and dead.
How about you?

cascade creek environment fern

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Want to play for green instead?

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America

Essays on America: Wednesday

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

The Impossible

The Truth Train

Sunless Sunday of Faith

Author Page on Amazon

Camelot is in your Heart

09 Monday Mar 2020

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

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

America, Camelot, Democracy, legends, myths, peace, poem, poetry, revolution, story, USA, war

 

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The Knights are mostly scattered now;
And Arthur Pendragon long since dead;
A Kingdom ruled by shadows instead. 

The castle lies in broken rubble.
The fields, fallow, untended and bare.
Our Flag doesn’t ripple in cold blue air. 

The maimed, the stunned, stumble, grumble
Of what was once so full of grace,
And now is gone without a trace. 

A grain of wheat is blown by wind,
I seize and touch, and then I see,
Those fields and fields wave goldenly. 

Upon the ground, a hunk of brick —
Its one of hundreds, standing tall
And thickly building castle wall. 

Beside the fallen orchard trunks —
A rotten apple laced with bees;
Inside that core are apple trees! 

Not in warfare, not in plans,
Not in science, not in art,
Not in numbers, not in chart, 

Camelot, 

My friends, 

Is in your heart. 

IMG_9802
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Peace

07 Saturday Mar 2020

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

≈ 26 Comments

Tags

ecology, environment, green, life, love, peace, poem, poetry, truth, war

IMG_3071


All the guns are silent now;
Landmines, all defused, exhumed.
Warships, mothballed; warplanes, scuttled;
Missiles, bombs, and tanks, entombed. 

Across the world, hands are held
And faces face the clearing sky
In silent prayer, in wonderment.
No-one quite remembers why 

It once seemed great to shoot to kill.
No-one gets that deadly thrill.
No-one cares to take that hill.
No-one wishes others ill. 

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Instead, the people turn their mind
Inside to see what they can find
Of ignorance within their skin
And mine their souls to conquer sin. 

No-one throws the stones at others;
Hands are used to help instead;
Someone speaks and someone listens;
Around the world, each kid is fed. 

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IMG_2261

Slowly now we heal the earth;
Slowly now we heal our soul;
Surely now we tend our hearth;
Finally now we have a goal 

Worthy of humanity:
Not to overcome each other —
We work together to save our Mother,
And never wake those Dogs of War. 

IMG_9137

Author Page on Amazon

Start of the First Book of The Myths of the Veritas

Start of the Second Book of the Myths of the Veritas

Table of Contents for the Second Book of the Veritas

Table of Contents for Essays on America 

Index for a Pattern Language for Teamwork and Collaboration  

Essay on Peace, War, and Greed.

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