Category Philosophy

The very wide field of philosophy

Processes, automation and human potential

Geir Isene 31 Comments

I have been working with an article that captures the essence of my recent professional work, during the last year or so. Brendan and I have been consulting several organizations with the aim of helping them achieve better results – be it more revenue or profit, more efficient use of time, customer satisfaction, better cooperation or above all releasing individual initiative, responsibility and creativity.

I release the article here first to invite feedback from the wonderful and smart contributers on this blog. If you read the article and give some valuable input, you may be credited if you want.

The article is here: “Processes, automation and human potential”

What’s with the discussions?

Geir Isene 53 Comments

This blog has been active for 1,5 years now. It replaced my old Scientology blog as I wanted to move my open writing into any area that tickled my fancy. Like free will and other existential philosophical subjects, HP calculators and other technical subjects, as well as life and living.

This space is marked by many long and interesting discussion by very smart people with very different viewpoints. When I write somewhat controversial posts, the discussions usually counts several hundred comments, some even more than a thousand. This has become the blog on the Internet that gathers the most replies on specific Scientology-related subjects. Perhaps because it tackles the core philosophy of Scientology and possibly because it retains a fairly objective stance, being neither effusively pro nor toxically against. But rather exploring, evaluating and searching for areas to improve.

However, my interest lies not with Scientology. What occupies me is enlightenment, truth, free will and general improvement. Any tool should remain junior to an intended result. Except for my HP-41… it remains a solution is search of a problem. Being a nerd at heart, I luv my tools – but I still try to keep my eyes focused on the goals. I try to do what generates the best results toward those goals.

Do the discussions on this blog? Are they worth it? What are they worth? Almost a hundred comments per day is a lot. Maybe it’s time to end the discussions while on the top?

New Year present: WOIM 1.7 with real life examples

Geir Isene 26 Comments

With some nudging from India (thanks Shantanu Kulkarni), I have gotten around to make WOIM more easily accessible for anyone. The manual now includes several real life examples on how to use WOIM for describing anything from business processes and todo-lists to food recipes and philosophical arguments. With this, anyone should be able to get going with WOIM. It starts out like this:

On the way in to the shopping mall, you take a quick glance at the list given to you by your mother/father/brother/wife:

5 liters of Milk
2 packages of Butter
2 liters of Orange juice
Bananas (5-8)

A simple list. But the next time you go to the shop, the list has grown to a paragraph:

If they have pepperoni and that special pizza sauce, buy that and also flour, yeast, cheese and ham. If not, then buy the Indian spicy chicken with 5 or more suitable vegetables. If the chicken is sol out, be creative and decide what we should have for dinner. Also buy apple juice, eggs, washing powder and paper towels.

You wonder if that paragraph can be written a bit more concise.

The WOIM document is available on Scrobd.com as well as the usual place.

For the geeks, the WOIM plugin for VIM is updated and now includes a full HTML conversion and several improvements.

WOIM

What did you dream of when you were twelve?

Geir Isene 15 Comments

Try to remember back when you were twelve years old. Maybe that New Years Eve, eagerly looking into the future, busy creating that dream of an adult life.

What did you envision? What goals did you forge? What did you dream of becoming, of doing, of accomplishing?

Take hold of that old childish dream for a few seconds. Touch it, re-dream it. Feel it.

Now snap into the present and take a look at your life as it is. Did your dreams come true?

Why?

Or why not?

What can you, in hindsight learn when you once again stand at another New Years Eve forging another goal to reach?

Or what can that twelve year old child in your past teach you tonight?

My basic principles

Geir Isene 12 Comments

I have adopted three basic principles of late:

  • 100% responsibility
  • Simplicity
  • Immediate relevance

1 With the principle of 100% Responsibility I seek to establish who should be fully responsible for a wanted result. In distributing responsibilities in an organization, I focus on responsibility for results, not for tasks. And the focus is on total responsibility for the result. Not shared responsibilities, group responsibilities or partial responsibility. Google “100%” and you get “100%=1”. If two soccer defender are confused about their responsibilities, you can get a) both looking at the ball while the striker dashes in between them to score or b) both going after the ball and leaving plenty of room on both sides. Clearly defined responsibilities ensures less overlap or holes.

simplicity The principle of Simplicity pervades everything I do – trying hard to reduce every solution to its simplest possible form. As Einstein once said “Make everything as simple as possible, but not simpler.”

This blog is mainly a vehicle for simplifying my thoughts.

! Immediate Relevance ensures focus and value creation. It does not equate to short sightedness or lack of creativity. If the task at hand is the generating of a company strategy, then keeping the meeting focused on what’s immediate relevant to that strategy ensures a more productive meeting. Keeping all minds highly creative in a mind storming meeting is keeping with the same principle. Immediate relevance is about sticking to the goal. And sometimes it is fruitful to simply let the mind wander – and then I would ensure Immediate Relevance even in that wild abandon.

Just letting you in on how I operate these days.

This is inspired by my mentor Hans Trygve Kristiansen and the Amazing Brendan.

What worked? And Why?

Geir Isene 384 Comments

This blog post is inspired by one of the many excellent contributors here, our One and Only Maria.

In my blog post “Scientology thought experiment“, I asked about what the future could hold if Scientology as described by L. Ron Hubbard would conquer the world. My conclusion went like this:

The CoS will expand into every corner of the world as it cannot do anything but expand per policy. It aims to free every person on Earth. And by the use of Scientology tech since that is actually the only way to set someone free. Everyone should then be a scientologist and would be on the org board of the CoS. They would then have to be on a regular course schedule per week and would be subject to ethics actions if not. If they do any out ethics in life, they would again be subject to the ethics tech. They would train and they would go up the Bridge. They would enter into leadership positions in the government and in all spheres of influence. And again, if they did anything unethical, they would be subject to ethics, tech and admin. They would be required to use policy to handle admin situations, and as LRH admin tech is in fact the only workable admin tech there is, using anything else would have to come under the heading of squirreling or out-ethics. Thus admin tech would be in use most everywhere. Leaders would lead according to LRH scriptures as doing otherwise is again counter intentional and out ethics. It should only be natural that they would want to be ethical as LRH has laid out, use the tech standardly and apply policy appropriately. Out ethics is treated with the ethics gradient and there would be a swifter justice system than the cumbersome judicial system we see in our society today. As no Scientologist could take another Scientologist to court (forbidden by policy), then our system of Law and Order would naturally be replaced by LRH’s ethics and justice policies. Every citizen would deem it only natural to write KRs on any outpoint they see, be it in the work place, in the Church structure, amongst friends or in families. PTSness is thus reported as per policy as it is a crime to do otherwise. No criticism of Scientology would ever happen as that is a suppressive act, and no one would leave Scientology and tell about it as that, too would be suppressive. No one would create any problems, and no one would have any unkind thoughts of LRH, Mary Sue or the CoS Management. Wars would be handled before any ARC break could escalate to that level of conflict. No drugs would be peddled, and the insane would be given the Introspection Rundown and then be given the proper auditing actions to again return to the Bridge and continue on their road to freedom. There would be no splinter groups as the CoS would hold it’s LRH given monopoly on all the tech. Psychiatry would long since have been obliterated and the same with psychology or any other practice targeted by LRH’s orders, advices or policy. Other religions would be tolerated, but only to the point where they would not in any way interfere with the progress up the Bridge for any individual. Christians would be crammed according to the Class VIII tapes as LRH says Jesus Christ did not exist. People would be free to worship their version f the 8th dynamic as LRH touched very little upon that subject. Since we would have a perfectly run society, KSW and Keep Admin Working would be enforced to ensure that no working installation would ever be tampered with and fall astray. It would be a society in harmony, of fun, laughter, ARC and respect for LRH. It would be a world without war, criminality and insanity. It would be a world that all of us have desired since millions of years.

Maria summed up the big thread with:

I’d like to suggest that this OP is not a thought experiment at all. It is a logic experiment. It runs in fits and starts because it is attempting to construct a world out of illogical and fallacious thinking. The C of S IS the real thought experiment, carried out in physical reality.

And then she proposed her own thought experiment that several contributors voted to put up as a separate blog post:

I am conducting my own thought experiments in knowing how to know. Part of that has been sorting out EXACTLY what were the effective agencies of change that resulted genuine “wins” or insights while engaging in Scientology processes. I am not interested in theories or models. I am interested in WHAT OCCURRED that effected / resulted in a change of consciousness / reality in ways seen to be beneficial.

Current questions I am examining are:

  1. Why was the communication course, circa 1976 to 1978 so life changing for many?
  2. What exactly happens at the point of cognition/EP of a process?
  3. Why is 2WC so beneficial and under what conditions?
  4. What exactly happens when there is a floating needle?
  5. What exactly happens when a person has VGIs? i.e. what have they “acquired” that produces such a massive sense of satisfaction?
  6. What is the ultimate punishment – i.e. when we want to really punish someone, what do we do to really PUNISH them. Death penalty doesn’t count – it ends the game. I am thinking that by observing what the ultimate punishment is, we can extrapolate its opposite and work out what the ultimate reward probably is.
  7. What activities will invariably result in bad indicators? And what are the opposite activities to those?
  8. For those who have moments of extreme “illumination” or “enlightenment,” what happened? What shift occurred? How do you see the world differently?

And so the question becomes: What worked? And why?

Describe anything – plain and simple with WOIM (new version: 1.6)

Geir Isene 8 Comments

Another update to your favorite descriptive system.

From the ad: “WOIM is an Outliner, a TODO-list solution, a project management tool, a Business Process Management aid, a data modeler, a Use Case facilitator, a way to describe the human DNA or the history of the universe 😉 It can also encrypt your lists and be used as a very structured  password safe.”

WOIM (Warnier/Orr/Isene/Möller) is a plain text way to describe whatever. Used together with the greatest text editor invented (VIM) and the WOIM plugin, you have an elegant solution on your PC.

The new version 1.6 includes the possibility of adding pre-formated or literal blocks of text inside a WOIM list. With this you can add blocks of programming code or other fancy text without having to worry about WOIM markup inside such a block.

As usual, the VIM plugin for WOIM lists follows suit, and is now available in version 1.6 as well. Go frolic.

Crazy and Amazing

Geir Isene 284 Comments

Isaac Newton, Michelangelo, Leo Tolstoy, Mozart, Vincent Van Gogh, Edward Munch, Henrik Ibsen, Hans Christian Andersen, Ernest Hemingway, Sigmund Freud, Mark Twain, Georg Cantor, Abraham Lincoln, Ludwig Boltzmann, Martin Luther, Ludwig van Beethoven, Kurt Gödel, Michael Faraday, Alan Turing, John Keats, Princess Diana, Richard Wagner, Victor Hugo, Winston Churchill, Charles Dickens, J. K. Rowling, Friederich Nietzsche, Ingmar Bergman…

…were all more or less insane. Yet they contributed greatly in their fields. They ware amazing people creating some amazing results for this world. Should we seek to dampen such creative insanity? Would the world be better off if they were not insane? Should we seek to uniform or inspire diversity – even though we may not like the diversity that is catalyzed by our inspiration?

In search of the Eye (part 3)

Geir Isene 8 Comments

Continuing from where “In Search of The Eye (part2) left off:

Not only was Jamba without any possessions, he was without friends, family or relatives. He had lost everything, even his memory. He felt like he had lost himself completely. No sense of direction, no past and no future purpose. “Is this what babies feel? No wonder they cry so much.”

That evening, Aila and Maelor came to terms with the fact that Jamba was telling the truth; he was without memory and wasn’t intentionally trespassing or trying to steal or trick them. They opened up as they realised the hell he was going through. Maelor told him about the farm and the surrounding areas, of the dangers lurking in the woods and about the village an hour to the west.

He didn’t recognise any of the local information, but the general knowledge seemed familiar. When the old man mentioned the cities, he had the idea of a busy place with horses, carts and motorised vehicles. Of a cauldron of people, low buildings, tall buildings, rules and regulations. Cold and cynical and where business decided the course of everybody’s lives. Maelor talked about wise men and magic and of how some things cannot be explained by the science taught in the universities. Even with all the computing power in the world, the magic of life could not be figured out he told.

There were creatures in the woods that Jamba could relate to. He had apparently known about Pingles, the Araxi, even ghosts and dragons. All real to him and all part and parcel of these lands, frequently mentioned in the news and regularly fought by the protectors of this great kingdom – knights and soldiers, scientists and wizards alike.

He could relate to all of this, but he could not extrapolate. Jamba couldn’t narrate any stories of his own, only nod affirmatively as Maelor poked holes in his memory – tiny holes far from useful to peek through.

“What day is it?”, he interrupted. “And year and month”, he added. Maelor was of course waiting for these questions. “It is the year 3258. Third week of Ilaiah month. It is the yellow day”. “Uh-hum?”, it went a bit to quick for Jamba: “Thirtytwo-fiftyeight after what?”. “After the gods let the humans enter this world. Or so they say.” Maelor was slowly chewing his tobacco as he was practising his wise-man role. For a moment Jamba looked puzzled: “How come I get a concept of a city as you speak of such a place but the name of the month or the colour of the day is unfamiliar?”. Maelor shook his head: “Only the gods would know”.

“Gods? How many? And are they for real?”. Jamba was obviously on a curiosity run here. “Several gods, boy. And whether they are real or not is open to debate in the academic circles. Most people in the outskirts believe they are real. It does not help not to believe”.

Maelor tried to induce his knowledge to Jamba somewhat structured, beginning with the close environment and every day importancies and moving outward to more general concepts and academic tid-bits of fact, fiction and legends. Jamba, however was constantly interjecting his questions.

Aila was quite amused the whole evening by Jamba’s whimsical personality and dispersed mind. Sometimes her father would be in the middle of a relating when Jamba would abruptly interrupt with questions like “What’s with the coloured days?’ and “What’s the colour of a pingle?”. The last question caught Maelor’s interest: “Good question, why do you ask?’ leaning backwards, curious: “What colour would you like it to have? They come in every colour, each and every one.” ” Hum?” “It depends on their mood. Blue pingles are sad, green is fear, red means anger. And a yellow furry teddy bear is a happy pingle. Sounds familiar?” “Vaguely… I can’t visualise, but it seems like I know this somehow. Do you have any idea what could have caused my memory loss?” Maelor lent forward. “Let me look at your head.” He examined Jamba for signs of blunt objects. Then for insertion points indicating neuro programming. “Nothing. But we should get you to a doctor, or maybe a psychologist for a thorough examination. In a couple of days or so. First you must regain your strength… Do not let the soup get cold”. Jamba hadn’t noticed the bowl of soup in front of him or it’s pleasant smell. From that to an empty bowl – blink of an eye. “Are they ever brown?” “Oh, the pingles? Yes, a sleeping pingle is brown. As I said, every colour.”

“White?”
“Dead”.

“Where do the pingles live?” “They are rare and shy creatures. They live up north, in the mountains, away from humans, araxi and others who would bother them. Pingles are peaceful and have great family feeling. Few humans have encountered them. Jamba, why the interest for the furry ones? Have you ever known any?” Jamba looked into his mind for clues: “I’ve no idea. Can’t seem to get any pictures, but it feels like I’ve known a pingle…” Jamba shook his head. The eyelids had put on some weight and he was getting drowsy. “Jamba, you should get some sleep. Let us see what tomorrow brings”.

—

He rummaged through the bottom of the chest, searching every piece of old clothing, every scrap of litter. Frantic, without depth-vision and with increasing pain his hands were grabbing and throwing the items on the floor. Papers and a quilt pen. A book, a notepad, a hat and some gloves. He turned the gloves inside out and he emptied a boot. He was bleeding heavily and he tried to stop it with his left hand as his right kept on searching. [Hammeraging] from the right eye socket. The pain was almost unbearable. But he couldn’t stop. He had to find his eye. The blood was pumping out so much that it was impairing his left eye vision. He cried out for help. He screamed for the gods to give him back his eye. He felt his life energy draining. The pool of old bloodstained clothes were sticking and made the search harder. He was almost fainting when he realized “wait a minute. This ain’t real, this isn’t happening. It’s a dream, gods damn it. I’m dreaming. Got to wake up”.

—

He was sitting upright before he realized he had broken out of the nightmare. Wet from sweat, he wiped his forehead with the soaking blanket and stood up. He looked out the window to clear his mind. It was pitch black outside. Only the small carbide lamp above the fireplace was lighting up parts of the living room. He looked down at the sofa. “No, I’m not going back to sleep just yet”, he thought and listened carefully to hear if anyone was coming down the stairs. “Only a silent scream in the dream, then. This is really not good for anything. Why the hell is this happening to me. Am I in a dream inside a dream? Is this some kind of sanity check. To see if I can take a real beating?”. “Well, you won’t grind me down, I’ll never yield”, he muttered.

No sounds except for occasional settlings of the house and the soft windy background.

He sat at the table for an hour or so before his head went heavy and he reentered dreamland. Pleasantly this time. No haunting nightmare, only an easily forgotten meadow with pingles in funny colours playing hopscotch.

In search of the Eye (part 2)

Geir Isene 16 Comments

Continuing where “In search of the Eye” left off:

CHAPTER 1 – AWAKENING

“Blurry and painful. A heck of a pain in the neck, and dark. Is it night? No, I just haven’t opened my eyes yet. That’s it: Open!” The eyes caught a glimpse of the bright light and promptly shut again. “To bright, and I’m a little tired. Maybe I should just… No, come on, get up! I can’t lie here all day. Lie here? Now where am I?” The boy opened his eyes again, letting them adjust to the streak of sunlight pouring through the cracks in the southern barn wall. He was half submerged in the hay, only one leg and his upper body visible. But no one could easily have seen him unless they climbed up on the attic and shuffled a big ball of hay away from in front of him. He felt kind of safe, yet he had no inkling of where he was.

“Wait a minute, wait.. a… minute… Why am I here? Where am I heading? Where do I come from? What’s my name?” A barrage of such questions were hammering him for what seemed to be lasting a whole meal or so. “I’m hungry”, he muttered. Through all his confusion and weariness, he wanted some of mom’s bread. “Mom? Who’s mom? Where is she? Do I have a mom? A dad, brother or sister? Any friends? Hell, do I know anything at all?” The questions kept coming while the hunger kept growing.

He looked around in the barn. Streaks of light from cracks in the walls. “They really didn’t do a very good job when they built this”, he thought. “Or maybe the maintenance is off.” He brushed off the hay and sat up. The sounds seemed normal enough with birds singing outside and the wind giving the building a little puff in various directions, squeaking ever so slightly.

The boy took a deep breath, swallowed, stood up to jump down from the attic as he heard some noise from just outside. Footsteps approaching. He had already started off his left foot and was quickly trying to figure out how he could halt in mid air and get back where he came from. As he turned around, he got hold of a pole on the attic. First he thought he could hold on, but then he realized he was to weak. The hand let go and he kept falling. At least he landed on his legs before he tumbled backwards and hit the ground.

He was sprawling in the mud, but arms and legs got moving in unison back towards the wall. Someone entered. He saw only a dark silhouette coming through the door. “Friend or foe?”, he thought while trying to decode the situation. He wiped his face as the someone asked “Who is there?” The boy knew his cover would be blown. He might as well step forward.

To his relief, as the silhouette walked through the barn door, it went to the right, whereas he was up against the left wall. “An opening”, he thought, looking at the three feet or so of escape possibility between the person and the doorway. “I got to.” He dashed for the door in a wholehearted attempt to make a run for it. “Damn, I’m slow”. The other person reacted like what seemed as lightning, quickly blocking the way by tripping the boy. He went headlong through the doorway catching a fair amount of dirt in his mouth as he slid his face through the mud outside.

The other one jumped on top of him, wrestled him around and pinned him to the ground. The boy tried to escape, kicking, squirming but to no avail. He was just to tired. And hungry. And weak. He let go of his intention to escape.

“Who are you?” the girl asked. “Good question”, the boy replied. “Are you a thief, an outlaw?” “If I only knew”, the boy muttered. The girl squeezed his wrist harder. “Ouch, she’s strong”, the boy couldn’t think clearly. He was pinned to the ground, unable to move an inch. The girl was quite pretty with long dark hair, dark green eyes and a cute nose. “Nice boobs”, he thought looking down her cleavage. The girl looked annoyed and repeated “Who are you? Answer me!”.

With a befuddled and somewhat irritated expression, the boy answered: “I’ve got no clue. I woke up in this barn only minutes ago not knowing who I am or where this is. You could be my sister for all that I know”. He added in his mind: “Oh no, not my big sister. I must have had a terrible childhood with a super-strength sister like that.” “Eh well, maybe not my sister… Do you know me?” he inquired. “Know you? No! You will not get anywhere with that ‘I don’t know who I am’-story”. “My father will have you thrown in prison for trespassing, theft or what have you. Murder maybe? Maybe you’ve killed someone and are a fugitive from the law? Look at you, you’re covered in mud and you got me all dirty. Sit up!” She moved to the side and the boy sat up, wiping his face and looking where he shouldn’t “Nice boo.. eh.. house”. He pointed at the stone hut with turfed roof just across the small clearing. There were only these two buildings and the well in between. A thick oak forest surrounding them on all sides. Nothing familiar. How did he get here?

The boy realized there was no use trying to get away. And besides, the girl didn’t look like she’d harm him. On the contrary, she was cute and somewhat… hot. He simmered down and so did she. He sighed: “Listen, I really don’t remember a thing. I don’t even remember my own name. I woke up and here I am. I couldn’t have been sleeping much, I’m dead tired. Sorry if I’m trespassing or whatever. If I only could get a bite of something, I will be on my way. I am not here to stir any trouble.” With a curious look, she replied: “Well, I suspect you could not do much harm in your condition.” She held him firmly by the arm and walked him over to a pond nearby. “In to it. Clothes and all”, she commanded.

“A tad bossy. Determination is good, hmm…” The boy made sure he got clean all around, right ear, left ear, hair. He enjoyed the water. So much so that he swam a bit before the tiredness caught up with him. He could swim. He had no idea. “This memory lapse will make a life full of surprises. What else do I know…?”. The girl was sitting on a rock, watching him, ready to save him should he prove unable to swim or just to exhausted. The last two strokes and he got hold of that very stone. He got up on it as the girl moved away not to get all wet. She told him to undress to the underwear. “Yeah, you wish”, he muttered, turning around, twisting his shirt until it was at least fairly dry. Then the pants. All dressed again, he turned back towards her. There was a slight curiosity in her eyes. Or was that wishful thinking?

A small hand gesture told him to come along with her. Before he left the tree-encircled pond he got a good look at his reflection. Short, dark hair, maybe blue eyes, distinct facial features. “Quite handsome”, he thought, pleased while he trotted along. His shirt had come halfway to its original off-white colour. His brown leather pants were a bit heavy from the water.

“Now you will meet my father. His name is Maelor Keesar. Mine is Aila. I am not sure yet if it is a pleasure to meet you, whoever you are.” “I am not sure it is a pleasure to be here, either. If your father can shed some light on who I am or why I’m here, I’d be happy as a Pingle on midsummer’s eve”. “You know about the Pingles? Either you play me for a fool or your memory is returning”, scrutinizing him with a suspicious look. “What’s a Pingle?”, he returned. He really had no idea, the words just stumbled out of his mouth. If she was suspicious a second ago… “Really, I have no clue”, he added “it’s only words to me, no idea where they came from. My subconscious or something”. His honest look and those charming blue eyes did a good job at convincing her. “Ah well, my father will know”.

The little farm was quiet. Just occasional splashes back in the pond, birds singing, wind making the trees whisper. And a barn, the house and the well. “Your family have animals?” “Only two horses apart from me and my father lives here.” Her tone of voice was opening up. He felt he at least got an inch of trust to build on. Damn he was lonely.

A cat made him feel welcome. The little purring fur ball was stroking against his legs making it hard not to trip. “Ok, I got it. You’re hungry”. He picked up the fluffy and looked at Aila. “Got any milk?”. “Inside. She usually fears strangers. You have a way with animals?”

He carefully wiped his feet on the mat and stepped into a small porch. “Father! We have a guest”. Father-sounds were approaching. Sounded like a big father or a weak construction. Floors were squeaking.

“Hello there!”

“Big father. Bear-like”. He kept patting the cat for a feeling of safety.

“What is your name, boy?”

“Eh… Jamba… maybe”. Aila was inspecting him again like she was expecting some kind of confirmation of her scepticism. “Jamba, maybe? Maybe what?” With a big grin he reached for Jamba’s hand with a big paw and squeezed it like a grizzly. “Come in boy, Jamba. Where did you two meet?” Aila was soon to interject: “I found him in the barn, father. He seems not to know who he is or where he is. I thought that you would know what to make of him”.

“Are you a thief, boy?” still grinning. “Eh, no sir. I am… I don’t… really know, sir.” “So, you could be a thief, then”. “No, I have no intention of stealing anything. I won’t be of any trouble, sir. I’ll be on my way”. The look of the big grinning father made him uncertain. He looked like someone in the know. “You are not leaving in your condition, boy. We will not be responsible for leaving you to the thugs, hungry and frail as you are. You will stay here for a couple of days until you regain strength. Then we will see.” Parts of the grin transformed into curiosity. “Tell me, Jamba, what Do you remember?”

Jamba looked hard and long into his mind. “I think my name is Jamba. And I said something about Pingles earlier and that got Aila reacting. In the pond I saw my reflection. I know what I have seen since I woke up only half an hour ago. Yeah, I know what an hour is, apparently. It’s difficult to get a grip on what I know… Right now I’m really hungry.” He looked towards the kitchen to the left. There was a kettle, boiling. Soup, maybe?

“My name is Maelor, as you know Aila is my daughter. We are hunters and we live an hour or so from the nearest village. By horseback, that is. I wonder how you got all the way out here…”. “Do you remember anything from yesterday? Walking? Riding? Anything?” “No, nothing. Neither is my legs or butt any more tired or sore than the rest of my body”. “sorry, sir, I can’t help you. Or myself”.

“Sir, why would you believe anything of what I’m saying?”

“A hunters hunch, boy, a hunters hunch”.

“Food is ready”. Aila was standing in the kitchen pouring soup into the three bowls on the table. She looked like a maid with that apron. “Deceiving looks covered the huntress… yeah, I feel poetic today. I’m glad I think before I speak.” Jamba smiled and tried to be as polite as he could while the smell of delicious soup tormented his nose and stomach.

Jamba was hypnotised by the smell and the taste. His patience was put to the test as he fought hard to constrain himself. The five minute meal took forever and he never seemed to get satiated. Bowls passed by and only Jambas slurping was heard until finally his belly was full. A loud burp let out. “Oops, sorry”. They smiled. He blushed.

He stumbled over to the couch in the living room and lied down. Legs stretching, belly-heavy and tired he went into a slumber.

Maelor tucked a blanket around him as he was still a bit wet.

…

The eye watched his every movement. Curious and scrutinising, there was no escape. No hiding, no privacy. He kept on walking towards it. It was like walking to the end of the rainbow. The further he walked the further away it seemed to be. An endless walk. The atmosphere inducing fear, sweat pouring and compulsive thoughts chasing is mind. A hammering headache kept on hammering a manic feeling into his marrow. He screamed to let it out. He screamed until he was out of oxygen. He couldn’t breathe.

…

Sweating and gasping for breath he woke up as Maelor shook him. A wild look around, Jamba almost hit the old man. Hadn’t it been for the keen hunters reflexes, his nose could have been broken.

“I’m… I’m sorry. Sorry. Ah..eh, sir. Sorry” “You are OK, boy, you are awake now. A bad dream. Just a bad dream”.

Jamba was clearing his mind as Aila dashed into the room. “What was that?”, she asked. “Jamba had a rough nightmare. Could you get him some water?”. Jamba was shaking as he drank from the wooden bowl.” “I’m truly sorry. I never meant to be any trouble.” He felt like shit and the loneliness made him swallow twice.