𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐈𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐈𝐧 𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞 ...

— CARL JUNG —

Swiss Psychiatrist & Philosopher, 1875–1961

"The most important question anyone can ask is whether the universe is a friendly place — for the man who believes it is will spend his life building bridges while the man who believes it is not will spend his life building walls."

AI info ...

Jung — who attributed this insight to Einstein and who understood its psychological implications more deeply than almost anyone — identifies the single most consequential belief a human being can hold about the nature of reality. Not because the answer is simple or because the universe has given us unambiguous evidence in either direction — it has given us abundant evidence for both interpretations. But because the belief, whichever way it falls, becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy that organizes an entire life. The person who believes the universe is fundamentally friendly — that reality is, in some deep sense, on their side — opens toward it, extends toward others, takes the risks that connection and creation require, and builds the bridges that make genuine encounter possible. The person who believes the universe is fundamentally hostile closes, contracts, protects, builds walls, and spends their life in a defensive posture against a reality they have already decided is their enemy.

Which belief currently organizes your life — that the universe is fundamentally friendly and that reality is, in some deep sense, on your side — or that it is fundamentally hostile and that the primary appropriate response is protection and defense? And what evidence from your actual life experience would you cite for each?

Source: The Silent Philosopher Facebook [AI info]

𝐖𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐤𝐢 𝐖𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐫 ... 𝐑𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐨-𝐏𝐡𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐚

 

Just what is it that so many have such a big beef with Russia? Is it the Russians as a people? The Red Menace? That's so Cold War. It seems that this negging on Russia goes back centuries. And, it is so baked-in that many just be hatin' and have no idea of why and wherefore. Like, who knows what's with the Hatfields and McCoys? 

Quick history: There's that expansionist Russian Empire under Ivan III ["The Terrible"] all the way back in the 15th Century. In the current modern era there was the Cold War threat of the territorial expansionist drive of the Communist ideology. "Better dead, than Red!" Boogeyman du jour for long time it was. 

With the fall of the Wall and the disintegration of the USSR the Communist threat, per se, vanished. But, the fear of Russia lives on. Like I said, so baked-in that most haters don't even know how come. The Hatfields and the McCoys like. Sunnis, Shias. Dems, Republicans. Notice a pattern?

In some minds, Russia is just as urgently a threat as it was viewed as such during the Cold War period. Witness their unprovoked "Special Military Operation" going after that harmless Ukraine. Oh, the Ruskies do seem to have expressed an issue over NATO expansion to their borders. But they're lyin' no-goods so why even bother to consider what they say are their national interest and security concerns. It's not like the cant from the West hasn't always been to destroy them. NATO expansion isn't aggression, it's purely a defensive move(s). So obvious. Duh!

And, let's not get all worked up on how the Banderite alloyed Ukrainian government hasn't been warring against the ethnic Russian population in the eastern regions. Is that really an justification for Russia to intervene? 

I'm not going to sort out how come everyone in Europe wants to still be at war with Russia. Expansism? Like it needs more land, and we have to stop them before they make their move? It couldn't possibly be that Russia is a vast treasure chest of natural resources, and the West doesn't covet those riches. Forgive me for even thinking such a selfish motive. Democracy is our golden shield of justice. The world would be better off without a Russia. Certainly some would be. 

If you care to read past the propagandized headlines there's a large body of discussion on the why's and wherefore's of the Special Military Operation [SMO]. Or, just go with Uncle Joe Biden who's administration closed the door on dialogue with Russia. Heck, who wouldn't? He's a "war criminal!". A "butcher!". A "mass murderer!". 

The last analysis on this subject may be the growing obvious fact that the singular hegemon stance of the West is no longer viable, and the world is moving to a multi-polar structure. The win-lose zero sum game played by the West — read that as the United States of America — is over. Time for the new paradigm of cooperation and mutual interdependence to find its feet. 

BREAKING NEWS! At this time of writing it is being announced Senator Lindsey Graham has died. Besides his to-the-grave full throated support of the goings-on in the Middle East vis-à-vis those filthy Palestinians, he will be enshrined in history for his unalloyed championing of Ukraine fighting the Russian menace to the last Ukrainian.

 

 

 

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐜 ... 𝐐𝐮𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐃. 𝐃. 𝐏𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐞𝐫

 

 Miss Ladie

A Stage Play

By David D. Wronski

Just some old lady with a firm grasp of the plain ol’ obvious . . .

So she know a thing, or more.

CLICK to read

 

 

𝐃𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐝 𝐃. 𝐖𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐤𝐢’𝐬 𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀

David D. Wronski's

CINDERELLA

[Rumour has it that James Wood literary critic du jour of The New Yorker Magazine says ... "Wronski at his 'Wrambling' best!"]

On an average every day basis, she came off like you would say, she ain't "all that". As plain as a mud fence pretty much sums it up. Whatever prettiness was even there at all was scrubbed clean off with all the drudgery she had been put to. 

Her hair was naturally straight, which didn’t add anything to the facial picture. It was just there. Somewhat a scarecrow cut even by the standards of the time. How that little mess on top of her keppe came to be, that’s for later. Just saying, our Girl had a couple of what you call “evil” Sisters. But, not to worry, this "Cinderella" knew how to make lemonade from Lemons. You'll see. 

She slept on hay in the barn with the animals. Oh, the Sisters slept on hay too; but stuffed into burlap, then again covered with sturdy muslin, and again covered with high count cotton. Pretty swell by the standards of farm folk working their allotted parcel rented to them by the Kingdom; rent which was collected as a good portion of their crop and livestock productions. One wonders, how many turnips does one King need anyway? Or, even a whole Kingdom. Huh?

And, speaking of Kingdom ...

It was a time when it seemed everything was white alabaster or marble, gold and silver, ornate gilded plasterie, draperies woven with scenes of ultra luxe fanciful courtly lives; floor to ceiling mirrors, crystal chandeliers lit with colorful and fragrant beeswax candles. Ladies outfitted in period correct finery. The fashion called for costume changes appropriate of course for virtually every distinct hour of the day. With all the changes of wardrobe you can imagine the demands on the ladies who waited on M’Lady. And the demands of such a job for precision and jig timing. You want your Lady to be on time to the party, to do the jig. And, to be sure, looking like someone that stone good looking Prince might want to get jiggy with her jiggly. Mind you this was an earlier time, way before alliteration was even a thought.

It’s hard to pin down the historical time period we’re in with this story. The elites were at the zenith of their hoity toitiness and splendor; somewhere we can imagine mid-15th to 18th centuries. At the beginning of the so-called Renaissance they had just about had it living in close quarters with the hoi polloi. Not that it wasn’t fun. Picture a Tom Jones style bash. Bruegal’s Wedding Dance also comes to mind. The wheel of history moves, of course. Those Dark Ages coarse ways took a sharp turn, and then came all the fancy schmancy. That which is when this story is handed down with its peep into the high times back then.

The gents. In those days it was either black or a dark grey. Blue, only if it's a dark, dark blue. Any of the natural colors and lighter tints were for as the occasion dictated. Like don’t wear brown to a palace ball. And you don’t go on the Hunt with pajamas. That latter which were in the upper circles of the finest silk and designs which would make Hugh Hefner look like a hobo hermit. Net, net ... some duds. On those dudes.

Speaking of “Balls”. [Were we?] Wasn’t it some balls for Travis Kelce to go face to face with the coach on national live television. And now we're reading in the gossips how he and that Taylor Girl are gonna paint the town red — what color but that would you choose for the "Big Apple" — for the festivities in and around their historic modern day fairy tale nuptials. But, back in the day of our featured Princess//ingénue-in-the-rough, going to The Ball — at the palace, silly, where else do you think a ball should be. Or, even could be. Huh? Back then, with all the aforementioned excess of ladylike fuss, it's a hard act to follow. Especially for that gutter snipe of an Eliza Doolittlesque Cinderella. Looks wise, anyway. As far as erudition, Grrl done her homework. On the sly, mind you. Those evil Sisters were all about making sure Cindy knew her place, and stayed. Like how they would play what we in our day would call the game "Idea Man". "Hey Cinderella. There's a pile of poop over there! I have an idea! Why don't YOU go and clean it up?" To make matters even worse, those two evil Sisters were given to slinging shovels of literal shit through the window in the barn whilst our beleaguered heroine Girl was in dreamland. And, don't you know Mama expected that shit to be gone come the cockadoodledo. 

What do you call an artistic Rooster?

Look here! Don't go all critical and complaining about how this is going. It's my story. If you're not savvy enough to dig it — like in "scoop my shit" — then go play with the surprise toy in your MacDonald's happy meal. You have to be square to be cool; or, haven't you heard?

Like was said, it was a time of alabaster, marble, fancy gilding, big mirrors, high ceilings, and who could not be amazed at those crystal chandeliers. Makes Swarovski look like something you'd find in those bin-trays of plastic jewels on tables at the Five and Dime. Fancy. Fucking fancy!

Like in the original telling, our Prince of the evening was without a shadow of a doubt the most handsome sonuvabich on the known planet. Ever? Words don’t even come close. Seeing is believing. We'll leave the details to your imagination. Just let's say, he's a "catch".

Of course he had to show up dressed in the most beautiful sky blue uniform with white accents and trim, a full chest of colorful medals, a ceremonial sword which would later be removed after the opening ceremonies for better to shuck and jive at the socializing period of the event. And, you bet your booties there was dancing. Live band. In those days they knew how to rock it on a harpsichord, with plenty of various types and sized of circle drums. There were strings and pipes too. The music itself was even for those times a real mixed bag. There were the melodic and sometimes rousing standards of course; for couples' dances, and for groups. Their idea of jazz was for different: musicians each playing his own selected tune. Talk about jazz! There was also a type of Karaoke [hip-hop?], but with the player acting out a story to music with many times including some dancing too. 

Party! PARTY!!!

So you’re probably wondering by now since you already know the bones of how this story goes, you be asking how we get our Girl to the ball ... The Ball.

[At this very moment of writing this I have no idea how that’s gonna go. I’m having my own ball writing this.]

Whew! The fog has lifted.

How about she shows up in full on Goth? That would really stop them cold. Whether or not it would heat up the Prince, we haven’t gotten to that yet. Never mind the prancy uniform, our Prince was one [Prince]. 100%. He put the "balls" in The Balls. And, this was The Ball, so you can be sure his pants were especially extra tight. You get the drift. And, for sure, looking like that you could certainly get his "drift".

As Goth girls go, she was the shizz. She had a good body. Not too short, not too tall. Not too skinny, and not too fat. Goldilocks! No! Cinderella! Okay, already.

And for sure Goth ain’t Goth if it ain’t black. Kapische? That assertion there comes right out of the Goth handbook. The age of which latter be unknown and going back to the mists of pre-history. Yes, there is one. Book, that is. Her straight hair with that loose haystack styling was just her everyday. Black, naturally. Lovely sheen though; it testified to her health and strength. Like I said, lemonade from Lemons.

Clothes, get up-wise. That’s really a whole other story. How she got her get up, that is. Turns out our lowly Lass was born gifted with skilled hands. And, a smart head. She made her outfit herself. All hand sewn. With a flair for styling that was what probably turned his head when she showed up like Lady Gaga in a Pumpkin-like coach. I know. Hey! She's supposed to get home at the midnight hour sharp or it is said to have turned into a Pumpkin. But, this is my story. Loosen up your brain some. Okay?

This is getting a little hairy-dog, so I'll fast forward some. She shows up, heads turn, the Prince's too. They dance, love blossoms, she leaves. He's bereft. How come. She left! Get with the program!

Now, of course, the Dénouement.

Long story short ... He scours the land. He finds her. He whisks her away. They live happy ever after. The evil Sisters brood; but quickly fall back to character and begin picking on that other Sister. Rapunzel. 

It's a whole other story. Same structure, but with juicy other specifics and details and minutia. Like putting nasty stuff in her shampoo. Teasing her tresses whilst she sweetly dreams, only to have that Girl to spend the good part of the next morning brushing out that mischief. Scissors for some reason hard to fathom were off limits with Rapunzel's tresses. On account no doubt there's an evil Witch in that storied brew, and you know how persnickety witches can be when it comes to hair and all kinds of other growing things. They say Vidal Sassoon's Ma was a real one. No wonder. That would explain it.

Like that.

Basta!

𝐖𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐤𝐢 𝐒𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐎𝐡 𝐖𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐤𝐢 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐌𝐲 𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

 

We Wronski's are widely represented in all fields. The arts. Letters. Science. But, with the "Wronski" genetics you can bet there's gonna be a twist or two in the mix.

Meet Uncle Samuel B. "Wrong Way" Wronski. He got the nickname "Twippler" on account of all those W's; "VTrip" to friends. That's on account of the "W" in the Polish tongue is pronounced like a "V". Kapishe? 

Purely as an aside, he was regularly dressed from Tripler, New York City. Mad Ave, don't you know; midtown. He was a class act sartorially, and the name of the shop had a sort of kismet thing going on with him. You know the store? They say it made Brooks Brothers look "racy". For those in the unwashed hinterlands, that's like saying the new-on-the-scene singer Aurora makes Taylor look like a school dance wallflower.

Girls will be girls. Thank heavens for them. Such a lovely garden of variety. Huh?

Anyhow ...

Seen here in the lab watching those dials and tweaking those buttons. As brainy a Wronski there never was one more so; but, like I said, things "Wronski" come with a twist. Which, by the way, is the way he likes his Martinis; 3 olives and a twist. Shaken or stirred? No. "Just pour that stuff in the glass, I know how to stir that shit by my own self". Out of his starchy lab coat and premises, our guy wasn't shy with the lingo.

Okay. That Wronski "twist". Seems Uncle, as good a scientist there was never another one to top him, he had unusual choices when it came to research study topics. While you would expect someone of his lofty caliber, academically and scientifically, that he would be out to find something to save the world, or maybe something that would top sliced bread or the classic mouse trap. No. He for reasons known only to hisself he chose from the other side of the scientific menu. "How many Angels fit on the point of a pin?" He's the leading scholar in that area of inquiry. "Why meatballs don't bounce." That's him too. The list is long. "If you're French in the kitchen, in the bathroom you're European?" The humorous aspect of things was not lost on him. In fact, that factor may be a clue to his mental metrics for selecting topics for his studies. 

It should be noted that there are some in the scientific community who are so gonzo over doing research as a thing to do in itself, that areas of inquiry are not so much a consideration on where to investigate. The critical factor has more to do with if anybody else would buy it. Science has its political side. If there was enough interest you can be sure-as-shootin' that someone would launch a serious investigation as to which tastes better; Dairy Queen with a twist this way, or the other way. This point by way of caution to not just take it as gospel when you hear that "scientists say" or "science has discovered"; and variations of such claims. Someone, given enough interest, would spend long hours and big money finding out the tensile strength of pubic hairs. And, to be sure, with all the variables such as hair color, twist, coverage. Maybe throw in the variable when the carpet don't match the drapes. 

You've been advised, Pilgrim. Be like King Kong, don't take no guff from the airlines.

Uncle Sammy was not one of those sort. He marched to his own drum. No politic kissing up for him. No one knows how and why he looked into what he looked into. He did fall short on the popularity index given his rather left field choices. 

Perhaps the area he is best known for in the realms of science is his extensive body of research work on the subject arena of which way to face the Cow as a determinant of the sex selection of the Calf. North, or South. And — hey, this is science! — the range of angles to the East and West from those cardinal points. Well, that's the general area of study anyway. His laser focus specialty was even more rarified: "How Many Wrinkles In A Bull's Ass?" That's right. Why would anyone choose that as a research study subject? It's called "pure" research. You know like how all that grant money that goes to looking up stuff that seems to have no particular application that anyone can think of. But, you never know. The shape of fish fins may in fact have influence on the currents of the oceans. You never know until you check it out. Now what do Bull ass wrinkles have to do with anything?

Bend over, drop trough; let's find out. Uncle will log the count.

CLICK to get to know all us Wronski's

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐏𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐆𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐎𝐥𝐝 - 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠

 

𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐍𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞 𝐏𝐬𝐲𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐲 𝐋𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐧 ...

 

𝐓𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 ...

Most people associate stability with mass. We imagine buildings standing because materials are stacked, reinforced, and anchored. Yet across advanced engineering, biology, and planetary physics, stability often arises from a more subtle principle: equilibrium between tension and compression.

Buckminster Fuller called this principle tensegrity, a term blending “tensional integrity.” In a tensegrity system, compression elements do not carry the structure alone. They float within a continuous network of tension. Cables hold rods in place. Forces distribute through the entire structure rather than moving in straight lines downward. The result is efficiency, resilience, and adaptability. When one part shifts, the whole network redistributes stress rather than collapsing.

Engineers use tensegrity models to design lightweight yet durable frameworks. The concept has also reshaped how scientists understand living organisms. Inside cells, the cytoskeleton forms a dynamic network of protein filaments that behaves much like a tensegrity structure. Instead of being rigid scaffolding, it maintains shape through balanced tension across the entire cell. Mechanical forces applied at one point can influence processes elsewhere, allowing cells to sense their environment and regulate behavior. This field, known as mechanobiology, continues to reveal how distributed tension guides growth, signaling, and adaptation.

The same logic appears at planetary scale. Earth’s magnetosphere maintains its form through a balance of pressures: solar wind pushing inward, magnetic tension pushing outward. The structure remains stable not because it is rigid, but because forces are held in equilibrium across a field. From cellular networks to planetary boundaries, stability emerges from dynamic balance.

Across scales, a pattern becomes visible. Form does not always arise from accumulation. It often arises from relationship. Compression gives shape. Tension provides coherence. Structure persists where forces meet in balanced exchange.

Tensegrity reframes how we think about design, biology, and even environment. Stability becomes an active process rather than a fixed condition. Systems remain resilient when forces are distributed and balanced across the whole. Where tension is organized and compression is well placed, form endures with efficiency and grace.

From: OmniCorp Tech on Facebook

Sources
https://www.sciencedirect.com/topics/engineering/tensegrity
https://www.bfi.org/about-fuller/big-ideas/tensegrity

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐬𝐲𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐓𝐨𝐨 𝐀𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐒𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩

 

"𝐖𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞."

JETSUNMA TENZIN PALMO

Most people feel cozy enough in samsara. They do not really have the genuine aspiration to go beyond samsara; they just want samsara to be a little bit better. It is quite interesting that “samsara” became the name of a perfume. And it is like that. It seduces us into thinking that it is okay: samsara is not so bad; it smells nice! 

The underlying motivation to go beyond samsara is very rare, even for people who go to Dharma centers. There are many people who learn to meditate and so forth, but with the underlying motive that they hope to make themselves feel better. And if it ends up making them feel worse, instead of realizing that this may be a good sign, they think there is something wrong with Dharma. We are always looking to make ourselves comfortable in the prison house. We might think that if we get the cell wall painted a pretty shade of pale green, and put in a few pictures, it won’t be a prison any more.