HURT

            I didn’t sleep last night.  My mind wouldn’t rest.  I was hurt, not scared, just hurt.  I was disappointed to see how fast and rapid a society can turn, how in our age of modern wonders, the fear of catching anything remotely dangerous can make us look upon all as if lepers.  The parables are still true, as is the nature of man.  We are never above our tendencies, never beyond the truth, and as we fear today, I pray we soon come to our senses. 
            We are told to avoid church, for a contagion is coming, and in the place of fellowship, our measures of security provide panic, false shortage, and fear.  In place of “all are welcome,” we are told to “stay away.”  In place of spiritual peace, we are given social unrest.  God is love.  He commands nothing, and leaves all free to decide.  The Kingdoms of Man are different: even our own.  In place of peace of the soul, National Guards stand ready to bring order to chaos created by our own decided haste. 
            We need God.  We need each other, not to be taught to hide and wait and fear.
            What the Hell are we doing?  We’re told of this virus’ virulence, yet every patient quarantined on camera speaks of having no symptoms, or mild—seasonal allergy-like—effects.  We portend the end to human existence for mild, seasonal symptoms, that happen EVERY SINGLE YEAR, EXACTLY THIS TIME, to maximize paranoia and the effects of civil uncertainty. 
            Because something exists does not mean it must be feared.  We are imagining a phantom of our own nightmare that has not manifested before us, nor anywhere to the scale we portend, and yet we destroy the very fundamentals of our daily life.  We publicly shame those desiring to just live normal.  “These are not normal times,” some return, but such is true only because our minds have been turned to think different.  The world is still the same.  Our eyes were directed to see different. 
            The more we learn, the more benign the illness seems.  As we learn that a large percentage of humans contracting the virus show no symptoms: rather than point out this indicates very benign effects on human hosts, we press panic that such people will further propagate the virus.  This is true, but it will continue to pass host-to-host with benign effects—same as so many viruses present in human populations at all times.  If we isolate mortality rates to those where the virus is the primary and not secondary medical condition of a patient, just how low would the associate mortality rate be?  Why—now—do we tally such mortalities to a secondary infection, when most standards attribute such deaths to the primary pre-existing condition?  Common generic drugs on hand are said to show repeatable evidence for full treatment and recovery, and yet the exigency of our actions heightens.  Why?
            In a week, when the phantom does not come, how much longer must we wait?  Do we double down on our decisions, proclaiming their necessary continuation to keep suppressed a monster that does not show, or do we reexamine our rationality and consider, perhaps, our monster is imagined; that it did not appear—and will never appear—because it is not real?
            Let the story play, but when the monster does not come, hold those who propagated fear and limited information accountable for the true harm and damage left behind because it is the damage—the fear—that they desired.
 

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