the pearl
on the pharma mafia, fear, and our children
One of the joys of building our own home library has been in the discovery of connecting my intuition to the gifts of writers, many of whom are now long gone. It seems to me that when I get a hankering in my heart and it’s about time to pick my next book to read, the book that ultimately draws me in often has relevance to the things I’ve been pondering. This happens again and again, too often to ignore. It feels synchronistic and mysterious and I can’t help but decipher the meaning as one of connection. The ideas and stories that weave themselves through me leave a twang of reverberation that I recognize as truth. But it’s better than truth - it’s a shared truth. We don’t have much of that today. Books remind me it’s here, it was always here, and that our interconnectedness befalls us in the most sweet and simple ways.
Suspicious that there was a move afoot to really throw some gas on the fire of the whole avian bird flu biz, I started reading some studies, specifically I was looking for testing methodologies. The propaganda surrounding the whole thing smelled familiar. The various accounts of manipulation and the attempts of drumming up fear in hopes of garnering evermore profits and control have had me insulted. Really? You’re doing the same thing again? Where’s the creativity here? Yawn. Same old song and dance.
It’s insulting, really. There were many people that got duped during covid, some still believe the whole thing was real. But many people have also woken up. My hope is that their awakening is beyond smelling the rotting fish of covid to understanding that the corporate monopoly, fear propagandizing, and the controls over our health is a dank, stagnant pond we’ve all been swimming in since we were born.
Do the people that came around to questioning the narrative fully realize how our lives have been harmed because of the domination of allopathic medicine? The reign of Rockefeller medicine has been a fait accompli. We now have people surgically extracted from their own bodies. They go to the doctor to tell them what’s wrong. They demand pills to stifle their bodies attempts at communicating. They sacrafice their child to a stranger in a white coat because they’ve been told that this medicine is good medicine. The pharmaceutical companies use our fear and our love to cultivate their perennial fields of riches.
These are the things I’d been thinking about when I went to my home library to pick out my next book to read. John Steinbeck’s thin classic, “The Pearl” caught my eye so I went with it. “The Pearl” is a story of unfathomable riches befalling a young peasant family and the wickedness that ensues over a few short days thereafter. It’s a story of the human condition, mostly - of our greed, envy, loyalty, courage, and of the power of our love.
Nestled within the story was a smaller story. It describes an interaction with a doctor who will not treat the protagonists infant son who has been stung by a scorpion and is in danger of dying. The doctor is feasting on teas and cakes when the terrified parents, Juana and Kino, come to his door with their ill baby, Coyotito. The doctor tells his servant to send the terrified parents away for he knows they cannot pay his fee. Later that day, having heard that the parents of the sick child have found a great fortune, the doctor goes to their home. There, he finds the baby sleeping peacefully. His mother had sucked the poison from his bite and applied compresses of seaweed and the baby was regaining his vigour. His swelling had left his body and he was resting peacefully. But that would not suffice for the doctor. The father, Kino, tells the doctor he is no longer needed, but the doctor has other plans.
“Sometimes my friend, the scorpion sting has a curious effect. There will be apparent improvement, and then without warning - pouf!” He pursed his lips and made a little explosion to show how quick it could be and he shifted his small black doctor’s bag about so that the light of the lamp fell upon it, for he knew that Kino’s race love the tools of any craft and trust them. “Sometimes, the doctor went on in a liquid tone, “sometimes there will be a withered leg or a blind eye or a crumpled back. Oh, I know the sting of the scorpion, my friend, and I can cure it.”
And they tell us not to trust our eyes. Do not trust our intuition or our good, common sense. You may look well, but you can spread it. You may feel well but you can be a vessel of disease, an atomic bomb for your grandma, a guillotine to your neighbour. Trust the experts.
Kino felt the rage and hatred melting into fear. He did not know, and perhaps this doctor did. And he could not take the chance of pitting his certain ignorance against this man’s possible knowledge. He was trapped as his people were always trapped, and would be until, as he had said, they could be sure that the things in the books were really in the books. He could not take a chance - not with the life or with the straightness of Coyotito. He stood aside and let the doctor and his man enter the brush hut.
That line, about being trapped until they were educated to know for themselves what was in the books, made me realize that it’s not about education at all. Maybe it was once. Maybe there was a time when we could look to the books and the studies to