Stigma

“Ubi solitudinem faciunt, pacem appellant”.

P. C. Tacito

“Where they make the desert, they call it peace”.

It is the wickedness that generates the stigma.
A murderous mother, whom she does not understand, kills her children who are brighter than her, forever judging them negatively and expelling them from the community.
A horrible world, devoted to evil, devours people.
Beautiful and fragile flowers, which are a prodigy of mankind, are not helped to shine.
Derided and humiliated, they suffer a definitive sentence: society relegates them to the margins, and in some moments it forgets about them, while in others it persecutes them.
Judged insane, kidnapped and tortured in spirit and body, they will already be dead for the community, which will think of them as anomalies to be fought, the real enemy.
A world of hypocrites and indifferent menacing advances.
An envious perfidy that hates Beauty, in its infinite nuances and combinations, and that feeds on the mourning and torment it produces in the loving children of Humanity, unaware, at first, of their destiny as different, is now prevailing.
Like a cruel mother, society kills its most beautiful members, condemning them to ontic death, since it demands that they suffer, not to make them affirm, as they can represent a different way of living, which is not allowed, in the age of global lie.
Those who have suffered the stigma know they can live outside the coordinates of the system, happy and playful, active and creative, in a dimension of Beauty and harmony.
If he does not go mad with pain, those who suffer the stigma, become aware of their status, know they can live as a dissident, projected into a revolutionary harmony, against which power has decided to conflict, since there must be no music in the existence of those who he underwent the infernal judgment of being considered a different.
The state doesn’t want you happy. It needs an army of sad, isolated, lost subjects, who do not communicate with each other, but survive just enough to produce wealth for those in charge and then die.
The stigma can be fatal and those who survive are very dangerous for the system, because it can represent a different way of living away from the glitter of papier-mâché success, from the domination of politicians and from the religious visions of those who hope in God, generating a way of being to the atheist, beautiful, creative world of those who have no intention of disturbing the sleep of sleepers.
The different people lead a secret, clandestine existence and do not intend to sell anything to anyone. This Humanity is far behind, like next year’s melons.
Maybe he’ll never wake up, or maybe he’ll wake up when the atomic bombs arrive.
Maybe we will all die stupid, as we are now.
Those who have suffered the stigma, and are not dead, know they can live in harmony with the world, that world that does not want it, but that he does not hate, because a Lucente is called not to hate anyone.
Years have passed and I still think the same things. Again I find myself writing these letters, but with greater vigor, since we are under attack now, because we are in a regime where the stigma is a tool in the hands of power, used routinely:
“No mask”, “No Green pass”, “No vax”, “Pro Putin” are all examples of stigma, to connote the different who has not bowed to the dictates of power and therefore must be eliminated.
The most glaring case occurs when they call someone insane. At that point, that someone, from a social point of view, died.
Those who suffer from the stigma are called to be a dissident who lives in the New Era of Light, to become a beacon of Humanity. He will be laughed at. Surrounded. Canceled by power, but not by himself. Because of his identity as a man, he loves and loves himself.
Those who have suffered the stigma are different and can no longer behave like the crowd. He is not envious, he helps others, takes into account otherness in all its facets and does not judge anyone. He is indeed an Awakened One.
This century began with boundless hardness. It is not easy to live. It is not easy to keep the rudder straight. Many have already been lost, others will be lost.
Stigma can affect anyone: if you don’t do what the system requires of you, it will punish you.
Many years have passed, I was a boy and I lived as I could. I never imagined that my worst nightmares would become reality, as from the beginning of this third millennium. I want to remind everyone that before the pandemic we found ourselves almost totally recognizing how rotten this system of things was. Now only loyal soldiers of the regime. All obedient, all resigned, all compliant. Two years of schizodemia have forged a people of servants, obsequious puppets who follow the rules and behaviors served up on TV, the true instrument of evil.
It is now forbidden to disagree. There is stigma lurking, and even within families, those who do not align themselves with the government are accused of dissidence, being excluded.
I have always been excluded, in times, where all this was not even remotely present, although the vein authoritarian and punitive of the state was more relevant than ever.
The stigma struck me, my partner, but we are still alive, in a condition that allows us to appreciate the new buds of a tree. They can hit us again. At every moment, at the juncture in which we least expect it. Resistence. It is necessary to be very clear about one’s image of human beings with a critical sense and empathy.
Those affected by the stigma may falter, but it is not right to perish. Everything the system says, through its courtly megaphones, is garbage. It wouldn’t do well to make manure for the fields either, because it is sterile and poisonous. What to do? The opposite of what the news says. All time. Boycott them. Don’t let them into your world, since, with their sinuous weapons of mass distraction, they can make you believe anything, even that you need to sell your mother.
Those who have suffered the stigma, and have survived, know they can lead a happy life, with their fellows, ready to participate in any manifestation of human intelligence, which does not want to destroy, but to edify. A murderous world kills. It is up to us to escape and build a microcosm made of Beauty and we can do it, in the kitchen, tonight, preparing something to eat while listening to a friendly Radio.