By T J Martin
I’ve always had a problem forgiving. Despite the Biblical injunction, despite bouncy life coaches, despite my better angels, forgiveness is hard work!
Lately, though, I have begun to wonder whether my difficulty forgiving is more physiology than moral failure, whether something far older and more innate is at work.
In each of our brains, two tiny almond-shaped glands are situated, one per hemisphere. Called the Amygdala, these ancient structures are an essential part of the brain’s processing system, converting sensory stimuli to emotion and embedding those emotions firmly in memory. The Amygdala enables us both to identify and learn from danger and thus grants great survival value.
Since early March, 2020, my Amygdala has been working overtime, discerning bodily threat, existential danger, then etching those emotions in memory. And while I do not dwell on the memories, their recollection is sharp and ofttimes painful.
I simply cannot forget. I cannot forget the custody hearing—watching a devoted young Dad forced to fight for custody after taking his children outside to play during the early days of lockdown. His ex-wife’s Amygdala, it seems, was overwhelmed by Covid fear and propaganda, and she saw the excursion as a dire existential threat.
I cannot forget the primary care physician who based his medical practice on “vaccination” status. The unjabbed? Personae non grata. I’d like to forget the shock of being uninvited from my appointment—but cannot.
I cannot forget a stormy winter’s night, being refused entrance to the Emergency Room where a close relative was hospitalized, all because I was unable to provide proof of “vaccination.”
I cannot forget long lines to buy groceries, mask mandates, directional footprints painted on store floors, employees directing traffic, some with obvious glee at their newfound authority.
I cannot forget neighbours bearing 6 foot distancing sticks.
I cannot forget divisions which arose, the hesitancy, fear, suspicion amongst former friends.
I cannot forget the employer mandates, watching workers forced to choose between the jab and their paychecks. I cannot forget, or forgive, the Inquisition of those who resisted.
I’d dearly love to forget, but I cannot.
My Amygdala, it seems, has been “hijacked.” Fulfilling its evolutionary mandate, it has kept me safe through the learned experiences of the past three years. At the perception of threat or danger, it seized control and initiated the “fight or flight” response, both of which involve memory and mindfulness.
What happened over the past three years is not normal, can never be normal, and must never be forgotten.
We must never forget that we were told there was a pandemic when there was none.
We must never forget that we were told that asymptomatic spreaders walked amongst us when they did not.
We must never forget being told that facial masks were exclusively for healthcare workers; then being told to wear one, then two when one wouldn’t do.
We also were told that lonely isolation and sunless quarantine were pathways to health when the reverse was true. Who can forget shuttered schools, stores, businesses, offices, empty sports stadiums, all to “flatten the curve” when the curve—so we were told—kept spiking?
We were told that hospitals were filled with Covid dead and dying when, in reality, actual death rates were in decline–until the effects of the jab began to manifest. We were not told, however, of the financial bounty hospitals received for deeming death—any death—as Covid-caused. The books were cooked; the fix was in!
We were told that pharmaceutically induced immunity would be far superior to broad-spectrum natural immunity which is patently untrue.
We must never forget being told the jab was “safe and effective,” that it would “stop the spread.” When one jab didn’t do, we were told to take a second. Then another and another and another. We are not told that the majority of Covid cases now occur amongst the jabbed, not the unjabbed.
We must never forget what we were told would save lives—i.e., the jab—has wound up destroying them.
We are now told that vital young athletes collapsing and convulsing mid-game is unfortunate but normal. But we are not told of the effect of the spike protein on those young hearts during extreme game-time exercise. Rather, news reports decry any link between myocarditis and the jab.
We were, and are, fed a constant diet of lies and fear. It all seems so nightmarishly surreal. Yet it has happened, and I cannot forget.
Even now–now that restrictions have eased, that travel and assembly are permitted, now that billions of discarded masks are releasing toxic micro-plastics ubiquitously into the environment—I still cannot forget. My Amygdala won’t let me. The threats to my health and well-being—and to my family’s—have been hard-wired into my emotional memory. And that memory has survival value.
Can anyone forget what happened just a short time ago? Can anyone forget the part they played in the grande Covid Theater of the Absurd? I pray not!
Those behind the Covid hoax lied and lied.
As a result, many people died. And many more have been injured.
Fathers, mothers, sons, daughters.
I can never forget.
May God forgive.
