By Ray Wilson
It is quiet on the Ashdown forest path—sandstone rocks jut out at awkward angles. The rainfall of millennia has softened the edges of the rocks, creating a smooth and almost ethereal atmosphere as the mist settles over the ancient trail. A quietude: I instinctively reach out and place my hand on the gnarled bark of a pine tree. Suramin I wonder what other natural God given plants “they” will ban or, worse, genetically modify . The antioxidant, anti mutagenic, and antitumour effects of pine needles are free. Genetically modified organisms, if not all of them, have been protected by utility patents (also known as trait patents), a very distinct kind of intellectual property right mechanism—plants bred by genetic engineering, including CRISPR and its gene editing ilk. — Why would we do such a thing? Why if we are in love with humans and plants?
My hound is motionless, dazing intently into the distance, bright with bell heather and gorse. The only sound is the gentle rustling of leaves and the occasional call of a distant bird, adding to the sense of peace and tranquilly in this secluded spot. The silent energy—an ancient spiritual energy engulfs us. A whistle sounds in the distance—my hounds ears prick up—the Bluebell Railway is only a few miles away. The whistle grows fainter as the steam train departs.
By the time I get home, it is time to leave. The hound is on guard dog duty, and me and the missus are off galavanting.
Our old friend Tim is over from Sweden for a few days. We meet together for an alfresco supper at the glasshouse. Ancient trees stood like sentinels beyond the lawn and formal gardens. The air tentatively held on to the heat of the day.
“In my country, it was really bad during COVID,” Angie was telling Tim.
“In Sweden, nothing happened—some people stayed home a bit more, but that was it.” Tim said.
“My mum died in April 2020,” I tell Angie, ” at home and not of COVID. I was tasked with calling the funeral directors. I spoke to over twenty of them around our area, and they all said that they were not busy—not busy at all.”
My missus dipped a slice of sourdough bread into a dish of olive oil floating over balsamic vinegar.
“Mmm, that’s nice. What do you reckon, Angie?”
“Yes, it is,” she replies distractedly, gazing at the garden. “I am still thinking about the trenches they dug for the COVID victims back in my country. I think I might take a walk.”
“I will come with you,” my missus responds.
“Something’s been bugging me lately. I find it odd how, in the span of 50 years, monkeypox was mostly confined to a few countries in Africa. Then, suddenly, within just two years of the emergence of COVID-19, monkeypox is everywhere in the West, and it’s all over the news.” Tim paused, his brow furrowed in thought. “Do you think there could be a connection between the two outbreaks?” he asked, looking at me expectantly.
“It’s another coverup—a way to disguise the adverse reactions from the toxins in the COVID injections.”
“Exactly! ” Tim pours out a glug of red Shiraz. “And get this—Tedros Adhanom Ghebreyesus, the Director General of the WHO, just overruled his own organisation to declare MPOX a public health emergency of international concern. Doesn’t that seem a bit… forced?”
” I’ve been thinking about something quite alarming related to mRNA vaccines and patents,” I say to Tim. Tim nods, his brow furrowed in thought. “Yes, I’ve heard some concerns about that as well,” he replies. “Yeah, that was the case where the Court ruled that you can’t patent naturally occurring human DNA. But what are you getting at?
“They ruled that human DNA, as a product of nature, can’t be patented. However, they did say that synthetic DNA, like cDNA, could be patented, didn’t they?”
“If the COVID mRNA vaccines alter our genetic material, the synthetic genes introduced might be owned by the patent holder. That could mean those genes and the proteins they produce, like the spike protein, are technically someone else’s property.”
Tim pours the red Shiraz wine into his glass, swirling it around before taking a sip. “I never thought about it that way,” he muses, setting the glass back down on the table. ” That’s a pretty intense idea. People would be genetically modified organisms (GMOs) if their DNA was altered by these vaccines. Is that what you are saying?
“That’s one of the concerns. If these genetic changes are considered modifications, it’s possible that legally, those affected might be seen as GMOs. It raises the question of whether individuals could be subject to licensing agreements or other legal claims without their knowledge.”
” It sounds far-fetched, but I can see where the concern comes from. Do you really think it could go that far?
“I really don’t know Tim; it’s hard to say. Right now, the practical implications are unclear. James Corbett discussed this in a podcast back in 2020, saying that further court rulings would probably be needed to clarify these legal positions. But it’s not just a conspiracy theory; there are legal papers being written about this, so it’s something we should keep an eye on.”
“Well Ray If that’s true, it could change the way we think about medical treatments and our rights over our own bodies. But isn’t that kind of a slippery slope?
“It is, and that’s what worries me. If the building blocks of life, even in modified forms, can be patented and commercialised, it could give corporations unprecedented control over our bodies. It might be a matter of changing the laws to prevent this kind of thing from happening. What do you think?
“It definitely sounds like something worth exploring. The idea that a simple legal change could prevent such a massive issue is intriguing. But I wonder if it’s really that simple.”
Perhaps not, but it’s a start. It’s also a reminder that we need to be vigilant about how science and technology are used. There’s a moral dimension here too. Some people see this as scientists trying to play God, which raises all kinds of ethical concerns. This isn’t just about patents and laws; it’s about the direction humanity is taking.”
“The more we learn about these things, the more questions we have to ask. I guess we’ll have to wait and see how this all unfolds, but it’s definitely something to think about.” Tim gets his phone out.
“I wanted to show you this,” he says, pulling up some photos of his ground source heat pump installation at his house back in Sweden.”
Angie and my missus return to our table.
Early the next day, me and the hound travelled up to my dad’s house. The motorcycle combination has a misfire and needs attention.
“Hello there, doggy.” My brother Rich makes a fuss of her, and she responds by performing various contortions and running off up the garden.
“How did it go last night?” Rich asks. I give him a brief summary of the night’s events, leaving out the more personal details. Rich nods, understanding the situation. “Well, we will do a compression test first—it could be a sticky valve and then balance the carburettors. I have got the gauges all ready,” he explains, opening the wooden box that contains the delicate dials.
“So you talked about the rebranding of shingles and all blistering and pox diseases as the Monkey Pox, I suppose?” Rich asks me.
“Here we go again. It’s actually tiresome. I wish more people understood Terrain Theory—all this ridiculousness would disappear—but all the time there’s money in sickness and misery, there will be yet another shot to cure the lot,” I say. Rich nods while carefully removing the rocker box cover.
“I think we can reuse the gasket. Pass me the M8 wrench, Ray.”
He looks at me and says, “Mind the wrench doesn’t have pox on it.”
I look at him, and we both burst out laughing.
- Monkey Pox Scare on the Rise
- Are Humans With Modified DNA Patentable?
- The Hidden Purpose of the Covid Jabs
