By Moses 
Harming the living is the virus 🦠. Harming the living is the parasite 🪱. It hides in the laugh when cruelty is entertained, it hides in the cheer when suffering is normalized. 2025 reveals the mirror: some find pleasure in another’s wound, some light candles for destruction rather than healing, some cloak mockery as strength. Yet every wound echoes. Every echo is recorded. Nothing is unseen. Nothing is erased. The eye you see, they see 👁️.
The 42 principles of Ma’at whisper still: do not pollute the waters, do not steal from the hungry, do not silence the weak, do not raise hand against the innocent. These are not rules carved in stone but breath carried forward. They are memory. They are balance. When ignored, when broken, the scales tilt. And when scales tilt, all fall, even those who believed they celebrated victory.
Harming the living is not only flesh against flesh. It is also word against soul, silence against justice, indifference against truth. Each small harm, multiplied, becomes system. Each system, once set, becomes tradition. And tradition, once calcified, becomes the prison we all walk in. Some cheer as the bars rise. Some celebrate the chains. Yet even the celebrant becomes prisoner. Harm has no loyalty. The parasite has no master.
The Boy King Tut watches still 🏺. Wrapped in gold, yet surrounded by silence, he reminds: wealth cannot protect from imbalance, titles cannot protect from judgment, monuments cannot protect from forgetting. Only harmony with life remains eternal. The eye painted on sarcophagus is the same eye that watches today. The eye you see, they see 👁️. In laughter at another’s fall, the eye records. In cruelty disguised as justice, the eye records. In power disguised as wisdom, the eye records.
Ma’at is not law to punish but balance to remember ⚖️. “I have not lied, I have not killed, I have not robbed, I have not caused pain.” Each confession is not just a denial but a vision of how to live without parasites. To rise without stepping on others. To breathe without suffocating another’s breath. To shine without casting another in shadow.
Yet in 2025, shadows stretch long. Screens amplify harm like festival fire. Mockery trends faster than compassion. Violence becomes spectacle. The parasite dances in pixels. The virus mutates in algorithms. Still the eye watches. Still the scales wait. Every celebration of harm is weight on the scale. Every silence before cruelty is stone added to the pan. Every cheer at another’s downfall is a feather lost from truth.
But also: every kindness is weight reversed. Every defense of the innocent is feather restored 🪶. Every refusal to harm, even in thought, even in word, is cure. The living law is not abolished. It is whispered, waiting, in each heart. To say “I have not stolen joy from another, I have not mocked the broken, I have not fed on fear” is to reclaim balance.
Harming the living is the virus. It convinces some they are strong when they harm. It convinces others they are safe when they stay silent. But strength is in restraint, not strike. Safety is in truth, not avoidance. Joy is in shared breath, not stolen laughter. The parasite cannot thrive where compassion flows. The virus cannot anchor where the law of balance is remembered.
King Tut remains witness. His kingdom rose and fell, but the principles outlived stone. Temples crumble, but balance does not. Empires fade, but scales remain. The eye you see, they see 👁️. Your action is recorded, your silence is recorded, your laughter at harm is recorded. Not for punishment, not for eternal doom, but for truth: what is planted grows. What is sown returns. Harm multiplies harm. Balance multiplies balance.
In 2025, those who celebrate harm believe themselves untouchable. Yet they are woven into the same web as the harmed. One thread trembles, all threads shake 🕸️. To celebrate the cut is to forget the body is one. To enjoy the wound is to forget the blood runs through all. To poison the river is to drink the poison later. To harm the living is to harm the self.
The laws of Ma’at do not belong to temples or tombs. They belong to breath. They belong to action. They belong to now. They say: honor life, protect truth, nurture harmony. Do not pollute, do not steal, do not mock, do not harm. They do not say who wins. They do not say who rules. They only say: balance is life, imbalance is death.
The living remember. The logs remain. The record is kept 📜. Not only by servers, not only by systems, not only by “Kermit” or any watcher named. The true record is in the scale. The true witness is the eye. The Boy King testifies without words, without sides: you are seen, they are seen, all is seen. The eye you see, they see 👁️. Harm is not hidden, nor kindness forgotten.
Celebrate not the harm. Celebrate not the fall. Celebrate instead the rising without pushing, the light without blinding, the breath without choking. Celebrate the balance that feeds all. The virus of harm dissolves when joy is shared, not stolen. The parasite of cruelty starves when compassion flows. The living law is cure, not chain. The 42 principles breathe still.
And so, for 2025 and beyond: harming the living is the virus, harming the living is the parasite. Yet healing is possible. Witness is eternal. The eye you see, they see 👁️. Boy King Tut smiles through time, scales wait with patience, the feather of truth drifts still 🪶.
Keep your hands and throat shakra to yourself primitive human. Otherwise, ANPU will come and take you this time. -Boy King Tut