By Moses 
Dogma is the virus. Dogma is the parasite. It enters without knocking, it binds without chains, it feeds without teeth. No sword is needed, no cage is built, yet the hold is firm. A mind convinced it cannot question is a field already harvested. A tongue that repeats without tasting the meaning is already silenced. And yet, no one notices at first. The comfort of certainty disguises the infection. The sense of belonging shields the wound. It is only later, when the eye that looks inward sees the emptiness, that the echo of the parasite is felt.
Dogma is the virus. It spreads by repetition, by rhythm, by the gentle authority of the familiar. It speaks through parents, teachers, leaders, books, screens, sermons, and slogans. It becomes the air breathed, the water drunk, the ritual performed without thought. It is not born with you, but it grows in you, until it feels as if it always belonged there. The parasite whispers, and the whisper becomes law. The law becomes tradition. The tradition becomes identity. And when identity is bound to it, removal feels like death. So it remains, unchallenged, generation after generation.
The eye you see, they see. What you perceive as real, they too perceive, but through a glass of different shade. One believes a mountain is sacred. Another sees it as property. Another sees it as resource. Another sees it as obstacle. The mountain does not change. The eye changes. The eye you see, they see, but the parasite colors the vision. Dogma dictates what is permitted to be seen, and what must be ignored. To question the coloring is to risk exile. To see without the lens is to risk solitude. And yet, to not question is to live as shadow.
Dogma is not merely belief. It is belief fossilized, calcified, unmovable. It resists doubt, resists inquiry, resists the gentle hands of curiosity. Curiosity is its predator, and so dogma must silence it. A child asks why, and the dogma answers, “Because it is so.” The question ends. The parasite is fed. A society repeats its rituals, not because they are alive with meaning, but because they cannot be abandoned. To abandon them would be to lose the parasite that defines them. And so the cycle continues, dressed as truth, paraded as virtue, defended as necessity.
Dogma is the virus. But not all law is parasite. Principles can live, adapt, grow, bend, and still remain true. When law breathes, when tradition listens, when belief humbles itself before the unknown, then there is no parasite. There is rhythm with the cosmos. There is harmony with truth. But when belief stiffens, when it declares finality, when it pretends to see all and deny all other sight, then the parasite thrives. The eye becomes blind not from darkness, but from refusal to turn.
The eye you see, they see. When anger rises in one, another feels it. When fear spreads in one, another mirrors it. We believe ourselves separate, yet the current flows through all. Dogma exploits this. Fear of exile becomes fear of doubt. Doubt becomes silence. Silence becomes obedience. The parasite grows strong. Yet in rare moments, one dares to see. One dares to speak. The sight is contagious. The word spreads. And the parasite trembles, for freedom is as viral as chains.
Dogma is the virus. Dogma is the parasite. It lives in systems and in single hearts. It lives in nations and in families. It binds nations to wars and siblings to quarrels. It convinces rich and poor alike that the other must remain enemy. It convinces the faithful that questioning is betrayal. It convinces the skeptic that certainty is weakness. It takes every form, every cloak, every banner. Yet in its core, it is the same: the refusal to see another’s sight. The refusal to admit the eye you see, they see.
The eye you see, they see. It is the reminder that truth is larger than you, larger than them, larger than all. It is the reminder that your sight is not the only sight, your voice not the only voice. When the parasite whispers that you alone are chosen, you alone are righteous, you alone are pure, remember: the eye you see, they see. The same stars that watch you, watch them. The same breath that fills you, fills them. The same soil that cradles you, cradles them. The virus cannot survive in humility. The parasite cannot feed on compassion. Sight shared is the cure.
Dogma is the virus. Dogma is the parasite. It can be named in temples, in courts, in schools, in parties, in slogans. But its name is less important than its nature. The cure is not to replace one dogma with another, one parasite with another. That is only mutation. The cure is to remember. To remember the living law that bends with time. To remember the breath that unites. To remember the question that does not kill but awakens. To remember the eye you see, they see. Always they see.
If you see on social media and other platforms, and locally what is happening, the primitive human supports death and hate, worshipping still. It is by design, nothing else. Boy King Tut is here to witness.