Fourth Letter to My Vaccinated Friend

“I still have one more thing to tell you—and it will be the last.”

So wrote Albert Camus in his fourth and final letter to his German friend at the end of WWII and the German occupation of parts of France, including Paris, where Camus spent much of the war as an editor and writer in the covert French Resistance against the Nazi occupation. The letter is dated July 1944.

I am telling you this because I found in Camus’ letters to his German friend my inspiration to write my letters to you, my vaccinated friend. In his final letter, Camus bid his friend farewell, so great and permanent became the schism that had divided the two of them during the four years of war.

Camus continued: “I want to tell you how it is possible that, though so similar, we should be enemies today, how I might have stood beside you and why all is over between us now.”

As the season turns, as the tide of human events, too, turns as many of the sinister COVID-19 mandates are increasingly rolled back like the stone door of a tomb that has kept you and me and billions of others buried alive for more than two years, there’s a lingering part of me that wants to say the same thing to you: all is over between us now.

I’d offered you an olive branch in my second letter to you, a pact of forgiveness invoking Jesus’ dying and shocking words as he hung, bleeding and in what must have been excruciating pain on the cross: “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” Now, that seems like wishful thinking, even a seductively sentimental way to let you off the hook.

This anger still simmering in my depths like a cauldron of bile comes to a full boil when I look around and reflect on what the world has become, what you and millions of others have let it become, by your compliance in an insidious crusade bent on destroying everything we hold dear, right down to human life itself.

It’s been a while since I last wrote to you because more than ever I’ve found myself standing face to face with the age-old question of what to do with one’s anger. I’m not going to cite any chapter and verse about this. Nor am I going to quote the Buddha or Rumi or whomever, because it would lead me away from what’s happening inside me, what I want to try to say to you from my own heart.

But I will say this: When it comes to anger, the ancient Greek chorus would urge prudence over passion. To the Greek tragedians, anger was just as dangerous as hubris in its potential to upset the delicate balance of life. And to upset this balance is to invite ruin into one’s life and into the lives of others. And we certainly do not need any more ruin in any of our lives at this point.

Yet, the overwhelming, gut-wrenching, mind-bending, white-hot sense of betrayal I feel—not just by you but also by everyone else who hypnotically went along with these crimes against humanity—remains larger than my psyche’s capacity to absorb and assimilate it all. I feel like you and I and so many of us were just going along our merry way on a ship cruising gladly upon the low swells of an untroubled sea, when suddenly it had been torpedoed because somehow, somewhere you, among others like you, became traitors against all that is good and right with world and radioed the coordinates to the enemy who blew it up. And here I am—here we all are—flailing in the flotsam of its remains and getting sucked into the vortex of the shattered, sinking hull. And that hull is gigantic. It is planet Earth. So, no, you’re not able to paddle away from the wreckage.

It’s one thing that you got the jabs in the first place. It’s one thing if you’d been quiet about it. It’s one thing that you ignored my warnings about the health hazards of the jabs and about the sinister scheme to control and destroy humanity that’s been behind the entire injection campaign all along. But the main thing—the really big thing—is I still feel utterly bewildered by your jab-happy, proud, virtue-signaling collusion in this choreographed death march, which you’d joined right out of the gate with drum and fife and flag to show the world that you cared. You not only let it happen. You marched lockstep into the tyrannical maelstrom with self-righteous glee and a touch of cruelty for those of us who refused to turn our bodies over to the state to become guinea pigs in a vast and deadly experiment. How could you have been so misled?

Now open your eyes. Look around you. See what you’ve done? With your supposed compassion for your fellow man and imploring others to “do the right thing,” you and millions of others got suckered into participating with the dark forces that have ruined beyond comprehension so much of what’s precious and beautiful about life on Earth—free will, social connections, civil liberties, loving relationships, bodily autonomy, meaningful and rewarding work—on account of the lockdowns and fear-mongering predators ordering everyone to stay home, shut down our businesses, close our churches, shutter our schools, keep away from each other all the time. And get injected or else. The psychological and physical wounds are widespread, deep, and traumatic. And in many ways, especially with those of you who got the jabs, permanent. There’s no undoing what you’ve allowed to be done to you. The toxins in those jabs are there to stay.

And all for nothing. Or at least nothing that we were told to fear, that without the jabs and the lockdowns any one of us could get sick and die from a virus that, with rare exception, no healthy person under 70 would ever even catch. What’s more, for months now evidence has been pouring in as if from behind a broken dam that the injections don’t prevent infection or transmission despite what we’re still being repeatedly told by the governing elites. This would all be laughable if these facts about the ineffectual nature of the injections so contrary to the unfactual narrative could possibly be funny. Gaslighting is never funny.

Evidence is also pouring in that there have been dramatic spikes in COVID-19 cases, hospitalizations, and deaths among the jabbed here in the U.S., Israel, Canada, Great Britain, Denmark, Germany, Portugal, and other countries. The deaths are not just from COVID-19, but also from a host of other ailments; heart attacks, myocarditis and pericarditis, strokes, blood clots, aneurysms, and even cancers of all kinds are escalating. There is now ample proof that shows that the more doses of the jab among any population, the more cases. The more cases, the more hospitalizations. And the more hospitalizations, the more deaths. I don’t know how else to say this: You’ve been duped.

And to think that last December, sleepy Joe Biden, or whoever does his thinking for him, said, “We are looking at a winter of severe illness and death for the unvaccinated—for themselves, their families and the hospitals they’ll soon overwhelm.” That certainly didn’t age well. Last July Biden also said: “You’re not going to get COVID if you have these vaccinations.” That didn’t age well, either.


Those proclamations didn’t age well because they were lies. From the top down it’s been one lie after another with this so-called pandemic. And you, my friend, bought the entire, pre-packaged farce. You championed it. Now, am I supposed to slip a daisy down the barrel of the loaded gun you’ve all been pointing at me and others like me for more than two years? Just breathe and mindfully let it all go like so much monkey mind? Whistle past the graves of the tens of thousands of hapless victims who’ve been killed by an injection they were promised was completely safe? Move on? Pretend that nothing happened? That everything is just fine?

When I get like this I really don’t know if it’s ever going to be possible for me to put myself in Jesus’ larger-than-life shoes and have, like Jesus, apparently an unconditional love and unreserved forgiveness for all of mankind, including those who conspired against him and had him killed, because they did not know what they were doing. Because in today’s world, with all the resources at our fingertips to find out what’s really going on with all of this, ignorance is no excuse.

Besides, before his fateful appointment at Golgotha, Jesus wasn’t always so forgiving. Recall that part in the Bible describing how he turned over the merchant tables in the temple. Conducting business there was a problem, but that wasn’t the only thing. Jesus flipped the tables also because he was passionate about including all peoples—including Gentiles, considered inherently unclean—in the Lord’s house of prayer, not just Jews. Catch my drift? Every day, I feel like turning over the tables of your life with these letters to wake you up to the reality of what the globalists have done and have in mind for us in the days ahead because I can tell you I’m quite sure it’s not what you think it is.

Clearly, given what these despotic oligarchs have happily stolen from us so far—what you have so readily handed over, in fact—they are likely to never again let us live with anything close to the sacrosanct, natural freedoms that you and I had known and cherished all our lives if this goes on much longer. And all because you continue to turn a blind eye to what’s really happening, as the psychopaths continue to encircle us and, camouflaged behind so much digital shrubbery, tighten their stranglehold on our lives with their draconian biosecurity policies and omniscient shroud of surveillance technologies and snares—vaccine passports, digital identifications, QR codes, central bank digital currency, tracking on our cellphones, and Communist China’s social credit system—as if we are all some kind of prey to be hunted, tagged, and penned.

This has been the plan all along. I’d warned you. You did not listen. The mandates were never about protecting public health. The goal has been to usher in a universal digital identification program to track and trace every last one of us. It’s been all about control and getting all our biometric and behavioral data on a software platform to exert that control. You refuse to believe it. You write it off as a crazy conspiracy theory. So you live in complete denial of the malevolence surrounding you and slowly and irreversibly sinking its fangs into your body, your mind, and your soul all disguised by the blood sucking swamp creatures masterminding this charade that what they are doing to you—to all of us—is for our own good.

Some days, this anger in me doesn’t even feel like it’s mine or coming from me. It feels primordial, archetypal, sacred. It feels like it is coming from a collective soul gasping for that last breath of air, for life itself. For our humanity. It sometimes seems to me as if the Hour has come, that a cosmic war to end all wars foretold by the ancient ones all around the world is manifesting itself on Earth right here, right now. As above, so below. And there you are posting on Instagram pictures of your yoga vacation doing a perfect downward dog on some beach in Mexico like it’s just another sunny day in Paradise, while I’m here staring down the Beast that’s out to collapse all of Western civilization.

Forgiveness. Where is it to be found? Nowhere but in the human heart. But it’s been locked up in me these past two years. And I’ve lost the key. To help me find it, I turned to the work of the late Bishop Desmond Tutu, a leader in ridding South Africa of the scourge of apartheid. An unapologetic apostle of forgiveness, he wrote on the Forgiveness Project website: “You should never hate yourself for hating others who do terrible things: the depth of your love is shown by the extent of your anger.”

I know that over the past two years going on three, the governmental tyrants and their slavish lapdogs in the mainstream media all around the world have done their best to turn neighbor against neighbor, parent against child, friend against friend, siblings and spouses and lovers against one another. I know that every time we give in and adopt their hateful rhetoric as our own, they win and we lose. They win by pitting us against each other, because if we hate and fight each other, we won’t hate and fight them—and they know it. I know it, too.

Bishop Tutu also wrote: “However, when I talk of forgiveness I mean the belief that you can come out the other side a better person. A better person than the one being consumed by anger and hatred. Remaining in that state locks you in a state of victimhood, making you almost dependent on the perpetrator.” Wise words that I really want to take to heart and let it flow within. There’s a catch, however. A price to pay, as there usually is in matters of import. He wrote: “But the process of forgiveness also requires acknowledgement on the part of the perpetrator that they have committed an offence.”

Here’s where I get stuck. Here’s where my mental wheels just spin, get no traction. Because I don’t think you’ll ever admit you’ve committed an offence. In your complicity, you stood shoulder to shoulder with the perpetrators wreaking havoc on human life around the world. Yet, I would venture to say that you believe you’ve done absolutely nothing wrong!

I see on Facebook that you’re even boasting about getting your second booster. “I still believe in science,” you posted. No you don’t. You still believe in the lies. And you’re allowing the dark overlords to continue to ride roughshod over all of us. Meaning that as long as you keep complying, this madness will never end.

The world’s been traumatized by so much destruction these past two years that it, too, feels wholly other. Permanently irreparable. That torpedoed, sinking ship. So I find myself reaching for an even higher level of transformation than mere human forgiveness can possibly bestow. I’m praying to all that is holy as a source of solace, wisdom, and direction, all of which I’d taken up some years ago as a seminarian, which was when we first met all those years ago. I have to admit that I never really knew how much I would need now what I learned back then when you and I could never have imagined what’s become of the world these days. What’s become of you and me.

One of the teachings I remember most is how Jesus Christ—Jesus the Anointed One—asked each of us not to worship him as someone outside of us, as someone other than us, as someone better than us of whom we are not worthy. Jesus asked us to make ourselves over to be like him. To be unfettered on the path to our highest incarnation of ourselves, and to never surrender to the destruction and decomposition of our individuality—our soul—which is given by God. And which is exactly what the dark forces want to take from us.

Truly, not only do they want our soul. They also want us dead. Not just brain dead, with their relentless propaganda and inflicting on us dangerous levels of hypoxia on account of the mask mandates, although that’s the first step. But literally dead and gone. I can almost see them laughing at all the chumps like you (sorry), who have believed all along that they’ve been trying to help us, that they’ve had our health and well-being first and foremost in their mind. If you only knew.

I fear for your life. With so many unsuspecting jabbed victims of all ages dropping dead all over the world in streets, in offices, at home, on soccer fields and basketball courts, in hotels, in cars, I wonder if you, too, will be among them one day. There’s a little trick the unconscious mind sometimes plays. If we know someone we love is going to leave us, say a child going off to college or a spouse who’s decided to get a divorce, we can find ourselves either shutting down our emotions or picking a fight to dull the pain of being left. There are moments when I wonder if all the anger I’m harboring has something to do with me trying to dull the pain I’ll feel if you die from what you allowed to be injected into the blessed sanctuary that is your body.

We’re in the thick of a spiritual battle, as I’d indicated in my third letter to you. A battle between the dark and the light, between the lies and the truth, between all that is good and all that is evil, between life and death. This is the crux of what you need to know, if nothing else. You also need to know that I’m embracing—literally and figuratively—those who long for the light, for the truth, for the good, for life. I’m not equivocating here; never in my life have I been more clear about anything. The hill I’m going to die on is with those who are fighting to preserve our divine humanity against the satanic forces that would subjugate each of us to a transhumanist, technocratic enslavement the likes of which the world has never known if their takeover is allowed to go on, if you and so many others allow it to go on. I am, like Camus and his resistance to the Nazis during WWII, a proud part of the resistance of this war, perhaps the final war in what’s left of the free world for the individual sovereignty of each human being now alive and for those who will come after us.

I remember that my first letter to you was in response to a text you’d sent me. We’d been out of touch for months, which was unusual. You’d written: “I miss my friend.” Perhaps these letters I’ve written since then have driven you away from me. Perhaps you are done with me. I would not blame you. Like Jesus turning over those tables in the temple, I’ve been less than kind. I would call it tough love, but there wasn’t always love in these letters, despite the sage words of the good Bishop Tutu.

Somedays, I think I want to see you again. Somedays, I think we can resume our friendship, to pick up where we’d left off at the end of those seemingly halcyon days before the scorched earth campaign against humanity began, so suddenly it seems, in earnest.

But I know those days, like so many other things we’d once treasured, are gone. Including our friendship, the way we were. I know things between us can never be the same as before—gone are the private jokes we shared; those long, lazy lunches we enjoyed in our favorite restaurant in the city; the likes and the comments I used to post on your Facebook page—and quite possibly not better or stronger, contrary to what one hopes for after a parting of the ways is mended. This rift between us might, in the end, be just too wide and deep to bridge, like it was between Camus and his German friend. And this makes me sad.

So I’m going to try, day by day, to really understand why you did what you did. Perhaps you feel now that you’ve made a mistake and are willing to admit it. It’s said that to understand all is to forgive all. That may or not be universally true. But in this instance, I won’t know it for myself unless I try. Forgiveness and friendship go hand in hand where reconciliation is desired.

But I’m not yet ready for that, if I want to be honest. And I do want to be honest. There must be some deeper meaning, some higher level of psychological or spiritual organization—let’s call it divine intervention—I’ve yet to comprehend to truly make peace with what’s happened between you and me, indeed between all of us who have parted ways over this evil, engineered calamity, which you and others like you were taken in by and helped foment.

Maybe I need to meditate on the cross and the lonely pain of separation. Maybe I need a shamanic intervention to retrieve the joie de vivre I’ve lost over the past two and a half years under the many sinister, crushing mandates that harmed so many people in far more ways than they helped. Maybe I need to consult an oracle, as the ancient Greeks used to do, not to find out what’s going to happen to me but rather to find out what to do. Maybe I need a prolonged withdrawal and disengagement from everything and everyone, pull back, see our beautiful blue planet from outer space, or something like that.

It’s summer. As I go on my morning walks in my neighborhood here in upstate New York and see all the green tree leaves fluttering, the roses blooming, the birds flying by, I think there’s a lesson here: Appearing dead in the depths of winter, nature has a way of coming back to life. Spring comes, the sun shines, and the grass grows by itself. So maybe I need to let things between us just slide for a while.

I guess what I’m saying is that something in me needs to naturally die before something new can be born if our friendship is to survive. I’m keeping myself open for that because perhaps it will finally, and when I least expect it, attune my heart to a new harmony of the complex unities of life and to what might be the fullness of God’s unbounded, infinite, and redeeming love. This is what I said I’d hoped for in my first letter to you. I want you to know that I still stand by those words. Otherwise, I might really lose it. I might anyway, still.

This is my fourth and final letter to you. Camus ended this fourth and final letter to his German friend with these words: “Now, I can say farewell to you.”

I’m not saying farewell to you. I will probably want to see you again, one fine day. And when that day comes, I’ll text you. I will say: “I miss my friend.”