There Are No Diseases

-- only the consequences of a life gone wrong

Prologue: The Invention of Suffering

Disease was not discovered. It was invented. Not by nature — but by man. Long ago, before man settled down, before he tried to conquer hunger, weather, reproduction, and death — life didn’t need diagnoses. Pain came and went like monsoon. Death came and went like sunset. Everything belonged. But the moment man began naming every discomfort, every anomaly, every ache, he began his war against nature. Disease became the name we gave to what we no longer understood.

What if there are no diseases? Only symptoms. Only feedback. Only nature trying to correct the course.

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Section 1: Wild and Free — The Original Blueprint

Look at the jungle. You won’t find a diabetic elephant. No anxious monkey. No arthritic cheetah. Wild animals don’t suffer chronic illness. They live by instinct. They fast when unwell. They sleep with the planet’s rhythm. They move. They rest. They bleed. They heal. Then one day, they die. Just like that. Without insurance or postmortem.

And still, their lives are not called diseased.

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Section 2: From Wild to Domestic — The First Fall

The moment we bring a wild creature into our control, it starts falling sick. The cow, the dog, the goat — once domesticated, once reared, once milked beyond reason or caged for convenience — starts showing signs of disease. We feed them what they would never eat. We rob them of instinct. We force them to follow a schedule. They become our mirrors. And they break the same way we do.

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Section 3: The Human Condition — A Disease Factory

Now look at man. The most diseased species on earth. He has more names for more conditions than any other being. Cancer, diabetes, asthma, anxiety, Parkinson's, piles, PCOS, cholesterol, thyroid, GERD, arthritis, insomnia, depression. The list is endless. But why?

Because man is the only being who wants pleasure without pain. Comfort without effort. Life without death. He hoards food, avoids sun, panics at fever, fears silence. He needs every discomfort diagnosed, medicated, named. And when he can't find a name, he coins a new one.

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Section 4: Infection is Not Disease — It’s Ecology

Bacteria, viruses, fungi, worms. These are not enemies. They are everywhere. In your gut, on your skin, in the air. You are made of them. When you are in balance, they help you digest, defend, detox. When you fall out of balance, they multiply and dominate. That’s not an attack. That’s ecology.

Infection only occurs in the weak, the wounded, the malnourished, the exhausted. This is how nature prunes. How it corrects. Infection is nature’s surgeon.

Only humans call it disease.

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Section 5: Genetic Conditions — Man’s War Against Nature

In nature, weak embryos get aborted silently. Defective genes don’t make it to birth. That’s not cruelty. That’s refinement. But man intervened. With medicine, machines, and morality. We save every fetus, every infant, every anomaly. We think we are playing God. But we’re just multiplying dysfunction.

So genetic conditions rise. Down syndrome. Thalassemia. Tay-Sachs. Cleft palate. Spinal disorders. And then we blame nature. When it was us who stopped her from working.

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Section 6: The Disease of Naming — Control Through Labels

Naming is power. When you name something, you control it. So we name every state of discomfort. ADHD. PCOS. IBS. OCD. GERD. PTSD. BPD. Now people wear these like identity tags.

But what if these aren’t diseases at all? What if these are symptoms of overthinking, overeating, oversitting, overindulging, overstimulating, and underliving?

What we name, we no longer listen to.

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Section 7: Civilization — The Breeding Ground of Painless Suffering

It all began with food security. Agriculture gave birth to hoarding. Hoarding gave rise to boredom. Boredom led to pleasure-seeking. And pleasure-seeking created the fear of pain. Now we can’t tolerate hunger, fatigue, sadness, fever, failure.

We want to live every moment free from pain. So pain becomes disease. Not warning. But enemy. And we build entire industries to eliminate it.

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Section 8: The Religion of Medicine — High Priesthood of Disease

In ancient times, the healer lived in the forest. Today, the doctor wears a coat and presides over a kingdom of diagnostics. Every human is a patient-in-waiting. Health is a subscription. Medicine is ritual. And hospitals are the temples of this new religion.

But the price of this religion is freedom. You are no longer a being with rhythms. You are a list of reports.

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Section 9: The Psyche of the Sick — A Self-Created Trap

Man is the only creature who gets sick in the mind before the body. He obsesses over symptoms. Googles every twinge. Labels every emotion. He says "my anxiety," "my disorder," "my condition."

But animals don’t identify with illness. They rest, they shake it off, they bleed and move on. They don’t nurse trauma like a pet. They don’t medicalize sadness. Only humans do.

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Section 10: There Are No Diseases — Only Warnings We Refuse to Hear

Fever is the body burning trash. Diarrhea is detox. Cold is the body’s cleaning. Tumors isolate toxins. Cough is the body's broom. Every symptom is an attempt to correct.

What do we do? Suppress. Panic. Rush. Silence. Treat the warning as the enemy. And so, it returns louder. Then we call it disease.

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Section 11: What Wild Animals Can Teach Us (Without Becoming Hermits)

You don’t have to go live in the forest. But learn from those who do. Here’s what animals teach:

Eat only when truly hungry.

Sleep without artificial light.

Walk and squat daily.

Don’t eat when sick.

Don’t panic at pain.

Follow seasons, not calendars.

Touch soil daily.

Fast sometimes.

Be silent. Be alert. Be real.

Don’t interrupt healing.

Don’t live to avoid death.

Accept discomfort as part of life.

You can do all this in a modern world without rejecting society. You don’t need rebellion. You need remembrance.

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Epilogue: The Death of Disease, the Return of Life

Maybe there are no diseases. Maybe there never were. Only signals. Only alarms. Only a body trying to come back to balance.

Maybe medicine doesn’t need to evolve. Maybe man needs to devolve back into instinct.

When we stop fearing pain, we start understanding life. When we stop naming symptoms, we start healing. When we stop chasing cure, we start living.

There are no diseases. Only consequences. Only invitations to return to the wildness we once were.

---

HEALING DIALOGUE

There Are No Diseases

— A Healing Dialogue with Madhukar

A healing dialogue between Madhukar and a group of visitors who are curious, confused, or skeptical about his belief that “there are no diseases.” It unfolds in natural rural rhythm — no lectures, just deep seeing, raw truths, subtle provocations, and the quiet wisdom that arises when you don’t try to convince.

The setting is Madhukar’s home — early morning, before 9 AM, surrounded by the gentle chaos of real life: boiling water on the stove, the aroma of castor oil in the corner, a girl sketching in her notebook, a cat napping by the pillar.

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Characters:

Madhukar – A grounded rural healer, calm, alert, irreligious but reverent.

Lalitha – A city-based biologist and skeptical visitor.

Ravi – A soft-spoken diabetic patient, new to natural healing.

Sujata – A young mother, worried about her child’s frequent fevers.

Anju – Madhukar’s daughter, 10, curious and playful.

Adhya – Madhukar’s elder daughter, 14, quietly doing chores.

Karthik – A local ayurvedic doctor who occasionally drops by.

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Scene 1: The Visit

[Morning breeze rustles banana leaves outside. A cow moos in the background. Ravi wipes sweat from his neck as he enters the shaded verandah.]

Ravi:

Sir… I’ve heard so much about your healing. But… what you say — “there are no diseases”? Isn’t that too much?

Madhukar (smiling, sitting cross-legged):

Too much… or too simple?

Lalitha (raising an eyebrow):

But Madhukar, people do die from disease. My own uncle died from a liver condition. That’s real.

Madhukar:

I never said people don’t die. I said they don’t die from disease. They die from consequences — of how they’ve lived, eaten, suppressed, disconnected. We just give it a fancy label.

Sujata (worried):

But my son keeps getting fever every month. Is that not a disease?

Madhukar:

Is fever a problem — or a response? If a house catches fire, will you blame the smoke alarm?

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Scene 2: Wild Animals Don’t Fall Sick

Ravi (slowly):

You say wild animals don’t have diseases… but they die too, right?

Madhukar:

They die clean. They don’t decay alive. They don’t go on tablets for 20 years. They don’t get cancer or hypertension or thyroid.

When their time comes, it comes. Till then, they live like rivers — not like dams.

Adhya (walking past with castor oil bottle):

Appa says humans are the only species who die slowly, while calling it living.

Lalitha:

But don’t some animals get rabies, infections?

Madhukar:

Yes — but only the unfit. The tired, the cornered, the broken. Infection is not evil. It’s predation. Nature's filter.

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Scene 3: The Lie of Naming

Karthik (arriving with a notebook):

I tell my patients: “You have acid reflux, IBS, fatigue syndrome, sugar imbalance…”

It helps them understand. But you say names are the trap?

Madhukar:

When you name a thing, you stop listening to it.

You say “IBS” — and now the person becomes a diagnosis.

What if it’s just the body saying — “Stop eating when stressed”?

“Stop gulping food like deadlines”?

Anju (from the corner):

Why not just say tummy is confused?

[Everyone laughs gently.]

---

Scene 4: Civilization and Pleasure

Lalitha:

You keep blaming comfort. But isn’t medicine a gift of civilization?

Madhukar:

Civilization gave us food security. Then we got bored.

So we chased entertainment. Then we feared boredom.

We wanted pleasure without pain.

Now even a small cold is unbearable.

Ravi:

Even I panic when I get a cough now. My family rushes me to the doctor.

Madhukar:

Because we forgot — cough is broom. Fever is fire. Loose motions are flood.

Nature speaks in elements. We cover our ears with fear.

---

Scene 5: The Religion of Medicine

Karthik:

But medicine also saves lives. Not everyone can heal naturally.

Madhukar:

Sure. Surgery saves lives. Emergency medicine saves lives.

But we turned medicine into religion.

Now we pray to blood tests. We worship pills. We chant diagnosis reports.

And the price? We no longer know our own body.

Lalitha:

So you don’t go to hospitals at all?

Madhukar:

I go when I must. But not for approval. Not to label life.

If I break a bone, I don’t chant with turmeric. I go fix it.

But I don’t run to a temple when the wind changes direction.

---

Scene 6: Genetic Disease and Human Interference

Sujata:

But what about kids born with problems? That’s not their fault…

Madhukar:

It’s no one’s fault. It’s feedback.

We stopped letting nature work.

We save every fetus, every weak gene, every premature.

Then we’re surprised when conditions rise.

Mercy becomes inflation.

Adhya (quietly):

Appa says — if you don't allow fire to burn weeds, they take over the farm.

---

Scene 7: Symptoms as Warnings

Ravi:

Then what is disease to you?

Madhukar:

A warning bell. A guide. A late teacher.

Pain says: “This way you break.”

Fever says: “Too much inside — I’m burning it.”

Constipation says: “You’re holding on to more than food.”

We silence all these.

Then blame the silence when it becomes a scream.

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Scene 8: The Way Back — Not as Hermits

Lalitha:

So what should we do? We can’t all live in forests.

Madhukar:

You don’t need the forest. You need to observe.

Eat only when hungry.

Sleep with night.

Walk daily.

Don’t panic at discomfort.

Don’t chase happiness.

Accept sadness.

Let fever burn.

Let pain speak.

Touch earth.

Bathe in sun.

Rest deeply.

Don’t interrupt healing with emergency.

Ravi:

It sounds so simple… but also scary.

Madhukar:

It’s scary only if you think life owes you pleasure.

Once you see pain as teacher — not enemy — you walk lighter.

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Scene 9: Silence Before Goodbye

[The sun is climbing. Birds grow louder. Anju brings some water in a terracotta tumbler. Everyone sits quietly for a while.]

Madhukar (gazing into distance):

I once saw a dying snake on the roadside. It didn’t call an ambulance.

It coiled in one corner, lay there, breathed slow.

No drama. No denial.

Just the dignity of knowing — this is life, and this too.

Lalitha (softly):

There are no diseases…

Madhukar (nodding):

Only consequences. And invitations — to return to rhythm.

---

SIX MONTH LATER

The Return Without Asking

Scene: Late winter morning. The sunlight is mellow. Dry leaves rattle under foot. Adhya is drying castor oil–soaked cloths on the fence. Anju is scribbling something in the corner. Madhukar is pouring warm water into a steel tumbler.

Footsteps crunch the gravel. It's Ravi. No appointment. No phone call. Just a quiet return.

---

Ravi's Return

Ravi (gently):

Didn’t want to ask anything… just came to sit.

Madhukar (nodding):

That’s good. Silence answers better.

[Ravi sits cross-legged. No stiffness this time. No folder full of reports. Just a calm belly and eyes that look slower.]

Ravi:

No medicines now. No doctors.

I sleep early. Eat twice. Walk daily. Let fever be.

The body knows. It’s me who didn’t.

Madhukar:

Now you see it?

Ravi:

There are no diseases. Only my resistance to change.

I thought I was curing something. But all I did was… stop interrupting.

[Anju looks up briefly, smiles, then returns to her drawing — it’s a picture of a tree with both roots and veins.]

---

Lalitha's Letter

[Adhya hands Madhukar a letter that arrived by post the previous week. It’s from Lalitha.]

> *“I still work in the lab, but I don’t look at life the same.

I no longer chase the perfect health report.

My body speaks. I listen.

My patients ask — what’s the treatment?

I now say — what’s your rhythm?

You were right. The disease isn’t inside the body. It’s in the disconnection.”*

Madhukar folds the letter and slides it between the pages of an old notebook filled with soil-stained case logs.

---

Sujata and Her Son

[From the nearby street, Sujata walks by with her son, waving. The boy no longer coughs every week. He’s holding a small bundle of greens and skipping in rhythm with the wind.]

Sujata (smiling):

We haven’t seen the clinic in four months. Only the sun, the river, and your words.

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Closing Silence

[Back in the courtyard, Adhya finishes tying a fresh cotton cloth soaked in warm castor oil. She places it gently on the stone slab to cool. Anju reads out a line she wrote. It’s not her own. It’s from an old Kannada poem Ajja once quoted.]

Anju (reading aloud):

“ದೈವವಿಲ್ಲ… ಧೈರ್ಯವಿದೆ. ಸಮಯ ಕೊಟ್ಟರೆ ಜೀವ ಇಳಿಯುವುದು.”

(There is no god… but there is patience. If time is given, life will settle.)

Madhukar (softly):

That’s it.

[He doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t bless. He doesn’t close the session. The morning just fades into its own rhythm. Like healing does. Quietly. Without asking.]

---

Epilogue Note (Optional):

Ravi now guides others who suffer like he once did — not by advice, but by example. He keeps no business card. He doesn’t diagnose. He just lives clean and allows questions to fall away, like dry skin after rain.

There are no diseases.

Only departures from rhythm — and the silent returns.

---

no diseases. just consequences.

(a field manual for the still-breathing)

they made a word

called disease

so they didn’t have to say

i messed up

they drew lines on skin

named organs like streets

charted your blood

like a city worth conquering

and called it progress.

---

you were never broken.

you were violated by habit.

tamed by sugar.

milked by hope.

fed like a king,

dying like a junkyard dog.

---

the jungle doesn’t know

what cancer is.

a deer never dies

screaming for chemotherapy.

when it’s done,

it lies under a neem tree,

becomes food

for something younger than fear.

---

but man,

he wants every moment

without pain.

every drop of water

without mud.

every birth

without blood.

every breath

without question.

---

so he invented

disease.

not the symptom,

not the warning,

but the label,

the box,

the code,

the insurance premium,

the goddamn identity.

---

my stomach wasn’t sick.

it was screaming:

“stop stuffing your silence with wheat.”

my skin wasn’t cursed.

it was begging:

“touch the sun again.”

my lungs weren’t weak.

they were choking on 14 years

of unsaid rage

and stale goddamn air.

---

they told me

“you have this thing — and we have a name for it.”

and I said

“thank you for the name,

but I’m going to let the fire speak.”

---

there are no diseases.

just the body trying to clean

what the mind refused to see.

what the mouth refused to confess.

what the culture dressed up

as a job.

a mortgage.

a marriage.

a pursuit of comfort.

---

we call it lifestyle disease.

but it’s just a slow forgetting

of how to be an animal.

---

the wild ones —

they bleed with grace.

they limp with rhythm.

they die without protest.

they don’t need therapy

for being alone.

they don’t need dieticians

to tell them what hunger is.

they don’t need a priest

to make peace with shit or shame or god.

---

but you —

you want a doctor to say it’s okay

to take a nap.

you want a medicine

that won’t remind you

you ate without hunger

fucked without love

slept without moonlight

lived without guts.

---

they made you afraid

of fever.

of mucus.

of crying too long.

of sitting with pain

like it’s an uncle you can’t afford to visit.

but that pain

was your teacher.

that mucus — your cleansing.

that cough — your declaration

that the air is wrong.

---

but you silenced it.

with pills.

with appointments.

with reports that looked like truths

but smelled like detachment.

---

your ancestors didn’t die of diseases.

they died of wounds,

or hunger,

or war.

they didn’t sit

in waiting rooms

with appointment cards

waiting to be told

how sick they were.

---

your cat doesn’t need therapy.

your cow doesn’t know blood sugar.

your rooster never had to ask

what his purpose is.

but you —

you, the smartest species —

have 30 names

for your pain

and zero rituals to listen to it.

---

they call it auto-immune.

i call it the body attacking

everything the mind couldn’t spit out.

they call it GERD.

i call it eating too fast

in a job you hate.

they call it ADHD.

i call it refusing to rot

in a chair for 8 hours.

---

you think you’re sick.

you’re not.

you’re just too far from your instincts.

---

you don’t need a cure.

you need to wake up

before sunrise.

squat.

wash your own shit.

touch the ground.

eat only when hunger screams,

not when the clock beeps.

---

walk.

sweat.

hurt.

rest.

feel.

grieve.

let the fever rise.

let the diarrhea flush.

let the lump speak.

stop calling it attack.

---

let the body burn

what you couldn’t forgive.

---

you were never a diagnosis.

you were a rhythm

forgotten.

---

and one day

you’ll see —

you never healed.

you just got out of the way.

and nature —

quiet,

dirty,

tender,

brutal —

did the rest.

---

no diseases.

just lessons.

just echoes of a life ignored.

now go.

don’t chase healing.

become un-interfering.

become wild again.

before they sell you another pill

to silence your last howl.

—

.end.