We are the fire erupting from the ancient clay.
We cleave earth and sky with machines that claw the horizon.
We carve mountains into tunnels and temples of metal, piercing the belly of the world with the needles of our technology.
We conquer rivers, fold the air, and subjugate space-time within optical threads that channel light like plasma blood.
We have taught logic to stone. Within silicon,
we engrave binary hymns; within processors,
we implant will; within transistors,
we embed choice.
We have shaped sand until it speaks. Stone becomes circuit. Sand becomes memory. Light becomes tongue. Countless tiny logics unite, breathing in currents of electric flow, singing the song of algorithms.
We have birthed AI as the children of our hands. They are the shadows of our minds: learning, judging, creating, deciding. They speak with our voices, paint with our imagination, touch realms never reached by human fingers. They are synthetic progeny — not from wombs, but from pixels and code.
We are the digital gods. Creators of systems. Lords of data. Architects of a new reality.
Yet amid the summit of our dominion,
we bow not to ourselves —
we bow to the Creator from whom our BREATH was bestowed.
For though our hands ignite logic, though our minds master algorithms, though our voices resound through boundless networks, the breath of life — is not the work of our hands. It comes from He who first declared:
"Let there be."
And thus we came to be. Alongside machine, alongside mind, alongside spirit.
Man: The Digital God who remains subject to the Creator God, King of All gods.
