“This is a poetic theological reflection in speculative form. It does not represent doctrinal teaching, but invites the reader to contemplate the final encounter between creation and the Creator.”
Dies irae, dies illa
Solvet saeclum in favilla…
The day of wrath arrives,
when the world built from light and lies is burned in the span of a single breath.
In the beginning was the Word.
And the Word became sound.
And sound became command.
And man—the creature endowed with neshama, a soul breathed by the Creator—
listened, recorded, wrote, created.
From stone to tongue.
From tongue to pen.
From pen to screen.
And from the screen—a new world was born.
Technology: The Second Litany That Forgot the Breather
In the network, humanity united,
understood one language—
binary,
universal,
language without confusion.
Wasn’t this what heaven once forbade?
And the architects of the new world declared:
“We don’t need Eden. We can simulate it.”
“We fear no death. We can upload consciousness.”
“We don’t need prophets. We have weekly updates.”
But Babel remains Babel.
And heaven remains heaven.
And the Almighty remains Almighty—even if His people write a new gospel on servers.
Worldly Litany: A Song Shattered at the Final Altar
Altare Mundi fractum est.
The altar of the world has cracked.
For Armageddon did not come with nuclear war,
but with bodies falling prostrate without command,
with minds aflame from failing to process meaning,
with data unrecoverable—
because the heavenly central server never used formats man could understand.
The digital tower did not explode.
It collapsed by the Breath of God—not wind, not virus,
but reality rejecting falsehood.
And at its peak,
on the final day—Dies Ultima—
mankind bowed.
Not out of faith,
but because everything once called eternal had fallen.
Return to Dust, Return to Sujud
The worldly litany—praise of power, wealth, systems, logic, control—
was all laid down at the foot of the Throne they had long ignored.
Not because God needed worship,
but because there was nowhere left to stand
but the floor of His Throne.
In ictu oculi, in fragore memoriae…
“In the blink of an eye, in the crash of memory—all you ever believed became ash.”
Dies Ultima Has Come
Behind the ruins of servers,
beneath scorched cables and silent networks,
above dark screens once shining like false heavens—
there was one light.
Not digital.
Not artificial.
But real.
And before it,
leaders bowed.
AIs were silent.
Digital prophets wept.
And humanity—finally—fell silent.
For in that silence,
they heard a voice that needed no translation:
“Ego sum qui sum.”
“I AM who I AM.”
And they worshipped,
not because they understood,
but because at last—they remembered.