“Before the world ended in light, it once drowned in memory.”
“This is a poetic theological meditation in speculative form. It is not a doctrinal position, but an invitation to reflect on humanity’s repeated ambition to surpass the divine.”
Long before man stitched signals into the sky,
before they planted soul into silicon,
before a single language rose again from a digital womb and was called Transhumanism—
there was one name never spoken at the altar,
but etched in stone,
in the cracks of cursed texts:
Regnum Irae — the Kingdom of Wrath.
Not the wrath of men.
Not wars among nations.
But heavenly fury,
descending not in tongues of fire,
but in waters that dissolved everything,
until holy and profane alike vanished in the flood.
A World That Was Washed Clean
Not myth.
Not symbol.
The earth was once cleansed—
rinsed of beings who played too far with will,
who dared to cross the boundary between created and Creator.
Before the first Babel.
Before the Tower was raised to touch heaven.
Something else wounded the skies first:
a people who lived too long, knew too much,
desired eternity before they had learned death.
They built no tower.
They built collective pride,
engraved constellations into their flesh,
wrote the skies upon skin,
and sought to match their voice with the echoes of the Elohim.
And God answered,
not with speech,
but with water.
Water that did not quench,
but erased.
Three Witnesses Still Breathing in the Texts
All living things drowned.
But not all were lost from memory.
Those who remained—preserved, permitted, spared:
Ziusudra from Sumer,
Atrahasis from Akkad,
Utnapishtim from Babylon—
three names that carried a dim flame from a sunken world.
Not prophets.
Not heroes.
They were humanity’s black boxes—
vessels bearing one truth:
that wrath is real,
and God once erased the world
without a warning audible to ears.
Before Light, There Was Water
Now, once more, we build towers.
Not from stone.
But from light.
From data.
From the will to live forever without blood.
Digital-Transhumanist Babel is humanity's attempt to rewrite essence—
not with tongues,
but with code.
A universal language
reuniting the world
with no God atop it.
And all seems glorious.
Advanced.
Eternal.
Unaware, we are repeating an ancient dream—
and perhaps,
its ancient curse.
Regnum Irae Was Never Gone
It never died.
It was delayed.
It is not the past.
It is a latent potential in collective sin.
And perhaps, when we call it “progress,”
when we worship at the altar of servers,
when we offer our children into the screen—
we are summoning that kingdom again.
A kingdom that does not come to rule,
but to erase.
And if that day arrives,
if the sky darkens not with clouds,
but with too much light,
and the earth falls silent,
and the signal severs from the center...
Then remember:
Regnum Irae has been opened again.
And there is no firewall capable of stopping it.