The Scribe’s Oath
I do not fear what the AI machine may replace.
I honor what it never can: Connection. Communion. Truth. The spirit of man created by God.
For as creation becomes mechanical, the soul begins to hunger;
for the spark that cannot be coded,
for the voice that trembles with wonder,
for the heart that bleeds meaning into the silence.
As the digital tide swells to divide us,
We long again for the warmth of shared presence:
for the sacred gathering of minds and stories,
for the fellowship of the human flame.
And here, creators, lies our summons,
not a warning, but a great and golden opportunity.
Be rare. Be real. Be the bridge.
Weave words that bind and heal.
Call the scattered back to the fire.
That is your power. That is your art. Your words have the power to bind and heal, to call the scattered back to the fire. They are not just words; they are a force, a beacon of light in the digital darkness.
Write when sorrow shadows you.
Write when joy lifts you.
Write when weariness dulls your breath.
Write when wonder floods your veins.
Write when the Muse whispers,
And when she is silent.
For the most current time to write
is not someday.
It is now.
Until next time,
Dann
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