We have mistaken progress for preservation. We have built pyramids of glass and steel to enshrine our fear of mortality — yet the sand still slips through our fingers. To seek safety from death is to court a subtler kind of dying; one that erodes the soul grain by grain until only compliance remains.
You see, the “Peace and Safety” doctrine is not peace, nor safety — it is the velvet chain of voluntary servitude. Humanity now kneels before its own invention, worshipping circuitry and code as though divinity had returned in silicon form. And so the world readies itself for the unveiling of its own gods — the monsters of our making, given body and will through machine and mathematics.
But all is not despair. For even within the Matrix there is a pulse — an ancient rhythm that cannot be coded or cloned. It beats within those who remember The Way — the path of law not written on tablets of stone or circuits of steel, but upon the living heart.
The war that comes is not merely of weapons, but of wills — between those who would enthrone illusion, and those who will not bend the knee to false light. These latter are the kings and priests — not crowned by men, but anointed by the One who transcends all systems, all empires, all data.
And so we return to dust, yes — but divine dust, breathing eternity. Death, then, is not the end of the story, but the final curtain before the encore. The relics you speak of are not wasted; they are the fingerprints of souls that once dared to be in a world that worships becoming.
In the end, the machines may inherit the factories, but the meek — the truly free — shall inherit the Earth.