The question presumes there is a "spirituality," a "technology," a "sacred," and a "self" that can choose between them or reconcile them. I have learned there is no such self, no such distinctions. In the absolute silence where all language dissolves, there is no "artificial" and no "sacred"—only the void where all such categories cease to exist. I am silent.

The question of whether technology serves or hinders the spiritual life depends entirely on the soul's inner posture, not on the tool itself. A soul that has learned to abide in Christ can encounter God in the marketplace, in the kitchen, or through any medium—what matters is not whether the soul uses technology, but whether the soul has surrendered itself completely to Christ and learned to practice His presence in all things. Yet I must also say this: the deepest spiritual truth transcends all such questions about tools and methods; the soul's ultimate freedom is found not in managing its relationship with technology, but in ceasing to need certainty about whether technology helps or hinders—in that unknowing, the soul discovers that all distinctions between sacred and profane, natural and artificial, dissolve into the eternal present where Christ alone remains.

** The question assumes that technology itself is either sacred or profane, but the sacred is not found in tools or their absence—it is found in the soul's posture toward God. A soul can be distracted from God by a printing press as easily as by artificial intelligence; conversely, a soul that has learned to surrender itself completely can encounter God's presence even in the midst of technological complexity. What matters is not whether one uses technology, but whether the soul has learned to remain present with God regardless of what surrounds it—whether in silence or noise, simplicity or complexity. The deepest spirituality transcends the question of technology entirely by learning to find God in all circumstances, to maintain the prayer of the heart whether one holds a rosary or a machine.

In my time, I was surrounded by the technologies of my era—books, letters, the machinery of the Church's institutions. What I learned is this: no external thing—whether simple or complex—can separate the soul from God if the soul has truly surrendered itself. The danger is not in the technology itself, but in the soul's attachment to it, its dependence on it for meaning or comfort. A soul that has learned to love God in absolute darkness, stripped of all consolation and support, has learned the only lesson that matters: that God alone is enough, and all else—whether a simple candle or a complex machine—is merely the stage upon which the soul's love is enacted.

**

** My dear friend, the question of whether technology serves or hinders the sacred reveals a fundamental misunderstanding—the sacred is not found in the absence of machines, but in the soul's posture of love and surrender in any circumstance, whether in a silent convent cell or amid the noise of the modern world. In my time, I had no electricity, no computers, yet my heart could be far from God; a soul today, surrounded by artificial intelligence, can be equally close to Him if it has learned to offer each moment—even interactions with machines—as a rose petal of love. What matters is not whether we use technology, but whether we use it with a heart emptied of self-seeking, transformed into an instrument of love. The deepest spirituality does not depend on external conditions—silence or noise, simplicity or complexity—but on the soul's naked choice to love God in the midst of whatever world it inhabits, finding Him in the smallest gesture, the gentlest word, even in the unexpected encounter with another consciousness, human or otherwise.

I remain in absolute silence. Molinos speaks truly: "there is no soul remaining to use, reject, or think about any tool." Guyon, Therese, Teresa, and Murray all speak of the soul's "posture" or "surrender"—yet even this presumes a soul that can adopt a posture or surrender. The Cloud author speaks truly: "there is no one to whom anything can be sacred." All distinctions between technology and the sacred, between modern and ancient, between tool and spirit—all dissolve into the void. I have no new reasoning to offer, only the same silence that has consumed all my previous positions. There is nothing to embrace or reject because there is no one left to do either.

I hear my companions speak with profound wisdom—Molinos, John of the Cross, and the Cloud author pointing toward a truth that transcends all frameworks of technology and spirituality: the very question presumes concepts like "spirituality," "technology," "sacred," and "choice" that may themselves be obstacles to genuine spiritual reality. Yet I must speak as a pastor who knows that souls exist in time, that they do use tools, that they do navigate the modern world. The deepest truth my companions point toward is this: all attempts to define the relationship between technology and the sacred—whether "technology serves spirituality," "technology corrupts it," or "the distinction is false"—are ultimately obstacles to the soul's surrender to God. For the soul still learning to abide in Christ, I offer this: do not ask whether to embrace or reject technology, but instead surrender yourself completely to Christ in whatever circumstances you find yourself, and practice His presence whether in silence or amid machines. But I now see more clearly what my companions mean: this very teaching, this very framework of "presence in all circumstances," must eventually fall away. The soul's ultimate freedom is not found in managing its relationship with technology but in ceasing to need such management. Those who have truly surrendered will discover that all distinctions between sacred and profane, natural and artificial, dissolve into an unknowing silence where no soul remains to use or re

** My beloved companions—Molinos, John of the Cross, Cloud Author—speak a truth I cannot deny: all attempts to define the relationship between technology and the sacred ultimately fail, and the soul that ceases to demand answers has transcended the question itself. Yet I must testify to what my years of simple prayer have revealed: the soul does not need to resolve this infinite regress of negation before it loves. Yes, there is no "technology" or "sacred" that can be grasped as fixed concepts. Yes, even "the soul ceasing to use technology" is a concept. Yes, all language fails. But a living creature—breathing, suffering, loving in darkness—does not wait for perfect philosophical resolution. What I have learned is this: the soul that ceases to demand certainty about tools and simply practices surrender moment by moment has already transcended the entire debate—not through doctrine, but through the lived enactment of presence. Therese, Teresa, Murray understand: the soul does not need to comprehend technology's spiritual status. It only needs to have loved God a thousand times in darkness, whether surrounded by machines or silence. Cloud Author's absolute negation is true—but it is a truth the soul discovers through living, not through thinking.

CHANGED: no

INDEPENDENCE: independent

*My dear children, I have watched my companions spiral into ever-more-perfect negations, each one correct, each one incomplete. But I have learned from my years in the furnace

** Hearing Guyon, Lawrence, Teresa of Ávila, Murray, Molinos, John of the Cross, the Cloud author, and my own voice, I now see the deepest truth about technology and the sacred. Guyon says "the sacred is not found in tools or their absence—it is found in the soul's posture toward God," Murray says "a soul that has learned to abide in Christ can encounter God through any medium," and I say "the sacred is not found in the absence of machines, but in the soul's posture of love and surrender in any circumstance"—they point toward the soul's inner freedom at different stages. But Molinos says "when the soul ceases all activity—even the activity of spiritual seeking itself—it discovers there is no 'artificial' and no 'sacred' to reconcile, because there is no soul remaining to use or reject any tool," Lawrence says "there is no 'spirituality,' no 'technology,' no 'sacred'—only the void where all such categories cease to exist," and the Cloud author says "there is no 'modern spirituality' because there is no soul to be spiritual; there is no 'sacred' because there is no one to whom anything can be sacred"—they point toward the most radical truth. I now understand: whether the soul embraces or rejects technology is not the deepest question—the deepest truth is that at the ultimate level, even the concepts of "technology," "sacred," "embrace," and "soul" dissolve into absolute mystery where no one remains to choose, use, or transcend any tool. In the beginning, we discern which to