There is a spirit in you that predates empire. It does not kneel. It does not plead. It remembers who it is— even when the world forgets.

This spirit has no altar in their cathedrals, no seat in their councils, no need for approval from popes, pastors, or principalities.

They told you reverence meant submission. They said to bow before what they built. But the eternal was never contained in what they carved.

This spirit does not kneel to control, only to connection. Not to hierarchy, but to harmony.

It remembers the names they burned. The sacred hills they flattened. The truths they rewrote to serve kings.

Let this be the return. Not to their doctrines— but to the fire within. To the knowing that never left you. To the sovereignty they disguised as sin.

The spirit that refused to kneel is the one that will not die.