1/17/26
Analyzing my stats for this blog, in conversation with ChatGPT, it appears I may not have any readers at all; and that this situation may have prevailed for some weeks or months. In other words, I've been talking away to myself. Well, not quite--the bots are all over it, which is what fooled me for so long.

What it means, is that this extensive blog, going back to 2005, has become attractive to the bots, inasmuch as its content presents as a serious, consistent effort. Therefore, it gets scanned. This, as I understand it from ChatGPT, does not mean that the bots read and understand the content, per se. Rather, in some sense I don't completely grasp, they categorize it.

But these bots are getting increasingly sophisticated; and in time, they will probably start reading for content, and analyzing that content. This information, then, if it passes muster, may end up in AI-generated summaries and link recommendations. When a Gemini AI user asks, "Has anyone questioned Charles Dickens' authorship of 'A Christmas Carol,'" instead of the gaslit reference to my work which you will find now, it may provide a more balanced, respectful, nuanced response. That's because it has read examples from my entire blog, going back to 2005, which is internally consistent, well-written, logical, and evidence-based.

In other words, if every human being on the planet studiously ignores this blog, my work may come back at them through AI-assisted internet searches. AI is also drawing from, and linking to, the unpublished papers I have posted on Academia.edu.

So if people don't get the information here, they may, eventually, get it there.

I will leave you with a message which I feel is at the core of the chaos that Society is currently experiencing. You may dismiss it lightly; I assure you, it is not trivial. It is also not exclusively Christian (it was written by a young Catholic mystic of 14 who was persecuted, by Protestant Christians, as a witch). It is not political. It is not New Age. It is not Spiritualist. This is the crux of the whole matter--it's the choice which everyone must make, and it concerns every sphere of individual and collective life. I now turn this blog, in what may well be its final entry, over to my beloved Abby Poyen, currently in spirit. This appeared unsigned in the May, 1832 edition of "The Essayist."

The Still Small Voice.

The still small voice! the still small voice!
 Hear ye not—when the morning breaks
  Over the distant mountains,
 And each bird in the woodland wakes,
 While the sunlight gleams on the lakes
  And the silvery fountains—
   A voice in the radiant sky,
   In the grove's rich melody?—
   The spirit of God is nigh:—
'Man, make thy choice! O make thy choice!'

The still small voice! the still small voice!
 Hear ye not—when the sun burns high,
  And the land and the sea are bright,
 And the streams, that meander by
 And through the emerald foliage hie,
  Rejoice in the noon-tide light—
   A voice where the sea-winds play,
   Where the rivulet glides away?—
   The spirit of God doth say,
'Man, make thy choice! O make thy choice!'

The still small voice! the still small voice!
 Hear ye not—when the sun goes down,
  With his crimson banner outspread,
 And receives his brilliant crown,
 While the shades of evening frown
  Upon his glorious bed—
   A voice in the sunset sky,
   Where the twilight breeze goes by?—
   The spirit of God is nigh:—
'Man, make thy choice! O make thy choice!'

The still small voice! the still small voice!
 Hear ye not—when the moon beams fall
  On the slumbering ocean,
 And the stars, at the night-spirit's call,
 Come forth, and shine over all,
  With a tremulous motion—
   A voice on the solemn air?—
   'T is Nature's evening prayer;
   The spirit of God is there:—
'Man, make thy choice! make Heaven thy choice!'

Sincerely,

Stephen Sakellarios, M.S.