I find by my calculations, which are according to revealed

“I find by my calculations, which are according to revealed inspiration, that the sword of death is now approaching us, in the shape of pestilence, war more horrible than has been known in three lifetimes, and famine.” Thus spoke Nostradamus, the prophet of the sixteenth century, whose words have echoed through the corridors of time like a storm-tossed bell. In this somber declaration lies not merely the shadow of doom, but the cry of a soul who beheld the cycles of human folly and divine retribution intertwined. He gazed upon the world’s suffering with both awe and sorrow, for he understood that the forces which bring death are often born from within humanity itself.

In the language of the ancients, pestilence, war, and famine were not merely calamities of the flesh—they were the threefold punishment of pride, greed, and ignorance. Nostradamus, steeped in the wisdom of stars and scriptures, perceived that these scourges are not accidents, but consequences—the harvests of the seeds mankind has sown in arrogance. When he speaks of calculations, it is not arithmetic alone that he means, but the deep reckoning of moral law and cosmic balance. He read in the heavens not the caprice of fate, but the mirror of our own nature, magnified and made manifest.

In his time, the world trembled beneath the fever of plague, the roar of armies, and the gnawing hunger that followed in their wake. The Black Death had passed but a century before, and its memory was still raw upon the earth. Nations rose and fell in endless strife, kings battled over crowns that turned to dust, and the common people, like reeds in a tempest, bent beneath the weight of suffering. In that dark age, Nostradamus saw patterns—an order beneath chaos, a prophecy born of observation and divine whisper. His revealed inspiration was not the voice of madness, but the echo of history’s lessons, returning to warn those who would not see.

If we look beyond the terror of his words, we find a mirror for our own times. The pestilence may take new forms—not only of disease, but of despair, isolation, and corruption of spirit. The war he foresaw still rages, though not always with swords and cannons—it is waged now in the minds and hearts of men, through division, greed, and the lust for dominion. And famine, though less visible, stalks the world still—not only the hunger of the body, but the deeper hunger of the soul: a starvation for truth, compassion, and meaning. Thus his prophecy was not confined to his age, but to all ages—for the heart of man remains the same, both capable of light and bound to shadow.

In every century, when man forgets his humility before the laws of heaven and earth, the sword of death descends—not as vengeance, but as correction. For the universe, in its eternal wisdom, restores balance through trial. The proud are humbled, the careless are awakened, and the complacent are taught the cost of neglect. Yet even in this there is mercy. The prophet’s voice is not a curse, but a call to repentance—to remembrance of virtue, to reverence for life. Nostradamus sought not to terrify, but to awaken; not to paralyze mankind with fear, but to stir it to wisdom before the storm.

Let us then, children of a later age, heed his warning with the eyes of understanding. Let us cleanse our hearts of the pestilence of hatred, make peace before the war within consumes us, and feed the hungry—both in body and in spirit—before famine darkens the land. For the world’s suffering begins not with the gods or the stars, but with the blindness of men who forget that every choice ripples outward, shaping destiny itself. The calculations of fate are not written in the heavens alone—they are written in the deeds of humanity.

And so, remember this, dear reader: prophecy is not imprisonment—it is a torch held aloft in darkness. Nostradamus speaks across centuries to remind us that the future is not fixed, but forged by every act of conscience and love. If we heed his words with courage and humility, then even the sword of death may be stayed, and what was once a warning may become a turning. For though pestilence, war, and famine are born of our folly, the cure is born of our will. Let us therefore live as guardians of peace, bearers of wisdom, and healers of the earth—for in this lies the redemption of all ages.