With faster Internet and better computers, you'd better believe

In the ever-turning wheel of time, there comes a moment when the rhythm of human creation surpasses the pace of nature itself. Such a time is ours. When Peter Diamandis declared, “With faster Internet and better computers, you'd better believe we're creating and consuming more digital data,” he spoke not only of the machines that hum in our homes and cities, but of a new fire mankind has kindled—one made not of flame, but of information. This is the age where thought travels at the speed of light, and the world’s memory grows faster than its heartbeat.

In the days of old, a story, once told, would fade like the smoke of a campfire, leaving only echoes in the hearts of those who heard it. Now, every whisper, every heartbeat, every image of joy or sorrow is captured, copied, and cast into the boundless sea of digital data. The rivers of information swell beyond the imagination of kings or prophets. Every human hand that touches a screen adds to the great ocean of creation—an ocean that never sleeps, and never forgets.

Think of the first scribes of Mesopotamia, pressing symbols into clay. Each mark was labor, each message a treasure. They could not dream that one day, a child’s idle thought—typed in haste—would be seen by millions in a heartbeat. And yet, that is our reality. The faster Internet and the better computers that bind us together have made every soul both author and audience. Humanity has woven a web of light across the earth, connecting every heart that dares to speak. This is both a wonder and a warning.

Consider the story of Johannes Gutenberg, who in the fifteenth century birthed the printing press. With his invention, knowledge broke its chains. Books that once took months to copy by hand could now be made in days. The world was forever changed. Ideas spread like wildfire, kingdoms trembled, and revolutions were born. Today, the Internet is our printing press multiplied a thousandfold—its reach vaster, its impact swifter, its voice louder. But remember: fire, if uncontrolled, consumes. The same power that enlightens can also overwhelm.

So we must ask: what do we do with this torrent of data? Shall we be its masters or its servants? The ancients warned that abundance without wisdom leads to ruin. In our haste to create and consume, we risk forgetting to understand. Each image, each word, each byte we forge is a reflection of ourselves. If we fill the digital sky with noise, confusion, and vanity, we darken our collective soul. But if we fill it with truth, art, and compassion, we build a cathedral of human spirit that will outshine the stars.

The wise will not reject this age of speed—they will learn to harness it. They will not flee from the storm of information, but will learn to navigate it, as sailors once learned the constellations. To live wisely in this time, one must practice discernment: to know when to speak and when to listen, what to share and what to guard. For though the Internet is vast, your attention is sacred. Guard it as the ancients guarded fire.

Thus, let this teaching be your compass: embrace the tools of creation, but remember they are only as noble as the hands that wield them. Create not for noise, but for meaning. Consume not for distraction, but for understanding. Let your digital footprints be like stars—bright, purposeful, enduring. For the age of data is not the end of humanity, but a new beginning for those who see its power with clear eyes and humble hearts.

And so, to you who live in this time of infinite connection, remember this: every moment you spend online is a stroke in the mural of human destiny. Paint wisely. For one day, those who come after will gaze upon this mural and ask—not how fast our Internet was, nor how powerful our computers—but what we did with them, and whether our creations made the world a place of light or of shadow.