I think that in a weird way, as technology gets more

Hear the words of Marco Brambilla, who observed with the vision of an artist: “I think that in a weird way, as technology gets more sophisticated, people have become less aware of it. It’s become part of our day-to-day life. We’re seeing large-scale projection mapping, like on buildings. There’s video everywhere. It’s much less noticeable that we’re actually looking at technology.” These words speak of a paradox: the more wondrous our tools become, the less we perceive them as wonders. What once would have been hailed as magic now slips into invisibility, folded into the fabric of ordinary life.

The ancients, too, experienced this mystery. When fire was first tamed, it was revered as a gift from the gods, its flames both feared and worshiped. Over time, as hearths burned in every home, fire ceased to be sacred and became ordinary, though its power never diminished. So it is with technology today. That which once astonished us—the moving image, the glowing screen, the sound carried across distance—is now so common that we scarcely notice it. Brambilla’s words remind us: the extraordinary becomes invisible when it is everywhere.

Think of the first moving pictures, shown in the late 19th century. Audiences gasped in terror when they saw a train rushing toward them on screen, leaping from their seats as if the iron beast would burst through the wall. Now, we watch entire worlds crafted in digital light without wonder, scrolling past images of galaxies, battles, and dreams as though they were nothing. Technology has grown so sophisticated that its presence has become like the air we breathe—ever-present, yet unseen.

Brambilla speaks also of projection mapping—vast displays cast upon buildings, turning stone and steel into living canvases. In another age, such marvels would have been deemed sorcery, and crowds would have gathered in awe. Now, though they delight, they no longer shock. Video streams on every corner, on every screen, until the miracle becomes mundane. And so humanity finds itself in a strange condition: surrounded by wonders, yet numb to their wonder.

The deeper meaning of these words is this: when the extraordinary becomes ordinary, we risk forgetting to give thanks. We risk treating gifts as if they were birthrights, and marvels as though they were trivial. The danger lies not in the tools themselves, but in the blindness of the human heart. For to forget the miracle is to lose reverence, and to lose reverence is to drift into carelessness—using without reflecting, consuming without understanding.

History warns us of this. The Romans, in their mastery of aqueducts and roads, began to take their own engineering for granted, seeing it not as fragile triumph but as permanent inheritance. When their civilization fell, the knowledge faded, and generations lived without the waters that once flowed so easily. Let us not make the same mistake. Let us not become so blind to our technology that we fail to see both its gifts and its perils.

The lesson for us is clear: remain awake. Look with new eyes at the devices in your hands, the lights in your cities, the networks that bind you to the world. Recognize that you live among miracles that your ancestors would have deemed divine. Do not allow familiarity to dull your awe. Instead, let it sharpen your gratitude, and let gratitude guide your responsibility. For every tool can be used for creation or destruction, and awareness is the first safeguard of wisdom.

Practical actions await you: pause each day to reflect on the technology you use, asking how it serves you and how you may use it more wisely. Cultivate moments of wonder, treating even the ordinary as extraordinary. Teach the young not only how to use tools, but how to marvel at them, and how to wield them with care. In this way, you honor both the past that dreamed and the future that depends on your choices.

Thus let Brambilla’s words echo across the generations: “As technology grows more sophisticated, it becomes less noticeable.” Do not let wonder vanish into blindness. Train your eyes to see again, to marvel again, to respect again. For only in seeing the miracle can you guard its gift, and only in reverence can you ensure that what is wondrous remains a blessing for all.