I'm very good with technology, I always have been, and with

Hear the words of Brian Eno: “I’m very good with technology, I always have been, and with machines in general. They seem not threatening like other people find them, but a source of fun and amusement.” At first glance, these words may seem lighthearted, but in truth, they reveal a deeper wisdom about the way we choose to see the world. For where many look upon machines with suspicion, fear, or resentment, Eno sees them as companions, as instruments of play, as tools that extend creativity rather than diminish it. His vision transforms cold metal into warm possibility.

From the beginning of civilization, humanity has stood in awe and fear of its own inventions. Fire was once seen as both gift and curse, a power that could warm the hearth or consume a village. The loom and the wheel stirred suspicion among those who clung to the old ways. Even in our age, technology is often portrayed as monstrous, a rival to human worth. Yet Eno reminds us of another path: to approach machines not as overlords, but as partners in creation, as sources of wonder that can expand what the human hand and mind can do alone.

History offers us examples of this outlook. Consider Leonardo da Vinci, who looked upon gears, pulleys, and levers not with dread, but with delight. To him, they were not threatening, but the keys to unlocking human imagination. His sketches of flying machines, bridges, and musical instruments were not born of fear but of curiosity, of the joy of exploring what might be possible. Like Eno centuries later, Leonardo saw technology as playful, as the meeting ground of art and science, as the birthplace of beauty.

The fear of machines often arises when people see them only as replacements—taking jobs, removing human touch, or intruding into life’s rhythms. But Eno’s words are a call to shift perspective. When viewed with patience, with imagination, and with openness, these tools can become brushes in the artist’s hand, strings upon which the musician plays, canvases upon which the dreamer paints. To him, technology is not the enemy of the soul, but another language for expressing it.

This way of seeing carries a lesson for us all: much of life depends on the spirit with which we approach it. If we greet the new with suspicion, we will see only danger. But if we greet it with curiosity, we may uncover fun, amusement, and even revelation. Eno’s art itself—his pioneering of ambient music, his use of synthesizers and recording tools—emerged not from resisting the machine, but from embracing it as a co-creator. In this, he demonstrates the ancient truth: it is not the tool that defines us, but the way we choose to wield it.

Let us, then, learn to stand as Eno does, not cowering before technology, nor worshipping it blindly, but engaging it with play, with imagination, with courage. See in it not the loss of humanity, but the extension of it. Just as the bow gave voice to the string, just as the chisel revealed the form hidden in stone, so too do machines today open doors to new forms of beauty and understanding.

Practical wisdom flows from this teaching. Approach each new tool with curiosity instead of fear. Experiment, play, and discover what creative doors it may open. Do not let the weight of public suspicion blind you to the possibilities hidden in the wires and circuits around you. And above all, remember that no machine is greater than the human spirit that guides it. They are servants, not masters—sources of joy, not prisons of fear.

Thus, let Eno’s words be remembered: machines are not monsters, but mirrors. In them we see not only the reflection of our fears, but also the endless horizon of our imagination. If we choose to approach them with openness, they cease to be threatening and instead become companions of wonder, guides toward a world where creativity knows no bounds.