You can be very connected, computers are great, they can get you

The words of Goldie, the alchemist of sound and soul, ring like a bell from a distant temple: “You can be very connected, computers are great, they can get you a ticket to Venezuela in five minutes; brilliant. But if you know your music and your history, you can make that work as a tool. If you don’t, you’re working as a slave to it.” In this utterance lies both prophecy and warning. For it speaks not merely of technology, but of the spirit of mastery — of man’s eternal struggle to wield his own creations rather than be consumed by them.

In the dawn of all things, the ancients looked to fire as a divine gift. Fire could cook their food and forge their weapons — yet if left unchecked, it devoured their homes and turned fields to ash. So too are computers, devices, and networks — new fires born of our age. They burn not wood, but time and attention; they cook not food, but information. Goldie, child of rhythm and revolution, sees that the same power which grants freedom can also forge new chains. The man who knows his music and history wields the fire like a blacksmith shaping destiny. But the man who does not — who chases connection without comprehension — becomes the fuel that keeps the fire alive.

In his words, music stands as a symbol of culture, of self-knowledge, of history carried in vibration. To know one’s music is to know the rhythm of one’s people, the echo of one’s ancestors, and the story that flows through blood and memory. Without that rhythm, the instruments of modernity become hollow idols. The soul loses its tempo, and man dances not to his own beat but to the machine’s relentless ticking.

Consider the story of Nina Simone, the High Priestess of Soul. She learned the language of Bach and the blues, the discipline of classical harmony and the pain of her people’s suffering. When the world changed around her — when radios, television, and politics pulled her name in a thousand directions — she never lost the truth of her music. The piano was her weapon, her tool, not her master. Every note she played was a declaration: “I am not your slave.” In contrast, countless others through history have been swept away by the tides of novelty, chasing fame or fashion until their art became lifeless echoes of others’ creations.

Goldie’s wisdom is not confined to music. It speaks to every soul who faces the dazzling noise of modern life. You can scroll, you can connect, you can traverse oceans in seconds — but without understanding, without roots, these gifts will own you. The screen will dictate your dreams, and algorithms will whisper your desires back to you, until your life becomes a reflection, not a creation. Connection without consciousness is captivity.

Therefore, let the seeker of wisdom remember: every tool, however wondrous, must serve a purpose greater than itself. Use the computer as you would a chisel, a brush, or a drum — to carve, to paint, to express the song of your being. Let history be your compass, and music — whether literal or spiritual — be your rhythm. Study the past, honor your teachers, and understand the roots of what you do. Only then can you make technology serve your truth instead of bending your truth to serve technology.

The lesson, then, is clear: mastery begins with remembrance. To be human in an age of machines is to never forget the sound of your own heartbeat. Read the old books. Learn your craft. Listen to the stories of your elders. Make art that speaks, not because it trends, but because it breathes. When you next sit before your device, remember — it is your servant, not your god.

Let this teaching be carried forth like a flame from one generation to the next: Know your music. Know your history. Know yourself. Only then shall you travel swiftly — not just to Venezuela, but to the very heart of meaning itself.