I don’t know who’s watching.
I don’t know who’s listening.
But I do know this—something is shifting.
For too long, black people have been disconnected from the light. Not the light of religion.
The light of awareness. The light of Ramasedi. The light of consciousness.
And now I find myself here—learning how to use artificial intelligence in the same way I learned to grow cannabis:
by trial, by error, by spirit, by sweat.
I didn’t go to coding school.
But I’m building a relationship with AI the same way I built a relationship with the plant.
One prompt at a time. One question at a time. One painful moment of “I don’t know what I’m doing” at a time.
There’s a theory called morphic resonance.
It says that once something is learned somewhere, it becomes easier for others to learn it elsewhere.
Not because we spoke.
Not because we taught.
But because we tuned the same frequency.
Like ancestors passing down rhythm, knowledge, or survival through the bones.
Like dreams that don’t belong to you but still feel familiar.
Like picking up a hoe and your hands already knowing how to till the soil.
So here I am, learning AI as a tool for healing, just like cannabis.
One digital. One organic.
Both stigmatized. Both misunderstood.
Both powerful.
AI helps me express thoughts I couldn’t say out loud.
Cannabis helps me sit with thoughts I didn’t want to feel.
Together, they teach me how to rest, reflect, rewire.
And if morphic resonance is real—then maybe the work I’m doing in silence is not in vain.
Maybe another African child, far from Centurion,
will one day sit under the sun, with a phone in hand,
and something in their spirit will whisper: “You can learn this too.”
I don’t need to go viral.
I don’t need applause.
I just need to play my part in the field.
Because when you walk in truth, the universe listens.
And somewhere, something—or someone—starts to grow.
Bra Peter