There are encounters that cannot be explained: they are simply meant to be.
Such was Émile Volel – a rare musician, a one-man band, a gentleman from another time – whose presence left a kind of sonic fragrance in the air, as if each gesture was already a note in the making.
He played with such ease that even the instruments seemed to straighten up to listen to him better. And yet, despite his genius, he had a very simple problem: technology was advancing faster than his heart could keep up.
One day, he bought a new Yamaha keyboard, a state-of-the-art model, packed with features, sound banks, and electronic marvels. But then:
The trombone sounded off-key, the harmonica sounded hollow — as if the machine was imitating without understanding.
The old keyboard, however, had those two voices.
So he sold it back to me for $800, in order to finance his new jewel at
5 000 dollars.
And every weekend, every dance party, every celebration where he was supposed to get bodies and hearts pumping, he would call me:
– Frantz, my brother, lend me your keyboard… just for the trombone and the harmonica.
I unwittingly became the official deliveryman of his inspiration.
I said to him one day, laughing:
– My friend, you should pay me a commission on every night! I work just as much as you do.
But behind this joke lay a profound truth: The machine can imitate everything—except sensibility.
Long before the age of Artificial Intelligence, I had a dog at home – a cross between a Doberman and another breed – black, long-limbed, elegant like a silent dancer.
I had raised him according to the principles of my spiritual guide:
“You have no right to force meat on an animal that depends on you.”
Thus, the dog became a vegetarian.
And yet, if a rat or a chicken happened to pass by… nature would reclaim its rights.
Because instinct cannot be programmed – it is experienced.
But this dog had something else. A sensitivity. An inner vibration.
A soul that seemed to have already known music.
Every time I played the harmonica – the real one, not the electronic kind – he would start singing.
Not a howl of pain, as my wife believed. No: a song.
A long, modulated breath, almost precise, almost human.
So I tried an experiment:
I played the same melodies, but this time using the “harmonica” function of the electronic keyboard. Nothing. Not a tremor. Not a flutter of an ear. Not a spark.
But as soon as I picked up the real harmonica again, the dog got up, raised its head, and sang.
That day, I understood something that even the most brilliant engineers have not yet grasped:
The machine reproduces the sound; the animal recognizes the soul.
Proof through experience
One day at work, I told this story.
They laughed in my face.
So I asked my daughter to play the harmonica at home.
The dog sang.
The colleagues were stunned.
The truth was simple: You can repress your nature, but it always comes galloping back.
+ AI, on the other hand, doesn’t come from nowhere.
Artificial intelligence can analyze, calculate, imitate, recompose, predict.
She can even write texts, summarize books, compose melodies.
But she possesses neither instinct, nor vibration, nor soul memory.
She doesn’t tremble in front of a harmonica.
She does not recognize joy in a scream.
She doesn’t know what singing means.
It can only simulate.
And that’s perfectly fine.
Because it reminds us that, despite our mistakes, our clumsiness, our contradictions, we are alive.
So yes, Frantz, you’re right: let’s applaud ourselves.
Let’s applaud sensitivity,
Instinct, soul, inner music.
Let us applaud what the machine will never be able to code.
let me be the first to react with a commentary with the original story about the Dog musician, for you to appreciate AI 🤖 better , per her reformulating of the story.
The situation reached a point where I felt as though I had signed up for a permanent subscription to his services.
Jokingly, I said to him one day: “My dear friend, you really ought to pay me a commission on every dance party you host!
After all, he was putting me to work—making me haul around that heavy keyboard!”
Why do I draw this parallel with Artificial Intelligence?
To demonstrate that an animal possesses capabilities that AI lacks: namely, sensitivity.
I once had a dog at home—a cross between a Doberman and another breed—but he was a magnificent animal: sleek and black, with a rather lithe, slender build. I fed this dog exactly as I fed myself; more precisely, I forbade anyone from giving him any meat-based food. My spiritual guide had taught me this: “You have no right to compel your parents, your friends, or anyone else to abstain from eating meat, for they possess the faculties of discernment and judgment.
Your dog, however, falls under your direct responsibility; therefore, you have no right to feed him meat or any other product of animal origin.” And, indeed, the dog became a vegetarian, adopting the exact same diet as my own.
And every member of the household respected my wishes.
That said, if a rat 🐀 or a chicken 🐓 happened to cross his path, things would end badly for them; all that would remain to be seen were the rat’s tail or the chicken’s feathers. This simply demonstrates that an animal is endowed with animal instincts—instincts that will undoubtedly remain unchanged until a future life, when they might be transformed through the power of our positive example. Much like our parents, who often speak well of us only after we have departed. I couldn’t say whether it was a direct consequence of that treatment, but this dog developed such sensitivity that it led me to believe he was the reincarnation of a musician.
To borrow an expression from my friend Émile Volel: I loved playing the harmonica, and every time I did, the dog would let out howls as if he were singing a song. My wife would then say to me: “Oh, don’t play that instrument! You’re making the dog suffer!”—unaware that this was, in reality, a manifestation of joy; that he was, in fact, a “musician-dog” whose very soul vibrated to the sound of the harmonica.
To understand Émile’s “problem,”
I attempted an experiment one day: I played those very same pieces—this time using the “harmonica” setting on my electronic keyboard—while sitting right next to the dog. He showed absolutely no reaction—nothing comparable to the response he gave when faced with the real harmonica. But the instant I picked up the “simple” harmonica again, he immediately began to “sing.”
One day, while I was at work, I recounted this anecdote to the staff, but they simply refused to believe me.
So, I asked my daughter to go and play the harmonica for the dog; he immediately began to “sing”—letting out a soft, gentle howl—and the staff members were delighted to discover that I had been telling them the truth.
All of this demonstrates that, even if one attempts to repress one’s true nature, it always ends up coming back in full force.
To console ourselves, let us tell ourselves that artificial intelligence can never truly replace humans; it is devoid of feelings—it is nothing more than a robot 🤖. In any case, let’s give a huge round of applause for us humans! 👏 👏 👏.
Frantz,
What I am discovering in my new life is that the majority of people cling to what they know, without realizing just how much it can limit them. There is often a resistance to exploring new things—new ways of thinking and new discoveries.
And yet, today there are so many tools, insights, and possibilities available to human beings to help them better understand life, to see things differently, and sometimes even to alleviate their suffering. But many remain trapped in a hellish routine—repetitive, almost mechanical.
Your book is, quite simply, a groundbreaking work that is slowly finding its way. I have also learned that good things—profound works and anything of true quality—take time to be fully recognized. But that does not matter, for we are in no rush: it is eternity that awaits us. Jean-Yves Hakime 🐛 🦋
Yes, when my grandson asks me, “How many books have you sold so far?”
I reply: “Not enough—yet. But I hope this work will gradually find its place. It could become your legacy; when the time comes—when I’m called away—and everyone suddenly rushes to get a copy, you’ll certainly have your hands full keeping up with the demand.”
There is an extraordinary episode of *God Friended Me* where, thanks to the author ✍️ of a famous book 📕, nearly 70 tenants and their families were spared from eviction from their apartment building. Private investors had wanted to purchase the building to convert it into a luxury hotel; however, because the book in question had been written within those very walls, the building had been designated a historical landmark—meaning no one could take possession of it under any pretext whatsoever.
That is Episode 13, mentioned above.
Thank you 🙏 for your kind words of appreciation.