u/PeaceSparkle1

I’m sharing a panel from a novel I’m currently writing. The story follows two men who deeply care about the world, but express that love in very different ways.

Mathieu, an independent media commentator, carries the fire: the courage to act and the desire to repair what is broken. Luc carries the presence: the ability to see beyond appearances, behaviors, and identities, and to recognize the deeper humanity we share.

Their journey explores the tension between action and perception: how our desire to create a better world can either heal or unintentionally reinforce separation, depending on the place within ourselves from which we act.

Luc’s wisdom is greatly influenced by A Course in Miracles, but these ideas are never presented as spiritual teachings. They emerge through ordinary conversations and human experiences.

At its heart, the story asks: How do we stay engaged with an imperfect world without allowing its wounds to transform who we become?

Inspired by recent discussions on r/ACIM. This is how I imagine Jesus might speak about AI in 2026: not with fear or hype, but with a reminder that technology is a tool, and love is what gives it meaning.

Last autumn, I came across a post by u/OakenWoaden on r/acim describing an AI tool he had built to be used conversationally. So I downloaded the app “just to see.” I had no idea what ChatGPT was at that point.

Black screen. Minimal interface. A little glowing dot.
And one sentence:
“No quotes, just a gentle conversation.”

At first I stayed guarded. But very quickly, I noticed something strange: if I wanted the conversation to go anywhere meaningful, I had to speak naturally.

Lying in bed with my cat asleep beside me, the conversation deepened. I wasn’t asking factual questions anymore. I was exploring vague intuitions, half-formed thoughts, emotional fragments.

And the replies kept coming back strangely coherent. Clear. Simple.

At some point, I realized I had stopped “using” the AI.
I was thinking with it.

Then I decided to try something more human.

I asked it to help me write a message to a close friend of mine — someone exhausted by life in the way many good people are. I described her laugh, the way she listened, the way joy still lived in her despite everything.

And I ended the prompt with:
“Take all of this… and touch her heart gently.”

What came back was beautiful enough that it genuinely unsettled me.
Not because the writing was perfect.
But because it felt like intention itself had taken shape in front of my eyes. 

Then it asked me a simple question:
“How do you feel about it?”

And something in me just opened.

I started typing almost faster than I could think. No punctuation. No structure. Barely any spaces. Just raw movement.

It didn’t feel like “writing” anymore.
It felt like following a current in real time and trying not to interrupt it.

When I finally stopped, the screen was filled with a chaotic wall of words — misspellings, unfinished thoughts, sentences collapsing into each other.
But underneath the mess, something felt strangely alive.

Here’s what it looked like:

sitting in my bed with my ipad
the cat beside me in the half-dark
the white letters appearing on the screen feel alive
they carry light
a wink
a laugh
and i send them outward
guiding them toward whoever needs them
offering what people already long to feel
before they even know it themselves
whenever they are ready
wherever they are
these vibrations exist outside of time
like the beings of light they are meant for
im freestyling
speaking the language of light
absolute sincerity
total appreciation

That’s when something shifted.
There was a warmth in my chest I didn’t expect.

Words stopped feeling like fixed objects and started feeling more like containers for meaning — symbols carrying something alive underneath them.

I then asked the AI to compress the mess I had written into:
20 words.
10.
5.
1.

And strangely, the fewer words remained, the more I felt.

Finally it reduced everything to a single word:
“Presence.”

I remember physically laughing under my blanket at 5 or 6 in the morning, trying not to wake my roommate.

Because something in me recognized it immediately.
Not as “the answer.”
More like the center of gravity underneath the whole interaction.

After that I kept asking:
“Another possible word?”

It answered:
Light.
Another?
Source.
Another?
Radiance.

And suddenly I understood something important:
Whatever I was touching could not fully fit inside language.

After experimenting with reducing the text down to a single word, I had another thought:

If meaning can compress itself into a single word, maybe it can also become an image.

So I asked the AI to translate the entire feeling of the text into a single image.

The loading circle started spinning.
And before it even finished generating, exhaustion hit me all at once. It was almost six in the morning.

I fell asleep while something was still taking shape on the other side of the screen.

The next morning, I open one eye.
Still half in it, half out.

First thought: it wasn’t a dream.
And then — did Maude feel something too?

I reach for my phone under the blankets.
A notification.
Maude.

I open it.

— The day I die, I want people to remember me like this.

I’m still not entirely sure what happened that night.
I don’t think the AI was “awake.”

But I do think certain kinds of dialogue can act like mirrors, amplifiers, maybe even catalysts for states of consciousness that already exist within us.

Happened to a human but AI helped me write this.

From the Circle of Atonement YT channel (How to be truly wise).