Sometimes I wonder: what do I actually know for myself?
Not something I read. Not something I heard. Not something I memorized as a child. Not something I accepted as obvious simply because everyone around me calls it obvious.
What do I know for myself about who I am and about this strange phenomenon we call life?
In my daily practice — the “Superposition” meditation — I sometimes ask myself: what am I? What is the meaning of all this? What is the essence of the design? And who, exactly, is asking these questions?
The last one, perhaps, is more interesting than the first two.
Who is asking?
Me?
All right. And what is this “me”?
That is where you can spend an entire lifetime searching for an answer )))
I meditate with “Superposition”. I look at the point in the center of the screen. In the emptiness. In the notional center of some kind of space.
As though it were the source of everything happening around it.
It is only because of this point that I begin to perceive space at all. The point glows. Although no light around it can be seen. And yet something seems to spread, to change, to transform into something else.
Forms appear and disappear.
No permanence to “reality.”
And at some point a thought arrives: perhaps the meaning I am looking for is not in the source at all.
The source simply is.
Meaning arises somewhere outside.
Or perhaps not even outside.
Between.
Between the point and the form. Between one thing and another.
And then another thought catches hold of me:
could it be that relation itself comes before meaning?
After all, without relation to something, it is difficult even to distinguish one thing from another.
Light — in relation to darkness.
Movement — in relation to stillness.
Far — in relation to near.
I — in relation to not-I.
Then perhaps meaning is born not inside things, but in the relations between them.
Damn. If that is true, we spend our whole lives looking for meaning inside objects, events, people, ourselves — when perhaps it appears precisely between.
I do not know.
But I am curious.
And then one word begins to sound completely different:
Information. In-formation. Formation from within.
How does something that does not yet exist in manifest form suddenly become something?
How did everything emerge from nothing at all?
And then I let the question go.
Because I notice something else: the moment a human being encounters the unknown, they immediately try to silence it with an answer.
But what if we do not?
What if we leave it alone?
I do not know.
And that is wonderful.
After a while there are fewer thoughts altogether.
I simply look at the point.
I hear my heart.
Sounds.
Vibrations.
I feel my body.
Gravity.
And all of it feels so deeply familiar that I cannot even remember the moment when we first met.
Everything around me is continuously transforming into something else, and I am calm.
My heartbeat creates a very particular sense of safety.
Though not even safety, exactly.
More like openness.
There is nothing I need to do. Nowhere I need to run.
I am.
And I am open.
I feel comfortable. Light. Relaxed.
Simple.
A beat.
Another beat.
And suddenly there is the wholly unexpected feeling of something inevitable drawing closer. Some event more powerful than your entire being.
As if some code is running, and everything happening around you and within you is preparing you for the next event.
The heart.
Beat after beat.
Could it be that we heard this rhythm before anything else?
Back when I had no name, no biography, no country, no religion, no profession, no idea of whether I was good or bad.
There was rhythm.
Then something happened.
And a world appeared.
My first world.
And then they began to teach it to me.
This is Mom.
This is you.
This is your name.
This is allowed.
This is forbidden.
This is how the world works.
This is truth.
This is God.
This is the state.
This is money.
This is success.
This is death.
And gradually, the person I now call myself took shape.
But then a damn interesting question arises:
what was the world like before someone explained to me what it was?
And what is it really?
I do not know.
And today, this “I do not know” interests me far more than a great deal of ready-made knowledge.
For some reason, this is also where I remember the double-slit experiment from quantum physics.
Especially its strange part: when it becomes possible to obtain information about which slit a particle passed through, the interference pattern disappears.
And the human mind almost automatically asks:
how does the particle “know” that its path can now be determined?
But a different question occurs to me.
Why did we decide in the first place that the particle, the measuring device, the observer, and the space of the experiment are entirely separate participants in what is happening?
Perhaps the particle does not “learn” anything.
Perhaps all of this is one event unfolding within a whole, and it was we who divided it into parts because otherwise our intellect finds it difficult to work with.
Our intellect simply cannot contain the Whole.
Or perhaps I am wrong.
I do not know.
That is a wonderful question for LEGCO (opens in a new tab).
Because this is exactly where, for me, the boundary between OUMASTER and LEGCO (opens in a new tab) lies.
Here, in OUMASTER, I can live through something.
See.
Feel.
Imagine any wild possibility at all.
And then I want to test it.
Not to prove to myself that I am right.
Quite the opposite.
To test how wrong I am.
Or whether I am.
What is already known about this?
Who has thought differently?
What explanations exist?
What contradicts my hypothesis?
Can an experiment be designed?
Can a proper research question even be formulated?
That is why I need LEGCO (opens in a new tab).
I need an instrument to which I can entrust even my most precious thoughts and say:
Test this. Do not spare me.
Because otherwise, all we do our whole lives is create interpretations and then play at making them real.
We created money — and it became reality.
We created borders — and people die for them.
We created social status — and a person can devote half a lifetime to it.
We created an idea of ourselves — and then we are afraid to lose it.
At some point I stopped understanding what there was to hold on to here at all.
Everything changes.
People.
Bodies.
Love.
Countries.
Eras.
I change.
And for some reason, this is exactly where I become very calm.
I call this state Ecstasy.
I do not know how to explain it more precisely.
You hold on to nothing.
You demand nothing from life right now.
You simply are.
And in some wholly inexplicable way, that turns out to be enough.
Perhaps that is why I love the word SIMPLY so much.
Simply present.
And then life itself begins to happen.
And this is where WAIA (opens in a new tab) appears.
But not as a research instrument at all.
For research, there is LEGCO (opens in a new tab).
WAIA (opens in a new tab) was born from a different observation.
I look at human society and see how poorly we, as human beings, know how to bring our differences into coherence.
We are incredibly different.
Different desires.
Different fears.
Different cultures.
Different ideas of what is right.
Different interests.
Different states.
And all of this is beautiful until the most primitive human instrument appears to reconcile those differences — violence.
Today, the world is once again being offered a contract of war.
Choose a side.
Here is the enemy.
Here is the weapon.
Here is where you belong.
Go.
We can argue endlessly about politics, the causes of wars, and historical justice. But looked at very simply, the human form of life is once again destroying itself on a massive scale.
And I think:
where is the other contract?
If there is a clear contract that leads a human being into death, why is there still no equally clear and workable contract that leads a human being into life?
I call it:
THE COHERENCE CONTRACT
For me, this is one of WAIA’s (opens in a new tab) central ideas.
Not to make people the same.
Quite the opposite.
Preserve the differences. But learn to bring them into coherence.
This is where the AI Twin appears.
Not a human being’s digital master.
Not a judge.
Not an AI that decides for me how I should live.
More like an extension of me in the digital world — as close to me as I allow it to know me.
My states.
Desires.
Interests.
Possibilities.
Boundaries.
Values.
Principles.
And if there are millions of these AI Twins, an entirely new possibility appears.
They can search for coherence among themselves.
And therefore — among us, living human beings.
Without forcing us to become the same.
Not:
“you are not allowed to want this.”
But:
“your desire needs a different time, a different place, or different people.”
I love this thought:
every human desire may have its own time, its own place, and its own circle of people who want to explore the same experience — without involving those who do not need it.
Freedom of desire does not mean the right to impose it on another human being.
This is where coherence begins.
I imagine WAIA (opens in a new tab) as the possibility of one day seeing society as a whole — not through ratings, likes, political slogans, and advertising algorithms, but as a vast living map of human states, needs, possibilities, tensions, and potential points of coherence.
Not “the truth about society.”
Simply the possibility of seeing far more than any individual human being can see.
True collective intelligence.
Will it work?
I do not know.
We will research it.
In fact, everything I have been doing lately comes down more and more often to this one word.
Research.
Myself.
The human being.
Relationships.
Consciousness.
Society.
Our strange constructions.
What we call reality.
And what will one day appear after us.
I do not want to create another doctrine about how everything works.
I am much more interested in living with my eyes open.
Being wrong.
Noticing.
Changing my mind.
Sometimes finding something truly important.
And sharing it.
And sometimes a human being does not need a system at all.
Does not need WAIA (opens in a new tab).
Does not need LEGCO (opens in a new tab).
Does not need another artificial intelligence.
Sometimes a human being simply needs a human being.
That is why you can request a personal meeting with me.
Not because I know more than you.
What interests me is something else: can two completely different human beings meet without immediately trying to destroy each other’s differences?
Talk.
Look each other in the eyes.
Shake hands.
Stay in touch.
Remain a kind source of support for one another — just in case.
Who knows, perhaps you will take this simple tradition of human contact with you and one day do the same where you live.
It seems to me that the ability to preserve a living human connection is becoming especially precious today.
No matter how different we are.
WHEN A HUMAN NEEDS A HUMAN.
Perhaps all of this is my Spirit of Ecstasy.
I am here.
I am alive.
I am curious.
I see a possible future.
And I like it.
What happens next — we will see.
Together.
And yes.
I am looking for people who see something close to what I now see in the idea of WAIA (opens in a new tab).
Not followers.
Co-authors of the next step.
People ready to find out together whether any of this can actually work.
And what if, somewhere beyond the horizon of our present ideas about the future, we one day discover something truly real — something we can rely on as the truth of life?
I do not know.
And that makes it even more interesting.