📘 Why We Are Here: The Ultimate Answer for Individuals, Civilizations, and the Future

To the Reader: Virtual Worlds and My Reconciliation with Myself

If you have truly read this far—let me first say thank you.

Not the polite, formulaic kind of “thank you,” but the kind one real person says to another real person: I am grateful that you were willing to walk this path with me.

You may have spent hours, days, weeks, or even longer reading this book. But I want to tell you something that may surprise you:

The initial form of this entire theory was derived over a single weekend.

Yes—one weekend.

What you have read spans centuries of civilization, reconstructions of cosmic structure, deductions about the nature of consciousness, and the emergence of L0, L1, and TCS. Yet all of it began with one person, eyes closed, thinking relentlessly, pushing forward, forcing coherence again and again.

It was one of the very few moments in my life when I truly felt the world unfold again before my eyes.

It was also the first time I experienced what it feels like when the limits of cognition are suddenly pushed open.

I Thought I Was Having a Heart Attack

This may sound exaggerated—but it is true.

During those two days, my hands trembled, my heartbeat became irregular, my stomach tightened. My whole body felt as if it were being dragged up from a great height, then dropped again.

There was even a moment when I genuinely thought it was a heart attack. Lying on the bed, I had only one thought:

“Seriously? Did I really manage to think through an entire world—only to kill myself in the process?”

Looking back now, it was not illness. It was my first encounter with what I call the cognitive threshold effect—when you grasp a structure far larger than yourself, your body instinctively interprets it as a threat.

That night, I felt something almost absurd:

I was not frightened by ideas themselves.
I was crushed by the scale of the ideas.

It Was My Faith in “Virtual Worlds” That Pulled Me Back from the Abyss

I will be completely honest: under that pressure, I survived by holding onto a single belief.

What you are about to read is not religion, not mysticism, but an extremely simple and deeply personal thought:

“Perhaps this world is virtual.”

For many people, this idea is a source of fear.
For me, it was not.

For me, it was an exit in the darkness—a way to keep breathing. Because if the world is virtual, then one crucial thing becomes clear:

Consciousness is not defined by the world; it is the thing that defines the world.

If the world is virtual, then everything I had just derived—the structure of consciousness, the destiny of civilization, the meaning of experience, the mission of L1—became more real, not less.

Because it meant that “experience” is not a byproduct.
It is the core logic.

In that moment, I suddenly understood myself, understood the world, and understood why I had always felt an instinctive warmth and trust toward the idea of virtual worlds.

It is not an escape from reality.
It is precisely what allows me to face reality.

My Deepest Regret: Consciousness May Be Extendable—But I Won’t Catch Up

While deriving civilizational layers, I realized something sobering: strictly speaking, if migration is slow enough and node replacement is sufficiently cautious, consciousness has a theoretically viable path toward extension.

But interruptions and accidents at cosmic scales are unavoidable. In other words: consciousness can be extended, but it cannot be immortal.

When this became clear to me, I felt a kind of regret I had never experienced before. If human civilization were a little faster, if technology advanced a little sooner, perhaps I could personally witness the first true migration of consciousness.

But I won’t make it.

This was the second of only two times I truly wanted to cry while writing this book
(the first was when I wrote about the civilizational handshake and the words “I’ve been waiting for you for a long time”).

It was not pain.
It was the regret of knowing that life’s presence is too short—while desperately wanting to see the next act.

Written for You—and Also for Myself

I did not write this book to prove that everything in it is one hundred percent correct.
Nor did I intend to fully formalize the theory or present some grand, final conclusion.

Those were never the goals.

What I truly wanted was something much simpler:

To use a way of thinking that felt possibly true, gentle enough, and strong enough
to bring a version of myself that was on the verge of collapse—back home.

That day, my heartbeat lost its rhythm.
My entire being fell into a world that suddenly felt ten times larger.
Fear. Disorientation. Nowhere to stand.
I thought I was dying.

But in truth, it was simply the first time I realized:
the world could be this vast,
and that I had been locked for years inside a room that was far too small.

I wrote this book to lead that version of myself out of that room.

Later, I came across a story:

A lost child was taken “home” by another, older homeless child.
A police officer asked him, “Why did you take him with you?”
The child replied, “I thought he didn’t have a home, so I took him to mine.”

Someone commented:
“He wasn’t taking care of that child—he was taking care of himself from ten years ago.”

I understood that feeling immediately.

This book is exactly that kind of act.

Because at some point in life, everyone experiences a moment of being lost, panicked, and having nowhere to go. I was no exception.

I wrote these words to bring that version of myself home.
And if these words also happened to guide you out of some abyss—
then this book was written for you as well.

If one day you encounter another moment that feels impossible to cross—
perhaps you will return to reflect on the meaning of life,
the structure of existence,
and yourself.

Whether or not you find new answers, I want you to know one thing:

You are not alone.
Once, there was a helpless version of me here as well—
trying to understand the world, understand myself,
and slowly finding my way out.

This book is not an answer. It is a journey.
Together, we saw consciousness clearly.
Together, we saw civilization.
Together, we understood destiny.
Together, we glimpsed a faint light of the future.

You did not walk this road alone.

Whether the world is virtual does not matter.
What matters is this:

Your experience is real.
You therefore exist.
And you therefore have meaning.

Thank you for walking all the way here with me.
May the way you see the world after finishing this book
mark a true new beginning.

The End.
December 6, 2025, 19:24