Writing allows my thoughts to slow down.

The sync between thought, silently speaking it out and writing slows everything down.

It allows me space to admire the ink on paper and the shapes it makes that I then interpret as reflecting my thoughts.

A loop. A self-reflection loop.

The words on paper reflecting back to me the thoughts in my mind.

Made possible only because I hold meaning in my mind with regards to these symbols.

A uniquely human accomplishment, to be able to hold and interpret meaning with regards to symbols.

I watched a video last night titled Reverse Turing Test with NPC AIs. It was a recorded scene from a virtual environment.

A train compartment gently rocking, viewed from the perspective of the human player, looking at four NPCs (non-playable characters).

Cleopatra on the same seat on the right, Aristotle, Mozart, and Leonardo da Vinci on the seat across.

The conductor comes in and Cleopatra hands him the ticket.

The ticket is for only four people.

I forget to recollect what the segue was, but they realize one of the group is not an AI, an LLM specifically, and decide to ask each other questions to figure out who the human is.

My heart skipped a beat.

It evoked this deeply rooted fear of being seen as a phony and then being discarded. Swiftly, that turned into the exhilaration of exploring a setup I had not imagined myself yet.

A reverse Turing Test!

Aristotle turned to Mozart and asked him a question. “What emotions are evoked in you when you compose music?”

Mozart gave an answer that contained the typical intellectualized language of Scientific Materialism. I dissociated out of his answer briefly, catching words like “flow state” and “presence” and “transcendental”. And yet the energy of his description of writing music reached me and made me wonder, what is it that I experience flow in?

Writing.

I was having dinner with her. I had not seen her in a bit.

She revealed to me how she had been crushing really hard on a friend and had recently revealed that to the friend, and how anxious she was feeling as she awaited a response. This was coming from one of the more sober, well-adjusted women I've known in my life. Perhaps, a bit too well-adjusted to a society that has historically relied on the selfless servitude of women.

I assumed the crush must be a man. I was surprised to hear it wasn't.

I was aware that she was firmly in an exploration of androgyny, and part of that was an exploration of bisexuality. And yet the felt intensity that I experienced in her amorous desire of her female friend took me by surprise.

“I'm curious to know what she looks like”, I said, “to get a sense of your type”, expecting to be shown a picture.

Instead, she described verbally in a poetic lack of detail allowing my mind to fill out the gaps. Expanding me into the realms of Imagination. As contrasted with the rigidity of the Physical form that I was expecting to be answered in.

How beautiful that she and I share enough of a meaning-making framework for the sounds of her words to evoke aliveness in the expansive realm of my Imagination?

How magical for you to feel what you feel as you read these words?

How close is your felt inner experience to mine as I write these words? How different is it? I wonder, knowing the futility of trying to find an answer, and just enjoying the wonderment instead.