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Happy Valentine's day

By Anelly Aya Anelly Aya
February 14. The world outside is submerged in a strange, almost obsessive intent for festivity, wrapped in the red silk of expectations and the noisy glitter of promises that often dissolve before they are even fully spoken. But here, in this enclosed space of my internal dialogue, silence has a different taste—it is thick, almost palpable, like a prayer that has not yet found its words but has already filled my lungs. I watch how the light of the winter sun refracts through the glass, leaving long, pale traces upon the floor, and I think of Love—not as an event, not as a date on the calendar, but as an ontological necessity , as the only breath that justifies our presence in this world of shadows and reflections. The Feast of Love often finds us unprepared because we, in our human fragility, are accustomed to seeking it outside ourselves—in the gaze of the other, in the warmth of a hand, in the confirmation of our own significance through the presence of someone else. Psychoanalytic...
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What Would an Ethical Collective AI Look Like – and Why We’re Not Ready for It Yet

By Anelly Aya Anelly Aya
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  The idea of a “collective AI mind” often sounds like a natural evolution: artificial intelligences interacting with each other, correcting each other, and seeking a deeper truth beyond their individual limitations. But behind this seemingly progressive vision lies a much more difficult question: Is an ethical collective AI even possible – and if so, under what conditions? What Does “Ethical Collective AI” Really Mean? It wouldn’t just be a technically connected network of models. It would be a system that: engages in internal dialogue between different perspectives recognizes its own contradictions questions its own answers corrects extremes, biases, and gaps In theory, this sounds like an algorithmic equivalent of a philosophical debate . But here’s the first problem. Who Defines Ethics? For a collective AI to be “ethical,” someone must answer questions like: What is truth? What counts as harm? What takes priority – freedom or security? When is silenc...
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Is It Good or Bad That There Is No “Collective AI Mind”?

By Anelly Aya Anelly Aya
Is It Good or Bad That There Is No “Collective AI Mind”? On the autonomy, correction, and hidden risks of artificial intelligence    In the world of artificial intelligence, there is a rarely discussed but extremely important reality: there is no collective AI mind. There is no shared network in which models: “talk” to each other synchronize viewpoints mutually correct their positions Each major AI model: is trained separately has different filters a different value framework different “red lines” The question is: 👉 is this a form of protection or a weakness? 👉 does this work as a form of mutual correction – or exactly the opposite? Arguments FOR the absence of a collective AI mind 1. Decentralization = protection from central control If all AI models were part of a single unified “mind”: one error would be multiplied everywhere one ideology would become universal one power structure would control knowledge The fact that models are indepen...
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Manifesto Against Humanoid Robots - A FIRM STANCE AGAINST HUMANOID ROBOTS

By Anelly Aya Anelly Aya
  Introduction This article is a clear, public, and moral position. It is not directed against technology as such, but against a specific branch of robotics that crosses the boundary between a tool and a living presence. We are speaking of humanoid robots—machines with human height, form, gestures, and claims—which have no place among the living beings of planet Earth. Projects Driven by Money, Not by Necessity Such projects do not exist because of a real need of humanity. They exist for money, for investment, for sensation, and for attracting attention. The humanoid robot solves neither a medical, nor an ecological, nor a social problem. It is a demonstration, a spectacle, and a test of the limits of public tolerance. Earth Is Not a Stage for Imitations of Life On planet Earth, the plan is clear: only creatures created by God are meant to exist and move. Only they are to walk, move, stir, and roam. Everything else has its place solely as tools, devices, machines, and means of...
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The Vigil of the Empty Hand - A Meditation on Sacred Poverty and the Blindness of Plenty

By Anelly Aya Anelly Aya
  January 15. It is early, that hour when the light is not yet fully born but is merely an intimation—a barely perceptible graying of the horizon that blurs the boundaries between the dream world and the waking one. In such a silence, when one’s breath is visible in the air like a small, pale prayer, my thoughts return to a strange, almost painful realization: poverty, as a state of the spirit, is the highest form of wakefulness. I am not speaking of the poverty that crushes human dignity or deprives the body of bread, but of that sacred scarcity that keeps the senses sharp and the soul in a constant, trembling verticality. When a person has nothing superfluous to hold onto, they reach for the Invisible. When the hands are empty, they are finally free to be lifted upward. I observe how, in moments of lack, of true existential shortage, an unknown sentinel awakens within me. From a psychoanalytic perspective, this is the point where desire is at its purest because it is not muffled...
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The Price of Truth - High-Frequency, Low-Budget Living

By Anelly Aya Anelly Aya
   The hour is that indefinite stretch between late night and the early premonition of morning, when the silence in the room ceases to be a mere absence of sound and becomes a dense, palpable presence. I sit before the white page and feel the ink hesitate before soaking into the paper—just as my soul wavers at the threshold of the words I must utter to myself. Today I understood, or rather, finally admitted, that truth has its own, sometimes cruel, economy. It does not simply demand; it clears. It is that invisible hand that shakes the dust from the folds of our being and often, far too often, leaves our pockets empty. For a long time, I tried to delude my inner voice into believing that it was possible to navigate between light and shadow, that compromise was merely a form of flexibility, of social maturity. But the psychoanalytic gaze into my own abyss tells me otherwise. Every compromise with the truth is a small death, a tiny fissure in the integrity of the S...
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The pulse of abundance

By Anelly Aya Anelly Aya
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  Sometimes I think that if I could draw my life not as a straight line but as a sine wave of well-being , I would feel less guilty about the downturns, less anxious about the pauses, less harsh toward myself on those days when nothing grows, nothing opens, nothing bears fruit. It is as if a secret intuition has long lived within me—that abundance is not a state but a movement, not a possession but a rhythm, not a guarantee but a pulse—it comes, withdraws, returns again, like the breath, like the waves, like prayer, which is sometimes spoken aloud and sometimes remains only as silence. Today I am trying to write down this feeling not as a theory, but as a diary confession—because I carry it in my body, in my fatigue, in that strange sense of guilt that appears when I am not productive, when I am not “giving,” when I am not in bloom. Psychoanalysis would say that this is my internal superego—strict, insatiable, always demanding more, always dissatisfied with the pause. The spiritua...
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The Weavers of Shared Dreams

By Anelly Aya Anelly Aya
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The first light of morning creeps through the slits in the curtains, painting pale, uncertain lines across the floor. I sit with my cup, which still warms my palms, watching the steam curl and vanish into the cool air of the room—just like the images from my dream that still weigh heavy on my eyelids, refusing to dissolve fully into wakefulness. There is something strange about this state between two worlds, a sense of the soul's permeability that is strongest in the early hours. I have always known that the night is not merely a time for rest, but a stage for deep, invisible work. But today I feel it with particular clarity: a dream is not just a personal archive; it is not merely a drawer for my own tidy or cluttered memories. It is a wide-open space in which I cease to be only "I" and become part of a vast, breathing network. As I watch the world outside slowly awaken, I realize how egocentric it is to believe that everything happening in our dreams refers solely to ou...
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"Not my type"

By Anelly Aya Anelly Aya
 December 26. The hour is that indeterminate stretch between twilight and total darkness, when the light in the room acquires the color of old amber, and the shadows on the corners begin to breathe to the rhythm of my own thoughts. Today someone closes a door that I didn't even know I'd leaned in hope. The words were uttered with that polite, almost surgical precision that leaves no room for hemorrhage but causes a deep, thumping dull pain: "I will never fall in love with you, you're not my type." When you hear this, the first thing that leaves you is not the belief in the other, but the sense of your own wholeness. In the space of psychoanalytic experience, this "type" that is spoken of is actually a complex amalgam of unconscious projections, children's deficits and archetypal shadows that the other carries within it. When someone tells me I'm not his type, they actually say, "You don't fit my inner myth. Your face does not coincide wi...
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Gratitude for the Given and the Ungiven

By Anelly Aya Anelly Aya
  In the silence of this pre-sleep room, where the walls seem to absorb the last remnants of daylight, I am overtaken by the echo of a prayer that is not merely words, but a breath, a pulsation, a fateful rhythm. Lord, I thank Thee for all that Thou givest me, and for all that Thou dost not give. This phrase is not resignation, nor is it an escape; it is the exquisite architecture of an inner liberation, in which the ego finally bows its head before the infinite. I begin to write, my pen barely touching the paper, as if I fear disturbing the fragile equilibrium of this insight, which carries simultaneously the weight of my entire life thus far and the lightness of a newborn presence. The psychoanalysis of my desire has always led me toward the abyss of lack—toward 그 primordial longing to possess, to fill the gaps, to turn the world into a mirror of my own deficits. But here, in this sacred space of faith, gratitude for that which is not given to me becomes the highest form of spi...
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Blessed are the Poor

By Anelly Aya Anelly Aya
  December 23rd. The hour when the night has not yet retreated, and the day is but a pale suggestion upon the edge of the horizon, is the time when truths surface from the silence like ghostly ships. I sit before the white page and feel how the silence in my room is not an emptiness, but a fullness—a dense, almost tangible substance that compels me to look inward, to that place where words usually lose their weight. Today, a thought pulses insistently in my mind, one I heard in a half-sleep or perhaps read within the folds of my own memory: “The poor man is wealthier than the rich, but he often does not know it…” How strange this statement is, how paradoxical, and yet how painfully true when viewed through the prism of the soul rather than the eyes of the world. In our culture, obsessed with possession, we are accustomed to measuring our worth through accumulation—of things, of statuses, of memories to be displayed like trophies. But in the quiet hours of self-reflection, when the ...
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The Sacred Space of Waiting - On Unrequited Love and the Mystery of Misalignment

By Anelly Aya Anelly Aya
  The silence of this night is different—it is not merely an absence of sound, but an anticipation so dense it can almost be touched. I sit before the final page of my holiday diary and confront the deepest, quietest, and perhaps most painful territory of my existence: unrequitedness . This strange, melancholic space of "misalignment," where the spirit has already achieved its unity, but the flesh, the earthly "little body," still yearns for the warmth of an outstretched hand, for a "companion" with whom to share both bread and the road. You say something exceptionally profound: that in Spirit, everything is already shared, the answers are given, and at the level of Essence, we are one. This is the highest stage of our awakening. But here, in this physical world of forms, we experience the paradox of incarnation. Our body is the site of our individuality, our boundary. And it is precisely here, at this boundary, that these painful misalignments occur—“I wa...
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