What would I do if I could do anything — without walls, without shortages, without constant firefighting? The question keeps spinning, and I notice I'm looking at it with two different eyes.

One eye looks outward, into matter and machines. It sees monocrystalline growth centers rising like quiet cathedrals: places that grow silicon for solar cells — not for one city or one country, but for a whole Europe that wants to stand on its own feet.

Could there be too much of that? I doubt it. Real abundance in clean energy isn't a danger — it's the missing foundation. With enough stable power, everything else becomes easier: food, warmth, water, data, movement. It could lay the groundwork for prosperity not for a few, but for all of us.

The other eye looks inward — directly into the human body and nervous system. And what it sees is not prosperity at all. It sees people drained past any healthy limit, running on fumes, just surviving from day to day. Bodies tense, hormones exhausted, minerals missing, sleep broken, and hearts and minds stretched too thin.

From that view, one thing becomes painfully clear: I should root myself somewhere, without distraction, and begin healing and replenishing bodies. To make at least one place on this planet where the system is not designed to extract and exhaust, but to restore.

There is also a third path that connects these two worlds. If I could transmit the information — clearly, fully, and in time — to someone who is better positioned, faster, or more resourced to build those monocrystalline centers, then that front could move without me.

If that happened, I would finally be free to focus only on healing. No split attention. No switching between “build for the world” and “repair the people inside it.”

But the other world still has to move. Energy infrastructure, materials, logistics — all of it must be carried forward by those who hear the call and can lift it. The outer world must become stable so the inner work is not constantly undone.

On top of that, I still need to finish our site deep crash course on everything, so that my idle time becomes valuable to the world instead of wasted. If I can compress the knowledge gaps and shorten the learning curves for others, then the world gains years while I gain breathing room.

And the VR world needs to be rushed — at least to its core foundations — so we can finally meet without dragging bodies across borders and distances. Just show up, in presence, without visas or fuel.

In the end it's almost funny: all I really need is a simple crystal shop in an open vr forest, in the quiet eye of grass — and everything else spirals outward from there.

So here I am — steering with both hands: one on the wheel of future infrastructure, one on the pulse of living bodies. Both directions urgent. Both directions necessary. And somewhere between them, a version of me that heals freely, while the rest of the world finally runs on something better than exhaustion.