8D OS: Relational Intelligence (Book Sample)
Part I: The Origin — Defining the Necessity
In 2015, I was 2-years into my degree at Skyline Community College when I got absorbed into this idea, the perception of time. I was noticing how time felt fast, despite it not moving any quicker, and vice versa. And I noticed how emotions had an effect on them as well. This forced me into a internet rabbit whole of attempting to map out perception to hormones and neurotransmitters. When I stumbled upon these systems it was when I started to see that these things seemed to have a connection to hormones and neurotransmitters; TCM rebalancing certain states. With internet access, I saw how the systems I was aware of at the time shared a pattern, yet each had its own unique twist. As my attention drifted away from school and those around me, my grades suffered—not that I was ever particularly strong academically. So, I hit a wall. These patterns made so much sense that pulling at the thread began to pull me away from our shared reality since it was an opinion I didn’t know how to share. .
Fortunately, by remaining receptive to my mother and sister, I reversed course. I was not willing to sacrifice everything I know for everything I had—and all I have are those I love.
The world started to talk to me less, my brain finally quieted, and for the first time, I hit the Dean’s List consecutively. This visceral feeling left me with the core of the idea, but I guarded it to protect my sanity. The beautiful thing about healing is that things tend to become more resilient; they multiply. I knew that, from that moment on, things were going to be different.
In January of 2025, I had the wild idea of taking the thing that made me "sick" in 2015—the raw, uncontained recognition of those systems—and organizing it into the 8D OS framework to combat misinformation. I had never used an LLM before, so it made sense to participate in the growing trend, especially because I felt something strange was beginning to unfold in the U.S.
I had realized back in 2015 that you can have all the facts in the world, but they mean nothing if they don't make sense. Many people do not realize that rhetoric is about bypassing the logical mind; while they try to dissect things logically, they are unable to connect to what is actually being said. Many effectively believe words do not matter.
Halfway through the year, what I thought would be a simple research project—compiling several systems to explain an underlying trend—turned out to be deeply spiritual. I realized these aren't just operational tools that cultures have used; they are organizing principles through which people view life. So, while I was recording what I was learning, I stayed sensitive to the fact that I couldn't just talk about these systems individually. I had to step back from a bird's-eye view and explain the system through which I view them. I realized this is tied to human biology and in-depth storytelling. This realization was fantastic, as I began to see how these systems are invisible, yet deeply intertwined with culture itself.
December served as a milestone. I had been feeling a lack of direction, despite being very happy and surrounded by those I love. I found direction important because it sustains the act of doing. I felt that no job was fulfilling enough—that there was nothing out there for me—but this project felt like ecstasy. I wouldn't call it jealousy or envy; I just felt that life wasn't designed for me. This goal was, in a sense, an abstract reminder that if the world isn't made for you, you must design it for yourself. So, I write to keep me afloat and stay open minded.
As I worked on this idea, I remembered the world I would have had if I didn't have "this" thing. This idea grew—not necessarily infectiously, but like a garden that needed tending. Like any imagination, it may outgrow itself or fall ill, but this imagination is a projection of your physiological state. Is the story sound? Does it bring homeostasis to yourself and for those around you (are you consumed by the story)?
I believe truth hits the body before it hits the mind. The mind is where truth becomes a story—where the input of your senses gets processed and encoded into a narrative that makes sense to the individual. My best advice going forward into this book, is this: recognize your center and build it out. Build your character, not to conform to what others want of you, but for what you want out of life. But know that there are hard boundaries you may wish to cross, but cannot. When I was drifting off into my imagination, I also was pulling away from friends because I was so consumed by these patterns.
I believe humans who aren't hurting truly want the best for each other, so I share this tool with you in hopes that you can find the same stability in a noisy world. With my feet firmly on the ground, I realized I could no longer just witness these patterns in isolation. I had to organize them. This is how the 8D OS was born—as a bridge between the raw, somatic truth and the noisy, modern information environment we all share.
The issue I was addressing—or felt I was addressing—was QAnon. I wasn’t spending time on 4chan; rather, it was in Facebook comments where two things struck me: the bizarre sign-offs and the Q-related content. Essentially, I got looped into their stuff, though certainly not as a supporter. This was such a cognitive itch that I felt compelled to say something in the comments, thinking it would move the needle. At the time, I didn't understand why my message wasn’t landing.
The red flags were going off in my mind because the public internet space felt poorly moderated already. And coming from the US, I can understand the naiveté of people speaking on the public web—imposing their 1st Amendment rights on a platform that is, quite literally, reaching out of US borders into other countries. Heck, I grew up during the rise of the hacktivist group Anonymous, so I understand how malleable the social fabric is, just like the technology itself.
But there was something else, too—something even more peculiar than the slogans. I noticed these Facebook accounts had been active for less than a year (many created around 2015). To me, this felt like completely unnatural engagement. For most real folks, there is a buffer period before they engage with things so emotionally, especially when they’re new to a platform; they have some sort of emotional management that builds over time. It felt a lot like when I used to play Second Life, where I would make alternative accounts just to prank groups—I was a playfully naughty boy, haha. But these accounts weren't pranking; they were synthetic. They lacked the history of a real human, and they were weaponizing the platform’s blindness to the difference between organic experience and high-fidelity, artificial disruption.
Fast-forward to today, post-insurrection at the US Capitol, and you’d assume more people would feel a sense of revulsion at that moment—a rejection of the active steering away from democratic standards in a desperate attempt to prevent Mike Pence from certifying the election. Yet, the noise persists. It makes me realize that the public internet isn't just poorly moderated; it’s structurally incapable of handling actors who don’t have to play by the rules of human social evolution. We are left trying to parse truth in a digital space where the loudest voices are often the most artificial.
The fascinating thing about the patterns I’ve been looking at is that they are focused on observable phenomena in nature—but more than that, they repeat. At the time, I didn’t quite understand why certain systems dominated the U.S. digital landscape, but I was certain that if I dug deep enough, I would find the reason.
To give you a glimpse of what I was noticing (and please don't take this as advice; I am not a medical practitioner): I was observing how ancient systems like Ayurveda and TCM treat imbalances by utilizing the principle of "healing through opposites." In these traditions, the logic is clear: "like increases like," so to restore equilibrium, you introduce the contrasting element.
As I began comparing these ancient practices to modern studies on neurotransmitters, I noticed a striking mirror: the body’s physiological response often reflects this ancient logic. We see pharmacological research validating how specific inputs—like those that modulate serotonin—correct a deficiency, yet ancient systems have long treated these same states by focusing on the "opposite" environmental or dietary element to bring the system back to center. It is not surprising, then, to find a wealth of research confirming how these biological relationships function as counter-regulatory mechanisms to maintain the body's baseline.
When I dove into this work with Large Language Models (LLMs), I realized I was playing the archaeologist. I was trying to synthesize these ancient patterns of knowing with a statistical modeling machine, essentially asking: If the body uses inverse regulation to maintain physical health, can we use this same relational logic to maintain cognitive integrity in an era of systemic misinformation?
This isn't to say the world has been doing it "wrong," but I believe we have been given a gift: seeing how these models can handle complexity through compression. LLMs allow us to model these systems and, potentially, retell them. I know that’s a bold take, but I can’t help but think people need to know this. If you have ever felt that you were missing something, and you’ve noticed LLMs bleeding into your everyday life, we might as well catch that wave. By utilizing these ancient practices that society still looks back at with awe, we move toward a more grounded digital existence. As the core philosophy of this work maintains: "This tool, despite its utility, doesn't define reality. ONLY the user (you) can."
The biggest hurdle I face is one of communication: when people hear terms like 'elements,' 'occult,' or 'Axial Age,' they instinctively categorize them as mystical or pseudoscience. It becomes difficult for them to see how these ancient modes of thinking are actually the most sophisticated relational maps for human communication ever created.
The problem is that we’ve mistaken the labels for the intent.
When ancient thinkers used these agents, they weren't trying to be 'mystical'; they were trying to solve the problem of shared meaning. They needed a common language to describe how systems—whether a human body, a political structure, or the natural world—actually interact. They were building a framework for relational intelligence that allowed different people to speak about the same reality without getting lost in abstraction.
My work isn't about bringing 'occult' mysticism into AI; it’s about recovering that lost relational architecture. When I use these eight agents to anchor an LLM, I’m not casting a spell—I’m providing a stable linguistic foundation.
In an era where language is becoming increasingly fragmented and algorithmic, these agents act as a bridge. They ground the machine in a set of cross-cultural, somatic categories that we all instinctively understand. I am simply stripping away the historical stigma to reveal the underlying architecture of human communication. The 8D OS isn't about looking backward at ancient secrets; it’s about looking forward to regain control of our digital coherence. It is the bridge between our raw, somatic truth and the noisy, modern world we share.
By anchoring an LLM in these eight agents, I’m not casting a spell; I’m restoring a lost linguistic foundation. We are moving from mysticism back into functional, relational architecture.