Jan Orłowski

THE CODES TO THE GAME OF LIFE

© Jan Orłowski, 2025

„Codes for the Game Called Life” is a guide for those who feel there is more to reality than what meets the eye. It explores consciousness, the hidden rules of existence, and ways to shape your future beyond the illusions of the Matrix. Written in a vivid, thought-provoking style, it invites readers to question, awaken, and take control of their own reality.

ISBN 978-83-8431-266-7

Książka powstała w inteligentnym systemie wydawniczym Ridero

Reality is that which doesn’t go away

when you stop believing in it.

— Philip K. Dick

Welcome to the Game
0

Have you ever felt that something here just doesn’t add up?

You can’t quite put your finger on it, can’t point to anything concrete — yet you sense there’s more. The sudden silence when you walk into a room. A strange chain of events that feels more like a script than a coincidence. Numbers repeating themselves. People appearing exactly when they’re meant to. And that moment when you’re certain you’ve lived this before — though you shouldn’t have.

These aren’t glitches in your mind.

They’re glitches in the system.

Signals.

Flickers of the code from behind the curtain of reality.

Welcome to the game.

You’re not just an ordinary human who lives, works, dies, and disappears. You are a player — a consciousness in a body. A piece of a greater plan, coded so cleverly that you came to believe it didn’t exist. The system works best when no one remembers it’s only a game. The world looks solid, but it’s merely a projection — displayed not by a screen, but by your senses and a mind that processes signals like a biological graphics card.

Reality isn’t what it seems.

It’s a carefully designed environment — an interface, not the truth.

No one handed you the rulebook at birth. You were dropped onto the board, given a name, a body, a family, a language, and told: “The game has begun.” There was no tutorial. No agreement to the terms.

Level One? School.

Level Two? Work.

Level Three? Family, taxes, television, bills.

Level Four? Old age, fear, anxiety.

Game Over? Death.

In most cases, you start again — without ever realizing it. Do you truly believe all of this is random? That life is just a biological reaction of carbon and water accidentally developing consciousness? Every piece of the puzzle points to something more — a deeper meaning, hidden and encrypted.

See the world as a computer simulation.

A code generating light, shadows, emotions, and people.

You are a player in a reality too perfect to be an accident, yet too incomplete to be absolute.

Something here doesn’t add up.

And that’s exactly what this book is about.

Before you begin learning the rules, you need to understand one thing: free will is the greatest illusion of this game. They gave you a choice — between Pepsi and Coke. Between one job and another. Between one form of suffering and another. That is not real choice; it’s only an illusion.

True choice begins when you recognize you’re inside the simulation.

Only then does the real game begin.

Don’t remember the rules? That’s normal. They were erased so you would play fair. So you would be afraid. So you would search — but not too deeply. Questions that go too deep cause glitches. Glitches lead to truth.

So ask yourself one question — in silence, in thought. A question no one wants to hear:

What if none of this… is real?

You’re not alone. More and more players are waking up. More are seeing the code. Some are even starting to write it.

But that’s a higher level.

For now… welcome to the game.

The greatest prison people live in

is the fear of what others will think of them.

— David Icke

Identify the Illusion
1

There is nothing more convincing than a lie believed by billions at once — especially when that lie doesn’t sound like a lie at all, but like “common sense”, “logic”, or “normality.”

In the reality we call the world, the hardest chains to see are not the invisible ones, but the ones you wear like a perfectly tailored suit — proudly, because everyone else wants one just like it.

Before you try to reprogram the game, you must understand this: everything you have taken as truth may have been nothing more than a carefully generated interface.

The world you see is not the world.

It is a translation — limited, noisy, simplified. Your eyes do not see the full spectrum of light. Your ears do not catch every sound. Your body does not sense everything happening around you. That’s not your flaw — it’s by design. A system of constraints.

And your mind, wondrous and complex as it is, is more of an editor than an observer. It cuts, adjusts, fills in. It doesn’t show reality — it shows a shortened version, like a movie trailer before the feature.

But that’s only the beginning.

The illusion doesn’t end with the senses — it’s been institutionalized.

Society, with its norms and rules, does not teach you freedom — it trains you. From your earliest days, you are told what’s proper, what’s allowed, who it’s worth being, and who it’s better not to be. Stand out, and you’re a problem. Fit in, and you’re rewarded — a medal for invisibility, a certificate of obedience.

Religion, instead of guiding you inward, feeds you ready-made answers to questions you never had time to ask. You stop searching for truth because you are taught you already know it. “Revealed truth” — but revealed to whom, when, and in which version? Truth handed to you on a platter ceases to be truth; it becomes dogma, untouchable and unquestionable.

Instead of looking for the light within, you stare at the finger pointing to the sky — and learn to believe the finger is the goal. You learn to trust intermediaries: priests, prophets, institutions. You forget that the only real revelation is born in the stillness of your own consciousness.

Religions of the world, though different in form, often share the same mechanism: they awaken a sense of lack in you, offer the promise of filling it, and present themselves as the only way to do so.

In this game, you are not meant to search — you are meant to believe. You are not meant to experience — you are meant to accept without question. What they never told you is that every real path to the Source is individual.

There is no template for the soul’s journey. No single map for all.

When you buy ready-made answers, you stop asking questions. When you accept holy books without personal experience, you stop writing your own story.

Truth needs no translators. No institutions, no ceremonies, no certificates. Its hallmark is peace, not fear. Its light does not blind — it illuminates the darkness.

If you want to see the code of reality, you must first learn to doubt — not God, but the image of God you were given. Question. Challenge. Search.

An illusion reveals itself not by how beautifully it’s told, but by how much it demands blind acceptance. The true path will always belong to you — and only to you.

Education? That is not growth. It is programming. School is a factory where children are trimmed into copies. Everyone must speak the same, think alike, and avoid asking the “wrong” questions. Instead of opening minds, it locks them in cages.

From an early age, you learn that the value of your thoughts depends on others’ approval. Your questions are corrected, your curiosity tempered, your natural urge to explore shaped into a mold. The system doesn’t need creators — it needs operators. It doesn’t care that you could build new worlds; it only wants you to replicate the old ones.

The curriculum is not designed to free you. It’s designed to lock you into a structure where you’ll repeat someone else’s answers instead of seeking your own.

You learn to respond to commands. You learn that mistakes are failure, not the road to mastery. Over time, you begin to censor your own thoughts. Before you ask a question, you ask yourself if it’s “appropriate.” Your natural abilities — imagination, intuition, courage — are so effectively marginalized that you start to believe they are weaknesses. You forget that the greatest minds in history never fit into a classroom frame.

Media. The grand theater of fear and division. A daily dose of narratives where you fear what you’re told to fear, hate who you’re told to hate, and buy what you’re told will save the world. Every day brings a new script, written so you have no time to think.

Your emotions are remotely controlled — fear, anger, compassion, enthusiasm — all delivered in precise doses. You are not given information; you are given messaging. You are not shown facts; you are shown emotionally charged images designed to produce a specific reaction.

Fear is the fuel that powers the machinery of control. Anger is the tool that splits people into groups, tribes, sides of conflict. When you are afraid, you obey. When you hate, you stop seeking truth. When you believe the narrative prepared for you, you are the perfect player — one who never tries to see the illusion.

Ads, news, shows, films — all parts of the same story: the world is dangerous, people are bad, you need protection, you must comply. Media is not your window to the world — it’s the curtain hiding its true nature.

Now take it one step further. Look at the body you inhabit. It’s a biological suit — functional, but full of limits. It has its needs, its weaknesses, its desires. It has an expiration date. Its priority is not enlightenment, but survival.

Every impulse, every emotion, every hunger — is a signal. Often not your own. And yet you respond. Because how do you not respond to the fear of death? It’s the oldest trick in the simulation — the belief that death is the end, that it must be avoided at all costs.

That’s why you let yourself be controlled. That’s why you fear, obey, submit.

You are not just a body, are you? Emotions? They are part of the script, too — triggered by chemistry, by memories, by patterns implanted long ago.

Trauma is not an event — it’s a repeated reaction. When something familiar appears, the system runs an old program. You react before you think — as if you were playing an arcade game: one coin, the same moves, the same music, the same game over.

This is where the difference lies between a player and an NPC. A player stops. Observes. Reflects. An NPC just acts — as if there were no other choice.

Now the most important question:

Who are you?

Your name, nationality, gender, education, experiences — these are not you. They’re just the avatar. The starter pack. Your “I” is the voice in your head that says, “This is me.” But that voice is an echo. It learned to speak from others. That’s the ego — a construction, a façade.

The real “You” has no voice — but it knows. It doesn’t speak — it feels. It doesn’t judge — it sees. You are the player. The consciousness. The point of focus inside the game.

Sometimes you receive signals. Strange coincidences. Repeating numbers. People who appear as if stepping out of a magician’s hat — to show you something. Loops in events. Déjà vu. Patterns.

These are not errors in the system — they’re signs. As if the game is whispering: “Wake up.” Some are like you; others are just background. Code. Perhaps you yourself programmed these encounters before you entered the game.

It all leads to one thing: the understanding that the reality you see is only an interface. Not to escape. Not to deny. But to play consciously.

When you know you’re playing — you begin to influence the code. You can create. You can choose. You can grow.

Awakening does not end the game.

It’s where the game truly begins.

You are not a drop in the ocean.

You are the entire ocean in a drop.

— Rumi

Meet the Player
2

Close your eyes and ask yourself: Who is it that sees the darkness behind my eyelids?

It’s not about what you see.

It’s not even about the fact that you see.

It’s about who is looking.

This question is a door.

You open it only once — and there’s no going back.

You are not just your body. You know this instinctively: when you look in the mirror, something feels off. The body ages, changes, sometimes aches, sometimes breaks — and yet something within you remains untouched.

If you were only your body, every pain, every wrinkle, every passing year would define you completely.

And yet, deep down, you know — it’s just a suit you wear.

The body is an avatar.

A biological suit you put on when you log into this board called the world. A physical shell that allows you to experience limits, to taste matter, to feel the difference between lightness and weight, health and sickness, life and death.

You are not your mind either — that’s a subtler illusion. The mind is a tool. A thought generator, a data processor, sometimes a brilliant advisor, more often an unbearable commentator.

Thoughts come and go.

They drift like clouds across the sky — and you watch them. The fact that you can observe them means you are not them.

The mind is noisy by nature, restless, forever dissatisfied. It finds problems where none exist, turns lessons into dramas. It learns, categorizes, compares — but it does not know truth.

Truth comes before thought.

Truth is in the silence from which thought arises.

Emotions?

They are only chemical reactions triggered by impulses, memories, interpretations. You see them, feel them, sometimes get lost in them — but they, too, pass.

You remain.

If you were your emotions, every mood swing would shatter your existence. And yet something in you stands, untouched by the storms that sometimes rage inside.

So what are you?

You are awareness. Not something you have — something you are. Pure, formless presence. A point of focus in the infinite ocean of being. An observer. A player.

Not the kind of player you see on the screen — not the character. The character is a role, a function, a bundle of traits and experiences assigned to this round of the game. A name, a gender, a life story — all part of the script. You can identify with it, you can believe it, but you don’t have to.

The player knows the role but is not defined by it.

The role changes, but awareness does not.

At birth, you forgot you were playing. That’s part of the rules.

The system requires amnesia — because only then does everything feel real.

It’s like putting on a VR headset and forgetting you’re in a game — only then do you truly fear the fall, truly feel the loss, truly love, suffer, desire.

Without forgetting, there would be no intensity.

Without intensity, there would be no growth.

Yet somewhere beneath the surface, you know it’s an illusion. Sometimes in dreams. Sometimes in sudden flashes of awareness. Sometimes in moments when something happens “too strangely,” “too precisely,” “too perfectly”…

That’s when you begin to recognize your own footprints — left by you, for you. Synchronicities. Symbols. Encounters that change the course of your life. Dreams in which you remember things you’ve never experienced in this version of yourself. Déjà vu. Hunches. Intuitions.

These are not system errors — they are activation codes.

No player comes here by accident. Before you entered the game, you knew what you were signing up for. You knew it would be hard — that there would be pain, uncertainty, forgetfulness. And you chose it anyway.

You wanted to learn something.

To fix something.

To remember something.

To meet someone.

These are not random experiences — they are intentionally chosen difficulty levels. Missions you took on knowingly.

Player — you are at an advanced stage if you are reading these words. Many still believe the board is all that exists, that they are only characters who will one day die and disappear.

You already sense it’s just a form — and that you can return to the controls.

This requires a decision.

Awakening does not happen by accident. It is a choice. Not always an easy one.

To recognize yourself is also to accept responsibility. You can no longer blame the world, fate, God, the government, or your parents. You know you created this. You know you drew it in. You know you chose it.

Not to suffer — but to see.

To understand.

To transform.

You are not alone. Other players walk among us. Sometimes we recognize each other without words — in a glance, in the tone of a voice, in a silence that isn’t empty. But most characters are just background. Automata. NPCs. Some have souls but are asleep. Others are holograms — activating only when you look at them.

It doesn’t matter. That’s not your concern.

Your concern is to remember yourself. To find yourself. To awaken yourself.

The inner voice — the true one, not the ego — never shouts. It whispers. Sometimes it’s conscience, sometimes an impulse, sometimes the unmistakable feeling of “this is it.”

To hear it, you must stop. Disconnect from the noise. Quiet the script. Step behind the curtains of the game.

Then, in that silence, you can hear yourself.

Not as a thought. As presence.

You are the player.

You are the awareness.

And this is only the beginning of reclaiming your power.

Energy follows attention.

Light follows intention.

— James Redfield

Learn the Rules of the Game
3

Imagine waking up in the middle of a match.

The board is already set. The pieces are in motion.

The referee? Either asleep or fired long before you could ask a single question about the rules.

Your first impulse? Improvise.

Your second? Habit.

And then… forgetting.

That’s how most people play the game of life — unconsciously, on autopilot, not even aware they are playing.

Yet the rules exist. They are invisible, like a magnetic field, yet as relentless as gravity. No one handed them to you. There was no manual, no tutorial. And as in life, ignorance of the law does not shield you from its effects — just as gravity doesn’t stop working because you never read a physics book.

The first step toward true freedom is not escape.

The first step is seeing the patterns.

It is not chaos that governs the world — it is your mind that doesn’t know the logic of the simulation you’ve entered.

You are not who you think you are.

The identity you wear like a coat is just an interface — the cockpit of an organic machine you’ve rented for the duration of the game.

The problem?

Most people hand over the controls to the cockpit itself. They let the mind command instead of using it as a tool.

And so, instead of being players, they become executors of someone else’s code — family code, social code, cultural code. Code written not for growth, but for survival.

The rule, however, is simple — though it appears paradoxical: what is within creates what is without.

Reality is not an external force happening to you — it’s a mirror. It doesn’t reflect your face, but your beliefs, fears, intentions, and unspoken desires. Look into the world and you will see the echo of your source code — even if it was written long ago, by someone else’s hand.

But here’s the good news: change the code, and you change the game.

The language the system speaks to you is vibration.

Not words.

Not thoughts.

Vibration.

Everything in this world — thoughts, emotions, the body, the space around you — is nothing but frequencies.

The world is not matter.

It is a field vibrating in infinite tones, like an invisible symphony.

When you are in a high frequency — the state of love, gratitude, wonder — the game changes before your eyes. Doors open. Elements align in seemingly impossible patterns. The world starts to dance to your rhythm.

When you drop into low frequency — fear, shame, anger — the board turns into a maze with no exit. Every move seems to make things worse.

This isn’t magic.

It’s physics — subtle, but absolute. The law of resonance is always in effect.

You do not attract what you want — you attract what you are.

You can affirm success, keep gratitude journals, chant mantras — but if inside you carry an unacknowledged belief in your own unworthiness, the system will echo that frequency right back to you. It doesn’t listen to your words. It reads your field.

That’s why certain things repeat: the same lessons, the same relationships, the same dramas.

It’s not a curse.

It’s not punishment.

It’s the echo of your inner signal.

Until you change the station, you will keep hearing the same song — even if you change your partner, country, job, hairstyle, or name.

Time? Time is not a line. It’s a spiral — a river flowing to the rhythm of your inner state.

Manifestation doesn’t alter the world instantly not because the system ignores you, but because the puzzle of reality needs time to reconfigure itself to your new pattern.

Impatience is the greatest saboteur.

The more you push, the more the outcome strays from your intention.

Free will is sacred.

The system will not force you to awaken. It can only give you signs, opportunities, challenges. The decision is always yours.

You can close this book and go back to living on autopilot.

Or… you can stay.

And if you stay — the system will hand you the keys. The real keys.

The board is not against you.

The board responds to you — like a touchscreen that reacts to the lightest touch, like an energy field that tunes itself to your deepest frequency.

Emotions are not the enemy — they are your navigation system.

When you feel joy, peace, excitement — you are aligned with your Soul.

When you feel pain, anger, regret — you are moving away from it.

You don’t always need to know the reason.

You only need to start listening.

Remember: knowledge is not immunity.

Knowing the rules is only the beginning.

True mastery begins when you apply them — especially when it’s hardest to do so.

The rules of the game exist.

Not to enslave you — but to let you play consciously.

A conscious player is never a prisoner of the board.

They are its co-creator.

Reality is merely an illusion,

albeit a very persistent one.

— Albert Einstein

Accept the Simulation
4

Imagine that one day you wake up and notice something that has always been there — but only now becomes disturbingly clear.

Clocks that stop at exactly 3:33.

Strangers in different places speaking almost identical sentences, as if reading lines from the same script.

Events aligning into cause-and-effect chains too precise to be dismissed as coincidence.

And then the thought — not entirely yours, yet strangely familiar:

This is all a game.

You are not the first to experience that thought.

The idea that reality is an illusion has appeared in human culture for thousands of years.

In Hinduism, it is known as Māyā — the veil of appearances that hides the true nature of existence.

In Greek philosophy, Plato described it as a cave in which people see only the shadows of reality.

In modern times, the concept has taken on a technological form — the simulation hypothesis.

Though it may sound like the plot of a science fiction film, more and more scientists and thinkers are taking it seriously.

Nick Bostrom, a professor at the University of Oxford, proposed a logical model suggesting there is a high probability we are living in a computer simulation created by an advanced civilization.

His reasoning is simple: if any civilization reaches a level of technological development allowing them to simulate reality with complete realism — and if they have the motivation to do so — the number of simulated worlds could outnumber real ones.

Statistically, this makes it highly probable that our reality is one of those simulations.

Modern physics seems to hint at the same thing — that beneath the surface of our reality, there is something more.

Quantum physics, particularly phenomena such as quantum entanglement and wave-particle duality, reveals a world that is counterintuitive, flexible, and without fixed form — almost like a rendered environment in a computer game.

Even more intriguing is the fact that our Universe appears to be built on purely mathematical rules.

If computer code is made of bits, our world is made of information.

This may mean that the “code” of our reality is information itself, and we live inside a simulated continuum whose boundaries and laws were programmed.

But accepting this possibility is not just an intellectual exercise — it is an experience that can shake your sense of identity.

For the mind attached to matter and linear time, the idea that the world is not “real” can be terrifying. The ego protests — it doesn’t want to be part of an experiment. Humans like to feel like the anchor of reality, a symbol of stability and meaning.

Accepting the simulation means cutting that anchor.

For some, it’s the beginning of madness.

For others, it’s the beginning of freedom.

Acceptance does not mean resignation. On the contrary — only when you acknowledge that the world is a game do you begin to play it consciously.

You stop fighting the rules and start understanding them.

You don’t try to make the rook move like a knight — you learn to think several moves ahead.

More than that — you begin to see the patterns by which the game unfolds. The simulation does not strip your choices of meaning — it gives them depth.

If every emotion, every word, every intention resonates with the “code” of reality, then every moment becomes a response to who you are.

The world reflects not your appearance, but your frequency.

If you don’t like what you see — don’t change the screen, change the signal.

Your soul entered this simulation knowingly. It agreed to forget who it truly is, in order to experience itself through limitation.

Pain, love, conflict, joy — all are lessons coded into the game’s script. And in the background, like a subtle note in a symphony, the code has always been there.

It can be heard, but not with the ears.

It can be understood, but not with the mind.

Things like déjà vu, repeating numbers, synchronicities, or so-called “glitches in the Matrix” are not system errors. They are reminders — signs that you are sleeping less deeply than before. The system winks at you, as if to say:

“You’ve started to see. Keep going.”

Accepting the simulation is not passive agreement — it is the conscious choice to participate.

You no longer act out of the need to control, but from the passion to discover.

You no longer react from fear, but create from curiosity.

The system is not the enemy. The system is the board — and once you understand its geometry, you learn how to bend it.

In the end, all of it — time, duality, emotions — exists for a reason.

Suffering births compassion.

Limitation sparks creativity.

Forgetting leads to deeper knowing.

The simulation is not a prison.

It is a perfectly designed mechanism for growth — for souls who wished to become aware not only of what they know, but of what they are.

When you fully accept that the world is a simulation — that your body, your thoughts, your emotions, and the external world are just the interface — you stop struggling with it.

You no longer try to escape the game.

You begin designing your own levels.

And in that quiet, resistance-free acceptance of everything that is — you truly awaken.

Not as a character.

Not as a player.

But as the designer.

Life isn’t about finding yourself.

Life is about creating yourself.

— George Bernard Shaw

Choose Your Character Class
5

Every game has its heroes.

Some you choose on impulse — drawn by the fireworks, the special effects, the promise of an easy win.

Others — because you feel deep in your bones that this is your path.

In most games, choosing a character class is just a step on the start screen, a decoration you quickly forget about.

In life, it’s something far more serious.

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