DreamLayer

What it feels like

The display is a place, not a stage.

No feeds, no pings, no screens to check. A card of light and glass surfaces on the rim of your sight the moment it's useful — then files itself away. Nothing pops; everything arrives.

Oracle

Snake plant

water every 2 weeks

last done · Tuesday

M

Introduction

“Hi, I’m Maya.”

Maya · kept

she introduced herself · never strangers

Lucid Recall

North rack
4th & Alder

your bike

seen 8:12 AM · confidence high

Drift detected

Send the lease

→ Marcus

Friday before noon

Rosetta · ES → EN

“Grilled octopus,
house lemon.”

read back in yours

live · on device

01 / LOOK

Glance at a thing. Know it.

You look at the snake plant. A soft card: water every two weeks, last done Tuesday. A wine label — its region, and what you paid last time. Look → know, no phone out.

02 / MEET

Never forget a name.

Someone says “Hi, I’m Maya.” DreamLayer keeps it automatically and starts a quiet dossier. Next time you meet, it greets you with her name, when you last spoke, and what about — you never blank again. Only people who introduce themselves are ever kept; no stranger lookup, ever.

03 / ASK

“Where did I leave the bike?” North rack.

Your ambient second memory has been quietly keeping what matters — objects, places, promises. Say “Hey Oracle,” or just ask out loud. The answer often lands before you finish the question.

04 / KEEP

Promises drift to the rim and glow.

You promised Marcus the lease by Friday. As Friday nears, the promise drifts toward the edge of sight and starts to glow. You don’t forget. You never even had to write it down.

05 / READ

Every menu, in your language.

A menu you can’t read reads back in your own words, live, on your own hardware. Rosetta is the eye; Puente is the ear and voice.

The HUD, alive

See it move.

A live re-creation of how the display moves — drawn in your browser with the same palette and the same signature motion the glasses run: closed-form springs, flowing rim light, an answer that condenses in and files itself away.

The Horizon

Your day wakes with you

Aurora light flows along the rim; the now-notch beats at the top. Promises sit as embers at the edge, drifting closer as they come due.

Lucid Recall

The answer is a place

“Where are my keys?” The card shows where — the object as a jewel, a light trace down to you. It condenses in, breathes, then files itself away.

Saved Memory

One tap becomes a jewel

A spring-drawn check, a twelve-particle burst, concentric rings of light. Kept, and it feels kept.

every card above is real — the Meridian Solid pass, drawn by the shipping renderer, 256 px, one eye

In thirty seconds

Park it. Forget it. Ask.

The everyday loop — a glance, a nod, and it’s kept. Ask when you need it back, or just return: it resurfaces on its own the moment you’re near.

01
SaveGlance at your spot, a quick nod — kept.
02
AskHours later — “Hey Oracle, where did I park?”
03
RecallThe way back, on the rim of your sight.

Watch a full loop →

What it can do

A second memory, on your face.

Every one of these runs in the shipping codebase today — nothing on this list is a mock-up.

Never forget a nameAn introduction is kept the moment it’s given, and a dossier starts — next time, the glasses greet you with who they are, when you last met, and what about.

Live fact-checkA claim gets checked as it’s said — against what they told you before, and against the world through your Brain. Cached and run off-thread, so the verdict lands in time to answer, with the receipt.

Answer on the glassLook at a test question — any subject — and the answer appears. Look at a form and each field tells you exactly what to write; look at dense legal text and it comes back in plain words. You never pick a mode — the look decides which, and it learns the one you reach for.

Read the roomAsk, and the Truth Lens reads face, voice, and history together into one credibility gauge. Explicit — never running in the background.

Look → knowGlance at any object — the plant, the wine, the part — and a panel tells you what it is and what you know about it.

Never lose your thingsKeys, wallet, car, water bottle — anchored where you left them, recalled as direction and distance: “12 m to your left.”

Texts, hands-freeNew messages surface on the rim; answer by voice — “reply to Priya, on my way.”

“Hey Oracle” everythingAsk, recall, locate, reply, brief, catch up on what you missed — the whole layer answers to one wake word.

Your morning, briefedWake to the day synthesized — agenda, messages, promises. Ask for the extended brief and it walks all of it, section by section, kept in the app to read anytime.

Works in airplane modeThe phone is the brain: capture, recall, object naming, and the consistency check all run fully offline. Incognito is one tap — or one “Hey Oracle, go incognito.”

Find your peopleBond a group and, in a crowd, each of them lights the rim as a pulse at their bearing — nearer beats faster. Find your friends across a festival with no map and no “where are you.” Only bearing crosses, never a location.

Pick the best on the shelfLook at a whole shelf or menu and get the pick — ranked against your rules: what you avoid vetoed, your budget, then rating and price. Your rules stay on device; the world’s data rides the opt-in cloud.

The six lenses

The whole product, at a glance.

Everything DreamLayer does groups into six lenses. Underneath them all: the Privacy Veil, and Atmosphere — the ambient light and feel.

tap a lens to open it

Memory

your life, remembered

Dream Mode · Ghost Layer · Lucid Recall · REM · Yesterlight · Premonition · Waypath

Dream ModeThe calm default — the glasses quietly sense your day without ever interrupting it.

Ghost LayerMemories echo in the places they happened — walk back in, and they’re there.

Lucid RecallAsk “where are my keys?” and the answer lands in a glance — including from your own files.

REMOvernight, the glasses replay and recombine your day — the dreaming is how memory settles.

YesterlightRoll your head back and the room replays its own light from earlier.

PremonitionYour routines shimmer just ahead of now — the 9 AM standup glows at 8:56.

WaypathDirection and distance to your own things: “keys, 12 m to your left.”

People

who’s around you — and never a blank

Social Lens · Timbre · Name Capture · Dossier — introductions only, never strangers

Social LensRecognises the people you chose to keep — and only them. Never strangers, never a public database.

TimbreFamiliar voices glow as waveforms at the rim of sight; strangers stay anonymous static.

Name CaptureSomeone introduces themselves out loud and the name is kept for you — automatically, no tap. Only self-introductions, never strangers; the Privacy Veil silences it like everything else.

DossierEvery name you keep grows a quiet dossier — when you last met, what you talked about, their last line, plus your own notes and tags. Next time you meet, the glasses greet you with it, so you never blank on a name again.

Truth

what’s true, and where beliefs come from

Veritas · Truth Lens · Candor · Provenance

Veritas — live fact-checkWhen a claim doesn’t hold up, a quiet verdict on the rim: green verified, amber check this, or red they said different before — with the basis, like an earlier “we settled at two million.”

Truth LensOutward: when you ask, a read on how credible what you’re hearing is. Explicit, never running in the background.

CandorInward: keeps your own story straight — “last week you said the deal closed at two million.”

ProvenanceBackward: trace any belief to who told you, when, and whether it held up since.

World

understand what you look at

Oracle (look → know) · Label Lens · AI Brain · Rosetta · Puente · Scholar · TasteLens

OracleLook at anything and know it — the plant, the wine, the part number. Objects, never people.

Label LensYour own rules on what you’re holding: “you’re avoiding dairy,” “you returned this brand last year.”

AI BrainName and explain anything; ask your own files and mail. On-device first, your Mac mini next, cloud only if you switched it on.

RosettaThe eye: menus and signs you look at, read back in your language.

PuenteThe ear: live voice translation as the other person speaks.

ScholarLook at a test question and the answer appears — any subject. Look at a form and each field says what to write; look at dense legal or technical text and it comes back in plain words. Reads through the Brain’s vision — local first, cloud only if you opted in — and never while the Veil is down.

The look decidesNo mode to switch. On a glance the Arbiter reads the scene and routes it — answer, fill, translate, or identify — firing the clear winner, offering a one-tap choice when it’s close, and learning the lens you prefer for a kind of view. Say “what’s the answer” or “how do I fill this” first and the very next look obeys.

TasteLensLook at a whole shelf or menu and get the pick — ranked against your rules: what you avoid vetoed first, then your budget, then rating and price. Your dietary rules stay on device; prices and reviews ride the opt-in cloud through a pluggable connector.

Life

do, keep, and build

Commitment Drift · Saga · Reality Compiler (Rehearsal + Wayfinding)

Commitment DriftPromises live on the display — they bloom, drift toward the rim, and glow as deadlines near. You don’t forget.

SagaThe same promises as a personal RPG: streaks, XP, and rescues for the ones about to slip.

Reality CompilerTeach a behaviour once — rehearse it or walk it — and a verified routine runs it on-glass forever.

Together

two wearers — or a whole circle — one sky

Confluence · GhostMode (a group) · the Beacon · shared futures · weather gifts

The bondTrade a short code with someone in front of you and your two glasses pair — explicit, mutual, revocable. It expires on its own in a few hours; either of you can dissolve it in a blink.

One entangled skyBonded, your two ambient auroras blend into a single shared weather. In sync, the sky settles seamless; drift apart and it splits down a visible seam — you feel how aligned you are with no word said. Only weather ever crosses: never speech, places, or names.

Silent pingsA discreet tap sends a pulse of light at their bearing across a room — “thinking of you,” “look here,” “let’s go.” No phone, no notification, no sound.

GhostMode — a whole circleThe bond, lifted to a group: a room, a hiking party, a crowd of friends share one sky. Same contract, one level up — only feeling crosses, everyone anonymous on the wire, your Veil silences your side.

The BeaconIn a crowd, each of your circle lights the rim as a pulse at their bearing — nearer beats faster and brighter. Find your friends across a festival with no map and no “where are you.” Only bearing crosses, never a location; you label who’s who only on your own glasses.

Shared futuresWhere both your rhythms already meet — the café you both drift to on Thursdays — a shared ghost lights on both horizons. Only scrambled place-hashes cross, so it works without either of you revealing where you go.

Duet rehearsalLearn a routine together — a dance, a drill, a two-person flow — as one shared figment. Either can correct any beat; each keeps a separately signed copy.

Weather giftHand a moment of your day across: your sunrise plays on their sky for thirty seconds, your palette, verbatim. A feeling passed hand to hand.

The architecture

Intelligence lives at the lowest tier that can do the job.

The phone names an object instantly and offline; a Mac mini on your LAN explains it richly from your knowledge; the cloud is only ever reached for the rare, hard, non-personal question — and only if you turned it on.

Tier 0 · BLE

Halo glasses

The display & sensors. A round HUD on the rim of your sight — the eyes of the layer.

Tier 1 · The hub

Your phone

Orchestrator, memory, and the privacy gate. The brain by default — instant, offline, yours.

Tier 2 · Your LAN

Mac mini Brain

A bigger local model plus your indexed files and mail. Never leaves the house.

Tier 3 · Opt-in

Cloud

Frontier reach for the hardest, non-personal asks. A switch you own — not a default you accept.

One code pairs the trio

Phone + Brain + glasses, scanned or pasted once. Nothing marked private ever leaves, in any configuration. Three ways in ↓

Scan it FASTEST The Brain’s control panel shows a QR code; point your phone at it. One scan carries the Brain’s address, its access token, and your glasses’ identity in a single dreamlayer: code — the trio is paired before the coffee cools.

Paste it NO CAMERA NEEDED The same code works as plain text — copy it from the panel and paste it into the app. Byte-for-byte identical to the QR, so it also works over a message to yourself or from another room.

Skip it WORKS OUT OF THE BOX No Mac mini? You’re already set: the phone is the brain by default, glasses connect over Bluetooth, and everything runs offline. Add a Brain any time later — same one code.

The software you run

Two apps you can run today.

Both testable now, before the glasses ship. The iOS app pairs your devices and puts your brain in your pocket; the Mac app turns a spare Mac mini into a private knowledge node on your own network.

iOS app

Your brain, in your pocket

Pair the trio with one code and own your privacy from a single screen — phone-first, cloud a switch you hold.

Ask from anywhere. “What does Marcus owe me?” answered from your own memory, not a search box.
Three switches, one screen. Phone-or-Mac brain, cloud on/off, and Incognito — flip capture and the cloud off for a whole session with one tap.
Mirrors the glasses. See the card that’s on the HUD right now, and manage the memories and people you’ve kept.

macOS · the Brain

A private knowledge node

Point it at a spare Mac and it becomes the smart, private half of your brain — indexing your world and serving it back, all on your own network.

Morning brief. One tap synthesises what’s new and what’s on you — across your messages, mail, and everything you’re tracking.
Knows your day & your people. Reads macOS Calendar, Contacts, and Reminders so the glasses greet who you’ve met and surface what’s due — read-only, nothing leaves.
Answers from your files. Index chosen folders and mail; keyword search needs zero setup, and a local model adds written answers and vision — no cloud required.

An open platform

Build on the layer.

DreamLayer is open source, and every lens is a plug-in underneath. Write a new one — a lens, a controller, a connector — and it drops into the same machinery the built-ins use. There’s a store for what the community makes.

A real extension APIObject providers, glance lenses, brain tiers, card renderers — the registries the app already runs on, given one doorway. First-party features are built through it too, so it’s proven by use.

Validated before it runsEvery plugin clears a gate — integrity checksum, a capability scan that blocks anything it didn’t declare, and a smoke test — on install and on load. It only gets the access it asked for, and only what your device will grant.

A store to share itBrowse, rate, and install from the web, the phone, or the Mac. Contribute yours by pull request; it’s reviewed and checksummed before it lands. Easy on, easy off.

Browse the plugin store → Build a plugin ↗

No app store required

Poke the HUD from your browser.

Because the whole thing is open, you can talk to the glasses straight from a web page — no build, no install. The playground connects to your Halo over Bluetooth and speaks Lua to it: push a card, run a gesture, read the IMU, live.

A live Lua REPLType Lua, hit send, watch it run on the glass — replies stream straight back. The fastest way to learn the on-device API and prototype a card.

Canned demosOne-tap buttons — show text, clear, read the battery — over the Nordic UART service the phone hub uses. See the HUD react without writing a line.

Honest about the caveatWorks in Chrome or Edge on Android, macOS, Windows, and Linux. iPhone Safari can’t do Web Bluetooth — there, use the app. The page tells you plainly instead of failing silently.

Open the playground →