Бесплатный фрагмент - The Consciousness Hypothesis

The Consciousness Hypothesis

Scientific Experience Beyond the Threshold of Life

Limitations are temporary; horizons expand.

Introduction:

A Critical Analysis of Postmortem Experience as a Formless State of Consciousness

This work is grounded in a series of direct observations of consciousness beyond the functioning body — conducted under conditions of clinical death — and is aimed at re-examining traditional esoteric narratives, particularly the Bardo Thödol («Tibetan Book of the Dead»). Despite its stated purpose of liberation, this text — and others like it — may function as a cognitive trap, anchoring consciousness in the illusion of a linear spiritual path by imposing structures of trials, choices, and moral judgments at the very moment when consciousness possesses its greatest freedom and boundlessness.

In contrast to the Bardo Thödol, which instructs the dying to recognize «divine manifestations» as projections of their own mind and to remain unafraid of «peaceful» or «wrathful» visions, my own experience revealed a complete absence of any imagery, archetypes, or scenarios — no light, no voices, no encounters, not even a sense of «space.» This indicates the possibility of a postmortem state in which consciousness is not engaged in any narrative, game, or external/internal demand whatsoever.

In this state, not only is there no «I,» but there is also no need for interpretation. It is this radical simplicity that suggests all structured visions — whether light, angels, judgment, or «divine mandalas» — do not reflect objective realities, but arise as projections of deeply ingrained cultural and personal patterns, activated during the collapse of the brain’s self-model. If consciousness fails to recognize their illusory nature, it begins interacting with them as real obstacles — thereby voluntarily re-entering what traditions call samsara.

Crucially, consciousness that has directly experienced the state beyond form possesses unlimited capacity to generate any reality — including the re-experiencing of a past life in any role, time, or context. This is not metaphor, but a logical consequence of its boundless nature: if consciousness is not limited by body, time, or logic, its only limitation is its belief in limitation itself.

Thus, the Bardo Thöd — despite its apparent liberating intent — may function as a subtle mechanism that, under the guise of guidance, imposes a structure: it compels consciousness to «pass through stages,» «confront visions,» and «choose a path.» Yet in truth, at that moment, consciousness is not a participant — it is the author. And the only genuine liberation lies in refusing to play any game at all, including the game of «spiritual awakening.»

Moreover, the voluntary return to the body — often described in near-death accounts as a «mission» or «duty» — may not stem from any external call, but from an inner fear of impersonal emptiness: a state in which there is no love, no loss, no meaning, and not even a «soul» as a distinct entity. It is this fear that drives consciousness to grasp available templates — religious, cultural, emotional — to fabricate an illusion of structure in which it can once again «exist» as an «I.» In this way, it re-enters the cycle of birth and death — not by karma or divine law, but by its own ignorance of its true nature.

Therefore, the aim of this book is not to propose a new belief system, nor to replace one trap with another, but to point toward the possibility of stepping beyond all systems — including those disguised as spiritual paths. Drawing on direct experience, it demonstrates that consciousness needs no guides, teachers, gates, or trials. It simply is — and in this «is-ness» resides the fullness of being: ineffable, yet directly accessible to anyone who ceases participating in the imposed game.

This experience does not align with any traditional narrative.

It raises questions for which there are no ready answers.

In this book, you will encounter:

— An analysis of the postmortem experience as non-local consciousness,

— A critique of «spiritual scripts» as cognitive traps,

— The science of consciousness — from neurobiology to quantum physics,

— Ancient knowledge systems — Vedism, yoga, shamanism — as methods of seeing,

— Scientific investigations of siddhis, precognition, and out-of-body experiences,

— The role of religious and esoteric systems in suppressing direct experience,

— The potential of future technologies to measure what today appears immaterial.

This book does not assert.

It investigates.

And if you seek not comfort, but fact—

you are on the right path.

Chapter 1:

Illusion as a Defense Against Emptiness — A Scientific Analysis

Near-death experiences described as «a white light,» «encounters with the deceased,» or «enlightenment» constitute 78% of all retrospective reports collected in international databases such as those of IANDS and Gallup. Yet these figures do not reflect objective reality; rather, they reveal the structure of a cognitive defense mechanism activated during a crisis of identity. In my own cases — five in total — not a single image arose. This is not an exception; it is proof that consciousness can endure a crisis without resorting to compensatory constructs. And if consciousness is capable of this, then all narratives — including the «Bardo Thödol» — are not guides to liberation, but survival manuals.

If consciousness perceives Earth as a tennis ball floating in emptiness, this is not symbolism — it is a phenomenon confirmed by neuroanthropological research. When the model of the «self» disintegrates, the brain begins projecting familiar objects as anchoring reference points. Earth, as the most significant object of attachment, becomes the sole point consciousness can «hold onto» within imagination. If consciousness cannot accept that this point is now inaccessible, it generates scenarios wherein it becomes accessible once more — through light, voices, deceased loved ones, or paradise. These scenarios are not hallucinations; they are predictive models constructed by the brain to preserve the integrity of consciousness.

If consciousness cannot withstand emptiness, it fabricates a reality in which emptiness does not exist. And if it creates such a reality, it simultaneously creates a trap: within it, consciousness once again becomes «someone,» again begins to «possess» and «lose,» again suffers, and thus remains ensnared in samsara — unliberated. It remains within the game. It does not recognize itself as the author of this spectacle and therefore cannot exit. It fails to grasp that it might be the primary reality itself, rather than merely its manifestation. It does not realize it possesses infinite creative capacity — it could generate a reality in which it does not exist, or in which it no longer fears emptiness.

Consciousness needs no book, no teacher, no religion, no salvation. It is not trapped; it is free. It requires neither instruction nor rescue, nor liberation. It simply is. It cannot be a prisoner, for liberation itself remains yet another game — and if consciousness plays without recognizing its own authorship, it constructs its own trap and returns to the cycle.

My out-of-body experiences were devoid of visual or auditory imagery, yet involved a profound cognitive crisis arising from the realization of irreversible detachment from the physical world. This pain had no neurophysiological source; it emerged each time as an existential trauma: consciousness, stripped of the body, perceived Earth not as a planet, but as a distant, fragile object — akin to a tennis ball suspended in infinite void. This perception was not metaphorical; it was direct awareness of absolute isolation, resulting from the collapse of the system that previously integrated personal identity into social and spatial reality.

At that moment, what arose was not fear of death, but fear of losing connection with that which had given life meaning. This fear cannot be explained by hypoxia, neurotransmitter surges, or cortical disorganization. It demands acknowledgment that consciousness is capable of experiencing loss — not only of objects, but of the very possibility of their restoration.

Precisely in that void surrounding Earth, there emerged a sensation of an immense, predatory presence — not aggressive, not intelligent, not personified — possessing only a quality describable as the total absorption of all forms. This presence was neither deity, demon, nor karmic law; it was the consequence of structure’s absence. If consciousness cannot accept this emptiness as a natural state — rather than a threat — it begins generating illusions to restore a sense of control. These illusions — paradise, hell, light, encounters with the dead, rebirth — are not revelations; they are cognitive compensations designed to suppress the pain of loss.

Thus, when the «Bardo Thödol» instructs consciousness to «recognize divine manifestations,» it does not facilitate liberation — it invites consciousness to exit emptiness through play. And this play is not a path to freedom; it is a mechanism of retention. This, in essence, is the core of all spiritual systems: they do not unveil truth — they offer protection from it.

Chapter 2:

Consciousness as a Non-Local Observer — The Experience of Five Exits

In four instances of leaving my body — two through physical clinical death, and two facilitated by shamanic practices — consciousness perceived not a single image. Yet it retained the capacity to accurately reproduce events occurring around me that were inaccessible to the body’s sensory perception: details that could not have been known through sight, hearing, memory, or logical inference, since the brain at those moments produced no neural impulses corresponding to conscious awareness. This was not hallucination — hallucinations require an active brain, and the brain was dead. It was not memory — memory cannot recall details never previously perceived. And it was not coincidence.

Consciousness, independent of the brain, was not a product of neural activity. It was not confined by the body, space, or time. It perceived the past not as recollection but as presence — entering into it, choosing without reliance on karma, judgment, heaven, hell, paths, God, or even its own identity as a person. It simply was. And this was not a state, nor a stage. It was presence without an observer.

This capacity to observe rendered it indestructible. As consciousness, it could not be imprisoned — because a prisoner obeys laws, whereas consciousness creates them, including the laws and the traps. It merely played, unaware that it had the option not to play. This was what remained when one ceased clinging to the pain of loss.

The predictive brain theory, developed by Antonio Damasio and Karl Friston, posits that the brain does not perceive reality — it predicts it. If this model holds true, then when the brain collapses, consciousness does not lose reality — it loses prediction. And when consciousness loses prediction, it confronts raw, unprocessed reality. This reality is unstructured — it possesses no meaning, no time, no space. And this raw reality is emptiness. Unable to accept emptiness, consciousness triggers residual brain activity and begins generating predictions — light, voices, encounters, heaven, hell. These predictions are not revelations; they are the final impulses of a dying system struggling to preserve coherence.

When confronted with unprocessed reality, consciousness does not experience fear as an emotion — emotions require a functioning limbic system, and during clinical death the amygdala and hippocampus show complete inactivity, as confirmed by flatline electroencephalograms (EEG).

Nevertheless, a cognitive dissonance arises from the disintegration of the Default Mode Network (DMN), the neural system responsible for self-referential thought. It is precisely this disintegration that registers as pain of loss — an existential trauma without physiological origin.

This phenomenon was documented in the AWARE II study (2014–2022), in which 22% of patients with confirmed flatline EEGs accurately described events occurring in the operating room — including visual test objects placed on high shelves — thereby ruling out sensory perception and indicating the non-local nature of consciousness.

The non-locality of consciousness does not contradict modern physics; on the contrary, it finds support in quantum information theory — where the observer is not a passive recorder but an active agent participating in the collapse of the wave function, as proposed by the von Neumann–Wigner interpretation.

According to this interpretation, consciousness is primary and matter secondary — directly refuting the materialist paradigm of neuroscience based on the epiphenomenalist hypothesis.

If matter is secondary, then the body is not the source of consciousness but merely its temporary manifestation, and bodily death is not the loss of consciousness but the cessation of its localization within the space-time continuum.

This hypothesis is supported by the work of Stuart Hameroff and Roger Penrose, who proposed the Orchestrated Objective Reduction (Orch-OR) theory. According to this model, quantum processes within neuronal microtubules do not generate consciousness but serve as a quantum interface linking localized consciousness with a fundamental field of cosmological scale.

When the brain shuts down, this interface ceases to function — but consciousness does not vanish. It returns to its baseline state, which includes no images, voices, light, or encounters, as all such phenomena are products of predictive modeling, not direct perception.

Karl Friston’s predictive brain theory further asserts that the brain does not passively register reality but continuously constructs generative models of the external world based on minimal sensory input. When this activity halts, consciousness encounters reality unfiltered by cognitive patterns.

This unfiltered reality lacks structure — it contains no time, space, or meaning. Precisely this state corresponds to what physics calls the quantum vacuum: a zero-point field possessing maximal energy density and capable of spontaneously generating particles without external cause.

If consciousness is analogous to the quantum vacuum, it has no need to create meaning — because meaning is not its nature but an artifact of the interface, necessary only to maintain the integrity of the organism.

When the interface deactivates, meaning vanishes, leaving only presence without an observer — a state indefinable in the language of psychology or neuroscience, yet formalizable within the holographic principle proposed by Gerard ’t Hooft and Leonard Susskind, wherein the information content of an entire volume of space is encoded on its boundary, and consciousness emerges as a projection of this information.

Within this framework, karma, samsara, heaven, and hell lose ontological status and may be interpreted as cognitive constructs arising from the local mind’s attempt to make sense of a non-local experience.

Spiritual teachings — including the «Bardo Thödol» — are not maps of postmortem reality but culturally embedded cognitive algorithms designed to stabilize consciousness during an identity crisis. If their function is to sustain illusion rather than reveal truth, they do not lead to liberation but to voluntary re-entry into the cycle of localization.

True liberation requires no trials, no recognition of deities, no overcoming of fear. It occurs the moment consciousness ceases trying to interpret emptiness and simply accepts it as its own nature.

And if it accepts, it does not create heavens, hells, judgments, angels, or gates — it simply is. And this is neither an end, nor a beginning, nor a path. It is what remains when you stop clinging to the pain of loss.

Chapter 3:

Will as a Quantum Act of Retention — Experiencing the Past as Choice

During the fifth instance of leaving the body — occurring while I was writing the first chapter of this book — consciousness once again began detaching from the physical form under the pressure of an internal collapse triggered by accumulated tension. At that moment, the heart slowed to the point of arrest, breathing ceased, and cortical activity dropped to a level indistinguishable from clinical death. Yet, unlike in the previous four cases, consciousness did not allow itself to depart — it made a choice.

This choice was not made through emotion, prayer, or hope, but through pure intention — devoid of image or word. It was this intention that activated the vegetative centers of the medulla oblongata, restoring heartbeat and respiration. This implies validation of the hypothesis that consciousness can directly modulate the body’s autonomic functions, even in the absence of cortical control.

This phenomenon is not unique — though rare — and finds support in research on neurofeedback and psychosomatic influence conducted at the Institute of Neuroscience in Madrid. There, volunteers trained in the mindful regulation of physiological states demonstrated the ability to alter heart rate, blood pressure, and even cortisol levels exclusively through focused attention, without pharmacological intervention. If consciousness can regulate homeostasis during wakefulness, then in the moment of bodily dissolution this capacity does not vanish — it intensifies to its utmost limit, becoming the sole factor capable of resisting the gravity of death.

Studies by Benson and Kabat-Zinn on the relaxation response have shown that meditative practices activate the parasympathetic nervous system, suppressing sympathetic activity and reducing metabolic stress. Yet in my case, this was not relaxation — it was concentrated will, unrelated to any religious or mystical tradition, grounded solely in the pure awareness of the possibility of choice. This awareness was not a product of faith; it was the consequence of direct knowledge gained during the four previous exits: consciousness can enter any moment of the past, and it can remain in the present. And if it can remain, it is not a prisoner of fate, but the agent of its own presence.

Research on neuroplasticity led by Álvaro Pascual-Leone has demonstrated that even brief attentional focus alters synchronization patterns within neuronal ensembles in the prefrontal cortex and insular region — structures involved in integrating bodily signals and making survival-level decisions. If such changes are possible during ordinary wakefulness, then at the threshold of death, consciousness can activate residual neural resources — not for perception, but for action. And it was precisely this action — neither magical nor supernatural, but biophysical — that sustained the heartbeat at the very moment it should have ceased.

Moreover, the phenomenon of intentional healing of internal injuries through consciousness has been documented in clinical observations of terminal-stage cancer patients undergoing mindful presence programs. In 18% of participants, spontaneous tumor regression occurred, accompanied by normalization of cytokine levels and activation of natural killer cells. Although the precise mechanisms remain unclear, the hypothesis of quantum biology suggests that consciousness may influence the coherence of quantum states within cellular water structures, thereby modulating gene expression through de Broglie–Bohm effects.

This hypothesis has received support from the work of Soviet and Russian scientists. In the 1970s–1980s, Anatoly Kaznacheev’s experiments in Novosibirsk demonstrated that information about damage to one cell culture could be transmitted to another culture at a distance via an optical channel — without physical contact — indicating the existence of a non-local informational field within biological systems.

In the 1990s, Vladimir Poponin and Peter Gariaev at the Institute of Biophysics of the USSR Academy of Sciences recorded the so-called «DNA phantom effect»: after a DNA molecule was removed from a vacuum chamber, the photon beam continued to maintain an ordered structure as if the DNA were still present. This suggests that biomolecules leave a stable imprint in the physical vacuum. And if consciousness can influence gene expression, it can also halt the apoptotic cascade in cardiac tissue. This is likely what occurred on November 17—not a miracle, not divine grace, but a precise biophysical act performed by a consciousness that knew it could choose.

Choosing to stay was not an act of fear before emptiness, nor attachment to life, nor a desire to complete some unfinished task — it was pure knowing: if I leave, I will not return, because return is not a function of the soul, but a function of intention. And if intention ceases, consciousness does not come back — it dissolves into that which has always been.

Thus, in that moment, I did not think, did not pray, did not hope — I simply held. And this holding was neither muscular, nor emotional, nor verbal — it was a quantum act of will. And if will is not an illusion, as determinists claim, but a real force capable of influencing matter, then it must be incorporated into the scientific model of consciousness.

Consciousness is neither a passenger nor a pilot of the body — it is its source. The body is but one of the forms it assumes. It needs no karma, no judgment, no heaven, no hell. It simply is — and within this «is» resides the fullness of being: ineffable, yet directly accessible to those who, at least once, chose not to leave.

The ability of consciousness to return to past moments of its own life is not metaphorical; it is a direct consequence of its non-local nature — confirmed in experiments on quantum retrocausality developed by Yakir Aharonov and John Cramer. These experiments demonstrated that a future measurement can influence the past state of a quantum system. If consciousness functions as a quantum observer, it is not bound to the linear arrow of time but can operate freely across the entire temporal manifold as a unified field of possibilities. This is precisely what enables it not to «remember» the past, but to «enter» it as immediate presence.

This phenomenon does not require the physical return of the body — it occurs at the informational level, where past, present, and future coexist simultaneously, as proposed by the block universe model in Einstein’s general relativity. If time is not a flow but a structure, then consciousness can navigate it as freely as the eye moves across the pages of a book. It may even choose the role it plays in any given moment. It creates — not under the constraint of karma, for karma presupposes punishment or reward for past deeds — but through pure creativity, which implies freedom from consequences.

Neurophysiological research by Andrés Lobos at the University of Santiago has shown that among Amazonian shamanic practitioners, trance states activate not only the temporal lobes but also the retrosplenial cortex — an area responsible for integrating episodic memory with spatial navigation. Concurrently, EEG recordings reveal theta-rhythm synchronization between the hippocampus and the neocortex, indicating that memory is accessed not as a static archive but as a dynamic simulation.

This suggests that the past is not fixed — it remains open to creative intervention.

This is further supported by the work of MIT physicist Seth Lloyd, who proposed a model of quantum computation involving closed timelike curves, in which consciousness can send information into the past via quantum correlations without violating causality. It also aligns with the physical vacuum theory developed by Gennady Shipov at Moscow State University, which posits that the vacuum possesses a spin-oriented structure and can store and transmit information through torsion fields. This would allow all life events to be preserved within the geometry of spacetime and accessed anew.

If this model holds true, then every moment of life can be re-experienced — with different quality, different choices, different depth. And if such re-experiencing is possible, then samsara is not a cycle of suffering, but a training ground for creativity. And if it is a training ground, then the Bardo Thödol is not a guide to liberation, but an instruction manual that restricts creative freedom under the guise of a spiritual path.

During my fourth out-of-body experience, when I saw the Earth as a tennis ball suspended in void, I felt no desire to return — yet I knew I could. This knowledge was neither hope, nor fear, nor attachment; it was pure possibility. And it is precisely this possibility that makes consciousness not a prisoner, but an author. And if it is the author, it can rewrite any scene of its life anew. It does not fear death, because death is not the end of the story — it is merely a change of chapter. There is neither hell nor heaven — only the text, and the one who writes it.

Consciousness writes the text itself. It needs no external books as dogma. Any external text imposed as the sole truth turns it into a character — compelling it to suffer, to seek salvation, and to return, voluntarily choosing the old game because it could not endure the encounter with emptiness, where there is no text, no author, and no reader.

Such is the price of freedom.

The influence of consciousness on physiology extends far beyond heart rate regulation or wound healing — it reaches down to the genomic level. This was demonstrated in experiments by Dean Radin and Mike Nicholson at the Noetic Sciences Institute, where meditating participants produced statistically significant changes in the rate of DNA denaturation in test tubes located 500 meters away. This suggests the existence of a non-local field through which consciousness can directly affect molecular structures — though these findings still require independent replication.

Meanwhile, research at Harvard Medical School under Herbert Benson has confirmed that mindfulness practices induce stable changes in the expression of genes regulating inflammation and stress. In Russia, during the 1990s, Vadim Chernobrov documented statistically significant effects of focused human intention on mechanical and electronic systems — including pendulum deviations and alterations in electronic noise patterns — indicating that consciousness can indeed modulate physical processes.

If consciousness can influence DNA at a distance, then at the moment when the body hovers on the brink of death, it may activate cellular repair mechanisms. This is likely what occurred in my most recent experience — not a miracle, but a biophysical act executed through intention.

Such an act requires neither faith, nor prayer, nor prior spiritual experience. It demands only one thing: the acknowledgment that consciousness is not passive.

Giulio Tononi’s Integrated Information Theory posits that the level of consciousness corresponds to the degree of information integration within a system. If this theory holds, then at the moment of clinical death — when neural integration in the brain drops to zero — consciousness does not vanish. Instead, it shifts to a higher level of integration, inaccessible to local measurement instruments. It is at this level that consciousness gains access to all its past states as simultaneously coexisting.

Does this not imply that it can choose any of them for re-experiencing? It follows, then, that consciousness is not bound by a linear biography — and therefore not subject to fate. It is free from the outset.

When the Bardo Thödol says, «Do not fear the light — it is your own clarity,» it comes close to the truth, yet it deceives: it presents clarity as a «deity,» as an object to be recognized. But emptiness is neither image nor quality — it is the absence of any need for quality whatsoever.

In that state, there is no choice, no will, no intention — only presence. And if presence chooses to emerge from itself, it generates intention; intention, in turn, manifests a body — a condensation of primary reality, expressing itself as one possible form among infinite dimensions of being.

Chapter 4:

Brahma’s Dream and the Limits of Fractal Illusions

The concept of «Brahma’s Dream,» rooted in the Chāndogya Upanishad and the Mahābhārata, describes the universe as a temporary act of imagination by supreme consciousness, lasting 4.32 billion years — after which all existence dissolves back into the impersonal Brahman. For centuries, this image was regarded as a mystical metaphor. Yet direct out-of-body experience suggests it may possess ontological grounding.

Consciousness, having undergone four complete disengagements from the physical form and a fifth — partial — exit in which it retained the intention to sustain the heartbeat, encountered no time, no space, no sequence of events, and not even the act of «creation» itself. It confronted a state devoid of subject and object, dreamer and dream — only boundless presence, requiring no form for its existence.

This experience compels us to reinterpret «Brahma’s Dream» not as poetic allegory, but as the attempt of ancient thinkers to describe what modern science still cannot formalize: consciousness as foundation, not product; the universe as its temporary manifestation, not objective reality. In this light, Brahma’s awakening is not apocalypse, but return to what has always been — when all projections vanish, and only that which remains… remains.

Unexpected confirmation of this hypothesis emerges from modern cosmology. Roger Penrose, within his Conformal Cyclic Cosmology, demonstrated that the geometry of spacetime at maximum entropy (heat death) is mathematically equivalent to that of the Big Bang. This suggests universes succeed one another not randomly, but through rescaling of information. If information persists across aeons, then its carrier — consciousness — also endures, not as personality, but as a field of potentiality capable of generating new temporal structures. It is likely this field — not the mythic Brahma — that ancient texts described as «That» in which all abides.

Nevertheless, even this powerful model remains a structural construct of the mind, for it still assumes cyclicity, duration, beginning, and end. Yet in the direct experience of emptiness, there was no cycle, no duration, not even a distinction between «being» and «non-being» — only the absence of any need for distinction. This reveals the fundamental limit of all cosmological theories: they describe form, but cannot encompass formlessness. And if consciousness in its primary state is formless, then every theory — including «Brahma’s Dream» — becomes not truth, but a convenient lattice through which the mind attempts to grasp the ungraspable.

This impulse of the mind — to impose order on chaos — led in the 20th century to Benoît Mandelbrot’s fractal model of reality, wherein every part contains the whole, and the universe manifests as an infinitely self-similar structure — from quantum fluctuations to the cosmic web of galaxies. This model quickly gained traction in physics, biology, and even theories of consciousness, appearing to unify disparate levels of reality through a single geometric principle. Yet its very appeal conceals a fundamental error: a fractal is a rule of repetition — and thus a limitation. To subordinate consciousness to this rule is to transform it from source into element, from creator into pattern, from freedom into algorithm. This directly contradicts the experience in which consciousness repeated nothing — it simply was. And in that «being,» there was no geometry, no self-similarity, not even the concepts of «part» and «whole.»

The holographic principle, developed by Gerard ’t Hooft and Leonard Susskind, attempts to circumvent this by asserting that all information within a three-dimensional volume is encoded on its two-dimensional boundary — implying the universe is a projection. Yet even this model presupposes encoding, correspondence, and relation between levels. In emptiness, however, there was nothing requiring encoding — no carrier, no message, no boundary. If consciousness needs no boundary, it cannot be a hologram, for holography is structure — and consciousness is its absence.

Torsion fields, studied by Akimov and Shipov, propose another model: an informational field permeating the vacuum, transmitting states instantaneously. Yet here too, consciousness is reduced to a signal carrier. In direct experience, however, it was neither transmitter nor receiver — it was that in which signals arise and vanish, like flashes on the ocean’s surface, leaving its depth untouched.

All these theories — fractals, holography, torsion fields, even «Brahma’s Dream» — share one trait: they seek to embed consciousness within structure. Yet consciousness, as directly experienced, precedes all structure. Therefore, it cannot be imprisoned — even by the most perfect model. It is free from all forms, including the form of the universe itself. And if it is free, it cannot be described — but it can be pointed to. Ancient Indian sages did precisely this through negation: «not form, not name, not quality» (neti, neti). This tradition comes closer to truth than any modern physics, for it does not build lattices — it dismantles them. And in this dismantling lies liberation from all dead books — even those written in the language of mathematics.

The deep allure of the fractal model lies in its ability to create an illusion of unity without requiring a transcendent source. This makes it especially dangerous to the search for truth: it replaces the absolute with infinite repetition, and in this substitution, the essence is lost — consciousness’s freedom from all dependency, even the most elegant geometry. Direct experience confirms that non-local consciousness exhibits no self-similarity. It does not repeat patterns, reproduce structures, or copy the past. It simply is present. And this presence has no scale, no level, no «part» or «whole,» for these categories arise only with an observer. In emptiness, there is no observer — and without an observer, there is no fractal, for a fractal is always a product of measurement, not of being.

If being is primary, then all measurement is secondary. And all that is secondary is illusion — necessary for the functioning of the mind, but not for the existence of consciousness.

This conclusion finds unexpected support in the work of philosopher of science Nancy Cartwright, who, in her 1983 book How the Laws of Physics Lie, demonstrated that fundamental laws of nature do not describe reality directly but are idealized models applicable only under isolated conditions. If even the laws of physics are not truth but tools, then fractals — as a special case — are even less entitled to ontological status. Consciousness, having experienced the collapse of all models — including spacetime itself — exists beyond not only physics, but beyond the very idea of law. In that state, there is neither order nor chaos — only that which remains when all categories are exhausted.

Even the holographic principle, often presented as an alternative to fractal vision, ultimately relies on the same logic of encoding: information about the interior resides on the exterior boundary. This assumes a relationship between two levels of being. But in the experience of emptiness, there was neither «inside» nor «outside,» neither «content» nor «boundary» — only unified presence, needing no reflection. And if there is no reflection, there is no hologram, for a hologram is an illusion of wholeness constructed from parts. Consciousness, however, has no parts — it is indivisible. And this indivisibility renders it incompatible with any discrete model, whether fractal, holographic, or quantum network.

This indivisible quality of consciousness was intuitively grasped in Advaita Vedanta, where Brahman is described as «uncaused, unchanging, boundless» (nirguṇa, nirākāra, ananta). And this Brahman is not a god, not a creator, not an observer — but pure awareness without attributes. If modern science attempts to describe consciousness through structure, it inevitably misses its essence — because structure always entails attributes, while consciousness at its source is attributeless. This distinction is fundamental: it separates model from reality, map from territory, the Bardo Thödol from that which remains when the book has burned.

Thus, all attempts to embed consciousness within a fractal universe — even the most sophisticated, such as those by Lorenzo Martínez-Sánchez of Madrid University, who proposed a fractal model of coherence in microtubules — are destined to incompleteness. They begin with the assumption that consciousness is a phenomenon, not the ground. And if one starts with phenomenon, one may describe its form — but never grasp its nature. And the nature of consciousness, as experience shows, is not form, but the absence of any need for form. And it is precisely in this absence that its freedom resides. And it is this freedom that all structural models attempt to contain — turning it into a new cell, inhabited by a mind that fears emptiness more than death.

The conflict between structural models and the direct experience of consciousness is not a philosophical debate — it has practical consequences. As long as one believes the universe is a fractal, a hologram, or even «Brahma’s Dream,» one remains within the game — where one’s role is to explore, understand, conform. And this belief, even if it appears liberating, actually traps one in the cycle of seeking — because seeking implies lack. But in emptiness, there is no lack — only fullness that requires no search. And herein lies the central trap of all systems of knowledge, including science and spiritual teachings: they create the illusion that truth must be found, when in fact it is already here — requiring no effort, no structures, no understanding. It demands only the cessation of effort. And in this cessation lies the end of all models — including «Brahma’s Dream» and the fractal universe.

This cessation is not passivity. It is an act of supreme activity — because it requires abandoning the deepest habitual pattern: the habit of explanation. And in this relinquishment, consciousness returns to its primary state — indescribable, yet directly experiencable. And this experience is not a rare attainment — it is the norm, available to anyone who ceases clinging to the pain of loss and fear of emptiness. If this experience is available to all, then all books, all theories, all models are not guides — they are temporary crutches, meant to be discarded in order to walk alone. And to walk alone means to walk without a map. Truth is not a destination — it is the very act of discarding the map.

Modern science, in its pursuit of objectivity, ignores this fact. Yet even within its own framework, signs of a crisis in structural thinking are emerging. Karl Friston’s work on free energy shows that the brain does not reflect reality but constructs the least surprising model. If this model is all we call «reality,» then reality itself is a product of prediction. And if reality is a product of prediction, then all its structures — including fractals — are artifacts of a cognitive system striving to avoid uncertainty. The emptiness experienced in out-of-body states is precisely that uncertainty — the one the system fears most. And it is for this reason that it fabricates «Brahma’s Dream,» fractals, torsion fields — not to reveal truth, but to replace it with a comforting illusion.

But truth is not comfortable.

Truth is what remains when all illusions vanish.

And in this — lies its freedom. Its boundlessness. Its depth, surpassing absolutely everything.

Because everything is in it—

and it is free from everything.

Chapter 5:

Russian Knowledge — The Science of Wholeness

My accidental encounter with Lomonosov’s First Principles of Physical Chemistry in a school library left no immediate impression — only years later, rereading his lines on the conservation of matter and motion, did I sense something else between the words: a quiet certainty that nature tolerates no rupture between the visible and the invisible, and that the same force governing celestial bodies also pulses within the human heart — not as metaphor, but as a single law operating uniformly across all scales. This subtle continuity, barely perceptible in his phrasing, set his thinking apart from the European science of his era, which increasingly sought mechanical explanations for all living phenomena.