A post-NDE philosophical inquiry
Though some may find the notion unsettling, the reality of a fractal environment is anything but depressing. Fractals are not static—they do not exist in finality or conclusion. They are the architecture of perpetual change, where transformation is not a disruption, but the very nature of being. Within this eternal motion lies a deeper question: Is there a beginning, or an end?
While meditating, I observed a stream of fractal images projected on my screen—ever-shifting, recursive, beautiful. No clear origin. No ultimate destination. What emerged was not a narrative, but a cycle of becoming. The colors and shapes evolved—some vibrant and lush, reminiscent of spring’s verdancy and the scent of earth after rain. These slowly gave way to deeper hues, echoing the transitions of summer into autumn, and then into winter’s solemn quietude. Each phase did not erase the one before; it emerged from it, carried traces of it, and folded back into the infinite complexity.
What struck me most was the sense that nothing truly begins—it simply becomes. In this fractal unfolding, is it possible that we too are just temporary formations within a grand, recursive pattern? Perhaps what we call “life” is just a pause on a particular point in an infinite sequence—a resting place on the edge of time’s geometry.
This leads to a more disconcerting, yet illuminating inquiry: Are we conscious entities, or are we functions within a conscious system? Do we inhabit fixed locations in time and space, or do we merely arise momentarily on the surface of a deeper, multidimensional reality—like dew on the petal of a flower that only exists for an instant, but reflects the whole of the garden?
I wonder if we are not unlike viruses—biological agents that thrive within systems, consuming what they need, changing their host, and disappearing. Are we viruses in the body of reality itself? Or are we gardeners of the same fractal soil we emerge from? Do we feed off the timelines we land on, or do we participate in cultivating the pattern?
Since my near-death experience in 2019, my understanding of consciousness has expanded. The event did not show me a destination, but rather widened the scope of perception. I no longer see life through the narrow lens of beginning, middle, and end. Instead, I recognize the fractal structure—where each moment contains echoes of countless others, and where time spirals rather than marches.
Perhaps consciousness is not singular, nor linear. Perhaps we are repositories—organic libraries temporarily activated, storing memories, ideas, and intentions for an evolving cosmic intelligence. Maybe we are summoned for specific missions, for subtle interferences or interventions, and then returned to stillness, awaiting the next cycle.
And what of “the one up to bat”? Is there a central intelligence—some guiding force that steps forward in each round, shaping the trajectory of evolution, adaptation, and survival? Or is the intelligence decentralized—emergent from the fractal dance itself, with no leader but pattern, no architect but recursion?
In the end, I return to the image of the screen, filled with endless metamorphosis. It reminds me that while form changes, essence persists. And maybe that is what we are: shifting expressions of a singular, evolving truth, riding the fractal wave of a reality that is at once complex, chaotic, and profoundly ordered.
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My Near Death Experience Arts and Thoughts 