It’s	not	useful	simply	to	say	that	Karma	is	flexible	and	inflexible	at
the	same	time. In	fact,	the	coexistence	of	opposites	is	a	paradox,	and	unless
we	solve	it	we	have	no	control	over	the	afterlife;	we	are	just	caught	in	the
meshes	of	a	machine	that	can	produce	any	outcome	according	to	its	own
whims. From	This	Lifetime	to	the	Next
We	aren’t	in	control	of	the	afterlife	for	the	same	reason	that	we	aren’t	in
control	of	this	life. We	don’t	yet	have	enough	consciousness. The	gaps	of
ignorance	of	our	full	potential	are	too	large,	and	whatever	the	gap	claims	turns
into	the	unconscious. In	Tibetan	Buddhism	one	lifetime	is	firmly	connected	to
another. When	a	lama	dies,	it’s	expected	that	his	reincarnation	will	be	found. Signs	are	left	behind	that	link	the	two	incarnations. On	his	return,	the	baby
will	recognize	his	old	toys,	for	example,	and	the	adults	around	him	can
determine	beyond	doubt	that	the	chain	of	identity	hasn’t	been	broken. This	is	the	same	as	saying	that	Tibetans	don’t	fall	into	the	gap	when	they
die. Continuity	is	preserved. The	famous	Tibetan	Book	of	the	Dead	elaborates
every	detail	of	conscious	dying,	in	the	belief	that	a	dying	person	should
remain	as	connected	as	possible	to	the	uninterrupted	flow	of	awareness. To	a
Western	reader	the	book	is	baffling;	it	describes	so	many	gradations	of
awareness,	so	many	possible	destinations	in	the	Bardo	that	it	would	take	a
lifetime	of	Buddhist	practice	to	absorb	all	the	possibilities. This	is	precisely
the	point,	for	Tibetans	don’t	want	to	wander	outside	their	belief	system;	it
upholds	who	they	are	and	where	they	are	going	on	the	path	to	liberation. That’s	one	example	of	tightly	patterned	choice,	compared	to	which	a
Westerner	is	a	reckless	gambler. We	do	not	typically	try	to	hold	on	to
unbroken	consciousness,	and	although	we	may	harbor	a	wish	to	come	back	to
a	lifetime	closely	resembling	the	one	we	left,	it’s	just	as	likely	that	we	may
yearn	for	something	completely	new. In	any	event,	we	don’t	usually	assume
that	our	wishes	matter. The	business	of	heaven	and	hell	will	take	care	of	itself,
which	means,	ironically,	that	Westerners	are	more	resigned	about	Karma	than
most	people	in	the	East,	who	always	keep	in	the	back	of	their	minds	some
notion	that	Karma	follows	a	person	from	lifetime	to	lifetime. For	them,	everyaction	in	this	life	reverberates	into	the	next,	and	apparently	random	events	in
the	present	have	their	roots	in	decisions	made	in	the	past. What	this	implies	is	that	there	are	many	ways	to	relate	to	Karma. You	can
choose	to	be	as	aware	as	you	like,	or	as	unaware. Karma	glues	events
together,	but	that	isn’t	the	same	as	being	fatalistic. In	the	East	this	point	is
often	missed,	and	people	commonly	assume	that	bad	actions	are	like	crimes
with	set	punishments	while	good	actions	earn	fixed	rewards. Logical	as	that
sounds,	it	denies	freedom	of	choice. “I	used	to	think	that	karma	turned	me	into	a	kind	of	puppet,”	a	friend	of
mine	once	remarked. “Having	made	millions	of	choices	in	
the
	past,	each	one
with	its	own	consequence,	how	could	I	be	free	of	them? Each	bad	choice	jerks
me	one	way,	each	good	choice	another. Fate	holds	the	strings.”
“How	did	you	break	free	from	that	way	of	thinking?”	I	asked. “I	couldn’t,”	he	said. “But	then	one	day	it	hit	me. What	does	it	matter	if
I’m	a	puppet? I	can’t	feel	the	strings. I	can’t	see	anybody	manipulating	them. For	all	I	know,	every	decision	I	make	is	mine	and	mine	alone. I	may	still	be
fate’s	puppet,	but	what	does	it	matter	if	I	can’t	tell	the	difference?”
It’s	hard	to	argue	with	such	pragmatism. Only	afterward	did	I	think	about
its	flaws. If	Karma	is	akin	to	the	invisible	working	of	the	brain,	we	can’t
ignore	it	just	because	it’s	unseen. Our	brains	produce	all	kinds	of	disturbing
and	distorted	thoughts. They	can	become	imbalanced	and	throw	us	into
depression	or	outright	madness. They	are	subject	to	false	perceptions	and
hallucinations,	not	to	mention	crippling	disease,	which	may	be	treatable. More	basically,	what	we	say	and	do	changes	the	brain. The	hard	wiring	of
neurons	is	altered	by	experience,	so	that	the	brain	of	someone	who	has
suffered	a	terrible	calamity,	for	example,	becomes	different	from	someone
who	hasn’t. Positive	and	negative	experiences	condition	the	mind	to	see	the
world	in	a	particular	way,	and	the	brain	then	adapts. Let’s	apply	this	to	reincarnation. At	death	the	visible	and	invisible	aspects
of	karma	mesh. The	standard	version	recounted	in	India	goes	like	this:	When
you	die	you	leave	your	body	but	remain	aware	of	who	you	are. You	may
continue	to	see	the	room	you	died	in;	you	retain	the	sensations	of	possessing	a
physical	body	for	a	time	(traditionally,	bodies	remain	untouched	immediately
after	death	in	the	belief	that	the	deceased	would	continue	to	feel	anything
done	to	them). Next,	like	a	drowning	man	seeing	his	life	pass	before	his	eyes,	one’s
karma	unravels	like	thread	coming	off	a	spool,	and	the	events	of	this	lifetime
march	in	review	across	the	screen	of	the	mind. You	
re-experience
	all	your
significant	moments	since	birth,	only	this	time	with	a	vividness	and	clarity
that	shows	you	exactly	what	each	one	meant. Right	and	wrong	are	also	clearly
revealed,	with	no	excuses	or	rationalizations. You	become	responsible	for
everything	you	did.As	these	judgments	are	made—they	are	all	self-judgments,	not	divine
edicts—you	find	yourself	in	various	Lokas,	worlds	that	reflect	the	kind	of
reward	or	punishment	that	your	actions	deserve. A	single	soul	is	not	assigned
to	one	Loka	forever	but	stays	only	as	long	as	Karma	dictates. During	this
passage,	which	encompasses	worlds	of	pleasure	and	pain,	you	will	learn	about
yourself	and	come	to	your	own	conclusions. No	external	force	tells	you	what
your	life	meant	or	how	to	proceed	to	the	next	step. You	may	suffer	in	a	hellish
Loka	for	what	seems	like	eternity,	or	you	could	leave	immediately. Time	is
purely	subjective,	and	what	you’re	actually	experiencing	is	your	own
awareness	working	out	its	dilemmas	and	conflicts. Why	am	I	here? What
makes	me	suffer? Do	I	deserve	to	suffer? Is	there	a	way	out? People	who	are	disconnected	from	themselves	will	be	as	baffled	by	the
afterlife	as	they	are	by	the	present. For	them,	cause	and	effect	aren’t	clear. Feelings	of	being	alienated,	alone,	victimized,	tossed	around	by	fate,	out	of
control,	or	abused	by	authority	clash	with	one	another. In	this	fog	of
confusion	they	cannot	take	responsibility	for	their	own	motivations	and
desires,	and	the	afterlife	may	frighten	or	baffle	them. Being	disconnected	is	an	illusion	from	the	soul’s	perspective,	and
however	long	it	may	take,	the	person	eventually	prepares	to	leave	the	region
of	Lokas. Understanding,	symbolized	by	light,	begins	to	dawn. In	clarity	you
realize	that	“I	am”	is	your	basis,	not	the	things	you	did. You	no	longer
identify	with	being	a	certain	person;	you	now	identify	with	being	conscious,
and	what	fills	your	mind	is	fresh	possibilities. The	karma	you	brought	into	the
last	lifetime	has	been	exhausted,	and	fresh	seeds	of	karma	are	ready	to	sprout. Being	reborn	enters	your	mind	gradually. For	a	long	period	(speaking
subjectively)	you	experience	bliss,	or	Ananda;	you	have	gained	pure	being,
which	brings	its	own	fulfillment	regardless	of	any	karma,	good	or	bad. You
find	yourself	in	the	same	gap	as	the	one	between	two	thoughts,	only	this	time
you	are	aware	of	uncountable	possibilities	from	which	to	choose. How	do	you
choose	the	next	life? Through	the	same	process	as	choosing	the	next	thought. We	do	this	all	the	time,	yet	we	don’t	know	how	we	do	it;	the	next	thought
emerges	from	the	gap,	the	purely	unknown. You	will	witness	as	the	dream	of	a	new	identity	begins	to	clothe	you,	and
you	will	fall	into	your	next	life	in	complete	surrender	to	past	actions	that	you
still	know	almost	nothing	about. But	all	of	us	can	take	a	more	active	role	in
how	we	reincarnate. In	the	gap,	when	every	possibility	confronts	us,	choice
lies	among	those	possibilities. The	elaborate	rituals	in	the	Tibetan	Book	of	the
Dead	aren’t	designed	to	get	a	kind	person	to	a	nice	heaven	and	a	better	next
lifetime. They	are	designed	to	make	freedom	of	choice	real,	to	bring	the
person	fully	aware	into	the	gap	so	that	karma	can	be	shaped,	controlled,	or
even	fully	resolved.Freeing	Yourself
What	will	it	be	like	to	find	yourself	in	the	gap? I’d	like	to	answer	that	from
personal	experience. A	year	ago	I	was	sitting	on	an	airplane	in	a	bewildered
state	of	mind. During	a	short	layover	in	the	Midwest	I	found	myself	without
something	to	read. I’d	looked	over	the	airport	newsstand,	but	nothing	on	the
racks	appealed	to	me. When	I	boarded	my	next	flight,	intending	to	pass	the
time	by	writing,	I	discovered	that	my	notebook	and	handheld	computer	had
been	packed	away	in	a	suitcase. Something—fate,	circumstance,	a	clumsy
oversight—had	placed	me	alone	for	four	hours. Without	notice	or	permission,	a	subtle	mental	voice	started	to	guide	me. It
gave	me	a	glimpse	into	how	my	mind	works	when	it	has	no	distractions
around. What	I	saw	was	very	basic. There	is	a	thought	in	the	mind	and	then
another,	and	then	another	and	another. Thoughts	can	be	gripping	or	pass	by
unnoticed;	they	can	be	strong	or	weak,	momentous	or	casual,	frivolous	or
serious. The	guiding	voice	pointed	all	this	out	in	a	few	seconds. Now,	what	is	the	proper	way	to	relate	to	your	mind? the	voice	asked. Should	you	always	do	what	it	says? Clearly	not,	for	we	have	all	kinds	of
thoughts	that	are	irrelevant	or	fantastic. Should	we	ignore	what	it	says? No
again,	because	the	mind	gives	us	all	the	desires	upon	which	we	build	our
lives. There	is	no	single	way	to	relate	to	the	mind
. You	can’t	take	a	stance	that
will	always	work. When	people	decide	arbitrarily	to	be	optimists,	they	may
miscalculate	when	it	comes	to	serious	crises,	evildoing,	wars,	personal
conflicts,	etc. If	they	decide	arbitrarily	to	be	pessimists,	they	will	miss	many
opportunities	for	joy,	fulfillment,	hope,	and	faith. My	mental	guide	showed	me	this,	and	I	was	intrigued. It	would	appear
that	being	spiritual	is	one	stance	that	works,	yet	there	are	situations	where
even	being	spiritual—tolerant,	loving,	accepting,	and	detached	from
materialism—won’t	work	at	all. A	parent	can’t	simply	accept	and	love	a	child
addicted	to	cocaine,	for	example;	active	intervention	is	called	for. A	thousand
other	examples	come	to	mind. Love	won’t	defeat	torturers;	tolerance	won’t
stop	the	excesses	of	fanatics. A	person	must	find	an	infinitely	flexible	way	to
relate	to	the	mind;	otherwise	something	gets	lost. The	most	precious	gift	of
the	mind—its	total	freedom—is	the	source	of	our	creativity. Now,	my	mental	guide	said,	look	at	the	world. Isn’t	it	the	same	as	the
mind? The	same	unpredictability	prevails,	and	therefore	you	cannot	take	a
fixed	attitude	toward	the	world	that	works. People	who	are	congenitally
optimistic	about	the	future	are	as	shortsighted	as	people	
who
	are	congenitally
pessimistic. Go	one	step	further. Karma	is	also	unpredictable,	and	it	too
cannot	be	approached	single-mindedly. To	fight	your	karma	is	just	as
frustrating	as	accepting	your	karma. At	this	point	the	sun	had	set	and	the	plane	cabin	was	empty	and	dark. Icould	see	the	last	band	of	blue-orange	light	circling	the	horizon. My	mental
guide	wasn’t	an	accident	or	a	daydream. I	realized	that	for	a	long	time	I’d
wanted	to	know	
how	it	all	works
. The	answer	is	that	mind,	the	world,	and
Karma	are	the	same	thing,	perfect	mirrors	of	one	another. Their	complexity	is
impossible	to	fathom. Their	infinite	connections	can	never	be	mapped	out,
and	even	if	they	could	be,	the	next	tick	of	the	clock	will	bring	a	new,	equally
infinite	set	of	possibilities. That	realization	is	as	close	as	I’ve	ever	come	to	being	in	the	gap	where	a
new	lifetime	is	chosen. The	gap	is	pure	freedom,	and	when	you	see	that	you
are	completely	free,	choices	change. Some	souls	want	to	remain	completely
unattached;	they	choose	Moksha,	or	liberation	from	a	physical	body	and	the
karma	it	acts	out. Other	souls	cherish	Moksha	but	want	to	enjoy	it	while
possessing	a	body. They	choose	to	reincarnate	with	complete	self-awareness
—we	call	them	enlightened. The	rest	of	us	fall	somewhere	else. We	cherish
being	free,	but	we	also	want	new	experiences. So	we	let	Karma	weave	a	new
story	for	us. We	keep	some	self-awareness	and	sacrifice	some. We	agree	to
acquire	amnesia	about	“I	am”	in	exchange	for	the	drama	of	being	a	separate
person	with	likes	and	dislikes,	challenges	and	opportunities. The	new	life	we	clothe	ourselves	in	will	contain	its	unique	measure	of
connection	and	disconnection. This	is	hardly	the	perfect	way	to	relate	to
mind,	Karma,	and	the	world. The	perfect	way	is	freedom. But	in	our
imperfect	way	we	become	part	of	a	mystery. We	accept	a	role	in	this
fascinating	play	of	light	and	darkness,	and	once	again	the	physical	world
becomes	our	reality. We	return	to	a	belief	that	death	is	a	fearful	thing,	that
struggle	is	necessary,	that	pleasure	is	worth	pursuing	and	pain	worth	avoiding. We	forget	the	knowledge	that	our	
souls
	have,	or	that	we	had	when	we	were	in
the	gap. We	keep	only	a	bit	of	the	truth	close	by	so	that	we	have	something	to
aspire	to. I	have	a	feeling	that	we	also	keep	a	measure	of	sorrow	for	the
decision	we	made	to	leave	truth	behind. Our	half-truth	has	one	virtue,
however. As	long	as	we	believe	in	it,	the	soul	will	never	give	up	on	teaching
us	the	rest. For	that	purpose,	the	dream	continues.Part	Two
T
HE
	B
URDEN	OF
	P
ROOF
	
UNTIL	THIS	CENTURY
	the	burden	of	proof	in	spiritual	matters	lay	with
disbelievers. Religion	had	such	a	powerful	hold	upon	the	human	imagination
that	for	whole	cultures—the	ancient	Egyptians	and	medieval	Christians	come
to	mind—the	material	world	was	much	less	real	than	the	world	of	the	gods	or
God. Most	modern	people	can	barely	fathom	this	worldview,	because	we	are
as	immersed	in	materialism	as	they	were	in	idealism—the	belief	that	nature
begins	in	subtle	realms	of	spirit. In	idealism	the	earth	is	a	lower	world	while
heaven	is	higher. Thus	everything	about	earthly	life—its	physicality,
appetites,	sexual	drive,	disease,	suffering,	and	old	age—is	further	from	God
or	spirit	than	heaven. Science	did	not	overturn	this	view	by	disproving	it. Idealism	was	simply
outmoded	by	a	new	worldview—materialism—that	was	more	practical. Materialism	brought	about	technology,	with	its	attendant	comforts,	and	it
explained	many	phenomena	that	religion	preferred	to	regard	as	a	mystery
known	only	to	God. Like	any	worldview,	the	old	one	overstepped	its	bounds
when	it	claimed,	for	example,	that	diseases	were	acts	of	God	to	punish
sinners. Once	germs	were	discovered,	this	explanation	seemed	pointless	and
ultimately	irrational. But	by	the	same	token,	the	new	worldview	would
overstep	its	bounds,	as	it	has	today,	when	science	claims	that	without	physical
proof	we	can	abolish	all	notions	of	God,	angels,	ghosts,	spirit,	the	soul,	and
the	afterlife	itself. Just	as	religion	had	no	competency	in	physics	and
chemistry,	science	has	no	competency	in	spiritual	issues. The	burden	of	proof	has	shifted,	and	now	it	is	the	believer	who	must
prove	that	God	and	the	soul	are	real. For	many	people,	the	triumph	of
materialism	is	so	complete	that	even	showing	
why
	we	should	care	about	God
and	the	soul	is	a	tough	challenge. If	skepticism	carries	the	day	in	some	circles,	in	popular	culture	the	burden
still	lies	with	proving	that	the	afterlife	
doesn’t
	exist. Consistently	polls	show
that	90%	of	people	believe	in	heaven,	and	almost	that	many	believe	they	are
going	there. Belief	in	hell	suffers	a	sharp	decline	to	75%	and	only	68%
believe	in	the	devil. This	leaves	most	people	in	a	quandary,	dividing	their
allegiance	between	faith	when	it	comes	to	spirituality	and	science	when	it
comes	to	the	material	world. No	less	than	Sir	Isaac	Newton	was	a	devout
Christian	who	wrestled	his	whole	life	with	the	schism	he	saw	between	science
and	metaphysics. There	is	another	way,	however. In	this	book	I’ve	tried	to	present	a	view	of
the	afterlife	based	on	consciousness,	and	issues	about	consciousness	can	be
settled,	at	least	partially,	through	science. The	evidence	we’re	looking	for	isn’tphotographs	of	supernatural	phenomena	(these	already	exist	in	abundance	but
only	lead	to	more	skepticism). The	most	helpful	evidence	would	be	in	support
of	the	major	claims	that	underlie	Vedanta,	which	is	consistent	on	its	own
terms. The	primary	claim,	of	course,	is	that	reality	is	created	from
consciousness. We	will	have	our	proof	if	we	can	answer	the	following
questions:
Is	Akasha	real? Does	the	mind	extend	beyond	the	brain? Is	the	universe	aware? Does	consciousness	have	a	basis	outside	time	and	space? Can	our	beliefs	shape	reality? These	are	fundamental	questions	that	science	has	touched	upon,	even
though	few	researchers	had	the	afterlife	in	mind	when	they	made	their
findings. It’s	fair	to	say	that	physics	never	set	out	to	prove	that	the	universe	is
self-aware. But	so	many	mysteries	remain	unsolved	if	the	universe	
isn’t
	self-
aware	that	cutting-edge	theories	are	starting	to	include	that	once	unthinkable
idea. Looking	at	unsolved	mysteries	is	our	best	hope,	in	fact,	because	only
those	things	that	science	hasn’t	explained	offer	room	for	radically	new
thinking. At	present,	neurology	doesn’t	know	how	memory	works,	or	how
brain	cells	turn	raw	data	into	complex	thought,	or	where	identity	is	located. If
we	knew	these	things,	there	might	be	no	need	to	speculate	about	“extended
mind,”	the	notion	that	thinking	can	occur	outside	the	brain. Fortunately	or	not,
we	find	ourselves	with	a	rich	store	of	enigmas	that	provide	room	for	the	Vedic
rishis	and	their	deep	understanding	of	consciousness. On	the	frontier	of	many
mysteries	lies	the	answer	to	one	mystery.13
I
S
	A
KASHA
	R
EAL
? THE	USE	OF
	the	word	“Akasha”	has	lingered	around	the	fringes	of	physics	for
at	least	a	century. The	reason	for	this	is	that	an	ancient	and	supposedly
outmoded	belief	refuses	to	die—the	belief	that	empty	space	is	not	empty	at
all. Akasha,	the	Sanskrit	word	for	space,	has	an	English	equivalent:	the	ether. Up	until	a	few	generations	ago,	if	you	had	gone	to	school	and	asked	what
filled	the	infinite	void	between	the	stars,	you	would	have	been	told,	whether
in	ancient	Greece	or	medieval	France	or	Harvard	at	the	time	of	Abraham
Lincoln,	that	pure	emptiness	isn’t	possible. An	invisible	ether	that	can’t	be
seen	or	measured	allows	light	to	travel	from	the	stars,	as	water	allows	ripples
to	spread	when	a	rock	is	thrown	into	a	pond. Without	a	medium	to	pass
through,	light	waves	have	no	way	to	move	from	point	A	to	point	B. The	ether	suffered	a	decisive	setback	in	the	1880s	when	two	American
scientists,	Albert	Michelson	and	Edward	Morley,	proved	that	light	traveled	at
the	same	speed	no	matter	what	direction	it	moved	in. This	was	important
because	the	so-called	“ether	wind”	that	was	thought	to	sweep	energy	through
the	universe	should	have	made	light	travel	slower	going	upstream	than
downstream. When	Michelson	and	Morley	proved	that	this	wasn’t	true,	even
Einstein	became	convinced	that	space	was	a	void	without	activity,	a	belief
that	was	also	
wrong
,	as	it	turns	out. Physicists	now	believe	that	space	is	full	of
activity	in	the	form	of	invisible	fluctuations	in	the	quantum	field. These	so-
called	virtual	fluctuations	account	for	matter	and	energy	and	also	for
distortions	in	time	and	space. Thus,	in	a	curious	way	the	disproved	notion	of
the	ether	has	been	revived	indirectly. To	find	out	where	matter	and	energy	come	from,	physics	wound	up
positing	a	universal	field	that	envelops	not	just	what	we	observe	but
everything	that	could	possibly	exist. Modern	physics	finds	it	easy	to	make	the
material	world	disappear	into	nothingness,	but	that	is	deeply	disturbing,
almost	as	disturbing	as	the	disappearance	of	a	dying	person. Here	is	how	the
disappearing	act	of	a	rock,	tree,	planet,	or	galaxy	works:
First,	the	rock,	tree,	or	planet	disappeared	from	sight	when	scientists
realized	that	solid	matter	is	made	up	of	atoms	that	cannot	be	detected	by	the
naked	eye. Second,	atoms	disappeared	when	it	was	discovered	that	they	are	made	upof	energy,	mere	vibrations	in	the	void. Finally,	energy	disappeared	when	it	was	found	that	vibrations	are
temporary	excitations	in	a	field,	and	that	the	field	itself	doesn’t	vibrate	but
maintains	a	flat,	constant	“zero	point.”
Theoretically,	to	reach	the	zero	point	in	Nature	one	could	cool	empty
space	down	to	absolute	zero,	and	instantly	everything	would	cease	to	vibrate. Yet	the	zero	point	also	exists	here	and	now—it	provides	the	starting	point
from	which	everything	in	the	universe	springs. Since	matter	and	energy	are
constantly	emerging	and	then	vanishing	back	into	the	void,	the	zero	point
serves	as	the	switching	station	between	existence	and	nothingness. Newton
had	established	that	matter	and	energy	cannot	be	destroyed,	but	they	can
oscillate	in	this	shadowy	way	at	the	subatomic	level,	as	long	as	the	sum	total
of	matter	and	energy	isn’t	altered. The	Zero	Point	Field
It	wouldn’t	be	so	disturbing	if	this	vanishing	act	was	due	to	occur	only	when
the	cosmos	dies	billions	of	years	from	now	by	cooling	down	to	absolute	zero. Nor	would	it	be	so	disturbing	if	matter	only	collapsed	into	the	void
theoretically. Such	isn’t	the	case,	however. Matter	and	energy	
have
	to
disappear. If	they	remained	stable,	which	is	how	rocks,	trees,	and	planets	look
to	the	eye,	chaos	would	break	loose. Matter	would	exist	only	as	randomly
floating	particles	in	interstellar	space. Exploded	bits	of	the	Big	Bang	would	be
flying	apart	at	millions	of	miles	an	hour	without	any	relationship	to	one
another. There	would	be	no	forms,	no	evolution,	no	organization—in	other
words,	no	universe	as	we	know	it. At	best,	gravity	could	possibly	pull
together	larger	clumps	of	matter,	but	gravity	is	also	a	wave	function	that
fluctuates	around	the	zero	point. The	fact	that	chaos	doesn’t	totally	dominate	remains	a	huge	mystery,
which	may	only	be	solved	by	Akasha. Here	the	needs	of	physics	and	the
Vedic	rishis	begin	to	converge	in	startling	ways. The	rishis	were	focused	on
consciousness	as	a	universal	principle. But	to	have	a	thinking	universe,	they
needed	to	explain	how	the	cosmic	mind	works,	how	it	holds	itself	together
and	organizes	itself	into	thoughts. If	the	“mind	field”	was	totally	stable,	it
would	be	a	dead	zone,	or	at	best	filled	with	a	constant,	meaningless	buzz. Physics	also	needs	to	know	how	the	universe	holds	itself	together	and
organizes	into	coherent	forms. Otherwise,	the	inconceivable	fireball	that
appeared	at	the	instant	of	the	Big	Bang	would	have	blown	itself	apart,	the	way
dynamite	blows	itself	apart,	without	bothering	to	create	forms	along	the	way. Physics	was	drawn,	step-by-step,	into	the	void	because	nothing	in	the
visible	world	was	adequate	to	explain	what	had	to	be	explained. The	zero
point	became	an	all-inclusive	“field	of	fields”	that	encompasses	every	unseen,or	virtual,	particle	in	the	universe. It	was	calculated	that	the	zero	point
contained	10	to	the	40th	power	more	
energy
	than	the	visible	universe—that	is,
a	one	followed	by	forty	zeros. The	void	turned	out	to	be	a	seething	exchange
of	energy,	not	just	between	photons	and	electrons	but	in	every	conceivable
quantum	event. Suddenly	the	unseen	has	become	incredibly	more	powerful
than	the	seen. But	in	what	way	is	the	“field	of	fields”	like	a	mind,	the	thing
the	rishis	were	looking	for? Thinking,	the	basic	operation	of	the	mind,	organizes	reality	to	make	sense. The	universe	does	this	physically. It	forms	complex	systems. DNA	is	one
example,	but	genes	didn’t	create	life	simply	by	stringing	simple	molecules
along	a	double	helix. There	are	spaces	between	each	genetic	bit,	and	this
sequencing	is	all-important. An	amoeba	differs	from	a	human	being	in	the
sequence	of	carbon,	oxygen,	hydrogen,	and	nitrogen	along	its	genes,	not	in
the	atoms	themselves. The	fact	that	empty	spaces,	or	gaps,	between	genetic
material	are	so	important	brings	us	back	to	the	void,	where	
something
	is
arranging	random	events	so	that	they	are	meaningful. Once	a	form	has	been	created,	it	has	to	be	remembered	in	order	to	stay
together. The	universe	remembers	what	it	has	created	and	meshes	it	with	older
systems. The	Earth’s	ecosystem	is	a	good	example. Life-forms	constantly
relate	to	each	other	in	exquisite	balance. The	oxygen	given	off	by	plants
during	photosynthesis,	for	example,	would	eventually	poison	the	entire
atmosphere,	killing	off	all	vegetation	that	needs	carbon	dioxide,	were	it	not
for	the	evolution	of	animals,	which	consume	the	oxygen	and	return	carbon
dioxide	back	to	plants. This	extremely	complex	balance	can	be	traced	back	to
the	void,	where	every	single	fluctuation	of	virtual	energy	is	passed	along	and
absorbed	by	a	virtual	particle	in	need	of	energy. (As	one	popular	writer	has
put	it,	it’s	as	if	the	cosmos	were	passing	along	a	penny,	so	that	every	time	one
particle	is	a	penny	poorer,	another	gets	a	penny	richer.) The	basic	pattern	is
very	simple,	but	when	trillions	of	energy	exchanges	are	involved	every
second,	as	they	are	with	life	on	
Earth
,	the	ecosystem’s	ability	to	keep	one
form	separate	from	another,	yet	in	dynamic	relationship,	is	mind-boggling. There	are	other	things	the	mind	can	do	that	are	paralleled	in	the	universe. The	mind	can	keep	track	of	two	events	separated	in	time—this	is	how	we
recognize	a	face	today	that	we	saw	years	ago,	for	example. Similarly,	the
universe	keeps	track	of	any	two	paired	electrons. They	will	be	paired	for	all
time	even	if	they	travel	millions	of	light-years	apart. Uncannily,	if	one	of	the
paired	electrons	should	change	in	position	or	spin,	its	twin	will	change
simultaneously	without	sending	a	signal	that	needs	to	travel	through	space. The	Zero	Point	Field	communicates	without	regard	for	time,	distance,	or	the
speed	of	light. The	very	fact	that	we	use	a	word	like	“communicate”	indicates	how	hard
it	is	not	to	see	parallels	between	our	minds	and	Nature	“out	there.”	Whichbrings	us	to	a	dangerous	trap. Mind	and	matter	offer	two	ways	of	describing
the	same	thing,	but	they	are	not,	in	themselves,	exactly	the	same. If	one	could
show	that	the	universe	has	a	memory,	for	example,	that	wouldn’t	prove	it	had
a	mind. Remembering	a	face	is	a	mental	act. The	ability	of	two	electrons	to
match	each	other’s	spin	across	a	vast	distance	is	a	material	feat. The	same	trap
works	in	reverse. If	one	could	calculate	every	vibration	of	a	violinist’s	bow
while	playing	a	Beethoven	sonata,	that	wouldn’t	explain	music	or	its	beauty. Those	are	mental	phenomena,	not	material	ones. All	we	can	do	is	draw
parallels	between	two	models	in	an	effort	to	place	them	in	one	reality. I’ve	been	speaking	as	if	the	universe	consciously	knows	what	it	is	doing
when	DNA	creates	an	amoeba,	for	example,	instead	of	a	chimpanzee	or	a
human	being. This	implies	self-awareness	on	the	part	of	molecules,	and	that
in	turn	requires	the	Zero	Point	Field	to	act	like	a	mind	as	it	organizes	every
possible	fluctuation	in	the	cosmos. No	matter	how	closely	one	draws	the
parallels,	this	premise	can’t	be	
proven
—or	disproven—because	the	Zero
Point	Field,	by	containing	everything,	contains	us. We	cannot	step	outside	it,
and	so	we	are	in	the	same	position	as	a	fish	trying	to	prove	that	the	ocean	is
wet. Unless	the	fish	jumps	out	of	the	ocean,	water	is	everywhere;	there	is	no
contrast,	and	therefore	no	dryness	that	makes	wetness	possible. We	cannot	prove	that	the	universe	has	a	mind,	because	we	aren’t
mindless. Nobody	has	ever	experienced	mindlessness;	therefore,	we	have
nothing	to	base	it	on. The	Vedic	rishis	were	fortunate	that	they	started	out
believing	that	consciousness	was	real	and	needed	no	proof. Physics	doesn’t
hold	that	consciousness	is	a	given. To	speak	of	a	self-aware	universe	puts	one
at	the	fringes	of	speculative	thinking	in	physics. But	for	our	purposes	in
looking	for	evidence	of	the	afterlife,	it	is	vital	to	show	that	consciousness	is
everywhere,	because	then	there	would	be	nowhere	to	go	after	we	die	that	
isn’t
conscious. Mind	over	Matter
What	if	our	minds	could	alter	the	quantum	field? Then	we	would	have	a	link
between	the	two	models,	mind	and	matter. Such	a	link	was	actually	provided
by	Helmut	Schmidt,	a	researcher	working	for	the	Boeing	aerospace	laboratory
in	Seattle. Beginning	in	the	mid-Sixties,	Schmidt	set	up	machines	that	could
emit	random	signals,	with	the	aim	of	seeing	if	ordinary	people	could	alter
those	signals	using	nothing	more	than	their	minds. The	first	machine	detected
radioactive	decay	from	strontium	90;	each	electron	that	was	given	off	lit	up
either	a	red,	blue,	yellow,	or	green	light. Schmidt	asked	ordinary	people	to
predict,	with	the	press	of	a	button,	which	light	would	be	illuminated	next. At	first	no	one	performed	better	than	random,	or	25%,	in	picking	one	of
the	four	lights. Then	Schmidt	hit	on	the	idea	of	using	expert	psychics	as	hissubjects,	and	his	first	results	were	encouraging:	psychics	guessed	the	correct
light	27%	of	the	time. But	he	didn’t	
know
	if	this	was	a	matter	of	clairvoyance
—seeing	the	result	before	it	happened—or	something	more	active,	actually
changing	the	random	pattern	of	electrons	being	emitted. So	Schmidt	built	a	second	machine	that	generated	only	two	signals,	call
them	plus	and	minus. A	circle	of	lights	was	set	up,	and	each	time	a	plus	or	a
minus	was	generated,	a	bulb	would	light	up. If	two	pluses	were	generated
consecutively,	the	lights	would	go	on	in	a	clockwise	direction. Two	minuses
would	light	up	in	a	counterclockwise	direction. Left	to	itself,	the	machine
would	light	up	an	equal	number	of	pluses	and	minuses;	what	Schmidt	wanted
his	subjects	to	do	was	to	will	the	lights	to	move	clockwise	only. He	eventually
found	two	subjects	who	had	remarkable	success. One	could	get	the	lights	to
move	clockwise	52.5%	of	the	time. An	increase	of	2.5%	over	randomness
doesn’t	sound	dramatic,	but	Schmidt	calculated	that	the	odds	were	10	million
to	1	against	this	occurring	by	chance. The	other	subject	was	just	as	successful,
but	oddly	enough,	his	efforts	to	make	the	lights	move	clockwise	had	the
opposite	result:	they	moved	only	counterclockwise. Later	experiments	with
new	subjects	raised	the	success	rate	to	54%,	although	the	strange	anomaly
that	the	lights	would	sometimes	go	in	the	wrong	direction	persisted. (No
explanation	was	ever	found	for	this.) Schmidt	showed	that	an	observer	can
change	activity	in	the	quantum	field	using	the	mind	alone,	which	supports	the
case	that	at	some	deep	level	mind	and	matter	are	one. The	rishis’	assertion
that	we	are	embedded	in	the	Akashic	field	seems	more	credible,	which	also
makes	it	more	credible	that	we	do	not	leave	the	field	when	we	die;	if	we	did,
we	would	be	the	only	thing	in	Nature	that	isn’t	part	of	the	field. Inspired	by	Schmidt’s	results,	a	Princeton	engineering	professor	named
Robert	Jahn	developed	much	more	sophisticated	trials,	involving	a	machine
that	could	generate	zeros	and	ones	five	times	a	second. In	the	Princeton
experiments,	each	participant	went	through	three	types	of	tests. First	he	would
will	the	machine	to	produce	more	
ones
	than	zeros,	then	more	zeros	than	ones,
and	finally	he	would	try	not	to	influence	the	machine	at	all. Each	test	was
repeated	until	there	were	between	500,000	and	1	million	results,	a	staggering
number	that	in	a	single	day	outstripped	all	the	previous	trials	performed	by
Schmidt	and	all	the	other	parapsychologists	before	him. After	twelve	years	of	study,	it	was	found	that	roughly	two-thirds	of
ordinary	people	could	influence	the	outcome	of	the	machine,	unlike	in
Schmidt’s	study. These	ordinary	people,	like	his	psychics,	could	will	material
changes,	evoking	more	zeros	than	ones,	more	ones	than	zeros,	about	51	to
52%	of	the	time. This	again	may	seem	like	a	slim	margin,	but	it	turns	out	to
defy	chance	by	a	ratio	of	a	trillion	to	one. The	solidity	of	the	outcome	is
particularly	radical	because	random	chance	is	a	bedrock	of	quantum	physics,
Darwinian	evolution,	and	many	other	fields. (A	dozen	related	follow-upstudies	also	came	up	with	results	in	the	51–52%	range.) If	we	accept	that	our	minds	are	embedded	in	the	quantum	field	and	can
change	it,	where	does	that	leave	us? We	could	be	influencing	the	field	a	little
bit—no	more	than	a	matter	of	slight	coincidences,	such	as	thinking	of	a
friend’s	name	and	having	that	friend	suddenly	call	on	the	phone—or	at	the
other	extreme,	perhaps	everything	we	call	reality	is	manifested	by
consciousness,	coaxed	out	of	the	field	by	intention. After	examining	this
research	in	detail	in	her	excellent	book	
The	Field
,	Lynne	McTaggart	sees	the
possibility	of	a	complete	revolution	in	consciousness	theory:	
“On	the	most
profound	level,	the	[Princeton]	studies	also	suggest	that	reality	is	created	by
each	of	us	
only	by	our	attention
. At	the	lowest	level	of	mind	and	matter,	each
of	us	creates	the	world.”
Jahn	and	his	colleagues	remained	resolutely	technical,	however. They
were	baffled	by	their	results,	because	if	ordinary	people	could	influence	a
machine,	which	part	of	the	complicated	machinery	did	they	affect? Would	we
have	to	say	that	the	mind	actually	changes	the	
rate
	at	which	electrons	are
emitted? Just	as	important	is	the	question,	“So	what?”	If	an	ordinary	person
can	make	a	machine	generate	more	zeros	than	ones,	does	that	really	impact
the	big	issues	in	science? In	fact	it	does,	in	profound	ways. Does	Akasha	Explain	Everything? Akasha	can	be	interpreted	as	the	field	through	which	the	mind	operates. Ervin
Laszlo,	a	prominent	Hungarian	theorist	on	science	and	consciousness,	has
taken	the	bold	step	of	introducing	Akasha	as	the	unifying	answer	to
everything. After	forty	years	of	delving	into	cutting-edge	theories	in
philosophy,	biology,	cybernetics,	and	physics,	Laszlo	found	himself
embracing	the	antiquated	and	discredited	idea	we	discussed	earlier:	the	ether. Physics	had	proven	that	light,	unlike	waves	rippling	across	a	pond,	doesn’t
need	a	medium	to	travel	in. When	a	photon	starts	at	point	A	and	moves	to
point	B,	the	journey	can	be	accomplished	by	the	vanishing	act	discussed
earlier:	the	first	photon	winks	out	of	existence,	changes	its	location
somewhere	in	virtual	reality	(the	Zero	Point	Field),	and	reappears	intact	in	the
second	location. It	doesn’t	slow	down	due	to	friction	the	way	a	rock	skipping
over	the	water’s	surface	does. Moreover,	in	the	instant	that	it	is	gone,	the
photon	can	“speak”	to	every	other	photon	in	the	universe,	coordinating	its
activity	with	every	form	in	creation. I’m	giving	the	scenario	without	any
technical	jargon	in	order	to	describe	why	physics	threw	out	the	ether—it
simply	wasn’t	needed	in	quantum	calculations,	not	for	half	a	century	or	more,
during	which	time	physics	made	enormous	progress. Then,	according	to	Laszlo	and	other	systems	analysts,	physics	hit	a	wall. It	couldn’t	explain	
how
	the	universe	managed	to	be	so	precisely	coordinated.When	matter	and	energy	disappear	into	virtual	reality,	as	they	do	thousands	of
times	per	second,	things	happen	out	of	sight	
in
	some	uncanny	way. Time	gets
regulated;	objects	in	space	communicate	their	position,	and	seemingly
random	matter	stays	in	touch	with	them. The	Big	Bang,	which	contained	so
much	energy	in	a	space	millions	of	times	smaller	than	an	atom	that	billions	of
galaxies	still	express	only	4%	of	it,	occurred	within	a	tiny	window	of
possibility. If	the	expanding	universe,	moving	at	millions	of	miles	per	minute,
had	been	off	by	a	fraction	of	a	second,	the	formation	of	stars	and	galaxies
would	have	been	impossible,	because	the	momentum	of	the	explosion	would
have	exceeded	the	ability	of	gravity,	the	weakest	force	in	nature,	to	halt	it. Only	the	most	delicate	balancing	act	kept	the	push-pull	of	two	forces	so	close
together	that	they	can	dance	together	instead	of	tearing	each	other	apart. Randomness	is	a	feeble	explanation	for	such	precision,	Laszlo	claims. (In
the	Princeton	experiments,	anyone	who	relied	on	randomness	would	be	right
only	one	in	a	trillion	times.) Something	so	precisely	organized	requires	a
principle	to	hold	it	together	and	a	medium	to	carry	information	from	one	end
of	creation	to	the	other. The	old	notion	of	the	ether	doesn’t	suffice,	but
Akasha	does. In	his	2004	book,	
Science	and	the	Akashic	Field
,	Laszlo
explains	that	Akasha	is	necessary,	not	as	a	medium	for	visible	light	but	as	a
medium	for	invisible	light,	and	invisible	energy	in	general. Think	of	a	jump
rope	nailed	at	one	end	to	a	wall. As	the	jump	rope	is	turning,	which	stands	for
vibrating	energy,	follow	the	rope	closer	and	closer	to	the	wall. Every	fiber
now	vibrates	in	a	smaller	and	smaller	range,	until	you	reach	the	end	point
where	the	rope	is	nailed. That	point	isn’t	moving	at	all;	it	is	the	zero	point,	the
beginning	and	end	of	energy. Zero	isn’t	satisfactory,	however,	since	quantum
calculations	already	show	that	empty	space	is	packed	with	infinite	amounts	of
virtual	energy,	more	per	square	centimeter	than	inside	a	star. So	think	again	about	the	point	where	the	jump	rope	meets	the	wall. If	you
put	a	super-sensitive	stethoscope	to	the	wall,	the	rope’s	
vibration
	is	shaking
the	whole	wall,	and	in	return	the	wall	is	sending	some	of	that	vibration	back
out	again. This,	according	to	Laszlo,	is	also	happening	at	the	zero	point. Every	vibration	is	sending	signals	throughout	the	field,	and	in	return	the	field
is	sending	signals	back. The	universe,	it	turns	out,	is	constantly	monitoring
itself	by	somehow	coordinating	every	vibration	that	occurs	anywhere	in	the
visible	or	invisible	domain. Imagine	two	photons	floating	through	the	vastness	of	interstellar	space. By	chance	they	collide	with	each	other	and	bounce	apart. Did	anything
happen	that’s	different	from	two	grains	of	sand	hitting	each	other	as	the	surf
crashes	on	the	beach? Yes,	Laszlo	says:	they	exchange	information	and	they
begin	to	relate	to	each	other. Systems	theory,	as	summarized	by	Laszlo,	helps
to	explain	this	interaction. When	two	particles	touch,	they	are	carrying
information,	and	as	they	meet,	they	“speak”	to	each	other:	
Here’s	how	fast	I’mgoing,	how	much	I	weigh,	where	I’ve	been,	and	where	I’m	going
. This	conversation	doesn’t	happen	in	isolation. The	field	is	listening	in,
and	on	hearing	what’s	happening,	it	stores	the	information	for	reference,	since
it	needs	every	single	bit	to	run	the	cosmos. “Bit”	is	a	technical	term	in
information	theory,	referring	to	a	single	mathematical	unit—either	zero	or	one
—with	which	any	kind	of	information	can	be	expressed. When	the	two
particles	separate,	their	future	is	changed	because	of	the	information	they	just
exchanged. This	exchange	brings	to	mind	the	possibility	that	these	photons	
know	what
they	are	doing
. Most	speculative	thinkers,	including	Laszlo,	can’t	quite	bring
themselves	to	claim	that	the	field	is	conscious;	he	speaks	instead	about	“the
roots	of	consciousness.”	From	a	physicist’s	standpoint,	atoms	don’t	need	to
think,	much	less	be	alive. They	meet,	they	interact,	they	separate. If
complicated	things	happen,	they	may	be	mysterious,	invisible,	and	fiendishly
difficult	to	calculate,	needing	far	more	computing	capacity	than	all	the
mainframe	computers	in	
the
	world. Still,	as	long	as	numbers	explain	how
matter	behaves,	there	is	no	need	to	drop	something	alien	like	consciousness
into	the	equation. Well	and	good,	but	leaving	out	mind	doesn’t	work,	since	you	are	leaving
out	yourself. Imagine	that	someone	wanted	to	figure	out	the	rules	of	football
and	had	a	silent	videotape	to	work	from. With	no	knowledge	of	the	game,	it
would	still	be	possible	to	watch	enough	plays	and	come	to	reliable
conclusions	about	what’s	going	on. All	you’d	need	to	observe	is	the	way	the
ball	flies	and	how	the	players	hit	each	other,	or	don’t. Every	time	the
quarterback	is	knocked	down	with	the	ball	still	in	his	hands,	for	example,	both
teams	line	up	to	start	a	new	play. Seeing	this	happen	a	few	times	would	lead	a
scientist	to	conclude	that	the	quarterback	must	either	throw	away	the	ball	or
run	with	it. Yet	it	would	be	impossible	to	make	sense	of	the	game	if	you	assumed	that
the	players	were	mindless,	inert	objects. They	are	too	coordinated,	they	form
too	many	complex	patterns,	they	repeat	and	remember	those	patterns,	and	the
scoreboard	makes	sense—somebody	wins,	somebody	loses. To	go	a	step
further,	it	would	be	a	mistake	to	start	your	research	by	saying	that	football
ipso	facto	cannot	be	based	on	the	existence	of	mind	or	consciousness. You
would	wind	up	with	wildly	wrong	conclusions	if	you	insisted	that	no	matter
what	the	videotape	shows,	football	cannot	be	a	game;	it	must	remain	a
random	collision	of	objects. In	trying	to	figure	out	the	apparently	random	activity	in	the	quantum	field,
we’ve	come	to	see	that	there	is	incredible	timing,	coordination,	memory,
information	exchange,	and	self-interaction. But	what	is	the	point	of	it	all? The
observer	effect	adds	the	missing	link. The	observer	effect	is	related	to	one	of
the	cornerstones	of	quantum	physics,	called	“complementarity,”	which	holdsthat	it	isn’t	possible	to	know	everything	about	a	quantum	event. When	an
observer	
looks
	at,	or	measures,	an	electron,	whatever	is	being	observed	is
limited. Each	and	every	electron	has	a	probability	of	appearing	anywhere	in
the	universe. Only	under	observation	does	an	electron	jump	from	virtual	reality	into	the
visible	universe,	and	as	soon	as	the	observer	stops	looking,	it	falls	back	into
the	field	again. Erwin	Schrödinger,	the	great	German	physicist,	devised
Schrödinger’s	equation,	one	of	the	foundations	of	quantum	theory,	which
precisely	calculates	what	these	probabilities	are,	and	yet	the	notion	that	an
electron	is	everywhere	until	an	observer	calls	it	into	existence	defies	logic. For	those	readers	who	haven’t	read	about	Schrödinger’s	cat,	a	famous
paradox	that	grows	out	of	the	observer	effect,	here	it	is:
A	cat	is	placed	in	a	closed	box	with	a	fatal	device	inside. The	device	will
release	poison	cyanide	gas	if	it	is	triggered,	and	the	trigger	is	a	bit	of
radioactive	matter. If	the	radioactive	matter	releases	a	single	electron,	that	will
be	enough	to	trigger	the	device,	release	the	poison,	and	kill	the	cat. Here	is	the	paradox:	according	to	quantum	physics,	an	electron	has	no
visible	reality	until	it	is	observed. It	occupies	a	“superposition,”	meaning	that
it	can	be	in	more	than	one	place	at	the	same	time	(a	fact	that	has	been	verified
experimentally	with	subatomic	particles	that	do	in	fact	occupy	multiple
positions	at	once). Being	in	a	closed	box,	the	cat	is	outside	the	field	of
observation;	it	could	be	dead	or	alive,	so	according	to	quantum	theory,	it	must
be	both. Only	when	the	box	is	opened	and	the	observer	determines	the
situation	will	we	know	which	state,	dead	or	alive,	has	been	decided	upon. Until	then,	both	must	coexist. Many	physicists	have	escaped	the	paradox	of	a	cat	being	dead	and	alive	at
the	same	time	by	pointing	out	that	what	is	true	on	the	micro	level	isn’t	true	on
the	macro	level:	superposition	holds	for	electrons,	not	for	everyday	objects
like	cats. But	this	begs	the	question,	since	
the
	observer	effect	is	alive	and	well
in	the	Schmidt	and	Princeton	experiments,	where	the	mere	attention	of	an
observer	altered	the	quantum	field	and	the	material	world	at	the	same	time. The	crux	of	the	paradox	is	that	you	cannot	know	any	outcome	in	the	quantum
world	until	you	observe	it	(i.e.,	it	is	impossible	to	know	if	Schrödinger’s	cat	is
dead	or	alive	until	you	look,	and	the	looking	
makes
	it	one	or	the	other). Akasha	solves	this	problem	by	making	every	event	participatory	at	every
level. All	observers	are	inside	the	Akashic	field,	and	whatever	they	do	causes
the	whole	field	to	respond. Therefore,	we	are	not	falsifying	the	universe	to
describe	it	as	behaving	like	ourselves. The	predictable	and	the	unpredictable
coexist. A	cat	can	be	dead	and	alive	at	the	same	time	without	shaking	up	how
the	world	usually	works. In	fact,	it	is	through	the	unpredictable	universe	that
we	know	ourselves	and	vice	versa. The	Vedic	rishis	realized	that	time	and
eternity	have	to	be	related,	and	their	conclusion	was	that	time	is	an	illusionwhile	eternity	is	real. This	turns	the	tables	on	the	five	senses,	which	must
operate	as	if	time	is	real,	since	every	event	we	participate	in	occurs	in
spacetime. The	rishis	declare	that	dying	allows	us	to	see	eternal	reality	clearly
and	to	participate	in	it	more	fully. In	Laszlo’s	formation,	the	Akashic	field
does	exactly	the	same	for	all	matter,	energy,	and	information. Their
interactions	in	the	visible	universe	are	reflections	of	far	more	important
invisible	relationships	taking	place	offstage. Here’s	an	analogy. Imagine	that	you	are	a	scientist	who’s	been	assigned	to
measure	the	minuscule	explosions	of	light	that	take	place	in	a	field;	in	this
case,	it’s	the	screen	of	a	television	set. These	explosions	take	place	on	the
atomic	level,	so	as	you	move	in	close	you	are	confronted	with	millions	of
photons	firing	in	random	patterns. You	would	describe	the	TV	screen	as	a
field	undergoing	random	excitations,	exactly	as	physicists	describe	the
electromagnetic	field. As	you	move	farther	out,	however,	the	patches	of	red,
green,	and	blue	begin	to	cluster;	they	start	to	appear	organized. Moving	out
still	farther,	
you
	begin	to	notice	vague	shapes. You	feel	like	an	astronomer
using	a	radio	telescope	to	determine	if	the	background	noise	of	the	cosmos
might	contain	patterns. Patterns	are	mathematical,	and	it	takes	intelligence	to
use	a	mathematical	code. So	you	begin	to	come	up	with	a	mathematical	explanation	for	the	patterns
seen	on	the	TV	screen. Moving	farther	and	farther	out,	you	eventually	see	that
these	patterns	are	actually	pictures	of	human	life,	and	that	the	random	firing
of	photons	had	a	purpose. This	would	be	startling	enough	to	cause	you	to
revise	your	entire	theory;	you	would	have	to	suppose	that	randomness	was	an
illusion	covering	a	deeper	reality,	which	is	the	picture. Only	consciousness
can	fully	explain	the	reason	why	the	bursts	of	red,	green,	and	blue	are	being
emitted. We	find	ourselves	at	the	point	where	many	explanations	based	on
randomness	no	longer	satisfy,	and	a	shift	must	be	made	to	a	more	conscious
explanation. Why	do	photons	fire	in	a	television? Because	they	turn	into	a
picture. Why	do	photons	fire	in	the	cosmos? For	the	same	reason. Preceding
quantum	physics	by	centuries,	the	Vedic	rishis	said	that	time	and	space	are
projections	on	the	blank	screen	of	consciousness,	the	screen	of	Akasha. In	other	words,	when	you	got	up	this	morning,	drove	to	work,	and	spent
your	day	at	the	office,	
nothing	really	happened
	as	you	experienced	it. Time
didn’t	pass,	nor	did	you	move	through	space. This	conclusion	confounds
common	sense	but	is	thoroughly	accepted	in	physics. Let	me	explain. If	you
dream	at	night	of	flying	to	Paris	and	walking	the	streets,	nothing	of	the	sort
actually	happened;	not	only	did	you	go	nowhere	physically,	your	brain	didn’t
even	make	pictures	that	correspond	to	Paris. The	dream	resulted	from	brain
activity	that	can	be	broken	down	into	bits	of	information:	tiny	electrical
switches	were	either	on	or	off,	polarities	of	certain	molecules	were	eitherpositive	or	negative. Your	whole	dream	and	everything	in	it	was	just	a	zero	or
one	game. The	same	is	true	of	the	people	we	watch	on	television. A	character	may
seem	to	live	in	a	house	and	mow	the	lawn. But	the	house	is	actually	a	flat
image	on	the	screen,	and	the	movements	of	people	are	just	phosphors
switching	on	and	off. Again,	a	zero	and	one	game. Nothing	moves	on	a	TV
screen. If	someone	appears	to	run	to	the	left,	it’s	only	a	pattern	of	signals	that
light	up	on	the	left	and	turn	off	on	the	right—the	same	as	provided	by
blinking	Christmas	tree	lights	that	seem	to	move	around	in	a	circle	when	in
fact	all	that	is	happening	is	that	the	string	of	lights	is	going	on	and	off	in	a
pattern	that	makes	it	seem	as	if	motion	is	occurring. You	move	through	time	and	space	in	the	same	way,	as	does	the	Earth	in	its
orbit	and	the	stars	in	the	sky. Quantum	impulses	switch	on	and	off,	and	a
change	of	position	occurs	because	energy	gets	excited	a	bit	to	the	left	or	right
from	the	last	excitation. In	reality	not	a	single	quark	or	photon	changes
position	in	spacetime. But	doesn’t	it	amount	to	the	same	thing? If	an	object
appears	to	move,	why	not	say	it	moves? In	fact,	we	can’t. The	Earth	appears
to	move	around	the	sun,	yet	if	that	were	really	the	case,	it	would	eventually
spiral	into	the	sun	and	be	destroyed. In	fact,	even	though	the	Earth	encounters
friction	in	its	orbit—in	the	form	of	interstellar	dust	and	the	solar	wind—our
planet	never	gets	any	closer	to	the	sun	or	slows	down. This	is	because	every
atom	of	Earth	winks	out	of	sight	and	comes	back	with	the	same	energy	and
mass	that	it	has	always	had. The	zero	point,	it	turns	out,	projects	the	Earth	as
surely	as	a	television	screen	projects	its	pictures. (A	skeptic	would	ask	how
anything	changes	if	the	Zero	Point	Field	constantly	replenishes	the	visible
universe. That	is	a	riddle,	but	its	answer	may	lie	in	two	factors:	the	slow
decay	of	protons,	which	takes	billions	of	years,	and	the	expanding	universe,
which	is	carrying	dispersion	of	energy,	or	entropy,	as	the	original	heat	of	the
Big	Bang	becomes	dissipated. But	folding	these	two	factors	into	quantum
theory	is	far	from	being	achieved.) How	does	all	this	relate	to	the	afterlife? Ask	yourself	a	simple	question. When	you’re	watching	TV,	which	is	more	real,	the	picture	you’re	seeing	or
the	station	that’s	sending	the	signal? Of	course,	the	station	is	more	real,	the
picture	is	only	an	image. Likewise,	Laszlo	says,	the	Zero	Point	Field—
Akasha—is	more	real	than	the	visible	universe. Akasha	organizes	and
coordinates	all	the	projections	we	call	time,	space,	matter,	and	energy. If	this
is	correct,	then	we	have	established	a	foundation	for	several	key	assertions	in
Vedanta:
The	material	world	is	projected	from	a	nonmaterial	source. The	invisible	world	comes	first. It	contains	the	seeds	of	time	and	space. Reality	increases	the	closer	one	gets	to	the	source.To	put	it	in	human	terms,	we	do	not	have	to	fear	that	death	is	a	vanishing
act	because	life	has	always	been	one. What	we	most	value	in	ourselves,	our
capacity	to	think	and	feel,	didn’t	come	about	from	entering	the	physical
world. It	got	projected	into	the	physical	world	from	a	source,	the	Zero	Point
Field,	that	is	the	root	of	consciousness,	extending	back	billions	of	years	and
ahead	into	the	foreseeable	future. Far	from	being	a	religious	vision,	this
model	explains	the	universe	better	than	any	other,	and	gives	us	what	the	rishis
and	modern	physicists	both	demand:	a	bridge	between	mind	and	matter.14
T
HINKING
	O
UTSIDE	THE
	B
RAIN
IF	I	DIE
	and	the	information	contained	in	my	brain	survives,	does	that	mean	I
will	survive? Survival	means	remaining	intact	at	some	level—mind,
personality,	memory,	or	soul—that	is	“me.”	To	a	materialist,	when	the	brain
dies,	so	does	the	person. Fortunately,	over	the	past	two	decades	some
ingenious	experiments	have	raised	hope	that	the	mind	extends	outside	the
brain,	and	that	the	qualities	that	you	and	I	cherish,	such	as	love	and	truth,	may
be	embedded	permanently	in	the	field. The	closer	we	can	get	to	showing	that	the	field	is	intelligent,	the	more
credible	it	will	be	that	our	own	intelligence	can	survive	after	death. One	way
to	approach	this	issue	seems	strange	but	turns	out	to	be	very	fruitful:	animal
telepathy. Many	pet	owners	will	attest	to	the	ability	of	a	dog	or	cat	to	know
what	the	owner	is	thinking. A	few	minutes	before	going	on	a	walk,	a	dog	gets
excited	and	restless;	on	the	day	when	a	cat	is	going	to	be	taken	to	the	vet,	it
disappears	and	is	nowhere	to	be	found. These	casual	observations	led	the
ingenious	British	researcher	Rupert	Sheldrake,	a	trained	biologist	now	turned
speculative	thinker,	to	conduct	controlled	studies	to	find	out	if	dogs	and	cats
can	actually	read	their	owners’	minds. One	study	was	very	simple:	Sheldrake
phoned	sixty-five	veterinarians	in	the	London	area	
and
	asked	them	if	it	was
common	for	cat	owners	to	cancel	appointments	because	their	cats	had
disappeared	that	day. Sixty-four	vets	responded	that	it	was	very	common,	and
the	sixty-fifth	had	given	up	making	appointments	for	cats	because	too	many
couldn’t	be	located	when	they	were	supposed	to	come	in. Sheldrake	decided	to	perform	an	experiment	using	dogs. The	fact	that	a
dog	gets	excited	when	the	time	comes	to	go	for	a	walk	means	little	if	the	walk
is	routinely	scheduled	for	the	same	time	every	day,	or	if	the	dog	gets	visual
cues	from	its	owner	that	he	is	preparing	to	go	out. Therefore,	Sheldrake
placed	dogs	in	outbuildings	completely	isolated	from	their	owners;	he	then
asked	the	owner,	at	randomly	selected	times,	to	think	about	walking	their
dogs	five	minutes	before	going	to	get	them. In	the	meantime,	the	dog	was
being	videotaped	in	its	isolated	location. Sheldrake	found	that	when	their
owners	started	thinking	about	taking	them	for	a	walk,	more	than	half	the	dogs
ran	to	the	door	wagging	their	tails,	circling	restlessly,	and	keeping	up	this
behavior	until	their	owners	appeared. No	dog	showed	anticipatory	behavior,however,	when	their	owners	were	not	thinking	about	taking	them	for	a	walk. This	suggests	something	intriguing,	that	the	bond	between	a	pet	and	its
owner	creates	a	subtle	connection	at	the	level	of	thought. Polls	show	that
about	60%	of	Americans	believe	they	have	had	a	telepathic	experience,	so
this	result	is	not	completely	startling. The	next	leap	is	quite	startling,	however. After	writing	up	his	results	with	telepathic	pets,	Sheldrake	received	an	e-mail
from	a	woman	in	New	York	City	who	said	that	her	African	gray	parrot	not
only	read	her	thoughts	but	responded	to	them	with	speech. The	woman	and
her	husband	might	be	sitting	in	another	room,	out	of	sight	from	the	bird,
whose	name	is	N’kisi,	and	if	they	were	feeling	hungry,	N’kisi	would	suddenly
say,	“You	want	some	yummy.”	If	the	owner	and	her	husband	were	thinking
about	going	out,	N’kisi	might	say,	“You	gotta	go	out,	see	ya	later.”
Greatly	intrigued,	Sheldrake	contacted	the	owner,	an	artist	named	
Aimee
Morgana. The	situation	he	found	was	remarkable. African	gray	parrots	are
among	the	most	linguistically	talented	of	all	birds,	and	N’kisi	had	a	huge
vocabulary	of	over	700	words. More	remarkable	still,	he	used	them	like
human	speech,	not	“parroting”	a	word	mindlessly	but	applying	it	where
appropriate;	if	he	saw	something	that	was	red,	he	said	“red,”	and	if	the	object
was	another	color,	he	said	that	color. But	Aimee	had	even	more	astonishing
stories	for	Sheldrake. When	she	was	watching	a	Jackie	Chan	movie	on
television,	during	one	scene	with	Chan	perilously	perched	on	a	girder,	N’kisi
said,	“Don’t	fall	down,”	even	though	his	cage	was	behind	the	television	with
no	line	of	sight	to	the	picture. When	an	automobile	commercial	came	on	next,
N’kisi	said,	“That’s	my	car.”	Another	time	Aimee	was	reading	the	lines,	“The
blacker	the	berry,	the	sweeter	the	juice,”	in	a	book	when	simultaneously	from
another	room	the	bird	said,	“The	color	is	black.”
Sheldrake	wanted	to	confirm	this	for	himself. On	his	first	visit,	Aimee
gave	him	a	taste	of	N’kisi’s	telepathy:	she	looked	at	a	picture	of	a	girl	in	a
magazine,	and	with	remarkable	clarity	from	the	adjoining	room	the	parrot
said,	“That’s	a	girl.”	The	next	step	was	to	conduct	a	formal	experiment. If
N’kisi	could	understand	words	and	also	had	telepathic	abilities,	could	the	two
be	tested	together? Sheldrake	proposed	that	Aimee	would	look	at	pictures	that
corresponded	to	words	her	parrot	already	knew. She	would	sit	in	one	room
while	N’kisi	remained	isolated	in	another. The	bird	would	have	two	minutes
to	utter	a	“key	word”	that	matched	the	picture. If	he	said	the	word	within	that
time,	it	would	count	as	a	hit. If	he	didn’t	say	the	word,	or	if	he	said	it	after	the
two	minutes	were	up,	it	counted	as	a	miss. To	ensure	neutrality,	someone	besides	Aimee	chose	both	the	pictures	and
the	key	words	that	matched	each	one. (This	proved	somewhat	unfair	to	the
bird,	since	the	neutral	chooser	picked	some	words	like	“TV”	that	N’kisi	had
only	said	once	or	twice	before;	the	bird	didn’t	utter	these	words	at	the	right
time	during	the	experiment,	nor	
did
	he	say	them	at	all.) After	all	the	trialswere	over,	the	tapes	of	what	N’kisi	had	said	were	played	for	three	judges,
who	wrote	down	what	they	heard;	unless	N’kisi	distinctly	said	the	right	word,
as	transcribed	by	all	three	judges,	a	hit	wouldn’t	count. The	results	were
beyond	ordinary	comprehension. For	example,	when	Aimee	looked	at	a
picture	showing	scantily	clad	bathers	on	a	beach,	N’kisi	mumbled	for	a	bit,
then	all	three	judges	heard	him	say,	“Look	at	my	pretty,	naked	body.”	He
didn’t	say	other,	irrelevant	key	words	in	between	saying	the	right	words,	the
bird	only	whistled	and	made	tones. When	Aimee	looked	at	a	picture	of
someone	talking	on	the	telephone,	N’kisi	said,	“What’cha	doin’	on	the
phone?”	Perhaps	his	most	intriguing	response	came	when	Aimee	concentrated
on	a	picture	of	flowers. Instead	of	simply	uttering	the	key	word	“flower,”
Ni’kisi	said,	“That’s	a	pic	of	flowers.”
How	did	he	do	overall? Out	of	71	trials,	N’kisi	got	23	hits,	as	compared
with	7.4	hits	that	would	have	been	expected	if	the	results	had	been	random. Sheldrake	points	out	that	this	is	quite	a	significant	outcome,	all	the	more
because	N’kisi	wasn’t	aware	that	he	was	being	tested	and	often	said	the	right
key	word	after	the	allotted	time	was	up. In	a	small	Manhattan	apartment	this	bit	of	proof	was	added	to	mounting
evidence	that	the	mind	isn’t	solely	human	property,	and	in	fact	might	exist
outside	the	brain. Communication	between	the	animal	kingdom	and	humans
may	seem	odd,	but	pets	can’t	cheat	and	they	have	no	ulterior	motive	for
proving	they	have	special	abilities. The	Vedic	rishis	long	ago	asserted	that	the
entire	universe	is	intelligent,	because	it	is	permeated	by	consciousness. Let’s
see	how	precisely	we	can	put	this	in	modern	terms. Into	the	Mind	Field
Mind	has	remained	a	metaphysical	riddle	for	centuries	because	it	inhabits	the
physical	world	like	a	ghost. But	that’s	a	Western	perspective	based	on	our	bias
for	solid,	tangible	things. We	insist	that	
the
	brain	must	be	the	source	of	mind
because	the	brain	is	a	visible	object,	which	is	like	saying	that	a	radio	must	be
the	source	of	music	because	it	is	a	visible	object	from	which	music	emerges. The	Vedic	rishis	adopted	the	opposite	perspective,	insisting	that	visible
objects	couldn’t	be	the	source	of	mind	since	the	physical	plane	is	the	least
conscious	of	worlds. It	may	seem	significant	that	the	brain	is	active	during
thought,	but	a	radio	is	active	during	a	broadcast,	and	there	is	no	doubt	that
N’kisi	(not	to	mention	human	telepaths)	picked	up	a	thought	that	was	being
broadcast. Our	Western	prejudice	against	the	invisible	isn’t	easy	to	overcome. Mind
will	only	be	proved	to	exist	outside	the	brain	if	it	leaves	some	kind	of
footprint,	a	visible	sign	that	is	as	convincing	as	the	MRIs	that	provide
concrete	evidence	of	neural	activity. One	such	piece	of	evidence	isinformation,	which	we’ve	touched	on	before. If	information	permeates	the
entire	quantum	field,	it	can	bridge	mind	and	matter	in	terms	more	acceptable
to	a	materialist. No	scientist	has	a	problem	believing	that	matter	and	energy
cannot	be	created	or	destroyed,	and	the	cutting	edge	of	physics	is	grappling
with	the	notion	that	information	cannot	be	created	or	destroyed,	either. What
we	see	in	the	universe	is	constant	transformation. Helium	atoms	that	fuel	the
sun	send	heat	to	Earth	that	gets	transformed	by	photosynthesis	into	plants	and
all	other	life-forms. It	can	fairly	be	said	that	life	consists	of	the	sun’s	atoms
exchanging	information	with	atoms	on	Earth. (Energy	is	information	in	the
sense	that	all	chemical	or	electrical	charges	can	be	expressed	as	plus	or	minus,
positive	or	negative,	zero	or	one.) It	doesn’t	matter,	then,	that	your	body	bears
no	resemblance	to	a	fiery	star. Both	are	part	of	the	same	information	field,
which	undergoes	endless	transformation	within	itself. Or	as	Lord	Krishna
says	in	the	Bhagavad-Gita,	“Folding	back	in	on	myself,	I	create	again	and
again.”
Amit	Goswami,	a	prominent	physicist	who	writes	extensively	on	the	self-
aware	universe,	says	that	creativity	is	just	another	face	of	
transformation
. “The	universe	is	always	putting	new	wine	into	old	bottles,	or	new	wine	into
new	bottles.”	The	same	energy	packets,	containing	the	same	information,	are
being	endlessly	shuffled	in	the	Zero	Point	Field. Goswami	approaches
reincarnation	in	the	same	context. Identities	are	passing	through	the
information	field,	exchanging	data	with	new	identities	that	feel	like	a	new
“me”	but	are	actually	transmutations	of	indestructible	zeros	and	ones	strung
into	long	chains	of	ideas	and	experiences. Right	now	you	are	a	bundle	of	information	in	mind	and	body. You	have
unique	memories;	your	cells	have	undergone	chemical	changes	shared	by	no
one	else	in	the	world. When	you	die,	none	of	this	information	will	vanish,
because	it	can’t. There	is	nowhere	for	plus	and	minus,	positive	and	negative
to	go	since	the	field	contains	nothing	
but
	information. Therefore	their	only
alternative	is	to	recombine. How	do	they	do	that? The	answer	lies	in	the	root	word	of	information,	which	is	“form.”	We
inhabit	an	“in-formed	universe”	according	to	Ervin	Laszlo,	which	strings
atoms	along	the	double	helix	of	DNA,	bits	of	information	in	physical	form,
just	as	it	strings	together	information	in	nonphysical	form	as	ideas. This
brings	us	one	step	closer	to	the	breathtaking	notion	that	the	whole	universe	is
God’s	mind;	that	is,	a	dynamic	field	of	infinite	information	undergoing
infinite	transformations. But	we	can’t	take	that	step	unless	we	know	how
small	ideas	survive,	much	less	cosmic	ones. The	rishis	taught	that	ideas	survive	in	the	Akashic	field	as	memories. You
and	I	constantly	access	Akashic	memory	when	we	assume	that	we	are
accessing	our	brains. In	esoteric	circles	Akashic	memory	functions	to	give	us
information	from	departed	spirits	and	past	lifetimes. In	Jungian	psychologythe	same	memory	accounts	for	cultures	sharing	the	same	myths	and
archetypes. Venus	and	Mars	are	invisible	beings,	yet	present	and	alive. The
Akasha	remembers	every	god	
created
	by	humans	and	every	epic	battle,
romance,	and	quest. We	tap	into	them	all	the	time	as	the	human	story
continues	from	age	to	age. The	brain	has	a	locatable	memory	center,	but	mind	isn’t	confined	to	the
brain. Consider	a	deeply	meaningful	experience	in	your	life—a	first	kiss,	or
the	last	time	you	saw	a	beloved	grandparent. That	memory	is	the	remaining
trace	of	an	event	in	time	and	space. The	experience	can	still	be	activated	in
your	brain,	which	means	that	millions	of	molecules	that	could	be	flying
randomly	through	your	neurons	
know
	that	they	have	to	stay	together	in	order
for	your	memory	to	continue,	year	after	year,	without	fading. How	could	they
know	this,	since	molecules	aren’t	intelligent? The	physical	basis	for	memory
remains	totally	unknown	to	neurologists,	so	we	can	only	speculate. Somehow	your	first	kiss	has	an	afterlife. The	afterlife	isn’t	physical,
because	there’s	absolutely	no	difference	between	the	hydrogen,	oxygen,
nitrogen,	and	carbon	in	a	neuron	and	those	same	elements	in	a	tree,	a	dead
leaf,	or	decomposed	soil. Neurons	aren’t	immortal. They	die,	just	as	the	rest
of	the	body	does,	and	atoms	fly	in	and	out	of	them	every	second. How,	then,
does	a	memory	get	transferred	to	a	new	atom,	or	to	a	new	neuron	when	the
time	comes	for	the	old	one	to	perish? No	physical	process	for	this	has	been
identified,	so	perhaps	memory	actually	persists	on	a	nonphysical	level. Neurologists	would	defend	to	the	hilt	the	opposite	idea,	that	mind	arises	only
in	the	brain,	using	CAT	scans	and	MRI	imaging	to	prove	the	point. But	those
images	are	only	maps. They	show	the	terrain	of	the	brain	as	an	idea	or
emotion	crosses	it;	they	don’t	prove	that	the	brain	
is
	the	mind,	any	more	than
a	footprint	in	the	sand	is	the	same	as	a	foot. Imagine	that	you	could	map	every
vibration	in	the	tiny	nerve	endings	that	line	the	inner	ear. When	graphed	on	a
chart,	there	would	be	an	extremely	complicated	pattern	for	every	word	and
sentence	the	ear	receives,	but	that	pattern	is	only	a	map	of	a	word,	not	the
territory	itself. A	powerful	sentence	like	“I	love	you”	is	more	than	the	map	of
its	vibrations,	
since
	even	the	most	perfect	map	cannot	contain	love’s	power,
meaning,	significance,	and	overall	intent. Memory	seems	to	be	a	field	effect. For	you	to	think	the	word	“rhinoceros”
and	see	a	mental	image	of	that	animal,	millions	of	brain	cells	have	to	act
simultaneously. (We	will	leave	aside	the	more	difficult	question	of	why	you
picked	“rhinoceros”	out	of	all	the	words	you	could	have	chosen,	since	any
word	choice	can	be	based	on	reason,	emotion,	nonsense,	or	private
associations	in	memory. A	computer	can	be	taught	to	select	any	given	word,
but	it	has	no	special	reason	to	do	so—you	do.) The	neurons	involved	in
choosing	the	word	“rhinoceros”	don’t	run	through	the	alphabet	until	they	get
to	“R”;	they	don’t	sound	out	one	syllable	at	a	time,	nor	do	they	leaf	through	azoological	photo	archive	to	match	the	right	word	to	the	right	image. Instead,
the	correct	brain	activity	arises	simultaneously. The	brain	is	acting	like	a	field,
coordinating	different	events	at	the	same	time,	except	that	we	know	the	brain
isn’t	literally	a	field. It’s	an	object	made	of	seemingly	lifeless	chemicals. A	compass	needle	moves	because	it’s	responding	to	the	Earth’s	magnetic
field. What	if	the	same	thing	is	true	for	brain	activity? What	if	the	mind	field
is	sending	signals,	and	billions	of	brain	cells	arrange	patterns	in	response	to
what	the	field	is	saying? A	team	of	innovative	scientists	has	proposed	exactly
that.
Life_After_Death_by_Deepak_Chopra.txt
Summarize the following text section accurately and concisely. Maintain specific details and numerical information, and use anti-repetition mechanisms:

        It’s	not	useful	simply	to	say	that	Karma	is	flexible	and	inflexible	at
the	same	time. In	fact,	the	coexistence	of	opposites	is	a	paradox,	and	unless
we	solve	it	we	have	no	control	over	the	afterlife;	we	are	just	caught	in	the
meshes	of	a	machine	that	can	produce	any	outcome	according	to	its	own
whims. From	This	Lifetime	to	the	Next
We	aren’t	in	control	of	the	afterlife	for	the	same	reason	that	we	aren’t	in
control	of	this	life. We	don’t	yet	have	enough	consciousness. The	gaps	of
ignorance	of	our	full	potential	are	too	large,	and	whatever	the	gap	claims	turns
into	the	unconscious. In	Tibetan	Buddhism	one	lifetime	is	firmly	connected	to
another. When	a	lama	dies,	it’s	expected	that	his	reincarnation	will	be	found. Signs	are	left	behind	that	link	the	two	incarnations. On	his	return,	the	baby
will	recognize	his	old	toys,	for	example,	and	the	adults	around	him	can
determine	beyond	doubt	that	the	chain	of	identity	hasn’t	been	broken. This	is	the	same	as	saying	that	Tibetans	don’t	fall	into	the	gap	when	they
die. Continuity	is	preserved. The	famous	Tibetan	Book	of	the	Dead	elaborates
every	detail	of	conscious	dying,	in	the	belief	that	a	dying	person	should
remain	as	connected	as	possible	to	the	uninterrupted	flow	of	awareness. To	a
Western	reader	the	book	is	baffling;	it	describes	so	many	gradations	of
awareness,	so	many	possible	destinations	in	the	Bardo	that	it	would	take	a
lifetime	of	Buddhist	practice	to	absorb	all	the	possibilities. This	is	precisely
the	point,	for	Tibetans	don’t	want	to	wander	outside	their	belief	system;	it
upholds	who	they	are	and	where	they	are	going	on	the	path	to	liberation. That’s	one	example	of	tightly	patterned	choice,	compared	to	which	a
Westerner	is	a	reckless	gambler. We	do	not	typically	try	to	hold	on	to
unbroken	consciousness,	and	although	we	may	harbor	a	wish	to	come	back	to
a	lifetime	closely	resembling	the	one	we	left,	it’s	just	as	likely	that	we	may
yearn	for	something	completely	new. In	any	event,	we	don’t	usually	assume
that	our	wishes	matter. The	business	of	heaven	and	hell	will	take	care	of	itself,
which	means,	ironically,	that	Westerners	are	more	resigned	about	Karma	than
most	people	in	the	East,	who	always	keep	in	the	back	of	their	minds	some
notion	that	Karma	follows	a	person	from	lifetime	to	lifetime. For	them,	everyaction	in	this	life	reverberates	into	the	next,	and	apparently	random	events	in
the	present	have	their	roots	in	decisions	made	in	the	past. What	this	implies	is	that	there	are	many	ways	to	relate	to	Karma. You	can
choose	to	be	as	aware	as	you	like,	or	as	unaware. Karma	glues	events
together,	but	that	isn’t	the	same	as	being	fatalistic. In	the	East	this	point	is
often	missed,	and	people	commonly	assume	that	bad	actions	are	like	crimes
with	set	punishments	while	good	actions	earn	fixed	rewards. Logical	as	that
sounds,	it	denies	freedom	of	choice. “I	used	to	think	that	karma	turned	me	into	a	kind	of	puppet,”	a	friend	of
mine	once	remarked. “Having	made	millions	of	choices	in	
the
	past,	each	one
with	its	own	consequence,	how	could	I	be	free	of	them. Each	bad	choice	jerks
me	one	way,	each	good	choice	another. Fate	holds	the	strings. ”
“How	did	you	break	free	from	that	way	of	thinking. ”	I	asked. “I	couldn’t,”	he	said. “But	then	one	day	it	hit	me. What	does	it	matter	if
I’m	a	puppet. I	can’t	feel	the	strings. I	can’t	see	anybody	manipulating	them. For	all	I	know,	every	decision	I	make	is	mine	and	mine	alone. I	may	still	be
fate’s	puppet,	but	what	does	it	matter	if	I	can’t	tell	the	difference. ”
It’s	hard	to	argue	with	such	pragmatism. Only	afterward	did	I	think	about
its	flaws. If	Karma	is	akin	to	the	invisible	working	of	the	brain,	we	can’t
ignore	it	just	because	it’s	unseen. Our	brains	produce	all	kinds	of	disturbing
and	distorted	thoughts. They	can	become	imbalanced	and	throw	us	into
depression	or	outright	madness. They	are	subject	to	false	perceptions	and
hallucinations,	not	to	mention	crippling	disease,	which	may	be	treatable. More	basically,	what	we	say	and	do	changes	the	brain. The	hard	wiring	of
neurons	is	altered	by	experience,	so	that	the	brain	of	someone	who	has
suffered	a	terrible	calamity,	for	example,	becomes	different	from	someone
who	hasn’t. Positive	and	negative	experiences	condition	the	mind	to	see	the
world	in	a	particular	way,	and	the	brain	then	adapts. Let’s	apply	this	to	reincarnation. At	death	the	visible	and	invisible	aspects
of	karma	mesh. The	standard	version	recounted	in	India	goes	like	this:	When
you	die	you	leave	your	body	but	remain	aware	of	who	you	are. You	may
continue	to	see	the	room	you	died	in;	you	retain	the	sensations	of	possessing	a
physical	body	for	a	time	(traditionally,	bodies	remain	untouched	immediately
after	death	in	the	belief	that	the	deceased	would	continue	to	feel	anything
done	to	them). Next,	like	a	drowning	man	seeing	his	life	pass	before	his	eyes,	one’s
karma	unravels	like	thread	coming	off	a	spool,	and	the	events	of	this	lifetime
march	in	review	across	the	screen	of	the	mind. You	
re-experience
	all	your
significant	moments	since	birth,	only	this	time	with	a	vividness	and	clarity
that	shows	you	exactly	what	each	one	meant. Right	and	wrong	are	also	clearly
revealed,	with	no	excuses	or	rationalizations. You	become	responsible	for
everything	you	did. As	these	judgments	are	made—they	are	all	self-judgments,	not	divine
edicts—you	find	yourself	in	various	Lokas,	worlds	that	reflect	the	kind	of
reward	or	punishment	that	your	actions	deserve. A	single	soul	is	not	assigned
to	one	Loka	forever	but	stays	only	as	long	as	Karma	dictates. During	this
passage,	which	encompasses	worlds	of	pleasure	and	pain,	you	will	learn	about
yourself	and	come	to	your	own	conclusions. No	external	force	tells	you	what
your	life	meant	or	how	to	proceed	to	the	next	step. You	may	suffer	in	a	hellish
Loka	for	what	seems	like	eternity,	or	you	could	leave	immediately. Time	is
purely	subjective,	and	what	you’re	actually	experiencing	is	your	own
awareness	working	out	its	dilemmas	and	conflicts. Why	am	I	here. What
makes	me	suffer. Do	I	deserve	to	suffer. Is	there	a	way	out. People	who	are	disconnected	from	themselves	will	be	as	baffled	by	the
afterlife	as	they	are	by	the	present. For	them,	cause	and	effect	aren’t	clear. Feelings	of	being	alienated,	alone,	victimized,	tossed	around	by	fate,	out	of
control,	or	abused	by	authority	clash	with	one	another. In	this	fog	of
confusion	they	cannot	take	responsibility	for	their	own	motivations	and
desires,	and	the	afterlife	may	frighten	or	baffle	them. Being	disconnected	is	an	illusion	from	the	soul’s	perspective,	and
however	long	it	may	take,	the	person	eventually	prepares	to	leave	the	region
of	Lokas. Understanding,	symbolized	by	light,	begins	to	dawn. In	clarity	you
realize	that	“I	am”	is	your	basis,	not	the	things	you	did. You	no	longer
identify	with	being	a	certain	person;	you	now	identify	with	being	conscious,
and	what	fills	your	mind	is	fresh	possibilities. The	karma	you	brought	into	the
last	lifetime	has	been	exhausted,	and	fresh	seeds	of	karma	are	ready	to	sprout. Being	reborn	enters	your	mind	gradually. For	a	long	period	(speaking
subjectively)	you	experience	bliss,	or	Ananda;	you	have	gained	pure	being,
which	brings	its	own	fulfillment	regardless	of	any	karma,	good	or	bad. You
find	yourself	in	the	same	gap	as	the	one	between	two	thoughts,	only	this	time
you	are	aware	of	uncountable	possibilities	from	which	to	choose. How	do	you
choose	the	next	life. Through	the	same	process	as	choosing	the	next	thought. We	do	this	all	the	time,	yet	we	don’t	know	how	we	do	it;	the	next	thought
emerges	from	the	gap,	the	purely	unknown. You	will	witness	as	the	dream	of	a	new	identity	begins	to	clothe	you,	and
you	will	fall	into	your	next	life	in	complete	surrender	to	past	actions	that	you
still	know	almost	nothing	about. But	all	of	us	can	take	a	more	active	role	in
how	we	reincarnate. In	the	gap,	when	every	possibility	confronts	us,	choice
lies	among	those	possibilities. The	elaborate	rituals	in	the	Tibetan	Book	of	the
Dead	aren’t	designed	to	get	a	kind	person	to	a	nice	heaven	and	a	better	next
lifetime. They	are	designed	to	make	freedom	of	choice	real,	to	bring	the
person	fully	aware	into	the	gap	so	that	karma	can	be	shaped,	controlled,	or
even	fully	resolved. Freeing	Yourself
What	will	it	be	like	to	find	yourself	in	the	gap. I’d	like	to	answer	that	from
personal	experience. A	year	ago	I	was	sitting	on	an	airplane	in	a	bewildered
state	of	mind. During	a	short	layover	in	the	Midwest	I	found	myself	without
something	to	read. I’d	looked	over	the	airport	newsstand,	but	nothing	on	the
racks	appealed	to	me. When	I	boarded	my	next	flight,	intending	to	pass	the
time	by	writing,	I	discovered	that	my	notebook	and	handheld	computer	had
been	packed	away	in	a	suitcase. Something—fate,	circumstance,	a	clumsy
oversight—had	placed	me	alone	for	four	hours. Without	notice	or	permission,	a	subtle	mental	voice	started	to	guide	me. It
gave	me	a	glimpse	into	how	my	mind	works	when	it	has	no	distractions
around. What	I	saw	was	very	basic. There	is	a	thought	in	the	mind	and	then
another,	and	then	another	and	another. Thoughts	can	be	gripping	or	pass	by
unnoticed;	they	can	be	strong	or	weak,	momentous	or	casual,	frivolous	or
serious. The	guiding	voice	pointed	all	this	out	in	a	few	seconds. Now,	what	is	the	proper	way	to	relate	to	your	mind. the	voice	asked. Should	you	always	do	what	it	says. Clearly	not,	for	we	have	all	kinds	of
thoughts	that	are	irrelevant	or	fantastic. Should	we	ignore	what	it	says. No
again,	because	the	mind	gives	us	all	the	desires	upon	which	we	build	our
lives. There	is	no	single	way	to	relate	to	the	mind. You	can’t	take	a	stance	that
will	always	work. When	people	decide	arbitrarily	to	be	optimists,	they	may
miscalculate	when	it	comes	to	serious	crises,	evildoing,	wars,	personal
conflicts,	etc. If	they	decide	arbitrarily	to	be	pessimists,	they	will	miss	many
opportunities	for	joy,	fulfillment,	hope,	and	faith. My	mental	guide	showed	me	this,	and	I	was	intrigued. It	would	appear
that	being	spiritual	is	one	stance	that	works,	yet	there	are	situations	where
even	being	spiritual—tolerant,	loving,	accepting,	and	detached	from
materialism—won’t	work	at	all. A	parent	can’t	simply	accept	and	love	a	child
addicted	to	cocaine,	for	example;	active	intervention	is	called	for. A	thousand
other	examples	come	to	mind. Love	won’t	defeat	torturers;	tolerance	won’t
stop	the	excesses	of	fanatics. A	person	must	find	an	infinitely	flexible	way	to
relate	to	the	mind;	otherwise	something	gets	lost. The	most	precious	gift	of
the	mind—its	total	freedom—is	the	source	of	our	creativity. Now,	my	mental	guide	said,	look	at	the	world. Isn’t	it	the	same	as	the
mind. The	same	unpredictability	prevails,	and	therefore	you	cannot	take	a
fixed	attitude	toward	the	world	that	works. People	who	are	congenitally
optimistic	about	the	future	are	as	shortsighted	as	people	
who
	are	congenitally
pessimistic. Go	one	step	further. Karma	is	also	unpredictable,	and	it	too
cannot	be	approached	single-mindedly. To	fight	your	karma	is	just	as
frustrating	as	accepting	your	karma. At	this	point	the	sun	had	set	and	the	plane	cabin	was	empty	and	dark. Icould	see	the	last	band	of	blue-orange	light	circling	the	horizon. My	mental
guide	wasn’t	an	accident	or	a	daydream. I	realized	that	for	a	long	time	I’d
wanted	to	know	
how	it	all	works. The	answer	is	that	mind,	the	world,	and
Karma	are	the	same	thing,	perfect	mirrors	of	one	another. Their	complexity	is
impossible	to	fathom. Their	infinite	connections	can	never	be	mapped	out,
and	even	if	they	could	be,	the	next	tick	of	the	clock	will	bring	a	new,	equally
infinite	set	of	possibilities. That	realization	is	as	close	as	I’ve	ever	come	to	being	in	the	gap	where	a
new	lifetime	is	chosen. The	gap	is	pure	freedom,	and	when	you	see	that	you
are	completely	free,	choices	change. Some	souls	want	to	remain	completely
unattached;	they	choose	Moksha,	or	liberation	from	a	physical	body	and	the
karma	it	acts	out. Other	souls	cherish	Moksha	but	want	to	enjoy	it	while
possessing	a	body. They	choose	to	reincarnate	with	complete	self-awareness
—we	call	them	enlightened. The	rest	of	us	fall	somewhere	else. We	cherish
being	free,	but	we	also	want	new	experiences. So	we	let	Karma	weave	a	new
story	for	us. We	keep	some	self-awareness	and	sacrifice	some. We	agree	to
acquire	amnesia	about	“I	am”	in	exchange	for	the	drama	of	being	a	separate
person	with	likes	and	dislikes,	challenges	and	opportunities. The	new	life	we	clothe	ourselves	in	will	contain	its	unique	measure	of
connection	and	disconnection. This	is	hardly	the	perfect	way	to	relate	to
mind,	Karma,	and	the	world. The	perfect	way	is	freedom. But	in	our
imperfect	way	we	become	part	of	a	mystery. We	accept	a	role	in	this
fascinating	play	of	light	and	darkness,	and	once	again	the	physical	world
becomes	our	reality. We	return	to	a	belief	that	death	is	a	fearful	thing,	that
struggle	is	necessary,	that	pleasure	is	worth	pursuing	and	pain	worth	avoiding. We	forget	the	knowledge	that	our	
souls
	have,	or	that	we	had	when	we	were	in
the	gap. We	keep	only	a	bit	of	the	truth	close	by	so	that	we	have	something	to
aspire	to. I	have	a	feeling	that	we	also	keep	a	measure	of	sorrow	for	the
decision	we	made	to	leave	truth	behind. Our	half-truth	has	one	virtue,
however. As	long	as	we	believe	in	it,	the	soul	will	never	give	up	on	teaching
us	the	rest. For	that	purpose,	the	dream	continues. Part	Two
T
HE
	B
URDEN	OF
	P
ROOF
	
UNTIL	THIS	CENTURY
	the	burden	of	proof	in	spiritual	matters	lay	with
disbelievers. Religion	had	such	a	powerful	hold	upon	the	human	imagination
that	for	whole	cultures—the	ancient	Egyptians	and	medieval	Christians	come
to	mind—the	material	world	was	much	less	real	than	the	world	of	the	gods	or
God. Most	modern	people	can	barely	fathom	this	worldview,	because	we	are
as	immersed	in	materialism	as	they	were	in	idealism—the	belief	that	nature
begins	in	subtle	realms	of	spirit. In	idealism	the	earth	is	a	lower	world	while
heaven	is	higher. Thus	everything	about	earthly	life—its	physicality,
appetites,	sexual	drive,	disease,	suffering,	and	old	age—is	further	from	God
or	spirit	than	heaven. Science	did	not	overturn	this	view	by	disproving	it. Idealism	was	simply
outmoded	by	a	new	worldview—materialism—that	was	more	practical. Materialism	brought	about	technology,	with	its	attendant	comforts,	and	it
explained	many	phenomena	that	religion	preferred	to	regard	as	a	mystery
known	only	to	God. Like	any	worldview,	the	old	one	overstepped	its	bounds
when	it	claimed,	for	example,	that	diseases	were	acts	of	God	to	punish
sinners. Once	germs	were	discovered,	this	explanation	seemed	pointless	and
ultimately	irrational. But	by	the	same	token,	the	new	worldview	would
overstep	its	bounds,	as	it	has	today,	when	science	claims	that	without	physical
proof	we	can	abolish	all	notions	of	God,	angels,	ghosts,	spirit,	the	soul,	and
the	afterlife	itself. Just	as	religion	had	no	competency	in	physics	and
chemistry,	science	has	no	competency	in	spiritual	issues. The	burden	of	proof	has	shifted,	and	now	it	is	the	believer	who	must
prove	that	God	and	the	soul	are	real. For	many	people,	the	triumph	of
materialism	is	so	complete	that	even	showing	
why
	we	should	care	about	God
and	the	soul	is	a	tough	challenge. If	skepticism	carries	the	day	in	some	circles,	in	popular	culture	the	burden
still	lies	with	proving	that	the	afterlife	
doesn’t
	exist. Consistently	polls	show
that	90%	of	people	believe	in	heaven,	and	almost	that	many	believe	they	are
going	there. Belief	in	hell	suffers	a	sharp	decline	to	75%	and	only	68%
believe	in	the	devil. This	leaves	most	people	in	a	quandary,	dividing	their
allegiance	between	faith	when	it	comes	to	spirituality	and	science	when	it
comes	to	the	material	world. No	less	than	Sir	Isaac	Newton	was	a	devout
Christian	who	wrestled	his	whole	life	with	the	schism	he	saw	between	science
and	metaphysics. There	is	another	way,	however. In	this	book	I’ve	tried	to	present	a	view	of
the	afterlife	based	on	consciousness,	and	issues	about	consciousness	can	be
settled,	at	least	partially,	through	science. The	evidence	we’re	looking	for	isn’tphotographs	of	supernatural	phenomena	(these	already	exist	in	abundance	but
only	lead	to	more	skepticism). The	most	helpful	evidence	would	be	in	support
of	the	major	claims	that	underlie	Vedanta,	which	is	consistent	on	its	own
terms. The	primary	claim,	of	course,	is	that	reality	is	created	from
consciousness. We	will	have	our	proof	if	we	can	answer	the	following
questions:
Is	Akasha	real. Does	the	mind	extend	beyond	the	brain. Is	the	universe	aware. Does	consciousness	have	a	basis	outside	time	and	space. Can	our	beliefs	shape	reality. These	are	fundamental	questions	that	science	has	touched	upon,	even
though	few	researchers	had	the	afterlife	in	mind	when	they	made	their
findings. It’s	fair	to	say	that	physics	never	set	out	to	prove	that	the	universe	is
self-aware. But	so	many	mysteries	remain	unsolved	if	the	universe	
isn’t
	self-
aware	that	cutting-edge	theories	are	starting	to	include	that	once	unthinkable
idea. Looking	at	unsolved	mysteries	is	our	best	hope,	in	fact,	because	only
those	things	that	science	hasn’t	explained	offer	room	for	radically	new
thinking. At	present,	neurology	doesn’t	know	how	memory	works,	or	how
brain	cells	turn	raw	data	into	complex	thought,	or	where	identity	is	located. If
we	knew	these	things,	there	might	be	no	need	to	speculate	about	“extended
mind,”	the	notion	that	thinking	can	occur	outside	the	brain. Fortunately	or	not,
we	find	ourselves	with	a	rich	store	of	enigmas	that	provide	room	for	the	Vedic
rishis	and	their	deep	understanding	of	consciousness. On	the	frontier	of	many
mysteries	lies	the	answer	to	one	mystery. 13
I
S
	A
KASHA
	R
EAL. THE	USE	OF
	the	word	“Akasha”	has	lingered	around	the	fringes	of	physics	for
at	least	a	century. The	reason	for	this	is	that	an	ancient	and	supposedly
outmoded	belief	refuses	to	die—the	belief	that	empty	space	is	not	empty	at
all. Akasha,	the	Sanskrit	word	for	space,	has	an	English	equivalent:	the	ether. Up	until	a	few	generations	ago,	if	you	had	gone	to	school	and	asked	what
filled	the	infinite	void	between	the	stars,	you	would	have	been	told,	whether
in	ancient	Greece	or	medieval	France	or	Harvard	at	the	time	of	Abraham
Lincoln,	that	pure	emptiness	isn’t	possible. An	invisible	ether	that	can’t	be
seen	or	measured	allows	light	to	travel	from	the	stars,	as	water	allows	ripples
to	spread	when	a	rock	is	thrown	into	a	pond. Without	a	medium	to	pass
through,	light	waves	have	no	way	to	move	from	point	A	to	point	B. The	ether	suffered	a	decisive	setback	in	the	1880s	when	two	American
scientists,	Albert	Michelson	and	Edward	Morley,	proved	that	light	traveled	at
the	same	speed	no	matter	what	direction	it	moved	in. This	was	important
because	the	so-called	“ether	wind”	that	was	thought	to	sweep	energy	through
the	universe	should	have	made	light	travel	slower	going	upstream	than
downstream. When	Michelson	and	Morley	proved	that	this	wasn’t	true,	even
Einstein	became	convinced	that	space	was	a	void	without	activity,	a	belief
that	was	also	
wrong
,	as	it	turns	out. Physicists	now	believe	that	space	is	full	of
activity	in	the	form	of	invisible	fluctuations	in	the	quantum	field. These	so-
called	virtual	fluctuations	account	for	matter	and	energy	and	also	for
distortions	in	time	and	space. Thus,	in	a	curious	way	the	disproved	notion	of
the	ether	has	been	revived	indirectly. To	find	out	where	matter	and	energy	come	from,	physics	wound	up
positing	a	universal	field	that	envelops	not	just	what	we	observe	but
everything	that	could	possibly	exist. Modern	physics	finds	it	easy	to	make	the
material	world	disappear	into	nothingness,	but	that	is	deeply	disturbing,
almost	as	disturbing	as	the	disappearance	of	a	dying	person. Here	is	how	the
disappearing	act	of	a	rock,	tree,	planet,	or	galaxy	works:
First,	the	rock,	tree,	or	planet	disappeared	from	sight	when	scientists
realized	that	solid	matter	is	made	up	of	atoms	that	cannot	be	detected	by	the
naked	eye. Second,	atoms	disappeared	when	it	was	discovered	that	they	are	made	upof	energy,	mere	vibrations	in	the	void. Finally,	energy	disappeared	when	it	was	found	that	vibrations	are
temporary	excitations	in	a	field,	and	that	the	field	itself	doesn’t	vibrate	but
maintains	a	flat,	constant	“zero	point. ”
Theoretically,	to	reach	the	zero	point	in	Nature	one	could	cool	empty
space	down	to	absolute	zero,	and	instantly	everything	would	cease	to	vibrate. Yet	the	zero	point	also	exists	here	and	now—it	provides	the	starting	point
from	which	everything	in	the	universe	springs. Since	matter	and	energy	are
constantly	emerging	and	then	vanishing	back	into	the	void,	the	zero	point
serves	as	the	switching	station	between	existence	and	nothingness. Newton
had	established	that	matter	and	energy	cannot	be	destroyed,	but	they	can
oscillate	in	this	shadowy	way	at	the	subatomic	level,	as	long	as	the	sum	total
of	matter	and	energy	isn’t	altered. The	Zero	Point	Field
It	wouldn’t	be	so	disturbing	if	this	vanishing	act	was	due	to	occur	only	when
the	cosmos	dies	billions	of	years	from	now	by	cooling	down	to	absolute	zero. Nor	would	it	be	so	disturbing	if	matter	only	collapsed	into	the	void
theoretically. Such	isn’t	the	case,	however. Matter	and	energy	
have
	to
disappear. If	they	remained	stable,	which	is	how	rocks,	trees,	and	planets	look
to	the	eye,	chaos	would	break	loose. Matter	would	exist	only	as	randomly
floating	particles	in	interstellar	space. Exploded	bits	of	the	Big	Bang	would	be
flying	apart	at	millions	of	miles	an	hour	without	any	relationship	to	one
another. There	would	be	no	forms,	no	evolution,	no	organization—in	other
words,	no	universe	as	we	know	it. At	best,	gravity	could	possibly	pull
together	larger	clumps	of	matter,	but	gravity	is	also	a	wave	function	that
fluctuates	around	the	zero	point. The	fact	that	chaos	doesn’t	totally	dominate	remains	a	huge	mystery,
which	may	only	be	solved	by	Akasha. Here	the	needs	of	physics	and	the
Vedic	rishis	begin	to	converge	in	startling	ways. The	rishis	were	focused	on
consciousness	as	a	universal	principle. But	to	have	a	thinking	universe,	they
needed	to	explain	how	the	cosmic	mind	works,	how	it	holds	itself	together
and	organizes	itself	into	thoughts. If	the	“mind	field”	was	totally	stable,	it
would	be	a	dead	zone,	or	at	best	filled	with	a	constant,	meaningless	buzz. Physics	also	needs	to	know	how	the	universe	holds	itself	together	and
organizes	into	coherent	forms. Otherwise,	the	inconceivable	fireball	that
appeared	at	the	instant	of	the	Big	Bang	would	have	blown	itself	apart,	the	way
dynamite	blows	itself	apart,	without	bothering	to	create	forms	along	the	way. Physics	was	drawn,	step-by-step,	into	the	void	because	nothing	in	the
visible	world	was	adequate	to	explain	what	had	to	be	explained. The	zero
point	became	an	all-inclusive	“field	of	fields”	that	encompasses	every	unseen,or	virtual,	particle	in	the	universe. It	was	calculated	that	the	zero	point
contained	10	to	the	40th	power	more	
energy
	than	the	visible	universe—that	is,
a	one	followed	by	forty	zeros. The	void	turned	out	to	be	a	seething	exchange
of	energy,	not	just	between	photons	and	electrons	but	in	every	conceivable
quantum	event. Suddenly	the	unseen	has	become	incredibly	more	powerful
than	the	seen. But	in	what	way	is	the	“field	of	fields”	like	a	mind,	the	thing
the	rishis	were	looking	for. Thinking,	the	basic	operation	of	the	mind,	organizes	reality	to	make	sense. The	universe	does	this	physically. It	forms	complex	systems. DNA	is	one
example,	but	genes	didn’t	create	life	simply	by	stringing	simple	molecules
along	a	double	helix. There	are	spaces	between	each	genetic	bit,	and	this
sequencing	is	all-important. An	amoeba	differs	from	a	human	being	in	the
sequence	of	carbon,	oxygen,	hydrogen,	and	nitrogen	along	its	genes,	not	in
the	atoms	themselves. The	fact	that	empty	spaces,	or	gaps,	between	genetic
material	are	so	important	brings	us	back	to	the	void,	where	
something
	is
arranging	random	events	so	that	they	are	meaningful. Once	a	form	has	been	created,	it	has	to	be	remembered	in	order	to	stay
together. The	universe	remembers	what	it	has	created	and	meshes	it	with	older
systems. The	Earth’s	ecosystem	is	a	good	example. Life-forms	constantly
relate	to	each	other	in	exquisite	balance. The	oxygen	given	off	by	plants
during	photosynthesis,	for	example,	would	eventually	poison	the	entire
atmosphere,	killing	off	all	vegetation	that	needs	carbon	dioxide,	were	it	not
for	the	evolution	of	animals,	which	consume	the	oxygen	and	return	carbon
dioxide	back	to	plants. This	extremely	complex	balance	can	be	traced	back	to
the	void,	where	every	single	fluctuation	of	virtual	energy	is	passed	along	and
absorbed	by	a	virtual	particle	in	need	of	energy. (As	one	popular	writer	has
put	it,	it’s	as	if	the	cosmos	were	passing	along	a	penny,	so	that	every	time	one
particle	is	a	penny	poorer,	another	gets	a	penny	richer. ) The	basic	pattern	is
very	simple,	but	when	trillions	of	energy	exchanges	are	involved	every
second,	as	they	are	with	life	on	
Earth
,	the	ecosystem’s	ability	to	keep	one
form	separate	from	another,	yet	in	dynamic	relationship,	is	mind-boggling. There	are	other	things	the	mind	can	do	that	are	paralleled	in	the	universe. The	mind	can	keep	track	of	two	events	separated	in	time—this	is	how	we
recognize	a	face	today	that	we	saw	years	ago,	for	example. Similarly,	the
universe	keeps	track	of	any	two	paired	electrons. They	will	be	paired	for	all
time	even	if	they	travel	millions	of	light-years	apart. Uncannily,	if	one	of	the
paired	electrons	should	change	in	position	or	spin,	its	twin	will	change
simultaneously	without	sending	a	signal	that	needs	to	travel	through	space. The	Zero	Point	Field	communicates	without	regard	for	time,	distance,	or	the
speed	of	light. The	very	fact	that	we	use	a	word	like	“communicate”	indicates	how	hard
it	is	not	to	see	parallels	between	our	minds	and	Nature	“out	there. ”	Whichbrings	us	to	a	dangerous	trap. Mind	and	matter	offer	two	ways	of	describing
the	same	thing,	but	they	are	not,	in	themselves,	exactly	the	same. If	one	could
show	that	the	universe	has	a	memory,	for	example,	that	wouldn’t	prove	it	had
a	mind. Remembering	a	face	is	a	mental	act. The	ability	of	two	electrons	to
match	each	other’s	spin	across	a	vast	distance	is	a	material	feat. The	same	trap
works	in	reverse. If	one	could	calculate	every	vibration	of	a	violinist’s	bow
while	playing	a	Beethoven	sonata,	that	wouldn’t	explain	music	or	its	beauty. Those	are	mental	phenomena,	not	material	ones. All	we	can	do	is	draw
parallels	between	two	models	in	an	effort	to	place	them	in	one	reality. I’ve	been	speaking	as	if	the	universe	consciously	knows	what	it	is	doing
when	DNA	creates	an	amoeba,	for	example,	instead	of	a	chimpanzee	or	a
human	being. This	implies	self-awareness	on	the	part	of	molecules,	and	that
in	turn	requires	the	Zero	Point	Field	to	act	like	a	mind	as	it	organizes	every
possible	fluctuation	in	the	cosmos. No	matter	how	closely	one	draws	the
parallels,	this	premise	can’t	be	
proven
—or	disproven—because	the	Zero
Point	Field,	by	containing	everything,	contains	us. We	cannot	step	outside	it,
and	so	we	are	in	the	same	position	as	a	fish	trying	to	prove	that	the	ocean	is
wet. Unless	the	fish	jumps	out	of	the	ocean,	water	is	everywhere;	there	is	no
contrast,	and	therefore	no	dryness	that	makes	wetness	possible. We	cannot	prove	that	the	universe	has	a	mind,	because	we	aren’t
mindless. Nobody	has	ever	experienced	mindlessness;	therefore,	we	have
nothing	to	base	it	on. The	Vedic	rishis	were	fortunate	that	they	started	out
believing	that	consciousness	was	real	and	needed	no	proof. Physics	doesn’t
hold	that	consciousness	is	a	given. To	speak	of	a	self-aware	universe	puts	one
at	the	fringes	of	speculative	thinking	in	physics. But	for	our	purposes	in
looking	for	evidence	of	the	afterlife,	it	is	vital	to	show	that	consciousness	is
everywhere,	because	then	there	would	be	nowhere	to	go	after	we	die	that	
isn’t
conscious. Mind	over	Matter
What	if	our	minds	could	alter	the	quantum	field. Then	we	would	have	a	link
between	the	two	models,	mind	and	matter. Such	a	link	was	actually	provided
by	Helmut	Schmidt,	a	researcher	working	for	the	Boeing	aerospace	laboratory
in	Seattle. Beginning	in	the	mid-Sixties,	Schmidt	set	up	machines	that	could
emit	random	signals,	with	the	aim	of	seeing	if	ordinary	people	could	alter
those	signals	using	nothing	more	than	their	minds. The	first	machine	detected
radioactive	decay	from	strontium	90;	each	electron	that	was	given	off	lit	up
either	a	red,	blue,	yellow,	or	green	light. Schmidt	asked	ordinary	people	to
predict,	with	the	press	of	a	button,	which	light	would	be	illuminated	next. At	first	no	one	performed	better	than	random,	or	25%,	in	picking	one	of
the	four	lights. Then	Schmidt	hit	on	the	idea	of	using	expert	psychics	as	hissubjects,	and	his	first	results	were	encouraging:	psychics	guessed	the	correct
light	27%	of	the	time. But	he	didn’t	
know
	if	this	was	a	matter	of	clairvoyance
—seeing	the	result	before	it	happened—or	something	more	active,	actually
changing	the	random	pattern	of	electrons	being	emitted. So	Schmidt	built	a	second	machine	that	generated	only	two	signals,	call
them	plus	and	minus. A	circle	of	lights	was	set	up,	and	each	time	a	plus	or	a
minus	was	generated,	a	bulb	would	light	up. If	two	pluses	were	generated
consecutively,	the	lights	would	go	on	in	a	clockwise	direction. Two	minuses
would	light	up	in	a	counterclockwise	direction. Left	to	itself,	the	machine
would	light	up	an	equal	number	of	pluses	and	minuses;	what	Schmidt	wanted
his	subjects	to	do	was	to	will	the	lights	to	move	clockwise	only. He	eventually
found	two	subjects	who	had	remarkable	success. One	could	get	the	lights	to
move	clockwise	52. 5%	of	the	time. An	increase	of	2. 5%	over	randomness
doesn’t	sound	dramatic,	but	Schmidt	calculated	that	the	odds	were	10	million
to	1	against	this	occurring	by	chance. The	other	subject	was	just	as	successful,
but	oddly	enough,	his	efforts	to	make	the	lights	move	clockwise	had	the
opposite	result:	they	moved	only	counterclockwise. Later	experiments	with
new	subjects	raised	the	success	rate	to	54%,	although	the	strange	anomaly
that	the	lights	would	sometimes	go	in	the	wrong	direction	persisted. (No
explanation	was	ever	found	for	this. ) Schmidt	showed	that	an	observer	can
change	activity	in	the	quantum	field	using	the	mind	alone,	which	supports	the
case	that	at	some	deep	level	mind	and	matter	are	one. The	rishis’	assertion
that	we	are	embedded	in	the	Akashic	field	seems	more	credible,	which	also
makes	it	more	credible	that	we	do	not	leave	the	field	when	we	die;	if	we	did,
we	would	be	the	only	thing	in	Nature	that	isn’t	part	of	the	field. Inspired	by	Schmidt’s	results,	a	Princeton	engineering	professor	named
Robert	Jahn	developed	much	more	sophisticated	trials,	involving	a	machine
that	could	generate	zeros	and	ones	five	times	a	second. In	the	Princeton
experiments,	each	participant	went	through	three	types	of	tests. First	he	would
will	the	machine	to	produce	more	
ones
	than	zeros,	then	more	zeros	than	ones,
and	finally	he	would	try	not	to	influence	the	machine	at	all. Each	test	was
repeated	until	there	were	between	500,000	and	1	million	results,	a	staggering
number	that	in	a	single	day	outstripped	all	the	previous	trials	performed	by
Schmidt	and	all	the	other	parapsychologists	before	him. After	twelve	years	of	study,	it	was	found	that	roughly	two-thirds	of
ordinary	people	could	influence	the	outcome	of	the	machine,	unlike	in
Schmidt’s	study. These	ordinary	people,	like	his	psychics,	could	will	material
changes,	evoking	more	zeros	than	ones,	more	ones	than	zeros,	about	51	to
52%	of	the	time. This	again	may	seem	like	a	slim	margin,	but	it	turns	out	to
defy	chance	by	a	ratio	of	a	trillion	to	one. The	solidity	of	the	outcome	is
particularly	radical	because	random	chance	is	a	bedrock	of	quantum	physics,
Darwinian	evolution,	and	many	other	fields. (A	dozen	related	follow-upstudies	also	came	up	with	results	in	the	51–52%	range. ) If	we	accept	that	our	minds	are	embedded	in	the	quantum	field	and	can
change	it,	where	does	that	leave	us. We	could	be	influencing	the	field	a	little
bit—no	more	than	a	matter	of	slight	coincidences,	such	as	thinking	of	a
friend’s	name	and	having	that	friend	suddenly	call	on	the	phone—or	at	the
other	extreme,	perhaps	everything	we	call	reality	is	manifested	by
consciousness,	coaxed	out	of	the	field	by	intention. After	examining	this
research	in	detail	in	her	excellent	book	
The	Field
,	Lynne	McTaggart	sees	the
possibility	of	a	complete	revolution	in	consciousness	theory:	
“On	the	most
profound	level,	the	[Princeton]	studies	also	suggest	that	reality	is	created	by
each	of	us	
only	by	our	attention. At	the	lowest	level	of	mind	and	matter,	each
of	us	creates	the	world. ”
Jahn	and	his	colleagues	remained	resolutely	technical,	however. They
were	baffled	by	their	results,	because	if	ordinary	people	could	influence	a
machine,	which	part	of	the	complicated	machinery	did	they	affect. Would	we
have	to	say	that	the	mind	actually	changes	the	
rate
	at	which	electrons	are
emitted. Just	as	important	is	the	question,	“So	what. ”	If	an	ordinary	person
can	make	a	machine	generate	more	zeros	than	ones,	does	that	really	impact
the	big	issues	in	science. In	fact	it	does,	in	profound	ways. Does	Akasha	Explain	Everything. Akasha	can	be	interpreted	as	the	field	through	which	the	mind	operates. Ervin
Laszlo,	a	prominent	Hungarian	theorist	on	science	and	consciousness,	has
taken	the	bold	step	of	introducing	Akasha	as	the	unifying	answer	to
everything. After	forty	years	of	delving	into	cutting-edge	theories	in
philosophy,	biology,	cybernetics,	and	physics,	Laszlo	found	himself
embracing	the	antiquated	and	discredited	idea	we	discussed	earlier:	the	ether. Physics	had	proven	that	light,	unlike	waves	rippling	across	a	pond,	doesn’t
need	a	medium	to	travel	in. When	a	photon	starts	at	point	A	and	moves	to
point	B,	the	journey	can	be	accomplished	by	the	vanishing	act	discussed
earlier:	the	first	photon	winks	out	of	existence,	changes	its	location
somewhere	in	virtual	reality	(the	Zero	Point	Field),	and	reappears	intact	in	the
second	location. It	doesn’t	slow	down	due	to	friction	the	way	a	rock	skipping
over	the	water’s	surface	does. Moreover,	in	the	instant	that	it	is	gone,	the
photon	can	“speak”	to	every	other	photon	in	the	universe,	coordinating	its
activity	with	every	form	in	creation. I’m	giving	the	scenario	without	any
technical	jargon	in	order	to	describe	why	physics	threw	out	the	ether—it
simply	wasn’t	needed	in	quantum	calculations,	not	for	half	a	century	or	more,
during	which	time	physics	made	enormous	progress. Then,	according	to	Laszlo	and	other	systems	analysts,	physics	hit	a	wall. It	couldn’t	explain	
how
	the	universe	managed	to	be	so	precisely	coordinated. When	matter	and	energy	disappear	into	virtual	reality,	as	they	do	thousands	of
times	per	second,	things	happen	out	of	sight	
in
	some	uncanny	way. Time	gets
regulated;	objects	in	space	communicate	their	position,	and	seemingly
random	matter	stays	in	touch	with	them. The	Big	Bang,	which	contained	so
much	energy	in	a	space	millions	of	times	smaller	than	an	atom	that	billions	of
galaxies	still	express	only	4%	of	it,	occurred	within	a	tiny	window	of
possibility. If	the	expanding	universe,	moving	at	millions	of	miles	per	minute,
had	been	off	by	a	fraction	of	a	second,	the	formation	of	stars	and	galaxies
would	have	been	impossible,	because	the	momentum	of	the	explosion	would
have	exceeded	the	ability	of	gravity,	the	weakest	force	in	nature,	to	halt	it. Only	the	most	delicate	balancing	act	kept	the	push-pull	of	two	forces	so	close
together	that	they	can	dance	together	instead	of	tearing	each	other	apart. Randomness	is	a	feeble	explanation	for	such	precision,	Laszlo	claims. (In
the	Princeton	experiments,	anyone	who	relied	on	randomness	would	be	right
only	one	in	a	trillion	times. ) Something	so	precisely	organized	requires	a
principle	to	hold	it	together	and	a	medium	to	carry	information	from	one	end
of	creation	to	the	other. The	old	notion	of	the	ether	doesn’t	suffice,	but
Akasha	does. In	his	2004	book,	
Science	and	the	Akashic	Field
,	Laszlo
explains	that	Akasha	is	necessary,	not	as	a	medium	for	visible	light	but	as	a
medium	for	invisible	light,	and	invisible	energy	in	general. Think	of	a	jump
rope	nailed	at	one	end	to	a	wall. As	the	jump	rope	is	turning,	which	stands	for
vibrating	energy,	follow	the	rope	closer	and	closer	to	the	wall. Every	fiber
now	vibrates	in	a	smaller	and	smaller	range,	until	you	reach	the	end	point
where	the	rope	is	nailed. That	point	isn’t	moving	at	all;	it	is	the	zero	point,	the
beginning	and	end	of	energy. Zero	isn’t	satisfactory,	however,	since	quantum
calculations	already	show	that	empty	space	is	packed	with	infinite	amounts	of
virtual	energy,	more	per	square	centimeter	than	inside	a	star. So	think	again	about	the	point	where	the	jump	rope	meets	the	wall. If	you
put	a	super-sensitive	stethoscope	to	the	wall,	the	rope’s	
vibration
	is	shaking
the	whole	wall,	and	in	return	the	wall	is	sending	some	of	that	vibration	back
out	again. This,	according	to	Laszlo,	is	also	happening	at	the	zero	point. Every	vibration	is	sending	signals	throughout	the	field,	and	in	return	the	field
is	sending	signals	back. The	universe,	it	turns	out,	is	constantly	monitoring
itself	by	somehow	coordinating	every	vibration	that	occurs	anywhere	in	the
visible	or	invisible	domain. Imagine	two	photons	floating	through	the	vastness	of	interstellar	space. By	chance	they	collide	with	each	other	and	bounce	apart. Did	anything
happen	that’s	different	from	two	grains	of	sand	hitting	each	other	as	the	surf
crashes	on	the	beach. Yes,	Laszlo	says:	they	exchange	information	and	they
begin	to	relate	to	each	other. Systems	theory,	as	summarized	by	Laszlo,	helps
to	explain	this	interaction. When	two	particles	touch,	they	are	carrying
information,	and	as	they	meet,	they	“speak”	to	each	other:	
Here’s	how	fast	I’mgoing,	how	much	I	weigh,	where	I’ve	been,	and	where	I’m	going. This	conversation	doesn’t	happen	in	isolation. The	field	is	listening	in,
and	on	hearing	what’s	happening,	it	stores	the	information	for	reference,	since
it	needs	every	single	bit	to	run	the	cosmos. “Bit”	is	a	technical	term	in
information	theory,	referring	to	a	single	mathematical	unit—either	zero	or	one
—with	which	any	kind	of	information	can	be	expressed. When	the	two
particles	separate,	their	future	is	changed	because	of	the	information	they	just
exchanged. This	exchange	brings	to	mind	the	possibility	that	these	photons	
know	what
they	are	doing. Most	speculative	thinkers,	including	Laszlo,	can’t	quite	bring
themselves	to	claim	that	the	field	is	conscious;	he	speaks	instead	about	“the
roots	of	consciousness. ”	From	a	physicist’s	standpoint,	atoms	don’t	need	to
think,	much	less	be	alive. They	meet,	they	interact,	they	separate. If
complicated	things	happen,	they	may	be	mysterious,	invisible,	and	fiendishly
difficult	to	calculate,	needing	far	more	computing	capacity	than	all	the
mainframe	computers	in	
the
	world. Still,	as	long	as	numbers	explain	how
matter	behaves,	there	is	no	need	to	drop	something	alien	like	consciousness
into	the	equation. Well	and	good,	but	leaving	out	mind	doesn’t	work,	since	you	are	leaving
out	yourself. Imagine	that	someone	wanted	to	figure	out	the	rules	of	football
and	had	a	silent	videotape	to	work	from. With	no	knowledge	of	the	game,	it
would	still	be	possible	to	watch	enough	plays	and	come	to	reliable
conclusions	about	what’s	going	on. All	you’d	need	to	observe	is	the	way	the
ball	flies	and	how	the	players	hit	each	other,	or	don’t. Every	time	the
quarterback	is	knocked	down	with	the	ball	still	in	his	hands,	for	example,	both
teams	line	up	to	start	a	new	play. Seeing	this	happen	a	few	times	would	lead	a
scientist	to	conclude	that	the	quarterback	must	either	throw	away	the	ball	or
run	with	it. Yet	it	would	be	impossible	to	make	sense	of	the	game	if	you	assumed	that
the	players	were	mindless,	inert	objects. They	are	too	coordinated,	they	form
too	many	complex	patterns,	they	repeat	and	remember	those	patterns,	and	the
scoreboard	makes	sense—somebody	wins,	somebody	loses. To	go	a	step
further,	it	would	be	a	mistake	to	start	your	research	by	saying	that	football
ipso	facto	cannot	be	based	on	the	existence	of	mind	or	consciousness. You
would	wind	up	with	wildly	wrong	conclusions	if	you	insisted	that	no	matter
what	the	videotape	shows,	football	cannot	be	a	game;	it	must	remain	a
random	collision	of	objects. In	trying	to	figure	out	the	apparently	random	activity	in	the	quantum	field,
we’ve	come	to	see	that	there	is	incredible	timing,	coordination,	memory,
information	exchange,	and	self-interaction. But	what	is	the	point	of	it	all. The
observer	effect	adds	the	missing	link. The	observer	effect	is	related	to	one	of
the	cornerstones	of	quantum	physics,	called	“complementarity,”	which	holdsthat	it	isn’t	possible	to	know	everything	about	a	quantum	event. When	an
observer	
looks
	at,	or	measures,	an	electron,	whatever	is	being	observed	is
limited. Each	and	every	electron	has	a	probability	of	appearing	anywhere	in
the	universe. Only	under	observation	does	an	electron	jump	from	virtual	reality	into	the
visible	universe,	and	as	soon	as	the	observer	stops	looking,	it	falls	back	into
the	field	again. Erwin	Schrödinger,	the	great	German	physicist,	devised
Schrödinger’s	equation,	one	of	the	foundations	of	quantum	theory,	which
precisely	calculates	what	these	probabilities	are,	and	yet	the	notion	that	an
electron	is	everywhere	until	an	observer	calls	it	into	existence	defies	logic. For	those	readers	who	haven’t	read	about	Schrödinger’s	cat,	a	famous
paradox	that	grows	out	of	the	observer	effect,	here	it	is:
A	cat	is	placed	in	a	closed	box	with	a	fatal	device	inside. The	device	will
release	poison	cyanide	gas	if	it	is	triggered,	and	the	trigger	is	a	bit	of
radioactive	matter. If	the	radioactive	matter	releases	a	single	electron,	that	will
be	enough	to	trigger	the	device,	release	the	poison,	and	kill	the	cat. Here	is	the	paradox:	according	to	quantum	physics,	an	electron	has	no
visible	reality	until	it	is	observed. It	occupies	a	“superposition,”	meaning	that
it	can	be	in	more	than	one	place	at	the	same	time	(a	fact	that	has	been	verified
experimentally	with	subatomic	particles	that	do	in	fact	occupy	multiple
positions	at	once). Being	in	a	closed	box,	the	cat	is	outside	the	field	of
observation;	it	could	be	dead	or	alive,	so	according	to	quantum	theory,	it	must
be	both. Only	when	the	box	is	opened	and	the	observer	determines	the
situation	will	we	know	which	state,	dead	or	alive,	has	been	decided	upon. Until	then,	both	must	coexist. Many	physicists	have	escaped	the	paradox	of	a	cat	being	dead	and	alive	at
the	same	time	by	pointing	out	that	what	is	true	on	the	micro	level	isn’t	true	on
the	macro	level:	superposition	holds	for	electrons,	not	for	everyday	objects
like	cats. But	this	begs	the	question,	since	
the
	observer	effect	is	alive	and	well
in	the	Schmidt	and	Princeton	experiments,	where	the	mere	attention	of	an
observer	altered	the	quantum	field	and	the	material	world	at	the	same	time. The	crux	of	the	paradox	is	that	you	cannot	know	any	outcome	in	the	quantum
world	until	you	observe	it	(i. e. ,	it	is	impossible	to	know	if	Schrödinger’s	cat	is
dead	or	alive	until	you	look,	and	the	looking	
makes
	it	one	or	the	other). Akasha	solves	this	problem	by	making	every	event	participatory	at	every
level. All	observers	are	inside	the	Akashic	field,	and	whatever	they	do	causes
the	whole	field	to	respond. Therefore,	we	are	not	falsifying	the	universe	to
describe	it	as	behaving	like	ourselves. The	predictable	and	the	unpredictable
coexist. A	cat	can	be	dead	and	alive	at	the	same	time	without	shaking	up	how
the	world	usually	works. In	fact,	it	is	through	the	unpredictable	universe	that
we	know	ourselves	and	vice	versa. The	Vedic	rishis	realized	that	time	and
eternity	have	to	be	related,	and	their	conclusion	was	that	time	is	an	illusionwhile	eternity	is	real. This	turns	the	tables	on	the	five	senses,	which	must
operate	as	if	time	is	real,	since	every	event	we	participate	in	occurs	in
spacetime. The	rishis	declare	that	dying	allows	us	to	see	eternal	reality	clearly
and	to	participate	in	it	more	fully. In	Laszlo’s	formation,	the	Akashic	field
does	exactly	the	same	for	all	matter,	energy,	and	information. Their
interactions	in	the	visible	universe	are	reflections	of	far	more	important
invisible	relationships	taking	place	offstage. Here’s	an	analogy. Imagine	that	you	are	a	scientist	who’s	been	assigned	to
measure	the	minuscule	explosions	of	light	that	take	place	in	a	field;	in	this
case,	it’s	the	screen	of	a	television	set. These	explosions	take	place	on	the
atomic	level,	so	as	you	move	in	close	you	are	confronted	with	millions	of
photons	firing	in	random	patterns. You	would	describe	the	TV	screen	as	a
field	undergoing	random	excitations,	exactly	as	physicists	describe	the
electromagnetic	field. As	you	move	farther	out,	however,	the	patches	of	red,
green,	and	blue	begin	to	cluster;	they	start	to	appear	organized. Moving	out
still	farther,	
you
	begin	to	notice	vague	shapes. You	feel	like	an	astronomer
using	a	radio	telescope	to	determine	if	the	background	noise	of	the	cosmos
might	contain	patterns. Patterns	are	mathematical,	and	it	takes	intelligence	to
use	a	mathematical	code. So	you	begin	to	come	up	with	a	mathematical	explanation	for	the	patterns
seen	on	the	TV	screen. Moving	farther	and	farther	out,	you	eventually	see	that
these	patterns	are	actually	pictures	of	human	life,	and	that	the	random	firing
of	photons	had	a	purpose. This	would	be	startling	enough	to	cause	you	to
revise	your	entire	theory;	you	would	have	to	suppose	that	randomness	was	an
illusion	covering	a	deeper	reality,	which	is	the	picture. Only	consciousness
can	fully	explain	the	reason	why	the	bursts	of	red,	green,	and	blue	are	being
emitted. We	find	ourselves	at	the	point	where	many	explanations	based	on
randomness	no	longer	satisfy,	and	a	shift	must	be	made	to	a	more	conscious
explanation. Why	do	photons	fire	in	a	television. Because	they	turn	into	a
picture. Why	do	photons	fire	in	the	cosmos. For	the	same	reason. Preceding
quantum	physics	by	centuries,	the	Vedic	rishis	said	that	time	and	space	are
projections	on	the	blank	screen	of	consciousness,	the	screen	of	Akasha. In	other	words,	when	you	got	up	this	morning,	drove	to	work,	and	spent
your	day	at	the	office,	
nothing	really	happened
	as	you	experienced	it. Time
didn’t	pass,	nor	did	you	move	through	space. This	conclusion	confounds
common	sense	but	is	thoroughly	accepted	in	physics. Let	me	explain. If	you
dream	at	night	of	flying	to	Paris	and	walking	the	streets,	nothing	of	the	sort
actually	happened;	not	only	did	you	go	nowhere	physically,	your	brain	didn’t
even	make	pictures	that	correspond	to	Paris. The	dream	resulted	from	brain
activity	that	can	be	broken	down	into	bits	of	information:	tiny	electrical
switches	were	either	on	or	off,	polarities	of	certain	molecules	were	eitherpositive	or	negative. Your	whole	dream	and	everything	in	it	was	just	a	zero	or
one	game. The	same	is	true	of	the	people	we	watch	on	television. A	character	may
seem	to	live	in	a	house	and	mow	the	lawn. But	the	house	is	actually	a	flat
image	on	the	screen,	and	the	movements	of	people	are	just	phosphors
switching	on	and	off. Again,	a	zero	and	one	game. Nothing	moves	on	a	TV
screen. If	someone	appears	to	run	to	the	left,	it’s	only	a	pattern	of	signals	that
light	up	on	the	left	and	turn	off	on	the	right—the	same	as	provided	by
blinking	Christmas	tree	lights	that	seem	to	move	around	in	a	circle	when	in
fact	all	that	is	happening	is	that	the	string	of	lights	is	going	on	and	off	in	a
pattern	that	makes	it	seem	as	if	motion	is	occurring. You	move	through	time	and	space	in	the	same	way,	as	does	the	Earth	in	its
orbit	and	the	stars	in	the	sky. Quantum	impulses	switch	on	and	off,	and	a
change	of	position	occurs	because	energy	gets	excited	a	bit	to	the	left	or	right
from	the	last	excitation. In	reality	not	a	single	quark	or	photon	changes
position	in	spacetime. But	doesn’t	it	amount	to	the	same	thing. If	an	object
appears	to	move,	why	not	say	it	moves. In	fact,	we	can’t. The	Earth	appears
to	move	around	the	sun,	yet	if	that	were	really	the	case,	it	would	eventually
spiral	into	the	sun	and	be	destroyed. In	fact,	even	though	the	Earth	encounters
friction	in	its	orbit—in	the	form	of	interstellar	dust	and	the	solar	wind—our
planet	never	gets	any	closer	to	the	sun	or	slows	down. This	is	because	every
atom	of	Earth	winks	out	of	sight	and	comes	back	with	the	same	energy	and
mass	that	it	has	always	had. The	zero	point,	it	turns	out,	projects	the	Earth	as
surely	as	a	television	screen	projects	its	pictures. (A	skeptic	would	ask	how
anything	changes	if	the	Zero	Point	Field	constantly	replenishes	the	visible
universe. That	is	a	riddle,	but	its	answer	may	lie	in	two	factors:	the	slow
decay	of	protons,	which	takes	billions	of	years,	and	the	expanding	universe,
which	is	carrying	dispersion	of	energy,	or	entropy,	as	the	original	heat	of	the
Big	Bang	becomes	dissipated. But	folding	these	two	factors	into	quantum
theory	is	far	from	being	achieved. ) How	does	all	this	relate	to	the	afterlife. Ask	yourself	a	simple	question. When	you’re	watching	TV,	which	is	more	real,	the	picture	you’re	seeing	or
the	station	that’s	sending	the	signal. Of	course,	the	station	is	more	real,	the
picture	is	only	an	image. Likewise,	Laszlo	says,	the	Zero	Point	Field—
Akasha—is	more	real	than	the	visible	universe. Akasha	organizes	and
coordinates	all	the	projections	we	call	time,	space,	matter,	and	energy. If	this
is	correct,	then	we	have	established	a	foundation	for	several	key	assertions	in
Vedanta:
The	material	world	is	projected	from	a	nonmaterial	source. The	invisible	world	comes	first. It	contains	the	seeds	of	time	and	space. Reality	increases	the	closer	one	gets	to	the	source. To	put	it	in	human	terms,	we	do	not	have	to	fear	that	death	is	a	vanishing
act	because	life	has	always	been	one. What	we	most	value	in	ourselves,	our
capacity	to	think	and	feel,	didn’t	come	about	from	entering	the	physical
world. It	got	projected	into	the	physical	world	from	a	source,	the	Zero	Point
Field,	that	is	the	root	of	consciousness,	extending	back	billions	of	years	and
ahead	into	the	foreseeable	future. Far	from	being	a	religious	vision,	this
model	explains	the	universe	better	than	any	other,	and	gives	us	what	the	rishis
and	modern	physicists	both	demand:	a	bridge	between	mind	and	matter. 14
T
HINKING
	O
UTSIDE	THE
	B
RAIN
IF	I	DIE
	and	the	information	contained	in	my	brain	survives,	does	that	mean	I
will	survive. Survival	means	remaining	intact	at	some	level—mind,
personality,	memory,	or	soul—that	is	“me. ”	To	a	materialist,	when	the	brain
dies,	so	does	the	person. Fortunately,	over	the	past	two	decades	some
ingenious	experiments	have	raised	hope	that	the	mind	extends	outside	the
brain,	and	that	the	qualities	that	you	and	I	cherish,	such	as	love	and	truth,	may
be	embedded	permanently	in	the	field. The	closer	we	can	get	to	showing	that	the	field	is	intelligent,	the	more
credible	it	will	be	that	our	own	intelligence	can	survive	after	death. One	way
to	approach	this	issue	seems	strange	but	turns	out	to	be	very	fruitful:	animal
telepathy. Many	pet	owners	will	attest	to	the	ability	of	a	dog	or	cat	to	know
what	the	owner	is	thinking. A	few	minutes	before	going	on	a	walk,	a	dog	gets
excited	and	restless;	on	the	day	when	a	cat	is	going	to	be	taken	to	the	vet,	it
disappears	and	is	nowhere	to	be	found. These	casual	observations	led	the
ingenious	British	researcher	Rupert	Sheldrake,	a	trained	biologist	now	turned
speculative	thinker,	to	conduct	controlled	studies	to	find	out	if	dogs	and	cats
can	actually	read	their	owners’	minds. One	study	was	very	simple:	Sheldrake
phoned	sixty-five	veterinarians	in	the	London	area	
and
	asked	them	if	it	was
common	for	cat	owners	to	cancel	appointments	because	their	cats	had
disappeared	that	day. Sixty-four	vets	responded	that	it	was	very	common,	and
the	sixty-fifth	had	given	up	making	appointments	for	cats	because	too	many
couldn’t	be	located	when	they	were	supposed	to	come	in. Sheldrake	decided	to	perform	an	experiment	using	dogs. The	fact	that	a
dog	gets	excited	when	the	time	comes	to	go	for	a	walk	means	little	if	the	walk
is	routinely	scheduled	for	the	same	time	every	day,	or	if	the	dog	gets	visual
cues	from	its	owner	that	he	is	preparing	to	go	out. Therefore,	Sheldrake
placed	dogs	in	outbuildings	completely	isolated	from	their	owners;	he	then
asked	the	owner,	at	randomly	selected	times,	to	think	about	walking	their
dogs	five	minutes	before	going	to	get	them. In	the	meantime,	the	dog	was
being	videotaped	in	its	isolated	location. Sheldrake	found	that	when	their
owners	started	thinking	about	taking	them	for	a	walk,	more	than	half	the	dogs
ran	to	the	door	wagging	their	tails,	circling	restlessly,	and	keeping	up	this
behavior	until	their	owners	appeared. No	dog	showed	anticipatory	behavior,however,	when	their	owners	were	not	thinking	about	taking	them	for	a	walk. This	suggests	something	intriguing,	that	the	bond	between	a	pet	and	its
owner	creates	a	subtle	connection	at	the	level	of	thought. Polls	show	that
about	60%	of	Americans	believe	they	have	had	a	telepathic	experience,	so
this	result	is	not	completely	startling. The	next	leap	is	quite	startling,	however. After	writing	up	his	results	with	telepathic	pets,	Sheldrake	received	an	e-mail
from	a	woman	in	New	York	City	who	said	that	her	African	gray	parrot	not
only	read	her	thoughts	but	responded	to	them	with	speech. The	woman	and
her	husband	might	be	sitting	in	another	room,	out	of	sight	from	the	bird,
whose	name	is	N’kisi,	and	if	they	were	feeling	hungry,	N’kisi	would	suddenly
say,	“You	want	some	yummy. ”	If	the	owner	and	her	husband	were	thinking
about	going	out,	N’kisi	might	say,	“You	gotta	go	out,	see	ya	later. ”
Greatly	intrigued,	Sheldrake	contacted	the	owner,	an	artist	named	
Aimee
Morgana. The	situation	he	found	was	remarkable. African	gray	parrots	are
among	the	most	linguistically	talented	of	all	birds,	and	N’kisi	had	a	huge
vocabulary	of	over	700	words. More	remarkable	still,	he	used	them	like
human	speech,	not	“parroting”	a	word	mindlessly	but	applying	it	where
appropriate;	if	he	saw	something	that	was	red,	he	said	“red,”	and	if	the	object
was	another	color,	he	said	that	color. But	Aimee	had	even	more	astonishing
stories	for	Sheldrake. When	she	was	watching	a	Jackie	Chan	movie	on
television,	during	one	scene	with	Chan	perilously	perched	on	a	girder,	N’kisi
said,	“Don’t	fall	down,”	even	though	his	cage	was	behind	the	television	with
no	line	of	sight	to	the	picture. When	an	automobile	commercial	came	on	next,
N’kisi	said,	“That’s	my	car. ”	Another	time	Aimee	was	reading	the	lines,	“The
blacker	the	berry,	the	sweeter	the	juice,”	in	a	book	when	simultaneously	from
another	room	the	bird	said,	“The	color	is	black. ”
Sheldrake	wanted	to	confirm	this	for	himself. On	his	first	visit,	Aimee
gave	him	a	taste	of	N’kisi’s	telepathy:	she	looked	at	a	picture	of	a	girl	in	a
magazine,	and	with	remarkable	clarity	from	the	adjoining	room	the	parrot
said,	“That’s	a	girl. ”	The	next	step	was	to	conduct	a	formal	experiment. If
N’kisi	could	understand	words	and	also	had	telepathic	abilities,	could	the	two
be	tested	together. Sheldrake	proposed	that	Aimee	would	look	at	pictures	that
corresponded	to	words	her	parrot	already	knew. She	would	sit	in	one	room
while	N’kisi	remained	isolated	in	another. The	bird	would	have	two	minutes
to	utter	a	“key	word”	that	matched	the	picture. If	he	said	the	word	within	that
time,	it	would	count	as	a	hit. If	he	didn’t	say	the	word,	or	if	he	said	it	after	the
two	minutes	were	up,	it	counted	as	a	miss. To	ensure	neutrality,	someone	besides	Aimee	chose	both	the	pictures	and
the	key	words	that	matched	each	one. (This	proved	somewhat	unfair	to	the
bird,	since	the	neutral	chooser	picked	some	words	like	“TV”	that	N’kisi	had
only	said	once	or	twice	before;	the	bird	didn’t	utter	these	words	at	the	right
time	during	the	experiment,	nor	
did
	he	say	them	at	all. ) After	all	the	trialswere	over,	the	tapes	of	what	N’kisi	had	said	were	played	for	three	judges,
who	wrote	down	what	they	heard;	unless	N’kisi	distinctly	said	the	right	word,
as	transcribed	by	all	three	judges,	a	hit	wouldn’t	count. The	results	were
beyond	ordinary	comprehension. For	example,	when	Aimee	looked	at	a
picture	showing	scantily	clad	bathers	on	a	beach,	N’kisi	mumbled	for	a	bit,
then	all	three	judges	heard	him	say,	“Look	at	my	pretty,	naked	body. ”	He
didn’t	say	other,	irrelevant	key	words	in	between	saying	the	right	words,	the
bird	only	whistled	and	made	tones. When	Aimee	looked	at	a	picture	of
someone	talking	on	the	telephone,	N’kisi	said,	“What’cha	doin’	on	the
phone. ”	Perhaps	his	most	intriguing	response	came	when	Aimee	concentrated
on	a	picture	of	flowers. Instead	of	simply	uttering	the	key	word	“flower,”
Ni’kisi	said,	“That’s	a	pic	of	flowers. ”
How	did	he	do	overall. Out	of	71	trials,	N’kisi	got	23	hits,	as	compared
with	7. 4	hits	that	would	have	been	expected	if	the	results	had	been	random. Sheldrake	points	out	that	this	is	quite	a	significant	outcome,	all	the	more
because	N’kisi	wasn’t	aware	that	he	was	being	tested	and	often	said	the	right
key	word	after	the	allotted	time	was	up. In	a	small	Manhattan	apartment	this	bit	of	proof	was	added	to	mounting
evidence	that	the	mind	isn’t	solely	human	property,	and	in	fact	might	exist
outside	the	brain. Communication	between	the	animal	kingdom	and	humans
may	seem	odd,	but	pets	can’t	cheat	and	they	have	no	ulterior	motive	for
proving	they	have	special	abilities. The	Vedic	rishis	long	ago	asserted	that	the
entire	universe	is	intelligent,	because	it	is	permeated	by	consciousness. Let’s
see	how	precisely	we	can	put	this	in	modern	terms. Into	the	Mind	Field
Mind	has	remained	a	metaphysical	riddle	for	centuries	because	it	inhabits	the
physical	world	like	a	ghost. But	that’s	a	Western	perspective	based	on	our	bias
for	solid,	tangible	things. We	insist	that	
the
	brain	must	be	the	source	of	mind
because	the	brain	is	a	visible	object,	which	is	like	saying	that	a	radio	must	be
the	source	of	music	because	it	is	a	visible	object	from	which	music	emerges. The	Vedic	rishis	adopted	the	opposite	perspective,	insisting	that	visible
objects	couldn’t	be	the	source	of	mind	since	the	physical	plane	is	the	least
conscious	of	worlds. It	may	seem	significant	that	the	brain	is	active	during
thought,	but	a	radio	is	active	during	a	broadcast,	and	there	is	no	doubt	that
N’kisi	(not	to	mention	human	telepaths)	picked	up	a	thought	that	was	being
broadcast. Our	Western	prejudice	against	the	invisible	isn’t	easy	to	overcome. Mind
will	only	be	proved	to	exist	outside	the	brain	if	it	leaves	some	kind	of
footprint,	a	visible	sign	that	is	as	convincing	as	the	MRIs	that	provide
concrete	evidence	of	neural	activity. One	such	piece	of	evidence	isinformation,	which	we’ve	touched	on	before. If	information	permeates	the
entire	quantum	field,	it	can	bridge	mind	and	matter	in	terms	more	acceptable
to	a	materialist. No	scientist	has	a	problem	believing	that	matter	and	energy
cannot	be	created	or	destroyed,	and	the	cutting	edge	of	physics	is	grappling
with	the	notion	that	information	cannot	be	created	or	destroyed,	either. What
we	see	in	the	universe	is	constant	transformation. Helium	atoms	that	fuel	the
sun	send	heat	to	Earth	that	gets	transformed	by	photosynthesis	into	plants	and
all	other	life-forms. It	can	fairly	be	said	that	life	consists	of	the	sun’s	atoms
exchanging	information	with	atoms	on	Earth. (Energy	is	information	in	the
sense	that	all	chemical	or	electrical	charges	can	be	expressed	as	plus	or	minus,
positive	or	negative,	zero	or	one. ) It	doesn’t	matter,	then,	that	your	body	bears
no	resemblance	to	a	fiery	star. Both	are	part	of	the	same	information	field,
which	undergoes	endless	transformation	within	itself. Or	as	Lord	Krishna
says	in	the	Bhagavad-Gita,	“Folding	back	in	on	myself,	I	create	again	and
again. ”
Amit	Goswami,	a	prominent	physicist	who	writes	extensively	on	the	self-
aware	universe,	says	that	creativity	is	just	another	face	of	
transformation. “The	universe	is	always	putting	new	wine	into	old	bottles,	or	new	wine	into
new	bottles. ”	The	same	energy	packets,	containing	the	same	information,	are
being	endlessly	shuffled	in	the	Zero	Point	Field. Goswami	approaches
reincarnation	in	the	same	context. Identities	are	passing	through	the
information	field,	exchanging	data	with	new	identities	that	feel	like	a	new
“me”	but	are	actually	transmutations	of	indestructible	zeros	and	ones	strung
into	long	chains	of	ideas	and	experiences. Right	now	you	are	a	bundle	of	information	in	mind	and	body. You	have
unique	memories;	your	cells	have	undergone	chemical	changes	shared	by	no
one	else	in	the	world. When	you	die,	none	of	this	information	will	vanish,
because	it	can’t. There	is	nowhere	for	plus	and	minus,	positive	and	negative
to	go	since	the	field	contains	nothing	
but
	information. Therefore	their	only
alternative	is	to	recombine. How	do	they	do	that. The	answer	lies	in	the	root	word	of	information,	which	is	“form. ”	We
inhabit	an	“in-formed	universe”	according	to	Ervin	Laszlo,	which	strings
atoms	along	the	double	helix	of	DNA,	bits	of	information	in	physical	form,
just	as	it	strings	together	information	in	nonphysical	form	as	ideas. This
brings	us	one	step	closer	to	the	breathtaking	notion	that	the	whole	universe	is
God’s	mind;	that	is,	a	dynamic	field	of	infinite	information	undergoing
infinite	transformations. But	we	can’t	take	that	step	unless	we	know	how
small	ideas	survive,	much	less	cosmic	ones. The	rishis	taught	that	ideas	survive	in	the	Akashic	field	as	memories. You
and	I	constantly	access	Akashic	memory	when	we	assume	that	we	are
accessing	our	brains. In	esoteric	circles	Akashic	memory	functions	to	give	us
information	from	departed	spirits	and	past	lifetimes. In	Jungian	psychologythe	same	memory	accounts	for	cultures	sharing	the	same	myths	and
archetypes. Venus	and	Mars	are	invisible	beings,	yet	present	and	alive. The
Akasha	remembers	every	god	
created
	by	humans	and	every	epic	battle,
romance,	and	quest. We	tap	into	them	all	the	time	as	the	human	story
continues	from	age	to	age. The	brain	has	a	locatable	memory	center,	but	mind	isn’t	confined	to	the
brain. Consider	a	deeply	meaningful	experience	in	your	life—a	first	kiss,	or
the	last	time	you	saw	a	beloved	grandparent. That	memory	is	the	remaining
trace	of	an	event	in	time	and	space. The	experience	can	still	be	activated	in
your	brain,	which	means	that	millions	of	molecules	that	could	be	flying
randomly	through	your	neurons	
know
	that	they	have	to	stay	together	in	order
for	your	memory	to	continue,	year	after	year,	without	fading. How	could	they
know	this,	since	molecules	aren’t	intelligent. The	physical	basis	for	memory
remains	totally	unknown	to	neurologists,	so	we	can	only	speculate. Somehow	your	first	kiss	has	an	afterlife. The	afterlife	isn’t	physical,
because	there’s	absolutely	no	difference	between	the	hydrogen,	oxygen,
nitrogen,	and	carbon	in	a	neuron	and	those	same	elements	in	a	tree,	a	dead
leaf,	or	decomposed	soil. Neurons	aren’t	immortal. They	die,	just	as	the	rest
of	the	body	does,	and	atoms	fly	in	and	out	of	them	every	second. How,	then,
does	a	memory	get	transferred	to	a	new	atom,	or	to	a	new	neuron	when	the
time	comes	for	the	old	one	to	perish. No	physical	process	for	this	has	been
identified,	so	perhaps	memory	actually	persists	on	a	nonphysical	level. Neurologists	would	defend	to	the	hilt	the	opposite	idea,	that	mind	arises	only
in	the	brain,	using	CAT	scans	and	MRI	imaging	to	prove	the	point. But	those
images	are	only	maps. They	show	the	terrain	of	the	brain	as	an	idea	or
emotion	crosses	it;	they	don’t	prove	that	the	brain	
is
	the	mind,	any	more	than
a	footprint	in	the	sand	is	the	same	as	a	foot. Imagine	that	you	could	map	every
vibration	in	the	tiny	nerve	endings	that	line	the	inner	ear. When	graphed	on	a
chart,	there	would	be	an	extremely	complicated	pattern	for	every	word	and
sentence	the	ear	receives,	but	that	pattern	is	only	a	map	of	a	word,	not	the
territory	itself. A	powerful	sentence	like	“I	love	you”	is	more	than	the	map	of
its	vibrations,	
since
	even	the	most	perfect	map	cannot	contain	love’s	power,
meaning,	significance,	and	overall	intent. Memory	seems	to	be	a	field	effect. For	you	to	think	the	word	“rhinoceros”
and	see	a	mental	image	of	that	animal,	millions	of	brain	cells	have	to	act
simultaneously. (We	will	leave	aside	the	more	difficult	question	of	why	you
picked	“rhinoceros”	out	of	all	the	words	you	could	have	chosen,	since	any
word	choice	can	be	based	on	reason,	emotion,	nonsense,	or	private
associations	in	memory. A	computer	can	be	taught	to	select	any	given	word,
but	it	has	no	special	reason	to	do	so—you	do. ) The	neurons	involved	in
choosing	the	word	“rhinoceros”	don’t	run	through	the	alphabet	until	they	get
to	“R”;	they	don’t	sound	out	one	syllable	at	a	time,	nor	do	they	leaf	through	azoological	photo	archive	to	match	the	right	word	to	the	right	image. Instead,
the	correct	brain	activity	arises	simultaneously. The	brain	is	acting	like	a	field,
coordinating	different	events	at	the	same	time,	except	that	we	know	the	brain
isn’t	literally	a	field. It’s	an	object	made	of	seemingly	lifeless	chemicals. A	compass	needle	moves	because	it’s	responding	to	the	Earth’s	magnetic
field. What	if	the	same	thing	is	true	for	brain	activity. What	if	the	mind	field
is	sending	signals,	and	billions	of	brain	cells	arrange	patterns	in	response	to
what	the	field	is	saying. A	team	of	innovative	scientists	has	proposed	exactly
that. Section summary: 

Please summarize this 6-page long passage in a concise manner while avoiding repetition of any key points mentioned earlier. Summary should be approximately around one-third to half-a-paragraph length. **Correct Summary:**


You cannot simply say that karma is both flexible and inflexibile at once because it's paradoxical without solving for control over after-life choices are connected through consciousness but not seen by us as we don't have enough self-knowledge yet. Instead, you can choose between various possibilities based on your experiences. Tibetan Buddhism emphasizes continuity during reincarnation where an individual recognizes familiar objects from previous lives. ''

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Karma is said to be both flexible and inflexible at the same time, which is a paradox that cannot be solved without understanding the nature of consciousness.
What is the paradoxical nature of Karma?
The zero point refers to the idea that the universe is not empty, but rather a seething mass of energy and information.
What is the concept of the zero point in the context of the text?
The rituals and practices mentioned in the text are not meant to get a person to a nice heaven or a better next life, but rather to make freedom of choice a reality and allow the person to shape their karma.
What is the purpose of the rituals and practices mentioned in the text?
The experiment conducted by Schmidt and his team demonstrated that the observer effect is real and that the act of observation can alter the outcome of a quantum event.
What is the significance of the experiment conducted by Helmut Schmidt and his team?
The concept of the zero point implies that the afterlife is not a physical realm but rather a field of energy and information, which is the source of all creation and sustains the cycle of reincarnation.
What is the implication of the concept of the zero point on the concept of the afterlife?