Life has a mysterious way of continuing itself. What looks like an end is often only a rearrangement. The tree that falls becomes soil, the flame that dies leaves behind smoke and warmth, and the body that breathes its last turns into earth again. Nothing in existence truly disappears. Matter never dies, atoms never lose their being; they simply change places, alter their bonds, and take on new forms. Death, therefore, is not the destruction of reality but the reshuffling of patterns. The body that is cremated is only a temporary arrangement of atoms and molecules. Fire loosens those arrangements and hands them back to air, earth, and water. The wave collapses from one expression only to rise again in another.
From this understanding, memory itself begins to look different. It no longer seems locked inside the gray folds of the brain alone. There are countless mysterious events where heart transplant recipients reported memories, tastes, or fears belonging to the donors. Science finds it hard to explain how such impressions travel with organs, but the idea of memory being held in fields makes it less strange. It is the electromagnetic field of the heart. The heart creates the strongest field in the body, even more powerful than the brain’s, and it carries patterns that can hold impressions of memory and emotion. When a heart is transplanted, this field may transfer subtle imprints from the donor to the recipient, which explains why some people suddenly feel the donor’s tastes, fears, or memories as their own. Water itself is known to hold patterns, rearranging its structure according to subtle vibrations. If even water, a simple arrangement of hydrogen and oxygen, can keep impressions, then what of the human heart that pulses with electrical rhythm every moment of life? Scientific studies suggest water’s structural “memory” lasts only for seconds to minutes under normal conditions, though some experiments in homeopathy and quantum coherence claim it can persist hours to days if stabilized by external fields or freezing. In simple terms: without preservation, water’s impressions are short-lived, not permanent as those patterns are dynamic and can dissolve or change with new influences. The possibility that memory is a field, not just a circuit in neurons, opens a vast new horizon.
One morning, during a nirvikalp-like dhyana immediately after rising from bed, my attention first concentrated on the Ajna and Sahasrar chakras. Subtle breathing seemed to arise from these centers as the mind waves dissolved into the background of space, leaving a still, expansive awareness. After about an hour, the meditation naturally shifted downward to the heart area. There, a dense darkness was felt, as if heavy emotions had been deeply encoded in that space. Gradually, as these emotions and the associated thoughts emerged into awareness, the dark weight began to ease, and the space in the heart felt lighter. This revealed how even subtle residues of memory and feeling can exist as energetic imprints in the body, quietly influencing awareness until brought gently into consciousness.
Death, in this light, is not erasure but continuity. The ancient thought of rebirth carries the same intuition. The traces of one life do not vanish but remain as subtle vibrational residues. Just as a fragrance lingers in an empty room long after the flower is removed, karmic impressions linger in the field even after the body dissolves. When circumstances ripen, when conditions align, those vibrations may find new soil to sprout again as another life. What is called “self” may not be a solid entity at all but a recurring pattern, rising whenever the field resonates with the right conditions. Means the self is not a fixed solid thing but a shifting pattern that reappears according to thoughts, karmas, and conditions—like a wave that takes different shapes yet belongs to the same field—and that field itself is the Supreme Soul, the unchanging reality from which all selves arise and into which they return. A candle flame passed from one wick to another does not carry the same molecules, but the pattern of fire continues. The one who says “I” may be only a wave-form that can appear again and again.
In a dream visitation, I once met a freshly departed close acquaintance. What appeared was not a body but a presence—waveless darkness, infinite like space yet strangely compressed and localized. It carried a sense that all its lives were recorded there, not as visible waves but as the finest ripples in conscious space, too subtle to be recognized as movement. This gave me the unmistakable feeling that what I encountered was more real and complete than even its time in the living body. Such an encounter reflects how memory and experience may exist as subtle encodings in the very fabric of consciousness itself.
To the ordinary eye, this cycle of arising and vanishing feels dark, frightening, ghostly. Yet in the mystic vision, it is none other than Shiva, the great witness of the cremation ground. The Shmshana Shiva is not merely a deity surrounded by deathly silence; it is the Shiva of Nirvikalpa Samadhi, appearing terrifying only because the ego cannot imagine its own absence. What the layman sees as a fearful god of the funeral pyre is, for the awakened, the supreme stillness beyond form. The cremation ground is nothing but the mind’s final surrender, where the false self is burnt away and only pure awareness remains.
This play of rising and falling is mirrored even in the breath. In the morning, with an empty stomach, prana naturally moves upward, light and clear, ready for meditation. In the evening, after meals, apana dominates, pulling downward in its grounding movement. Breath is not a simple inhaling and exhaling of oxygen but a wave that reflects the entire rhythm of existence. Particles themselves run in a wave-like fashion of probability because they emerged from energy that is wave in nature. God is wave, Om is wave, breath is wave. Rising to a peak, falling to the base, sinking into a negative trough of destruction, then again creation beginning, the cycle of nature follows the same undulation. To contemplate the breath is to contemplate Om, the eternal vibration of God.
Even the human attempt to understand the body at the deepest level follows this wave-like adventure. In early stages, my awakening came through body-based Sharirvigyan Darshan, through direct physical and spiritual experimentation. Yet the same awakening can also be glimpsed through the lens of quantum science. For if whatever is in awareness at any moment is reflected in every cell of the body as per Sharirvigyan Darshan, then naturally the same principle extends to every atom in the cosmos as per Quantum science philosophy, since each atom too carries the imprint of the whole. Every atom of the body is not just matter but a miniature cosmos, thinking as probability distributions and deciding reality as collapses. If every atom carries this mystery, then the human itself is a walking quantum experiment, unfolding wave into particle at each decision, each thought, each action.
Atoms, though appearing silent, perform their roles with precision. In the air, atoms remain mobile, constantly moving, their wave-nature decohering into the simple expression of free motion. Yet hidden within that motion is the entire spectrum of possibilities their quantum nature holds. A stone, on the other hand, seems fixed and unmoving, its atoms bound tightly in a lattice. But even here, at the heart of stillness, the atoms vibrate, whispering with suppressed possibilities. Physics confirms that every atom, whether roaming in air or locked in stone, carries a wave-function of countless options—though only one expression is allowed to shine forth in the visible world, while the rest remain folded in silence. Inside an atom, the probabilities of many quantum particles overlap and interfere, weaving into a far more intricate pattern than any single particle alone. This combined wavefunction is what gives atoms their unique shapes, shells, and behaviors. Humans are no different. Within lies the field of all possibilities, but only one expression appears as practical reality at a given moment, shaped by circumstances and conditions.
Just as a quantum particle has fixed traits like mass or charge that do not change, so a human being carries fixed aspects like the body and general personality. Yet there are also shifting properties—energy, mood, thought, momentum—that remain in a kind of superposition, open to change until collapsed into one choice by the movement of life. The mind itself resembles this quantum dance, hovering in possibilities until crystallized into a single perception or decision.
The breath again reveals the secret of this dance. When the amplitude of its up-down wave merges into a central point at a chakra, the feeling arises of breath cessation—Keval Kumbhak. In that state, there is no mental formation. For a quantum particle too, the probability at zero amplitude is zero. At this still point, mind and world dissolve into nothingness. As amplitude grows again, the world reappears, just as thought and perception bloom back into being after the pause of Samadhi. This very rhythm echoes the Orch-OR theory, which holds that mind itself is the collapse of quantum particles in microtubules of the brain. Yet the collapse never lands on the zero amplitude itself; it always arises at some non-zero state. That is why in Samadhi, there is still existence but no sense of mind—because the probability rests at the silent node of the wave.
The human body is not only made of matter but also of energy, memory, and possibility. Death is not the final end but a doorway. Memories are never fully lost; they remain imprinted in the deeper field of life. The deeper field of life points to something larger: the universal field of consciousness or energy where both personal and cosmic memories are imprinted. The subconscious is like one person’s private notebook, while the deeper field of life is like the universal library where every life, memory, and pattern is recorded. Each life is like a wave that rises again from the hidden movements of earlier waves on the deeper field of life. Just as every piece of a hologram contains the whole picture, every cell in the body reflects the whole person, and every atom carries the song of the universe.
One who understands this does not see death as an ending but as a doorway. Cremation ground or graveyard, morning prana or evening apana, rising wave or falling trough—all are expressions of the same eternal pulse. Existence breathes itself in and out, collapses itself into forms, releases itself into silence, only to start again. The mystery of memory, rebirth, karma, and the holographic field is not a puzzle to be solved but a song to be heard.
Standing at the boundary of life and death, science and spirituality, matter and consciousness, the vision opens. The self is no longer a fixed identity but a pattern woven from waves, rising, collapsing, arising again. Death then becomes less frightening, for it is not erasure but return to the great wave, waiting to be expressed once more. Memory is not just ours but part of a shared field, carried forward and echoed across lives and forms.
The adventure of understanding life does not stop here. If the body holds the whole cosmos inside, then looking within is also seeing beyond. Death, memory, wave, collapse—these are not endings but doorways. And through them, the human spirit continues its journey, shimmering like a wave, never ceasing, always becoming.
Demystifying Kundalini 