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At our dinner table there were two universes.My father's ran on neurons and chemistry. We are machines, he said — brilliant machines, but machines. Consciousness is a trick of the brain. We live, we die, that's it. My mother's ran on souls and telepathy and connections that would never sit still for an instrument. I was a child between them, and I couldn't choose. My father's world explained the clock and the rain and the way a cut heals. My mother's explained the dream that came true and knowing who was calling before the phone rang.Half a century later I am still in that gap, and this book is what I have found in it: a model of reality as something that breathes, in which the material and the immaterial are two phases of one motion rather than two worlds needing a bridge.I don't know that it's true. I'm not offering proof and I'm not asking for belief. I'm offering a possibility, and asking you to consider it with real attention — not because attention makes it true, but because if it is even partly true, attention is the only instrument that could tell.If you have had one experience in your life that you could neither dismiss nor place, this was written for you. Read more
