“The harder I tried to concentrate, the more fleeting my ideas seemed to be.
Instead of finding answers and information, I met a growing sense of peace.
In place of that constant chatter that had attached me to the details of my life, I felt enfolded by a blanket of tranquil euphoria.
How fortunate I was that the portion of my brain that registered fear, my amygdala, had not reacted with alarm to these unusual circumstances and shifted me into a state of panic.
As the language centers in my left hemisphere grew increasingly silent and I became detached from the memories of my life, I was comforted by an expanding sense of grace.
In this void of higher cognition and details pertaining to my normal life, my consciousness soared into an all-knowingness, a “being at one” with the universe, if you will.
In a compelling sort of way, it felt like the good road home and I liked it.
I paused for a moment, in search of some guidance or profound insight.
In the wisdom of my dementia, I understood that my body was, by the magnificence of its biological design, a precious and fragile gift.
It was clear to me that this body functioned like a portal through which the energy of who I am can be beamed into a three-dimensional external space.
This cellular mass of my body had provided me with a marvelous temporary home.
This “amazing brain had been capable of integrating literally billions of trillions of bits of data, in every instant, to create for me a three-dimensional perception of this environment that actually appeared to be not only seamless and real, but also safe.
Here in this delusion, I was mesmerized by the efficiency of this biological matrix as it created my form, and I was awed by the simplicity of its design.”
-Dr. Jill Bolte-Taylor
(Harvard Neuroscientist, experiencing a left brain temporal stroke and functioning only with her Right Mind)