We know about fractals and their property of self-similarity. For 2D or 3D fractals to demonstrate self-similarity, they must move, and motion requires the fourth dimension – time. This suddenly clicked with me on a walk the other day as I looked up at white clouds moving across a blue sky.
If you can nest shapes within shapes within shapes over time, why can't you do that with qualia memories?
Fractals are definable mathematically. Conscious experiences, however, are not. And I absolutely agree with Nobel laureate Sir Roger Penrose that consciousness is not computable. I arrived at my conclusion not through writing thousands of quadratic equations; Sir Roger's assertion sits right with me. It's what I intuit.
Conjuring smells that conjure memories, memories that spark those memories nested in memories. Fractal patterns of qualia. Memories all the way down. Not memories of events, but memories of states of being. Qualia memories. What it felt like to have been there. No parsing of memories using intellect. Just relishing the pure memory of experiencing being. Memories of wet swimwear on a beach holiday as a child. Memories of lobefins clawing their way up Devonian beaches, seeing the sky from dry land.
I mentioned in my post the day before yesterday the conscious sensation I had, as I recognised as familiar this house in nearby Kozłów. That old feeling, the 'past-life' flashback, or exomnesia moment, the anomalous qualia memory. I ask Google Gemini to turn this photo into a poster in the style of Mid-Century Modern...
Yes! That clicks! Congruence with what I saw and felt. Let's have another go, this time with a photo of my house taken three days ago...
Yes – perfect. I know what brought me here.
The flow.
Sensitivity to those deeper layers of consciousness that grant access to qualia memories, from childhood and before. The memory of a feeling, a sense of having been somewhere – sometime – else, while a child, and feeling it just as strongly now. Connectedness that does not limit my consciousness to my biology.
Gazing at the sky will often act as the trigger. Not a uniformly grey sky on an overcast day, but one with white clouds against a blue sky, with the sun shining. This – in a rural setting – is the most reliable prompt for a flashback for me. These are skies I'd see rarely as a child growing up in West London; they were more often seen by me in books or magazines. And I'd have those moments of recognition. I have been conscious of that before.
This time last year:
A little bit more like autumn
Sublime farewell to sunny summer days
Warsaw-Wrocław-Warsaw-Kielce-Warsaw
Moaning about trains again
[Amazing how things have improved on Poland's railways since then!]
This time 15 years ago:
Warsaw streets – Dolna, Polna, Rolna, Smolna, Wolna. Lost?
This time 17 years ago:
Ditches, landscapes, autumn
This time 18 years ago:
Golden autumn in Łazienki park
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