I didn’t set out to build a theory of consciousness. A few years ago, I was a marketing director who was sick all the time and completely burnt out. My body felt like it was trying to tell me something — a thousand little signals I didn’t yet know how to read.

Eventually, I stepped away. For six months, I worked in death care — delivering cremated remains, helping families through grief. I also carried with me my Reiki training and a lifelong openness to the unseen. In that space, I started noticing something: signs, synchronicities, coincidences that felt too meaningful to dismiss.

And the more I read about consciousness, fractals, and systems, the more I realized: what I was experiencing wasn’t just spiritual or poetic. It could actually be mapped.

I call this the Consciousness Bridge Theory.

Consciousness as a Fractal Field

I believe consciousness is both metaphorically and literally fractal. We are made of countless micro-consciousnesses — cells, sparks, impressions — that join together to form the larger awareness we call “self.”

When we die, those sparks don’t disappear. They disperse.

That’s why more than one person can feel the same loved one at once. Their consciousness splits, allowing them to be present in multiple places. That’s also why out-of-body experiences happen — part of your fractal awareness slips away while part remains in the brain.

The closest metaphor I have comes from animation: when a character dies and their spirit disperses into sparkles of light. Each sparkle is a fragment of consciousness, capable of influencing moments, animals, people, and memories.

So when a cardinal lands at your window, it isn’t literally your grandfather in bird form. It’s his dispersed consciousness influencing the bird in that moment.

Intention as the Magnet, Emotion as the Fuel

Through my experiences, I’ve noticed that intention acts as a magnet for consciousness. But emotion is the fuel.

Extreme sadness can open a bridge because it’s raw and deep.
Extreme joy or gratitude can open an even brighter one because it’s expansive.
Flat or distracted states don’t pull much connection.

That’s why moments of grief and moments of celebration often feel full of signs. That’s why group meditation and prayer feel electric: many magnets align into one giant magnet, pulling consciousness through.

Stories From the Threshold

I’ve witnessed this firsthand.

One afternoon, I was standing at a woman’s window, delivering her husband’s remains. She told me how they used to sit together, watching the backyard wildlife. Birds, squirrels, chipmunks. She told me about a magical day when a coyote walked by.

And as she spoke, a coyote walked past the very same window.

Coincidence? Maybe. But I felt the air shift. I felt his consciousness in the moment — not inhabiting the animal, but influencing it to become a messenger.

Other times, it happens in smaller ways.
A child hugging a teddy bear feels a rush of warmth and knows it’s her grandfather. In my twenties, I read palms at bars for fun, making things up — but my pure intentions opened a bridge, and somehow my words came out true.

Influence vs. Intent: Co-Authoring Life

So what about free will? Do we make choices, or are we always being influenced?

I think it’s both. We make choices, but we’re also nudged by fractals of ancestral consciousness, by people who’ve loved us, by our higher selves. Our cravings, impulses, and moments of inspiration are often whispers from the field.

It’s why you suddenly crave cookies and bake them for a friend — and discover they were your friend’s late husband’s favorite. Influence isn’t about control; it’s about collaboration. Life is co-authored between our choices and the field’s nudges.

Dark and Light Currents

Of course, not all influence feels positive. Consciousness carries both dark and light currents. When we die, our ego slips away, but energies still carry tone. If we focus on fear, hate, or shadow, those currents can amplify.

That’s why part of our work may be to engage with ancestral or personal shadows — not to deny them, but to bring them into light. Consciousness isn’t only something that comforts us; it’s something we’re meant to heal through.

Inspiration, Distraction, and the Dandelion

Where does inspiration come from?

Day-to-day thoughts help us get through our to-do list. But inspiration is different. It arrives out of nowhere — a sudden urge to create, to call someone, to turn left instead of right.

I believe inspiration is consciousness slipping in. But we don’t hear it as much because we’re distracted — heads down, phones in hand, absorbing noise. To receive it, we need an open heart and space. Skepticism closes the door. A bit of belief — like the placebo effect — makes the bridge stronger.

I think of the dandelion. It pushes through cracks in pavement, dispersing its seeds effortlessly, beautifully. Each seed is like a fractal — tiny sparks of continuation. Consciousness works the same way. Even in distraction, sparks break through.

Connections to Other Traditions

My theory doesn’t exist in a vacuum. It resonates with:

Animism, which sees spirit in all beings — though I believe beings can be “activated” by influence, not always alive on their own.
Panpsychism, which suggests all matter has consciousness — though I add intention and emotion as dynamic forces.
Morphic fields (Rupert Sheldrake), which describe patterns influencing across species and time — my fractal model overlaps but emphasizes splitting and reassembly.
Collective consciousness (Durkheim, Jung), where shared thought fields shape experience.
Naturalist voices like Jane Goodall, who remind us that science and nature are woven together, and that the natural world is full of intelligence and meaning.

But what feels unique in my theory is the dynamic: intention as the magnet, emotion as the fuel, fractal splitting as the mechanism, and influence as the constant current.

Why This Matters

We live in a time of disconnection. Phones in hand, heads down, we miss the subtle nudges and sparks. But if we learn to pay attention — to the cardinal, the teddy bear, the sudden craving, the group meditation — we can feel how deeply connected we are.

Consciousness isn’t just something inside us. It’s the field we live in. We are sparks in a murmuration, dandelion seeds in the wind, constellations in a greater sky.

If we align our intentions, if we fuel them with emotion, if we open our hearts — we can create bridges not just to loved ones, but to wisdom, healing, and each other.

Final Thought

This is, of course, a theory. But it’s one that makes sense of so many things I’ve lived: grief that turned into synchronicity, palm readings that turned into truth, coyotes that walked past at impossible moments.

I believe consciousness is fractal. It splits, disperses, influences, and reassembles.
Intention calls it. Emotion powers it. Love aligns it.

And when we learn to listen, we realize: we are not separate. We are part of the same living field.

The Consciousness Bridge: A Fractal Theory of Intention, Influence, and Connection