For centuries, philosophers, scientists, and physicians have been trying to understand how thoughts, feelings, and self-awareness arise from the matter of our brains. We can measure how nerve cells fire, how electrical patterns travel through the brain, and how neurotransmitters are released. But subjective experience—the “I am”—remains a mystery.
Classical neuroscience has made enormous progress: we know which areas are active when we see or hear, which networks retrieve memories, and how language unfolds in the brain. But all these findings do not answer the crucial question: how do biochemical processes become conscious experience?
One way to get closer to answering this question is to change our perspective. Instead of viewing consciousness solely as a product of neural activity, we could understand it as a resonance phenomenon—something that arises when vibrations from the smallest to the largest scale come into harmony with each other.
This opens up a bridge to modern physics. Quantum field theory and relativity show us that the world does not consist of rigid particles, but of fields and vibrations. In the 1950s, John Archibald Wheeler coined the term “quantum foam”: a raging foundation of fluctuations on the Planck scale from which space and time themselves emerge.
If consciousness really has something to do with coherence, it could be that this is where it originates—in the vibrating background noise of the universe, scaled up by biological structures, synchronized in neural networks, and finally integrated into a model of the self.
The following journey takes us from the fluctuations of quantum foam to the molecular resonance of DNA and microtubules to the large-scale brain waves and networks that give rise to our “I.” This is not about definitive answers, but about a possible perspective that connects physics and neuroscience in a new light.
In “What is Reality,” we learned that our sensory organs are a gateway to our consciousness. They translate reality into experiences that our brain can perceive.
What if, deep within our cells, we have a sensory organ that can perceive “universal consciousness”?
Chapter 2: Quantum foam – the vibrating foundation
When we reduce reality to its smallest level, we eventually reach a limit: the Planck scale, at about 10^{-35} meters. There, space-time loses its smooth structure. John Archibald Wheeler, a visionary physicist of the 20th century, described this realm as quantum foam – an image for the chaotic, turbulent foundation of reality.
According to quantum field theory, even the vacuum is full of activity. Fields fluctuate everywhere, particles and antiparticles arise for fractions of a second and then disappear again. This constant dance follows from the uncertainty principle: energy and time cannot be determined exactly at the same time. A completely still nothingness is therefore impossible.
Space is therefore not empty, but a vibrating soundboard.
Wheeler imagined that space-time on the Planck scale looks like the surface of boiling water: bubbles, eddies, surges that arise and disappear in an unimaginably rapid sequence. Mini wormholes could exist briefly, geometric curvatures could flicker and collapse.
To us, space-time appears smooth because we only see the averaged impression—just as an airplane passenger sees a calm sea surface from above, while waves and foam rage below.
However, the theory has explosive power: if you add up the energy of all these fluctuations, you get a number that is 10^{120} times greater than the observed energy density of the universe. If this calculation were directly valid, space-time would have to collapse immediately or expand explosively.
But the universe exists in a stable state. Something neutralizes the enormous energy of the quantum foam – almost completely. What remains is a tiny residual quantity: dark energy, which has been driving cosmic expansion for billions of years.
How can this be understood? Most vibrations probably cancel each other out – positive and negative contributions cancel each other out. Only where resonance occurs does something remain. One could say that quantum foam is a universal vibration field that is largely neutralized on the outside but pulsates permanently on the inside.
This image opens up a new perspective: if quantum foam actually vibrates, it could be the deepest clock. Everything we later experience as particles, fields, or even consciousness would then be nothing more than resonance patterns emerging from this vibrating foundation.
Chapter 3: Biological Resonators – DNA & Microtubules
Life differs from dead matter not only in its chemical processes, but also in its ability to draw order out of chaos. Cells are not static machines, but dynamic systems full of rhythms: electrical potentials, molecular vibrations, cellular cycles. The question is: Could life possess structures that are capable of picking up the subtle vibrations of quantum foam and translating them into larger patterns?
Two biological candidates come to the fore here: DNA and microtubules.
DNA is world-renowned as the carrier of genetic information. But its double helix structure is not only a code, but also a physical resonator.
• The helix is flexible: it can twist, stretch, and oscillate.
• These movements generate resonances in the terahertz range.
• Experiments show that DNA can absorb and emit electromagnetic waves – in other words, it behaves like a tiny antenna.
This means that DNA is not only a library of life, but also a filter that extracts and stabilizes certain frequencies from the noise of the environment.
Even more exciting are microtubules (MT). These hollow nanotubes are made up of tubulin proteins and form the scaffolding of cells. They are particularly densely arranged in nerve cells and run along the axons and dendrites.
From a physical point of view, microtubules are ideal resonators:
• Their tubular structure allows standing waves.
• They can couple electric dipoles and generate collective oscillations.
• Some theories (e.g., Orch-OR by Penrose and Hameroff) assume that microtubules even stabilize quantum coherence in the biological environment.
Whether all the details of this hypothesis are correct remains to be seen. But one thing is clear: microtubules are more than mere cell supports—they are dynamic oscillators.
What happens when billions of DNA molecules and trillions of microtubules oscillate simultaneously? The result is a gigantic resonance network.
• Individual molecules act like antennas.
• Together, they form a network that filters out frequencies, amplifies them, and transmits them.
• In nerve cells, these rhythms are coupled by electrical activity.
Life could thus be a mechanism for extracting coherent signals from the chaotic background noise of physics.
Imagine the quantum vacuum as a sky full of radio waves. Without a receiver, it’s all just noise. But DNA and microtubules are like radios that can pick up certain stations. The music that then sounds is orderly life.
This allows us to build a crucial bridge:
• Quantum foam provides the vibrating foundation.
• DNA and microtubules pick up the vibrations.
• The nervous system amplifies them and builds patterns from them.
In the next step, we will see how neurons and brain waves transform these patterns into large-scale rhythms – and thus prepare the ground for consciousness.
Chapter 4: From Neurons to Brain Waves
DNA and microtubules provide resonance at the molecular level, but consciousness requires a system that amplifies and integrates these signals. This is where neurons come into play—specialized cells that can generate and transmit electrical impulses.
A single neuron receives countless small inputs, sums them up, and then decides whether to trigger an action potential. In this way, it acts like an amplifier: weak vibrations that would otherwise disappear in the noise are translated into clear electrical impulses.
The transmission takes place via synapses, tiny gaps between nerve cells. Here, neurons release neurotransmitters that trigger electrical signals in the next cell. Synapses are not rigid, but plastic: frequently used connections become stronger.
This means that certain rhythms can prevail in the network. When several neurons fire in unison, they amplify each other – and create larger patterns.
When many neurons oscillate together, brain waves are created. These are not just by-products, but directly shape our experience.
• Delta (0.5–4 Hz): deep sleep, regeneration.
• Theta (4–8 Hz): dreaming, meditation, creativity.
• Alpha (8–12 Hz): relaxed alertness, filtering of stimuli.
• Beta (12–30 Hz): attention, thinking, action.
• Gamma (30–100 Hz): integration of complex information.
Each of these rhythms reflects a specific state of consciousness. They are the visible sign that a macroscopic pattern has formed from molecular resonances.
The crucial point is not only the presence of oscillations, but their coherence.
• In an alert, conscious state, areas of the brain couple in phase.
• Under anesthesia or in deep sleep, this coherence breaks down—networks still oscillate, but no longer together.
One could say that consciousness is the moment when the brain finds a common phase in which billions of neurons are synchronized.
This turns the brain into a gigantic translator:
• It picks up subtle vibrations from the depths of the quantum foam,
• amplifies them through molecular and cellular resonators,
• organizes them into large-scale rhythms,
• and thus creates the basis for consciousness.
You can imagine it like a concert hall in which only individual instruments are tuned at first. Only when they begin to play in unison does a symphony fill the room. Brain waves are this symphony – orderly, coherent, tangible.
But vibrations alone do not constitute the “I.” Only when networks bring these rhythms together and embed them in a model of the self does self-awareness arise. This integration takes place in complex networks such as the default mode network, which we will discuss in the next chapter.
Chapter 5: Coherence and networks – the emergence of the self
We have seen that brain waves are large-scale rhythms that reflect states such as sleep, dreaming, or attention. But vibrations alone do not make up the self. Consciousness only arises when different areas of the brain integrate their activities – when individual melodies become a symphony.
The brain works in functional networks: groups of regions that are active synchronously.
• Executive network: planning, acting, making decisions.
• Salience network: separating the important from the unimportant.
• Sensory networks: processing impressions from the outside world.
The default mode network (DMN) is particularly crucial. It is active when we look inward: when remembering, fantasizing, or thinking about ourselves.
The DMN includes the prefrontal cortex, the posterior cingulate cortex, and the precuneus, among others. This is where a kind of self-model emerges:
• “This is me thinking.”
• “This is what I experienced.”
• “This is what I could do.”
While we are acting, the DMN often fades into the background to focus on external tasks. But as soon as we pause, it emerges—and the feeling of a stable self appears.
The key is coherence between networks. When gamma waves link information, theta rhythms bring in memories, and alpha waves dampen distractions, a harmonious interplay emerges.
• When awake, this integration is strong → clear sense of self.
• Under anesthesia, it breaks down → consciousness disappears.
• In trance or meditation, the balance shifts → the sense of self changes.
This shows that consciousness is not a thing, but a dynamic process that depends on the coherence of the networks.
The self is therefore not located in a specific region, but emerges from the interaction of many parts.
• Molecular resonators provide the fundamental vibration.
• Neurons amplify it.
• Brain waves coordinate it.
• Networks integrate it into a self-model.
This is how the “I am” arises – not as a substance, but as a moment of coherent integration.
Imagine millions of musicians tuning their instruments. At first, there is chaos. But suddenly, a common beat emerges, a conductor raises his baton, and a symphony is born. The default mode network is this conductor. The music that sounds is self-awareness.
We have now built the bridge: from quantum foam to DNA and microtubules to the self-model in the brain. But what happens when this coherence breaks down – under anesthesia, in dreams, or at the moment of death?
This is exactly what the next chapter will explore.
Chapter 6: Boundaries, Anesthesia, Near-Death Experiences
Consciousness is closely related to coherence in the brain. As soon as large networks lose their synchronization, the experience changes or disappears completely. Anesthesia and deep sleep are classic examples of this.
Under anesthesia with substances such as propofol, characteristic patterns emerge in the EEG: slow delta and alpha waves dominate, while fast gamma oscillations almost disappear. The brain is still working, but its networks are no longer connected. The “I” dissolves – as if the conductor had left the orchestra.
In dreams, a different picture emerges: the brain remains active, but the default mode network changes its coupling. This is why we experience an inner world in dreams that sometimes seems real, but is hardly reflected upon. Only upon awakening does the DMN return to its role as a stabilizing “first-person narrator.”
Trance and meditation also alter the balance: some networks decouple, while others strengthen their coherence. Many practitioners report a reduced or even dissolved sense of self—which can be easily explained neurobiologically.
Near-death experiences (NDEs) are particularly fascinating. People report tunnel visions, figures of light, a feeling of unity, or a review of their lives.
Neuroscientific studies suggest that shortly before brain activity finally ceases, a phase of increased coherence may occur: gamma waves flare up once more, as if the brain were mobilizing all its resources. This final flare-up could explain why the experience in NDEs is so intense.
At the same time, researchers such as Pim van Lommel and Jeffrey Long hypothesize that consciousness is not entirely bound to biological activity—that it may also exist beyond the brain. Whether this is true remains open to debate, but it shows how much NDEs challenge our models.
What if a universal consciousness is encoded in the pulsating energy of quantum foam? What if our biological structure, via DNA and microtubules, is merely an antenna that filters out a certain frequency, and our brain constructs an “I” from this frequency?
• Consciousness is not a fixed state, but a dynamic field.
• When coherence is stable, we experience a clear sense of self.
• When coherence breaks down, the experience changes or disappears altogether.
• Sometimes—as in NDEs—there is a paradoxical flare-up shortly before the end.
Imagine fireworks: for a long time, the fuse burns slowly, then suddenly everything discharges in a final, bright flash before darkness sets in. In a similar way, the brain could generate a final phase of intense coherence at the moment of death—what people describe as a near-death experience.
This shows us that self-awareness is not a rigid thing, but a fragile pattern. It can be extinguished, shifted, or flare up again in moments of crisis. The journey through quantum foam, molecules, neurons, and networks shows us that consciousness is resonance—and resonance can change.
In the next chapter, we will tie everything together and ask: What does it mean if the self is ultimately a symphony of the universe?
Chapter 7: Conclusion—The Self as the Highest Resonance
We have undertaken a long journey: from quantum foam, the vibrating foundation of reality, to the resonance structures of DNA and microtubules, to the neurons and brain waves that generate large-scale rhythms, to the networks of the brain that weave these rhythms into a model of the self.
Along the way, we have seen that:
• Space is never empty, but full of fluctuations.
• Life can draw order from this chaos.
• The brain translates molecular resonance into macroscopic coherence.
• The self arises where networks combine their vibrations into an integrative melody.
Perhaps most importantly, self-awareness is not a “thing” that resides somewhere in the brain. It is a process, a pattern that is constantly being recreated as long as coherence exists.
Just as a wave in the sea is not a substance, but a moving pattern in the water, the self is not a fixed core, but a continuous resonance event in the brain.
This also explains why consciousness is so changeable:
• Under anesthesia, it disintegrates.
• In dreams, it changes.
• In borderline experiences, it flares up in unexpected ways.
The self is not an immutable entity, but a fragile coherence that can be easily disturbed, yet is also astonishingly flexible.
Imagine the universe as an orchestra that has been playing since the Big Bang. Quantum foam provides the background noise, DNA and microtubules are the instruments that filter out vibrations, neurons and networks are the musicians who amplify and coordinate rhythms.
And consciousness? It is the music that emerges from this. Incapable of being grasped, incapable of being touched – only capable of being experienced in the moment it sounds.
Of course, this model is still speculative. We don’t know whether microtubules actually carry quantum coherence or whether consciousness can exist beyond the brain. But the idea of coherence as a connecting principle – from the quantum level to the self – opens up new horizons.
Perhaps what we experience as “I” is the highest form of resonance: the universe listening to itself—through us.
When we look up at the sky on a quiet night, we see stars that have been shining for billions of years. But at the same time, another melody resounds within us: the song of consciousness.
Both spring from the same source—the vibrations that have been raging in the quantum foam since the beginning of time. The “I am” is nothing more than a moment in which this ancient noise finds order—and recognizes itself.
