CHAPTER 21
The Tree of Consciousness
Across many cultures, there appears an image of an axis that runs through all levels of existence. It is known as the Axis Mundi—the world axis—a line connecting depth, the visible world, and height. Through it, different layers of reality are linked. Sometimes it appears as a mountain, sometimes as a pillar of light, but most often as a tree. In Norse mythology, it is Yggdrasil, the tree that holds the worlds together. Among the Maya, it is the sacred central tree that defines orientation. In Siberian shamanism, it is the path of ascent between levels of being. In India, it appears as the Ashvattha, an inverted tree with roots extending upward and branches unfolding into the manifest world.
For a long time, I studied petroglyphs of the American Southwest. In many of them, a line runs through the entire composition, stretching from beginning to end. Its meaning remains open, but its presence is clear—a line of connection, a vertical axis linking levels. Names differ, the structure repeats: depth, manifestation, height.
In shamanic cosmology, the world is often described in three layers. Below—the domain of roots, serpents, insects. In the middle—the field of life: humans, animals, plants. Above—eagles, sky, sun, celestial bodies. The human stands between these levels, capable of directing attention downward into depth, upward into height, or remaining within the plane of life. Like a tree, growing upward, expanding outward, deepening its roots.
Each generation becomes a new branch of this structure. Branching strengthens and extends the whole. Old branches fall away, making space for new growth. The same pattern appears in human lineage—family trees trace lines of ancestors and descendants, showing the direction in which life continues.
This image does not explain the world—it reveals its movement. The trunk gives rise to branches, branches divide again, and the connection to the source remains unbroken. The same principle appears in living systems. Circulatory and respiratory systems, neural networks, lymphatic flows—all follow branching logic. Larger channels divide into smaller ones, forming complex networks.
A similar pattern appears in electrical processes. A discharge does not move in a straight line—it searches, branching in multiple directions. Lichtenberg figures show the traces left when energy passes through material. The path forms according to the same underlying structure.
In artistic practice, this becomes visible directly. When paint is applied to a surface and pressed against another, the imprint produces branching, splitting, repeating lines. The fractal principle appears without intention.
A fingerprint resembles the cross-section of a tree—concentric organization, a record of time embedded in form. The palm reveals intersecting lines that follow the same logic of distribution and connection.
From above, this becomes even more evident. Mountain ranges, coastlines, and river systems preserve similar structures across scale. At the level of the cosmos, the pattern repeats—galaxies form networks of nodes and filaments. Space reveals structure.
In the twentieth century, mathematician Benoît Mandelbrot described these patterns and named them fractals. He showed that forms that appear chaotic follow a repeating principle. As scale changes, the structure remains.
Once this becomes visible, it is difficult to ignore how rarely it is recognized directly. The connection between phenomena stays hidden, despite being present everywhere. Perception shifts. Separation weakens. Continuity becomes apparent.
The fractal, tree-like nature of the world reflects the development of consciousness. This is how it expands. Medieval alchemists expressed a similar idea: what is above is reflected below. In winter, when leaves fall, branches begin to resemble roots. The form inverts while preserving its structure. The tree extends in both directions, the trunk acting as the axis.
Looking at the brain, the same pattern appears. Thought unfolds through branching. Neurons form a network where signals create pathways. Consciousness does not reside in a single point—it emerges through connection. From the outside, this system resembles an expanding field of branches.
One source. From it, countless directions unfold. Each life forms its own path while remaining connected to origin. Consciousness is not fixed. It grows, explores, reshapes.
At times, this becomes direct experience. In an altered state, I perceived myself as a leaf on one of these branches. Others were nearby—those I moved through life with. We emerged from the same current, differing only in form. The younger appeared as new growth, the older as leaves completing their cycle. The movement felt natural, continuous. The moment was brief, but clear.
After that, unity no longer remains abstract. Humanity appears as a continuous process rather than a collection of isolated individuals. Separation exists at the level of form, but does not reach the foundation. Connection remains, even when unnoticed.
Such states can arise without ritual—through creation, concentration, or intensity. In those moments, the boundaries of the self become permeable. Consciousness reveals participation in a branching whole.
Life stops appearing as a sequence of isolated events. It becomes the growth of a single tree unfolding through countless forms, each maintaining connection to the whole.
Fractality permeates everything—from microscopic structures to cosmic scale. From the visible to the subtle, everything unfolds, breathes, and grows. One principle of branching lies at the foundation of all things—from the body to the universe.