Breach

Something moves through us in moments of loss. Reflections of how the mind processes grief, meaning, and continuity.

In 1894, the Society for Psychical Research conducted what became known as the Census of Hallucinations. This study surveyed 17,000 people across Europe, asking whether they had ever experienced sensing someone at the moment of their death, often miles away. Researchers verified thirty cases where the timing matched exactly.

Thirty cases might sound like a tiny fraction. Statistically, it was far too high to attribute to coincidence. If these experiences were random, the expected number would have been perhaps one or two at most.

The researchers called these phenomena "crisis apparitions."

The explanations split into camps. Skeptics point to confirmation bias. We remember the strange breeze that preceded bad news, forget the hundred strange breezes that meant nothing. Our pattern-hungry brains connect coincidence into causation.

Yet 39% of Americans believe in ghosts, according to recent Gallup polling. And the phenomenon reveals how humans create bridges across impossible distances.

When someone dies, our brains take a while to update. We still hear their voice in certain rooms. We catch ourselves reaching for the phone to tell them something. The neural pathways built over years do not dissolve in an instant. They persist, firing in patterns that expect the person to still be there.

Psychologist Julian Jaynes explored how consciousness itself might have evolved from hearing voices we attributed to gods or ancestors. Our brains are wired to detect agency, to sense presence. In uncertain or emotionally charged moments, that detection system becomes hyperactive.

Research on bereavement hallucinations shows that between 30% and 60% of widowed people report sensing their deceased partner's presence. Feeling them sit on the bed. Smelling their cologne. Hearing them call out. The brain does this to maintain attachment during transition. A way to keep connection alive while processing permanent absence.

Neuroscientist Michael Persinger found he could induce the sensation of a spectral presence by stimulating specific brain regions with electromagnetic fields. The feeling was indistinguishable from what people describe as encountering ghosts. The experience was real. The interpretation was cultural.

But here is the question. If comfort is real, does it matter if the presence is not?

Do ghosts exist? I choose to live in the impossibly mysterious world where that question goes unanswered.

It does not matter whether my grandmother reached across distance or my mind created meaning. The breeze in that sealed classroom carried me through loss.

Here is what I know: grief does not wait. It arrives in the body before it reaches the mind.

The belief serves continuity. It softens the violence of permanent loss. It lets us say goodbye slowly. It creates space for the impossible so we can survive what comes next. Supernatural experiences might be the most natural thing we do.

Perhaps apparitions are the parts of us that cannot let go. The mind projecting love back onto itself. Every haunting a form of self-haunting. Every presence a reminder of what remains unfinished. The mechanism is neural, the experience is love.

The true question is whether the belief serves your life.

The answer might require permission to hold contradiction. To believe and doubt simultaneously. To find comfort without requiring proof.

My life is built on logic but I make an exception for that gust of wind. Science or mystery, I choose the story that lets me carry her forward. The version where she said goodbye.

How do you carry the people you have lost? How do they still carry you?

^{This edition contains affiliate links. As an Amazon Associate, we may earn from qualifying purchases at no additional cost to you. Thank you for supporting our newsletter!}