Heaven Sequence

By Dorian McClenahan

Dr. Christian Alexander is a world renowned cognitive neuroscientist working at a neurological research center in New York City. His father, a well-published research psychiatrist who specialized in the study of human near death experiences disappeared before Christian's birth. Following the discovery of some photographs one day as a child, Christian is driven by an obsession to find his father who he believes left to live in a far off paradise. From that point on Christian is consciously and unconsciously driven to find his father, which means he has to first discover the realm where he lives - a place beyond the near death experience. After measuring electrical activity in human brains during near death experiences, Christian begins to look at what happens in the brains of our closest relative the Great Ape after they die. His hypothesis that there is considerable cognitive activity within the human brain for several minutes after death is bolstered by what he finds going on in the brains of Great Apes after they die. Driven by his inner child, he begins to conduct clandestine human post-death experiments even though he has no approval for human testing, and his grant funding specifically excludes it. Regardless of being pursued by grant administration officials after his last and failed human experiment, Christian presses on.

Obsessed to the point of hallucinations, Christian continues to conduct clandestine human post death research looking for that realm beyond death which, his inner child tells him, is where his father has gone. In the process he comes upon a revelation of just what the human brain is actually capable of well after all life has left he rest of the body.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Mar 23, 2021
• ISBN: 9781098362508

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Heaven Sequence

©2021 Dorian McClenahan

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

print ISBN: 978-1-09836-249-2

ebook ISBN: 978-1-09836-250-

For Donna…

Contents

Origins of an obsession

The Portals

Proof of concept

Science finds God

1.

Origins of an obsession

Dr. Christian Alexander walked briskly down the thick carpeted and backlit Hall of Directors at New York’s Hanford Neurological Institute, considered the cutting edge of cognitive neurological research. Flanking him on the left and right were portraits of Hanford’s past Directors, serious faces in oils that scowled as he walked by. He was now Director of Research, the number two position at Hanford, and deeply involved in work that many neurologists deemed radical if not unsettling. Dressed immaculately in a gray pinstriped three-piece suit, white shirt, and red tie with matching handkerchief in the breast pocket, he adjusted his huge gold cufflinks on stiff French cuffs, pulling them down so they would be noticed. Today’s briefing was to a group of recently graduated MDs who were now beginning to specialize in neurology. Such talks were an intense annoyance but had to be done; the Institute’s Director insisted that he show his face. As one of the world’s most-noted cognitive neuroscientists, Christian Alexander had come to redefine the field. With nothing in his hands, he strode quickly, upright, determined to get it over with and to say as little as possible in the process. His deep blue eyes stared straight ahead through black frame glasses topped with silver-brown mid-length hair combed straight back.

At age 55, Dr. Alexander had reached the pinnacle of his career, with hundreds of research papers and dozens of groundbreaking books on neural traffic, networks, patterns in near death situations, and scientific analyses of actual near-death experiences to his credit. By all appearances, Christian was a stunning success and brilliant luminary. His current research, at least that part the medical profession knew about, was called the Primate Post-Death Cognition Series, or PPDCS. His career had focused on studies of the neurological processes underlying normal cognitive functioning in humans, neural activity in human Near Death Experiences (NDE), and post-death neural activity in elderly Great Apes. His current grant was intended to focus on neural activity immediately preceding and following clinical death in Great Apes. It was generally assumed that Dr. Alexander’s next step, when approved, would be post-death neural and cognitive analyses on human subjects; however, the approval timeline for human post-death testing would be extensive given the moral issues involved. His next best bet in the interim was the Great Apes. His interest was deeply rooted.

With an array of networked and incredibly sensitive sensors placed at very precise parts of the skull along with special software, he had been able to map and trace precise neural movement and patterns deep within the primate brain during and immediately after clinical death. This was touchy research. To complete the work on a human subject even after approval was obtained, one would have to fit the patient with the sensor array in a near-death condition, then wait—for however long it took—for the patient to die. To most, it seemed inappropriate at best. As a result, Christian’s overt focus on humans’ closest relatives, the Great Apes, seemed logical given their DNA is greater than 99% identical to humans and with very similar brain anatomy. Based on what he had observed, there was clearly something happening in their brains after having been declared dead.

Today’s task was to get in and out of the briefing quickly, to say just enough to satisfy the powers that be, but not enough to jeopardize his real work. Just short of the tall, glass-polished mahogany double doors that led into the small auditorium, Christian’s cell phone quietly buzzed. He paused and took a quick look. It was Dr. Carl Rothstein, one of his two most trusted associates on the PPDCS, and he knew he had to answer. Yes, Carl, I’m just about to go in, what is it? Carl’s voice gave away concern.

Listen, Christian, there’ll be more than just MD neuro students in there. Two spies from the Addeson Foundation and the Grant Administration Office will be there also, probably in the back. They’re getting increasingly unhappy, Christian. They suspect something else is going on. They’re using the A word. You know what that means.

Christian robbed his forehead. Audit... shit... OK, thanks. I got to go now.

"Wait, Christian, one more thing... whatever you say, do not use the term afterlife."

I’m not an idiot, Carl, but thanks anyway.

The lights were always blinding. Christian felt he could never really see his audience. He could sense their rigid attention though. The normal collective hum of chatter ceased immediately as he strode out to the podium. For dramatic effect he waited a full ten seconds before beginning. One could almost hear people breathing.

"Death. Ever wonder what it’s really like? What one sees, feels, or experiences in those last seconds? More important, what happens in those few moments just after one dies? Where does one go, if anywhere? Most think they go somewhere, a place that can only be dreamed of—someplace perfect. Someone once said that the two most incredible experiences in life are its beginning and end. In the former we know what happens next. As for the latter, we don’t—so the greatest experience in life is also its greatest mystery."

He went on to elaborate. "We’ve established on humans’ closest relative, significant neural energy deep within the subject brain as much as two minutes after clinical death. While we wouldn’t dare to guess what the creature might actually be experiencing, it is reasonable to propose that a similar if not even more pronounced phenomenon occurs in humans. If that’s true, then we’ve come close to discovering something almost as significant as life beyond Earth—in fact, some might consider it to be just that. The Primate Series has established the groundwork—a proof of concept, if you will. Let’s look at the broadest overview."

Dr. Alexander, the scientist, waxed philosophical and a bit beyond the immediate PPDCS. These excursions always unnerved his two closest associates.

"Common among all spiritual elements of human society is some sense of an existence beyond death. It may take many different forms, shapes, or auras, but still represents some form of absolute peace, or the opposite, after a human’s earthly existence. This seems to be almost genetic. Given what we have seen in our close cousins, we can say with certainty that dead is not necessarily dead."

He quickly overviewed the cranial sensor system and reviewed the initial findings on his elderly primate subjects. Neural traffic, patterns of traffic, and post-death activity riveted the student audience attention. "I’m sure by now you’ve been drilled on the notion that loss of blood to the brainstem once the heart stops beating makes it impossible to sustain any lucid cognitive process. In studying precise neural activity in the post-death sequences of our cousins we quickly found otherwise. It doesn’t. Initially, near death experiences in human subjects were a clue. What do you suppose the apparent transcendence of physical and temporal boundaries in the NDEs told us? Three key fundamentals: First, a certain part of the brain has the ability to be utterly convinced of existing somewhere else in a state of hyper-reality; second, it can affect the warping of time to an incredible degree; third and most important, all this take place after blood flow to the brain ceases. NDE is actually a misnomer. For a number of seconds, the patient is dead. The only difference is that they are revived and can tell us about it."

The audience followed every word; the uninvited guests did as well, but for different reasons.

"Regardless of what our primate subjects experienced immediately following clinical death, we do know that there was a level of neural cognitive energy at a pinpoint within the temporal that was greater than during normal waking life. It’s obviously doing something. That’s our next challenge. Thank you. I hope you enjoyed the briefing."

He turned and quickly exited the stage. Normally, he would linger for a few seconds and soak up the applause; however, he was in a hurry. Out in the hallway and down a few steps away from the exiting students and under the glaring eyes of past directors, he met briefly with Carl and Dr. Adrian MacDonald, the second of his two most trusted colleagues. Carl was short, 5’9", with salt and pepper hair combed back and to the side over sharp, deep brown eyes that usually crowned a warm smile. Formerly a neurosurgeon and now an expert in Christian’s arcane field of cognitive neuroscience, he and Adrian, another former neurosurgeon, were the only ones closely familiar with Dr. Alexander’s research. Carl’s message was spoken in a whisper under the frozen grimace of Hanford’s first director.

Our friend in the Grant Administration office called just before your talk. They’re following the money trail, Christian. The way you keep dodging them only makes it worse.

Christian interrupted with a wave. Not here, Carl. I know what they’re doing. We’ll talk later.

Adrian, standing back a couple feet, now tried to signal them discretely. In an excited whisper he warned them, They’ve seen us; they’re walking over now.

Two representatives from Hanford’s Grant Administration Office greeted them with suspicious eyes and forced smiles. Ah, Dr. Alexander, and Drs. Macdonald and Rothstein, nice to have a moment with you gentlemen. Dr. Alexander, you are a most difficult person to find these days. Your office takes copious messages and insists they will pass them on to you; however, we don’t hear back. We do need to talk, you know. Soon.

These people needed to be treated carefully. Mr. Hokum, my apologies. As you know, we are in the middle of a new test series and perhaps I don’t return calls as soon as I might. The project, as you heard, is moving steadily, and we have made some startling observations. It takes time. I’m sure you can understand. Please have your secretary call my office again and we will certainly set something up.

Yes, well we’ll try that again, doctor. The three scientists politely excused themselves and returned to their offices in an adjacent building on campus.

Christian’s father, a noted psychiatrist in his time, disappeared before Christian’s birth, and as such he was raised by his mother, Sybil, then a professor and Ph.D. of Classical Literature. Her nature was quiet, studious, and reserved, with the impeccable manners of the finest finishing school graduate. As a result, Christian was, to a large extent, left to sitters, myriad tutors, and private schools that recognized his genius. Prior to Christian’s birth, his father, Douglas, had been researching near death experiences in the 1950s, interviewing patients immediately after their recovery, and utilizing the only tools he could at the time: interviews, questionnaires, and manual analysis models. Many who had such experiences were reluctant to talk about them, however. Much like an airline pilot’s reluctance to report having a seen UFO, there was a certain stigma attached to those who claimed to have glimpsed the afterlife. As a result, his father’s life was one of a steadily increasing sense of frustration, exhaustion, and isolation.

While their early days together were pleasantly memorable, his increasingly obsessive devotion to his research had caused Douglas’s once rich relationship with Christian’s mother to deteriorate until they were little more than distant roommates. Douglas was either in his lab, library, or traveling to one conference or another. As the story went, his father left on a business trip one morning and because of a mysterious accident, never returned. In the event, Christian was born several months after Douglas made his last quiet, lonely departure from home in a dark, drippy early morning mist.

As a child, Sybil told Christian of his father, his work, and their wonderful early but short-lived sunny times. She showed him pictures of her and Douglas smiling and waving on vacations in happy places so long ago. Now, those yellowing and curled photographs remained as the only real-world proof that such splendid days actually happened and weren’t just dreams. Christian would touch each photo carefully, running his fingers along the captured images.

There was once a day long ago in his childhood, sunny and warm after a long northeastern winter: Christian was in the attic of their home chasing an imaginary villain from one pile of boxes to another, finger shooting whenever there was a decent shot to be had. He ducked behind a pile of boxes to reload, and just as he burst out to drop the cad, noticed a footlocker in the very back where the roofline met the floor. It was huge. Coated by a thin layer of gray dust, it just sat there, as it had for who knows how long. On the front in black letters read, Douglas J. Alexander. Young Christian worked the large circular latch that buckled the lid and had it open in seconds. He pulled up the top. It seemed enormous. There were many boring-looking books—probably no pictures. There was also a bunch of thick loose-leaf binders, each with as many pages as it could hold. Near the rear of the locker was a large faded and wrinkled 9 x 12 envelope. Christian quickly opened it and plopped back on his butt in awe. There were a dozen 5 x 7 black and white photographs, each with a setting like he had seen on calendars featuring South Sea island pictures. In the background was the sea or a lagoon, and in some cases seaplanes, magic boats with wings. In each picture was his father, standing thirty to forty feet away, looking in the general direction of the camera. He sat enchanted with his mouth open staring at each. Such beautiful places; exotic, fantastical, mysterious; something about them welded his attention. On top of the stack of photos was an old, crinkled envelope. He tore it open to discover a note on a 3 x 5 card. He read it again and again while looking at the photos. The spell was only broken when he heard his sitter call. The day had dimmed soft and lavender. Mother would soon be home. He quickly jammed the photos and note back in the envelope, threw it on top of the books and binders, slammed the lid shut, and ran for the attic stairs.

Downstairs, the sitter lightly mentioned that young Christian had been playing good guys/bad guys in the attic and sounded like he was having a grand time. Rather than the casual reaction the sitter expected, Sybil looked at her in shock and immediately ran to the attic ceiling stairs, pulled them down and climbed up as fast as she could. She quickly stepped to the footlocker and saw that indeed Christian had been there, the dust having been brushed away. Biting her bottom lip, she threw the locker open and saw that he had been in the picture envelope. Sure enough, the pictures had been hastily tossed in the large envelop with the note card hurriedly pushed in on top, not the neat and organized stack she had carefully placed there years ago. She grabbed the note card while at the same time thinking it’s like telling someone a secret then asking them to forget it.

With the emergence of his genius, Christian was pulled toward the hard sciences. As a child, he had demonstrated genius in all science-related subjects. In math, physics, biology, and chemistry he was doing senior university-level work as a seventh grader. While the child in him may have been fascinated with the South Seas, his path was clear. With an IQ of 190, his childhood and adolescence would be sacrificed to those who wanted a piece of him—schools that most beg to be accepted into begged for him. With almost no time for social interaction, the genius found himself awkward in most social situations, particularly with women. He admired them, needed them, longed for them, would watch them from a distance hoping they would approach him, but unlike others his age, never approached them. In young Christian, fear, desire, and need were directed at the same object. Science was his refuge. There he had a role, and there he would be almost worshipped.

As a habit, Dr. Alexander rarely spoke of his past. He had known Carl and Adrian since medical school, and they probably knew him better than anyone, which didn’t say much. He had told them about the