Understanding Death through VR

My first memory of thinking about death was when I was four years old. I was staring at a chores chart on the side of the dryer in our kitchen. It had a big purple octopus on it, with each of its tentacles labeled with one of my siblings’ names. My name had been added recently because I had just started doing chores for the first time.

I remember looking at my name and thinking about the octopus. I had learned from a nature documentary that an octopus’s brain wasn’t confined to its head—it extended into its tentacles. Losing a tentacle wasn’t just a physical loss; it fundamentally changed how the octopus functioned.

But the most powerful part came when I pictured my family losing me for the first time. I realized they would still be a family—different, but whole—without me. That thought stuck with me. Even at such a young age, I found fearful awe in how intertwined we are with those we love and how deeply our lives shape each other.

Decades later, I found myself revisiting this vivid memory during a demonstration by aNUmaVR designed specifically for decision-makers and amplifiers to experience its potential. There were 3 others present with me in this one-hour session guided by Justin Karma. I applaud what they have created partly because it's one of those you-had-to-be-there experiences, which can be the death of ideas in VR. For me, this session reinforced how virtual reality can create a powerful sense of presence to sit with the things we are afraid to face in physical reality or on our own.

The Clear Light Session: A Journey Through Stars and Breath

We began in a calm and dimly lit setting of open sky: you’re surrounded by a starry universe, with galaxies and lights stretching endlessly around you. This environment immediately feels safe and grounding, creating a sense of intimacy to explore the self and the questions that arise.

In this vast expanse, each participant in our circle is represented by a glowing, cloud-like form softly shaped like a human. Around the heart area of each figure is a glowing light that gently expands and contracts with each breath. The simplicity of these forms, paired with the facilitator’s practiced guidance, fosters connection without distraction.

As the session progresses, the group synchronizes breath and movement, creating a shared rhythm. You’re then guided to extend your light outward, slowly expanding it into the universe. Eventually, the group dissolves, leaving each participant alone in the vastness.

In one part we were separated into our own private space, and the facilitator’s voice invites you to release your light completely as you exhale, simulating the moment of a last breath as your light dissolves into the universe around you. This exercise, though deeply personal, doesn’t feel heavy or morbid. It offers a peaceful sense of release—a reminder of how interconnected we are with everything beyond ourselves.

VR as Conscious Dissociation for Transformation

Experiences like aNUma's Clear Light program exemplify how VR can function as a tool for conscious dissociation, a concept I’ve explored before. Unlike avoidance-based dissociation, which distances us from reality to escape discomfort, conscious dissociation uses immersive environments to create a safe space for stepping outside our usual frame of mind. This shift can help us process overwhelming emotions or reorient ourselves to challenging realities.

In Clear Light, the vast starry environment and glowing forms act as tools for this kind of dissociation. By shifting participants into a different sensory reality, the experience creates enough psychological distance to engage with thoughts and emotions that might otherwise feel too overwhelming. This mimics the “time-warp” healing journeys seen in many stories, where protagonists momentarily leave their reality, encounter a transformative perspective, and return stronger, more present, and more connected.

Clear Light provides that same opportunity—a structured, intentional break from our ordinary consciousness that allows us to face mortality not with fear, but with curiosity and openness.

A Story I’ll Carry With Me

At the beginning, one participant shared their long-standing fear of death and the overwhelming feelings it brought, so much so that they found themselves increasingly avoiding any negative feelings in more and more of their life.

As the session progressed, they described feeling panicked and sad during the exercise where they rose away from their light body. But when they “returned,” they spoke of a surprising shift. They described feeling immense gratitude and love for themselves and a newfound willingness to embrace discomfort. They realized how much they were missing by resisting the hard, uncomfortable emotions in their life.

Watching them articulate this shift as a glowing body of light animating their hands with soft trails drawn in the air as they joyfully shared their newfound bravery reminded me of the power of allowing ourselves to fully feel the hard and scary moments with the purpose of feeling and making meaning out of more.

It was yet another validation of the work I do on teaching conflict resiliency in social VR a model that helps people build emotional fluency with uncomfortable emotions.?

Other Pioneers in exploring Uncomfortable Realities

Anuma VR’s work is part of a larger movement of pioneers using virtual reality to help us find empathy and courage through difficult moments (including death). One of these leaders is Tom Nickel who first introduced me to Anuma VR.

Tom is an elder who has spent decades fostering social connection and transformation through multiple technology mediums, including 2d and 3d spaces. He holds weekly groups on death and dying in social VR and on other platforms (like Instagram), offering a safe space for participants to explore mortality and life’s transitions.

Soon, Tom will be leading a six-week course on dying for community leaders and builders. This course will help leaders understand the death process from multiple perspectives, reflect on its relevance to their personal development, and prepare to hold space for others experiencing losses and transitions. His work provides essential tools for community builders, ensuring they can support a wide range of human experiences.

Why This Work Matters

Anuma's Clear Light program creates a space where people can reflect on the most profound aspects of life and death. By combining the immersive power of VR with the intentionality of conscious dissociation, it offers participants the opportunity to process emotions and perspectives that might otherwise feel inaccessible.

As Gregory Roufa, CEO of Anuma VR, explains in an article by EIN Presswire, their mission is to “help people embrace mortality and, through that, live and die well.” This isn’t about providing easy solutions—it’s about holding space for the questions that shape us and offering tools to engage with them meaningfully.

Breathing In Again

For me, the aNUmaVR experience brought me back to that childhood moment with the purple octopus. Back then, I didn’t have the words to explain what I was feeling, but I knew I was curious about how life, death, and connection shape the world around us. Clear Light reminded me that these questions don’t have to be feared. They can be embraced. And in embracing them, we can live more fully.

If you ever have the opportunity to experience Clear Light or participate in Tom Nickel’s groups, I encourage you to take it. These are more than programs—they’re invitations to explore, connect, and find meaning in the most unexpected places.

#VirtualReality #ConsciousDissociation #EmpathyInDesign #ClearLightVR #DeathWork