I’ve been thinking a lot about déjà vu lately, especially after a few recent experiences that felt quite distinct from what I usually read about. The standard scientific explanation makes a lot of sense—it’s often described as a brief hiccup in the brain, a sort of miscommunication between areas like the hippocampus and the parahippocampal cortex that creates that powerful illusion of familiarity. If you’re interested in the details, the work of researchers like Josef Spatt offers a clear look into this theory. But I’ve found that my own encounters sometimes stretch beyond that neat framework.
There are moments that last longer than a fleeting second, where the sensation isn’t just a glitch but feels layered, almost as if it carries a whisper of something else. It’s hard to put into words without sounding fanciful, but these instances have an extra-sensory quality to them, as though they’re brushing against a thread of perception that science hasn’t quite mapped yet. Feeling that shift from ordinary recognition to something more profound is both creepy and exhilarating; it unsettles the day even as it sparks curiosity.
What stays with me is the tension between the clean, logical explanations and the messy, personal reality of the experience. I don’t think we have to choose one over the other. Understanding the neurology doesn’t diminish the peculiar weight of the moment itself, and honoring that personal strangeness doesn’t require dismissing science. It’s in that middle ground, I believe, where we might make the most sense of these episodes—by letting the facts inform us while still leaving room for the unexplained texture of our own perceptions. I’d be interested to hear how others reconcile these sides, or if your experiences tend to lean more toward one interpretation than the other.
