I did recognize death the second time.
The specialist who later examined me fixed the cause as a large blood clot that had dislodged in a vein in my right thigh along with the worst case of phlebitis he had ever heard of, let alone seen. He kept saying, “There’s no way you can be alive.” I could not respond. He scribbled out a prescription and sent me home to recover, stating that in his opinion the worst was over and that I should take the drug every four hours around the clock for seven days but remain in bed, legs propped up. The pharmacist warned that I had better eat before each dose or I’d get really sick. No refills were possible; the medicine was labeled “dangerous.”
As I followed the doctor’s instructions, I couldn’t disconnect from what had occurred: my long crawl across the length of the ranch-style rental we lived in to reach the only phone we had, a wall phone in the kitchen, so that I could call for help; and the pain in my right leg that was excruciatingly cruel and unrelenting, accompanied by a red-hot lump growing out from the side of my right thigh. With my own fists I smashed that lump so it would go away and leave me alone. But I couldn’t have done a worse thing. The lump, as it turned out, was a large blood clot and it burst. I sealed my fate by such foolishness. I died.
Death is a curious thing when you know at the time that you are dying. You gain an astonishing perspective if you are willing to “step aside” as a personality and assume the role of observer. This I did. Here’s what followed.
I simultaneously saw and experienced my body as it lay supine, face up, on the dining-room floor, barely three feet from the phone cord—so near. As I lay there, I witnessed myself in spirit form begin to lift. The “pain waves” fascinated me. I mean, as I lifted and floated free from my physical body, I passed through a span of distance, maybe six inches or more, where the pain I felt inside my body was physically manifesting as vibrational waves outside my body. These waves looked for all the world like the mirage you see on a hot summer’s day when you’re walking on pavement. You think you’re seeing a shimmer of water, but what you’re really seeing is an illusion created by reflected heat. The pain was severe while I was passing through the waves, but once I floated free of them, presto, no pain. Another illusion.
I floated up to the light fixture, but this time the bulb was not on. I remember laughing about the light fixture, that at least it was different from the one two days before. While I took stock of my situation, I noted how superbright everything was and how much better my faculties worked. I had full mobility, yet I wasn’t really free. My physical body had to be totally, utterly dead before I could leave. Don’t ask me how I knew that; I just did. So I floated back down to the body on the floor and hovered, studying the body shell I had once inhabited for any hint, any twitch, heave, or nuance that life remained. Nothing. Just to be certain, I lingered a while. Still nothing. When I was satisfied that my body was dead, I yelped for joy.
You cannot compare the concerns that are present on this side of death’s curtain with what is encountered on “the other side.” At crossover, priorities and awarenesses switch.
In my own case, my newfound freedom was so glorious, so wonderful, I felt as if I had just been released from a prison term and was at last free to be my complete, authentic self. No more ego personality. No more paying bills or putting up with downtown traffic or counting calories or scrubbing toilets or pleasing my boss or trying to rebuild my life after the failure of a twenty-year marriage. I loved my children, but even they no longer mattered. In the joyous freedom of NOW, where I found myself, all that existed was the truth of my God-created self. I was a soul, and I was on my way “home,” and I was filled with ecstasy. Then, from a place that seemed to be above my dining-room ceiling, there appeared a brilliance beyond brilliant, another world in another dimension into which I merged.
I saw and experienced many things while in this place, among them revelations about the power of thought. For example, the gray blobs I had witnessed before I now realized were raw thought substances, unshapen because they lacked the focus I could have provided. I discovered that thoughts really are things, that thinking a thought produces the energy and the substance needed for it to exist by itself. Even though most thoughts are short-lived, those we put effort into, focus on, or think intensely about become the “climate” or atmosphere we live in. What surprised me was how exact this is: that every thought we think, every emotion we feel, and every deed we do affects those around us whether we are aware of it or not; additionally, the earth, air, water, plants, and animals. We can ignore how powerful thoughts can be or pretend it isn’t so and blindly stumble through our lives feeling as if we’re either victim or victor or simply a “good enough person.” Or we can awaken to the power we have and the responsibility that comes with that power. (I’ve learned since discovering this to say or think “Cancel/Reject” to “erase” thoughts, words, and feelings I don’t mean or have expressed by mistake. I have also learned to face straightaway any “errors” I committed.) Taking charge of your life means just that, on all levels of being—physical, mental, emotional, spiritual.
I was reunited with my loved ones who had died before me, including a grandfather who had passed away soon after his own children were born, and I saw Jesus. Words are insufficient for me to describe the happiness I felt being back with my Elder Brother, hugging Him, dancing with Him, laughing with Him. How could I have ever forgotten His message of love and forgiveness? Asking myself that question triggered my life review. For me, it was a total reliving of every aspect of ever having been alive, and it was overwhelming. I was ashamed of some things, pleased with others. Remembering the teachings of Jesus, I affirmed and knew that I was forgiven for past mistakes and chose to return to my physical body and reactivate it. I was inspired to do a better job with the life I once had. Ever so gently, I floated back on a “carpet” of twinkling light.
When I said I couldn’t disconnect from this incident, I mean just that. After receiving the medical care I needed, there I was, back in physical form again, wearing a body that was lying on the sofa, taking drugs, and eating and taking more drugs and stuffing in more food, my daughters coming and going, and all I could do was replay in my mind what had happened as if it were still happening. I wasn’t fully back from the experience, and I didn’t care.
Life blurred after that. My right leg refused to support weight once I could stand. Pain was constant. My brain no longer worked as it used to, yet somehow I managed to remain employed. Doctors were useless. Drugs only made matters worse. The man who impregnated me came back into my life and asked for my forgiveness. I did forgive him, and then I requested a few moments of his time as I desperately needed someone to listen to my story of what I had encountered on “the other side” of death. I needed to talk. He refused to listen, slamming the door as he left.
I died again. I know that the emotional blow of being refused was at the core of death number three. But how do you measure that? My body shut down; nothing responded. Since I knew that “the other side” was better than this one, I resolved to go there—to stay. Living in the earth plane, as far as I was concerned at that moment, wasn’t worth the bother.
This time, after my body fell away and all functions ceased, I floated as a spirit straight up through the ceiling, observing each molecule of matter—ceiling/floor/roof—as I passed by. This was enormously fun! I had no previous concept that ceiling tile, insulation, wood beams, and metal supports were so remarkable in the arrangement of their particles, forms, and construction. It’s as if I suddenly had 360-degree, X-ray vision, and I could see everything all at once, inside and outside. After I slipped past the roof, I sped away into the night sky, unburdened, feeling forever free.
Far in the distance a slit opened up in the sky. The slit looked like a “lip of light.” I was drawn to it and sucked in by a force field that seemed to emanate from within its contours. At last, I was where I wanted to be: inside bliss. What I beheld, though, when