I don’t remember dying, or even almost dying.
In fact, so far as I can recall, I’ve been remarkably healthy throughout this lifetime.
Nonetheless, I must have had some sort of NDE, some moment where my life was hanging in the balance, because I wrote the words that follow, and I know them to be a true and accurate reflection of what happened in that moment beyond this physical life.
Knowing that has, naturally, made a tremendous difference to me. I have no fear of death – not the slightest qualm. Certainly I would prefer a peaceful, painless transition; who wouldn’t? But I know that even a death as protracted and incomprehensible as my mother suffered earlier this year has it’s part to play in filling the ‘button box’ of experience.
And that is the second gift these words have made to me – a comfortable certainty that every experience, no matter how it makes me feel in the moment of its genesis, is filling that box and providing me with the raw material that will be of unimaginable value as I move into Oneness.
One day, I feel sure, I’ll include this passage in a book. But for now, let me share it with you, in the hope that some readers may be as comforted and encouraged by this gentle transition to the next stage as I have been.
Let me also wish you an eventful New Year, brimming over with experience!
I am newly here. I arrived – when? Grandfather is here. He smiles a smile of infinite patience. Into my mind he places a thought. It grows there, gently. It grows like the seedlings he coaxed into life on his allotment back in my childhood. They grew into flowers for my grandmother or food for our plates. The thought grows on.
At last I pick it and it becomes mine. I am newly here. I know this because I don’t yet understand.
He smiles again. I am right. He will take me. Does he touch my arm? I can’t be sure, but I feel he is guiding me. There is some pressure drifting me in one direction rather than any other.
I am gradually growing used to the Light. As I continue to move forwards, the vibration becomes easier to accept. A new face almost moves into focus, then blends again with the light, but it is there. Soon I will see it more clearly. It smiles. This smile I know so well. Now I can make out other figures and some kind of landscape. There are trees, I think, and maybe a lake.
We are not walking, but moving as I did in a dream once. We glide above the ground. There is contact with it, but only to take soundings, as it were. It is here as a reference point, but we move independently. I would be amazed, if I were still capable of amazement; but I am not.
Grandfather dissolves into the Light and I know he must be elsewhere and I must be here. I expect to feel panic or fear, but there is none. The others have merged into the brightness, too.
I sit beneath a tree. There is something like grass growing here, and impossibly bright flowers. As I examine them, they vibrate. They create sounds. I feel I have heard these sounds long ago. I feel that I am home.
Slowly, softly, in time with my slow and dream-laden thoughts, images appear before me. I can control their speed and clarity; I can look more closely or move on through them, as I wish. They tell a story – they tell my life.
A voice speaks into my heart. “Take anything you need. Reject anything that no longer serves you. It is yours to do with as you will. You have earned it all.”
So, just as I used to with my grandmother’s button box, I tip the many-coloured contents of my life onto the ground. I run my hands through them; gathering the treasured ones, discarding those I have no use for, pondering on some I may or may not choose. Finally, I have made my selection. I hold my treasures in my hands. They glow with an energy that dazzles me and then, as I watch beyond wonder, they blend into me. I feel myself grow richer, stronger and wiser as they seep into my very essence.
“It is well done,” says the voice. “Rest now in justice. You have my blessing.”
The sleep is deep and healing. I awake to full remembrance. I awake to clarity.
For more of my musings on life, death and everything in between, see LIFE: A PLAYER’S GUIDE