I am privileged to be able to recount this wonderful tale of an NDE of a new acquaintance. For those of us who “Know” rather than “Believe” in an afterlife and the inherent communication that exists between these worlds the whole point of which is to make us think about what we do for ourselves and in relation to others as well, of course, of the imperative evidence of that existence and the taking away of that fear that so many have, and NDE like astral projection, is not only no surprise but one of wonder that others do not accept it bearing in mind all the evidence there is for it. Once you have had one of these experiences, I myself could astral travel at will when I was young, you no without hesitation that you are not your body, it is only here to enable us to experience this world….
This is Amy’s story.
I was 26 when I had my NDE.
My name is Amy… and I live in Tacoma WA.
My journey began by traveling in the dark. At this point I was not aware of what was happening and woke out of what felt like a deep sleep. To the left was a woman with blonde hair, to my right the night sky flying past me, twinkling with thousands of white stars. “You’ve been very ill,” the blonde informed me telepathically “and I’m here to take you on the first part of your journey.” The shocking cold all around me forced consciousness into crisp brightness and I began to take account of my surroundings. The path we were on was towards the summit of a huge mountain, as we traveled I looked for snow as a way to explain the chill but all I could see was the black sky and the white stars. Shivering, feeling drained and lethargic from this sleep I had just woken from, I closed my eyes and with surprising ease turned my mind towards hers and asked a question. “Who are you? Where are we going?”. She introduced herself as Grace, a friend of my brother-in-law Gabriel, and that we had never met before on Earth but she was pleased to meet me now. “Close your eyes,” she said, “the best thing you can do right now is rest.” The mountain road we were climbing was shrouded in darkness, and my heavy eyelids began to sink again. I wondered to myself, “Is this Mount Rainier?” “No,” Grace chuckled. “We’re in Colorado. Don’t worry, it will all make sense to you in a little while. Just rest.”
My eyes opened, and I found myself laying in a soft bed of white sheets and white blankets. This mountain cabin was made of thick golden wood beams–and of all strange things–cured meats and cheeses hung from the rafters above my head. “Where am I,” I wondered. Music was playing loudly from the downstairs of the cabin, and I could see the warm glow of lights from the stairwell and could hear the tinkling of glassware–people laughing and talking. Grace handed me a cup of warm tea and asked how I was feeling. The cold had thankfully been relieved by the warmth of the soft blankets, but I still felt sick to my stomach. “That’s the methadone,” Grace said, “the tea will help take care of that feeling.” As I sipped the drink, I inquired about the party. She smiled, “the party is for you, everyone is so happy to see you.” I handed her back my empty cup, feeling instantly better. “May I ask a question? If the party is for me, do you think people would mind turning down the music? I’m so tired.” She nodded and stood up to leave, and I drifted back into a calm, peaceful sleep.
The incredible noise of the rushing sound is something I will never forget. It was so loud I thought I was in an airplane, and looked around me to get my bearings, wondering how and why I was on on this flight. But when I looked around what I saw shocked me. It was my dead body laying on a hospital gurney, a ventilator sticking out of my mouth. Horrified, I looked at her greasy hair and lifeless gray flesh. I turned around and a saw a man standing next to me. As the rushing noise continued, I asked him where we were going. “You’re on the way to the Observatory,” he said. He had some kind of instrument panel in front of him. “Who are you,” I asked. The man with the dark, wavy hair turned to me and smiled. He was wearing a greenish khaki flight suit that appeared to be from decades ago, military labels and patches were sewn across the front. Aware that I was taking in his appearance, he answered the question I had yet to ask. “Your grandfather and I flew together in World War II. He is a good man.” Content with that explanation, I asked him why we were on this trip. Was this a Make-a-Wish trip or something? But instantly I knew that was wrong. There are no Make-a-Wish trips for adult drug addicts. I was dead. The realization hit me like a tidal wave. I WAS DEAD. That was MY dead body. What happened? Oh no, what did I do????? Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Flight-suit guy came to my side and placed his hand on my arm. The rushing noise stopped, and I allowed him to guide me into the Observatory. The floors and sparse furnishings were all white and there were no walls. Above me where the ceiling would be, was the most glorious blue sky I had ever seen. “Are we on top of that Mountain,” I asked? Flight-suit guy nodded. I wondered where my parents were, and instantly found myself standing outside their family room window, looking in at my father holding my young son in his arms. My father looked unbearably sad and I called out to him, wanting him to see me standing right in front of him. He just stood and gazed outside, shifting my 2 year old away from the decorated Christmas tree. I began to yell, sobs choking my throat, and waving my arms. “DADDY!!!!!! Dad!!!!I’m RIGHT HERE. I’M RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU!!!!! I AM RIGHT HERE!!!!!!” I jumped and yelled in vain, his swollen eyes staring right through me like a ghost.
Flight-suit guy placed his fingers on my arm and a gush of anguish hit my core as I stared at my little boy. “They can’t see you or hear you anymore,” Flight suit guy said softly. “But they can FEEL you.” He explained to me that Love was like a tether between the two worlds and anytime I wanted to see my loved ones, I could. I looked back at my father’s tired, grief-stricken face and realized I couldn’t stand to see anymore. It hurt too much to see their pain, and the frustration of being right near them and unable to comfort them was too much to bear. Just then, I saw my son point out the window. “Birdie,” my dad said to him, “birdie!” They seemed to be pointing right at me. Choking back my tears, I turned back towards the Observatory, wondering about my mother and husband. On Earth, the bird my son was pointing at flew away.
Back at the Observatory I stared at the incredible blue sky. Suddenly and without any warning, a brilliant perfect pure Light illuminated everything around me. The Light was peace, ecstasy, and pure unconditional Love. It was the most brilliant feeling I have ever known. The Light drew me up into the sky and the Observatory under me disappeared as I left Earth. In this incredible Light, I looked down at Earth to say goodbye. And then it began to rain. The droplets falling from the sky like liquid music falling onto the forest below. Touching each smooth needle of every pine, funneled to the forest floor. I followed a droplet with my gaze, its journey from the cloud to the needle to the stream–down to a doe and her speckled fawn drinking in the precious water. Every drop, every individual needle on each tree was visible in explicit perfection. As the Light took me higher, I said goodbye to Earth. The flawless beauty of the planet began disappearing from my view and my heart ached at how perfect it had been. This whole existence was so amazing and beautiful–and now, because I didn’t appreciate its beauty–it was gone.
A commotion startled my senses, and I realized the flight-suit guy was still nearby, a concerned look on his face. He was pushing buttons on his instrument panel. “Where are we going now?”
“The Council wants to see you.”
Council? Figuring they might be doctors that could heal my dead body, I sat next to Flight-suit guy. The rushing sound began again, like a jet engine so loud it impressed itself on me like a weight. Closing my eyes, I drifted into darkness on my way back to Earth.
Unbearable thirst and searing heat is what woke me next. My eyes tried to open, but couldn’t. Blinking repeatedly, I could see nothing but the darkness of my eyelids. They had been taped shut. I went to pull off the tape, but my arms were restrained to either side of me in this parched Hell. The thirst was so intense that instinct cause me to panic that I’d die unless I got water, and I struggled against the restraints. BING BING BING BING BING BING. My ventilator alarm began ringing in tones, alerting the nurses to my stressed movement. BING BING BING BING BING BING BING. A figure rushed past to silence the horrible noise, and I felt someone moving my ventilator around in my mouth. The sound of heavy footsteps through the door indicated another person had entered the room. “Choking again?” asked a male voice. The blankets near my feet were pulled back, and I felt someone remove my slippers. The sharp tip of the scalpel prodded the bottoms of my feet. “Vegetable,” I heard him say. “We’ll wait til after the holiday to discuss pulling the plug. It will be easier on the family that way.”
What have I done, I wondered. With clear memory of the exquisite feeling of the Light, I grew immediately enraged with my situation. What have I done, what have I done. I put myself in Hell. BING BING BING BING. The sobs from my knowledge shook the ventilator, and I felt a hot tear running down my cheek. BING BING BING BING BING BING BING BING BING. Thirst burned through my cells like a wildfire, my cracked lips seeping blood. The mixture of salty tears and blood dripped into the corner of my mouth, the copper-flavor and salt my only respite from this ungodly thirst.
When they took the tape off my eyes, the scene around me was startling. The glass walls of my ICU room were drawn with privacy curtains, and around me stood my mother, father, husband and brother. None of the men had shaved in quite some time, and my mom gripped my hand, her soft brown eyes filled with unapologetic tears. “Hi honey,” she said. Her hand drifted up to my forehead and she stroked my hair. “There was an accident, sweetie. Its ok. We love you so much. We’re so happy that you’re alive.” I squeezed her hand lightly and struggled to free my wrist from the nylon-velcro restraints. “They put those on you because you tried to rip your ventilator out. Actually, you nearly succeeded and could have ripped out your vocal cords.” Exhausted from the struggle, I gave up. If I didn’t get water soon I was sure the thirst would kill me. I turned towards my father with the firm knowledge that I needed him to hear my thoughts. I began thinking of water droplets again, the oxygen and hydrogen atoms and how they bend with their slight polarity. H2O, H2O, H2O. I repeated it endlessly in my brain, saying “water” in every language I knew and even languages I didn’t know I knew. My father turned to the nurse and said, “she looks thirsty. Do you think I could give her some water?” My dad heard me and I was unbelievably thrilled. The nurse handed him a square sponge on a lollipop stick, barely whetted. “You can wipe her lips with water, but nothing in her mouth. If she gets even a drop of water in her mouth, we risk pneumonia. That would be fatal, considering both her lungs are still collapsed.” My mom popped open a can of her Diet Coke and poured it over a glass of ice. The despair in that moment was only trumped by the horrific thirst from the evil, hissing torture of the ventilator. I promised myself that I would never take water for granted, ever EVER again.
Christmas Day of 2006, a woman walked into my room in the ICU. Her spike heels clicked audibly down the hospital hallway as she neared my bed. She was the most beautiful Asian woman I had ever seen. She wore an immaculate gray tweed dress suit, and her black heels matched a black leather attache she carried in her hand. She looked at me, the black of her eyes coordinating with the leather. “You will be seeing the Council at 3pm,” she said, closing the attache. Those onyx eyes gazed into mine once more before she turned around, her heels clicking away into silence.
In my hospital bed, I watched the clock religiously, the second hand ticking for what seemed like eternity. As 3pm neared, I began feeling hysterical. Assuming this “Council” would be the doctors who would remove the cursed ventilator, the time couldn’t pass fast enough. I attempted to reach the mind of the nurse near me who was fiddling with my tubes and wires. She wasn’t getting the telepathic messages and just kept working around me, so I gave up and returned to watching the clock. The sound of clicking heels greeted me as the beautiful Asian woman approached ICU. With her she had two young female attendants. They carried with them a basin filled with water and some fluffy white towels. As the three women entered the room, they all passed silently near the nurse checking my wires. She took no notice of them as if she couldn’t see them at all. The attendants were here to clean me, the beautiful woman said. The young ladies pulled back the blankets from my legs and began to wash me softly. The sweet scent of flowers dripped from the water, and as they washed me I felt myself lift away from my hot, heavy flesh. I was no longer bound to that meatsuit, and I joined the three women as we drifted away from the bed towards the doorway. Dressed in a robe of linen, I glided with ease towards the chambers of the Council.
The path between the ICU and the council chambers was a black hallway that ended at a sliding shojii screen. Barefoot, I stepped through the screen and into the most beautiful room you could imagine. It was square in shape, though there were no walls or ceiling. I was standing on an outer square ring of golden bamboo, laid plank to plank seamlessly. A stream of flowing water surrounded the inner bamboo squares of the Council chamber, and upon each of the inner squares stood a person in a brightly colored robe. Older men and women, with kind faces and peaceful smiles. A woman in a scarlet robe looked in my eyes, and the vivid liquid depths of her robe felt impressed into my chest. There are no words to ever describe the feelings of those colors. A gold robe, an orange one, a green one, purple…and then the central man in the indigo robe indicated to me, telepathically, that I was there to see him specifically. He was bald, his scalp freckled with moles or age spots. His smile felt like summertime. He sat down upon his bamboo square with his legs folded under him, and I took my place across the water from him, and we watched the water flow in a square.
Gazing at the water, I was instantly reminded of a trip I once went took to the Athabasca glacier in Canada, and recalled the taste of that water as it bubbled out from eons of ice. That’s the moment I realized that I was no longer thirsty. The cool, fresh air of the Council Chambers breezed mildly, and that is when it registered that I no longer needed to breathe. The freedom of my spirit, outside of my body, was intoxicating. I looked around the room again at the Council, and smiled and silently thanked them in my heart for this liberation. They smiled back, and we began.
The man in the blue robe asked me if I was ready to go back. “No,” I immediately answered. “I’m too afraid of the pain.” He smiled at me and lifted my right arm. “I promise you, Amy, that it won’t hurt.” I stared, terrified and sad, at the man in the blue robe–afraid to go back to Earth and my body, but knowing that there was something that I desperately needed to accomplish. I looked the blue-robed man in the face and nodded. He gripped me above my right elbow, and in a flash, I was back in my body being wheeled out of a procedure room. While my soul was in the Council chambers, my body had lost its blood pressure again and a pit-catheter was inserted into my heart, its outlet above my right elbow. It would be the last tube they removed after my recovery, and I have the scar to this day.
Light to all, always and many blessing from Spirit. Leo.