All is Everything, Everything is One

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I had a ruptured ectopic pregnancy, which had occurred at 6:00 pm Monday. It was the following morning before I went to the emergency room. The doctors were only giving me a 50/50 chance, and said that only my low pressure had prevented me from not having already bled out. My first recollection was a SNAP in my ears, so loud it was almost deafening; it reverberated and left my ears ringing. I was above an operation, watching from a location near the ceiling, and found it very fascinating. It didn't seem extraordinary; it was like watching TV. Nurses and doctors were sort of frenzied around the patient, and I knew she was in trouble... I was overwhelmed, and deeply sympathetic for the patient. I seemed to feel her horrendous pain, emotionally rather then physically. I couldn't really see her or even the others, with the drapes and masks etc., but then I thought, oh, that's me. But again, it was nothing extraordinary, just an acknowledgment. The brightest, whitest light annoyed me, shining onto the right side of my face. It was interfering with my ability to watch the surgery. I didn't want to quit watching the surgery, but the light kept bidding me to look away, and I looked toward it a couple of times. It was distracting me, and I wanted it go away. I watched as a long needle was thrust into the patient's (my) chest, and was a bit squeamish about that, so I did look away, and this time I moved into the light, drifting toward it.

I entered a dark channel, a corridor, a tunnel, a canal... I remember thinking, "Yes, this is the birth canal." I thought with a big sigh, "I don't want to be born again." I realized with relief that wasn't happening. In some way I was being born because of complete encasement in warm, gyrating, black jello projecting me forward towards the brilliant light. I saw my entry into the world, one childhood memory after another as distinct and as clear as if each were really happening. There was a doctor with a round mirror attached to his head on a band. I was jumping in my crib. Most things were pleasant to see, some things made me very embarrassed. In fact, revolution and guilt took away any good feelings, making me so very sorry for certain things I had said or done. I hadn't just seen what I had done, but I felt and knew the repercussions of my actions. I felt the injury or pain of those who suffered because of my selfish or inappropriate behavior. 

For example, four years earlier, a friend and I had gone down town to a nightclub. Once the dancing stopped and the bar closed, they served breakfast. My friend had ditched me. I was alone and in no condition to drive. About 2:30 a.m. a guy came in for breakfast, and I struck up a conversation with him. He was about 23, had just gotten off work, and was very nice. I was deliberately doing and saying anything to get him to agree to drive me in my car to the north end (about 35 miles) so I could be close to home. I invited him to a party, and he agreed. When we got to my friend's house in the north end, I told him to wait outside. I went in and hid, leaving him miles from home and not knowing anyone in the middle of the night. After a while he came to the door sort of pleading to speak with me; my friends shut him out. Fortunately, the friend who ditched me showed up minutes later, and the guy that she pulled up with agreed to give the guy who drove my car a ride back to the nightclub. I never gave this incident a moment of thought after it had happened. But, during the review of my life, I was grieved to see how totally selfish, thoughtless and downright cruel I had been. I felt his complete panic and fear, and his change as he became less trusting. I was sickened. I had such total guilt that I tried to pull my view away. I was being pounded with the fears, pain, injuries, and anger I had caused in others, and the repercussions that had been passed on and on. I literally turned inside myself and as if going through a cleansing, turned outright again. These things were all behind me now, but I would know them and be with this knowledge.

I stood before a light, white landscape in front of a podium that I cannot describe in detail. I know there was a large structure to my right. I know that all knowledge was in a structure with an enormous stairwell that went on forever up and to my left. I knew that the others were beyond my line of sight. I saw no one. As I waited, I remembered what I had forgotten, which was everything. I was astonished at the simplicity of why, what, who, where...all of it. I knew it all. I remember thinking that it is so weird that we don't remember any of it on the other side. It's so apparent, yet we cannot see it while living in the other form. At that very moment I likened it to an ant that could never perceive a human in its entirety, it's complexity, or it's completeness, yet we are right there to be seen if only the ant had the capacity.

As I waited, I remembered three sisters or spirits, three others with whom I'd spend a great deal of time. I remembered that they had been surprised and concerned that I had made the decision to live this life. They feared a danger that I couldn't place at that moment. I wondered about them, and wanted to tell them that it was okay, but I also felt strongly that I had to go back. I remembered that I had a daughter, and before I could plead my case for returning, I was told by thought that I would not be allowed to stay. I got excited to return, and thought how much I wanted to remember the knowledge, so I could explain it to others, ease fears of death, and inspire goodness. I thought that maybe I could trick them; I would think of some words that perfectly described the knowledge in it's simplest form, and then remember the words. Then I'd associate the words and remember the knowledge. I came up with perfect words, all is everything, everything is one. I was so happy with my choice of words; I knew that I would remember. Simultaneously, I drew the deepest of breaths into my human body and was hauled from the podium through the tunnel and back into my body with enormous force.

I woke up in my hospital room two days later. I was bouncing off the walls with what I knew. The experience was more real, more vivid, and more dimensional than living. I told a nurse just a little about it and she said, "Anesthetic causes strange dreams." I told others, including family and the doctors. Everyone looked at me like I was quite insane. Not one person believed me. Not one person wanted to hear the entire story. After several months my husband threatened to divorce me, if I kept talking about it. He said, everyone thinks you're crazy; you're talking like a complete lunatic. Either you stop talking about it, or we're through. You're embarrassing me and making everyone uncomfortable.

Some time later while waiting in a dentist's office for my appointment, I picked up a Reader's Digest where Dr. Raymond Moody's book, Life after Death, appeared in a condensed form. My heart about stopped. For the first time, someone else had experienced what I had. I bought the book, read it from cover to cover that night, and stayed up all night writing him a letter. The "knowledge" was not part of his first book, and I wanted him to know all about what I had been through. (His second book includes the knowledge and a composite of experiences including mine, according to a letter he sent me). I filled out the form that I would allow my information published anonymous, but the truth is if I knew that it was being published by a serious journal or publication I would allow my story to be told under my name.

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