That would be great, there is no rush, I enjoy reading other people's experiences, and it's great if I can get more background on the events which surround it..
I've had a single spiritually transformative experience as a youngster, which has stayed with me all my life, and I agree it's not really possible to to portray the profound strength of feelings I experienced to people who haven't experienced it for themselves.
Hello Max_B.
Following is some background and my experience. I know some of it reads logically. But this is what I experienced in all its irrational beauty.
BACKGROUND:
I have a form of non-convulsive epilepsy (simple partial seizure disorder); with the exception of nocturnal seizures I'm fully aware during seizure activities
Seizure activity includes
- Blurred vision: inability to focus
- phantom smells: chemical smells or burning wires
- visual hallucinations: shadow figures, technicolored auras
- phantom sounds: soft voices
- jamais vu (don't even recognize rooms in my house
- "Electrical surge": waves of current like sensation in the brain
- Nocturnal seizures
Occasionally I experience lost time. The only way I can explain this is to say I'll become hyper aware of every detail in my physical surroundings one moment, then have absolutely zero recollection of anything for the next few minutes. It's like being transported five minutes into the future.
I've had three or four EEG's; all abnormal indications of neuroplasticity. There's normal developmental neuroplasticity where new pathways develop and others close as a person grows into adulthood. Then there's a form associated with brain trauma in which new pathways are created to bypass injury. I have the type commonly associated with brain trauma--yet, I 've never had a brain injury.
I have migraines.
I have asthma and severe environmental allergies.
I have a very small benign tumor in my occipital lobe.
NEUROLOGISTS' COMMENTS ON MY NDE:
I described the event to the three primary neurologists who have treated me over the years. Two thought I experienced a hypnopompic hallucination. One thought it was an NDE.
I explained to the neurologist who thought it was an NDE, that I had no near death trauma (it occurred during the night while I was in bed).
He stated my description isn't consistent with what they know about hypnopompic hallucinations. Hypnopompic hallucinations vary greatly between individuals because the triggers can be anything from a sleep disorder, drugs, to individual neurochemistry. While a sense of fear is common, the source of that varies greatly. One person will see spiders, another individual will see demons, while still another won't see anything, but feel things crawling all over them.
By contrast, NDE's are very consistent among individuals because the trigger is the death process. When respiration is suppressed, the physiological response is pretty much the same in everyone. While there's some variation in NDE's, there's more similarities than differences. This neurologist believes NDE's are very real, but only in the mind of the individual experiencing it.
He explained that I cannot dismiss the possibility of a respiratory episode while I was asleep. There is a type of sudden death syndrome associated with epilepsy. Aside from the epilepsy, otherwise healthy individuals go to bed, fall asleep, then die. In a large number of these epileptics there is no evidence of a seizure occurring just before the death.
They have two theories on this epileptic sudden death syndrome: 1) a nocturnal seizure in which the individual smothers to death in their pillow; 2) seizure or abnormal brain activity triggers cardiac arrhythmia.
Then there's my unexplained neuroplasticity. He said my EEGs are consistent with someone who has recovered from brain trauma. But I have no known brain injury. He said it's impossible to know what caused my neurological changes, but something caused my brain to re-route my neurological pathways. A healthy brain just doesn't re-wire itself.
WHAT I THINK
I'm inclined to accept the opinion of the neurologist who thinks I had a NDE. After our discussion, I researched hypnopompic hallucinations. I frequently experience sleep paralysis with that terrifying sense of a demon like presence. I believe these are hypnopompic hallucinations. There are always the same. They last about 30 seconds and afterwards I always realize it was a hallucination. More important, they are nothing like the NDE. I only had one NDE. If the NDE was a hypnopompic hallucination, then I should have more of them.
The other thing that stands out for me is the physical sensations. In dreams and hallucinations I have never felt physical sensations of any kind. I'll feel emotions, but never any physical sensations. I've cut myself in dreams. I once fell down a hill in a dream. Yet never felt anything. A couple of weeks ago I had a lucid dream. To test if I was dreaming or not I touched my left hand several times to see if I could feel sensation. I was thrilled that I felt nothing since it confirmed I was both lucid and dreaming.
Yet during the NDE I felt a lot of physical sensations: cold, warmth, texture on a tree, tingling, gravity, weightlessness, moisture.
I know tactile sensations is not conclusive evidence of survival beyond mortality, but it was and remains a defining element of my experience. Unlike my dreams, I actually touched that spiritual world. And it obviously left an impression on me--my screenname speaks to that fact.
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THE EVENT
It was in the mid-eighties, long before the ban on oil based house paint. On this day my ex husband painted our bedroom with an oil base paint. I am very sensitive to odors. I was overcome by the fumes. I told him I could not sleep in the bedroom. We dragged our box spring and mattress into the children's bedroom to camp out for a couple of days as our bedroom aired out. The children's bedroom was quite large. Bunkbeds against one wall, the opposite side was a play area with seating, television, and a video game set up. There was enough space in the center of the room to set up our queen size mattress. The mattress was positioned in front of a mirrored double-door closet.
I went to bed early that night because the paint fumes gave me a migraine. I felt nauseous, so I brought a towel to bed with me. I closed my eyes, and hoped for sleep so I wouldn't feel the pain in my head.
Then there is only darkness. It is a very deep darkness. Pitch black air. I'm in pitch black air.
The darkness in front of me gives way to a dim white light coming from above. I look up but I can't see the light source.
I follow the downward projection of light. At the bottom of the light is a table. I only see the light and the table. Everything else is wrapped in darkness. In pitch black air.
A woman's body is on the table. She's not asleep. She's dead. There's no visible trauma, but I just know she's dead. I look at her face. It's my face. I'm dead. I know I'm dead.
There's no fear. I don't feel panic or fear. I move closer to the table. I feel an odd detachment. I see that it's me. I see that I'm dead. But I don't feel any attachment to my dead body.
But I feel confused. I draw closer and closer to my dead body. I don't understand how I could be dead. I don't understand how I could be outside my dead body looking at myself.
I don't feel dead. I'm standing outside my dead body so I don't feel dead.
I have a small towel in my hand. I feel pressure in my chest. I feel like I'm going to choke and cough. I put the towel to my lips as I cough. I feel fluid spill from my mouth, between my lips onto the blue towel. I feel the wetness of the fluid over my lips.
I pull the towel from my mouth and look at it. It's blood. The blood is wet, glistening. Bright red, fresh blood. I just stare at the blood for a minute. I'm dead. I know I'm dead. I see me; I see what was me, dead on the table in front of me. Yet I just stand there looking at the blood. And I still don't feel dead.
I look up at the light illuminating over my dead body. I follow the beam of light down to the table, look again at my dead body. I feel no fear. I'm confused.
Then a faint light appears to my right. I stand in place, turn only my head toward the faint light. A woman sits at a desk. She's busy writing.
I walk toward her. She never looks up. I stop a couple of feet from her desk. I say, "There's a mistake. I can't be dead. I'm right here."
She doesn't look up. She keeps writing. She doesn't answer.
I again say, "There's a mistake. I can't be dead. I don't feel dead."
She continues to write. Never looking away from her work she says, "The sensation of life does not leave the body at the moment of death."
I hear her words, but I don't comprehend. I don't understand what she is telling me. I want to ask her questions, but I just know she's told me everything she is suppose to tell me. She's not suppose to tell me anything more. I know this. I just know this.
I just stand there. I don't know what to do.
Opposite the table where my dead body lay, a bright light shatters the darkness. It's a brilliant white light. Much brighter than the light illuminating my dead body. Everything else on each side of this bright light is pitch black air. I turn to face the light. It's so bright.
I see movement at the edge of darkness. People begin to emerge from the dark. They move in silence into the light and disappear.
As they file past me and enter the light, I look at their faces. No one notices me. I don't know why they can't see me.
I only recognize a few people. My grandmother who died when I was eleven. She doesn't see me.
Paula, it's Paula. A woman I used to work with, but who is very much alive. I think there's a mistake, she's alive. No, stop. Paula's alive she's not supposed to go into the light.
I look at Paula, then toward the light. Then back at Paula. She looks toward me, but she sees through me. She can't see me. No one sees me. I don't understand why no one sees me.
I look back at the light. I feel the light now. I feel the warmth on my skin now. The warmth is so soothing. I feel so cold. My bones are cold. I want to go into the light, let it warm me. But I can't move. My legs won't take a step toward the light.
I then know that to go into the light, I must will it. It's about my will, I have to will myself into the light, then it will just happen. I understand now that there is no need to walk toward the light.
I will myself to the light. It's effortless. My weight releases. I feel the lightness of my being.
There's no door. There's no tunnel. There's only bright light air and pitch black air. Pure bright light air spills over the darkness just waiting for me to enter.
I feel the Perfect Warmth as I enter the light air. I think: Perfect Warmth. I feel it from the inside out. This is Perfect Warmth. I understand now Perfect Warmth is from the inside out, and not from the outside in. That's why I never felt Perfect Warmth before. Ive only been warmed from the outside in. And that's not the right way to feel Perfect Warmth.
The light air surrounds me. I look into the light air. Such breathtaking beauty. Where's no words to describe the beauty. The beauty is the air. I can see the air and it's so beautiful. The beautiful air is all around me. It's crystal. It's white. It's blue. Ive never seen such beauty.
The sensation of the air around me is like nothing I've ever felt. It's so light. It's so billowy soft. It's so buoyant. It feels as beautiful as it looks. I run my fingers over the billowy air. Feel it's softness. So pure, so sheer. Such beautiful air.
There's a tree. It's massive. A large tree with no leaves. It's beautiful. Not a single leaf, yet so beautiful. I move to the tree. The bark is so full of colors, but has no color. I see all the colors in the bark, but together make the bark look like a pale beige. But I can see the color inside. I touch the trunk. The bark is so smooth.
I look up into the branches. Perched on a high branch is a bird. It's feathers are a kaleidoscope of soft pastels. It looks like someone painted his feathers. It's the most beautiful bird I've ever seen. It just sits there. Perched. Looking out at the beautiful air.
I know I'm suppose to go toward the bird. I feel the strong need to go toward the bird. But it's so high in the tree.
I begin to feel a sensation in my feet. It tingles at first. It's emotion. Joy, sadness, anger, love. All human emotions. I feel all the emotions. Everything comes together, I feel it all. There are no singular emotions. Nothing singular. It's the sum of all human emotions. I understand now. The sensations of life. Life is sensation. We experience life through the sum of all sensation.
I feel the sum of all emotions. The Perfect Warmth. The sensation of life. I understand now. I spread my arms. My head tilts back. The sensation of life moves up and through me. I feel it enter my veins. Filling me up, then floating out of me. I feel the release of life. I feel the sensation of life as it floats through me and out of my body. I feel the gravity release me. I feel the lightness of my being. So light in the buoyant air. Now I rise toward the bird. Rise through the beautiful air as I release my life into it. As the sensation of life leaves my body, a peace begins to fill me.
I understand now. I understand life and death. The oneness of it. A singular experience. And so the peace comes to me.
The peace. Indescribable peace. There are no words to describe the peace.
My eyes. I see my eyes in the reflection of the mirrored closet doors in my children's bedroom. I'm lying on my stomach. My pillow is under my chest. My arms are folded under my neck. My hands overlap and hold my chin up. I'm looking at my reflection in the mirror. I've been awake the whole time. There is no sensation of waking. There's no sensation that I had been dreaming. I breathe very slowly and quietly. I do not want wake my husband. I want this moment to myself.
The beautiful air is gone. The tree of many colors is gone. The bird that beckoned me toward the heavens is gone. All that remains is the understanding of life and this incredible, indescribable peace. A peace that I am not willing to release.