Back in The Wifes Alright, The Kids Alright... I alluded to the notion that I had been through not one, but two near death experiences.
I'll be honest and come clean. I was wrong.
It was more like three, but the first two, I really went over. At least, as far as I am concerned or care to believe.
The first time I died, I hadn't even realized my death had occurred until about 12 hours or more after the event. I was 14, and woke up with my arm feeling numb. Figuring I had slept on it all night the "wrong way", I ignored the 5 or 6 pimples on it and went to school. Later that evening, I was admitted to the emergency room with uncontrollable shaking, aches, and papules raising up all over my body. Those had apparently been black widow bites and the emergency room doc was close to freaking out. I think he was wondering how I was still standing, much less alive. Normally, these things usually happen within a short time of the bites, not hours later.
So, let's take a step back to when the bites happened, and what occurred for the few hours after that. This is something important to consider when thinking about how things happen and why.
While I was sleeping, my dreams stopped. I remembered this very very clearly, because it is pretty unusual for my brain just to go black for no reason while I am sleeping, and then for a bunch of other weird shit to start up. The weird shit in question was my walking through a thicker and thicker forest in winter, and I wasn't dressed for the cold. I was still shivering, but as I went through the deepest parts, almost falling through, it became more temperate and the worst of the cold stopped. It was weird because I felt totally awake and aware, when I knew I had just been asleep and lying in my bed. I also knew I wasn't in my body doing this either. As I said, for a fourteen year old, weird.
I came to a wooded glade, and found this kind of middle earth style encampment. Everything seemed almost hyper-real as I looked at it, as if every single thing in the camp had its own purpose, its own reason. I met with the people in that camp after I had explored around a bit. Well, people might be a bit off- they were centaurs.
Ok, ok, I know, a 14 year old kid gets bit by black widows and dreams of centaurs. Don't worry, it gets more strange.
While were were there, I and the centaurs conversed, but not in any language. We didn't really speak, per se. They made their intentions and notions felt to me, and vice versa. Essentially, they broke it down for me- the camp was only what I wanted or needed to see, as with their appearance. They were waiting for me, and if I wanted to, I could go now and experience existence much like this. I only had to go through a cave, and I would never worry about having to come back.
The idea of living in a world where intentions were clear, and everything had its meaning and purpose clear to me, that was too much to pass up. Of course I made my way to the cave!
That is when the problems started. First, I had my own doubts. My own way to and through the cave was paved with them, in the form of books with them printed on the front as titles. They grew and crowded around me as I struggle my way further into the cave. I even began to doubt myself. From that moment, I heard the worst fighting behind me that you could imagine. The camp folk were being attacked, and were suffering. A group of people wanting to take me back had come, and were laying waste to the camp and the centaurs, and were being harmed as well. Unlike the fantasy camp folk, these were people with guns and technology, and the small group of them were just beating the crap out of the middle earth types.
I felt guilty. That is why I stopped, and turned around. I did not want anyone to suffer for my loss if I went ahead to the next world, so I stopped, and turned my back on heaven. The centaurs, it was hard to tell because of my own emotions, but they felt a mixture of resignation and disappointment. They did not protest my stopping and going back. The people who came for me had only praise and bravado, but I was going back because I wanted peace between the two worlds more than I wanted to transition them myself. I didn't know how I would get that, but I couldn't go yet.
Back through the woods. Back to the darkness. When I fell into my body, it felt like I had just dropped from the ceiling into myself. I woke up, and my arm was hurting, and I was gray and ashen. It took a long time to wash whatever I had sweated up over the night.
Later on, after more time and reflection, I realized that the skin stuff was likely from having died. I only experienced it once again, and that time was by choice.
I still miss heaven. Staying here makes me miss it more. Growing up, I heard all of these stories about how people died and came back after seeing hell, and became better people because they did not want to go back there. So, try and imagine what it was like to taste heaven, and come back here.
We all have reasons for choosing not to die. Mine will become more clear after a couple of more stories. The next time I died, I was ready for it, and wanted it.