The dying part was easy. It was deciding to come back and continue living my life that was the real challenge.
I floated between worlds, watching my motionless body lying empty on the bed. Then my spirit dipped back into my physical form only to be overwhelmed by the pain ripping through my head. Violent convulsions gagged me, robbing my lungs of air. Besides the obvious physical detractors of electing to stay in my body, emotionally I didn’t feel a strong desire to hang around, either.
For three challenging years before this current moment suspended between life and death, I was slowly losing all my vital life force in a very bad marriage. My then-husband, let’s call him “Ed,” was the image of my dad — belligerent, follicle-challenged, sarcastic, judgmental, critical of my weight despite his own jowly paunchiness, and cruelly dismissive of my psychic abilities. Just like Dad, he openly ridiculed my sensitivity to the point where I decided it was easier to keep it undercover, just as I did when I still lived at home back in Allentown, Pennsylvania, half a continent away.
Now, though, I was doing the dance of deflection in a whole new setting. Ed was the general manager of a group of television stations in Kansas, and I was the creative services director. We had met working together at a TV station in Miami. I was the Emmy and Addy-award winning advertising and promotions manager, and he had come in as the new news director. I’d arrived in Miami by way of Asheville, North Carolina, the last spot on my two-year spiritual quest to find out if I was psychic or psychotic. I’d learned — and received confirmation from friends who just happened to be psychologists—that I definitely wasn’t nuts. Occasionally over-dramatic, silly, impulsive, impatient and extremely creative, yes — but certifiably mentally unstable? Nope. When I was told in meditation to teach my spiritual truths by living them, and to get back into the real world, I ended up becoming executive news producer at WLOS, the ABC affiliate in Asheville.
If I’m so darn psychic, why did I marry this guy? I was still dealing with childhood issues of wanting a father’s approval and love. No matter how intuitive we are, the basic hurts are still the same. Besides, Ed was very intelligent, and he said all the right things, like, he was going to change his personality completely, and I was the perfect woman to help him do it.
Hallway Centurions
A vivid memory of how Ed and I were pretty much on different planets in every respect, particularly the psychic, happened during a business trip to England. Our little Kansas group was enjoying a lovely dinner in the dining hall of our sprawling hotel, and I started to feel a bit of a draft.
“I’m just going to run up to the room and grab a sweater,” I told Ed.
Whether it was a conscious effort to save on energy costs, or an intentionally dramatic effect, the centuries-old building did not have an abundance of lights in the wide hallways. Being sensitive, I’ve always had good radar for feeling activity on other dimensions, and I was getting major goose bumps as I ran up the dimly illuminated carpeted staircase to the next floor.
Just as I turned into the corridor that ran in front of our room, I stopped. A ghostly regimen of Roman centurions, clad for battle and in perfect lock step, marched silently through the shadowy expanse of the hallway, directly toward me. I spun around and flew back down the stairs to the dining hall.
“I thought you were cold?” Ed said quizzically as I slid back into my chair, sans that sweater.
“I’m good!” I answered. Somehow, a little draft seemed immensely preferable to having the spectral Roman Legion marching right through me. And, of course, I never bothered to mention anything about my encounter to Ed. I just didn’t feel like being ridiculed that evening.
Looking at Options….
Even though I had made some great friends in Kansas, including some I still treasure today, this cruelly restrictive, tightly controlled existence was emotionally abusive — just like my childhood — and definitely not the lifetime for which I felt I had signed up. I was far off my spiritual path, and completely miserable.
But then, I got my own very personal, very intense lesson in the reality of free will. The night of June 26, I had a “dream" that signaled everything was about to change.
I was alone, standing on a beautiful sloping hill. I knew the gently rolling meadow was a graveyard, even though there weren't tombstones jutting up from the lush green grass. My eyes were drawn to a lovely tree, like a cypress, with fingers of sunlight streaming through the needle-tufted branches. The location was peaceful, sacred, and important; a kind of meeting place among dimensions of consciousness and existence.
It reminded me of the divine intimacy of Rumi's poem: “Out beyond the ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I’ll meet you there.”
I understood on a very deep soul level this spot was not of this Earth, and that my being there was monumentally significant. I gazed around the gentle slope, this graveyard, and quietly asked, “Did my father-in-law die?" He was quite ill at the time.
“No,” a deep gentle voice answered.
“Did my husband die?"
“No,” the voice responded again.
“Did I die?” I swallowed hard, awaiting the answer from this unseen spiritual source.
“Maybe you did, and maybe you didn't,” the voice said gently. “It's for you to decide. And don't be frightened.”
It felt like I was wrapped in huge wings. I truly feel I touched into the biblical “peace that passeth all understanding.” The entire scene faded away in a big spiral of white light.
“Ok, God,” I said silently. “THAT meant something!” Then I promptly forgot all about it — until my life hung in the balance.
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