Chapter 1. The Invitation
Tap! Tap!
It taps on my heart.
“Are you there yet?”
Yes, I am.
For many years, I have wanted to share the exceptional flashes of revelation around death that I have been witness to. Yes, I’ve seen joy and peace around the final moments of a life.
Now is the time to share these stories.
I thought they were just incidents that happened to everyone, so I rarely shared them. You know, the kind you bookmark in your mind but you recount on rare occasions, as your intuition has deemed these stories important enough to pass along and assist others going through their experiences.
They remain in your mind like files that you keep, in case, and pages that you carefully turn down in a book so you can go back and read them again. They remain there inert because you are so busy, just paying your bills and meeting deadlines.
However, in the last decade, there has been such an unfolding to the awareness of the fact that we all die. This awareness has been accompanied by the question of, did we live our life’s purpose? Did we in fact live out our life mission? Did we even know what it was?
Many boomers and zoomers have been able to avoid this reality; they live in a time of relative affluence and rapid expansion of technology. We live at such an accelerated pace that we cannot confront the planning of our funeral or even talk about our death (the only inevitability in life we all will accomplish). Doesn’t it seem absurd that we would think there is no reason for being here? Why would God bother?
Why would we exist at all? Well, we are here to learn, and as many ancient philosophers and present-day gurus state, we are all spirits on a physical journey. I have always believed it most likely.
For two thousand years, we have had this Bible promise: “For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life” (John 3:16 NKJV).
He even rose from the dead to show the way and add the exclamation point of eternal life.
Now I must share.
I am compelled to reassure, to give comfort, and to make easier our use of these words: death, dying, and the end of this life.
I have been part of many end-of-life scenarios, and my hope is that as I share some of them, you will be aware of those you may witness and share them with others to overcome our incessant fear of death and the unknown. Sharing with one another is essential and proven to be most therapeutic.
Death has no sting when we do not fear it.
Oh death where is your victory; Oh, death where is your sting? (1 Corinthians 15:15–16 NKJV)
I spent over fifty years as a health care professional, with diplomas as a nurse, energy healer, naturopath, and bereavement counsellor; now, as a widow, the more that I have seen death, the greater I sense it is a passage. Your learning journey is over for now. You are graduating to a new reality. Is it birth to birth? Death is just that moment where we are released to transcend.
Yes, like a real birthday gift. These words may make you say, “Hush up. How absurd is that?”
The imperative part of the spotlight on that word death is that it emphasizes the importance of living your life with verve and inspiration because there is an end to this specific contract of time, known as your life.
But that is how great aha moments are incubated. It is called the collective consciousness. Like a long-nurtured birth of an idea, it takes many input neurons to build that awareness to a high enough collection of electrons to vibrate through the paradigm and turn an accepted idea on its head to examine the opposite conclusion. Maybe it is not an end but a beginning, another birth. Or is it more like the present theories that the initiation of a thought is a biochemical reaction formed before you really think it?
My intention is to invite you to be comfortable with death as the key to the next life, not a black abyss to be feared.
I share this book with you with love and light.
Put your angel wings on.
Wow. Come and sit with me for a while.
These are the stories that I have been given.