Here's something you might be interested in.
Some of you may have heard of or read a book by Betty J. Eadie, “Embraced By The Light,” about a near-death experience (NDE) the author claims to have had, and which she describes in the book in an amazing amount of detail; according to the foreword, written by a doctor, Melvin Morse, M.D., who specializes in the study of NDEs, it is “a textbook of the near-death experience.” The book was published back in 1992; reading reviews of Eadie’s book on various websites, it is clear that a lot of people did not accept what the book proposed. They either did not believe what Eadie had described as real, or were not able to get past the religious context of her experience. Since then, neuroscientists who have studied this subject have offered a theory to explain NDEs, generally, that they are hallucinations set off in the brain at the time of death. However, some scientists have also suggested that this theory doesn’t explain all NDEs; the results of a three year study of NDEs are scheduled to be published next year that should add to our knowledge of this phenomenon. At any rate, I tend to believe much of Eadie’s version of events because it is consistent with how the experience of death has been described throughout the ages and cross-culturally, and frankly because it gives me comfort. Whatever the reasons, explanations, or mechanisms involved, I want to have the experience Eadie described when I go, it may be a false hope, but I would like to think that what she described is something like what I can expect. For many people, the idea of nothing at all when you die may be more acceptable or believable as the more logical or more preferable death experience, and perhaps that’s what you will be allowed to have: I hope and believe that God gives us what we need when we need it. Don’t get crazy, that’s the way I personally grok the universe, I totally respect others have different systems of belief, just speaking of mine, here. In any case, the book is about more than the experience of dying, which is interesting but not the central theme of the book. It is about the meaning of life. What I personally took away from the book, is the opportunity we are all given in life, whether we choose to practice a certain faith or not, to teach, to learn, and to act upon that learning.
Something that has stayed with me from the first time I read the book was that Eadie, who described herself as having entered a spirit plane, was at one point shown, and directed to look at, the earthly world she had left behind. On a sidewalk she saw a homeless man, drunken, laying “in his wallow.” Eadie’s attention was then directed by her spirit guides to another man. This second man daily passed the man on the sidewalk on the way to his offices. He was a lawyer, who did a lot of work to help the poor. Eadie was given to understand that the homeless man’s mission, chosen before he came to earth, was to help this attorney by prompting, through his presence, the attorney to do more than he would have otherwise to help the disadvantaged. When I read this particular section, it occurred to me that often after hearing of a tragedy, so many of us are moved to do something for others in response. The New Testament speaks of this as the greatest tenet of faith, by Peter, “and above all things have fervent charity,” by Timothy, “charity out of a pure heart,” by Matthew and Mark and in Galations, “Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself,” in Colossians and Corinthians, “and now abideth faith, hope, charity, but the greatest of these is charity.” It is a universal message: Love one another. Be kind. Practice charity.
There was a story in the Union Tribune on the front page, Sunday, 31 October 2009, “Man On The Bench,” about a homeless man who spent many years living on and around some metal benches in the Pt. Loma area. People in the community appear to have looked out for him: According to the paper, many mornings someone in a green truck brought him food from Jack In The Box, other people gave him their doggie bags from nearby restaurants, gave him clothes, set up tabs for him at a local grocery store and a nearby deli. One man in particular who lived in the area, Howard Jones, befriended the homeless man, brought him food, talked to him; noting signs of ill health, Mr. Jones urged him to see a doctor, to no avail. On August 22, the man collapsed, was taken to a hospital, passed away. According to the article, Jones wrote a piece about the man, “Goodbye to a Dear Friend,” posted it on a website; many who remembered this man added their comments. People were moved to bring flowers and notes to the spot where the homeless man had lived, some stopped to read the notes and cried; the community grieved their loss. Jones went so far as to hire a search firm, through which he tracked down the homeless man’s name, Jeff Pastorino, and located his twin brother, Chris, who was amazed and touched to hear of the community’s love for his brother, and who plans to visit San Diego within the next day or two to sit on the bench where for fifteen years his brother Jeff gave those who saw him the opportunity spoken of in Matthew: “For I was hungry, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in. Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me.” Love. Kindness. Charity.
Going to visit my family today. Usually it’s a pretty sad affair, and in the past my tears would do all the talking. But I think maybe this year will be different. My grandfather, my brother, my mother, will as always be offering their love and understanding and support, which until now I have not been willing to know, to feel, to accept. I have sinned by rejecting what was always there, always mine, out of guilt, and regret, and pain. This year, I will let our purposes join, our lights blend, our spirits unite and dance. From now on, my dearly departed loved ones, I will allow your presence in my life in a good way, I promise. I won’t be afraid and I will no longer despair. I can say to my mother, especially, Yes, you knew this about me all along. You were always so proud of me. And I have finally lived up to that pride. To your belief in my ability to tell a story. Love you, mommy.
Flor de muerto, pan de muerto. Marigolds. Sweet bread. Oh and what’s left in that bottle I found under my grandfather’s bed. Offerings. For all you gave me, for all you give me. I can’t yet follow the light that leads to you. There are still things I have to do here. But come, let these offerings coax you over to this side. Sit with me and we will tell stories and laugh and embrace all we are, the God-given marvel of flesh and spirit.
A toast. To family, in all its variations. To love. To kindness.
Some of you may have heard of or read a book by Betty J. Eadie, “Embraced By The Light,” about a near-death experience (NDE) the author claims to have had, and which she describes in the book in an amazing amount of detail; according to the foreword, written by a doctor, Melvin Morse, M.D., who specializes in the study of NDEs, it is “a textbook of the near-death experience.” The book was published back in 1992; reading reviews of Eadie’s book on various websites, it is clear that a lot of people did not accept what the book proposed. They either did not believe what Eadie had described as real, or were not able to get past the religious context of her experience. Since then, neuroscientists who have studied this subject have offered a theory to explain NDEs, generally, that they are hallucinations set off in the brain at the time of death. However, some scientists have also suggested that this theory doesn’t explain all NDEs; the results of a three year study of NDEs are scheduled to be published next year that should add to our knowledge of this phenomenon. At any rate, I tend to believe much of Eadie’s version of events because it is consistent with how the experience of death has been described throughout the ages and cross-culturally, and frankly because it gives me comfort. Whatever the reasons, explanations, or mechanisms involved, I want to have the experience Eadie described when I go, it may be a false hope, but I would like to think that what she described is something like what I can expect. For many people, the idea of nothing at all when you die may be more acceptable or believable as the more logical or more preferable death experience, and perhaps that’s what you will be allowed to have: I hope and believe that God gives us what we need when we need it. Don’t get crazy, that’s the way I personally grok the universe, I totally respect others have different systems of belief, just speaking of mine, here. In any case, the book is about more than the experience of dying, which is interesting but not the central theme of the book. It is about the meaning of life. What I personally took away from the book, is the opportunity we are all given in life, whether we choose to practice a certain faith or not, to teach, to learn, and to act upon that learning.
Something that has stayed with me from the first time I read the book was that Eadie, who described herself as having entered a spirit plane, was at one point shown, and directed to look at, the earthly world she had left behind. On a sidewalk she saw a homeless man, drunken, laying “in his wallow.” Eadie’s attention was then directed by her spirit guides to another man. This second man daily passed the man on the sidewalk on the way to his offices. He was a lawyer, who did a lot of work to help the poor. Eadie was given to understand that the homeless man’s mission, chosen before he came to earth, was to help this attorney by prompting, through his presence, the attorney to do more than he would have otherwise to help the disadvantaged. When I read this particular section, it occurred to me that often after hearing of a tragedy, so many of us are moved to do something for others in response. The New Testament speaks of this as the greatest tenet of faith, by Peter, “and above all things have fervent charity,” by Timothy, “charity out of a pure heart,” by Matthew and Mark and in Galations, “Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself,” in Colossians and Corinthians, “and now abideth faith, hope, charity, but the greatest of these is charity.” It is a universal message: Love one another. Be kind. Practice charity.
There was a story in the Union Tribune on the front page, Sunday, 31 October 2009, “Man On The Bench,” about a homeless man who spent many years living on and around some metal benches in the Pt. Loma area. People in the community appear to have looked out for him: According to the paper, many mornings someone in a green truck brought him food from Jack In The Box, other people gave him their doggie bags from nearby restaurants, gave him clothes, set up tabs for him at a local grocery store and a nearby deli. One man in particular who lived in the area, Howard Jones, befriended the homeless man, brought him food, talked to him; noting signs of ill health, Mr. Jones urged him to see a doctor, to no avail. On August 22, the man collapsed, was taken to a hospital, passed away. According to the article, Jones wrote a piece about the man, “Goodbye to a Dear Friend,” posted it on a website; many who remembered this man added their comments. People were moved to bring flowers and notes to the spot where the homeless man had lived, some stopped to read the notes and cried; the community grieved their loss. Jones went so far as to hire a search firm, through which he tracked down the homeless man’s name, Jeff Pastorino, and located his twin brother, Chris, who was amazed and touched to hear of the community’s love for his brother, and who plans to visit San Diego within the next day or two to sit on the bench where for fifteen years his brother Jeff gave those who saw him the opportunity spoken of in Matthew: “For I was hungry, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in. Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me.” Love. Kindness. Charity.
Going to visit my family today. Usually it’s a pretty sad affair, and in the past my tears would do all the talking. But I think maybe this year will be different. My grandfather, my brother, my mother, will as always be offering their love and understanding and support, which until now I have not been willing to know, to feel, to accept. I have sinned by rejecting what was always there, always mine, out of guilt, and regret, and pain. This year, I will let our purposes join, our lights blend, our spirits unite and dance. From now on, my dearly departed loved ones, I will allow your presence in my life in a good way, I promise. I won’t be afraid and I will no longer despair. I can say to my mother, especially, Yes, you knew this about me all along. You were always so proud of me. And I have finally lived up to that pride. To your belief in my ability to tell a story. Love you, mommy.
Flor de muerto, pan de muerto. Marigolds. Sweet bread. Oh and what’s left in that bottle I found under my grandfather’s bed. Offerings. For all you gave me, for all you give me. I can’t yet follow the light that leads to you. There are still things I have to do here. But come, let these offerings coax you over to this side. Sit with me and we will tell stories and laugh and embrace all we are, the God-given marvel of flesh and spirit.
A toast. To family, in all its variations. To love. To kindness.