Amicus Mortis Posts

November 29, 2021 /

It was as a child that I first realised I lived in the meeting place of two co-existing or overlapping realities.  One of these realities was solid and tangibly material; it was the world I lived in as a sentient, embodied human being and where I lived my life in the flesh in the material universe.  The other reality was characterised by non-ordinary, other-worldly or what could be termed spiritual phenomena.  Though these phenomena constantly intruded into my daily life, the place from which they came, that is their source, was always seemingly just out of reach.  Since first becoming aware of the duality of these realities, and despite always wanting to have a sense of permanence in at least one of them, I was only ever beset by shadows from both.

When I was twenty years of age that changed because I encountered a body of knowledge, some would say a doctrine, which led me to become a student of an esoteric Christian School, and how I lived in the world and how I understood reality was never the same again.  It was never the same again because I realised that while I believed I was alive, I was merely the recipient of life, and while I knew of the existence of another kind of reality, a non-ordinary or other-worldly reality, I did not understand its’ significance.

As a result of being a student in this School, it now feels that the past, the present and the future continually merge and blend into a unique and dynamic state of being which I experience as ‘now’.  In this state of being it appears that all events coalesce or merge into an ongoing experience of life.  There is no ‘past’ or ‘future’, there are only moments or events which appear to be measurable fragments of time yet framing those moments or perhaps giving them shape and structure, is something profoundly spiritually abiding.  From this abiding there comes an unveiling; tentative at first until gradually a perpetual revealing of the world as it turns on the axis of the universe becomes visible.  And at times, barely discernible, there’s a pulse, a rhythm almost, that seems to beat or throb in time with something that resides beyond the senses.

October 29, 2021 /

Life has taught me that there is no death; there is only deathless existence as there are worlds within worlds, metaphorically speaking.  Life has also taught me, as it has others, that the event of death enables a human being to change their form from something that was once material to something non-material.  But there is more to it than that, and to state it so simply is to deny one of deaths’ roles as the doorway to our afterlife.

When we die, we enter the vastness of the spiritual universe, a world largely unexplored by most people.  Before that occurs, our lives can intersect with our death, as in for example when we experience shared-death events or near-death events.  These events teach us that we are more than our material selves and that existence continues after death, albeit in different form.  Such experiences can be deeply profound for the individual, creating psychological shifts and a reorganisation of their inner lives, their world views and belief systems, and ultimately, how they live in the world.

When I was grieving the death of my then husband, who had died in 2004, ‘life’ taught me that I had to find my rhythm with my grief.  I did find it and I found it in a way that was right for me.  Many people have said to me throughout my life that death is a mystery.  Dying isn’t, that’s all too real, but the meaning of death, its purpose in our lives, that doesn’t have to be a mystery and it won’t be if we can find our rhythm with it.  How we do this is intensely personal, unique, and dependent on numerous factors which may interconnect with other facets of our lives, which themselves can be subject to influence and change at any time.

From the perspective of an afterlife and a useful universe, what is death’s use and why would we contemplate it?  It seems to me that when we contemplate death, by default we also contemplate life, and when we contemplate life, we eventually ask ourselves, “What am I living for?”  Some people may never ask themselves that question, yet others, discontent with life are inwardly driven because they know life can be more meaningful and so they search for answers, or a way, or a signpost that will point them in a direction that is right for them.

My journey toward finding my rhythm with death and the afterlife began in my childhood, a formative period during which one of the things I learnt was that I had the power to think for myself.  I also learnt something else; that even though human beings can inflict untold misery, cruelty and suffering on one another, something fundamentally good exists over and above such people as it does the suffering they cause.  It was a harsh lesson for a child to learn, but as young as I was, I knew that my way of being in the world and how I wanted to live in the world was the result of my own inner decisions; it was later in life that I learnt that those inner decisions had to be contrary to life’s influences.  And it’s been that way ever since.

September 12, 2021 /

Just recently I was chatting with one of the presenters from the IANDS conference, at which I was also a featured speaker, who had spoken about the topic of shared near-death experiences.  Even though I’ve had several of these myself with both my father and my husband, I had not come across the publicising of the concept before, so was fascinated both by his work and by his own lived experience of the phenomena.

As researchers do, we talked about our research, our lived experience, and the impact of the phenomena we studied on ourselves and on our lives.  I told him that my research evidenced the fact that after-death contact humanises the experient; he liked that, not having heard such an interpretation before.    And the reason for that lay in the meaning that people drew from the subjective experience of their after-death contact, which also evidenced shared commonalities.

The impact of after-death contact challenges how we define and understand ourselves as human beings, how we define and understand ourselves as spiritual beings, and how, ultimately, we live in our social and cultural worlds.  It can shape or redefine previously held spiritual beliefs as it can awaken us to the reality of an afterlife, and to the understanding that death as an event in our lives represents a profound transformation enabling individuals to live as a spiritual being in the spiritual universe.

In reflecting on after-death contact, and shared-death experiences, it seems to me that the teaching being conveyed in such events is that physical death does not end or define an individual’s existence, and that death is actually a permeable barrier between material and non-material reality.

(CDMA, https://unsplash.com/photos/Sqo3LG0pMJM)

August 28, 2021 /

“… you’ve got a chance of joining them … death’s not the end of it”.
John, Ways of Being research study participant, 2011

I’m shortly to present the findings from my doctoral research at the upcoming International Association for Near-Death Studies (IANDS) conference, which is running from 1-5 September.  This is an opportunity to join with fellow researchers, experiencer’s, and other experts who work collectively to raise awareness, to normalise, and to offer support and information about near-death and other extraordinary or other-worldly experiences.

The quote from “John” captures the essence of my research, which is that death is not the end of our existence, and that we do have the chance of joining those close to us who have already died. Anyone, myself included, who has had a near-death experience knows the truth of that.

Over 20 people who had experienced the death of someone close to them chose to share their stories with me while I was undertaking my research.  Being able to present at the conference honours their trust in me as it does their contribution; without them the study would not have been able to be conducted.

The following words encapsulate or embody the nature and meanings of the experiences of the returning deceased which were shared with me during the conversations I had with study participants. In research-speak, it is referred to as ‘the Composite Depiction’, which doesn’t just reflect individual experiences, but qualities of the experience which permeated the whole group.  My research explored after-death contact, specifically, unsought encounters which were experienced randomly and unexpectedly.  In sharing them with you, the reader of this blog, it is my hope that you will perhaps find a sense of connection, maybe wonder, and a sense of rhythm with your own thoughts and feelings about death and the afterlife, or with someone close to you who has died.

It is an event which occurs unexpectedly, randomly, with little warning and which often takes one by surprise.  It appears to occur spontaneously and sometimes as if by coincidence in response to the emotional and psychological needs of the experient at the time. It can happen when sleeping or awake. For those who have never experienced non-material phenomena the event is transformative, while for those who have, the event is confirmative. It can take a variety of forms, but whichever form it takes, it is uniquely personal to the individual because it involves the person close to them who has died. It is something that is done to them, and not by them. 

When it is experienced, it is an event which amongst other purposes serves not only to educate and inform the experient regarding two forms of existence, one material and one non-material, it offers an invitation to understand life and one’s place in the universe from alternate perspectives. A cacophony of Feelings arise in response to this reaching out from the dead to the living and the mind turns inward in a concurrent effort to understand what it is that has taken place. Sometimes it is initially confusing because the mind struggles to conceptualise what that is in terms of what is already known. At other times it is a confirmation of what is already known. The experience causes an internal shift which has a rippling effect in the life of the experient as it does in the visible social and cultural world. The individual acts differently because they think differently. It can lead to psychopsiritual change resulting from the removal of illusory veils of understanding which hitherto blocked or distorted the individual’s perception regarding the nature of some aspects of reality.

Every time it happens, it seems that life is offering an invitation to the individual to consider what they are, as opposed to who they are. Some individuals experience a sense of communion or conjunction with the sacred, as understood by them, while others feel a sense of awe and wonder, and feel blessed by the experience. While for others, there are no words just feelings that cannot be put into words …

July 11, 2021 /

The sound of rumbling, a gurney swathed in white, caused her to start suddenly.  She’d fallen asleep in the chair while holding his hand.  Eyes flickered, moving swiftly from side to side under lids in a face pale and gaunt.  Twitching, all too familiar now, rippled erratically throughout his body causing it to jerk and spasm.  What time was it?  It was morning when they had come into the hospital.  A grating electronic beeping sound from an overhead monitor broke her train of thought.  Her neck was stiff.  10:30am.  It was 10:30am.

”We’ll insert that cannula now,” a faceless voice echoed.  She rubbed her eyes.  His hand reached out to her.  He hated needles.  The doctor was gentle, steadily plumping the vein, and then just as steadily, slowly, slowly, inserting the needle.  His grip tightened, fingers digging into and compressing her skin.

He lay back when it was over, exhausted.  Voices echoed along the corridor.  Conversational snippets intruded into the room that had become their world yet again.  “I’ll be here for four days,” he said.  She wondered how long that would be.  It was hot; there was no window.  Laughter burst in upon them.  “Lunches are here!”  A whole world existed in this place, this bed with curtains drawn, and both of them were a part of it.  “We have a bed for him.”  “Kenneth?”  “Number 5.”  Number 5.  Number 5.  Number 5.  Number 5; it reverberated in her mind.  “How do you cope?” a kind voice asked her as they had walked down the corridor.  “Sometimes I don’t,” she had responded.

A-Bay Ward.  Sickening stifling heat.  Where were the windows?  God they were all old, horrible old men.  Sick and wrinkled and crabbed.  Suffocating, she felt like she was suffocating.  Dead, she felt like he was already dead and she was standing in a cemetery.  She pulled the curtain around the bed trying to block it all out, to shield him.  Or was it to shield herself?  Both.  More faces peering into theirs.  More intrusive, nameless voices.  When would she wake up, when would they both wake up from this nightmare that never seemed to end?

She wondered what went through his mind as he lay there, shrunken and small.  He never really spoke about it very much.  What did he think about during the long hours?  His eyes flickered, his breathing paced, fingers touching one another as if to seek assurance.  “Would the owner of car number NSB 448 contact the switchboard please?”  Beads of perspiration were forming slowly on his forehead.  An intake of breath, cool air flowing around her ankles.  “How do you spell origami?” a woman’s voice boomed into their space.  “Crippled, if you’re crippled you are…?”  “Does it mean you’re lame?”  The voices droned on around them, the woman’s loud, raucous; the man’s muted, barely audible.

Through a slit in the curtain she could see that the man sitting opposite was asleep holding his cup.  Would it fall she wondered?  She needed to touch up her lipstick, perfume too.  The ritualistic behaviour was calming, normal, something that made sense in a world that illness had manufactured for them.  It was a world where there was no sense anymore because everything had fallen in upon itself until reality had blurred.  He moved.  She wiped the sweat off his brow.

He was sleeping now.

She remembered that she had to pay the rent.  She had seen a jumper that she liked, perhaps she would buy it.  Voices.  “Are you going to the cafeteria?”  “No, I’m going downstairs.”  It might make her feel better if she bought something.  She felt her emotions rising to the surface.  She hated that happening.  She turned to check on him.  He seemed peaceful, silent.  It was so quiet at home without him.  She slept alone with a pillow in her arms.

She looked at him again.  She never really knew what he was thinking.  Was he dreaming as he lay there she wondered?  She must ring friend number one, and then friend number two.  Had she eaten today, yes at breakfast, some fruit, coffee.  Maybe she would buy that jumper, maybe.  “What we’ll do is get Beverly to bring your own frame in, if you can manage with this …”  Their voices drifted down the corridor as they walked past the room.  “Would the owner of a black Golf, registration number NSB 448 contact reception please.”

The cleaner emptied the bin next to his bed.  The man sitting in the chair opposite dozed.  Life went along in this world within a world as surely as it did out of it.  He coughed, twice, and was still again, his breathing regular.  She didn’t ask why any more, she just accepted that at this time it was this way.  Somebody had asked her once if she thought it was Karma that he had sickened in such a way.  Voices intruded.  “So which one is better, we have to decide which one you’ll be taking home.”  No it wasn’t Karma, it was just life.  Voices intruded.  “What about the pain, does it make a difference?”  No it wasn’t Karma, it was just life.  Voices intruded.  “That’s it, that’s the one!”  No, it wasn’t Karma.  It was just life.  Just life.  Just life.  Just life.  She blinked her eyes, her nose was running.

When would they wake up?  When would they both wake up from this agonising moment that seemed to make a mockery of eternity?  He coughed, gently this time.  It was early afternoon.  The light had softened.  She had to go.  She tried not to feel sorry for herself.  She thought of what he was going through.  What colour was that jumper again?  How awful he must feel.  But he kept so much from her.  She never really knew, she had never really known.  Another intrusion. “Hello, I’m Peggy; I’ll be looking after Ken.”  So terribly pleasant in a world that was anything but.

The sun was low when she walked outside.  Something caught her eye.  A shaft of sunlight fell on a single cluster of daffodils surrounded by the large leaves of the mother plant.  In the midst of this sprawled a large, fat, ugly, prickly nettle.  The juxtaposition of the daffodil and the nettle seemed significant to her in some way.  She stood there pondering, and then she suddenly understood that what she was looking at was the reflection of a manufactured life which was as achingly beautiful as it was painfully ugly.

June 28, 2021 /

I had a conversation recently with someone about the afterlife.  Well it wasn’t so much a conversation as rather a brief exchange of words.  I happened to mention that the best is yet to be, which as any reader of this blog knows aligns with my particular spiritual belief system and world view.  There was a stiffening of body posture, and then a look of pity came my way coupled with a firm and authoritative statement alluding to the fact that there is no continuance of life after death, that this life is the only life, and that to think otherwise is quite frankly just sad, a bit pathetic and false hope.

As I watched the person walk away confident in their knowledge that material existence was the only form of life, and that once dead we cease to exist, I reflected on the experiences which had peppered my life from the time I was a child.  Each of these, without exception, have taught me as they have others, that what we are and how we exist does not end with our death, it only changes.  Death is the putting off of the physical body and as an event in our lives, allows us to live as spiritual beings in the spiritual universe.

Every event I have ever had in my life, every heartbreak, every triumph, every betrayal, every physical illness, every joy, every revelation and every mystical experience has not only revealed to me the illusory nature of the material universe in which I live, but that something vast, something profoundly intelligent and loving co-exists with it, out of sight yet present nonetheless, out of sight yet subtly and gently interweaving itself with everything around me.  Everything that has ever happened to me in my life has brought me closer to that loving vastness, and every day I grow more aware of its presence in my life.

I have just finished a Social Work qualifying master’s degree, and in my final assessment task, an essay, for the final unit of study, made reference to the fact that my identity as a human being was inextricably tied to and interwoven with my identity as a social worker.  We are married in the true sense because not only do we share the same values, but that completing the degree has fed my humanity and grown my spirit.  As an event in the journey of my life course it has equipped me with skills, knowledge and understanding to confront inequality and injustice, but more than that, it has helped me evolve as a human being because it has contributed to the shaping of my soul.  This in turn will influence how I engage with all other people as much as it will the footsteps I leave behind me.

Photograph by Igo Vitomirov, Misty Forest Road

May 30, 2021 /

Moments are curious events, often catching one unawares.  Like life, which also has a tendency to catch one unawares.  I seem to have lots of moments which have a familiar theme.  I even recently wrote about that theme in the final assignment, an essay, for my masters Social Work degree which I have just finished after studying part-time since 2016.  That theme is the importance of spiritual growth and development and the intersection or relationship of that with the afterlife.

I’ve always known, since childhood, that there was a loving vastness standing behind what my senses told me was reality and that that vastness was the source of everything manifesting as matter in the physical universe.  I didn’t understand that intellectually, that came later when I entered the tavern of ruin.  But I felt it; I had the knowing of it in the depths of my being.  And though I’ve now grown into adulthood and have the lived experience of vulnerability in both its positive and negative aspects, that knowing has continually nurtured my soul, sustained it, and given it direction.  It has never wavered; it has always been true and constant as has the source from whence it came.

I have known many people in my life, some in a casual way, others more intimately or personally.  Amongst the faces there are some I don’t see anymore because life has taken them in a different direction to mine, but their presence, despite their absence, has been stamped on my soul.  In quiet moments I connect with them, reaching through time and space, knowing them again and comforted by the fact that though our paths may no longer conjoin in this life, it will in the next.  There are bonds between some souls which exist outside of space and time, which link them such that when death comes they are able to reunite once again, unfettered by the social mores and constraints of the day.

April 28, 2021 /

When those we love die, we embark on a journey of the heart.  We begin in bereavement.  The experience of loss deprives us of a living presence, a loved one.  Our daily lives are thrown in disarray.  Our life stories careen off their expected courses.  Our connections with the larger contexts within which we find meaning are strained.  We feel devastated and helpless in the face of forces and events we could not control.  

(Thomas Attig, 2000, p. 281).

‘Discourse’, a somewhat scholarly term for what is otherwise an art of conversation, can serve as both a  social and cultural boundary and an indicator at one and the same time.  And while some discourse, or conversation, may be contentious and perhaps prone to heated debate (especially for those holding contrary or opposing views and opinions), they can also complement one another too, providing valuable perspectives and possibly opening up further fields of enquiry for all concerned.  And while that may be the case, extrapolating key elements from varying discourses such as care for the dying and the bereaved, reveal a complex socially constructed reality in which we all live, especially in the West.  What is ‘right’, what is ‘not right’?  What is ‘appropriate’ what is ‘not appropriate’?

I used to work in a professional context in which I supported bereaved adults and children.  In this role, I also worked alongside (to varying degrees) psychologists, psychiatrists, psychotherapists, physicians and clinical social and welfare workers, all who had their own bereavement and grief narratives and associated discourse.  Within this mix of health and allied health professionals, the discourse relating to models of grieving and their applicability often ranged from the Five Stages of Grief theory (Elisabeth Kubler-Ross, 1973),  to the Complicated Grief model (Horowitz et. al., 1993, pp. 904-910; Lichtenthal et. al., 2004, pp. 637-662: Prigerson et. al., 1996, pp. 1484-1486) to the Continuing Bonds model (Klass & Steffen, 2018).

Adding to this complexity was always the issue of power, authority and credibility.  Who is more credible, the psychiatrist, the bereavement worker or the bereaved?  Who has the authority to influence policy and determine guidelines for appropriate service provision for the bereaved?  And in the midst of all of this where do the bereaved sit?  How do they feel about all this theorising and power-play which impacts them?

In categorising grief as a disease, Glass (2005) comes to the conclusion that sometimes it is.  In poignantly articulating that the painful process of normal grief following bereavement certainly warrants sympathy and concern he then blandly states that complicated grief warrants more research about effective ways to prevent and treat it.  I often wonder how the bereaved would feel, if they knew that there were so many people so ready to classify their grief, and what’s more, make determinations for their welfare based on those social constructions?

How do you comfort an 81 year old widow, whose husband has died after 56 years of marriage, who comes to see you 18 months after his death?  Do you ship her off to a mental health professional who will prescribe anti-depressant medication, or do you just listen, and be present in the shared moment of overwhelming grief and passionate sadness (McKissock, pers. com. September 2006).  For me, it’s the latter.  Perhaps for those whose discourse is framed within a psychological/psychiatric discourse, it would no doubt be the former. But then, that is the essence of competing discourses, is it not?

 

Photo by Markus Winkler on Unsplash

April 2, 2021 /

“Of all the sciences cultivated by mankind, Astronomy is acknowledged to be, and undoubtedly is, the most sublime, the most interesting, and the most useful.  For, by knowledge derived from this science, not only the bulk of the Earth is discovered … but our very faculties are enlarged with the grandeur of the ideas it conveys, our minds exalted above low contracted prejudices”.

James Ferguson, Astronomy Explained Upon Sir Isaac Newton’s Principles, And Made Easy To Those Who Have Not Studied Mathematics (1757).

 

The title for my March blog takes its name and inspiration from an article with the same name written by Neil deGrasse Tyson and published in the April 2007 magazine, Natural History.  Astrophysicist and director of the Hayden Planetarium in New York City, Tyson writes with an exquisite eloquence, like Ferguson quoted above, about our place in the cosmos and offers an invitation to acknowledge a “collective immaturity of view”.

Tyson is talking about the possibility of a shift in one’s view of themselves and of their place in the universe from one deluded and influenced by notions of vanity, superiority and self-grandeur, to one in which a sense of connectedness forms a relationship with something bigger, something vaster than ourselves.  Many years ago, I entered a School which taught how to do just that and reading Tyson’s words took me back to the first time I encountered the teacher of that School and the knowledge of the Fourth Way.  Little did I know then what the impact of that would be, nor how it would continue to shape my view of myself and my place in the universe.

Everyone has unique life experiences which shape and influence how they live in the world and how they treat others, and realising one’s nothingness, one’s insignificance before the utter majesty and grandeur of the universe can be a profound humbling experience as much as a rich educational one.  When we feel our nothingness, when we understand and experience the meaning of that, the implication becomes clear.  It is our ego and its arrogance and its self-love and vanity which is seen for what it is, and it can be a bitter pill to swallow.  But with that bitterness comes the knowing, the assuredness, the certainty that there is a vast and loving intelligence, far greater than any human being is capable of, which is responsible for the gyrations of the universe and our connectedness with those gyrations.

February 14, 2021 /

 

Softly, softly, stealing through time,

Softly, softly, hearts entwine.

Softly, softly, crossing time and space,

Softly, softly, two hearts embrace.

 

Through death’s doorway I catch your breath … no more in life!

My lament echoes through the ether … no more in life!

No more can my fingers touch your face.

No more can my arms clasp in heartfelt embrace.

No more!  No more!  For I dwell in one world,

you now another, separated, divided, yet united by grief.

 

Oh, what great cataclysm divides!

Oh, what great and unutterable sorrow enmeshes!

Oh, what encompassing darkness now enshrouds you, you,

whose heart is married to mine; you, now gone, now dead.

I keen!  I keen!  My heart is rent, my world bereft.

You my harbour, you whose blood flowed in mine, you whom I love.

I keen!  I keen!  Oh, what calamity is this!

 

Softly, softly, stealing through time,

Softly, softly, hearts entwine.

Softly, softly, crossing time and space,

Softly, softly, two hearts embrace.

 

But wait.  I see you.  There.

There you lie prostrate in your grief as I do in mine.

Our grief has woken the slumbering and transcended time.

Your heart is broken … I cannot bear the grief; it surely cannot be borne.

It fills my soul to overflowing.

I am drowning, I am drowning without you my love, I am drowning.

 

But I am here.  I have come like the dawn unto the moonlit sky,

I have come, I have come to you.

You feel me, you know me, yes, it is I.

You feel me, you know me, come from on High.

Ah my heart, my heart!  My love’s sweet desire!

Your soul quickens as my love enfolds you and you know, you know, I am come.

My love enfolds you and you know I am here, enabled

to come from the evermore, enabled to love you from beyond death’s door.

 

And then the rent once again, the sharp divide, the familiar

anguished gasp of breath and waste of soul.

Not again!  Not again!  No, my love not again!  Don’t leave!

I will die a thousand deaths, I will die a thousand deaths, no, not again.

Our grief becomes the plaintive shrill of unbearable separation

and I feel our sorrow echoing in a fathomless void, and amidst the

resounding darkness of our torment I hear our words; “Stay”, she says, “Come”, he says.

 

Softly, softly, stealing through time,

Softly, softly, hearts entwine.

Softly, softly, crossing time and space,

Softly, softly, two hearts embrace.

 

… stay … come … stay …

… come … stay … come ….

… stay … come … stay … come …

Here now.

Here. Now.