An 18 month-old girl lay dying of diphtheria in January of 1944. It was before the widespread use of antibiotics. In fact, the antibiotics were reserved for the troops fighting in World War II. That’s where the little girl’s father was”¦on Iwo Jima.
The young mother took her fever-ridden child to the hospital in hopes that something could be done to save her precious child. The mother was told that there was little that could be done. The fever was much too high for the child to survive. Ice water and alcohol rubs could not control the fever. A few hours later, the mother was told that her beloved daughter, her first and only child, had died.
Within minutes, a frantic doctor ran back into the waiting room to tell the young mother that her child had come back to life!
Before the evening sun set, the child was sitting up in her crib playing with her dolly as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. The fever was gone. The mottled extremities were pink with health. The child giggled shyly as the parade of doctors and nurses came in to see her. They brought more toys and stuffed animals than the little crib could hold. They asked questions like, “What’s your dolly’s name?” They marveled at the bright eyes and quick responses of the child that surely should have been brain damaged.
My name is RobinRenee, and I was that little girl. I remember nothing about the event. Nor do I remember when I realized that if I opened my eyes just as I was drifting off to sleep, my room would become an Alice in Wonderland delight.
I learned to fly to the ceiling turning flips in the ether like a trapeze artist. I looked down on my body as it lay sleeping. I stretched the perimeters of my room until it felt smooth to me. I let it curl in upon itself like a nautilus shell. I walked on my “nautilus shell” room leaving footprints as if it were wet sand. Then the room would quickly unwind, spinning me along with it until I ended up in the far corner of the ceiling. This dizzying ride was one of my favorite games.
As time passed, I realized that I saw the world in a way that others didn’t. I saw people and things that others could not see. I told my parents about these people and things. They patronizingly listened to my “stories,” and then they smiled and assumed that I had imaginary friends and some outlandish ideas.
Frequently the people I saw were “dead” relatives. I knew they couldn’t really be “dead” because they looked too alive. They were beautiful and luminous. They were happy and active. There was nothing “dead” about them.
Today I see that all living things pulsate with energy and movement, light and color. The people that I see tell me that I still can’t see the complete picture. My physical eyes see only three primary colors in a world of a million primary colors. They tell me that when I drop my body and pass through the veil, I will be able to see all these colors that are now hidden from me. And I will hear the colors and feel them too.
They tell me that leaving this world is like passing from one room into another room, and that there is not one moment of unconsciousness. Even though a physical body may be unconscious at the moment of death, the soul is conscious and totally aware of what is happening. The soul gently coaches the body to let go of it.
They tell me that the physical world and the spirit world are one world. We’re not able to see it because the physical senses are a barrier between this world and the real world. There is no separation between the two worlds in the same way that our world is not separated from the world of a fetus in its mother’s womb. The fetus cannot see the world of its family that exists all around it, but it’s there.
When the silver cord detaches and we drop the body, we will be able to see clearly how all this exists together. We will see the angelic creatures called Joy and Exaltation as they enfold us while we translate from the gross earthly flesh into our radiant and tangible spirit body. They tell me that I cannot imagine, even in my wildest dreams, how exquisite the experience is.
Ó Copyright 2005 RobinRenee Bridges
About the Author:
RobinRenee Bridges has been a chaplain and officer in The Sanctuary for more than thirty years. She is the author of “A Bridge of Love between Heaven and Earth: Self-Induced Contact in the Afterlife.” For more articles about death, dying, and the afterlife visit her web site at: http://www.spirit-sanctuary.org