by Paul Elder
The more I thought about our existence, the more intrigued I became with the concept of consciousness. Where exactly was the seat of consciousness within a human? If it is within the brain, as science dictates, then what was it that allowed me to travel thousands of miles away from my brain and remain a thinking, self-aware individual? It was becoming obvious to me that consciousness is not at all dependent upon the brain. The brain is only a secondary factor in control of our physical existence. It is merely an electronic relay system—something that translates the mind's thoughts into actions and reactions within our physical bodies.
I began to wonder if it would be possible to focus the thinking process at another location within the body other than the brain. Would it be possible, for example, to move my consciousness into my foot? I wanted to try, but couldn't imagine how this might be accomplished.
I decided to just go for it. Almost immediately, I felt a change in internal vibration, and my perception became clouded and confused. I hadn't a clue where I was, but I could feel the flow of liquid surging past me in a steady rhythm. Too disoriented to make any sense of what was happening, I decided to withdraw to an external point of view. After a brief feeling of movement, I found myself floating several inches away from my right foot.
I had somehow become a mere microscopic version of myself. With no perception of having any type of body, it felt like I had been reduced to the tiniest spark of conscious energy. Reorienting myself, I settled on re-entering my leg just above the ankle. In an instant I found myself back where I had started. It felt like I was inside a main artery, but with my vision extremely blurred, I couldn't be sure. If this was going to be of any value at all, I needed to be able to see. I recalled the incident within the darkness of my refrigerator and thought if it worked once, it should work again. I asked for clarity. Almost as quickly as the thought entered my mind, everything around me came clearly into focus.
The sensation was overwhelming, almost too much to handle. Surrounded in a flood of red and pink, a beam of light seemed to come from within me, lighting the way. It reminded me of TV medical shows where tiny cameras had been inserted through small holes into a patient's body. I could feel the flow of the liquid surging past me, and I could hear the sound of blood swishing through the artery. It seemed as though I was moving steadily along, against the flow of blood, pulled in the direction of my upper body.
In just a few moments, the sound of swooshing liquid swelled and I knew I had arrived at the center of my body. Surprised at the loudness of my pumping heart, I felt jostled about, the motion and flow of blood, agitated and powerful. But why, I wondered, was my heart beating so fast? It seemed a lot faster than usual. Considering the possibility that my own mental excitement might be contributing to the increased pounding, I decided I should find another place to hang out. This was new territory for me, and I wasn't sure how this might be affecting my body.
As I thought of other places to go, I felt a tug at my consciousness, distracting me, drawing me out of my altered state. I tried to resist, but to no avail. A moment later, I was back to normal awareness, wondering what had happened.
At some point during the session, I had rolled over onto my side. The headphones digging into the side of my head had become extremely uncomfortable—and that's all it took.
Thrilled with my short excursion, I lay in bed contemplating the potential inner bodywork such as this might have for medicine. If trained medical people could be taught to make similar journeys into patients' bodies, the diagnostic possibilities could be enormous. Maybe this was how Edgar Cayce, the famous medical psychic, had been able to give accurate readings on the medical conditions of his clients. If only this inner-body exploration could be duplicated at will, I thought, the ramifications for the future could be exciting.
Our last session over, everyone was sad that we would soon be leaving such a wonderful place. There were hugs and tears all around. It had been a great week. We had learned so much about consciousness, the reach of the mind, and the power of the spirit. But most of all, we had all come to a greater understanding of our own existence.
Back home, the energy I had generated during my time at the Institute stayed with me for weeks. My recall of nightly dreams increased dramatically, the images and emotions often remaining throughout the day.
I thought about how much simpler my life had been before these experiences began. I knew the answers to many questions that previously I hadn't even contemplated. It was becoming increasingly obvious to me that we know so little about the nature of our own reality. We just go about our lives, working, eating, and sleeping, trying to survive and maintain our existence in this material world. Forgotten are the times in our childhood when almost anything was possible, a time when we truly wondered about who we were and how we got here. I felt like I was inching closer to some answers, but there was so much more to learn.
Occasionally, while dreaming, I encountered the boy who had visited me in spirit form at the Institute. Although it was never entirely clear, I had the impression we were brothers, spending hours together in boyhood fantasies. Intrigued by the familiarity and friendship his presence evoked, I was nonetheless shocked by my next discovery.
My sister, Josie, and I had been close for years and I often shared with her my experiences and the things I was learning. It was during one of these long conversations I mentioned my encounter with the boy and my subsequent dreams. When I suggested that he felt like a brother, I was taken aback by her reply. “Well, don't be surprised if he really is your brother,” she stated, excitement in her voice.
“What do you mean?” I asked. “How could he be my brother?”
Josie then went on to tell me a story I had never heard, or at least didn't recall. She recounted that when I was about two years old, a year after my brother Dale was born, our mother became pregnant with her twelfth child. Several months into her pregnancy, she had gone outside to fetch a pail of water from a well in the yard. A thunderstorm had just passed through the area and the pump-handle was still wet with rain. While she was working the handle, a bolt of lightning struck the pump. A huge jolt of electricity exploded down the wet handle sending our mother flying. Although she wasn't seriously injured, the baby didn't make it. It was a boy.
I couldn't believe my ears. How could I not have known this? Why hadn't I been told? Josie explained that we were very young at the time, and it was something our mother never felt comfortable talking about. There was no reason to tell us.
Although angry at being left out of the loop on this bit of family history, I was grateful for the validation. Strangely enough, since that day, other than one fleeting glimpse of his smiling face, I have neither seen nor dreamt about him. Perhaps, the contact served its purpose and there is no longer a need to maintain the connection. But I know in my heart that someday we'll be together again.
During the summer of 1992, my sister Evalina was rushed to the hospital with a ruptured pancreas. It's a very serious ailment and, within a short time, it advanced to the point where there was little medically that could be done for her. Within a couple of days, she lapsed into a coma and was put on life support with little chance of recovery.
Our family was in shock. Other than our brother-in-law, Albert, and our mother's earlier miscarriage, we hadn't lost any members of our immediate family. Suddenly we found ourselves facing our own mortality. Even though the doctors had expected her to live only a few days more, we took up a vigil at the hospital, praying that they were wrong and that Evalina would somehow make a miraculous recovery. To everyone's surprise, the days stretched into weeks, the weeks into months. Some days she would show small signs of improvement, only to dash our hopes in the following days, sliding ever closer to death.
While at The Monroe Institute I had learned methods of remote healing. We had been taught how to send healing energies to others, even at great distances. Scientific studies had shown compelling evidence that the healing process could be dramatically assisted th
rough focused prayer. Sending healing energies while out-of-body could be even more effective.
Although I felt the need to contribute to the healing efforts of my family's prayers, I struggled with the appropriateness of doing so without my sister's permission. But how do you get permission from someone in a coma?
A statement I had heard at The Monroe Institute contributed to my mental struggle. “Every disease known to man can be cured, but not every person can be healed.” They said that some things were just meant to be. According to some, everyone has a plan as to how their life will play out, the challenges they'll face, and the lessons they hope to learn. I felt the truth of this statement. As much as I loved my sister, I wasn't sure I should mess with her soul's karmic choices.
Eventually, I decided I couldn't just sit back and do nothing. I didn't know if there were consequences for someone who interferes with another's spiritual plans, but on several occasions, when I was able to move into an altered state, I attempted to contact my sister's spirit to ask permission to send her healing energy. I could never seem to get through. Perhaps it was because I was too involved emotionally. Or maybe I hadn't yet learned enough about the spirit world to make the connection. Each time, after trying unsuccessfully to connect with her spirit, I asked for forgiveness if I was intruding and then with great focus, mentally bathed her body in healing energy. Each time, I hoped and prayed I was doing the right thing, but if her healing was not meant to be, I knew that we might only be delaying the inevitable.
Staying in contact with the family, we checked on Evalina's condition almost daily. I did find on a few occasions that her condition seemed to improve shortly after I had sent the healing energy. However, in my still skeptical mind, I could never be sure that it wasn't just coincidence.
For months, our roller coaster ride continued. Day to day, our hopes were raised and then dashed. Beyond the doctor's amazement that she continued to defy the odds, it seemed that we had little to be hopeful for. It was rare for anyone to survive as long as she had, and this in itself gave us hope that perhaps another miracle was possible.
One night in early November, after going to bed late, I attempted another spirit journey to help Evalina. After trying for an hour without headway, I gave up and dropped off to sleep.
The next thing I knew, a rush of vibration jarred me back into awareness. There followed a swift movement and I found myself floating over the nurses' station in the hospital's intensive care unit. It took me a moment to figure out where I was, but I was able to look directly into my sister's room. Although I couldn't actually see them, I was aware of beings on either side of me. They had brought me to this place, and I was not afraid.
Focusing my attention on Evalina's room, I saw her lying on the bed. To the right side of the bed sat her daughter, Jackie; on the other side, a nurse was busily checking monitoring equipment. Realizing that it had to be nearly 3:00 A.M. I wondered why Jackie would be there at that time of the night.
It soon became apparent that something was wrong. While the nurse scurried about, Jackie appeared agitated. As I watched intently, a wispy, shimmering energy-form began to emerge from my sister's body. Floating into a vertical position a few feet above the bed, she paused for a moment to look in Jackie's direction, and then turned toward me.
Although appearing a bit confused, Evalina looked radiant. A warm smile of recognition spread across her face. I tried to smile back, but the excitement was too much. In a flash, I was back in my body.
Immediately awakening my wife, I told her I thought Evalina had either just died or had suffered a major trauma. Candace suggested that I phone the hospital, but, in the wee hours of the morning, it might have seemed weird, so I resisted. I reasoned that if something had happened, we would undoubtedly receive a call in the morning. I didn't want to be spooking anybody.
Morning arrived and then midafternoon, but no one called. I'm not sure if Candace was beginning to doubt me, but I knew what I had seen. I also knew one thing more: Evalina was ready to make her transition. I somehow knew that she was now looking forward to the release. It was meant to be. I would not be attempting any more healing sessions.
Two days later, Candace and I made the three-hour trip to the hospital. While I sat with Evalina, my wife visited with other family members. After a while, I headed back to the waiting room where Candace and my niece were in conversation. Jackie addressed me immediately, “Uncle Paul, how did you know about mom?”
A bit surprised, I asked, “How did I know what?”
“Aunt Candi was just telling me that on Wednesday night you knew that Mom's heart quit, and you knew that I was at the hospital with her. That's so amazing, it's scary.”
I sat down and told her what I had seen. Wiping away tears, she confirmed that indeed, early on Wednesday morning, at about ten minutes to three, her mother's heart had temporarily stopped. The nursing staff had previously been instructed to not attempt resuscitation. Believing Evalina might be dying, they had called Jackie in from the waiting room.
Jackie told us that it was just coincidence that she was in the hospital at the time. She normally would have been home with her family, but her husband was spending a few days away with their sons. Rather than stay at home by herself she had decided to spend the night at the hospital. She was sleeping in the waiting room when the nurse came to get her. Evalina's heart had stopped for more than two minutes before starting again. Even though I had been certain of what I had seen, the validation sent chills up my spine.
I still wondered who had brought me to the hospital at that precise moment. Somebody had been guiding me. I knew it would be just a matter of time before I found out who.
5
To Die Again
So is it still by chance or sad intent
Destruction looms with our consent
While thoughts, the thief within our heads
Leave us fearful in our beds?
The autumn of 1992 proved to be very mild across the Midwest. While our sister continued to defy all odds by clinging to life, distracted as the family was, our lives went on.
I had been an athlete and hockey player all my life. But, by the age of 41, I was already too slow and old to be playing a young man's game, so I contented myself with a position on a local old-timers' team. It was a lot of fun, and we got a bit of exercise at the same time. We were, however, your typical “weekend warriors,” going from relative inactivity during the week to all out battles on weekends. It was during one of these robust outings that providence dealt me another unexpected hand.
Although my leg muscles felt stiff, everything else seemed normal as I made my way to the arena for our Sunday morning scrimmage. Looking forward to a good workout, I laced up my skates and headed out onto the ice with my team. It wasn't long before we were racing up and down the ice, firing frozen pucks at our aging goaltenders.
After only a few minutes of play, I was becoming surprisingly tired, when midstride, it felt like I had been hit in the chest with a sledgehammer. My legs nearly buckled beneath me. I had no idea what was happening. Utterly exhausted, I stumbled off the playing surface.
I couldn't believe how winded I had become. Even after several minutes on the bench, I still struggled to catch my breath, and, to top it all off, a sharp, deep pain began to develop in my left elbow. I couldn't remember hurting myself and had no idea why it should be so sore. The pain, however, seemed to grow more severe with each passing moment. Nauseous and sweating profusely, I was beginning to think that I might have come down with food poisoning or flu.
As the minutes dragged, the pain in my elbow became unbearable, my breathing difficult and labored. It was obvious that I was too sick to continue playing, so I decided to go home. Heading to the dressing room, I changed into my street clothes, and in less than five minutes I was ready to leave.
My equipment bag in tow, I pushed the door open and, struggling to keep my balance, staggered into the hallway. I was beginning to think that my problems might be more
than just food poisoning. Instead of heading home I should be going to the hospital. Fortunately, an alert rink attendant took one look at me, and rushed off to call an ambulance.
With each passing minute my condition seemed to worsen. Before long, I was leaning against a wall, trying to maintain my balance. Just the simple act of breathing was painful. No longer able to stand, I dropped to my knees and slumped to the floor just as a couple of my teammates popped around the corner to see how I was doing. Alarmed, they propped my head up on a towel as the rink attendant returned to announce an ambulance was on its way.
Soon the rest of the team gathered around me in the hallway. Their hushed tones and concerned looks suggested that this probably wasn't one of my better days. Closing my eyes, I tried to ignore the numbing pain and slowly I drifted towards sleep.
The sound of running feet and clattering wheels jarred me back to awareness. I opened my eyes as two paramedics, aided by a couple of my teammates, lifted me onto a stretcher. In a moment, we were whizzing through the halls of the arena and out the front doors to the ambulance.
The female attendant quickly strapped an oxygen mask to my face, and the siren wailed as we roared out of the parking lot and onto the street. She asked my name and address, but as I tried to respond, it sounded like I was speaking in an empty barrel, my voice strangely hollow. I fell silent. Aware that the young lady was still talking to me, I tried hard to concentrate on her words, but it proved impossible. Nothing she was saying made any sense.
I became aware of a buzzing sensation building in my ears. The sound grew louder, and for the first time I experienced fear. Panicking, I fought to maintain control, but it was a losing battle. Soon I was struggling to keep my eyes focused. Everything turned hazy and then, with the sound of whooshing air, the world around me began to close in. Within moments I could no longer see nor hear and an eerie gray mist flooded my perception. Nervously, I waited for whatever was next.