" Don't worry, child. You are Loved."

Probably the most profound (or, one of the most profound--it's hard to quantify these things!) experience I have had with being out of my physical body was when I was waking up from a surgery. I did not make a conscious decision to leave my body, but that is what happened.

It was about two years ago, in 2011. I had been battling (which was part of the problem—I had been “battling” with my body, not realizing that illness is no "war") with chronic sinus infections. The pain and pressure in my face had gotten so bad, that many times I begged to die. I told my partner I was ready to die. At the worst of it, I had a migraine-like headache for five months straight, with not a single day of reprieve. And, to top it off, I was in graduate school, trying desperately to earn a PhD--trying desperately not to drop out; trying desperately to read complex books every day; trying desperately to cut through and ignore the pain and write papers; and, trying desperately to teach students and do my job. It was a living hell. The worst time of my life.

So, not knowing any better, I capitulated to the promise of an easy fix: surgery. Western Medicine. The slash and stitch approach. My doctor assured me I would be cured, if he just went in with some scissors and balloons and snipped and cleared out my sinus passages. I was very hopeful.

As I was under the anesthesia, I left my body. Entirely. What was "me" was no longer me. Nope. Now I was—something else. I was both larger and smaller than what I see before me every day in waking, “normal” life. I was in...and I was more in than out.

All around me where moving constellations, bright erupting planets of gold and green and blue. The colors were more vivid, more rich, more utterly pleasing to my senses (which were more than simply sight, sound, taste, etc…my senses were ALL senses, then—I could truly SENSE) than I had ever before experienced. Although I had no logical thoughts at that time, and thus could not articulate it in words then, looking back I think about what it felt like to me…and the only way I can describe it is being completely safe and warm and wrapped in love. I loved all and all was loved by me and all that was "me" was love.

After floating peacefully and ecstatically in this gravity-less and time-less place, there came a voice, as I began to wake up in the hospital bed. The voice was a woman. An older woman. Her voice had a soothing, deep, almost singing pull to it. The words were like a song. She said to me, “Don’t worry, child. You are loved. Do Reiki on yourself for thirty days and you will be healed. And do Reiki on Andrew, your partner, for thirty days, also.”

As I awoke, as I stumbled to open my heavy eyes, a nurse was holding my hand, and saying, “Hello there” cheerfully. A few minutes passed, and then Andrew was by my side, the nurse instructing him that I was coming around. As I tried to form words and failed, I remember smiling. The biggest smile I have probably ever smiled up to that point in my life so far. All was well. I could continue with my life, knowing this great secret. 

Since then, I have tried to tell others about what I experienced. I can say with surety that I have been back to that place since then, in different contexts and using different tools. And, even now, writing this post seems lacking. The truth of that space is beyond words, beyond logic.

But, as I am still a mortal being, in my thirtieth year of life, I can imagine no better way to spend this afternoon than typing out these words, hoping that perhaps someone can find these words--and, somehow, know something new.