I

DIED

THREE TIMES

IN

1977

P.M.H. ATWATER

IDIED

THREE TIMESIN

1977

ByP. M. H. ATWATER

Printed byYou Can Change Your Life

P.O. Box 7691Charlottesville, VA 22906-07691

INTRODUCTION

Hi there! My name is P.M.H. Atwater. In 1977 it is mybelief I physically died three times. Because of what I sawand experienced, my life has never been the same since...nor have I. Though I was seriously ill, I was never hospi-talized. Doctors were summoned only after the fact. Thismeans I do not have documented proof I was actually dead.

This little book, then, is one woman’s story. Just a story.And as with all stories, some people will believe it andsome won’t, some will find it interesting and some willthink it hogwash. That’s okay. It really doesn’t matter to mehow people label it or what conclusion they reach. You see,their opinions don’t change any thing. Not at all. What hap-pened, happened. Nothing can change that. It was a longnightmare that became a phenomenal blessing. It was a timewhen my world and everything in it came to a crashing halt.Not once, but three times.

What I saw on the “other” side is like nothing else I’veheard anyone else describe. Oh, there are some similarities,but that’s about it. It took nearly two years to rebuild mybody. I had very little money or insurance and wasn’t get-ting anywhere with regular medical treatments. The worstof the symptoms were gone but I was still sick and con-fused. So, I took a daring step for me. I left orthodox med-ical care and committed myself to a program of “naturalhealing” in all its many forms and variables. I had to startfrom the bottom up: crawling, standing, walking, running,climbing, hearing, seeing, reasoning, relating, telling leftfrom right. Sometimes I lost more ground than I gained. Iwas determined though, and I made it. Not only did I getwell, but I’m now younger, healthier, happier, more at peacethan ever before in my life.

There are really two main stories to what happened to me

©

COPYRIGHT1980by

P. M. H. ATWATER

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be repro-duced or utilized in any form by any means without per-

mission of the author.

FIRST EDITION, NOVEMBER, 1980SECOND EDITION, MARCH, 1998

Published shed in the United States of America

You Can Change Your LifeP.O. Box 7691

Charlottesville, VA 22906-07691

Page Three

what they experienced, they returned panic-stricken, deny-ing all the stories of beauty told by others and claiming anyform of heaven to be a figment of imagination and wishfulthinking. The metaphysical or more abstract thinkers (thosepeople more open to variables than to any form of dogma ortradition) most often experienced incredible dimensions ofhigher learning, guides and masters, light beings, and near-ly impossible-to-describe phenomena. Those that diedbelieving they would sleep until awakened by Gabriel,reported a black darkness, a feeling of being trapped andalone, stranded.

What I’ve finally come to realize is we truly and most lit-erally create our own realities. When we die, the reality wecreated is where we will live and what we will become. Ourconscious minds, our thinking, our words, seem to have lit-tle bearing if any on what will happen to us. The one deter-mining factor and the only absolute I could find (if there’sany such thing as an absolute) was: WHEN WE DIE WEWILL MEET AND BECOME WHAT WE TRULY ARE.Whatever system of belief we have built for ourselves with-in our subconscious mind, whatever we have accepted astrue at the deepest level of our being . . . that is what we willfind when we cross through death’s doorway. No more. Noless.

But that’s not all. I found there to be a kind of rhythmand fluctuation to what we experience once we cross over.It’s like we’re left for awhile to meet ourselves and what weonce considered truth. We can revel in the joy of it or with-draw in horror. We’re left to thoroughly experience our-selves and what we lived through and learned while onEarth. Then, sooner or later, along will come a feeling,voice or being who will gently but patiently show us a bet-ter way and lead us upward toward soul-stirring surprises. . . vast vistas of learning and experience beyond anythingwe could have ever imagined. As we reach out to what weare shown or led to, there spreads before us more beyondthat, and beyond that even more still. I couldn’t find any

- the events themselves and what I learned from them . . . abook of death and a book of life. This little book concernsthe death encounters, but it doesn’t tell the whole story. Alot has been left out. So don’t be confused by missingdetails. It’s a little book of pain, horror and miracles. Therest of the story might be written someday, but for now thisinitial rendering is enough.

The book of life, of health and wholeness, will be writ-ten handbook style and should be ready for print in 1981. Itwill be pragmatic, specific and surprisingly honest andopen. There’s nothing like dying to clear your head and turnyour priorities around. The process has a way of cuttingthrough all we surround ourselves with to shine a brilliantspotlight on what’s really there. I’m excited about theopportunity to write it, so we’ll see what happens.

You know, all of us will die someday. When that daycomes we will each have an opportunity to find out for our-selves what awaits us. It’s not the same for everyone. It’sdifferent - depending on you, your choices in life and whatyou truly believe. Since late 1978 when I began speaking ofwhat happened to me, I have talked with people by the thou-sands in many states. I’ve met more “near death” survivorsthan I can count, many of whom I’ve hugged, shared with,or counseled as they continued their own battles to rebuildand make some sense out of what happened to them. Thestories of what they saw or experienced are not the same.Some of the stories are filled with wonder, awe, inspiration,beauty and joy. Others are crammed d with seemingly end-less horrors and panic. Those who were committed toJudaism most often saw Father Abraham. Those who werefundamental Christians most often met Jesus. TheBuddhists saw Buddha. The Atheists saw their neighbors orbest friends. And on and on.

The so-called “good” people, who deep within them-selves were actually filled with anger or bitterness or fear,met those negatives head-on; and were so traumatized by

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Page Seven

endings, any arrivals, or even any beginnings. All I found tobe valid beyond death’s door were endless possibilities ofexpansion and growth or equal opportunities to contract andwithdraw.

There are some surprises in this. And the reason is sim-ple enough. We’re not always consciously aware of whatwe truly believe. All too often, we’re all so busy mouthingwords, shouting shoulds, grabbing dollars, defendingrhetoric, worshiping objects, and manipulating people ...wedon’t really know what to believe. The cultural use of theAmerican language, for instance, is based upon the degreeof style and finesse with which one can mask what they feelor hide what they mean. Someone who is open and honestis declared immature and childish. Someone who questionsand searches is declared antisocial, a threat to the commu-nity. Soon anyone who is filled with creativity and joy isbanished from business or corporate environments as unfitor mentally ill. We say one thing and do another. That issocially acceptable. That is normal.

The four main articles to follow were originally publishedin MANY SMOKES magazine in serialized form. MANYSMOKES is a Native American Earth Awareness magazineproduced by The Bear Tribe (it has since gone out of print).Sun Bear, a Chippewa Medicine Man, and his MedicineHelper, Wabun, are leaders of the Tribe and have been dearfriends of mine for more years than I care to remember. Itwas after the death of Wabun’s mother that I was asasked tospeak of death and what I went through in 1977. It isbecause of their encouragement that I began to think moreclearly of what had happened to me and how I might sharethe experiences with others.

To Sun Bear and Wabun, I say a deep and loving thankyou. Ho!

P.M.H. Atwater

Page Six

death

is the window

to

dimensions

beyond the

unfathomed

and

unrecognized

premise that we live more than one life. People in theUnited States, especially, seem hungry for any shred ofproof, any documentation at all that can be verified on pastlives. Can it ever be proved? Can the Western empiricalmind ever accept such a concept and incorporate it into theirtraditional Christian philosophy? It’s enough for Americansto face the subject of life after death without having to con-sider life after life.

Death is a fact of life. Remember your first funeral, thefirst time you looked into the coffin and saw the lifelessform of someone you once knew? Life was gone, but wheredid it go? The body was buried in a grave, but what hap-pened to that “sparkle” that once motivated the body andgave it personality and movement? Is that all there is to life,to live a few years, expanding and developing that sparkwithin, only to stop cold when the body ceases to function?What’s the use of life anyway? What’s the purpose to liv-ing? Maybe when we solve the riddle of death, we willautomatically solve the puzzle of life. The two are oppositesides to the same coin, functioning together in a cosmicplan.

I’ve been hearing a lot about life after death. Maybe you,like me, have known someone or read or heard about some-one who died in an accident only later to revive and speakof seeing angels, guides, cities, schools and loved onesencountered on the “other” side. Perhaps you know some-one who was ill or having an operation when a close brushwith death occurred and again the story was later told ofseeing a departed loved one, ta talking with Jesus, or romp-ing through some “heavenly” meadow of crystalline grass.Thanks to people like Drs. Ross and Moody, more peopleare relating their experiences. They feel freer to open up anddescribe what they saw and heard. With the increase in sto-ries, comes the incredible pattern of similarity - the upwardprogression, the dark tunnel, blinding lights, magnificentmusic, loving guides and helpers, departed loved onesglowing with health and joy. Some of the details vary fromperson to person, but the essential story is pretty much the

ABOUT DEATHABOUT DYING

Death! The word carries with it so many preconceivedimages, mysteries and fear. What of death? What is it real-ly?

Death has become a household word lately, thanks topeople like Dr. Elisabeth Kübler-Ross and her pioneeringefforts in the field of death and dying, Dr. Raymond Moodyand his book LIFE AFTER LIFE, movies like BEYONDAND BACK and RESURRECTION, TV talk shows andpopular magazines.

People are finally openly talking about death and the pos-sible existence of life after death. They’re saying suchthings as: maybe death doesn’t end life, maybe it’s just adoorway into other realities, other dimensions of life. Thereally daring thinkers of today are going one further . . .reincarnation. This ancient fact of life to millions in theEastern world is a shocking departure to the Western mind.Moviedom is capitalizing on that shock value and is makinglarge sums of money on current films devoted to the

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wife’s or your child’s? What happens when the blood’s inyour bed and the screams of pain and fear echo in your ears?What of death then? What happens to those neat theorieswhen the fatal moment comes? Do you kiss it off with aprayer? Do you hate God and cry, “Why me?” Or do youturn the other cheek and mumble, “It’s God’s Will.”

Mentalize all you please. Be you religious or metaphys-ical or whatever, it still all comes back to the gut YOU andwhere you are right now in your life. How do you feel aboutdeath? Are you afraid to die, or ARE YOU AFRAID TOLIVE? There’s a whole world out there of “GOD HELPME, I’M NOT READY YET!”

We will all die. There’s no stopping that. Someday weeach will know for ourselves what death is and whether ornot we are a body, or pure energy residing in a body. Deathand dying, though popular topics today, are really very per-sonal intimate subjects, as close to us as our next breath.They are intensely private issues of serious concern. Deathis the most ultimate climax our linear world of matter cangive us. There is nothing else so final.

In 1977 through a series of severe traumas, hemorrhag-ing and blood clots I died three times. I didn’t talk about itmuch. It was all too personal and I was convinced no onewould believe me. My experience was so different, so total-ly unbelievable. I feel better about it now. I’m no longerdefensive about proving anything to anyone. I no longerfeel threatened by angry people who damn me to hell forspeaking heresy. That’s their hangup, and they’ll have toface their fears soon enough.

I don’t speak about ideas and theory. I speak only frompersonal experience. Let no one ever call me an expert orauthority. There’s no such thing and no such person! Leastof all me. I’m just a woman who has stubbed her toes a lotin life and “fallen from the peaks of many mountains.” I’mjust a person who faced a nightmare ...and woke up.

same. Death as we know it does not exist. There is life afterdeath. Death does not end anything. It is merely a doorway.

Those brave souls who boldly proclaim there’s no suchthing as death, go on to speak of “wisdoms” they’ve sincelearned . . . that all life evolves (progresses) from life to lifewith the soul force learning and growing from each experi-ence in an incredible parade toward Perfection and onenesswith the Creator. There are whole schools of thought aboutseven levels to the earthplane, seven rays of color we allpass through, seven barriers we must conquer in our upwardclimb. Interestingly enough, the number seven has alwaysbeen held magic or sacred in every culture on Earththroughout recorded time.

For those not into the “seven game,” there are enoughother theories and ideas to provide lively conversations forevenings to come. Many hypnotists now regularly regresspeople into former lifetimes, discovering causal incidentsfor present life problems, latent talents waiting to be devel-oped, and often revealing recurring habit patterns that canbe faced and conquered in the present existence.

Today’s topic of death is really a complex one that chal-lenge our entire belief-system, religious makeup and linearthinking. The new fad of “The Death Topic” is giving wayto serious research and some surprising turnarounds.Millions of dollars are being spent by some corporationsand many schools toward finding answers. Though hardfact is still elusive, some gains are being made. Take Dr.Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, for example, and the physical man-ifestation of her spirit guide in front of a crowd of 75strangers, or the discovery that we really are energy and theenergy we are can be measured and weighed in terms ofkilowatts.

But where does all this put you? Somewhere between thepages of the popular press and the glistening screens ofmoviedom, here’s your next door neighbor gasping for hislast breath. What happens when it’s your turn, or your

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Page Twelve Page Thirteen

THE PAIN AND THE FEAR OF DEATH

Does it hurt to die? No! It hurts to live! There’s no fearin dying. The fear comes when you realize you didn’t andsomehow you’ll have to pick up the pieces and live again.

Dying is a release from pain, like getting out of prison.Pain for me came before dying and after I returned to life. Iexperienced the worst pain I’ve ever felt in my life beforemy lungs quit breathing and my heart stopped. Upon return-ing to life, there was constant and continuous pain, thoughnot in the same degree as before. I was in and out of painfor a year afterwards. When those various crises were over,I wound up relearning how to crawl, stand, walk, climb andrun. My task was a total rebuilding because when the near-death experiences were over, I could no longer think thesame way, hear or even see the same. The belief system Ionce had was no longer valid, and I found it impossible torelate to people in a logical or rational way. Not only did Ihave to rebuild my physical body, but I had to restructureevery part of my existence on every level of my being. I wasliterally born again, only with the same body as before.Having the same body makes the rebuilding process harder.Remodeling an old house takes more time and effort thantearing the thing down and starting over again.

No one likes to suffer. No one enjoys excruciating pain,but often as we approach death, we face just that. It’s likeour bodies and brains don’t want to let go of anything famil-i a r. They’re so programmed into living that death isunthinkable and to give up without a fight is out of the ques-tion.

Pain

is the sentinel

of our

growth

guiding or crushing

according

to our

choice.

Page Fourteen Page Fifteen

A fast, sudden, sharp pain is so encompassing, so total,that memory is blotted out. Time, space, people, even lovedones no longer exist. The brain becomes so flooded so fastwith so many messages of pain - it just freaks out and painbecomes our whole world, not a sensation to “feel.” Love,hate, fear, anger disappear and all that remains is the pain.Such a pain transcends suffering. It’s so total, the slate iswiped clean. But it doesn’t last. It had a beginning and itwill have an end. That’s one thing we can count on in theearthplane. Nothing stays the same.

There are many kinds of pain. It comes in many formsand packages. But perhaps the hardest of all to deal with isthe insidious gnawing that grows inside of you when youfinally realize, even though everything that can possibly bedone to help you has been done, you’re still sick and youstill hurt and your life is still a mess. The pain of not know-ing what else to do or where else to turn or how was theworst pain of all for me... the ego hurt of losing when youthought you had won, the humiliation of discovering it wasyour own fault, the indescribable anguish of watching a life-time crumble and there’s not one thing you or anyone elsecan do to save it. All your strength, all your wits, all themoney and help in the world mean nothing. Suddenlyyou’re not only naked but transparent, and there’s nowhereto turn and no place to hide and no screaming or cursing thatchanges anything.

That’s pain! And it doesn’t go away. Not until you giveup and let go, especially of all your attitudes and opinions.Then and then only does real repair and progress begin.

When we think of death, all too often our first thoughtsturn to the fear of “Good God, what’s going to happen tome? Is this all there is to life?” We fear the unknown. Wefear: no more controls, no more breathing, no more eating,no more seeing or drinking or anything else we’re accus-

tomed to. What if life does end at death? What about eter-nal hellfire, suffering and damnation? There’s a deep senseof guilt, so we scream out to God for salvation. Havemercy! And the fear builds. And the panic comes. We clingand grab and hold onto anything and everything within ourgrasp.

Death seems grim and dark so we fight it, and even thepain must take a backseat in our stampede for life. We spendlavish sums of money we don’t have or encumber our fam-ily’s future. We hire only the best. We endure surgeries,radiation treatments and every kind of torture imaginable allin the name of life. It doesn’t seem to matter how crippledor deformed we wind up, just as long as we’re still alive andstill breathing. All that fear. All that pain. All that moneyand effort. Yet what we’ve really been fighting all alongwas ourselves and our own ego. Not death. Not really.

I found death to be a simple shift of consciousness. Itwas painless, instantaneous and nothing to fear. In fact, itfelt more natural not to breathe than to breathe. It was won-derful not to “wear” a body. I had complete mobility, per-fect memory and knowledge. I was free! I found no fear indying. The fear came for me when I realized I was stillalive, that I didn’t “stay dead.” There is no pain in dying,and there’s no darkness either, unless you want it. The otherside has a crazy way of being whatever you think it will. Ifyou expect hell, you’ll find it. If you want meadows andsunshine, they’ll be there. If all you ever thought aboutwhile living was liquor, you’ll find all you want; but sinceyou don’t have a real body anymore, your every grab for abottle will be like swatting thin air. You don’t lose yourcravings or addictions in dying, but I found that you do loseyour ability to satisfy them. The opportunities that existedbefore are no more. That’s where hell begins.

The only difference I found between states of con-

Page Sixteen Page Seventeen

sciousness was: when you’re breathing, you wear a denseform called a body, and when you’re not breathing you sim-ply wear what you are. Whatever are your attitudes, beliefs,thoughts, ideas, feelings, expectations or apprehensions...that’s what you’ll wear and that’s what you’ll be. Theybecome your body and your world. No more games. Nomore secrets. No more lies. No more pretend. No morecoverups. No more copouts. You become what you reallyare.

In my opinion, that is what is meant by hell. I did not findhell to be a person, place or thing. I found it to be a condi-tion of our own creation. We create our own dungeons. Welimit and encase ourselves and then blame it on someone orsomething else because it’s easier that way. We stub ourown toes and make our own choices in living. When we die,we reap our own harvest. The blame game is over.

We all die. It’s part of the natural growth process. Deathdoesn’t end anything. It certainly doesn’t end our growingand learning. It just shifts things around and changes thescenery. It’s like a doorway, and we float through automat-ically regardless of our wishes. Kings and truck drivers aretreated the same. No one is too big or too small, too youngor too old, too rich or too poor. Diseased or healthy, readyor not, when we pass through death’s doorway the stage oflife changes and the script is different.

When your consciousness shifts in death, you’re stillawake, aware and thinking. It’s hard at first to realize you’redead. You can still hear, see, feel and talk. Only the way ofthat is different because you no longer have a physical body.Everything for me was bright and clear and totally free. Inever experienced any darkness, but I know you can if youwant to.

You cross over and it’s like catching the next bus - onlythe country you visit is like nowhere on Earth!

death

is the

beginning

life

is the

veil

Page Eighteen

floor, entering through the top of the head and pulled downinside. There was no pain, fear or sense of loss next to thelightbulb. Just confusion and questions. Back inside mybody, the pain and fear returned and the lightbulb experi-ence faded away like some bad dream.

I begged the doctor not to give me a shot. My legs hurt,I kept saying. Why do my legs hurt so much? My questions were ignored, the shot administered and I was sent hometo recover.

The shot worked. Within two hours, the hemorrhagingstopped. Simultaneously the leg pains increased. I was ableto walk fair1y well, but felt weak and dizzy, retiring for bedearly. I could hardly make it to bed. The next morning wasJanuary 4, 1977. My right thigh was scarlet red with a hugelump growing out the right side. I called it a “volcano”because it felt red hot, angry and ready to explode. The painwas unbearable and walking was no longer possible. BeforeI could reach the phone to call for help, the pain overcamemy sense of logic and I instinctively fought back, pushingand shoving the lump. It had to go. It was it or me.

The lump won. There was a thin-kind of sound, like something giving way, followed by a detached floating withoutweight. The pain ebbed by as I rose steadily upward, againstopping at the light fixture, only this time in the livingroom. I looked down, recognizing the body on the floor asmine. There was no confusion this time. My situation wasclearly defined.

“Good God, I’m dead!”

Time and space ended for me after gazing for whatseemed endless minutes at my body. It made no movement.There was no breathing. No response. When I was satisfied

Page Nineteen

THE INCREDIBLEWORLD OF THOUGHT

There were blobs all around me - shapeless, gray, con-fusing masses. Where did they come from? What werethey? The more questions I asked, the more confused Ibecame and the more blobs appeared . . . Like corks bob-bing in water, slowly blocking out my view.

This was my first introduction to the world beyonddeath’s doorway, a world that was to present me many dif-ferent ways of viewing and countless alternatives to life.The date was January 2, 1977. The place was Boise, Idaho.My screams did not stop the blood nor catch my body whenit fell in a lifeless heap. My memory traveled the distancefrom pain, panic and quickly glanced blood to being rightnext to the bathroom lightbulb, bumping into it with theceiling scarcely an eyelash away.

It all happened so fast.t. One instant I was inside mybody dealing with a crisis, and the next instant I was with-out a body floating smack into the bright bulb of light. Idon’t pretend to understand what happened. I only know ithappened. My space relations and sense of depth and direc-tion ended. I could see clearly. There was no darkness. I wasstill me. But the me I was kept bumping into that crazylightbulb and every time I looked around or wondered whatwas going on, blobs would form - gray and strange.

Then as quickly as it had begun, there was an audible“snap” and I was jerked back into the lifeless form on the

brass doorknob on the door, a solid strong foundation. Thehouse had to have windows and doors that opened andclosed.

It took what seemed to me incredible energy to focus inthis manner, as if I were using muscles I hadn’t used forsome time. I was finally able to accomplish a single focus,then, like a laser, project my image forward into space. Inmy mind existed only the house. Soon enough, outside ofme, the house stood, solid, real and fully dimensional. Bynow, the home and life of Phyllis Huffman had faded fromview and from memory. I was barely cognizant of existingin another dimension of bright substance yet without color,sound, shape or movement. It was a happy place but devoidof the trappings I had come to associate with humanity andbeing a human. My only interest now was the house ofwhite before me.

As near as I could tell, the house was real. I pounded onthe door and there was the familiar thud of wood. The door-knob was metal, the windows, glass. Everything opened andclosed and was full-sized. I was so elated at this event thatI chose to next create a tree. After all, a house is an inani-mate object. My question now was, could I create an ani-mate object? Was that possible? Using the same procedure,I chose a tree of many branches and leaves, with a thickhuge trunk and large protruding roots gnarled by time. Andthe tree came into being complete with insect holes in itsbark.

I guess it would take someone who had had a similarexperience to understand what happened next. I simplyflipped out. Something inside of me went - twang! I waslike a kid with a new toy or a child who had discovered howto walk for the first time. I flew into a creation binge with-out stops. I created everything I could think of: cities, hous-

that it was dead, there came a joyous euphoria, like a pris-oner being released from a long jail sentence. I danced anddanced around the lightbulb, singing like a child. It wasfinally over. I was free!

There was never any confusion of identity between “me”and my “body.” The personality of Phyllis Huffman and thebody that encased her were simply parcels of clothing I hadonce worn. They were gone now and the “I” was free. Iexperienced pure exhilaration. Soon though, I began to askmyself some questions. Now that I’m dead, what do I donext? Where do I go from here? What am I supposed to do?

As my questions continued, blobs began to form withinmy peripheral vision. Only thiss time, they were clear,translucent, pastel bubbles. If I exercised my thought orasked a question, more blobs appeared. If I remained quiet,nothing happened. A puzzle! So I began to experiment.Maybe, just maybe, these blobs were manifestations ofthought energy. Maybe they could be controlled and direct-ed. Most of my life as Phyllis, I had heard phrases like:thoughts are things, whatever you think long enough willcome true, thoughts are the blueprints of life, we create ourown realities. These statements seemed logical to me, so Ihad long since accepted their value and merit and madethem a part of my personal philosophy. But never before,that I can recall, did I ever have an opportunity to actuallytest the truth of them, to really prove to myself one way oranother just how thoughts work. Now was my chance and Itook it.

My experiment involved focusing all my thoughts andenergy into one single activity - creating a house. The houseI wanted to think into being was quite specific. It had to belike a white cube with a steeply pitched roof, a front porchwith three white pillars, and a green porch floor, a shiny

Page Twenty Page Twenty-one

pure consciousness. Not even light. Beyond light. I simply“was.”

I liked that. I came to discover that I did not need formslike people, buildings, worlds or anything solid or secure tobe happy and fulfilled. I was completely at peace, satisfied,loved and totally real by being nothing at all and existing inno particular place. I discovered I didn’t need time or space.I didn’t need the illusions of substance. I was everything yetI was nothing. Shapeless, formless, soundless, colorless,without motion. Nothing was with me, yet everything thatwas known or could ever be was there. This was perfection.

And into this great peace that I had become there camethe life of Phyllis parading past my view. Not as in a movietheatre, but rather as a reliving. Had it been a reliving of justdeeds done, it would have been as expected because I hadheard of that before. But for me it was far more involved.The reliving included not only the deeds committed byPhyllis since her birth in 1937 in Twin Falls, Idaho, but alsoa reliving of every thought ever thought and every wordever spoken PLUS the effect of every thought, word anddeed upon everyone and anyone who had ever come withinher sphere of influence whether she actually knew them ornot PLUS the effect of her every thought, word and deedupon the weather, the air, the soil, plants and animals, thewaters, everything else within the creation we call Earth andthe space Phyllis once occupied.

It was a gestalt experience, meaning complete and wholeon all levels, a total viewing and reliving of the totality ofone woman’s life complete with all the ripples and conse-quences of her ever having lived. I had no idea a past-lifereview could be like this. I never before realized that wewere responsible and accountable for EVERY SINGLETHING WE DID. That was overwhelming.

es, people, dogs, cats, telephone wires, trash cans, cars,schools, churches, children, books, buses, roads, fences,grass, flowers, lawns, streams, birds, suns, rain, sound, lan-guage, breath, motion. Everything existed on its own andbecame independent of me. There was life and intelligence.And the whole event so filled me with pleasure, I justwatched and watched some more. There it was. Creation! Ididn’t feel like God. I just felt tired. But I began to realize Iwas like a co-creator, made with the same abilities as ThatWhich Existed Beyond Me. Thoughts really are energy thatcan be shaped and used according to our choices. It reallyworks. I had my proof.

As I watched and listened with loving pleasure, itoccurred to me to see again my loved ones who had passedon before. No sooner had I expressed the thought than theywere all there - including a grandfather who had died beforemy Phyllis personality was ever born. Talk about a thrill! Itwas pure joy to visit again with each one and especially totouch and speak with the grandfather who had left the col-orations of his philosophy behind for his family to use andcontinue. Then I thought about Jesus and he came.

There was never any feeling or need to worship him. Noawe or fear. Rather, it was a feeling of seeing a belovedelder brother after being apart for so long. I had alwayswanted to thank him for the example he set for me to fol-low, and I took full advantage of his visit to do just that. Itwas a time of treasured friendship and much gratitude. Hewas my brother and I loved him. Then he left. My lovedones left as well.

After that, I grew tired of the world I had created so Ithought it all away. It disappeared instantly. Now was thefirst time I ever looked at myself. Much to my surprise, Ihad no body or form whatever. I was simply pure energy,

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could produce. But I did. My job was on the second floor ofan old building without an elevator, and the climb up thestairs proved to be a painful mountain. I fell more than Iclimbed. When my boss saw me, she shrieked I lookedmore dead than alive and insisted I see a doctor at once.With her help a specialist was found and I was committedto his care. He just shook his head in amazement that I hadever survived, and the long ordeal of getting well and redis-covering the earthplane began.

I was to go through yet one more bizarre death experi-ence before this would be over, and the resulting struggle toregain my health would take nearly two years, curtailing arebuilding program that would start at the beginning,relearning how to crawl. The third experience would occuron March 29th, more than two months away. After its pas-sage, I would be left little more than a functional creature,lost between worlds I could no longer comprehend.

Fortunately for me, a very unique and capable doctorcame to my rescue along with some of the dearest and truestfriends any human being could have. With their constantlove, care and patience, my recovery would be amazinglyswift and complete. It wouldd be nearly a year later beforeI would begin to integrate what had happened to me andwhat I had seen and experienced. It took a professor ofphysics to rekindle my self-confidence and revive the word,“faith.”

It was me judging me, not some heavenly St. Peter. Andmy judgment was critical and stern. I was not satisfied withmany, many things Pphyllis had done, said or thought.There was a feeling of sadness and failure, yet a growingfeeling of joy when the realization came that Phyllis hadalways done SOMETHING. She did many things unworthyand negative, but she did something. She tried. Much ofwhat she did was constructive and positive. She learned andgrew in her learning. This was satisfying. Phyllis was okay.

As the joy within me grew, the room in Boise, Idaho,reappeared and the body below came into focus. As Ilooked down upon the body that had once been Phyllis,there came a wave of love and forgiveness, and with itworlds of sparklers like on the Fourth of July. Upon astream of these sparklers, I floated ever so gently back intothe lifeless body, entering through the top of the head. Backto the pain. Locked back up again inside the prison called abody. The whole experience seemed like years in length,but it could not have taken more than a few minutes. Yet Idon’t really know. Clocks were a foreign thought then.Afterwards, instead of continuing to the phone to call forhelp, I was in such a dazed stupor nothing mattered anymore. I was so caught up in what had just happened, I wasunable to relate to anything, even the pain in my legs, so Icrawled back to bed and lay there like a zombie for severaldays. Seeking help didn’t make sense. Living didn’t makesense. In fact, nothing made any kind of sense.

Several days later, it took the random thoughts of money,pay checks and my job to jolt any life into me. I was sodetached my children were foreign objects and the bedwhere I lay seemed a figment of my imagination. How Iwas able to dress and safely drive my car to work is beyondmy comprehension. But I did. It took effort I did not think I

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Page Twenty-six

THE ETERNAL NOW

I have no way of knowing how many of you relate tohandicapped or injured people, those souls undergoingrehabilitation at whatever level for whatever reason forhowever long. I just know this - it’s pure hell to rebuild yourbody and your mind.

No matter how much progress you make, it’s neverenough and it’s never fast enough. No matter how slight theinjury or disease or how complicated the setback, rebuild-ing is no picnic. It’s torture! Words of praise and encouragement from friends and loved ones often register within yourbeing as superficial bandaids. And who the hell needsbandaids when you’re exploding inside! The do-goodersand the mean-wellers become sources of more pain, andyou feel anger and even jealousy because they’re whole andyou’re not, and who are they to say what they say anyway.All the help that comes is never enough. Prayers fall flat.

Following the two physical death experiences I livedthrough during January of 1977, I was left confused anddesperate. I was living in Boise, Idaho, at the time and stillhad my two daughters at home. They were aware of my ill-ness but neither could relate to it. Their image of “Mother”was that of the Rock of Gibraltar . . . a mother who could doanything, accomplish anything, strong, self-reliant, inde-featable. You never have to worry about mother. So they

Page Twenty-seven

there are

no

fetters

to limit the mind

except

those that are

imagined

and

accepted

arc across my chest. Each character was fully dimensionaland suspended in space, alive and animated, deeplyengrossed in his or her own private activities and concerns.Like tiny people, the characters walked on by and eventswere played out. The arc was like a rainbow and each fig-ure was like a hologram. I watched with gaping mouth andtransfixed gaze.

It was all too incredible to believe. Yet there they were.I witnessed life after life after life. They seemed withoutend until there came to view a tall, slender, green, lizard-like being from another world beyond Earth ––a being froma water planet, alone and lost in a world he did not under-stand, dying in fire from his own choice. I felt completeidentification with this alien. He fascinated me.

After the marching hordes ceased, another phenomenonoccurred. I could both see and hear my own body cells. Itwas as if my body was transparent and my eyes were micro-scopes. Especially throughout the female organs and theright leg and hip. There were millions of them, but I couldhear and see each individually. They were like armies com-plete with Generals and Captains and all manner of rankand file. They were massing their forces to fight off theinvader and rebuild damaged parts. Those in charge wereshouting audible orders to others and they all seemed tenseand worried.

I felt so sorry for the little fellas that I decided to contactthem and apologize for all the hardships I had inflicted uupon them. Never before did I ever have any idea micro-scopic cells were intelligent personalities, beings of theirown. I didn’t know if I could speak with them, but I want-

didn’t. We interfaced to the extent of daily chores and con-versation, but little else. This was the image of a mother Ihad carefullyy cultivated for them throughout their lives.How could they respond any differently? The eldest girlwas in college. The youngest in junior high. My son andoldest of the three was half-way across the globe studyingaboard a square-rigger in the Atlantic Ocean. I wasemployed as a bank analyst. Because of the illness and dis-ability that followed, I was forced to take a leave of absencefrom work and begin a program of medication, doctor care,and much rest and exercise.

I was put on a drug classified as “dangerous” because itcould only be used seven days safely without destroyingprecious blood cells. There could be no refills. Food had tobe consumed before it was taken on a round-the-clock basis.I was virtually bed-fast and incapable of the kind of activi-ty my life had been based upon. My meals were prepared byothers. I was almost helpless. Yet at no time was I ever hos-pitalized. For the greater part of each day I was alone, lis-tening to the hours click by.

Alone and dangerous drugs. An almost lethal combina-tion, yet it allowed my mind and life force free rein andunrestricted expression. Had I been hospitalized I wouldhave undoubtedly healed faster, but then I would havemissed some of the most bizarre events any human beingcould know.

Perhaps it was the medication. I don’t really know.Strange things began to happen. As I lay on the sofa eachday, there began to parade past my view all the charactersfrom all my past lives, one right after another, forming an

Page Twenty-eight Page Twenty-nine

sucked, pounded and exorcised. People I’d never heard ofpracticed incantations and rituals I’d never seen. Healerscame out of the woodwork, all meaning well, and all sin-cerelyy trying to help.

They couldn’t. Because I didn’t accept them. I didn’t trustanyone any more. The healings wouldn’t work because thefaith I once had crumbled. Nothing worked because nothingmade sense. I was functional. I was still human. I talked. Ilived, but I wasn’t all there. I was still “dead,” and slowly ablack depression began to build inside of me.

The two months leading to March 29th are a blur acrossmy brain. I don’t remember too much of it. I do remembermy landlord picked that time to raise my rent higher than Icould pay. I do remember all the endless hours and days ofexercise paid off because I could stand without effort andwalk reasonably well, though I still dragged my right legsomewhat. Some incredibly beautiful people gatheredround, another rental was found, and I was properlypacked, moved and neatly tucked into a bright little houseon the other end of town. I wasn’t there long before deathcame to call a third time, and again I was alone.

I won’t argue that the move was too much for me or thatthe responsibilities of how to pay mounting debts were toomuch for me to bear. Though I appeared coherent, my innerworld was chaos. Life faded more with each passing day. Iwas able to return to work, working half days at first andthen progressing to 3/4 days and finality full time. Insteadof helping, this only led to more depression as my job madeno more sense to me than my life. I didn’t have the moneyfor the kind of rehabilitation I would have liked to have, so

ed to. Desire is a powerful force. The communication Iwanted happened instantly, so I conveyed my apologies. Adialogue ensued and I came to form a deep and abidingrespect for my cells. I came to understand we truly can con-verse with ALL our body parts. We can understand theirneeds, and WORK WITH THEM INSTEAD OF BLINDLYAGAINST THEM. We are a team, they and I. We’re in thistogether.

I was overwhelmed by the experience. The unswervingloyalty and unselfish devotion of these tiny cells humbledme beyond words and struck me with awe. I just had no ideaanything like this was true.

As if all this were not enough, for the entire seven days Itook the drug I could not distinguish between a person’saudible words and their inaudible thoughts. I “heard” themboth at the same pitch and tone. I couldn’t tell which torespond to. The sounds and messages overlapped and con-flicted most times which led to even deeper confusion. Itmade no difference who the person was or under what con-ditions. Their thoughts and their words were both clearlyaudible. Because of this, I often did not reply to people,choosing rather to remain silent.

Around me were all the objects I had known in life: fur-niture, roads, cars, people, television sets, music, food,water, clothes, money, telephones, and so forth. Yet they allseemed so foreign and unreal. Friends and relatives came tovisit. Words of help and encouragement were given.Healings of every kind imaginable were administered. I wasprayed on, for, under, on top of.

I was laid on “of hands,” stretched, squeezed, burped,

Page Thirty Page Thirty-one

Yet at that moment, he suddenly addressed his friends andannounced that he must leave and go home. His motherneeded him. When he arrived, he discovered the body butmade no attempt to seek help. To understand his reaction,one must realize that in our house members were alwaystaught to be self-sufficient. It was drummed in from gener-ations back that you never, never asked for help - ever. Youfind a way to take care of yourself. Also one needs to knowthat in our house the children were taught from earliestyears to always follow their “feelings.” Psychic occurrenceswere so common to all of us they were perfectly natural,like breathing. Kelly’s “feelings” at that time were to sitopposite the body and start talking. He did. A flow of soundwas created by his words.

Before he had arrived, I was long since gone, ascendinginto a realm of bright light and unusual music like nothingI had experienced before. That’s no small statement for meto make since I had been a meditator and teacher of expand-ed thinking for many years and had countless encounterswith astral travel, white lights and altered states of con-sciousness. I was always the practical one, saying, ‘’If youcan’t use it in your daily life to make your world better, thenit isn’t worth fooling with.” For me, practical applicationwas always the measuring stick to judge anything.

None of that mattered now. All that mattered was whereI was, and where I was, was like nowhere I had ever beenbefore. It was everything wonderful, bright and beautiful,everything that could ever be.

Then I stopped short. I didn’t expect to see anything,much less the gigantic scene I saw. Before my view there

I improvised. I reached out into different arenas and alter-natives. I was very frightened, but there seemed to be noother way.

My son returned suddenly from his school cruise aroundEurope. On the night of March 29th, he was attending aparty. He had been home 1 1/2 days. My daughters were offto their friends for overnight excursions. A man I had oncethought myself in love with came to call. In tears, I told himwhat I had been through and begged him to hold me and justlet me be a child again. I asked for no more than that. Hewas an understanding man I felt I could trust. His responsewas a loud and immediate no, whereby he jumped up,slammed the door and left. I could not understand hisresponse. I had asked for so little. Never in my life had Iever turned down anyone who needed help, regardless ofthe conditions or inconveniences to me. Yet in my momentof desperation, I was shut out. His no thundered throughoutmy being.

I exploded inside. An emotional bomb went off and Ishattered into millions of pieces. To hell with life I decided.It’s the most damnable, oversold, worthless package thereis. I decided to chuck it. It wasn’t worth living. I committedemotional suicide. I willed myself dead and my body wastoo pooped to argue. It collapsed. I left.

Now I know full well bodies aren’t supposed to do that.But mine did. I knew the other side was better than this oneand I saw no reason to continue living. Mv children wereold enough to take care of themselves. They didn’t need me.I didn’t need me either. It was time to go, so I did.

My son who loves a good party is not one to up and leave.

Page Thirty-two Page Thirty-three

upper one. They were reflections of each other. As above,so below.

Fascinating as this was, my attention soon turned to themiddle. That’s where I wanted to go, into it and through it.I felt as if it were the doorway to God. At last I would dis-cover the source of God Itself. I was on my way there.

It was then that I heard my son’s sounds. Slowly I foundmyself being pulled back. I never heard any words, only thesound of his voice. There was something different about it.There was love in his voice. A different kind of love. It wasnot the love of a son for his mother. It was something new- at least for me. It was the sound of one human being lov-ing another human being because he wanted to, not becausehe was expected to. It didn’t even matter if the other personloved back. The only thing that mattered was Kelly givinglove freely because Kelly wanted to. His love was open,without any expectations, restrictions or standards. It wasunconditional love. Real love!

I really didn’t believe that special kind of love existed onthe earth-plane. I had heard of it before but had associatedit with Divine or Saintly revelations. It was happening nowand my son was giving it. Such a precious gift was worthyof being received. I choose to return and live again. Therewere no angels, or anyone else egging me along. I made theconscious choice and when I did, the cyclones disappearedand my living room returned. I slipped back into my body,entering again through the top of the head.

This time, my body did not respond. It felt cooler andstrange. I panicked. Instantly I became a tiny cheerleaderand game coach, scurrying up and down my frame shouting

spun two objects I’ll call cyclones for lack of a better word.One was big at the top, narrowing to a spout. The other wasinverted directly below, being big on the bottom and com-ing up to a spout. They formed an hourglass shape, yet thetwo spouts did not meet in the middle. Instead, there radiat-ed out from that spot a kind of light I hesitate to call light. Idon’t know what to call it. The English language doesn’thave such a word. Its rays shot out in all directions.

I was suspended near the middle as I gazed in awe at theimmensity of what towered before me. Both cyclones werespinning at tremendous speeds. The cyclone on the top wasspinning clockwise. The one on the bottom was spinningcounter-clockwise. Inside the upper cone, I glanced a tinygrain of sand I recognized to be me - or the Phyllis I hadonce been. Superimposed over Phyllis and the life she wasliving was all her past and future lives. Everything was hap-pening AT THE SAME TIME IN THE SAME SPACE! Ialso recognized others around Phyllis and the same thingwas happening to them. I saw multitudes of other peopleeverywhere inside the cone and the same thing was hap-pening to all of them. I felt like I was viewing all of life andI came to realize time and space do not exist at all.

I saw no movements that raised or lowered, went back-wards or forwards, no left or right. What I saw was onlyexpansion and contraction. No one was greater or less thananyone else, but some people were expanded out and grow-ing more, others were so contracted they seemed to shrinkand wither. As I searched for more clues to life, I noticedPhyllis was also in the cyclone on the bottom and in theexact same position as on the top, and everyone else wasthere too. The bottom cyclone was a mirror image of the

Page Thirty-four Page Thirty-five

doctor and a different kind of medicine - naturopathy andhomeopathy and whole vistas of therapy and alternatives.The rebuilding process took almost two years and involvedseveral health reversals and crises. It’s never easy to remod-el a worn-out body. Pain becomes a daily encounter.Depression a daily enemy. Medication of any kind a dailycrutch.

The first week of November, 1977, my friends obtainedpermission from my doctor to drive me to Seattle,Washington, to attend the “MIND MIRACULOUS SYM-POSIUM” put on by the Church of Religious Science in theSeattle Opera House. Guest speakers were people like UriGeller, Dr. Brugh Joy, Dr. Lawrence LeShan, Dr. ElisabethKübler- Ross, and Dr. William Tiller. With an early-morn-ing injection, a bag of medication-like remedies and the ten-der care of very special friends, I arrived perky, lookingevery inch a functional human being.

The first lecture paid for the trip and told me why I wasthere. It was given by Dr. William Tiller, a physicist withStanford University in California. His topic was THEETERNAL NOW, and he illustrated his talk by having hisgraphs and drawings projected onto a huge stage screen. Hedescribed at length what he felt the greater reality to be, thatwhat we really are is an energy mass and how that energyworked. The climax of his talk came when he spoke of TheEternal Now, what he felt it looked like and how it func-tioned. It was his belief that ALL THINGS HAPPENED ATTHE SAME TIME IN THE SAME SPACE. The drawingflashed on the screen was of two cyclones inverted overeach other, and where the two spouts should have met, thereradiated an immense light shooting out in all directions.

words like: hey team I’m back, wake up everyone, I’m backnow, I’m sorry I did this to you. I won’t do it again, I’mreally back to stay this time, come on everyone, I’m back.

The air sacs in the lungs were the hardest to activate. Ittook real effort to get the bellows to expand. With the firstsweep of breath, my consciousness returned to my headarea and my eyes opened. My first desire was to stand to seeif everything was awake and operational. I had to be certainthe team was back together. After many halting motions, Iwas able to stand.

Kelly in his greater wisdom, came to me, wrapped hislarge arms around me and let me cry. I couldn’t speak, but Icould cry. I cried buckets. Torrents. Then Kelly spoke andreminded me of a letter I had written him that February. Thecruise school was not as he had hoped and the costs wereexcessively high. He was in a state of depression. My letterarrived when he needed it most, and in it I had spoken oflife as a school and how we’re all students progressingthrough the grades according to our ability until we finallygraduate and cease our earthly existence. The letter hadgiven him courage to continue the trip and get on with hislife.

As he held me close, he returned those words to me andI saw a circle close. The same words I sent half-way aroundthe globe to help a soul in deepest need, returned to me inmy darkest hour, and I “heard” them and I understood. Irealized the words were a confirmation of my choice toreturn and live. I could rebuild my life. Life really wasworth living and I could make it. Kelly put me to bed thatnight and the next day I committed myself to a very special

Page Thirty-six Page Thirty-seven

Page Thirty-nine

I erupted from my chair. He saw it too. He knew aboutthe cyclones! I wasn’t crazy after all! I wasn’t mad! I didn’thallucinate! It was all real! I really saw it! What happenedto me was valid ! I was sane!

That moment skyrocketed my health and did more for methan any doctor or medicine or therapy ever could. My con-fidence in myself returned like a tidal wave and I couldlaugh again. I was okay! The nightmare was over!

The road back to health involved a new education for me.I learned what wholeness and balance truly are. I learnedwho and what I am and how to live more abundantly. I dis-covered myself and in the process discovered everyone elsearound me and whole new layers to life.

I came to realize that life is really a series of echoes uponitself and once energy is committed to movement, it willalways form a spiral. I saw that the choices we daily makebecome the points of contact for forming more echoeswhich form more spiraling cones. In looking back at thescene of the two cyclones, I honestly felt like I was lookingat a giant echo. When I allow my mind to wander the wordsfrom the Chapter of John in the Christian Bible come to me,“For in the beginning was the Word.” Word to me meanssound, and sound creates spiraling echoes of movementwhich activate the first steps in the process of forming pre-substance, then substance itself. Then words from the sci-entists return to me with their theory of creation startingwith a big bang. Bang to me is sound. The scientists and thereligionists are all saying the same thing. It all ties togetherand life begins to make a different kind of sense.

Page Thirty-eight

There’s a lot more to life than I had ever realized andthe learning continues. Life for me is happier now, freerthan before and filled to overflowing with constant mira-cles. The road back to health is really the larger story, andthe one I am now committed to write.

Page Forty

SOME OBSERVATIONS

If you have trouble believing this story, it’s okay. Be myguest. I’ll bet I had more trouble believing it than you everwill, and I was living it.

When something happens, no matter what it is, that total-ly changes or obliterates any thought or belief we hold dearor accept as truth, the result is often numbing confusion, adeep sense of loss. Instead of facing the challenge we weregiven and working our way through it, we become, instead,depressed, sick or filled with denials lest anyone thinkwe’re crazy. It’s so much easier to continue on as before, asif nothing had ever happened, professing the same beliefs,walking the same path. We’re not sure of ourselves, and wecan’t stand to risk any thought of embarrassment, to befound a fool. We say nothing. And we block any opportuni-ty to change.

It was like that for awhile.

But you know, the memory of it wouldn’t go away. It justkept getting larger, brighter, bigger each day. I’d be at workminding my own business and it would all come back. I’dbe home sleeping and it would all happen again. I’d be talk-ing to one of my daughters and as I looked into her face I’dsee the cyclones. It almost drove me mad.

What do you do about something like that? Who do youtell? Who’ll believe you? Who’d really care anyhow.Sometimes I’d speak of some of it, but I could tell from the

Page Forty-one

love

floats freely

upon

the wings of time

unowned

eternal

investment. No, it didn’t solve the problem, and, no, all thescars didn’t magically disappear, but it was a beginning - forboth of us, a beginning of mutual respect and hope.

The feeling of failure in trying to provide a stable baseand some form of discipline and love for her almost killedme a fourth time. I couldn’t do it. There wasn’t enough ofme left. There’s no blame to be laid here, on her or me. Weeach had our own nightmares and we each were groping fora way out, some point of understanding what was happen-ing to us and why.

As it turned out, my youngest daughter became one of myvery best teachers, showing me through the mirrors of hereyes that I could forgive myself. I had truly done all I couldfor her. I had done my best. All any parent can ever do is toraise their children to the best of their ability, provide whatthey can, give them love, hope, a sense of identity andbelonging. The rest is up to each child. They have their ownmuscles, their own brains, their own life, their own choices.We can do only so much. More is wrong. It cripples them.When I finally learned to let go of what I thought to be myfailures and despair and accept instead my worth and mysuccess, I began to make large strides toward regaining myhealth. Interestingly enough, once I did that, my youngestdaughter was then free to make progress too - at her ownpace, in her own way, without a frightened mother suffocat-ing her with worry and guilt. Body building or rebuildingmust always be accompanied by mind building or the resultwon’t last. No matter what the illness or problem, we musteach do our own homework. No one can cure us. No one.We cure ourselves when we wake up to our own destructive attitudes. Only then can healing begin and others help asnature intended.

people’s faces, it was a story beyond any meaning for them.Oh, it was a good-enough story and I was a good storyteller,but the story itself was just too far-fetched to ring of truth.Obviously, I was still sick. After all, Phyllis was always alittle weird anyway.

Getting well, however, was something everyone couldrelate to, but the way I went about it was almost as unbe-lievable as the story of how I got sick to begin with, and soit went. My commitment, though, was to get well. Comehell or high water, that’s exactly what I was going to do. Ididn’t care what other people thought. I didn’t care howlong it took. I was going to get well. I was going to be wholeagain. And I was so obsessed with this commitment, Ialmost forgot to look around and see who else was with me.My son had joined the Coast Guard and was long gone. Myeldest daughter was so busy playing games with collegelife, she seldom emerged long enough to say hello. But myyoungest daughter, still in the throes of dealing with thedivorce of my former husband and myself, was in deeptrouble and sinking. She could never understand any formof illness or pain. Even stubbing her toe freaked her out.Standing there watching a once strong mother turn to jellybefore her very eyes proved to be too much for her to han-dle. She broke down, turning on a binge of sex, drugs,booze, ditching school and Iying. She went half-crazy.

Reaching out to her when I could hardly even help myselfturned out to be the hardest task of all. There were dayswhen the only logical sentence I could utter was the sen-tence, “God is,” and I’d say it over and over and over again,hour after hour, like a chant. It kept me going. It kept mesane. I finally took classes from a psychologist in how tospeak to her, how to reach her. It worked. It was a good

Page Forty-two Page Forty-three

was too impossible to believe. For instance I was told that Iwould attend a week-long intensive class with Dr. ElisabethKübler-Ross on Death and Dying. Over six months ago, Ihad finally given up ever being able to attend such a class.They were always overbooked and the waiting lists were“miles” long. When I called to see if it was possible I couldattend, I found to my utter amazement and shock, I wasalready registered complete with my full address whichcould not possibly have been known since I had just boughta house and had never at any time contacted the people inCalifornia I was calling now, nor did the secretary I hadonce talked with in Illinois ever have anything but myphone number. I never found out how I was registered. Itseems my name and address just suddenly “appeared” ontheir registration lists. The other phone calls I made nettedthe same remarkable results. It was like some kind of dreamonly I was wide awake.

Among the things revealed in the message were: I wouldquit my job on a certain date, sell my house (which I hadonly owned nine months), sell or give away almost every-thing I owned, would stay with friends until time to go,would attend Elisabeth’s classes, wind my way across theUnited States fulfilling childhood vows of places I hadalways wanted to visit and things I had always wanted todo, stay with cousins in Reston, Virginia for a brief time,find a job in Washington, D.C., live in and around FallsChurch, Virginia. The next message would come in thespring.

Now, I’m a Western woman. Denver, Colorado, is justabout as far East as my mind traveled at that time. AnythingEast of Denver was in another country, not part of theUnited States. If I moved anywhere it would be West not

In mid-July, 1978, a strange event occurred. I was almostrecovered, had returned from vacationing with my aunt anduncle in Chicago, and was seated at my desk at work busi-ly working on an analytical project. I shared the room withtwo other analysts and a secretary. Nearby were two bankofficers. Suddenly my desk, the room, the walls, all the peo-ple - everything disappeared. I was back in that “nothing”world I had visited in death, a world filled with sparklinglife with the purest of love and perfection, yet a worldwhere nothing was, nothing moved, nothing made a sound.I had come to call it “The Void” or the “Realm of Non” forlack of better names.

Immediately there came a message. Not really like a mes-sage. More of a living, seeing, feeling, knowing, being kindof thing. A gestalt message, meaning complete and wholeon all levels at the same time. There was no differencebetween me, the message and where the message camefrom. We were all the same thing. We were all one. Duringthe occurrence, I became aware of all my next movements,choices and happenings for the year to come. All wereplayed out in detail. When it was over, my desk, the roomand all its occupants returned, each in their proper place asif nothing had happened. My mouth fell open and I wasshaking all over. The message ended and everything hap-pening within it became past tense. The year to come hadalready been lived. What I remembered became like a scriptI was challenged to perform in conscious life on the public“stage.”

Well, being a great believer in choice, I grabbed myphone and began to check out some parts of the messagethat could be verified. I wasn’t about to believe just any-thing I was handed, and most of what I had been handed

Page Forty-four Page Forty-five

through, become rich and famous, and be whisked away bysome knight on a white charger. I guess we’re never too oldto dream such dreams.

After many trials and false-starts, the dream wore off, Istepped out of the clouds, and my magic flying carpet nose-dived. The earth world of jobs, money, food, grocery bills,rent, debts and loans loomed large and I panicked, grabbingat whatever I could find. I lost my bearings and the guid-ance went sour. Though I did do some writing, the bookproject was abandoned. The long string of men I dated onlyserved to disillusion me about ever marrying again. Allseemed lost. My thought then was to hang my “tail”between my legs, admit my lunacy, and head back West.

From the words of two dear friends, Diane Pike andArleen (OSO) Lorrence (who founded, live and teach theLOVE PROJECT PRINCIPLES, Box 12009-418,Scottsdale, AZ 85267), came the simple phrase: BE THECHANGE YOU WANT TO SEE HAPPEN. I took thewords literally. They worked. I became the change I want-ed to see happen in my life instead of turning tail and run-ning.

My life turned around abruptly. My income basesmoothed out. Many bills got paid. Job satisfaction sky-rocketed. All the joyful, daily miracles that had once filledmy life returned. And when least expected on a day heavywith the coming of rain, I met the man I would marry whileout hiking alone upon a deserted country road. I just turnedaround and there he was. We had briefly met once before,but the meeting had never “registered” with me. He wasn’tthe kind of man I had been looking for. He was better! Soperfect were we each for the other, that we merged and

East! After the phone calls, I began to do some deep think-ing and finally decided to accept the message and act out thepart. It didn’t make any sense but that was okay. I was get-ting used to things that didn’t make any sense. It seemed themore far-out and ridiculous something was, the more sensi-ble it appeared. My mind and my world were reversing.

That afternoon, I had an appointment with my boss to dis-cuss my future at the bank where I worked. I was in line forsome major career advancements. When I informed her ofmy decision to quit and “chase rainbows” for awhile, sheturned chalk white, asked me to say not another word andsit down. She then relayed to me a startling dream she hadhad that morning at 4:00 a.m. So vivid was the dream sheawakened her husband to tell him. In the dream, she hadseen herself go to her boss, take him by the arm and Say,“Phyllis is leaving. She’s moving away. I must replacePhyllis.” All I could think of at that moment was to poundher desk and shout, “That’s not fair. You knew I was leav-ing before I did!” My decision had been reached at 1:30p.m. that day. The message had not come until around 9:30that morning.

Life has been like that ever since. Everything is so dif-ferent now. Nothing in my brain works as it used to. Whatonce made sense makes no sense now. What made no sensebefore, is perfectly clear and logical. Everything happenedas the “script” revealed, and in the spring of 1979, the sec-ond message revealed a move to Roanoke, Virginia, whereI would meet the man I would marry. Sounds like some-thing out of CINDERELLA, but I dutifully moved andfound a home with two of heaven’s most wonderful angels,Don and Neddy Repp. I moved with the idea I would writea best selling book about the death experiences I had lived

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I never meant my life to be that way. I just wanted to bethe best wife and mother I could. I was married then to agood man who had problems of his own but wouldn’t stayhome long enough to face them. We were always broke soI had to work. One tragedy stacked up upon another, yearafter year after year. A nervous breakdown called a halt tomy life then, painting black the days that followed. Godmust surely be dead, I thought, for I had been the best pos-sible person I knew to be and all that ever resulted weremore debts, more tragedies and more pain. It took the lureof parapsychology and metaphysics to awaken me to count-less dimensions and levels to the human soul, and show methat God was very much alive and well and kicking.

In reaching out to the new and different, success came ontop of success. Life became exciting and wonderful.Everything I tried worked. My world filled with creative,unusual people. The old limits and standards fell away. Ibegan to see life differently and be honest about what I saw.The old illusions died too, and so did my marriage. It hadlasted twenty years.

I had just begun a program of retraining, attending myfirst college class with eyes toward a degree, when deathcame to call. So very final and total. But it didn’t stay. Whendeath left, the me that remained was lost. I credit Dr.William G. Reimer of Ontario, Oregon (then of Boise,Idaho) with physically enabling my body to heal. Withouthis expert, if unorthodox, care I would not have the degreeof health and mobility I have today. I credit Tom Huber,Elizabeth and Terry Macinata, all then of Boise, with givingme the emotional and mental support and assistance thatkept me going - giving far beyond what any ordinary peo-ple would give, sharing so deeply and intensely that some-

blended, fulfilling each other’s dreams and hopes. The“jackets” (our bodies) we wear in this life are different col-ors and we come from different generations and lifestyles.Still, we mirror each other and in doing so have taught eachother that opposites are really complements. Two equalhalves are really a whole. We were married in Roanoke,Virginia on April 29, 1980 at 11:00 p.m., near to the com-ing of the Full Moon. The Full Moon has become a symbolto us that opposites, though powerful energies, are really ofthe same unity, and so we were married in a Unity Church.

I don’t know why all this happened to me like it did - oreven at all. I can play guessing games about that, but thetruth is I really don’t know. I could write reams of booksabout the death experience, what it taught me, about copingwith the East and the move here, and rediscovering life. I’mnot certain if it matters that I ever write anything at all. Weeach have our own dreams that become nightmares. Weeach meet our own hell and fight our own battles. It doesn’ttake any talent to die. We all die, all the time. There are somany different kinds of death and ways to die. We eachsooner or later play the part of St. George and the Dragon,as we each must face the “dragons” we’ve created in ourown lives and “slay” them or perish.

I call what I went through the “Heavenly SledgehammerEffect.” I was just too stubborn to turn around, to change asI needed to, to see what I needed to see. I had become a doerof the first order, driven to accomplish, always dealing withouter influences, moving mountains because it neveroccurred to me to live any other way. My biography woundup in more books than I care to mention, with a string ofawards longer than my arm. You can’t eat awards, and hon-ors and recognitions don’t keep you warm at night.

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Page Fifty-one

times we all hurt and we all cried.

But most of the credit I give to God, The Force, The One,The All (whatever name you wish to call It) with simplybeing What It Is and giving me the space and time to findmyself and discover Its Light within me.

I know now why I couldn’t write the book I originallyplanned. Goodness knows it would have all the blood andguts necessary for sales, though it would have to have beensold as ‘fiction” as no one in their right mind would everhave identified it with any kind of truth. Nonetheless, itspublication would have hurt many people. A doctor couldhave been accused of malpractice. A man could have beendamned for life for his negligence. A whole list of well-meaning and beautiful people could have been needlesslyembarrassed. I began to recognize a powerful force at workwanting that book. It’s called ego. The book would havesold well, but what of the price to others?

Because of this realization and the steady requests forsomething written down, I came up with this little book. Ittells most of the facts as they happened. Enough that shouldinspire or challenge anyone who reads it. I borrowed themoney to have it printed. Its distribution will be throughword of mouth, mailing lists, some announcements and ads.It will “float” around as it needs to, and those who shouldread it, will. I’ve come to realize finally that everythinghappens as it should when it’s time.

It’s just a little book, anyway. A tale of one woman whofaced herself and decided to change what she saw. So shedid . . .

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If you’re looking for a guru or religious figure, pleasekeep looking. I respect your quest, but I choose not tobe a part of it. Mine is the practical inner way - the path

of balance and joy.

I get excited about dishwater and home-baked bread. Ifind the soft touch of a baby, the warmth of a loved one, thewrinkled hands of the old and tired more enlightening to methan chants, aura photography or becoming a master soul.

I take personal responsibility for me . . . and what I havebuilded myself to be. I can’t blame that on anyone else andbe honest, so I don’t. I am what I have made of my geneticcode, environment and life’s experiences. I affirm the divin-ity of choice, and when something goes wrong in my life, Iknow just where to locate the cause - in what I see reflect-ed back from my mirror.

Life is so beautiful. So am I. So are you. We are the sameyou and I. And you honor me by being here. I cannot teachyou or change you. No one can. You do that for yourself. Ican only share where I’ve been and what that’s taught me. If you can understand what I say and find meaning for yourlife in that, then we are both richly blessed.

I believe myself to be a Child of God, an individualizedfocus of The All. I believe that everything is spirit, every-thing is One . . . and that all my choices interact with all ofyours. No one is an island. We are each part of the other. Ibelieve that balance and wholeness are the secrets of life.

There’s no difference, really, between a bowel movementand a vision, between scrubbing floors and praying,between balancing your checkbook and praising God. It’sall the same energy from the same Source. The only differ-ence is how we choose to manifest that energy at any given

Page Fifty-three

The former Phyllis Huffman was born in 1937 in TwinFalls, Idaho. She is the mother of three grown children. Thisphoto was taken by Don Repp in his home outside ofRoanoke, Vi rginia, during May, 1979. Phyllis is nowP. M. H. Atwater, having married Terry Young Atwater andbeginning a new chapter in her life.

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moment in time and space.

And no matter what anyone tells me, no matter what iswritten or believed by anyone, including me . . . I’ve dis-covered there is more. And beyond that there’s more still.There’s no end to the mores and no end to our potential forgrowth and development.

Thank you so much for touching my life . . . and allow-ing me to touch yours!

Name ________________________________________________________________

Address _______________________________________________________________

City/State/Zip___________________________________________________________

Office Phone __________________________ Home Phone _____________________

Tape and Book Order Form P.M.H. Atwater, Lh.D.Intuitive Counselor/Visionary Author

Title/Price

* $15.00 - SUBTEXT to “Children of the New Millennium” Contains the “missing” appendices. (Self-Published)

*$50.00 - Bound, Manuscript Syle“ Brain Shift/Spirit Shift: A Theoretical Model Using Research on Near-Death Studies to Explore theTransformation of Consciousness “ (Self-Published) Phase I of Brain Shift is sold out and will not be reprinted. Phase II can be purchased and downloaded directly from the website.

*$20.00 - Reissue of her first book, "I Died Three Times in 1977"(Self-Published)

*$8.00 - Reissue of poetry book, "Life Sounds"(Self-Published)

*$8.00 - Reissue of child's storybook with pictures to color. "The Frost Diamond"(Self-Published)

*$50.00 - Goddess Runes Kit 1 hour audio tape, instruction booklet, runes, pouch, casting cloth, Goddess miniature, Test-Market Version (handmade). Request list of available colors.

$24.95 - Video, VHS, 60 min.“The Aftereffects of the Near-Death Experience” (Recorded live at a conferencein Kentucky)

$7.95 - Audio Cassette, 48 min.“Coming Back to Life”(An update on her original book.)

$9.95 - Audio Cassette, 60 min.“As You Die”(Inspired by an AIDS patient in NYC, this unusual tape talks a person through the dying process and the soul's separation afterward.)

Quant. Cost

Sub-Total

VA Residents Only 4.5% Sales Tax

Total Shipping & Handling

Total Enclosed

Add $3.00 shipping and handling eachor $5. in groups of 2. Video and BrainShift Model are $5.00 shipping and han-dling each or $10. in groups of 3.(For postage outside the U.S. add $4.50 for Canada and $9.00 for allother countries..) Money orders preferred, but will accept personal checks (in U.S. funds only) payable to P.M.H. Atwater.Personal checks must clear bank before order is sent. Please allow at least 6weeks delivery. Thanks!

*For substantial savings on downloadable versions of these

self-published books, order online at:http://www.cinemind.com/atwater

Find the rest of P. M. H. Atwater'sbooks at your favorite bookstore, or order *directly online (through Amazon.Com):

"COMING BACK TO LIFE" ISBN 0-345-36016-8(paperback, Ballantine Books)

"BEYOND THE LIGHT" ISBN 0-380-72540-1(paperback, Avon Books)

"FUTURE MEMORY" ISBN 1-55972-320-3(hardcover, Birch Lane Press; paperback, Spring 1999, Hampton Roads Pub.)

"GODDESS RUNES" ISBN 0-380-78292-8(softcover, Avon Books)

P.M.H. Atwater, Lh.D.has distinguished herself internationally for her ground-breaking research of the near-death experience and its aftereffects. Herbooks "Coming Back to Life" and "Beyond the Light" have challenged the entire field. With the publication of "Future Memory" she has expanded herwork into areas of brain development that call for a reconsideration of what is presently known about the transformation of consciousness. Interwovenwithin her startling new discoveries are revelations she was given while on the “other side” of death’s curtain. Often forgotten is that she, too, is a near-death survivor with her own story to tell. An engaging speaker and visionary, Atwater’s passion is born of experience tempered by over twenty years ofobjective research discipline.

An accomplished rune caster specializing in the Elder or Yin Runes, she authored “THE MAGICAL LANGUAGE OF RUNES” (now out-of-print), and the newly released “GODDESS RUNES” and the “GODDESS RUNES KIT.”

A recipient of numerous awards, her biography is in sixteen Who’s Who books, half of them international editions. She has lectured extensively, herwritings appearing in many national publications. She attended Boise State University in Boise, Idaho, and received her humanities doctorate in 1992from the International College of Psychic Studies, Montreal, Canada.

Look for her newest book in Spring 1999 (from Three Rivers Press), “CHILDREN OF THE NEW MILLENNIUM” - a major study of children’snear-death states and the millennial child. “LIFE SOUNDS,” “THE FROST DIAMOND,” and “I DIED THREE TIMES IN 1977,’ are all reissues ofearlier work.

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