Archive for January, 2016


When I was four, I drowned. I remember being out of my body, which I tend to call my vehicle. I remember watching them pull the vehicle out of the pool. And I left them to do their job while I returned to “real life” where love is not just a feeling as people here believe it to be. In real life “Love” is the fabric of everything. You breathe it in like a fish takes in water. And music moves through you.

I was met by someone called Esai (E-Sigh) and quickly regained my perfect knowledge. Esai and I spoke about the different plans I had made for this lifetime on this playing field because I wasn’t keen on returning, but the deciding factor in returning to this place was a small boy reminding me that we, all of my friends and he himself, had created a plan to come, to feel, and to experience all the pain and joy of this place. And if I did not return, I would not be there to intersect those lives when they would need a helping hand or perhaps just a nudge.

From our vantage point we could see them working on the vehicle. We saw the man arrive, “Not on my watch!” is what he said. I could have chosen to stay in real life, but the moment I chose to return, “pop” there I was back in this playing field.

When we choose to be here, we arrive to a vehicle which  has no knowledge of real life, as if a curtain is pulled across its view. But, if we accidentally kill the vehicle, and the vehicle is still viable, and we choose to return, the curtain is open. And it stays open. We arrive back with one foot in this game, and one foot in real life. I know the truth as do most “near death survivors” which are actually “real death returnees.”

My life has been a revolving door of people who are about to return to real life. They don’t know my story, but the Universe leads them to me. They are afraid, they want to know what is waiting for them. They believe the horror stories  of hell they’ve been told. They ask me for reassurance that they will not go to hell. They tell on themselves and hope that what they say, will be good enough to get them into heaven.

In 2004 I had a phone conversation with an older man who was about to go into hospice. The conversation started about his dog who had cancer, and he said, he himself was about to take that “long walk” as he described it.

I said, “Oh I know that long walk.” He said, “No you don’t understand, I have cancer and I’m going to die.”  I said, “I do understand, I  have returned home during this lifetime so I understand well.”

He asked me if I would come to his home and speak with him. I said, I would.  When I arrived his wife took me into a quiet den, brought me a cup of tea, and then disappeared. The man came in, sat beside me and began to tell me stories of his life as a gangster. He confessed the things he had done, from the most horrific things to the lies he told his wife. He was terrified of going to hell.

I told him, hell does not exist. I told him all that awaited him was love.

But the things he had done. The people he had hurt. The Bible told him he was going to burn for eternity. I reminded him, he was already in hell. A hell he made for himself. I reminded him, he is here to create obstacles for the people he came here with. We don’t have to come here and feel pain and anger and rage. We don’t have to fight to overcome all the obstacles we find here. But if we choose to do this, then someone must create the obstacle too.

Some vehicles may not know a lie when they hear it but your spirit knows a lie. Not with his ears but with his guts, I asked him to tell me a lie.  After the lie, I asked him what his gut response was.  He said, “I heard, No it’s not! from that little voice in my head.”

Then I asked him to tell me a truth. He agreed that his inner voice did indeed agree with his truth.

Then I said,”Tell me hell doesn’t exist.” And he did. And I asked him what the voice said to that. He said, “It said, I know.”

And finally I told him death does not exist. You will step out of this vehicle right back into real life.

His wife called to tell me he died the very next day, in hospice. And he wasn’t afraid.






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