Posted on 08/28/2015 2:30:17 PM PDT by NYer
I would not describe myself as a mystic, nor would I say that I am particularly attracted to mysticism. On the contrary, I tend to shy away from such things. I would even go so far as to say that I have a sneaking sympathy for Ronald Knox’s quip (or was it Newman’s) that mysticism begins in mist and ends in schism.
It’s not that I don’t respect mysticism—as long as it is grounded in orthodoxy. I have a great love for the mystical meanderings of St. John of the Cross, and who but a fool does not have profound respect for the feisty spiritual levitations of St. Teresa of Avila?
It’s just that I have always been more comfortable with the union of faith and reason to be found in Augustine or Aquinas than in the surrender of the sense and the senses to transcendental flights of selfless self-discovery.
There are exceptions. I can lose myself in the presence of beauty, be it the beauty of nature or the beauty of art, as Hopkins does, or as the great Romantics do: losing myself in the beauty so that I can discover God’s presence there, and, in so doing, find myself more deeply through the very losing of the self in the transport of delight.
In any event, this rather perambulating preamble serves to illustrate, I hope, that I am uncomfortable with any feeling that could be labeled as “mystical.” And yet, a few days ago, I had a near-death experience that can only be described as deeply mystical in a really life-changing way. Indeed, I will never be the same again.
It all began in the early evening as I was weeding kudzu from the woods on our property, a worthy but wearying endeavor that can be likened to the Long Defeat of which Tolkien writes. Suddenly I was aware of dozens of needles shooting searing pain into my body. I had disturbed a wasps’ nest. Somehow the vesperish hordes had managed to get inside my clothing and were venting their venomous spleen on my defenseless skin. Needless to say I beat a hasty retreat to my home and removed the items of clothing as expeditiously as possible.
The worst was now over—or so I thought.
I began to feel decidedly odd. Pins and needles washed over every inch of me, from the top of my head to the base of my feet and all points in between. I began to shiver uncontrollably. My face began to swell and blister. I began to feel dizzy and queasy.
My wife, Susannah, had seen enough. She ushered the children into the car, as I staggered, dazed, behind her. She wanted to get me to the emergency room as quickly as possible.
As we drove, things got much worse very fast. My vision faded so that all I could see were bright fuzzy shapes, much like the façade of Rouen Cathedral in Monet’s impressionistic depiction of it in full sunlight. I began to gasp for air and my heart pounded at an accelerated and accelerating rate. It was beating faster than it had ever beaten even after the most vigorous treadmill work out—much faster. I was now completely convinced that I was about to die. It was only a question of whether the cause of death would be the impending heart attack or whether it would be asphyxiation: a cardiac arrest or suffocation.
It was then that I had the mystical experience that will forever change my life. As I realized that I was on the point of death, a great sense of peace and resignation came over me. I was ready and, as Hamlet reminds us, the readiness is all. I would add, however, and very quickly and insistently, that it was not because of my own holiness but because I was being lifted up by supernatural hands. My rational self was very much aware that my wife was beside me, driving the car, and that my children were in the seats behind. My rational self would have screamed in panic at the thought of leaving them to fend for themselves without my protection as pater familias. How would they cope without me? Yet no such thoughts could assail the sense of being uplifted in supernatural hands, taken to a level of peace and acceptance that I had never theretofore known.
Ping!
I was on board an L-1011 outbound from Calgary, Alberta, when the plane began shuddering and a sound like machine gun fire erupted from one of the engines. Figuring we were about to die in a crash, my emotional response wasn’t what I would have expected. “Well, it’s been nice,” I thought and was ready for whatever was next. No fear, no anxiety, just resignation.
We didn’t crash. They brought the plane down back at the airport on a runway lined with ambulances, fire trucks, and foam trucks. We learned later that a strut in one of the engines had come loose and been sucked into the turbine blades. The blades being broken one by one was what caused the machine gun sound.
So I expect my reaction to death will be fatalistic and accepting.
Joseph Pearce has written some very good books.
Uh, I don't think so.
Having come very close to death twice, my predominant memory has been fascination.
a-HA. you were saved to live another day so that NEXT time, you could say, "well, it HAS been nice". The Proper Grammar Gods could not tolerate your sentiment and, alas, here you are. :P
j/k. I don't think that would have been my reaction in that situation. I know you said you didn't think it would be your reaction, either; however, it must be quite a feeling to know, somewhat pretty accurately, what your reaction really would be. You sound like a cool cucumber. :)
Outstanding report of a NDE.
I’ve had one of those shocks too and my mom sped down a 25 mph street at 50 getting me to the hospital. I couldn’t talk, could hardly breathe, all I could do was point to show her which direction to turn.
I was pregnant at the time and had false labor pains for two days from the meds they gave me.
A beautiful story, thanks for posting. I had a mystical experience but it was not a near death experience. I was sitting in church, waiting for my 18 year old sons funeral to start. I asked God to help me get through what was getting ready to happen. It was immediate and I felt hands, angel wings or something hold me like I was wrapped in a down comforter. For several weeks I was like Job in the Bible, mute and calm. Thank you Jesus.
Trauma, near death, others close to you near death, all being you closer to God. Even taking care of your pets as they grt old and start exhbiting signs they are going down the last road, you are made closer to Him.
The one close call I had was the perception of time slowing down, and I was able to keep my wits about me and get through it.
So sorry you lost your son, and that he was only 18 when he died. God almighty, the crosses people have to bear.
“It’s the only rational explanation.”
Uh, I don’t think so.
That is because you do not know...folks who have gone through near death experiences KNOW. You look at the one side of the window glass...never looking through it. We have seen the through the glass to what is outside. It is beautiful.
I was in the back of an ambulance when I had a near death experience. My vision was super hi-def. The pain of the heart attack went away. I knew I was about to leave this life and I’ve never been more accepting of anything in my life. I had to accept it. I had no choice. And I guess that’s why there was no fear. In fact, I was excited about what I was about to see.
Then all of a sudden the pain returned and I gasped for air. I realized later that when you accept that death is inevitable, there is no reason to fear it. Maybe that’s why those people had the courage to jump from the WTC. They knew death was near and they were not afraid to meet it in their own way.
I now understand what the Apostle Paul meant when he said “Death, where is thy sting?” I learned that there is no pain in death. The pain is in living.
Great article. Thanks.
I am not afraid of death. But I would not want to be taken away from my family because they need me.
I think it was Woody Allen who said,
“I’m not afraid of death. I just don’t
want to be there when it happens.”
NDE testimony
Thank-you for this excellent posting. God Bless.
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