Experience while unconscious due to plane crash

On Sunday, July 17, 2022, I was out and about with my bearded-dragon lizard, Lemmy. We were walking through the drainage tunnels as a shortcut to our destination. We were resting in an open part of the wash situated directly behind the runways of North Las Vegas Airport. I was sitting back watching the small planes takeoff and land. My little buddy was sitting a few feet away sunbathing. I was taking a long awaited drink from my water bottle as I watched a small, single-engine Cessna making a right turn in my direction and preparing to land. I watched another small plane descending behind it. At least it appeared that way, from my vantage point. I expected the planes to pass directly overhead of me to land. But, to my horror, I watch as the planes collide midair about 50 feet above me.

I scramble to my feet, grabbed Lemmy, and sprinted towards the steep driveway-like slopes of the storm drain. When I heard the deafening sound of an explosion, I was thrown forward with tremendous force while pelted by small pieces of shrapnel. I went unconscious as I hit the ground.

When I regained consciousness, I saw nothing but a dark tunnel. I thought I imagined the whole incident, and looked around for Lemmy. But he wasn't there. I freaked out and ran towards the end of the tunnel. I was blinded by an intensely, bright light. Then, I found myself in different location. I was a grassy oasis-type of place.

This confused me as I was greeted by a strange, robed figure who led me down a path to a field. Numerous people were sitting there. I recognized my grandmother, great aunt, and a close family friend. All of them had died when I was younger. I ask the robed figure, "Who are you?" Instead of getting an answer, everyone else was asking me what I was doing there so early. I replied, "I don't know." I relayed the story that there was a crash, I passed out, and woke up somewhere else without Lemmy. I asked if they had seen him and demanded that I get to him. The robed man placed one hand on my forehead and everything became blurry and dark.

I open my eyes. This time, I found myself on the ground and in a lot of pain. As I stood up, I saw the burning wreckage of the small Cessna about 20 feet away from me. The pungent smell of burning flesh and metal was very strong. I frantically looked around for Lemmy and found him a few feet away from me. I picked him up and dialed 911. I explaining the situation while cautiously inching closer to the burning wreckage. I wanted to see if anyone had managed to survive. It was so horrible that although it will forever be ingrained in my memory, some things are just better left un-shared. I suffering a broken knee and a fractured wrist. Lemmy suffering a broken forelimb and a spinal displacement. We spent a day in the hospital. The nurses were so nice to me and little Lemmy. They even made him his own little splint for his arm. In the end we were okay. 

https://www.nderf.org/Experiences/1iain_t_nde.html 

Shared experience of dying loved one

Writer and researcher Nick Cook relates this story: "In 2014, I gathered with my wife’s family at her family home to be with my much-loved mother-in-law as she slipped into unconsciousness after a long illness. Besides my mother-in-law, there were six other family members in the house.

"After a day in which we’d taken turns to be with her, her breathing changed suddenly, and we all assembled by her bed for what her nurse told us would be her last moments. My wife, who had been exceptionally close to her mother, took her hand. At the precise moment of her mother’s passing, still holding Sylvia’s hand, she turned unexpectedly to the rest of us and, in a joy-filled voice that belied the pain everyone knew she was feeling, announced to the room that ‘all was well’. When, some hours later, I asked her what had happened in the midst of her turmoil to make her say this, she looked at me, perplexed. 'Didn’t you experience it, too? Didn’t everyone?'

"She told me that what she had experienced had been so vivid – so real – she was convinced everyone in the room had been ‘there’ too: a place where time didn’t exist, but where it also seemed to stretch endlessly. In this realm, she told me, everything had felt so primally ‘connected’ that she had been presented with every piece of information that had ever existed across all time – and every bit of it ‘made sense’. Fear, anxiety, and pain had all disappeared to be replaced by a different state of being – a realm, my wife described it as – that felt infinitely ‘more real’ than our own; the world that for a second or two (as we had experienced it) she had left behind.

"She felt in this moment overwhelmingly that her mother had gone ‘home’; and that for some reason she had been allowed to experience that place too. These were words that had come from someone who wouldn’t have categorized herself for a moment as ‘religious’ in any recognized sense.

"The other word my wife used was ‘love’ – love of the purest and most joyous kind had permeated this place at every level of its being and of hers; and, in this sense, she said, there was no distinction, no separation, between ‘it’ and her; they were, in effect, one.

"Here is her personal experience in her own words: I felt like I’d been taken part of the way with her. I felt, as I was holding her hand, something else was holding her, and that I was a part of that moment. I just felt loved. I knew everything. I didn’t need to know what I knew. I just understood it. I felt a part of everything, connected with everything. It was like: ‘Ah, I get it’, but I can’t tell you what it is that I got. There was no division. I was it and it was me. All I remember (on returning to the room) is turning around and going: ‘All is well. It’s all OK. She’s fine.’ I had never felt more loved, more safe. I was just one with everything. I had perfect understanding of everything and knowing that where she was was real.

"Over the next several months, this event had a profound effect on me. I had been given testimony of an anomalous event from someone whom I trusted intimately – and there was no question that, for the person to whom the event had happened, it had been real. When I Googled it, I found it was something others had experienced – a phenomenon allied to the OBE and the NDE known as a ‘shared death experience’.

 

Nick Cook is an author of 20 fiction and non-fiction book titles in the US and the UK. A former technology journalist, he is well-known for his ground-breaking, best-selling non-fiction book, The Hunt for Zero Point. He has also written, produced, and presented two feature-length documentaries for the History and Discovery channels. In 2021, Cook was amongst 29 prize winners in the BICS institute’s essay competition on consciousness.

End of life experience that was reassuring

Dr. Christopher Kerr, Chief Medical Officer and Chief Executive Officer for Hospice & Palliative Care Buffalo, writes of dying patients having dreams of renewing friendships with deceased friends and relatives:

"Frank had been admitted to the Hospice Inpatient Unit with severe congestive heart failure. At 95, he was still completely aware of his surroundings and loved a good conversation. He had collected encyclopedic bits of baseball lore the way others do treasured objects and could talk the game like no one else. Yet, despite his recall and engagement, when Frank closed his eyes to rest, his room became crowded with dead relatives. One of them was Uncle Harry who had been dead for 46 years and who 'wouldn’t shut up'. This was a recurring phenomenon I now knew better than to mistake for the manifestation of a broken mind.

"Like for so many of our dying patients, time was now inconsequential and what was before was now in the present while realities, whether current or past, living or dead, merged. His body was shutting down, but his mind had not lost its foothold in consciousness. In truth, he had a foot in two worlds, only one of which we shared.

"Over time, Frank’s inner-world experiences returned him to what he treasured most in life, his wife’s love. The more he dreamt of her, the more he felt her presence and the more peaceful he became. He finally requested that we discontinue treatment. His decision to decline care was medically appropriate. As is so often the case, patients recognize medical futility before their physician and, in a sense, release the doctor from an obligation that can no longer be honored. Frank wanted to join 'Ruthie in heaven'. 

"We helped him reach comfort for this much-awaited reunion, and he died with the beauty and grace he had lived and created. As his organs failed, his senses, perceptions and awareness did not. In fact, they were telling Frank that his soul was in fact very much alive. In contrast to the notion of 'raging against the dying of the light', Frank, like most of our patients, was fighting towards not against. The 'towards’ he was drawn to was within his end of life vision providing a renewed consciousness warmed in familiar love. This was where he was now experiencing 'life', beyond his physical boundaries."

Christopher Kerr, “Experiences of the Dying: Evidence of Survival of Human Consciousness,” an essay written for the 2021 Bigelow Institute for Consciousness Studies in response to the question: “What is the best evidence for survival of consciousness after bodily death?” Dr. Kerr, MD, PhD, is the Chief Medical Officer and Chief Executive Officer for Hospice & Palliative Care Buffalo.

After death experiences: Consciousness Survives

Dr Peter Fenwick & Dr Pier-Francesco Moretti, Dr Vasileios Basios, and Martin Redfern write: "There can be no evidence clearer than the personal testament of someone who has died. Thanks to the success of medical interventions following cardiac arrest, many people do return from something that would have been classified as dead 50 years ago – a state in which the brain has ceased to function, the heart has stopped and the person is to all intents and purposes actually dead. And some report experiences which suggest the existence of another state of consciousness, unavailable in our normal everyday world.

"The international definition of death is: no respiration, no cardiac output and absent brain stem reflexes. This is the exact clinical state after a cardiac arrest. Simultaneous recording of heart rate and brain electrical activity show that within 11 seconds of the heart stopping, the brainwaves go flat. You are clinically dead.

"Consciousness is lost in a matter of seconds when the heart stops and may not be regained until hours to days after it restarts.

"Even if cardiopulmonary resuscitation (CPR) begins straight away, blood pressure will not rise high enough to establish an adequate blood flow through the brain. Doine Stub and Graham Nichol found that only 7% of cardiac arrest patients survived and most had some evidence of brain damage; and the mental state during recovery is confusional.

"The flat EEG indicating no brain activity during cardiac arrest and the high incidence of brain damage afterwards both indicate that unconsciousness is total. The brain can’t create images, so it should be impossible to have clearly structured and lucid narrative experiences and because memory is not functioning, if experiences did occur they should not be remembered. The brain does not begin to function again until the heart restarts. So in theory it is impossible for anyone in this state to a) experience or b) remember anything that occurred during it. And if an experience occurred during the gradual return to consciousness it would be confusional, and not the clear, lucid story which is characteristic of actual death experiences.

"However, to muddy the waters some studies have found that in patients who are being monitored and have begun the actual death process, there is a sudden recurrence of brain activity, containing faster frequencies which may last up to five minutes. Materialists have jumped on this as the explanation for the ADE. But this is random cortical activity which does not integrate different areas of the brain, and certainly could not restore consciousness.

"Conventional science cannot explain how an ADE could occur at any point during the death process, and there are special difficulties in accepting that it happens when the ADErs say it happens — during unconsciousness. However, about 10% of those who survive a cardiac arrest report an ADE .

"It is very difficult to judge the exact timing of an ADE during a cardiac arrest. But two prospective studies were of people who had had cardiac arrests and were resuscitated in coronary care units, where their medical records show exactly what had happened; the patients had the same medication and resuscitation procedures and could be questioned as soon as they were well enough.

"Of the 63 cardiac arrest survivors interviewed, 89% had no memories and about 10% reported ADEs, which they said had occurred while they were unconscious. These ADEs were, as was expected, very similar to those NDEs already reported in the literature. The authors also found that the ADEs were not due to medication, electrolytes, blood gases, religious belief or any other cultural factors.

"Other research groups have found similar results. In a Dutch study of 344 cardiac arrest survivors, 41 (about 12%) reported ADEs (van Lommel, 2011). Their occurrence was not influenced by the duration of unconsciousness or cardiac arrest, or by medication but more ADEs were reported in the group of survivors who died shortly after their experience. In another study a higher rate of 23% was reported (Schwaninger et al., 2002) about 10% were found by Greyson, (2003) , while others (Sartori et al., 2006) report about 25%. What is clear is that actual death experiences do occur in association with cardiac arrest, and their contents are similar to those reported in the NDE literature.

"No studies have so far been able to provide definitive scientific proof of when an ADE occurs. Parnia, with Fenwick and others (Parnia et al., 2001) found that the patients themselves felt that the experiences occurred during unconsciousness - important because, as discussed above, we have no idea how clear consciousness can be experienced during a period of clinical death with a flat EEG. This question is absolutely crucial to one of the biggest problems facing neuroscience: is consciousness entirely a product of brain function and is it confined to the brain? ADE research is perhaps the most promising way of filling the ‘consciousness gap’ in neuroscience. From the point of view of science, the ADE cannot occur during unconsciousness, and yet there is tantalizing evidence that that is just when they do occur.

"About a third of ADEs are preceded by an out of body experience in which the experiencer says they leave the body and rise to the ceiling and can see the resuscitation taking place. Anecdotal evidence points to the OBE and therefore the ADE occurring during unconsciousness. Certain subjects even described their own resuscitation procedures accurately, suggesting that their ADE had occurred when the brain was ‘down’ (Sabom, 1982).

"Dr. Penny Sartori studied a group of cardiac arrest survivors in a coronary care unit, several of whom said they had left their bodies and witnessed the resuscitation process. She compared their accounts of their resuscitation with those of another group of patients who had had no ADE during their resuscitation but were asked to describe what they thought had happened. It is usually argued that everyone sees so much resuscitation on TV that they know the procedure. Dr. Sartori was able to show convincingly that the patients who claimed to have seen their resuscitation, described it much more accurately than those who could only guess what had happened and who made significant errors (Sartori et al., 2006).

"The case of Pamela Reynolds, described in the BBC’s documentary film The Day I Died, (Broome, 2002) is worth quoting at length because it seems so clear that even the most ardent debunkers have been unable to produce a satisfactory explanation for it.

"Pamela had to undergo surgery to remove a cerebral aneurysm situated deep in the central structures of her brain. The operation was carried out in a specialized neurosurgery center under close medical monitoring during the entire operation. Her brain was cooled and EEG electrodes measured her brain activity. When the anesthesia had reached sufficient depth, the brain was known to be non-functioning. Pamela was clinically dead. Her circulation was taken over by a heart lung machine, the blood was emptied from her brain and the neurosurgeons removed the aneurysm. Then the heart was restarted, and the wound was closed.

"After the operation Pamela made several observations about what she had ‘seen’ during it which were acknowledged by the medical team to be correct. The best skeptics have been able to come up with to rebut this was that it was a case of ‘anesthesia awareness’, which does indeed occur under some circumstances, but is impossible in cases such as this when the brain is emptied of blood and clinically dead. Far more significant is the following comment on the case, from the British Medical Journal.

“There is still much scientific work to be done before we can confidently suggest mind-body separation during the NDE. Dr Spritzer, the neurosurgeon who operated on Pam Reynolds, stated that he could not explain her NDE in the physiological state she was in, commenting 'I don’t want to be so arrogant to be able to say that there is no way it can happen'. Let us hope that all those engaged in NDE research can adopt a similar attitude.” (BMJ-editorial, 2003).

 

“To Be And Not To Be. This is The Answer: Consciousness Survives,” essay for the 2021 Bigelow essay contest submitted by Dr Peter Fenwick & Dr Pier-Francesco Moretti, Dr Vasileios Basios, and Martin Redfern.

 

Deathbed "appearances" and "coincidences"

Peter and Elizabeth Fenwick write: "Further evidence to support the theory that consciousness can in some form continue after death has been found in studying what appears to happen to people as they approach death

"Occasionally, someone may have a premonition of their own death some time before it occurs, though this is rare. But about 80-90% of people who are dying see a vision of someone they loved so real that the dying person looks at them as if at a fixed location in the room, may talk to them, try to shake hands, or may clearly feel that the visitor is sitting on the bed. Often the visitor tells the dying they will be back to collect them when it is time for them to go. Without exception these experiences are positive and reassuring for the person who is dying and occur independently of "drugs, pathology, or any physiological factors affected by the dying process.

These deathbed visitors seem to come to reassure the dying that all will be well and that dying is only a transition to a continuation of being. In some cases they accompany the dying person into a new, spiritual area, full of love and light, where they may see spiritual figures and other dead relatives. Often the dying seem to travel into and out of this area, and they are given to understand that this is where they will be going when they die. Relatives who overhear the conversation nearly always describe it as rational and lucid." Below Marie Dowdall describes what she saw while with her dying uncle:

My uncle served in the First World War and experienced the horrors of the Somme. He had led a group of men, returned with only three survivors was badly injured and was awarded the Military Cross. When he was dying of cancer, my mother cared for him at home. One evening we were sitting with him when suddenly he leaned forward and stared across the room. He became very animated and looked very happy as he began to talk to people he could obviously see but we couldn’t, calling them each by name and saying how wonderful it was to see them again. It became apparent that they were some of the men who had served with him at the Somme and died there. There was a look of wonderment on his face and he forgot his pain. I didn’t see him conscious again, and he died a couple of days later. (Fenwick & Fenwick, 2008).

"The appearance of these visitors is often used by the palliative care team to comfort the dying and in one hospice in Canada the staff tell them about the possibility of deathbed visitors and encourage them to go with them if they are asked to do so.

"Another very common experience reported by the dying is the transition in and out of another reality they describe as composed of light and love, and which they believe is their destination.

My father was at my grandfather’s bedside, deeply distressed, but my grandfather quietly said to my father, “Don’t worry Leslie, I am all right, I can see and hear the most beautiful things and you must not worry.” And he quietly died, lucid to the end. (Fenwick & Fenwick, 2008).

Deathbed visitors are occasionally seen by relatives or palliative care staff who are with the dying person and more frequently (though still rarely), by children.

Monika Renz

"Recent work by Dr. Monika Renz, a palliative care physician working in Switzerland on cohorts of patients dying of cancer, has characterized the final stages of the death process, with a transition into light and love very similar to the ADE (Renz et al., 2018).

1. The cleaning and giving up of attachments.

2. The gradual crumbling of the ego structures of the mind and the dawning of non-dual consciousness where everything becomes a unity.

3. The final stage, death, characterized by experiences of light and love and movement towards a more cosmic sense of mind."

"Some of the best evidence for the continuity of consciousness is the phenomenon of deathbed coincidences, in which a dying person makes a farewell visit to someone emotionally close to them. Often this is during a dream, or when the person suddenly wakes with an overwhelming realization that something is wrong, or that someone was trying to contact them. (Fenwick & Fenwick, 2008) found 66% of the visits described to them occurred either in dreams or on a sudden awakening from sleep.

"Distance is no bar for these communications, and even being underwater can’t stop them. In October 1987 Terry Woods was serving in the Royal Navy on patrol as a Submariner:

Two days after diving I was asleep in bed and had a very real dream that my grandfather had "died". All of our family were waiting and I was the last one to arrive. When I arrived my grandfather picked up my nephew's bike and said "that's it, I'm off" and pedaled off and disappeared. I woke up the next morning and told my best friend that "I had a really weird dream that my grandad had died."

"Whilst on patrol submariners are never told of any bad news, so it was three weeks later that Terry was told about his grandfather’s death at approximately 3.00am on the 18th October 1987, when he was fast asleep 200 feet under the Atlantic ocean (Fenwick & Fenwick, 2008).

"It is certainly not uncommon for people who are away from their families to have anxiety dreams about them, but Terry says the dream was very real and this, combined with the precise timing, adds weight to the idea that it was more likely to have been communication than coincidence.

"The following coincidence was reported by an Australian mother whose son was a sailor. The transition to love and light is similar to the new reality described in the ADE.

I was suddenly awoken from sleep to feel something was wrong, then I saw a vision of my son (not a dream) walking slowly towards me. He was disheveled and dripping wet. As he got closer he slowly transformed and became surrounded by light. He then said “don’t worry mum I am ok” and slowly faded. I knew something had happened to him so I rang England the next morning to find he had been drowned in a sailing accident the night before (Fenwick & Fenwick, 2008).

"Sometimes coincidence is a reasonable and rational explanation for these events. But in many of these accounts, both the accuracy of the timing and the strength of the emotional response make it much harder to attribute them to ‘just coincidence’. That seems much less reasonable or rational than the alternative explanation – that there is somehow a genuine connection between the people involved and that this contact is driven by the person who is ill or dying.

"This suggests that there is a state at death or just after death in which the person has some kind of existence in which their personal consciousness – their ‘mind’ - somehow persists independently of their brain. We can find further corroborative evidence for this in the study of actual death experiences.

"Some of the accounts of these deathbed visits are particularly interesting as they show apparent communication between a dying person and someone who is close to them emotionally but geographically far away.

Our friend Sarah told us how she had been living in Florence for several months when one day, on her way back to her pension from an art class, she had a sudden, overwhelming feeling that something was wrong with her father – who, as far as she knew, was perfectly well and healthy at home in America. The feeling was so powerful that she began to run, feeling that she must ring home immediately and find out if anything was wrong. When she reached the pension a phone message was waiting for her, telling her that her father had died after falling down the cellar steps and broken his neck. (Peter Fenwick: Personal Communication)

"These experiences are usually brief and while some, like Sarah’s, give rise to a sudden strong conviction that someone they love is very ill or has died, other people simply have a feeling of uneasiness for no apparent reason, as in the following account by Kathie Guthrie.

Sadly my brother was killed in a car crash some 20 years ago now. I had been at work intending to work till 5 o'clock. At 4.20pm I was so uneasy and began getting cross with myself I just packed up and went home despite really needing to stay at work for one reason or another. I found out at 2.30 am the next morning that my brother had been killed instantly by a drunk driver at 4.20pm. (Fenwick & Fenwick, 2008)

"Kathie would probably not have given a second thought to her feeling of uneasiness had she not discovered the exact moment of her brother’s death. It is ambiguous experiences like this which reinforce the view that they cannot be dismissed as simply coincidences, even when the feelings experienced are inexplicable and out of character, and the timing approximately correct – indeed uncannily accurate in this particular case.

"To determine whether an experiences is coincidence or fact we devised a rating scale and used it to rate 100 coincidences reported to us in response to newspaper articles and broadcasts. We found that the experiences were all within half an hour of death but most were at the time of death as recorded by the hospice.

"A number of inexplicable occurrences are often reported at or around the time of death, for example clocks stopping, light in the room, shapes seen leaving the body and domestic pets seeming disturbed. These features suggest that dying is a very special event which seems to cross the boundaries of both time and space."

 

The above quoter were included in “To Be And Not To Be. This is The Answer: Consciousness Survives,” an essay for the 2021 Bigelow essay contest submitted by Dr Peter Fenwick & Dr Pier-Francesco Moretti, Dr Vasileios Basios, and Martin Redfern.

 

Life changes due to near-death experiences

Researchers Robert and Suzanne Mays write: The most important paradigm shift will be for all of humanity to accept that the human being is a spiritual being clothed in a physical body. There is no need to fear death because our essential being does not die with the death of the physical body. There is no death.

When people lose the fear of death, their whole perspective changes. Nearly all near-death experiencers report a strong decrease or complete loss of the fear of death as the result of their near-death experiences (NDEs). Shared death experiencers and after-death communication (ADC) witnesses also experience this after effect.

NDErs experience many other lasting changes in their lives. They experience an inner peace and greater appreciation for life; for them, life has meaning and purpose. NDErs are less judgmental and more loving than before their NDE; they are less materialistic and more altruistic, with an increased concern for others; they are less competitive and more cooperative, and they are less self-centered, more compassionate and more understanding of others than before their NDE.

Kenneth Ring

You don’t need to have an NDE in order to make these changes yourself, inwardly. Researcher Kenneth Ring has found that merely hearing and learning about NDEs can bring about profound personal changes similar to what NDErs report. For example, Donald, a retired professor, wrote to Ring that studying NDEs brought about a major life change in his life:

“I have found myself identifying so closely with these [NDErs] that I have been experiencing vicariously much of what they experienced in fact. ... A noticeably reduced fear of death, and with it, the attendant disappearance of all fear of living. ... Prior to my research, I characterized myself as a rip snortin’ atheist. ... Now, ... I am firmly convinced that human consciousness survives bodily death.”

Another student of NDE literature, James, told Ring:

“NDEs have greatly reduced any fear of death I had. In fact, they’ve eliminated it. I have a very positive view of death, and the beginning of a much clearer picture of life after death. ... NDEs have greatly enhanced my awareness of the primacy of love as a Living Force, and as the meaning and goal of all of our actions and of all things.”

Writing after his near-death experience Jerry Casebolt affirms: "The [near-death] experience represents the very essence, the very expression of the fabric of being. It is the ultimate of all spiritual experiences, with the only known exceptions being death itself and its complement, birth. The numerous stories from experiencers have provided humanity with a wide variety of richness in spiritual experience. Over the ages, these tales have provided the world with the very core of spirituality, religion, and esoteric teachings. For the person who has had such an experience, it is not ‘near-death.’ It is a real death, both physically and psychologically. It is a transformation in that it changes one’s life forever. It is time to get these stories out to the public. Humanity is in need."

 

Robert G. Mays, BSc and Suzanne B. Mays, AA,  “There is no death: Near-death experience evidence for survival after permanent bodily death.” An essay written for the 2021 Bigelow Institute for Consciousness Studies addressing the question: “What Is The Best Available Evidence For The Survival Of Human Consciousness After Permanent Bodily Death?” Footnotes are omitted from these excerpts.

Kenneth Ring Kenneth Ring, Ph.D., is Professor Emeritus of Psychology at the University of Connecticut, and the author of the 2006 book Lessons from the Light: What We Can Learn from the Near-Death Experience. 

 

Elizabeth Krohn's near-death experience

When Elizabeth G. Krohn got out of her car with her two young sons in the parking lot of her synagogue on a late afternoon in September 1988, she couldn't have anticipated she would within seconds be struck by lightning and have a near-death experience. She felt herself transported to a garden and engaging in a revelatory conversation with a spiritual being. When she recovered, her most fundamental understandings of what the world is and how it works had been completely transformed. She was “changed in a flash,” suddenly able to interact with those who had died and have prescient dreams predicting news events. She came to believe that some early traumatic and abusive experiences had played a part in preparing her for this experience.

 

Told in matter-of-fact language, the first half of this book is the story of Krohn’s journey, and the second is an interpretation and analysis by Jeffrey J. Kripal, Associate Dean of the School of Humanities at Rice University who holds the J. Newton Rayzor Chair in Philosophy and Religious Thought. Kirpal is also Associate Director of the Center for Theory and Research at the Esalen Institute in Big Sur, California and served as the Editor in Chief of the Macmillan Handbook Series on Religion. He places Krohn's experience in the context of religious traditions and proposes the groundbreaking idea that we are shaping our own experiences in the future by how we engage with near-death experiences in the present. Changed in a Flash is not about proving a story, but about carving out space for serious discussion of this phenomenon.

 

Krohn writes: The NDE changed me in ways I never could have imagined. On September 1, 1988 I was a skeptic. Nothing could have dissuaded me from believing that when a person dies, that’s the end—that they are gone and nothing of them remains. But a bolt of lightning literally jolted me into reality.

 

On September 2, 1988, that lightning bolt bestowed upon me a gift, the power and profundity of which remain unmatched more than three decades later. That gift was knowledge that death isn’t the end; knowledge that where we are now is a temporary place, and where we go when we die is home; knowledge that what we do with our time here matters and affects our afterlife; knowledge that our souls, the vessels that carry our consciousness, continue on after bodily death and actually become keenly aware, awake, and all-knowing once unencumbered by our bodies.

 

One of the things I learned in the afterlife is that no two souls have identical afterlife experiences. Each experience in the afterlife is tailored to each individual soul, their expectations, and their needs. Each soul perceives the afterlife, and everything about it, differently.

 

"When you find yourself dead, in a place of otherworldly love and beauty, with a sudden understanding of everything, and you hear your beloved deceased grandfather tell you to sit on the most elaborately crafted bench you have ever seen, you sit. I took a seat on the ornately carved bench and found that it conformed to whatever my individual 'body' had become as soon as I sat down. The bench morphed around me. As I sat, cradled in the most comfortable seat imaginable, I began to look around. I saw that I was surrounded by a Garden of foreign plants, the likes of which I had never seen before, or even imagined.

 

My grandfather’s soft familiar voice, complete with the French accent that made it so distinct during his life, was a soothing presence. He said that audible speech would disrupt my absorption of the surroundings, so he was going to give me information, knowledge, and answers to my questions silently. I believe that this voice was actually not my grandfather speaking to me, but was God using my grandfather’s voice to put me at ease. This was a strange reckoning for me, given that in life I had been such a non-religious and non-spiritual person who gave very little, if any, thought to the existence of God. And yet, here I was, sitting on a bench with someone I thought was God in a place that I knew was Heaven. 

 

The calming voice shared things with me about our family that only my grandfather, and of course God, would know. This presence gave me information that showed a total knowledge of where I was and what choices I would need to make if I chose to go back to my life on Earth. He relayed the clear impression that the choice to remain in the Garden or to reoccupy my burned body was mine to make. I understood that I could take as long as I needed to make the decision to either stay in the Garden or return to my life on Earth, and that I would be given information that would help me make that decision. 

 

I was dead, but I was more alive, conscious, and aware than when I had been that twenty-eight year old woman with the children and the umbrella in the synagogue parking lot a mere second earlier. I was surrounded by and suffused with an unutterable feeling of unconditional love. The love was all-encompassing and embraced me in every possible way. Everything in the Garden emanated love. The lull of a gently babbling brook, the cadence of the soothing otherworldly music surrounding me, and the resplendent, fragrant visual feast of constantly blooming flowers and hypnotic colors I had never seen before, all reinforced the knowledge that I now had: that I was safe, protected, and unconditionally loved by God. I was home. 

 

The glow that I had followed into the Garden initially had moved away from me. It seemed to be a living energy, a conscious entity that moved with purpose. It was still to my upper right, but it had now shifted behind a mountain range, whose outline in the distance was backlit with the glow’s shimmering light from behind the mountains. I resisted the impulse to follow the living glow to the mountains, since the peace, comfort, beauty, and ineffable love that surrounded me where I was sitting were all that I could ever want. The sound of the brook nearby, the music in the air, the sweet scents of the otherworldly vegetative oasis, and the vivid backdrop of the sky and mountains lulled me to depths that I had never known my soul to possess.

 

Regardless of whether my companion on the ornate bench was actually my grandfather or, as I suspected, God, I knew that I was not alone in the Garden, and I knew that the feeling of abundant unconditional love that this presence communicated to me would never leave me. Still today, I can draw on that memory of unwavering acceptance and love when I need to do so. I could have gratefully and willingly remained there for eternity. That love, that place, that afterlife was a gift, tailored to me, from a higher being that loved me unconditionally.

 

The landscape was clearly meant to comfort me and put me at ease. The sound of flowing water, be it a gentle brook or crashing ocean waves, is something I have always found to be soothing. A view of any landscape has always been enhanced for me if there is a body of water in the scenery. I think that is why it was so prominent and noticeable to me among the other sweet sounds that permeated the Garden. What I understood is that all who arrive in this place encounter and perceive whatever is most comforting and beautiful to them. My source of comfort was the all-embracing feeling of unconditional perpetual love and the unmatched beauty of my surroundings all captured in the Garden. This was my personal Heaven.

 

I understood that all who come to this wondrous place are soothed and welcomed by whatever they find soothing, comforting, and pleasurable in life. Therefore, it made sense that my Heaven looked like a perfectly manicured garden. I love gardens and find peace and joy in spending time in a well tended garden. During my time in my heavenly Garden, I saw people in the distance. I instinctively knew that those people perhaps had visions of something other than a garden as their perfect Heaven. People I saw in the distance may have expected their Heaven to be a thickly wooded forest. Others may have seen a boundless field of wildflowers, or a quiet beach with gently rolling waves. Yet we were all in exactly the same place. We were each in a Heaven tailored specifically for each individual soul there. Understanding this loving kindness added to my ease during my visit to the Garden.

 

I also understood that one’s own appearance there projects the best of each person’s soul in their most recent Earthly life. The type of person you are here on Earth colors the experience you will have in the afterlife. What we do with our time here on Earth matters. A lot. Learning this was surprising to me as I never thought that my actions or thought processes during life would have any bearing at all on my death. I couldn’t have been more wrong. I learned in the Garden that not only the acts I performed during my life but even my very thoughts and feelings had woven together to create the tapestry that was my afterlife—my Garden. The fact that I had been a good person in life mattered in the Garden. The fact that I had not been religious did not.

 

I feel so inadequate in my attempt to convey the overwhelming totality of the Garden. Time there is perpetual. Its events and sensations all occur at once. This idea of simultaneous time, the physics of it, is something I understood while I was in the Garden but have difficulty explaining, or even understanding, now. I do understand, however, that it is possible to return from another realm or dimension and be completely unable to help those who have not seen it to understand that it even exists at all. Something can be perfectly true yet completely unbelievable and impossible to scientifically prove.

 

This knowledge that I was absorbing while on the ornate bench in the presence of the loving being who spoke in the voice of my beloved grandfather was also shared with the other humans (or souls) whose forms I saw in the distance. Everyone was in pairs, and no one was alone. Everyone was dressed in what I knew as street clothes. And they were all perfectly beautiful, youthful, and healthy. I wondered: If they were all so perfect, was I?

 

I looked at my left hand, curious as to how the burn from the lightning strike had affected it. My hand looked as if it belonged to a younger woman. There were no chipped nails or imperfections on the skin, and certainly no burn from the lightning. I noticed that there was also no wedding ring. All I saw was the pristine skin of myself at eighteen or so. The skin on my hand was flawless.

 

As soon as I thought of questions, I had the answers. I saw people in the distance, although no one approached me. Why were they all paired up? Did I appear to them to be alone? My companion explained that I was also part of a pair, and that he was the other half of the pair. We must have appeared to the distant human forms as they did to me—as a pair, and as beautiful as I ever was at my best.

 

As quickly as I was receiving answers to my seemingly unlimited stream of questions, I had more questions. There was only one question for which I never received an answer: What did my companion in the Garden look like? Did this partner of mine look like my grandfather at age ninety when he died, or did he look as he did at age eighteen, as everyone else there seemed to? Or did he have an entirely different appearance? I don’t know because I never looked at him. I now think I was not supposed to see him because I would have been overwhelmed at the sight of my beloved grandfather.

 

Or by the beauty of God. 

 

Elizabeth G. Krohn is the author with Jeffrey J. Kripal of Changed in a Flash: One Woman's Near-Death Experience and Why a Scholar Thinks It Empowers Us All (North Atlantic Books, 2018). Krohn received an award from the Bigelow Institute for Consciousness Studies for her essay “The Eternal Life of Consciousness.” 

Elaine Pagels affirms life after physical death

Elaine Pagels, History of Religion professor at Princeton since 1982, is best known for her research and books about what are generally identified as the Gnostic Gospels. Her book with this title published in 1989 received both the National Book and National Book Critics Circle Awards.

Her 2018 book, Why Religion? A Personal Story, reveals her struggle for a religious faith, after the deaths of her son Mark, who died in 1987 from pulmonary hypertension at age six, and her husband Heinz, who a year later fell from a cliff while hiking.

Her son’s death devastated both Elaine and Heinz. “We found no meaning in our son’s death, or in the deaths of countless others. The most we could hope was that we might be able to create meaning. I was moved by what another bereaved mother, Maria of Paris, a Russian Christian whom Orthodox Christians revere as a saint, wrote after her six-year-old daughter died; she felt her ‘whole natural life . . . shaken . . . disintegrated; desires have gone . . . meaning has lost its meaning.’

“But instead of sinking into passivity, she risked her life to save the lives of other people’s children during the Nazi occupation. When German soldiers forced Jews into a central square of Paris before shoving them into trains hurtling toward the death camps, Maria slipped into the square to join them. There, whispering hastily, she persuaded several parents to allow her to hide their children in garbage bins, and so to save their lives, which she did, finding families to care for each one of them. Later, when she and her own son were arrested by Nazi soldiers and sent to the death camps, she exchanged places with someone targeted for the gas chambers, serene in the conviction that she’d done what her faith required, choosing to enable others to live. Many other parents whose children have been killed by gun violence, war, drunk drivers, or disease also choose to create meaning by working to spare other people unfathomable losses like their own.”

The death of her son and husband led Pagels to seriously consider if she could believe in a life after death. She writes: “Questions kept recurring: Where do they go? How can someone so intensely alive suddenly be gone? What happens? Where are they? Somewhere, or nowhere? Flashes of insight would vanish, like water falling through my fingers, leaving only hints, guesses—and hopes. On the day Mark died, I’d been astonished to have the clear impression that after he initially departed from his failing body, he’d been invisibly present with us in a room down the hall, then had returned to his body when his heart started beating again, only to stop when his heart and lungs failed to circulate oxygen. Moments later, back in the room where his lifeless body lay, I felt that somehow I’d seen precisely where he had ascended to the ceiling in a swirl of silver energy and departed. And what had happened three days after Heinz died, when he’d seemed to answer my unspoken question? Both experiences were completely contrary to what I expected, yet both felt vividly real—neither, as I’d been taught to believe, simply illusions, or instinctive denial of death’s finality.

“More than six months after Heinz died, another surprise. I opened the top drawer of my bureau, looking for the comic picture of Superman emblazoned on a cover of Time magazine, titled ‘Superman at Fifty!,’ which I’d hidden there a year earlier to use on the invitations for the party I’d secretly planned for his fiftieth birthday. He never made it to fifty, though; that would have happened this February. Next to that picture, I’d placed the watch and belt that mountain rescue volunteers recovered from his body in July. Turning over his watch, I was astonished—not that it had stopped, but that it hadn’t stopped soon after he died. Instead, the watch’s timer showed that it had stopped one day before I was looking at it, on February 19—on the day that would have been his fiftieth birthday.

“Could this be coincidence? Of course, it could; I cannot draw any clear inferences from such incidents, although they’d shaken what once I’d taken for granted: the rationalism of those who insist that death is nothing but disintegration. As one anthropologist observes, when we confront the unknown, any interpretation is provisional, necessarily incomplete. Still, those experiences left with me the sense that when I come near death, I’ll likely be hoping to see the two of them, as the song says, welcoming me to join them ‘across the shining river.’ At other times, though, I expect nothing more than a blank sky.”

Pagels, Elaine. Why Religion?  (p. 104, 137-138). HarperCollins. Kindle Edition.

 

A hospice witness: Dr. Christopher Kerr

Dr. Christopher Kerr, author of the 2021 essay “Experiences of the Dying: Evidence of Survival of Human Consciousness” written for the Bigelow Institute for Consciousness, writes:

When I became a hospice doctor 23 years ago, neither my medical training nor my doctoral degree in neurobiology could have prepared me for what I would witness at bedside of patients nearing death. I used to believe that my job was caring for life pre-death. Instead, I came to realize that there is more to dying than death.

My observations at bedside have led me to the counterintuitive claim that the survival of human consciousness after death may be nowhere more evident than in what happens to the dying before death. These are moments of transition when the mind’s elevation transcends the body and brain’s deterioration. Put another way, we can’t look into the continuity of consciousness past death by having an exclusive focus on the after. Doing so would assume a before/after division that the dying experience itself renders irrelevant. The dying process is a continuum within which our patients experience a heightening of consciousness and an acute awareness of their past and present existence. This experience includes a consciousness that is most often shared with others who died before them and but who are now fully present to them. The dying process reveals a connectivity between and across lives, both living and dead. This continuity of connectivity persists regardless of time or bodily existence and supports the hypothesis that consciousness survives beyond bodily death.

I used to believe that end of life includes processes that understandably draw us inward towards introspection and reflection, processes that distill life into what truly counts and in so doing, validate having lived and mattered. That the dying process would alter the patient’s perception made sense. What was unexpected if not jarring was that the process entails so much more than just a changed outlook in patients. Shortly before death, the dying have dreams and visions of their predeceased loved ones, scenes of vivid and meaningful reunions that testify to an inexplicably rich and transformative inner life. The phenomenon includes a lived, felt, often lucid experiential reality whereby those loved and “lost” return to the dying in ways that cannot be explained by memory alone. Children and parents sometimes lost decades earlier come back to put patients back together and help them transition peacefully. At the precise moment we associate with darkness, loss, physical decline, and sadness, their presence helps the dying achieve peace, comfort, and forgiveness, which suggests an existence beyond our bodily form. A failing brain does not imply a failing mind, and biological decline does not diminish the soul. In fact, in our final days, our physical form does not follow function: patients are spiritually and perceptually alive and vibrant despite a failing body. This is the paradox of dying.

A remarkable body of work on Near-Death Experiences (NDE) has been cited as evidence that consciousness is more than a byproduct of our brain and survives our mortal form (1-5). Skeptics offer physiologic explanations and argue that the memories or sensations of NDE-like experiences are actually triggered by the brain as it shuts down or reboots; they attribute the phenomena to causes including oxygen shortage, anesthesia, neurochemical responses to trauma and “post-resuscitation syndrome” (6-8). Critics of NDE study protocols also suggest that this research does not “exclude that the reported memories were based on retrospective imaginative (re)constructions built up from memories, prior knowledge, and/or expectations about the world” (9). Others explain NDEs based on spiritual or psychological interpretations, ranging from the theories of Expectancy to Dissociation (6, 9, 10).

Proving consciousness beyond death must not only account for neurobiological changes associated with “clinical death” but also address factors that define and inform consciousness, such as changes in awareness, wakefulness, and connectedness. At Hospice, we routinely care for dying patients who are not only neurologically intact but fully aware and awake. Whereas physical death is a circumscribed event, dying for most is a prolonged process that inherently alters consciousness. The dying processes we witness are anticipated, non-acute and physically irreversible. Yet, instead of exhibiting a waning consciousness, many of our patients display a heightened acuity and a rich inner life which includes changes in perception as well as an awareness of both their internal and external existence. Not surprisingly, such experiences of consciousness are qualitatively distinct from those events described in traumatic or acute death, alterations in brain function from anesthesia or recovery from recusation. The studies conducted at Hospice Buffalo for over a decade further corroborate that the dying are paradoxically often emotionally and spiritually alive, even enlightened, despite their terminal physical decline, not just in the minutes or hours before physical death, but in the days and weeks. In other words, these extraordinary inner experiences that have been attributed to a failing brain with NDEs occur during the dying process on a continuum that goes from intact cognition to the fluctuating states of consciousness and failing organs that define the immediate hours before death.

We hypothesize that only those who are actively dying have the vantage point and the language to define their changing and enlightened existence, the keyhole through which to see what’s beyond. Our work focuses not only on the dying process but specifically, on the experiencing of it, the subjective or conscious dimensions of dying. The tragic physical process of dying often obscures the experiential, inner or subjective dimensions of dying which represent a heightened form of consciousness, an awakening of feelings, wonderous perceptual experiences, insights into one’s present and future existence as well as a feeling of connectivity, wholeness and belonging. Our patients exhibit changes in awareness of thought, memories, feelings, sensations, and environments. Not only are such experiences near universal, but they are remarkably similar. This is why to find evidence of the survival of human consciousness after death, we need to look at what happens before death, in these moments of transition when the before and after merge to the point of irrelevance and the enlightened mind transcends the body and brain’s deterioration.

The following is a video of our patient Florence, six days before death. She is free of neurologic disease and has not taken any psychoactive medication. Although dying, Florence is physically unburdened and cognitively intact while describing the closing of her life. To her, dying is a conscious experience that is vibrant as well as self-fulfilling. Her consciousness is lucid: she is fully awake, aware and connected. Through this keyhole, Florence doesn’t dream, analyze or simply remember, but instead feels the familiar and comforting presence of those she has loved and lost. Unlike the epiphanies or revelations often associated with NDEs, there are no great insights or messages. In fact, language is near absent and not needed. Florence is instead at her family’s kitchen table in the company of her deceased husband and daughter; she has been put back together and is truly home. Her awareness is acute, complete and secured in the certainty of what has always defined who she is: her relationships. She is now restored in a promise of what lies ahead. Florence doesn’t have any feeling of being out of her body or any perception that she is dead: her existence, as defined by love, is understood and sustained. These experiences are not only validating but remove any fear of physical death. Florence is already on her journey, her consciousness continuing where her body can no longer go (Link to: Florence Interview Video).

These moments of life-affirming enlightenment at the time of death have been acknowledged across cultures and throughout history. Indeed, while modern medicine has been resolutely silent on the topic of dying, often reducing it to mere “medical failure”, the humanities, the realm of culture and religion, have long testified to its significance to humanity. From writers, poets and philosophers as far back as ancient Greece, from Buddhist and Islamic texts to accounts from China, Siberia, Bolivia, Argentina, India and Finland, from the religious and sacred traditions of Native Americans and other indigenous peoples around the world, meaningful pre-death dreams and visions have been widely recognized and celebrated. They are mentioned in the Bible, Plato’s Republic, and in medieval writings such as the 14th century mystic Julian of Norwich’s The Revelations of Divine Love. They show up in Renaissance paintings and in Shakespeare’s King Lear. They appear in 19th-century American and British novels, in T.S. Eliot’s poetry, and last but not least, in the Dalai Lama’s meditations on death. If anything, the medicalization of death has obscured a language that has always been available to make sense of our finitude and that has been integral to humanity’s need to maintain connection with the departed. This awareness that we remain intertwined beyond death is central to the story of our shared humanity.

Starting in the twentieth century, reports on pre-death experiences began to be collected systematically through eyewitness accounts (11-16). More recently, a research team at Hospice Buffalo, has conducted studies on over 1,500 patients and families. The process of dying is a reality that only the dying could tell us about, from a vantage point that the living do not share. It was the testimonies of these patients as well as our subsequent systematic studies of their inner experiences that helped us reframe dying and our notion of a before and an after death and of consciousness itself. The data confirmed that the vast majority of dying patients, shortly before death, have these comforting dreams and visions that most commonly summon predeceased loved ones. After witnessing how these bonds of love re-emerge as unbreakable at life’s end, the question we were left pondering was “are the deceased ever really gone?” Indeed, those who returned were not just random appearances; they were most commonly, as with Florence, people who best loved and secured the dying in life and were reuniting at a depth that suggests they were never gone. One ninety-five-year-old gentleman claimed to smell his mother’s perfume as she whispered “I love you” in his ear. His mother had passed ninety years earlier when he was five years old, yet his vision of her was as crisp as if she had just left him. Such experiences return at life’s end in ways that transcend mere recollection and are instead tangible, material, and lived. With full lucidity, these patients claim such experiences are “more real than real” and rich in detail not previously recalled but now vividly summoned.

“Transcendence” is typically the concept used to denote an existence or experience beyond the normal or physical level. The word literally means “going beyond.” It is also a state that is associated with the afterlife and that best represents the work that pre-death experiences do in helping patients transition to death. In fact, the power of the spiritual transformation and “transcendence” they occasion in patients’ lives cannot be overstated. Near death, the boundaries between the experiential and the spiritual, body and mind, present and past, conscious and unconscious impulses dissolve to provide comfort through a process of connectivity across the living, the dying, and the dead. The process brings about a form of spiritual and emotional solace that is rooted in lived experience rather than just dreams or memories. Recognizing people’s experience of dying as the gateway to continued consciousness beyond life and death is crucial if we are to become more literate on what constitutes our mortality.

 

Christopher Kerr, “Experiences of the Dying: Evidence of Survival of Human Consciousness,” an essay written for the 2021 Bigelow Institute for Consciousness Studies in response to the question: “What is the best evidence for survival of consciousness after bodily death?” Dr. Kerr, MD, PhD, is the Chief Medical Officer and Chief Executive Officer for Hospice & Palliative Care Buffalo.