I'm going to share an incident that occurred in West Virginia around 1978, which is part of the reason I encourage my friends and loved ones to watch some of the movies I listed on the other, page Near Death Experiences. Hopefully, you’ve seen some of them before reading this. I was raised an atheist, but I chose to believe in God long before this incident took place. At that time, I was locked up in juvenile hall, and the only reading material available was a Bible. As I began to read it, I realized that it would be much better to strive to love people and maintain some sense of hope rather than continue living the way I had been. I was heading down the wrong path, had gotten into a lot of trouble with the law, and was using drugs extensively. I certainly wasn't happy and saw little hope for my future. Maybe I'll write a book one day and go into more detail about my life, but for now, I’ll focus on this incident that ended up reshaping my thought process and influencing my future years.
I was excited to be heading down to West Virginia to live with my three little brothers, my mother, and my stepdad. Since it was winter, I took a Greyhound bus and left my car back home in Massachusetts. I wonder if, subconsciously, I knew I wouldn’t be staying longer than a visit, I didn’t usually stay long when I visited my mother. We only seemed to get along for a short period before some disagreement would arise and I'd leave. She had always wanted a farm, and my stepdad gave up his engineering position to try to make her dream come true. He had been raised on a farm, so taking on that kind of project shouldn’t be too difficult for him.
My three little brothers, Mom, and Dad picked me up in a small Le Car at the bus stop. It was snowing heavily, and there was a lot of snow on the ground when they arrived. We drove up into the mountains to a small house situated on the 80 acres of land they had purchased, which was 12 miles away from a little town called Webster Springs. The house had electricity but no running water. It was equipped with two wood stoves for heating and cooking. Across the field was a room in the side of the mountain carved out of the rock. There was a door leading into the room, and inside, there was a well fed by a spring. We had to carry water back to the house in a bucket from that well. This place was my mother’s dream, or at least that’s what she believed at the time. That night, she played a song called "Country Roads" by John Denver. Everything seemed like a wonderful dream. I don't think I'd ever seen her that happy. She had always been something of a tormented soul, what I call someone with many troubles.
For a few months, things seemed to be going well. Then, one Tuesday I believe, my mother asked me to go with her into the city and take a job to help with the bills. She said Dad was getting low on money and needed help with the finances. I didn’t see a problem at first, but then, when we arrived in the city of Charleston she took a job as a stripper, and that blew my mind. I was beside myself, and that night, I spent all the money I had at the local bar getting drunk. Back in those days it was easy to get into bars. As long as you looked around the age of 18 and could quickly give the bartender your birth date you were in. While I'm not proud of many of the things I had done by that age I'd pretty much lived an adult lifestyle. I'd already been emancipated by the court as an adult when I turned 16. I had spent a couple years working as a commercial fisherman. In fact while working on the fishing boats and running with apretty rough crew we sank on a 68' Scallop boat out of Boston Harbor and hit a tanker with an 80 foot fishing vessel. To most fishermen a strip joint was just a bar with a view. It takes on a different meaning when someone you care about, especially your mother, is up on stage degrading themselves in front of a bunch of dirty old drunks. Mother never did see it that way or at least never admitted she felt it was wrong that I know of. She has long since passed as of the time of this writing.
I went back to the motel to get my gear and in a fit of anger, I threw one of my boots through the hotel window and tore up a Bible, tossing it in the trash. I started hitchhiking back to Massachusetts. I had been to plenty of strip joints before and never thought much about it, but it took on a whole new meaning and had a different impact when it was my own mother involved.
It was a long trip riding with a trucker to New York City. He said he felt badly because he had almost hit me. I was dressed in dark clothing and it was a dark night to boot. We rode in silence for most of the way, and I don't think I even asked his name. Since his delivery was in New York, he let me off just a few blocks from the Greyhound bus station. My great aunt Ruth met me at the Port Authority Bus Station in NY city and lent me money for a bus ticket. When I got back to Massachusetts and told my brother Glen what had happened, he begged me to take him to West Virginia to try to convince our mother to return to the farm. Foolishly, I agreed, thinking it might work. For the ride, I bought two large bags of a drug called Quenebenol, which was also called PCP—a common street drug of that era. We were messed up for the entire trip back.
The drive back to Charleston was chaotic. We got lost in New York City, and when we reached Pennsylvania, my brother threatened to jump out of the car. He accused me of being the devil and claimed I was messing with his mind, asking why we had been driving in circles around Marlboro all night. That powerful drug causes hallucinations. The only thing I could do was pull over in front of a sign that said "Harrisburg, PA" to convince him that I really wasn't the devil. However, when I tried to start the car again, it wouldn't start. It ended up costing me $12 for a jump start, which felt like quite a bit of money considering minimum wage was probably less than $3 an hour at the time. I wasn't in a very good mood because we had got lost in Queens NY and drove in circles for a number of hours.
After a 17-hour fiasco, we arrived in Charleston WV and went to the rundown hotel where our mother was staying. When we saw her, she was upset and told my brother that he looked terrible. Then, shetold us to wait in the car while she got ready for work. It was clear that she wasn't returning to the farm, so we decided to leave.
I had been awake for about 40 hours straight, and during that time, I had been using the substance frequently. I told my brother that he would have to drive for a while, and he did — for a time. But before I knew it, I was back behind the wheel after we stopped for gas. At some point I accidentally turned onto a back mountain road, and then the blue lights of a police car appeared behind us. It was a very dark night, and I started to hallucinate even harder than I had been previously. I was thinking I was driving a big semi truck. I kept trying to push in a clutch pedal that didn’t exist. It's funny, because I had never driven a big truck back then, but I eventually did, years later.
"What are you yankee boys doing down here?" I remember the cop saying. The license plate exposed the fact we were from out of state. I was incredibly nervous, but the young cop seemed downright scared and was holding a gun to my head as they searched us. As I leaned towards the vehicle to be frisked, I reached into the pocket of my denim shirt without thinking and quickly swallowed another bag of drugs. That particular shirt had a small pocket within the main pocket and he missed the inside pocket. My only thought at the time was, "I'll be in prison for years if they find this dope on me."
The police suspected we had been drinking because of the empty beer bottles, and they thought our behavior was off so we went to the station and took a breathalyzer test, which we passed. However, the officers decided to hold us until morning since we didn't seem right to them. During the ride, I started to hallucinate really badly but still I realized the gravity of what I had done. I tried to tell my brother that I might die, but he was so disoriented that he didn't understand what I was saying. They separated us and locked me in a jail that had a hallway with cells off to the side. Prisoners could walk up and down the hall or take a shower located at the end. I chose an unoccupied cell, hoping I could sleep it off, but that wasn’t going to happen. The cops had given us a cup of coffee, and it brought on the effects of the drug faster which were now becoming overwhelming. Everything was getting louder, and I could feel my condition worsening—it was an unpleasant feeling. Rather, it was much more than unpleasant. It was pretty hideous. I really felt like I was going to die. I was dizzy, hallucinating and my heart felt like it was pounding through my chest and I was sweating profusely. I knelt down and prayed to Jesus, something I wasn't accustomed to doing at the time. I thought to myself, "I'm probably going to die," I went to the shower and stood in the cold water with my clothes on. My condition continued to
deteriorate. I woke up one of the other prisoners and told him that I needed to go to the hospital, but he informed me that we were locked in and the guards had gone home for the night. Just go to sleep he said.
I started to walk down the hall and could feel myself falling backwards and when I hit the floor the floor bounced up and touched the ceiling and a brilliant light enveloped me. The light felt like it was all around me and through me and I was made up of that light. In that instant I felt total peace and tranquility like I've never felt before or since. The light was more brilliant than any I've ever known in my life and a feeling of overwhelming comfort filled that space of time. I had no sense of how much time passed. After that period of time, I felt like I was on a cushion and stars were whirring past and I was moving through space at a very fast rate. I had the realization of what I had done and a feeling of remorse because I felt I would probably never see my loved ones again. I also knew I didn't want to die leaving that incident as my legacy.
The next thing I remember waking up on a slab of some material like concrete, surrounded by pitch blackness. There were three other slabs: one in front of me and one on each side. On these slabs were three beings that looked human, except they had a blue hue and were wearing turbans. They were playing an instrument that resembled a flute. When I asked where I was, they shushed me and told me it was a secret place I was never to speak about it. I felt an overwhelming sense of fear, total hopelessness, and dread. How much of this experience was real, I will probably never know in this life, but it certainly felt real. It all felt real very real.
Glen told me they pulled me out of the cell on a mattress frothing at the mouth and flailing my arms. At the hospital the DR told him I'd ingested enough of the drug to probably kill 8 cows and he gave me a 0 percent for the chance of survival. If somehow I did survive I'd be a vegetable for the rest of my life. My brother was scared because the police kept telling him he should've told them what I had done. As soon as he found a chance he snuck off and hitchhiked back to Mass.
I came to a number of days later at the hospital and saw blood coming out where I'd pulled the intravenous lines out of my wrist. The next thing I remembered I was in a dark place face down with my hands tied behind my back. I was wondering if I was dead or in a coffin and started squirming around and eventually I found out I was in the back floorboards of a police car and I somehow wiggled back up onto the seat. Two officers were up front and the younger one went inside whatever building we were parked at. My mind was extremely foggy and I felt I would die of thirst so I spoke to the officer but he ignored me. I asked him please officer why won't you say something still no response so I said please in the name of Jesus I need a drink and he spun around in shock. Okay I'll get you some water. Why am I not in a hospital you know I'm sick, all he said was you wouldn't stay in the hospital.
They had dressed me in rags so I felt they thought I was going to die and wouldn't be needing my own clothes again. That was the prognosis I found out later that they had told my little brother Glen. When I drank I immediately became violently ill and they opened the door in time so I didn't make a mess in their car. My tongue began to swell up so when we arrived at the lockup facility I couldn't speak to the nurse but barely could get out paper pencil please.I wrote I've overdosed on THC. A couple minutes later a big male nurse threw me onto a bed in a room and gave me a shot in the buttocks of what I later was told was Pheno Barbitol,I blacked out again.
For the next three weeks, I was in and out of consciousness, only awake for brief moments at a time. I kept vomiting a nasty-tasting, phlegm-like substance into a five-gallon bucket beside the bed where I lay on my side. The doctor told me that the substance was the lining of my stomach. When I tried to stand, I would stagger like a drunken man. I felt extremely weak and could only stay on my feet for a short time before collapsing and blacking out again. My mind was constantly foggy. One time, I awoke to find myself nibbling on a cracker, with my stepdad pleading with me to eat. My mother then came to the door, saw me, and said she couldn't bear to see me like this before leaving. That part was pretty heartbreaking. I was thinking she could at least come and say goodbye.
One day I woke up standing at the window, looking through the steel grating at a tree. It was springtime, and I could see that the tree was budding, getting ready to bloom. My mind was completely foggy, but a profound sadness washed over me as I realized that, despite it being spring—a time when everything comes back to life—I was not even 18 and was about to die. I was very sad and sorry for what I had done. A song was playing over the loudspeaker: "Our Love is Alive" by Chris Norman and Suzi Quatro. I thought to myself a love song is playing and I hardly had any time in life to fully understand anything about Love.
https://youtu.be/0AbvnTgGH8s?si=byprt3vZA3plxsRg
As I turned toward the wall that was painted blue, it suddenly lit up with a bright yellow light, and the word "JESUS" flashed across the surface in large black letters. As the light faded, so did the fog in my brain, and my strength returned; I felt completely normal. I banged on the door and asked the nurse if I could please take a shower and see if my clothes were around somewhere, as I was still dressed in rags. Her mouth dropped open, and her eyes widened in shock. I had to repeat myself twice before it sank in. "We were sure you were going to die," she stammered. "Well, I guess I'm not," I smiled, "not now, anyway." I was so grateful I was getting a second chance from the looks of it. I didn't see Angels I didn't see Jesus or anyone, not that I can remember anyway, just that magnificent light that was brighter than anyone can imagine and felt like love, peace and tranquility and the writing on the wall that I described above.
I was analyzed in an institution for 18 days. Most of the people there were totally out of their minds. A large committee of doctors questioned and evaluated me. They asked me many questions, such as my name, birthdate, the country I lived in, who the president was, and what led me to that situation. There were also people from the court, police and possibly even a judge, present. Ultimately, they decided not to punish me further, stating that I had already been punished enough. I was a juvenile, and fortunately, my record would be sealed.
I haven't talked about this with many people—only my brother and a couple of close friends over the years—because I knew they would think it was either the drugs or that I was crazy. Besides it's not something to be proud of for sure. Back then, we didn't hear about near-death experiences as often as we do now. While I have experimented with a lot of drugs over the years, nothing even remotely similar to this has ever happened to me. I wish I could say that I completely turned my life around at that time, but to be honest, I didn't. I pushed most of the memory away and went back to living my life foolishly. Naturally, I was grateful and did pray frequently after that episode. I do understand now at 60 plus years to some degree why I didn't change many things in my life at the time. I was hard headed and believed I was invincible like most young kids. I'd already had 2 accidents going around 100 miles an hour along with the incidents on the fishing boats the juvenile detention centers and a few other mishaps by the time of the overdose. I also pushed the episode off as it was just the effects from the substance I had taken that caused hallucinations. I had a lot of misunderstandings about life and God and our purpose for being here and now I've written about this because maybe it will have a positive effect on someone else. I turned my life around eventually. Unfortunately, my brother Glen died from a massive overdose of methamphetamine a number of years ago.
One thing that this incident did was change my belief in God in Jesus and my belief that there is life after we die. I hope this story and the multitude that now exist of other stories of NDEs will help anyone who is struggling with life's many questions, problems etc. Kar Falken claims Jesus can appear as he chooses.
I often wonder if other cultures like the Bhuddist Monks for instance have learned as much or more about God than the western culture. For example take a look at this healer from China. --- John Chang Friends from Vietnam told me their belief in Bhudda taught them they were supposed to love everybody.
A very interesting character named Edgar Casey is said to have read the entire bible every year of his life
and could heal people at a rate of around 80 percent of the time. Most of them he never actually met in
person. There are many links to information about his story. Of course anyone can claim anything and it's
in the eye of the beholder on what they choose to believe. Some might claim Edgar was possessed by a
demon or that his story was made up. But I guess that goes with every story.
https://youtu.be/TrBKDjSoIFo?si=S9FPEyQ4n2pdv4Dz
Thank You for reading My Story and may the God of this Universe bless you
I was excited to be heading down to West Virginia to live with my three little brothers, my mother, and my stepdad. Since it was winter, I took a Greyhound bus and left my car back home in Massachusetts. I wonder if, subconsciously, I knew I wouldn’t be staying longer than a visit, I didn’t usually stay long when I visited my mother. We only seemed to get along for a short period before some disagreement would arise and I'd leave. She had always wanted a farm, and my stepdad gave up his engineering position to try to make her dream come true. He had been raised on a farm, so taking on that kind of project shouldn’t be too difficult for him.
My three little brothers, Mom, and Dad picked me up in a small Le Car at the bus stop. It was snowing heavily, and there was a lot of snow on the ground when they arrived. We drove up into the mountains to a small house situated on the 80 acres of land they had purchased, which was 12 miles away from a little town called Webster Springs. The house had electricity but no running water. It was equipped with two wood stoves for heating and cooking. Across the field was a room in the side of the mountain carved out of the rock. There was a door leading into the room, and inside, there was a well fed by a spring. We had to carry water back to the house in a bucket from that well. This place was my mother’s dream, or at least that’s what she believed at the time. That night, she played a song called "Country Roads" by John Denver. Everything seemed like a wonderful dream. I don't think I'd ever seen her that happy. She had always been something of a tormented soul, what I call someone with many troubles.
For a few months, things seemed to be going well. Then, one Tuesday I believe, my mother asked me to go with her into the city and take a job to help with the bills. She said Dad was getting low on money and needed help with the finances. I didn’t see a problem at first, but then, when we arrived in the city of Charleston she took a job as a stripper, and that blew my mind. I was beside myself, and that night, I spent all the money I had at the local bar getting drunk. Back in those days it was easy to get into bars. As long as you looked around the age of 18 and could quickly give the bartender your birth date you were in. While I'm not proud of many of the things I had done by that age I'd pretty much lived an adult lifestyle. I'd already been emancipated by the court as an adult when I turned 16. I had spent a couple years working as a commercial fisherman. In fact while working on the fishing boats and running with apretty rough crew we sank on a 68' Scallop boat out of Boston Harbor and hit a tanker with an 80 foot fishing vessel. To most fishermen a strip joint was just a bar with a view. It takes on a different meaning when someone you care about, especially your mother, is up on stage degrading themselves in front of a bunch of dirty old drunks. Mother never did see it that way or at least never admitted she felt it was wrong that I know of. She has long since passed as of the time of this writing.
I went back to the motel to get my gear and in a fit of anger, I threw one of my boots through the hotel window and tore up a Bible, tossing it in the trash. I started hitchhiking back to Massachusetts. I had been to plenty of strip joints before and never thought much about it, but it took on a whole new meaning and had a different impact when it was my own mother involved.
It was a long trip riding with a trucker to New York City. He said he felt badly because he had almost hit me. I was dressed in dark clothing and it was a dark night to boot. We rode in silence for most of the way, and I don't think I even asked his name. Since his delivery was in New York, he let me off just a few blocks from the Greyhound bus station. My great aunt Ruth met me at the Port Authority Bus Station in NY city and lent me money for a bus ticket. When I got back to Massachusetts and told my brother Glen what had happened, he begged me to take him to West Virginia to try to convince our mother to return to the farm. Foolishly, I agreed, thinking it might work. For the ride, I bought two large bags of a drug called Quenebenol, which was also called PCP—a common street drug of that era. We were messed up for the entire trip back.
The drive back to Charleston was chaotic. We got lost in New York City, and when we reached Pennsylvania, my brother threatened to jump out of the car. He accused me of being the devil and claimed I was messing with his mind, asking why we had been driving in circles around Marlboro all night. That powerful drug causes hallucinations. The only thing I could do was pull over in front of a sign that said "Harrisburg, PA" to convince him that I really wasn't the devil. However, when I tried to start the car again, it wouldn't start. It ended up costing me $12 for a jump start, which felt like quite a bit of money considering minimum wage was probably less than $3 an hour at the time. I wasn't in a very good mood because we had got lost in Queens NY and drove in circles for a number of hours.
After a 17-hour fiasco, we arrived in Charleston WV and went to the rundown hotel where our mother was staying. When we saw her, she was upset and told my brother that he looked terrible. Then, shetold us to wait in the car while she got ready for work. It was clear that she wasn't returning to the farm, so we decided to leave.
I had been awake for about 40 hours straight, and during that time, I had been using the substance frequently. I told my brother that he would have to drive for a while, and he did — for a time. But before I knew it, I was back behind the wheel after we stopped for gas. At some point I accidentally turned onto a back mountain road, and then the blue lights of a police car appeared behind us. It was a very dark night, and I started to hallucinate even harder than I had been previously. I was thinking I was driving a big semi truck. I kept trying to push in a clutch pedal that didn’t exist. It's funny, because I had never driven a big truck back then, but I eventually did, years later.
"What are you yankee boys doing down here?" I remember the cop saying. The license plate exposed the fact we were from out of state. I was incredibly nervous, but the young cop seemed downright scared and was holding a gun to my head as they searched us. As I leaned towards the vehicle to be frisked, I reached into the pocket of my denim shirt without thinking and quickly swallowed another bag of drugs. That particular shirt had a small pocket within the main pocket and he missed the inside pocket. My only thought at the time was, "I'll be in prison for years if they find this dope on me."
The police suspected we had been drinking because of the empty beer bottles, and they thought our behavior was off so we went to the station and took a breathalyzer test, which we passed. However, the officers decided to hold us until morning since we didn't seem right to them. During the ride, I started to hallucinate really badly but still I realized the gravity of what I had done. I tried to tell my brother that I might die, but he was so disoriented that he didn't understand what I was saying. They separated us and locked me in a jail that had a hallway with cells off to the side. Prisoners could walk up and down the hall or take a shower located at the end. I chose an unoccupied cell, hoping I could sleep it off, but that wasn’t going to happen. The cops had given us a cup of coffee, and it brought on the effects of the drug faster which were now becoming overwhelming. Everything was getting louder, and I could feel my condition worsening—it was an unpleasant feeling. Rather, it was much more than unpleasant. It was pretty hideous. I really felt like I was going to die. I was dizzy, hallucinating and my heart felt like it was pounding through my chest and I was sweating profusely. I knelt down and prayed to Jesus, something I wasn't accustomed to doing at the time. I thought to myself, "I'm probably going to die," I went to the shower and stood in the cold water with my clothes on. My condition continued to
deteriorate. I woke up one of the other prisoners and told him that I needed to go to the hospital, but he informed me that we were locked in and the guards had gone home for the night. Just go to sleep he said.
I started to walk down the hall and could feel myself falling backwards and when I hit the floor the floor bounced up and touched the ceiling and a brilliant light enveloped me. The light felt like it was all around me and through me and I was made up of that light. In that instant I felt total peace and tranquility like I've never felt before or since. The light was more brilliant than any I've ever known in my life and a feeling of overwhelming comfort filled that space of time. I had no sense of how much time passed. After that period of time, I felt like I was on a cushion and stars were whirring past and I was moving through space at a very fast rate. I had the realization of what I had done and a feeling of remorse because I felt I would probably never see my loved ones again. I also knew I didn't want to die leaving that incident as my legacy.
The next thing I remember waking up on a slab of some material like concrete, surrounded by pitch blackness. There were three other slabs: one in front of me and one on each side. On these slabs were three beings that looked human, except they had a blue hue and were wearing turbans. They were playing an instrument that resembled a flute. When I asked where I was, they shushed me and told me it was a secret place I was never to speak about it. I felt an overwhelming sense of fear, total hopelessness, and dread. How much of this experience was real, I will probably never know in this life, but it certainly felt real. It all felt real very real.
Glen told me they pulled me out of the cell on a mattress frothing at the mouth and flailing my arms. At the hospital the DR told him I'd ingested enough of the drug to probably kill 8 cows and he gave me a 0 percent for the chance of survival. If somehow I did survive I'd be a vegetable for the rest of my life. My brother was scared because the police kept telling him he should've told them what I had done. As soon as he found a chance he snuck off and hitchhiked back to Mass.
I came to a number of days later at the hospital and saw blood coming out where I'd pulled the intravenous lines out of my wrist. The next thing I remembered I was in a dark place face down with my hands tied behind my back. I was wondering if I was dead or in a coffin and started squirming around and eventually I found out I was in the back floorboards of a police car and I somehow wiggled back up onto the seat. Two officers were up front and the younger one went inside whatever building we were parked at. My mind was extremely foggy and I felt I would die of thirst so I spoke to the officer but he ignored me. I asked him please officer why won't you say something still no response so I said please in the name of Jesus I need a drink and he spun around in shock. Okay I'll get you some water. Why am I not in a hospital you know I'm sick, all he said was you wouldn't stay in the hospital.
They had dressed me in rags so I felt they thought I was going to die and wouldn't be needing my own clothes again. That was the prognosis I found out later that they had told my little brother Glen. When I drank I immediately became violently ill and they opened the door in time so I didn't make a mess in their car. My tongue began to swell up so when we arrived at the lockup facility I couldn't speak to the nurse but barely could get out paper pencil please.I wrote I've overdosed on THC. A couple minutes later a big male nurse threw me onto a bed in a room and gave me a shot in the buttocks of what I later was told was Pheno Barbitol,I blacked out again.
For the next three weeks, I was in and out of consciousness, only awake for brief moments at a time. I kept vomiting a nasty-tasting, phlegm-like substance into a five-gallon bucket beside the bed where I lay on my side. The doctor told me that the substance was the lining of my stomach. When I tried to stand, I would stagger like a drunken man. I felt extremely weak and could only stay on my feet for a short time before collapsing and blacking out again. My mind was constantly foggy. One time, I awoke to find myself nibbling on a cracker, with my stepdad pleading with me to eat. My mother then came to the door, saw me, and said she couldn't bear to see me like this before leaving. That part was pretty heartbreaking. I was thinking she could at least come and say goodbye.
One day I woke up standing at the window, looking through the steel grating at a tree. It was springtime, and I could see that the tree was budding, getting ready to bloom. My mind was completely foggy, but a profound sadness washed over me as I realized that, despite it being spring—a time when everything comes back to life—I was not even 18 and was about to die. I was very sad and sorry for what I had done. A song was playing over the loudspeaker: "Our Love is Alive" by Chris Norman and Suzi Quatro. I thought to myself a love song is playing and I hardly had any time in life to fully understand anything about Love.
https://youtu.be/0AbvnTgGH8s?si=byprt3vZA3plxsRg
As I turned toward the wall that was painted blue, it suddenly lit up with a bright yellow light, and the word "JESUS" flashed across the surface in large black letters. As the light faded, so did the fog in my brain, and my strength returned; I felt completely normal. I banged on the door and asked the nurse if I could please take a shower and see if my clothes were around somewhere, as I was still dressed in rags. Her mouth dropped open, and her eyes widened in shock. I had to repeat myself twice before it sank in. "We were sure you were going to die," she stammered. "Well, I guess I'm not," I smiled, "not now, anyway." I was so grateful I was getting a second chance from the looks of it. I didn't see Angels I didn't see Jesus or anyone, not that I can remember anyway, just that magnificent light that was brighter than anyone can imagine and felt like love, peace and tranquility and the writing on the wall that I described above.
I was analyzed in an institution for 18 days. Most of the people there were totally out of their minds. A large committee of doctors questioned and evaluated me. They asked me many questions, such as my name, birthdate, the country I lived in, who the president was, and what led me to that situation. There were also people from the court, police and possibly even a judge, present. Ultimately, they decided not to punish me further, stating that I had already been punished enough. I was a juvenile, and fortunately, my record would be sealed.
I haven't talked about this with many people—only my brother and a couple of close friends over the years—because I knew they would think it was either the drugs or that I was crazy. Besides it's not something to be proud of for sure. Back then, we didn't hear about near-death experiences as often as we do now. While I have experimented with a lot of drugs over the years, nothing even remotely similar to this has ever happened to me. I wish I could say that I completely turned my life around at that time, but to be honest, I didn't. I pushed most of the memory away and went back to living my life foolishly. Naturally, I was grateful and did pray frequently after that episode. I do understand now at 60 plus years to some degree why I didn't change many things in my life at the time. I was hard headed and believed I was invincible like most young kids. I'd already had 2 accidents going around 100 miles an hour along with the incidents on the fishing boats the juvenile detention centers and a few other mishaps by the time of the overdose. I also pushed the episode off as it was just the effects from the substance I had taken that caused hallucinations. I had a lot of misunderstandings about life and God and our purpose for being here and now I've written about this because maybe it will have a positive effect on someone else. I turned my life around eventually. Unfortunately, my brother Glen died from a massive overdose of methamphetamine a number of years ago.
One thing that this incident did was change my belief in God in Jesus and my belief that there is life after we die. I hope this story and the multitude that now exist of other stories of NDEs will help anyone who is struggling with life's many questions, problems etc. Kar Falken claims Jesus can appear as he chooses.
I often wonder if other cultures like the Bhuddist Monks for instance have learned as much or more about God than the western culture. For example take a look at this healer from China. --- John Chang Friends from Vietnam told me their belief in Bhudda taught them they were supposed to love everybody.
A very interesting character named Edgar Casey is said to have read the entire bible every year of his life
and could heal people at a rate of around 80 percent of the time. Most of them he never actually met in
person. There are many links to information about his story. Of course anyone can claim anything and it's
in the eye of the beholder on what they choose to believe. Some might claim Edgar was possessed by a
demon or that his story was made up. But I guess that goes with every story.
https://youtu.be/TrBKDjSoIFo?si=S9FPEyQ4n2pdv4Dz
Thank You for reading My Story and may the God of this Universe bless you
