I was holding out for a miracle. The doctor had told me I had less than six months left to live. At first I was completely floored by the news. It seemed so cruel to have my life nipped in the bud like this. I had so much to offer the world. I was so full of life's unrealised potential. How the spigot could be so unceremoniously turned off just like that, without due process... I hadn't done anything wrong. It made no sense. Yes, there was anger. Bitterness. Self-pity. Lots of it. And then something happened a week before two months of my sentence had expired. I met someone called Fish. I'm hardly in the mood to joke. That's what he called himself. Fish was standing in line at the supermarket checkout. He noticed me looking somewhat down in the mouth, and the rest is history...
Forgive me for intruding but you seem to be having a hard time of it.
You could say that - I answer. I had no intention of continuing the conversation. What was the point. I was a condemned man with approximately 4 months one week left on Earth.
I know exactly how you're feeling, he said sympathetically.
I don't think so - I was hardly going to tell him I was terminally ill - not in a supermarket checkout line. In fact, I was feeling somewhat affronted that a healthy looking man might presume to know how I was feeling. Give me a break.
Yes, he persisted, I had cancer a few years ago. The doctors told me I had only a few months to live. Not a nice situation. Not nice at all.
My jaw dropped. I didn't want to say anything, but to my embarrassment I started crying. Blubbing like a child. No idea why - just all the stuff I'd been holding back came spilling out. He'd touched a nerve. Something in how he'd looked when he told me this had opened a channel. I felt what he'd felt at the time. The desolation. The yawning empty hollowness of life slipping away without rhyme or reason. And suddenly I wasn't alone. He put his arms around me. A complete stranger and just quietly said - I know. And you know what - he really did. He really, truly knew. I could feel it without a shadow of doubt. He knew exactly what I felt, my predicament. He knew me inside out.
We left the supermarket, dumped the bags in my car and drove to my home.
So what happened? - I asked him, preferring to keep the conversation away from myself, on safe ground. How did you recover? Were the doctors wrong?
The spectre of hope was beyond the distant edge of my conscious-awareness. I was too deeply inured to the hopelessness of my situation. But I wanted to hear his story. I was thirsty for it.
Oh, the doctors were spot on. A few months later I was in the hospice saying my farewells to family and friends, without the slightest hope of recovery. The doctors were keeping me comfortable with morphine and I was ready to go at any moment. I was resigned. I no longer cared. You reach that stage in the end. You become quite peaceful. The morphine helps, but it's more than that. The closer you get to it the less death appals, the more it starts to allure. You feel something's there, pulling you out of this world into another.
You mean you believe in life after death?
No, I'd never really believed in anything, but as I traversed the event horizon of my life, it no longer felt cruel or senseless to be quitting this world. Something deeper seemed to be at work. I could feel wheels in motion that I hadn't before - like I was connected to more than I could possibly comprehend or articulate, and it felt very, very peaceful - reassuring even.
Wow - that's amazing. But you didn't die, so something obviously happened. What went wrong? - Now that was something else - I was cracking a joke about the man not dying. I even found myself smiling, which hadn't happened since my sentencing two months ago.
Oh, I died alright.
I'm sorry?
Yeah, I died - and Fish was looking me straight in the eyes. There wasn't the hint of a joking smile. Just calm serenity. Warmth. Love.
But, you can't have if you're here talking to me.
Yes, but I had to die in order to get better. It's actually hard to get better until you've died.
At this point I didn't bother saying anything. Bemused - I just stared at him, listening avidly, trusting he'd fill in the missing pieces.
But once you actually die, once the disease has worked its course, there's this interregnum, a kind of cooling off period where you get to decide.
?
Look, the disease had been part of my life's plan. Once I'd died I was shown certain features in my make up which had caused the cancer to develop beyond critical mass. It all made perfect sense because I was able to see it and feel it with absolute clarity. That's how things are on the other side.
So your cancer had been caused by design faults? Was it genetic?
Not exactly. The cancer hadn't been inevitable but it had always been highly probable in my case. If I'd made certain different choices along the way it wouldn't have arisen, but I hadn't so it did.
So you screwed up? It was your fault you're saying?
No. I just hadn't been hugely committed to life - to making the most of it. Few people are. I'd kind of gone along with the flow, a semi-authentic version of myself.
So the cancer was a kind of punishment?
No. It turns out that I myself was responsible for instigating it. In my case it had been self-activated.
No? Are you sure?
Oh yes, it's absolutely undeniable, but it wasn't like suicide. This was happening at the boardroom level.
The what?
The boardroom level. The directors met and decided that my life on the given course had nothing further to offer, so they pulled the plug rather than pretend and extend.
The directors? Who are they?
Actually, I'm speaking kind of metaphorically. There really are no directors. It's basically the part of yourself at the soul level that is detached from day to day operations, in conjunction with your sponsors.
Your what?
Well, you have sponsors - a team who are there to support and guide you. They help you to make the best decisions from the highest perspective.
You mean like angels?
If you like, but there's absolutely no need to call them angels. Sponsors will do just as well. It all depends whether or not you have a religious bent. Anyway, once I'd died I realised that I'd been present when the decision had been made to terminate, that I'd been in on it from the start.
So, it wasn't just bad luck that you got cancer.
No.
And you didn't feel bad about dying.
Not in the least. I was happy to be out of it. Believe me when I tell you... - and Fish fell silent.
What? - But instead of answering with words, Fish just looked into my eyes and I could see exactly what he was saying to me. There was not the least doubt in my mind that he'd been happy. That death had been a beautiful experience, whatever it had been. Words were superfluous. We were silent a minute or two, maybe longer. Something was going on inside me. For the first time I found myself letting go of internal resistance I'd built up towards my death. For the first time I allowed myself to truly relax. To let go. Peace. I absolutely let go as Fish stared at me in silence. I had nothing to fear. I didn't even care about how Fish came to be alive. It didn't matter in the least. Here, there - what difference did it make?
Thank you Fish - I said a moment or two later. My voice was quite different now. Softer. Less brittle, less strained... Thank you with all my heart. Thank you.
Fish said not a word. Just smiled gently, and was gone.
You know, I never really tried to work out exactly what happened that day. Something changed deep inside me when I accepted my impending death unconditionally. I changed. The world changed. Things that would have bothered me previously no longer did. It didn't matter any more how Fish had returned from the dead, or whether he was truly alive at all. It didn't matter how he'd left my house that afternoon, at what time... It didn't matter. I knew he'd been there. He'd been with me more intensely than anyone else ever has before or since, but I can't for the life of me remember saying goodbye. It doesn't seem to matter.
So what happened? I got better, of course. The cancer saw me as a lost cause. What was the point of it besieging the castle if I'd already surrendered unconditionally to death. It packed up its bags and went elsewhere. I stopped taking all medication from that day onwards. I never even went to see the doctor. They called me a few times but I told them I was no longer in need of assistance. There would have been a lot of pressure to go through follow up tests but I set off almost immediately on an extended leave of absence. To the Amazon of all places. Don't ask me why. It just seemed right at the time - and you know what - ever since I stopped listening to reason, as they call it, and started following my intuition - things have gone from strength to strength. It's ironic, isn't it - you need to die, or spend time on death row to finally wake up and learn to live.
Forgive me for intruding but you seem to be having a hard time of it.
You could say that - I answer. I had no intention of continuing the conversation. What was the point. I was a condemned man with approximately 4 months one week left on Earth.
I know exactly how you're feeling, he said sympathetically.
I don't think so - I was hardly going to tell him I was terminally ill - not in a supermarket checkout line. In fact, I was feeling somewhat affronted that a healthy looking man might presume to know how I was feeling. Give me a break.
Yes, he persisted, I had cancer a few years ago. The doctors told me I had only a few months to live. Not a nice situation. Not nice at all.
My jaw dropped. I didn't want to say anything, but to my embarrassment I started crying. Blubbing like a child. No idea why - just all the stuff I'd been holding back came spilling out. He'd touched a nerve. Something in how he'd looked when he told me this had opened a channel. I felt what he'd felt at the time. The desolation. The yawning empty hollowness of life slipping away without rhyme or reason. And suddenly I wasn't alone. He put his arms around me. A complete stranger and just quietly said - I know. And you know what - he really did. He really, truly knew. I could feel it without a shadow of doubt. He knew exactly what I felt, my predicament. He knew me inside out.
We left the supermarket, dumped the bags in my car and drove to my home.
So what happened? - I asked him, preferring to keep the conversation away from myself, on safe ground. How did you recover? Were the doctors wrong?
The spectre of hope was beyond the distant edge of my conscious-awareness. I was too deeply inured to the hopelessness of my situation. But I wanted to hear his story. I was thirsty for it.
Oh, the doctors were spot on. A few months later I was in the hospice saying my farewells to family and friends, without the slightest hope of recovery. The doctors were keeping me comfortable with morphine and I was ready to go at any moment. I was resigned. I no longer cared. You reach that stage in the end. You become quite peaceful. The morphine helps, but it's more than that. The closer you get to it the less death appals, the more it starts to allure. You feel something's there, pulling you out of this world into another.
You mean you believe in life after death?
No, I'd never really believed in anything, but as I traversed the event horizon of my life, it no longer felt cruel or senseless to be quitting this world. Something deeper seemed to be at work. I could feel wheels in motion that I hadn't before - like I was connected to more than I could possibly comprehend or articulate, and it felt very, very peaceful - reassuring even.
Wow - that's amazing. But you didn't die, so something obviously happened. What went wrong? - Now that was something else - I was cracking a joke about the man not dying. I even found myself smiling, which hadn't happened since my sentencing two months ago.
Oh, I died alright.
I'm sorry?
Yeah, I died - and Fish was looking me straight in the eyes. There wasn't the hint of a joking smile. Just calm serenity. Warmth. Love.
But, you can't have if you're here talking to me.
Yes, but I had to die in order to get better. It's actually hard to get better until you've died.
At this point I didn't bother saying anything. Bemused - I just stared at him, listening avidly, trusting he'd fill in the missing pieces.
But once you actually die, once the disease has worked its course, there's this interregnum, a kind of cooling off period where you get to decide.
?
Look, the disease had been part of my life's plan. Once I'd died I was shown certain features in my make up which had caused the cancer to develop beyond critical mass. It all made perfect sense because I was able to see it and feel it with absolute clarity. That's how things are on the other side.
So your cancer had been caused by design faults? Was it genetic?
Not exactly. The cancer hadn't been inevitable but it had always been highly probable in my case. If I'd made certain different choices along the way it wouldn't have arisen, but I hadn't so it did.
So you screwed up? It was your fault you're saying?
No. I just hadn't been hugely committed to life - to making the most of it. Few people are. I'd kind of gone along with the flow, a semi-authentic version of myself.
So the cancer was a kind of punishment?
No. It turns out that I myself was responsible for instigating it. In my case it had been self-activated.
No? Are you sure?
Oh yes, it's absolutely undeniable, but it wasn't like suicide. This was happening at the boardroom level.
The what?
The boardroom level. The directors met and decided that my life on the given course had nothing further to offer, so they pulled the plug rather than pretend and extend.
The directors? Who are they?
Actually, I'm speaking kind of metaphorically. There really are no directors. It's basically the part of yourself at the soul level that is detached from day to day operations, in conjunction with your sponsors.
Your what?
Well, you have sponsors - a team who are there to support and guide you. They help you to make the best decisions from the highest perspective.
You mean like angels?
If you like, but there's absolutely no need to call them angels. Sponsors will do just as well. It all depends whether or not you have a religious bent. Anyway, once I'd died I realised that I'd been present when the decision had been made to terminate, that I'd been in on it from the start.
So, it wasn't just bad luck that you got cancer.
No.
And you didn't feel bad about dying.
Not in the least. I was happy to be out of it. Believe me when I tell you... - and Fish fell silent.
What? - But instead of answering with words, Fish just looked into my eyes and I could see exactly what he was saying to me. There was not the least doubt in my mind that he'd been happy. That death had been a beautiful experience, whatever it had been. Words were superfluous. We were silent a minute or two, maybe longer. Something was going on inside me. For the first time I found myself letting go of internal resistance I'd built up towards my death. For the first time I allowed myself to truly relax. To let go. Peace. I absolutely let go as Fish stared at me in silence. I had nothing to fear. I didn't even care about how Fish came to be alive. It didn't matter in the least. Here, there - what difference did it make?
Thank you Fish - I said a moment or two later. My voice was quite different now. Softer. Less brittle, less strained... Thank you with all my heart. Thank you.
Fish said not a word. Just smiled gently, and was gone.
You know, I never really tried to work out exactly what happened that day. Something changed deep inside me when I accepted my impending death unconditionally. I changed. The world changed. Things that would have bothered me previously no longer did. It didn't matter any more how Fish had returned from the dead, or whether he was truly alive at all. It didn't matter how he'd left my house that afternoon, at what time... It didn't matter. I knew he'd been there. He'd been with me more intensely than anyone else ever has before or since, but I can't for the life of me remember saying goodbye. It doesn't seem to matter.
So what happened? I got better, of course. The cancer saw me as a lost cause. What was the point of it besieging the castle if I'd already surrendered unconditionally to death. It packed up its bags and went elsewhere. I stopped taking all medication from that day onwards. I never even went to see the doctor. They called me a few times but I told them I was no longer in need of assistance. There would have been a lot of pressure to go through follow up tests but I set off almost immediately on an extended leave of absence. To the Amazon of all places. Don't ask me why. It just seemed right at the time - and you know what - ever since I stopped listening to reason, as they call it, and started following my intuition - things have gone from strength to strength. It's ironic, isn't it - you need to die, or spend time on death row to finally wake up and learn to live.
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