I was born clairvoyant—and raised by baffled Catholic Republicans. Per life in a science-fiction screensaver, I doubted my sanity and hated myself by kindergarten.
No one sees what I see. I’m broken and don’t belong.
I camouflaged myself in response, pretending the classroom walls weren’t watery and feigning sleep as globe-eyed beings watched me breathe.
Fear frayed me to the core. From mistaking Archangel Michael for Satan, to being the hostage of a Christian fundamentalist horse wrangler, my childhood brimmed with absurdity.
By age 40, it showed. I drank too much, ate too little, and married in the name of disdain. By the end of our marriage, I barely spoke.
Even so, our split flattened me. I couldn’t face life alone, especially as a mother. My mind failed. My body followed. Our divorce cut the parachute of my declining health, and chronic Lyme disease raged out of remission.
I was couch-bound all year, in pain and paralysis. My walker was my chariot. Breathing was a chore. I mostly whispered. Bags of IV antibiotics drained through the port in my arm. I wore a fanny-pack to carry it all, like a dairy cow with disposable utters.
Once a day, I elbow-dragged from couch to kitchen. I’d lay on the floor and make PB&Js, then line them up along the wall. I’d leave them out for my kids, as you would animals.
The night of August 11, 2017, I climbed the stairs on all fours, like every night that year. But tonight was my last ascent. My kids were safe, and I was finally free to die.
My friends had warned me for months. That night they were right, and they wouldn’t leave my side. We overlapped on the couch in wary vigil. They smoothed my hair as I watched Castaway on mute.
My friends eventually left for their jobs and families. I was out of life-force and craved death’s peace, but my intuition had other plans.
I was nearly to bed when the thought sounded in my head: you have to leave your body tonight and find help.
The idea pierced my resignation. I’d astral-traveled for years, though never on command. But certainty subtitled my instructions.
As I gripped the stepstool by my bed, I heard: lie along the edge and roll your astral body off the ledge. And just before sleep’s tipping point, I did.
After leaving my body, I travelled like a blade and arrived at a place like wet velvet. No sound or light. The womb of all creation, the void.
“God please take me somewhere safe and good,” and He instantly did.
I merged with unnamable 'God.' I steeped in His infinite, blazing, golden light and felt what He is made of. Freedom, above all—the freedom of unconditional love.
I’d thought God a vague but loving force. I was wrong. God knew me.
We spoke without speaking. I was wholly loved, and I could have been a murderer. God received me in love and light because what comes out is what’s inside!
I knew there is no death, just energy changing form. No rules or gatekeepers. All rituals are accepted.
My greatest realization? God and I were One and the same. Just like you. Just as you are. No matter what.
I'd built my life around fraudulence and fear, but no more. My same, jangly life now appeared divinely inspired—because of the crises, not in spite of them.
I awoke with the force of a lightning strike, and swung my legs out of bed. My Laura Ashley-style walking cane stood ready, but I patted its handle instead of grasping. I didn’t need it. I haven’t used it since.
Standing up, I faced a curled photo taped to the wall. My favorite saying doubled me over: She remembered who she was and the game changed. I folded onto my heels and cried.
Until this night, I had betrayed myself at every turn… until I finally returned home and remembered.