The ambulance arrived with its loud sirens and flashing lights on a cold, dark, and a dreary evening on the New Year's Day into the Brettonwood subdivision in Decatur, Georgia, disturbing the quiet neighborhood. It was 7:00 PM and our neighbors were out of their homes enjoying the holidays.

Fifteen days before, I had triple bypass open-heart surgery and was recovering well at home. I was able to shower by myself, walk around the house, and take care of all my needs for the first twelve days. Suddenly, I began coughing uncontrollably and deteriorated in my health. I was not able to eat any solid food, could hardly breathe, and was so weak that I could not even move.

They opened the back door of the ambulance and slid the gurney inside. The technician sat beside me, and Lakshmi sat in the front of the cab. The technician heaved a big sigh of relief as the ambulance stopped, opened the doors, pulled out the ramp, and pushed down the gurney. The ER nurse wheeled me into a large room that was partitioned off into many rooms, each with curtains that could be pulled to provide privacy. I was lying in the ER bed feeling weak and drained.

I closed my eyes and felt surreal. I was floating above my body. I felt disconnected from my body and became an observer of things happening rather than a direct participant. I was in a place full of bright light, it was inviting and enchanting. I felt the blissful state that Upanishads—Hindu scriptures—describe: a place that is beyond compare, indescribable, beyond misery and happiness. Was I becoming one with the Brahman?

From my vantage point hovering over the hospital bed, I observed an elderly person of Indian origin in his late sixties covered with blankets lying on a hospital bed. Only his face was visible. He looked pale, had greying hair, a bald patch, and a white mustache. He had a large forehead, drooping lips, and closed eyes. Four people surrounded him: three women and one man. A lady of Indian origin in her mid-sixties was talking to the nurse animatedly. That lady was petite, had black hair, wore thick glasses, and compressed her lips with worry. A younger lady was talking on her phone. Another lady in her mid-sixties was talking to the other older man. There were only a few other patients in the emergency room.

I was immersed in a bright endless light. I felt a sense of peace and tranquility and no pain or misery. Through the endless bright light, animals, men, women, children, insects, mountains, oceans, valleys, stars, and other living and non-living beings were entering and leaving. I mingled with the light and became one. It was beyond space and time continuum.

I saw my past achievements and disappointments merge into the light. The effort I put in the past to achieve success in the information technology field seemed not important as I enjoyed the blissful state. The differences I perceived between person to person, person to animal, and person to inanimate beings, fell away as everybody was consumed by the same bright light. The strife and conflicts that I faced in the world faded into nothing. I felt happy, blissful, and an overwhelming sense of love for all beings. I felt calm as I had never felt before. Even though I was in this blissful state of merging into a light, I witnessed the scene happening on the hospital bed.

The doctor entered the room and ordered the nurses to transfuse blood into the elderly person lying on the bed and they became busy ensuring that the person received the correct type of blood. After some time, they lifted that person, put him on another bed, and wheeled him into the Cardiac ICU (CICU) room. They covered him head to toe with blankets and only a little space was left through which his face appeared. They put an oxygen mask so even that part of the face was covered by the opaque plastic. The petite lady was holding his hand and standing next to him throughout this ordeal.

The bright light started fading away. I did not want to leave that place of bliss but was told that time was up, and I had to return. I descended from being an onlooker and entered my body, and noted that I was swallowed by several blankets and felt hot and thirsty. There was an oxygen mask on my nose, and several tubes ran through my body. I squinted through the blankets to look around.

That evening they moved me from the CICU to a regular room. In the subsequent days, I recovered physically. As my body began to heal, my mind started to relive the trauma and events surrounding them. The number of visitors and phone calls increased. Each time, as I explained the trauma and recovery, I cried. The NDE had made me vulnerable, and a part of me felt as if each call would be the last call I would have with them. I wanted to patch up any mistakes I might have made in talking to them or working with them in the past. There might have been instances when I may have ignored them or told them harsh words. I apologized profusely and cried during the calls, unable to push the thoughts away. My mind began to falter, asking puzzling questions: Will I be confident to make choices and take chances, or be afraid to live?

I was discharged after four days. During the next six months, I recovered fully from the physical and mental trauma caused by this experience.

I had heard of a few incidents of people dying and coming back to life, but I had always summarily dismissed those tales as a figment of one’s imagination. I had even laughed derisively at those “stories.” But now I had encountered a similar Near-Death Experience myself and felt the need to live in the moment.

The Near-Death Experience convinced me that my future goals needed to include keeping my body and mind healthy. During the past four years, Lakshmi and I have consulted with specialists and changed our diets, relocated to a senior-citizen friendly home, exercised, rested, drunk plenty of water, performed service and charitable activities, and maintained good relationships with family and friends to keep my blood pressure and blood sugar readings under control. I had to temper my ambitions and aspirations to keep my body and mind fit and healthy.

I realized it is time for me to pay it forward and help others in need, investigate fundamental questions as to the purpose of life and be more empathetic toward people. I realize that love should be the central theme of my life and I should be compassionate towards others.

I need to refrain from doing the things that made me suffer. Two thousand and five hundred years ago, Buddha prescribed an eight-fold path that might mitigate such suffering: Right View, Right Thinking, Right Speech, Right Action, Right Livelihood, Right Diligence, Right Mindfulness, and Right Concentration. I strive to follow this path to achieve the well-being of my body and mind. Occasionally I fall, get up, see where I faltered, fix it, focus on the path, and move forward again.