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Weird Experiences: The Roof Peels Away

I have up until now been pretty circumspect about the weirder things I have experienced in my life. Most of them are pretty unbelievable, even, I admit, to me, should someone else have told me that they experienced them instead of me experiencing them myself. It helps me to remind myself that I am not a drug user and have never tried any number of drugs that were common recreational vehicles when I was younger, so I can safely say these experiences aren't flashbacks.

But still, I haven't wanted to risk trotting out these weird things and have people think that I am either lying or have had some kind of episode, so I've only shared a few of them with friends and family, and rarely even then.

But now, for some reason explicable only to some part of me that I sincerely hopes knows what it is doing, I feel that it is now okay to share some of these experiences. The somewhat less weird ones, anyway.

The one I am sharing this morning happened a few years ago. I woke up in the middle of the night, opened my eyes, and saw that the roof had completely peeled away. I saw a lovely cloudy night sky and a beautiful glowing light, like a full moon only without a specific light source, and I knew that I was being offered the chance to leave this earth and move on to the next plane of existence. Mind you, there was no sense of there being any kind of presence inviting me—instead, it was like some kind of time lock had released, and a portal had opened, and it was there to be used or not as I wished.

This isn't to say that I don't believe in a Presence, because of course I do. It is just to say that in this particular instance, I didn't have a feeling of there being one.

I thought about my daughter, then about 14, sleeping in her room down the hall, and I knew I couldn't go. I couldn't leave my daughter alone. I couldn't leave her motherless. I knew she still needed me.

So I said "no" to the opportunity. I figured it was always going to be there—whenever I am ready to go, I can—and so I said no. I also, just to make my answer quite clear, ducked my head under the covers like a little child. I waited a while, emerged from the covers to check the ceiling again, and all was back to normal. And then I went back to sleep.

Now, I know what some people are going to think, and I will respond to that. Some people will think that I was asleep and dreaming. (Some people might claim drugs or some kind of flashback, but as I've said, that isn't possible.)

As for it being a dream: I have spent my entire life since age 13 paying attention to my dreams, exploring and thinking about the various levels of consciousness within dreams, having many lucid dreams and other weird varieties of dreams and sleeping levels of consciousness, including dreams in which I have thought I was awake until I really woke up (and dreams in which I thought I was awake, woke up, then woke up again, then woke up again...), and I have, as a result of this dream/consciousness state exploration over many decades, developed a fine sense for what is what. This is why I can state without doubt that I know I was awake. This was not a dream. It was not a lucid dream. It was not a dream of being awake from which I later woke up. I know the qualities of each, and the differences between them all, and I know I was awake. It was not in any way any other kind of awareness than plain, ordinary, everyday wakefulness.

I know some people won't believe me when I say that, and it is a sad reflection on today's society when a person's word is no longer considered enough, but ultimately, I know that this experience was real, and my opinion is what is important in this case.

I told my daughter about it a few years after it happened, and she felt bad, thinking that I had somehow given up something wonderful for her. I told her that being in this life is something wonderful, something never to be repeated, and that what I would have gone to is always going to be there, and that I wanted to spend time with her in this life, but I think she still feels a little bad anyway, like I somehow gave up something for her sake.

Truthfully, there are many things that loving parents* give up for their children, and I have given up many things, but I can't think of a single thing, including this opportunity, that I have given up that I ever regret, or that I value more than her presence in my life. She is a most precious human being, a joy and a treasure to me, and I have never regretted having her for even a single second.

Anyway, that's one of my weird experiences. I'll share more as time goes on.

(* I say "loving parent" because parents who are less loving—or even unloving—don't give up those things, or give them up but make their children pay in other ways. But I am not going there with this essay. I just wanted to make a distinction there.)

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