The Moment I Died
Maybe the overwhelming love I felt that night is in direct contrast to the volume of pain I’ve experienced up to now; it was unexpected and enormous—maybe the Universe’s way of helping me remember a shared humanity. Never before have I felt so completely connected, so open, so loved and so loving. There was a moment I thought I might have died (or was in the process of dying) yet in my physical awareness I was anchored to the carpeted floor in my living room in Leeds by the deep and unrelenting breath journeying through my body.
I laid on my back comforted beneath my fluffy burgundy blanket, but I had been restless—resistant—constantly moving as if stillness brought with it a portal to discomfort (my parts were scared and were trying to avoid feeling.) I was alone, and with that came permission to drop the facade. For someone who has spent decades being an avatar—a version of myself I’ve sculptured to societal perfection—getting to know the person behind the clay mask is like waiting to meet your adult child that hasn’t yet been born.
Standing tentatively—my sometimes wobbly footing flickering like the flames on the two candles lighting the otherwise dark room—I lovingly held my fears. “You are safe.” I whispered to the petrified parts of me with my arms wrapped around my torso. “I’ve got you.” This wasn’t the first nor would it be the last time I would say this. “You can come out, it’s just us.”
Gravity, or something, pulled me to the ground like a lustful, eager lover with a soft touch. Within the tension of my resistance I could feel every jagged edge begin to blunt, relinquishing the protective system I’d built over many years; layers of armour guised as socially-constructed masculinity within my flesh. I have been in battle for so long with so many losses, and finally, reluctantly, my body was lowering its defences. It wasn’t until I fully opened myself up and surrendered to the moment—to something more powerful than me (potentially even death)—that the grounds to the kingdom I had fought so hard to defend began to crumble, leaving me naked, vulnerable, and humbled.
I became nothing and I became everything.
If I was meeting death I had no wish to interrupt our moment. I filled my lungs deeply and as I exhaled I let go of my grip of being alive on this planet—the moment I capitulated to Source I felt my physical reality and my fears dissolve and everything went black.
The Moment I Remembered
At first all I could do was feel 1. I was pure energy; I had no form for energy to bind with. Surrounded by darkness, I submitted to the will of the Creator (which I call Source, sometimes God when it feels right) and was immediately overwhelmed with how beautiful being no-thing actually was.
Freedom.
Love.
Joy.
Gratitude.
Humility.
Vulnerability.
Pain.
Completion.
Creation.
Gentle power.
I felt all these things (and more) all at once as I blended with the essence of all life.
At one point I felt the ocean’s waves because I was the ocean; I could feel the life of every living thing on this planet.
I began to manifest as pure light in what I can only describe as a nothingness that contained no thing but everything. I was no longer me: no longer a singular, separate entity. No longer in pain yet I could feel all pain and because there was love in such vast, overwhelming amounts the existence of pain was merely a necessary gauge; as if the depths of love can be felt without an equal amount of pain?
The light—the emanation of ‘my’ energy—became larger the more I let go of any notion of a separate, physical me—an ego. The larger and brighter my energy became the more fulfilled and whole I felt; I became so bright and vast I was no longer a part of something: I simply was; purely existence—the energy that creates and sustains all life, perceived and unknown. I was becoming a star burning so passionately and brilliantly it was unmistakable, and the most remarkable life-changing experience I have ever had.
The Mess of Spiritual Integration
No longer seeing life through the lens of my pain, I had returned. I had come home to Source, as Source—to remember. I had left the ‘matrix’, seeing the illusion of matter that we all so desperately either cling to or try and escape at all cost—I’ve spent decades hiding behind others in romantic relationship (love addiction) or numbing out as much feeling as possible through substance abuse (dissociation). I’ve often become overwhelmed and fearful when contemplating death and space and ‘what happens after?’, knowing our planet and all its inhabitants form a very small percentage of the entirety of all existence.
I no longer fear death; I will embrace it so lovingly and fully because I know it’s the beginning of something else.
In my writings I make no secret about advocating for the darkness that lives within us all, embracing its depths and beauty; if all we feel is light, how do we tip the scales to experience fully what we came here to experience? And I stand by this even after this experience. Yet how I view my darkness has been altered somehow. Or perhaps more accurately how I view my light has changed. I feel as though, as a ‘spiritual truth seeker’, I was chasing the feeling of being ‘Source energy’, a high vibrational being of light and love (also known as my authentic self), without really integrating it into my messy human existence. Clinging to the familiarity of my darkness yet constantly looking for that spiritual ‘high’ to replace it; a state I often chase so much I forget to live as an earthly being, as matter—I forget how to simply enjoy and have fun (things my defences have robbed from me). But instead of chasing this magical moment, I let it go with gratitude and grace; I got from it what the universe had intended to show me—
within us all is an insurmountable capacity to love unconditionally and that nothing else really matters.
But within my pain I lost sight of this gift, until now.
My body—and my parts—are slowly embracing the safety I now offer myself, something I used to seek from romantic partners. Memories are beginning to re-surface. The chronic tension I feel is gradually adjusting to a new normal of peace. I feel the rise of excitement (and at times, fear) in meeting who I truly am and every day brings me closer in connection with the universe and all the subtle ways it talks to me, guiding me home to myself and to my purpose while I’m lucky enough to be alive on this planet.
I believe connection with others is important. I also believe without it will not mean death. Connection with others is a gift; the most important connection I must nurture is to myself and with that, I will never, ever be alone because within my being, and with a connection to Source, I have everything I need. How I display my humanity is my gift to the world and how I connect with others is my gift (and guidance) from Source—a physical manifestation to remind me what existence was like before I incarnated and what’ll be like when I return home—though (I believe) we must all learn the art of loving unconditionally to spare us the perpetual suffering that comes with hurting one another.
I am made from everything life itself is created from, but I am also from the earth. I am matter and my physical existence matters. Integrating this and having balance is a life’s work.
The Path I Vow To Walk
It would be easy for me to brush off this experience as a drug-fuelled hallucination and it would be ok if you did, my mind certainly wants to neatly file it away under ‘Crazy’. With a self-administered therapeutic dose2 of MDMA3 and Ketamine4 (the combination is known as ‘kitty flipping’) I was able to disengage my fears, dismantle my walls and let go of control. In return I got to experience what it feels like to return home, to Source, to God. In my heart I know it was a very real and profoundly spiritual experience and a moment I will treasure for the rest of my time here on Earth—even if only to serve as a reminder to what and who I am.
Life is messy and painful; it’s hard. To love unconditionally is even harder. Vulnerability can feel like walking the green mile toward death. But it’s also stunning even within darkness and pain. As I recover from trauma and a fearful-avoidant attachment style, I know just how hard vulnerability can be. But what I learned from this experience is the wider I open my heart, the more I love without condition, the less I suffer from the unavoidable moments of pain. And I know that sounds like a contradiction but it’s the fear and the resistance to pain that causes the most suffering, not the initial pang of pain itself.
I believe it is the purpose of us all to love as freely and openly as we can, helping others along the way, while treating ourselves with the same love and compassion that we show others. It is also to remember our humanity and our capacity for love in all states; I believe the truest version of humanity is seen within darkness, when we are at our lowest, darkest moments. It’s easy to love when things are going well and connection is easy, but if I can still love when all around me hurts and wants to bury me, that’s the real test; I haven’t yet fully managed it. But I will.
I am learning so much about love and life; the art of discernment and of letting go. There have been people I have loved and let go of from a place of fear and hurt, there are those I have let go of because I became wise to my own unnecessary suffering. There are those who have let go of me for their own reasons. I remain grateful and will always have love for everyone that has come into my life; we are all made from the same energy so loving them is loving myself.
We are all doing our best and that is always enough.
How beautiful it is to be alive.
FOOTNOTES:
- I listened to this song on repeat during this experience: Don’t Go – Christopher Dennis Coleman ↩︎
- For further information on it’s therapeutic use, see the links below ↩︎
- 120mg followed by 60mg (1 hour after initial dose). ↩︎
- 45mg 1 hour after 2nd dose of MDMA: once every 45 mins as required (I had 3 doses). ↩︎
LINKS:
MDMA: PubMed Central and Psych’Online
Ketamine: PubMed
