I Found Myself Hurtling Toward A Brilliant

Much of what we know about ancient peoples and societies comes from careful excavation of their tombs and grave sites. We know what they ate, how they stored their wine and food, what their craftsmen built, their myths, their clothing, what weapons they used to fight their wars. From the kingdom of ancient Egypt to dynastic China to Mesoamerica, death involved elaborate rituals and common themes. In some cases, family members and servants of the wealthy, and even dogs, were killed so that they could travel with the deceased into the afterlife. Accompany is a significant word we use. The ancient Greeks had an elaborate conception of the River Styx, where the boatman Charon waited to transport the souls of the deceased to their underworld. Equally significant is the number of societies that identified the existence of a soul or essence beyond the physical body. Suffering on this earth is redeemed by paradise in the afterlife to come. In the early Renaissance, it was considered the height of fashion for the wealthy to carry with them memento mori, exquisite small sculptures, to remind them of the equalizing power of death. Aside from the power and meaning gifted by these religious traditions, for centuries there was good reason to put the afterlife front and center, because death was front and center. Even though some fortunate individuals lived to old age, disease, illness, accident, and injury cut short many young people’s lives. In the United States in the year 1900, life expectancy for both men and women remained below fifty years of age.

Between Two Worlds

These hard facts were reflected in how people lived. In what might seem downright morbid to us now, the deceased would frequently appear fully dressed and posed, seated or standing upright, and joined by their living family members for a final group portrait. And yet we are all going to die. I could have easily been one of those don’t ask, don’t tell people on the subject of death. That all changed on December 29, 1979, on a ski trip outside Lake Tahoe. Suddenly one broke free and crashed to the walkway, barely three feet from me. Later, I often wondered whether this was an omen. With typical teen exuberance, John and I drove to Squaw Valley and immediately headed up the mountain to the highest run, in search of fresh powder. On this particular run, I tucked in to get some speed, until the back of my skis began to cross. For a second, it was exhilarating, but my body kept rotating until I slammed into the ground and felt a violent crunch in my lower back. Everything went dark and silent. It was as if the electricity in my body had been turned off.

Tell Me What You See

In my next moment of awareness, I realized that I was staring down at my physical body covered in snow. Then I began to move away from my body and the earth and head into the sky. As I rose higher, the San Francisco Bay, the Colorado Rockies, and then the continental United States all came into view. Then the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans, and eventually Planet Earth, which I recognized from satellite images. Then I found myself hurtling toward a brilliant, luminous golden light. I consciously recognized that I was dying and felt the devastating realization that I had wasted my life. I haven’t finished my work in this lifetime! Make something of your life. Next I felt an inexplicable push and I found myself spinning back to earth. I wondered how I would ever get back into my body, let alone find it. Then the mountain loomed before me. I was aware of the snow surrounding me, but I couldn’t feel my limbs. I pleaded, Please don’t let me be paralyzed.

Think For Yourself

A subtle surge of energy coursed over me. The sensation was much like standing under a shower head and feeling the spray of warm water hit the top of my head and then travel along my body. As I started to wiggle my fingers and toes, I opened my eyes and saw snow crystals resting on my goggles. My mind was still but I was overcome with gratitude. Then I heard the sound of skis sliding toward me, and John suddenly exclaimed, Wow! I stood up slowly, not even considering that I might be seriously injured. I awoke and was unable to move without agonizing pain. The doctor fitted me for a rigid corset to wear for the next three months. I assumed that would be the end of it, but instead nothing was the same again. Sooner rather than later, my experience on that mountain would force me to change my own life. I tried to resume my expected trajectory as a college student at the University of California at Berkeley. As I peered through the bus’s curtains, I saw hundreds of desperate, begging eyes staring directly at me through a thin slit of fabric. A densely packed group of veiled Muslim women held their arms outstretched, pleading for food and money. The sheer number and their desperation moved me to tears. After graduating from college in 1985, I traveled to Belize, Guatemala, and Peru as a member of the Jesuit International Volunteers. In Peru, I taught at a center for Aymara Indian children from the Andes Highlands. They had fled violence and famine and were now refugees in the southern town of Tacna. Children as young as four were forced to support themselves. Most had witnessed countless acts of violence, and their families and communities had been ripped apart by a civil war and famine. No one spoke of death, but it was ever present, an invisible stalker lying in wait. A few days later, I saw the mother, Maria, sitting in a circle with other Aymara Indian women as they knitted wool socks and sweaters. I approached her to offer condolences. Maria casually looked in my direction, but into my eyes, and she did not respond. Maria seemed a bit exasperated.