The First Time I Met God

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I am twenty-eight years old. For the past two dreadful years, I have suffered crushing migraines and chronic sinus infections. So, I have come to a last resort. I’m getting surgery. A doctor will cut open my face and, hopefully, fix me.

I am looking forward to the surgery. I need the pain to stop.

About a week before the surgery, however, I receive a vexing diagnosis. It seems that I have, somehow, contracted (yet another) skin infection. “You have such a weak immune system,” the doctor says, frowning.

On the day of the surgery, as my eyes grow heavy from the anesthesia, worried thoughts bombard my brain. Even if this sinus surgery is successful (and I have my doubts), I still have many painful skin treatments ahead of me, where another doctor will use acid to burn away the skin infection. Probably more antibiotics, too.

On the day of the surgery, my husband holds my hand, and all I can do is pray for a miracle. I need this pain to stop; I need to live again.

The prayer I say in this moment isn’t really a normal prayer. I don’t say “Dear God” or “please, angels.” No. The prayer I say is so deep that it isn’t even with words. It’s a prayer in silence. It’s a primal uttering that emanates from every inch of my being…continuous and bottomless…like a wordless, animal cry from the heart.

I am having surgery.

And I am suddenly not in my body.

One moment, I am looking at the surgeon hovering over me, relaxing into the anesthesia—and the next moment, I am a disembodied soul, floating out, free in the Universe.

Galaxies spin and swirl around me. Great bursts of color: reds, purples, greens, blues… and the stars! I am weightless. Such splendor, all around me! Such bliss!

There are angels, too! Countless angels—and they are all singing! Great songs of inexplicable beauty. Great chorus and chant. Language cannot even come close to describing this beauty.

And then a voice comes. A soft, yet strong voice. The voice seems to harmonize my body into its own vibration. The voice is female. She sounds older, like a grandmother. The most caring, compassionate, patient, wise grandmother. She says, “Child, my dear child. Do Reiki on yourself for thirty days.”

I know in an instant what she means. I know that she is instructing me to use Reiki as the healing tool for my skin infection. And although she doesn’t say it, I know she is God. I knew she is Source. I know that I have left my body; I know that I have returned to the place that I have been, so many times before. I know I am home.

Waves of ecstasy. Waves of bliss. Pure knowing. Pure love. Beyond comprehension, beyond the mind. Only love.

I don’t know how long I am in this place. Maybe ten seconds? Ten lifetimes? I have no idea.

I begin to hear people softly talking…and slowly…I come back into my body. I see a nurse bending before me, fussing with some gadgets by my bed. I smile at her, and begin to softly laugh. I see my husband enter the room. He guides me into a wheelchair.

I know that everything is going to be okay. I know my sinuses are healed and I know that my skin infection will soon be healed.

I am totally free from fear.

The Love that met me that day can hardly be summarized into language, and yet I always seem to try. I so want to share it with you. I want you to know what I know.

Sometimes when life gets really tough, when I become worried or sad, I close my eyes, and I bring myself back to that place. Being weightless out in the vast Universe, hearing the voice of Love.

I look forward to returning to that place again. But, for now, I embrace this human life. I am embodied and have many tasks to do. I know this lifetime will be very special. And I am so very grateful.

 

 

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