Author and journalist Patricia Pearson, prompted by some extraordinary experiences surrounding the deaths of her father and sister (nine weeks apart), trained her investigative eye on the research and anecdotal literature surrounding near-death and related phenomena, and after several years and dozens of sources, has compiled her findings in Opening Heaven's Door. In addition to fascinating first-hand accounts of what the dead and dying are trying to communicate to us, Pearson backs up each section with the peer-reviewed studies by respected scientists that skeptics would accept as proof in any other field; but as Pearson found during this investigation, the science surrounding death and near-death experiences demands a higher standard.
I see it every day in the websites I frequent: As soon as someone makes reference to God or paranormal experiences, the condescending intellectuals start commenting, "The world will be a better place once people stop believing in some invisible sky fairy", with the underlying message being, "I science and you're a gullible fool who believes in children's stories". Although they obviously think of themselves as the seekers of and possessors of the one true truth, these people can't even be properly called skeptics as they refuse to consider new evidence -- some cases are simply closed. This was the situation that Pearson also found repeatedly:
Psi, short for psychic, refers to a number of cognitive abilities that can't be accounted for through identified senses, including clairvoyance, telepathy and precognition. Don't look these up on Wikipedia, because there's an interesting cultural subplot going on at the moment in which paranormal topics are edited by activist skeptics in a manner that presents them as having been officially debunked.That's a broad definition for the paranormal and not really the focus of this book (which only veers into this territory when exploring people's precognition of someone dying before they get the official news), but it does illustrate this current atmosphere we have in which no amount of proof for contact with the dead or return from death is sufficient to sway "official" thought. Pearson discovered that around half of grieving people and end-of-life medical professionals have experienced supernatural contact with the recently deceased, and yet even medical schools don't prepare their students for the experience. She quotes Martha Farah, director of Neuroscience and Society at the University of Pennsylvania, who said in a 2009 lecture:
We should cultivate a certain epistemological modesty and not assume that we can explain everything that matters -- or even what it means to matter -- in terms of chemistry, biology and physics. And certainly, we should not infer that whatever cannot be explained in those terms does not matter.Pearson delves into how we got to this point of dogmatic disbelief in anything that can't be quantified in a lab and how our ancient and common experiences surrounding death somehow came to be lumped under the dismissive title of "paranormal phenomena":
Death was medicalized and secularized, removed from a sacred context, and then -- a subsequent and unexpected development -- patients began returning from it...So we have managed to lose the language and ritual around spiritual experiences of death even as we have managed to increase the likelihood of hearing back from the near-dead about their spiritual encounters.For the most part, Pearson found that those who returned from near-death experiences (or "NDEers") had entered the by now famous white light that suffused them with feelings of love and well-being, often sensing the presence of family members, and returning with a sense of peace and with no fear of death. I did find the following to be surprising though:
NDEers become less dogmatically religious -- if they were religious to begin with -- yet more actively spiritual…In other words, their NDEs convinced the majority of people who had one that the doctrine they had been accustomed to, whatever it was, was off base.If NDEers are telling us that we will eventually return to some primal, satisfying, creative energy stream -- an afterlife which doesn't necessitate a belief in the "invisible sky fairy" that militant atheists say is to blame for all the horror we have ever seen play out on earth -- then who wouldn't want to believe in that? Who wouldn't want to believe that those we've lost have entered that place of peace and joy? And when we have scientific studies that support the existence of an afterlife -- an afterlife that doesn't require your belief in it for you to enter -- how spiritually dull would a person need to be to want to fight against the proofs?
I will admit that, like plenty of people, I suffer from confirmation bias: I tend to agree with information that aligns with what I already believe. As a result, Opening Heaven's Door was an intriguing and satisfying read for me. On the other hand, I can see that those who have a confirmation bias against the notion of an afterlife would probably not be swayed by the information contained here.
As I wrote after this review for Writing Down the Bones, I had signed up for an online writing course through the library, and the final assignment was submitted last week (a strict 500 wordcount story on any topic of my choosing). My story seems to belong on this page, so here it is:
The Doctor's Wife
Brenda
shuffled into the kitchen, yawning and tucking her strawberry-blonde hair
behind her ears, and automatically reached for the coffee pot. With her aging
poodle, Andy, shadowing closely behind her slippered feet, Brenda moved to the
sink and began filling the pot. Another yawn, so forceful it squeezed her eyes shut
and caused tears to stream down her briefly distorted face, took Brenda into
its grip and she fought it off with a violent shake of her head. Looking out
the window over the sink, her eyes glassy with trapped tears, Brenda was struck
frozen by what she saw: In the yard, every rose bush was in huge and glorious
bloom; a riot of lush and lovely colour. And Brenda's stomach turned to ice.
The
previous summer, Brenda and her family had moved into this beautiful house,
having bought it from a doctor who had recently lost his wife. The doctor had
been stricken with grief and also guilt: His dead wife had loved this house
with its fine structure and finishings, but more than anything, she had been a
proud and avid gardener. By selling the house, the doctor felt he was
abandoning his wife's memory -- mere months after she had been taken by cancer
-- but he could no longer bear to live alone in the home his wife had made. During
the purchase, Brenda assured the doctor that she would take care of the
manicured gardens, and indeed once they were hers, she found she loved the
work; the mucking about and pruning bushes; the thinning and deadheading of the
flowerbeds.
Inside
the house, Brenda updated the tired décor, and each room she painted and floor she
refinished filled her with satisfaction. Yet, even though Brenda had peeled the
flocked wallpaper off the dining room walls and replaced the pink fixtures in
the powder room, the doctor's dead wife refused to be erased so easily from her
erstwhile home.
The
strange events started happening nearly immediately upon moving in. Pictures
would jump off walls. Andy would wake from a deep sleep and start barking at
empty corners. An unoccupied room would contain a cloud of cigarette smoke.
Bedroom doors would slam upstairs as the entire family gathered below. Strange
events, yes, but not inexplicable; nothing Brenda couldn't dismiss with a shrug
and a laugh.
Until
one morning in February, in a northern city covered with frost and snow, Brenda
looked out her kitchen window and saw her rosebushes in full bloom.
Brenda
could never know if the miracle of the roses had happened on the exact
anniversary of the death of the doctor's wife, but the math seemed about right
to her, so that was the story Brenda told. The roses bloomed one February morning
and the strange events in the house came to an abrupt end. The flush of reds
and pinks and yellows against a blanket of empty white? Naught but the flourishing
farewell of a jealous gardener; one who refused to be ignored.
*****
That was my imagined accounting of what was told to me as a 100% true story, and Brenda is my mother. In the comments section after my submission, a fellow classmate wrote:
My mother, a cigarette smoker for 50 years, died of lung cancer Oct 4, 2010. The day before she died she was a little hard to understand - morphine probably. She told me to remember the pink rose. She was on a Hospice-provided bed in the living room and referred to a favorite rose bush outside on the patio, which had long since quit blooming. I thought she meant to remember to "stop and smell the roses." Three weeks later we're at the house, I look out the kitchen window and there is one perfect pink rose in full bloom on that bush. It was Oct 28 and 38 degrees. My sister and I had a good cry, feeling like Mom had left a little reminder. My other sister pressed the rose and framed it with a picture of my mother. It sits on a shelf a few feet from me as I write. Thanks for all your support and I wish you all the good writing you need to fill your soul.
And from Opening Heaven's Door, Pearson wrote:
When I lay in bed some weeks after (my sister) died and asked in messed-up anguish for a sign that she was alright, I found a single vivid pink bloom -- not a bud but a ridiculous, time-elapsed bloom -- on a long-dead plant in the hallway.
If so many people have these similar experiences surrounding death, why is belief in the afterlife dismissed as childish wishful thinking?
*****
And here I just want to make a few comments on the writing course; certainly not general interest stuff. I thought I was doing pretty well in the course, my feedback from fellow students was really positive, but I don't know if I really connected with the instructor (hard to do online, anyway) and I don't leave it feeling very encouraged. This is her critique of my assignment (a critique which, for the first time in the course, promised to be exacting):
Good story about a house that is haunted by the dead wife of the previous owner. The blooming of the roses in February, amid snow and cold, signals the last hurrah of the dead wife who has apparently decided to move on rather than try to hold on to her beloved home from beyond the grave. It has a fine ring of truth, as if you are describing events that happened, and which many people witnessed. Kudos for that! This sense of historical accuracy definitely adds to the pleasure we have while reading it. I felt like this was a home with a real address that I could go visit and ponder those otherworldly events.
As a writer, you have a habit of pulling sentences out to often unmanageable lengths. Remember that short sentences can add impact and punch. You clearly know this, given the last sentence of the first paragraph. I would examine each sentence here and decide if you can eliminate the conjunctions which stretch them on and on. Here’s an example of one I revised for you: Another yawn, so forceful it squeezed her eyes shut and caused tears to stream down her briefly distorted face, took Brenda into its grip. She fought it off with a violent shake of her head. You’re also using colons to connect sentences. Periods would work better.
Here are some tips that will help you as you write:
--I’d take out the “And” in the final sentence of the first paragraph. You don’t need it, and it takes away from the power of that sentence.
--I’d take out “The” before the sentence “Strange events started happening….”
--I’d replace “as” with “while” in the sentence about the family gathering below. It always helps to review any uses of the word "as." It's typically an overused word, one that's shoved into duty as a conjunction, and time indicator, and a link between events. It helps to review it to see if 1) you might separate a longer sentence into two shorter ones, 2) you really mean "while" or "when"--words that are more specific, or 3) a conjunction like "and" or "but" would work better.
--You toss in some semicolons where none are needed. Semicolons have specific uses, and most times you’ll find that commas work better. I’d get a good reference book (I likeThe Gregg Reference Manual) so you can brush up on where the semicolons should go.
--Watch for compound sentences (two complete sentences joined by a conjunction like “and” or “but”). When you have one, make sure you add a comma before the conjunction.
Who says you can’t write a good story in 500 words? Here you show us how it’s done. This one fits perfectly. I hope you will write more! --Ann
Even a rank beginner such as myself bristles at the idea of "killing my darlings" and every punctuation choice and word in this short piece was selected with care (I wouldn't want to cut even that "And" or that "The"), so opening myself to critique was probably a pointless idea, lol. I thought that this was a positive assessment until I saw the glowing critiques that others got, and so that, of course, filled me with jealousy and self-doubt, but I still signed up for another course that begins shortly -- I really enjoyed having assignments to look forward to. As this was the final week, classmates started posting about what a powerful course this was and they created a google group and a facebook page that everyone is invited to join, but I'm not a joiner like that.
Before I lose access to the online discussion pages, I just want to remind myself of some of my favourite feedback:
- WOW!!!!!!!!!!! I just got major CHILLS!
- You should know I've actually spoken of your assignment to family members and friends.
- Loved this! It flows so smoothly. Reads like poetry in my mind. Well done.
- You are so very gifted with description, I always take notes when I read your entries. Thanks for another great one!
- On reflection of my previous comment I wanted to be more specific. I enjoy your writing style and involvement with this group. I do not always agree with all you write or express but I richly appreciate your willingness to share them with all. Your candor, forthrightness and no B.S. are traits I respect and pursue. As my father would say "carry on".
That last comment is to keep me humble because I have no idea how I gave that man this impression of me, lol. In one week's assignment, we were to imagine some impossible-to-achieve dream, and then describe in detail how it might possibly be achieved (with the added incentive that not to achieve this dream would take twenty years off of one's life). As I suspected, most of the class wrote about writing a best-seller, but I avoided that as obvious and also, ultimately, something that is out of a writer's control: anyone could write a book but "bestseller" is a lightning strike. I was, however, amazed by how I could imagine an unimaginable dream:
I have always been an armchair adventurer, and whether reading Charles Darwin's Voyage of the Beagle as a twelve-year-old or Cheryl Strayed's Wild more recently, whenever I close the covers of a travelogue, I think to myself I would love to do that, too, if only… Well, here I am going to do some investigating and figure out what the "if onlys" are that might be holding me back from my dream trip: An expedition that includes the Sacred Valley of the Incas in Peru; a hike to Machu Picchu; a flight over the Nazca Desert (to see the Nazca Lines from the air); a cruise to the Galapagos Islands (with nature tour of land and sea); and a final sea voyage to Antarctica (with hiking, camping, kayaking, and penguin encounters). My 25th Anniversary is in 2016, and as a trip is a traditional way to celebrate such a milestone, and as the timeline fits nicely with the parameters of this exercise, these are the steps I'll need to take to achieve my goal within 12 months:
- I looked into several travel companies and this itinerary is doable with a high-end cost of $12 000 per person; a projected no-surprises expenditure of $24 000 for me and my husband. This is a wildly unrealistic amount for us to simply save from our current income in one year, but if I (a stay-at-home Mom of nearly 20 years) got a full-time job and put all of the paycheques aside, I'd be able to make nearly all of this myself in just one year; even at minimum wage.
- This is a very active itinerary -- there is an option to take a train up the mountain to Machu Picchu, but I'm sure I would regret taking the easy way out on a once-in-a-lifetime trip -- and while I'm not in terrible shape, I'd want to get as fit as possible in the next year. I could get a gym membership, and with the help of a personal trainer, start a regime that would get me in proper shape. My husband and I could also spend some weekends exploring local hikes for the practise and exercise.
- I would want to learn as much as possible about what I expect to be seeing and can spend the year reading books, blogs, and websites.
- I would find out what is required for the trip (vaccines, special clothing or equipment) and acquire the necessities.
- My biggest obstacle would be embracing the level of selfishness a plan like this would entail: My husband and I have been on very few trips without our kids, yet I know they would understand us celebrating our milestone as just the two of us. Even so, not only would I be planning to make and spend a bunch of money on my own selfish goal, but I would be telling my kids that for at least the next year, I won't be there for them in the same way anymore: I would no longer be just a phone call away when a lunch or homework has been forgotten; I may not be around when someone needs a drive; I may even expect someone else to do some laundry and make a few meals. I am just a few years away from having an empty nest and I know that I would feel guilty about jumping the gun like this; not physically being there for my kids at the very end of the time when they might actually still need me around.
This has been a fascinating exercise, and primarily because I assumed the money would be the biggest stumbling block. Writing it out helps me to see that that final bullet point -- the personal guilt of implementing a purely selfish plan -- is what would prevent me from sending out resumes as early as today to get a job and start saving the money for this dream trip. I have nothing but respect for working mothers and want to make it clear that I don't believe that any parent who works outside the home (for any reason at all) is acting selfishly -- my problem is with my own very particular situation and what would feel like a betrayal of the expectations that I alone am responsible for establishing.
If I would lose twenty years of my life for not implementing this plan, I can see now that it is achievable. Without that false motivation, however, couldn't I choose the path that would see me going on this dream trip for, say, my 30th Anniversary? Or is that a cop out?
The fact that I could achieve this dream trip was a startling realisation for me, and yet, I still haven't looked into employment. Now, here is the "making the impossible dream possible" assignment from the man who had such curious things to say about me above:
Why do I write, huh?
- I don’t know enough people to tell them in person.
- I don’t care about enough people to tell them in person.
- I am to old, maybe lazy, to tell everyone I would like to tell in person.
- My opinion or viewpoint is not shared by many in a small community so go global.
- I feel wiser when someone says they learned from me.
- My brain needs the exercise.
- Why not?
- My head is too full of sh*t so I need to dump. Think of a great chili.
- Accolades, kudos and admiration.
- Constructive criticism and insight.
- Desire to share.
What helps me write?
Strange, tough bars with amazing people.
Drinking too much.
Long walks on the lake shore.
Getting old.
Sitting by yourself and watching.
Speaking with people not too.
Listening.
Shutting up.
A life unplanned with all it’s nuances.
Being afraid, happy, lonely and all the other stuff, hug it.
I have no idea how that satisfies the parameters of the assignment, but as always, our classmates fawned all over his writing style (Haha "need to dump", you grump old cuss), and that keeps me humble, too. (I would love to copy/paste some of his curiously surreal final assignment, too, but that would feel like more of a theft than this list.)
*****
In the end, I really enjoyed being in this class, can honestly say that I have learned from it, and have confirmed my opinion of myself as a simply uncreative person. Many of the final pieces were wildly creative or poignant or out there, and a reader could see that these writers swung for the fences. I, on the other hand, saw "500 word story" and tried to figure out what I could contain into that limit instead how to expand a kernel of energetic thought to its natural boundaries -- a compression, not a stretch -- and that's where most of my assignments ended up; as tight little packages that strictly met the literal confinements of each lesson. Perhaps this is the self-knowledge that I needed in order to break out in the next course.
