A Spiritual Journey through Pain
By Joe, Pennsylvania
That had to be a plane, I thought. Nothing else could possibly be moving so fast. Alarmingly the force of the fast-moving object’s impact snapped off my driver’s seat. My car catapulted forward.
I was traveling at about sixty miles per hour on I-75 north of Atlanta, Georgia, and getting ready to exit. A couple minutes prior to impact I saw jets taking off from Dobbins Air Reserve Base. It wasn’t a plane that hit me, though, but an uninsured nineteen-year-old driving an unregistered vehicle. Later, witness reports put his speed at over a hundred miles per hour as he wove in and out of traffic.
The back end of my car moved to the right. The wheels on my Toyota Corolla seemed to grab the road surface as the car began to turn over. I knew how fast I was going. I knew the car would roll in a wild tumble. I absolutely knew that I could not and would not survive. It was without a doubt one of those entire-life-in-a-flash moments. There wasn’t time for any lengthy reminiscing.
Two thoughts went through my mind. The first was to ponder why Divine Spirit had chosen this time for me. Wow, I really thought I’d learned a lot in this life. I’m at the point where I might be able to offer others something worthwhile. Why now?
The second thought was expressed in a spirit of surrendering. I’m completely familiar and comfortable with reincarnation, so I made only one request: God, I’d like to take all I’ve learned with me to my next life. Please don’t require me to learn everything all over again.
My car began to flip over. I heard metal shearing and glass shattering all around me. It felt like I was tumbling inside a long, tunnel-like whirlpool. In the center of that incredibly fast-spinning darkness I saw a bright white light—warm like the sun, very quiet and serene. I relaxed, put my attention on the light, and moved into it.
Total silence.
Immobilized
I opened my eyes. Cool, I thought. I made it through this and I’m not even hurt. No pain at all.
Then I tried to move. Not even a finger responded. I lay face down with my head in the back seat and my feet somewhere up around the area of the steering wheel. A thumb pressed hard against my nose and lip. I could see by its relative positioning that it appeared to be the thumb from my left hand, but it was actually my right thumb.
My right arm bent in an awkward position under my throat. God, I’m glad I’m paralyzed, because that would really hurt if I could feel it, I thought.
Totally paralyzed. Quadriplegic. I will be a burden on everyone for the rest of my life. I concluded that I probably had serious internal injuries as well. I’d die here, but at least without pain. I thanked Divine Spirit for that blessing.
I literally felt myself, as Soul, sinking slowly down and out of my body. Then I heard a tapping sound. “Are you all right?” a woman’s trembling voice asked.
“I’m paralyzed. Call the police. Call the ambulance.” At least I could still talk.
A flurry of activity started. Over the next half hour, I heard sirens, people yelling and screaming, and the unmistakable sound of a helicopter. All the while I lay facedown, head in the back seat, and not moving.
The car doors were jammed. The paramedics frantically tried to reach me but couldn’t. They kept saying, “Stay with us now. Stay with us.”
Some Questions for You, Sir
The medics ended up having to cut off the entire roof of the car and very carefully lift me out. I was placed on a stretcher, moved to level ground, and immediately given an IV.
At least five or six medical personal surrounded me. The one directly above my face said, “You’re going to be all right.”
Then a woman’s voice asked, “Have you made arrangements for organ transplants?”
“Yeah,” I answered. “It’s on my driver’s license.” I could see the guy directly above me glare at the lady who said it.
Then another voice spoke up. “Do you have a living will?”
“No,” I said. I looked up at the guy above me and said, “I’m in deep trouble, huh?”
He smiled down and again told me I’d be fine. Yeah, right, I thought.
Helicopter to the Hospital
The medics strapped me into the medevac helicopter. Off I went to the Atlanta Medical Center’s spinal trauma unit—the best facility for my injuries for hundreds of miles in all directions.
Upon arriving I was placed in the operating recovery room. Apparently there was more space there for all the medical personnel who had to gather round me.
After I was taken in for CAT scans and an MRI, the medical staff returned to the recovery room. Another seriously injured person, obviously near death, was brought into the room. The doctors began working on her feverishly. For a minute or so I was left to my own devices. That’s when it started.
The Pain
It began almost as a twitching. Then streaks of pain shot across my shoulders and down my arms. I didn’t understand at the time, but the initial IV—a special IV cocktail mix that reduces swelling in spinal-cord injuries—was beginning to work. Its job was to suck the sodium and fluid out of a person’s system, allowing the blood to once again resume carrying vital fluid to the brain stem.
Christopher Reeve, the famous actor who starred in the Superman movies and was paralyzed after an accident, brought this IV mix to the forefront. Reeve insisted that the mix be included as one of several procedures and treatments for spinal-cord-injury victims and be carried by advanced-trauma paramedics.
I found out later that had I not had this IV mix, I would most certainly have died in less than three hours. If the IV mix had been injected an hour or so later, I would have suffered permanent paralysis, similar to Christopher Reeve’s condition.
But the pain—oh boy. I now understand why the body goes into paralysis. It’s excruciating. As nerve endings begin to refire, the body’s internal electrical system is short-circuited. Entire muscle groups tremor, spasm, and vibrate. My pectoral muscles were first. Then my thighs. I shook like characters in a Star Wars movie that have had their body taken over by aliens.
At that moment I was still lying naked on a bed. One of the technicians noticed my body spasms and said, “Hey, Doc, look at this guy. He’s vibrating.”
The doctor came over quickly and said, “Everyone, come look at this. It’s a very rare phenomenon that occurs only in spinal-cord injuries. Hurry, get some fentanyl. Give him maximum dose.”
Fentanyl is a synthetic opioid about a hundred times more powerful than regular morphine. The doctor watched the nurse give me the injection. I slowly felt warmth and calm come over me. The pain didn’t stop, but at least I could stay in my skin. The doctor said to the nurse, “Give him maximum dose every hour. Keep him comfortable.”
The Longest Night
It was the “keep him comfortable” message that struck me. That’s the line in movies that doctors always say when someone is going to die. I was about to discover that this doctor knew what he was talking about.
He ordered that I be wheeled into another large room with high ceilings and lots of medical equipment. I could see an observation window off to my left. I didn’t know it then, but this was an operating room. An organ-transplant team had been notified to be on alert. As the afternoon passed and evening wore on, each and every hour before my hourly injection became increasingly painful.
About thirty-two years ago I had started practicing a daily mantra, HU, a love song to God and an ancient name for God. I came across it while studying the teachings of Eckankar, and it was now time to put it to the supreme test. While singing HU, a person fills his heart with love and places attention on God or Jesus or whatever spiritual Master he fervently believes in. In Eckankar, one focuses on the Inner Master, also known as the Mahanta, the Living ECK Master.
As the hour between injections slowly elapsed, my body vibrated until I couldn’t stand the pain anymore. I’d start to sing HU slowly, softly, reverently, and with love. In about two or three minutes I’d feel myself rise out of my body while I remained relaxed and still somewhat cognizant of the room around me. I could see my nurse, Michael, watch the clock, sometimes holding the syringe in his hand and waiting.
While my physical body and voice sang HU, my conscious state of awareness was outside. I didn’t know it then, but death can result when such incredible spasms of pain invade the vital organs. By being outside my body in consciousness, I believe I was able to prevent the tremors, spasms, and convulsions from entrenching themselves.
A Dance with Death
As soon as Michael administered the injection, I’d slip back into my body. Then I’d be OK for another forty-five minutes or so.
I told Michael about it, and he asked me several times to explain what I was saying. Once, around one o’clock in the morning, I was out of my body for over a half hour. He asked, “How can you do that? What are you saying? No one can do what you’re doing. What is that sound you’re making?”
My nurse and I spoke a lot about mystical teachings during that long night. I told him about spiritual exercises. And every hour he’d get a demonstration of a person existing outside the body while still living in it. I’d have most surely not survived that night if I hadn’t had over thirty years of training in developing my spiritual practices and stamina.
The evening wore on and slipped into night. The hourly ritual of leaving my body kept me one step ahead of total oblivion. After what seemed like forever, Michael moved me out of the operating room and through a couple hallways into the intensive-care section of the hospital. I could see the first gray light of dawn out the window. But the greatest miracle was still to come.
A Healing Crisis
Shift change occurred at seven in the morning. As my hour of pain relief began to approach its end, I called out for Michael. The pain was beginning to build, but this time I’d made it through almost an entire hour before the buildup.
A young nurse stuck her head in the door. “Can I help you?” she asked.
“I need my injection,” I said quietly.
“What injection?” she asked.
“My pain stuff. The fentanyl.”
She said, “Oh, that’s very strong stuff. I can’t give you something like that without strict doctor’s orders. What’s your level of pain on a scale of one to ten?”
Very calmly, I said, “Ten.”
“Oh, you’re telling me this is the worst pain of your life? I don’t believe that.” Then she turned away and walked out the door.
I was incensed. My pain intensified by the second. She hadn’t taken the time to thoroughly review the previous nurse’s notes and doctor’s orders. I was angry at her flippant, immature attitude and lack of professionalism. But I was most angry because she had looked at my situation from her own limited experience and made a judgment call that could cost me my life.
A Crucial Choice
To effectively do the spiritual exercises, one must be in a loving and giving state. Thinking of someone you love or placing your attention on the Mahanta, God, Jesus, or some other spiritual master you truly love makes it easier to receive the gift of love. My anger at this young nurse was preventing me from achieving a loving state. The pain began to build exponentially. I was trapped in my painful body, and anger held me in its grip.
I had a choice to make. Let go of the anger, even if only temporarily, or suffer painful agony, perhaps death. I finally released my anger at the nurse. I had to dig deep down inside and express forgiveness.
Next, I had to express gratitude by genuinely feeling it. I needed to be grateful to the nurse for putting me in that pain. I didn’t understand why, but I just knew I had to feel it. So I reached deep down inside myself once again and felt grateful.
By then the pain was totally and completely off the scale. I succumbed to its white-hot fury and immersed myself in its fiery core. I sang HU as I journeyed toward the Light. The Light and the sound of HU became one. I held that unexplainable sensation for eternity.
I was so far out of my body I don’t remember the nurse giving my injection (which came an hour and a half late). She later apologized and treated me like a prince for the rest of her shift.
More Healing
MRIs and CAT scans revealed that my injuries on that fateful October day had included six ruptured discs. One vertebrae jammed deep into my spinal cord, damaging the central cord and blocking essential fluids from traveling to and from the brain stem. The ligaments holding my skull to my vertebrae were severely stretched and torn, rendering me a human bobblehead doll.
The neurosurgeon suggested in the most forceful manner that I have a metal plate inserted to reconnect my skull with the upper vertebrae and to fuse the six ruptured discs. I had sustained severe brain-stem injury, he said, and my ability to remember would be significantly and probably permanently damaged.
To the doctor’s dismay, I instead chose a long and arduous regimen of therapy. I spent twelve days in the hospital, almost dying on several occasions. After four months of intense and very painful therapy, I was able to function without a restrictive cervical collar. Eventually all movement and feeling returned to my arms, hands, fingers, and legs.
While I lay in the hospital bed, Christopher Reeve died. His courage and determination to help victims of serious spinal-cord trauma survive helped save my life and made it possible for me to live an almost perfectly normal life. I salute his spirit. I will forever treasure his contribution to this world.
Offering My Takeaways
Pain comes in many forms. Sometimes we get sick or injured. Sometimes we lose a loved one. Sometimes a person we trust lies to us, betrays us, or steals from us. These are all painful experiences. We can dwell on the pain and suffer immensely. We can say, “I have every right to be angry.”
Or we can choose to focus on love, in whatever form it comes. Sometimes it enters through another person or a pet, or in a dream. We might begin the process of turning to love by watching an uplifting movie or reading a spiritual book, but ultimately it comes down to where we consciously place our attention. Placing it on divine love frees us to explore the mystical wonders of God’s love in all its myriad forms.
For me, choosing love at the hospital began with singing HU. HU can be found in the annals of some of the world’s most ancient spiritual teachings. The sound of HU can be heard in the call of a mourning dove, the cry of a lone wolf, the haunting call of a whale, and the soft cooing of a contented newborn baby. It is the sound that resonates within our being at our deepest core.
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You may enjoy this passage about the HU chant from Sri Harold Klemp, the spiritual leader of Eckankar.
“Love is love.
“And you are that. HU is the Sound of Soul.
“HU will prepare you to accept the full love of God in this lifetime. Begin today. Find a quiet spot, shut your eyes, and let love for something dear to you enter your heart. Sing HU gently aloud, then silently for ten to twenty minutes. Look and listen for the love that returns to you. This is a law of the universe.
“Love returns love.
“So sing HU, a love song to God, every day.”