Good Citizens of c99p, my sister asked me about my spiritual experience lo these many years ago, so I thought I'd dredge up the story from wayy back. I wrote it in 1992, and the events are from 1972. In 1992, the internet wasn't very much, in fact, BBSes ruled the earth. My story got Top Ten stories of all national WWIV BBSes for that year! Things have changed, haven't they? Back then the name "Blue" was easy to obtain. Anyway, hope you enjoy the story itself.

I'm going to type it from the paper exactly as it is printed, no changes (including the archaic BBS header).

4:40:1mHelp36m ] : R

9/10: WET NDE
Name: Hawkeye #1 @9921
Date: Mon Nov 01 17:54:06 1993

Wet NDE
Blue #74 @4
Wed Nov 04 19:46:11 1992

It was September: I was eleven or twelve. Let the record show that Hurricane Agnes had blown in that week. It was the worst hurricane in New York's not-so-recent history. My friend Steve and I were staying at a bungalow in Fire Island with his family - including Dominic, his older brother. On the morning after the storm had delivered it's worst to the thin strand of sand at Davis Park, the three of us decided to see the devastation first-hand. The day was grey and wet; a steady rain fell, driven by a mild wind. The work of the storm the previous night was self-evident: small cliffs four to five feet high had been carved into the beach by the waves. We jumped down to get to the water, romping about in the wash and backwash of the ocean as it clashed with the bluff it had recently dug. The side of a small ship drifted among by among other shards of flotsam and jetsam; Steve and I rode it like a surfboard. Soon we noticed that Dominic had swam into the warter about a hundred yards; we could see his head bobbing up and down, but he couldn't hear our calls for him to come back. Being boys, we determined to join the teenager; we ran and swam toward him. The undertow was as strong as I remember it; it did not carry us out to sea but rather parallel with the shore, as fast as I could swim. It took all my strength to maintain my position, marked by the empty lifeguard chair which stood at a crazy, windblown angle on the sand.

As soon as Steve and I got as far out as his brother, we looked for him, only to see him laughing at us from the sand (he has since gone completely and violently insane ... but that's another story!). As soon as I realized we were alone, I turned and regarded the waves which were crashing - not on the shore - but on the sandbar fully three hundred yards from shore (as a kid I never swam out that far). They were about twelve or thirteen feet high, and they were coming in sets of three and four. Very soon the monster waves were above us, as the rip-tide had swept us seaward. I looked up and the first of a set loomed overhead. There was no escaping it, it came down - all of it - right on my head.

I knew the beach well; I had never in my life been able to touch the bottom of the ocean that far off-shore (the sand bars fall rapidly on the lee side; it must have been more than ten or twelve feet deep). Well that wave, the first and probably largest of the set, literally pushed me the entire way down to the bottom, where I lay for a time (in the fetal position, I recall) while it pummeled me and pushed me like a plow as easily as if I had just body-surfed it onto the dry beach. It held me down for a long time, longer than I had ever been held down before. After it had passed, I scampered desperately to the surface to get air, expelling me breath in fast bubbles about four feet too early, only to meet another mountain of water, the first wave's twin, at the moment I breached! I had little time to take a breath as the second wave showered me (Oh God! I'm right under the thing!) and again drove me down to the hard-packed sand. A second time up, and the third wave of the set again threw me down.

By this time, I had given up the fight. Having been thoroughly drowned, and being completely exhausted, I simply could fight the waves and the undertow any longer [sic]. At that point I succumbed to death. My body lay limp in a true dead-man's float, only the haunch of my back exposed to the rain. It is here where the truly fantastic occurred; I will try to relate to you exactly what happened.

Although I don't recall opening my eyes under water, I became aware of the blue light filtering through the seawater, dappled and shifting. The light became the other side, the Beyond, and it began to surround and fill my body: my body was light (Yes, just like Ghost!). The sound of the surf disappeared as the sea around my ears enveloped and penetrated them, I has quiet and tranquil communication with the deep. Two profound things occurred then. I became aware that I was at heaven's door and then, my heart stopped. It's hard to convey the incredible peace that attends that moment; when I experienced the ending of my heart's beating it was as if I had been laboring for every second of every day (my heart, in fact, had) and I was finally allowed to stop and rest. It was a supreme rest, much more fulfilling than the rest one experiences after a full day of lifting or exercising; it was the rest of a lifetime. Then I became aware that, although my body had expired, I yet somehow knew mind [sic] - my soul - would live on, perhaps forever. At that time, I was filled with peace and happiness, and the knowledge that this serenity was granted to me by someone other than me, yes, a supreme being out there in the light. I also knew (almost as if I were told, but there were no words) that I was joining a community of souls, people who died not-so-long ago, ancestors more than strangers. And we knew! - we all knew! - we finally knew everything! There were no questions which needed to be asked. And we could see everything! We could roam the planet and watch over our loved ones and see them.

My consciousness physically elevated from my body and its watery surrounds; ten, fifteen, twenty feet above the ocean, and I could "see" Dominic on shore; I could "see" Steve struggling to get ashore. I was aware that I could go as high as I pleased and see what I wanted to; but I was more interested in making contact and communing with the souls of those whose presence I was aware. I knew that I would reunite with my grandmothers and my other dead ancestors (it is interesting that I did not care to meet famoud dead people, just dead relatives!), and they were happy to welcome me.

At that time, my feet felt the sand of the shore. I was not a "keeper", to use a fishing term, I was thrown back! God had decided that it was not yet my time, yet I had been allowed a glimpse into this other-world; for this I felt fortunate. I found my feet and straggled to the shore where I sat for almost a half-hour on the small cliff that Hurricane Agnes had dug: Steve was sitting a few hundred yards to my left (ed: actually to my right). We didn't speak for what seemed like a long time.

To this day I carry with me a different view of death and I do not fear it (at least, I'm not afraid of peaceful death). I know many people scoff at this story but it doesn't seem to matter; I am not otherwise flaky and I don't hold frivolous beliefs. Yet I have been shown the other world.

I am a little interested in other people's NDE's because I like to see how they coincide with mine. I feel that, of the stories I have heard, the similarities are greater than the differences, and they serve to provide a tiny glimpse of the world behind that door, and perhaps they can teach us to not fear death, for death is really just the passing of the spirit from one plane to another, and the trading of the body for an audience with God. As indifferent as the statement seems, death does not appear to me a great personal loss, however much it is truly a loss to loved ones.