I

DIED

THREE TIMES

IN

1977

P.M.H. ATWATER
 I
DIED
THREE TIMES
IN
1977

By
P. M. H. ATWATER

Printed by
You Can Change Your Life
P.O. Box 7691
Charlottesville, VA 22906-07691

©
COPYRIGHT
1980
by
P. M. H. ATWATER
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be repro-
duced or utilized in any form by any means without per-
mission of the author.
FIRST EDITION, NOVEMBER, 1980
SECOND EDITION, MARCH, 1998
Published shed in the United States of America
You Can Change Your Life
P.O. Box 7691
Charlottesville, VA 22906-07691
INTRODUCTION
Hi there! My name is P.M.H. Atwater. In 1977 it is my
belief I physically died three times. Because of what I saw
and experienced, my life has never been the same since
...nor have I. Though I was seriously ill, I was never hospi-
talized. Doctors were summoned only after the fact. This
means I do not have documented proof I was actually dead.
This little book, then, is one woman’s story. Just a story.
And as with all stories, some people will believe it and
some won’t, some will find it interesting and some will
think it hogwash. That’s okay. It really doesn’t matter to me
how people label it or what conclusion they reach. You see,
their opinions don’t change any thing. Not at all. What hap-
pened, happened. Nothing can change that. It was a long
nightmare that became a phenomenal blessing. It was a time
when my world and everything in it came to a crashing halt.
Not once, but three times.
What I saw on the “other” side is like nothing else I’ve
heard anyone else describe. Oh, there are some similarities,
but that’s about it. It took nearly two years to rebuild my
body. I had very little money or insurance and wasn’t get-
ting anywhere with regular medical treatments. The worst
of the symptoms were gone but I was still sick and con-
fused. So, I took a daring step for me. I left orthodox med-
ical care and committed myself to a program of “natural
healing” in all its many forms and variables. I had to start
from the bottom up: crawling, standing, walking, running,
climbing, hearing, seeing, reasoning, relating, telling left
from right. Sometimes I lost more ground than I gained. I
was determined though, and I made it. Not only did I get
well, but I’m now younger, healthier, happier, more at peace
than ever before in my life.
There are really two main stories to what happened to me
Page Three
- the events themselves and what I learned from them . . . a
book of death and a book of life. This little book concerns
the death encounters, but it doesn’t tell the whole story. A
lot has been left out. So don’t be confused by missing
details. It’s a little book of pain, horror and miracles. The
rest of the story might be written someday, but for now this
initial rendering is enough.
The book of life, of health and wholeness, will be writ-
ten handbook style and should be ready for print in 1981. It
will be pragmatic, specific and surprisingly honest and
open. There’s nothing like dying to clear your head and turn
your priorities around. The process has a way of cutting
through all we surround ourselves with to shine a brilliant
spotlight on what’s really there. I’m excited about the
opportunity to write it, so we’ll see what happens.
You know, all of us will die someday. When that day
comes we will each have an opportunity to find out for our-
selves what awaits us. It’s not the same for everyone. It’s
different - depending on you, your choices in life and what
you truly believe. Since late 1978 when I began speaking of
what happened to me, I have talked with people by the thou-
sands in many states. I’ve met more “near death” survivors
than I can count, many of whom I’ve hugged, shared with,
or counseled as they continued their own battles to rebuild
and make some sense out of what happened to them. The
stories of what they saw or experienced are not the same.
Some of the stories are filled with wonder, awe, inspiration,
beauty and joy. Others are crammed d with seemingly end-
less horrors and panic. Those who were committed to
Judaism most often saw Father Abraham. Those who were
fundamental Christians most often met Jesus. The
Buddhists saw Buddha. The Atheists saw their neighbors or
best friends. And on and on.
The so-called “good” people, who deep within them-
selves were actually filled with anger or bitterness or fear,
met those negatives head-on; and were so traumatized by
Page Four
what they experienced, they returned panic-stricken, deny-
ing all the stories of beauty told by others and claiming any
form of heaven to be a figment of imagination and wishful
thinking. The metaphysical or more abstract thinkers (those
people more open to variables than to any form of dogma or
tradition) most often experienced incredible dimensions of
higher learning, guides and masters, light beings, and near-
ly impossible-to-describe phenomena. Those that died
believing they would sleep until awakened by Gabriel,
reported a black darkness, a feeling of being trapped and
alone, stranded.
What I’ve finally come to realize is we truly and most lit-
erally create our own realities. When we die, the reality we
created is where we will live and what we will become. Our
conscious minds, our thinking, our words, seem to have lit-
tle bearing if any on what will happen to us. The one deter-
mining factor and the only absolute I could find (if there’s
any such thing as an absolute) was: WHEN WE DIE WE
WILL MEET AND BECOME WHAT WE TRULY ARE.
Whatever system of belief we have built for ourselves with-
in our subconscious mind, whatever we have accepted as
true at the deepest level of our being . . . that is what we will
find when we cross through death’s doorway. No more. No
less.
But that’s not all. I found there to be a kind of rhythm
and fluctuation to what we experience once we cross over.
It’s like we’re left for awhile to meet ourselves and what we
once considered truth. We can revel in the joy of it or with-
draw in horror. We’re left to thoroughly experience our-
selves and what we lived through and learned while on
Earth. Then, sooner or later, along will come a feeling,
voice or being who will gently but patiently show us a bet-
ter way and lead us upward toward soul-stirring surprises
. . . vast vistas of learning and experience beyond anything
we could have ever imagined. As we reach out to what we
are shown or led to, there spreads before us more beyond
that, and beyond that even more still. I couldn’t find any
Page Five
endings, any arrivals, or even any beginnings. All I found to
be valid beyond death’s door were endless possibilities of
expansion and growth or equal opportunities to contract and
withdraw.
There are some surprises in this. And the reason is sim-
ple enough. We’re not always consciously aware of what
we truly believe. All too often, we’re all so busy mouthing
words, shouting shoulds, grabbing dollars, defending
rhetoric, worshiping objects, and manipulating people ...we
don’t really know what to believe. The cultural use of the
American language, for instance, is based upon the degree
of style and finesse with which one can mask what they feel
or hide what they mean. Someone who is open and honest
is declared immature and childish. Someone who questions
and searches is declared antisocial, a threat to the commu- death
nity. Soon anyone who is filled with creativity and joy is
banished from business or corporate environments as unfit
or mentally ill. We say one thing and do another. That is is the window
socially acceptable. That is normal.
The four main articles to follow were originally published to
in MANY SMOKES magazine in serialized form. MANY
SMOKES is a Native American Earth Awareness magazine dimensions
produced by The Bear Tribe (it has since gone out of print).
Sun Bear, a Chippewa Medicine Man, and his Medicine
Helper, Wabun, are leaders of the Tribe and have been dear
beyond the
friends of mine for more years than I care to remember. It
was after the death of Wabun’s mother that I was asasked to unfathomed
speak of death and what I went through in 1977. It is
because of their encouragement that I began to think more and
clearly of what had happened to me and how I might share
the experiences with others.
unrecognized
To Sun Bear and Wabun, I say a deep and loving thank
you. Ho!
P.M.H. Atwater

Page Six Page Seven


ABOUT DEATH
ABOUT DYING
Death! The word carries with it so many preconceived
images, mysteries and fear. What of death? What is it real-
ly?
Death has become a household word lately, thanks to
people like Dr. Elisabeth Kübler-Ross and her pioneering
efforts in the field of death and dying, Dr. Raymond Moody
and his book LIFE AFTER LIFE, movies like BEYOND
AND BACK and RESURRECTION, TV talk shows and
popular magazines.
People are finally openly talking about death and the pos-
sible existence of life after death. They’re saying such
things as: maybe death doesn’t end life, maybe it’s just a
doorway into other realities, other dimensions of life. The
really daring thinkers of today are going one further . . .
reincarnation. This ancient fact of life to millions in the
Eastern world is a shocking departure to the Western mind.
Moviedom is capitalizing on that shock value and is making
large sums of money on current films devoted to the
Page Eight
premise that we live more than one life. People in the
United States, especially, seem hungry for any shred of
proof, any documentation at all that can be verified on past
lives. Can it ever be proved? Can the Western empirical
mind ever accept such a concept and incorporate it into their
traditional Christian philosophy? It’s enough for Americans
to face the subject of life after death without having to con-
sider life after life.
Death is a fact of life. Remember your first funeral, the
first time you looked into the coffin and saw the lifeless
form of someone you once knew? Life was gone, but where
did it go? The body was buried in a grave, but what hap-
pened to that “sparkle” that once motivated the body and
gave it personality and movement? Is that all there is to life,
to live a few years, expanding and developing that spark
within, only to stop cold when the body ceases to function?
What’s the use of life anyway? What’s the purpose to liv-
ing? Maybe when we solve the riddle of death, we will
automatically solve the puzzle of life. The two are opposite
sides to the same coin, functioning together in a cosmic
plan.
I’ve been hearing a lot about life after death. Maybe you,
like me, have known someone or read or heard about some-
one who died in an accident only later to revive and speak
of seeing angels, guides, cities, schools and loved ones
encountered on the “other” side. Perhaps you know some-
one who was ill or having an operation when a close brush
with death occurred and again the story was later told of
seeing a departed loved one, ta talking with Jesus, or romp-
ing through some “heavenly” meadow of crystalline grass.
Thanks to people like Drs. Ross and Moody, more people
are relating their experiences. They feel freer to open up and
describe what they saw and heard. With the increase in sto-
ries, comes the incredible pattern of similarity - the upward
progression, the dark tunnel, blinding lights, magnificent
music, loving guides and helpers, departed loved ones
glowing with health and joy. Some of the details vary from
person to person, but the essential story is pretty much the
Page Nine
same. Death as we know it does not exist. There is life after
death. Death does not end anything. It is merely a doorway.
Those brave souls who boldly proclaim there’s no such
thing as death, go on to speak of “wisdoms” they’ve since
learned . . . that all life evolves (progresses) from life to life
with the soul force learning and growing from each experi-
ence in an incredible parade toward Perfection and oneness
with the Creator. There are whole schools of thought about
seven levels to the earthplane, seven rays of color we all
pass through, seven barriers we must conquer in our upward
climb. Interestingly enough, the number seven has always
been held magic or sacred in every culture on Earth
throughout recorded time.
For those not into the “seven game,” there are enough
other theories and ideas to provide lively conversations for
evenings to come. Many hypnotists now regularly regress
people into former lifetimes, discovering causal incidents
for present life problems, latent talents waiting to be devel-
oped, and often revealing recurring habit patterns that can
be faced and conquered in the present existence.
Today’s topic of death is really a complex one that chal-
lenge our entire belief-system, religious makeup and linear
thinking. The new fad of “The Death Topic” is giving way
to serious research and some surprising turnarounds.
Millions of dollars are being spent by some corporations
and many schools toward finding answers. Though hard
fact is still elusive, some gains are being made. Take Dr.
Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, for example, and the physical man-
ifestation of her spirit guide in front of a crowd of 75
strangers, or the discovery that we really are energy and the
energy we are can be measured and weighed in terms of
kilowatts.
But where does all this put you? Somewhere between the
pages of the popular press and the glistening screens of
moviedom, here’s your next door neighbor gasping for his
last breath. What happens when it’s your turn, or your
Page Ten
wife’s or your child’s? What happens when the blood’s in
your bed and the screams of pain and fear echo in your ears?
What of death then? What happens to those neat theories
when the fatal moment comes? Do you kiss it off with a
prayer? Do you hate God and cry, “Why me?” Or do you
turn the other cheek and mumble, “It’s God’s Will.”
Mentalize all you please. Be you religious or metaphys-
ical or whatever, it still all comes back to the gut YOU and
where you are right now in your life. How do you feel about
death? Are you afraid to die, or ARE YOU AFRAID TO
LIVE? There’s a whole world out there of “GOD HELP
ME, I’M NOT READY YET!”
We will all die. There’s no stopping that. Someday we
each will know for ourselves what death is and whether or
not we are a body, or pure energy residing in a body. Death
and dying, though popular topics today, are really very per-
sonal intimate subjects, as close to us as our next breath.
They are intensely private issues of serious concern. Death
is the most ultimate climax our linear world of matter can
give us. There is nothing else so final.
In 1977 through a series of severe traumas, hemorrhag-
ing and blood clots I died three times. I didn’t talk about it
much. It was all too personal and I was convinced no one
would believe me. My experience was so different, so total-
ly unbelievable. I feel better about it now. I’m no longer
defensive about proving anything to anyone. I no longer
feel threatened by angry people who damn me to hell for
speaking heresy. That’s their hangup, and they’ll have to
face their fears soon enough.
I don’t speak about ideas and theory. I speak only from
personal experience. Let no one ever call me an expert or
authority. There’s no such thing and no such person! Least
of all me. I’m just a woman who has stubbed her toes a lot
in life and “fallen from the peaks of many mountains.” I’m
just a person who faced a nightmare ...and woke up.
Page Eleven
 Pain THE PAIN AND
is the sentinel
THE FEAR OF DEATH
of our
growth
Does it hurt to die? No! It hurts to live! There’s no fear
guiding or crushing in dying. The fear comes when you realize you didn’t and
somehow you’ll have to pick up the pieces and live again.
according
Dying is a release from pain, like getting out of prison.
to our Pain for me came before dying and after I returned to life. I
experienced the worst pain I’ve ever felt in my life before
choice.
my lungs quit breathing and my heart stopped. Upon return-
ing to life, there was constant and continuous pain, though
not in the same degree as before. I was in and out of pain
for a year afterwards. When those various crises were over,
I wound up relearning how to crawl, stand, walk, climb and
run. My task was a total rebuilding because when the near-
death experiences were over, I could no longer think the
same way, hear or even see the same. The belief system I
once had was no longer valid, and I found it impossible to
relate to people in a logical or rational way. Not only did I
have to rebuild my physical body, but I had to restructure
every part of my existence on every level of my being. I was
literally born again, only with the same body as before.
Having the same body makes the rebuilding process harder.
Remodeling an old house takes more time and effort than
tearing the thing down and starting over again.
No one likes to suffer. No one enjoys excruciating pain,
but often as we approach death, we face just that. It’s like
our bodies and brains don’t want to let go of anything famil-
iar. They’re so programmed into living that death is
unthinkable and to give up without a fight is out of the ques-
tion.

Page Twelve Page Thirteen

 A fast, sudden, sharp pain is so encompassing, so total,
that memory is blotted out. Time, space, people, even loved
ones no longer exist. The brain becomes so flooded so fast
with so many messages of pain - it just freaks out and pain
becomes our whole world, not a sensation to “feel.” Love,
hate, fear, anger disappear and all that remains is the pain.
Such a pain transcends suffering. It’s so total, the slate is
wiped clean. But it doesn’t last. It had a beginning and it
will have an end. That’s one thing we can count on in the
earthplane. Nothing stays the same.
There are many kinds of pain. It comes in many forms
and packages. But perhaps the hardest of all to deal with is
the insidious gnawing that grows inside of you when you
finally realize, even though everything that can possibly be
done to help you has been done, you’re still sick and you
still hurt and your life is still a mess. The pain of not know-
ing what else to do or where else to turn or how was the
worst pain of all for me... the ego hurt of losing when you
thought you had won, the humiliation of discovering it was
your own fault, the indescribable anguish of watching a life-
time crumble and there’s not one thing you or anyone else
can do to save it. All your strength, all your wits, all the
money and help in the world mean nothing. Suddenly
you’re not only naked but transparent, and there’s nowhere
to turn and no place to hide and no screaming or cursing that
changes anything.
That’s pain! And it doesn’t go away. Not until you give
up and let go, especially of all your attitudes and opinions.
Then and then only does real repair and progress begin.
When we think of death, all too often our first thoughts
turn to the fear of “Good God, what’s going to happen to
me? Is this all there is to life?” We fear the unknown. We
fear: no more controls, no more breathing, no more eating,
no more seeing or drinking or anything else we’re accus-
Page Fourteen
tomed to. What if life does end at death? What about eter-
nal hellfire, suffering and damnation? There’s a deep sense
of guilt, so we scream out to God for salvation. Have
mercy! And the fear builds. And the panic comes. We cling
and grab and hold onto anything and everything within our
grasp.
Death seems grim and dark so we fight it, and even the
pain must take a backseat in our stampede for life. We spend
lavish sums of money we don’t have or encumber our fam-
ily’s future. We hire only the best. We endure surgeries,
radiation treatments and every kind of torture imaginable all
in the name of life. It doesn’t seem to matter how crippled
or deformed we wind up, just as long as we’re still alive and
still breathing. All that fear. All that pain. All that money
and effort. Yet what we’ve really been fighting all along
was ourselves and our own ego. Not death. Not really.
I found death to be a simple shift of consciousness. It
was painless, instantaneous and nothing to fear. In fact, it
felt more natural not to breathe than to breathe. It was won-
derful not to “wear” a body. I had complete mobility, per-
fect memory and knowledge. I was free! I found no fear in
dying. The fear came for me when I realized I was still
alive, that I didn’t “stay dead.” There is no pain in dying,
and there’s no darkness either, unless you want it. The other
side has a crazy way of being whatever you think it will. If
you expect hell, you’ll find it. If you want meadows and
sunshine, they’ll be there. If all you ever thought about
while living was liquor, you’ll find all you want; but since
you don’t have a real body anymore, your every grab for a
bottle will be like swatting thin air. You don’t lose your
cravings or addictions in dying, but I found that you do lose
your ability to satisfy them. The opportunities that existed
before are no more. That’s where hell begins.
The only difference I found between states of con-
Page Fifteen
sciousness was: when you’re breathing, you wear a dense death
form called a body, and when you’re not breathing you sim-
ply wear what you are. Whatever are your attitudes, beliefs, is the
thoughts, ideas, feelings, expectations or apprehensions... beginning
that’s what you’ll wear and that’s what you’ll be. They
become your body and your world. No more games. No life
more secrets. No more lies. No more pretend. No more
coverups. No more copouts. You become what you really is the
are.
veil
In my opinion, that is what is meant by hell. I did not find
hell to be a person, place or thing. I found it to be a condi-
tion of our own creation. We create our own dungeons. We
limit and encase ourselves and then blame it on someone or
something else because it’s easier that way. We stub our
own toes and make our own choices in living. When we die,
we reap our own harvest. The blame game is over.
We all die. It’s part of the natural growth process. Death
doesn’t end anything. It certainly doesn’t end our growing
and learning. It just shifts things around and changes the
scenery. It’s like a doorway, and we float through automat-
ically regardless of our wishes. Kings and truck drivers are
treated the same. No one is too big or too small, too young
or too old, too rich or too poor. Diseased or healthy, ready
or not, when we pass through death’s doorway the stage of
life changes and the script is different.
When your consciousness shifts in death, you’re still
awake, aware and thinking. It’s hard at first to realize you’re
dead. You can still hear, see, feel and talk. Only the way of
that is different because you no longer have a physical body.
Everything for me was bright and clear and totally free. I
never experienced any darkness, but I know you can if you
want to.
You cross over and it’s like catching the next bus - only
the country you visit is like nowhere on Earth!

Page Sixteen Page Seventeen


THE INCREDIBLE
WORLD OF THOUGHT
There were blobs all around me - shapeless, gray, con-
fusing masses. Where did they come from? What were
they? The more questions I asked, the more confused I
became and the more blobs appeared . . . Like corks bob-
bing in water, slowly blocking out my view.
This was my first introduction to the world beyond
death’s doorway, a world that was to present me many dif-
ferent ways of viewing and countless alternatives to life.
The date was January 2, 1977. The place was Boise, Idaho.
My screams did not stop the blood nor catch my body when
it fell in a lifeless heap. My memory traveled the distance
from pain, panic and quickly glanced blood to being right
next to the bathroom lightbulb, bumping into it with the
ceiling scarcely an eyelash away.
It all happened so fast.t. One instant I was inside my
body dealing with a crisis, and the next instant I was with-
out a body floating smack into the bright bulb of light. I
don’t pretend to understand what happened. I only know it
happened. My space relations and sense of depth and direc-
tion ended. I could see clearly. There was no darkness. I was
still me. But the me I was kept bumping into that crazy
lightbulb and every time I looked around or wondered what
was going on, blobs would form - gray and strange.
Then as quickly as it had begun, there was an audible
“snap” and I was jerked back into the lifeless form on the
Page Eighteen
floor, entering through the top of the head and pulled down
inside. There was no pain, fear or sense of loss next to the
lightbulb. Just confusion and questions. Back inside my
body, the pain and fear returned and the lightbulb experi-
ence faded away like some bad dream.
I begged the doctor not to give me a shot. My legs hurt,
I kept saying. Why do my legs hurt so much? My question
s were ignored, the shot administered and I was sent home
to recover.
The shot worked. Within two hours, the hemorrhaging
stopped. Simultaneously the leg pains increased. I was able
to walk fair1y well, but felt weak and dizzy, retiring for bed
early. I could hardly make it to bed. The next morning was
January 4, 1977. My right thigh was scarlet red with a huge
lump growing out the right side. I called it a “volcano”
because it felt red hot, angry and ready to explode. The pain
was unbearable and walking was no longer possible. Before
I could reach the phone to call for help, the pain overcame
my sense of logic and I instinctively fought back, pushing
and shoving the lump. It had to go. It was it or me.
The lump won. There was a thin-kind of sound, like some
thing giving way, followed by a detached floating without
weight. The pain ebbed by as I rose steadily upward, again
stopping at the light fixture, only this time in the living
room. I looked down, recognizing the body on the floor as
mine. There was no confusion this time. My situation was
clearly defined.
“Good God, I’m dead!”
Time and space ended for me after gazing for what
seemed endless minutes at my body. It made no movement.
There was no breathing. No response. When I was satisfied
Page Nineteen
that it was dead, there came a joyous euphoria, like a pris-
oner being released from a long jail sentence. I danced and
danced around the lightbulb, singing like a child. It was
finally over. I was free!
There was never any confusion of identity between “me”
and my “body.” The personality of Phyllis Huffman and the
body that encased her were simply parcels of clothing I had
once worn. They were gone now and the “I” was free. I
experienced pure exhilaration. Soon though, I began to ask
myself some questions. Now that I’m dead, what do I do
next? Where do I go from here? What am I supposed to do?
As my questions continued, blobs began to form within
my peripheral vision. Only thiss time, they were clear,
translucent, pastel bubbles. If I exercised my thought or
asked a question, more blobs appeared. If I remained quiet,
nothing happened. A puzzle! So I began to experiment.
Maybe, just maybe, these blobs were manifestations of
thought energy. Maybe they could be controlled and direct-
ed. Most of my life as Phyllis, I had heard phrases like:
thoughts are things, whatever you think long enough will
come true, thoughts are the blueprints of life, we create our
own realities. These statements seemed logical to me, so I
had long since accepted their value and merit and made
them a part of my personal philosophy. But never before,
that I can recall, did I ever have an opportunity to actually
test the truth of them, to really prove to myself one way or
another just how thoughts work. Now was my chance and I
took it.
My experiment involved focusing all my thoughts and
energy into one single activity - creating a house. The house
I wanted to think into being was quite specific. It had to be
like a white cube with a steeply pitched roof, a front porch
with three white pillars, and a green porch floor, a shiny
Page Twenty
brass doorknob on the door, a solid strong foundation. The
house had to have windows and doors that opened and
closed.
It took what seemed to me incredible energy to focus in
this manner, as if I were using muscles I hadn’t used for
some time. I was finally able to accomplish a single focus,
then, like a laser, project my image forward into space. In
my mind existed only the house. Soon enough, outside of
me, the house stood, solid, real and fully dimensional. By
now, the home and life of Phyllis Huffman had faded from
view and from memory. I was barely cognizant of existing
in another dimension of bright substance yet without color,
sound, shape or movement. It was a happy place but devoid
of the trappings I had come to associate with humanity and
being a human. My only interest now was the house of
white before me.
As near as I could tell, the house was real. I pounded on
the door and there was the familiar thud of wood. The door-
knob was metal, the windows, glass. Everything opened and
closed and was full-sized. I was so elated at this event that
I chose to next create a tree. After all, a house is an inani-
mate object. My question now was, could I create an ani-
mate object? Was that possible? Using the same procedure,
I chose a tree of many branches and leaves, with a thick
huge trunk and large protruding roots gnarled by time. And
the tree came into being complete with insect holes in its
bark.
I guess it would take someone who had had a similar
experience to understand what happened next. I simply
flipped out. Something inside of me went - twang! I was
like a kid with a new toy or a child who had discovered how
to walk for the first time. I flew into a creation binge with-
out stops. I created everything I could think of: cities, hous-
Page Twenty-one
es, people, dogs, cats, telephone wires, trash cans, cars,
schools, churches, children, books, buses, roads, fences,
grass, flowers, lawns, streams, birds, suns, rain, sound, lan-
guage, breath, motion. Everything existed on its own and
became independent of me. There was life and intelligence.
And the whole event so filled me with pleasure, I just
watched and watched some more. There it was. Creation! I
didn’t feel like God. I just felt tired. But I began to realize I
was like a co-creator, made with the same abilities as That
Which Existed Beyond Me. Thoughts really are energy that
can be shaped and used according to our choices. It really
works. I had my proof.
As I watched and listened with loving pleasure, it
occurred to me to see again my loved ones who had passed
on before. No sooner had I expressed the thought than they
were all there - including a grandfather who had died before
my Phyllis personality was ever born. Talk about a thrill! It
was pure joy to visit again with each one and especially to
touch and speak with the grandfather who had left the col-
orations of his philosophy behind for his family to use and
continue. Then I thought about Jesus and he came.
There was never any feeling or need to worship him. No
awe or fear. Rather, it was a feeling of seeing a beloved
elder brother after being apart for so long. I had always
wanted to thank him for the example he set for me to fol-
low, and I took full advantage of his visit to do just that. It
was a time of treasured friendship and much gratitude. He
was my brother and I loved him. Then he left. My loved
ones left as well.
After that, I grew tired of the world I had created so I
thought it all away. It disappeared instantly. Now was the
first time I ever looked at myself. Much to my surprise, I
had no body or form whatever. I was simply pure energy,
Page Twenty-two
pure consciousness. Not even light. Beyond light. I simply
“was.”
I liked that. I came to discover that I did not need forms
like people, buildings, worlds or anything solid or secure to
be happy and fulfilled. I was completely at peace, satisfied,
loved and totally real by being nothing at all and existing in
no particular place. I discovered I didn’t need time or space.
I didn’t need the illusions of substance. I was everything yet
I was nothing. Shapeless, formless, soundless, colorless,
without motion. Nothing was with me, yet everything that
was known or could ever be was there. This was perfection.
And into this great peace that I had become there came
the life of Phyllis parading past my view. Not as in a movie
theatre, but rather as a reliving. Had it been a reliving of just
deeds done, it would have been as expected because I had
heard of that before. But for me it was far more involved.
The reliving included not only the deeds committed by
Phyllis since her birth in 1937 in Twin Falls, Idaho, but also
a reliving of every thought ever thought and every word
ever spoken PLUS the effect of every thought, word and
deed upon everyone and anyone who had ever come within
her sphere of influence whether she actually knew them or
not PLUS the effect of her every thought, word and deed
upon the weather, the air, the soil, plants and animals, the
waters, everything else within the creation we call Earth and
the space Phyllis once occupied.
It was a gestalt experience, meaning complete and whole
on all levels, a total viewing and reliving of the totality of
one woman’s life complete with all the ripples and conse-
quences of her ever having lived. I had no idea a past-life
review could be like this. I never before realized that we
were responsible and accountable for EVERY SINGLE
THING WE DID. That was overwhelming.
Page Twenty-three
 It was me judging me, not some heavenly St. Peter. And
my judgment was critical and stern. I was not satisfied with
many, many things Pphyllis had done, said or thought.
There was a feeling of sadness and failure, yet a growing
feeling of joy when the realization came that Phyllis had
always done SOMETHING. She did many things unworthy
and negative, but she did something. She tried. Much of
what she did was constructive and positive. She learned and
grew in her learning. This was satisfying. Phyllis was okay.
As the joy within me grew, the room in Boise, Idaho,
reappeared and the body below came into focus. As I
looked down upon the body that had once been Phyllis,
there came a wave of love and forgiveness, and with it
worlds of sparklers like on the Fourth of July. Upon a
stream of these sparklers, I floated ever so gently back into
the lifeless body, entering through the top of the head. Back
to the pain. Locked back up again inside the prison called a
body. The whole experience seemed like years in length,
but it could not have taken more than a few minutes. Yet I
don’t really know. Clocks were a foreign thought then.
Afterwards, instead of continuing to the phone to call for
help, I was in such a dazed stupor nothing mattered any
more. I was so caught up in what had just happened, I was
unable to relate to anything, even the pain in my legs, so I
crawled back to bed and lay there like a zombie for several
days. Seeking help didn’t make sense. Living didn’t make
sense. In fact, nothing made any kind of sense.
Several days later, it took the random thoughts of money,
pay checks and my job to jolt any life into me. I was so
detached my children were foreign objects and the bed
where I lay seemed a figment of my imagination. How I
was able to dress and safely drive my car to work is beyond
my comprehension. But I did. It took effort I did not think I
Page Twenty-four
could produce. But I did. My job was on the second floor of
an old building without an elevator, and the climb up the
stairs proved to be a painful mountain. I fell more than I
climbed. When my boss saw me, she shrieked I looked
more dead than alive and insisted I see a doctor at once.
With her help a specialist was found and I was committed
to his care. He just shook his head in amazement that I had
ever survived, and the long ordeal of getting well and redis-
covering the earthplane began.
I was to go through yet one more bizarre death experi-
ence before this would be over, and the resulting struggle to
regain my health would take nearly two years, curtailing a
rebuilding program that would start at the beginning,
relearning how to crawl. The third experience would occur
on March 29th, more than two months away. After its pas-
sage, I would be left little more than a functional creature,
lost between worlds I could no longer comprehend.
Fortunately for me, a very unique and capable doctor
came to my rescue along with some of the dearest and truest
friends any human being could have. With their constant
love, care and patience, my recovery would be amazingly
swift and complete. It wouldd be nearly a year later before
I would begin to integrate what had happened to me and
what I had seen and experienced. It took a professor of
physics to rekindle my self-confidence and revive the word,
“faith.”
Page Twenty-five
 THE ETERNAL NOW

I have no way of knowing how many of you relate to

handicapped or injured people, those souls undergoing
rehabilitation at whatever level for whatever reason for
however long. I just know this - it’s pure hell to rebuild your
body and your mind.

No matter how much progress you make, it’s never

enough and it’s never fast enough. No matter how slight the
injury or disease or how complicated the setback, rebuild-
ing is no picnic. It’s torture! Words of praise and encourage
ment from friends and loved ones often register within your
there are being as superficial bandaids. And who the hell needs
bandaids when you’re exploding inside! The do-gooders
no
and the mean-wellers become sources of more pain, and
fetters you feel anger and even jealousy because they’re whole and
you’re not, and who are they to say what they say anyway.
to limit the mind
All the help that comes is never enough. Prayers fall flat.
except
Following the two physical death experiences I lived
those that are through during January of 1977, I was left confused and
desperate. I was living in Boise, Idaho, at the time and still
imagined
had my two daughters at home. They were aware of my ill-
and ness but neither could relate to it. Their image of “Mother”
was that of the Rock of Gibraltar . . . a mother who could do
accepted
anything, accomplish anything, strong, self-reliant, inde-
featable. You never have to worry about mother. So they
Page Twenty-six Page Twenty-seven
didn’t. We interfaced to the extent of daily chores and con-
versation, but little else. This was the image of a mother I
had carefullyy cultivated for them throughout their lives.
How could they respond any differently? The eldest girl
was in college. The youngest in junior high. My son and
oldest of the three was half-way across the globe studying
aboard a square-rigger in the Atlantic Ocean. I was
employed as a bank analyst. Because of the illness and dis-
ability that followed, I was forced to take a leave of absence
from work and begin a program of medication, doctor care,
and much rest and exercise.
I was put on a drug classified as “dangerous” because it
could only be used seven days safely without destroying
precious blood cells. There could be no refills. Food had to
be consumed before it was taken on a round-the-clock basis.
I was virtually bed-fast and incapable of the kind of activi-
ty my life had been based upon. My meals were prepared by
others. I was almost helpless. Yet at no time was I ever hos-
pitalized. For the greater part of each day I was alone, lis-
tening to the hours click by.
Alone and dangerous drugs. An almost lethal combina-
tion, yet it allowed my mind and life force free rein and
unrestricted expression. Had I been hospitalized I would
have undoubtedly healed faster, but then I would have
missed some of the most bizarre events any human being
could know.
Perhaps it was the medication. I don’t really know.
Strange things began to happen. As I lay on the sofa each
day, there began to parade past my view all the characters
from all my past lives, one right after another, forming an
Page Twenty-eight
arc across my chest. Each character was fully dimensional
and suspended in space, alive and animated, deeply
engrossed in his or her own private activities and concerns.
Like tiny people, the characters walked on by and events
were played out. The arc was like a rainbow and each fig-
ure was like a hologram. I watched with gaping mouth and
transfixed gaze.
It was all too incredible to believe. Yet there they were.
I witnessed life after life after life. They seemed without
end until there came to view a tall, slender, green, lizard-
like being from another world beyond Earth ––a being from
a water planet, alone and lost in a world he did not under-
stand, dying in fire from his own choice. I felt complete
identification with this alien. He fascinated me.
After the marching hordes ceased, another phenomenon
occurred. I could both see and hear my own body cells. It
was as if my body was transparent and my eyes were micro-
scopes. Especially throughout the female organs and the
right leg and hip. There were millions of them, but I could
hear and see each individually. They were like armies com-
plete with Generals and Captains and all manner of rank
and file. They were massing their forces to fight off the
invader and rebuild damaged parts. Those in charge were
shouting audible orders to others and they all seemed tense
and worried.
I felt so sorry for the little fellas that I decided to contact
them and apologize for all the hardships I had inflicted u
upon them. Never before did I ever have any idea micro-
scopic cells were intelligent personalities, beings of their
own. I didn’t know if I could speak with them, but I want-
Page Twenty-nine
ed to. Desire is a powerful force. The communication I
wanted happened instantly, so I conveyed my apologies. A
dialogue ensued and I came to form a deep and abiding
respect for my cells. I came to understand we truly can con-
verse with ALL our body parts. We can understand their
needs, and WORK WITH THEM INSTEAD OF BLINDLY
AGAINST THEM. We are a team, they and I. We’re in this
together.
I was overwhelmed by the experience. The unswerving
loyalty and unselfish devotion of these tiny cells humbled
me beyond words and struck me with awe. I just had no idea
anything like this was true.
As if all this were not enough, for the entire seven days I
took the drug I could not distinguish between a person’s
audible words and their inaudible thoughts. I “heard” them
both at the same pitch and tone. I couldn’t tell which to
respond to. The sounds and messages overlapped and con-
flicted most times which led to even deeper confusion. It
made no difference who the person was or under what con-
ditions. Their thoughts and their words were both clearly
audible. Because of this, I often did not reply to people,
choosing rather to remain silent.
Around me were all the objects I had known in life: fur-
niture, roads, cars, people, television sets, music, food,
water, clothes, money, telephones, and so forth. Yet they all
seemed so foreign and unreal. Friends and relatives came to
visit. Words of help and encouragement were given.
Healings of every kind imaginable were administered. I was
prayed on, for, under, on top of.
I was laid on “of hands,” stretched, squeezed, burped,
Page Thirty
sucked, pounded and exorcised. People I’d never heard of
practiced incantations and rituals I’d never seen. Healers
came out of the woodwork, all meaning well, and all sin-
cerelyy trying to help.
They couldn’t. Because I didn’t accept them. I didn’t trust
anyone any more. The healings wouldn’t work because the
faith I once had crumbled. Nothing worked because nothing
made sense. I was functional. I was still human. I talked. I
lived, but I wasn’t all there. I was still “dead,” and slowly a
black depression began to build inside of me.
The two months leading to March 29th are a blur across
my brain. I don’t remember too much of it. I do remember
my landlord picked that time to raise my rent higher than I
could pay. I do remember all the endless hours and days of
exercise paid off because I could stand without effort and
walk reasonably well, though I still dragged my right leg
somewhat. Some incredibly beautiful people gathered
round, another rental was found, and I was properly
packed, moved and neatly tucked into a bright little house
on the other end of town. I wasn’t there long before death
came to call a third time, and again I was alone.
I won’t argue that the move was too much for me or that
the responsibilities of how to pay mounting debts were too
much for me to bear. Though I appeared coherent, my inner
world was chaos. Life faded more with each passing day. I
was able to return to work, working half days at first and
then progressing to 3/4 days and finality full time. Instead
of helping, this only led to more depression as my job made
no more sense to me than my life. I didn’t have the money
for the kind of rehabilitation I would have liked to have, so
Page Thirty-one
I improvised. I reached out into different arenas and alter- Yet at that moment, he suddenly addressed his friends and
natives. I was very frightened, but there seemed to be no announced that he must leave and go home. His mother
other way. needed him. When he arrived, he discovered the body but
made no attempt to seek help. To understand his reaction,
My son returned suddenly from his school cruise around
one must realize that in our house members were always
Europe. On the night of March 29th, he was attending a
taught to be self-sufficient. It was drummed in from gener-
party. He had been home 1 1/2 days. My daughters were off
ations back that you never, never asked for help - ever. You
to their friends for overnight excursions. A man I had once
find a way to take care of yourself. Also one needs to know
thought myself in love with came to call. In tears, I told him
that in our house the children were taught from earliest
what I had been through and begged him to hold me and just
years to always follow their “feelings.” Psychic occurrences
let me be a child again. I asked for no more than that. He
were so common to all of us they were perfectly natural,
was an understanding man I felt I could trust. His response
like breathing. Kelly’s “feelings” at that time were to sit
was a loud and immediate no, whereby he jumped up,
opposite the body and start talking. He did. A flow of sound
slammed the door and left. I could not understand his
was created by his words.
response. I had asked for so little. Never in my life had I
ever turned down anyone who needed help, regardless of Before he had arrived, I was long since gone, ascending
the conditions or inconveniences to me. Yet in my moment into a realm of bright light and unusual music like nothing
of desperation, I was shut out. His no thundered throughout I had experienced before. That’s no small statement for me
my being. to make since I had been a meditator and teacher of expand-
ed thinking for many years and had countless encounters
I exploded inside. An emotional bomb went off and I
with astral travel, white lights and altered states of con-
shattered into millions of pieces. To hell with life I decided.
sciousness. I was always the practical one, saying, ‘’If you
It’s the most damnable, oversold, worthless package there
can’t use it in your daily life to make your world better, then
is. I decided to chuck it. It wasn’t worth living. I committed
it isn’t worth fooling with.” For me, practical application
emotional suicide. I willed myself dead and my body was
was always the measuring stick to judge anything.
too pooped to argue. It collapsed. I left.
None of that mattered now. All that mattered was where
Now I know full well bodies aren’t supposed to do that.
I was, and where I was, was like nowhere I had ever been
But mine did. I knew the other side was better than this one
before. It was everything wonderful, bright and beautiful,
and I saw no reason to continue living. Mv children were
everything that could ever be.
old enough to take care of themselves. They didn’t need me.
I didn’t need me either. It was time to go, so I did. Then I stopped short. I didn’t expect to see anything,
much less the gigantic scene I saw. Before my view there
My son who loves a good party is not one to up and leave.

Page Thirty-two Page Thirty-three

spun two objects I’ll call cyclones for lack of a better word. upper one. They were reflections of each other. As above,
One was big at the top, narrowing to a spout. The other was so below.
inverted directly below, being big on the bottom and com-
Fascinating as this was, my attention soon turned to the
ing up to a spout. They formed an hourglass shape, yet the
middle. That’s where I wanted to go, into it and through it.
two spouts did not meet in the middle. Instead, there radiat-
I felt as if it were the doorway to God. At last I would dis-
ed out from that spot a kind of light I hesitate to call light. I
cover the source of God Itself. I was on my way there.
don’t know what to call it. The English language doesn’t
have such a word. Its rays shot out in all directions. It was then that I heard my son’s sounds. Slowly I found
myself being pulled back. I never heard any words, only the
I was suspended near the middle as I gazed in awe at the
sound of his voice. There was something different about it.
immensity of what towered before me. Both cyclones were
There was love in his voice. A different kind of love. It was
spinning at tremendous speeds. The cyclone on the top was
not the love of a son for his mother. It was something new
spinning clockwise. The one on the bottom was spinning
- at least for me. It was the sound of one human being lov-
counter-clockwise. Inside the upper cone, I glanced a tiny
ing another human being because he wanted to, not because
grain of sand I recognized to be me - or the Phyllis I had
he was expected to. It didn’t even matter if the other person
once been. Superimposed over Phyllis and the life she was
loved back. The only thing that mattered was Kelly giving
living was all her past and future lives. Everything was hap-
love freely because Kelly wanted to. His love was open,
pening AT THE SAME TIME IN THE SAME SPACE! I
without any expectations, restrictions or standards. It was
also recognized others around Phyllis and the same thing
unconditional love. Real love!
was happening to them. I saw multitudes of other people
everywhere inside the cone and the same thing was hap- I really didn’t believe that special kind of love existed on
pening to all of them. I felt like I was viewing all of life and the earth-plane. I had heard of it before but had associated
I came to realize time and space do not exist at all. it with Divine or Saintly revelations. It was happening now
and my son was giving it. Such a precious gift was worthy
I saw no movements that raised or lowered, went back-
of being received. I choose to return and live again. There
wards or forwards, no left or right. What I saw was only
were no angels, or anyone else egging me along. I made the
expansion and contraction. No one was greater or less than
conscious choice and when I did, the cyclones disappeared
anyone else, but some people were expanded out and grow-
and my living room returned. I slipped back into my body,
ing more, others were so contracted they seemed to shrink
entering again through the top of the head.
and wither. As I searched for more clues to life, I noticed
Phyllis was also in the cyclone on the bottom and in the This time, my body did not respond. It felt cooler and
exact same position as on the top, and everyone else was strange. I panicked. Instantly I became a tiny cheerleader
there too. The bottom cyclone was a mirror image of the and game coach, scurrying up and down my frame shouting

Page Thirty-four Page Thirty-five

words like: hey team I’m back, wake up everyone, I’m back
now, I’m sorry I did this to you. I won’t do it again, I’m
really back to stay this time, come on everyone, I’m back.
The air sacs in the lungs were the hardest to activate. It
took real effort to get the bellows to expand. With the first
sweep of breath, my consciousness returned to my head
area and my eyes opened. My first desire was to stand to see
if everything was awake and operational. I had to be certain
the team was back together. After many halting motions, I
was able to stand.
Kelly in his greater wisdom, came to me, wrapped his
large arms around me and let me cry. I couldn’t speak, but I
could cry. I cried buckets. Torrents. Then Kelly spoke and
reminded me of a letter I had written him that February. The
cruise school was not as he had hoped and the costs were
excessively high. He was in a state of depression. My letter
arrived when he needed it most, and in it I had spoken of
life as a school and how we’re all students progressing
through the grades according to our ability until we finally
graduate and cease our earthly existence. The letter had
given him courage to continue the trip and get on with his
life.
As he held me close, he returned those words to me and
I saw a circle close. The same words I sent half-way around
the globe to help a soul in deepest need, returned to me in
my darkest hour, and I “heard” them and I understood. I
realized the words were a confirmation of my choice to
return and live. I could rebuild my life. Life really was
worth living and I could make it. Kelly put me to bed that
night and the next day I committed myself to a very special
Page Thirty-six
doctor and a different kind of medicine - naturopathy and
homeopathy and whole vistas of therapy and alternatives.
The rebuilding process took almost two years and involved
several health reversals and crises. It’s never easy to remod-
el a worn-out body. Pain becomes a daily encounter.
Depression a daily enemy. Medication of any kind a daily
crutch.
The first week of November, 1977, my friends obtained
permission from my doctor to drive me to Seattle,
Washington, to attend the “MIND MIRACULOUS SYM-
POSIUM” put on by the Church of Religious Science in the
Seattle Opera House. Guest speakers were people like Uri
Geller, Dr. Brugh Joy, Dr. Lawrence LeShan, Dr. Elisabeth
Kübler- Ross, and Dr. William Tiller. With an early-morn-
ing injection, a bag of medication-like remedies and the ten-
der care of very special friends, I arrived perky, looking
every inch a functional human being.
The first lecture paid for the trip and told me why I was
there. It was given by Dr. William Tiller, a physicist with
Stanford University in California. His topic was THE
ETERNAL NOW, and he illustrated his talk by having his
graphs and drawings projected onto a huge stage screen. He
described at length what he felt the greater reality to be, that
what we really are is an energy mass and how that energy
worked. The climax of his talk came when he spoke of The
Eternal Now, what he felt it looked like and how it func-
tioned. It was his belief that ALL THINGS HAPPENED AT
THE SAME TIME IN THE SAME SPACE. The drawing
flashed on the screen was of two cyclones inverted over
each other, and where the two spouts should have met, there
radiated an immense light shooting out in all directions.
Page Thirty-seven
 I erupted from my chair. He saw it too. He knew about There’s a lot more to life than I had ever realized and
the cyclones! I wasn’t crazy after all! I wasn’t mad! I didn’t the learning continues. Life for me is happier now, freer
hallucinate! It was all real! I really saw it! What happened than before and filled to overflowing with constant mira-
to me was valid ! I was sane! cles. The road back to health is really the larger story, and
the one I am now committed to write.
That moment skyrocketed my health and did more for me
than any doctor or medicine or therapy ever could. My con-
fidence in myself returned like a tidal wave and I could
laugh again. I was okay! The nightmare was over!

The road back to health involved a new education for me.

I learned what wholeness and balance truly are. I learned
who and what I am and how to live more abundantly. I dis-
covered myself and in the process discovered everyone else
around me and whole new layers to life.

I came to realize that life is really a series of echoes upon

itself and once energy is committed to movement, it will
always form a spiral. I saw that the choices we daily make
become the points of contact for forming more echoes
which form more spiraling cones. In looking back at the
scene of the two cyclones, I honestly felt like I was looking
at a giant echo. When I allow my mind to wander the words
from the Chapter of John in the Christian Bible come to me,
“For in the beginning was the Word.” Word to me means
sound, and sound creates spiraling echoes of movement
which activate the first steps in the process of forming pre-
substance, then substance itself. Then words from the sci-
entists return to me with their theory of creation starting
with a big bang. Bang to me is sound. The scientists and the
religionists are all saying the same thing. It all ties together
and life begins to make a different kind of sense.

Page Thirty-eight Page Thirty-nine

 SOME OBSERVATIONS

If you have trouble believing this story, it’s okay. Be my

guest. I’ll bet I had more trouble believing it than you ever
will, and I was living it.

When something happens, no matter what it is, that total-

ly changes or obliterates any thought or belief we hold dear
or accept as truth, the result is often numbing confusion, a
deep sense of loss. Instead of facing the challenge we were
given and working our way through it, we become, instead,
depressed, sick or filled with denials lest anyone think
we’re crazy. It’s so much easier to continue on as before, as
if nothing had ever happened, professing the same beliefs,
walking the same path. We’re not sure of ourselves, and we
can’t stand to risk any thought of embarrassment, to be
found a fool. We say nothing. And we block any opportuni-
ty to change.

It was like that for awhile.

love
But you know, the memory of it wouldn’t go away. It just
floats freely kept getting larger, brighter, bigger each day. I’d be at work
minding my own business and it would all come back. I’d
upon
be home sleeping and it would all happen again. I’d be talk-
the wings of time ing to one of my daughters and as I looked into her face I’d
see the cyclones. It almost drove me mad.
unowned
What do you do about something like that? Who do you
eternal
tell? Who’ll believe you? Who’d really care anyhow.
Sometimes I’d speak of some of it, but I could tell from the

Page Forty Page Forty-one

people’s faces, it was a story beyond any meaning for them.
Oh, it was a good-enough story and I was a good storyteller,
but the story itself was just too far-fetched to ring of truth.
Obviously, I was still sick. After all, Phyllis was always a
little weird anyway.
Getting well, however, was something everyone could
relate to, but the way I went about it was almost as unbe-
lievable as the story of how I got sick to begin with, and so
it went. My commitment, though, was to get well. Come
hell or high water, that’s exactly what I was going to do. I
didn’t care what other people thought. I didn’t care how
long it took. I was going to get well. I was going to be whole
again. And I was so obsessed with this commitment, I
almost forgot to look around and see who else was with me.
My son had joined the Coast Guard and was long gone. My
eldest daughter was so busy playing games with college
life, she seldom emerged long enough to say hello. But my
youngest daughter, still in the throes of dealing with the
divorce of my former husband and myself, was in deep
trouble and sinking. She could never understand any form
of illness or pain. Even stubbing her toe freaked her out.
Standing there watching a once strong mother turn to jelly
before her very eyes proved to be too much for her to han-
dle. She broke down, turning on a binge of sex, drugs,
booze, ditching school and Iying. She went half-crazy.
Reaching out to her when I could hardly even help myself
turned out to be the hardest task of all. There were days
when the only logical sentence I could utter was the sen-
tence, “God is,” and I’d say it over and over and over again,
hour after hour, like a chant. It kept me going. It kept me
sane. I finally took classes from a psychologist in how to
speak to her, how to reach her. It worked. It was a good
Page Forty-two
investment. No, it didn’t solve the problem, and, no, all the
scars didn’t magically disappear, but it was a beginning - for
both of us, a beginning of mutual respect and hope.
The feeling of failure in trying to provide a stable base
and some form of discipline and love for her almost killed
me a fourth time. I couldn’t do it. There wasn’t enough of
me left. There’s no blame to be laid here, on her or me. We
each had our own nightmares and we each were groping for
a way out, some point of understanding what was happen-
ing to us and why.
As it turned out, my youngest daughter became one of my
very best teachers, showing me through the mirrors of her
eyes that I could forgive myself. I had truly done all I could
for her. I had done my best. All any parent can ever do is to
raise their children to the best of their ability, provide what
they can, give them love, hope, a sense of identity and
belonging. The rest is up to each child. They have their own
muscles, their own brains, their own life, their own choices.
We can do only so much. More is wrong. It cripples them.
When I finally learned to let go of what I thought to be my
failures and despair and accept instead my worth and my
success, I began to make large strides toward regaining my
health. Interestingly enough, once I did that, my youngest
daughter was then free to make progress too - at her own
pace, in her own way, without a frightened mother suffocat-
ing her with worry and guilt. Body building or rebuilding
must always be accompanied by mind building or the result
won’t last. No matter what the illness or problem, we must
each do our own homework. No one can cure us. No one.
We cure ourselves when we wake up to our own destructive
attitudes. Only then can healing begin and others help as
nature intended.
Page Forty-three
 In mid-July, 1978, a strange event occurred. I was almost
recovered, had returned from vacationing with my aunt and
uncle in Chicago, and was seated at my desk at work busi-
ly working on an analytical project. I shared the room with
two other analysts and a secretary. Nearby were two bank
officers. Suddenly my desk, the room, the walls, all the peo-
ple - everything disappeared. I was back in that “nothing”
world I had visited in death, a world filled with sparkling
life with the purest of love and perfection, yet a world
where nothing was, nothing moved, nothing made a sound.
I had come to call it “The Void” or the “Realm of Non” for
lack of better names.
Immediately there came a message. Not really like a mes-
sage. More of a living, seeing, feeling, knowing, being kind
of thing. A gestalt message, meaning complete and whole
on all levels at the same time. There was no difference
between me, the message and where the message came
from. We were all the same thing. We were all one. During
the occurrence, I became aware of all my next movements,
choices and happenings for the year to come. All were
played out in detail. When it was over, my desk, the room
and all its occupants returned, each in their proper place as
if nothing had happened. My mouth fell open and I was
shaking all over. The message ended and everything hap-
pening within it became past tense. The year to come had
already been lived. What I remembered became like a script
I was challenged to perform in conscious life on the public
“stage.”
Well, being a great believer in choice, I grabbed my
phone and began to check out some parts of the message
that could be verified. I wasn’t about to believe just any-
thing I was handed, and most of what I had been handed
Page Forty-four
was too impossible to believe. For instance I was told that I
would attend a week-long intensive class with Dr. Elisabeth
Kübler-Ross on Death and Dying. Over six months ago, I
had finally given up ever being able to attend such a class.
They were always overbooked and the waiting lists were
“miles” long. When I called to see if it was possible I could
attend, I found to my utter amazement and shock, I was
already registered complete with my full address which
could not possibly have been known since I had just bought
a house and had never at any time contacted the people in
California I was calling now, nor did the secretary I had
once talked with in Illinois ever have anything but my
phone number. I never found out how I was registered. It
seems my name and address just suddenly “appeared” on
their registration lists. The other phone calls I made netted
the same remarkable results. It was like some kind of dream
only I was wide awake.
Among the things revealed in the message were: I would
quit my job on a certain date, sell my house (which I had
only owned nine months), sell or give away almost every-
thing I owned, would stay with friends until time to go,
would attend Elisabeth’s classes, wind my way across the
United States fulfilling childhood vows of places I had
always wanted to visit and things I had always wanted to
do, stay with cousins in Reston, Virginia for a brief time,
find a job in Washington, D.C., live in and around Falls
Church, Virginia. The next message would come in the
spring.
Now, I’m a Western woman. Denver, Colorado, is just
about as far East as my mind traveled at that time. Anything
East of Denver was in another country, not part of the
United States. If I moved anywhere it would be West not
Page Forty-five
East! After the phone calls, I began to do some deep think- through, become rich and famous, and be whisked away by
ing and finally decided to accept the message and act out the some knight on a white charger. I guess we’re never too old
part. It didn’t make any sense but that was okay. I was get- to dream such dreams.
ting used to things that didn’t make any sense. It seemed the
After many trials and false-starts, the dream wore off, I
more far-out and ridiculous something was, the more sensi-
stepped out of the clouds, and my magic flying carpet nose-
ble it appeared. My mind and my world were reversing.
dived. The earth world of jobs, money, food, grocery bills,
That afternoon, I had an appointment with my boss to dis- rent, debts and loans loomed large and I panicked, grabbing
cuss my future at the bank where I worked. I was in line for at whatever I could find. I lost my bearings and the guid-
some major career advancements. When I informed her of ance went sour. Though I did do some writing, the book
my decision to quit and “chase rainbows” for awhile, she project was abandoned. The long string of men I dated only
turned chalk white, asked me to say not another word and served to disillusion me about ever marrying again. All
sit down. She then relayed to me a startling dream she had seemed lost. My thought then was to hang my “tail”
had that morning at 4:00 a.m. So vivid was the dream she between my legs, admit my lunacy, and head back West.
awakened her husband to tell him. In the dream, she had
From the words of two dear friends, Diane Pike and
seen herself go to her boss, take him by the arm and Say,
Arleen (OSO) Lorrence (who founded, live and teach the
“Phyllis is leaving. She’s moving away. I must replace
LOVE PROJECT PRINCIPLES, Box 12009-418,
Phyllis.” All I could think of at that moment was to pound
Scottsdale, AZ 85267), came the simple phrase: BE THE
her desk and shout, “That’s not fair. You knew I was leav-
CHANGE YOU WANT TO SEE HAPPEN. I took the
ing before I did!” My decision had been reached at 1:30
words literally. They worked. I became the change I want-
p.m. that day. The message had not come until around 9:30
ed to see happen in my life instead of turning tail and run-
that morning.
ning.
Life has been like that ever since. Everything is so dif-
My life turned around abruptly. My income base
ferent now. Nothing in my brain works as it used to. What
smoothed out. Many bills got paid. Job satisfaction sky-
once made sense makes no sense now. What made no sense
rocketed. All the joyful, daily miracles that had once filled
before, is perfectly clear and logical. Everything happened
my life returned. And when least expected on a day heavy
as the “script” revealed, and in the spring of 1979, the sec-
with the coming of rain, I met the man I would marry while
ond message revealed a move to Roanoke, Virginia, where
out hiking alone upon a deserted country road. I just turned
I would meet the man I would marry. Sounds like some-
around and there he was. We had briefly met once before,
thing out of CINDERELLA, but I dutifully moved and
but the meeting had never “registered” with me. He wasn’t
found a home with two of heaven’s most wonderful angels,
the kind of man I had been looking for. He was better! So
Don and Neddy Repp. I moved with the idea I would write
perfect were we each for the other, that we merged and
a best selling book about the death experiences I had lived

Page Forty-six Page Forty-seven

blended, fulfilling each other’s dreams and hopes. The
“jackets” (our bodies) we wear in this life are different col-
ors and we come from different generations and lifestyles.
Still, we mirror each other and in doing so have taught each
other that opposites are really complements. Two equal
halves are really a whole. We were married in Roanoke,
Virginia on April 29, 1980 at 11:00 p.m., near to the com-
ing of the Full Moon. The Full Moon has become a symbol
to us that opposites, though powerful energies, are really of
the same unity, and so we were married in a Unity Church.
I don’t know why all this happened to me like it did - or
even at all. I can play guessing games about that, but the
truth is I really don’t know. I could write reams of books
about the death experience, what it taught me, about coping
with the East and the move here, and rediscovering life. I’m
not certain if it matters that I ever write anything at all. We
each have our own dreams that become nightmares. We
each meet our own hell and fight our own battles. It doesn’t
take any talent to die. We all die, all the time. There are so
many different kinds of death and ways to die. We each
sooner or later play the part of St. George and the Dragon,
as we each must face the “dragons” we’ve created in our
own lives and “slay” them or perish.
I call what I went through the “Heavenly Sledgehammer
Effect.” I was just too stubborn to turn around, to change as
I needed to, to see what I needed to see. I had become a doer
of the first order, driven to accomplish, always dealing with
outer influences, moving mountains because it never
occurred to me to live any other way. My biography wound
up in more books than I care to mention, with a string of
awards longer than my arm. You can’t eat awards, and hon-
ors and recognitions don’t keep you warm at night.
Page Forty-eight
I never meant my life to be that way. I just wanted to be
the best wife and mother I could. I was married then to a
good man who had problems of his own but wouldn’t stay
home long enough to face them. We were always broke so
I had to work. One tragedy stacked up upon another, year
after year after year. A nervous breakdown called a halt to
my life then, painting black the days that followed. God
must surely be dead, I thought, for I had been the best pos-
sible person I knew to be and all that ever resulted were
more debts, more tragedies and more pain. It took the lure
of parapsychology and metaphysics to awaken me to count-
less dimensions and levels to the human soul, and show me
that God was very much alive and well and kicking.
In reaching out to the new and different, success came on
top of success. Life became exciting and wonderful.
Everything I tried worked. My world filled with creative,
unusual people. The old limits and standards fell away. I
began to see life differently and be honest about what I saw.
The old illusions died too, and so did my marriage. It had
lasted twenty years.
I had just begun a program of retraining, attending my
first college class with eyes toward a degree, when death
came to call. So very final and total. But it didn’t stay. When
death left, the me that remained was lost. I credit Dr.
William G. Reimer of Ontario, Oregon (then of Boise,
Idaho) with physically enabling my body to heal. Without
his expert, if unorthodox, care I would not have the degree
of health and mobility I have today. I credit Tom Huber,
Elizabeth and Terry Macinata, all then of Boise, with giving
me the emotional and mental support and assistance that
kept me going - giving far beyond what any ordinary peo-
ple would give, sharing so deeply and intensely that some-
Page Forty-nine
times we all hurt and we all cried.
But most of the credit I give to God, The Force, The One,
The All (whatever name you wish to call It) with simply
being What It Is and giving me the space and time to find
myself and discover Its Light within me.
I know now why I couldn’t write the book I originally
planned. Goodness knows it would have all the blood and
guts necessary for sales, though it would have to have been
sold as ‘fiction” as no one in their right mind would ever
have identified it with any kind of truth. Nonetheless, its
publication would have hurt many people. A doctor could
have been accused of malpractice. A man could have been
damned for life for his negligence. A whole list of well-
meaning and beautiful people could have been needlessly
embarrassed. I began to recognize a powerful force at work
wanting that book. It’s called ego. The book would have
sold well, but what of the price to others?
Because of this realization and the steady requests for
something written down, I came up with this little book. It
tells most of the facts as they happened. Enough that should
inspire or challenge anyone who reads it. I borrowed the
money to have it printed. Its distribution will be through
word of mouth, mailing lists, some announcements and ads.
It will “float” around as it needs to, and those who should
read it, will. I’ve come to realize finally that everything
happens as it should when it’s time.
It’s just a little book, anyway. A tale of one woman who
faced herself and decided to change what she saw. So she
did . . .
Page Fifty
I
f you’re looking for a guru or religious figure, please
keep looking. I respect your quest, but I choose not to
be a part of it. Mine is the practical inner way - the path
of balance and joy.
I get excited about dishwater and home-baked bread. I
find the soft touch of a baby, the warmth of a loved one, the
wrinkled hands of the old and tired more enlightening to me
than chants, aura photography or becoming a master soul.
I take personal responsibility for me . . . and what I have
builded myself to be. I can’t blame that on anyone else and
be honest, so I don’t. I am what I have made of my genetic
code, environment and life’s experiences. I affirm the divin-
ity of choice, and when something goes wrong in my life, I
know just where to locate the cause - in what I see reflect-
ed back from my mirror.
Life is so beautiful. So am I. So are you. We are the same
you and I. And you honor me by being here. I cannot teach
you or change you. No one can. You do that for yourself. I
can only share where I’ve been and what that’s taught me.
If you can understand what I say and find meaning for your
life in that, then we are both richly blessed.
I believe myself to be a Child of God, an individualized
focus of The All. I believe that everything is spirit, every-
thing is One . . . and that all my choices interact with all of
yours. No one is an island. We are each part of the other. I
believe that balance and wholeness are the secrets of life.
There’s no difference, really, between a bowel movement
and a vision, between scrubbing floors and praying,
between balancing your checkbook and praising God. It’s
all the same energy from the same Source. The only differ-
ence is how we choose to manifest that energy at any given
Page Fifty-one
moment in time and space.
And no matter what anyone tells me, no matter what is
written or believed by anyone, including me . . . I’ve dis-
covered there is more. And beyond that there’s more still.
There’s no end to the mores and no end to our potential for
growth and development.
Thank you so much for touching my life . . . and allow-
ing me to touch yours!

The former Phyllis Huffman was born in 1937 in Twin

Falls, Idaho. She is the mother of three grown children. This
photo was taken by Don Repp in his home outside of
Roanoke, Virginia, during May, 1979. Phyllis is now
P. M. H. Atwater, having married Terry Young Atwater and
beginning a new chapter in her life.

Page Fifty-two Page Fifty-three

 Tape and Book Order Form P.M.H. Atwater, Lh.D.
Intuitive Counselor/Visionary Author
Title/Price Quant. Cost
* $15.00 - SUBTEXT to YOU CAN CHANGE YOUR LIFE
“Children of the New Millennium”
Contains the “missing” appendices.
P.O.Box 7691
(Self-Published) Charlottesville, VA 22906-7691
*$50.00 - Bound, Manuscript Syle
“ Brain Shift/Spirit Shift: Send completed form
A Theoretical Model Using Research on and your payment
Near-Death Studies to Explore the to the above address
Transformation of Consciousness “
(Self-Published)
Phase I of Brain Shift is sold out and will
F ind the rest of P. M. H. Atwater's
books at your favorite bookstore, or order
not be reprinted. *directly online (through Amazon.Com):
Phase II can be purchased and downloaded
directly from the website.
"COMING BACK TO LIFE" ISBN 0-345-36016-8
*$20.00 - Reissue of her first book, (paperback, Ballantine Books)
"I Died Three Times in 1977"
(Self-Published)
"BEYOND THE LIGHT" ISBN 0-380-72540-1
*$8.00 - Reissue of poetry book, (paperback, Avon Books)
"Life Sounds"
(Self-Published)
"FUTURE MEMORY" ISBN 1-55972-320-3
*$8.00 - Reissue of child's storybook with pictures to color. (hardcover, Birch Lane Press;
"The Frost Diamond"
(Self-Published)
paperback, Spring 1999, Hampton Roads Pub.)

*$50.00 - Goddess Runes Kit "GODDESS RUNES" ISBN 0-380-78292-8

1 hour audio tape, instruction booklet, runes, (softcover, Avon Books)
pouch, casting cloth, Goddess miniature, Test-
Market Version (handmade). Request list of
available colors.
Add $3.00 shipping and handling each Sub-Total
$24.95 - Video, VHS, 60 min.
“The Aftereffects of the Near-Death or $5. in groups of 2. Video and Brain
Experience” (Recorded live at a conference Shift Model are $5.00 shipping and han-
in Kentucky) dling each or $10. in groups of 3. VA Residents
(For postage outside the U.S. Only 4.5% Sales Tax
$7.95 - Audio Cassette, 48 min. add $4.50 for Canada and $9.00 for all
“Coming Back to Life”
other countries..)
(An update on her original book.)
Money orders preferred, but will accept
personal checks (in U.S. funds only)
Total Shipping
$9.95 - Audio Cassette, 60 min.
“As You Die” payable to P.M.H. Atwater. & Handling
(Inspired by an AIDS patient in NYC, Personal checks must clear bank before
this unusual tape talks a person through order is sent. Please allow at least 6
the dying process and the soul's weeks delivery. Thanks! Total Enclosed
separation afterward.)

Name ________________________________________________________________
*For substantial savings on
Address _______________________________________________________________ downloadable versions of these
City/State/Zip___________________________________________________________ self-published books, order online at:
Office Phone __________________________ Home Phone _____________________
http://www.cinemind.com/atwater

P.M.H. Atwater, Lh.D.has distinguished herself internationally for her ground-breaking research of the near-death experience and its aftereffects. Her
books "Coming Back to Life" and "Beyond the Light" have challenged the entire field. With the publication of "Future Memory" she has expanded her
work into areas of brain development that call for a reconsideration of what is presently known about the transformation of consciousness. Interwoven
within her startling new discoveries are revelations she was given while on the “other side” of death’s curtain. Often forgotten is that she, too, is a near-
death survivor with her own story to tell. An engaging speaker and visionary, Atwater’s passion is born of experience tempered by over twenty years of
objective research discipline.
An accomplished rune caster specializing in the Elder or Yin Runes, she authored “THE MAGICAL LANGUAGE OF RUNES” (now out-of-
print), and the newly released “GODDESS RUNES” and the “GODDESS RUNES KIT.”
A recipient of numerous awards, her biography is in sixteen Who’s Who books, half of them international editions. She has lectured extensively, her
writings appearing in many national publications. She attended Boise State University in Boise, Idaho, and received her humanities doctorate in 1992
from the International College of Psychic Studies, Montreal, Canada.
Look for her newest book in Spring 1999 (from Three Rivers Press), “CHILDREN OF THE NEW MILLENNIUM” - a major study of children’s
near-death states and the millennial child. “LIFE SOUNDS,” “THE FROST DIAMOND,” and “I DIED THREE TIMES IN 1977,’ are all reissues of
earlier work.