The White

People who have near death experiences describe the movement from in-body to out of body and the existence of being in The White. During these past months, I have had two such encounters. There were two times when I moved into The White. It was not a slide show of my life. Or flipping through the pages of a scrapbook - The White was out of body; it was me looking at me as I lie on the hospital bed. The White was not a color, it was more the absence of color. What struck me the most, what lingers with me, is the lack of sound - the true sound of silence. People meditate or do yoga seeking to find a place of silence - I don't know if anyone actually achieves that of their choosing or doing. My mind races. When attempt to meditate I think about not thinking. At night, trying to fall asleep, my mind checks through the day's events, checks through my "to do" list for tomorrow, or just thinks about a television show, a funny joke, a situtation I wish I had handled differently; (doesn't that one just get ya' though) Post interaction we come up with a witty response to an insult, or a clever put down of someone else's rude behavior - in the moment we are without any words - then when we are trying to fall asleep our mind is Einstein like in it's ability to conjure up intelligent responses. I reckon there are some folks who are in tune with the uniververse, or themselves, or with their higher power that they in fact can achieve a place like The White. One time when I was very young, I'm talking days old - one time then I was in The White; One time when I was around seven, Eva, my birth mother came to me - Were these actual events? Did they really happen? For me they did and since I cannot prove a negative I can't prove they happened. With an active imagination, such as mine, and a mind which never stops moving, I reckon both events could be nothing more than something I made up. If in fact I made them up, then I did so as a means of protection or sefl preservation. Perhaps I made them up because I needed comfort which was not availabe to me. The reasons "why" are irrelevent - these events occured, for me it is fact - Given now my 47 years of living and all the experience living 47 years gives you I lend more credence to my recent encounters with The White. What strikes me most is not the absence of color, or being out of my body, looking at myself - what is most remarkable is the sound of silence - I am sound sensitive to begin with. I think I am a bat, nocturnal and directed by sound. Loud noises bother me. Casino's bother me because they are full of sound. Loud music bothers me. Clinking glasses bother me. People who laugh loud, they bother me. I like quiet. At night there is a bird outside the window - he chatters the night away, that bird bothers me. I wonder whom he is talking to? All the other birdies are asleep and there is is telling is tale. I wish I spoke bird so I could convers with him. I would ask him to chirp quieter (is that a word?) In The White it is quiet - silence does not describe the sound of no sound. It is that whole you can't prove a negative thing - I can't describe it - I can't say it is peaceful, or soft, or warm - can't do it; Why you ask? I don't know. Just can't do it. Within me, through 47 years of life, nothing I have learned can describe to you the sound of silence. It was something precious - I can say that - it was precious; I felt I knew I should hang on to that feeling, to that lack of sound - There in The White I was not offered door #1, #2, or #3. No one spoke to me. ST. Pete was not at a heavenly gate. I was in The White, above myself, looking at the hospital room, and one time looking at my room here at home. While I hung out there (all pun intended), I sensed, and the what's funny is that song...Should I Stay or Should I go? That song was what I was thinking, or singing, it was jingling in my head. The idea of going to be with Mommie and Little Gram, to me Eva, goodness to see everyone, that was really something I knew would be remarkable. It would be so beautiful - the idea of letting it all go. Setting down my sword, laying to rest the burdens and bricks, and heavy trees I have lugged around for a long time - that was tempting. Except, there in the hospital, on a lumpy dumpy pull out cot was my Poopy Sister and there was no way she was going to wake up and be the one who found me dead - no, not a chance. That was a no brainer (more pun intended, you know they operated in my brain, get it - geez I crack myself up) No mam, Poopy Sister would not be the person who found me dead. I hung in The White for awhile, don't kow how long, no bells or whistles went off so it could not have been that long. Then I was just back in the bed, lying awake wishing I was asleep and pondering The White.