Journal of Sacred Work

Gratitude

   Thanks to all who wrote asking if I was "Okay" following my "death" reported last week. 

   My worry was that a simple "yes" would kill curiosity.

   I did not know how to say that my body did not die but something else did. Like this:

Old Science: Brain connections die.

New Science: Brain connections do not die. They disappear & can be regenerated. 

My mind has formed verifiably new synaptic connections. 

The Bird Who is Not Living & the Human Who is…

   Before consulting new science, Part II consults never-old Shakespeare via Hamlet: "There is a special providence in the fall of a sparrow."

   The bird pictured is a fallen finch, not a sparrow. Hamlet's point, that Providence rules, is the same.

   But does Destiny decide?

   When I saw the gentle, feathered shape (pictured) on the way to my car, his body stilled forever, I felt as conflicted as you may have: Simultaneously drawn & repelled. 

   It is so easy to turn away. To toss him into the garbage or ignore him. After all, I was late for an appointment (one of those earthly things that flood our lives.) 

   But, I am verifiably changed since my visit with death last Friday. You would be also.

   The ketamine dose birthed new connections in my "old" brain. Neurogenic imaging in other patients conclusively proves this.

   It is as if my consciousness was a garden & ketamine was a magic fertilizer that birthed new plants.

   Before I read the evidence in several, peer-reviewed, scientific journals I had already noticed something. My ever-curious mind was shaping new thoughts with exceptional clarity. 

   Why was I standing there admiring the fallen finch, saying a prayer, digging a place for his burial, honoring his "special providence" as he reposed between the living green leaves & the dead brown ones beneath? 

   It was a chance to celebrate life & death: The nearby birds flying tree to tree in song, & the one before me who would neither sing nor fly again. My own breathing, & freedom from the fear that my breaths will end. 

   Maybe the finch will fly again…& already has.    

   We want life to be sacred. What are we waiting for? The sacred is defined by us not by others (unless we let them)?

   The to the question I left open in Part I is Yes. Midway into my "flight" I was stranded on a dessert. It was drenched in color but flooded with gray loneliness.

   The island lacked people.

   Then humanity, starting with mother, began to appear. Different from dreams, I had a tactile sense of her presence. 

   Hope sang bright colors. Living loved ones emerged as clouds of light.  

-Erie Chapman

[Note: This "death" experience triggered a new Journal series that will include essays on mine & other's visions &  fascinating scientific breakthroughs that hold high hope for caregivers interested in new brain function. Part III, "Visions of Others" will be posted in two days.]

Photograph: "Fallen Finch," by Erie 8.28.21