Lots of people ask me why I dismiss a good portion of Christianity, and usually I give half-statements that repel more questions but don't actually give the real answers. But recently I've been wondering if avoiding the real reason actually does any good. So, after much deliberation, I've decided I'm going to do what I promised myself I would avoid on this blog and talk about something very personal. Not because it's something I need to talk about, but because it's something that maybe others might want to hear. It sort of ties into why I take issue with certain Judeo-Christian concepts and my political views, but ultimately this is just a personal story.
When I was nineteen, I tried to kill myself. I won't go into my reasons or the hell that was my life back then, but I will clarify that I have bipolar disorder and that was my primary driving force. I'm stable now, but back then...you wouldn't even recognize me.
Anyway, when I took over three hundred pills, I nearly succeeded. It left me in a coma for several days. It also left me brain dead, if my parents are to be believed. When I regained brain function, I know more than one person called it a "miracle," citing fasting, prayer, and the usual Mormon suspects. They are welcome to believe whatever they like, but my personal experience was far different.
While I was asleep, I went somewhere else. If I were anything close to an artist, I would paint this beautiful place. If I were a landscaper, I'd buy a house just to recreate it. Instead, it exists only in my memories.
The thing I remember most is the darkness. It wasn't an oppressive or lonely kind of darkness, but serene darkness, like being in a field far from any city on the night of a full moon. There was no temperature and no breeze and my surroundings were visible, but not bright and not dim. Almost like light only existed where it was needed.
As for my actual surroundings, the place was like a garden, but there were no plants. In place of flowers and dirt there were stones, smooth to the touch and white or grey, and small black shiny pebbles. There was a clear pool of water in the center of a circle of light grey stones. I don't know if this garden was the whole place or if I just stayed in a small part of a larger place, but I didn't know that I hadn't been there my whole life.
I met a woman there. If I had to put a label on her, I'd probably call her a goddess, because she felt like one, but I don't like to label things I don't understand. I don't think I ever saw her face, but I think she may have been blonde and I know that she was blue. Not that her skin was blue...I guess I need to clarify something here. I never really admit this, and I'm almost positive this is some kind of long-standing but relatively benign hallucination, but everyone has a color surrounding them, a sort of blanket that doesn't actually obscure anything. I have seen lots of different people and lots of different colors, but I have never seen something as beautiful and blue as the woman in the garden. She tasted like moonlight, which I know makes no sense, but my senses are all kind of twisted up in each other so just go with me here. She was radiant, but not bright, and I couldn't hear her. (There was no noise at all, which was awesome.) I remember that she loved me, unconditionally, like I was her daughter.
We spoke without speaking about a lot of things that have faded now. She told me I had something I needed to do, but I can't remember what it was. She also told me that I had to "go back" before it was too late, and that people were depending on me. This confused me because, as I previously stated, I didn't know that I hadn't been there my whole life and I didn't understand the concept of "people." It was just that woman and me. Next thing I knew, I was opening my eyes and everything was purple and I couldn't breathe because there was a tube down my throat that hadn't been flushed yet. My dad was hovering over me, but I didn't recognize him and everything was still all purple shades. It took me a while to recover. There are occasions when I feel like not all of me made it back, like I'm halfway through a door.
Now, here's the catch: I'm not sure I believe this actually happened. I mean, yes, I experienced it, so regardless of whether or not it was "true," it did happen. But you could say that about any dream or hallucination. To a paranoid schizophrenic, people really are spying and plotting. It's only a personal truth that does not agree with reality. I don't believe in extraordinary claims without proof, even if they're my own. So I understand that I need to step back and assume it was a dream unless I find evidence that suggests otherwise.
Still. The point I'm making here has nothing to do with the nature of dreams, and everything to do with why I dismiss people when they say that people like me are going to burn in Hell when we die. If there is in fact an afterlife, then I have to assume that I was in it; after all, where else would a brain dead person go? That place was nothing like the Heaven that Christians talk about, and it certainly was nothing like the Hell they talk about. In addition, there was no male god there. I was not judged. I'm not certain I even had a body, because nothing stuck together and nothing felt bad. I'm usually so uncomfortable in my own skin, physically uncomfortable, and I wasn't aware of any discomfort at all.
If someone can look me in the eye and tell me that their book, which they only believe in because of some feeling inside, says that I'm going to Hell, I absolutely discount it on principle. After all, as far as subjective human experience goes, I know what death looks like. And that simply isn't it.
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