So folks, I’ve finally decided to try and describe my near death experience of 40 years ago. More is coming soon! I welcome your thoughts and feedback.
In The House of God
I’ll tell this story.
Why? I am 61 years old, crippled on my right side, with half a lung. I am scarred over twenty-five percent of my torso. I’ve been in chronic pain for 40 years. Essentially I am disabled, a state I have ignored, treated, hidden, and expressed. Although each approach has seemed exciting and important at the time, something is always lacking.
How? Decade after decade, I will avoid this topic. Then suddenly I will find myself in the interior of Bluebeard’s castle, opening the frightening locked doors of my story. I am not propelled towards this by a therapeutic breakthrough, a traumatic event, or an act of personal redemption. My father has a stroke, and dies, and can’t read what I write anymore.
However, I cannot write this alone. My friend Kathleen and I have set up a series of writing dates—at her house, the library, a cafe. We each write our own material, and then read to each other.
Her presence makes this possible.
Where? I have actually entered another gigantic ominous building, a place of death and dismemberment, and perhaps survival. It is not Bluebeard’s fairy tale castle, but the Beth Israel Hospital in Boston.