9

NATURAL TRANSFORMATION
THROUGH THE GIFT OF LIFE

Kelly was on a group holiday in Machu Picchu, Peru, and got chatting to one of the ladies in the party she was assigned to. When Kelly mentioned her experience, the lady asked if she knew Jeff Olsen, a public speaker, who has written books about his NDE. Shortly afterwards, Kelly connected with Jeff – now 53 years old – via email and Skype. Jeff’s NDE occurred following a fatal accident, yet despite the tragedy he experienced he has been able to find peace. Jeff has appeared in many YouTube films and spoken at many conferences.

In 1997 I experienced a horrific car accident, the most difficult part being that the cause was me dozing off at the wheel. I overcorrected and lost control of the vehicle at 75 miles per hour. The car began to whip and roll, not off the road, but down the road propelled by the hard concrete.

Both of my legs were crushed, the left being amputated above the knee. My ribcage was crushed, my lungs collapsed and my right arm was nearly torn off. The seatbelt also ripped through my lower abdomen, rupturing my intestines and tearing through my hip. The most devastating part of the entire ordeal was the loss of my wife and youngest son, who were also in the car and were killed instantly. Our entire family was in the car. My oldest son was not seriously injured physically, but endured the emotional trauma of losing his mother, little brother and, in many ways, his father too. I spent nearly six months in hospital and had 18 operations in all before I recovered physically, but the emotional recovery took years more.

I blacked out for most of the rolling, but when the car came to a stop I was fully conscious. The first thing I heard was my oldest son, then aged 7, crying in the back seat. My initial reaction as a father was that I had to get to him. I wanted to comfort him and see that he was all right. That’s when I realized I was unable to move. I was pinned. I couldn’t see and I was struggling to breathe. All I knew was that I wanted to get to my hysterical 7-year-old son. That’s when the brutal reality hit me that no one else was crying. I could not hear our youngest, who was just a toddler, and in that moment I knew that both he and my beloved wife were gone. I felt it deeply, not only in their silence, but in the overwhelming feeling of their actual passing.

It’s the worst kind of Hell a man could ever be in. Being pinned immobile, hearing one of your children crying uncontrollably and not being able to get to him, while knowing also that the other half of your family is already gone, killed instantly, and that you were driving the car. Words cannot describe what that was like. It was the worst nightmare I could ever imagine. I laid there attempting to breathe and maintain consciousness, knowing what had just happened. I wanted to comfort my son and get out of that car, but I could not move.

Intense panic filled me that everything was slipping and there was nothing I could do to control it, but it was at that point that things drastically shifted. In those moments of horror, a strange thing happened. In complete contrast to the nightmare I was experiencing, a peculiar calmness came. It was the darkest moment of my life, yet I actually felt an embrace of comfort. It felt as though a warm blanket of light came and wrapped itself around me, creating a bubble of pure love. I began to rise above the entire scene and marvelled at the feeling that everything was actually all right. Or at least it felt as if it were in this beautiful bright bubble of comfort and love. I began to realize that I was actually okay. In doing so, I became aware that my wife, who I knew was deceased at the scene, was miraculously there in the bubble of light with me, and that she was okay too, except she was insistent that I could not stay, that I could not come with her and that I must go back to take care of our son.

I learned a lot about choice in that moment. There I was, looking into the eyes of the woman I loved more than life, so relieved and joyful that she was okay, yet I knew I had a son left alone crying in that back seat of the crashed car. “You’ve got to go back,” my wife continued to insist. I looked at her, into her very soul, and knew I was not meant to go with her. In that moment I chose to go back, and it was as simple as the very thought of it. I realized how powerful our thoughts are. As soon as I looked at her, knowing this would be our last goodbye, I made the choice to go back. I left her side in that bubble of light and was suddenly transported to the scene of a busy hospital setting.

I had no concept of time while in that light bubble. I later learned that people arrived at the scene of the accident, one actually being a doctor. They could do nothing for my wife and youngest son, but they rushed me and my 7-year-old to a small local hospital. They then called for Life Flight to transport both of us to a large hospital that was equipped to handle my critical situation. My son was sent to a children’s hospital to be observed overnight, while I was sent to a nearby trauma centre.

I had no knowledge of any of that. All I knew is that I had wrecked the car and said the most poignant goodbye I will ever say. I then found myself wandering around the hospital encountering all the patients, doctors, nurses and families of patients in the most profound way. Except this was different. I was wandering in spirit, not in physical form. I moved freely from room to room with no effort at all. I was not conscious of any physical pain at all. I simply moved wherever my thoughts took me, while being in very close proximity to the doctors, nurses, patients and families of patients all around me in the busy Emergency Room (ER) trauma facility. As I would get near every individual, I seemed to know everything about them. I knew the love, hate, joys and struggles of everyone I saw. I knew them as if they were me. I felt a literal connection and oneness with them in a way I had never experienced before, yet it felt intensely familiar. Everyone I saw I loved, unconditionally, regardless of who they were, what they had done or what had happened in their lives. I felt their feelings. I was experiencing their life experiences and knew why they had made every decision they had ever made. I knew them as well as I knew myself, and I loved them. I wanted to embrace them. I felt in many ways as if I was them. We were truly one.

It was in that moment that I came across a man lying on a bed that I didn’t feel anything from, which I thought very strange. I stepped closer to take a look. As I peered at this body, I realized it was me. Or at least my body. I was me, having this profound, connective experience, but I was now looking at what used to be me, or my body. In that moment I had the profound realization that I am not my body. It was simply the vehicle I had been driving through my life. A literal skin suit. I felt an overwhelming sadness looking at my body and how broken it was. I had always taken it for granted. I had been a division-one athlete. My body had always been at my command. I had prided myself on my physicality and now I was everything but physical. I was spirit, I was light, I was a profound part of everything and everyone around me. I was the true me, but outside of my body.

I knew I must get back into the broken mess that was my flesh. Again, the simple thought was enough. I chose to be in the body and there I was, back inside. Back into the pain, the horror, the confusion and the guilt. Trapped in the broken heaviness of all the results, both physical and emotional, of the accident. I was ventilated and could not speak. Both of my legs were immobile due to the crushing injuries of the crash. My right arm was immobile, being completely torn out through the rotator cuff, and my lower abdomen was gaping wide open from the belly to the hip. I was experiencing intense infections from my intestines having been ruptured and spilling into all my open wounds. The only body part I could move was my left arm, which they eventually tied down because I kept trying to pull at the ventilator, the feeding tube, the Intravenous Infusion (IV) and other medical devices.

I was in the Intensive Care Unit (ICU) for months and spent nearly six months in total in the hospital. Medical staff were doing all they could to save my life, yet I seemed to have one foot in this realm and one in the next for much of that time. It was like a crazy nightmare that would not end. I would only find relief when I repeatedly left my body again for brief retreats, which felt like lucid dreams and were infinitely better than the pain, guilt, grief and regret I was experiencing in my body.

I learned a great deal in those long months as I laid in hospital. I learned what true love is. I watched my brothers nearly lose their jobs to spend time with me. I watched other family, friends and co-workers do so much on my behalf. I felt the hearts of medical staff as they did all in their power to heal me and make me more comfortable. I connected with my surviving son in ways I thought I never could from a hospital bed.

I learned a great deal about myself as well. I learned about fear, doubt, faith and hope. In fact, my faith and hope were actually transformed into absolute trust. Trust was more powerful and more real. Faith and hope seemed like a wish. Trust was knowing. I shifted everything I knew and even what I didn’t know into trust simply in order to survive.

I chose to stop asking the “why” questions and move my concentration to “what”. What was I learning from all of this and what would I do to overcome it all? What would I do with my life and how could I possibly honour my deceased wife and son? I had so much grief. One thing I learned in a very powerful way is that life is so precious and can be so fleeting. I knew better than anyone that I may not always have tomorrow, so I resolved to do what must be done today. Don’t put it off. If there was a letter to be written or a conversation to have, a text to send or forgiveness granted, now was the time to take care of it. Yesterday was gone and over, and I might not be here tomorrow, so do it now.

I was eventually transferred to rehabilitation. It was there that I had what may have been the most profound experience of all. I was off all heavy narcotics by that time. My body was improving every day, but my heart was still shattered from the reality of losing my wife and youngest son. I slipped into a deep sleep, feeling burdened by the knowledge that things would never be the same.

As I faded off into slumber, still dwelling on the fear of what my life had become, I felt a strange, yet familiar feeling. It was the same light bubble I had experienced at the scene of my accident. I felt its calming effects. I felt the love that made the light almost seem tangible. I felt the familiar pull – the rising above myself – that now seemed to be lifting me higher and higher above my hospital bed. I basked in the feeling, free from the pain and grief, except this time the bubble seemed to disperse and I found myself in the most beautiful place imaginable. The feeling was one of being home. It was so welcoming and embracing. I was alone there, but felt an overwhelming sense that I remembered this place, and it remembered me. I began to run, joyfully running in this beautiful place which I could only call home.

It was a very physical experience. I could feel the warm, soft ground under my feet. I could feel the energy firing up through my calves and into my thighs. I could feel the joy of my athleticism as I raced about without growing tired or winded at all. My body was perfect. My mind was clear. There was no pain, no grief, only joy and glory. I was elated, and that’s when the message came to me that I was not there to stay. In that very instant I also noticed a corridor to my left, and I knew intuitively that I was to go down that corridor. I began making my way down it and could see that it came to an end. At the end of the corridor was a baby crib. I made my way to this and looked inside. To my joy, there lying in the crib was my youngest, toddler son whom I had lost in the accident, sleeping. Beautifully, peacefully sleeping. I swept him up in my arms and held him close, which was also a very physical experience. I could feel the heat from his little body. I could feel his ribcage expanding with breath. I could feel his breath on my neck. I could feel his soft head against my face. It was him. It was really him. I smelled his hair and skin. It was my little boy. And he was okay.

I began to weep as I held him, marvelling that we were together. It could not be real and yet it was real. In fact, it felt far more real than this life and the hospital bed. Holding my son was the reality. As I held him, I felt something completely overwhelming come up behind me. What I felt was so powerful, so cosmic, so wise and so ancient, yet it was so personal. I became fearful. I did not dare turn around. I knew I was in the presence of God. I held my little boy close, still weeping. As I felt this overwhelming presence come nearer, my mind raced. I could not allow myself to turn around and had the thought, “I hope I’m forgiven.” It was then that I felt loving, Divine arms wrap around both me and my son and hold us. The knowledge came to me in that very moment, not by words but by an absolute download into my entire soul, that there was nothing at all to forgive. In fact, the word “forgive” and any notion of judgement became completely foreign. There was only love. I was so overcome by pure, absolute, unconditional love that words are inadequate to describe it. I had grown up believing that God was going to judge me. And that I was probably in trouble. I believed that life was a test and that I was most likely failing that test miserably in spite of doing my best. Yet in those loving arms, there was no judgement at all. Only pure unconditional love.

We seemed to melt into each other. My son became part of me and then we became part of God. Then all three of us became part of everything that is and ever was. I was astounded. The entire universe had transformed into me and yet there I was aware of it all, like an observer from a very high perspective. I saw my life. I saw the things I felt were mistakes, and yet in those loving arms there were no mistakes. I saw the things that I felt were wrong and yet I did them anyway. In those arms there were no wrongs, only love, wisdom and learning. It was communicated to me, and again not by words but with pure knowledge, that all the judgements I was putting on the events of my life were simply my judgements and had nothing at all to do with God and unconditional love. I felt that in those arms I was perfect. In fact, I was Divine and completely connected to the source of all that ever was or would be. There was no time. There was only that perfect moment in which the entire universe had come together to honour me and my silly little life.

I saw the accident and everything leading up to it, from my childhood and adolescence to adulthood and all the people who had been in my life, as the perfect cast to a perfect play, which was created only for me and my soul’s growth. That’s when the knowledge flowed to me that I had actually created it. That I had orchestrated the perfect experiences for my soul’s highest good. It was strange; I had spent months in that hospital bed believing that in some strange way God had done this to me. That this was all part of a cosmic test that I had spent my life up to that point believing in and attempting to complete with a pass grade. The powerful knowledge flowed to me as I observed all the sacred moments of my life that it was in no way a test at all, but in fact a gift; that every day and every moment and every relationship, family, friend or foe, was all for me, for my perfect experience, and was put into motion somehow by my will. It felt as if the entire universe had simply said a resounding “yes” to what I had chosen to come to and learn by. Here I was in God’s arms observing it all with no judgement at all, only gratitude.

I also learned a lot about choice. I learned that literally everything is a choice. It felt as if the only rule in the entire universe actually was “free will and choice”, but without judgement, only in unconditional love.

I began to become aware of myself holding my son again in my arms, but still feeling the arms of our Divine Creator around me. I realized how much I loved my little boy. He was perfect to me. As those feelings flowed through me in an intense way, I realized that in God’s arms I was that little boy. That those same feelings I had for my son were very real and cosmically universal, only magnified. I was perfect in the arms of God, and I therefore knew we all are. Each of us is unique, but perfectly loved by God. I realized that God is in all of us and we are all in God, like cells in one giant body of humanity. Each with our unique function in the overall process, but in perfect order as a whole.

I held my little boy, still fast asleep, and the knowledge came to me, in that powerful non-verbal way, that I even had a choice about him and what had happened. I knew my son had died. I knew I was only in this realm for a moment. But it was communicated to me that I still had a choice in all of it. I could choose to feel victimized by God, I could choose to loathe myself forever more because I had lost control of the car, or, in this perfect moment, I could choose to give my son to God, therefore exercising my free will in the entire situation. I could give my son to God and never have to feel as though he had been taken from me. I could let him go into the arms of God in gratitude for the time we had spent together in this life, transforming my pain and resentment into thankfulness. I squeezed my little boy close and kissed him on the forehead. I was able to give him back to God. Give him back to peace, comfort and home. Then I woke up, back in the hospital bed and all the injuries, both physical and emotional, but with an entirely new perspective. A perspective that felt as if I were remembering what I had always known, but had forgotten.

Please don’t get the wrong idea from all of this. It’s not like I had a horrific accident, then had some powerful near-death or out-of-body experiences, and then I was okay. It was not like that at all. I had a terrible accident, I experienced profound spiritual experiences, but it literally took me ten years to begin to put all the pieces together and transform in any profound way. For years I was lost, searching for all the love I had felt in those higher realms. I learned to walk again on a prosthetic limb. I made my way back to work. I had so many people around willing to assist me with all the mechanics of my life, but something was still missing. Even with all I had experienced, I was still searching for external validation in some way that I was okay. Even with the cosmic truth that had been downloaded into my very soul, it felt as if I were continually homesick to be in those Divine realms again.

It was not until I had additional spiritual breakthroughs almost ten years after the accident that things finally began to make sense and true transformation began. It was as if I had seen the sum, but did not know the equation, and until I saw how things added up, I would never make sense of all that had happened to me. I had experienced pure Divinity, but was still looking for it somewhere outside of myself. Only when I finally realized that all the answers were within me and remembered that I was actually Divine, did I become whole and healed. It was found not only in forgiving myself for all that had happened, but in truly loving myself. Only then did transformation take place. It was a big shift, and I had created it. By loving, forgiving and trusting myself, I created love and trust in the world around me. Only in loving myself did true love and true transformation materialize. Only in unconditional self-love could I heal the things that I was still searching for and truly love others and the world around me.

Transformation took place within me and by my free will and choice. It had come as a process. The process of life. And I had created it. I had the key the entire time. I simply hadn’t used it. Now I finally knew what God was telling me while in those beloved arms, but it took a long while before I ever actually comprehended it. I still have challenging days. I won’t pretend I don’t. I haven’t ever completely left behind my deceased loved ones, but I have let go of the pain. And in doing so I feel them near, often. I feel them in the small things. In dreams, in feathers miraculously left at my feet, in the breeze rustling through the leaves in the trees and in those quiet moments when I am open to the simple notion that they are near and may have a message for me. Transformation occurs in being open to seeing miracles in simple, everyday occurrences. The universe speaks to those who are listening. That is where true transformation takes place. It’s in the quiet whisper and not necessarily in some cosmic out-of-body experience.

On those challenging days when life seems to throw me another curve ball, I remember to be still, to be still and know. And what I know is that everything is in perfect order. That I, with God, angels and the entire universe, have created my life for the expansion and transformation of my already eternal soul. There is nothing at all to lose, but everything to gain, no matter how painful, joyful, stretching, confusing or bland and completely ordinary any moment may seem. My life is perfect for me because I created it that way, and the entire universe, knowing who I am and who we all are, said yes. That’s what unconditional love does.

I’ve learned to trust the process, to let it be and watch it all unfold, simply making my best choice in every moment along the way, with the knowledge that, in the end, I really cannot lose. There is too much love out there for it ever to let me down. I’ve also learned to find joy in the simple, normal things of life. The little things, in reality, are the big things. A sunset, hugging, laughing, crying, even in the quiet lonely moments is where I find the greatest joy. Listening to the wind or watching an insect navigate its way through its own transformational existence. Life is perfect in its simplicity. That’s where Heaven is: in the little things, the ordinary things of life. Look for them. Notice what you notice and you will see miracles and blessings everywhere. I do. And nothing really changed at all, except me. That is what true transformation is all about. Change your perspective and you truly will change the world.

This is a very powerful example of how Jeff’s experiences gave him a radically different perspective on the tragic losses he underwent because of the car accident. To recover from such an accident and overcome such life-changing injuries is a feat in itself, without having the additional heartache of losing his wife and son. Yet his experiences seem to have equipped him with the strength and understanding that have been an integral part of his healing. It has taken Jeff ten years to find that peace, but his experiences appear to have initiated the very powerful change in perspective which was key to his healing. Just what is it about these experiences that delivers such a shift in perception?

It is interesting that his most profound experience occurred when he was off narcotics. In my hospital research, I found that those who were administered strong painkillers and sedatives were less likely to report an NDE. It’s as if the drugs reduce the likelihood of these experiences occurring, as opposed to the popular misconception that drugs cause these experiences.

I wonder whether Jeff would have coped and been able to make a recovery, let alone find peace in his life, if he hadn’t experienced an NDE. There is still so much to learn from NDEs, and unless we look at cases such as Jeff’s and engage with them, we will disregard the benefits that can be gleaned for others.