I Think I Died

SMYTHE CONTINUED TO MORE DEEPLY WORK THROUGH OLD WOUNDS that surfaced during the conference. She dove into old emotional blocks and limiting beliefs and examined them as she would an old pair of running shoes; reflecting on the influence they played in all of her decisions, her thought patterns and accompanying behaviors. Given this ongoing work, professionally, she continued to press forward and expand her business.

Over a few months, by invitation only, she held several half-day workshops working with community members who wanted to shift into more abundant ways of living. On one particular evening, Artie and her team watched as Smythe worked with community members as they began the process of releasing some of their own limiting beliefs. Artie listened intently as Smythe worked with several people who stood to ask questions, only to pour out their sorrow before the audience. As Artie observed Smythe, it seemed to her as if Smythe were reading the very essence of her audience members. Smythe asked the right questions, made connections between their limiting beliefs and their current behavior, and made suggestions for each person who chose vulnerability that night.

“That was impressive,” Artie said, sitting in the back of the SUV with Smythe.

“Thanks. It’s all based on the material I’ve studied. My mentor asked that we immerse ourselves in it and trust it, and I have.”

“It seems beyond that, though. I watched your gaze—you were transfixed on each person, especially that last woman. There seemed to be so many issues that distressed her. I honestly had a hard time figuring out which one of the issues most concerned her. You seemed to be listening to her on a level I don’t understand, and somehow figured it out. Yet, there was something else in the way you understood her.”

“You give me too much credit. Her issues were all connected, so I simply chose the first one. As she continued to speak, it was clear that every example she offered was tied to the first issue.”

“Yeah, I get that, but how did you figure it out?”

“One of the keys my mentor taught us during the conference was that a lot of issues are based on a limiting belief. As she and everyone else spoke, I do what I always do. I pray. I simply asked that I would get out of the way, and that the Universe help me understand and then speak to me, and I in turn to her. So, as she spoke, I could hear my Beloved. It is the sound of a gentle whisper in my ear, and I often get a tingle down my spine.

“But, still, it all requires that I just stand there with an open heart, without judgement. If I did that, I just knew the Universe would reveal the right questions to ask in order to assist her in shifting her perspective. Or I’d remembered a passage in the material I studied or the supplemental reading I’ve done to support my mentor’s material and had a knowing it fit in. The idea is to offer a different perspective to any given situation and allow each person to mine their thoughts and dig up and confront their own limiting beliefs.”

“Well, I’m all the better for witnessing what took place. I think she will be, too.”

“I hope so. I remember a quote I once read. Something to the effect that God cannot be held to the earthly traditions of man and uses ordinary people to do extraordinary things. If I can help someone else, it’s what makes all of this worth it.”

Smythe was beginning to flourish, and she felt like she was in her element. The more workshops she offered, the more confident she became. Yet, with her constant external companions always surrounding her, she began to sense areas of emotional constriction within her spirit.

Her biggest constriction was the constriction of her heart. It was taking up a considerable amount of her time as of late, reminding her daily of love. It told her while she had agape love for friends and family, she still needed romantic love and a willing belonging to another. It was there that her heart told her she would grow and, one morning while studying, she had enough.

There is an uneasiness I have about Artie. What am I not facing?

She began to recollect all of the books she had come across on the construct of attraction and love. Those books had all but scared her away from the idea of relationships, and her ego pattern confirmed the fear through its own brand of torture that roared into her consciousness.

You’re simply not good in relationships. People disappoint you. Besides, she’ll want you to change. You’ll change and won’t be your authentic self. Just be single; it’s easier.

Yet, her heart continued to sing… and it was singing of Artie. To her consternation, she found herself inextricably, soulfully attracted to her. Hoping to side with her ego and tuck the growing feelings for Artie safely away, Smythe decided she needed to write out her thoughts in her journal.

There is a tendency when we find ourselves romantically attracted to another to begin to visualize the ideal relationship with that other. We place our needs, wants, and desires onto them. If we are not careful, it becomes an expectation that the other could never completely fulfill. I wonder if it is possible to simply be attracted and be mindful of what I am needing. If I need to be protected and safe, can I create that protection and safety within myself, without seeking to have her fulfill that? If I need her to demonstrate a deep sense of love for me, can I provide that deep sense of love in myself rather than searching for it from her? If I need strength, do I not possess that within myself? If I need vulnerability, am I not capable of demonstrating that to myself? Whatever I seek in another is the pointer to offer that to myself. Am I willing to express my needs to her?

Smythe continued to write, and as she did, she continued to dissect her thoughts. She was hoping not to inch toward love, but instead to put away any tangible movement toward it.

So, what is the glimmer? What in Artie am I attracted to? Certainly, her strength of character. Yes, her tenderness and insightfulness as well. I must admit, I am embarrassed at my weak—

Smythe abruptly stopped her line of thought.

There it is.

“Weakness,” she murmured.

She caught herself thinking she was learning to become more vulnerable in front of Artie. Struck by her slip of the thought, she immediately recognized her subconscious gave her insight into her own limiting belief.

Do you really see your display of vulnerability as weakness?

She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, listening intently to her ego. It told her it had been bruised, battered, and taken advantage of. It told her that it was afraid to be vulnerable for fear of being hurt again.

Her heart, however, also spoke. It told her that it desperately wanted to love again. And it said that it wanted to try with Artie.

Smythe opened her eyes, allowing herself to drift her gaze into the living room. Sitting on the sofa, bent over her own laptop, was the person of her affection. Sensing Smythe had quieted her thoughts for a moment, Artie looked toward her.

“Hey, you want to grab something to eat? We’ve been at this for a while. It’s now 2:00. I need a break. How about you?”

Smythe gazed deeply into Artie’s eyes, still transfixed in thought.

“Hellooo, Artie to Smythe?”

“It hit me just now, like a ton of bricks. Years ago, I think I died.”

“What?!” Artie exclaimed, her mouth agape.

“Yeah, I did.” Smythe frowned and wondered why that thought burped from her mouth.

“Well, aren’t you full of surprise and adventure,” Artie said as she walked to the dining room table. She took a seat across from Smythe and waited in rapt silence for a more robust explanation of the event.

“I had gone in for routine surgery. Unfortunately, I had a thyroid condition, and for some reason, during the procedure, my lungs started to fill with liquid. According to the anesthesiologist, I was drowning. What I remember was, at some point, I was looking down on my body, which was inverted—my head was pointed toward the floor, and my legs were higher than my heart.”

Smythe demonstrated by holding her hand in front of her and pointing her fingers toward the floor at an angle, indicating her fingertips as her head and the top of her hand as her body.

“Everyone in the surgery room worked quietly but quickly. I could sense their feelings. There was a sense of surprise and panic, as if there was nothing in my chart which would indicate this should have happened.

“The next thing I remember, I was no longer in the operating room. I didn’t seem to have a body, but I was conscious that at one time, I did have a body. It was completely dark, just blackness. I couldn’t see, but I was aware of a presence that was just out of reach of my sight. It—it terrified me. I remember being there, wondering if I was in a Christian version of hell.”

Artie involuntarily pooched her lips out and bit them.

“Don’t give me that look. I had been attending an evangelical church at the time, so there was that influence.”

Artie nodded in understanding. “Hey, I’m Catholic. I get it.”

“Today, I now wonder if I were on the outskirts of the quantum field. Everything I’ve read indicates the quantum field, if it could be described, is complete and utter blackness, void of anything physical.

“Sorry, I digress. So, I was just there, and all I could think about was that I had taken my life for granted. I thought of things I still wanted to do, but because I thought I had all the time in the world, I just kept putting off my dreams.”

“We all do that at some point.”

“Yeah, well, that’s all I kept thinking about. I took it all for granted. I took it all for granted. Slowly, a dim light began to rise out of nowhere, but not toward me. It was illuminating the figure just outside of my line of sight, and I remember having an impression that it was Jesus.

“He was dressed in all white. I couldn’t make him out completely, but his voice was one of deep love. If love had a voice, his voice was it. I could tell he was looking at me. I didn’t hear his voice audibly, but I knew his voice.

“He said, ‘I have always loved you and will never leave you, but you must fight, Smythe. You have given up, and in giving up, the stepping stones you’ve used to climb have cut into you as you have fallen.’

“He said that my life was one of perfection. That I was the expression of the character of God in all that I am. I recalled at that moment, that, in the last few years, I had given up. I don’t remember why—but I let something in me die. I remember, as though seeing through His eyes when He was speaking, that in giving up, I had fallen. When I fell, there were sharp edges cutting into me.

“He said, ‘Fight, Smythe. Fight for your life. Begin to climb and do not stop until you reach the top.’ I remember beginning to climb. There were sharp hand- and footholds, and whenever I slipped, those holds would cut into me. I remember wondering what I had become, and then, in a flash, I was in post-op throwing up. People around me were telling me it was alright, and some were even clapping. I heard someone say, ‘Thank God!’

“For a few months after that, I was angry. I was more angry at God than myself. I never spoke to anyone about it. At times, I thought it was a figment of my imagination, but over time, I began to read about similar after-death experiences. I became even more enraged, partly because everybody I read about was describing pie in the sky experiences. They met loved ones. They were given a choice to return to their lives. Blah, blah, blah. That wasn’t me, though. It’s taken a few years, Artie, and a lot of physical, financial, and psychological sweat and tears to finally more fervently fight for my life. Yet, there are still areas where I have not been as brave as I’ve needed to be.”

“How so?”

“Well—” Smythe started, cut off by the sound of Artie’s cellphone ringing.

“Hold that thought,” Artie said, removing her com set earbud and reaching to answer her phone.

Smythe rose from her dining room chair and headed into her bedroom. She was having second thoughts about talking to Artie about her feelings for her. She changed out of her flannel shirt as she had now become too warm to wear it and put on a T-shirt. When she headed back into the dining room, Artie was still on the phone. She seemed irritated with whomever she was speaking with.

“Look, I don’t care. You earn great money. I have not asked you for a dime in caring for him. He’s your son, too, so pick up the tab! Goodbye!”

Smythe walked into the kitchen, opened her refrigerator, and grabbed a couple of beers. She walked over to Artie and handed her one.

“I know you’re still on the clock, but I thought just this one time.”

Artie gave a half-hearted smile to Smythe and took the bottle from her.

“Sorry about that. It was my son’s father.”

“What’s going on, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Nah, I don’t mind.” Artie let out a slow breath.

“They’re heading to Maui next month for a couple of weeks, and for some reason, Davey’s father believes I should foot half the bill. I gave him written permission to take Davey, but that doesn’t include paying for the trip. He’s been angling for money ever since Davey arrived.”

“Wow. Isn’t that a bit presumptuous of him? Sorry, I know little of custody.”

“Right!? It is. It just tells me that either he isn’t making as many business deals, or that caring for Davey is costing him more than he had anticipated.”

“Didn’t you say he’s a millionaire?”

“A cheap one at that. He’s extremely frugal with money, which I can appreciate, but he decided he wanted Davey in his life. In fact, over the years, he’s all but begged to have more time with him. Obviously, he didn’t factor in a financial responsibility that comes with more time. At any rate, enough of my drama. Where were we?” Artie said, feeling the need to change the subject.

“Talking about you,” Smythe said with a grin.

“Nah, I don’t think so,” Artie teased.

“Yes, I’m sure of it. You asked me if I wanted to grab a bite to eat. I said a few things, you received a phone call, and we are now discussing you.”

Smythe began to rise from her chair, but Artie reached out for her hand and motioned for her to remain seated. Smythe reluctantly re-seated herself. She placed her remaining hand over Artie’s and stared at them.

“Look,” Smythe started. “We are always discussing what’s in my head. Rarely do we discuss you. I like you, Artie, and I’d really like to stop being so selfish and hear what’s going on with you.”

“You like me?!” Artie said, feigning disbelief. “You like me? Me, the one that keeps you cooped up— your words—like a prisoner? Now you dig your jailer?”

“Well, you’re kind of growing on me. But you keep that up, and I’ll think twice about it.”

Smythe removed her hands and looked across at Artie. Artie was searching Smythe’s eyes when a knock at the door interrupted them.

Artie quickly rose from the dining chair and motioned Smythe into the back portion of her apartment. Artie took a defensive position to the side of the door, drawing her weapon and pointing it toward the door. As she held her position, she realized she had removed her ear com bud from her ear when she answered the call from her son’s father and had yet to put it back in, essentially removing herself from communication with her team.

“Who is it?” she demanded.

To her relief, it was a member of Team 1 reporting in. He had attempted to reach Artie by the com link, and her lack of response put into motion a tactical response from the team. She opened the door.

“Sorry, guys. We’re good. Thanks for the check.” The team member nodded and returned to his post.

“Smythe, it’s all clear.”

Smythe sauntered out of her bedroom. “Well, it’s a good thing. I just cleaned yesterday. Last thing I need is blood and guts all over the place.”

“Want to grab something to eat?” Artie asked.

“Annnd, we’re right back to where we started. Yes. Yes, I do. I’m thinking pizza.”

“And I’m thinking Greek.”

“Um, no. Beer and Greek, they don’t go together. Well, at least for my taste buds. Beer and pizza do.”

“I just can’t with you,” Artie said, shaking her head and smiling in Smythe’s direction. She opened the apartment door and raised her hand, signaling to a member of Team 1 to be prepared to travel in five minutes.