I never saw it coming.
At around 9:00 p.m. on a chilly March evening in 1999, I was headed home after buying a loaf of bread from a neighborhood corner store a few blocks from my apartment. I had walked this route every day for 10 years. I always needed one thing or another, and I liked to walk in the evenings to unwind after 12-hour days working as a plumber. The store stayed open until 10:00 p.m. every night, so it was the perfect destination whenever I wanted some fresh air. These streets were safe, not known for criminal activity, though crazy, in-a-hurry drivers sometimes blew through stop signs or ran red lights.
I consider myself a pretty observant guy. I was always on the go in my city—the Bronx—and usually on foot. I had developed a habit of looking both ways when I crossed busy streets.
But that night was different. Maybe I was lost in my thoughts, thinking about the next day’s plumbing job. To be honest, I don’t remember walking at all. By the time I realized what was happening, it was already too late.
I was standing at the curb, about to cross the street, when a car with no lights on came out of nowhere. It plowed into me, and I went hurtling into the air. After I smacked down, my legs, trunk, shoulders, and head skidded on the asphalt. The friction nearly ground my skin and muscle to the bone.
I didn’t see the driver. I couldn’t tell you the make, model, or even the color of the car. All I can tell you is that I was 40 years old when I died.
Up until that horrible accident, I lived a pretty ordinary life. I was born into an Italian-Catholic family. We attended church regularly and observed all the traditional Catholic holidays.
I grew up in Riverdale, an Irish-Jewish neighborhood in the northwest Bronx. Riverdale is a sliver of land along the Hudson River that sits on hilly ground. Most people think of the Bronx as being a war zone with crime, drugs, and poverty—but not Riverdale. It was a tree-filled place of single-family homes, nice apartments—even mansions—with great views of the river. Riverdale provided a strong sense of community to those of us who grew up there. Today the neighborhood is filled with expensive condos and has become a very trendy place to live.
I went to Catholic school and was a pretty good student despite not studying much. After school, my friends and I hung out together. Nowadays kids don’t go out; they stay glued to computer and TV screens and cell phones. It was sure different back then. With few organized activities and no hovering parents to schedule us, we took to the streets to create our own fun. It was a world of baseball, football, street hockey, and bike riding. We’d get frustrated if cars came by. I developed very muscular calves from riding my bike up and down the hills of Riverdale about an hour and a half every day.
My family lived in a two-story building, and we occupied the second floor. Next to the building was an empty lot. My friends and I used to play out there all the time. One of the trees had a swing that was a lot of fun. Riverdale was a great place for us kids.
I’d stay out until five o’clock, when my parents wanted me to come in for supper. My mom was and still is an excellent Italian cook who took great pleasure in making meals for her family. That translates into “Clean up your plate. I worked hard on this meal!” Her rich, sauce-laden dinners; the piles of bread and pasta; and our nightly desserts didn’t help my waistline. I had the kind of body that used to be referred to as “husky,” which is a polite way of saying “fat.” Being an overweight kid made shopping for school clothes a nightmare.
My old school photos tell the story. Back then, I favored stripes paired with bold, solid colors. So you could say that as a kid, I was fat, not very stylish, and apparently somewhat color-blind.
During the summer, I’d be sent to the Catholic school camp. But I’d run away. I didn’t like structure. I preferred to spend time at the swim club in my neighborhood, where there was an Olympic-size outdoor pool. My friends had the keys to open and close the place, so I got to swim after work. I swam in some local races and even won a few gold medals. The pool was a comfortable place for me. When you’re overweight, water keeps you buoyant. Floating in water, you don’t feel as big as you do walking on land in a giant body.
I was always an industrious kid because I liked having my own money, and I wanted to save for a car. When I was 11 years old, I got a paper route. I developed 60 to 70 regular subscribers. They liked my dependability and tipped me well. I had to get up at 5:30 a.m. to prepare my papers for delivery, so I got used to a rigorous work schedule before I was even a teenager. The papers had to be on everyone’s doorstep by 7:00 a.m. I learned to work hard and fast, delivering papers by bike and sometimes on foot.
The newspaper franchise was owned by a man who was an alcoholic. He would drink away all the profits each week. Frustrated, his wife asked me to collect the money, and then lock it up for safekeeping so he couldn’t get to it. I did what she asked and gave him only $50 a week. I became the gatekeeper of the profits because she trusted me.
After my paper route, I would hurry home to get ready for school. I had a long bus ride every morning, and I used that time to cram in any homework I hadn’t finished the night before.
In the winter, the swim club turned into a skating rink. That’s where, at age 14, I got my next job. I always loved to work, and I learned how to do every job that needed doing at the rink. I drove the power sweeper, which was great fun. I helped everyone out with their skate rentals. I sold pizza and soda at the concession stand.
The rink was the popular local hangout. Families from around the neighborhood, both parents and kids, would crowd the rink on the weekends. This was the ’70s, and it was a place of carefree escapism. Back then, New York City and the surrounding boroughs were in a state of decline, with cutbacks in quality-of-life services such as the police department, the parks department, and schools. This was the era of the blackouts, too, when the power system of the city just collapsed, and millions of people were plunged into darkness. Looting erupted all over, and many buildings were burned down.
So people came to the rink to forget and have fun. I can close my eyes and it’s like I’m back there. I can still hear the metal blades churning up fresh ice. I can see kids lacing up their skates. I can see girlfriends and boyfriends happily gliding hand in hand to the rich sounds of old-fashioned organ music. No one had to worry about anything. The rink was a respite—a winter wonderland in the middle of an often-chaotic city.
Through my job at the rink, I discovered that I really liked working with the public. You could say that I’m a people person: I was never too shy to strike up a conversation with a stranger, and I’m like that now. I’ll talk to anybody! So it didn’t take very long before I knew just about everyone who came to the rink. I enjoyed watching the good skaters practice their tricks on the ice. As for me, I was an awful skater.
My parents were diligent savers and definitely instilled in me a strong work ethic and sense of independence. They didn’t believe in credit and bought only things they could afford to pay for with cash. They raised me to be the same way. I saved all my paper route money. But I knew that if I was going to buy that car someday, I needed to keep my paper route, plus work at the skating rink to speed up my savings plan.
It worked. Within weeks of getting my driver’s license, I bought my dream car: a silver 1976 Mercury Cougar—a real beauty! I paid cash for it with my earnings from both jobs. It felt great to be able to do that. I was so proud of myself for being such a good saver. I’ve had many cars since then, but that Cougar is my favorite.
I drove it for a while, but I ended up giving the car to my father because he didn’t have a vehicle of his own. My dad had ridden the bus to work every day, without complaint, for as long as I could remember. When I was able to give him that car, it made me feel really good.
My father worked hard all his life. He had served in the navy, and after World War II, he got a job as an elevator inspector. My mom was employed part-time in a clothing store. My parents rarely missed a day of work. They didn’t believe in absenteeism unless you were at death’s door. They set a great example for me; I went through high school with a perfect attendance record.
We didn’t have all that much, but I never felt poor. We had nice Christmas holidays and took occasional vacations. Looking back, I marvel at what my parents were able to provide on so little income.
When I wasn’t at school or on the job, I was helping out at home. My parents depended upon me. I was never in trouble, and I always thought of myself as a “good boy.”
When I graduated from high school, it was really time to get to work. I never went to college. I was so busy taking care of things at home that I didn’t have the opportunity or time to pursue higher education. For a long time, I had it in the back of my mind that I wanted to enter the priesthood. Ultimately, I decided to go to vocational school and learn the plumbing trade. I knew several plumbers in my neighborhood, and they seemed to do okay. I was good with my hands. I liked people, so plumbing became my trade.
I enjoyed being a plumber. After a while, I went into business with a longtime friend. I would bid and plan the jobs, and I started to make a decent living. Of course, if you were bidding private jobs, there was monkey business and nepotism to deal with, but I made my fair share, and I liked my work. I was a decent plumber—an average, run-of-the-mill guy trying to do his best every day and help other people out.
Fortunately, I was able to live near my family and was proud of being able to take care of them, since everyone was getting older. When I was 23, my grandma gave me a little plot of land. I built a house for her there, from the ground up, and paid cash for it. She lived there for only three weeks before she passed away. It was sad, but I was glad to have given her a new home.
My upbringing had a positive influence on me. That neighborhood, those streets, and those jobs helped form me. It was where family was first, honesty was strength, and the core values were hard work and looking out for one another. Everything about it holds a memory, a life that’s dear to me.
And then I died—and was taken to Heaven.
I don’t remember what happened on that fateful walk, and I definitely don’t recall being hit. All those details were filled in for me later by others. According to those who have had similar experiences, it’s not uncommon to experience amnesia regarding the events that occur just before you cross over to Heaven.
I now know that what happened to me can be classified as a near-death experience or NDE. From what I’ve learned over the years, NDEs have some common elements, though people who have them have their own unique experiences and encounters.
During my trip to Heaven, I was reunited with loved ones, met angels, got a glimpse of God, and learned divine teachings. I knew it was all true and not a dream or hallucination. But I felt people would think I was nuts if I told them what I saw and experienced there. Well, I did tell my mom, who told our priest, who told her I was crazy! So I kept the experience to myself for many years. I didn’t even know why I was chosen to go to Heaven, because I am the most ordinary, down-to-earth guy you’d ever meet.
Now I know that God wants me to share my story with you, so that you know not only what to expect after this life is over but also how to live in the highest state of health possible, starting today. I will tell you what Heaven looked like to me: the heavenly dwellings; the angels; the flowers and trees; the mountains, lakes, and oceans; the people, babies, and animals; the schools in Heaven; and more. I’ll describe my experience to the best of my ability, but anyone who has had a near-death experience will tell you that there are no words in any language that can truly capture the exquisite essence of being in Heaven.
After I tell you about Heaven, I’m going to explain the eight revelations I was given, one by one, so they can sink into your spirit. A revelation is something that might always have been evident, but few people have seen it or realized it. Sometimes it’s an inspiring truth or piece of knowledge given to a person by a divine source. That’s what happened to me.
With each revelation, my dear friend and coauthor, Stephen Sinatra, MD, will tell you, drawing from his expertise, why it is medically and scientifically true. Then we’ll give you some action steps and exercises to show you how to apply the revelation to your life.
The essence of these revelations and Dr. Sinatra’s recommendations support the fact that the body, mind, and spirit are all made of energy. Albert Einstein taught this in his quantum physics: that all things are made of vibrating energy.
If you looked at yourself under a powerful electron microscope, you’d see that you are made up of a cluster of vibrations—moving energy—in the form of atoms. And so is everything else around you—other people, animals, plants, food, and rocks. They all vibrate. So do the cells, organs, and systems in all living organisms.
A vibration, or vibe, is a distinct feeling, and it can be bad or good. You might walk through a neighborhood or city and feel a good vibe or a bad vibe. Even thoughts and emotions vibrate. A simple elevation in vibration can change depression to happiness, fear to faith, and disease to health. For example, the emotional energy of a person, place, or thing causes a vibration that can be felt by most people as positive or negative. You know this yourself. You may pick up a good or bad vibe when you are around a certain person. Our vibrations announce who we are to the world and how we might be feeling at any given time.
Vibration thus holds a special place in virtually every aspect of our lives, particularly our health—a principle that was revealed to me in Heaven and is one of the cornerstones of Dr. Sinatra’s approach to healing. If you want to attract better health, for example, you must raise your vibration through your actions and choices. A higher vibration is a magnet for positive results, and a low vibration is a magnet for negative results.
Everything vibrates at a different “frequency,” which is a measure of how many times something swings back and forth—for example, a playground swing, a pendulum, or your legs as you walk. These movements begin at a fixed point, then swing to another, and return to the same place at which they started. This swinging and returning back is one vibration. The more rapidly something vibrates, the higher its frequency. Frequency is measured in hertz. One hertz (or Hz for short) is one vibration per second.
Some scientists have even measured the energy frequencies of bodily organs. According to Mark Mincolla, PhD, writing in his book Whole Health, an American inventor and scientist named Dr. Royal Raymond Rife measured many living frequencies in the 1920s and 1930s. The heart, for example, is supposedly 67 to 70 Hz; the lungs, 58 to 65 Hz; and the brain, 4 to 30 Hz. A healthy human body has an average frequency of between 62 and 72 Hz. Rife and other early scientists felt that if the frequency drops below this range, the immune system is vulnerable to the invasion of pathogens, such as parasites, bacteria, viruses, molds, and different types of fungus. These pathogens not only affect the way the body operates but also dump harmful toxins into the bloodstream.
Many medical scientists and doctors are beginning to believe that pathogens might be wiped out safely if countered by measures that promote a higher rate of vibration. Interestingly, research on humans has already shown that exposure to frequencies of 20 to 50 Hz can help broken bones grow, mend, and become stronger, according to a 2002 report in the Townsend Letter for Doctors and Patients.
Mind-body interventions such as positive thinking can raise your vibration, whereas negative thinking can lower it. When you realize that your thoughts and emotions are vibrating, too, you’ll appreciate the fact that you can begin to alter your health by changing what you think and how you feel. The challenge is, of course, to commit completely to the new thought patterns. Many of us are programmed from childhood to have thoughts of poor self-esteem, lack of confidence, fear, and scarcity, among others. But if you change these patterns of thoughts and feelings, you can raise your vibration and bring into your life what you truly desire—for example, better health; a happier, more positive outlook; or spiritual enlightenment.
The simplest way to accomplish this is to flood the physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual body with higher vibrational energy, which I will teach you how to do. This produces several benefits: It flushes out discordant energy, allows the body to heal itself, and reprograms your subconscious mind with a more affirmative belief system. You come to believe in yourself, that you deserve happiness and health and that virtually anything is possible for you.
How do you get to this point?
The answer is found in the eight heavenly revelations described in this book and in the medical corroboration and practices that support them. These revelations—and their real-life applications—will show you how to understand your personal vibration, elevate it, and use it to change your life and your health.
I have so much to tell you. I invite you to be my companion as I describe my journey to Heaven and back and all that I learned. Although these truths were given to me, I eventually realized that they are for all of us and can change the lives of everyone for the better. So together, we’ll see what Heaven—our true home—is really like.
I hope this journey transforms you as it transformed me.