When someone passes away, he gives us the chance to reflect on life. Death is the only certain thing during our life on earth. It accompanies us from the first moment of our creation: with the first heart pulse that gives life to our body, we are ready to die as we are alive. The baby can die already during the first weeks in the mother's womb, or in the following months, or at birth, or shortly after that ... or in the first months and years of life, or a little later ... or in old age. No one suspects exactly when the moment will come, but we all know that it will certainly come. There is no guarantee for life but there is one for death. Then why do we pretend that something so close to us will never come? We are constantly trying to make certainty out of uncertain matters: What will the future bring? Who will I marry? When will I get married? What will be the names of my children? What will I be when I grow up? Where will I be in five years? And and and ... But we run away from the only certain thing. Hardly anyone wants to die and no one wants to live.
Sometimes when I think about why we are sitting in the current situation, I can't decide if I should laugh or cry. #stayhome #savelife. We must "save lives" at all costs. The enlightened ones among us know that this is just an excuse as this is certainly not about saving any lives. But why does this trick work so flawlessly? In all interpersonal relationships one does, the other lets it happen. The other day I read somewhere the following: "I would like to get 100, that's why I had myself vaccinated. But, if you'd rather die, I respect that too." Well, yeah! To what extent this planning will provide for eternal life will become clear with time at the latest. Some of us already have a guess. But honestly, why does someone want to become 100 years old at all and at what price, while we are all already long dead and only exist? Some time ago I told my family not to grieve and cry for me when I am ready to leave the earth. "Oh! Do you have to talk about such things now?" they asked. When is the right moment to talk about the only sure thing in our life's trajectory: at five, ten, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty, eighty? When are we ready to ponder and prepare for the inevitable?
My grandma passed away the other day.
And even though we all knew the day was coming - for there has never been a person who has been born and not died - we were unprepared for it. She was in a coma for seven days. Everyone was crying. Everyone felt powerless and I couldn't understand what was the cause of the turmoil. So I contacted my relative to be enlightened. On Sunday, May 9, I talked to my uncle on the phone.
"Why are you so anxious? She is giving us time to prepare," I said. "It's the uncertainty that's getting to me," he replied. "She'll be out of the hospital at the latest by Friday."
The reason for his discomfort was the uncertainty about the only certain matter. Then I talked to my other uncle on the phone. His story was as moving as his honesty.
"We can't prevent death, but we could change our view of it," he said. "I've come to realize that death is not the end. It's just as if the deceased goes from one room to another, becoming invisible to us. But he is there, among us."
I agreed with that. For me, death is only a transition from one form to another, invisible state of being. I know this from experience and physics: the principle of conservation of energy applies. This means, energy cannot be lost, but can only transform from one form to another. And the fact that we are made of energy is just as scientifically demonstrable as the air we breathe - when we want to: through the electrons in our bodies, which are very easily measurable and measured, such as by an electrocardiograph - also known as an ECG device. If the electrons are detectable in the living body and no longer in the dead body, then they must go somewhere after death, because they cannot have been lost. But I don't think we want to understand that. We don't even want to experience and know who we are and prefer to make a mystery out of banalities, turn the mundane into a taboo, and admire the rockets that are shot into the eel by people completely unknown to us and supposedly land on the moon and Mars, which we can never verify.
Aren't we funny, we Homo sapiens or in this case rather Homo faber? For we do not seem to be as reasonable and wise as this Latin term wants to express, however, we are all the more active in changing our environment. Can one go well without the other in long term?
My uncle, however, had no scientific explanation for his realization, on the contrary: His claim stood for him in a contradiction to sciences. Fair enough! Has anybody ever heard science speaking about such subjects? The "science" is busy to make the impossible possible, to make the mortal immortal, or to shoot senseless rockets into the eel. "Science" has no time to deal with earthly, reality-based things, like us humans and our life and death. I have studied science and I take the right to say something like this.
"I didn't read what I'm telling you in some smart book," my uncle put it to me, "but experienced it firsthand." One day before my grandmother had fallen into a coma, she had been restless. All morning she had been asking for my uncle, he told me. Then, when he was with her, he inquired about the reason for her worry.
"I thought you were dead," she had said. "What makes you think that?" my uncle had asked. "Your dad told me this morning that someone had passed away, but I didn't catch the name and thought it was you because I hadn't heard from you all morning."
At the same time, it was very important to my uncle to let me know that my grandma hadn't talked about any dream and hadn't said, "I dreamed about your dad," or "Your dad appeared to me in a dream." My grandpa passed away five years ago, but he had been in touch with my grandma throughout. Her children had worried she was suffering too much from the loss of her husband and was imagining things. But I believed her and knew she wasn't making things up and was speaking the truth.
When my uncle wanted to leave again, my grandmother had called him. "Someone in the family has died," she had said. "You have to find out who it is now." My uncle had run down the stairs pondering who could have died since no one had been sick or close to death. As he had reached the hospital exit, his cell phone rang. His cousin's husband had passed away unexpectedly a few hours earlier, he was taught from the other end of the receiver. "So I understood," my uncle said to me after he had finished telling his story, "that we do not mourn for the deceased, but for ourselves, for our powerlessness and ignorance, for our disability due to our limited senses. We cry not because they are gone, but because we can no longer perceive them in their new form with our sensory modes, and that hurts."
In the next seven days, while my grandma was in a coma and all the relatives and acquaintances were crying their eyes dry because they were worried about my grandma's physical well-being, two people were busy with something completely different: Me and a person whose identity I won't reveal here - I'll call her "Mina".
It all started with a dream,
in which my grandma gave the impression that she wanted to depart and something was holding her here. Mina and I tossed and turned all night until dawn, trying to figure out what was keeping my comatose grandma's soul from leaving and how we could help her, and we came to a result. But we realized as well that this was a difficult matter that we couldn't solve quickly. And we didn't want my grandma's soul to remain in discord for that long. I made phone calls to my concerned relatives to try to find a way to free my grandma's soul with their help, and was very surprised - or not - about their reactions. My parents took the matter very seriously and tried to think along and take action, but with everyone else, I failed in my first sentence.
"I have a strong feeling that grandma can't depart because something is holding her here," I told them, "what could it be?" "No idea! I don't think about such things," was the general response or my matter was not taken seriously at first. "But if a soul wants to leave, then we must help it to find peace, otherwise it will stay here and suffer," I replied. "Is now the right moment to talk about something like that?"
For me, this experience was another confirmation that we pay little to no attention to the invisible, or at least not as much as we pay attention to the material and visible things. As if the soul was not there, never existed, a conspiracy theory - just like the immune system in the meantime, which nobody wants to know anymore. But we consist up to 98% of spirit and only 2% of matter. Is what occupies the soul of a person not as important as his physical condition, if not even more essential? A healthy body is the result of a healthy mind and the mind can be wholesome only when it is free, that is its nature. And I did not understand when is the right moment to talk about death. Not even when someone is already in a coma?
Since my parents couldn't do much, especially ´cause they are far away from the happenings and can only change and move things to a very limited extent, I had to come up with something myself. I asked my grandma to visit me in my dreams and give me a hint. Nothing happened. I did the same with my grandpa, equally in vain. For three nights I couldn't sleep a wink brooding over what I could do for my grandma so far away from her and powerless as I am. And that didn't sit well with me because I am convinced that we are much more powerful than we realize. Aren´t we the creator ourselves? So I prayed and asked my higher self for help, support and guidance. On Thursday, May 13th, I woke up with an idea: I should send a voice message to my grandmother, ghosted through my mind. "But what do I tell her to give her peace?" I couldn't address the real reason for her restlessness directly, because the matter was to remain secret until I found a solution, and someone had to play my message for her. So I asked my higher self to speak through me and started to record. After I finished speaking, an image appeared in my vision: I saw my aunt playing the voice message to her, saying goodbye and leaving the room, and my grandma passing away. This picture frightened me so much that I deleted the voicemail immediately. Was that really what I wanted? I thought about what I had said and couldn't find any secret messages that would free my grandma, so I decided that the image in my vision must have been just imagination and made a new recording that I sent to my aunt.
The next day on the way to my uncle, my aunt made a quick stop at the hospital: an impromptu visit. She shared the news with my grandma, put a prayer under her pillow, ran my voice message, said goodbye, and left the room. As she reached the exit of the hospital, her cell phone rang... That had been the nurse. My grandma passed away on the Friday after Ascension Day, just a few minutes after she had heard my voicemail.
Mina swore that the deliverance had been in my voicemail. I didn't want to believe that. I listened to the message over and over to find out if I might have sent her a secret message between my "banal" words assuring her that she could go in peace because I would take care of the matter that would keep her soul here. But I could find nothing. However, I also could not believe that the arrival of my message and my grandmother's departure had been a coincidence. She had been in a coma for six days and her condition was unchanged - she had not deteriorated. I had already started to close the file. I was left with only one explanation: if I didn't even address what - according to my assumption - didn't let her go in my message, and she went anyway, then my assumption was wrong. Nothing held her here and the arrival of my voice message and her death are in no causal connection to each other. Yet, if it were that simple ... Despite all the art of distracting myself from this issue and bringing it to a close, it haunted me all weekend. I thought all the time about this obvious coincidence, which could not be a coincidence at all, and listened to the voice message until I was struck by the lightning of the spirit earlier and solved the mystery.
I don't want to tell this story to create even more prejudice than already exists.
The time when we compared ourselves to the developing countries to be able to shine next to them with our apparent freedom is long gone. "Fatima from Afghanistan must wear a headscarf and is forcibly married at twelve, ergo Fatima from Afghanistan has no freedom. Chantal from Europe is allowed to jump around half-naked, land on billboards for advertising purposes, star in porn, become a stripper, and drink alcohol, ergo Chantal from Europe is a free person," was yesterday. By now at the latest, we should all have realized how hypocritical this illusion of freedom had been, along with almost everything else we had ever been told. Are women no longer raped and beaten in Europe and is child abuse water over the dam? My beautician, who sometimes wears three masks on top of each other (two greens and one FFP2), perhaps because I don't wear one, told me the other day: "The violation of human rights in Africa concerns me a lot and the Muslim women who are oppressed and have as few rights as the Africans." "In Africa, at least they still have the right to breathe fresh air without needing a certificate or being punished," I gave her to think, "Let's just stay in Europe and mind our own business. This will keep us busy for a very long time. We'll save the trip to Africa for our next vacation."
My grandmother had a fulfilled life for her circumstances and her time and according to her own values. I want to tell her story here as this is the least I can do for her, and because I don't believe that it is important how old we get in the end, but much more that we live and what our life and our death move in other people, and because I am sure that we all could learn something from this story. My grandmother got married very young. It hadn't been a forced marriage in that sense, and she wasn't sold or exchanged for anything, and my grandpa was only five years older than her. But whether she married voluntarily, I can't say either. What did she know about life anyway? This was the custom back then and no one questioned it, just like people now don't question the masks, the PCR test, the measures, the vaccines, and everything else. It's all "normal" now because the majority lets it happen to them. That is how "normal" is defined: according to the norms. And a norm is what the mass agree to and follow.
Her first child came to the earth, when she was eighteen, or rather the first child that survived, because before that she had already lost three children. She was illiterate and perhaps she would have written her own story if she could write. True, she had tried and tried a few times, but ... that was not her thing. Her life consisted of her family. Her main concern was always the children, then the grandchildren, then her relatives, the neighbors. She worried about everything and everyone except herself. It's hard for me to judge how things must have been much earlier, but for as long as I can remember, my grandma hadn't made a single decision for herself. Her curtains, furniture, decorations in her house, just about everything, to make a long story short, were chosen by her children. Of course out of "love", and because they wanted to help her. Even her clothes were chosen by my aunt and uncle when she wanted to go out. She was born in a peaceful little village at the foot of a hill, and she had lived in the big city all over her life, where she never really felt at home. If she ever longed for her little village, they wouldn't let her go. I begged my relatives to let her go.
"How do you imagine that? She can't be there alone," they said.
My grandma was treated like an underage child, even though - until she was hospitalized two weeks ago - she was taking care of herself. I don't know how it started, that the woman who once took care of everyone, and had raised four children, was patronized by those same children. But I knew one thing for sure: since this pattern of behavior continues to be copied from generation to generation, I had to consciously break away from it so as not to do the same to my own mother. As I recalled all this earlier, I suddenly realized that Mina was right: the redemption had indeed been in my voicemail. The matter that wouldn't let my grandma go was the concern for one of her children, and a very banal phrase between my words had set her free.
"We all want you to stay with us. But if you'd rather leave, that would be very selfish of me to ask you to stay here. We pray for you that your will may happen and that you are at peace. If you want to go, then let go. It is said that when the world is on the brink of destruction and only one soul keeps the hope in his heart, he alone will manage to save the whole world and humanity. I want you to know, I am that soul, and will carry the candle of hope in my heart until the end of my days."
If I had been aware of what my words may result in on that Thursday, I might never have said them. After all, who wants someone to die? But today I am glad that I did it because that moment was possibly the only one in which my grandmother was truly alive: the moment when she decided for herself for the first time in her life and thought of herself: in her coma and shortly before her departure.
Sometimes, when I talk about my experiences, people ask me why my life is so full of extraordinary events.
I always say that every life on earth is full of extraordinary happenings, one pays attention to them, the other does not. I take things seriously that are to be taken seriously, like dreams, signs, my intuition, and inner voice. And I follow up on things until I find an answer. The story with my grandma started with a dream, that wasn't even my own. But I listened and took it seriously. And the dreamer (Mina) is - from the adult point of view - a child. For me, however, she is more adult than most adults I know. But I also take children very seriously, because I know that they know things that adults in their permanent comas could not even dream of. And so, a "child" with her dream, attention, mindfulness, sensitivity, and acumen had helped an elderly person find peace while the adults around her, wept for their powerlessness. They all had the chance to actively participate, to experience something extraordinary, and to no longer feel powerless - for example, when I called them. But they chose to stay in their powerlessness and pretend that things were beyond their powers and possibilities. Mina said something very wise:
"I used to be very cowardly. When I came to tenth grade, I told myself I wanted to be brave. And I became brave. It took a while, but I am becoming. From that experience, I learned that we become what we decide to be."