FROM UNITY ONLINE RADIO
In the summer of 1967, when I was 17, I was riding my little motorbike on a country road in the Ohio farming community where my family lived. Suddenly a blue
car that had been following me bumped me slightly from
behind. As I frantically tried to recover my balance, the car
rammed into me hard enough that I flew off the bike.
I skidded across the road and into a ditch.
I remember wondering why the driver had hit me,
because I hadn’t done anything, and then I saw his car
turn around. I thought he was coming back to help me,
but instead, he drove up alongside me, pulled out a gun,
and shot me. I heard his car door open and close, followed
by footsteps walking over the gravel. Then I heard him
unzip his fly. I opened my eyes and saw him still aiming
the gun at me.
What happened next saved my life. I didn’t feel angry.
I didn’t feel afraid. I could have just been in shock or
maybe it was divine intervention—I don’t know—but in
that moment all I felt was compassion. Go figure. He’s hit
me with his car, he’s shot me, and now he’s about to sexually
assault me and shoot me again. Yet for some reason,
I just felt this depth of compassion for his pain. His arm
started to shake, and I could feel this struggle going on
inside him. Part of him truly wanted to shoot me again,
and another part couldn’t do it because I was just present
with him, with his soul. There’s nothing so powerful
as being present with another human being, silently
acknowledging we are soul travelers on the same pathway
together. It made all the difference.
It was as though a balloon had deflated. His arm
dropped, and he got back in his car and left. Later, I found
out that this man had sexually assaulted and murdered
quite a few women. I’m the only one who ever survived
Someone eventually drove by and called an ambulance,
and I went to the hospital. My pain was intense, and the
lights in the emergency room were so bright. Suddenly
everything got quiet and dark, and the pain receded.
I felt like I was inside a black bubble. But then it burst,
and golden light surrounded me.
I felt connected to everything and everyone. It was this
crazy feeling of being home. It seemed as though the life
I’d been living for 17 years was a dream, and this existence
with the golden light was reality.
Everybody who was alive now and who’d ever been
alive was there. We were all one—not separate from each
other—and yet we were also individuals. I know this
sounds contradictory, but in that place, it seemed natural.
I couldn’t conceive of time. I tried to think about
the past, but I couldn’t because it didn’t exist. The only
thing that seemed true was now—infused with an
amazing, familiar sense of love. I felt only love, and it was
inconceivable to try to think of anything that wasn’t love.
I saw a river of light, and I knew that to stay there I had
to get across it. When I got about halfway across, a voice
said, “You can’t come now. It’s not your time. There are
things you need to do.” I was suddenly yanked back into
The doctors later told me I had died. I lost a kidney, my
spleen, my adrenal gland, and eventually a significant part
of a lung. A tube was put into my heart. I still have a hole
through my spine. I was told I could never have children.
They said it was a miracle I lived.
My parents, who were chemists, were atheists who
believed that if you cannot prove anything scientifically,
it’s not real. However, my grandparents, who lived a few
thousand miles away, went to both Science of Mind and
Unity. My grandmother immediately contacted all of her
SAGE & SAVVY VOICES
of P resence