Written by Steve Beckow
Listen. You’re not going to die. Not to worry about it.
News of our death is highly overrated.
When you take off your clothes at night and get into your jammies (if you wear them), do you die?
Of course not.
Same thing here. When you step out of your body, or whoosh out of your body, or pop out of your body, you don’t die. Not you. Not the real you.
Yes, you leave your body behind, just as it is. Perhaps not pleasant for others. But that’s life. Nothing we can do about it. When it’s time, it’s time.
But you forget about your body within 21 seconds. Maybe 22.
If you know what just happened, chances are you can’t wait to see what comes next.
My Dad turned to us in the hospital one day. He was 91. He said “I’m leaving tomorrow.” My sister and I turned to each other and in whispers debated: Can a person predict when they’ll die? Can they know? Yes, no, yes, no, yes, no.
And he did leave the very next day.
Now I don’t believe in death so I wasn’t alarmed.
I had a reading sometime later with Archangel Michael who said that there was no holding Dad back. He was off exploring almost as soon as he arrived.
And that fits. My Dad was riding a bike across Canada at 71; then on to Australia; then on to New Zealand. There was no holding him back.
Most people who cross over and write a book about it write perhaps one book, perhaps two books, and then we never hear from them again. Why?
Because it’s so darn interesting over there (1) they don’t want to hang out with us here in the Third Dimension, where, in these 100-pound wet suits that we wear, we have a bean-bag mentality compared to the way their minds and hearts work. It’s just too darned exciting. We’re left to fend for ourselves.
Julia Ames pleaded with medium William Thomas Stead to start what she called “Julia’s Bureau,” a group of mediums who would collaborate to get messages through to this side for their loved ones. She talked about it over and over again and then fell silent.
When she reported in again, she said it was like the situation of immigrants to a new country. But let me allow Julia to tell her own story. (“But no, you can’t. She’s dead.” No, she isn’t.)
“When in my earlier letters I spoke of the intense desire of those who had passed over to communicate with those who are left behind, I wrote truly. I was at the time but newly arrived, and I was amid the multitude of the newly arrived, and among them I did not exaggerate the grief, the indignation, the heart-break of a love which was doomed to see those whom they loved but were not able to communicate with them or to staunch their tears.
“Now, after more experience, and, with better opportunities for observation, I should say that the number of the ‘dead’ who wish to communicate with the living are comparatively few. With the exception of those whose influence by writing or acting persists, and is therefore a living link with the living world, there are few, possibly not one in a million, whose interest in the survivors is an active force.
“It is with us as with immigrants to my former country. When they arrive their hearts are in the old world. The new world is new and strange. They long to hear from the old home and the post brings them more joy than the sunrise. But after a very little time the pain is dulled, new interests arise, and, in a few years, sometimes in a few months, they write no more.
“With us here the change is even more rapid. For the new life is more absorbing and the survivors constantly recruit our ranks. When the family circle is complete, when those we loved are with us, why should we trouble to communicate? The whole planet with its 1,500,000,000 inhabitants is full of strangers, our life lies on our own plane. Therefore, do not think that what I said of the eager, passionate longing of those on this side to communicate with you is true of any but those in the midst of whom I was when I wrote [earlier].” (2)
Same thing with any of us who make the journey and with those who are left behind. There’s so much to explore on the other side that most people forget about us after a while.
So you’re not going to die. You can be anxious if you like but it isn’t required. It’s strictly optional and contributes nothing.
You’re an eternal, immortal soul. That’s who you are.
Rain cannot wet you. Fire cannot burn you. You cannot be destroyed and never will be.
You’ll be alive when people forget about what Earth may have looked like. Halion comes and goes. Maldek comes and goes. Atlantis, Lemuria, Greece, Rome…. But the soul lives forever.
In the face of that, what cause is there to worry? Footnotes
(1) See New Maps of Heaven at http://www.angelfire.com/space2/light11/nmh/nmh-index1.html
(2) Julia [Julia T. Ames] through W.T. Stead, medium, After Death. A Personal Narrative. New York: George H. Doran, n.d.; c. 1914 175-6.