Not Dead Yet – Outspoken with Dr Naomi Wolf (substack.com)
“I am home at last from the second hospital — the “vortex hospital,” the hospital of near-no-return — and, per the title of this update, I am:
Not Dead Yet.
I can’t yet describe fully what I experienced at the Vortex Hospital — since I am not yet entirely out of medical danger, and I still need their staff’s help in the near future in order to remove a device, the details of which I will spare you. But suffice to say that my stay there involved the final three of what had been five days with no food or water, as I had lain, hooked up to an IV, with an acute abdominal infection, post-appendectomy. …
And then she “reassured me”: “If you don’t get seen after Day Seven we’ll just put you on a feeding tube.” This terrified me. Finally she said flatly: “your vitals are stable.”
After this exchange, I truly panicked. I knew that while my vitals might look fine, I could feel that I was losing the ability to keep fighting for my life. I felt the subsiding of my will to fight, as clearly as if I were watching water swirling around an emptying drain.
I was exhausted, and had stopped caring about outcomes. I just wanted the suffering to end, in whichever way it might. In conventional nursing, I am sure that that collapse of my will to live would have been visible to a caring observer, no matter what my “vitals” had to say. But the machinery of data-based management ground on.
When I could fight no longer, I thought weakly of my loved ones; and realized that even though I no longer cared if I survived or not, they would care if this was indeed the end of my life.
So I asked God to please save my life. I also told God that if He spared my life I would write all the things I was currently scared to write — I knew He knew exactly what those things were — and then I collapsed into a feverish dream.
I found myself coming to consciousness free of pain, and feeling light and small. For good reason: I was myself, but I was now a nine year old version of myself, and I was all spirit. It felt good and very simple — as if I was made of light and energy. I was on a beach, and my dad (who has passed away) was there with me. …
After all the questions had been answered, I asked, neutrally curious, if I was staying there. He gestured toward a broad silvery stream, like the runnels on an estuary, that cut off the wet sand on that strand of beach, from some other place; and indicated that no, I was now to cross back over that shimmering divide.
There wasn’t a leave-taking or anything else dramatic — I simply found myself again at length lying on my bed of pain, the infection raging still.
By this time Brian had done his wonderful Brian thing, of making things happen when they are not happening, by saying certain things, in a certain way, and leaving certain things unsaid. I don’t know how he does it, but I thank the US Army for its training of him in this arcane but useful art. For the second time in my life, he saved my life. After he made a call, the orders came from above, and I was rushed at last into the room where my lifesaving procedure took place.
I will skip over those details, again, for the future, for reasons mentioned above.
Then, after a night of recovery— after seven days without food or water — I was ordered a breakfast — half a pound of dehydrated egg “skillet”, a quarter pound of home fries, sausages the size of doorstops, a bowl of instant oatmeal — that contained 1010 calories and 65 grams of fat. I looked at it in aversion, and sipped some juice.
And then, I was free to go.
*****
I did not have any street clothes with me, but the minute the RN said I could leave, I asked for some scrubs, and just kept my hospital gown on; and we fled, before they could all change their minds.
The sunlight outside was dazzling. I wanted to kiss the earth, and every human being I saw. I loved the mulch. I loved the Hondas. I loved the security guard.
The red tiger lilies in front of the parking garage looked like to me like the most beautiful flowers I’d seen in my life — trumpets of rusty glory.
The instant I was seated on a concrete bench outside the hospital, breathing, I began to feel better — which made me realize that for two and a half weeks, medical staff, all of whom were of course vaccinated with mRNA injections, had been “shedding” on me continually, by leaning over me and breathing into my face while taking vitals, or by constantly handling me.
This situation had been bad enough in the small local hospital, where at least my window opened a crack. But at the massive Vortex Hospital to which I had been transferred, the windows — overlooking a spectacular vista — did not open at all.” …….
Energies, Cont. – Outspoken with Dr Naomi Wolf (substack.com)
"I promised God, as you recall, in the hospital where I lay nearly dying, that, if I was allowed to live, I would write the things which I most feared to write.
So here we are: starting.
I sought my entire career to secure a reputation as a serious, academically-trained intellectual in the post-Enlightenment tradition. I did largely achieve that.
However, that came with a cost. …So — like many people — I have taken care to censor rigidly the fact that all my life, I have also had experiences that were dramatic, and that made deep impressions upon me — but that went beyond what the physical universe could contain or explain. … Though I managed to censor my synesthesia, my awareness as a child that perception was fluid, and that currents of all kinds were continually flowing around us all — and that the physical world was illuminated and glowing and magical, but also that it contained dark and scary forces — could not be suppressed. …
When I was nine, I invited a little friend to see the “magical place” that I knew was hidden like a gem, in a corner of a sedate garden. It was a garden that dated to the beginning of the twentieth century; there were stone garden walls rising up to the magical place, and they were covered with moss; there was a little concrete bench set into the wall, at an angle outward into the street, crafted in that 1910 style. Parts of the ancient garden were overgrown — an elegant, elderly lady lived in the lovely old house and rarely emerged, but when she did, she was as beautiful as her forgotten garden.
This little grotto was — just magical.
If you stood on the bench and looked into the corner of the garden, which was raised up, you could see nasturtiums made of tongues like fire — with apricot and russet, lemon-yellow and radiant orange, petals; all of them were streaked with deep red at the hearts, and all bore tiny cups of honey.
You could see pale-blue bluebells too, bending their necks like dancers. The nasturtiums and the bluebells were like two companies of ballerinas, clothed in different costumes. There were shafts of sunlight somehow within that circle of nasturtiums and bluebells. And all of this treasure was contained somehow within another circle, one made up of dark green — of wet, tangled, protective grasses, that overshadowed and enclosed the secret place.
The magical place looked like a ballroom for fairy dances.
The glow of its magic was palpable to me.
My little friend asked her mom if she could go see it; and her mom — who as I recall was something really glamorous and cool and slightly intimidating, like a flight attendant — was excited, in spite of herself as an adult, to see this magical place of which I spoke.
So the mom drove her daughter over. And they got out of the car. And I showed the grotto to them.
And there was silence.
And more silence.
Neither of them had any idea what I was talking about.
After a beat, I could feel that my friend was confused, and that she was a bit sorry for me. There was nothing to see!
The mom turned away with a brisk motion. “Come on, let’s get home.” She was terse and annoyed. There was nothing there.
And to my amazement, I looked at the magical place and — there was indeed nothing there!
The magic had fled at the denial of perception.
What had happened? It was nothing now, it was utterly banal, it was just a tangle of grasses, a dim mess of foliage.
I was — again — horribly humiliated and embarrassed. No one saw what I saw! I was such a weirdo.
I was never invited over to play with that child again, and she never came over again to my house.
So yet again, I tried to put away my troublesome perception.
*****I mention all of this because many experiences in my life as an adult, followed this theme — that the world is animated with energies, for good and evil, and embroidered all over with magic; and I sustained these experience but did not discuss them. I also learned that lots of people suppress similar experiences along these lines.” ……. Read them all.
Be well, child. We need your voice and your heart.
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