Never to Return: A Modern Quest For Eternal Truth, Chapter 8: "The Threshold of Life"

NEVER TO RETURN:

A MODERN QUEST FOR ETERNAL TRUTH

A Multimedia Spiritual Adventure Memoir
by Sharon Janis

Suicide may be regarded as an experiment – a question
which man puts to Nature, trying to force her to an answer.
The question is this: What change will death produce
in a man's existence and in his insight into the nature of things?
It is a clumsy experiment to make; for it involves the destruction of the very
consciousness which puts the question and awaits the answer.

Chapter Eight

THE THRESHOLD OF LIFE

I was far from my goal of constant happiness. Instead, I had a recurring feeling that I just didn't belong in this world. I wasn't meant to be living in this dimension, while being able to see past the illusions just enough to feel panicked and out of control. It wasn't fair, and it certainly wasn't comfortable. I did not want to play this game anymore, and came to the decision that it would be preferable to not exist than to continue living with this deep distress. Perhaps death would hold the key to my freedom.

The decision to take your own life overrides the most basic human instinct of self-preservation. You don't even have the luxury of dying for your country or in service of some Holy War for God. You simply choose to leave, on the chance that whatever comes next might be less painful than whatever is tormenting you here. At the time, even the possibility of dissolution into eternal nothingness seemed preferable to the loneliness and confusion I was suffering.

Many people who contemplate suicide must feel some guilt regarding the family and friends they'll be leaving behind. But I couldn't really think of anyone who would even cry for me, except perhaps my grandmother, and possibly my sister. The blunt truth was that nobody in this world was really going to miss me. This thought was sobering as well as liberating.

I decided to commit suicide. I would do it during Easter vacation, while visiting my parents' house. This decision had a drastic and surprising effect on my state of mind – I was able to relax in a whole new way. I no longer had to worry about my future, or the future of society. I didn't even have to choose which classes I would take the next semester. Never again would I have to do anything. All of it would be over in three short weeks.

I carried this powerful secret with me for those three weeks, attending my classes and talking with friends and family as if everything were normal. After all, the rules are that you're not allowed to tell anyone when you're really going to commit suicide. You would only do that if you were counting on them to talk you out of it. I had made a carefully considered decision based on logic rather than mere emotion. I was going to leave the party.

This secret throbbed inside me day and night. A new and unfamiliar sense of gratitude came with the shift, an appreciation for all the different flavors of experience passing through and around me as I walked through each remaining day. Each event looked different through my new glasses. Everything was "the last time."

My personal interactions were carrying greater depth and meaning, as I realized that I may never see the person, or any person, ever again. There was a new care for each soul I had connections with. Even strangers on the street became worthy of note. I paid attention to the little things, the skills, actions, and feelings of life. Moments mattered. Colors were brighter. The world around me became more thrilling.

I was actually cheered and inspired by this new attitude of receptivity and appreciation. I could probably have changed my mind about the whole suicide thing at this point, but that would have removed the very element that was cheering me up. What a dilemma.

Finally the big day came. I was staying with my mother and stepfather during spring break. They went out for the day, leaving the yellow Dodge Dart for my use. I picked up the bottle of sleeping pills that had been in our medicine cabinet for a long time (too long, as I later discovered!), and drove to a nearby shopping center.

Walking through the mall, I was disappointed with its normalcy. Didn't these people realize the world was about to end, at least for me? Wasn't somebody going to throw a surprise party for me? Didn't anyone want to say goodbye? A part of me expected something, although, of course, this expectation was completely illogical. People passed by me, absorbed in their own worlds. I tried to make some small talk with a man who was purchasing a cappuccino machine, but he wasn't interested in chatting.

Feeling even more empty and desolate, I left the mall and began to drive north. I drove on freeways I had never heard of, following some invisible map that was being whispered to me subconsciously by -- by what? I didn't know. I turned when I was moved to turn, and went straight when I wasn't. This went on for many hours. I was driving to the place of my death.

My mind became peaceful and focused in the present moment. The aspects of myself based on past and future were somewhat lifted from me. I was a soul, driving, preparing to enter a new adventure — obliteration — I knew not what. I was driving toward the very threshold of life.

At one point, I pulled over to a little roadside bar to use the restroom. There was a pinball machine there, and I thought I'd play a few games before moving on. I was curious to see what it would feel like to do something so ordinary en route to my last moments on earth. I played for a while and won several extra games, which I left on the machine, joking to myself, “Too bad, the world is about to lose a pretty darn good pinball player.”

It was starting to get darker outside. The air was chilly. As I traveled further north, patches of snow began to appear along the roadside, and I turned into the driveway of a small bungalow-colony motel.

I went into the office and rented a room from the friendly desk clerk. He came into the bungalow with me to make sure the heat was on, and then left. I was alone.

It did occur to me that it wasn't very considerate of me to kill myself on this nice man's property. He was probably the person who would discover the body.

The Body. What a strange feeling it was to think of my body as the body. But that was how it was going to be.

I sat down and turned on the TV. An old rerun of "The Brady Bunch" was on the only channel that came through clearly. I berated myself, "You're so pathetic that you watch 'The Brady Bunch' during your last hours of life!"

But I did watch it. This was going to be a "Very Brady Suicide." While it played, I began to take the pills. One after another, I popped them all in my mouth. I didn't want to be half-baked and end up in a coma, so I took the whole bottle.

Not surprisingly, I soon felt drowsy. I turned off the television and went into the bedroom. I didn't even pull down the covers, I just lay down on top of the bed. A sleepy dullness was settling into my body, making me feel numb all over. As I lay there, an energy field I would one day refer to as my subtle body started to undulate. It was moving within me, as though there was another body lying along with my physical body. My energy-body legs were moving up and down; my arms from side to side, and yet my physical body continued to lie still and unmoving.

I began to recall certain events from my life. I remember thinking at the time that the idea of one's life flashing before their eyes while they die is strangely accurate. The scenes appeared to play through like a tape-recording. The image I had at the time was of a DNA-like strand running through a playback head, as it prepares to turn off the lights. It was like a review of the whole semester before the big final exam. Death. The real final frontier.

I perceived that before one leaves this world, there seemed to be a review that happens as a natural function of the body and brain. This appeared to be just as physical and scientific as the other processes that happen to a body at the brink of death.

The idea that we can re-experience life events is not too far-fetched when you consider certain neurophysiological experiments performed several decades ago. By accident, it was discovered that touching a surgical probe to certain areas of a patient's exposed brain could elicit clear and distinct memories. With these electric probes activating sections of their brains, these patients would actually smell the smells, feel the feelings, and hear the sounds of their stored memories. It was with this vivid and tangible quality that I began to re-experience certain events from my life.

Unlike the playing of a tape or the surgical eliciting of memories, this experience had a different flavor. First of all, this replaying of many experiences didn't seem to be bound by usual rules of time or linearity, and was happening within a very compact period of time. This also is not so strange, when we remember the extensive and elaborate dreams that can take place in our consciousness even during a short nap. Also, my impression was that, while watching this show of my life, I was somehow there again, as a watching presence in each situation. It was as though the replays were being replayed while each event happened. The structures of time began to crumble, as entire bundles of memories were re-experienced in just moments. I had the sense that this was perhaps an opportunity to digest lessons I had missed along the way.

It also occurred to me that perhaps it is possible to be our own guardian angel. The tangible quality of this experience made me feel that I was actually back in the original moments, while in a more elevated state of awareness. It felt almost as though I was watching myself go back and clean things up on some level. Much more happened that night, although some images are too vague to be properly captured here.

The next thing I knew, I woke up and opened my eyes with the freshness of a child. There was the sun, already rising in the sky. I was alive. I guess a part of me was happy to be waking up, but then my drugged mind kicked in. "Oh no! I'm going to get in so much trouble for staying out all night!" It was one thing to die, and quite another to deal with the wrath of my parents.

I staggered out to the car, and started to drive home, hoping I was going in the right direction. Maybe I could make it back before anyone noticed I was gone. But I was totally stoned, completely unable to control the car. I was weaving crazily back and forth all over the road. I think one car did pass by me and honk. Then red-and-white lights were flashing behind me. Time was warped by all the sleeping pills, and my next image was the close-up view of a policeman's face in my car window. I tried to act as though I wasn't inebriated, but I was too far gone. He brought me into his police car and I fell asleep. Not a very good demonstration of sobriety!

We arrived at this small town's court building, where I was booked — fingerprints, photos, everything. I gave the officer my family's phone number and was led into a cell. I lay down on the concrete bench, and fell back asleep, dipping back into awareness only occasionally to shift my position. Eight hours later, I was awakened by the sound of my mother and stepfather’s voices coming toward my cell. I opened my eyes as they entered. They just stood and looked at me, unable to exhibit any sort of affectionate display. My stepfather asked, "What happened?"

A lie came out of me. "I don't know. I was at the mall and, the next thing I knew, I was driving my car this morning."

I was NOT going to tell them I had done this on purpose, requiring them to drive for so many hours. I was also embarrassed to tell them I had tried to commit suicide, because these were not exactly the most sensitive people. So they didn't know if I had been kidnapped or had suddenly gone into some kind of schizophrenic fugue state. I'm sure they wondered if I was crazy. I felt bad for misleading them but couldn't really see any other choice.

I was charged with driving under the influence, but since it was a small town and everyone was related, we were offered a package deal. The policeman was the cousin of the lawyer, who was the brother-in-law of the judge. The lawyer said that if we paid him $2000, he could ensure that the case would be closed with minimal further requirements. It was like being in a sitcom, except it wasn’t quite so funny to be in this comedic drama taking place 8 hours away from home as it would have been to be watching it on television from our couch.

For the next few months, I lived in a trance-like state, feeling quite stunned by all that had taken place. My friends at school knew nothing about what had happened. I tried to act as though everything was as normal (or perhaps in my case as not so normal) as usual.

I spent the next summer working as a waitress in a local delicatessen. The walls were covered with big bright orange spikes, intended to encourage people to eat fast and keep the tables moving. The owner ran around snapping at the waitresses all day long, "Careful, baby!" The cooks were grumpy, and the line of customers never seemed to end. Some of our guests expected me to be the mother they never had, as I attempted to satisfy all their needs and wants — with a smile, of course. Others had been mistreated at their job that day, and were looking for a minion upon whom they could release some of their pent-up frustration. Some of the men just wanted to flirt with a young woman without being snubbed. Then there were the nice and normal people, who were like a breath of fresh air. Unfortunately, they always seemed to be the ones who would end up with the wrong order, or the spilled coffee.

I did experience one benefit from this hectic, overly active environment. During the previous year, I had spent three hours a day dissecting reality within my consciousness. I had probed levels of subliminal manipulation that could destroy society as we knew it, and I had tried to commit suicide. In the midst of what could have been a black hole for my personal sanity, I now had to focus day-to-day on what I was doing. I would run from table to table, with carefully balanced plates and cups up and down my arms. I'd be constantly adding numbers and calculating tax. For eight hours a day, I had to smile and be friendly to all kinds of people. All this responsibility was actually a blessing, since it kept my mind busy and gave me an active but much needed mental vacation from the troubling path I had been on.

Enjoy Additional Works by Sharon Janis as part of the
Night Lotus Offering of Multimedia Spiritual Resources

Click on a book or CD cover to enjoy it online

(All but Spirituality For Dummies are available to enjoy online in their entirety):