As my husband rushed me to the hospital, the world around me started to appear surreal and dreamlike, and I could feel myself slip further and further away from consciousness.
The moment I arrived and the oncologist saw me, her face visibly filled with shock. “Your wife’s heart may still be beating,” she told Danny, “but she’s not really there. It’s too late to save her.”
The senior oncologist immediately ordered a medical team to wheel my gurney to the radiology lab so they could do a full-body scan. After they finished, I was brought to the ICU where staff administered treatments by way of needles and tubes.
In this near-death state, I was more acutely aware of all that was going on around me than I’d ever been in a normal physical state. I wasn’t using my five biological senses, yet I was keenly taking everything in. It was as though another, completely different type of perception kicked in, and I seemed to encompass everything that was happening, as though I was slowly merging with it all.
Although the medical team moved with great speed, and there was a sense of urgency in their actions, I also sensed an air of acceptance, as though they’d come to terms with that fact that it was too late to change my fate.
“There’s nothing we can do for your wife, Mr. Moorjani. Her organs have already shut down. Her tumors have grown to the size of lemons throughout her lymphatic system, from the base of her skull to below her abdomen. Her brain is filled with fluid, as are her lungs. And as you can see, her skin has developed lesions that are weeping with toxins. She won’t even make it through the night,” the doctor told my husband, Danny.
I watched as Danny’s face changed to anguish, and wanted to cry out to him, It’s ok, darling—I’m okay! Please don’t worry. Don’t listen to the doctor. I actually feel great! But I couldn’t. Nothing came out. He couldn’t hear me.
I felt no emotional attachment to my seemingly lifeless body as it lay there on the hospital bed. It didn’t feel as though it were mine. It looked far too small and insignificant to have housed what I was experiencing. I felt free, liberated, and magnificent. Every pain, ache, sadness, and sorrow was gone! I felt completely unencumbered. I couldn’t recall feeling this way before—not ever.
I continued to sense myself expanding further and further outward, drawing away from my physical surroundings. It was as though I were no longer restricted by the confines of space and time, and continued to spread myself out to occupy a greater expanse of consciousness. I simultaneously experienced a sense of joy mixed with a generous sprinkling of jubilation and happiness.
The feeling of complete, unconditional love was unlike anything I’d known before; it was totally undiscriminating, as if I didn’t have to do anything to deserve it, nor did I need to prove myself to earn it.
To my amazement, I became aware of the presence of my father, who’d died ten years earlier. Dad, you’re here. I can’t believe it! I wasn’t speaking those words, I was merely thinking them—in fact, it was more like feeling the emotions behind the words, as there was no other way of communicating in that realm other than through emotions.
And then I recognized the essence of my best friend, Soni, who’d died of cancer three years prior. I seemed to know that they’d been present with me, long before I became aware of them, all through my illness.
I was also aware of other beings around me. I didn’t recognize them, but I knew they loved me very much and were protecting me. I realized that they too were with me all of this time, surrounding me with love even when I wasn’t conscious of it.
My heightened awareness in that expanded realm was indescribable, despite my best efforts to explain it.
The universe makes sense! I realized. I finally understand—I know why I have cancer! I was too caught up in the wonder of that moment to dwell on the cause, although I’d soon examine it more closely. I also seemed to comprehend why I’d come into this life in the first place—I knew my true purpose.
Why do I suddenly understand all this? I wanted to know. Who’s giving me this information? Is it God? Krishna? Buddha? Jesus?
And then I was overwhelmed by the realization that God isn’t a being, but a state of being … and I was now in that state of being.
I saw my life intricately woven into everything I’d known so far. My experience was like a single thread woven through the huge and complexly colored images of an infinite tapestry. All the other threads and colors represented my relationships, including every life I’d touched. There were threads representing my mother, my father, my brother, my husband, and every other person who’d ever come into my life, whether they related to me in a positive or negative way.
I began to understand that while I may have only been a thread, I was integral to the overall finished picture. Seeing this, I understood that I owed it to myself, to everyone I met, and to life itself to always be an expression of my own unique essence. Trying to be anything or anyone else didn’t make me better—it just deprived me of my true self! It kept others from experiencing me for who I am, and it deprived me of interacting authentically with them.
As I looked at the great tapestry that was the accumulation of my life up to that point, I was able to identify exactly what had brought me to where I was today.
Just look at my life path! Why, oh why, have I always been so harsh with myself? Why was I always beating myself up? Why was I always forsaking myself? Why did I never stand up for myself and show the world the beauty of my own soul? Why was I always suppressing my own intelligence and creativity to please others? I betrayed myself every time I said yes when I meant no!
Why have I violated myself by always needing to seek approval from others just to be myself? Why haven’t I followed my own beautiful heart and spoken my truth? Why don’t we realize this when we’re in our physical bodies? How come I never knew that we’re not supposed to be so tough on ourselves?
This was a rather surprising realization for me, because I’d always thought I needed to work at being lovable. I believed that I somehow had to be deserving and worthy of being cared for, so it was incredible to realize this wasn’t the case.
I also understood that the cancer was not some punishment for anything I’d done wrong, nor was I experiencing negative karma as a result of any of my actions, as I’d previously believed. It was as though every moment held infinite possibilities, and where I was at that point in time was the culmination of every decision, every choice, and every thought of my entire life. Many fears and my great power had manifested this disease.
Dad, it feels like I’ve come home. I’m so glad to be here. Life is so painful! I told him.
The essence of my father was communicating with me more directly. Sweetheart, I want you to know that it’s not your time to come home yet. But it’s still your choice whether you want to come with me or go back into your body.
But my body is so sick, drained, and ridden with cancer! Why would I want to go back to that body? It has caused nothing but suffering—not only for me, but for Mum and Danny, too! I can’t see any purpose in going back.
What subsequently happened is incredibly hard to describe. First, it felt as though whatever I directed my awareness toward appeared before me. Second, time was completely irrelevant. It wasn’t even a factor to consider, as though it didn’t exist.
Prior to this point, doctors has conducted tests on the functionality of my organs, and their report had already been written. But in that realm, it seemed as though the outcome of those tests and the report depended on the decision I had yet to make—whether to live or to continue onward into death. If I chose death, the test results would indicate organ failure. If I chose to come back to physical life, they’d show my organs beginning to function again.
At that moment, I decided that I didn’t want to return. I then became conscious of my physical body dying, and I saw the doctors speaking with my family, explaining that it was death due to organ failure.
At the same time, my father communicated with me. This is as far as you can go, sweetheart. If you go any further, you cannot turn back.
I became aware of a boundary before me, although the demarcation wasn’t physical. It was more like an invisible threshold marked by a variation of energy levels. I knew that if I crossed it there was no turning back. All my ties to the physical world would be permanently severed.
But before I stepped towards this realm for good, I became aware of a new level of truth.
I discovered that since I’d realized who I really was and understood the magnificence of my true self, if I chose to go back to life, my body would heal rapidly—not in months or weeks, but in days! I knew that the doctors wouldn’t be able to find a trace of cancer if I chose to go back to my body!
How can that be? I was astounded by this revelation, and wanted to understand why.
It was then that I understood that my body is only a reflection of my internal state. If my inner self were aware of its greatness and connection with all-that-is, my body would soon reflect that and heal rapidly.
And I knew that I had a bigger purpose to fulfill in the physical world. It involved helping lots of people—thousands, maybe tens of thousands, perhaps to share a message with them. But I wouldn’t have to pursue anything or work at figuring out how I was going to achieve that. I simply had to allow it to unfold.
As though to confirm my realization, I became aware of both my father and Soni communicating with me: Now that you know the truth of who you really are, go back and live your life fearlessly.
It was the afternoon of February 3rd, about 30 hours after I’d entered the coma.
My eyes started to flicker open around 4 p.m., and my vision was very blurred. I could barely see that the outline of the figure standing over me was Danny, and then I heard his voice: “She’s back!”
Over the following days, I was slowly able to tell my family what had happened in the other realm, and also described a lot of the things that had taken place while I was in the coma. I was able to relay to my awestruck family, almost verbatim, some of the conversations that had occurred not only around me, but also outside the room, down the hall, and in the waiting areas of the hospital. I could describe many of the procedures I’d undergone, and I identified the doctors and nurses who’d performed them, to the surprise of everyone around me.
Within two days of coming out of the coma, the doctors informed me that because my organs had miraculously started functioning again,
the swelling caused by toxic buildup had subsided considerably. When the oncologist performed a routine checkup, he couldn’t hide his surprise: “Your tumors have visibly shrunk—considerably—in just these three days!”
About six days after coming out of the ICU, I began to feel a little bit stronger and was starting to walk up and down the hospital corridor for short periods of time before needing to rest.
Everyday the doctors reported on my latest test results.
“I don’t understand. I have scans that show this patient’s lymphatic system was ridden with cancer just two weeks ago, but now I can’t find a lymph node on her body large enough to even suggest cancer,” I heard him say.
To the amazement of the medical team, the arrangements they’d made with the reconstructive surgeon to close the lesions on my neck were unnecessary because the wounds had healed by themselves.
On March 9, 2006, five weeks after entering the hospital, I was released to go home. And I couldn’t wait to live my life with joy and abandon!