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176 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 2024
Everything alive has some kind of flux and ebb, and when that stops, life stops. When people say life is precious, they are saying that the rhythmic force that runs through all things — your wrist, your children’s wrists, God’s entire green earth — is precious. For my whole life, my pulse ran through me with such quiet power that I never had to think about it. And now they were having trouble finding it.
Wilson was still working on my neck, and I was feeling myself getting pulled more and more sternly into the darkness. And just when it seemed unavoidable, I became aware of something else: My father. He’d been dead eight years, but there he was, not so much floating as simply existing above me and slightly to my left. Everything that had to do with life was on the right side of my body and everything that had to do with this scary new place was on my left. My father exuded reassurance and seemed to be inviting me to go with him. “It’s okay, there’s nothing to be scared of,” he seemed to be saying. “Don’t fight it. I’ll take care of you.”
• “It doesn’t surprise me that you saw the dead. Not because I have strong beliefs about it, but because I have zero disbelief.”
• My worst fear — other than dying — was that because I’d come so close to death, it would now accompany me everywhere like some ghastly pet. Or, more accurately, that I was now the pet, and my new master was standing mutely with the lead watching me run out the clock.
• Finding yourself alive after almost dying is not, as it turns out, the kind of party one might expect. You realize that you weren’t returned to life, you were just introduced to death.
• Scientists are so far from explaining consciousness that they can’t even agree on a definition, yet it is the crowning achievement of the physical world and seems to be the reason that anything exists in the form that it does. The circularity is audacious: a mix of minerals organized as a human brain summon the world into existence by collapsing its wave function, giving physical reality to the very minerals the brain is made of.
• Our universe was created by unknowable forces, has no implicit reason to exist, and seems to violate its own basic laws. In such a world, what couldn’t happen? My dead father appearing above me in a trauma bay is the least of it. When I tried to find the ICU nurse who had suggested I try thinking of my experience as something sacred rather than something scary, no one at the hospital knew who she was; no one even knew what I was talking about. It crossed my mind that she did not exist. My experience was sacred, I finally decided, because I couldn’t really know life until I knew death, and I couldn’t really know death until it came for me.
I became aware of a dark pit below me and to my left. The pit was the purest black and so infinitely deep that it had no real depth at all ... It exerted a pull that was slow but unanswerable, and I knew that if I went into the hole, I was never coming back ... I was feeling myself getting pulled more and more sternly into the darkness. And just when it seemed unavoidable, I became aware of something else: My father. He'd been dead eight years, but there he was, not so much floating as simply existing above me and slightly to my left. Everything that had to do with life was on the right side of my body and everything that had to do with this scary new place was on the left. My father exuded reassurance and seemed to be inviting me to go with him. "It's okay, there's nothing to be scared of," he seemed to be saying. "Don't fight it. I'll take care of you."
Dr. Wilson was still working on my neck, and I was feeling myself getting pulled more and more sternly into the darkness. And just when it seemed unavoidable, I became aware of something else: My father. He'd been dead eight years, but there he was, not so much floating as simply existing above me and slightly to my left. Everything that had to do with life was on the sight side of my body and everything that had to do with this scary new place was on my left. My father exuded reassurance and seemed to be inviting me to go with him. "It's okay, there's nothing to be scared of," he seemed to be saying. "Don't fight it. I'll take care of you."…and that's it. Junger miraculously survives and slowly recovers, and then in typical Junger style (just reread The Perfect Storm), he goes on to learn everything he possibly can about this latest topic of interest, including quantum mechanics, entanglement, psychotropic drugs, the overall implausibility of (to quote Douglas Adams) "life, the universe and everything", etc.; while also providing WAY too much detail on emergency rooms, internal bleeding, catheters…
I was enormously confused by his presence. My father had died at age eighty-nine, and I loved him, but he had no business being here. Because I didn't know I was dying, his invitation to join him seemed grotesque. He was dead, I was alive, and I wanted nothing to do with him — in fact, I wanted nothing to do with the entire left side of the room.