Miraculous Journey (February 18, 2014)
I was alerted to this book when I did a Google search for another picture of Anne Strieber. I’ve just purchased the Kindle version from Amazon.ca. Here’s the blurb:
Since she had a brain hemorrhage in 2004, Anne Strieber, the wife of famed writer Whitley Strieber, has lived a life of miracles, and in this book Anne and Whitley share their stories of her near death experience, her miraculous recovery and the life of miracles that has followed. Now, Anne faces an even greater challenge, a brain tumor. Excellent care and a holistic, joyous approach to the challenge has given her a real chance against what is usually a devastating disease. The Striebers, who have been happily married for 42 years, bring the wisdom and the love of their long marriage to their new challenge, and find that, in adversity like this, it is possible to find the true miracle of why we live our lives in the first place. Life is the miraculous journey, death at once an end and a joyous new beginning. For anyone facing serious illness, or just wondering how to cope when they enter this inevitable stage of life, the Miraculous Journey offers wisdom and support, and for those dealing with strokes and brain tumors, it is full of treatment insights, valuable knowledge and comfort.
I’ll be reviewing this book later, after I’ve read it. But, for now, I want to return to “Transformation 2026” to discuss what Whitley finally realized about the ‘angel’ who visited him. In Chapter Six: The White Angel, Whitley describes a sequence that happened on May 30, 1988.
I began to recall what had happened on the night of May 30. The first thing that came back to mind was a voice, soft and hypnotic, saying to me, “You’re not gonna remember any of this until Anne gets back.” And then the bedroom light was flipped on and a small being dressed in white came walking quickly across the room.
The clothing was featureless except for a dark belt of some kind. I remember nothing at all of the size or facial features of this person, being, visitor, or whatever it was. All I do remember is an impression of unusual whiteness and light-blue eyes. What shape these eyes were I do not know. The cover illustration on this book is only a guess.
This being sat down on the bedside. She seemed almost angelic to me, so pure and so full of knowledge. As she bent close to me I felt all the tension go out of my muscles. The sensation was exactly as if they had turned into oatmeal. My breathing did not stop, but it seemed to become distant, as if I were observing the breathing of a body that was not my own, rather than feeling something.
The being looked directly into my eyes and said, “I want to talk to you about your death.” When we made eye contact I saw only blueness—the blue of heaven. It was like entering another world.
2026 Update
I was destined to see this blueness again on the night of August 11, 2015, as my beloved Anne left the physical world for the last time. At 7:15 that evening, as she gave up the ghost, I lay beside her saying “goodbye, goodbye, goodbye,” through a flood of grief greater than I would have believed it possible to experience. Then I saw her in my mind’s eye, but very, very vividly, far more so than I have ever seen in the ordinary physical world.
She was moving through something like, I suppose, what Tibetan Buddhists identify as the bardo, being observed by watchful and menacing presences. I went with her, determined that, no matter what happened, she was going to pass through this and be free.
The next thing I knew, she was rising into the most glorious blue I have ever seen, more excellent, more vibrant, more alive than any physical color. She was looking back at me with intent, concentrated eyes.
Now that I was apparently out of my body, I determined to follow her and go with her, but suddenly I stopped. She rose away from me, disappearing into the blue, which enclosed her and took her, and left me there alone, attached to my body by a shimmering silver cord that I could not break.
“Or ever the silver cord be loosed…” but it was not loosed and she went on and I am still here, and if, when I die I am not able to rise to her level and be with her, then I want the end of me. I wear both of our rings and I give my body to her attention as best I can, and hope that I am not forgotten.
I know now who the angel on my bedside was. It was my wife, already even that long ago enveloped in enlightenment. I looked at her as if she was an angel, and so she was, and as if she was a stranger, but she was not that.
1988 Narrative Continues
What happened to me next is hard to describe. An explosion went through my body. And then there was the dread. It was as cold as steel around my throat. I wanted to jump away, to run, to scream, to do anything to get away from that terrible, beautiful blue and those terrible words.
The being obviously sensed this. The blueness sort of snapped and I could see again. The being moved its arm slightly, a gesture that I recall with absolute vividness because of the impact it had on me.
I will never forget the next moment. Superficially it didn’t seem like much: The edge of the white sleeve touched the middle and forefingers of my left hand, which had been lying along the outside of the quilt. This touch was so incredibly soft that it filled me with a peace unlike any I had ever felt before. In that instant it seemed to me that all the rich hours of childhood, the afternoons dreaming in the tops of trees, the joy of a thousand perfect mornings combined together to offer me a kind of sustenance that I did not know I needed, but once felt seemed essential. That sleeve was like an edge of heaven.
Strieber, Whitley. Transformation 2026 (pp. 101-103). Walker & Collier, Inc. Kindle Edition.
The connection remains unbroken between them, even now.
The amusing thing was that the being had warned him not to eat sweets or else he’d be dead within three months. Whitley told Anne about this visit, but didn’t mention the warning about chocolate. One week later, Anne woke up from a dream in which she watched Whitley take a bite of chocolate and fall down dead. Was this a test? Whitley wondered. He didn’t like being controlled in any way. Eventually, he tried a sweet dessert and didn’t die. So much for the warning!
Here’s Anne’s birth and death charts combined:
Interesting, no?
cdsmiller17 