Recounting events. Historical PsychoSpiritual Poetry.
Blood Sugar Problems.
That morning I had breakfast with my Grandma. I ate too much raisin bran and didn’t take enough insulin. I took a bath, and while I was relaxing into experience, my blood sugar was spiking.
Lately, as I’ve gotten a bit older, when my blood sugar spikes, I get suuuuper drowsy. So, this was a setup for a bad deal. On top of this Diabetes fail, I’d been treating my body/mind a little less than special.
I got out of the bath and into the car. I drove down the road and had the slightest feeling of exhaustion, thinking: “hey, I’m sleepy.”
Sleepy Whack Collision.
Next thing I know, WHACK. Collision. This feeling is still so real. The cops say I was going ~60mph.
It’s like the moment was stretched out. The experience of the collision is bigger than the instant that contained it. It feels like the collision was this thing I opened up to and that opened up to me and we kinda slipped off into some kind of fractal sleepiness.
I came to consciousness. Visions: white puffs of airbags in my face splattered with blood. Disoriented. Feeling and thinking: “fuuuuuk. I gotta get outta here”. PAIN. But, pain was not a priority at this point.
I am Schroedinger’s cat. It is alive and dead until something observes the thing and collapses the wave function. From pure potential to limited actual ‘reality’.
Yet, I am also the observer! Hahaha!
I am the cat and the thing that observes the cat. Therefore, because I am here to observe, the reality in which the cat is still alive is the reality which is being observed! Does that make any sense?
Consciousness is the thing that selects which of the infinite potentials are going to be expressed within any given universe among the torrential outpouring of potential turbulent oceans of universes!
So, the question:
Will Nguyen Giac survive this collision?
It is determined by Karma. Cause and result. Cause and result are determined by the observer’s perception of events– is a photon a wave or a particle? That depends! What did the observer expect? Reality, on its ground-floor, is consciousness. Karma needs observation. It depends on observation. A Buddha-field is the story being told by the root of this universe.
I died in many version of reality. My family mourns the loss in many branches of reality… And for them, I extend my heart energy. I feel for them. I am sad for their loss, too.
Yet, because this is my story, and because I am telling the story, I woke up to the reality in which my body did not sustain too much damage to continue the flame. If that did not happen, I would not be here to tell the story. This is a gnoTruth thing.
So, after rejoicing in Pleroma for infinite time and space, and after recharging in the luminous shadowless light source for eternities beyond measure, I gathered my belongings and returned to the realm of Yaltabaoth, into this realm of differentiation and discrimination– I pulled the flame down back onto the page, and into the body.
Back to the Body.
I tried to open the door. It wasn’t opening, the car had crumpled and locked it closed. Luckily, these were manual windows– I rolled down the window and flopped my body out and onto the ground. Covered in ferns, surrounded by trees and sticks and shit– I was off a ditch and in some nice Washingtonian undergrowth.
I got up and hobbled up to the road. I must have had blood all over my head and face. I saw that there was stuff scattered everywhere cause the trunk had opened.
This piece of it confuses me.
I started putting everything back in to the trunk. My body was soooo broken, but I didn’t care. I was bummed because this wasn’t my car and I knew that I would have to pay for it. I wanted to take care of this stuff that had come out– with respect for the owner of the car, I tried to collect. And, as I was doing this, some lady pulled up.
I think I was talking to her. But, all I can really remember is her confused facial expression. I’m not even sure she was responding to me. Then, some other people coming from the other direction started stopping. I can’t remember if I interacted with these people.
I do remember saying, to the original lady:
Can I just get a ride home or something?
But, from there, I think I just sat down in the road. Not really sure. It all wiped away to deepest [non]black. This big comfy absence fuzzied up awareness for immeasurable time.
Why does it confuse me? Because! What really happened? Did I really get out of the car? Did the people really talk to me? Why did I immediately gain consciousness and then lose it again? (Probably adrenaline). The whole thing is a strange kind of hazy. It is a holy hazy. This shake up was truly changing– causing deep shifts, baby Buddha nature within is inside, philosophizing with a hammer.
I bow to Root Buddha which is the essential formless awareness. I bow to Root Dharma which is the story told by essential formless awareness. I bot to Root Sangha which are all sentient beings included within this particular story of Root Buddha.
Reintegration. Picking up the Story.
I woke up in the hospital, in that CAT scan tube / disc thing. I blacked out again. I remember pieces, just pieces, little spurts of coherent experience, from that day and the next. No one knew I was totally effed up. I had no urge to tell anyone. No social urges. No urge to say a god damn thing.
Later, the trauma surgeon guy told me that I had been asking the same questions over and over. I remember talking to him as he stapled up my head. He told me I had gastroparesis from uncontrolled diabetes. He saw that my digestive had stopped from the CAT scans.
I slowly came to coherent, continuous, experience. My first heart-tugs were toward my family. My children and their mother (we had recently separated). And, my first urge was to figure out what the hell was going to happen with that effing car.
Yet, at this point, I was still sooo weak, my body was sooo hurt (but, I was not even close to realizing the true depth of the pain)– I didn’t have enough spirit to truly devote attention to anything for more than a few frames of willpower.
I called my friend to let him know about the car. That is a fun story in itself, which I’ll tell another time. For now, I’m just focusing on these little shifts in perception / awareness / perspective / consciousness. Because. The experience of dying is intense. And peaceful.
In a Dark Corner of a Sad Place
So, I was conscious from moment-to-moment again and slowly realizing what was happening. I was in the E.R. forever. They kept telling me that they were preparing some room for me in the ‘real’ hospital. For now, I was in some dark corner of a room in this place surrounded by trauma and suffering. It was a real icky feeling. I was in there for too long. The air was bad. The vibes were strong. I was weak.
They told me I could pee in this bottle thing, but I couldn’t stand the thought of it. Instead, when I had to pee, I pulled my body together and dragged it out into the main area and around the corner to the bathroom. Supporting myself with garbage cans and the metal bars on the bathroom walls, I was just starting to explore the damage to my body. My knee hurt. My spine. My collar bone. My neck. My ribs and sternum. My head… They shouldn’t have let me walk. It was packed. They didn’t seem to be paying much attention.
Finally, my family started to learn about what had happened. My mom. My sisters. Everyone. I started talking to people. They started to visit. I was high on opiates. They kept injecting me with some kind of morphine and giving me pills– which must have taken off some of the edge, but I didn’t know– my body hurt sooo bad.
End of part 1.