Heading for the light - The ten things that happen when you die

By Colm Keane

Heading for the Light, by bestselling author Colm Keane, reveals the truth about what happens when we die. The ten stages we go through at death are outlined for the very first time. They establish conclusively that the journey is a warm one and is not to be feared.

Based on five years of research, the author has drawn from the real-life stories of people who have temporarily died and returned to life. Among the stages are the departure of the inner essence - often referred to as the soul or spirit - from the body, following which it travels on a journey suffused with peace, through a tunnel-like space, to a border or boundary, where former loved ones are met and a "superior being" is encountered.

Thos who are interviewed in the book also give their insights on what we need to do to prepare for the afterlife. They additionally speak of the profound feelings of love they return with from their extraordinary journeys. This definitive book provides all you need to know about what we face as we head for the light.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Capel Island Press
• Release date: Sep 23, 2014
• ISBN: 9781386562955

Colm Keane

Colm Keane has published 28 books, including eight No. 1 bestsetllers, among them The Little Flower: St. Therese of Lisieux, Padre Pio: Irish Encounters with the Saint, Going Home , We'll Meet Again and Heading for the Light. He is a graduate of Trinity College Dublin, Georgetown University, Washington DC. As a broadcaster, he won a Jacob's Aware and a Glaxo Fellowship for European Science Writers. His books, spanning 14 chart bestsellers, include Padre Pio: The Scent of Roses, The Distant Shore and Forewarned.

Book preview

INTRODUCTION

This book describes what happens when we die.  It is the product of five years of research and almost 100 interviews with people who temporarily died.  Their lives were briefly curtailed following heart attacks, road accidents and complications in childbirth, among other factors.  They returned to life with remarkably uniform accounts of what took place.

Their stories reveal a common pattern.  What they went through, once their brains flatlined and their hearts stopped beating, was systematic, ordered and structured.  It soon became clear that this was no random set of events but a scheme of well-defined happenings – or stages – experienced as they passed away.

The ten stages mostly involve a wondrous journey to a distant light.  All is calm, tranquil and serene, unlike anything encountered on earth.  There is no pain and no fear.  Love is everywhere.  There are meetings with deceased family and friends, and encounters with a ‘superior being’.  Many of those I spoke to used one word to describe how they felt – ‘bliss.’

Further examination of studies from the USA and India, Great Britain and mainland Europe convinces me that the same uniform, almost rhythmic, ten-stage pattern is universal.  It is evident that people of every age, sex and race are subject to it.  People of differing religious affiliations and spiritual beliefs describe the same stages, too. 

Sometimes, the fine details differ.  This, in part, reflects how people vary in their interpretations of the same thing.  It also illustrates the inadequacy of language in communicating issues involving the heart and the soul.  This is especially true in the case of the death experience, which is more sensual than physical, more about feelings and emotions than the sort of physical process the rest of us might believe it to be.

‘It wasn’t an experience in the physical sense of seeing and viewing and touching and smelling; there were no earthly, physical feelings like that,’ is how one contributor to this book described her journey through a tunnel to a light.  ‘I didn’t see the light in a physical way, but I knew it was there. 

‘I also knew that beyond the tunnel was this big presence.  I knew it was there without seeing it.  So it was more a sense of knowing what was happening and what was going to happen and what was there rather than seeing things or feeling them in a physical way’.

Whether you believe it or not, accept it or reject it, agree with it or argue against it, what you are about to read is almost certainly what will happen when you die.  It is what your family and friends, and the many generations that stretch before you, will experience.  It is also what your ancestors experienced back in the dark recesses of time. 

There is no scientific explanation.  After decades of research – investigating factors such as oxygen deprivation, endorphins, chemical changes and medication – no physical or psychological cause has been convincingly identified.  They are certainly not hallucinations or dreams.  All of these I examine in my books Going Home and The Distant Shore.

Even if explanations are eventually found, it makes not one bit of difference to the central theme of this book.  It is what will happen to all of us irrespective of cause, with or without explanation.  It is also important not to presume that future scientific research will ‘explain things away’; more likely it will establish the manner in which our essence or inner being survives after death.

What follows will bring you to the border or boundary separating this life from the next, but it will bring you no further.  What’s beyond the ‘pearly gates’ is for someone else to deliberate over or investigate.  In the meantime, read on and become acquainted with the ten stages we go through as we journey to the light. 

Colm Keane

DEPARTING THE BODY

STAGE ONE

There was no sense of danger, nothing sinister, no feeling of impending doom on that lovely summer’s day in 1967.  Two young boys sat on the side of the street, waiting for an ice cream van to arrive.  The van was soon on its way.  Anyone looking at the scene would have described it as calm, peaceful and perfectly normal. 

Within seconds, there was carnage.  The van overtook a car on the street.  One of the boys – a seven year-old – was caught under the van and dragged like a rag doll for a couple of hundred yards.  His body was torn to bits, his leg mangled, his limbs bruised, some bones broken. 

A passerby thought a dog was being dragged by the van and shouted at the driver to stop.  The boy, who was unconscious, was brought to hospital, where he remained for 14 months, with two-and-a-half of those months being spent in a coma.  For a time, the medical staff believed his case was hopeless.

He eventually lost his left ankle and one of his bones.  At one stage, it seemed that he would lose a leg.  Not only did the boy survive, however, but on one of his days in the hospital he had an extraordinary experience where something – his soul, mind, consciousness, his ‘other self’, call it what you will – left his body and travelled away. 

‘I was up on top of the ceiling and I could see my body below,’ Kevin said.  ‘My body was just a child lying on an iron bed.  My dad was on one side of the bed and my mother was on the other.  She was holding my hand and rubbing it.  They were both upset.  They were being comforted by a nurse and a doctor who were also there. 

‘I felt calm and peaceful up above, with not a worry in the world.  It was a lovely place, wherever it was.  There was no sense of time and no pain.  There was no pressure and I knew I wasn’t going to fall down to the ground.  The only thing that worried me was the way my parents felt below. 

‘I was trying to comfort them.  I was asking my mother, Why are you crying?  I was trying to tell her I was OK, but she couldn’t hear me.  I was saying to her, Stop crying!  I’ll be fine!  There’s nothing to worry about!  I was trying to get down to them and I was calling them.  I felt sorrowful when I saw them so upset.  I was beginning to get upset, too. 

‘The next thing, I was in a long tunnel and heading towards a light.  The light was brilliant, snow-white and not blinding.  There were people walking about where the light was.  I felt the light was drawing me along and guiding me.  I was trying to reach it.  But just as I got to the end of the tunnel, there was this big explosion and, like a flash, I shot back.  I woke up in my hospital bed.’ 

Kevin’s story describes the first tentative steps in the departure of the ‘soul’ or ‘spirit’ on its journey to the other side.  This mysterious, imperishable entity may be referred to by other names, such as the mind or consciousness, but what it is called doesn’t matter.  It is essentially the true essence, the heavenly spark, the immortal core that makes us what we are.  As the origin of the word suggests, it is our life’s breath.  Its departure is like our breath being exhaled.

‘It was like as if every bit of my life was going out of me,’ Antoinette, who temporarily died after haemorrhaging following childbirth, told me.  ‘It was like it was leaving me and being drained away.  I couldn’t talk or move and I had no control over what was happening.  There was nothing I could do about it.  I knew I was going somewhere, but I didn’t know where.’

The departure of the soul from the body is normally accompanied by a profound sense of wonder and fascination, and a calm, composed feeling of joy and anticipation.  Everything feels warm and wonderful.  There is no fear, just a great sense of peace.  There is also a feeling of weightlessness – a ‘floating sensation,’ as it is often described.  You feel like a bubble blown by a child, one person said.  Other people say you feel as light as a feather.

‘It was like I was a balloon floating around in a small draught,’ said Charles, who died briefly during major open-heart surgery.  ‘I was going in a half circle.  I felt warm and cosy and carefree, without a worry whatsoever.  I knew I wasn’t in my body and I felt my soul had left me. 

‘I was up at the ceiling, which was very high, maybe about ten or 12 feet up.  I could see myself below and I seemed very small.  I remember thinking I looked very young.  I could only see my face and shoulders.  The nurses were working on me and I could see the doctors’ backs as they bent over me, working away. 

‘I didn’t feel concerned about myself in the least.  Nor did I feel any pain or fear.  At one stage, I shouted down at them, but they didn’t respond.  I said, It’s alright!  It’s alright!  I’m not afraid!  I said it twice, but they didn’t hear me.’

Those who temporarily die also say they feel – or even ‘know’ – that their real self is up above, while their old self down below is irrelevant and inconsequential, a meaningless construct of flesh and bones.  The body has served its time and is now no longer of use.  It is pointless, insignificant and worthless.  It is something to be readily discarded and thrown away.  All that matters is the soul as it heads off on its journey to the light. 

‘I believe it was the real me that was up there,’ Edward, who left his body during major surgery, reflected.  ‘My body down below seemed quite irrelevant; it was only what was left of me.  I was even wondering what it was doing there.  Everybody I know of who’s had a similar experience seems to say, What am I doing down there?  No one ever seems to say, What am I doing up here?

‘At the time, I had my back to the ceiling and I was looking down on myself.  I think there were six people in green working on me.  I didn’t say anything and I wasn’t worried.  There was no fear or pain.  Shortly afterwards, I was back in my body again.  I don’t remember myself going back into it; it just happened.  But it left me feeling that there are two divisions in a person – the body is one thing and the soul is another, and it was my soul that was up there.’

Another interviewee also believes it was her true self – her essence – that had moved away, while her old self – her body – was no longer important.  She also felt at peace, tranquil and serene, presenting an image of calmness and serenity which is often voiced by those who temporarily die.  The quality of her afterlife was incomparably better than the life left behind.

‘I lost seven pints of blood, which went right through my bed at home and down to the floorboards,’ Lily, who haemorrhaged prior to giving birth, recollected.  ‘I was taken by ambulance to hospital.  I was suddenly floating up above, by the ambulance roof, and looking down.  I saw the crew working on me below, where I was lying on a stretcher bed.  I could see what they were doing and I could hear them talking about what was going on. 

‘I felt at peace, with no panic and no pain.  Had I been conscious below, I’m sure I would have been very worried.  I had two small children and I would have been very concerned about them.  I didn’t see any flashing lights or a tunnel.  I just felt I was going to float away. 

‘I wasn’t conscious and I don’t remember coming back into my body.  However, I was later told that when I got to hospital the doctor said to me, You have just got here on time!  We have two seconds to save you!  They gave me seven pints of blood.

‘I feel it was my soul or spirit leaving my body and travelling away.  It also was definitely me up above.  What happened gave me a kind of peace because my mother died giving birth and I believe that if I didn’t suffer, she didn’t either.  As a result, I’m not afraid to die; it was all so peaceful.’

The absence of pain, as we have seen, is also a notable feature of the soul’s departure and is universally reported.  In the physical world, the dying body may be in acute distress, perhaps following a heart attack, car crash, traumatic accident or other difficult circumstance.  Up above, however, there is no discomfort, suffering or torment.  The disembodied spirit is calm and at peace, observing the anguish below, but in no way part of it.

‘I didn’t feel any pain and I had no fear,’ said Paddy, who looked down on himself at the scene of a serious car crash, which caused him to die twice.  ‘The last thing I had seen was the back wheel of the lorry about a foot away from the windscreen of my car.  The car was mangled and was a pure wreck.  I was unconscious. 

‘The crash had driven the seat I was in almost up into the car’s back seat.  The handbrake had gone through the back of my kneecap and come out through my shin bone.  I broke my left ankle and a toe in my right foot.  I dislocated my right hip and broke four ribs. 

‘The next thing I remember was floating out of the car and looking back at myself from above.  I could see myself in the car, sitting there.  There was a woman sitting behind me, holding my head up straight.  She was a nurse who had happened to come on the scene and was holding my head in case my neck was broken. 

‘I was floating like a leaf in the wind, with no pain whatsoever despite what had happened.  I’m 100 per cent certain I had died and my spirit had left my body.  I then heard a big, echoing voice saying, His time is not up yet!  His turn is not up yet!  I felt it was God saying that from above.  I then came back into my body and I was eventually cut from the car and taken to hospital.’

As we have seen so far, the disembodied soul seems to pause for a time, observing the scene below, before either returning to the body or embarking on its journey to the light.  It mostly pauses close to the ceiling, although studies suggest its distance from the dormant body can be anywhere from as low as one foot to as high as six feet.  Underneath can be seen the often ashen-coloured body and all the action surrounding it. 

The departing spirit may attempt to communicate with people positioned near the physical form below.  The message it mostly tries to relate is that they should not be worried or concerned.  ‘Everything is just fine,’ ‘don’t be troubled or distressed,’ ‘stop trying to save me because I am going home’ are often-used phrases.  Attempts at communication, however, prove fruitless.

The new spiritual entity also has a clear view of all the activities, turmoil, upset and distress surrounding its old physical form.  It may witness the aftermath of a cardiac arrest, the mayhem during surgery, the sombre sadness at a deathbed.  This particular feature is evident in the following case history, where Martin describes the crystal-clear, bird’s-eye view of his last moments as he died from a brain haemorrhage in a hospital bed. 

‘When I came out of my body, I was floating about six to nine inches up off the floor and I had no weight whatsoever,’ Martin recalled.  ‘I was leaning forward at a 45 degree angle.  If I were to stand like that now, I would fall flat on my face.  I was in the heart ward at the time. 

‘I was dying from the brain haemorrhage and the head doctor was beating my heart.  The monitor was going beep....beep....beep!  I was standing right behind him, a bit away.  I was saying, Doctor, you are wasting your time!  I don’t want that body anymore!  My body looked sick and I didn’t want to go back into it. 

‘I could see everything – the colours of the walls, the monitor up on the wall, all the machines around.  I could see myself on the bed, with the stickers on me that were linked to the heart monitor.  I could see my head, which had aluminium clips on it and was shaved on one side.  I could also see the nurses and doctors; there were about ten of them there.

‘I knew I had three breaths to go before I’d die.  After two of them, I noticed that the monitor’s beeps had longer gaps between them.  The doctor suddenly said something to the rest of them and he turned around.  What did he do but walk straight through me!  I thought he was going to knock me, but he didn’t.  He didn’t hurt me one bit.

‘He went over to the monitor and turned a little knob.  He then looked back at the others and I sensed he was going to say he’s gone or he’s going.  That’s exactly what he did say, using a medical word instead.  He then walked back and went straight through me again.  I was amazed. 

‘I remember coming to my third breath.  I saw the most beautiful smile coming on my face.  I felt my body was thanking me for saying I’d had enough.  I think that when you die your body smiles because it knows its troubles are over and it’s never again going to suffer pain.  It knows it can rot back into the ground. 

‘When the last bit of the third breath went out, the monitor stopped and there was a straight line.  They were still beating my heart.  I told them again, You’re wasting your time!  I’m going!  That’s when I entered a tunnel and headed to the light.’ 

Children also experience the departure of the soul from the body at the time of death.  Comprehensive studies and books have been dedicated entirely to them, with texts normally featuring case histories aged from three upwards, although there are even younger examples on record than that. 

What is intriguing about childhood experiences is the undoubted credibility of those involved.  Most are too young to have acquired knowledge or opinions about the afterlife or