The Garden at the Edge of Beyond

By Michael Phillips

A journey into a realm beyond imagination gives one man a glimpse into his own spirituality through messages of faith, hope, and love.

A man lies down for a normal night of sleep and inexplicably awakens to find himself in a surreal garden bursting with fantastic aromas and colors.

A succession of “tour guides’ come and go, helping him to interpret the landscape’s fragrant messages, each one a clue on the journey to discover his true self, and, ultimately, the Creator of the Country Beyond.

“One night, a 48-year-old man undergoes a truly odd experience. He awakens in a strange world, where he is able to discuss theology with such entities as a Scotsman and an Englishman, meant to be the well-known Christian theologians George MacDonald and C.S. Lewis . . . Phillips brings off this unexpected premise surprisingly well . . . a wonderful starting point for some great debate.” —Library Journal

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Oct 21, 2020
• ISBN: 9781508082217

Michael Phillips

Professor Mike Phillips has a BSc in Civil Engineering, an MSc in Environmental Management and a PhD in Coastal Processes and Geomorphology, which he has used in an interdisciplinary way to assess current challenges of living and working on the coast. He is Pro Vice-Chancellor (Research, Innovation, Enterprise and Commercialisation) at the University of Wales Trinity Saint David and also leads their Coastal and Marine Research Group. Professor Phillips' research expertise includes coastal processes, morphological change and adaptation to climate change and sea level rise, and this has informed his engagement in the policy arena. He has given many key note speeches, presented at many major international conferences and evaluated various international and national coastal research projects. Consultancy contracts include beach monitoring for the development of the Tidal Lagoon Swansea Bay, assessing beach processes and evolution at Fairbourne (one of the case studies in this book), beach replenishment issues, and techniques to monitor underwater sediment movement to inform beach management. Funded interdisciplinary research projects have included adaptation strategies in response to climate change and underwater sensor networks. He has published >100 academic articles and in 2010 organised a session on Coastal Tourism and Climate Change at UNESCO Headquarters in Paris in his role as a member of the Climate, Oceans and Security Working Group of the UNEP Global Forum on Oceans, Coasts, and Islands. He has successfully supervised many PhD students, and as well as research students in his own University, advises PhD students for overseas universities. These currently include the University of KwaZuluNatal, Durban, University of Technology, Mauritius and University of Aveiro, Portugal. Professor Phillips has been a Trustee/Director of the US Coastal Education and Research Foundation (CERF) since 2011 and he is on the Editorial Board of the Journal of Coastal Research. He is also an Adjunct Professor in the Department of Geography, University of Victoria, British Columbia and Visiting Professor at the University Centre of the Westfjords. He was an expert advisor for the Portuguese FCT Adaptaria (coastal adaptation to climate change) and Smartparks (planning marine conservation areas) projects and his contributions to coastal and ocean policies included: the Rio +20 World Summit, Global Forum on Oceans, Coasts and Islands; UNESCO; EU Maritime Spatial Planning; and Welsh Government Policy on Marine Aggregate Dredging. Past contributions to research agendas include the German Cluster of Excellence in Marine Environmental Sciences (MARUM) and the Portuguese Department of Science and Technology.

Book preview

1

A Sleeping and a Waking

The day had not been otherwise memorable, at least not as to indicate what sort of singular night would follow.

I was not a young man at the time, though certainly not so old as to consider death imminent—forty-eight to be precise. It was a good age from which to look back on one’s past with a certain maturity of years, with yet hope of many more to follow.

Thus I might have expressed the state of my existence had I given it consideration on the day in question—which I did not. I simply set head to pillow with the physical and mental satisfaction of putting another day behind and a vague awareness of the duties the morrow would press upon me. Consciousness gradually faded, as it had more than ten thousand times before. I had not the slightest doubt that an equally normal and expected waking would follow seven or eight hours hence.

I had of course from time to time reflected abstractly upon the notion of an existence on the other side of my earthly one. Never, however, had my contemplations been other than the shadowy and impersonal musings of a curious brain. Not in my most far-reaching imaginings did I suspect that on this particular night I myself would experience a taste of this life beyond my own.

Does ever a man or woman select a certain day as suitable to face the hereafter?

I certainly would not have chosen this one. I yet cherished many ambitions and goals for what I called my life. But the plans and schedules of eternity do not fall to man to determine.

When slumber overtook me, therefore, I slept as never before. When I woke, I found that all was utterly changed.

How much time (I employ the word in its former sense; in the place of my waking no such word existed, or could exist) had passed, I had not an idea. A few seconds, a few years . . . the matter was irrelevant. It was a place of neither past nor present.

Light bathed me from all sides. The wakefulness that had come to me was so intrinsically different, so thoroughly void of the haziest residue of sleep, I knew in an instant that my senses had been dramatically altered.

There was no bedroom, no house. I stood alone, as if a silent shower of brightness were tumbling over me and had awakened me of itself.

The notion of being in some eternal place did not strike me immediately. Never, in fact, had I felt so remarkably full of life. Neither did I wonder about my status or location—questions that must already occur to my reader.

I merely accepted the moment—full of light, full of health, full of wakeful energy. I can describe it in no other manner than to say I was . . . I existed . . . I felt only a profound and contented sense of be-ing.

Who was I? might be asked.

At the time I thought not to make such inquiry. I was . . . myself. For the moment, that was enough.

It would not be long before I would begin to discover how great was the metamorphosis that had been visited upon me. To call it less than a complete transformation would not convey the overwhelming realization that though I was still mindful of being me, much of what I had always considered my me-ness was suddenly gone. This had the necessary effect of raising what did remain of this me to new levels of clarity.

A caterpillar sheds its old skin that something greater than the outer garment, its true winged nature, might emerge. That mature form has all along been developing within, hidden from view. Now at once is it visible with brilliance and definition.

Such analogy did not immediately occur to me. Before long, however, it became clear that my conception of what it meant to be me was utterly distinct from that which I would have called my self-awareness upon entering my bedchamber the previous evening. I remained fully cognizant of my former self, and yet all was changed. The outer layer, that previous persona, had fallen away. Suddenly the light shone upon that which had been concealed even from my own view.

With the shedding of the old skin, I saw myself anew. Even as I say the words, I realize that this new me, like the butterfly, had been developing and growing all along, preparing and waiting for its day of awaking.

Who or what comprised the specific components of the being that now prepared to spread its wings—these questions would come soon enough, but did not raise themselves for consideration just yet.

I had heard otherworldly and out-of-body stories involving passageways of white where bright light shone in the distance. I perceived no such tunnel. What I did see—it remains vivid even now in my memory—I can scarcely formulate into the incomplete medium of words.

That there was light is certain, and, though I had no particular sensation of walking or other bodily function, I felt only an urging, a pulling, a compelling forward.

2

A Meeting

Without emerging from this bath of luminescence, but rather as the light expanded my vision to behold more of my surroundings, I saw elements of familiarity spreading out around me. In the language of my former life, which it was now clear had been left behind, I found myself in the midst of a great meadow on the most lovely spring afternoon imaginable. These paltry expressions are grievously insufficient to convey the vibrant reality, but they will have to suffice.

It was warm and still. A thousand fragrances of blooming grasses, trees, and flowers mingled in the quiet peaceful atmosphere. Insects, birds, bees, and a variety of winged creatures flew pleasantly about, the smallest even without annoyance, contributing each in its own way to the pleasurableness of the setting. A moisture in the ground added a further sense of vitality to this place. The rich green turf—thick, springy, lush—underlay the most wonderful profusion of flowers—mostly species I had never seen, though I recognized roses of diverse colors, white and yellow daisies, giant purple irises, several shades of primrose, Freesias, and hyacinth, and glorious tulips of uncountable number—exploding out of the ground randomly and in all directions as far as the eye could see.

Such flowers they were!—larger and fuller than any on earth, as if they themselves were the reality and those I had formerly loved were but their shadows. Not petal nor leaf showed speck of brown or wilt. Every inch of every plant was radiantly alive, as if they would continue to grow larger and more abundant of life the more one drank in their beauty. Decay did not appear among the characteristics of this place.

This strange land possessed a vague familiarity, as of a homeland infinitely distant in forgotten childhood, now suddenly remembered as the place one was always meant to live.

With wondering eyes as I gazed about the seemingly infinite garden, I perceived I was not alone.

A man approached.

Instinctively I knew him. He was not dressed as any of the common images had represented him. What exactly made up his attire, I cannot remember. Dress, like time, seemed irrelevant.

I did not think to be afraid. A yet deeper contentment filled me as he approached. A smile was on his face. His arms were open to receive me in welcome. I fell into them, and he embraced me like an old friend.

I remained in his comforting arms for some time. When I finally stepped back, he reached forth his hand. His words were not what I expected to hear.

3

Unexpected Question

Do you have something for me? came the question as I stood on the morning of my waking.

I now noticed that the hand of him who met me in the garden was extended in position of anticipation. His scarred palm was open, as if waiting for me to place something into it.

What could I possibly have? Whatever transition I had experienced since lying down in my bed the night before—wherever I was, whatever had happened—it was clear I had arrived in this place empty-handed.

I have nothing to give you, I heard my voice say.

There is one thing you have, he replied.

But I arrived here with nothing. Only myself.

"You speak truly. Your Self is indeed the thing that made the passage with you."

Is that what you want? I asked.

Of course. He nodded. It was my Father who gave it to you when he breathed life into you.

"My . . . Self?"

It was given you spotless, brimming with potential for development. I gave you opportunity to make of it something to fill him with pride and pleasure. I want to see what you have made of it, so that together we may take it to him.

"But I didn’t know I was making my Self into something that . . . you would want to see."

All things are given for that purpose. Why else would it have been given you except to be made something of? Everything returns to the Heart from which all comes. What else do you imagine your life was for?

I