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THE GRAND KEY
I
had gotten into the habit of sleeping sitting up, and it had been nearly
two years since I last laid flat—a detail I had forgotten to tell
Doc Lowell. Now, my large chest pressed heavily on my lungs and heart.
They couldn't sustain the weight. I flat-lined (so to speak) as I smothered
beneath the bulk of my own fat. I'm told that Doc Lowell's team snapped
into action and within minutes resuscitated me, then proceeded with the
operation. But, of course, I wasn't aware of any of this. I experienced
something the surgical team was unaware of and which—to this day—I
can't adequately describe.
 Most of us have become acquainted
with the term "near-death experience," and I suppose that's
what I had. I saw no tunnel, no bright light or angelic beings—I
just fell backwards and landed into a soft, black void rather than onto
the hard surface of the platform. Normally with a fall, I would have tried
to catch myself because even fat people have reflexes. Sensing I no longer
had a body that could get hurt, I just went along for the ride. And what
a ride! I'll tell you, you never feel so good as when you're dead. I wanted
to let out an infinite sigh of relief. Every pain had disappeared. All
my hunger and self-doubt were simply gone. I was a being of spirit. I
felt wholly myself—my natural and true self. I was in my prime. I
don't mean to brag, but in the spirit, I possessed a truly celestial physique!
I showed no trace of my tubby tummy, thunder thighs, or beluga butt.
Jenny Craig, you should know,
girl, you'll need a new job when you get to heaven.
Not that I believed I was in
heaven or anything. But when I looked around me, a billion-billion stars
blinked on, and heaven seemed close enough to touch. I shifted my body
and flew to the blackness beyond the stars and then truned to catch the
view. And what a Kodak moment! The entire universe—our beautiful,
abundant universe—spread before my eyes in an immense, white-fired
sphere.
But more than my eyes took in
this sphere—all my senses took it in, as well as my awareness. My
spirit drew the universe inside of me, or the universe drew me inside
of it. However it happened, I knew all of creation from every perspective
at once—top to bottom, side to side, outside to inside. I knew the
broad reaches of the galaxies, and at the same time, I knew the hidden
hearts of the tiniest particles.
With this view, I understood
at once the order of the universe. Its composition, dynamics, and rhythms
of operation became clear. I saw that, as The creator's handiwork, our
universe is vast and grand but also simple and obvious and sublime. I
saw that everything echoes everything else throughout every level of the
universe. In fact, everything IS everything else. And I grasped this key
to creation's mystery:
We
are all the Big Us—miraculously created, inseparably connected.
I
didn't have long to consider this. The instant it occurred to me, whump!
I fell back into my body. Just like that—whump!—as if my mortal
body carried a pull of gravity too strong for my spirit to resist any
longer. It was like Dorothy's house crashing to the ground in the Land
of Oz—unceremonious and sudden. My body still slept under the effect
of anesthetics, but my spirit remaind aware for a moment. The surgical
room lights glared white hot. Tubes ran down my throat. Two of Doc Lowell's
team supported my leg in the air while a third wrapped it with ace bandages.
"Hurry that up," the doc said to them. "I'd like to get
started here." Then I blanked out.
Later, when I slid open my eyes,
an oxygen mask rested over my nose and mouth. I lay in a double-wide bed—or
maybe two beds pushed together with the heads raised so I could breathe.
Doc Lowell was standing nearby.
"Hi, Joan," he said.
"We're going to keep you here in the recovery room through the night.
Everything went fine with the operation, except that we lost you for a
minute before we got started."
"You loshed me?" My
lips were like lead.
"Yes, but we got you back.
You're a strong woman."
"You shaid to hurry wish
my legsh."
"You were out cold—how
did you hear that?"
"The bandagesh..."
"To prevent blood clots.
You get some sleep, now. I'll check back later."
He crossed the room, passing
five other recovering patients, and walked out the door. I didn't call
him back to describe what happened from my perspective when I'd "died."
He would probably call my flight to the edge of creation hallucinating,
and I didn't know how to argue with that. It was reality, and I shouldn't
have to defend it to anyone. Besides, though I had become one with the
entire universe, I didn't feel that the experience was meant to be universal.
It felt private. Just me and the universe. Until I knew what good purpose
sharing it would serve, I decided to keep what I experienced to myself.
But I had other things to think
about. The surgery was behind me, and realizing that my body would now
absorb only a portion of what I ate made me smile under my oxygen mask.
I closed my eyes and tried to count all the ways my life would change.
I got to sixty-three before I fell asleep.
Sometime in the night, I woke
up when a nurse in blue entered the room. She moved from patient to patient,
checking each one's condition and jotting down numbers from electonic
monitors that beeped and hummed near every bed. She worked through the
room purposefully, and yet this nurse was not just making her rounds.
She spent an extra minute at each bedside to arrange the blankets of those
who slept, dim the lamps, review each patient's face. She made personal,
caring contact with each one, and the words "We are all the Big Us"
came to mind.
She arrived at my bed, and after
updating my chart and checking the fluid in my IVs, she tucked the blankets
in along the side of my mattress. Her hair—black, streaked with gray—was
tied back with a wide, white ribbon. I wondered about the mirror, the
bathroom, the house where she had tied that ribbon on. I wanted to know
her, everything about her.
"Are you comfortable?"
she asked.
I nodded.
Then she rested her hand on
my shoulder, and through her touch, I felt compassion flow. "Rest
easy," she said and moved on to the next bed.
Words from the past rang out
in my head: no use for you. But this time I dared to shout back,
Who has no use for me? Not Lynette or this nurse—they
have use for me. They care. Even my gurney-driver, Mack—he's kind
to me and doesn't judge me for my problems. So there's three people, at
least, with use for me in their lives. Not to mention The Creator, who
must have some use for me. Why else would He make me one with the
universe and then let me live to remember it?
What a concept. The Creator
had use for me!
I snuggled into the warmth of
my blankets to relish the feeling, and waves of wonder washed through
me. They rivaled even the thrill that one day I might become Goldie Hawn's
black twin!
See what caring and kindness
lead to? The Creator uses the touch of others to let us feel His touch.
The nurse in the white ribbon helped to heal more than just my body that
night in the recovery room. Her caring showed that she already knew The
Grand Key to the natural universe. Her touch reclaimed the mortal me as
part of the Big Us.
I mentioned that my reentry
into my body was like Dorothy's house landing in Oz—but the analogy
doesn't end there. Compared to the world beyond, Earth can seem as unreal
and disorienting as Dorothy found Oz to be. This is not our natural home.
It would be nice to just click our heels together and go to our real home
where nothing impedes growth and joy. However, I've learned that
there are good reasons for having no easy outs. We must progress here
while we're here and—like Dorothy's friends—acquire hearts that
love, brains equipped with wisdom and truth, and courage to find and follow
our yellow-brick roads. By gaining any measure of these, we grow. But
to gain the full measure, we must lend our strength to others. Remember
The Way of the Universe: life nurtures life. Creation must nurture creation,
or everything reverts to chaos.
So, no matter how far on this
journey we think we've come, it's never ours to say we've come far enough.
Only God can make that call. Like the Tin Man, the Scarecrow, and the
Lion, we don't own magic slippers that can end our journey by a click
of the heels. This is because we're meant to learn by staying behind,
linking arms and helping others along the road. My nurse knew this. She
new that loving is the most natural act of all.
THE
CLUE IN THE VOID
Through
all my desperate years I had many times prayed for God to swallow me into
the void. That day in surgery, He did just that. But He pulled a fast
one and brought me back! Now I've got Him figured. When He says no, He
actually means yes—but yes to something far finer than what we know
to ask for.
It's like praying to tour the
neighborhood on a new pair of in-line skates, and The Creator says no
because what He's got in mind for you is a flight on the space shuttle.
Talk about touring the 'hood! Your lips will never flap again about not
getting that new pair of skates.
With
God in the bargain, never doubt you got the better deal.
Let me give you some advice.
When you pray to The Creator, pray this: "Okay, I admit it, I'm clueless
and you're The Clue. So let Your will be done. Not mine." Believe
me, you'll be better off for it. You and I are creators, too—capable
of creating lots of good or ill by our own efforts. We produce wonderful,
joyful creations when we persist in things that make our spirits thrive.
On the other hand, we cause pain by our creations which conflict with
the natural tendencies of the spirit. Either way, the Master Creator honors
our efforts. It would break natural law for him not to.
I used to believe that nothing
existed in the void between the stars. I was wrong. For one thing, scientists
have discovered something there they call "antimatter." (It
was probably me they detected.) But scientists will never discover
such a thing as "antilife" because The Creator is life,
and His gentle, life-sustaining influence is everywhere—even in the
void of space. I know. I went there. I felt Him in every particle and
at every level of His creation. The amazing thing is that even the inanimate
elements love Him and serve Him perfectly by aligning themselves with
His will. Likewise, I'm convinced that the only perfect use of ourselves,
our lives, is to bring about The Creator's will in us. It makes natural
sense, doesn't it? I mean, after all, we are His creations and:
He
is in charge. 
(Joan
Fountain eventually went on to lose 260 pounds, not as a result of surgery
but of gaining self-worth and of learning the joys of becoming what God
wanted for her. She eventually created a company and became a top-paid
consultant and key-note speaker for many Fortune 500 companies such as
AT&T, American Airlines, Turner Broadcasting, and Westinghouse. Through
this and her appearances on Oprah and other national TV and radio
shows she shared her life story and her mix of wit and wisdom with millions.
She was happiest when helping others to grow spiritually. In 1997, Joan
Fountain suffered heart failure, and this time she did not return. She
was 47.)
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