Icon aura headIn our modern world, our dreams are officially nothing more than strange side-effect of our sleeping brains. Scientists tells us that our dreams should not be seen as significant or important. They make it clear to us that we don’t experience other realms when we sleep. This is their Scientific Materialist viewpoint. Scientific Materialism is the view that only physical things exist. It states that any non-physical experience we have, such as a dream, has no significance or connection to reality.

For anyone who might agree that only physical things exist, and that dreams are nothing but trivial illusions, here is an experience I had, several years ago. After reading it, Scientific Materialism may not seem so concrete, after all.

One night, in 2015, I was asleep in bed, when I was suddenly aware, in my sleeping mind, that I was in a pitch-black, empty place. More importantly, someone else’s spirit had suddenly come to me; that spirit was holding me tightly. I initially thought that it was some kind of attack. I wrestled with this strange visitor. The visitor appeared dark and shadowy. He (for he did feel masculine) was shaped like a person but he had no face. His arms were strange; it was as if dark smoke was constantly rising off them, like a kind of fire with only the dimmest of dark blue flames. I continued to wrestle with him. I became angry and defiant. I demanded that he yield. Then, I had a sudden moment of awareness of what I was doing. I was holding his arm in a lock. I immediately released it. I held his arm and shoulder in a friendly way. I said ‘let’s stop this. It is stupid. I don’t want to fight with you. We can be friends. Why are you here? You don’t have to do this. What is the matter?’ The visitor immediately calmed down. I felt him speak (I did not hear physical words but perceived his ‘intent to produce words’, if that makes any sense). He thought-said ‘I’m afraid of that.’ Along with that sentence, he somehow drew my attention to something in the distance. I looked in the direction that he was indicating. I saw a small, bright circle of light in the darkness; it was the size of a coin, held at arm’s length. I smiled. I said to him, ‘oh, don’t worry about that; that’s a great place!’ To prove my point, I moved myself towards the light. I moved towards it very quickly, which was fun; I felt a bit like being ‘Billy Whizz’ from ‘the Beano’ comic. I reached the circle of light. Up close, it was larger. I could see that it wasn’t a solid disk. Instead, it was an opening into a another place, a bright and calm place. I passed through the opening and went in that place. I grabbed a statue that was standing in the room beyond, on its floor. I think I even shaped the statue into something I thought would be appealing. I picked the statue up and left the bright place with the statue. I returned, into the dark void, leaving the circle of light. I headed back to where my visitor was waiting. I gave him the statue and said; “See, that place on the other side of the circle of light isn’t a bad place. There’s nothing to be afraid of, it contains lovely things like this statue.” My visitor seemed relieved by this demonstration. At that moment, I woke up, The phone was ringing. I didn’t answer it, as I assumed it was someone from North America phoning. I guessed that the person had forgotten about the time difference between North America and the UK. I lay there, in bed, in the darkness, for another minutes, then I fell asleep.

I had another dream. In this second dream, my visitor was there again but the world around us was mid-grey, not black. My visitor was more normal looking. He was calm. He was clearly a young human male. The circle of light we had both seen previously had changed. It was no longer a small disc in the distance. Instead, it was large, like a doorway, six feet away. There were people on the threshold of this circle-of-light-doorway, their bodies soft-white and glowing. They were friendly and they waved to me. I enthusiastically greeted at least one of them. I could tell that my visitor was no longer afraid of his situation, or of the circle of light. He had accepted that the doorway was there for him. I think he may have drawn me back to that place, the place he was inhabiting, in order to thank me for helping him. I’m not sure I’d done a great job. I’d started by dumbly wrestling with him! He’d come to me, seeking help and support from me, and I’d tried to pin him down. D’oh! Fortunately, he wasn’t bearing a grudge. I was very happy to see him relaxed; his confusion, fear and panic was gone. I waved farewell to him, in that grey, calm place. I returned to slumber.

This was a very unusual night’s sleep. I’d never had a night like it, as far as I know. The normal thing to do, when thinking about that night, would be to categorise its two dreams as strange, memorable dreams and nothing more, especially as I’d never had dreams like those before, or since. Nevertheless, they were odd and memorable. They are still as strong in my memory as any other memory I have ever had. But there is one aspect of the experience which puts them in a very different light, so to speak. It was to do what caused that phone-call interruption. It was not a friend or relative phoning from North America. It was my elder nephew trying to contact me and tell me that my younger nephew had collapsed in their home, that he was unconscious and that his heart had stopped. My sister and the rest of her family had been working for ten minutes to massage his heart back into action. They had finally succeeded. The ambulance had just arrived to take him to intensive care. That was the message.

My nephew James never regained consciousness. The major artery at the base of his brain had ruptured. Although his family had got his heart running again, his brain had suffered massive trauma, making a conscious state impossible. He was declared dead a day later. He was nineteen when he died. He is dearly missed.

I thought for a long time about whether or not to openly talk about this dream experience in an article. I was very concerned that it would inappropriate, that I would be sullying the memory of a terrible event with this article, but I think now that it’s important that I do talk about it. As I’ve explained in several articles on this website, and in my book Solving Reality, we are non-physical minds that temporarily inhabit physical bodies. We positively influence our bodies to enable life to function, before we finally return, at death, to another place outside of physical reality. Dr Kenneth Ring’s book Heading towards Omega, reviewed here, as well as Dr Pim Van Lommel’s book Consciousness beyond Life, reviewed here, agree with this idea. They both focus on showing, with exhaustive evidence, that when we physically die, our minds do leave our bodies. Dr Ring’s book also explores a very difficult but important emotional situation, that when a person dies, and has a near (or more accurately temporary) death experience, their emotional view of death is transformed. In that experience, they directly perceive the fact that death is simply a transition to a much better place. The person know that it is simply a transition, rather than a terrible, dark end. These people state that life is a difficult challenge, but they emphasise that it is one that needs to be performed. Death is simply a return to the wonderful realm we all inhabited before we began our current physical lives.

It is still perfectly possible that my two dreams, that night, were concoctions, and that their timing was simply a very big coincidence. If that was true, then it was an incredible coincidence that the only time I ever had a dream about helping someone to the Afterlife occurred during the very hour when a close relative of mine died. Personally, I don’t think it was a coincidence. I think I did help my nephew’s spirit across the threshold to the Afterlife. I also think that the Afterlife is a place of love; it is not to be feared. Hopefully, this article will help other people become more serene about life and death. Hopefully, it will also make it easier for them to deal, emotionally, with the loss of a loved one.