AUDIO PODCAST 3 minutes

There’s a kind of peace people write about, pray for, imagine in their quietest moments—but I actually brushed against it. Not the earthly version, the one that comes and goes with weather and circumstance, but the real thing. The kind that doesn’t flicker. The kind that doesn’t depend on breath or heartbeat. The kind that waits on the far side of fear.

When I had my near‑death experience, I stepped—just for a moment—outside the noise of being human. And in that space, I felt something no language can fully hold. It wasn’t calm the way we describe calm here. It wasn’t relief. It wasn’t even joy. It was total peace, the kind that doesn’t need a reason to exist. The kind that simply is.

For that brief stretch of time, I wasn’t carrying anything. No memories tugging at me. No unfinished business. No ache in the chest that comes from being alive and trying so hard. Everything that had ever weighed on me—every worry, every question, every moment of doubt—fell away like it had never belonged to me in the first place.

And the astonishing thing is how familiar it felt. Not foreign, not strange, not like stepping into someone else’s dream. It felt like remembering something you’d always known but had forgotten in the rush of living. A peace so complete it didn’t need your participation. You didn’t have to hold onto it. It held you.

Coming back from that kind of peace is its own kind of shock. The world feels louder. Heavier. More complicated. But it also feels more precious, because I saw the contrast. I glimpsed the quiet behind the curtain. I know that beyond all the motion and striving and beautiful mess of this life, there is a stillness waiting that makes everything here feel like a rehearsal for something larger.

And maybe that’s the gift of what I experienced. Not a longing for what’s beyond—because I am content with the life I am living—but a deeper understanding of what peace really is. Not the fragile, fleeting kind we chase on earth, but the kind that exists untouched, unbroken, and eternal.

I carried a piece of that back with Me. Even if it’s small, even if it’s quiet, it’s there. A reminder. A compass. A whisper of the peace I once stepped into, and the peace that will one day welcome me home again.

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February 7, 2023, is a day, three years ago, I will never forget. That is the day I experienced peace, total peace. This changed my life, outlook of life, and time after life on this earth.

February 7, 2024 link

February 7, 2025 link