At six years of age, Comrie Palmer was pronounced dead at the Hotel Dieu Hospital when her heart failed after surgery. Thirty-six years later, she died again, for twenty-three minutes, also from heart failure. This is Comrie's account of the latter amazing death journey. You will discover a different perspective on how to live your life after reading her detailed experience. Her description is so vivid that you can sense it. The Cosmic Mind zapped into her brain, penetrating it with a deep knowledge and understanding of things that Comrie knew nothing about beforehand. The experience transformed her as her intellect level skyrocketed. In this incredible recollection of her experience, Comrie Palmer delves deep into the Ceremony of Dying while sharing with us a Formula for Living. This is a thought-provoking testimony that will have you pondering your own life's actions. And you will discover that when love manifests, you receive the benefits.
DYING TO GET THERE
... a true story ... a detailed account of a death journey ...By Comrie PalmerBalboa Press
Copyright © 2011 Comrie Palmer
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4525-3754-2 Contents
Prologue..................................................................1Letter to Life from Death.................................................6Part One The Day Of My Death..............................................7Part Two My Death Journey.................................................37Part Three Alive Again....................................................139Part Four Thirty Five Years After my Death Experience.....................149Epilogue..................................................................173Letters by: Dr Brent MacMillan M.D........................................177Iridologist, Dimitrios Develecos..........................................179Rev. Dr. Vernon F. Gunckel BSc., M.A., M.Div., Ph.D.......................181Daddy.....................................................................185
Chapter One
IT is mid-morning on a beautiful October day in Canada. I am in slow motion, feeling the need to pamper myself some. Therefore I am having my late breakfast and tea tray on the porch of the old farmhouse.
Slowly, ever so slowly, I eat my applesauce. I can feel it in my mouth. I am most aware of the taste as it slides down my throat. Particularly, I am vividly aware of the feeling of drinking my tea. Yes, it pours into me, into my mouth and my throat, but it feels to me as though it is feeding beyond me into the universe.
I find myself dwelling on thoughts of the universe, on thoughts of the magnitude of it all. That leads me to thinking about my private world. My family. My animals. My home, my land ... my Universe around me.
I sit here quietly holding that thought about this world of mine while I enjoy looking at the autumn leaves. They are changing colour, and I ponder that process of nature, and over the assorted colours that surround me. This property has such a vast assortment of trees, that as I slowly turn my head from one side to the other, it treats my eyes to a plethora of colour.
The apple tree to my right, which stands victorious after giving a great supply of fruit this year - the very applesauce that I am eating - is out in the open in full sunlight. With a mature hardwood forest behind it, and all the way over to the purple leaves on the plum tree on my far left, colour is everywhere.
Years ago this acreage had been a nursery for growing trees for resale. It had more than a hundred and fifty different varieties of trees. Over the past seventy-five years, the saplings that were planted back then and had not been sold, have grow to a full glorious maturity. In that interim from their planting to now, the trees had also grown un-pruned and wild. However, the rows remained. The trees planted in rows, grew in rows. How stately to walk among them. It was an overgrown botanical garden.
As I look up to watch the activity of the birds in the big maple tree near the front step of the porch, the antiquity of the porch moulding where the sun shines through catches my eye. The old porch where I am sitting is the kind that has pillars with fancy connecting moulding around the top. The curved design in those cut-out wood pieces gives a lace-trim look and makes it cozy.
All of the porch feels cozy. It is all wood with flower boxes spilling over with orange fall flowers blooming in them. Up inside the eaves is a swallow's nest. I watched the birds build it there last year and return to raise a new family in it this year. Amazing. The far end of the porch toward the apple tree is open but, overgrown juniper bushes grow around the rest of the porch.
One of the bushes beside the front entrance is so wide and tall that it reaches half way up the opening above the flower boxes, giving a wonderful protection for sitting out on the porch on rainy days. My eyes linger a moment on the rich green of the juniper reaching up past the vibrant orange flowers in the boxes, and I see the crisp white "gingerbread" moulding stretching down between the pillars. All of it frames the pale green-grey of the willow tree that sits off a bit in the distance. The willow is in front of a chorus of colour coming from the forest of assorted trees behind. If I were a painter, I would paint that picture.
The land in front of where I am sitting on the porch slopes gradually down toward the road, almost as if it had been terraced. However, the back of the house is protected from wind, as the land there continues upward. There are no neighbouring houses in sight from anywhere, and many times when I walk the property I revel not only in its beauty but equally enjoy the seclusion. Even down at the road level, I can't see other houses.
Down there, at the entrance to the property, it is marshy and quite wet as there is a stream winding through. It too has become so overgrown through the years that at the height of dry summer you have to follow the rippling sound when searching to find the water flow under the fallen brush. Morel mushrooms grow wild in there. They are a pinecone-shaped delicacy of the mushroom family.
There is wild life throughout that whole lower level of the property. Partridge, quail, pheasant and wild geese. Rabbits, deer, and ducks. They all live in there.
As you begin from the road to follow the long driveway up and into the property, you realize that you are climbing and that the old house is really on top of quite a hill. Because of the foliage, people cannot see that lower level from where I sit, but I know it is there.
On the walk up from the road there are a couple of clearings. One has remained a green meadow, but the other has spread into a field filled with daisies and cosmos. Throughout their season they blanket that field with bright yellow and white blooms.
At the top of the driveway there was once a barn and silo. Only the retaining wall of the barn remains, along with the flat-to-the-ground foundation stones of the entire structure. This retaining wall cuts into the hill and holds the earth firmly on one side, while the other side, the face of the wall, is completely covered with climbing ivy. That ivy wall is what people see when they park at the top of the driveway hill. The stone circle foundation of the silo has become my spring garden plot where all bulb flowers bloom early each year.
When walking past this and deep into the back of the land, you find several visual treats along the way. In one section there is a pine-tree reforestation area that has a sand based dirt road around it, so you can drive, ride a horse, or walk the perimeter. That old, rough road is a fire route and leads right to the back fence line. As you walk that north boundary line into the depth of the property, one of the treats along the path is the surprising change in the terrain. As you come past an overgrown tree in the fence line ... one of those gnarled and twisted old trees that the wind has blown and shaped for years ... out of nowhere, you are suddenly at the top of a hill. You and the forest and the path flow over the rise and down to another level.
It seems to be mostly shady down this hill, as the property on the other side of the fence line is also deeply wooded, and therefore little light filters through. It is always cool on that part of the walk, and that is refreshing. There are many little secret burrows along there where I stop, sit, and communicate with nature.
Our back fence line abuts the back of our neighbour's land, as his measured acreage...
