Life's River

                                     Life's River

(For Sigmund)

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, 

So do our minutes hasten to their end.

-William Shakespeare                

1.

           The last time I saw Joan was at the class reunion one year ago. It was then that I promised to write the story about my near-death experience; she insisted on it because she had felt “greatly moved”, as she put it, the day she read my e-mail.

           For about a month we had volleyed back and forth on the subject of the paranormal. So I told her about my experience because it has left its mark somewhere deep within me – a memory that I both dread and love. She wanted me to tell everybody sitting at our table that night.

           “Go on Gunther, tell them,” she implored.

           But I felt uncomfortable doing so – it was just too busy and noisy at the Elks’ Club Hall. You know how it is, loud oldies playing overhead, people walking around with broad smiles, lots of back-slapping hugs, laughter, rapid reminiscing about the “good old days” of high school (and forgetting about the bad ones. Heck, I even hugged Richard Rawlins, the bully who had tormented me since junior high! – the years had simply melted away any dislike for him).

           We all have a strange fascination with near-death stories. Maybe it’s because of our reluctance to accept that there may, quite possibly, be nothing after we die – it is just too painful to contemplate that it could be so. That’s why we love to hear people tell us that they know for a fact about the existence of a portal that will ease our way along that final journey to wherever it is our souls will go – a better place, they say, with no small measure of longing.

2.

           It happened many years ago while camping with family and friends in the highlands of the Mexican State of Puebla. The hills undulate steadily through the Eastern Sierra Madre mountain range and are covered with imposing foliage of Oyamel fir and Holm oak trees, although the presence of giant treelike ferns suggests the tropics are not too far beyond the hills. The roads are well maintained and driving them was an adventure for our little convoy as we twisted and turned through them, constantly climbing. In places, the trees on either side touched and covered the road, their branches swaying to and fro in the gentle wind. It was a beautiful day and upon reaching breaks in the vegetation we were thrilled to spy a cloudless, remarkably blue sky.

           By mid afternoon we stopped in the picturesque town of Tlatlauqui for a meal and some additional supplies then pressed onward for another twenty minutes or so reaching our destination, the Apulco River and the impressive La Soledad Dam, with still enough daylight to set up our camp on the banks of the man-made lake. The water was bluish-gray and glittery in the waning light. The sky was still clear, the air crisp, and the sun was showing off as it set, delighting us with a quiet but spectacular display of unimaginable orange and pink tones.

           We set up four tents arching around a spot we thought would be ideal for a camp fire. The largest tent was ours and the four of us – my wife Bonny, our seven-year-old daughter, Rosita, our son Isaac, age 5, and I – busied ourselves preparing the bedding: Several large, soft, fluffy quilts on top of which we placed our sleeping bags. Lanterns were strategically hung on either side. We had brought plenty of pillows from home so in the end it felt like home. Our neighbor to the right was our good, good friend, Mauro, the writer and all around funny guy, who this time was flying solo requiring only a pup tent. To our left were the newlyweds, Peri and Lourdes; both were coworkers of mine who had only recently begun joining us on these outings. The last tent belonged to the zany biochemist, Alfredo, and his assistant – and now fiancée – Yvette.

           I sent out an exploratory party to fetch firewood from the forest floor. “Bring back all sizes of dry twigs and sticks,” I commanded lightheartedly. In the meantime, Isaac and I retrieved some fairly large stones putting them into a circle thus creating a makeshift hearth.

           Peri, the novice, now shirtless and trying to impress everyone by showing off his musculature, brought back some heavy trunks that we had to arduously cut down to size with a machete. (Do you know how hard it is to split logs with a machete?)

           I had always bragged about being a good fire starter since my Boy Scout days saying I did it the old-fashioned way with flint and steel. Peri challenged me, “Okay Gun, let’s see you get this fire going. Let’s see if you sleep as well as you snore!” (Lost in translation – it is the Mexican way of saying “put your money where your mouth is.”)         I admit it. I was having a bad fire-starting day and had to resort to the inevitability of lighter fluid and matches. But it didn’t matter one bit because soon (and ignoring Peri’s teasing) I got it done. We were all contented now sitting around the fire; we were laughing, telling stories – and we were hungry again. A small grill was above the flames holding wieners and chorizo sausage, all sizzling next to a pot of beans and a griddle with corn tortillas. We spiced everything up with burnt Serrano pepper salsa we had made before leaving and that I had placed in our ice chest along with bottles of water and sodas. When we were done eating, Bonny made coffee and Mauro, with a mischievous, little-boy smile on his face, uncorked a bottle of Baja California red wine.

3.

           Around the dying embers we looked up at the sky that was now black and still cloudless. There must have been billions of stars out that night; it humbled us into silence as we all lay on the ground gazing upward. Alfredo, the scientist, began to speak about the latest discoveries of the universe. He expounded on the four fundamental forces that rule matter, time and space; the existence of dark matter; the evolving paradigm of string theory; parallel universes – indeed, the multiverse. And I recalled having pondered many times what it means to be human and being able to even ask myself this question. However simple we consider the thinking prowess of other (so-called “inferior”) species, I suspect they also ask themselves, in their own simplistic, uncomplicated way, why they exist. Brian Greene much later wrote, “…it is the depth of our understanding, acquired from a lonely vantage point in the inky black stillness of a cold and forbidding cosmos that reverberates across the expanse of reality and marks our arrival.” I wonder. After so much pondering and studying, are we at that point of understanding to really know what makes us special?

4.

           The following morning was almost equally as glorious. There were a few clouds in the sky, lumbering as slowly as the Earth turns, but with no threat of rain. Even if it had rained we were not to be deterred from walking the hiking trails. Bonny had been there before since her father had been on the engineering team that built the dam some ten years back. She knew of a place we could hike to in about ten minutes on fairly mild and non-strenuous terrain where the river had eroded the granite bedrock; when the water level was down during the dry season there were smooth excavations forming deposits of crystalline water. So we all wore our bathing suits underneath our clothes and packed towels and snacks into our backpacks expecting to swim in these primeval pools.

           The trail was everything we expected it to be. It led us at first through the thick forest with its endless cacophony of rustling foliage and chirping birds, interrupted by the tapping of a woodpecker or the hurried footsteps of small animals scurrying off stealthily through the fallen leaves. Near the clearing at the edge of the river we came across some deer that kept their distance but took their time as they progressed slowly, almost as if knowing that our purpose there was not to harm them but rather, to commune with nature – we were big city people seeking refuge in the wild.

           Isaac and I had lagged behind because we stopped on several occasions: We inspected an anthill; we tried to trap a butterfly (it was time of the year for Monarchs); a small iguana was sunbathing on a rock (we had to try to touch it – it was just too irresistible). But before we knew it the others were far ahead of us walking along the river so we tried to catch up. At one point, to our right, there was an impressive wall of dark gray granite. The pools began to appear to our left. We saw a small one, maybe about twenty feet wide; it had smooth, rounded edges and, as promised, remarkably clear water. The depth was impossible to estimate. The crystalline nature of the water and the smooth, dark, monotonous walls, with no point of reference, created an optical illusion – it could be deep or it could be shallow, there was no way to tell. Ignoring these warning signs, Isaac and I stripped down to our bathing suits. I jumped in first.

           Big mistake!

           I instantly regretted it because the water was ice cold – and shocking! It had taken my breath away and my immediate thoughts were to yell to Isaac to not jump in. So I turned to face him but it was too late – he splashed down in front of and disappeared into the depths. I desperately reached down and felt his head. Grabbing a handful of hair I pulled him to the surface but the panic was already on his face as he lunged forward pressing his body against me and wrapping his arms around my neck and his legs around my body – very tightly. (I was astonished at the strength that surges from our inner animal and reveals itself in a moment of true terror).

           He froze me in place. End result: I couldn’t swim because his grasp was so tight. It took all the strength in my arms to keep his head above water and I began to sink, barely being able to breath – the water was at my nose. I pumped my legs as hard as I could, like a terrorized frog, trying desperately to reach the edge that seemed impossibly far away. This went on, and on, and on, for what seemed an eternity. I could feel my strength begin to leave me and nearly exhausted I was overcome by the awful feeling that our death was imminent. I remember thinking that if I couldn’t save him, that I would wish to die, too, because at least I would be spared the pain of losing him – we would be together to the end.

           I could not hold my breath any longer, and when I had resigned myself to the inevitable, I felt strangely at peace. And a vision came before my senses: We were floating in a small row boat. No one seemed to be guiding it – it was just Isaac and I. The current was not gentle and the little boat bounced around and I feared it would toss us into the water but then it became calm and we proceeded slowly:

                       Come with me my lovely child,

                       And together we shall know,

                      How gentle and yet, reckless, wild,

                       The waters of life’s river flow.

           Oddly, a feeling of tranquility came over me. Suddenly, there was pleasant spring-like weather. Would my problems in the living world soon be over?

                      Come now celebrate with me,

                      That winter in the spring does end,

                      The toils, one man’s destiny,         

                       Must come to pass around the bend.

           We were led past marvelous images: Wonderfully green fields and beautiful flowers of many colors growing along the banks. The sky had a color beyond definition – wondrous, inexplicable:

                      Around the bend with rainbows lit,

                       In joyful scenes of wondrous hue,

                      With courage in God’s boat we’ll sit,

                       And gain the shore within our view.

               The shore at last – the place we were destined to encounter lay before us. The air was fresh, the breeze tantalizing. People I thought I knew but couldn’t exactly place were beckoning us. Their smiles were as broad as the day and their gazes reflected love. We were ready:

                       And when it shall embark at last,              

                       We’ll touch a land of no return,

                       And see the light of all men past,

                      And hand in hand, we’ll take our turn.

           Gently, I took Isaac’s hand:

                       Come with me my lovely child,

                       And together we shall know,

                       How furious, and yet gentle, mild,

                      The waters of life’s river flow.

And together we took our first step into that magical plane. But I felt his hand slip out of mine and as I turned I saw him begin to slowly vanish. My heart skipped a beat…I suddenly felt afraid.

5.

           I felt a firm tug on my wrist and I broke out of my reverie, like waking from a dream, and once again felt the icy water and the breathlessness. It was quiet Yvette, who had forgotten something at the campground (she later couldn’t even remember what it was) and on her way back, seeing us struggle to stay afloat, had stretched as far as she could while holding on with difficulty to the slippery rock, trying not to fall in herself, ultimately pulled us to the edge. She pleaded kindly but with conviction to Isaac to let me go, that she had him. I made it to the edge as well and with my last ounce of strength, muscles twitching, vision blurry, pulled myself to safety. I lay gasping for air, coughing, water spurting through my nostrils, and cried with tears of exhaustion, sadness, happiness, gratitude – but mostly, tears of incredulity about what I had just experienced.

6.

                       Birth. Life. Death. I think about these things a lot lately. But mainly about death and where we go – could it be no one really knows? That is what I asked Joan the night of the reunion. Whether we listen to the scientists or to the true believers – both with equally sincere intentions of explaining the visions of the dying mind – ultimately, it makes no difference. Albert Camus once wrote, “We despair in our hope for another life and in so doing we elude the implacable grandeur of this life.” He also said, “Everything is true, and nothing is true.” So the real question that I should have asked Joan that night is: Could it be no one really needs to know?