Fingerprints of God_ The Search for the Science of Spirituality - Barbara Bradley Hagerty [9]
“The first thing that happened was frightening,” Sophy said, looking into the middle distance. She spoke slowly, carefully, as if she were narrating an event she was witnessing in that very moment. I can do justice to her story only by repeating it verbatim.
“The first thing that happened was the sound of a hollow darkness. I’ve never heard it except there. It was very, very big—sort of like an oncoming train—but I knew it was in my ears, it was not external. And then there was a hand at the back of my neck, pressing me very strongly down. Everything is dark. Everything is black. And a voice that said, ‘You belong to me.’ And my response was, ‘If you are God. I belong to God.’ And immediately everything turned to light.”
She paused for ten, fifteen seconds, as if absorbing the light.
“The rest of the time, I was captivated in this mystical revelation. I was shown things that I don’t even have the wit to ask questions about,” Sophy said. I thought of Saint Paul’s vision of third heaven, when he claimed he was “caught up in paradise,” and “heard inexpressible things, things that man is not permitted to tell.”2
“I don’t remember most of it now,” Sophy said, reeling me back to the moment.“But I do remember two things very vividly. One was the sense of seeing the beginnings and ends of the world—how it all began. And the other was this image—it’s very difficult to describe—of electrons or atoms being swept along in the path of the hem of the garment of God. I think it was the passing of the Holy Spirit, which I could not see, because to see that would blind me.”
Sophy laughed self-consciously, embarrassed to place herself in the company of Moses watching the back of God from the cleft of the rock.
“And seeing the aftereffects! It was all love and joy and sparkling particles, swarming up and circling—it was just exquisite. And knowing that everything is going to be all right. It’s that idea of Saint Julian of Norwich, although I didn’t know it at the time: ‘All shall be well and all shall be well and all manner of things will be well.’3
“And then, slowly, slowly, slowly, coming like a turtle up to the surface of the water again, I opened my eyes. And I was blinded by the light. It was piercingly painful so I shut my eyes again. And I went back to the spiritual light for a while, and then came out again, and when I opened my eyes this time, I could see. And I realized the whole thing had taken forty-five minutes, a huge amount of time. And I realized I had to hurry for the bus. And I came galloping and springing like a gazelle down the terraces, my heart filled with joy! And watching this light radiate off my hands and light off my arms and light off the grasses and the trees burning with light, everything flaring!
“I suppose that’s what God sees when he sees us,” Sophy reflected, turning to look into my eyes. “Just light. Nothing else. And then I got on the bus and I noticed that a blood vessel had burst in the back of my hand about the size of a quarter. It startled me, but also pleased me because it meant that yes, something had happened. And other people knew it. I remember this university professor coming up to me and sitting next to me and saying something like, ‘Something happened to you, didn’t it?’ I said, ‘Yes,’ and that was all.”
I sat immobilized by her story. I felt like a body surfer who had been slammed down by a wave. Then I asked Sophy a question that many a neurologist has pondered as well.
“Did you think, Gosh, I just had a temporal lobe seizure?”
“Oh yes! Absolutely that occurred to me!” Sophy admitted happily. “Was that an epileptic fit? Did I have some kind of electrical burnout of the brain? But everything seemed to be functioning,” she said, adding that nothing like this had recurred in the past twenty years.
She leaned forward, speaking urgently.
“The experience is not important,” Sophy said, and then she laughed. “I’ve just spent fifteen minutes telling you about an experience and now I tell you—and I cannot reiterate it enough—the experience is not what was important. It