“There is no death, and there are no dead.”
Life carries us forward with a steady rhythm, until one day, something unexpected changes everything: a sudden illness, an accident, a death no one saw coming. In that moment, everything else falls away. The death of someone we love is one of the most profound events life brings to us.
That person we grew up with—built a life alongside, shared our story with—is gone from our sight, all at once. And in the days that follow, even as ordinary life slowly resumes, we ask quietly and honestly: Where did they go?
Over time, I came to believe that they haven’t simply disappeared. I began to feel that the people we love can remain close to us in ways we may not always understand. For me, they’re only a thought away. I can speak to them when I need to, and that sense of connection has brought me comfort during grief.
The belief that we continue on after we leave this body has brought me tremendous peace. I don’t expect everyone to see it the way I do, but for me, this understanding changed the way I experienced grief. Instead of seeing death only as an ending, I began to see it as a transition, and that perspective helped me find peace while continuing to feel connected to the people I’d lost.
Exploring my psychic abilities
I wasn’t always confident that life continues after this one. For decades, I built a career as a teacher, a curriculum consultant, a business owner, and eventually a graduate-level professor in Christian Ministries at a well-known Christian college.
After four years there, though, I found myself at a crossroads: my faith had quietly slipped away, and with it, my certainty that an unseen entity watches over us. I felt unmoored, searching for solid ground.
Then, after 50 years of an uneventful life, something wonderful began to unfold. A series of gifted psychics entered my life, one after another, each sharing insights that hinted at something far larger than the world I thought I knew. They were teaching me new realities about this life.
One of them told me I have psychic abilities of my own and suggested a simple way to explore them: hold playing cards face-down in my palm, one at a time. A cold sensation means the card is black; warmth means red.
That evening, I tried it myself—sorting 23 cards into two piles, purely by feel, without looking at them. When I turned the two piles over, every card in the cold pile was black. Every card but one in the warm pile was red.
I sat there in wonder, hands trembling. I was amazed that I could sense something my eyes never showed me.
Curious to understand more, I discovered remote viewing, which is the practice of quietly focusing the mind on a distant, unseen location to view what’s there. I found a website with images used to test this ability. Sitting with my eyes closed, I focused on the meaningless five letters that linked to an unknown image, and as I let my mind wander, images came to me.
I sketched what I saw: tall, gold-lit buildings rising from green mounds of trees beneath a blue sky. When I revealed the image, I found my sketch was an exact match. Tall, ancient Mayan temples bathed in golden light, rising through a canopy of green forest! I was awestruck.
Together with the playing cards, I began to sense that our everyday experience of life was only the surface of something much deeper.
This discovery opened a door for me. I began to wonder whether our awareness could extend beyond the limitations of our body’s senses. I began exploring who we truly are—reading, listening, searching.
This led me to study mediums and the evidence that consciousness continues after death.
An unmistakable presence
One day, in quiet meditation, I felt the unmistakable presence of a psychic I’d known named Greta Alexander, who had passed into spirit years before. I asked her, gently, “Greta, how do I know it’s you?”
Immediately, the answer came: “Test me. Test me.”
I asked what headline would appear on the news network, MSNBC, in the next couple of days. Her reply came instantly: “Hurricane Ivan targets Cuba.” I knew nothing of any hurricane or a storm by that name.
Two days later, there it was on my screen, word for word: “Hurricane Ivan Targets Cuba.”
Overjoyed at the evidence Greta lived on after her body died, I reached out to my own mother, who had passed years earlier. Just minutes before guests arrived for a small gathering at my home, I was meditating and felt her voice in my mind. Still uncertain that we can speak to people whose bodies have died, I asked how I could know it was truly her.
She told me, “Tonight, two will be absent.” Moments later, as guests arrived, they announced that guests Elizabeth and Brenda wouldn’t be coming. Two were absent.
More visitations from the dead
Eager to learn more about the life after this life, I attended a séance led by David Thompson, a gifted physical medium whose sittings allow those in spirit to enter the room, speak and even embrace their loved ones. During the session, one presence stood before me and spoke my name clearly. He placed his broad, warm hand on my head. I felt its size and pressure.
I was being touched by a person from the afterlife. Moments later, another presence placed a smaller hand—distinctly different—on my head. And then, most movingly, a son who had passed years before stood before his mother, sitting next to me.
I was being touched by a person from the afterlife. Moments later, another presence placed a smaller hand—distinctly different—on my head.
In a clear voice, he spoke words only she would recognize. He then kissed her gently. It was an uplifting reunion that deepened my certainty that life continues after the body dies.
In the years that followed, I discovered recordings from the sittings of a remarkable medium named Leslie Flint. His gift allowed the dead to materialize and speak directly with the people who loved them, while sitting with Flint. I found thousands of these recordings and spent considerable time researching Flint and the accounts surrounding his sittings.
The material deepened my interest in the possibility that consciousness continues beyond physical death.
In one especially moving set of recordings, a professor named Dr. Dinshaw Nanji visited Flint twice a year for a decade, speaking with his deceased wife Annie for up to 45 minutes during each sitting. Annie spoke in a distinctly feminine voice that Dr. Nanji recognized as his wife’s.
The voice was far removed in quality from the masculine voice of the medium. She described details of his everyday life that day and in the few days before—an experience that deeply strengthened his belief that she remained present with him, unseen but still very much alive.
Finding your own sense of connection
If you’re grieving someone you love, you don’t have to force yourself to understand what happens after death. You can simply give yourself permission to remain open to the possibility that love and connection continue in ways we may not fully understand.
You might begin by setting aside a few quiet minutes to remember the person you lost. Talk to them in your thoughts, write down a memory that brings you comfort or simply notice the moments when you feel their presence most strongly.
You don’t have to interpret every experience or look for a sign. Sometimes, simply allowing yourself to remember, reflect and feel connected can bring a little peace to a difficult day.
Since the times I’ve written about above, I’ve had many more experiences of speaking with people I believe are living in the afterlife. These experiences led me to devote myself to helping others explore the possibility that we’re eternal beings having a physical experience for a while. For me, this understanding has changed the way I think about death and brought a sense of peace to the process of grieving.
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