Freedom is the ability to reflect, to evaluate, to embrace the vast unknown without fear. Sabine Mehne was greeted not by an earthly light, but by something far more profound—a radiant, all-encompassing glow that welcomed her with warmth beyond comprehension.
"A light of such beauty and brightness that it didn’t dazzle, but instead filled me with joy. I became one with it, experiencing the most wonderful moment of my life," she recalled. Alongside this revelation came an unshakable premonition: her illness would bring death.
What began as flu-like symptoms escalated rapidly. Doctors suspected cancer but found no clear diagnosis. Fever raged, her body weakened, and intense stomach pain demanded morphine for relief. With no respite from exhaustion and despair, she braced herself for what seemed inevitable.
A single book on the subject was at her bedside—Elisabeth Kübler-Ross’s On Children and Death. The book spoke directly to the emotions surrounding terminal illness, offering words of solace to those confronting the unknown. Yet nothing could have prepared her for what came next.
She felt herself lifted, drawn into another presence, as though her existence was split between two dimensions—one bound to the physical world, the other embracing something ethereal. Looking down, she saw her own body. "That’s me," she thought, "but it no longer matters." She remained herself, yet separate, free of pain, untethered from time. The moment transcended everything she had ever known.
Then came the images—a cascade of memories, some long forgotten, each unfolding in astonishing clarity. Every moment of her life, from childhood to the present, reeled before her like a film. More than just seeing, she felt each emotion, not just her own but those of everyone in her life.
This panoramic life review wasn’t about judgment, but about understanding, redemption, and reconciliation. There was no anger, no regret, only a profound absorption into the loving energy surrounding her. "If this is what dying feels like, there is nothing to fear," she realized.
Her perspective on faith shifted. She had carried with her the weight of ingrained religious teachings—the image of a punishing God. Yet in this moment, she grasped something entirely different: there was no punishing force, no wrathful deity. The concept of "God" suddenly felt too small, too constrained by language and doctrine.
We impose labels and rules upon the divine, constructing belief systems that restrict rather than liberate. Society clings to dogma, hesitant to embrace the notion that existence extends far beyond what we have been taught. There is a dimension untouched by human hierarchy, beyond the reach of religious institutions.
Religions, crafted by human hands, categorize the infinite into structured doctrines. They build bridges between the earthly and the spiritual, but too often, these bridges are tools of control. Power, once seized, is wielded over the souls of the faithful, exploiting their longing for certainty. The question of life after death is transformed into an enterprise, its mystery packaged and sold.
Yet true spiritual understanding cannot be dictated. It does not reside in rituals or texts, but within the essence of being. There exists a consciousness, a presence interwoven with the universe, guiding without coercion, protecting without demand.
Sabine emerged from her experience forever changed. She no longer feared death, nor did she subscribe to the institutions that sought to define it. She was not a follower of religion, but a being of spirit, unbound by the limitations imposed by others.
To live freely is to embrace the unknown, to laugh in the face of fear, and to love beyond boundaries. It is to trust in the light, in the boundless energy that welcomes us home.
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