11/11/11 Ascension: A Rebirth Experience in hilo, Hawai‘i

...At the foothills of Muana Kea

The days leading in

I was 47 years old on Opihikao, in Pahoa, Hawai‘i, when the body began speaking in a language that could not be ignored. Walking became impossible. Pain shot like lightning up the legs.

A friend brought help, and the ER revealed the gravity beneath the symptoms: multiple pulmonary embolisms, and a deep venous thrombosis in the left leg. Admission followed on 11/5/11.

Even in the sterile light of a hospital room, something ancient was already gathering—an inward turning, a quiet reckoning, a threshold waiting.

11/11/11 — 6:00 a.m.

On the morning of 11/11/11, my 6th hospital day, just after a phone conversation with Mother ended, a wave of full-body pain arrived—intense, unrelenting, all-consuming. Morphine had been discontinued the day before, by request, and the moment felt stripped down to pure sensation.

Then the inner life began to move.

Memories rose and fell like tides: successes shimmering with their old brightness, failures opening into their old ache. Each one landed with amplified emotion—highs that soared, lows that hollowed.

The heart kept traveling through darkness and brilliance, again and again, as if the soul were paging through its own book by firelight.

And somewhere in that relentless review, the last grip loosened.

The threshold of color

A lifting. A loosening.

Awareness rose above the body, hovering over the bed. Color arrived—everywhere—intense, saturated, alive. No voices. No angels. No figures. Only color, as if the universe had poured itself into spectrum.

Discomfort still existed, yet the pain softened in the presence of that radiance, as though the colors were a kind of mercy.

When even that remaining pain became too much to hold, surrender happened—not as defeat, but as release.

White light and the holy sound

Then: white.

Not one white, but many—twinkling, shining, layered in subtle shades.

No body at all.

Only awareness—wide, clear, and seeing in every direction.

And the sound.

Phenomenal.

Vast.

Not noise, not music exactly—more like a living resonance, a luminous hum that felt like belonging.

In that field there was no pain.

Only bliss.

Only stillness that was somehow full.

This is where introspection becomes pure knowing: not thinking about life, but touching the essence beneath it.

The choice that opened the blue door to the right

In the middle of that bliss, a single truth arrived—simple and unwavering: home was calling.

A grandson was due to be born in about ten days. The knowing was clear—there was a need to meet him. Not to become him. To meet him.

With that thought, a blue portal opened to the right.

Weight returned, as if the body were once again lying on its back.

Movement happened through the portal in a gentle arc—like a question mark drawn in air—until awareness settled back into the hospital bed.

Pain returned. The room returned. Staff were present. The world had edges again.

Naming the ascension

When the experience was shared, hospital staff named it a near-death experience. Later, those familiar with Tibetan traditions recognized the pattern. Practitioners of Hawaiian Huna agreed as well.

But the inner name—the one that fits like a true garment—was ascension: a passage through intensity into light, through suffering into radiance, through the narrow doorway of the body into the vastness beyond it.

What the return carried forward

Ten days later, on 11/21/11, that grandson was born—and he has autism.

Over time, the meaning of the return clarified: a calling to come home for the children of the future. A calling to help them through the times ahead. The work of sharin past written stories for Future Generations—stories meant to steady hearts through “Armageddon times”—took on deeper gravity, and deeper tenderness.

This is the 11/11/11 ascension: I was 47, a life review in extremes, a rising into color, a bursting into white light and holy sound—and then, a conscious return through a blue doorway, back into the body, back into purpose.

An invitation for the reader

If this story lands in the heart, pause.

Take one slow breath. Then another. Then a third.

Let the inner life speak without interruption. Let the questions be gentle.

• What has been survived?

• What has been learned?

• What is still being asked to be loved?

  
  

The Beginning is NoW in aloha ~ ♥⁀˚⋆.‿☆

I leave you with this Thought Today!

MAKIA in Huna means - Energy Flows Where Attention Goes!