Nothing changes one's attitude to life more radically than sudden dramatic adversity. Black may seem more like white, while tragedy may open out a previously restricted personality into one of enormous potentiality. During the past year my life has been completely transformed. I now look at life in a different way.

In recent times an increasingly large literature has appeared on the transition between life and death. In near-death experiences, after a variable period of completely altered consciousness the person returns to awareness and gives a dramatic account of what was experienced during the period of apparent bliss. I must confess that sometimes the descriptions have appeared slightly too dramatic, though this may merely be professional jealousy on my part. However, during the last eight months I have had a quite dramatic episode of completely altered consciousness, which was in no way blissful or inflating, but rather brought me to the solid portals of death. This is the account of the occurrence which I have tried to make as accurate as I can, while acknowledging that I can remember little of it myself, but have had to rely totally on the accounts of a highly trustworthy carer and some friends.

We start our life in a state of complete ignorance (the so-called tabula rasa of the philosophers) but as our years proceed, so more and more knowledge accrues to us. The most important understanding consists in coming to terms more fully with our own personality, and being able to see ourselves in truth without the need for prevarication. This is seldom an especially enjoyable exposure, but as we proceed, so we become increasingly adult in our relationships with other people and more acceptable to society as a whole. There does come a time when we have to face the fact that our life's work has been largely completed and our body is beginning to fail. This is a much more important experience than the outgoing extroversion of youth, when so much valuable constructive work is being done. As we grow older, so we have to draw in our horns and realize that our really great work in life is the development of our character and our capacity to be of help to other people. No matter how important we may have been in our place, we have to yield with gentle courtesy and give that place to those who are younger and more eligible than we are. The end of this process is quite obviously death, which at a certain stage is not only essential for our own development, but also for that of those who are destined to follow on where we have been obliged to fall away. To most people this is the tragedy of life, but the wise ones welcome it with increasing acceptance as they become older and more frail.

Age, in fact, has solid virtues; it deadens any tendency we might have had to sins of personal gratification, and the fatigue that is a part of ageing makes the future much more tolerable. We realize that death and sleep are fairly closely related and we can relax gently into the quietness of slumber with joy, "How wonderful is Death, Death and his brother Sleep!" (Shelley, "Queen Mab").

If one is really determined in one's quest for happiness, it is not sufficient merely to have overcome worldly temptations and conditions that we shall subsequently consider; one also has to experience at first hand the darkness, indeed, the terrors inherent in life itself. It was not for nothing that Jesus counselled the rich young man who came to him asking what he should do in order to possess eternal life to get rid of all his possessions and give the money to the poor, even though he had previously lived irreproachably. On one level this simply means that one should not cling on to anything whatsoever if one is to know the ultimate truth, but in fact the circumstances of life will reduce one progressively to one's own true stature and remove any source of attachment from everything. Buddhism is particularly strict in its demand for austerity in the matter of clinging on to anything in this world. In the episode recounted in Matthew 19: 16-22 when the young man is counselled to sell his possessions and give to the poor, he goes away sad, for he was a man of great wealth. I doubt quite candidly whether anybody could have followed Jesus' counsel directly; as we shall see when we consider wealth in Chapter 2, even those who enter a religious community have the necessities for reasonable living at their disposal. However, what Jesus was prescribing for the young man was a complete renunciation of all worldly goods; only then could he follow Jesus and what he stood for. In fact, this crucial piece of advice is not something we choose, but rather something that befalls us when we, like Job, are suddenly reduced to absolute poverty and affliction for no apparent fault of our own: only then can we come to reality. At last we remember that we were born out of nothing and that when we die we will again be nothing in the world's eyes, even if our immediate death causes great mourning. Death is itself a mystery, and no scheme of survival that humans have devised is anything more than conjectural.

It would be most helpful to describe my own experience of outer darkness. I mention in Chapter 7 that I was received into the Anglican Church in 1971. Four years later I was ordained priest and I spent the following 22 years in parish ministry, while pursuing retreat conducting, exorcism, healing work and writing a considerable number of books. Indeed, one of my friends described me as a compulsive writer. In 1985 I woke up one August night in the country with a very painful left shoulder. I returned home at once and an inner power compelled me to go to the hospital immediately. Here a dislocated head of the left humerus with a fracture of the lesser tuberosity was discovered on X-ray, and three weeks later an open operation was performed to reduce the dislocation and unite the fracture. The cause of this strange incident was correctly diagnosed as epilepsy, a common neurological condition which usually starts much earlier in life. None of my fits was of the classical major variety, and most were partial fits in which there was simply a transitory change in consciousness without any motor component. After some years I received the right medication, and I am now well stabilized.

My parish work continued well until the end of 1996 when my consciousness showed peculiar lapses and my walking, never very good, became more and more defective. I also developed a tremor of uncontrollable intensity; this was quite correctly diagnosed as Parkinson's disease, but it was unfortunately inadequately controlled medically. It certainly made my continuing parish work impracticable. About this time my right knee also became very painful, and two operations were performed on it. Nothing very significant was discovered, and my general health steadily deteriorated until the beginning of June l997 when a major change in my consciousness occurred. I simply was not myself any more, and suffered from increasingly severe amnesia. There was an alarming state of confusion with strangely incoherent speech; indeed, I showed signs of a severe mental disturbance. At this stage various distressing physical signs also showed themselves. My carer Cliff returned from New Zealand on 7 June, by which time I was incontinent of urine, barely able to walk, and had very little strength. I was still able to communicate but only at a very basic level - simply "Yes" and "No" answers and much of what I said was irrelevant. This conversation on a rudimentary level was in startling contrast to the highly intelligent interplay that was my wont. Often all I could manage was a simple nod. I was totally unable to write or hold delicate objects.

Soon I became doubly incontinent, and was unable to swallow or walk. I could not hold myself up, and if I was placed in a chair, I simply slumped forward and needed to be supported to keep my head erect. It seemed as if I had suffered a complete systemic shutdown. The decline progressed with dramatic speed. I could not chew, so that any food given had to be pulped and liquidized. It appeared to my friends that I had totally given up, as if willing myself to die. I was during this whole phase in a semi-conscious state, which progressed to complete unconsciousness for more than six hours before I was finally admitted to hospital. Throughout this period I was in a state of total amnesia, but not entirely unconscious, because from time to time I could respond quite sensibly to comments. During this time I felt that I seemed to descend into a vast pit of darkness where I could "sense" the souls of a vast concourse of people who were unknown to me personally. I seemed to be in hell, and even now I believe it might be possible that this was literally true. There was despair, darkness and a lack of communication between the souls that were there. The gloom was appalling, and there seemed to be no hope anywhere. In fact, I believe there was a total dissociation between my rational mind, which was shattered, and my spiritual mind which was forlorn and lonely but entirely free.

During this period many friends came to visit me, though I have no memory of this, and I received the Eucharist regularly from the Reserved Sacrament. I was also anointed on a number of occasions, and this might have been an important turning point in my recovery, for apparently I had lain in the balance between life and death for at least a week during the period of my complete amnesia.

The interesting thing about this entire period was a complete absence of fear, even though I was desolate and felt bereft of all human contact. Towards the end of this period I am told that I became quite communicative at times, especially with people I knew well, but I can remember nothing of this. I attained normal consciousness one morning in mid-July. It felt rather like waking up after a usual night's sleep, with the sunlight shining gloriously through the window, and I thought it was a Monday morning. It was the ward nurse who, with some amusement, told me that I had in fact been unconscious for five weeks. I was remarkably well oriented when I "returned from the portals of death", but I still suffered from amnesia for recent events, and had completely lost the ability to walk. Even now, seven to eight months later, I am still largely confined to my wheelchair, but with the help of excellent physiotherapy and the constant support of my carer I am learning to walk with ever-increasing facility. I have often wondered whether my walking difficulty is not due to any disease of the nervous system, but is essentially the result of the total amnesia that afflicted me - in other words, I have forgotten how to walk, and have had to re-learn the process that I started when I was about one year old. For an elderly man this is no easy matter, to say the least!

Despite this terrifying experience I thank God for the privilege of experiencing it, because it has taught me so much and radically altered my personality and outlook on life.

I now know that we are all immortal, not through our own deserts, but by the immeasurably great love of God. I had long believed this on a mental level through my mystical nature, yet I could never entirely feel it in the depth of my soul. After I recovered normal consciousness, coming, as it were, back to myself once more, I knew that the supreme consciousness, which is one way of speaking of God, pervades all creation and loves it, whatever its nature and use may be. For us humans there is an individual as well as a collective destiny and the end is glorious, but this life is only one step towards that destiny, which no one alive can know with authority.

Incarnate life, because the body is frail, is bound to be involved in suffering, and its intensity bears no relationship to the character of the person. But the way of suffering is an essential part of the progress of the person towards self-knowledge and the recognition of God - the second follows the first (Luke 17:21). No one knows what will happen to them when they die, nor can they in their present state, though it is permissible to speculate. But as it was revealed to Julian of Norwich, all shall be well. The important duty in this life is that we should live as perfectly as we can in the present moment.

All this is a basic aspect of the spiritual life of all valid religious traditions, without the punitive aspect so often stressed by fundamentalists. Heaven cannot be attained until we are all in corporate unity, and this requires a change of heart in every person. There will therefore, after death, be a fresh openness to Divine reality.

My entire attitude to life has been changed by my "return from the portals of death". I am far less impatient with irritating people or disturbing circumstances than I was previously. I have now acquired a degree of acceptance which makes every moment not only tolerable, but even a joy in its own right. Another quite interesting change has been an acquisition of self-confidence, which was previously completely lacking in my character: I could not bear to hurt anybody's feelings and rejoiced in being well thought of by everybody. Indeed, my apparent virtue had far too much self-interest attached to it. Now I am much more clear-spoken than I was previously, and the cripplingly low self-esteem of the past has been replaced by confidence and trust. I can no longer expect to be liked by everybody nor even want it that way. It is much more important that I do my apportioned work as well as I can, irrespective of other people's opinions. This is incidentally quite a different attitude from that of irresponsible licence, which is so much a characteristic of our modern age. This explains why I do not spend time judging other people's way of life; it simply is not my business, for what I have to do with the relatively few years that still remain to me in this life is to be as helpful to others as I can, realizing that I am not special but merely a frail, fallible human being. This knowledge is the real focus of happiness as far as I am concerned. I do not look for any favours in the future, because they are always around us if only we had the self-control and the ability to be silent and appreciate them.

My period of convalescence was gradual. I immediately recovered the memory of important names and events, but whole episodes of my life disappeared from my recall. Only as the months progressed did more and more of my memory return. Even now, it is a long way from being fully restored. In the early stages of my recovery I was very labile emotionally. When I discussed my experience with friends, particularly on the telephone but also to a lesser extent in direct conversation, I invariably broke down in describing the experience of descending into a vast pit of darkness where I could "sense" the souls of people in a state of hell. It has taken quite a number of months for this emotional liability to disappear. When I was unconscious, I have been told, with some amusement, that I showed periods of great anger. I can well believe this, because in this state much emotional material that I had cautiously suppressed from public view had complete freedom of expression. It is interesting that even to this day I am much more outspoken than I was before the event and am much less concerned about people's opinions of me. Therefore, although I am possibly a "nicer" person than before, I am certainly very much more of my own master. The freedom of living my own inner way that this has given me is remarkable.

I have no fear of death any more, so that even if I knew I were to die this very day, I would feel as detached as I would if I knew that up to thirty years' life lay ahead of me before the final event. I therefore am much less interested in such theories of the afterlife as heaven and hell, reincarnation or even the various promises made by different religions. What will be will be, and it is not my business to probe too deeply into matters beyond human understanding, at least in its present stage of development.

The last point concerns the diagnosis of this strange mental change that occurred when I was semi-conscious. I asked the consultant neurologist of the hospital where I was being treated what was really the matter with me, and he admitted that nobody knew for certain. One thing does appear, however, and that is when I was put on levodopa in adequate doses my condition changed quite noticeably.

When I entered hospital I was put on a life-support system for the first two days, after which I was sustained by intravenous therapy and finally by drinks containing essential nutrients. It is hardly surprising that I left hospital in an emaciated state.

Dr Oliver Sacks wrote a remarkable best-seller called Awakenings; it was first published in 1973 and has since then been through several editions and formats. The edition I have was published by Picador in l990, and the book has since inspired a television documentary, radio and stage plays and a major feature film. It is obvious that it has attracted a far wider audience than merely the medical profession. In this remarkable, poignant book Dr Sacks described a number of cases that followed encephalitis lethargica, an epidemic of which occurred at the end of the First World War. Many patients died, but those that survived sometimes later entered a state of suspended animation which lasted up to forty years. They also showed various signs of complicated Parkinson's disease. The advent of levodopa in l969 was hailed as one of the greatest medical discoveries of the century. When given orally to dormant patients they recovered full consciousness very rapidly as if it were a miracle; it became the great medical sensation for the next few years. But then, alas, while the original symptoms were greatly relieved, new manifestations showed themselves. These were not adverse drug reactions so much as other aspects of Parkinsonism. It was therefore obvious that the "wonder drug" had its drawbacks as well as its advantages. Oliver Sacks' description of these patients before and after treatment is both dramatic and intensely moving. None of them was cured but the great majority showed variable degrees of improvement. All these patients have now died, and a great part of Sacks' book describes the tragic life that they had to bear in the wards of Mount Carmel Hospital in New York.

The type of Parkinsonism that I have had to cope with has been much simpler. The major symptoms were intense tremor and a tendency to rush forward when walking, but the question remains as to how much of the period of altered consciousness was Parkinsonian in origin. I questioned the neurologist specifically about this point, and he told me that my various symptoms could not be adequately explained in this way. But one thing is certain, since I have taken levodopa, there has been much less tremor and I am mentally up to scratch. Indeed, this book could not have been written were I not in that state of mental acuity.

The other question is, did I really have a near-death experience as I have claimed, or was the experience of dead people around me merely part of the disease? The usual near-death experience to which I alluded at the beginning of this chapter is very well recorded now and it is usually elevating; when people come "down to earth" again they are resolved to lead a better life in future. But my experience was just the reverse of this; it indeed comes closer to a "negative near-death experience". In the Sunday Telegraph of 25 May l997, page 3, reported by the Science Correspondent Robert Matthews, there was a description of patients who were desperately ill who saw visions of demons dragging them towards a pit, and they felt they had to fight desperately in order to keep alive.

A friend who visited me on several occasions when I was semi-conscious tends to dismiss all such experiences, whether positive or negative, as purely neurological phenomena, and there must be a considerable degree of truth in this argument, but Tony Lawrence, a lecturer in psychology at Coventry University, is much more agnostic about the matter. He tends to dismiss the suggestion of the images of heaven or hell as having a general cultural determining factor; people from many different cultures will describe meeting a figure of light (in the positive experience). They do not meet Jesus or Vishnu or Buddha, although afterwards they may sometimes describe what they saw in that way. Near-death experiences, whether positive or negative, cannot be attributed to the effects of medication or to the lack of oxygen reaching the brain in its final moments. Hallucinations brought on by drugs or anoxia are typically random and senseless. Another interesting fact is the reports of near-death experiences from hospital patients whose electro-encephalograph (EEG) traces become completely flat during resuscitation - showing that there was no activity in their brain.

To me, all this suggests that under certain circumstances, usually that of disease, but sometimes in apparently healthy people, the brain may be the recipient of anomalous information. Whether it is related to the physical state of the person or to some psychical or spiritual source remains to be discovered.