The Afterlife of Billy Fingers: How My Bad-Boy Brother Proved to Me There's Life After Death (10 page)

BOOK: The Afterlife of Billy Fingers: How My Bad-Boy Brother Proved to Me There's Life After Death
6.92Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Do people have to wait in the Supra World until everyone who wants to see them has died before they can move on? No. It doesn't happen like that. You see, after you're dead you're able to be in more than one place at a time.

So, for example, even though I've never even been there, when Mommy dies I will meet her in the Supra World and give her all the love she always wanted from me. From my higher realm I can visit all the levels below, so the Billy suitable for the Supra World will meet Mommy there. This visiting phenomenon shouldn't be too hard for you to imagine. I'm hundreds of light years beyond where you are but I can still visit with you—right?

Aside from reunions, the Supra World is also the place where the newly dead play out strong beliefs they had about death while they were alive. It's like a spool of ribbon unwinding. The spool gets thinner as the beliefs are played out. At first, the Supra World death drama— with its angels, pearly gates, harps, and such—is very fulfilling. As a person gets more familiar with the new atmosphere, these ideas lose their grip. Beliefs are kind of like toys. As you grow up, you lose your fascination with them and they get discarded.

Beliefs are big on earth. People collect them. Some of these beliefs are helpful, but others just keep you running around trying to follow rules that others have laid down. They don't have a lot of personal meaning. It's a good idea
to sort through your beliefs now and then and throw out the ones that don't serve you.

Everyone who dies eventually leaves the Supra World and goes on to watch their hologram projected onto the virtually enhanced screen of the Universe. But they won't watch it through human eyes, through the lens of good and bad, as they saw it on earth. By the time you're ready to view your life, you've left behind a lot of human concepts and you're looking through divinecolored glasses. Humans don't usually get to experience the full magnificence of their lives while they're living it. They get caught up in lots of ideas and lose sight of the miracle that is their life.

I wasn't really afraid of death, and by the time I died there was no one in particular I wanted to meet. I also didn't have a lot of beliefs left, spiritual or otherwise. Everything had been lost during my last few years on earth, except my longing for God, and the feeling that there was something big waiting for me when my life was over. I skipped the Supra World completely. It's very pleasant there really, but nowhere near as blissful as where I went. People usually need to be prepared for that kind of bliss. No one had to prepare me. I was ready for ecstasy.

Why I chose to walk my particular path on earth is beyond human understanding. Why would anyone go down that road? Well, for me, the drama of my drug addiction was one of the most interesting parts of my life. It was a very important struggle. And in my case, losing prepared me for a big win. I couldn't know it then, but
my ordeal on earth was getting me ready for what was to come.

You see, after hologram review most people don't go on to becoming the Universe. But don't worry, that's fine with them. It's different here than it is on earth. No one wants to go someplace other than where they're going. Some souls go back to your planet to reincarnate and others go to places in the afterworlds to develop more and prepare for the becoming the Universe experience. You wouldn't be able to tolerate that event if you weren't ready for it.

I was an incurable drug addict who wasn't even capable of making a living. Who would have thought that I would be ready for becoming the Universe? Well, that just shows that you can never judge anyone's life, yours included.

Sometimes in hardship you're forced to stand alone, and standing alone prepares you for becoming the Universe. I'm certainly not suggesting anyone take my path. Definitely not. But I am recommending that you see through your own eyes, not through the lens of others. Make your life as interesting as you can. Take chances. Go after your dreams.

Maybe these pages will give you a sneak preview into the many worlds and endless possibilities that lie before you. Maybe you will begin to play with the idea that you are eternal, that you will go on. You may not go on in the way you imagine, but it just may be greater and more magnificent than you could ever conceive.

After the morning's dictation, I drove to the ocean. What a beautiful mid-summer morning it was—a clear blue sky, just a few puffy clouds. As I walked along the water, a gentle breeze swirled over me and I challenged Billy for the first time.

“Give me some kind of sign, right now.”

At that precise moment, Mitzi, my dog from childhood, my favorite gift from my father, came running down the beach toward me, excitedly wagging her tail like an old friend. Okay, it wasn't actually Mitzi, just her exact double; same size, same honey blonde mix of fox terrier and beagle, same soulful eyes with thick white eyelashes. As I bent down to pet her, she licked my face. If her owner hadn't shown up, I would have taken her home with me.

I had my sign.

When I got home, I called the Mercedes dealer for the fourth time. He swore he'd send the things from Billy's smashed-up car right away. I wasn't holding my breath.

NINETEEN
Saga of the Pearl and the Oyster

A
summer thunderstorm woke me in the middle of the night. The wind battered through the trees, the way it had for days after my brother died. Unable to fall back asleep, I was reflecting on how much I'd changed since then. Now that I believed that other dimensions existed, I'd never be able to think of life or death, myself, the cosmos, or just about anything else the way I used to.

Soon, Billy's voice came through the wind.

Hello, and I love you.

The world is your oyster

The world is your oyster

And in the oyster shell you will find

Many pearls

Pearls of wisdom you will cast before all creatures

I will place in front of your chariot

Seventeen horses of white

Beautiful horses

With golden raiment

When I first said, “the world is your oyster,” it sounded pretty good, right? Like all these gorgeous pearls would just be coming your way and you'd be living on so-called easy street. But the saga of the oyster and the pearl is more complicated than it first appears. The pearl only happens when sand gets inside an oyster and irritates it.

The world is my oyster? Full of irritation? What kind of blessing is that?

It's not my fault, Princess. I know. You'd like to just la-di-da through life, easy does it, instead of being stuck with a sandy oyster
[laughs].
If I give you Billy's prescription for making pearls, would you like that?

Yes, I know, the irritation doesn't feel good, but without it there would be no pearl. Don't focus too much on the irritation. Try to relax about the sand. If you deal with the sand creatively, you'll have a gorgeous treasure.

To be a pearl maker, your oyster needs a good strong shell to protect you from a hundred million irritants in your environment. Your shell helps you tell one grain of sand from the other. You know which one can become a pearl and which one isn't worth the irritation.

If you become a really smart oyster, with a good shell, you can live life with more abandon because you don't have to worry so much about the sand.

“Oh, there's that sand again. This always happens when I take a big bite out of the ocean. I'll spit most of it out and won't be too concerned about the rest.”

And why don't you have to be too concerned? Have you looked inside an oyster lately? It's soft, fertile, and unformed. The inside of your oyster is your creative spark, your pearl-making laboratory. Smart people work in laboratories, right? Well, since you are the Universe, your laboratory is run by none other than the Universal Intelligence.

The same Intelligence that grows trees from seeds, that lets birds fly, that waves the ocean and gives birth to new stars—that same Intelligence also breathes your breath, beats your heart, and heals your wounds.

How can I say that you are the Universe? Because I have become as small as the smallest quantum particle, and as big as the multitude of galaxies that exist in space. I was always like that, really. I just didn't know it. And so is everyone else.

Look at pictures of the Universe. Then close your eyes and imagine those stars, clouds, comets, and galaxies inside and all around you.

When you turn your attention to the limitless, the irritation seems small compared to the sun and moon and stars. When you imagine the infinite, you're touched by your infinite self.

When I opened my e-mail that morning, I had a message from Guru Guy with a link to photos from the Hubble telescope. There was the breathtaking Universe right on my screen; cat's eye nebulas, light ring galaxies, stars being born. The link showed up at just the right moment with no effort on my part.

Early the next morning I made the three-hour drive to my mother's apartment in Brooklyn, a trip I'd taken every week since my brother's death. On the way, Billy told me something good would happen. I was glad to hear that because it was heartbreaking to see my takecharge, eighty-year-old mother hanging on by a thread.

The first month after Billy died my mother cried almost every second of every day. Then the doctors started shoving all kinds of antidepressants down her throat until she was practically catatonic. She sulked around her apartment in a robe, and stopped having her hair styled, putting on makeup, or getting her nails done. She acted like an old lady, which she had never done before.

Soon, my mother was reading countless books about death. The one she was absorbed in when I arrived that day talked about people losing their souls as a punishment for being “bad.”

“Where is he?” she cried in my arms. “Where's my baby boy? Has he lost his soul?”

“No, Mom, Billy's soul is fine. I wish I could find a way to help you believe that.”

“I never realized how much I loved him,” she said. “I always thought I loved you more, but it isn't true. I loved him just as much. Now he'll never know.”

“Don't worry. You'll be seeing him soon enough. Then you can tell him whatever you want.”

That made her smile.

I brushed her white hair, put cream and lipstick on her face, and helped her get dressed. “It's a lovely
summer day,” I said. “Let's go walk by the river.” The sun was shining, bouncing off the Hudson, as we strolled arm in arm down the promenade.

“I need some wisdom, Mom. My life's still a mystery to me. You've lived a long time and learned a lot. What wise thing can you tell me?” Asking her for advice was my way of helping her remember how smart she was.

“It's funny, I knew you were going to ask me that question and I knew how I would answer. I just read a book about a Chinese mother and daughter. I think it's called
Scattered Pearls
. As the daughter was about to leave for America, the mother told her that whatever troubles life brought her she should think of them as sand in an oyster and make them into beautiful pearls. And that's what I want for you, my darling girl. Take the hard things and make them into pearls.”

I laughed and said, “You won't believe this. I left something back at your apartment to show you.”

Many times I'd told my mother about Billy's visits, but she didn't want to read anything he said. I'm sure she thought I was living in some kind of Billy fantasyland that made the cold hard truth of his death even more painful. I understood, but now I sensed she'd be receptive.

When we got back to the apartment, I read her Billy's notes about the pearl and the oyster. My mother scrunched up her forehead and was quiet for a minute. Then she burst out laughing.

“All this time I was just humoring you when I said I believed Billy talks to you. But now, oh my God, I have to believe it!”

My mother opened her turquoise jewel box and handed me a string of pink baby pearls. “Why wait until I'm not around anymore. Then I'll never see you wear them.”

After our visit, my mother's melancholy began to lift. She confided that sometimes when she woke up she thought she felt Billy's spirit around, healing her and helping her get well.

“Even though the pain of losing Bill was like no other I felt in my life,” my mother said, “God meant for me to know him and love him, I am sure of that.”

TWENTY
Book of Life

O
n a dreamy mid-August morning, before dawn . . .

It's a beautiful day. Why not bring the red notebook and join me at the beach?

When I got there, the sky's pink and orange streaks gave way to Billy's ethereal white-robed glory.

It's a good day where you are, my sister. Every day's a good day here, although there really aren't days and nights. But I don't miss them. I don't miss a thing.

One of the things I certainly don't miss is being concerned about the way I look. Here, I just look like myself and that's great. There are no pretensions or efforts to appear any which way. I just radiate, which is effortless. Since I'm made of light, I don't have organs or blood or anything like that. No knee problems, no liver problems, no drug problems, no weight problems. I don't have a home either, except my light body.

Sometimes I leave my light body and go back to becoming the Universe; I let go and do some more blending into the cosmic energy field. I guess you could say it's a bit like human sleeping because they're both about letting go. But really there's no comparison,
because becoming the Universe is sheer ecstasy and sleeping is hit or miss.

On earth, you need day and night, sleeping and waking, birth and death. You need to know that today may have been difficult, but tomorrow could be better. You may have messed the day up, or the day may have messed you up, but you can go to sleep and wake up, and maybe feel like you have a fresh start.

Death gives you a fresh start just like sleep does. We don't usually think of death as a start, but that's what it is. Whatever so-called mistakes you've made, it doesn't matter now, because there's always another chance, another lifetime even, to try something different. And don't worry. So-called mistakes are okay. They're just part of the deal.

BOOK: The Afterlife of Billy Fingers: How My Bad-Boy Brother Proved to Me There's Life After Death
6.92Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

The Lightstep by John Dickinson
Street Fair by Cook, Jeffrey, Perkins, Katherine
When Winter Come by Frank X. Walker
1420135090 (R) by Janet Dailey
See No Evil by Gayle Roper
EMERGENCE by Palmer, David
Old Dog, New Tricks by Hailey Edwards