all being psychotic.
At that moment I made up my mind that I was going to tell Ken, who was a social psychologist, that I was seeing Bentov. If he told me I was crazy, I was going to turn around in the airport, get back on the next flight to Florida, and put all this behind me.
When I landed and Ken was standing there waiting for me, I stuttered and stammered, “Ken, Bentov has been trying to talk to me in meditation!” Ken's answer, rather dryly delivered was, “Bentov's been seen all over Boston!” (Boston was where Bentov lived and worked with many scientists while trying to prove his physio-kundalini hypothesis.)
Ken Ring's near-death hotel was an incredibly picturesque converted mill on a bubbling brook. It was New England at its finest and also my first visit to this area.
As I crawled into bed that first evening, there they were—my two beings of light who stayed just next to the bed until I fell asleep. And they were there all four nights. I looked forward to climbing under the covers and looking at them until I fell asleep because they gave me the kind of comfort I really needed. They settled down that voice in my head which kept asking me who I thought I was—this respiratory therapist who heard a few NDE and DE stories. Did that make me an important enough person to fly up to tell a professor what I thought I knew for a book about which I knew nothing?3
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