When I got out of the hospital, I fell into depression. It was hard to explain to anyone around me, but it was because of how beautiful it was on the other side. No one could understand why I kept saying I wanted to go back. I had left here—I dropped this body and returned home.
Then I had to come back to this world, and it upset me deeply that I couldn’t stay where I had been. There simply are no words to describe the love I felt there. It’s a love that goes far beyond what human language can express. Everything there was about love.
When I returned, I was different. I didn’t think like everybody else anymore. I knew that I was here for a reason now—to tell my story. That became my job.
My name is Brian Jordan, and I’m from Slidell, Louisiana. My dad owned an 18-wheeler and mostly hauled gravel. As kids, my brother and I grew up helping him.
By age 8 or 9, we were already changing tires. At 13, I was driving the truck, and by 15, I was out on the highway pulling 80,000 pounds. We became men before we were even really boys. I never spent time partying or out with friends—we were always working.
After high school, since I was too young to get a CDL, I joined the Army at 19. I was stationed in Germany, went through airborne school at Fort Benning, and spent my final year in Korea. After six years, I left the military with an honorable discharge and started working with my dad again.
That’s when I got into heavy equipment. From the first moment I pushed dirt with a bulldozer, I was hooked. The power of it thrilled me. I spent most of my life working long hours, often 21 days straight, 12 hours a day.
One Saturday in Pratt, Kansas, we were building a wind farm. Around noon, I took a break and ate a quick sandwich—just some peanut butter and jelly on bread I kept in the bulldozer.
Shortly after, I felt a strange pressure in my neck that started to move to my chest. I kept trying to shake it off, but it wouldn’t go away. I climbed down from the dozer and asked a coworker to take me to the medic.
When I got there, I asked for Tums, thinking it was just heartburn like the year before. Back then, I’d had a similar chest pain while on the phone with my girlfriend. It felt like a horse kicked me in the chest. That time, too, the hospital said it was just heartburn.
But this time was different. After taking some aspirin and Tums, my left arm started hurting, and I began feeling sleepy. I passed out, falling out of my chair. The last thing I remember was hoping someone would catch me before I hit the floor.
Suddenly, I was in the stars.
At first, I thought I was dreaming. I found myself in a massive cave-like place. The walls sloped down, but where the floor should’ve been, there was just a vast night sky. Floating above it, I saw a stone walkway stretching in two directions.
One path disappeared into the wall, where I noticed an old castle-like door. A figure stood in the doorway—transparent, ghost-like—and just looked at me. I wasn’t scared. I was curious. As soon as I thought, I want to go see what that is, I shot off like a bullet, faster than humanly possible.
I reached the wall and watched the figure float away and vanish. Then everything went black. A light appeared, like a flashlight searching in darkness. When it found me, it pulled me in. Inside the light, everything was soft and warm. I looked around and saw only soft light. Then fog started to clear, revealing a blue sky. That’s when I felt it—something that felt like God himself reached out and grabbed me.
The love I felt then was beyond description. It flowed through me like electricity, overwhelming but beautiful. I saw the words Forgiveness, Love, and Peace. And as I saw Peace, I floated out again. With each step away, I started to lose my identity as Brian. But I didn’t fear. My soul knew exactly what was happening.
I floated down among pine trees and could see every single needle with vivid clarity. I floated to the edge of a cliff and looked down at a stunning garden. The flowers were massive, as big as dinner tables, and felt alive—like they were watching me. I could zoom in on any flower I wanted just by focusing on it.
Then, suddenly, the scene shifted again. I was in open blue sky. Four large lights approached me, and around them, small lights began to appear and swirl. These smaller lights felt like family—loved ones who had passed.
When the large lights stopped in front of me, the smaller ones raced toward the top light and began forming a figure. I watched the shape of a man appear—first a head, then shoulders, then elbows. This being was made entirely of light and power. He flew through the sky without ever breaking eye contact with me.
Eventually, he vanished. I opened my eyes and saw my medic performing CPR. “Hey,” I said, and she jumped off me, shocked. “Your heart stopped, Brian,” she told me. “You died—for four to five minutes.”
I was stunned. In those few minutes, I had traveled through stars, a cave, a garden, the sky, and back. It felt like hours. I looked down and saw my shirt cut open, chest pads on me, and medical equipment all around. Reality hit hard.
Later, I had another out-of-body experience in the ambulance. This time, I stood next to myself, looking at my own face with no emotion. I didn’t even realize I was looking at myself. Then I entered a space where I saw a massive circle filled with flowers of every kind, grouped by their type and color. Instantly, I understood the message: We are all different—Black, white, Asian—but we all belong in the same circle. We are one. That moment changed my entire perspective on life and humanity.
Again, I found myself in space, staring at a glowing blue planet. The colors were beyond anything I’d ever seen, so vivid they pulled your gaze like a magnet. I saw more visions after that, but they came so fast I couldn’t retain them. Then I was back in my body again.
In the hospital, they told me I had a widowmaker heart attack—only a 10% survival rate, even in a hospital. I had survived out in the field. They gave me a defibrillator vest to wear for three months. But later, when they checked my heart again, a doctor called and said, “You can take it off. Brian, your heart healed completely. Only two people since the ’70s have had that happen.”
Now, I’m not afraid of death. When it comes, it comes. Don’t cry over me—I tell people not to pray me back here. I’ve seen what’s beyond. And when I returned, everything was different. I no longer saw people—I saw souls. My priorities changed. I no longer cared about material things. I try to help others when I can, without expecting anything in return.
I was raised in a fire-and-brimstone church—do this, obey that, or you’ll never see heaven. But I died three times, and I never saw hell. All I felt was God’s love, and I was just an ordinary person, not even in church at the time.
I’ve always believed in God, but I had questions. Why is God so angry? Why give us rules to leave this place? After my experience, I see things differently. I don’t judge anyone by their religion anymore. I just try to live from the soul.
Because in the end, it’s all about love.
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