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I do not consider myself accident prone. Once in a blue moon I’ll trip and fall, and every couple of decades I may have a fender bender, but in 2016, within a two-month period, I had two freak accidents that defy explanation. “There but for the grace of God go I” cannot be more aptly applied.

It is life changing to believe with certainty that you are about to die. The fact that I am alive today and am sharing these experiences with you has prompted many friends to call both events miracles. What message could the Universe have been trying to tell me?

The first, a car accident, occurred on February 9. I was driving on Lincoln Drive on my way to bring Greek avgolemono soup to my ninety-five-year-old friend and mentor, Rosa Lee. The two-mile stretch of narrow curving lanes, two in each direction, that snake along from Ridge Avenue to West Rittenhouse Street is dubbed “Dead Man’s Gulch” for a reason. The number of accidents on that part of Lincoln Drive was legendary, its most famous victim being singer-songwriter Teddy Pendergrass, who lost control of his Rolls-Royce and was left a paraplegic.

Divine Protection

Until the day of my accident, I had a great time driving on it, pretending I was burning serious rubber on a race-car track even though the speed limit was only 35 mph. The problem was that no one adhered to it.

It was noon and there was heavy traffic. I was driving in the left lane when I saw a huge Lexus SUV barreling around a bend at 65 to 70 mph in the left lane of the oncoming traffic. I later found out that the car in front of it had stopped, signaling a left turn where there was no traffic light. By the time the driver of the SUV realized that the car had stopped and that he was going to rear-end it, he veered across the center double yellow line, coming straight at me. To avoid a certain head-on collision, I reflexively swerved into the right lane and braced myself to be plowed into on the passenger side by a car in that lane, wondering how many cars would be involved in the pileup.

The SUV sideswiped the driver’s side of my car, sending me spinning in slow motion while I anticipated being hit. The centrifugal force made me feel as if I were on one of those whirling rides at an amusement park, but in slow motion. As I let myself go with it, I sensed something remarkable, a palpable warmth enveloping me like a soft embrace. I thought, “Wow, I’m being protected!”

As soon as the car stopped spinning, facing the opposite direction, any sensation of divine presence went out the window. My door wouldn’t open, and panic set in. Fearing the car would burst into flames, I lunged toward the pas-senger’s door. Dazed, I managed to get out.

All the cars had stopped, and people were coming up to me, asking if I was okay. I turned toward the SUV. It was about twenty yards away. There were people crouched down, tending to the driver, who was lying on the road. I felt something in my left ear. I touched it and saw a pinprick of blood on my finger, caused by a tiny shard of glass. Incredibly, that was the extent of my physical injuries.

I noticed that the airbags had deployed. I walked around to the driver’s side to see the damage. The force of the impact had sheared off the exterior sheet metal of the car, and the door was scrunched like a beer can. Sirens were blaring. Fire trucks had closed the road to traffic in both directions. The police and two ambulances had arrived.

Two EMTs were trying to convince me to go to the hospital and be checked out. I declined and asked them about the other driver. I was told that he was unconscious and was being taken to the hospital. They looked at the damage on my car, and one of them looked up at me and said, “Somebody’s sure looking out for you.”

I found out later that the other driver had suffered internal injuries but would survive. Although I had sustained no physical injuries, I was diagnosed with PTSD—I couldn’t drive for more than three months and was a terrible passenger, jumping and gasping whenever a car came into my peripheral vision. Apparently divine protection had spread out beyond my car—no other vehicles were involved.

And Then Along Came...

Less than two months later, on March 24, I was taking a walk on the beach in Rockaway Beach, Oregon. My brother and sister-in-law had generously offered me their cozy cabin for a three-week stay to work on my first book. Doubts about my ability to express myself had crept in, negatively affecting the writing. I was stuck. I needed solitude.

The stretch of beach in Rockaway between two inlets is about a twenty-minute walk. It was a bright midmorning as I came to the beach and turned left to walk toward the southern inlet. A sunny day at the Oregon Coast is always a gift. It was a little chilly, and I was wearing a lightweight parka. A fair number of people were out for a weekday stroll along the water’s edge, while dogs happily zigzagged across the sand. I noticed that there was a lot more driftwood than usual. After reaching the inlet, I turned around to walk to the northern one.

The water was ice-cold, and a few brave souls were in it, jumping the waves. Coming upon the inlet to the north, I saw even more debris. An entire tree with its branches smoothed out and polished was lodged on the black rocks between the beach and the road. It looked like an artificial tree sculpture.

Several people were standing on the rocks. I was standing on the sand a few feet away from the inlet. Between me and the inlet was lodged a large driftwood tree trunk. The ocean was at least ten yards away. As I watched the waves crash onto the sand, I noticed a wave that looked different. There was nothing wavy about it. It looked like a wall of water similar to a tsunami wave I’ve seen in photographs, but on a smaller scale. Seconds later, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a ferocious rush of water overtake the inlet, gushing toward me like a flash flood.

There was no time to climb the rocks. I wrapped my arms around the dead trunk next to me. The water swirled around me with terrifying power, but I managed to keep my head above it. Hugging on for dear life, literally, I felt the tree trunk begin to lift. “Well, this is it,” I thought. Astoundingly, I faced my certain death with an eerie acceptance. Just then, the water began to ebb, and the tree trunk, my lifesaver, settled back down. The water subsided as quickly as it had emerged. I stood up, covered in sand, tree bark, and seaweed.

The people who had been standing on the rocks ran toward me, yelling to see if I was okay. They seemed shaken as they told me how lucky I had been to survive a “sneaker” wave. As I stood there dazed, they informed me that these waves had been prevalent since severe storms months before had upended the ocean floor, unearthing buried driftwood and scattering debris. About a dozen people had been swept away on the Oregon Coast.

On the way back to the house, I stopped at the grocery store to call Frank and buy rice to try to dry out my dead phone, even though I had no hope, knowing that the salt water had killed it for good. I told the two cashiers about the sneaker wave and asked to use their phone. They stared at me in shock. “Oh, wow,” one said as she handed me the phone. The other one ran to the back and emerged with two yellow plastic placards warning “Caution! Floor slippery when wet,” and placed them on either side of me.

I peeled off a wet five-dollar bill from my drenched wallet and paid for the rice. The two women continued to stare at me as I gave Frank, far away in Philadelphia, a cursory report. They watched me leave the store without another word being said.

Somebody’s Looking Out For You

I began processing what had just occurred, allowing myself to ruminate on how close I had come to disappearing, just like that! Suddenly I became acutely aware that I wasn’t cold. To my great surprise I actually felt warm.

It was not the same sensation of the divine warmth of protection I had felt during my crash as the car had been spinning on Lincoln Drive a month earlier, but it was definitely odd not to be shivering on a chilly day after being soaked through by frigid water. Yes, without a doubt, just as the EMTs at the accident scene had told me, “Somebody’s sure looking out for you.”

As soon as I got back to the cabin, I stripped off my clothes and threw them into the washing machine. My entire body was black and blue. The adrenaline had prevented me from feeling the logs and debris that were knocking against me. If I’d had any denial or doubt about the miracle of a tree trunk’s saving me from being lost at sea, the bruises were hard evidence.

The next morning I took the bus to the mall to buy a burner phone. When I got back, I called Frank to fill him in with the details. “Go take a picture of that tree trunk,” Frank ordered. “You have to have a record of that!”

After lunch, I ventured out on my regular walk on the beach. The ocean seemed different to me this afternoon. Much like the betrayal one might feel after a caring lover suddenly became abusive, the ocean’s surf I had found so calming before had shown me a sinister side.

When It’s Not Your Time to Die

I came upon the scene of the crime and froze. The tree trunk was gone. My brush with death now hit me like a ton of bricks. The dead tree trunk had served its purpose in saving my life and had returned to the sea. A wave of such immense gratitude swept over me that I fell to my knees on the sand.

Clips of thoughts came to me in quick succession. The last time I had felt a similar surge of gratitude was after surviving the near-head-on car collision without injuries. I tried to decide which accident was more bizarre, but I couldn’t. Each one was a once-in-a-lifetime event—how could two of them happen to the same person a month and a half apart?

I concluded that the Universe was trying to tell me something. I walked over to a driftwood log and sat down to ponder this.

For a moment I became mesmerized by the rhythm of the undulating surf. Just then a simple message rang out loud and clear: “This is not your time. You have not yet fulfilled your purpose. Keep writing what comes to your mind.”

Instantly any second thoughts about my writing ability dissipated. Cosmically I was being encouraged to share what I had experienced. Why should I waste another minute doubting myself when it was crystal clear that Divine Consciousness had my back? A cavalcade of material was generating in my head. I couldn’t wait to get back to my computer.

Copyright 2023. All Rights Reserved.
Adapted with permission.

Article Source:

BOOK: Consciousness Beyond Death

Consciousness Beyond Death: True Stories of Signs, Messages, and Timing
by Sophia Demas.

Sophia Demas’s stories compellingly demonstrate that receiving signs and messages from departed friends and family is perfectly natural . . . if one is open to it. She offers no complicated formula. Some of the signs she has received came after asking for them, while others appeared unsolicited. Whether the communication comes via a dream, an inner urging to act, or from an external source, the key is to recognize it and respond with gratitude.

Although scientists are studying after death communications (ADCs), Sophia challenges the reader to come to their own conclusions. With her inimitable storytelling, the events that she and her friends experienced spur hope that the mystery of life continues after what we believe to be death. 

For more info and/or to order this book, click here.  Also available as a Kindle edition.

About the Author

Sophia Demas has enjoyed three diverse careers: a decade in architecture that included working with notable 20th century visionary Dr. R. Buckminster Fuller, running her own couture fashion business, and working as a mental health therapist in private practice. She also created Living a Fearless Life, a twelve-workshop program which was piloted in the Philadelphia Prison System and implemented with groups of ex-trafficked and ex-homeless women and women in recovery.

Sophia began experiencing miracles when she was nineteen. After Sophia identified the common denominator that had precipitated each miracle, she felt compelled to share her discovery and her journey in her first book, The Divine Language of Coincidence―How Miracles Transformed My Life After I Began Paying Attention. Her amazing coincidences and communications that had to do with death are compiled in this book. 

Visit the author's website at: SophiaDemas.com

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