The Night Pam Died… and Returned with a Strange Gift for her Plants

Her garden would never be the same.

"I hold it entirely possible that a technology exists which encompasses both the physical and the psychic, the material and the mental.”

Pam was, in many ways, ordinary.
A writer. A gardener. A quiet soul with a curious mind.

It started as a dull ache.
Nothing dramatic—just a persistent, nagging pain in her abdomen.

She brushed it off. Ran errands. Did a little writing.
Some discomfort? Sure. But she was used to pushing through.

By evening, it had escalated.
Dinner with friends—still smiling, still laughing, still enduring.
But something was shifting.

When she got home, the pain struck—like lightning.

Sudden. Sharp. Unbearable.

She doubled over.
Blood. Vomit.
Her husband—halfway out the door—heard the crash.

He ran back inside to find her collapsed on the floor.

She wasn’t breathing.
Her heart had stopped.

And in that stillness...
Somewhere between the inhale that never came and the sirens that hadn’t yet arrived...

She left.

No more pain. No fear.
Just an infinite field of presence.
Silent. Blissful. Boundless.

There were no thoughts. Only knowing.
She felt home in a place she had never remembered leaving.

And she didn’t want to go back.

But then—
A voice.

His voice.

Calling her name.
Cracked. Desperate. Drenched in love and panic.

It echoed like a ripple across dimensions.
She focused. Listened harder.

And then…
The world began to phase back in.

Fluorescent lights. Tubes. Machines.
Her body broken but alive.

Days later, when she returned home—
That’s when the real strangeness began.

She stepped into her garden. She always loved her garden.
Tomatoes. Roses. Lavender. Basil.

But they weren’t the same.
They were radiating.

Shimmering. Vibrating.
Pulsing softly with light.

She could see it.

A glow around the petals, the soil, the leaves.
A hum of presence. A current of aliveness she had never noticed before.

Her husband stood beside her.
He didn’t see it. You can imagine what he thought.

But Pam knew better.
Something had changed.

It wasn’t just the garden.

Stepping under street lights caused a flicker. A pulse.

Touching metal—a doorknob, a shopping cart, a tin can—
Zap.

Like static amplified through a live wire.

She yelped. Recoiled. Laughed it off, irritated but intrigued.

Her body was buzzing.
Literally.

She was studying medicine at the time.
So she told a colleague what she’d been seeing… and feeling.

Fortunately for her, there was no judgment. No disbelief.

Just a question:
“Can we test this?”

So they did.

Controlled. Methodical. Identical conditions.
Same seeds. Same soil. Same water. Same light.

Only one difference:
Pam.

She held her hands over one group.
No heat lamps. No incantations.
Just quiet presence. Intention. Whatever it was she had returned with.

And they watched.

Three weeks passed and her group grew faster.
Taller. Healthier. More vibrant. They even flowered early.

No trickery. No tech.
Just energy.

We know the human body runs on electricity.
Heartbeats. Brainwaves. Nerve signals.

But here’s the question:

Can we direct that energy?
Not just within ourselves—but into the world?

Tai Chi. Qi Gong. Reiki.
Legends tell of Taoist masters who could coax a flower blossom open with only intent.

I once thought those stories were fables —until I personally met a woman who could repel snow-balls with Chi.
Pam however lived this.

She is living it.

So now I ask:

What happens when you walk barefoot through the garden?
When you press your palm to a tree, not with curiosity—but with reverence?

Are we influencing life around us in ways we’ve only begun to understand?

Because if Pam’s experience means anything...

We’re not just caretakers of the Earth.
We’re in constant conversation with it.

Through thought.
Through energy.
Through presence.

If you’ve ever whispered to your plants…
If you’ve ever felt them whisper back…

Then maybe—
You already know.

Sometime soon, we can go deeper.

Hopefully David will share his plant experiments with Chi.
And you’ll hear what happened when he microwaved water…
Then restructured it with his will.

What that water did to plants?

You won’t believe it—
Until you see it.

Looking forward to sharing more.

May we realize our full potential,

Ray Lee “suddenly likes flickering lights” Bacon

P.S. I have a tree that never grew anything beneath it.
Barren earth. Year after year—nothing.

So I chose a plant. Focused on it.
Willed it to self-seed, right there. Just intention.

And this season?

It grew. Exactly where I imagined.
No hands. No tools. Just presence.

True Story. (I am still processing the significance of this) :)

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