He floated six feet above the operating table and watched as a surgeon in green scrubs sawed open his shaved chest with a spinning circular saw, the cracking sound and burning smell of metal against bone filling the operating theater. With a massive crowbar, a surgeon split open his chest below his loose blue smock to reveal his lifeless heart. Desperately, the surgeon massaged his heart with gloved hands, a look of genuine concern on his face, as a matronly nurse with large brown eyes patted down his bloody heart with a white cloth as gently as if she was patting down a bloody new born baby so that the dedicated surgeon could determine exactly where his heart was leaking blood so profusely.
In an instant, his entire life flashed before his eyes. He was an nine year old boy again hiking by a gigantic mossy boulder at the trailhead and then deep into the woods at night to overcome his fear of the black wolves that constantly prowled around his parents' cattle ranch in the Rockies, casually waving to Tommy, his best friend, huddled around a campfire with a group of friends deep in the woods, his friends amazed at his bravado as they feared for their own lives despite their strength in numbers, convinced that every crack of a twig was a pack of wolves with fur so black that at night they were invisible. The victim's last vision was only large, fierce yellow eyes and jagged, sharp teeth that would rip your throat out to leave you bleeding to death staring up through the tall pine trees at the bright, twinkling stars, blood gurgling uselessly in your mouth.
Suddenly he was on a white sand beach in San Diego, three days after his ill-fated marriage ceremony with high school sweetheart Victoria, his young, sexy second cousin Susan drunk and ripping his clothes off with wild abandon. Her delicate long fingers ran through his thick brown hair, her pink tongue deeply penetrated his mouth as his muscular body began fucking her vigorously on the wet, warm sand. As he fondled her beautiful pert breasts and played with her pink erect nipples, he finally heard her wild orgasmic cries above the roar of the pounding ocean waves.
In a hotel room in Tokyo after a long night of karaoke with his Japanese client, the phone rang loudly at 6:00 in the morning, jolting him out of bed. He knew instantly that something was wrong. His father informed him gravely that his mother had terminal cancer and that her dying wish was to see him one last time. He slumped into a brown leather chair and watched through his copious tears and the large hotel window as the sun rose, melting away the pink clouds to reveal Mt. Fuji, the majestic peak covered in white snow, the steep sides of the holy mountain sliding rapidly down to the mundane grey of the office buildings below.
He found himself back again, still floating six feet above his body, the surgeon smiling at his patient's weakly beating heart. Overjoyed at still being among the living, he realized that most of our lives are spent waiting in non-descript rooms with orange torn plastic chairs in preparation for key defining moments. Precisely how we act in these few precious defining moments determines our entire lives. He pledged to himself there and then that if he lived, he would be more aware of when a defining moment was occurring and consciously quiet his mind in order to be able to listen with his heart.
He looked down again and was extremely pleased to see the surgeon expertly stitching up his weakly beating heart. Still, he had misgivings. One part of his mind, the amygdale, part of the limbic system and dictated by fear, was convinced that, despite the best efforts of the skilful surgeon and the dedicated nurse, he would expire on the operating table within minutes. The amygdale carefully monitored the massive beeping electronic machines behind the matronly nurse for the first sign of trouble. The other part of his mind, the neocortex, tried to rationalize his situation; you are going to live, ignore the other voice of fear, your spirit will rejoin your body soon and together you will lead a life of unlimited happiness and genuine fulfillment.
He mind drifted back to his lunch with his mother, since the lunch with his mother only a few hours ago was the proximate cause of his heart attack. He sat on the deck of the main ranch house, the rough hewn table set for two with a large, juicy T-bone steak, baked potatoes, extra sour cream and a bottle of Clos Du Val 2000 Reserve Cabernet Sauvignon. He had not spoken to his mother since his divorce with Victoria was finalized three years ago; his mother had taken Victoria's side, which was simply unforgivable. As his mother opened the door, the smell of freshly baked bread wafted out of the house and enveloped the deck. His mother smiled weakly, put a fresh loaf of bread on the table and took a seat in one of the brown leather chairs.
