The Peace at the End of Life — Science, Spirit, and the Miraculous

Reflection on Chapter Sixteen

This morning, as I sit with Chapter Sixteen of Sea of Miracles, I find myself thinking about that unmistakable peace that so often descends in the final moments of life — the soft quiet that settles over the room, the calm that overtakes the face of someone who was in pain just moments before.

There are so many ways to explain this. In medical terms, we can trace it to a final surge of endorphins or a release of DMT in the brain. We can talk about oxygen levels and nervous system slow-down. And none of that is wrong.

But that isn’t the whole story.

Just because we can measure something doesn’t mean it’s not also a miracle. The purpose of science is not to debunk the mystical. It is to witness it. To capture the intricate, extraordinary patterns of cosmic design.

From a spiritual perspective, that peace — the wave of energy, the brightening of the room, the sudden sense of lightness — is the presence of the angels, the arrival of the soul’s escorts, the sacred opening between worlds. And that, too, is true.

For my part, I don’t think we have to choose between the scientific or the spiritual perspective. Both explain what is happening — the body completing its natural, biological journey and the soul rising into light.

Science describes the visible effects of invisible thresholds.
Mysticism names the threshold itself.

The natural world — in all its mystery and order — has its own role to play. The intelligence of nature, while it may be witnessed, categorized and explained as chemistry and biology and physics is also moving through us and through the world as cellular memory, as presence.

Some traditions speak of devas and nature spirits who attend birth and death alike, holding the field, witnessing the turning. The land itself participates. The spirit leaves the body and the elements begin their sacred work. The body softens, breaks down, and returns — not as waste, but as offering.

We come from the land — and we return to it. Not just symbolically, but vitally. Our material body reweaves itself into the ecology of life. We become compost out of which new life emerges.

In mystical Judaism, this return is holy. There is a bone, known as the Luz (or Lux) bone — said to be indestructible — believed to remain after all else decays. It is considered the seed of resurrection. A vessel of soul memory. A point of re-entry when the world is made new.

Because of this, cremation is traditionally forbidden in Judaism. Bones are not merely biological. They are spiritual. They carry light. As I learned from a doctor who wrote a book about science and mysticism, while enjoying Shabbat dinner at my friend Judith’s home, the light must be delivered back to the soil. It is not mere tradition - it is, he said, our sacred responsiblity to return our light to the soil.

Photo by Josh Boot on Unsplash

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Guardian Angels

So much is happening at the veil between life and death. So much we may never have words for. This is not only true at the end of life but also, at the very beginning.

Mystics have long debated the moment when spirit enters the body. Is it at conception? At the first heartbeat? The first breath? Somewhere in between?

Whatever the timing, many teachings agree: We arrive here with a companion.

I’ve come to understand that what we call the “guardian angel” is not separate from us — it is the soul’s double. A luminous twin, bearing memory of our original wholeness. I’ve heard echoes of this teaching in mystical Christianity, in the writings of Rudolf Steiner, and in Kabbalistic thought — where the soul is said to descend in stages, with the higher aspects of self remaining connected to the divine.

The idea of the guardian angel is ancient, widespread, and beautifully layered. It appears in religious, mystical, philosophical, and esoteric traditions across cultures—sometimes as a literal being, sometimes as a symbolic aspect of the self, sometimes as a divine intermediary or soul twin.

For my part, I sense the presence of two angels: one within, a drop of divine light that pulsates with wisdom that is not mine alone. Another angel, made just for me, hovers close. Enclosing me in a field of blessing. Together, they work as satellites, connected to one another, relaying their messages to me. Carrying my prayers outward, into the field of love and blessing.

Your angel, from this view, is not just a protector. It is your own continuity. The one who remembers.

Photo by Kyle Cleveland on Unsplash

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For Your Reflection

Whether you come to this from a spiritual path, a scientific one, or something more agnostic — I invite you to consider:

• Have you ever witnessed the peace that comes at the end of life?

• Have you ever felt a presence in the room that you couldn’t explain — at a birth, or a death?

• What do you imagine happens at the threshold between worlds?

• Do you sense you’ve always had a companion, a kind of inner witness or guiding presence?

• What might it mean to return not only to spirit, but to soil? What does your body know about belonging to the Earth?

There are no right answers.
There is only your own knowing — which may be quiet, or still forming, or waiting for a new language to find it.

I’d love to hear what rises for you.