No it doesn’t. You can’t proof spiritual events with physical measurements. Now that seems logical enough.
My credibility is not in question, I tell what I experienced. You may believe or not believe.
Rude comments are usually made by those having the weaker position in a debate. Strong position holders do not need to be rude.
Love
Uh? By that line of thought, you can’t prove that they are spiritual events, either. I’m sorry, but science simply offers a more reasonable, thorough explanation.
Your credibility is in question. Where’s that cite for your claim that the lack of oxygen to the brain argument has been disproven?
When you run away from a debate when asked for cites, and seem to thoroughly ignore every single rule of logic, it’s no longer a reasonable debate, and personal attacks become the only recourse.
OK, for Early Out. I’ll make it brief, as it lacks the drama this thread desires.
In 1974 I was a reactor operator at a chemical plant. We had to clean some solid rocket fuel out of a tank with a rounded bottom. We went in with the solvent, a combination of toluene and lye. We wore protective spacesuits with air hoses. Unfortunately some idiot had used the air hoses to transport some fuel, and they were clogged - no air.
So I passed into toluene land. If you don’t know, that’s the active ingredient that has kept glue-sniffing at the top of the charts for so long.
While the experience didn’t yield the classic NDE accompaniments, and some of my memories are a bit rough, there were some lights and music (think Lou Reed Metal Machine Music).
And thus the reactor monkey in the leaky space suit went down to the Solvesso[sub]®[/sub] lye marinade.
My ever-caring co-workers finally extracted me and carefully laid me down, in my by-then marinade bag, beside the chemical shower, to await professional help. I’m told it was ~45 minutes later that the ambulance arrived, and the responding EMT immediately cut off my apparel and administered the chemical shower.
Thus I arrived at the ER buck naked, with an encompassing marinade of chemical burns and way, way out in la-la-land.
As they were doing land-office business that night (that’ll teach me to work Saturday graveyards in a dangerous situation in a blue-collar city), the ER beds were full, and, as explained to me, they just moved me to the nearest horizontal surface.
Which was a slab in the morgue.
It kinda makes sense that it was right next to the ER.
Alone when I woke up (to some degree) on a grey slab, in a grey room - no, I didn’t have a tag on my toe - I roused myself and soon stumbled through the double swinging doors that led to the hallway between the ER and the morgue. This occasioned a passing nurse (or orderly, or, heck, somebody in scrubs) to screaming (I can understand naked, zombified bodies exiting the morgue eliciting this reaction), and I was soon engulfed in loving, caring arms that escorted me to ICU.
So, it made a decent tale, but no “real” NDE.
I don’t remember dreams anymore. I can only recall them when I have a fever and they’re usually not very pleasant.
When I was younger, I used to remember my dreams very often and identified three different types of dreams. All of them were in color and I always saw myself in the third person. I think they lasted until I was around thirteen or fourteen years old.
The first kind was the “psychedelic” dream. I guess they were more like regular nightmares except they all incorporated a “line” of some kind. They were non-recurrent but they all felt the same. At some point in the dream, I’d see a line of one un-natural thing and feel terrified. One time, it was staring up at the sky on some strange planet and seeing suns, with evil faces, lining the sky. Or looking out of my house and seeing identical wizards with an evil red eye marching down the hill. I would only realize it’s a dream when I’d see the line of whatever evil thing there was and I usually woke up screaming. In those dreams, I’m always myself but I’m not necessarily in a familiar surrounding.
The second kind of dreams were the conventional ones. (I have super powers, everyone is a ghost, I’m at school and don’t know the answer anymore…regular dreams) In those dreams, I was always very much aware that I was dreaming and could change or control the outcome of it.
The last kind were the more interesting ones. I wasn’t aware I was dreaming and I wasn’t even myself. These are the only ones who would re-occur often and were very, very intriguing. It was a little like being flopped in the middle of a story. I would become a person, with a past and a distinct personality.
Examples: I sometimes was a thirty year old man (I’m a girl!) in a cabin in the woods listening to an older man tell me a legend about some wolf with yellow eyes. I would be able to smell the cabin and feel the log on which I was sitting. There’s another dream where I was a ballet dancer and another one where the principal of a school forces me to do community service in a women’s jail (or a mental hospital…hmmm…) where I’d stumble on some kind of conspiracy.
The seconds immediately after I’d wake up from one of those dreams I’d be completely disoriented. They’re the most vivid dreams I’ve ever experienced to the point that when I was younger, I was convinced that those people actually existed somewhere.
Oh, and Ringo , your story is hilarious! Well, except for the almost dying part.
Thank you, Ringo! The image of the naked zombie emerging from the morgue is priceless. 
That was good Ringo. That’s even better than a NDE (tunnels, lights) because you actually woke up in a morgue!
Awesome story, Ringo.