196

Man’s Heart Stops 4X, Receives Extraordinary Gift from Beyond!

Ever wondered what it's like to face death four times and receive a gift from
beyond? In today's incredible story, David Rivia, a COVID survivor, shares his
mind-bending journey. His heart stopped four times, leading to an otherworldly
experience where he encountered a mythical figure. This gift transformed his life,
challenging our understanding of existence. Join me, David Rivia, as we delve into
the extraordinary details of this journey. Hit subscribe for a riveting exploration
of the unbelievable!

Welcome... Hey, I'm David Rivia, a dude who battled COVID back in 2020. When the
whole pandemic circus landed in New York City, I somehow got stuck in the middle of
it. Even with all the worldwide virus horror stories, I wasn't too worried. I'm in
my mid-40s, kinda healthy, so I figured I'd be all right. But then, one day, I got
hit with sickness that hung around for a whole week. Woke up one morning, crashed
out in front of my fridge, and when I woke up, I could barely breathe. That's when
I thought, "Uh-oh, this might be a problem."

Tried to crawl back to bed, but I was too weak. Family kept ringing, telling me to
hit the hospital. When I got there, I went from barely breathing to not breathing
at all real quick. They slapped an oxygen tank on me, and that's when I realized
I'd been holding my breath for a long time.

Rolled into the hospital on a wheelchair, starting to think, "Okay, this is serious
stuff." Spent the next five days tripping out big time, like seeing people in my
room who weren't actually there. It was a crazy ride.

Then they decided to knock me out. People were getting intubated left and right. At
that time, only 20% of folks survived it, and my sister left me with a grim
reminder of that stat. Still, I was all, "Eh, I'll be fine." I thought only older
folks kicked the bucket from this thing. But bam, things took a sharp turn, and the
next day, they moved me from being intubated to hooking me up to this ECMO machine.

The ECMO machine, usually for heart surgeries, took over both my heart and lungs
while I was knocked out. I rode that thing for a whole month. My heart stopped four
times in those early days, and weirdly, I remember those death stares super clear.
People wonder how I recall this, but those moments stuck with me.

A month later, I woke up in some sort of theater, face-to-face with a mythological

figure who told me I was on the brink and pointed to the exit sign. I thought I was
ready to peace out—I had a good life, good career, awesome friends. I wasn't super
tied to family or anything. But when death stared me down, the idea of nothingness
freaked me out. In that moment, I grabbed everything back.

I was like, "No way, I'm not letting go." I flat out rejected the idea of dying. I
begged, "No, I'm not ready to die, please." The figure then showed me this half-
moon thing, apologized, and said, "You're done; this is it." That lit a fire in me
that I can't forget, whether it happened when I was kicking the bucket or after—I
can't say. But I'll always remember saying, "No, I'm not dying; there's just no way
I'm letting it go."

The spirit told me, "Fine, we'll let you fight to live, but if you do, you gotta
fight harder and longer than ever before. You're basically dead, so you'll say yes
and do whatever." I spent what felt like years, months, or something out in an open
sea, battling to survive, watching boats pass by. When you're out there and want to
live, you just do it. Felt like those stories of folks stranded in the ocean for a
day or two, except it was more like a month.
Man, I fought like crazy to stay alive. After the first week, things started
getting a bit better, but it wasn't crystal clear until the third or fourth week of
this wild journey. I'd wake up remembering these vivid dreams where I didn't want
to come back to reality. In that dreamy place, you're all peaceful and connected to
something bigger, and the real world seems like this bizarre, tough challenge.

I remember being in a library in that dreamland, and some spirit asks, "You really
wanna go back to that place?" Took me a sec, but I eventually said, "Yeah, let's
give it another shot." When I woke up, folks came in crying, not believing I made
it through. In New York, where one in every 200 people kicked the bucket, my
survival was like a semi-miracle.

Going through that otherworldly experience totally flipped my view on things. Even
years later, I'm still trying to wrap my head around living in this world. I've
always had this fear of dying, probably goes back to the first time I watched Star
Wars and saw a whole planet getting wiped out. Since then, the idea of death would
hit me hard, triggering panic and this intense urge to do whatever it takes to stay
alive. Now, I ain't scared of dying, but knowing there's a spirit world messes with
my perspective on life.

No more doubts about it. I wasn't into religion growing up, but after the coma, I
linked my fear of death to the aftermath of waking up. Your whole body's messed up,
can't move, it's weird. At first, you're wiggling around for a bit, and then,
slowly but surely, you start getting control back. I remember feeling that panic of
falling, and my therapist broke it down for me—turns out, it's not the fear of
death, it's just your body freaking out about losing control.

Once I figured that out, the fear vanished. Been living pretty fear-free for the
past three years. Sure, I go back and forth, checking out different religious views
on death, but truth is, you won't know for sure until it happens. Before my close
call, all I knew was panic and terror. But when I felt that same panic while
falling, I realized it's not about death, it's about losing control or memories,
and it's not as clear-cut as I thought.

One of my biggest stress triggers is always thinking about what should happen. When
I get stuck on those "shoulds," my brain goes into overdrive with anxiety, and I
lose myself. But when I take a deep breath, let go of the "shoulds," and focus on
what I love, that's where the magic happens. Surviving that near-death thing turned
out to be a crazy gift. Back in my 20s and 30s, I aimed to be some acrobatic
superstar. After the coma, my memory did a 180, and as I got better, I ended up
dancing at big conventions all over the world.

Got this wild offer from the spirit, right? They hand me a diamond and say, "Take
this to the top of the world." The kicker? I gotta run over some folks on the way.
Tempted by the promise of glory, I zoom to the bottom, haul the diamond up, and
face this ultimate choice. No second thoughts, I commit, only to be figuratively
sliced in half by the spirit, who then shows me a gazillion worlds and realities to
the left.

I'm just standing there, humbled by the absurdity of spending the last 25-30 years
chasing some specific happiness level. When I realize what the spirit's showing me,
that whole pursuit seems pointless. Wake up with clarity, swearing off that kinda
quest forever. I spent the last 25 years pushing people away if they didn't
contribute to my acrobatic dreams. Even with some success, I still wanted more.

After my near-death gig, I get home to a parade and a different kinda love. No need
to perform for love; people are just stoked to see me being me. Realizing my worth
isn't just tied to what I achieve flips my life around. The last three years are a
whole different vibe. No going back to the old life.

Almost dying links me to some spirit stuff and turns out to be the best thing ever.
It shakes off the old beats, making my life way different. In the past three years,
I banged out 18 books, even one about COVID-19, written in bed to capture 2020.
Self-published since I'm a social-emotional teacher.

Near-death changes your priorities, man. Now it's all about connections, doing the
art I always wanted, and giving back. Still dream of hitting up America's Got
Talent, but now it's more about making people happy than chasing happiness myself.

In the coma, I sort out the mess in my soul. Cry more in the months after waking up
than my entire life. Even though the hardcore crying calms down, the grief sticks
around. It pops up when life gets tough or hopeless 'cause I tasted a world full of
hope and connection.

Coming back to this reality after the other side is a trip. People thankful I'm
still kicking, but it ain't easy. Knowing the massive difference between the two
worlds makes living in this harsh reality feel like a weird dream. The struggle is
in dealing with the grief and finding a purpose in a world that seems disconnected
and out of tune. Despite the hurdles, I keep going, recognizing the deep impact my
near-death gig had on how I see life.