Justin O'Brien, Walking with a Himalayan Master, p 169
 

   "Many years ago I needed a quiet, undisturbed place to do a certain meditation practice that required leaving my body for a few days. A physician friend of mine gave me an empty room in his hospital to use. 'Make sure so one enters this room,' the doctor told the floor nurse. So I folded my legs and sat in my meditation posture on the bed, closed my eyes, and began my practice.

     "After about a week, the doctor was called away on an emergency and left the hospital. He forgot about me in his rush to leave. Meanwhile, the head nurse was looking for an empty room for a new patient and, hearing that no had come in or out of my room in a week, unlocked the door. She was surprised to see me sitting there on the bed, and not finding a heart beat or any sign of breathing, decided I was dead.

     "Orderlies took me down to the hospital morgue. They could not get my legs unfolded, so they simply covered me with a sheet and left me there. It was cold in the morgue; I began to come back into my body because of the temperature change.

     "Into the morgue that evening came a simple sweeper, cleaning the floor. He swept his broom close by the table where I was placed just as I pulled the sheet off my face and asked, 'Where am I?' The poor man was so frightened that he screamed, threw down his broom, and ran out of the hospital. He was never heard from again."

     When the audience stopped laughing and heard Swamiji's assurance that the strange event had really happened, he continued his lecture.