“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

Morning makes sense
To any animal,
And each one feels
Death’s decimal.

We’ve never learned to add
For all our numbers’ worth.
Division and subtraction
Will total up to death.

In other words, my poetry finally revealed to me my state of mind before “Idea Construction” and Seth. Little by little, using it as a guide, other memories came back to me — all trivial in comparison to real tragedy and yet, to me, bitterly depressing. The death of a kitten that year led me to write:

Death came in and took my cat
And passed right by my dog.
He chased her through the living room
Over the woolen rug.
I sat right there and never knew.
I sat right there and never saw.

A small household tragedy, the death of a cat, yet to me it contained the question of the uniqueness of life and the value of consciousness. Didn’t anyone or anything care that one cat had died? I felt guilty even considering the question. In a world where humans slaughtered their own kind constantly, who in their right mind would give a moment’s thought to a cat’s consciousness? Yet either all life was sacred, or none of it was. So I brooded.