“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

While you believe that death represents the end of personal consciousness, then death must indeed seem the ultimate tragedy or surrender. While you believe in conventional ideas of cause and effect, and can discover none in a particular instance, then that event can certainly appear meaningless—perhaps cruel, and certainly the result of an accidental behavior in which all good intent has vanished.

I mentioned before that some people court exciting and dangerous sports, living quite purposefully on the edge of death, and choosing to taste life spiced exotically by the ever-present sprinkling of ashes. Others might say that such behavior is neurotic, but in larger terms such a phrase is meaningless. In the same way, however, some people do live their lives so that its light is experienced in contrast to death in a different fashion—so that the rest of the years’ experiences are seasoned by that earlier taste of death.

The father (a Mr. Moore, killed at age 47) had other difficulties. He did not want to die of a long illness. He felt trapped. He wanted to leave his wife (who is 49) and yet could not bring himself to do so. The older woman (an aunt, killed at age 77) also wanted a quick death. The wife, however, also unconsciously aware of the events, would therefore share in them.

Relatively speaking, they had become spiritually listless. In their own ways they felt that perhaps life had no meaning. Brought so close to death, their own youthful strength rose, and while the tragedy will haunt them, still they will wonder that they were spared—and therefore seek for the meaning of their existence.

(9:49.) In a way they will feel special—saved from the “clutches of death.” In perhaps a manner that appears strange, they will experience a new sense of their own validity, for if they were saved from death, then something—if only the fates—must have found them worthy. This does not mean that they will not feel guilty also at their good fortune, but it does mean that their lives will for them have a special brilliance and a contrast, in whose light they will experience all the other events of their years.

The “victim car”—or rather its inhabitants, and the driver of the “killer car” had alike reached out into probabilities, seeking circumstances that would in fact occur. The children were not to be killed, for example, and in some near encounters in the past, their deaths would have been involved.

The father in many ways wanted to save face, so that his death should indeed appear accidental, and the result of someone else’s fault beside his own. He did not want to live into an old age—but more than that, life had lost its flavor for him. He had sired his children, loved as well as he could, done his job—but there was no contemplative life to look forward to, no greater love than the one with his wife—and that love while conventionally sound enough, did not content him.

He was looking for someone like the young boy, someone whose actions would result in his death, but in a death without malice, a death that would in its way serve an important purpose. For the “accident” saved the young man’s life, and this was our father’s final gift to the world. The boy was inclined toward suicide. He would not have taken anyone with him. He wanted to die, but also in an indirect fashion, in that he could not consciously shoot himself, while he could kill himself in an event that seemed to be accidental.

He had nearly killed himself before in the same fashion, and also when not drinking. The accident gives him a specific event upon which to lay his guilt, but coming so close to death, his own instincts for life were rearoused, so that he is literally given a second chance.

(10:11.) Now all of those motives and feelings were well-known to the participants. This does not mean that they arose often to the conventional conscious mind, yet even then there were fairly frequent-enough thoughts, for example: What will happen if I hit another car when I’m driving? Or how can I get out of this predicament—on the father’s part—while still saving face? How can I die without becoming ill, which I abhor, or without having my death labeled a suicide before my children?

The conventional conscious mind pretends, and pretends well. It pretends that accidents are possible, that death is an end, and it tries to ignore all of the great threads of feeling and intent that do not fit into that picture. It is a game of hide and seek, for emotionally all of the participants in that “accident” were aware of the approaching event, and at the last moment it could have been avoided.

(So I felt a keen regret, actually, that the idea, one of the best I’ve ever had, will probably never be used. Neither Jane nor I have the temperament for it, or even the time if we did want to do it. It could be developed as a novel. We talked about the difficulties that might be involved in getting family members to talk openly to strangers, too, about what had happened to them. Some we thought would be glad to, others most vehemently not. Also, how would one explain to a family that with Seth’s ideas in mind certain other family members had chosen, or planned, their deaths? Not an easy thing to do at all, unless lots of time was available, and perhaps an exceptional willingness to learn on the parts of such families. I suppose that part of any such survey could also go into the refusal of certain families to restudy what had happened to them in the light of Seth’s ideas.