“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

There is a message

(Jane said she didn’t want to hear it when I asked her if she wanted me to read it back to her. I told her I liked it, but in retrospect I see that it’s content is far more revealing than I’d first realized. I believe it literally deals with Jane’s questioning over whether to live or die.

(Rather than go into more detail here, I’ll move to the session, which Jane began quite a bit later. I was surprised that she said she’d have one: “I don’t know whether I can do this, Bob, or how far I’ll get, but I’m going to try …”

(I should add that after reading her the poetry and her new dictation, I read her the last three sessions for Seth’s The Way Toward Health, given on June 24, 26, and 27. Jane didn’t ask for these, but left it up to me to pick out something to read.

The idea of survival reaches far beyond this life experience, and each person has new physical and spiritual existences ever ready — for there is no such thing as extinction. Alive or dead in usual terms, you are always conscious and aware of yourselves, and you are always a part of universal ventures in which you have always been involved, whatever your states of consciousness.

You are supported, never abandoned, and always couched lovingly in the great yet intimate presence of All That Is, whose love forms your breath, your life, your death, as in which the unknown divinity is always blessed and ever known.

It is known and unknown, forming all stages of creativity, and you are held within it, graced to be a part of the divine framework of All That Is.

(“That can be the end of the book, you know. Or maybe I’ll do a little more,” Jane said. “Whatever happens, Bob, I’d like all of the material published someday, if it can be done. Not to put a burden on you. Maybe if you can’t do it, you can get some help.”

(“What brought all of this on?” I asked, knowing quite well the answer.

(Off and on through the afternoon I’d felt like crying, as I’d become more and more sure that Jane was indeed thinking things over. She had a smoke and we talked until about 4:40.

(Jane said she treasured every day we’d been together throughout our marriage. I did too — and in those 30 years I don’t believe we’d been separated more than four or five days. I said I probably couldn’t publish all of the material by myself. Also that I’d probably not marry again. Jane said I could take up with Sue — although I doubt if Sue would care to do that.

(I said I wished we’d never left Sayre, and she agreed. Maybe things would have been different. She said, “No autopsy.” When I asked her if she wanted to be buried or cremated, she expressed no strong wish for either mode, but finally chose cremation — maybe because I said what would I do if I wanted to move out of town a few years after she’d been buried. She hadn’t thought of that. She said as far as she knew her grandfather and grandmother and others were buried in Saratoga, though we aren’t sure about her mother. Her father, Del, is buried somewhere in Florida, we guess — we don’t know where.

(After I turned her I broke down crying when I tried to tell her how much I loved her. Jane cried too. I couldn’t believe this was happening, even after all of the signs that have accumulated over the years. The import and impact of today’s session made things quite clear.

(After I had her situated on her side, I sat back for my usual nap, but didn’t actually sleep much. I felt terribly sad. Jane had talked about how much she loved nature, and how she wanted to see the house one more time, and the cats. I told her about the four deer — three bucks and a doe — that I’d seen out back this morning, nibbling away in the so-called wildflower garden. Some blood-red poppies are up now.

(Jane ate a little of several things for supper — about as she’s been doing the last few days. This is actually an improvement for her, for since around July 4 she hasn’t taken in any solid food with very few exceptions — and then only a crust, one might say. After watching her behavior as the month passed, I could see that she was indeed starving herself, and would die if she kept it up. She’s lost a great deal of weight; her arms look skeletal — so do her legs to a lesser degree.

(After supper, I learned several things. Jane had been told by the nurses a few days ago that she could have morphine whenever she wanted it; it’s given by injection. She also said that yesterday she resumed taking her thyroid medication, which she’d stopped taking July 4 — the day of that last little session. She also revealed that she hasn’t gone to hydro for three days, and will have to give in and go; she was trying to avoid more pain.

(“Well, that’s it,” she said. “That’s the end.”

(I asked her if she wanted to try some free association. I said I thought she’d broken that off because she was afraid it wouldn’t work — although I’d thought it showed signs that it was working. I also thought she’d stopped free associating because it had collided with those deeply held beliefs that had led to her physical immobility. I told her that during the last month I’d given up hope, and that she must have, and that her condition was a perfect mirror of that loss for each of us. She seemed to agree.

(I’d like to add that while there’s life there’s hope, and that as Seth has said many times, one who doesn’t want to die — as Jane said the other day she didn’t — won’t for any reason. But I told Jane that I couldn’t ask her to do something she didn’t want to do. I added that I wouldn’t want to live under such conditions.

(And so there it is. Carla called for Jane at 9:15, as I was typing this material. She told me that Jane loved me, and that she was having “a better night.” I asked Carla to give Jane my love. And the fact that my wife is having a better night may mean something, or not … I’d told her this afternoon that I’d been prepared to receive a call from the hospital at any time, telling me to get my ass down there because my wife was failing and the end was near. And Jane smiled and said that she’d been tempted many a time to have me called to come see her, especially late at night.

(I love you, Jane, and don’t know whether to laugh or cry. I feel like the latter. I wish you the best, whether you leave or stay. Today’s session says it all, I guess, for it means that better things lie ahead for you — and me — and if that’s the case, what have we got to worry about?

(I will close on this note, though in all sincerity, I think those who are left behind have it far rougher than those who go …)