When I woke up, I was hanging upside down inside the crushed vehicle, still in a seatbelt; the engine was screaming. It was unbearable. I managed to get out of the belt, and snaked my way through a small crushed window. Then I crawled up onto the road embankment to lay down. I couldn't breathe. I later found out that my neck and several ribs were broken, and my face and arms were cut from crawling through a barbed wire fence. The car had flipped three times side over side, and my head had been struck from behind by the crushed roof on it's last impact. The steering wheel broke my ribs.
I didn't want to remain alive, because the place I went to was an environment of such quiet and clarity. As the pain of my injuries became apparent, I kept saying to the emergency people ... "It's alright, you don't have to work at this, I would much rather let go. I know I'll be alright."
Doctors say I suffered a bad head and neck trauma, which is true, but there are no effective words to describe the amazing "all-knowing" environment I was briefly a part of. It's not just the instant thought process that doesn't have to rely on hearing or voice, it's the feelings of going along with it: peace, understanding, acceptance. While I'm afraid of the method of death (pain level), I'm not afraid of actual death because it's a shedding of one existence directly into another more spiritually based existence.