“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

So as I listened to our visitor (I’ll call him Larry) talk, I browsed through the letter. My thoughts went back to the years when Ed and Rob produced the detective comic strip Mike Hammer together with Micky Spillane. Then I thought of Ed’s first letter of two years ago, breaking a twenty-year-old silence, mailed from Alaska where Ed was skiing. In fact, the letter before me mentioned the Alaskan ski trip. That might have been the reference that suddenly gave me small shivers.

Spring night; my first husband and I just pulled up in front of my mother’s house; the rushing sounds of a car pulling in ahead of us. Ed Robinson’s voice — the Ed of the Alaskan letter now received thirty years later, (the Ed who was then doing the detective comic strip referred to in the day’s predictions) and a stranger’s voice.

All of that came to mind this morning; not that it couldn’t have just been “coincidence” that later in the day I hear from Ed — after making three predictions that seemed to apply to him. But surely there is a point where feelings themselves are meanings; where the heart’s evidence recognizes intuitively what the intellect must question. And I know that those memories and thoughts were connected with my later predictions and Ed’s letter in the noon mail. I’d been reacting to Ed’s letter before its arrival.

Rob had to go to the bank, so he excused himself and left just after the mailman arrived. I read the mail over. This year’s cool August air blew through the house, and I tightened my sweater. One letter in particular caught my eyes because it was from an old friend, Ed, the man who had introduced Rob and I to begin with; a man who we had lost touch with until two years ago when he’d suddenly written from Alaska.

Ruburt read Hoyle, and Ed Young called (this evening). [...] Ruburt’s concentration so briefly upon Hoyle’s book was picked up by Ed Young, and Ruburt’s opinion of Hoyle’s world was picked up by Ed Young, who has the same opinion of the scientific establishment. [...]

[...] A man who looks somewhat Lou Grant (television star Ed Asner) writes me a note saying that I’ve touched him as no other woman ever has. [...]

(Seth’s mention of Ed Robbins, who now lives in New Paltz, NY, struck me as rather strange. Ed and I became acquainted first by mail when we were both doing free-lance commercial art work. [...] Later, while I was living in my hometown of Sayre, PA, I received a phone call from Ed inviting me to work with him on a project in Saratoga Springs, NY. [...] Indeed, Ed introduced me to Jane the day after I moved to Saratoga, where I lived for about a year in the mid-fifties. [...] Then for some time we did not see Ed; the last time was during an overnight stopover in New Paltz, when Jane and I were on our way to York Beach, Maine, on vacation. [...]

Mark, however, was closely connected to you both, as was Rendalin, R-e-n-d-a-l-i-n, who is now your Ed Robbins, not of this city. [...]

(Friday evening Jane and I were visited by a psychologist [Ed Ostrander] from Cornell, after an exchange of letters over a period of several months. [...]

[...] Ed called himself a “closet” devotee of psychic matters. [...]

(Ideas of authority as represented by Ed were obviously involved. [...]

[...] Bill met Mrs. Ed Lagonegro on Eighth Avenue.”)

Ed wanted to find number 92, the old double house that Jane had described to him as being her childhood home. [...] Indeed, I was driving past the lady when Ed, looking back, exclaimed: “Hey, wait, Bob—that’s her! [...] I could see only part of her silhouette as Ed introduced us and told her I’d be working for him. [...] She said that if she happened to be in Schuylerville during the day she’d stop in at Ed’s studio in town and say hello. [...]

Within a few weeks Ed Robbins’ and my labors on the Mike Hammer detective strip came to an end due to policy differences with the syndicate distributing the feature. [...] A “coincidence,” of course, that my work for Ed ended at the same time Jane told him that she and Walt had amicably agreed to part. Ed talked about moving with his family to New Paltz, a small community about 110 miles south, near the Hudson River; he might find commercial work there with a friend. I thought of returning to my parents’ home in Sayre, and then going on to New York City as I’d originally planned to do before receiving that life-changing call from Ed.

[...] At suppertime that night I received a telephone call from Ed Robbins, an old friend I’d gone to art school with in Brooklyn, New York before World War II. [...] Ed offered me a job as an artist in his upstate hometown of Schuylerville, some 11 miles east of Saratoga Springs and on the Hudson River. [...] Ed knew I’d done comic-book work: would I be interested in helping him get his strips to the syndicate on time? [...]

Ed told me that his car was in a garage for repairs. [...] Now Ed had a new idea after we’d become reacquainted. [...] Ed added that a few days later, on Saturday night, the Zehs were to join a gathering of friends at his and Ella’s home in Schuylerville.

Ed. [...] (Ed was the name of BT’s first husband, she told Jane over the phone.) A middle name beginning with B, or his nickname with a B who worked in a building that from the outside looks like a large (pause), building almost entirely of unbroken plate glass windows on the ground floor, such as those that cars might be displayed in. [...]

[...] Ed Gassner offered to do work with Jane and Seth; he is a biologist, Ph.D.

Ed[Ed]ward

[...] Her husband Ed finally decided to come over to see what was going on. [...]

[...] Also, I tell myself that I may visit Ed Robbins and his wife, or some other friend. In the above episode, although I did not visit Ed and Ella, I did visit somebody. [...]

[...] I then began to tell myself I would visit Ed Robbins, in his house in New Paltz, NY. [...]

[...] I had been telling myself I would visit Ed Robbins. [...]

[...] Telling myself I would visit Ed and Ella, I then glimpsed a teen-age girl talking on the telephone. [...]

[...] I tried mentally contemplating the brick wall in Ed Robbins’ fireplace at his home in New Paltz, N.Y. It seemed to work. [...]

(I told myself I would visit Ed and Ella Robbins. [...]

[...] If I speak heavy-hand-edly it is because I want you to have a light touch. [...]