“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

(Jane later said she thought she said more, but actually we do not believe we missed recalling much. We don’t know if it can be checked out. Her trance, Jane said, was quite different than the usual Seth trance, and a few times, particularly during the crying attempt, Jane felt she might be approaching an unpleasant experience, as has happened a few times in the past. Again, Jane felt that in making contact, Blanche had to go through the last, and so unpleasant, stages of her physical life. After the session we wondered what part Jane’s knowledge of the circumstances of Blanche’s final days might have played here.

(Jane began to breathe more deeply. Her head continued to nod back and forth. I felt that my speaking, steadily but not rapidly, gave Jane freedom and reassurance to do more than she might have otherwise, and she later agreed to this. Now Jane’s left hand began to move; it lifted and slapped lightly at her right hand, on the table, and did this repeatedly. I thought this meant Jane had established some kind of contact or feeling with Blanche, or the idea of Blanche, and she verified this later. Her breathing was now heavier, and she began to let up on the head nodding.

(Jane’s head did not remain still however, but began to tip to one side at times; then she would right it again while seemingly making efforts to speak. She said the left hand movements were weird to her, and felt subjectively “like a dead hand.” As though it were necessary almost for Blanche to go through the experience of being ill once again in order to make contact through Jane, and to even approach the death experience itself. At no time, Jane said, did she “see” Blanche, or feel disembodied herself; yet she felt at the same time that contact had been made. If play acting was involved, Jane said later, it was on a completely subconscious level where she would possess no egotistical knowledge that such was transpiring.

[...] You and Jane are a part of the same entity. You know that you are not Jane. Jane knows that she is not you. In the same way I am not Jane, and Jane is not me. You share some general joint memories with Jane, even before your acquaintanceship and despite the difference in your physical ages. [...] This does not mean because you have some general common memories, that you and Jane are one individual.

(Last week in one of her ESP classes, Jane found herself speaking as Ruburt, knowing she was doing so. There was evidently strong telepathic/clairvoyant communication with another student when this occurred, for as Ruburt, Jane, while conscious, described a certain ancient scene set about a campfire; Jane and her student, also female, described the same scene. Jane saw the scene clearly, and among other facts realized that in this ancient time both she and the student were existing as males in that life. Jane has been giving this episode much thought.)

[...] Jane again left trance fairly quickly. [...] The material Seth wanted to discuss was about Jane and Ruburt and Jane’s writing. Jane believed it was an extension of the arrangement Seth mentioned briefly on page 124, when he talked about Jane accepting inspiration and ideas from Ruburt without realizing it.

I first heard from my unseen correspondent, Valerie Wood, not long after Jane had died thirteen months ago. I sent her one of the cards I’d had printed, giving a few details about Jane’s death and stating my determination to carry on with our work. Valerie responded with some poetry relative to Jane’s passing, and my reactions to her death, that I interpreted at once as being very evocative of Jane and me. At the time I didn’t know what to believe about the source of the material, even while I found it reinforcing my own contacts with Jane. [...] From Jane’s world view? From Jane herself?

[...] However, I liked both Jim’s ideas of my doing the Preface for Jane’s book, and of publishing a photo of her. And Laurel Lee Davies, the young lady who’s now helping me carry on my publishing activities, at once intuitively picked out from my files the one right photograph of Jane to us for Seth, Dreams … Jane’s father, Delmer Roberts, took the snapshot when she was on vacation with him in Baja, California in 1951. [...] Jane and I didn’t meet until 1954. [...] Yet, I find in it all of the ingredients that made up the Jane I knew — her great beauty, personality and creativity, her love of manipulating within her physical environment; I see her “steering herself” toward extraordinary accomplishments.

In more specific terms, I’m organizing this rather short exploration of Jane’s death around these items; a loose chronology surrounding her writing of Seth, Dreams … in 1966-67, and our unsuccessful attempts to sell the book; my acceptance of the survival of the personality after physical death; a waking experience involving my sensing Jane very soon after she had died; a metaphor I created for her death; a dream in which I not only contacted her but gave myself relevant information; another metaphor for Jane’s death; my speculations about communication among entities, whether they’re physical or nonphysical; a letter that could be from the discarnate Jane — one that was sent to me by its recipient, a caring correspondent whom I’ll call Valerie Wood; a note I wrote to Sue Watkins about the death of her mother; some quotations from a published letter of mine; Jane’s notes concerning the relationship we had; and, finally, the poem in which she refers to her nonphysical journeys to come.

(Was the girl who was driving, and whom Jane entered or replaced injured? Jane couldn’t tell although her arms hurt. Jane couldn’t tell whether the girl’s eyes were open, and she didn’t know if Bill M. was there. Jane said she was Maisie, worried about Evelyn.

[...] Jane now said that as she worked in the kitchen then she’d been aware of the charged air between the thunderclaps. [...] We talked about a projection dream Jane had had thismorning. [...] Jane has the dream recorded.

(Eyes still closed, face streaked with tears, Jane whispered, “I’m trying to control it...” [...] Jane sat quietly through a long pause, then muttered: “Cracked glass ... [...] Each time I thought she might be coming out of it while quiet, Jane would then go back into the experience.

(Jane said the new personality wasn’t as familiar with words as she herself is. Jane said she felt that Seth stood between her and the new personality to act as a translator in both directions. I speculated that Jane had to make more of an effort at translating.

(When the personality mentioned Jane’s shoulder area, Jane said she felt pain there, but that it was clear now. Jane still felt very relaxed. [...]

(Jane thought Seth would speak if a session were held, but this did not prove to be the case. However at 8:55 Jane got flashes from Seth that perhaps Seth was educating other personalities on midplanes to contact personalities on our plane.

(I had been moody myself that day, and finally lay down for a nap—hence the subject matter for Jane’s poem. Jane wondered why the couple asked her to share a drink if they didn’t mean it. Dick, especially, seemed to give Jane this feeling. Note that much of the data concerns the three people involved in the poem’s psychic surroundings at the time of creation; and that indeed this feeling on Jane’s part overrides the data pertaining directly to the object itself in most cases tonight. But Jane’s perception of the object was necessary in order for her to give the data pertaining to Barbara and Dick, and her own feelings.

(After supper on the evening of July 3,1966 Jane sat in the backyard. [...] As they sat in lawn chairs, they asked Jane to have a drink with them. This surprised Jane, for she saw that Dick was angry with Barbara for teasing him about marriage. Also, Jane felt that being asked to share a drink with the couple was a gesture, and that when she accepted Dick was not happy about it.

[...] This is another reference to the upcoming wedding of Louie D’Andreano, to which Jane and I have been invited. [...] It also requested that Jane and I reply in writing as to whether we planned to attend. Once again, the D’Andreano wedding data, involving the present one concerning Louie, and the distant one concerning my brother Dick, is called up by Jane’s associations, because of the marriage talk between Barbara and Dick on the evening of July 3,1966, when Jane wrote the poem used as object.

(Dr K., being still concerned about Jane’s finger—which had improved somewhat, but was still markedly bluish in cast—decided to prescribe a drug to dilute the clotting ability of blood somewhat: Persantine, in tiny pill-like form, to be taken three times a day. Dr. K. said this treatment had to be balanced against the added risk of infection of Jane’s one open bedsore on her coccyx, for the Persantine reduced the body’s ability to fight infection to some degree. This at once set up barriers in our thinking, but especially in Jane’s. Jane had also learned that everyone at the hospital was against her smoking, and had been told that nicotine helped restrict the blood flow in the tiny capillaries. [...] When Jane said that Dr. K had said her lungs were okay while she was at the Arnot, Dr K. defended that analysis by reminding Jane that she’d said her heart was good, but that through the stethoscope she’d heard various “wheezings and gurglings” in Jane’s lungs. [...]

(Very kindly nurses quickly helped settle Jane in the room, which was very pleasant. [...] Two of the blood cultures would take at least 48 hours, we were told, so I envisioned Jane being in the hospital for at least a few days. The nurses awkwardly put Jane in bed after sitting her on the commode. A thick foam rubber pad had been placed on the bed beforehand, however, and Jane found it to be very comfortable. Then at close to 10 PM a technician wheeled in a portable X-ray machine to shoot Jane’s chest. I placed the cold film holder under Jane’s back as she lay propped up on the mattress, but the whole task went quickly. [...]

[...] Massaging Jane’s lower arm helped. “If you were anyone else I’d have you at the emergency room at St. Joe’s for more blood tests,” Dr. K had told Jane at the house. [...] A few minutes later, as I was hurriedly throwing a few things into a bag, Dr. K. called again, to say that we could save the emergency room fee if she had Jane admitted directly into a room. [...] Jane cried briefly. [...]

(It was, I believe, after my own recovery that Jane’s first symptoms, unrecognized by us as to their potential severity, began to show. And now under hypnosis Jane said the second important thing: she told me that if she got sick, I wouldn’t be sick any longer. [...] However I have two symptoms carried over from that period, that still must be dealt with, and I feel these are directly related to Jane’s symptoms. [...]

(I had wanted to hypnotize Jane for some time, but had been hesitating even though my pendulum told me I had nothing against the idea. [...] That moment came today, from an almost casual remark Jane made this afternoon, and which I am not even able to quote. [...]

(I believe Jane was a little nervous at the idea of being hypnotized, since I mentioned it at supper time. [...] The fact that Jane was a willing, even eager, subject was of course a great help.

[...] At 3:20 a nurse came in to put a heparin lock in Jane’s right forearm. The lock is a stable opening in a vein for medication: Jane was to go on antibiotics. No sooner did we find that out than one of the two aides returned to take more blood — they “want all they can get,” Jane swore. [...] “I’d refuse to take the antibiotic,” Jane said, “if it wouldn’t raise such a fuss.” [...] “I trust my body a hell of a lot more than I do that antibiotic,” Jane said. [...]

[...] Jane was ready for me to turn her on her side by then. [...] She said it would take Jane perhaps half an hour to take it all in, and that afterward Jane would be given a small amount of heparin, which would keep the lock open for future doses. Jane is to get the drug every eight hours. [...]

[...] No sooner had Jane spoken Seth’s greeting than a student nurse came in to take her temperature, at 101.2. “Shit,” Jane said. [...] We might as well start over,” Jane said after they’d left by 4:18.)

[...] Carla took Jane’s temperature — it was up again to 101.2. Judy came in to check the flow, and said Jane was to get the Bactrim every six hours, or four times a day. With the Gentamicin every eight hours, this makes seven medications Jane gets every 24 hours. Jane has let everyone know she’s pissed off. [...] “Well, that’s it, then,” I said, and went back to the mail until Jane said she was ready for a session.)

[...] Jane tried again to read the session, but couldn’t. At 3:10 I started to read it to her when Mary Jean came in to check the flow of the antibiotic. It turned out Jane was being given a second medication without being told. [...] Jane was mad. [...] It takes an hour for this second dose to flow into Jane’s body, compared to the one-half hour for the Gentamicin.

(When Jane called last night she said her temperature had dropped to 99.7 — breaking the 100-degree barrier. [...] Jane’s feet looked much better, She didn’t go to hydro. [...] Jane has been drinking considerably more.

(Then Jane suddenly announced in a firm, clear voice: “Watch the hand.” [...] Jane felt her left hand immediately grow cold. [...] Seth-Jane talked constantly from then on. Jane, Bill and I hunched over the table, over the left hand. [...]

(Jane’s hand slowly regained its normal shape. [...] Then, a second set of fingers began to rise up, over Jane’s own fingers. Now, it would have been easy enough for Jane to bend her own fingers up into this position. [...] Had they been Jane’s own fingers, the nails would have been on the undersides, and invisible.)

(Now, while Jane still sat with her left wrist pressed to the table, her hand, turning white in part again, rose several inches [perhaps three by my estimate] up from the table. My hands were held by Jane on my left and Bill on my right, but Bill passed his free right hand beneath Jane’s hand to see that it was actually rising and was not an illusion. [Was Jane’s elbow dropping, so the hand rose up? [...]

[...] Jane had received three excellent reports on her physical condition this morning, she told me not long after I got to 330. In hydro, the therapist, Wendy, who checks both Jane and her chart weekly, told her that she was doing well, that the knee was coming along great. Terry, who puts Jane through the hydro bath, told her she looks well and was easier to move. And Mary Ann, who changed Jane’s dressings in room 330, said the bedsores look much better in their healing. [...]

(Jane described her own vivid dream of last night, which I can only approximate here. It involved Jane washing the internal organs of a woman who’d died and had been well-known to a group of people—someone like Jane herself. [...] I thought the dream very positive, and showed that Jane was shedding old beliefs and starting anew with new ones. [...]

(I told Jane she should be really pleased by all these positive signs that she is improving. [...] Jane said she often imagines herself here at our house, doing various things. [...]

[...] Jane said this is represented quite well by the object. When Gladys gave Jane the memo bearing Mrs. Methinitus’s name on November 8, arrangements were made for Jane to sit in on a class the next day, and to thus meet Nancy M., etc. Naturally Jane wondered how things would work out, etc., which bears on the next data also: “Someone wonders how something will come out.” Jane discovered that she and Nancy were very compatible.

[...] Jane thought all this data an attempt to get at the name Gladys Austin on the memo used as object. Gladys, as Mr. Miller’s secretary, served as a go-between, Jane said, between Jane, Nancy Methinitus, and Mr.Miller. It was Gladys who finally informed Jane she had the job at the JCC, for instance.

[...] One class day, Nancy Methinitus picked Jane up at the house because it was raining. Nancy parked by the Art Shop on the way to work and asked Jane to run in after some art supplies for class. This errand was unforeseen by Jane; this event took place during one of Jane’s first classes, when she did not know about plans for classes, etc.

[...] “Now I’ll see if I can do some exercises,” Jane said. [...] I told Jane, also, that yesterday she had referred to a looser feeling inside her left elbow, a greater softness, so Seth was right: these particular improvements had been in the works, yet triggered by Jane’s suggestions. [...]

[...] I turned Jane on her left side, then massaged her with Oil of Olay as usual. [...] This balled up our schedule, and made me late leaving Jane—at 7:30—but I see I managed to get the session done after a late supper anyhow. [...] I said the prayer with Jane before leaving her for the night. [...]

(Jane was doing well. [...] After lunch Jane tried to read Saul’s letter, but couldn’t manage it. [...]

[...] Jane believes this refers to herself, and if so it is a strong connection with the object of course. Jane has no middle name now; her name used to be Dorothy Jane Roberts but she dropped the Dorothy when we were married 11 years ago. [...]

[...] Jane said this is valid data, if not as good as we would like. [...] Jane also cited the similarity in sound between Gene and Jane.

[...] This is also good data, and related to the envelope object in that it refers to an event taking place in Jane’s classroom on her second day of teaching. [The object represents Jane’s first day of teaching.] Briefly, a very violent scene was enacted before Jane and her class. [...]

[...] LuAnn and Sharon came in to change the catheter just as I started to read some sessions to Jane. [...] They had to roll Jane back and forth while changing the chuck and the drawsheet; Jane cried—the first time I’d heard her do that in some weeks. [...]

[...] LuAnn asked Jane if she could wait until 4:30 before getting the catheter changed. She also asked Jane to drink more in the meantime. [...]

(“The nurses told me that woman has a history of mental trouble,” Jane said, “and has been diagnosed as schizophrenic.” [...] Jane said she had last night, and that she was going this morning. [...]

There must be a vast amount of pertinent dream information ready for the tapping, however, and maybe with Seth’s help Jane and I can eventually learn more about the undoubtedly therapeutic roles our joint and individual dreams have played as we contended with the challenges posed by her physical difficulties. Many questions arise: Even granting our personal reservations about influences being exerted within our current lives through past, future, as well as other present existences, what about exchanges on dream levels concerning Jane’s symptoms between or among any of our reincarnational selves, our counterpart selves, or various combinations of the two? How am I involved in any of these, and how are Jane’s and my families—and reaching how many generations back in ordinary time? To what extent does Jane’s physical infirmity mushroom into other probable realities through the dream state? I think that Jane herself can deal with many such questions; possibly tuning into them on her own, should she decide to, or through the mediation of her “psychic library.” A book could automatically develop out of the investigation—even, I joked with Jane, a “world-view” book.

Even if those sessions can’t be quoted in these essays because of the obvious space limitations, I can note that Jane and Seth each continued to develop the themes already laid down in the sessions that have been presented. What they really signify for the long term is (as I wrote in the essay for April 16) a continuing program of intense study for Jane and me—and yes, for Seth, too—as we seek to better understand our chosen commitments in our present physical lives. [...] For if the information arouses such mixed emotions in Jane and me, surely it will do so in others too, serving as an impetus or goad to learn more even while it highlights one’s strengths and weaknesses. [...] The anger I’d felt at Jane and myself when she began recording her sinful-self material (see the essay for April 16) has long since dissipated. I won’t claim that residues of it may not be buried within my psyche (and within Jane’s), but it’s very difficult to stay mad when one agrees with the simple but most basic and profound idea that you do create your own reality.

[...] Because Jane still requires regular care, our sleeping patterns remain much more evenly divided between the daylight and nighttime hours (see the essay for April 16). [...] Once again I’m becoming aware of my dreams, and so is Jane. I haven’t been able to get back to painting since Jane left the hospital, and I’ve had to hire help to mow the grass. [...] Jane’s nurse now visits but twice a week, which is all that’s necessary (my wife’s decubiti are under control, for example).

(I told Jane the important thing was that the areas hadn’t broken down, and that was what counted. [...] The male nurse who assisted Jane got her on the litter backward, Jane said. [...] In spite of it all things went well, Jane said, though “they” ran the water more heavily than the old staff members did, and Jane said she couldn’t try to move her feet as easily with the increased pressure of the water. Darlene did help return Jane to 330, and showed the others how to put my wife back in bed. I told Jane I supposed it was a good thing that others learned how to handle her; someone could always get sick, or quit, etc., and Jane agreed. [...]

[...] When I got to room 330 I saw that Jane had the patches back on her right elbow and the little toes of her left foot. [...] The staff had also told Jane that it looked like she may develop a sore in a new spot on a shoulder blade, so they’d slapped a dressing there too. I meant to investigate that one when I turned Jane later in the day, but forgot to. [...]

(Then Jane told me that the night nurse, Toni, whom I’ve yet to meet, tried to help her lay on her right side last night, for the first time since she’d broken the leg. Oddly enough, the break didn’t bother Jane, since a pillow was used beneath the leg as a cushion—but, Jane said, her feet did, so she didn’t stay in that position for more than fifteen minutes. [...]

Jane and I had corresponded with Laurel Lee Davies for several years. [...] She helped me carry on the massive project of continuing the work that Debbie Harris had begun: copying many more of the thousands of pages of Jane’s and my work for the archives of the library at Yale. [...] She’s worked as a researcher of Jane’s material for The Magical Approach — the book she has “most dreamed of working on.” [...] Yet even so, as the years passed I began to better see that recovery from Jane’s death was going to take the rest of my life; and that within the framework of simultaneous time uncounted millions of others had experienced that truth, were doing so now, and would be doing so. Maybe some day I’ll write in detail about Jane’s and my lives — but not now!

My wife, Jane Roberts, dictated The Magical Approach for Seth, the “energy personality essence” she spoke for in a trance state, in 1980—but the pressures of Jane’s illness, and of our producing other books, kept us from publishing it quickly. Then Jane died in 1984, at the age of 55. [...] Janet Mills, the publisher and editor for the new editions of Jane’s books, suggested that I write a bit about the situation. [...]

[...] The day after Jane died I went back to work, finishing the last two Seth books to meet long-overdue publishing deadlines. Jane’s and my dear friend, Debbie Harris, began making copies of all of the Seth sessions, plus the transcripts of Jane’s ESP classes, for the “collection” of Jane’s and my work in the archives of Yale University Library. [...]

(Jane didn’t have a session yesterday, December 1, so here I’ll summarize the day’s activities. She said that Wendy, the therapist in hydro, looked her over on her weekly routine, and once again told Jane that she was “coming along great.” Wendy didn’t look at the ulcers on the back too much, though, Jane said. [...]

(Jane ate a good lunch and supper. [...] Jane’s forearms are still “soft,” and the index finger on her left hand still bends a little. [...]

(Jane didn’t eat much breakfast, except cereal, because the young girl who fed her couldn’t properly present the bacon and eggs, for some reason; Cathy’s sister. So Jane was hungry this noon, and ate well. [...]