“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

(Long pause.) These attitudes may be reflected in rather simple compulsive actions: the woman who cleans the house endlessly, whether it needs it or not; the man who will follow certain precise, defined routes of activity — driving down certain streets only to work; washing his hands much more frequently than other people; the person who constantly buttons and unbuttons a sweater or vest. [...]

(Early in the morning, Jane said, she had successfully managed to imagine herself back at 458 West Water Street, cleaning the place, washing the windows inside and out, very agilely climbing about—doing all of those things she’d loved to do, even to hosing down the house from the outside. [...]

[...] Once again, when Jane had the session I became aware of traffic noise from Market Street.)

[...] There is a staircase leading down to a side street. [...]

[...] He found out the woman’s address from the bartender and drove down the street to discover that Seth knew what he was talking about. She lived in the third house before the end of a dead-end street, in the northeastern section of town, but west of the bar. [...]

[...] “She lives in … the third or fourth house in the middle of a dead-end street, in the northeastern section of town, but west of the establishment in which you met her. [...]

[...] Moreover, this event had taken place in the apartment house we lived in on Water Street; not in our own quarters there, however, but in the apartment of another tenant whom we’ve known for a number of years.

[...] Hell, we didn’t even know the street existed.”

[...] As I was taking my nap in 330 this afternoon, Margaret Bumbalo called, inviting me across the street for supper this evening.)

[...] And possibly stone-type houses, close together, on each side of a street, crowded houses. [...]

[...] To paraphrase: Using this sense, an observer standing on a typical street would feel the experience of being anything he chose within his field of notice: people, trees, insects, blades of grass. [...]

[...] The witness other than myself was Mr. Raymond Van Over, associate editor of the Parapsychology Foundation of 29 West 57th Street, New York, NY 10019.

[...] [In them, incidentally, I mentioned the destruction of Elmira’s Walnut Street Bridge; the old steel span had crossed the Chemung River half a block from our apartment house. [...]

(The service wasn’t as long as I’d thought it might be, though, and we were on our way to the cemetery shortly before noon, winding through the quiet tree-lined side streets. [...]

[...] For instance: You may at [the age of] three have believed it was dangerous to cross a street. [...] If your mother reinforced this belief telepathically and verbally through dire pictures of the potential danger involved in street crossing, however, then you would also carry within you that emotional fear, and perhaps entertain imaginative considerations of possible accident.

The mental exercise of seeing himself vigorously cleaning the apartments at 458 (where we used to live on W. Water Street), or the rooms at the hill house (where we live now), can also be used most advantageously.

(“What do you think of the dream I had, about Leonard, Jane and me moving back to 458 West Water Street?”)

Then, last night, I stood at the window and looked out across the Walnut Street Bridge. [...] I felt myself walk beneath the signal light at the far end of the bridge and let myself continue on along the street. [...]

[...] You are most certainly traveling through the private and mass psyche when you so much as walk down the street. [...]

[...] The person might say “New York City is a frightful place in which crime is rampant, gangs roam the streets, murders and rapes are the norm, and people are not only impolite but ready to attack you at a moment’s notice. [...]

[...] He should try and see himself walking winningly down the street. [...]

[...] Then, I moved through the streets easily enough as I got ‘older’ during the projection. [...]

[...] Jane said she’d been picturing herself at the old apartments on Water Street [we’d ended up with two], and around town as she used to go — all as though she were taking the last grand tour. [...]