“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

It is not just that such an inner universe is different from your own, but that any real or practical explanation of its reality would require the birth of an entirely new physics—and such a development would first of all necessitate the birth of an entirely new philosophy. The physics cannot come first, you see.

(9:26.) When I speak of an inner psychological universe, it is very difficult to explain what I mean. (Pause.) In that reality, however, psychological activity is not limited by any of the physical laws that you know. Thought, for example, has properties that you do not perceive—properties that not only affect matter, but that form their own greater patterns outside of your reality. These follow their own, say, laws of physics. You add on to, or build up your own reality, in other dimensions throughout your physical life.

(Long pause.) The paintings that you have envisioned, for example, exist there, and they are every bit as real as the paintings in your studio. I am not speaking symbolically here. There is indeed light that you do not see, sound that you do not hear, sensation that you do not feel. All of these belong to the realm of the inner senses. The inner senses represent your true powers of perception. They represent, say, your native nonphysical perceptive “equipment.” The physical senses are relatively easy to distinguish: You know what you see from what you hear. If you close your eyes, you do not see.

The next morning Jane had quite an unexpected insight to add to my own understanding of what those lampshades stood for. I was surprised. Seth discussed her connection later in this session.

2. We moved from our downtown apartments into the hill house almost five years ago (in March 1975), but Jane thinks she tried to write the poem Seth referred to several years before that. (She began speaking for Seth late in 1963.) I have no memory of her struggling with such a poem. I was most curious to see it so that I could quote a bit of it here. Jane has stacks of journals, poetry notebooks, manuscripts, and loose notes of all kinds, but neither of us could dig out what we wanted. Very frustrating! We hadn’t been as careful then about dating our work as we are now. “But I know I didn’t throw out whatever I did on that poem,” Jane said. One of us will probably find it someday—while looking for something else.