“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

But my mind felt crowded out of itself,
By thoughts not its own,
As if someone were settling down in my skull
That I hadn’t invited in.

It was a strange time. The assassination of JFK took place just after our sessions began. The familiar physical world did not seem to be a very secure place. The old ways of thought were bringing appalling fruits. An uneasy December followed — bitter and dreary and discouraging on the national scene — and locally the weather was dark, with snow piled high. And yet, inside our small, lighted living room, we both felt we were making important inroads, gaining invaluable insights and finding a point of sanity amid a chaotic world.

“That’s a silly question,” I retorted, but with a great impartiality; it didn’t seem that it was me replying at all. “They were as happy as anyone else then. They didn’t like their babies dying, but they just thought that … that was life. They drank a lot. Most of them couldn’t read. Well, the sexton could some, not much. People didn’t think it was necessary. They didn’t have books, so what good did it do to learn to read?

“A few could write their names, but usually they couldn’t read other people’s names. … They didn’t have water to drink. There was salt in the ocean — that’s why they washed there. But they thought that drinking water was unhealthy. It was hilly and rocky behind the village, but there was a stream up there, and they went up with horses and buckets. But they didn’t drink the water. They drank ale. They made soups from the water, though, and they were lucky that the stream came down from a high place. Otherwise they’d have had to dig down too far.

Rob grinned. “I couldn’t see his head, shoulders, or even waist. The land was very flat — reds and browns. There was nothing in the far distance on the left, beyond the feet. For a moment, though, I thought I saw a group of pyramids far ahead on the horizon to the right. They were in cool brilliant color, blues or greens. I couldn’t see the bases of these, though, and I’m not even sure they were pyramids. But I saw the soles of the man’s feet, wrinkled and brown and, yes, without shoes, lifting after each stride. They were covered with dust.”

“Then isn’t that enough for now?” Rob said. I nodded; at the very least there was enough material for a good short story on the whole thing, I thought. Yet the village and the scenes lingered in my memory. “We’ve only been involved in this stuff a little over a month,” I said. “I’m content for now. But we’re going to have to try and check some of this out if it keeps on.”