“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

I dreamed that it had been raining. I saw a motorcycle on a wet road. The driver lost his balance, the vehicle veered, but the driver regained his balance just in time and continued on. I said to Rob, “Motorcycles are dangerous on a wet road.”

COMMENT: On July 10, we visited Rob’s parents. In the course of conversation, my father-in-law told us that on July 3, from his window, he had watched a near-accident involving a motorcycle. Then he proceeded to outline my dream precisely, ending up with the remark: “Motorcycles are dangerous on a wet road” — the exact words I had spoken in the dream.

I’ve mentioned both of these dreams because each was involved with a near-accident. They were the only such dreams I recorded that year and the only such incidents in waking life. For a while, I wondered why I would pick up such an unimportant episode as a man veering on a motorcycle. What connection could there be? No one we knew even owned a cycle, and neither my father-in-law or myself had the slightest idea who the driver was. I hadn’t been on a cycle in years. Neither had he. We had never even talked about cycles together. Then, I remembered that when he was a young man, Rob’s father did have motorcycles. There were family pictures in an old album showing him proudly standing next to one when he was courting Rob’s mother. And years ago, I rode on a cycle from New York to California. So the connection became clear: There was a hidden association in Rob’s father’s mind and my own, an emotional shared experience that “predisposed” us toward an interest in cycles.

I realize that this is a decontamination center, closed to the public, very dangerous, and I become highly frightened. The men are obviously doing something connected with their line of work and are protected from radiation by their clothes. Now I remember that earlier I had seen a sign that warned me of this. I run back through the open area, only now I realize that the rain is radioactive. I run as quickly as I can to minimize the contamination. The rain spatters on my legs. After this, I meet Rob and some friends and tell them that from now on I will be more cautious.

COMMENTS: On January 10, six days after the dream, Rob and I made an unexpected visit to the Motor Vehicles Bureau to check on the renewal of our car license. It had been ordered by mail several weeks earlier but had not arrived, though the deadline was approaching. As we stood in line, I picked up one of the pamphlets that were piled on the counters.

I stuck the pamphlet in my pocket and thought no more about it. Then that night as usual I sat down to check my dream records. As soon as I reread the dream for January 3, I saw the obvious connection with the pamphlet and ran to retrieve it. I was so surprised that I called Rob, and together we compared the pamphlet with the dream notes.

With growing excitement, we checked my records. “Almost every sign’s message was carried out in action,” Rob said. “You were running through the radioactive rain to avoid contamination, running for your life, really, and the pamphlet refers to survival several times and ‘Maintain top speed.’”

“I don’t know if you can really count that,” Rob said, “Though you’re probably right. But the clear words ‘decontamination center’ in the dream records are terrific. You couldn’t have hit it closer.”

Looking over my shoulder now, Rob pointed at the sketch I’d done with the dream. “That layout is identical to the one at the License Bureau!” And it was. The Motor Vehicles Bureau is an extension of the county building, as the decontamination center was an extension of another building in the dream. Incidentally, I’d been in the License Bureau only once several years earlier.

“Why did you bother to pick up the information on that particular thing though? Do you have any idea?” Rob asked.

I felt as triumphant figuring out that dream as if I’d climbed some new mountain. Then I told Rob about another idea I had about it, one that I couldn’t possibly prove.

In the next case, interpretation was simple — and amusing. One night I had a confused dream about a celebration. Rob and I were with a group of people, all laughing and calling out shouts and responses. I had a megaphone. We shouted one word over and over again: “Kangaroo.”

In March of 1968, for example, I received a letter in which my mother told me that Mike Myers, an old friend, was dead, and that his widow was very upset. I hadn’t seen Mike or Mary in more than a dozen years. They lived in a distant town. “Maybe you dreamed Mike died,” Rob said.