“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

What is the point of it all? For one thing, records of your own precognitive dreams will convince you that you can perceive segments of the future. This personal knowing is far more vital than a bland intellectual acceptance that precognition may exist or is generally possible.

Even this intense interest waxes and wanes, however, in the ordinary sequence of events. My students and I both go through periods when we forget to remember and wake up for weeks at a time with only a few dream fragments. Often, months go by without a precognitive dream, and then there is that odd sense of discovery — always fresh — of an event forseen. Then the excitement hits again — of spying out the dreaming self and charting the strange environment in which it has its experience. Once more, I’m up at all hours, scribbling down my latest dream notes, checking them eagerly against daily happenings.

Next, I floated above a car, which was driven by another me. (Actually, I do not drive because of poor eyesight.) The car approached our corner, at Walnut and Water Streets. Others were also in the car. As I watched from my floating position, the “driving me” made an error at the light, and suddenly we ended up in the middle of a line of traffic. Cars came from all directions. I was terrified — certain that an accident would result. But none occurred.

On the way, Peter suddenly went through a traffic light. We ended up in the wrong line of traffic, with cars coming at us from all directions. Vehicles in both other lanes had the green light, and we were right in their path. There was a squeal of brakes as the first car stopped less than two feet away. Yet, miraculously enough, there was no accident. Peter told us later that he just hadn’t seen the light.

I wrote the list down and stared at it. Why hadn’t I known Anna in the dream? And why the episode in which I saw her hang out clothes in the yard? I’d never dreamed of Anna before. Why now? Then suddenly the answers came to me. Anna herself wasn’t really important to me. The information was really that the apartment in the house next door, on the corner, would be vacant. The clothing sequence was wrong in that no one really hung out clothes. Yet it was valid, symbolically. In the dream the women hang out clothes in the yard … and Anna showed me the children’s closet at school, commenting on clothes. Anna’s last name was Taylor. A tailor is someone involved with clothes. I think I’d known the name all the while and in the dream translated it into action; the clothes episode would, then, really identify Anna and forsee the event in which she showed me the clothes closet.

I run across a fairly large open space that was either dirt or only partially paved. It is pouring rain — darts of it hit the ground so hard that they ping and spatter back. I run to the end of this area and come to a building. Then I hurry past the main part of it to an extension. I look through to a small room or alcove and see two men enter. Behind them other men wait their turn in line. They all wear coveralls of some kind, and their faces are hidden by masks.

Next I am standing on spacious, landscaped grounds with gravel paths neatly laid out, divided by trees and shrubs. There are several buildings, rather separated from each other, and lovely green grass. The buildings are stately, such as those in a public park. One building looks something like a church, though I don’t think it is. All the buildings are of white or gray stone. There is a sign that says we can go no further, as the area is closed to the public. I notice a few elderly women sitting on the park benches. They are residents or patients here.

The pamphlet was entitled: Highway Signs For Survival. Pictures of various road signs were shown. One read: DECONTAMINATION CENTER; another, MAINTAIN TOP SPEED. This was followed by the legend: “Used On Highways Where Radiological Contamination Is Such As To Limit Permissible Exposure Time.” Another sign read AREA CLOSED, and carried the legend: “Used To Close Roadway Entering An Area From Which All Traffic Is Excluded Because Of Dangerous Radiological Or Biological Contamination.”

“What about ‘Uniform traffic control?’ “ I asked. “All my men in the decontamination center wore coveralls and masks — they’re uniforms of a sort.”

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.”