“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

COMMENT: The next day a friend, Peter James, visited us. He had been having back trouble. As he sat on the couch, he suddenly buckled over with a spasm. We gave him aspirin. When he recovered, he offered to drive us to the garage to pick up our car.

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.

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.

Then, the scene switched again. The white woman was speaking on the telephone. In an aside, she disclosed that the caller was her husband, who was out of town. He was telling her that they must move. She was very embarrassed because she would not have time to give proper notice to the school or landlord. Then she laughed into the phone and said, “What?” in tones of mock disbelief. At the same time I saw in my mind’s eye a picture of the house into which she would move. It reminded me of Dr. C’s home in the country.

Immediately she told me that her husband had called her two days previously to tell her that they must move. He was out of town and had just learned that he was to be transferred to another area. Anna said that she was terribly embarrassed since they had to move quickly, and she wouldn’t have time to give the proper notice.

After school I went home and sat down for a cup of coffee when the phone rang. It was Anna, calling to tell me that her husband had just called to say he had definitely rented a house in Albany. This was the first time in four months I had seen Anna, and the only time we ever spoke together on the phone.