“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

I couldn’t believe it when I realized that my wife had been dead for a week. As I lived and worked in it, our house looked the same as it ever had. In spite of my sorrow, I presented a cheerful face to the world; I talked and joked, and did everything I was supposed to do. I also discovered what must be a very common phenomenon: Those who knew of Jane’s passing became instantly self-conscious when we met. I felt their embarrassment at their damned-up sympathies, and their fear of the same thing happening to them. They didn’t want to hurt me further. Amazingly, I found myself offering comfort to them, to help them surmount such barriers so that we could talk. My visitors reminded me anew of how private an event Jane’s death is for me, yet how universal it is. How many uncounted quadrillions of times has that transference from “life” to “nonlife” taken place just on our planet alone? And I don’t believe that anyone has tried to cope with questions of life and death any more valiantly than Jane did.

Jane began dictating Seth Speaks in January 1970. In March, Tam signed her to a contract for Seth, Dreams … on behalf of Prentice-Hall. The Seth Material was published. Jane was on a creative roll. She kept changing and adding to the portions of Seth, Dreams … that she hadn’t used in The Seth Material, while at the same time her new work kept crowding it out. Finally, in 1971 Tam converted her contract for Seth, Dreams … into one for Seth Speaks. Jane didn’t keep on trying to sell Seth, Dreams … Neither did I, and somehow that perfectly good book ended up packed away. Tam left Prentice-Hall for other employment in 1982; he became my agent after Jane’s death in 1984. When at his request I rediscovered Seth, Dreams … three months ago, and examined it, I couldn’t believe that that finished manuscript had never been published. I’m most pleased that Jim Young accepted it at once for Stillpoint Publishing — just as I know Jane is!

When I got up at 6:15 A.M. I hurried to write down this most significant account, and begin my interpretation of it. (Seth wasn’t available, so I couldn’t ask him to do it for me!)

[...] “I couldn’t see his head, shoulders, or even waist. [...] I couldn’t see the bases of these, though, and I’m not even sure they were pyramids. [...]

[...] So the early sessions intrigued me, but, intellectually, I couldn’t accept reincarnation. [...]

[...] Big ships couldn’t get in close. [...]

“Albert liked to hunt, but he couldn’t get much because the ground was too rocky … deer and rabbits, a special kind of rabbit, no big tails, gray hares of some kind. [...]

[...] Consciousness was independent of the body — Seth was right — and if that was true, then there was no reason why he couldn’t be what he said he was: an independent personality, out of the flesh. [...] I couldn’t wait till Rob came home so I could tell him what happened.

[...] Later I started a poem on the idea, but couldn’t follow it through. [...]

[...] Suppose I stopped having the sessions while I tried to figure things out, then decided that Seth was right on all counts — and found I just couldn’t have sessions again? [...]

[...] Miss Cunningham, Rob, me and all the people that we knew were surely getting shot down; falling through time, we were dying in a descent that we couldn’t understand or control. [...]

She couldn’t explain much about her own situation, however, though she insisted that she was happier where she was than she had been in this life. [...]

She couldn’t explain what she did, except to say that she ‘learned things.’ I asked further questions about her background and was told that her husband had grown alfalfa and wheat and tried tobacco and corn. [...]

But I still couldn’t quite believe in personal life after death. [...]

[...] But without it, we couldn’t even get out of bed in the morning or breathe, much less walk across the floor. [...]

[...] Then I wouldn’t be responsible and you couldn’t talk back.”

[...] Once I had such a severe attack of back cramps that I couldn’t stand.