“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

“Finally, [I ask] if you have a photo of Jane that you particularly enjoy that we can use on the flap. Once again, many of her fans would enjoy such a photo as a personal remembrance. It would also [let] us show a photo that does not exploit her channeling. Incidentally, this photo need not be recent. Simply one that you like.”

In those terms I have my own proofs of survival, just as Jane had — and as she still does. We always had far too many questions about such matters to be satisfied with the very restrictive “answers” that our religious and secular establishments offer. I cannot believe that in matters of life and death my psyche would be so foolish as to indulge in wish fulfillment, relaying to me only those ideas it “thinks” I want to consciously know. Each time I may feel my own ignorance about even our own physical reality, let alone other realities, I fall back upon my own feelings and beliefs. I have nowhere else to turn, really, nor did Jane. As Seth told us in a number of ways (and to some extent I’m certainly paraphrasing him here), “Never accept a theory that contradicts your own experience.” Jane and I found much better answers for ourselves, even if they were — and are — only approximations of more basic, and perhaps even incomprehensible, truths. My unimpeded, creative psyche intuitively knows that positive answers to its questions exist, that otherwise it wouldn’t bother to ask those questions within nature’s marvelous framework, that nature is alive and, as best we can sensually conceive of it, eternal. My psyche knows that it makes no sense within nature’s context for the human personality to be obliterated upon physical death.

‘I went back to work on a long-overdue Seth book the next day, but don’t let my determination to carry on Jane’s work fool you. A cave has opened up inside me, and I can only trust that the wound would heal itself. I still cry for my wife several times a day, fifty-seven days after her death. From watching Jane for 504 consecutive days in the hospital, I learned that human beings have tremendous, often unsuspected reserves of strength and power, yet I still don’t understand how I can feel such pain and live.’

[...] As Ruburt told you, I was here at the regular hour last night and aware of the happenings, and perfectly willing to let the session go, understanding the circumstances.

I delight in astounding the present personalities of old acquaintances by letting them know we have known each other before. [...]

[...] Let’s get the spelling on that,” Rob said, and Seth nicely spelled it out.

[...] Do not let it go, however. [...]

First I looked at various objects in the living room, such as a vase, a painting on the wall, a plant, and so forth, and tried to let my mind’s eye travel around these objects so that I could clearly picture the far side of them.

[...] I felt myself walk beneath the signal light at the far end of the bridge and let myself continue on along the street. [...]

If the twenty-third session roused me to write the poem, it also impressed Rob deeply enough so that he tried a rather complicated experiment with the inner senses — without letting his conscious mind know what he was up to.

Rob was all ready to ask, “Well, how come you’re letting us in on the secret?” But he never had a chance to ask the question.

[...] And almost immediately after this, Seth began his discussions on the nature of dream reality and the methods that would let us explore it for ourselves. [...]

But he was benign and jovial as a bishop
Someone might ask in for an evening of tea,
And when he let me peek out through his eyes,
The familiar living room seemed very strange.

“Let me read you some of the material you just dictated,” Rob said, and he read several pages. [...]

Nevertheless, lest Ruburt thinks he is getting off scott free, let me remind him that the tree’s bark is quite necessary and cannot be dispensed with. [...]

And as far as assimilating our old Frank Withers, don’t let me lead you too far astray. [...]