“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

October 13, 1984. Jane has been dead for thirty-eight days. It has finally come to me that the dark tunnels of those streets I run on, with their mysterious implications of the unknown, and the fear of the dark that such streets can generate, are physically oriented metaphors for the transition Jane has made to another reality. In our terms, the tunnel shapes lead to an unfathomable new reality that is supposedly filled with the light of the universe. That light is symbolized by the streetlights shining through the tunnels every so often, and hinting at that great brilliant reality beyond. This metaphor is particularly apropos at this time, with the trees still carrying their thick growth of leaves — yet later in the fall it may become even more applicable as the leaves drop and the streetlights, poor as they may be in comparison to the light of the universe, can shine through a little more brilliantly.

‘Oh, sweetheart, if only you were here with me to see this,’ I said aloud to Jane. And as I talked to her I suddenly found myself crying for her again there in the semi-dark night while the wind seethed and roared. Deep wrenching sobs began in my legs and stomach and rose up through my chest. I tried to keep talking to her, but could not. ‘It must be better where you are,’ I finally gasped, ‘but you should see this. It’s so wonderful …’ And as I spoke I intuitively understood that the motion of the wind was an excellent creative metaphor for the motion of Jane’s soul, that its cool feel upon my face could be the physical version of her caring for me ‘from where she is.’ The storm of my grief eased after a while, but the wind and the light rain continued. I dozed. When I woke half an hour later the wind had diminished a great deal. I felt drained. I went into the kitchen for a glass of water. Was Jane’s soul resting from its earlier great commotion, or had she moved away for the moment while exploring other aspects of her new reality that were perhaps out of range to us earthbound creatures? I crawled back into my bag and slept until dawn.

A block to the west of the hill house, the main road drops straight down into the outskirts of Elmira. Opening off the road to the left like a series of steps are short, level sidestreets upon which I often run late at night. In the beginning the running helped me physically handle my grief over Jane’s passing; I cried often as I ran, and tried to comprehend where she is now. I’m a natural runner, but had been unable to do more than a little jogging in recent years because of the pressures of work and of taking care of Jane as she became more and more ill. After her death I could run nightly if I chose to. I find that activity still secret and evocative. The streets are lined with trees arching up to meet overhead; periodically those intersecting patterns of leaves and branches are punctuated by bursts of light from the streetlamps. At certain times the moon follows me along in its phases. The only sounds might be the wind in the treetops and the chug-chug of my shoes on the asphalt. A dog may bark in the distance. When I do it right I float effortlessly along. And amid my tears I finally permitted the obvious to become obvious to me. The following is revised from my entry in my grief notebook.

To me, even thinking about an entity who has died is a form of communication with the essence of that departed one, whatever its nature, shape, and complexity “was.” We must have much to consciously learn here. Imagine our planet swinging through its orbit independently of the sun’s illumination. I’ve often thought that if each birth and each death was signalled by a flash of light, an observer in space would see an earth that was always bathed in a flickering gentle glow because of all of the activities of consciousness going on there. What a profound and revealing sight that would be!

I’m rather embarrassed now by the fact that we turned the lights off, since our sessions and classes are always conducted in normal light. [...]

[...] And yet, inside our small, lighted living room, we both felt we were making important inroads, gaining invaluable insights and finding a point of sanity amid a chaotic world.

[...] We locked the door and closed the blinds but always left the lights on for the sessions. [...]

[...] I told Rob, and he switched the lights on.

The quality called light on this plane could just as well appear as sound in another; and for that matter, even on this plane, light can be changed into sound, and sound into light. [...]

[...] Would you for a moment turn off your main light and open your blinds and curtains so that I can look out into the snowy night?

(Still in trance, I turned off the brightest of our two lights, then opened the blinds. [...]

(This morning at breakfast I announced suddenly, to Jane’s surprise and my own, that light was a mental enzyme … We started tonight’s session sitting at the board as usual, without asking questions.)

[...] If I speak heavy-handedly, it is because I want you to have a light touch. [...]

If you remember what you know of the trance state — in a light trance, you are able to maintain awareness of self, your environment and your place in it. [...]

Man’s ego causes him to interpret everything else in light of himself. [...]

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

[...] Will she or won’t she light that cigarette? [...]

[...] She did say that she had no particular sense of light and dark, or sense of time. [...]

Our living room seemed twice as cozy that evening, with the warm lights and Willie sleeping on the rug. [...]