“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.

I think that I’ve had a number of waking and dreaming experiences in which Jane and I have communicated with each other since her physical death thirteen months ago. So have others. I’m offering two such events of my own, and one from the friend I’ve never met in person, Valerie Wood.

“Since I trust my feelings,” I wrote, “I just know that I’ve met Jane again. In this ‘adventure in consciousness’ she leaves the choices up to me — and I very clearly tell myself that I’m not ready to leave this mundane world. The experience is full of highly creative images.

‘The glowing, very beautiful and alive grass also represents Jane’s new reality. The bridge arching over the lawn symbolizes another connective between that universe and my physical one. Jane doesn’t ask me to cross the bridge now. I think that the structure also stands for the ‘psychological bridge’ upon which she met Seth during her sessions with him. (Seth wasn’t in this experience, however.)

Supposedly it was here where she met her husband, who was a foreman in the plant. [...]

On April 23, I met Miss Cunningham’s niece in the hall and asked about her condition. [...]

While I sleep and lie stretched out,
Eyelids closed and pupils dark,
Who walks wide-eyed downstairs
Through the door in the cold night air,
And travels where I have never been?
Who leaves clear memories in my head
Of people I have never met?
Who takes these trips while I
Never lift one inch from bed?
Who dreams?

[...] Rob and I had never met his wife. [...]