“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

At the same time I knew that Jane had some sort of deep commitment. However, this didn’t stop her from giving me a series of face-to-face hugs, very close, smiling like she does in some old photos of her that I’d found in a file yesterday. I was leery of responding too openly to her advances, though, since I didn’t know what her commitment was. A beautiful arching stone bridge was to my right as we talked and hugged. The lawn extending underneath the bridge was an extremely rich green — glowing and pulsing as though it was alive.

So if I insist that I’ve communicated with Jane at times, then I’m obligated to consider statements from others claiming the same thing. But in ordinary terms, even if my wife’s death has left me more open and vulnerable to psychic possibilities, I still shrink from offering any sort of blanket assurance. (“Yes, I’m convinced that you have reached Jane, just as I have.”) I’m not contradicting myself when I note that perhaps — and I’ve suspected for a long time that ultimately this is correct — it is true that on some far levels of consciousness and communication that we do not (or even cannot) understand at this “time,” each person who is so inclined to do so has at least touched a Jane who responded clearly enough. She will continue to do so. In this view, those elements in such messages that have no meaning for me can be only distortions on the part of the medium or the letter-writer or the poet. I do think that communication among entities, whether they’re physical or nonphysical, is always going on, and from every conceivable angle and in every way. Hardly a new thought, yet grasping it, or even speculating about it, is to touch upon a portion of the mystery of life. (And from where you are, Jane, what do you think of my very cautious approach?)

[...] It is like putting on one sort of diving equipment, removing it for another and then redonning the first. [...] They may also serve as a sort of vehicle … in the manner of diving equipment.

[...] This sort of dissociated state can be dangerous, particularly when induced haphazardly, as was certainly the case with you. [...]

[...] Surely after our pleasant chat the other evening, you should know that nothing of this sort would offend me. [...]

And please do not think of yourself as some sort of a male stenographer. [...]

[...] … It goes without saying that a bird’s death is inevitable, but a cat killing a bird does not have to juggle the same sort of values with which a man must be concerned. [...]

[...] Suddenly I remembered the jolt I’d felt at the base of my neck … had I had an attack of some sort? [...]

[...] It would seem ludicrous to suppose that such a vital matter as breathing would be left to a subordinate, almost completely divorced, poor-relative sort of a lesser personality.

[...] Then, I am sure, you will see the similarity between this alone sort of inner psychological time, experienced often in waking hours, and the sense of time experienced often in a dream. [...]

[...] Touch usually involves contact of a direct sort. [...]

[...] I even thought that perhaps I was having some sort of physical attack, though I felt no pain.

Also, after supper, it developed that Miss Cunningham, the retired school teacher in the front apartment, suffered an attack of some sort and was in urgent need of help. [...]

[...] I’m convinced that this sort of exercise is most valuable in that it helped to shake our consciousness out of its usual focus in objective, ego-oriented reality.

[...] Your tree builds up a composite of sensations of this sort, sensing not the physical dimensions of a material object, whatever it is, but the vital psychic formation within and about it.