“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

October 10, 1984. Both of us had jobs at the large hospital in my home town of Sayre, Pa., eighteen miles southeast of Elmira, N.Y. The setting and the buildings weren’t like those of the “real” hospital in Sayre, though. It was a gorgeous summer day. Jane was much younger than she’d been when she died at the age of fifty-five. She still had her long jet-black hair, slim active figure and exuberant personality. I could have been my own age, sixty-five. We relaxed upon a large, sloping, very green lawn beside a brick hospital building that was several stories high. Then with great surprise I saw that on top of the near end of the building there sat an old, flat-sided, two-story house with steep roofs, weathered a drab gray and with all of its windows shuttered. Caught in one shutter was a filmy pink garment like a negligee, fluttering in the breeze. Curiously, Jane and I stared up at the house perched so incongruously there, and we talked about trying to get up into it to see what it was like inside.

[...] The village wasn’t sunny, and they kept the windows closed. There weren’t many windows anyway. [...]

[...] It wasn’t ventilated, and there were no windows.

“There were windows in the front room, though, and benches and a stone floor. [...]

[...] Startled, I went to the window, hardly able to believe my eyes. [...] I stood at the window and dashed out this poem — far too emotionally unrestrained to be aesthetically a good one but an excellent example of my feelings at the time.

We had no idea then that I would be involved in still more startling episodes with Miss Cunningham, but I grinned, looking out the window. [...]

The Personality: Dissociation and Possession
The Inner Senses and Mental Enzymes
Seth Looks out the Window

[...] Rob said that I stood at the window, looking out at the busy intersection. [...]

“I really felt that someone else was here, that Seth was looking out the window,” Rob said, when the session was over. [...]

[...] Our living room is very large — opens from the apartment house hallway and runs down to three large bay windows at the other end. I always worked at my table in front of the windows. [...]

[...] According to Rob, he behaved in a most energetic fashion, pacing the room as usual, stopping to joke with Rob, or pausing for a moment to look out the window. [...]

Then, last night, I stood at the window and looked out across the Walnut Street Bridge. [...]

[...] In this session, he also spoke about the consciousness of trees in such a way that I was never able to look at the trees outside of my window with the same old detachment. [...]

[...] I got up to look out the window, to try my mental experiment of traveling across the bridge again. [...]