“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

(Smiling broadly, her eyes very dark, Jane stared at me. She was highly amused.

(“Why, Jane and me, I suppose.”)

Sometimes you read me correctly. Mark was one of your children in the existence of which I have spoken. One of Mark’s present brothers was a son of Mark’s when he was a woman in Iowa.

I suggest that you take your break; and again, by all means, let me complicate matters further by commenting on the fact that Mark himself knew you, Joseph, twice before, and perhaps you will recall my comments upon your relationship with your son’s mistresses in Denmark.

(“Who, me?”

(Jane grinned, then laughed as she pointed at me and then at Bill.)

(Seth’s mention of Ed Robbins, who now lives in New Paltz, NY, struck me as rather strange. Ed and I became acquainted first by mail when we were both doing free-lance commercial art work. At the time, many years ago, we did not meet. Later, while I was living in my hometown of Sayre, PA, I received a phone call from Ed inviting me to work with him on a project in Saratoga Springs, NY. This time it was a syndicated comic strip. Indeed, Ed introduced me to Jane the day after I moved to Saratoga, where I lived for about a year in the mid-fifties. Within a year Jane and I were married. Then for some time we did not see Ed; the last time was during an overnight stopover in New Paltz, when Jane and I were on our way to York Beach, Maine, on vacation. It will be recalled that it was in the dance hall at York Beach that Jane and I saw the projected fragments of our own personalities, that Seth dealt with so extensively in the 9th session, of December 18, 1963. [See Volume One.]

(Here, Jane pointed to herself. She became highly amused, then pointed first at me and then Bill.)

(“Who, me?”)

You told me this story the next morning when both young men showed up with black eyes, and Mark with a broken wrist. But Mark, out of the goodness of his heart, never told your son who he found first in the barn, and of such small but tasty incidents is the history of the race composed.

(While Jane was delivering the material on Denmark and Triev, Bill said that he recalled quite vividly his experience with his “lost town” episode. This involves a time when Bill was 11 years old. Out walking in the fields and woods just north of Elmira, he came upon an old-fashioned-looking town. It was quite small; he remembers a blacksmith shop and a few other buildings, and people in odd clothing. A few weeks later, attempting to return to this strange place, he could not find it. He never has found it, although at odd times he has attempted to over the years. It made such an impression on him that he never forgot it. He is now 25, and a school teacher. He first told Jane and me about his experience a year or so ago.

(Both of them were exceptionally clear for me—far clearer for instance, than the vision I had of my brother Dick during his life in England in the 1670’s.

(It was of a young girl in a type of flaring and belted, blue party dress. She had long yellow hair; her back was to me. She wore short white socks and shiny black patent-leather shoes with a single strap across the instep. And she was in the act of stomping down, repeatedly, upon a small white and brown dog, with her right foot. The dog lay on its back, legs up. It made no sound, nor did it appear to be hurt. The girl, about six years old, repeatedly brought her foot down upon the animal. Her arms lifted like wings, her hair was very pretty. The belt around her waist was about two inches wide.

(He was smiling straight at me, a very kind and compassionate smile. His expression was very sympathetic. His lips were wide, indenting deeply at the corners under the cheekbones. The most arresting feature was the eyes. They were sparkling bright, not widely opened, and yet were brimming with tears. There were no tears upon his cheeks. There were also tiny light, or white, crosses centered upon each pupil; these, coupled with the brimming tears and the smile, formed a most striking and unusual effect. The whole manner was compassionate and understanding and sad.

(The color was rather monochrome in this vision, almost an overall brownish gray upon the head. The features do not remind me of anyone I know, although there is a resemblance between them and a black and white ink- and-wash drawing I have for sale at the gallery where Jane is employed afternoons. I feel this drawing is one of my best, and have a rather secret hope that it does not sell, since I would like to keep it.