“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

As you know the subconscious is an extension into your field of the inner self, and with those so talented the subconscious, when correctly referred to, will lead to hard facts of the inner universe, with which every inner self is thoroughly acquainted. You at least do not swaddle and suffocate what I say in veils of pseudoreligion, and for this I am thankful.

When his senses, his outer senses, do not perceive a physical object in his self-perspective (and hyphenate that please), in his self-perspective, the object simply does not exist. If the object is touched and not seen or otherwise perceived, then in his self-perspective it exists only in the realm of his sensual perception of it. It does not exist to be seen if he does not see it. If his father, for example, sees the chair that the boy does not see, then the object exists as a thing to be seen in the father’s self-perspective. Each individual himself creates a portion or a whole physical object. Many people appear to see an object, but the object that they see is not the same object, but only approximates an object.

Nevertheless, the objects are simply not the same objects. You do not see, feel, smell or touch the same object. I will shock you further by stating that, in your terms, the objects do not even exist in the same space, but in the personal self-perspective space, formed and created by any given individual.

This can easily be proven by a simple experiment with any small object, such as a book of matches. No one of you can see a book of matches from exactly the same perspective, for the simple reason that it does not exist for you except in the self-perspective in which you create it.

(I then finished my self-induction. Some time later, it seems, I became aware that I was watching a youngish woman in a polka-dot dress, white dots on black or a dark color, climb up three or four back-porch steps and enter a house, with a screen door closing behind her. She might have been carrying something. At the foot of the steps stood a little girl looking up at her disappearing mother. [I do not know how I felt so sure this was mother and daughter.] The little girl, with brown long hair and some kind of short nondescript dress, stood with her back to me. I then heard her say very clearly, in a high-pitched little girl’s voice: “You got the ball? You got the ball?”