“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

(At 8:50 a friend of ours, Howard Kimball, arrived. He is on the board of directors of the gallery, which Jane has just left. Howard wanted to look at some paintings, and of course some conversation ensued involving the new director at the gallery, who was discussed by Seth in the 74th session.

(Howard left at 9:11 PM. Jane said the visit had disturbed her somewhat, a fact that I had not appreciated from observing her. She stood beside my table, waiting. At 9:12 she began to dictate in a rather normal voice, although as the session progressed her voice gathered quite a bit of volume at times. Once again she did not wear her glasses. Her delivery was rather slow, as was her pacing. Her eyes were dark as usual.)

A man stands in the center of a room. When he looks to the right you say “This is my conscious self.” When he looks to the left, we have something else again. You say “This is the dreaming self.” The dreaming self, or if you will, the left-handed self, indeed is as important as the so-called conscious self. The whole self merely changes direction and viewpoint, and focuses its energies along a particular line.

(Next, Jane and I had been attending a party in a building on a busy downtown street corner, on the second floor. I did not actually see Jane but knew she was there at the party. Many people were about. I entered this part of the dream as I left the stairway to move out on the corner for a breath of fresh air. I was now dressed, and it was daytime. As I stood on the corner with people passing me in all directions, I stretched my arms high above my head. Then to my surprise I saw my father ride past me, past the corner, on a bicycle. Father was wearing a familiar brown hat, and a long brown topcoat, incongruously enough, and he was his present age. His face was very smooth-looking and pink-cheeked, looking very healthy, and he seemed to pedal past me quite easily, as a youth would do.

(I was very surprised to see Father. As he passed me he turned his head to look back at me over his left shoulder, smiling serenely all the while. Caught by surprise with my arms up in the air, I quickly lowered my left arm somewhat, holding it stiff, and waved at Father with my hand revolving at the wrist. I did not bend my arm but waved at him awkwardly with it held stiff so that only my hand moved. Father did not speak a word to me, nor did I speak to him or call after him. He kept on pedaling, seemingly up a slight incline just beyond the intersection. This was the end of the dream, and it made quite an impression upon me.