“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

(This bit of data really made me sit up and take notice. Jane has not heard from her schoolgirl friend Marie Tubbs for some months, and if Marie was pregnant we did not know it. They have exchanged a desultory correspondence for some years, and have not met since the early days of our own marriage, ten years ago. But because they were such good friends in school days, they have managed to keep in touch with each other over the years.

(September 18, 1964, Friday: This was a long, complicated and very vivid dream that seemed to consume hours. It was in full color. In the beginning Jane; Bill Macdonnel; Clark, Alice and Larry Potter; and myself were in an apartment I did not recognize but took to be occupied by Jane and me. [Clark and Alice Potter had been our landlords in Sayre, PA, for over four years. The four of us had liked each other from the start and had always gotten on well together. Larry is their teenage son, and they have another son, Norman, older by a year or two, who was not in the dream.]

(Glaring at me, Larry shouted at me to get him a pie pan, that the washer was going to overflow the bucket any second. I yelled back that a pie pan wouldn’t hold much. The machine was jumping around while Larry held it down. I don’t recall any water on the floor. The next I knew, Larry was very angry with me; he stood right beside me and towered over me, yelling something about me being some kind of nut or dope, and that I needed a good punch.

(Then the show was over and the crowds were leaving the theatre. It was night outside, and I was sitting on the green grass in front of the theatre, beside Mohawk St., again quite unconcerned as many well-dressed people passed me by. I still wore the pajamas and was quite in possession of myself.

(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.

(Some kind of steady noise pervaded the air. Mother spoke to us, or one of us asked her what the trouble was, I am not sure which. Mother answered, but though I saw her lips move plainly, I could not hear what she said. The three boys leaned toward her. I believe it was I who then asked her to repeat what she had said, over the noise which was something like a rushing wind. Leaning forward at the table, I then heard mother say very distinctly, “Father has a spot on one lung.” This was the end of the dream, and it woke me up.