“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

(I painted as usual until about 8 PM. As I worked however I was aware that Jane was even quieter; this is always a signal to me that something is up. She said she’d felt strange since supper; now she said she felt that we shouldn’t be so subjectively aware, now; but that we should be as our future selves, observing the present scene and our physical bodies as they sat in the living room, from the outside.

(Jane didn’t see or hear anything different, yet felt that the kitchen, living room, and the studio seemed different somehow. As we sat in the living room, which was very clean and neat, and well lit now since darkness was falling, Jane said she felt a sort of pyramid or cone effect, directed at me as I sat across the room from her in the rocker.

(At 9:45 she told me to get the Seth notebook, that we might have a session after all. Her subjective feelings were quite intensified. She felt “intensities” now in various parts of the room—notably by the built-in bookcase at the far end of the room from the windows. She thought Seth’s entity might be looking us over. Various parts of the room seemed to acquire significance in ways she couldn’t explain. Willy, our cat, asleep in a chair near me, wasn’t involved. The intensity traveled; now it was located in the blue wine decanter given to us by our friend Pete from San Diego, California.

(Jane now also felt sensations or vibrations in a small plaster sculp of a head, given to us by Bill Macdonnel. This head sat on our living room table across the room from the wine decanter. Note that Bill is also in California now—Santa Barbara—quite a distance up the coast from San Diego, where Pete lives. [Pete, at the moment as far as we know, is in the Hawaiian Islands.] Bill and Pete met once at our apartment two years ago.

(The colors in the room by now seemed very brilliant to Jane—pulsating. She didn’t necessarily feel Seth around, but could have held a session, she said. The top of her head “felt funny” to her. Now the eyes in the oil head I recently finished of the discarnate artist, Van Elver, seemed alive to her; the portrait hangs on a bookcase wall in our living room. Jane again walked through the apartment. Looking out at the kitchen from the studio, she said the path to the kitchen looked like a “charged pathway” to her.

(At 10 PM I asked Jane if she could stop the sensations. She said perhaps, then reminded me she had suggested going out earlier—a suggestion I now remembered but hadn’t heeded at the time. Sitting on the couch with her back to the windows, Jane said she felt “scary” about going into a trance now. The feelings were still climbing. She said she’d know when they subsided. She felt “slightly” out of her body to her right as she sat there, but nothing drastic.

(This afternoon we’d had a strong thunderstorm. Jane now said that as she worked in the kitchen then she’d been aware of the charged air between the thunderclaps. She felt this way now, and quite light. She again walked through the apartment, and felt the same sensations, but stronger. The bathroom, she now said, was “too much.” Everything was too clear. Sitting down on the couch again, she felt like moving to the right out of her body again. I was getting very sleepy as I sat in the rocker making these notes. I yawned and yawned, yet did not feel tired. I’d had a mild tingling sensation a few times. We talked about a projection dream Jane had had thismorning. Tam Mossman had been in it. Jane has the dream recorded.

(“Just forget it, then,” I said. By now I was remembering the Jerry Kramerick seance.[See Session 391 in Volume 8 again.]

(Jane was now more positive and had a rising emotion in her voice; eyes closed during all this: “In fact, Maisie is 21... and she’s either got two young brothers and sisters, or two very young children.” [Pause.] “A drive-in movie... oh Robby ...” Jane’s voice rose urgently: “Slam on brakes, slam on brakes!” she yelled.

(Eyes still closed, face streaked with tears, Jane whispered, “I’m trying to control it...” Her breathing quieted as I talked to her. I thought of shaking her out of trance, but didn’t know whether to or not. Jane sat quietly through a long pause, then muttered: “Cracked glass ... windshield. I don’t know where I am now. I’m in the driver’s seat ... Whoever was on the other side of the car is gone.” [Pause.] “It’s very quiet ... Maybe nobody find—maybe nobody find us ...” she whispered. Each time I thought she might be coming out of it while quiet, Jane would then go back into the experience.

(She now began to use a different facial expression. I don’t remember seeing it before. She would catch her lower lip between her teeth, fold her upper lip over the lower, and wrinkle up her chin in a peculiar way. I had two impressions; one of an older person, the other of a young and vulnerable girl.

(“There were two cars,” Jane cried out, glasses thrown aside. Mouth odd. “So quiet ... am I dead? Right there... arm’s funny.” Now she rubbed her lower left arm; she cried out, voice rising almost to a scream: “I was driving. Can’t make out—!” Jane burst into tears. “Papa, Papa, Papa...” I spoke to her loudly but it did no good. “I... Papa should know it wasn’t my fault. Brakes bad... I can’t decipher...”

(She now said she had kept trying to pull out of the experience after I had asked her to. She stayed around, but backed off— the experience could have been much more intense, Jane said, had she permitted it. But by then she was afraid to probe too deeply for more emotional data.

(Jane now recalled that the car’s right door was open. Wherever the car was, it was off the road and down a bank, with grass and brush or bushes. Jane said she doesn’t know what streets are like in the city [although she was in New York City last year with me]—if the road in the experience was a superhighway in the city, there was still the slope, not level, going down from the road.

(Our living room looked “more normal” to Jane now, by 11:15, as though things were subsiding, but she added that the charge wasn’t gone yet. The name Marguerite just came to her so she told it to me.