“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

So on August 6th I sat in the patio-room with fresh paper, fresh typewriter cartridge, and hopefully fresh mind, looking over my interpretations of Rob’s latest dreams. It was a very hot August afternoon. The pieces of the world fell neatly into their proper places. The pictures of the moments clicked together as they usually do, each instant precise, yet leading into another. The motion seemed to be all exterior, from the too-warm wind that blew into my small studio from the back hill, to the shadows of moving foliage outside that flickered across the floor.

I told Rob what I’d been thinking just before he came in. My hunch is that because of my state of mind — interpreting Rob’s dreams, and my reading of his notes, I was in a particular kind of correspondence with him, or with his state of mind, that facilitated the inner communication. We talked about it.

As I wrote the fan whirred, stirring the air against my skin as the green leaves winked — and I felt a trance at last entering the neighborhood of my mind. Seth, I knew, would start up the sessions again that night — if I wanted to. …⁵

It was okay. After the layoff, there was Seth poised psychologically once again (for over the thousandth time). At the threshold of my mind those “psychic gears” turned. Rob was ready with his notebook and pen. I took a sip of my wine and ice. The fan whirred. A slightly cool breeze came in through the open doors and windows. Then I took off my glasses, “turned into” Seth, and began to speak. Bare legs propped up on the coffee table Rob sat, pen poised, and the session started.