“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

(9:31.) Give us a moment … As you lay there you were aware of the fact just beneath consciousness — usual consciousness — that you had not brought in the paper before your nap, as is your habit, and almost at a dream level you idly wondered what stories it might contain. Your inclusion of the hospital mixup in the tale was, as, you suspected, connected with the medical ideas you have been dealing with of late (in extra notes for Mass Events, and the book by the physician) — and here was an excellent fictional idea, you see, that could, among other things, bring those ideas into prominence.

I lay down for a nap in the bedroom after Jane got up from her own. I had the following ideas as I lay in that state between waking and sleeping. I found myself musing about what I thought was a great idea for a novel. I tried to describe it to Jane as we ate supper and watched the news on TV.

I think that the idea of mixups in the hospital came from a book Jane and I have been reading the past week, written by a doctor who warns against medicine, delivery rooms, the whole bit, in the establishment practice of medicine. He wrote that such baby mixups are far from rare. Then as we sat on the couch, I remembered that for the first time in literally months I’d forgotten to bring in the evening paper, so we could look at it while we ate and watched TV. I almost invariably bring in the paper before I lay down for a nap before supper, so Jane can read it while I sleep.

I was quite struck by the similarities between the news story and my own experience. Jane thinks that because I forgot to bring in the paper before I lay down, I may have tuned into it, out there in the box beside the mailbox. I didn’t have any strong feeling that I had, however, but get a few thrills as I finish this account.

I should add that I lay down at about 4:20. On weekdays the motor carrier usually leaves the paper in its box around 3:15–3:30, so the paper was “in position” for me to zoom in on it. In fact, we can see our box on the road from our bedroom windows, looking slightly north. I pull the shades before lying down. I don’t remember if I happened to glance at the box today while lowering them. The box is perhaps 45–50 feet from the bedroom windows, and its backend is toward our house. I can tell if the paper has come, though, by looking across the road into our neighbor’s box. On weekends, when the paper is delivered in the morning, and is sometimes late, I often check the neighbor’s box.