“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

The idea, then, of the novel came from past and future events, though you were to catch up with those future events very quickly. Your mind intuitively organized all of that material, and put it together in a completely new fashion. Sometimes when such events occur, the precognitive trigger is not even recognized when it is encountered physically, because it happens too far ahead of time. (To me:) You organize mental and physical events in a creative manner. In this case a novel was involved because the concept, while strongly involving images, carried a time span that would make narrative necessary.

(I smiled at Seth as “he” leaned toward me. “I thought so. It’s been very interesting.”)

On the front page of the paper was a rather long story, with photographs, telling how triplets were united by “chance” last weekend in New York City — a case we hadn’t heard of in the media before now. I’d forgotten to describe my idea for a novel to Jane, but the article immediately reminded me to do so. There were similarities in the story that reminded me of my own experience. The first two of the brothers were reunited through a friend (instead of a mother, say) who noticed the resemblance between them. Turns out the three were given up for adoption at birth, and although they knew they were adopted, they didn’t know they belonged to what actually had been a quadruplet group. (A fourth brother had died at birth.) Their unknowing would match my own dreamlike idea of the two young men living in the Elmira area but not knowing of each other. Even the ages of the triplets — 19 years — places them fairly close to my son’s age of 25 in my reverie, rather than, for example, brothers in their 40s.

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.