“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

Although my confidence had risen with the two out-of-body episodes, I felt that I was putting Seth and myself on the line with each test session. I never knew whether or not we would have an envelope test. Often I was afraid of having a session for fear we’d have an envelope test and the results just would not apply. (This never happened, incidentally, though the impressions given were not always as specific as we would have liked.) Actually I didn’t care what was in the envelopes—I just wanted to know if Seth could tell us, and I wanted him to be absolutely right each time. My attitude was bound to have an effect. Now I wonder that Seth was able to do anything with me at all in those days, but most of the time he managed to do very well indeed.

The above impressions referred to the test object itself. Now here are some about the page from which the object was taken. Seth said, in consecutive order: “A method of disposal … Something in the vernacular … Gubatorial.” (I was after the word “gubernatorial” here, but as usual Rob recorded it the way I pronounced it in trance.)

Both of us caught on at once. “Wow,” I said. “A method of disposal—that must be sales! But what a crazy way to put it.”

“But why didn’t Seth just say ‘sales’?” I asked in exasperation.

There were quite a few other surprises in this test. Not only did Seth pick up this excellent identifying information, but he gave further impressions concerning the whole page from which the test item had been taken. Besides all the sales, there were four articles on the large section. The envelope item didn’t include these, yet Seth gave impressions referring to three of them.

“A word beginning with m, and another M, this time the initial of a name.” (Rob had purchased Masonite, by its brand name, but the salesman listed it as “Presdwood” on the bill. A capital M appears in the bill’s heading: Glenn M. Schuyler.)

All in all, Seth gave twenty-four impressions. Each of them did apply, though some were not as specifically connected as others. For example, Seth said: “Connection with black, symbolic of death; and with a tournament, again symbolic, as of a crossing of swords.” We believe that this was a reference to World War II, when the salesman who waited on us had his portrait done as a soldier. Another example was this: “Numbers … perhaps 01913.” The bill did have numbers on it, and in a series that began with 0 (this seemed unusual to us), but not in the order given by Seth. One series begins with 09 (not 019); and the last two digits, 1 and 3, do appear by themselves on the front of the bill.

Here Seth’s impressions had been quite literal, as if the words on the bill were coming to life and being described as objects instead of as words describing objects. Later I was to do much better when Seth left some impressions up to me, but this kind of training was invaluable. Even though I didn’t do a very good job, we learned something about the nature of perception, which was Seth’s intent. This test made us suspect that all impressions, extrasensory or otherwise, are initially nonverbal and nonvisual, more like pure feeling that is only later interpreted in sense terms.

We knew that Nora was a secretary in a hospital office that had to do with the purchase of drugs and supplies, but that she had nothing to do with patients, their records, or medical procedures. I didn’t know she’d brought an envelope. She slipped it to Rob after the session began.

After the session we opened the envelope. It contained a patient’s record sheet, a page from a pad that Nora had picked out of a wastebasket in another office. At the bottom corner were four numbers in a row, with other numbers on the top by the patient’s name, Margaret. Her hometown also began with an M; she was from out of town. A hospital stay is certainly unpleasant, often turbulent. Seth also gave other impressions concerning the woman’s background, but we couldn’t check these out.

“He might,” Rob admitted. “But the fact is, we’ve received plenty of letters that I could have used since then. We also did work in handwriting analysis; I could have used one of those samples. I could have used something older than you are—as I’ve done before. I could have used anything. No matter what we use, Seth still has to describe a particular item. And those impressions weren’t general; they could only refer to that specific hand print.”

I agreed with him. But after that, Rob often made up several test envelopes at once, shuffled them, and then chose one just before a session.

For one year, twice a week, Seth gave his impressions as to Dr. Instream’s activities. These included specific references as to names, initials, dates, and places. Some of this data could be easily checked out. Dr. Instream wanted Seth to concentrate on naming a particular object, though, upon which he would be concentrating in the distant town in which he lived. It became obvious that emotional elements were more important; that activities of an emotional nature “came through” more clearly than impressions of a more neutral object. Seth did give material pertaining to objects also, but he was more apt to give specific information on Dr. Instream’s daily life.

One of our favorite topics of conversation that year was when will we hear from Dr. Instream? For months on end we would hear nothing. Perhaps, we thought, he wanted to give us no reports until the experiments were finished. If so, why didn’t he just tell us? When finally the suspense was too much for me, I would write: were we getting any hits or weren’t we? Dr. Instream always assured us of his continuing interest, told us to go on with the tests, and said that he had no evidence yet strong enough to “convince the hard-nosed psychologist.” But that was all. He said nothing about the numerous names and dates, the visitors or letters mentioned in the sessions. Was the data all wrong? Partially right? We never found out. He never told us.

Knowing that Dr. Instream would be concentrating on each session put me under a strain, perhaps because of my own attitude. But now I felt that I really had to have a session each Monday and Wednesday evening, come hell or high water. And even when we were alone, which we usually were, I felt that the sessions were no longer private—that an invisible Dr. Instream was an audience. We seldom missed a session before the Instream tests. But now my idea of great defiance was to miss a session, to go out and get a beer and let the psychologist go stare at his old vase or ink spot or whatever he’d chosen for that night’s test.

I didn’t feel this way in the beginning, but I was really furious that he didn’t tell us the results of the tests; all those hours seemed to be going down the drain. One night, really angry at not hearing from him, I did go with Rob to a nearby bar—only to rush home at the last minute so as not to miss the session!

With no idea of how we were doing, I couldn’t have cared less, finally, what Dr. Instream was concentrating on. The tests just became time-consuming, cutting down on the amount of theoretical material we could receive. Once more I wrote the good doctor, suggesting that he not spare my feelings in case the data was just wrong. If so, we were wasting his time and our own. Again he wrote of his continuing interest and suggested we keep on. But he would not say we were doing well, fair, or poorly, and he gave no reports on the many specific details given.

He was obsessed with statistical proof for the existence of telepathy and clairvoyance, and hoped that we could produce it. At first it seemed tremendously exciting to me to be a part of such an endeavor. But as we continued to read everything we could get our hands on, excitement turned to bewilderment. As far as we could tell, the existence of telepathy and clairvoyance had been scientifically proven time and time again by Dr. J. B. Rhine at Duke University, and demonstrated by others such as Croisset, a psychic, working with Professor Wilem Tenhaeff at the University of Utrecht in the Netherlands. The work of Harold Sherman and other psychics certainly added circumstantial evidence at the very least. Was Instream throwing out all of these results and countless other evidence gained in parapsychology laboratories throughout the world?

Seth told Dr. Instream that he would be moving to a Midwestern university by the end of the year, for example. I have no idea if Dr. Instream had any indication of this ahead of time, but he did move when Seth said he would, and to a Midwestern university. We never learned how many correct impressions even of this sort checked out. Enough of them would have added up to something. So would a high enough percentage of hits on specific names and dates and so forth, statistics or no.

This time Peg and Bill went to Nassau. Again, neither Rob nor I have been there. Again, we exchanged no cards, letters, or communications of any kind. But to my delight, Seth certainly knew where the Gallaghers were staying. In a series of impressions one night (October 17, 1966), he accurately described their hotel:

Each point was correct. We went over the material with the Gallaghers on their return. But there was much more. Seth had correctly described a nightclub they’d visited, then went on to mention that there had been a “nuisance there.” Bill and Peg wholeheartedly agreed. They’d been annoyed by a loud-mouthed English tourist. So, obviously, had others. The Englishman insisted upon whistling with the band. Seth also said that there were eighteen shrubs out in front of the nightclub, but Bill had to admit that though there were shrubs out front, he hadn’t thought of counting them.

Then, strangely, Seth gave a very specific description of a place Peg and Bill visited, but with one distortion, apparently of wording. “A fountain with steps leading up to it; a circular formation surrounded by flowers, with closely crowded, old, two-story structures to the left of the street and very close to it, in rows.” Everything was correct, except that there was a water tower rather than a fountain.

All told, a total of forty correct impressions were given in the three sessions held while Peg and Bill were in Nassau; more, actually, since many impressions consisted of several points. But so much work is involved in such an experiment! Memory is fallible, so we always tried to get anyone involved to write up their reports at once for easier and more reliable checking.

Actually, I’m not sorry that we took so much time for the tests, but I’m glad we ended them when we did. I’m not temperamentally suited to putting myself under fire twice a week, which is what I was doing with the attitude I had at the time. Emotionally I disliked the tests; intellectually I thought them necessary. Seth didn’t seem to mind them at all, but I forced myself to go along because I thought I should. The fact remains that in our sessions the best instances of ESP have occurred spontaneously or in response to someone’s need, and not when we were trying to prove anything. I knew I was disappointed not to get some sort of “certificate of legitimacy” from Dr. Instream. On the other hand, we didn’t ask for one; we were too burned up not to have reports on the results.

Very shortly after the sessions began, Rob started to see visions or images. Some were subjective, but others were objectified—three-dimensional, or nearly so. Some were of people, and Rob began to use them as models for his paintings. Now our living room is full of portraits of people we don’t “know.” Seth has said that some depict ourselves in past lives. One, used in this book, is a portrait of Seth in the form in which he chose to appear to Rob. (Since then, a student and a friend of ours have both seen Seth as he appears in this picture.)

Rob has a strong visual memory. Once he sees such an image, he retains it and can refer back to it at will. My visual memory is poor, in contrast, and so is my eyesight (I have no depth perception). Rob is a professional artist, an excellent draftsman and technician. Yet in sessions, Seth has given Rob excellent advice and information on the techniques and philosophy of art. This strikes us as really funny, since I paint as a hobby, with a stubborn lack of perspective. Rob used to try to teach me perspective, but the lessons just wouldn’t take. I’ve never studied art, and my paintings are rather childish in execution, done with raw color. Yet Seth told Rob how to mix and use certain pigments, and Rob has added the information to his repertoire. Seth says that he has no artistic ability either, but questions artists who have entered his own field of reality.

“One of the attractions of your portrait of me is that it automatically suggests an unseen audience to whom I appear to be speaking. Not a formal audience, but unseen listeners who represent humanity at large. The unseen is there. The figure manages to suggest the universe of men and the world that holds them, yet nowhere do these appear.