“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

Why would anyone choose a life of illness or poverty? And what about children who die young, or servicemen killed in war? All of these questions came into our minds when Seth began speaking about reincarnation. As I mentioned earlier, when the sessions started I didn’t believe that we survived death once, much less many times. If we lived before, I thought, and if we can’t remember, then what good does it do? “Besides,” I said to Rob, “Seth says that we live in the ‘Spacious Present,’ and that there really isn’t any past, present, and future. So how can we live one life ‘before’ another?”

I told Rob, and while he said that it was up to me, he wasn’t too happy. “Remember what happened last time you tried to contact someone’s deceased relative?” he said. “Anyway, let Seth handle it.”

I nodded, remembering only too well the incident to which Rob referred. It had been in the back of my mind all the time I talked to Ann Linden over the phone.

“You wouldn’t want anything like that to happen again, would you?” Rob asked.

I told her to come over, and Rob came out from his studio to take notes. During the proceedings I felt that I was the deceased woman, reliving an argument she once had with her husband. As the woman, I banged my fist up and down so hard on our table that Rob was afraid I’d break my hand. The argument was a violent one. The other personality took over rather completely, and Rob was actually concerned for my physical safety. I was able to “pull out” without any strained muscles or bruised bones—she was obviously used to a much larger and stronger body than mine—but since then Rob and I have been cautious.

I started to smile, though, thinking of it: According to Rob the can of Dutch Cleanser had really jumped when my fist came down on the table the first time, and the cleaning supplies next to my elbow had gone flying. It had hardly been an occult setting at that, with the sun shining full through the bay windows. My student was convinced that her mother-in-law had expressed herself through me, because I used her gestures and her language—including some pet phrases that were pretty purple.

Rob was watching my face. “You didn’t think it was so funny then, though, did you?”

“Or you just wanted to try it on your own,” Rob said.

I knew Rob was right, though: Some self-protection is necessary on my part. Besides the mother-in-law episode, there had been a few other upsetting ones involving emotional situations I’d “picked up” from living people. In any case, when I can get such excellent material from Seth, it seems that my primary responsibility lies in that direction. All of these feelings were in the back of my mind that night, when Jim and Ann came.

“Oh, wow,” I said, and Rob put down the evening paper. “You mean you’re driving here for just one session? New York is full of excellent mediums.”

I said “Yes” in a sort of daze, and hung up. Rob was afraid that I’d feel under pressure, knowing that they were driving such a long way and back the same night for a session. I’d explained to Ann that I could give her no guarantee of any kind as to what would happen. Purposely I put the matter out of my mind and watched television during the early evening. Then to top it off, at about eight Phil dropped in, explaining that he was in town for the night and would like to attend a session!

Jim and Ann arrived about 10 P.M. Rob and I liked them at once. They were in their late twenties, intelligent, and, like us, informal. Over wine they told us about their son. “He was exceptionally bright,” Jim said. “He was fantastic, and I’m not just saying that because he was our child. From the start he was way above average, quick in his reactions, so much so that we were almost frightened in a way. And then, overnight, he died of aplastic anemia. No one even knows what causes it.”

Rob must have read my thoughts. “Relax, hon,” he said. I told the Lindens my attitude, and Ann smiled. “Ray said you were one of the most objective mediums he knew.”

Now Seth was staring out through my open eyes. My gestures were his. He looked Jim right in the face as he talked. Ann and Rob both took notes. Phil just sat, listening.

“The woman was a male, Italian, in a hill village. He lost his wife and was left with a highly neurotic crippled daughter for whom he cared for many years. As a man, Sally was called Nicolo Vanguardi [Rob’s phonetic interpretation] and the daughter was named Rosalina. He resented the girl, and while he cared for her, he did not do so kindly.