“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

In early February, Rob wrote to Dr. Ian Stevenson, who was connected with the Department of Neurology and Psychology at the University of Virginia. Dr. Stevenson was interested in reincarnation, and we had just read about his work. Rob also sent him copies of a few sessions, including some of the information we had been given about our own past lives. According to this, we lived several existences in the very distant past, including one in Denmark three centuries ago when Rob and I were father and son and Seth a mutual friend. Our last lives were in Boston in the nineteenth century.

I was unhappy with the reincarnational material simply because I still didn’t want to accept the idea—it just seemed too far out. I didn’t exactly encourage Rob to ask Seth to enlarge on this information or to fill in on the details he’d given. But it was a part of the material—I could hardly deny that.

“Oh, great,” I said to Rob. “Do I act any nuttier than usual?” Rob solemnly assured me that there had been no change in my behavior. Actually he had been watching for such signs, and so had I. But Dr. Stevenson’s well-meaning warning did throw me for somewhat of a loop, even though we had read the same cautions ourselves in some of our psychic books.

I took Phil at his word, but I also thought that coincidence could have explained the episode. Just the same, my spirits rose. Then a few days later, Dr. Stevenson’s letter came and I went into a slump. “See if Seth has anything to say about the letter,” Rob said. I agreed, but when I became tense it was difficult to relax enough to have a session. I skipped our next scheduled session as a result, but I’d recovered my equilibrium when the next Monday came.

“For one thing, Ruburt’s ego is extremely strong. His intuition is the gateway that relaxes an otherwise stubborn and domineering ego.” At this, Rob looked up and laughed. “The intuitive qualities, however, are not frivolous and the personality is well integrated.” Seth went on to describe dissociation, saying that I was always aware of my surroundings to some degree in sessions. “It is true,” he said, “that a state of dissociation is necessary. But because you open a door, this does not mean that you cannot close it, nor does it mean that you cannot have two doors open at once, and this is my point. You can have two doors open at once, and you can listen to two channels at once. In the meantime you must turn down the volume of the first channel while you learn to attune your attention to the second. This process you call dissociation.”

When Seth paused, Rob asked, “What do you have to say about Dr. Stevenson’s idea that this may all be Jane’s subconscious?”

I used to envy Rob his viewpoint of the sessions. He could see and hear me as Seth and I couldn’t. Now during break I questioned him again. I hated to have to depend on someone else to tell me what was going on, but I had learned one thing: I couldn’t be Jane and Seth at once. For Seth to come through I had to stop such mental quibbling—at least temporarily.

“Sure, Seth,” Rob said.

“Please be frank, as I do not like this hanging over our heads,” Seth said. Then he went on to give us some information concerning entities and the various personalities that compose them. Rob was particularly curious about the differences between entities and personalities.

The session lasted until 11:30 P.M. Rob was reassured by Seth’s statements about my ability to handle dissociation, and by his responsible attitude. I was, too, but I kept thinking of the remark in Dr. Stevenson’s letter. “Of course, Seth said that everything was okay,” I said. “What else could we expect him to say?”

In early spring Rob came down with several annoying gumboils and one night he asked Seth how he might get rid of them. Seth immediately launched into a rather hilarious discussion of the unsanitary aspects of a refrigerator in the bathroom. He made a few kindly but definite statements to the effect that we should know better, and suggested that the appliance be moved into the kitchen, where it would hold all our refrigerated food. If so, he assured Rob his gumboils would disappear.

“Do what you want,” Rob said. “I’ve got gumboils, but so what? I can live with them.”

“Besides,” Rob said, “Seth didn’t order you to do anything. I asked him a question, and he answered it.”

When I’m reacting emotionally and Rob gives me a reasonable reply, it always puts me on the defensive. So I agreed.

The next day we moved the big refrigerator. To save my pride or whatever, I put the little refrigerator in the bathroom and turned it into a towel chest. The big refrigerator is still in the kitchen. I got rid of the small one long ago. Oh, yes—Rob’s gumboils cleared up in two days, and never returned.

During the first six months or so of the sessions, our cat, Willie, began behaving in a most unsociable manner. A few times he began to hiss and spit quite madly just before sessions. One night he really startled us. We were getting ready to begin, and Willie was sleeping in the bedroom closet. Suddenly he ran out of the closet, fur on end, bolted through the living room, and hid behind the curtains. Once he nipped at my ankles as I was speaking for Seth, and in trance I dragged him half across the room while he hung on to the bottom of my slacks. Rob had to shut him in the studio.

Finally, Rob asked Seth if he knew what was wrong. The reply was that Willie’s very acute senses picked up Seth’s presence just before session time. He told us that the cat’s behavior would change as Willie became more accustomed to the situation. A month or so later, Willie became himself again. Now he pays no attention to the sessions, and even occasionally jumps into my lap when I’m in trance.

During this time Rob had a recurrence of back trouble, though far less severe than before. Seth devoted several long sessions to an analysis of Rob’s condition and explained the reasons for the symptoms. They disappeared without medication, and we think that the knowledge Rob gained through these sessions was responsible. Earlier we had purchased a Kennedy rocker because of Rob’s back. He used to sit in it to take session notes and for a while it was the only chair in which he was comfortable. He no longer needed it when he recovered, and I got into the habit of using it. Much later, when I finally consented to sit down during sessions, it would be my favorite “Seth” chair.