“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

A few weeks ago we heard that a former neighbor had just died. Joanie had lived in our apartment house for a year or so, once right across the hall from us. She was thin, red-haired, with a wild temper. I think she was one of the wittiest people I’ve known, and she was a great mimic. But she often used her wit like a sword. It was cruel humor, even when she turned it against herself, as she often did.

She was in her early thirties, with a good job, but she looked down on all of the other employees. Her marriage had ended in divorce before she moved here, and while she was always talking about getting married again, she had a great distrust of men. I think she really hated them. She didn’t think much better of women, yet at times she could be very warmhearted. She took a liking to Rob and myself, and often we would sit, she and I at this same table where I’m writing this book, and chat.

She always began with one of her fantastically funny sarcastic tales about someone she knew. She had an uncanny ability to sense people’s weak points and make fun of them. For all of that, when she was not sick she had a fine vitality, and a keen, native shrewdness. We played a sort of game: I liked her, but I wasn’t going to be besieged by a barrage of negative thoughts and pessimism for an hour, no matter how wittily presented—and she knew it. The worse part was that she really was funny and it was hard as the devil not to laugh at her, even when I knew I shouldn’t. And she knew this, too. So she would try to see how far she could go before I would call her on it and begin a “mini-lecture,” pointing out that her attitude toward other people was largely responsible for her difficulties.

And her difficulties were illnesses—of such variety and vigor that I think it was impossible even for her to recount what had afflicted her in any one year. Some were serious, and she had several operations. She picked up every infection in vogue, and many that weren’t. She went from doctor to doctor and always with quite definite and often appalling physical symptions. Her diet was greatly restricted, and her illnesses began to become more and more severe.

Emotionally, she went from exaggerated heights to exaggerated lows. Her age bothered her; she was certain that “life would be over by the time you reach forty”—and for her it was, by several years. Yet we were all astonished to hear of her death. Even though we realized that she was literally making herself sick, we had no idea that she was “sick to death.”

Remember what I said earlier, that we form physical reality as a replica of our inner ideas. This is a major premise of the Seth Material. Joan literally disliked everyone with few exceptions. She was convinced, furthermore, that she was unliked and unlikable. She felt persecuted, sure that people were talking or gossiping about her when her back was turned—because this was precisely what she did. Daily life contained all kinds of threats for her, and she kept her nervous system in a constant state of stress. Her body defenses were lowered. She was tired of the constant battle, never realizing that much of the war was one-sided and unwarranted. She projected her ideas of reality outward, and they literally led her to destruction.

Yet she had been warned. Two years before her death she asked to attend a regular Seth session. Seth was quite serious and not as jovial as usual, and at the time I thought that he was being rather hard on her. Now I see that he was trying to impress her with the necessity of changing her attitudes and reactions. He stated his ideas on health as clearly and directly as possible, dealing with their practical application. I can almost see Joan sitting there, legs crossed, before the session. If she had been able to follow his advice, I am convinced she would be alive and well today. I am also sure that readers who understand and follow Seth’s ideas on health will find their own greatly improved.

Joan sat tapping her foot nervously. There were no wisecracks. At the time, she was dating a man who drank too much. “His drinking makes me irritable and angry,” she said. “He’s my problem. He’s the one who makes me feel nervous.”

“If you think, ‘I have a headache,’ and if you do not replace this suggestion by a positive one, then you are automatically suggesting that the body set up those conditions that will result in the continuation of the malady. I will give you a commercial that is better than your Excedrin, you see, the short headache. I will tell you how to have none at all.” This was the only touch of humor in the whole session. In a session devoted to a particular person, Seth usually goes out of his way to make a few jovial comments to set the person at his or her ease.

We had a short break, and Joan continued to complain of her friend’s drinking habits, how they only added to her own nervousness. She was certain that if she didn’t have this to contend with, her health would return. Quite vehemently, she set about blaming her friend for almost all of her problems. When Seth resumed, he was even more serious than before.

With all her other troubles, Joan was frequently bothered by severe headaches. Before closing, Seth gave her advice which can be used by anyone:

We had a new student that evening, and someone made the remark that Seth could be quite stern. Now he said, jokingly, “I have been drastically maligned this evening, and so I come to show our new friend here that I am a jolly fellow. That, at least, was my initial intention. Now it has changed. For I must tell you again that the inner self, acting spontaneously, automatically shows the discipline that you do not as yet understand.”

Now Seth, through my eyes, stared around the room. Someone picked my glasses up and put them on the coffee table. (As I mentioned before, when Seth comes through, he always takes my glasses off, and often flings them rather grandly upon the rug.) The lights were on, as always. He faced the group and said emphatically, “You are not your body. You are not your emotions. You have emotions. You have thoughts as you have eggs for breakfast, but you are not the eggs, and you are not your emotions. You are as independent of your thoughts and emotions as you are of the bacon and eggs. You use the bacon and eggs in your physical composition, and you use your thoughts and emotions in your mental composition. Surely you do not identify with a piece of bacon? Then do not identify with your thoughts and emotions. When you set up barriers and doors, then you enclose emotions within you ... as if you stored up tons of bacon in your refrigerator and then wondered why there was room for nothing else.”

“Illness could not be called an impeding action unless it persisted long after its purpose was served. Even then you could make no judgment without knowing all the facts . . . for the illness could still serve by giving the personality a sense of security, being kept on hand as an ever-present emergency device in case the new unifying system should fail.

You can even continue some symptoms after death. For example, Miss C, who lived in our apartment house, finally died of hardening of the arteries. One night I found myself out of my own body in a strange house—strange because while it was extremely old-fashioned, somehow it looked brand-new. Miss C was just going out the door as I arrived. She was very distracted. Suddenly I “knew” that the house was an hallucination she had created, a replica of her childhood home, and I knew that she did not realize she was dead.

At the same moment I realized that my job was to explain the facts to her. I caught up with her, gently led her back into the house, and said, “Miss C, you don’t have to worry anymore about dying. It’s already happened. Your mind can be perfectly clear now. It’s all right.” She seemed to understand, and as I finished speaking with her, another person came to take my place.

I’d read about such instances, but I have to admit that I thought they were highly imaginative accounts until I found myself guiding Miss C. The point is that she was so frightened of death, she didn’t realize it was all over. Since her physical body was quite dead, she was in her astral body; yet she was acting confused, and her mind was still unclear, as if she still had hardening of the arteries.

For the envelope test in Session 300 (which is described in Chapter Eight), the target item was a scrap of paper torn from The New York Times of November 7, 1966. Note the words “Election Day” and the models on the major portion of the page, which Seth alluded to in giving his impressions of the fragment. (Rich Conz)

In this painting, according to Seth, Rob depicts himself in a previous incarnation, when he was a woman and mother of five. (Robert Butts)