“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

(During break I saw a certain look pass across Jane’s tired face. I couldn’t describe the expression, but it reminded me of the internal “vision” I’d had this afternoon when I lay down to sleep: I found myself looking at a very old, very probable future manifestation of myself in this life, who rested quietly in bed. Just before supper tonight I finished writing an account of what I’d seen, and Jane read it while we ate. See Note 4. Now as we discussed the event in a little more detail, I made a quick sketch of that possible self of mine.

(As Seth, Jane took a swallow of milk. She promptly made a most disapproving face. Her features wrinkled up, her lips drew back distastefully. She held the half-empty glass of milk up to me, her Seth voice booming out:)

(In ordinary terms I can only wait, of course, to see if I decide to create that distant probable moment in this reality. In the meantime, I have no conscious memory of being an old man, let alone one in the specific, dependent situation in which I saw myself: However, aside from the idea of simultaneous time, I do believe that an individual can touch upon at least some of his or her earlier lives, provided enough long-term effort is given to the endeavor. Since through my internal vision I evidently looked in upon a particular past life of my own, however unaware I was of what I was doing, it seems that the knowledge of that existence may not be too deeply buried within my psyche. I might try jogging my memory through suggestion, to see what else about that life I can recall. It would also be interesting to see whether the same technique could help me tune in to my future in this life.

At this writing, an electron microscope can magnify the surfaces of tissue samples from 20,000 to 60,000 times. Always the resulting photographs obtained leave me groping as I try to appreciate the beauty, order, and complexity of the human organism at just the greatly enlarged levels shown. (If we could plunge “down” into the body’s molecular and atomic stages, and see those, we’d find intricacies that are even more unbelievable.)

Finally, the incredibly complex physical assemblage of the human being — or of any organism, to confine ourselves to just “living” entities — always reminds me that according to evolutionary theory life on earth arose by chance alone. We must remember that through Darwinism or Neo-Darwinism science tells us that life has no creative design, or any purpose, behind it; and that, moreover, this ineffable quality called “life” originated (more than 3.4 billion years ago) in a single fortuitous chance combination of certain atoms and molecules in a tidal pool, say, somewhere on the face of the planet….

After tonight’s session, Jane told me that his Practice Element 13 was one of the two she’d had insights on during the night preceding the deleted 717th (James-Jung) session. Practice Element 14 didn’t seem at all familiar to her, though. See Note 1 for Session 718.

4. I lay down for a nap as usual at 4:30 this afternoon (Monday, November 11). As I started drifting toward sleep I became aware that I was looking at my own head; the image lasted for several seconds and was quite clear, without being needle-sharp. My view was from my right side as I lay face up on the cot. This is a bit difficult to describe, but the glimpse of my own head came from a point usually invisible to me — centered perhaps two inches or so above and behind my right ear.

I saw the head of a very old man, in his late 80’s or early 90’s. I had no doubt that this was a definitely probable version of myself in this reality. How strange to peek at the curve of my own skull from that odd viewpoint. I saw short, almost wispy white hair, but I wasn’t bald. Through the hair I could see the pulsing bluish veins in the skin as it lay over the bone — and in some fashion this sight alone was most evocative of the very young and the very old. I lay face up, bony arms folded across my chest, just as my present “me” did. I knew that I was resting, and that I wasn’t senile. I don’t believe I was bedridden, but that I was being cared for somehow.

My eyes were closed, and something about my bearing or pose reminded the present me of my father in his old age. When he lay dying, early in February 1971, I stood so that I had a view of him similar to the one I’d just experienced of myself. I was sure that this old man was me, though, and no one else. I was very thin beneath the blanket, which I believe was an ivory color.