“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

Although I told myself that I knew Jane still lived, I wasn’t used to being in the presence of physical death. I made two ball-point pen drawings of my wife while she lay on her side with her beautiful eyes still open; they were blue flecked with hazel, and were as clear and peaceful as those of a child. I had the vague idea that I’d use the drawings as references for portraits that I would paint of her. They would be unique, I thought. (I have yet to paint those particular images, but still plan to do so.)

In the days that followed I attended to the cremation Jane had decided upon long ago, took care of legal matters, paid bills, spoke briefly with a few friends. Our gravesite is not in Elmira. Later, when I could be alone, my tears began to come. I cried each day for more than a year. Yet the day after my wife’s death I’d gone back to work, finishing Volume 2 of Dreams, “Evolution,” and Value Fulfillment. What else was I to do?

Yet there can be even more to come out of the great bulk of Jane’s work. The 15 three-ring binders containing her poems, all neatly typed, for example; her essays and journals; other blocks of unpublished Seth material, one of which I mentioned in the Introduction; an unfinished autobiography that perhaps I could put into publishable shape; likewise, passages from an unfinished fourth Oversoul Seven novel, in which Jane dealt with Seven’s childhood; a book of her paintings, with commentary; several early novels that I still believe merit publishing. Enough there to do for the rest of my life, certainly, and perhaps for others to carry on after I join my wife.

When Jane published The Seth Material in 1970, we were quite unprepared for the impact her work would have. Boxes and boxes of letters are now at Yale University Library, where their privacy is protected. I have many more to send now. I love every letter we’ve ever received, even the ones that are not so nice. In my opinion, friendships with those we’ve never met physically are rare things to know and experience. Often those friends gave of themselves in ways we couldn’t equal. They still do.