“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

(Jane looked a bit more at ease when I got to 330. “Don’t touch me,” she said as she lay on her back watching the TV soap opera, The Young and the Restless, as she did every noontime. “I just want to lay here and let the Darvoset take effect …”

(She ate a rather skimpy lunch. At 2:59, as we talked, she began to speak about being scared and panicky again. Half crying and moaning in no time, arms and hands moving from where I’d propped them up. She did say her panicky feelings had to do with the session about her mother Marie yesterday, and a dream she’d had last night. Very good, I said, but she couldn’t actually pin down the source or subject matter for her panic today. She continued half crying. “Read me — read me yesterday’s session. I don’t know what I’m doing,” she cried, when I asked her if she was thinking about Marie.

(3:03. She was still teary, her voice often choked with emotion. She took the Darvoset to help calm her down. It was raining heavily, just as it had done periodically yesterday afternoon. Reading today’s session, so far, helped. Carla had said last night when she called that Jane was still doing the motions she’d begun yesterday. Now Jane told me a friend had visited earlier. When the motions had started up, Jane had asked her to leave, since she hadn’t wanted to do the motions in front of someone else.

(We were talking at 3:45 when the phone rang. It was John Bumbalo. His father, Joe, had died at 2:00 p.m. John had just left the house, as Jane and I had left the rest home just before my mother died in November, 1973. Jane spoke to John, thanking him for looking after me. John told her I was “a wonderful man.” I felt a surge of emotion, half unbelieving, when she told me. Jane began to hum a song we both knew but couldn’t place — perhaps an aria from an Italian or Spanish opera. She said she thought it was connected to Joe somehow.

(After a late supper I went over to see the Bumbalo family. Margaret and I hugged. She almost cried. I could tell they’d all been crying. Yet they had the Olympics on TV, and John offered me a scotch and soda. There was much laughing and joking too. Margaret asked me if I’d be an honorary pallbearer at Joe’s funeral, and I said sure. She said I didn’t have to do anything. The first thought that crossed my mind was that I didn’t have a suit to wear — just my corduroys. I didn’t mention this.

(I did no typing last night, but typed this session this morning after taking our cat, Billy, around the house on his morning jaunt. The phone rang at 10:25. It was Georgia. She put Jane on. “No big deal,” my wife said, “but I had a crappy night. Would you come down earlier and maybe eat lunch with me?”

(Georgia said she’d order me a cold ham plate, and Jane and I made arrangements that I’d get there at noon — earlier wasn’t necessary, she said. Jane wasn’t going to hydro this morning, and Georgia was starting to bathe her in bed.

(This is the first time my wife has ever asked me to come at a different hour. I see it as a good thing, since I’d told her to do so, and that it may serve as excellent therapy and reinforcement of new beliefs.)