“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

[...] To me time can be manipulated, used at leisure and examined. To me your time is a vehicle, one of the several vehicles by which I can enter your awareness. It is therefore still a reality of some kind to me. [...]

[...] That is, if two hours of your time were necessary for me to give you certain material it does not take me the same amount of time to refer back to the whole body of the same material.

[...] After all, do you blame me? I admit that I miss you occasionally between sessions, dear friends; and Ruburt, your voice almost reminds me now of your old one.

[...] Rob told me to get up. [...] I could hardly rise from the chair, he had to help me to the couch. [...]

(“In fact,” she continued, “I’m embarrassed that Seth called me a mystic — a great one, I mean — like that. No matter whether it’s natural or not …” Rather reluctantly, she agreed to let me present that personal material here; but only, I think, because she understood my desire to give what I consider to be pertinent background material for the Seth books. Yet, at the same time, she could say to me: “I hope to go further into consciousness than anyone else ever has.” ¹

“Rob asked me about mysticism, though, and it’s very hard to think of the word in connection with me because I confuse the various definitions or implications placed upon the word. To me it’s a sort of … yes, sturdy connection of one person to the universe … a one-to-one relationship; a yearning to participate in the meaning of existence; a drive to appreciate nature and salute it while adding to it; but the knowledge that nature is also a touchstone to a deeper unknowable essence from which we and the world spring.

“I was going back to bed when my last lines suddenly reminded me that I still feel the way I did when I was a young girl; that some part of the dawn does come for me; personally; and that to some extent time didn’t exist before I was born. [...] And with me, I brought time. [...]

[...] And, as she just wrote for me, on April 3, 1976, “I always feel an odd, right, somehow sturdy satisfaction, as if someone should be up to watch the day come; and it’s me.”

[...] I never got a clear idea of what bothered me. I didn’t ask the right questions; I knew this when my stomach kept bothering me. [...]

Now: you (to me) have been wondering whether or not to use family photographs in “Unknown” Reality. [...]

(“Well, with the pendulum I’d arrived at the idea that my stomach bothered me because of a conflict between painting and writing—the time I have for each. [...]

(There was a short exchange between Seth and me, which I didn’t note down verbatim. [...]

Without carrying us into a long and lengthy session, it would be impossible for me to go into the complicated relationships involved in the psychic history of the personality whom I will here call Manuk, which is the male as he now sits before me. [...]

[...] I heard Jane call me out to the living room. When I reached her she was again sitting in the Kennedy rocker; she asked me to get my notebook once again.

[...] Jane began to speak from the rocker but had uttered only a few words when she got up and took a chair at the table with me. [...] She was staring right at me. [...]

(I felt an immediate intimate involvement now that was quite new to me in the sessions. I would say this subjective feeling was enhanced because Jane was not actively pacing about as she used to with her eyes open, but sitting comfortably at table with me. [...]

[...] But I wasn’t pleased when Danny exclaimed, “Damn you, Rob, I want you to be as open with me as I am with you.” [...] It made me wonder, as I drove home, what some people did before they came across the Seth material, or my own thinking. [...] They’re quite content to leap upon the work of others, and to get mad at them because they — meaning Jane and me — don’t react the way we’re supposed to. [...]

(Today he told me that he’d found out Jane was in a hospital from someone he writes to in one of the Carolinas, so he called our area hospitals until he learned which one Jane was in. [...] We ended up in a rather acrimonious conversation in which I hoped I’d alienated him enough so he’d not bother my wife or me.

(He had lots of energy, which I could sense, but seemed to me to be contradictory in many ways, and I took him up on several points. [...] I knew as we talked that his flattering opinion of me, at least, was being shattered.

[...] He’d sent some home-canned jars of fruits and vegetables at Christmas time; for the past year he’d also written a string of long letters signed “me,” meaning I couldn’t answer him to say thanks for the stuff. [...]

(At intervals all afternoon we could hear, even with the door to 330 shut, a woman called Louise call out endlessly, “Help me, help me, help me, help me, help me....” [...]

(This attitude also fit in with that which Joe had expressed to me during last fall’s World Series in baseball: Looking at the ballplayers with their long hair, mustaches and beards, Joe had asked me where the youth of America was. [...]

[...] Margaret said something to me like, “There now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” as all of us sat on a swing on their front porch. [...]

[...] I’d seen him in the corridors often, and he’d seen me—but netiher of us had connected the other with Jane.

[...] He’d had dealings with me before and knew me well enough to be personally interested. [...]

“Don’t tell me, tell the publisher,” Rob said. “For the life of me I can’t understand why Seth’s emergence doesn’t make it a far better book than it would be otherwise.”

It seems ridiculous now that it took me 116 sessions before I’d close my eyes or stop pacing the floor. [...] But I felt in control of these, while Seth was in control of sessions, and to me this made a difference. [...]

Rob sat on one side of me and Dr. Instream on the other. [...] When it became apparent that most of the audience had dutifully gone under—sitting there and reminding me somehow of pigeons with wings neatly folded—I looked up cautiously to see what Dr. Instream was doing. [...]

The bells were only a small portion of my business, which dealt largely with cloths and dyes, but they fascinated me. [...] My curiosity drove me to journey in search of different kinds of bells, and led me into contact with many people I would not otherwise have encountered.

[...] It was he who told me about the symbol of the eye. He also told me that the man, Christ, was kidnapped by the Essenes. [...] Nor at the time he told me did I know who Christ was.

[...] Let me now tell you that there are other realities involved. The following paragraphs will be written by another personality, who stands relatively in the same position to me as I stand to the woman through whom I am now speaking.

[...] In that life my main occupation was that of a merchant, but I was a highly curious gentleman, and my travels gave me access to many different groups of people.

I have been here, as Ruburt knows well, through your class this evening, and he has given me permission, for I would not dare peek into this class unless he told me that I could do so. [...]

[...] The material, in other words, is given by me, a living personality, to you, and you are living personalities. [...] Indeed, I do not find it remarkable that you consider me a personality since, indeed that is what I am. [...]

[...] I did not think it would be dignified of me to grab her by the dress collar and to bring her back. [...]

([Theodore:] “That goes double” [to Rachel]; “Spare me” [to Seth].)

[...] You wanted me to. But you wouldn’t be seen in public with me, you kept the whole thing secret. You were ashamed to be seen with me—just like you got ashamed to be seen with me now, after I got my symptoms.... [...]

[...] You really had no use for me or for yourself, while we were together,” she said. “You hated yourself but you couldn’t stay away from me.”

[...] Instead of telling us about it, Seth’s letting me feel the emotions of that young girl you were involved with when you were Nebene, at the time of Christ....” [...]

[...] In between the songs she spoke to me in Sumari. [...]

[...] She told me that Blue Cross has turned down the major medical claim for Jane, to their surprise. [...] The girl sounded embarrassed to tell me the news. [...]

(When I got to 330 this noon Jane told me that this morning after hydro, she’d actually turned over on her left side by herself, for the first time. [...]

(He told me that such a turndown was the first time he’d seen it happen, and couldn’t understand it. [...]

[...] “You sound like me,” he said. [...]

You have always been then in contact with me, but you were only able to see a portion of me. [...]

[...] That you can even contact me (pause), is a most remarkable development. Yet had you not been able to contact me I would not be what I am.

I am far more however than this portion of me that you contact, for it is only one portion of me that experienced that reality. [...]

There was a point, you see, of interpretation and translation (pause) as Seth interpreted material from me in such a way that Ruburt could then receive it. [...]

[...] asking yourself how many actual people I’ve met who scorned me... or hated me or tried to physically attack me... [...]

[...] which immediately wanted approval for my books—not that I shouldn’t want approval per se but that I began to demand that my art provide all my needs; to financially support me, to give me honor among my fellows, a sense of belonging, etc. [...]

(Late Friday afternoon—I begin to read Seth sessions for last summer and a line reminds me of what else I was getting from Seth last night and today.

Now in this children’s tale pretend with me. Pretend with me that you sit here in a physical reality in one tiny unspeakably and unutterably small dot upon the physical planet called Earth. Pretend with me that you are presently sitting in a room in a town called Elmira, in a state called New York, that you are seated in a circle and that you are listening to me speak, and pretend with me that at the same time you are in a circle about me in another space and another time. Pretend with me that, in your terms, we were in another circle and in another star in a past inconceivably distant so that your physical brain cannot imagine it and that together, being nonphysical, we had a great dream. [...] And imagine also, therefore, that within yourselves now are other far more wise selves and that within your eyes are other eyes as old as mine and other selves quite as ancient and quite as new and that these selves, within yourselves, look out at me and wink and in winking know what they know. [...]

[...] You brood about the experiences of this life, and then you want me to give you information about five other lives so you can brood five times as much. [...] So I will give you a few goodies and hold back some other information until you can tell me that your attitude has changed. [...]

(To Rachel) The one over here on the couch who winks at me in such an infamous manner, you also have healing abilities. [...] Not only does she wink but she sniffles her nose at me. [...]

[...] You are kept alive as you listen to me and yet you do not understand what keeps your body alive and functioning. [...]

YOU MAY CALL ME WHATEVER YOU CHOOSE. [...] IT FITS THE ME OF ME, THE PERSONALITY MORE CLEARLY APPROXIMATING THE WHOLE SELF I AM, OR AM TRYING TO BE. [...]

[...] I felt as if I were standing, shivering, on the top of a high diving board, trying to make myself jump while all kinds of people were waiting impatiently behind me. Actually it was the words that pushed at me—they seemed to rush through my mind. [...]

The circumstances leading up to the Seth sessions still surprise me. [...]

[...] Perhaps these circumstances made me more aware than usual of our human vulnerability, but certainly many people have had difficult years with no resulting emergence of psychic phenomena. [...]

(The 68th envelope object was a poem Jane wrote to me on the evening of July 3,1966. [...] I knew nothing of the circumstances under which Jane wrote the poem, and hoped the data would fill me in. [...]

[...] If I were sick someone would feel sorry for me and comfort me then.” [...]

(Later that evening hay fever seemed to get the best of me and I had a poor weekend. [...] The pendulum told me I reacted to the group Friday evening. [...]

[...] Jane said this was a reference to me, lying asleep upstairs. She wrote the poem used as object to me. [...]

[...] They know me and they have known me well in past lives, you see, so I was not the stranger to them that they thought I was. [...]

[...] This same so called space within this room also contains me and others like me. [...]

[...] But it is difficult for me, with Ruburt’s eyes closed, for me to see you as you imagine yourself to be at this particular point in space and time. [...]

Give me a moment please... [...]

[...] But he is not aware of you as you know yourselves, and he is scarcely aware of me as I know myself. He is aware of me, but in another context, and in another dimension of existence. [...]

[...] My friend Ruburt has been telling me that I must apologize. [...] And yet those issues that might bring me to you in a session, have nothing to do with time as you consider it. [...]

[...] You tell me you are going to bring me this brandy and I have, instead, this wine! [...]

You would not relate to me nearly as well if you did not think of me as a crotchety, endearing gentleman of genteel manner. [...]

[...] The first was a comparatively minor dream that was surprising to me when it happened, but it could easily have been forgotten. [...] The third was a dream that gave me a startling glimpse into another kind of reality.

One moment I sat at my desk with my paper and pen beside me. [...] Exultation and comprehension, new ideas, sensations, novel groupings of images and words rushed through me so quickly there was no time to call out. [...]

[...] They seemed charged with a fierce vitality that leads me to consider the ambiguous nature of creativity, for if those ideas and the experience itself initiated a new kind of consciousness in me, they also possessed an explosive force powerful enough to considerably dismantle the previous frameworks of my thoughts and ideas. [...]

It’s impossible to describe the impression that this manuscript made on me, much less to verbalize the experience that accompanied it. All of these ideas were completely new to me and quite contrary to my own beliefs. [...]

[...] The second same over me around 11:30 P.M. as we sat around the table eating. [...] The wave of feeling washed over me very strongly this time. Although everyone about me was talking quite loudly, I had the weird sensation of voices within me, of mouths open or crying in soundless rhythm.

I also sensed, or felt, a great chute or trough or pathway of some kind that reached down into me from above me, or at least from outside of me. [...]

[...] When it first swept over me, I wondered if the wine could be responsible, though actually I had drunk little. [...] I had the odd feeling that the sensation was related both to the subject of conversation, and to some kind of message or communication I felt within me.

[...] I was alone in the art room, eating lunch at my desk, when the feeling swept over me. There was no warning or pain, but the surprise doubled me over my desk. [...]