“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

Your child, in a past life, this child was an uncle and in an accident you killed him. You were in a carriage, driving it. He went to adjust a bridle. England, 1451. Give us a moment.

He was taking you to a concert. I do not know now, or see now, what initiated your reaction, but something happened that frightened you. You yelled at the horses and screamed. Your uncle fell. The horses panicked, and he fell beneath a hoof. You never forgave yourself, and now in your first reincarnation as a woman since that time, you decided to be the vehicle through which he could enter physical reality again, and so became his mother in physical terms.

Now these are the things, some of the things, that you do not want to face consciously. Your uncle did not blame you for the accident at the time. While there was a past family connection, you were not the closest of friends, and there was no need or desire on either of your parts for a family connection of any duration in this life.

Even the first had its psychological applications, for the uncle at that time was dissatisfied with existence and with his accomplishments, and the carelessness that helped result in his accident was also partially his own. But the fact that the conception was accidental, and the death was accidental, has its own intuitive logic.

I’m jumping now to an uncle of Shirley’s, with a mustache and with an old photo. [...]

[...] All of this describes a photograph of Shirley’s grandfather not uncle; a photo she had not seen until approximately four days before this session.)

Perhaps on mother’s side, a relative or great uncle, name Grayfus?

I’m jumping now to an uncle of Sally’s: with a mustache and with an old photo. [...]

[...] All of this describes a photograph of Sally’s grandfather—not uncle; a photo she has not seen until approximately four days before this session.)

Perhaps on mother’s side, a relative or great uncle, name Grayfus? [...]

Your child, in a past life, this child was an uncle, and in an accident you killed him. [...]

[...] Your uncle fell. [...]

[...] Your uncle did not blame you for the accident at the time. [...]

Even the first had its psychological implications, for the uncle at that time was dissatisfied with existence, and with his accomplishments, and the carelessness that helped result in his accident was also partially his own. [...]

[...] Looking backward in time, Plato heard the story of Atlantis from his maternal uncle, Critias the Younger, who was told about it by his father, Critias the Elder, who heard about it through the works of the Athenian statesman and lawgiver, Solon, who had lived two centuries earlier [c. 640–559 B.C.]; and Solon got the story of Atlantis from Egyptian priests, who got it from ———? [...]

[...] At break now Jane told me she had a “flash” that my “Uncle Ernie was, or would have been, the son that Dr. Pietra would have in this reality.”

(Jane said she had an image, an amusing but quite clear one, of a large arrow arching south over the continent toward Florida, so as to emphasize that location in relation to Uncle Ernie.

[...] I am not sure here but we do seem to have an uncle. [...] We have an uncle who deals with vestments...if the term is vestments, having to do with the making of garments of a ceremonial nature. [...]

The uncle seems to be of a distant branch of a well-known family, the last name seems to be made up of two names, beginning with a D, perhaps E. Then a second portion of that name beginning with an M. We will come back to this. [...]

[...] It is a strange relationship you had, for he was an uncle of yours in a past life. [...] And he was a beloved uncle. [...]

[...] He was at one time, he was at one time his father’s uncle.

[...] As his uncle, the father was also involved with him in two past lives in the same relationship, and as priests they were also interested in the inner workings of the universe.

[...] Now were I a kind and well-known beloved uncle who has passed over, you could perchance see me, but for now you must be content with the little of me that I am able to portray through Ruburt’s personality. [...]

There seems to be a male relative, I believe twice removed, perhaps an uncle, though I am not certain—a visit from him would be beneficial. [...]

[...] Ruburt thinks of his aunt and uncle in New York. [...]

(We regarded, offhand, the data on my parents as probably distortive or associative, as the material on Jane’s aunt and uncle. [...]

An uncle important to him is someone else, I believe. [...]

[...] Peter Murtough told us that he has an Uncle John in Australia who is about 40, lives in Canberra and has two young children.

[...] He may be the uncle of the man who runs the gallery, per se, but he has a strong voice in the gallery. [...]

Uncle.

Great great uncle.

[...] [He wouldn’t tell me who the personality is.] I’m David’s uncle.

[...] (Cecile Grossman was an editor at Prentice-Hall then.) Mossman has an uncle, I believe, of whom he is fond, or was fond. [...]

[...] in 801 as an uncle then a warrior-type personality, but again given to indulgence. [...]

An uncle of his, on his side of the family, to die in the near future.