“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

[...] This was given before any of us had met, and when any kind of communication between Jane and Tam was just beginning. Tam was able to verify quite a lot of the data; some of it referring to Miss Carr was good. The last name of Cecile Grossman, an editor at Prentice-Hall, was mentioned by Seth, for instance. [...]

[...] Tam had witnessed a session before—the 434th on September 6, 1968—but Eve had not; she was a little nervous before the session began, and like many others was surprised by the session’s actual beginning and its manner of presentation.)

(One section of the session was missed by me entirely, since I had left the house thinking the session over. [...] When she spoke for Seth, Jane’s pace was somewhat faster than usual; eyes open often and quite dark, voice about average. [...]

[...] Jane was still in trance when I handed it to her, and she thrust it into her hair above her right forehead in what was not the neatest way, but it did the job.)

[...] The good was seen as light, for men felt safer in the day. The evil was therefore assigned to nightfall. Within the mass of distortions, however, hidden beneath the dogma there was always a hint of the basic creativity of every effect.

[...] While your religions are built around an enduring kernel of truth, the symbolism used was craftily selected by the inner self in line with its knowledge of those root assumptions you hold as valid in the physical universe. [...] The symbolism itself, however, was simply used by the inner self. [...]

[...] There was one separate group in an area where the Aztecs dwelled at a later date, though the land mass was somewhat different then, and some of the lower cave dwellings at times were under water.

[...] They believed, however, that it was wrong to set words into written form, and so did not record them. [...] There was little physical communication, however, in those days between the various Speakers, and some were unaware of the existence of the others.

[...] Jane was dissociated as usual. [...] She told me my question did not bother her; also that she saw the clock she was describing pretty clearly. She was aware of the traffic noise.

(Our session was being held in our front room. Up until now none of us had noticed the traffic noise past the front of the house; but now that a test was to come I became conscious of it. [...]

[...] Since she was so definite about the clock’s shape, I made a quick drawing of my version of her description. [...] She responded without a sign of bother or irritation, and her second description was the same as the first, as near as I could tell.

(At an earlier break, Bill had mentioned to me, while Jane was out of the room, that he believed Jane was right-handed but that Seth used predominantly left-handed movements. [...]

[...] Everyone was overly nice to the dog, so no one would know consciously, what they knew subconsciously—that you considered the dog the symbol of failure. It was a closely guarded secret by all, hidden, but not entirely, from the conscious minds of those involved. No one wanted the dog killed, but it was not coincidence that you yourself loosened the dog’s collar, or that your wife was the one who left the dog; for symbolically the two of you were connected here. [...] The act itself was symbolic, and the dog picked up all of your attitudes through its own sense of communication.

The failure was being rejected, you see. Now the dog was a hunting dog. [...] That was one connection. You would not feel free to hunt successfully with the animal, for he was, you felt, the symbol of an unsuccessful hunt in the work world.

This was reflected in other portions of the body as well. [...] You refused to add another, and at the same time you did not face the inner problem that was bothering you, that made the comfort so necessary to begin with. [...] When you bought the dog, subconsciously you felt that the dog was almost a symbol of your failure.

[...] On the one hand the accident was an accident. On the other hand you had an individual aggressively attuned that day with withheld violence, who was going to kill one animal or another. On the other hand you had an animal who went searching for friends, knowing quite well that in one way of speaking the friendship was over.

When I came out of trance, Rob was smiling, Jack and Sonja looked dazed, the camera crew were staring at me and the program was over. “Seth was great,” Rob said to me. I was overwhelmed with relief. It was over, then; Seth had come through on television. [...]

[...] I looked at Rob with a touch of dismay because while I’d reassured Jack that everything was quite normal, actually something was different this time: I felt as if I’d been in a plane going incredibly fast, only to be yanked suddenly to a halt. [...] I always tried to behave very sensibly to show that a trance was not a strange but a very natural phenomenon, and so my momentary stagger caught me by surprise. Rob was beside me in a moment, and I explained how I felt. A taxi was already waiting to take us to our next show, a radio program. [...]

[...] This information, given to us in sessions, was published in the appendix of The Seth Material. The paper Jim sent was so professionally oriented that I could hardly understand it, couched as it was in specialized mathematical language. [...] The creative consciousness was at work far “beneath” the consciousness I call my own.

[...] It was 10 A.M. on the last day of our first tour to promote my book, The Seth Material. This was our fifth television show. I tried to look composed and confident, though I still found it difficult to face strangers so early in the day, much less the world at large — particularly when I was expected to explain my own psychic experiences and the philosophical concepts of The Seth Material.

I was referring to several of you. [...] I will not mention the others to whom I was referring since they already know, and I know that they know. [...] The main answer is that you were one of the ones to whom I was speaking. [...]

(After break, to Bette.) Marseilles ...Marseilles, which was a small town in which the early life was spent. [...] A member of a brotherhood of St. John’s, which was largely a social organization with religious connections. [...]

Because you projected this upon her, and at one time it was a very safe place to project such feelings. There was a relationship in the past but not a deep one. [...] You very nicely projected them upon a person who was bonded as you were by all kinds of taboos, specifically against any such behavior, where they would be least reciprocated in physical terms, when any such action would automatically involve all kinds of guilt and retaliation, the most difficult position of which you could conceive. [...]

I was not particularly speaking of myself. [...] I have always glorified in that which was directly before me and have had close relationships with those who came within my sphere. [...]

[...] She was surprised too. It was another great sign, I told her. [...] Obviously, this was something she couldn’t even manage yesterday, let alone last week, say. [...]

[...] It was simply that I’d bring in one of the Seth books and start reading it to her a page at a time. [...] I added that as soon as she could handle pages, I could take the book apart so that she could hold each page up while she read it when she was alone. [...] I thought that the way she was improving, she’d be able to work up to such a step. [...]

(I told Jane that if she wanted to do anything about a session, now was the time before people started coming in to do her vitals. She went into the session, then, just as I was getting ready to start on the mail.)

[...] He looked at it and said any swelling was “due to the arthritis.” [...]

[...] This was the end of the session, rather abruptly. I was tired from writing at such a constant rapid pace, or would have continued the session though it was getting late. Jane was well-out, etc.; indeed after the session she said she was “still getting stuff.”)

The progression in that system incidentally was not swift or certain. [...] The problem of how to handle energy constructively was put in far simpler terms. There was less free will involved. The inhabitants of the system were far more fearful—so fearful that little change was allowed for.

[...] The entity was born once as John the Baptist, and then he was born in two other forms. [...]

[...] There was constant conscious communication between these three portions of the one entity, though they were born and buried at different dates. Yet the race called up these personalities, so to speak, from its own psychic bank, from the pool of individualized consciousness that was available to it.

(The session was held in our large front room. Jane said she was somewhat sleepy before the session began. [...] Her pace was good, her voice average.)

[...] In the test she was unable to tell when she got off on the track of personal associations; somehow the fine discrimination was lacking. [...] But she also knew the test was poor, something she wouldn’t have been able to distinguish not too long ago. [...]

[...] Now as you know, that was never one definite unchanging object. That house was a conglomeration of atoms and molecules, perceived generally as a house, but perceived specifically by everyone who saw it as a slightly different house. [...]

(It was now time for the 29th Dr. Instream test. [...] Her pace was quite slow, broken by many pauses that ran to 15-20 seconds. [...]

The hand was not injured, that is not knocked as by bunking, but was irritated due to a change of wrist motion occurring when he began to use a second typewriter, which he had not used for many years. [...] The automatic wrist motion that he regularly uses in his touch typing was knocked askew, the pattern broken, and he used an erratic pressure that induced strain. [...]

[...] The chiropractor’s suggestion that the irritation was an arthritic one was made positively; that is, without thinking he stated “Oh yes, that is not normal at all, it is an arthritic nodule.” Later, realizing that the suggestion had been a poor one, and moreover one of which he was not certain, he amended the statement, adding that such a formation could also be the result of injury or simple irritation to the joint.

[...] Jane was dissociated as usual. My writing hand was also tired. After the session was over, I realized that I had neglected to ask Seth to specifically clear up Jane’s use of the phrase concerning her friend Marie as being involved in childbirth. [...]

(So, since there was some kind of discrepancy here between what Seth at least considered a possibility, and the fact that Marie had not been giving birth, we naturally wondered what was correct, and hoped the session tonight would deal with it.

[...] As I went through a double revolving door I caught a glimpse of a young man, say in his mid-twenties, who was an exact duplicate of my own son, who I knew was not in the mall, but was away on business of some kind. The shock of seeing my son’s double was so great that instead of chasing him to question him, I had to sit down on a bench to recover. By then the young man was gone. [...]

(“I wish there were words to use besides clairvoyance or precognition,” I said, since I was somewhat reluctant to attach them to the newspaper experience. [...] Perhaps I was merely afraid the experience wasn’t clairvoyant, I said, yet I felt our vocabulary was limited in some indefinable way in such cases. [...]

[...] Your inclusion of the hospital mixup in the tale was, as, you suspected, connected with the medical ideas you have been dealing with of late (in extra notes for Mass Events, and the book by the physician) — and here was an excellent fictional idea, you see, that could, among other things, bring those ideas into prominence.

[...] It was momentarily free of limiting beliefs, and it naturally used — and chose to use — the magical approach to answer what was a very simple, now-forgotten intellectual question: What might be in today’s newspaper?

[...] It seemed to Ruburt, with his understanding, that if his information was coming from a paranormal source, and that source was good, then it must also prove itself to be infallible, or he was a false prophet. He also felt accused by you, believing that if he was using his abilities really fully, as you wanted him to, then there would have been a way provided so the woman would not die.

At the same time he was feeling that he would not be a great writer either, you were telling him he was using only about a tenth of his abilities, and so in both areas he was not living up to his expectations or yours, to his way of seeing. There are other old tie-ins here, in that he was always considered very good or very bad, in that people always liked him instantly or disliked him instantly. [...]

(Once again we sat for the session before 9 PM, and once again it was slow in coming about. [...] Jane said that when I brought up the question again tonight she felt the shuddering return, although it was located farther down her torso, in the stomach area, this time. At 9:25, though, just before the session began, she said the feeling was better.)

[...] He was disappointed in me, also, thinking that I should have been able to save the woman. [...] On a deeply unconscious level he worried that perhaps symbolically he did not want to save the woman—who was, incidentally a mother. [...]

“It was the Jewish tradition that nourished the new religion in its early stages. Christ, as you know, was a common name, so when I say that there was a man named Christ involved in those events, I do not mean to say that he was the biblical Christ. His life was one of those that were finally used to compose the composite image of the biblical Christ.” [...]

The idea of man’s survival of death was not new. The idea of a god’s “descent” to earth was ancient. [...] The time was ripe for Christianity.

(Intently:) Again, Christ was not crucified. The historical Christ,³ as he is thought of, was a man illuminated by psychic realities, touched with the infinite realization that any one given individual was, by virtue of his or her existence, a contact between All That Is and mankind.

[...] Seth has always maintained that Christ wasn’t crucified to begin with — indeed, he told us in the same private session that “…in the facts of history, there was no crucifixion, resurrection, or ascension. In the terms of history, there was no biblical Christ. In the terms of the biblical drama (underlined), however, Christ was crucified.

[...] He is fully bald, and as I painted it I wondered why he was bald. [...] Seth then gave the artist’s name as Van Elver, saying he was from Norway or Denmark and that he was giving Seth painting data to be passed along to me.)

(This session was held on June 5, the evening of the same day that Senator Kennedy was shot. [...]

(During subsequent days there was some talk about this sort of possibility; especially was the Arab-Jewish conflict brought into the picture, at least by implication. [...]

(After this session we learned that the suspect’s brother, Adele, was questioned by police. Adele is 35 and was arrested a few months ago. [...]

[...] The mother wanted the child to stay still, was worried lest it fall. It was actively motivated toward lack of motion. [...] The woman was not easy in social life, and could now stay home to care for the small invalid.

[...] His cancer had reoccurred; he had taken a new series of treatments for it, and was again in a state of in-between, or perhaps remission. [...] Jane on the other hand was surprised at Bob’s lack of insight into the challenge of cancer that he’s taken on. [...]

[...] But on the other hand the mother was early frightened by the idea of a vital male baby, who might be overly rambunctious and difficult to control. She was overly fearful, ironically enough, for the child’s safety—and hence he developed a condition that kept him under scrutiny all the while.

[...] The healer telepathically reminded the child that he was indeed full of energy and vitality. When this was fully understood, the previous suggestions vanished, with their results. [...]

(I’d debated with myself about not telling Jane the insurance news until I had a chance to ask Seth about it while she was in trance, but soon decided that wouldn’t be fair. [...] I stressed the fact that her turning was indeed excellent news, and meant that she was on her way to even better things. [...]

[...] Georgia was there, and saw it along with Gail Greene, who was actually taking care of her this morning. [...]

[...] I was surprised and not surprised, mostly not, I guess. [...]

[...] Now I wondered what was going on, of course. [...]

(My name in Denmark, in the 1600’s, was Larns Devonsdorf. Seth was Brons Martzens. My wife in that life was Letti Cluse. Jane was my son in that life, his name being Graton. [...]

[...] Since this was Jane’s first such attempt with the Gallaghers, I was curious as to what Seth would say. He now told me that the rock or stone impression was his error, and not Jane’s, or Ruburt’s.

(Bill Gallagher doubted that warships were used by merchantmen but Seth told us this was common in those days; all ships had to be armed anyhow as a protection against piracy. [...] He stressed that he was a merchant rather than a sailor.

(The exchange was quite jovial among the group. [...]

[...] However, the next session, the 361st, was also quite unusual, and took place in the coffee shop of our hotel, the Paramount, at 235 West 46th Street. It was a different type of session, unique in Jane’s experience and was witnessed by myself and Raymond Van Over of the Parapsychology Foundation. [...]

(This session was not planned. [...] Her voice was a bit stronger than usual, without reaching anything like the volume it is capable of; her pace a little faster, her manner active.)

(Much more, of course, was said at the meeting between Jane, F. Fell and me, than is noted here. The meeting was cordial and the conditions right for Seth to come through. [...]

(Jane met no old acquaintances at Star Island or in Boston, nor was any unusual session held. On August 9, Wednesday, Jane was invited by telephone to appear on the Burke TV show in New York City. [...]

There was a Saturday afternoon on a November or December 2nd, (pause) that Blanche Price deeply regrets. [...] Now either the date, the year, was 1938, or the reason for Blanche’s actions on that afternoon date back to 1938.

[...] Either the man was Blanche’s father, or related to her rather than to Anne, regardless of the relationship. He may or may not have been present, but he was the cause of the argument.

(Pause.) It was not in Saratoga. Blanche was angry and revengeful, and also she expressed, literally, repentance. [...]

[...] Jane was out as usual but remembered most of the material. [...] Jane was aware of this while giving the data, but made no attempt to block Seth. [...]

There was no doubt that we’d been reading ourselves “wrong.” There was no doubt as far as I was concerned that every one of our standard explanations for life (pause) were relatively useless now, regardless of how much they might have helped or hindered us in the past.

[...] To see my wonderful, lovely wife so reduced to her present near-helpless state was almost more than I could bear. Jane herself was displaying a stoicism (I’m afraid to write “acceptance”) regarding her condition that I’d have found unendurable were I the one experiencing it. [...] For now I understood that freedom of motion was at least one true reflection of an individual’s creative potential.

[...] Without being aware of it, I’d begun to lose weight after she was admitted to the hospital, and by now my loss had reached the point where others began to notice it. [...] We even had a small remote-controlled television set installed in our bedroom so that she could watch it, say, when she was restless during the night. When I began sleeping on the couch in the living room, where it was quieter and darker, we bought a pair of wireless intercoms so that Jane could call me from her bed at any time. [...]

[...] She was tired, and I was far from being at my best as I fought off a half-repressed cough—an affliction that seldom troubles me.)