“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

[...] (Pause.) There was a conspiracy in which Judas played a role, an attempt to make a martyr out of Christ. The man chosen was drugged — hence the necessity of helping him carry the cross (see Luke 23) — and he was told that he was the Christ.

He believed that he was. He was one of those deluded, but he also himself believed that he, not the historical Christ, was to fulfill the prophecies.

Mary came because she was full of sorrow for the man who believed he was her son. Out of compassion she was present. [...]

Each reader, however, should in one way or another sense his own vitality in a way quite new to him, and find avenues of expansion opening within himself of which he was earlier unaware. [...] As this book was conceived and written by a nonphysical personality, and then made physical, so do each of you have access to greater abilities and methods of communication than those usually accepted.

Note: The attitude was partially justified, but the portion that was not justified was a symptom of a new appearance of negative thought on your part. And because such negativism is a psychic problem to you, it was potentially dangerous.

A note I wanted to add: It was indeed no coincidence either that your house was so filled with guests when you became ill. Your Sonja was drawn by your own inner vehemence. It was very well that she did not spend more time with you.

There was a possibility at one time, for a particular period of time, when for various reasons your Miss Callahan was in danger of falling down the front flight of stairs. For several reasons the possibility was strongest when she went for the mail.

[...] Jane remarked last night that the enforced layoff was making her rather nervous. It was, she said, the same kind of nervousness she used to experience before each session, during the early months.

[...] Her voice was abruptly somewhat weaker, trailing off at times. [...] More emotion was now apparent, as though a personality was inserting itself into the data that, so far, had been quite objective and evenly given.)

(Once again Jane spoke on her own in delivering tonight’s data, and toward the end of this session we began to get glimmering of what was going on. A more personal and emotional atmosphere began to enter in that was revealing to us; in these situations Jane is learning control even while she is in trance.

(This session was witnessed by Carl Watkins, of Odessa, New York. [...] This proved interesting to us and we understood it while Carl was speaking; later however because of our lack of background in math we found it difficult to recall what Carl had said.

(Jane was making many facial expressions now, along with her uneven strength of the voice effects. [...] Some of the effect I thought was due to an effort at concentration; the rest seemed to be reflecting the presence of another personality.)

(10:46.) In fact, once Augustus Two obviously “took over” the body of Augustus One, it was all out in the open in the family. The wife began to take notes of what was done and said. When these events were repeated to Augustus One later, the lying and cheating was evident. So was the infantile nature of the “personality”; yet Augustus Two purported to be all-wise, from a galaxy far surpassing Earth in every category of endeavor. And here he was making predictions that never happened, and boasting and lying like a trouper.

[...] Not only was Augustus Two more sexually promiscuous, but by contrast Augustus One seemed very pallid indeed. Augustus Two was originally intended to help Augustus One. It’s true that the exotic conditions spilled over, casting some glamour on Augustus One when Augustus Two left for a time, but the contrast was too blatant, too out in the open. [...] He knew that gradually Augustus Two was outliving his purpose, showing him up, and had to go.

(Pause at 11:00.) Augustus said, “My friend killed a neighbor of mine who was against me by giving him pneumonia. [...] Now this was definitely to the good, in that Augustus was beginning to feel that perhaps he was not powerless. [...]

To begin with, Augustus was brought up to believe that the inner self was dangerous, that individuals reacted because of inner conflicts over which they had little conscious control. (Gesturing:) He believed that the individual personality was relatively powerless to understand itself and that it stood precariously alone and undefended, with a chasm of evil beneath and with an unattainable, cold, just, but not compassionate Good (with a capital “G”) above.

The boy was briefly with you for his own reasons. He was to enlighten you, and so he did. He was of an ancient entity, and you have known him in other lives. [...] He was at one time, he was at one time his father’s uncle.

[...] Not having enough blood was significant. His vitality was here strongly (words missed), but it was not in physical terms... [...] There was no witness there, and he expected his death to bring out your own strengths.

[...] He only came to show you what was possible, and to bring the both of you to an understanding of inner reality. He chose his illness, it was not thrust upon him. [...] He was done with it, and he only returned so that both of you could learn the truths and inner realities that you are now seeking.

The child knew well what he was doing, and subconsciously you also knew. He is not an infant to be pitied, nor a child taken from you before his promise was achieved. He was a personality who left you when his own reincarnations were finished. [...]

They were these; that the entire world and its organization was kept together by certain stories or one in particular—like the Catholic Church’s; that it was dangerous beyond all knowing to look through the stories or examine them or to look for the truth and that all kinds of taboos existed to keep us from doing this, since.... since on the other side so to speak there was an incomprehensible frightening chaotic dimension, malevolent, powers beyond our imagining; and that to question the stories was to threaten survival not just personally but to threaten the fabric and organization of reality as we knew it. So excommunication was the punishment or damnation.... [...] This was what damnation really meant. To seek truth was the most dangerous of well intentioned behavior then.... [...]

[...] The book was based on the idea that nature was against man; and that religion was man’s attempt to operate within that unsafe context. The feelings I was getting went even further, that religion or science or whatever weren’t attempts to discover truth—but to escape from doing so, to substitute some satisfying tale or story instead. [...] The idea of the stories was to save each man from having to encounter reality in such a frightening fashion.... [...]

[...] Anyway early after we went to bed I realized I was in the middle of an odd nightmarish experience, one terribly vivid emotionally, yet with no real story line. [...] Anyway, the point was that the story.... [...]

[...] but I was being assaulted or attacked by.... [...]

[...] Carla took Jane’s temperature — it was up again to 101.2. Judy came in to check the flow, and said Jane was to get the Bactrim every six hours, or four times a day. [...] “It would be nice to know,” I said when she expressed concern, and she replied that she was doing all she could. [...] “Well, that’s it, then,” I said, and went back to the mail until Jane said she was ready for a session.)

[...] More was taken after breakfast. Her temperature at 11:00 a.m. was 97.8. I found that Jane’s menu for tomorrow was marked “Calorie Count” for each meal. [...]

[...] There was some confusion, since Judy told us it was the same medication — Gentamicin — that she’d been getting, only it was in 100 cc’s of liquid instead of 50. [...]

[...] It turned out Jane was being given a second medication without being told. This was an antibiotic for a bladder infection. [...] Jane was mad. [...]

(“Some of which was great and some that I didn’t like ... The eye thing was like a tunnel and I went through it, through matter. It wasn’t as great as the time I went through the house next door, but this tunnel was very long and I went into another universe. I was floating and flying among stars and lights. Then I came down and there was this big body there. [...] It was naked; like a transparent body because I could see the veins and nerves in it....”

(“I made some connection between that wheelchair and this rocker, thinking it was a wheelchair, and that big portrait you painted of the patient in a wheelchair in the county hospital where your father was,” she said. [...] I got nervous when I saw the great big thing was in the wheelchair, but I decided to go through with it whether it was me or not. [...]

[...] The music from above was louder than ever, but she seemed to be oblivious to it. [...] “I forgot: my head went up through the roof and I guess I was a giant walking over the earth. Then I was walking slower, and finally I was walking under water....” [...]

[...] Our apartment was quite chilly in actuality, as it has often been since the June flood; both of us had been cold all day. Now Jane was warm and more relaxed than usual. [...] Jane told me later that after I left she began to get very strong feelings that the phone was going to ring, with some exceptionally good news for us. [...]

[...] So vivid was this sensation that my whole body jumped, on the bed, and I was awake. And as my foot slipped and I was shaken up, I was myself; that is I was no longer watching myself. [...]

[...] This time I was myself. I was dressed in colorful summer sportclothes and wearing a cap. Again it was a bright summer day. [...] I was leaning against the endpipe, or post, of a modern, steel meshwork type of fence that reached rather high above me—several feet in fact. Before me was a very large parking lot, full of cars. [...]

[...] Yet, because the setting was different I was not sure this was it, & doubted the connection. [...] The manner of the call was very much like my psy-time experience.

(In back of me, to my left and on the other side of the fence, was some kind of long dark building. The fence was also quite long. The scene reminded me of Clute’s used-car lot here in Elmira, but was not it.

The Nina incident was a springboard. I do not believe Bill Macdonnel was injured, but he was either responsible for the accident or it was his car and the woman with whom he is involved. [...]

Timothy Mossman was subconsciously aware that he would meet me when he read Ruburt’s manuscript. The affair was up to him however. [...]

A peculiar set of circumstances was needed to fire his being, to focus his attention, and that was our job. [...]

Before, he was afraid to sense those changes in the atmosphere that he could sense so well. On occasion he would fabricate a physical symptom to explain a sudden change of mood, that was instead the result of clairvoyant knowledge.

On February 12, 1966, I dreamed that I was on a bed, with Rob on one side of me and another man nearby. There was no pain but a movement in the pelvis, and I delivered a baby. [...] Really, this is too much!” — meaning that after having no children, two at once was really something. Then the doctor reassured me that only one baby was involved. The hospital was in my own childhood neighborhood. I was pleased that the delivery was easy and painless.

Again Rob assured me that I wasn’t dreaming, but now I was sure that I was and afraid that I was about to awaken. [...] Some obstacle had arisen, but there was still hope. There was also something about my being fired from a job because I was notorious as a writer.

Was I pregnant? I was in the middle of my monthly period. There was no physical way to tell. Was the dream symbolic? [...] It was Session 233, February 14, 1966 (Valentine’s Day). [...]

In the meantime, my book, How To Develop Your ESP Power was released. [...] I wasn’t pleased with how I was handling that book, however, so I filed it away to look at later. [...] On February 17, I dreamed that it was returned and that the person to whom I had addressed it no longer worked there. On February 23, the manuscript was returned. The letter was dated the day before my dream and written by a different editor than the one to whom I’d written.

[...] All the windows in the apartment were closed with the exception of one kitchen window, because the night was extremely windy; this wind aggravated my hay fever. [...] The increase in brightness was plainly noticeable, causing all of us to look at the candle. [...] We had no way of knowing if wind was responsible or not; the kitchen window was perhaps fifteen feet away, and around a corner. Seth went on to say that the candle flame would not grow higher again, because Ruburt was alerted to the effect now, and was watching it.

[...] The voice was somewhat unusual, Seth told us; he himself was not interested greatly in physical effects or proofs, but realized they might be necessary to us, or scientists. He was interested, he said, in effects like the voice, or Jane’s facial changes. There was much that he and Ruburt could do; there was also much they could not do. [...]

(Much of the session was a kind of review, as the 162nd session was, which the Gallaghers also witnessed, with Lorraine Shafer. The material on the construction of matter was gone over. [...]

(Seth said my special sensitivity to windy days during hay fever season, [and one I was well aware of], stemmed from an incident that took place while I was traveling to California with my parents when I was about three years old. [...]

(Jane said that Seth himself was definite about another male being involved with the contents of the envelope. Her own thought, as she spoke, was that a female was involved; but Seth, she said, would not allow her to say a female was involved. Thus it seems that in giving the material on the envelope, Jane was drawing upon a couple of levels of awareness at once.

[...] Jane was dissociated as usual. [...] Jane had realized she was discussing the envelope. When she opened it she was quite disappointed with the results. I was pleased.

[...] Other data Seth gave us about Bill’s trip was verified. [...] My idea was that using such a design as a test would summon up a little more emotional involvement, since Bill was included along with Seth, Jane and me.

(Because it was another very hot and humid night we held the session in our large front room, where air circulation is better. Traffic noise was a problem once more; our windows of course had to be open, although the blinds were drawn. [...] I felt that the noise, being such a problem, was influencing the quality of the session.

(I was quite surprised the other day when Jane told me that our two apartments were okay to her if she was a writer, but not all right for a psychic—especially one who was becoming well known and was visited by all kinds of people, etc. [...]

Initially there was great enthusiasm with both, but Rich Bed was his baby and Adventures a method of learning and an initial way of releasing pent-up creative energy. [...] Seven was the answer. In the meantime your being home also meant that he was face to face with you. [...]

Seven was the answer, but only if Seven led where it was supposed to lead. In the meantime there was the matter of a tour, or not, for Seth Speaks, and speaking engagements. [...] It was for those reasons that his improvement deteriorated.

(Subsequently, Jane several times was seized with a strong ache in her lower right jaw. Her pendulum told her she was picking up on Bill. [...] Monday, January 1, 1973, we decided to go for a ride, since it was a beautiful day. [...]

[...] While talking about the chair she also had an impression that “some source, something” was trying to tell her about a rug that either usually was on the floor, was sent out for cleaning, or else was never there. The only thing she is sure of in this instance is that she was trying to receive something about a rug. [...]

[...] Helen McIlwain’s name was the return address, written in black ink on the envelope. [She was a friend of my mother’s, now dead.] I took the envelope to contain notification of my mother’s death. [...] Then with relief saw that the death was not to be that close. [...] Got the name Linda, and the last name, which I think I’ve forgotten—don’t think it was Butts. But there was a connection with Linda.

[...] Jane was dissociated as usual. [...] It had been a strong voice also, and she now said that her voice had felt different to her; as though she was not using her own vocal chords, but served as a vehicle or channel through which this strange voice emerged. [...] To me there was no doubt that the voice was recognizably hers.

[...] First, feeling of imbalance, as if head was tilting to one side, the left, causing my eyes to feel as though they shifted to lower left. [...] [I was actually partially dressed, and beneath spread which was doubled.] I had the feeling my body might rise without it, since it felt dissolved below the chest. [...] Was shaking with cold when alarm rang.

[...] The latter was an expensive anthology. [...] Fred also handed me a thick, neatly tied package of brown paper and yellow string—The Christ Book, he said, which was for Jane and me, and for Prentice-Hall. I didn’t open it, and still haven’t. When I asked him where he was really from, he said Denver, and that his address was inside the package. [...] Nor was I quick-witted enough to ask if he had a family, if anyone knew where he was, or what he did for a living—if he worked, or could—or how he found our house in the first place. I wondered if he was schizophrenic. [...]

[...] It was just that no matter what one said to him, he replied in the same reasonable, well-spoken, well-mannered tone of voice, which was quite pleasant. It was only after listening to him for a bit that one came to realize that something was amiss here, that Fred lived in his own world, which was a mixture of fact and fantasy. [...]

[...] The afternoon was cold. [...] I didn’t realize that when Fred’s Seth told me Fred was getting cold, he really meant it. I couldn’t believe what was happening, and was already wondering what to do to get out of the situation. [...]

[...] When I looked out on the back porch Fred was gone. The door was half open. [...] I still wanted to know what he was going to do when he’d left here. [...]

(I would estimate that a good hour was taken up by the above proceedings. [...] Our interest was of course intense the whole time. We did exactly as Seth told us to; often, for instance, I wanted to reach out and grasp Jane’s hand while it was in metamorphosis, but I did not touch it until Seth said to. [...] Often Seth remarked upon our rather childish desire for demonstrations; yet when I asked him if he would rather we refrained from such requests in the future, he said he understood the desire, that it was natural, and that if he felt like it he would comply.

(Jane was quite tired. It was after 10:00 PM. Bill Macdonnel was more impressed with the hand phenomena than the mirror demonstration. To Bill, while he thought he sensed a change in the shape of Jane’s head in the mirror, there was little else to be seen. [...]

(The regular 11th session, scheduled for Monday, December 23/63, was not held for various reasons. The main one of course was the fact that the holidays were close at hand; and beside having company we also did some traveling. Thus the regular schedule was broken, and required some effort on our parts to restore. [...]

[...] It was the first one without the Ouija board. [...] I was quite reluctant to do so, since I felt it was better to continue with the board, and to accumulate a written record which might serve as a basis for other types of experiments at a later date.

[...] Again for a first break, Jane was fully dissociated. She knew that she was dictating very slowly, she said, yet she was not groping. She felt Seth was searching her vocabulary in order to express himself as best he could. Here she thought that Seth was dealing with a concept that was not suited for expression in words, nor was it meant to be expressed in words. Jane felt that what came through was close enough but still left a lot to be desired.

(While giving me the above data, Jane as Seth asked me if I was tired, and I said no although my hand was somewhat cramped. [...] Jane and I were visiting her father there, who was building some apartments. The nail I stepped on penetrated rather deeply through the sole of my shoe, but was not very painful; but since it was rusty we thought it best to get a tetanus shot. [...]

[...] The swelling was now gone and Jane felt all right, though she planned to see a dentist for an X-ray to check upon any possible bad tooth. [...] Now during break, she used the pendulum to ask her subconscious a few questions about the cause of the swelling; the answers she obtained indicated the cause was psychosomatic, and that a salivary gland had been involved. While she was conducting this little session, she reported that she felt a great, amused tolerance from Seth.

[...] It was not in this country. [...] Your mother’s name was Josephine, hence your name was Joseph, even then.

In the AM the dream instantly reminded me of an almost completely different opposite dream, a nightmare that I had just about the time my eye troubles and other difficulties began in earnest: It was in the spring when I was doing James. Frank was doing construction on the porches then, too, and I was worried about the Gallery-of-Silence people bugging Prentice and me. [...] I was terrified and ran though he said it was for my own good. [...] (I think the idea was that increased symptoms were “preventive” medicine against a greater feared event or condition....)

[...] Anyway a group of us were to be given a pill or some such that was actually a vaccine against some disease—perhaps polio. I was talking to doctor about this; I’m not sure if the people were even being told what this was, the idea being to slip the stuff as innocuously as possible. I refused in no uncertain terms to take it and gave my objections while also objecting to the secrecy in which the project was clothed. [...]

(Pause at 9:44.) There was a necessary period of time in which Ruburt and yourself experimented in several areas of psychic exploration, quite rightly picking and choosing those areas that suited you best, and ignoring others that you found for whatever reasons unsuitable. Ruburt quickly discovered that the public image of a psychic was quite different than that given to a writer, and so was the social image. As our readership grew, as you heard from readers or from some members of the media or whatever, it seemed to Ruburt that what he did best—have sessions, write his books—was not enough, that he was expected to do far more. [...]

[...] It was, simply, that we were wrong to blame imagined excesses of the spontaneous self for her problems—that really the trouble lay in her discovery that with the psychic abilities she was destined to find herself outside conventional creative authority: a person who learned that she would have to protect her very integrity as a person against charges of fraud. [...] I added that Seth—and we—must have covered this ground many times over the years; yet now I felt that once again I was “on to something important.”

He was very unsure of himself, since the entire dimension of activity was new, and at that time extremely rare in your country. The whole idea of being a “psychic” was completely new. [...]

At the same time, he was to be denied his rightful place as a writer (as I’d said earlier), to defend this new position—a position moreover that seemed to change all the time—for beside my books there was Seven, Sumari, and later Cézanne and James. [...] He felt that he could hardly keep up with the spontaneous self: what was it about to do next? [...]