“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

(Here Jane, who had begun to hear the answers within before the board spelled them out, once again began to dictate the rest of the answer.)

Died last time when a small child. A boy, lived in England. Three brothers and two sisters. Died of diphtheria, 1871 (See page 59 where I wrote 1671. Did Jane say the two dates? Or my error re one of them—or both?) 9 years old. (Jane dictates:) Lived in the third house before the end of a dead-end lane. Died in a front upstairs bedroom. His present mother was a very jealous older sister. The doctor charged 3 shillings for his final call.

(Jane dictates:) Richard Grayson. Father’s name was Throckmorton. They had French relatives. The sister, who is your present mother, married one of the cousins and moved to France. She had many children. Many of her generation women were so wearied by drudgery in past lives that they wanted no children or responsibilities in this life, and may felt subconsciously cheated when children were born. She was drowned in a flood in another country, not France. Her fear and panic weighed her down.

(Jane dictates:) Of course. The images represented a culmination of many years experience of a negative trend. If you had accepted them you would end up as an exact replica, as you transferred into the images. If you had, then what creativity and constructiveness were still in you would have softened the faces of the images, really to an amazing degree. You would be recognizable to friends, but nevertheless changes would be noted. The remark would be made that perhaps you didn’t seem the same, and for good reason.

(Jane dictates:) There was an afternoon in a small park when you were a boy, about eleven. You sat on a bench, eating ice cream piled into a cone. It was, I believe, in late summer or early fall. You thought you were alone. You had visited your father in his shop of machines of some sort. It was close to five, September 17th, but on a day when there was no school.

(Jane is developing the habit of pacing back and forth as she dictates. Her eyes seem half shut [and darker somehow], though I can see she is watching my progress writing. Usually her enunciation is good, though at times I have to ask her to repeat a word.

(Jane dictates:) However, you had no way of knowing what had happened, and your abilities at that time would not give any permanence to the image. Subconsciously, there is no limit, really, to what mind can accomplish.

(Through the board:) No. (Jane dictates:) She needs time to recuperate.

(Jane dictates:) Monday 9 PM. if possible. I understand you will have holiday plans. Too bad I can’t be with you for Christmas.