I met Angela Cerio at the New York Seth conference in 1986. With one look at her I felt that I knew her though we had never met. We corresponded and stayed in touch by phone. Later we visited each other. I went to Staten Island; and she visited me in New Jersey. We kept in touch throughout all these years. Sixteen years later, I will finally report what happened with our holy ‘o’s. I didn’t know what to make of it at the time, and only quite recently, while reading Session 376, which starts on page 140 of Book 8 of the Early Sessions, did I get an inkling of what might have happened all those years ago to my friend Angela and me. Seth talks about table tipping, and I wonder if  what he says about a table can be applied to a typewriter also? It’s the only thing that makes complete sense to me.
     On January 24, 1987, I wrote a letter to Angela, and oh, it was the strangest thing. My Smith Corona electric typewriter, Coronet Super 12, SCM, punched holes into the paper, the carbon I used, and even the carbon copy. Those ‘o’s flew out like confetti. The typewriter was going bananas. What’s going on here? I thought. Do I have to have the key repaired? When I examined what I had written it turned out that some of the ‘o’s had been spared though far more had been cut out like minuscule cookies with a cookie cutter. Let me make a copy of this letter full of holes, this “holy” letter, I thought, but when I did, the holes didn’t show. I used a dark background for the perforated page, and voila, there they were: black holes where the ‘o’s should have been. I turned the page over, which was blank, of course, except for the holes, made a copy against a dark background again, and the result was some kind of a star map, or so it seemed to me. I’m going to keep this; it’s neat, I thought.
     On February 5, 1987, Angela writes, “Dear Ute, This is my old Remington typewriter. As you can see, it has a tendency to punch holes in the paper as I type.  This doesn’t happen all the time, but enough to become fairly annoying!  Maybe it’s the paper? If I make an effort to type lightly, I can avoid making holes in the paper, but at comfortable typing pressure, this is what happens. And now you say your machine is doing the same thing. Interesting. Very interesting.”
     Time passed, and there was no trouble with my machine. The inside of the ‘o’s stayed nicely put. It had only happened with this one letter to Angela for me.
     June 19, 1987, however, on Angela’s birthday incidentally, or not so incidentally, I typed a eulogy for my brother-in-law Onnig Kaboolian on my new Brother Compactronic 333 when the ‘c’s acquired a little dot at the bottom of it. I did a test. Hitting the ‘c’ key I managed to type one 'c' with dot and then three musical half notes – the ‘c’s had sprouted stems and each note was separated by a bar. They looked funny. I burst out laughing. This was absolutely wild. Then the ‘c’s became the now normal ‘c’s with dot again but when I made another test, always just hitting only the 'c' key, I typed six half notes, again separated by a bar, after which I typed 12 ‘c’s of which only the first two showed the dot, which with each succeeding ‘c’ grew fainter and fainter until by the end of the twelve ‘c’s they had lost the dot entirely, and behaved themselves from then on. (Please see below.)
     The only association I made at the time was this: Until we pay attention to the holes in the fence that make the fence, or the slithering blither that like the living snake of consciousness is itself consciousness we are not going to get very far.
     Both the ‘o’ and ‘c’ occurrence, though short-lived, stayed at the back of my mind all this time. On Thursday, March 28, Passover, I was invited to my friend Basha’s house. Her son pointed to the wooden pillar by the screen door. The knot in the wood had mysteriously fallen out, and had created a round hole, which no one had noticed before. Holy cow, I thought. I must share our ‘c’s and ‘o’s. This is a sure sign that tells me it’s time.

     In Session 376, of Book 8 of the Early Sessions, Seth discusses table-tipping and says:
     “Now. There are survival personalities who help you. They operate in several different ways. The methods vary according to their circumstances and your own. We will describe one method at a time.
     Now. There is a flowing of energy, of psychic energy, from the sitters, that does indeed affect and alter that molecular construction of the table. [In our case the typewriter.]  In this method the impetus comes from survival personalities, acting directly through the physical mechanism of the most sensitive person at the table. [In our case Angela and myself, each of us separately and yet, somehow, together.]
     There is also a change of molecular vibration in this person when this method is used. Almost a merging (pause), in which there is a freer interplay of molecules between the table and the physical organism. A molecular bridge-field is therefore momentarily constructed.”
     There’s so much more in Session 376, which, I believe, explains what happened to Angela and me with our jumping ‘o’s, and to me with the dotty musical ‘c’s. You have to read Book 8 of the Early Sessions to find out.
     Below you’ll find some excerpts of the letters I talked about, and a test I made after I had finished typing my brother-in-law’s eulogy, had forgotten to add the birth and death dates, and had to add them on each of the 200 pages that I had printed up, and that’s when the ‘c’s really sang to me in musical notes, after I was finished typing the dates, that is. Wow, I thought, one day I’m going to write it all up, and now, here it is: The ‘o’s don’t show up too well here, especially since some were only half cut and were hanging on by a thread (of paper). Am I crazy to think that survival personalities typed with us, and just added some of their own energy so that some of those ‘o’s actually flew right out of the paper? Now, the ‘c’s, are amazing to me also. Since a molecular bridge-field is involved, did they just think these notes into being with some additional mental humph (with the emphasis of ‘hum’ in humph)? Ah, well, I think it’s neat, anyway. Enjoy!