“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

[...] I may feel very unpsychic, or even cross. [...]

[...] In general outlines, I saw him as he sat leaning back in an easy chair, his right leg crossed over his left, and holding up an opened newspaper. [...]

[...] I also provided a certain number of cross references, directing the reader to connected passages in Seth’s and/or Jane’s other books.

[...] (To me:) Neurologically, you crossed your messages. [...]

[...] We’re not talking at cross purposes.”

(Disarray can refer to the jumbled appearance of my letter, used as object, with its crossed-out words, etc. [...]

[...] Among other papers I finally turned up half a sheet of blank paper, and gave Jane the pen I usually used to cross out items on the grocery list. [...]

[...] There were also tiny light, or white, crosses centered upon each pupil; these, coupled with the brimming tears and the smile, formed a most striking and unusual effect. [...]

[...] There is no plane of existence which you cannot inhabit, there is no barrier that you cannot cross. [...]

[...] The act of crossing will be reflected in a million other worlds, but these reflections will be themselves alive and the act of perceiving itself will create still another vortex of actualization.

[...] The fields have always existed, but they will become apparent to physical instruments only when they are being crossed — in other words, at the very act of projection.

(Someone had then laboriously used a magic marker to try to cross out the notes so they couldn’t be read; we were much amused to read them rather easily by holding the pages up to a light. [...]

[...] For example, Seth said: “Connection with black, symbolic of death; and with a tournament, again symbolic, as of a crossing of swords.” [...]

[...] … There are many times that our paths have crossed, and that is why I wanted you here and why you happened onto the art gallery where Ruburt is employed. [...]

[...] I can almost see Joan sitting there, legs crossed, before the session. [...]

[...] Jane doesn’t ask me to cross the bridge now. [...]

[...] I painted my image of Jim with tiny crosses in the pupils of his eyes, and with his eyes themselves brimming with tears. [...]

[...] When he crossed the road to visit I would encourage him to sing a bit for us a cappella. [...]

[...] He crossed a blacktop expanse of some kind and walks on sidewalk by a large bulky building.

[...] Otherwise I’m at cross-purposes with myself.”