“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

The process has begun, in other words. A grab bag has been set up, and the grab bag is good, but you are not to grab for you will be offered what you want as these changes continue to develop. Play a waiting game. It will be to your advantage.

Different people will hold the grab bag. Give us a moment. (Pause.) Your immediate superior is losing a chance. Yet he offered you a chance at the grab bag for his own reasons. He would give you as a gift. He would give you to others as a gift in order to gain advantages for himself, and in order to gain your loyalty and obligation.

([John:] “Was I invited to dip into this grab bag, the last time my boss was down?”)

The situation itself. It will soon change. A reaction on your part would be wasted, for the situation will soon change. The grab bag will not be taken away however. Its contents will change.

[...] It’s not in my bag of tricks,” he went on suggestively. [...]

[...] “Look” I said, “no strings, no cards hidden within cards, no bag of tricks beside me on the floor.” [...]

Producing
from it’s magical bag
of tricks,
one marvelous form
of life after another,
fish,
bird,
monkey,
man
(not just one dove
or rabbit)
with a skill and swiftness
so astute
that our wise men think
one turns into the other!

(Pause.) Your father’s sentence—the paper-bag reference—was one he actually made in his own mind, in the life that you actually knew him in, and he considered that sons rather than daughters represented his one physical triumph —that is, he believed sons preferable, and they alone compensated for a working man’s life—a life he felt did not befit him. [...]

[...] In the dream, however, you are a woman to whom he is able to express his feelings, and he therefore shows a side of himself to you with the paper-bag image. [...]

[...] She laid it aside as Judy came in to hook her up to another medicine bag. [...] Yet after she left I discovered a different name on the plastic bag: (Septra) Bactrim.

[...] At 4:30 I rang for an aide, since the medicine bag was empty on its pole at the head of Jane’s bed. [...]

[...] Carla came in with the supper tray, and we told her about the medicine bag being empty. [...]

[...] Anyhow, he used a phrase that I remembered when I woke up: “I live in a brown-paper-bag part of town,” meaning a lower middle-class neighborhood; he implied that that was his station in life, and that he had no idea of trying to change it, or felt that he couldn’t. In the dream I wore a brown faded coat and perhaps a small matching hat. [...]

A grab bag

[...] Remarks such as “Soon I’ll let you carry all the bags,” or “Soon you can carry them all,” will help. It is also good to remind him that he carried the bags for you when you were ill, and that you regained your strength, and that he is regaining his strength.

[...] He berates himself for not being able to help you more in the carrying of the bags, and in any ordinary chores with which he would normally assist you. [...]

[...] I stuff the things back into the large bags and hold them tight to my chest, hearing the paper crinkle, and once I almost think I will make it and bring them back. [...]

[...] On this level, which also achieved its purpose, the water image was translated into a bag, or the bag of water that burst.

There was no distortion but some confusion as far as the childbirth and water bag episode was concerned. [...]

[...] The correct interpretation was that of a vessel, the ship, in which the Tubbs woman toured; the breaking bag, winds unexpected during a day of travel during the cruise.

[...] I wasn’t thinking too clearly yet, but that would be feat par excellence for anyone—let alone lugging two bags along. [...]

[...] By now he’d taken two hardcover books from a bag, and given them to me. [...]

[...] His bags sat there on the ramp Frank Longwell had made for Jane’s chair. [...]

So I went and got some tea bags, feeling awfully silly. I wondered if I should put them directly on the shoulder or through a towel, and the voice said, ‘Directly.’ I took off my blouse, lay down and put the tea bags on the top of the shoulder joint.

[...] As she read this, she heard a loud voice say: ‘Put wet tea bags on it.”

[...] Again it said, “Put wet tea bags on it.” [...]

[...] So I turned over, moved the bags down and suddenly tuned in to a dialogue going on in my head. [...]

[...] Then she hooked Jane up to a new bag of Gentamicin 40 mg., the antibiotic. [...]

[...] We visited a straw market, native women weaving baskets and bags and selling them a loaf of bread. [...]

[...] Judy emptied Jane’s Foley, or catheter bag, Dorothy took her blood pressure and pulse, and Carla her temperature — 98.2. I did some more mail until Jane said she was ready for a session. [...]

[...] Something picked at random, as from a grab bag, you see. [...]

(“Something picked at random, as from a grab bag, you see.” [...]

[...] I told Jane that if she’d had her regular session yesterday in 330, so that I was busy typing it last night, I wouldn’t have found Babs’s note, because I wouldn’t have had the extra time after supper to go through fan mail, clean out the paper bag I carry to the hospital each day, and so on. [...]

[...] Dana came in to empty Jane’s catheter bag, or Foley, as everyone calls it. [...]

[...] She ate a good lunch, and so did I. Jane gave me a bag of unshelled peanuts that I brought home for the squirrels.

[...] They eat or talk with a man (voice very faint) whose name has to do with grip, you see, as bag or valise. [...]