“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

[...] Will you open that (wine)?

[...] I opened a beer for Jane.)

[...] Rest your hand, and get our friend some beer.

[...] We split a beer. [...]

[...] Take a break or rest your hand and get him a beer while I leave him in trance. [...]

(Still in trance, Jane paused to pour herself a little wine.)

[...] You tell me you are going to bring me this brandy and I have, instead, this wine! [...]

[...] I had just finished my first small glass of wine when a wave of “feeling” swept over me from foot to head. [...] When it first swept over me, I wondered if the wine was responsible, though actually I had drunk very little.

[...] Pieces of paper Rob picked up in the streets, leaves, beer coasters, chunks of hair, photographs, sketches, bills—all were used at one time or another. [...]

(Jane and I cannot say exactly who was at the table when it broke, although we know that neither of us was, nor was Curt Kent, who sat to one side drinking beer. [...]

[...] A fan (Larry), here from Pennsylvania, says he has a new 2nd job — in grocery chain convenient market (that sells basics — nothing fancy; eggs, milk, beer, etc.). [...]

[...] Still in trance, Jane took time to sip at a beer and light a cigarette. [...]

(Jane lit a cigarette and sipped at a beer. [...]

[...] I feel a sort of free slide or glide that isn’t ordinary, like I’ve had perhaps three glasses of wine…. [...]

[...] She spoke while looking casually ahead for the most part, and performed such ordinary chores as putting out her cigarette, sipping from a glass of wine, sometimes rocking back and forth, etc.)

[...] However she now took a sip of wine. [...]

[...] Jane just about had time to leave trance, say to me, “The session isn’t quite over yet,” sip some wine and offer a few ideas, when she resumed at 10:29.)

Were you born once in winter,
in Europe’s ice and snow,
when villages were dark at night
and wolves roamed the towering hills?
Or dark-skinned, did your swaddling cry
pierce Egypt’s early dawn?
How many birthdays come and gone,
how many homelands, each your own?
How many loves have whispered through
the patterns of your mind?
How many sons and daughters have grown
from your womb or loins?
What voices merge with mine
to wish you happy birthday,
and what loves within your past
lay out a feast of wine and cakes?

[...] Over wine they told us about their son. [...]

During a break we sat nibbling at crackers and sipping wine. [...]

(Jane lit a cigarette, and sipped some wine.)

If I could have a glass of wine with you and enjoy it, I would. [...]