“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

[...] / Now I’m shivering, tired, /
tied out alone in the / black wind. [...]

[...] His hair was black and straight. [...]

(Rachel had been discussing a story on astral projection which told of a man seeing a black shape trying to sever the silver cord so he could not return to his body.)

You are all in at the start of something, and surely you do not want it all explained for you and written out in black and white. [...]

[...] She wore a black sweater with the sleeves pushed halfway up her forearms. [...]

[...] I wear a one-piece suit, long white stockings, and black shoes. [...]

(Jane’s blond hair — which was to turn quite black — is neatly parted and combed, and she wears a barrette in it. [...]

[...] The black girl at the typewriter had the papers all made out, from the information Dr K. had given last February when she’d talked of transferring Jane from the Arnot. [...]

[...] The aggression that he feared was not so great and big and powerful and black and hairy and threatening as he thought. [...]

[...] The crippled black cat we’ve made friends with here cried outside our door, so I let him in and fed him. [...]

“There is no danger of dissociation grabbing hold of him like some black vague and furry monster, carrying him away to the nether-lands of hysteria, schizophrenia, or insanity. [...]

[...] I am seldom so “blacked out” as to feel as if I were sleeping. [...]

[...] There is something about a… I seem to sense Billie at this time wearing dark-colored dress, not black, that Jerry might remember, of violet or purple color. [...]

[...] Each segment of each color was held within a very thin black frame, as on a much cruder scale the pieces of a stained-glass window can be contained by channeled lead strips. [...]

[...] She had pointed to our hall door, beyond which our black cat, Ru, had been calling after someone let him in the back door. [...]

[...] They are not you, any more than you are the black man, or the white woman, or the Indian woman, or the Chinese man.

[...] At the same time our black cat, Rooney, who’d died in his fifth year, lay in his grave in the backyard of the house on Water Street.⁶

(For the test object I picked a black and white photograph of a dog Jane had owned when I married her. [...]

(Now Jane, still perched on the arm of the couch with her long black hair falling over her face, impatiently brushed her hair back.)

[...] Jane was walking on the other side of a long black shiny car hood; she looked at me, smiled and waved a greeting.

[...] May 3: High level 3/4 view of front half of two black, running horses.