“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

Moreover, the choice of presenting the material in essay form proved to have one virtue that was more valuable than all the others combined: It allowed us to delve into the events I describe, and “our deep-seated, sometimes wrenching feelings connected to them,” a little bit at a time. Those situations might have been too devastating for us otherwise, too emotionally threatening, too charged for us to present them with at least the minimum amount of objectivity required by the written word. Many of the events and feelings evoked such deep implications of trial and challenge for Jane and me that we were often left with strong feelings of unreality: This can’t be happening to us. At our ages (52 and 62, Jane and I, respectively), why have we created lives with such nightmarish connotations? Why do I have to leave my dear wife alone in the hospital each night, so that I feel like crying for her when I go to bed by myself in the hill house? Why can’t we be left alone to live lives of peace and creativity? And how many millions and millions of times through the ages have other human beings on this planet felt the same way—and will yet? Why are our lives ending like this, when we feel that simply getting through each day is an accomplishment?

Yet, Jane and I were being creative with it all—the whole time—and moving several stages closer to understanding All That Is in the process. If we were often badly frightened, we also felt surges of grim elation (when we allowed them to surface) that we were survivors. We’d chosen the entire experience, which is still continuing, of course. “You make your own reality,” Seth has told us innumerable times. We agree—and that is where Jane and I diverge most sharply from the conventional establishment belief that events happen to people, instead of being created by them.

[...] Presenting the session in a more isolated manner here, then, may give the reader a clearer idea of how we felt during Jane’s early days in the hospital [and later too, for that matter]. [...]

[...] Some of them talked about her right in front of her as though she weren’t there—and, Jane said, with her hearing still much impaired at that time, she almost felt as though she wasn’t there.

[...] “But in spite of everything, over all those years I never felt sick until I went into the hospital,” she wailed. [...]

[...] He’d offered Jane encouragement as she is, and she had felt an immediate psychic rapport with him. [...]

[...] I felt that I could handle my particular kind of difficulty alone. [...]

[...] If I’d felt I was suffering a heart attack, for example, I knew I would rush to the hospital, but this was a chronic condition. [...]

(9:43.) I felt that my work was being contaminated, and more, I was annoyed and disappointed by those readers who could apparently be so taken in by those other Seths. [...]

[...] It reminded me at once of a dirge or an elegy, and I felt chills as I began to intuitively understand just how meaningful it was, even without any translation at all.

[...] (Pause.) Some kind of white gum, or glue, had been rubbed into my scalp through my hair to improve the electrical contacts, and when the test was finished the attendant simply grabbed one area of the equipment and pulled the entire mess off my head in one motion—which felt like my entire scalp was coming off. [...]

[...] Eyes closed to hold back tears of humiliation, I felt my arms lifted by an orderly (long pause), my thin belly and ribs straining in the brightly lit room, my backside lifted and supported by two other strange arms, while a third person—I don’t want to sound too vulgar—

[...] She felt she’d beaten a number of negative suggestions from medical personnel in connection with all of those afflictions.)

[...] “I felt like when I got slow there a couple of times that it didn’t have anything to do with dozing off” she said, referring to a few longer pauses. [...]

[...] I remember somehow equating all the silence about me with a forbidding white wall. And in parentheses: (I don’t know why I felt that way, but I did.) I couldn’t die deaf (Jane said with a laugh at 11:45). I think I had imagined that everything would shut down gradually. [...]

[...] His weaknesses were out in the open, dramatically presented, and from that point, unless he chose death he could only go forward—for suddenly he felt that there was after all some room to move, that achievements were possible, where before all accomplishments seemed beside the point in the face of his expected superhuman activity.

Our explorations involved no secondhand evidence handed down by others, but the direct personal encounter of our consciousness and being with the vast elements of the unknown—a meeting of the self (human and vulnerable) with the psychological realms of gods and eternities; giant realms of mind that our nature felt attracted to … and [was] uniquely equipped to perceive.

[...] But instead of facing up to a considerable change in life-style, I panicked and felt myself to be almost assaulted, forced into a life that offered less and less physical freedom. [...]

Until she became so ill that she was practically forced to go into the hospital, I’d always felt that my wife’s single-minded yet literal focus of intent was capable of lasting however long it took to reach a particular goal—whether for five minutes or fifty years. [...]

[...] The anger I’d felt at Jane and myself when she began recording her sinful-self material (see the essay for April 16) has long since dissipated. [...]

[...] For my part, I’d always felt distinctly uneasy in Marie’s presence on the few occasions we met.

[...] Instead, she had felt her body in the chair lift most convincingly toward the ceiling…. [...]