“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

This morning I tried to rough-in a small oil painting of myself standing before one of those walls of crystal color I’d seen in the dream. I had no trouble with the self-portrait, but still ended up quite frustrated. I’d anticipated the failure to some extent: With mere oil paint I just couldn’t match the iridescence of that dream wall of light and color. By session time I was caught. Should I junk the half-finished painting, or try to complete it? I could always make another attempt tomorrow morning, of course, but for some reason I was rebelling at admitting my failure today.

(Long pause.) The paintings that you have envisioned, for example, exist there, and they are every bit as real as the paintings in your studio. I am not speaking symbolically here. There is indeed light that you do not see, sound that you do not hear, sensation that you do not feel. All of these belong to the realm of the inner senses. The inner senses represent your true powers of perception. They represent, say, your native nonphysical perceptive “equipment.” The physical senses are relatively easy to distinguish: You know what you see from what you hear. If you close your eyes, you do not see.

(“I didn’t get far with my little painting this morning”)

A note: I can add that I didn’t give up on my dream painting after all. The morning after this session was held I repainted that still-wet wall of colors I’d struggled with the day before. I managed to carry off the painting this time—merely giving impressions of the colors and foregoing their fantastic intensities and patterns. Next, I painted a small oil of the lights emitted by the two table lamps in my waking experience. The practice on the dream painting helped: This time I was able to hint more easily at the great combined radiance of those lights. However, I’ve learned that contending with the light of the universe can be a humbling task indeed….)

“My friend, Floyd Waterman (I’ll call him), and I were in a five-and-ten-cent store in Sayre, my old hometown. We were both dressed, but knew that we had to take some sort of tests for sexual potency. We stood near the large plate-glass windows at the front of the store—quite exposed for all to see, in other words, including those eating at nearby tables, yet no one seemed to be paying any attention to us…. Floyd had to take the test first, stepping into a little booth such as a cashier might use. As I waited to go next I turned to look out the front windows—and suddenly found myself surrounded on three sides by walls of the most beautiful floor-to-ceiling, intricate and colorful latticework of diamond-shaped glass crystals I could possibly imagine. I cannot describe the intrinsic shimmer and sparkle of those faceted walls, shining and vibrating in warm oranges, browns, yellows, reds, and violets. 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. I can still ‘see’ those dream lights and colors as I write this account several hours later, after describing them to Jane. I’ve thought of trying to do a painting of my best dream images of all time … yet wonder how I can do it….”