“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

Now, in the winter time our poor idiotic flower seems, indeed, to be dead. The seed goes into the earth, however, and in the wintertime in any of your suburban gardens here beneath the snow are all these seeds. They are being nurtured, but do they in this darkness, therefore, look about them and say, “This is a time of death? There is nothing else for me and my existence is meaningless? How is it that I remember a time in which I blossomed? How is it I vaguely remember a summer in a time in which I was strong and spontaneous and free? What has happened to the summertime, and will it never come again for me?” That is what you are doing now. Our seed, however, who does not have this fine intellect that sits so nicely beneath your hair and within your skull, our seed without the intellect, rests joyfully within the earth knowing it is in the midst of creativity and that from within it, again, another flower will spring. And it does not deny the earth that gives it birth. It knows within itself, and it is this knowledge that you can find again. It is within you now.

Now, the seed cannot yell out to a scientist who happens to pass and say, “Hey, look at me, I exist. Take me home to your laboratory for within me is the kernel of life.” For the scientist, if he would heed the call and if he would take a spade and dig in the middle of February perhaps down into the earth to find our seed, would find simply a shell. He would not find the reality of the seed. And though you speak and exist and have your being, the emotions that you feel, that make you you, cannot be packaged in a laboratory, cannot be proven by any scientist, you exist. He can only weigh the body and the elements that compose you. He can tell you how much your brain weighs. He cannot tell you what you are feeling or thinking or touch the reality of your subjective experience and herein lies your reality and your proof and your existence and your feeling.

I simply use these eyes better than he does, and for someone who has been dead as long as I have that is saying something.

(To Natalie.) To our friend in the corner, if you are receptive, you will know who the personality is who has been speaking to you, and he is a good friend of mine.

Now this crisis has a meaning and a purpose. It does you no good to avoid this crisis through drugs, through tranquilizers, or through material possessions, for you must face certain facts, and the facts are these. The high and mighty intellect that deals with the world of sense is not all. The validity and the vitality of your existence is far more than this. And when you find your intellect, alone, cannot give you the answers, and that it cannot bring you joy and that it brings you no closer to the fountain of existence, then you begin asking the proper questions. Then you are like the flower who accepts the sunshine, and in accepting the sunshine knows far more about the reality of sun than any scientist who measures the spectrum of light without feeling. Your soul, your inner self, your reality, is experience. It is this upon which you must base your life.