“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

Now, let us take for argument’s sake, a poor unintelligent flower in the middle of a garden. Now, there the poor thing is, and it cannot move back nor forth. It cannot run up the garden path and it is. Now, when the rain falls it gratefully accepts the droplets. It does not turn its head upward and say, “Yes, but does the rain exist, or does it not? And wherefore does it come, and how, indeed, do these elements reach into my beings and down into my roots? And unless I understand how this occurs, then I will not accept the rain.” And when a sunny day comes, the flower does not lift its idiotic head and say, “Now, this appears to be the sun. How is it that the sun keeps me alive and brings the green to my leaves and branches and makes me flower? I do not understand, and since I do not understand, therefore, I will not accept the sun and I shall stand here and deny that it exists for how do I know that I exist, much less the sun does. Perhaps it is a fancy tale told by other idiots as stupid as myself.” But if it is a fancy tale, it would behoove you to listen, for the moment that the flower says, “I deny, therefore, I deny the sunlight or the rain,” then the flower, indeed, would deny the grace of existence.

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.