“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.