“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

I use words because presently they make sense to you but hopefully behind the words that I speak, you sense the inner vitality which has no need for them and hopefully listening to me, you sense, if only dimly, the wisdom of the self within each of you that is triumphant in its own wisdom, its own spontaneous freewheeling wisdom upon which your intellect rests. The fine and terrible weapon of the intellect should, indeed, terrify even the gods, for there it sits atop of your heads so sure of its function and its worth and its permanence, and its knowledge and it judges everything according to those rules which it has itself established. And so surely should our little idiot flower cower beneath this fine intellect of man that even the seasons themselves should tremble before this fine instrument of the ego. And yet it seems to me, if I remember correctly, that idiot flowers, without a brain in their petals, manage to grow beautifully into what they are and to perfectly do their thing.

And each of you—  you (Joel) and you (Alison) and you (Florence) for I do discriminate, and Ruburt are so jealously concerned for these intellects, so jealous of the intellectual power that they would kill some poor little innocent flower just to see what made the thing grow.