“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

Now unless you come to terms with your own doubts about yourselves then you will have no idea what faith is and when I use the word faith, I am not speaking in religious terms. When you look at your physical reality and see what it is this does not take faith, it is a simple matter of physical perception. When, however, you begin to have glimpses about the nature of reality and realize that you are more than you know that you are now, then it takes faith to bring that inner image close to some actuality, in your terms. You are all hampered, in other words, by doubts. Now your physical perceptions operating alone are often responsible for these doubts for you think you are all that you can see of yourselves, or you think your life is all that you presently perceive of it, and so if you trust in your physical senses alone then you must, indeed, be filled with doubts for you know, instinctively, that you are more than the self that you are presently able to materialize or to give expression to. If you judge yourself according to the physical self that you know, then you must be filled again by doubts because again instinctively, you know that you are more.

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.