“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

This also has to do with feeling, which is also a mover. You must try not to categorize things in old ways, but when you open your mind, you will see a similarity between chlorophyll, as a mental enzyme or mover, and emotion which is never still. Emotion ‘solidified’ is something else again and is perhaps a framework of other worlds. …

Intellectual truth will not make you free, you see, though it is a necessary preliminary. If this were the case, your walls would fall away, since, intellectually, you understand their rather dubious nature. Since feeling is so often the cohesive with which mind builds, it is feeling itself which must be changed if you would find freedom from your particular plane of existence at your particular time. That is, changing feeling will allow you to see variants … These discussions now are, of necessity, of a simple and uncomplicated nature. If I speak in analogies and images, it is because I must relate with the world that is familiar to you.

By now, we were both convinced that the human mind or consciousness had abilities and methods of perception far beyond those we had thought possible. If this was the case, then my consciousness possessed these potentials, and I was determined to discover their nature and extent. I never considered them supernormal, or rather, supernatural. On the other hand, it never occurred to me that there was any other way to study consciousness except by studying my own — a journey into subjectivity seemed, and still seems, as valid as a journey into objectivity.

Rob asked me what was wrong. I answered that I felt odd and unlike myself. My body then was very light — weightless to me, anyway. I wasn’t conscious of any muscular weight or pressure at all. My arms and shoulders felt like water or air. Rob told me to get up. He was beginning to look worried. But I could hardly rise from the chair. He had to help me to the couch. I didn’t feel physical enough to move.

Rob thought the concentration of writing a statement of how I felt would help. Instead, my efforts showed what a crazy state I was in. My handwriting just wasn’t my own. Hardly any pressure was exerted on the pen. The writing was wavery, small and grew progressively smaller. The prose expression was nothing like mine; it was very childish. Thoughts or messages poured to mind, and I wrote them down in this weird (unedited) script:

Applied suggestion by Rob would have snapped me out of this state easily, but we didn’t know that at the time. As it was, the condition lasted about three hours, ending only when we went to bed, past midnight. By then I was no longer frightened but merely curious and trying with one part of my consciousness to find out what the other part was up to — and how it went about its business. Finally, I fell asleep, expecting nothing but exhausted slumber for the rest of the night.