“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

Last night was the fifth night in a row that I’ve slept on the screened-in back porch in my new sleeping bag. I didn’t start doing this to avoid the bedroom that Jane and I had shared in the hill house for the last nine years, but because I’d always wanted to and now can. Jane is no longer here for me to be so close to, night and day, to leap to take care of when she needs me. She’d never been able to sleep on the porch — one of the reasons we’d had it added onto the house to begin with.

At the same time I knew that Jane had some sort of deep commitment. However, this didn’t stop her from giving me a series of face-to-face hugs, very close, smiling like she does in some old photos of her that I’d found in a file yesterday. I was leery of responding too openly to her advances, though, since I didn’t know what her commitment was. A beautiful arching stone bridge was to my right as we talked and hugged. The lawn extending underneath the bridge was an extremely rich green — glowing and pulsing as though it was alive.

Then I was in an elevator car inside the building, and rising toward the house on the roof. Jane wasn’t with me. Another, older lady was having trouble repairing a small mechanism that was fastened to the wall beside the car’s door. I offered to fix it for her; this involved my turning some large screws into place by hand. While I was doing so, the elevator stopped at a floor and the door opened. The lady left, and I hurriedly inserted the last few screws while the door stayed open. Just as I finished — or perhaps nearly so — the door began to close. I leaped toward it. I wedged my shoulder between the door and its frame and forced the door open enough so that I could squeeze out into a hallway of the hospital. The door shut behind me.

‘The appearance of the old house stands for our ordinary physical reality — but its high location and closed shutters prevent me from looking inside it, into another reality; the negligee represents my knowledge that Jane is in that new dimension. Our meeting is her message to me that she is well, rejuvenated, with her abilities and personality intact after her death. My reluctance to fully return her hugs is a sign that I’m not yet ready to join her. Her youth also stands for the plasticity of time.

[...] We locked the door and closed the blinds but always left the lights on for the sessions. [...]

[...] I don’t know if my eyes were open or closed, and, in any case, the room was so dark that Rob could just manage to see in order to make notes. [...]

[...] Big ships couldn’t get in close. [...]

[...] The village wasn’t sunny, and they kept the windows closed. [...]

[...] Otherwise they will be dealing with camouflage only and find themselves in a blind alley — not because their eyes are closed, but because they are not using the right set of eyes.

[...] … If you are tired, I will close the session.

[...] What you have here … are inner nervous and communication systems, closely resembling the outer systems with which you are familiar.

I wasn’t about to close off the Seth material until I made up my mind, though. [...] That, to me, would be the worst possibility of all — that I might close off knowledge out of uncertainity. [...]

[...] One day I went into the bedroom where it was quiet, closed my eyes, lay down and began clearing my mind of thoughts for my psy-time exercise. [...]

[...] Nor was he a close friend, merely a good acquaintance who lived out of town and visited Elmira only when his business required it, about once every six weeks.

Later, closing the session, he added two afterthoughts. [...]

[...] Now, this idea comes close to the relationship between the entity and its personalities. [...]

[...] We have instead a flexible bark, changing with the elements, protecting the inner tree (or inner self), but flexible, opening or closing in rhythmic motion. [...]

[...] “I mean, suppose that’s really what I think, subconsciously — the idea that your ego is too rigid at times and closes you off. [...]

[...] But when he starts going into us, into personal habits and behavior, it gets kind of close.”

This is closely related to the second inner sense, and it is upon psychological time that you must try to transpose your inner visions. [...] For instance, when I tell you that the second inner sense is like your sense of time, this does give you some understanding of what psychological time is like, but you are apt to compare the two too closely.

[...] (No one knew what we were up to, for that matter, except for one close friend. [...]

[...] You didn’t know how to open it further, and if I may say so, you didn’t know how to close it. [...]

[...] Therefore, a realization that these senses belong to you and that they are quite natural, will help you avoid the closing off of such data by the conscious mind.

[...] I could feel a good-humored vitality, not mine, close and present.

While I sleep and lie stretched out,
Eyelids closed and pupils dark,
Who walks wide-eyed downstairs
Through the door in the cold night air,
And travels where I have never been?
Who leaves clear memories in my head
Of people I have never met?
Who takes these trips while I
Never lift one inch from bed?
Who dreams?

[...] Because of our past alliances, the three of us are closely bound together …