“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

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.

‘My bursting out of the elevator car, which was lifting me toward the house on the roof of the hospital building, and a new reality, is a close thing as I force my way free. I’m delayed by fixing the mechanism; repairing it means I still have things to do on the earth, as does the lady who was with me in the car. My almost waiting too long to get out of the car also stands for my grief for Jane, and for my intense questioning and speculating about ‘where she is’ now. I’m sure that she lives. I want to know more — yet I’m not ready to die now in order to find out. I feel sad, writing this and thinking of her.

That vision reminds me of a letter of mine that has just appeared in Reality Change, a magazine its editor is devoting to the Seth Material, and publishing in Austin, Texas. At her request last September, I briefly described my feelings a year after Jane’s death. I mentioned how worthwhile it would be to throughly study the continuous global healing processes that I believe constitute one of the earth’s major forces, so that we could consciously use them to “help our species lead itself into new areas of thought and feeling.” Now I enlarge upon that idea by stating that such processes should be studied amid the earth’s even larger life-and-death cycles — those making up that “flickering gentle glow” my mythical observer would see from space. I think that eventually we’ll regard all life upon our planet — or upon any other — in such terms, that we’ll be led to do so by our own needs and creative curiosity. Beyond that will lie our exploring, as Jane did, the more basic nonphysical nature of reality.

‘These days I dream about Jane,’ I wrote in my article for Reality Change, ‘and feel her presence just as much as ever, yet my mourning is inevitably enlightened by new forces and experiences. This is just the way Jane wants it to be; she told me not long before she died that she didn’t want me to spend my life in grief and alone. I agreed with her when she said those things but had little idea of the emotional depths of sadness and yearning that one must face and live with before becoming free enough to turn one’s thoughts outward into the world again.’

[...] Instruments may be used to force imagination to move along in terms of its owner’s personal memories, but it cannot be forced to move along the lines of conceptual thoughts because the imagination is a connective between the physical individual and the nonphysical entity.

[...] Because man has such a sense of curiosity, scientists will be forced finally to use the inner senses. [...]

You are forced to transform this creative energy into another camouflage pattern because of your earthly situation. [...]

[...] That is, any camouflage is a distortion in the sense that vitality is forced into a particular form. [...]

[...] In some ways, its living forces and consciousness are kept to a minimum. [...]

[...] Except for the suggestion and stimulus received by regular natural forces on your plane, the plant life does not bestir itself in other directions. [...]

[...] … You have forced it into anxiety so that it overcompensated, trying to protect you, and ended up half choking you to death. [...]

And I was forced to smile back sheepishly. [...]

Because you know that you breathe, without being consciously aware of the mechanics involved, you are forced to admit that you do your own breathing. When you cross a room, you are forced to admit that you have caused yourself to do so, though consciously you have no idea of willing the muscles to move, or of stimulating one tendon or another. [...]

[...] Like many others, you feared the inner world so strongly, even though you were somewhat acquainted with it through your art, that nothing but panic would force you to try that invisible knob. [...]