“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

The night was so warm that I unzipped the bag all the way down to my feet. In the half-dark I spoke aloud to my wife, telling her that I wished she was with me. I fell asleep. Around 4:30 A.M. I woke to the sound of a heavy wind and the feel of much colder air creeping in around my body. The wind chimes hanging in a corner of the porch were clashing together repeatedly. I zipped up the bag as spatters of rain began to blow in on me. The woods come down over the crest of the hill in back of the house, to the north, and with a sound like an ocean tide the wind was racing through their treetops, plunging south past the house and into the valley. Jane and I had always loved that great roar. The trees thrashed in my neighbor’s yard across the road. The whole scene was one of change and energy and mystery.

A block to the west of the hill house, the main road drops straight down into the outskirts of Elmira. Opening off the road to the left like a series of steps are short, level sidestreets upon which I often run late at night. In the beginning the running helped me physically handle my grief over Jane’s passing; I cried often as I ran, and tried to comprehend where she is now. I’m a natural runner, but had been unable to do more than a little jogging in recent years because of the pressures of work and of taking care of Jane as she became more and more ill. After her death I could run nightly if I chose to. I find that activity still secret and evocative. The streets are lined with trees arching up to meet overhead; periodically those intersecting patterns of leaves and branches are punctuated by bursts of light from the streetlamps. At certain times the moon follows me along in its phases. The only sounds might be the wind in the treetops and the chug-chug of my shoes on the asphalt. A dog may bark in the distance. When I do it right I float effortlessly along. And amid my tears I finally permitted the obvious to become obvious to me. The following is revised from my entry in my grief notebook.

(But first this note, In Appendix 19 for Volume 2 of “Unknown” Reality, I offer material from Jane and from Seth about that atonal, very distant-sounding Seth Two. I quote myself as writing that “Seth Two exists in relation to Seth in somewhat the same manner that Seth does to Jane, although that analogy shouldn’t be carried very far.”)

[...] In the same manner, the ears hear sounds that are distant from the body. In fact, the ears ordinarily hear sounds from outside the body more readily than sounds inside the body itself. Since the ears are connected to the body and part of it, it would be logical for an open-minded observer to suppose that the ears would be well attuned to the inner sounds to a high degree. [...]

The ears can be trained to some degree into a sound-awareness pertaining to the body itself. [...] But, as a rule, the ears neither listen to nor hear the inner sounds of the body.

[...] “She sounded well-meaning, but not too bright. [...]

[...] As the senses of sight, sound and smell appear to reach outward, bringing data to the body from an outside observable camouflage pattern, so the inside senses seem to extend far inward, bringing inner reality data to the body. [...]

The quality called light on this plane could just as well appear as sound in another; and for that matter, even on this plane, light can be changed into sound, and sound into light. [...]

That is why it is possible for some human beings to experience sound as color or to see color as sound. [...] Light would never be heard, for example, and sound would never be seen.

[...] For another, I refuse to sound like a hoarse horse. [...]

[...] Now, perhaps, you will understand why I said earlier that sound can be seen and color can be heard. [...]

“It sounds too melodramatic,” I said. [...] And Malba didn’t sound terribly bright; at least Seth is intelligent and knows what he’s talking about. [...]

Deep is the sleep
Of the moss and the pebble.
Long is the trance
Of the grass and the meadow.
Footfalls come and footfalls pass,
But no sounds can break
That green-eyed trance.

[...] You know, now, that all form has consciousness, and so there was no point at which self-consciousness entered with the sound of trumpets, so to speak. [...]

[...] But if it’s true, then we’re really involved in something with fantastic potential … highly unique in a way … and that sounds too egotistical. [...]

[...] We were to discover that the dream universe was far more valid than we had ever supposed, but what Seth said then sounded like nothing we had ever read or heard before.

[...] You felt sound. But, because you did not hear sound with your ears, you panicked and formed the image of mouths that could not speak. [...]

[...] You should, in the future, be able to achieve the counterparts of sight, sound, smell and touch, embellished by inner counterparts of width and existence, using the inner senses. [...]

[...] Seth called it ‘feeling sound’ in a recent session.

[...] I hoped the feeling would somehow turn into sound or images, but it didn’t. At least I felt that I hadn’t slammed any ‘interior door’ shut.

[...] A woman’s slumber is, after all, a private and sacred thing. Seth said this with a dry sense of humor, then added, See how prim that last sentence would sound without the lively inflection I managed to give to Ruburt’s voice? [...]

[...] The data that I give is not actually sound on my part. [...]

Then strange dull sounds; commotion. [...]