“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

I do not really waken however but continue dreaming. I’m downtown in the same town, with this group again. One girl asks me if Chuck stayed til nine last night and I say yes. Then one girl, not of the group, is crying. I say something about poetry and she says, well you’d better talk fast because I’ve just about decided to stop writing poetry. She has light brown hair, rather dark circles under her eyes and is somewhat younger than I. I say that you can’t just decide consciously to give up writing poetry, you’d write it anyhow, though you could subconsciously make such a decision and never know about it at all. Then rather dramatically but beautifully I tell her that: “Poetry is your characteristic method of expression, your way of translating the data into physical reality and that even its rhythm is the rhythm of your heartbeat.” Tell her that she can’t give it up.

Earlier, one of the boys kissed me laughingly in front of the group and I laughed, delighted. They all seemed to look up to me in some way. Earlier too, someone asked me if my skin wasn’t brown or when it looked brown and I said in Summertime.