“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

That is, the dream was giving you an example of one of the main characteristics of what we will call the magical approach. Ruburt did not stress this in his interpretation, which was otherwise excellent.

(9:48.) A prime example, of course, is the “work” done to keep each and every creature alive and breathing, the “work” done to keep the planets in their places, the “work” being done so that one evolutionist can meditate over his theories.

Now in your dream you got the feeling of that kind of work, or action. It is the given power of the world, the given power of nature. It is the directed force of value fulfillment.² In other terms it is of course the energy of All That Is. The trouble is that the rational view of life has separated man from a sense of his own power source. When he has a problem, the rational approach to its solution seems the only answer, and often, of course, it is no answer at all.

This will allow you to include the feeling of inner, magical “work” into your calculations. It would also begin (underlined) to give you a feeling for the magical support that upholds you both, and your lives — the support that Ruburt can count upon, and that can bring about the solution to his physical difficulties. Here, again, the vital word is ease or effortlessness. If you want to (long pause) feed a dog in the physical world — and he is on the other side of the door — you must open it. In the inner world you or the dog can walk through the door without effort, because desire is action. Desire is action.

Of course, an entire reorientation (with emphasis) is instead implied, and that entire reorientation will effortlessly bring about a new relationship of Ruburt with his body, with his life, and with the adventure the two of you have embarked upon. He will simply automatically get better, because the framework will allow him to do so.

You would both feel better in it if it showed more of your other interests. For Ruburt, some books or bookcases. It is a room that shows no evidence of his work, you see. It should hold some of your current paintings — but in some way it should be tied in with your lives more.

Ideally, a new bed would be advantageous, both physically and symbolically. Relaxation — laying down, for example — would be far more easily assimilated on Ruburt’s part, also, if a cot or equivalent — a daybed or whatever — were a part of his writing room, or in the breezeway.

You enjoy the living room for a nap because of its sensual reaches. Your metabolisms are different, quite naturally, and under the usual situations, given your lunch hour, Ruburt needs a good meal, sometimes certainly between five and six at the latest. Otherwise he experiences a natural physical irritation that is complicated then by other issues. You need your painting time, as you have discovered. He enjoys the twilight hour in his writing room, and though the seasons have something to do with that, still it is a good idea when possible. Your own reassurances are very helpful — and remember that they operate on other than physical terms.

“I dreamed that I was in the kitchen of the hill house, in Elmira, crouched down just inside the room’s glass storm door, which was closed. The kitchen’s inside wooden door was wide open, just to my left. Gus, the friendly old Shetland sheepdog who belonged to our neighbors across the street, came up to the storm door, looking for the handful of dry food I give him each morning when I scatter birdseed in the driveway. Gus was on the other side of the door, on the screened-in back porch, as he should be — only then I saw to my amazement that he was starting to walk through the glass panel in his eagerness to get to the food. I felt his head pushing effortlessly through the glass, and exclaimed about this to Jane, who sat at her usual place at the breakfast table just in back of me. I was really surprised. I had my hands on Gus’s head as he sought to enter the kitchen through the glass.

“I gently pushed against Gus’s head, and he began to back out through the glass. With a sudden inspiration I kept my hands on his head until they went through the glass with him as he withdrew. Then, in order to obtain some physical proof that this was really happening, with my right hand I began to ‘carve’ a squarish hole a few inches across in the glass where Gus’s head had been. I made the opening as the glass began to ‘congeal’. The hole’s sides were smoothly rounded and posed no problem as far as sharp edges went. And I ended up with the proof I wanted — an irregular hole that I had formed in the glass with my fingers. The dream glass was about one-quarter-inch thick — double, say, its ‘real’ thickness.

“The Navy man never came through the door like Gus had, though, nor did he speak to me or move. He simply stood at attention on the porch, symbolizing I don’t know what. He was an officer of considerable rank, with a number of stripes on his cuffs. Perhaps the equivalent of an army colonel.

Jane did such a fine job interpreting the dream (in my estimation!) that I didn’t bug her for more details. Later, however, I wished that I’d asked her a few questions. I think she’s quite right about the naval officer being a symbol for the more conventional, or rigid, rational self. I would have liked my wife’s comments on my brother Linden being in the dream. He’s a year younger than I am, and lives with his family down in Pennsylvania. He’s become quite religiously oriented, as is his right. I think that as I joyfully talked about my magical exploration in the dream, I was telling him something like: “Hey, there’s more than one way to explore the self, to be religious!” And I think that Linden and I were in correspondence in the dream state, and that in some way he got the message. …