“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

(Long pause at 9:10.) The natural person is understood perhaps more clearly by considering any person as a child. In a fashion the child discovers its own intellect, as it discovers its own feelings. Feelings come “first.” The child’s feelings give rise to curiosity, to thoughts, to the operation of the intellect: “Why do I feel thus and so? Why is grass soft, and rock hard? Why does a gentle touch soothe me, while a slap hurts me?”

The feelings and sensations give rise to the questions, to the thoughts, to the intellect. The child in a fashion feels — feels — its own thoughts rise from a relative psychological invisibility into immediate, vital formation. There is a process there that you have forgotten. The child identifies with its own psychic reality first of all — then discovers its feelings, and claims those, and discovers its thoughts and intellect, and claims those (all quite intently).

The child first explores the components of its psychological environment, the inside stuff of subjective knowledge, and claims that inner territory, but the child does not identify its basic being with either its feelings or its thoughts. That is why, for example, it often seems that young children can die so easily. (Still intently): They can disentangle themselves because they have not as yet identified their basic beings with life experience. Period.

Ideally, however, children finally claim their feelings and their thoughts as their own. They identify naturally with both, finding each valid and vital. By the time you are an adult, however, you have been taught to disconnect your identity from your feelings as much as possible, and to think of your personhood in terms of your intellectual orientation. Your identity seems to be in your head. Your feelings and your mental activity therefore appear, often, quite contradictory. You try to solve all problems through the use of reasoning alone.

(Last Saturday, on the 23rd, I bought another pair of flea collars. Mitzi in the meantime had become thoroughly miserable, and I had determined that I was going to get a collar on her somehow. A friend had suggested using a towel to prevent her scratching. When I set out to do the job that afternoon, Jane suggested using catnip on the towel. After some coaxing on the back porch, I got Mitzi rolling around in the catnip on the towel, but only half succeeded in wrapping her up. I carried her squirming into the kitchen. Jane was doing the dishes. I knelt on the floor holding the cat, while Jane mentally tried to soothe her struggles — and I succeeded in getting the flea collar in place around her neck. Actually, Mitzi didn’t resist half as much as I’d feared she would. I’d thought I might totally alienate her this time if she fought too hard, but such was not the case. Jane said she’d sent Mitzi a stream of suggestions while I coaxed her into letting me put the collar on her. Everything worked well. I fed her a few times that afternoon, and succeeded in making friends okay. Mitzi hasn’t tried to get the collar off. It has a medicinal smell. Now, several days later — as I type this session on Wednesday night — she seems to feel much better.)