“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

All right (Jane said), call me the creator, this part of me that’s talking. We’re using it to designate what I am. I’m composed of your strong drives for creativity. My purpose is to protect and direct your energies specifically in the areas of writing and painting. I’ll state what I think simply. I want this dialogue because my purposes were not being met. My efforts have obviously worked against themselves.

Strong moral ideas welded what I am together—welded the creative drives like glue. Part of me was born in Ruburt’s childhood. This part was strengthened by your own ideas of work and creativity. You became the policeman. I relied on you to see that Ruburt’s creativity was channeled and used, protected, but most of all not frittered away.

Your creative drives became a part of what I am, so that what I am includes the strength of both of your creative drives. I believe that you both must write and paint a reasonable amount of time daily. (Pause.) I was always against any jobs that would divert you as long as you were not in dire need, in which case I was willing to suspend my judgment.

I am literal-minded, in that I believe you are meant to be creators, and I have done all in my power to see that you did not swerve. I considered your position dangerous, more so as time passed. My methods however obviously are not working now, so it becomes necessary that I communicate with you.

That purpose unites you, and when you are not tuned to it completely you are unhappy or sick, one or the other. I am protective because I know that this is so. It is the purpose that gives everything else in your lives meaning. Because I am attached to Ruburt now, his ideas of course color many of mine, so his fear of the passing years developed upon your fear of them ten years ago, projected now into your future, as ten years older than he. So to me you have no right to have a job.

I considered the trip a scandal today. The vacation itself an excellent idea if half of it were devoted to work. I go along with the psychic development, as long as it adds to your work and influences it. I am suspicious of it if it prevents you from painting, because of notes, but this does not bother me when you are painting also.

I abhor hobbyists. All of what I am has been, and is, to keep you from falling off the fine line of concentrated, intensely concentrated, creative endeavor (pause), that is the purpose that drives you both.

I accept no substitutes, and in that respect I am like a jealous God. I am also somewhat like a computer gone amuck, however, if my methods do not meet my ends. I want the main energizing portion of you directed into your work, both of you. Now they have been directed toward Ruburt’s condition. The condition will vanish automatically if these ends are met. They are side effects.

You finally began to realize that I wanted you to leave the job (long pause at 9:55), but the negative attitudes that had built up attached themselves to the new projects—something I did not foresee. My power is the strength of both of your drives. (Pause for a cigarette.) I am a part of you, then, the part that always hated your job, and can scarce[ly] forgive you for keeping it so long. I understand it was necessary for a time, but all thoughts of security beyond the daily necessities mean little to me. I want you secure enough to work in peace. Outside of that I have no interest.

To me, my demands are simple. I rage when neither of you work as you should. Show me you do not need a policeman, that if I let go you will not slide away from your goals. I am a taskmaster. That is my role. I am reasonable, however. I am willing now to negotiate. In negotiating with me you negotiate with yourselves. I do not accept compromises. I do accept solid work and firm intent.

I am tired. I have done my best. I do need your understanding and cooperation now. I have worked long and hard for you; though it seems that I have been a tyrant, I have always tried to be the servant of your own abilities.

I am dismayed. I did not think Ruburt would work unless he was chained to his chair, so I chained him, both to do his own work and force you to do yours. Then you both fought me. He did not like working chained, and I tried to make the chains appear as natural as I could. He is not physically harmed to any great degree (one of the questions I wanted discussed tonight, although I never mentioned it to Jane), or maimed. I can say however that for some time I did not care if he was, if these purposes were met. I see now that they would not be, that instead all your time would be spent concentrating upon the condition that was meant as a protection, until no work was done—hence my dismay. I was not appreciated, though I did my best for you.

(Jane broke down in tears now. I held her up in her chair as she cried. I felt like crying too. The portion of her personality that had been speaking sounded hurt and defeated, and in the process of retreat. I am not trying here, now, to judge this portion—herein after called “it” for convenience—or to say that it is going to vanish forever, or release its hold overnight. We will see.

(“There must have been a fantastic charge behind it,” Jane said between yawns. “For a while there I was as light as air. Already I’m wondering now as I come out of it: am I okay now, am I free? How are my knees going to be when I try to get up?” etc.