“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

Afternoon: A strange moment suddenly comes; we’ve just finished lunch. Frank Longwell just went out back again, to finish working; the huge yellow back-hoe moves outside the kitchen window; the air suddenly turns dark; the sun disappears; an odd cast of light covers everything; stormy, evocative. A mourning dove makes its lonely lovely sound; Frank comes in to make a phone call—ordering concrete for later today; Rob is typing in another room, the FM radio station is playing a symphony; outside my side window the green leaves shimmer in the air; and again, everything seems synchronized in its own fashion; everything separate yet together. My head has its own rustlings inside, / shoulders are relaxing; drooping; / everything seems significant—waiting—yet happening at once... my neck feels heavy; Frank comes back into the kitchen for a cool drink... I’m getting very relaxed... too relaxed to type? Something—pressure in my head maybe keeps changing—the bottoms of my feet feel woozy; they throb gently; so does my neck; my breath deepens, ears feel funny—was going to walk around the house or do some other writing but for now at least I’ll have to go along with... whatever’s happening. It feels as if there were tides in my body, rising and falling... this all continues; I feel a twinge of guilt—Rob’s typing reminds me that I was to do my three hours—but this IS writing; cataloging body-mood changes; I want to sketch the men working—eyes, sinuses, ears and neck strongly “working.” Frank comes in for a pencil; the symphony reaches a crescendo... off and on my vision is excellent—sinus drain—