“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

(This morning I quit painting at 11 AM to go to the bank and the stationery store. When I got home at 11:45 I washed several windows at Jane’s request; they certainly needed it. As I finished the job I felt the onset of another “attack” of chest discomfort; it lasted throughout the afternoon, and was most uncomfortable. The same old panicky feelings. I was very upset and angry with myself. The pendulum told me my situation was related to the fact that I stopped painting early, the windows, my worries about Jane, my age—the whole bit, in other words, so that I ended up thinking I’d accomplished precious little over the years. Certainly my learning was deficient, I thought. I simply wanted to help Jane, live quietly, and paint with some kind of passion I’d always envisioned but never achieved. So why all the other hash in life, I wondered? All of those other things seemed to get in the way of the few things I really wanted to do, including writing. With the writing I sought to make sense of everything at least intellectually, but for the moment at least, I thought, this left untouched what seemed to be the more powerful emotional tangle of beliefs.

(Jane said she’d have a session for me after supper. I replied that it didn’t seem to matter. I was still uncomfortable at session time, still wondering whether my feelings were physical or emotionally based, though somewhat better too. At nap time I’d had a very vivid dream in which I was driving a new blue pickup truck down a hill. I had an accident of some sort that left the truck half hanging off the road over a steep drop to the valley below; I had a view of this from below. No one else was involved in the accident, though, and the truck did stay on the road. As it happened I woke up with a start, feeling at first what I thought was a spasm in my chest, but quickly realized it was a part of my dream reaction. Mixed in here somehow were thoughts I’d been entertaining today about glazing the underpainting for a head I’d done in green a couple of weeks ago. I’d wanted to work on it this morning but had postponed doing so until tomorrow, so I could quit painting early this morning. Strangely, the spasm episode in the dream involved the color effects I knew I’d get when I glazed the painting: I was vividly aware of the texture of the underpainting as the green color was altered into flesh color by the overlay of warm flesh colors in oil.

(Jane was once more very relaxed as session time approached. “You’ll be lucky to get a session out of me,” she laughed, but at the same time she felt Seth around. Then whispering:)

With that in mind, Leonard’s problem upset you not only because he was and is a friend. You did not get that upset over Bill Gallagher. Leonard lives alone, however, and though he has brothers and sisters, you thought of him as alone. The situation triggered many fears, about you and Ruburt being alone, your age, the age of your brothers, who would come to your aid, or Ruburt’s. If necessary, Leonard at least had a knowledge of the medical world, while you and Ruburt do not. The connection between Leonard working at the school, and Loren—all that was in the background. One event or another would serve to connect all of those issues. This noon, for example, after going downtown, leaving your painting, you found that Ruburt wanted a few more windows done, and the innocent window became a symbol, combining the idea of chores with your fear: if anything happened to you, who would do the chores for Ruburt?

Men have always grown old—and women too (amused)—but they often displayed far greater wisdom, health, and even vitality in old age because it was expected of them, and because they expected it of themselves. It is a matter of understanding the process—not of blaming yourself for reactions you do not approve of.

Your dream also was a picture of your fears. Returning yourself to the present moment, and responding only to what is within your present environment, returns your body to a state of stability, where it is not crowded by imaginary fears of the future.

(10:00 PM. Jane’s pace had been fast and steady. I think she’s done a remarkable job of keeping her own equilibrium during my own troubles with the “Leonard affair.” She agreed. I was still upset with myself, however. The business involving Leonard is the only major event that’s penetrated my own attempts to concentrate in the moment, since I embarked upon that endeavor some weeks ago. I’d thought I was doing fairly well there, but evidently Leonard represents a host of old fears that rose up en masse when triggered, and caught me unprepared. But my learning seems terribly slow and ineffectual.)