“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

(I finished last night’s session at 11:00 AM, filed the carbons, etc., and called Jane at about 11:15, thinking that I’d get to spend half an hour in the yard before lunch. [I’d begun to mow the grass.] Jane was waking—but she was in a surprisingly uncomfortable, “sore” state involving her legs and hips. Much more than usual, she said, breathing heavily through her mouth and half-crying at the same time. It was clear something had happened: Jane said her legs were more relaxed than they’d been in years—but at the same time they were so sore she was appalled. I massaged them, and she said that action felt great but at the same time almost unendurable, so I soon stopped. I got her in her chair and out to the living room table.

(She was still half-crying with pain and upset, but told me to go out at 11:45. At the same time she said she knew the unusually intense feelings were good ones, say, as opposed to a worsening of her situation.

(I mowed some grass and filled a coffee container with forsythia I clipped from our bush on our southeast corner of the lot. Jane loved it, but almost broke down crying as I came in at noon. She asked me to get my notebook. She hadn’t read last night’s session yet, by the way. She began speaking, or dictating, to me in her own voice—not Seth’s, for instance—but it was wavering, choked with tears. Her head was bent over, her eyes closed often so that I was afraid she’d bump into her glass of Coke, and perhaps knock it over.

The weirdest thing, I thought quite emotionally afterward while you were out, while my ass still stung—it even does now—but I personify myself, I guess. Or maybe just that withheld anguish, out of all things, is real (almost crying).

The name simply seemed to stand for all of man’s agonizing reach for greatness, and yet for the anguish that always seemed to separate himself. But in any case I felt like a divided Israel, crying out for the people to come together in peace. And what it meant was that Israel itself was a simile for the individual —that is, one person—who was (long pause) composed of so many fantasies and dreams and prophecies and hopes and angers and fears.