“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

(It came about because of several factors I’ll try to list in at least rough chronological order. The first of these would be Jane’s nearly extreme physical changes over the past few months, her ups and downs as far as mobility, feelings, aches, restless sleep, etc., are concerned. Seth has said again and again that these changes represent improvements growing out of our better understanding of our beliefs, our artistic/creative work, and indeed our whole life-style. We have tried to go along with his pronouncements, but also have felt numerous misgivings, as may be quite natural.

(As soon as I reread her paper the evening before last, I was reminded of the two excerpts I’d copied from recent deleted sessions—those for January 26 and 28, 1981. In them Seth briefly explained how Jane had created her symptoms as protection against the spontaneous self going too far: this fear was the real reason for the symptoms—not, as we usually thought, her fear that she would do other things besides work if she had normal mobility. The latter idea is a cover-up for the previous one. To Jane, going too far means that she would find herself in an unsafe position in the world. And to me, as I began to put all of this together, it meant that although she did the Seth books, which we think so highly of, she also drags her feet in resistance with each one—hence the long intervals of non-work that crop up during the production of each one. Again, without checking, I think that an examination of our records would show that her symptoms flared up, indeed worsened, as she worked on each Seth book, and that behind her labors on each book there lay this fear that she was going too far with each one she produced. This fear may be based on outmoded ideas—as Seth has mentioned at various times—it may make no sense, or whatever, yet as long as it exists it must be dealt with. This present session represents, then, our latest attempt to come to terms with all of our personal, public, and creative aspects involved with the Seth material—not just those we’d chosen to deal with in past years.

(This noon after lunch, then—on the 4th—Jane and I had a discussion about the ideas mentioned above. My latest efforts to cope with our challenges involve her letting go of Seth’s latest books. Dreams, for some time. That is, we can work on it if we want to, but with no thought of deadlines or signing a contract, which would commit Jane to additional public exposure. The idea is that she’ll be free to do what she wants with the Seth material, for as long as she wants to, without our adding fuel to her fears until we’ve had a chance to work things through. I told her I was sure I was on the right track here, without knowing positively that I was, and without having pat answers that would solve all of our hassles.

(Putting off Dreams, it seemed to me, was a necessity at the moment because I now believed that the long interlude in her dictation was, again, a clear sign of resistance to the project on Jane’s part. The idea is an attempt to at least call a halt to something that she has resisted from the start, or so it seems in retrospect—and I mean the start of the sessions, not just Dreams. I reminded her that I was the one who first suggested we start publishing the Seth material, and that she’d had reservations about doing that. It seemed to me now that a clear course of hanging back had been displayed by Jane all though our psychic endeavors, and that it could be easily charted if we took the time to do so. I said that she would have probably used her psychic gifts in some fashion in her writing, but that the Seth books might very well have not come into existence except for my own interest—hence my mental insight this morning that Jane did the Seth books to please me. I know things aren’t that simple, but I do feel that the fact of public exposure represented by the Seth books has always bothered Jane. And currently she has been bothered more than ever, as she has described in her December 27, 1980 paper. This upset includes her work on her own latest, The God of Jane.

(Like class, Jane has often been threatened by the mail, only more overtly, as well as by personal visitors who sought us out. Another example of this occurred at noon, when we were visited by two beautiful young ladies—who, unfortunately, were using the Seth material in ways we wouldn’t have. All such incidents, I told Jane, reinforce individual actions on the part of readers that would be quite rejected by the establishment: further signs of how far outside accepted thought Jane has found herself over the years. I explained here that I thought this has always bothered her deeply. No reviews in accepted journals, no welcome in the universities by academia, as she herself wrote in God of Jane. And of course the whole lengthy disclaimer bit for Mass Events beautifully sums up the situations: Even our own publisher seeks to protect itself from possible legal action because of the material within the Seth books. Jane sees this as a threat, although she doesn’t say much about it. And I for one wonder about disclaimers for future books—or even having them added to past works.

(Even today’s mail, which we read after finishing our discussion, contained several beautiful examples of points I’ve described above. This brought up another matter—our being confronted with the work we have published, as well as by Mass Events and God of Jane. No way to get away from those fifteen books of the past, I said, so to that extent we have to live with the results they engender. I too wondered about dispensing with answering the mail, while being very reluctant to do so, since many of the letters are openly laudatory, and we save them for reference [although we haven’t actually used any for such purposes]. But therein lies trouble, too, I said, because they would reflect Jane’s concern about public exposure, her fears about leading people astray.

(Putting off the publication of Dreams, then, is only a ploy to gain some time to defuse the present situation, while Jane’s body struggles to right itself as much as possible. We do believe Seth’s assessment, to the effect that her body is righting itself in numerous areas after years of disuse, of being held down, but at the same time it’s very difficult not to have qualms and doubts about what’s happening at the same time. At Christmastime I discussed with Jane the idea of seeking medical help, and asked her to tell me what she thought of this idea later, but she has yet to bring up the subject. I knew she’s not in favor of it, but as I said at the time, this seemed to mean that she was indulging the idea of spending the balance of her life sitting down —quite immobile for all practical purposes. I’d told her at the time that I had no great hope that medicine could help much, but still I wondered often enough if the medical profession might be able to offer some sort of help. I didn’t want Jane to get so bad that she was forced to turn to doctors, before at least considering outside help. At times I feared something like this would happen if she wasn’t able to “pull out” of her symptoms on her own—that is, with her own, Seth’s, and my help.

(I also learned during the discussion that Jane didn’t like the Seth book material being tied too closely to current events, as witness Mass Events and Jonestown and Three Mile Island. She reminded me also that even the title of Mass Events, when Seth had given it, had alarmed her, or at least aroused some sort of defensive mechanism in her—something I’d forgotten. On the other hand, I’d taken it for granted that the way Seth had used current events in Mass Events had been quite natural and extremely informative, offering a much broader view of human affairs. This little dilemma also pointed up some of Jane’s other reactions to remarks I would make, innocently enough, I thought, to the effect that Seth could do a great book on any number of current events—the latest being the whole hostage question. She hadn’t really been in favor of such endeavors, then, even when she discussed them with me.

(Nor, I might add, had I ever pressed her to do books with Seth on current events. It’s clear now that she would see such efforts as leaving her too open to public attack. The same goes for appearances on TV—as note our recent involvement with the ABC news offer—and, probably, on radio. In short, then, it seems that any overtures she may choose to make about encountering public reaction to her abilities will —and should be—of her own choosing. Perhaps if she attains a sense of inner peace and protection she will come to naturally make such choices; doing which will encourage her feeling of personal freedom and safety instead of threatening it.

(I’ve taken the time to write the above notes as much as for a reminder to myself as for anything else, and to start off this session as something special. I did not know whether Jane would have a session or not—yet I was still somewhat surprised when she did offer to hold one tonight. Once again, she’d been “so far out of it,” sitting on the couch and watching TV, that I’d given up on hearing Seth comment upon our latest ideas. Jane had been “out of it” for most of the day, except during our talk, which lasted over an hour. I must admit that at this time I’m pretty well puzzled as how to best help her. She was still very uncomfortable each day as bodily changes swept through her. Her backside and legs in particular have bothered her recently. Yet last night it had been her arms and elbows—I’d say that during the night she’d wake me up over a dozen times crying in her sleep at the discomfort in her arms. This morning I discovered that the knots of muscle beneath her left elbow had almost disappeared—an effect I’d never seen before. Instead the elbow was full of fluid. Was this the latest attempt by the body to heal itself by flooding afflicted areas with soothing liquid, say as lubrication, or what?

There is some difference, of course, in Ruburt’s mind between his attitude toward his books and mine. To some extent this is more than understandable. He would (pause), had I not emerged, written books of his own in any case. He would have encountered no unusual obstacles as far as his public stance was concerned, in that he would have felt the rather characteristic dilemma of some creative writers, who must assimilate the private and public portions of their experiences. He would have had no unusual difficulty, however, in say, standing up for his own ideas—holding his own, so to speak, in any arguments or philosophies.

He would have been in that case operating himself within the recognizable framework of psychological identity, being himself within the context of personality structure as it would be defined by all. He feels quite competent with his own books. They begin by giving some verbal tribute to old definitions, and then take off from there, having firmly established the fact that he is more or less in the same kettle of fish. In that regard there is little ambiguity.

If I were only—only—a portion of Ruburt’s larger psyche, then I would be the portion that knows what it knows: the portion that is concerned with spontaneous knowledge.

(Long pause at 9:27.) Give us a moment.... There are few people in such a position. He is not cowardly in that regard (as Jane had speculated during our discussion). He was, in fact, quite daring in refusing to accept the conventional spirit-guide dogma—which would at least have given him a kind of psychological covering (all emphatically.

(Pause.) He is appalled with the way that many people interpret my material. Sometimes it seems he would prefer even a smaller but more select group of readers (with amusement)—readers who were tops in their fields, or who in one fashion or another earned his respect. The point is that our books reach all kinds of readers in all walks of life. That is because all kinds of people are innately acquainted with the nature of self-evident knowledge.

(9:40.) In that regard he felt that he was violating an important cultural taboo, and embarked upon a program that would necessitate caution, self-protection, and a certain detachment. He was determined to go ahead, because his own value fulfillment sought those directions—such was his nature. My published works, however, presented him with what he felt to be a public stance in a different fashion than his own would (louder). My books automatically seemed to suggest a framework of reference to which few others could have access.

Again, definitions of personality are important here. Ruburt could read poetry without first having to define the nature of a poet. He could meet any criticisms with suitable explanations, since any audience was not about to question the poet’s psychological validity. Any arguments would take place within an implied framework of definitions.

Before even hearing the poetry no such audience, Ruburt felt, would question the fact of poetry itself—its techniques, traditions or value. My books, however, by their very existence appear in a world that largely does not concern itself with anything but the most surface elements of psychological reality. (Long pause.) The matter of duplicity almost immediately arises. Ruburt feels the existence of innumerable barriers in that regard—having, he feels, to fend with the questions that ensue.

(Pause.) I must be, as Seth, true or false, fiction or nonfiction, personality essence—spirit, if you prefer—or Ruburt’s own psyche in definitions usually accepted, playing at best a dubious role. And to a large degree those questions would be there even if our material quite agreed with the established knowledge of your world—but it does not. It contradicts much of the world’s knowledge.

If Ruburt wants to disagree with the world’s knowledge, he feels that it is his right—and again, would defend such ideas forthrightly. They would be based upon experiences that are his own—many that you have shared as a result of your own personal experiences together. But Ruburt is not aware of my subjective experience. My self-evident knowledge comes even if I were no more, again, than a part of his larger psyche, from reaches that would be inaccessible in those terms to him (all emphatically). That is, in those terms I would be delivering self-evident knowledge to him, revealing it (long pause), delivering it. I could not hand over the psychological quality of self-evident knowing, however. In that regard he does not have the same kind of inner experience with which to back up my words.

(I told her the session was excellent, as I’d known it would be. “Yes.” she said. “I had the feeling that he was going to get into deeper stuff.” All through the session she’d sat stiffly upright in her chair; hardly relaxed. I urged her now to get back on the couch. “I wish I’d done the dishes,” she said. There was a day’s accumulation of them in the sink. The bitter wind banged the metal awnings outside; the local forecast was for a temperature of zero degrees to five/ten below. I told Jane I’d do the dishes—and read the session to her from my notes tomorrow morning after breakfast.

(After this session was held we briefly talked about things we might do in order to ensure privacy, should we decide to be more active in the pursuit of that quality. There would be moving to a new location, perhaps, or doing something about the mail—answering labors each week. I suppose we might use the post office’s impending rate increases as an excuse to save on postage, and either cut way down on, or eliminate, answering the mail, if this will help. I’m willing to do most anything, but our ideas here as yet are very vague, and I haven’t discussed with Jane yet whether she thinks a move would do any good, really.

(That topic ties in with my idea that I mentioned to her this afternoon, about it hardly being a coincidence that many events in our lives are coming to a head at the same time: Our deep upset about Jane’s condition; the trouble with the disclaimer idea for Mass Events; Prentice-Hall’s reorganization into the General Publishing Division, in which all of their narrative books will be phased out, thus eliminating any real need for Tam and his job; indeed, Tam is looking at other job offers even now. [It’s been my position for some time now that Tam will end up leaving Prentice-Hall, or will be let go.] If and when he does go, we will be without our friend there, and will have to make decisions based on that departure. But we may be in the process of making such decisions even now, I suspect. I doubt if we would follow Tam helter-skelter to another publishing house if he left Prentice-Hall tomorrow—especially in light of our decision to hold off on Dreams. And the irony of the situation is that, even though we detest the idea of the disclaimer for Mass Events, we see it as another means of protection in the public arena....

(I doubt if finances are a problem, incidentally, as I explained to Jane. We have two books coming out this year; when they earn back their advances there will be income from them. Many of Jane’s other books also produce a yearly royalty income in the meantime. She may do other books than on matters psychic, and these will earn money also. If our income dropped because we committed ourselves to no new books, the royalty and the interest on our savings would be much more than adequate to live on, for then state and federal taxes would melt away. Financially, then, now is an ideal time to experiment with any changes we may want to put into effect. Jane’s poetry book is due in 1981; she’s started a “Seven.”