“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

I think it was that late morning that Margaret, our neighbor, dropped in late morning to tell us she and Joe would be heading for their cottage, but somewhere I got it in my head that it would be one of those summer weekends when people prowled around—found excuses to go to malls or visit strange towns or just wander the streets or through public buildings—or visit here, if there were any fans in the nearby locality.

I hemmed and hawed, decided after talking with Rob that I really didn’t want to do any shows at all, so I wrote one letter so informing Prentice. In the meantime I was impatiently waiting Frank Longwell who promised the Tuesday earlier that he’d be here before Sunday with the final plans for extending the living room. He never came.

“Hello,” I said when he came to the phone, and his voice was dull and flat, full of self pity; he was sure I wouldn’t see him. And instead of rousing sympathy in me his downcast mood had the opposite effect; I don’t care if you came from Timbuktu by refugee ship, I thought. His call reminded me finally of his letter and my response that I wouldn’t be able to see him during his trip. I said some usual polite things in a usual polite voice and that was that. The next day I learned from Peg that he’d come by bus, had to stay the night, didn’t have much money—his reality, I reminded myself firmly, not mine. Still, vaguely uneasy I called off a half-planned evening of company with friends—luckily before I’d actually invited them, and we had a Seth session instead, still another in an effort to get me out of my own physical problems. This one was at Rob’s suggestion.

Sunday AM it was nearly raining. Rob fixed my hair. Still no Frank Longwell, but that afternoon I suddenly wrote one poem and began another that fascinated me. Was it somehow already translated Sumari? Connected with the Speakers Manuscript, maybe with some other material I’d been getting lately? And I kept scribbling The Pleasure Principle in my small notebook. What did that mean? In the bedroom for a nap I did another verse of the poem and suddenly understood that physically I’d gotten in the habit of identifying myself with pain instead of pleasure. So obvious once I realized it, but the insight made several issues clear at once.