“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

(3:10. Jane began reading yesterday’s session—not too well to start, but better as she went along.

(3:40. Jane took off her glasses to wipe her eyes clean—then put them back on herself. Not easily, but she did it—another first, I believe. Using mainly her left hand.

(3:50. Jane did a few mild motions with her head and shoulders and left foot—to the same extent as she’s been doing in recent days. A couple of minutes later she said, “Every time I start to compose myself for a session my legs start moving—but I shouldn’t complain about that, should I? I guess I’ll try to start.”)

(Debbie had left at 9:00. Shortly after that Cathy and another girl came in and turned Jane on her side. The blue period started after that. Jane said she really cried out loud—calling my name out to help her get well, and so forth. This went on for some time. Cathy came in once and asked her what the trouble was. “I need to give myself a good kick in the ass,” Jane replied, and asked Cathy to turn her back on her back. The crying went on after that, too, but then, before midnight, Jane said, the period of blueness was gone. She slept well after that: “Yeah, I woke up this morning and my mood was fine—I spontaneously felt good. I decided I’d better keep track of the times I spontaneously feel good....”

(4:38. “I thought Seth would come back,” Jane said, “but it’s getting late.” I told her I was ready at any time. Resume the session at 4:45.)

I may or my not return, according to those rhythms of which I have spoken, but know that I am present and approachable.

(And Jane, now I’ll tell you that as you had a crying spell last night—so have I at various times since you went into the hospital last April. I remember that once I woke up in bed, after midnight, and burst into tears as I thought about you. The spell must have lasted for at least half an hour; it went on and on. Other times I would suddenly begin crying as I ate breakfast, or heard a familiar song on television, or sat at my typewriter working on Dreams. I always knew that these episodes were therapeutic. They began to taper off after you resumed the sessions in early October, and I haven’t had one now—not outright crying—for several weeks. But for a long time—months—I lived with tears just beneath the surface, you might say, as I wondered what was going to happen to us, why you were so sick, what we’d done wrong all those years, and so forth. I learned to live with those feelings, but it was a different kind of life than I’d ever known. For a long while I was resigned to them.