“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

(Yesterday I finally remembered to tell Jane about another vivid dream I’d had last week. In this one I’d moved into an apartment down on West Water near the downtown section. I saw a nice big studio-type room, quite bare with polished wood. But when I looked outside, I saw a rundown row of apartments next door, and in the first doorway stood a young mother in ragged clothing, with several ragged children sitting on the steps, staring at me. No noise was involved. I’d connected those people with old beliefs.

(After lunch, and I’d done a little mail, Jane and I exchanged some of our gifts for each other. I gave her the hair barrettes, combs and other accoutrements, which I was pleased to see she liked, and she gave me a vest which Debbie had picked up for her, and an umbrella which Margaret Bumbalo had picked up for her. Unfortunately, the vest was too tight to button, and the umbrella couldn’t be properly folded up, once opened, for storage; I finally figured why after fussing with it for half an hour, and after a bit of a struggle I got it collapsed and tied so it couldn’t open up. Jane was irritated by then, and I’d almost forgotten how I’d laughed when I first opened up the package. A nice idea, and I could have used such a shelter last week, all right.

(And I’ll see you on Christmas Day, and we’ll exchange whatever gifts we have left. That will be nice, Sweetheart, but the real things I’m grateful for can’t be put into words. I’m grateful that we’re still together, and functioning, and all of the things we do that that statement implies. It’s a lot more than I thought I’d have to look forward to this season. And I’m surely more than grateful that we have so much more to look forward to—that many years yet lie ahead if us, of creativity and freedoms of kinds that now we probably only can consciously dream about. 1984 will be a good year, Jane, never forget that. Good night.)