“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

(The night had been very cold, and the temperature still was only 12 degrees above when I got to 330 this afternoon. Jane was okay. She’d gone to hydro this morning, and had her catheter changed at about 11:00 when it wouldn’t irrigate any more. I told her she’d received at the house a big vase of iris-like flowers from Larry Allen Hummer. I hadn’t received any calls from Pete or anybody else, which I hardly expected anyhow. Probably no action on business affairs until after the holidays, which suits me fine.

Ruburt’s dream of last evening, and your own, both draw excellent probabilities into the realm of physical actuality.

(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.)