“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

(Jane held no session yesterday, December 5, but I’d like to note a couple of items. Jane had to have her catheter changed three times while I was there yesterday. Obviously, it didn’t work right the first two times—just before lunch at about 1:50, then after lunch at about 2:30. Jane ate well in between all the action. though. The last effort was made at 4:35, and succeeded without much effort, by LuAnn and Lorrie.

(“If you can do that,” I said when we were alone, “it seems like all restrictions are off”—meaning that she should continue to improve.

(Tuesday. Last night I had a very interesting, and at the same time almost a bothersome dream: I dreamed that while I was with Margaret and Joe Bumbalo and their son John, I discovered I was a latent homosexual. I don’t know how I found out. Margaret said something to me like, “There now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” as all of us sat on a swing on their front porch. In the dream also were an Oriental-looking mother, not too old, with a nice-looking daughter who had beautiful slanting eyes and a very quiet demeanor. It was the kind of dream one returns to several times, and I assume I’ve forgotten portions of it. When I got up at 6:15, with the dream still on my mind, I thought at first that it might have reincarnational overtones, yet I didn’t really think so.

(I described the dream to Jane before she had lunch, and asked that Seth comment if she had a session. For some reason I couldn’t pin down an interpretation. I told Jane the dream contained no sexual acts at all. I also thought it might involve John, who is around 40 and unmarried.

(The day was warmer—40 degrees—but very damp, and ended up raining heavily by the time I left for home. Room 330, however, was cold all afternoon, even after the heating man tinkered with the thermostat. For most of the afternoon Jane consented to having the cloth from Switzerland thrown over her.

(At intervals all afternoon we could hear, even with the door to 330 shut, a woman called Louise call out endlessly, “Help me, help me, help me, help me, help me....” Over and over. I found her cries both fascinating and distracting, as I wondered what kind of mental mechanisms were responsible for her behavior. We’d heard yesterday that she was bothering many people on the floor. The voice seemed at times to be merely an automatic, unaware reaction to whatever obscure mental processes were going on within her mind or brain—vocal signals broadcast out into the world, perhaps without meaning to others but probably of significance to their originator on certain levels. I should have asked Seth to comment.