“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

In any case, she wanted Dr. Sobel to look me over Friday (tomorrow at 2:45 pm). Then we were to get together when the blood tests results came, to discuss treatment, even if the vasculitis showed no further appearance, she disclaimed, it very well could invisibly attack the body, affecting internal organs in the most disastrous fashion. So taking a drug to prevent such a future development seemed the better side of wisdom to her—but not to me, not to Rob. How could my body have gotten so bad again in one fucking week—or had it? My fingers had been red before, though never that blue, when I’d been typing, and the condition vanished. But all of a sudden my physical condition did seem horrendous, and I looked at her kindly concerned face, I’m sure, with appalling dismay.

(9:29.) It made good sense enough to take the artificial thyroid that my body obviously was demanding. To introduce an entirely new line of drugs, with known side effects, for a condition that could be quite transitory—if I had it —went against everything that I believed. So Dr. Kardon’s visit was behind Robby’s suggestion that I look at my own sinful-self material, and I intuitively felt that the time was probably right. I browsed through one notebook, is what it amounted to.

The material did have impact, though. Though—I could feel it again. I read almost all of it. On the topside the reasons for my position and physical condition seemed so dumb that it was hard to believe they did have that much impetus. They made less sense to Rob, who I felt found them utterly without reason.

Though I haven’t explored this idea yet at all in depth, I got a feeling that by the time I’d finished Mass Events and my God of Jane I’d come to a point of indecision and perhaps certainly some despondency because I had not resolved the issues. My concentration upon the mail had led me to consider more and more the negative aspects of man’s condition. I think it seemed that I could go no further, that I lacked whatever it was that I needed.

It’s Friday morning now as Rob writes down these notes for me. It was a week ago yesterday that the finger suddenly turned so dark—nearly black —and I realized something else: the condition with the finger had happened as I explained to Peggy Gallagher how Rob and I had trusted our lives to our intuitions in the flood of ‘72. Peggy was going to use some of the material for a newspaper anniversary article. In that case I had trusted myself—not for example taking tetanus shots, though early radio medical advice insisted upon the shots as an emergency procedure.

The medical tests along the way proved that I did not have some of those most frightening conditions. Other tests that I recall made it clear that my heart and liver and internal organs were in good shape—but Doctor Kardon had seen them newly threatened by the vasculitis, and I felt, “My God, what a merry-go-round of disastrous expectations must everywhere color the medical profession and its practitioners and patients.”