“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

(After supper last night Jane and I had one of our discussions that left us feeling out-of-sorts—half angry and resentful, accusatory and regretful that we hadn’t done better in the past. No need to go into details here, but it ended up with Jane asking me to get the notebook of sinful-self material. By then it was 9:00 PM, but she read a lot of it and said she was picking up some valuable insights.

(She had a very restless night and called me several times. One time, at about 4:00 AM, her legs were very restless, so she got back up in her chair. I was groggy, but asked her to tell me what she meant when she said she’d come up with some good insights from the evening before. What she explained to me in briefer form is related below. I think it’s very good material, and will prove to be very helpful. Her legs, especially the left one, had bothered her considerably, and led to her getting up. I mentioned at the time that maybe she could do some dictation this morning about her new insights, and this session is the result.

Last night, at Rob’s suggestion, I looked over my notebook of sinful-self stuff with related material, hoping of course that it might trigger some important impetus or clue that would give me insight into my own position.

But in any case she decided that I had it, and since I had already shown some evidence in my body, the next thing was how to treat it. Even discounting for the present the more tricky drugs, drugs with many side effects, quite severe sometimes, there was a drug less dangerous. Its side effect had something to do with preventing the blood from clotting so easily in the capillaries, I think. (Persantine.) The more dangerous ones, for God’s sake, turned down the body’s own defense mechanisms and immunity, an effect that really seemed absolutely senseless to me.

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.

Yet I felt that they had patterned my life and behavior for some years, culminating in the physical situation. Actually, I’d explained them very well in God of Jane. They had to do with my religious upbringing, my joy and appreciation of my creative abilities, and my fear of using them at the same time, lest they lead me astray—or lead my followers astray.

I’ll go back and work with these ideas once again, more clearly—but they still prevented me from taking that final step into a satisfying-enough acceptance of my abilities, so that each time I would reach a new impasse.

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.

(9:44.) That summer also seemed to be a time of crisis, as Rob pressed me, it certainly seemed to me, to seek medical attention. I’d gained a reprieve, but the reprieve didn’t gain positive results. As I read the notes I began to see some sense in the hospital situation. I must have gotten to the point where I thought, “Okay, if you’re afraid to trust yourself completely, and your own life, let’s take a taste of what it’s like to have no other place to turn but the world of conventional medicine and beliefs.” And my God, talk about fatal flaws! I’m not denying that such a framework has its good points, but the overall picture is really far worse than I’d imagined.

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.

Now that I took one drug, however, or rather thyroid extract, I was to some degree connected to that structure, but because I was, this did not mean I had to fall for the rest of it. I’m sure there is more coming to me intuitively, and I hope emotionally, that will give my life the impetus that I need.

I guess I feel now that anything that one can do to better the situation in the world is bound to help, where before I wanted everything completed ahead of time in some fashion. So I do feel a new kind of inner motion, and of course I’m grateful to Rob for writing these notes down for me.