“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

(4:43. “The right leg doesn’t want to go back the way it was,” she said, as it moved outward again. “Part of me is exhausted and part wants to keep going forever.”

(4:45. The supper tray came. “It feels so funny beneath my shoulder blades,” Jane said as she freely moved both shoulders. She rested a bit, refused water, then took it before I turned her on her left side. She had had an extensive workout, one that had touched responses deep within her, and that gave me great hope also. I felt that she’d passed another milestone on her way to recovery, and was delighted with that.

(3:30. Jane suggested she could have a session, then would try for some exercises. Earlier in the afternoon I’d described my very vivid dream of last night, and asked that Seth comment on it if he came through: I’d found myself in a large studio, painting like mad on large canvases. Like Rembrandt had, I was painting portraits and full-figure compositions on very large canvases—even over ten feet square, say. My brush moved over the surface, modeling heads and likenesses, and ideas, with amazing facility. I reveled in my power and ability. I knew I’d attained this great freedom after years of being too cautious and inhibited. I’d broken free and was now enjoying marvelous and penetrating creativity. At last I knew what it was like to be a great painter, and I loved it. At least some of the portraits reminded me of Rembrandt’s work, in the dream.

(In the second part of the dream, I was confronting the youngish director of a funeral parlor—this after I’d made my exciting breakthrough into complete mastery and control, yet freedom, as an artist. The dark-haired young man was trying to talk me into displaying some of my smaller paintings in the room in his funeral home where guests were seated for viewings, etc. I was very skeptical. I wanted the paintings to be priced so people might buy them, but he said that wouldn’t be proper in a funeral home. I replied that his policy meant people would think the paintings were his, and not for sale. He hemmed and hawed, as they say, but finally I told him to forget the whole business. I wasn’t about to let my art be compromised for any reason.

(I told Jane now that in my younger days I’d done almost the same thing, of course, letting others take paintings for which I was never paid. I described a couple of instances we were both familiar with. The events were my own fault, of course, for I hadn’t known enough to take a firm stand and reclaim my own work. But I’d never do that again, even in this reality. I told Jane the dream had awakened strong urges in me to start painting in just that manner—and I knew that I could carry on just that way. I want to do so very badly, so I’m trusting that the way will be shown. I can sense that freedom.

(3:55 PM. “Wait a second,” Jane said, “and then you can read that to me. But before you do, there’s one spot on my neck I want you to touch.” When I did, her head suddenly began bouncing back and forth on her pillow and my hand. Then I read her the session since break.