“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

(4:20. More flexing of that leg—I could see the muscles in it moving clear up to the hips. By now Jane was starting to utter cries and to breathe quite heavily as she moved. I think the cries were a mixture of frustration, tears, discomfort and anticipation. The left leg moved, particularly at the hip, again. “My body wants to do it so bad.” Now her right leg began moving more sideways to the right. Jane cried again. “That’s the first time I’ve done that. I don’t know what to do with it, it feels funny.” No doubt about it, good things were taking place, new things that had her upset and anticipatory at the same time. Her face was often screwed up into a knot.

(4:26. Now her left leg started moving sideways at a rapid pace. All of the time she was half-crying and breathing hard. She groaned and cried and lifted up her left leg again. Crying, she moved her head and shoulders against the pillow, back and forth. “Oh, my God, that’s the most I’ve done with them yet,” she said, meaning her legs. “Now the right one has pulled away from leaning against the left one. I don’t want to do any more.”

(Now today, Tuesday, November 22, I got to 330 at 1:05 PM. The day was very warm—almost 65 degrees—and sunny, the room was hot with the curtains closed, although both windows were open and the fan was on in the air conditioner/register.

(2:40. While Jane was having a cigarette, Georgia came in to tell us the projected closing of Surgical 3 was now off. Georgia had indeed complained to nursing service, and in turn they had agreed to cancel the idea. No one else had been in favor of it, either. “I told them I’d refuse to be a floater,” Georgia said, meaning she didn’t want to be constantly shifted around. “Another rumor bit the dust,” I said, joking, but we were relieved.

(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.

(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.

Now: I bid you a fond good afternoon.

Now: your own complete freedom as you painted the large portraits represents your own native ability, unimpeded by doubts or by false beliefs.

(4:10. After getting her eye drops from Lorrie, Jane’s left leg started moving, her foot rotating up in the air a couple of inches. “The impetus comes all the way up into the thigh now,” Jane said, and I could see the thigh muscles moving, tensing and relaxing. Her motions were subdued compared to those of yesterday, though.

(4:13. “My right leg is doing it now,” she exclaimed, and I saw it move outward a little. Gentle groans.