“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

(No session was held yesterday. I didn’t get to 330 until after 2:00 PM because I had a dental appointment; and from then on we were so busy the time passed like a breeze. I would like to summarize yesterday’s events, though, because they contain some extremely important points that we don’t want to lose track of.

(3:40—3:48 yesterday: staff took Jane’s vitals, and a lady from housekeeping changed the curtains in 330 to much heavier and darker ones, trying to cut down the light that bothers Jane’s eyes even when the curtains are closed. I was afraid the new ones, a dark bluish color, would make the room too gloomy.

(After getting her drops at 4:15, Jane began a series of movements with her head and shoulders, her left leg, then ended up moving her torso from side to side. Noises, grunts and groans. Left leg pulling up at the hip so it was free of the pillow beneath it.

(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.”

(4:35. Jane asked for water, but her left arm began rotating so fast she couldn’t drink. Then the left arm went around and around. “That’s the most I’ve moved everything all in one day.” she said, and it was true.

(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.

(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.

(The lunch tray was there and Jane ate very well; she’s doing much better with the teeth. Georgia came in and set up the portable fan on the desk; this breeze helped a lot. Even I was warm.

(Georgia also told us, with Patty, that they’d just heard that the administration of the hospital had decided to close down the section room 330 is in, because “they’d just realized that Surgical 3 is short of staff.” A lot of patients will be going home over the holidays, Georgia said, and those remaining, like Jane, would be moved elsewhere. I thought the talk was only talk. I knew we wouldn’t consent to going back to rehab. Georgia said she was going to protest the decision to nursing service, downstairs.

(2:25. After having a cigarette after lunch, Jane started reading the session for November 20, since I hadn’t typed up any notes yet for yesterday’s events. She was disappointed at this, since she knew yesterday’s events had been significant, and she wanted to read about them. Jane has read the session before, of course, but she read it once more and did very well indeed, as good as she had the first time, saying the type was very clear and bright at times. Her reading has been consistently far better than it used to be, even when she has a comparatively rough time with it.

(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.

(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.

There was some disorientation on Ruburt’s part because of the unaccustomed motion, but he handled that well. (The crying.) His arms also showed additional freedom—and in many instances portions of his body moved with the same kind of ease that you experienced in your dream of last evening, as you painted the large portraits—

(4:22. Jane lay so quietly that I thought she’d fallen asleep—but no, she said, she was just moving inside very quietly.

(4:26. Gentle motions of head and shoulders. I had the fan on, the curtains pulled back and the windows open so we could hear the sounds of traffic below. The sound was rather pleasant, and Jane liked it.