“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

(Thanksgiving Day. The day was very warm—50 degrees—but rainy and gloomy. Nevertheless, Paul O’Neill’s son David was raking leaves as I left the house. Jane hadn’t gone to hydro this morning. She’d had two big BM’s this morning, she said. She now gets Darvoset and aspirin—nothing else—at about 3:30 AM and 6:30 AM.

(Sue Watkins visited at about 1:50, and we had a good time. Once again, Sue “is sick of Dundee.” What with the visit and our talking, Jane didn’t eat a whole lot of lunch.

(3:00. Jane began reading yesterday’s session, but didn’t do very well. Her pace was halting and hesitant at times, though at other times she would do better. She finished at 3:19, after having trouble with words and phrases. I worked with mail. The day seemed to be a quiet one for us overall, although she did say she wanted to have the session.)

(3:44 PM. I told Jane I wanted to copy off separately the paragraph I’d written on page 3 of yesterday’s session, about my efforts to visualize her at home doing various things while walking and sitting—not about how she got there. “I don’t want to lose track of it,” I said.

(The hospital was very quiet today. Dawn and Judy came in to check Jane’s vitals. Gail and Dawn clowned around with a wheelchair. Seldom does staff have time for such pranks. Some of the rooms in Surgical 3 were dark, their beds freshly made and lying in wait for patients in the gloom. The latest talk now is that new patients will be coming in later this week, to bring the census back up.

(I’d ordered a turkey dinner to go with Jane’s. They weren’t bad, although my pie was left off the order. I brought home some of the leftovers for another meal. Jane had a little trouble with the turkey, which wasn’t the tenderest in the world, and ate a lot of dressing and gravy instead. It seemed weird not to have cranberry sauce with the Thanksgiving meal, but all in all things worked well enough.

(I massaged Jane with Oil of Olay after I turned her, took my nap, checked the TV programs for the evening, said the prayer with her, and left at about 7:05. Margaret Bumbalo had asked me over for a drink when I got home, but I was in no hurry. “I do have a lot to be thankful for,” Jane said, and I agreed. “And let’s look forward to what we’ll have next Thanksgiving,” I said, as I kissed her good night.

(“The reason I asked that question is because I started wondering if you were up to your old tricks again—stewing about things,” I said. “Especially without telling me.” Jane didn’t agree or deny that she’d been worrying. “Well, it seems like you must be doing it,” I said. “That sort of thing simply must go—we can’t afford to have such thoughts any more, they’re too destructive. I don’t want you falling into that old trap of worrying all by yourself—we just can’t have it. And all of this applies to me as much as it does to you, in case you think I’m setting myself up in a superior position.”

(Jane said she knew I wasn’t doing that, and she agreed with what I’d just ranted on about. She also agreed that we’ve made a lot of progress. The funny thing is, I told her, with all of this I think I’m just beginning to glimpse the possibilities in this new way of thinking about life. It’s at once absurdly simple and hidden—until you acquire certain new habits. The giant strides necessary involve striding across one’s concerns over impediments, and focusing upon ends. No matter what any impediments may seem to be, they have to be set aside in order to attain that larger goal. “That’s the key to our new method of living,” I said, quite enthusiastically. “That’s the key to our salvation right there.” Jane agreed.

(Jane ate well again, after I’d massaged her with Oil of Olay and taken a short nap while she watched TV. I read the prayer to her, then left at 7:05. She’d taken in 1055 cc’s of liquid today so far.)