“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

(This morning I typed the session for November 7, as I tried to catch up on the backlog of material we’ve been accumulating lately. I still felt much better, and thought that Jane did too. I didn’t get into my writing room until 10:00 this morning. Jane was quiet as she sat at the card table in the living room while I worked.

(Appearances can be deceiving, though: After lunch Jane told me that her feelings of panic had returned [see the session for November 7, for instance]. The sensations had begun shortly after I went to work. She hadn’t been able to doze in her chair after all, except fitfully. I asked if the feelings stemmed from the past, or represented a projection into the future.

(“If I can. Do the dishes and check the mail, then I’ll try.... I’m awful glad I said something about them,” she added, “but when I do the feelings start to come up also....” Jane’s voice trembled. She’s remarked before that it’s very hard for her to talk about the feelings when they begin to reveal themselves to her consciously.

(“Maybe if you’ll let me mutter on,” Jane said, with nearly a laugh. “I even have these dreams that you can wish me out into the car and take me down to those hills in Pennsylvania.... And I even wonder about the woman [Mrs. Anderson] who lived in this house, and committed suicide later—though it’s no big deal. I don’t feel suicidal, as far as I know. Although I feel very scary about doing something like yelling or pulling my hair or something like that—I don’t know—losing control, and yet when I look around our room I never fail to take note of the room and the red couch cover, and how beautiful it is.”

(“Youth and innocence must have been on our side, back there at York Beach,” Jane said, “when we felt so terrible. The whole thing with your eyes adds to the whole thing—I can barely see what I eat, though if I put on my close-up glasses I could.... I want to see if I can get more comfortable. Then I get the feeling that scares you even more—that you’re scared to death of the hospital, and yet you’re afraid to dismiss your doctor and say to hell with the whole bit—I must be hiding stuff, see, because I’m getting ready to cry, because the time might come when you couldn’t stand it any more, and you’d have to do it—go back to the hospital—go through it all again—then I just tell myself I’d make out again, just like millions of people....”

(“I have no idea. If I could just put my head down and relax I’d be so relieved—then maybe I’d switch over to a session.” Her forehead nearly rested upon the tabletop. “I guess after the session last night I got more frightened. I had a hell of a time last night—I went into dream states and hallucinations the whole night. When you came in [at 1:15 AM] I wanted to get up, but I believed what you said, that I had to get off my ass for a while.... I started talking to the people giving the news on TV [channel 13], and Chris’s mother [whom Jane has never met; Chris Hover cleans the house every other Sunday], and to you and other people. But I always feel their presences, as if they’re really there....”

(I didn’t think she’d either go on by herself or have a session. Jane appeared to feel better, though, and was taking solace in relaxing and drifting into sleep states.)