“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

(Today we resumed the vitamin and cod-liver-oil therapies, which we’d let go last week, in the face of what I had taken to be Jane’s resistance. That had made me angry: I felt that it at least offered an avenue of exploration, that perhaps we could use it as an avenue for changing beliefs. Characteristically, she didn’t ask to resume it herself; I did this morning. I felt it offered hope, simple as it really is, and I couldn’t figure out what she was going to do without hope—without the sessions, without using her own abilities, without accepting some kind of reinforcement from anyone else.

(Yesterday Jane had what was probably her worst day yet—very uncomfortable indeed; she was in “a crisis situation,” as she put it. It was only too obvious. If prolonged it meant the hospital, or God knows what, but we had to do something. “If you love me,” she said, “comfort me like you would an animal, for I really need you.” And I tried to. I slept with her last night—fitfully, but it helped. She didn’t know how she’d get through the night, she said, but she made it. Her ass and buttocks and lower spine are a disaster area as far as bedsores go—much worse than previously, and, I told her, they must represent an exact replica of her inner state. How could it be otherwise? Such was the state to which we were reduced.

(“I never had any doubts that way,” I said. I told her I thought there must have been many times, or “openings,” in these past months when she could have had a session. That we didn’t do so is part of the problem, of course. Personally, I had been alternately angry and not caring because of our lapses, when we had avenues of help available that few could rely upon, yet hadn’t bothered to use them.