“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

(Jane called last night. She said she’d dozed through most of her evening TV programs — something she hardly ever does. The day was again warm — 44 degrees — when I went to 330. She had the heat off in her room. Her coughing is better today. She said her “eyes are terrible,” though the redness is largely gone. Her feet look much better again. She’s still on the Bactrim, and her temperature has been normal.

(Jane ate a better lunch than she did yesterday. She had a smoke afterward and I got out mail to answer. Jane put on lipstick and looked in the mirror.

(She did more coughing and blowing as the time passed. Carla took her temperature — 98.8. Five minutes later Penny hooked her up to another dose of antibiotic. I did mail until Jane had the session. By then most of the drug had been absorbed, but I didn’t call anybody. Jane was coughing enough so that she remarked that she hoped she could get through the session. The window was closed by now and the heat was on. It had turned very windy, and I thought it might mean another cold spell.)

(4:28 p.m. “I suppose that means I’m to read you the session for February 1 again,” I said. She agreed. “I thought that session was the one that’s resulted in all the upsets since then,” I added. I noted that it was now conceded by both Jane and Seth that she did have a cold, as I’d asked her yesterday.

(“Remember what I used to say years ago?” I suddenly asked. “It came out of the private material back then — that when things got worse it meant they were getting better.” Jane said she’d thought of that this morning. I’d forgotten all about the remark for some time, meaning years.

(When I read this session to her, I was struck again by Seth’s use of the word “blindness,” and Jane admitted that she’d been worrying about losing her sight because of her eye difficulty. I laughed, but out of incredulity, not humor, for the other day she’d feared she was getting pneumonia. Once more, I wondered when that cycle of fearful response would end. “Spare me,” I said, only half joking. I’d been surprised today when Seth had said that things were going ahead full steam.

(Just before supper I told Jane about my dream of last night, involving Bill Gallagher: He’d been a white-haired stage performer, and I looked down on him from a box seat in the loge of an intimate, dramatically-lit theater. Bill had lost a shoe during his act, and had stopped performing out of frustration, his rhythm interrupted. He stood helplessly on stage in the spotlight, wearing brightly colored stage clothes like a comedian might. Someone may have helped him leave the stage. I believe that before this scene, he’d had another similar episode, where an accident had halted his performance and he’d ended up frustrated and confused, but I don’t remember it clearly enough to describe.)