“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

(I worked on Dreams this morning. The day was cold — about 22 — when I left for 330 at 12:30. I’d just turned Jane when the phone rang. It was someone called Danny Olson, from a small town in Missouri. He’d sent some home-canned jars of fruits and vegetables at Christmas time; for the past year he’d also written a string of long letters signed “me,” meaning I couldn’t answer him to say thanks for the stuff. He’d done the same thing the Christmas before last, also.

(Today he told me that he’d found out Jane was in a hospital from someone he writes to in one of the Carolinas, so he called our area hospitals until he learned which one Jane was in. A simple procedure, and one I hope others don’t pick up from him. I don’t think he’ll call back, though he may. We ended up in a rather acrimonious conversation in which I hoped I’d alienated him enough so he’d not bother my wife or me.

(He had lots of energy, which I could sense, but seemed to me to be contradictory in many ways, and I took him up on several points. He seemed to be so taken with the Seth material that he’d stopped reading everything else, he said, yet when I said he shouldn’t do that, he said he read widely of other material — that sort of thing. I could tell he didn’t understand that to be a creative leader one didn’t follow others, but went out on his own. I knew as we talked that his flattering opinion of me, at least, was being shattered.

(People’s reactions are too varied, I’ve learned, for us to expect them to behave as we want them to. We must be afraid of that. But I wasn’t pleased when Danny exclaimed, “Damn you, Rob, I want you to be as open with me as I am with you.” He quite forgot that he shouldn’t project his own feelings upon someone else who could be quite different. It made me wonder, as I drove home, what some people did before they came across the Seth material, or my own thinking. Who did they emulate then — how did they fill their lives, with what heroes and heroines? One thing is certain: They didn’t write books or develop an original philosophy of their own. They’re quite content to leap upon the work of others, and to get mad at them because they — meaning Jane and me — don’t react the way we’re supposed to. They also forget, or don’t understand, that being the way we are led to the creation of our work. If we were different people, the work would be different — or might not exist at all.

(While I was on the phone an attendant brought us a letter from Sue Watkins. When I opened it I found a check for $1,000 made out by Helen Granger Park. “What’s Miss Bowman sending us money for?” I asked Jane. I was momentarily confused — for my art teacher in high school in Sayre, Pennsylvania had been Helen Bowman, until she married later in life and became Helen Bowman Park. I’d always called her Miss Bowman. It turned out that the Helen Park who had written had read Maude’s article in Reality Change, and sent the check to Sue to forward to us, to make sure we’d get it safely. That Helen Park lives in Austin, Texas. I may call her tonight, and Sue also. I told Jane I didn’t know whether to attach any significance to the two Helen Parks or not. Money was involved with both people, since my Miss Bowman had lent me the money to go through art school in New York City. I had repaid her during my three years of military service during World War II.

(I went food shopping at SuperDuper, ate a later supper than usual, and called Helen Park in Austin. She answered on the second ring, and we had a fine talk. She was surprised to hear from me, and I thanked her for her contribution. The connection was rather faint, but clear enough.