“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

(Yesterday when I got to 330 at 12:45 Jane lay on her side. She looked very poor — gaunt from eating far too little — like an aged fetus, I thought, in her drawn-up position.

(That little exchange pretty much sums up our attitudes these days, and Jane’s worsening physical condition. She ate some lunch yesterday, but little supper. Today she ate less lunch. I reminded her that I had to go to the dentist at 4:15. This at once compressed her ideas of the time in which to do anything, although I didn’t feel any pressure. She asked me about the time quite often.

(After a meager lunch she said that last night she got a flash, like an “ear pop,” that she wasn’t going to die at this time. It was very brief but very clear. I’d known she had something to tell me after lunch, but hadn’t expected this. I had absolutely no reaction to the news at all — and at once remembered my total lack of reaction when our lawyer had told me that the insurance business was settled. I was evidently so numb from repeated doses of fear and concern and negativity and Jane’s worsening situation daily, that I couldn’t react. I didn’t believe or disbelieve it. I was afraid to hope, perhaps.

(Anyhow, Jane seemed to feel a bit better about it, so I went along when she even talked about a session this afternoon. I had her help me fill out the menu, for I’d decided it was useless for me to continue putting items on it that she never touched.

(Jane could still hurry things up when she wanted to — hence the early session because I was leaving later. I must be more negative than I thought after all this time, for I didn’t believe her when she said she wasn’t going to die now. For it certainly does seem that her life is almost over. When she says these days that she’s going to die, I agree with her.

(2:59. “Oh God,” Jane said, using an expression that’s become one of her favorites. “Give me a puff. As soon as I said I’d do it — the session — I got scared. It shows how you’ve got to get those feelings out. I wish I could yell and scream, but I can’t …” I read her the session. “Oh, my arms,” she said. I’d felt them, and she was holding them as rigid as bent metal rods.

(We talked a little. Jane seemed more concerned about when I’d leave for the dentist than anything else. So restricted has her world become.

(I did finally express some anger as the time approached for me to leave. I accused Jane of not caring about the emotional storms I was going through. This came about when I tried to make her arms comfortable, and found her holding herself as rigid as could be — after all she’s supposed to know and have learned. It got to me. I felt blown away by such behavior.

(“But I do care,” Jane protested. “I care a lot. I’ve even thought of dying to let you go free.”

(I should add that I didn’t mean I wished she’d die so that I’d be free. I want her to live — with me, at home, working and singing. I thought of this in the dentist’s chair. I forgot to tell her when I got back at supper time, but will tomorrow. Jane called just as I was typing this session.)

^* [Note on Sept. 9, 1984, four days after Jane’s death — Seth’s last words, trying to help to the last.]