“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

(No session was held today, but I want to present a mix of poetry and notes.

(One of the first things I learned when I got to 330 today was that Jeff Karder had increased Jane’s dosage of Darvoset to every two hours instead of three. Jane finally told me that she’d had a very rough morning, although during the night she’d mostly done rather well.

(Her talk veered around to the fact that once again she said she was thinking of dying — in her sleep, maybe — in order to get some peace of mind, and to give me some. The pain is really bothering her at times. She talked about how she’d loved life, and the great times we’d had before she got sick, and even after that for a long while. She also said she was surprised her life was ending at such an early age. She told me I’d have a great life after her death, and be free myself.

(She said all of this in that matter-of-fact voice she’d used the last time, that she’d told me similar things about her death, before Seth had said very recently that she wasn’t going to die now, no matter what she thought or said. I kept that in mind. Yet here she was, treating the possibility of death quite seriously again.

(The swelling on her shoulder was up again, but I noticed there was no drainage at all from her knee, nor was there for the rest of the afternoon. Jane said she’d been picturing herself at the old apartments on Water Street [we’d ended up with two], and around town as she used to go — all as though she were taking the last grand tour. When she was finished with all of this she asked me what I thought. I said I didn’t have anything to say. I no longer carry on like I used to, or get mad, and so forth. I could hardly make her do something she didn’t want to do, but I didn’t say that either. If she wanted to die that was it. The hell with it, I thought. I decided — again — that I was through worrying about whether she’d live or die, or whether she was starving herself to death, or whatever.

(I found the same relative situation with the right leg. As I cautiously massaged it, it too began to move, including the foot, and the head and shoulders. Jane cried again, and kept on making a series of low moaning sounds, eyes closed, as I worked with the leg. I could tell she was both afraid of my touch, that it hurt, and that she hadn’t expected the response in the leg or the motion.

(I told her I didn’t want to overdo it, so I turned her on her side. After my nap, I turned her back. As I propped her left leg with the pillow, I discovered that it would still move, for the tendons were still soft. At the same time Jane was in pain — natural enough, I said — for according to conventional belief, muscles that hadn’t been used were supposed to hurt. I also let loose with a few barbed comments, to the effect that she wasn’t about to let the body do its thing, no matter what it wanted.

(She’d kept her body down for years, I said, and now when it moved she hurt and complained, even though presumably the motion was what she wanted. I confused her, I learned, for she couldn’t tell the difference between my remarks about the body wanting freedom, and her grim desire to keep it down. I explained, and she seemed to get it straight. She was in a lot of pain, though, and I rang for the Darvoset again, since the staff was late with it.

(Jane was both surprised and pleased at the unexpected discovery of motion. I said we’d try it again tomorrow. In fact, after supper she began to hurt even more. I didn’t know what to do except a few light touches of massage on the right upper leg. Even I was surprised to feel it move beneath my hand — that it could still do so after being held in that position for many months, following the fracture of the knee. Her abdomen still feels rock hard, though.

(Jane actually smiled as I was getting ready to leave after 7:30. “Maybe I’ll get to go home after all?” she asked. “That’s the idea,” I said. I’d mentioned that thought a few days ago.)