“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

[...] She jumped up in mid-delivery, brushing instinctively at something she couldn’t have seen. [...]

Ruburt should not brush aside any emotional connections then, but understand what is happening. [...]

[...] My brush moved over the surface, modeling heads and likenesses, and ideas, with amazing facility. [...]

[...] You can look in the mirror and take your image for granted and brush your teeth and stare at yourself and think, I am a sorry picture, indeed, or I am quite a beautiful thing and smile, but in either case you are taking it for granted that only physical perceptions are real. [...]

Without consciously knowing how his body performs such manipulations, he trusts it—the hands to hold the brush, the fingers to type or whatever, and the idea becomes reality. [...]

(Seth’s remark stemmed from the fact that Jane’s hair was continually falling over her forehead and eyes; she had taken to brushing it back often; usually her glasses would keep the hair out of her eyes, but as a rule she doesn’t wear glasses in trance.)

[...] In physical terms it is completed when he puts down his brush — at least for him, though its effects continue. [...]

[...] Ruburt should brush his animals; all of this for its symbolic meaning, but symbolism reinforced on the sense data level.

[...] It takes a certain amount of “time” physically to work with a brush. [...]

[...] I dreamed that I had a cancerous wart or nodule right at the tip of my right thumb, where it bothered me to hold a brush or pencil. [...]

[...] Your thoughts, feelings and expectations are like the living brush strokes with which you paint your corner of life’s landscape. [...]

[...] The air that brushes past your cheek is alive. [...]

[...] Finally I did, and saw myself petting the dog, brushing it, and telling it I was sorry....”

[...] He knows he chooses them, and applies them with a brush. [...]

[...] Yet those lives are lived in coexistence with a mass arena of events that brush against us gently at times, or drastically affect our days on other occasions. [...]

[...] You have your brushes and colors to work with. [...]

(Now Jane, still perched on the arm of the couch with her long black hair falling over her face, impatiently brushed her hair back.)

[...] Even as incipient matter flows through, the final form is given by the way it brushes through these subconscious gates. [...]

[...] Wherever the car was, it was off the road and down a bank, with grass and brush or bushes. [...]

[...] He brushed against her leg and she involuntarily jumped. [...]