“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

[...] I turned the car around in the driveway, wheeled her out in her office chair, and managed to get her up onto the front seat, awkwardly and with discomfort. [...]

[...] Our cat, Bill, jumped through the open kitchen window and came over to my chair. [...]

[...] The chair upon which you sit this evening is not the same chair, physically speaking, that it was last evening.

By August, however, Jane hadn’t “walked,” even by leaning upon her typing table and pushing it before her, for over eight months; she was still getting around the hill house in either her wheeled office chair, or the old straight chair I’d equipped with casters last June. She’d failed in her last attempt to get on her feet a few days after I’d finished working on the straight chair.⁵

5. After superscript number 14 in the opening notes for Session 931, see my accounts of tailoring the straight chair for Jane, and of her vain attempts to get on her feet.

[...] Then late Sunday night I watched TV, dozing off a few minutes at a time—I came to, frightened, to find myself half off the couch and on the floor, trying to get onto my chair; yelled for Rob, who was in another room. [...]

[...] reinforces our activities in larger realms of consciousness, as well as in our “present” joint reality, in which my wife is now chair-bound.

[...] She did not move from her position before her chair, and thus the distance from her face to the microphone did not vary a great deal. [...]

[...] As usual she remained just in front of her chair, her eyes closed, her hands thrust into the pockets of her slacks.)

(As before, Jane, on her feet again, stood just before her chair, threw her head back, and let the sound pour out. [...]

(Jane stood up once more before her chair. [...]

[...] Jane leaves rocker for straight chair.

[...] I thought of this in the dentist’s chair. [...]

[...] He used to sit in it to take session notes and for a while it was the only chair in which he was comfortable. [...] Much later, when I finally consented to sit down during sessions, it would be my favorite “Seth” chair.

(She tried to get comfortable in her chair. [...]

[...] I had some, actually, but could see that it was time for Jane to get out of her chair.)

[...] But right at this time she can barely get from her chair to sit on the john or the bed—literally.)

[...] She’d not been comfortable in her chair, though. [...]

(Yet even after this little confrontation, I found her asleep again when I returned from the bedroom with her office chair—the one I use now to take notes for sessions. [...]

(“But that would be awful to give up the sessions,” she exclaimed as I wheeled her on her chair into the bathroom after we’d had tonight’s session. [...]

[...] I got her in her chair and out to the living room table.

[...] Opening them, I find a lovely table-and-chair set of simulated wood, and I tell Rob that we can use them in our new kitchen.

[...] She’d planned to turn her easy chair around so that she could look out at the street lights, but instead she found herself admiring the bookcase that the chair already faced. [...]

[...] Billy and Mitzi had been at their ease in the living room also, on various chairs. [...]

Now, in particular I would like to hear answers from here (to Arnold) and here (to Dennis) and from the silent one in the back of the chair (to Laurie), and first of all I would like to make a remark to our friend (to Florence) and it is this. [...]

[...] Jane began speaking while sitting in her favorite Kennedy rocking chair. [...]

(Our cat, Willy, had been sitting at the foot of Jane’s chair. [...]

Within a few days, after I’d taken certain measurements from Jane while she was sitting down, our friend Floyd Waterman [who is a contractor] helped me cut down an old-fashioned straight chair and equip it with small wheels. This one was narrower than later-model chairs, and it fit well in the bathroom and some other spots in the hill house. Jane could easily hoist herself onto it from her office chair, the couch, or the bed; she could either move on it around the house by herself, or have me push her. [...] So while she slept late the next morning, I rebuilt the chair by myself and padded its seat. [...]

Even though she wasn’t walking, Jane continued taking her steps between her office chair and the living-room couch, from which she was giving most of her sessions those days. [...] And late that month, and for the very first time, Jane allowed me to push her in her chair in front of company—a Friday-night group of friends, one reminiscent of the free, exuberant gatherings we used to have every weekend in our downtown apartments. [...]

[...] Like the sink, the stove was too high for her to reach while sitting in her chair, and, because she had to stretch across hot burners, too awkward and possibly dangerous for her to operate from the stool. [...]

[...] That very day a crisis appeared: In the bathroom, and for the first time in all the years of her physical troubles, she couldn’t manipulate well enough on her feet to get back into her wheeled office chair over by the sink. [...]

(“What was the image our friend Bill Macdonnel saw in the rocking chair, in his bedroom in Niagara Falls, in December of 1961?”)

[...] We have three black wooden kitchen chairs that ordinarily we press into service in the living room when company comes. These three chairs were used by the male and female trios as they sat at the table. [...]

(Jane had been quite restless since the session began, shifting often in the rocking chair she always uses. [...]

[...] But I could hardly rise from the chair. [...]

[...] Then I sat in another chair and felt funnier. [...]