“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

[...] We still couldn’t believe Billy was gone for good. [...] I hadn’t gone after him: The ground was frozen so I couldn’t bury him in the back yard beside Willy, and the veterinarian had agreed to dispose of the remains for us.

[...] In spite of it all things went well, Jane said, though “they” ran the water more heavily than the old staff members did, and Jane said she couldn’t try to move her feet as easily with the increased pressure of the water. [...]

(When I seemed exasperated when Jane asked me to do something for her, and dropped my notebook on the bed, she at once felt a strong fear that she’d exasperate me beyond bearing — that she couldn’t afford to get me mad at her. [...]

[...] I couldn’t say too much, considering my own panicky reaction when I shoveled snow yesterday, but I did remark that we’d slipped back into the old ways of dealing with events.

[...] I read yesterday’s session to Jane, after she couldn’t do it. [...]

[...] “There’s more there, but I got so I couldn’t get it,” she said, referring to her very relaxed state, which she still enjoyed. [...]

[...] Volume 2 is a massive book, yet I still couldn’t believe all the time — almost exactly five years — that had passed since Jane, Seth, and I began work on it. [...]

[...] She had seen images while giving the material, she said, but couldn’t describe them to us now.

[...] She felt somewhat disoriented, yet couldn’t explain very well in just what way. [...]

[...] Why, Jon wrote, couldn’t she have chosen something less damaging? Why couldn’t she have been just sickly for three lives, say, instead of being struck down with such a killing disease in this one?

[...] Instead of making them face the facts of his separation, couldn’t such an incident simply make things worse? [...]

(John said he couldn’t give comments on tonight’s data, that it depended upon whether he was in the triangle. [...]

([John:] “I couldn’t agree more.”)

[...] I couldn’t tell whether her eyes were open or closed—nor could she when I asked her later. [...]

[...] His illness brought up a million questions about the nature of illness and death, age, and so forth, backed up by your society’s negative beliefs, so you tried harder not to think of your friend Leonard, and of course you couldn’t relax. [...]

[...] 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. [...]

[...] I believe I also had some restless dreams about it last night, but couldn’t recall them today. [...]

(Jane said the room was much too stuffy at the start of the session, and that she couldn’t have continued without taking her sweater and shoes off.)

“No, it’s just that before that program I felt he had a lot of complicated material to give, and I couldn’t get it afterward,” Jane replied. [...]

[...] But we couldn’t be as specific as desired, and felt there were valid things left unsaid.

(Jane said she couldn’t help contrasting this more mundane and quiet and safe approach with the events of the trance of last Friday evening, involving Barbara Ingold, and the quite specific data, including dates and place names, physical descriptions, etc., that manifested itself then.

[...] I had yesterday’s session typed, and she tried several times to read it without success — even after I’d given her eyedrops, she just couldn’t do it today. [...]

[...] The door to the medical arts building was locked, so I couldn’t use that as shelter on my way to the car, which was parked farther away from my usual spot than it usually is. [...]