“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

[...] We went over parts of a long letter from Sue Watkins, but Jane couldn’t read it. [...]

[...] I felt sure the temperature was connected to the session for February 1, though I couldn’t say why.

[...] Someone, Jane said, had also remarked about her modest weight gain today, but she couldn’t recall who it had been. [...]

[...] “You can’t see it, but I couldn’t have done it last week.”.’ Heavy breathing. [...]

[...] Two minutes later Jane began to work her lower jaw up and down and around in an almost grotesque way, so that she couldn’t speak, only make guttural sounds.

[...] I had a snack with her while she ate breakfast, and tearfully she said she couldn’t blame me if I felt I could only stand so much, and wanted to go my own way. [...]

[...] Jim said he couldn’t comment on Jane’s situation from a medical standpoint, except to say her eyes per se are okay. [...]

(Jane also tried walking with the table with Frank’s help, as she had with me the day before, but once again couldn’t quite get up on her feet. [...]

[...] “God, I’m scared,” she said several times, but couldn’t say why she felt that way, at first. [...]

[...] But I was as baffled as ever, I said, that the personality would put the poor body in such a position that it couldn’t be at peace either sitting up or laying down. [...]

(By 9:30 I couldn’t believe it: We weren’t going to have a session after all—and just when we needed one most. [...]

[...] Anyhow, he used a phrase that I remembered when I woke up: “I live in a brown-paper-bag part of town,” meaning a lower middle-class neighborhood; he implied that that was his station in life, and that he had no idea of trying to change it, or felt that he couldn’t. In the dream I wore a brown faded coat and perhaps a small matching hat. [...]

[...] She had a smoke, then tried to read yesterday’s session after I’d massaged her neck, but she couldn’t do it very well so I ended up reading it to her. [...]

[...] Now she could move her arms far enough down to touch her thighs—something she couldn’t do yesterday. [...]

[...] Earlier I thought of just yelling out to the personality, look forget it; but couldn’t find vocal chords or something; the personality was using them. [...]

[...] Oh; and earlier, Seth came back through and helped me “down”; but this last time he didn’t and I couldn’t seem to “find him.”

[...] The last paragraph was new: she felt she couldn’t pressure Eleanor because Dick was publicizing Jane’s books. [...]

[...] By this I wanted to show Jane that I wasn’t trying to tell her how to run things—but seemingly this remark instead rearroused Jane’s fears that she couldn’t insist upon action from Eleanor so quickly. [...]

[...] “Why couldn’t I have known when I was a young man about my abilities, and how best to use them?” Think of yourself as a young man using them, and you will automatically be free of many hampering concepts in your work.

Yet even to Rob I couldn’t voice my fears. Suppose Seth couldn’t? [...]

[...] Since in all of these experiments Seth was helping us through actual suggestions and explanations as to how we perceive such information, I simply couldn’t minimize his importance just to get the ESP book published. [...]

[...] I don’t know if I was more afraid that Seth could or couldn’t follow through.

[...] I also felt that I could no longer drag my feet: I had to find out what Seth could or couldn’t do.

[...] It wasn’t a seaport, big ships couldn’t get in close. [...]

[...] But he couldn’t get much because the ground was too rocky. [...]

[...] No school, they couldn’t read. [...]

[...] They could write their own names but they couldn’t read others’. [...]

(At 8:20 PM Jane called and asked whether she should have a session—she couldn’t make up her mind. [...]

[...] I explained that my idea was only to get more material on what Seth had begun yesterday—but that didn’t mean she couldn’t do material on other things too.

[...] At the moment I couldn’t decide if everyone had such hassles in life, or if Jane and I had managed to create sets of beliefs that were indeed “beauts” and quite unusual. [...]

(Jane had had two interruptions by this point, from staff, and for whatever reasons couldn’t finish the poem. [...]

[...] “It’s sure as shit something I couldn’t do before.” [...]

(“It’s something you couldn’t even say before,” I said. [...]

[...] Very good, I said, but she couldn’t actually pin down the source or subject matter for her panic today. [...]

[...] Jane began to hum a song we both knew but couldn’t place — perhaps an aria from an Italian or Spanish opera. [...]

[...] Then I became disoriented, and couldn’t figure out if I was in bed or in my chair. [...]

[...] She was afraid people would start coming in to do her vitals, and see her moving; she feared that once she started a series of movements, she couldn’t cut them off right away if someone entered 330. [...]

[...] Otherwise the body couldn’t do it.” [...]

[...] She couldn’t reach it, so I rubbed the area for her. [...]

(Jane didn’t eat much breakfast, except cereal, because the young girl who fed her couldn’t properly present the bacon and eggs, for some reason; Cathy’s sister. [...]

[...] There was something about having a private nurse for 16 hours a day, if the staff there couldn’t take care of my wife. I said that was pointless and that we couldn’t afford it. [...]

[...] But actually, this latest twist was a result of our trying to get somewhere, and might actually work to our benefit with the insurance company, once they were told that my wife couldn’t be moved. [...]

[...] Suddenly I became aware of a mental image, with sound that I couldn’t hear; like a silent movie. [...]