“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

Centuries after the original cry. That is, the strength of the inner sensual impact was as weakened and diluted as it would have been if what you heard was a cry through the outer ear that came originally from centuries already gone by.

[...] The experience was of very low volume, had almost dreamlike existence in one dimension only, and represented an echo of anguish heard centuries after the original cry.

[...] This does not mean that a series of crying jags, explosive ones, need be in order, as Ruburt fears, and fears that you fear.

[...] She said, regarding her leg pain, that when she got it just before the session she felt like crying, but didn’t want to interrupt the session. [...]

[...] The child does not have to cry out or address or search for a particular kind of God, because it understands through such subjective behavior that its own precious singularity is also a part of the greater us-ness of all other creatures, and that its singularity is automatically assured, as is its own us-ness within that larger context. [...]

(Then when I called her at noon, Jane cried for at least half an hour. [...] We didn’t discuss the dreams or the crying experience, or even read a session after breakfast. [...]

[...] He cried to Allah, and then in greater desperation to Moses, and as his consciousness left his body, Moses was there.

[...] Our Arab cried out again. [...]

[...] When the infant is born, he still hears these sounds and voices, but again, they do not answer his physical needs, nor bring milk when he cries, and gradually he discards them.

[...] Then I get the feeling that scares you even more—that you’re scared to death of the hospital, and yet you’re afraid to dismiss your doctor and say to hell with the whole bit—I must be hiding stuff, see, because I’m getting ready to cry, because the time might come when you couldn’t stand it any more, and you’d have to do it—go back to the hospital—go through it all again—then I just tell myself I’d make out again, just like millions of people....” [...]

Our worlds merged and I cried out;

[...] Some psychologists like to say that you cry out unconsciously against the natural method of your birth.⁴ But here you have the situation where a self is faced with its own annihilation, while another “self” arises after conscious participation with its death.

[...] A passer-by heard his cries days later and freed him. [...]

“Who am I?” cried the worm and the hawk,

[...] Then suddenly I was in a very deep trance of which I have no memory—except at the very end, when I was yelling my lungs out, and I believe, flat on the floor crying. [...]

[...] [Just now, writing this, when I was on the floor sobbing, I did feel that I was on a bed, crying.]

[...] Dimly in the racket, as I watched the heavy rain, I heard Jane cry out. [...]

[...] You cried, and you clearly heard Emma Martin tell your mother that she should not go to you, and then you would be quiet.

He was, or appeared to be, crying, and you saw him. [...]

His appearance then reminded you of his appearance in hay fever season, and reinforced your own symptoms until they became a symbol of virility, since they were your father’s, and also a symbol of how a man could cry. [...]

[...] While I wrote some letters she started some head and shoulder motions off the bed, making noises and other cries. [...]

[...] And I have taken away some of your comfort blankets, but don’t cry, ‘cause I’ll give you something better instead.”

[...] The voice that cries in the wilderness is your own, and the voice that answers from eons of time, that you do not understand, is your own. [...]

[...] The world needs every hand and eye, and cries out for expression of love and caring. [...]

[...] She began to have a few tears as we read the prayer together before I left at 7:10; she said she cried because I was going. [...]

[...] “Oh, Bob, that’s all,” she said, half crying. [...]

The symptoms, beside other issues, have been a crying out to you for a love he feels he does not deserve but needs, a love he feared you could forget. [...]

[...] He would not (in quotes) “humiliate himself” to his way of thinking by crying after you, hammering at your door. [...]

[...] Why do I have to leave my dear wife alone in the hospital each night, so that I feel like crying for her when I go to bed by myself in the hill house? [...]

[...] safe,” Jane cried out. [...]