“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

I suggest, if this will do me any good, that both of you take the work involved and find those sessions and finally put them to use. I told you that he felt emotionally deprived, whether or not this seemed logical—that he felt uncherished, whether or not that seemed logical.

In the face of this he threw even greater determination into his work and his “success” (in quotes), to make up for what he felt as other deficiencies. All areas became therefore more sensitive. Blame was projected by him upon other areas, because only when he allowed his thoughts to really surface would he blame you in any way. And when he did he felt guilty because he knew that you did (underlined) love him.

You were the one who could really hurt him if he let go, by your rejection of his emotional dimensions, he felt. He felt you only accepted certain portions of him. Others would not be accepted, and you would run from them.

[...] He remembered in the past how he felt withdrawing money from the bank. He was quite aware of his own fears also, but he felt that the stimulus would offset these, and that you would not add your courage to his when he was faltering. Unless he did something, he felt, the status quo would continue.

He felt you resented his being home. [...] He felt deeply that you had no one but yourself to blame if you did not quit. [...]

[...] He felt deeply misunderstood despite any ideas of logic or reason in conventional terms. He felt deeply that you should have left years ago, that your own intuition should have told you this. [...]

[...] This has been mentioned before but it is a good point, that retaliation against his mother was felt to be impossible, for she would then have an attack for which Ruburt felt responsible. [...]

[...] Behind any ordinary disagreement you might voice, any normal protest, he felt there was a great charge. He was so afraid to voice protest himself that he felt you must be driven by great inner forces before you would dare voice any protest to him.

When Rebellers was published your attitude was a poor one, but it was drastically received by our friend, who could not understand it and felt then and there that you no longer loved him as you had. Because he felt you loved him for his talent alone, then his books became also gifts to you beside their meaning for himself. [...]

He felt that you were his accuser, and punished him by becoming ill. Before that he felt that your negative feelings were largely directed against your parents. At this point he felt they were directed against him. He had put a great weight of trust and loyalty in you, and felt lost, insecure and frightened. At that point he felt completely alone. [...]

[...] Your mood was very poor, and he felt that you were angry and resentful at him because of its publication. You were not yet in the throes of your illness, and he felt that this represented the last straw to you—that it was not that good a book, not art as you thought your paintings to be, and yet it was published.

[...] He slowed down further in anger at the compensation, or what he felt to be its necessity. [...]

[...] He felt he could expect no comfort from you, that he must face both your fears and his alone. Superstitiously he felt that in hiding fears about your parents he hid them for you both—shoved them under the psychological rug; but the rug became heavier and heavier.

He is fiercely protective of you, and regardless of his feelings about families, you see, had he felt that your parents dealt kindly with you he would have gone along with them all the way. He felt that they betrayed you.

[...] He felt that any success of his that was not matched by you pulled you down in your parents’ eyes, and was therefore part victory and part defeat. He did fear that you would become bitter if you did not succeed (as a painter), and he sometimes felt that you retreated to the studio away from him, as purposely your father retreated from your mother into the cellar or garage. [...]

[...] Ruburt felt that his symptoms were, in your eyes, the concrete indications of his imperfections. [...] He felt that unless he became physically perfect again (underlined) you would not love him again in that way he wanted.

He had to be perfect for you in order to be physically perfect, and he felt it impossible to be perfect enough, so that this could be physically materialized. He felt you were rigid in your standards. [...]

He felt—this is an answer to another question—that there was a veiled threat involved in my remark that I would not be dispensed with. [...] He felt angry that often it seemed you trusted me but not him. [...]

[...] Part of it was his projection because he felt you thought he was so stupid for having anything wrong at all, so the more he saw you frown the stupider he felt, and the more guilty. [...]

Since he felt that you judged his physical behavior from that “superior” position, then he felt that no improvement except complete recovery would get your approval. [...]

[...] Now this is his projection, and one he only realized at break: he felt that any incomplete manuscripts were indications of a waste of time, and that you thought he should publish everything he wrote, and that an unpublished manuscript was a blot of sorts. [...] So he felt guilty about Rich Bed even though it wasn’t finished.

[...] There he felt on firm ground. It carried him through all of his early years, this belief in the writing self that automatically justified his existence and more (underlined) than made up for any other lacks, he felt. [...]

[...] He felt your physical withdrawal strongly during your illness previously, felt on several occasions physically attracted to other men, and became terrified. [...]

[...] Instead he felt that you latched upon the sessions so that they came before he did personally—that you demanded performance there in sessions, while not in bed. In an odd way he felt that you used them against him, in other words—this during the time of tests, in that area.

(She felt strong intensities in the bathroom doorway; felt like she was a ghost, returning to the scene; everything was exceptionally vivid—so dear, so palpitating and alive. In the living room again, standing by the bookcase and looking out the windows, she felt nothing. [...]

[...] She felt this way now, and quite light. She again walked through the apartment, and felt the same sensations, but stronger. [...] Sitting down on the couch again, she felt like moving to the right out of her body again. [...]

[...] She said she’d felt strange since supper; now she said she felt that we shouldn’t be so subjectively aware, now; but that we should be as our future selves, observing the present scene and our physical bodies as they sat in the living room, from the outside.

[...] He also felt that this was the main reason why you had nothing to do with class, refused even once to attend it. You felt it was depriving you, not only of, say, a private session if Ruburt did not hold the following regular one; you also felt that the sexual activity you were not getting from Ruburt was being channeled instead psychically where you were getting no benefit. [...]

In a strange fashion the symptoms also served to stress what he felt you were both trying to deny—his femininity, in that he felt at a very unconscious level that they made him helpless and in need of someone to lean upon—a mute call for support to you, and at that level he was outraged that instead of giving him your hand you would offer mental suggestions.

[...] He felt it a sign of weakness on his part to even think of it, yet he also felt that on occasion you showed an annoying lack of sympathy or understanding, and at his worst moments he would feel that you purposely chose a place further away—that it was for his own good, you thought, that he face the humiliation in realizing in what poor condition he was. [...]

[...] For some time he felt competent then in those business dealings. He felt loyalty to Tam, who he felt was loyal to him. [...]

[...] He felt, however, that some of your own anger against the foreign publisher was directed at Tam. [...] He felt stupid when you became annoyed at typos or misspellings or whatever that he did not even perceive until you mentioned them. He felt between you and Prentice and Tam at various stages, of course, and did not feel certain of his old capacity to set the relationship right. [...]

[...] He felt that its unique nature meant that it could be quite difficult to sell. [...] He felt that in the beginning Tam stood up for him at Prentice several times. [...]

He felt these feelings extremely disloyal. He felt your mother was silently accusing him of putting you in a poor light whenever he succeeded. He wanted you to state your position, and say “I am an artist” to her and to the world, but he deeply feared that you considered that attitude irresponsible, frivolous, not practical; and worse, that you felt it negated the sacrifice you made by keeping the job for so long. [...]

For many years, at least seven, he has been deeply concerned about your work, a repressive element in it, and the psychic freedom he felt you needed to release it. [...] Your best energies were going into your work, he felt, at the job, not into painting, and the very focus divided you. He felt it disloyal to recognize the repressive element in your work, and tried to pretend he did not see it.

[...] Jane heard her mother’s deprecating, scathing voice, quoted it to me, and said she felt quite uneasy. She felt as though “different parts of me are casting about for the best way to give the material tonight—Seth, or some other part of me, whatever we decided. [...]

[...] Ruburt therefore felt that you were accusing him again of a poor performance, and for other reasons also felt that in your eyes these faults took precedence over the book’s obvious merit. Because of the strain, and because he felt his spontaneity so hampered, he came up with (Oversoul)Seven, defiantly, where Nebene could not follow; pure creativity, he felt, with no factual details that he could be called upon.

[...] He was appalled that your ability, while disciplined, lacked the intent and purpose, the search for truth and meaning, he felt being adulterated. [...] Nebene felt the purpose would save your abilities.

[...] You cannot reason with the part of him who felt hurt deeply, or to the part that felt he was rejected. [...]

He did not work on his book, incidentally, because he felt you did not want him to. [...] (I thought this was my idea: RFB.) You felt he was trying to deprive you further of your part. He felt particularly poor at your parents because there he felt under combined attack. [...]

[...] He felt you did not want him to succeed here, and that despite what you said, for you always verbally encouraged him, you did not want him to receive clairvoyant checkable material. [...]

As far as the sessions were concerned, he felt for some time that you demanded them, and on the other hand resented his part in them. [...]

[...] I felt the force of his momentary anger, I felt personally involved. [...]

You particularly felt threatened. [...] You felt your territory threatened as soon as the parking lot was thought of, and earlier when Spaziani first thought of selling the place.

Then he becomes angry when you say “Why don’t you make a decision?” He felt you were afraid to, and if he made one and it was wrong, he did not want to take the blame. So he felt in an impossible situation: and quite consciously, when he allowed himself to become aware of his thoughts. [...]

(Jane felt so “unalert” tonight that first she took a nap after supper, then went for a walk at 8:15. [...] In fact, after the session she felt better than before it began.

[...] She also felt better. [...] I felt somewhat that way also; indeed, we have often wondered whether I too am in a light trance while Seth is around. [...]

[...] She said that by now she felt much better than when she began the session, and that ordinarily she would have felt worse, considering all the walking she had been doing, etc.)

[...] If your father did have daughters, rather than sons in the life that you know, he actually would have fared better in the physical world, because he would have felt it his duty to protect them financially: he would have considered them fairly helpless, and in need of his abilities. As his sons grew out of boyhood he felt that they dwarfed him. He was in a fashion frightened of the ideas of masculinity he grew up with—ideas he felt he did not embody, and he projected those upon his sons so that in a fashion they overawed him, or put him to shame. [...]

[...] With sons, he felt that he should not show emotions of defeat, and he felt that communication itself had the feminine overtones of an unfortunate nature. [...]

(Pause.) Your father’s sentence—the paper-bag reference—was one he actually made in his own mind, in the life that you actually knew him in, and he considered that sons rather than daughters represented his one physical triumph —that is, he believed sons preferable, and they alone compensated for a working man’s life—a life he felt did not befit him. [...]

[...] Instead, reignite the normal spontaneous desires he had to go out, despite the responsibility he felt he had to stay in. He always felt guilty taking a sunbath, for instance.

In his own way of course he is also a perfectionist, and felt himself falling far short. [...]

[...] You never felt a responsibility to go out, but a responsibility to stay home and work.

[...] He felt hampered by you. At the same time he felt the need to contribute financially, and he felt that you were tying his hands by forcing him to make money in ways in which he was not particularly equipped to do so, while forbidding him to be a success with books.

[...] He was doing what he felt you wanted him to do, yet the results displeased you, and he felt you found him physically repulsive. [...]

[...] You felt as if she threatened to castrate you. [...]

[...] The best answer I got was when I laid Through My Eyes aside to work on Mass Events I felt bad about doing that. [...] So I felt guilty—I thought—about not concentrating on Seth’s book. [...]

(“Yes,” I said, for I’d felt my stomach act up pretty strongly several times while Seth had been speaking. [...]

[...] I’d felt much better since last June, and thought I’d learned enough since then so that I didn’t need to bother the stomach any more—but evidently I hadn’t after all.