“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

[...] At our hotel, The Americana, there is a very shallow pool that is actually half in and half out of the hotel, on the ground floor, which is one level lower than the lobby. [...]

A room on the fifth floor or higher, but not lower. [...]

(“Our hotel room was on the fourth floor. [...]

[...] Peggy knows this because the seminar was held on the eighth floor of a building occupied by the Office of Economic Opportunity; in an executive conference room of the OEO.)

[...] A group of men, attired in the same costumes, sat on brightly colored pillows on the floor, roughly in a circle, with the center of the floor clear. [...]

[...] The next minute I was pushed down to the foot of the bed, off into the air, and then down to the dark corner of the bedroom floor. [...]

[...] It slumped down to the floor, and my partner gently moved it to the side.

[...] There was a good breeze, which was quite noticeable up on the third floor. [...]

[...] Some of the walls were of floor-to-ceiling glass. [...]

[...] A visit to a third or second floor. [...]

[...] Jane stood up, dumping Willy to the floor. [...]

[...] I visualized myself walking across it and felt the wooden flooring beneath my feet. [...]

[...] But without it, we couldn’t even get out of bed in the morning or breathe, much less walk across the floor. [...]

[...] They clumped on up past our floor to the one above, sounding very loud and clumsy. [...]

[...] She had an impression of Midge in a robe, crawling on the floor near the oil stove in the living room. [...]

[...] The Chemung River passes less than a block from our apartment house on its way through the center of the city, but since we lived on the second floor we thought we’d be secure. [...]

[...] She told me that the water would reach its highest level late that afternoon; incredibly, it would become almost ten feet deep in the yard and reach halfway up the first-floor windows of the house next to ours. [...]

[...] Had been called in from another floor to help out. [...]

[...] It was as though we were alone on the floor.

[...] (Ed was the name of BT’s first husband, she told Jane over the phone.) A middle name beginning with B, or his nickname with a B who worked in a building that from the outside looks like a large (pause), building almost entirely of unbroken plate glass windows on the ground floor, such as those that cars might be displayed in. [...]

[...] I was about to get up to deposit Willy on the floor.)

[...] I was afraid she’d fall on the floor. [...]

[...] We’d heard yesterday that she was bothering many people on the floor. [...]

[...] “You” are the one who decides to walk across the floor, and then all of these inner calculations take place to help you achieve your goal. [...]

[...] It was large, framed, and cocked at an odd angle to the floor, as if propped up by invisible hands. [...]

[...] I am more interested in other projectiles and other movement, thoughts that fly through your minds rather than tables that leap about the floor. [...]

Now: Had Ruburt gone to a doctor or a faith healer when we began our last group of sessions, and then in a matter of a week or so found himself able again to walk with his [typing] table across the kitchen floor, some thirteen or fourteen steps perhaps, where before three were his uncomfortable limit, he might have attributed the improvement to a doctor’s treatment or to a faith healer’s ability — but he would have been impressed. [...]

[...] Last night I’d discovered that a portion of the cellar floor — including the old “bomb shelter” where I keep our fan mail stored — was covered by a quarter inch of water —just enough to soak into the 2 by 4’s I have the cardboard boxes placed upon [to avoid water!]. [...]

[...] Once my right arm suddenly moved out to the left, throwing my pack of cigarettes I was holding to the floor with sudden energy. 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. [...]

[...] During their visit I noticed that my right leg, propped up on the coffee table, would suddenly fall very quickly and unexpectedly to the floor. [...]

When I look up at those three high, old-fashioned bay windows that illuminate the living room of Apartment 4, on the second floor of that house, I visualize Jane sitting behind them at her oak table, thinking and writing, intrigued and comforted by the busy patterns of people and automobiles traversing the intersection she looks down upon: Walnut and West Water Streets. [...]