“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

([Seth:]) Now. You are, I hope in the midst of a garden of consciousness... and as a flower blooms, so are you made to bloom. And as a flower is supposed to flower, so are you meant to flower. You cannot see the garden although you are in it. But there are emanations that are invisible to you. These are your thoughts and mental images and they spring out from you, as the petals spring out from a flower, but you can see the petals of a flower and you are not consciously aware of these other images. But these other images result in the world that you know and it is a garden... and there are ugly plants there that you have created. And there are poisonous plants there that you have created. And this is a garden that you have created. And I would be very happy if I were you... that there was someone around to keep order... and to keep an eye on things and to take care of  your spiritual nourishment when you had forgotten what the spirit was.

I told you once (to Florence)—and I tell you all—in your quiet moments to say “Who am I?” And listen—listen then. Do not answer yourself. But listen. And the answers will come to you. And this is nourishment. You cut yourselves off from such nourishment—as if a flower said, “I will not accept the rain because I do not understand it—and, intellectually I do not know what makes it rain and, therefore, I will not accept the rain.” Or, “I do not know what the sun is; therefore, I will not accept its rays.” And so the flower would be destroyed in its form.

(Florence commented that she would hate to be dependent upon somebody watering her as a flower. Seth interjected the following.)

Now, let us take for argument’s sake, a poor unintelligent flower in the middle of a garden. [...] And when a sunny day comes, the flower does not lift its idiotic head and say, “Now, this appears to be the sun. How is it that the sun keeps me alive and brings the green to my leaves and branches and makes me flower? [...] But if it is a fancy tale, it would behoove you to listen, for the moment that the flower says, “I deny, therefore, I deny the sunlight or the rain,” then the flower, indeed, would deny the grace of existence. [...]

Now, in the winter time our poor idiotic flower seems, indeed, to be dead. [...] Our seed, however, who does not have this fine intellect that sits so nicely beneath your hair and within your skull, our seed without the intellect, rests joyfully within the earth knowing it is in the midst of creativity and that from within it, again, another flower will spring. [...]

[...] However, a flower has better sense than to ask whether or not it exists. [...]

[...] Then you are like the flower who accepts the sunshine, and in accepting the sunshine knows far more about the reality of sun than any scientist who measures the spectrum of light without feeling. [...]

(10:25.) Give us a moment … (Pause.) Back to our flowers. [...] Generally speaking, the other flowers born in the same spring will die at about the same time. The next year the new flowers will see a slightly different landscape, yet the overall patterns will be the same. [...] You might realize that the flowers you pick are not the same flowers that you picked last year at the same spot, but the very nature of your focus would cause you to concentrate upon those differences only when you were forced to. [...]

[...] Flowers from the spring of one year “do not see” or mix with the flowers of the following spring, or with those of the spring before. [...]

The vast unexplainable difference that exists as far as the flowers are concerned is something else again — for on that scale the flowers that you pick are utterly themselves in their own world, from which to a certain extent you have taken them.

[...] You walk out of the place and time of your birth, however, as the flower cannot.

[...] The gorgeous flowers are part of a package of flowers wired to us from a reader in Holland. [...] There were so many flowers in the package that I ended up dividing them among three vases I found here at the house. [...]

[...] And a flower does not say, “Lo and behold, I am one small flower. [...] One flower cannot ask another flower for the sunshine—for the other flower cannot give it. But the sun is there and it shines upon all flowers. [...]

[...] But a flower does not feel the responsibility to bloom in the sun, it blooms because it is natural to bloom. [...]

You are the flower that is telling itself not to grow. [...]

[...] A stone or a flower is a very small thing. When you attach your attention say to a flower, it is not only a matter of imagining yourself as the flower, or trying to sense what a flower is. It is also to imagine the power of the energy that causes that flower to grow; and yet in a landscape you will have perhaps many flowers. [...]

[...] It may be a flower or a stone. [...]

Pretend that the energy within that object is the center of life, so that the whole rest of the universe derives its energy within that stone or flower. [...]

for there is no flower that is untruth

to find ourselves the flowers in another

and the flower grows

[...] The street having to do with flowers, this street, flowers in the name perhaps. [...]

(“Outside there were huge flower pots resembling these, but not filled with sand for cigarettes. [...]

[...] A circular formation surrounded by flowers I believe, with closely-crowded, old, at least second-story structures to the left side of the street, or close to the street and nearly identical in rows.

[...] 1461 means nothing, but we [Gallaghers] visited a water tower, circular, surrounded by flowers, we had to climb what is called the Queen’s staircase [steps] to get there. [...]

[...] You are like a flower bulb that each time gives birth to a different blossom, while still conforming to certain overall patterns — but each blossom is entirely new. [...] Each flowering of the bulb, however, brings about a different expression. [...]

[...] New flowers come each spring. [...]

The pattern for those flowers serves to seed each new batch. [...]

[...] They are familiar with the most insignificant motion of the earth about them.³ They grow downward even while the stem grows upward — and the flower has not yet seen the space into which it will grow. [...]

All directions taken by the flower of consciousness are good. The flower knows it is alive in the bulb, but it takes “time” for the bulb to let the stem and leaves and flower emerge. The flower is not better than the bulb. [...]

[...] Go back to our bulb and flower. [...] In your terms, however, it is as if the flower-to-be, from its “future” calls back to the bulb and tells it how to make the flower. [...] The flower — calling back to the bulb, urging it “ahead” and reminding it of its (probable future) development — is like a future self in your terms, or a more highly advanced self, who has the answers and can indeed be quite practically relied upon. [...]

[...] There are red, yellow, and violet flowers. [...]

[...] The petal of a flower, for example, is not more developed than the root. [...]

[...] A flower garden is shown at the foot of the statue of Mother Goose, on the object. The flowers surround three sides of the statue base, and appear to be petunias, red and white.

[...] The picture on the postcard used as object contains many small circles, mainly the flowers as noted above, and the small circular designs, also apparently flowers, on the blouse and cap of Mother Goose. [...]

[...] It may have to do with flowers.” This seems to pin the spectacular reference down to the postcard picture, since it shows the statue of Mother Goose in Story Book Land, surrounded by red and white flowers.

[...] It may have to do with flowers.

Now I ask you—how far do you think a flower would get if, in the morning, it turned its face toward the sky and said, “I demand the sun?” “And now I need rain. [...] And it would say, our imaginary flower, “I demand discipline! [...]

[...] And in the spontaneous playing of the bees from flower to flower there is a discipline beyond any that you know, and the laws that follow their own knowledge—and joy that is beyond command. [...]

[...] Flowers are not just brightly colored for man’s enjoyment, for example, but because color is a part of the flowers’ own esthetic system. [...]

(4:20.) The insects also appreciate flowers’ profusion of color, and also for esthetic reasons. [...]

[...] It possesses its own drive, as that flower does. [...]

There is no one with a great talent who does not use it, for the drive is comparable to the talent, and the whole personality knows about it as the flower knows about blossoms. [...]

[...] He cannot smother the person and cultivate the flower of his talent. [...]

[...] You must think of the freedom that is within a flower. Now it seems to you that a flower cannot move, and therefore has no freedom. And yet I tell you, you must think about the freedom of a flower.

[...] All that is necessary is given to the flower. [...]

[...] You must think of the freedom that is within a flower. Now, it seems to you that a flower cannot move, and therefore has no freedom. And yet I tell you, you must think about the freedom of a flower. [...]

[...] All that is necessary is given to the flower. [...]

[...] The personality that you have now is simply the flower of the moment, not realizing that it has the knowledge of its own past histories; and all of this would be but one cosmic flower. [...] The various flowers could then be compared to the various dimensions through which action and consciousness know their own reality. [...]

[...] Imagine then action or energy which is conscious, exploding into bloom like some gigantic cosmic flower, spontaneously, instantaneously, and intuitively.

[...] And yet energy or action, which is consciousness, is always changing, and the shape of the flower and the blossom would constantly change. [...]

There is no difference between the energy that shapes your ideas and the energy that grows a flower, or that heals your finger if you burn it. [...] The body is often closer to the soul than the mind is because it automatically grows as a flower does, trusting its nature.

[...] He thought, as you did, that artistic abilities were like alien flowers in an unfriendly land, that had to be force-fed and protected at all costs.

If you trust yourselves, and approve of yourselves, all of your problems literally dissolve, and playful creativity bursts into its full flower.

[...] It is wrong to curse a flower, and it is wrong to curse any man. [...]

[...] For it will come when every man realizes that killing is wrong, and when every young man in every country refuses to go to war, and when he refuses to curse any man or any flower. [...]