“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

[...] In a matter of moments it may trigger you to think of events in your childhood, so that many mental images fly through your mind. [...]

He dreamed of flying, and that impetus led to the physical inventions that made mechanical flight possible. [...]

[...] His had just frozen up due to unsuspected overheating; he had to be at the Chemung County airport at 2:30 to pick up his sister Judy, flying in from the Midwest, then again at 5:30 to pick up Margaret and Joe. [...]

I speak to you from the known and unknown desire that gives you your own birth, and that speaks to you from the tiniest, least-acknowledged thought that flies like a pigeon within your skull … And in this moment of your reality, and in the desire of your being, do you even create All That Is. [...]

(On September 25, 1972, the day of the 617th session in Chapter Three, I wrote a note describing how Jane and I had seen and heard geese flying south, in a spectacle both inscrutable and moving. [...]

[...] A giant Seckel pear tree grows almost close enough to touch, and through its branches I saw the uneven V-formation, flying north just below the cloud cover and sounding off all the way….

[...] He doesn’t understand the chasms over which he so blithely flies. [...]

([Gene]: “I don’t. But I don’t understand how the chasm over which Tim Leary is so blithely flying can be anything other than a figment of my imagination.”)

Stratums that fly through the night, in your terms now, have known consciousness and song. [...] To listen to all the tales that your selves tell you, to the secrets that fly through the air, and that is what I have been telling you all this time. [...]

[...] The time seemed to fly by. [...]

[...] Now bear with me for a few moments, realizing as you do so that there is in reality no distinction between the atoms and molecules within your precious bodies and the atoms and molecules that fly about the room quite innocently and free; realizing also that there is great space between the atoms and molecules within your body, and that if some very small person were flying through they would find your bodies as large as a galaxy; realizing also that the skin that seems so solid to you is very open, indeed, and does not separate you so much from the universe, as it connects you with the universe; and that there is little division between the atoms and molecules in those knees and those legs and the atoms and molecules that form the floor upon which the legs and knees seem to rest. [...]

[...] The flying was a fact, you see, the plane was a thought-form.

Juggling a
million million
atoms
all at once,
spinning them into
twirling cells of men
and whales,
tricky,
spinning solid mountains
from thin air,
with fish transformed
into flying birds —

(I was so concerned for my friend’s safety and welfare that I scooped him up in my hands, and held him between them like a child holds a trapped fly. [...]

(Then I saw that someone had left the shack’s door open, and that everything, the walls, the ceiling, the open door, etc., was covered with hordes of insects of various kinds and colors, all crawling and flying about. [...]

[...] Each one flying in the face of one kind of conventional misunderstanding or another. [...]

[...] In those unknown realms, from which all psychological events are formed, he wants to fly ahead theoretically—that is, to delve through my books and through his own into ideas that still await, and feels somewhat angry because it seems that excellent theoretical material is overlooked by others to a large extent, while being used as a Band-Aid to help the current problems of the people. [...]

[...] She had me rub those certain spots on her neck that can send her head flying against the pillow—but when I found them there was hardly any reaction at all. [...]

[...] It feels like it could fly right up in the air.” [...]

[...] “When that left foot starts to move it feels like its going to fly right off,” Jane said. [...]

[...] For as tables move so indeed do souls fly. [...]

[...] Jane functioned all right, but felt as though she could “fly,” as though her feet would not come back to earth. [...]

—regarding published photos of your flying saucers, in parenthesis.)

(Now follows Jane’s impressions concerning a news photo of a drawing of flying saucers, which we had discussed recently. [...]

[...] The symptoms, then, served to keep her at her desk over the years because she was afraid that if left alone she’d fly off somewhere and wouldn’t do anything.

[...] But time is as transparent as the air in this room and your 8, 9, 10, 11, 12 o’clock flies through the air like birds. [...]