“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

golden keyholes

And at the base, a golden mole,

The golden bees of our thoughts

glittering and golden and bright

[...] No one, not even I, can hand you proof on a golden platter. [...]

[...] I do not tell you that a god is waiting for you on the other side of a golden door. [...]

[...] I do not tell you that a God is waiting for you on the other side of a golden door. [...]

[...] A preacher may stand golden-faced, earnest-eyed, extolling the merits of goodness and damning the legions of the devil — and to some of my readers that devil, unseen, never appearing, may nevertheless seem quite real.

[...] So in my contacts with your sphere of activity, I do not sweep through bright golden skies like some spiritual superman into your physical domain.

[...] In addition the painting is done in various shades of brown, from golden yellow ochre to deep brown.

[...] It is painted in browns, ochres, and golden tones. [...]

([Gert:] “When I do this mirror trance, I’m getting an image on the wall behind me of my ‘Golden Boy.’ Is that a projection of my inner self?”)

[...] If you are on a merry-go-round, you may catch the golden ring. [...]

The wind on the arm blows the hair,
And at the base, a golden mole,
Such a speck as a peach might have,
But the hair arches back to show a gaping hole,
And each ounce of flesh is a fence,
Erected roundly and snug
About hidden landscapes, suns, and shadows,
Inroads laced with prickly shrubs.
Peer through. [...]

[...] The small cube referred to a small golden square of sachet, which was originally in the box but not sent to Ruburt.

[...] (Long pause.) Beside him a table and a golden goblet. [...]

[...] Not the brandy, it tickles golden to our toes. [...]

[...] You will not melt into some great golden bliss in which your characteristics will disappear. [...]

[...] They were a deep luminous golden brown; I realized I was so close to them that I could see their minutest details in vivid color, even upper lids that fell over the upper portion of the eyeball. [...]

[...] I was wearing a lovely headdress of orange and yellow intertwined threads, each one glistening in the golden light that now filled the room. [...]

[...] It seemed smaller than the golden brown eagles that soar around the mountains nearby. Perhaps it was a young eagle, or a large hawk with slightly more brown or golden feathers than our bird books show. [...]

As we stood talking another visitor dropped by also, rather literally, as a hawk or young golden eagle flew in! [...]