“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

And neither then do seeds grow (underline that so it’s plain) into grass. You perceive certain matter as blades of grass, as you perceive the matter of grass as lawn. You can see clearly that the matter of grass in a lawn is not the same. Then understand also that the matter within one blade of grass is not the same.

You say that grass grows from a seed, but the grass is not the seed. The material of the grass is not the material of the seed. From experience you know that the seed will often precede grass.

Grass is common. It is supposed to grow from seed, yet again no particle of matter is the same in grass or seed. Seed does not grow into grass. Acorns do not grow into trees. Children do not grow into adults.

(I told Jane that I hoped Frank Longwell had gotten his young friend to mow the grass this afternoon, as he’d promised to do this morning, but nothing doing. As I drove up our road, I saw at once that the grass wasn’t cut. The place looks terrible, although Frank said some of the wild flowers he planted out back are just beginning to show through the straw and grass mulch.

head toward the grass,

upon the grass while its

[...] I have said, for example, that grass does not grow from seed. You observe that grass often appears where seed has been sown, and you conclude erroneously that the seed grows from matter within it, and that grass grows from the seed.

[...] Now take the blade of grass, and the seed. [...]

When energy in its performance brings about a complete change of form, as it does when a seed seems to grow into a blade of grass, what you have here is merely such a complete difference between the gradations which you are able to perceive, that finally you are forced to admit that the thing you take to be continuous matter has somehow or other become something entirely different.

[...] No single blade of grass dies but that it affects the entire mountain. The energy within the grass sinks into the earth, and in your terms is again reborn. Trees, rocks, and grass constantly exchange places as energy changes form (very forcefully, leaning forward, eyes wide and dark).

[...] It is composed of rocks and trees, grass and hills, and in your terms of time you can look at it, see it as such, give it a name, and ignore its equally independent parts. [...]

[...] I do not feel invaded by the selves or identities that compose me, nor do they feel invaded by me — any more than the trees, rocks, and grass would resent the mountain shape (intently) into which they have grown.

[...] I took it for reference for a future painting, and consists mainly of a mass of tangled marsh grass in the foreground; in the background rise a couple of average-looking houses, a telephone pole and some wires. I obtained excellent detail in the rhythmic pattern of the waist-high grasses, which was what I wanted.

[...] A “framework of thin lines” is an apt description of the patterns formed by the high marsh grasses in the foreground of the photo, with the houses rising in the background as “cube formations... [...]

[...] In the photo the marsh grass comes out as “dark leaves against white,” and the photo was taken in the afternoon of a bright day. [...]

[...] It was getting cloudy; I told her I hoped Frank Longwell was at the house, planting the red maple while the young fellow from school was mowing the grass. [...]

[...] As I drove up the road to the hill house, I held my breath — then saw that the grass had indeed been cut; it looked great. [...]

[...] [I’d begun to mow the grass.] Jane was waking—but she was in a surprisingly uncomfortable, “sore” state involving her legs and hips. [...]

(I mowed some grass and filled a coffee container with forsythia I clipped from our bush on our southeast corner of the lot. [...]

[...] I know it is difficult to comprehend, but every object that you perceive — grass or rock or stone — even ocean waves or clouds — any physical phenomenon — has its own invisible consciousness, its own intent and emotional coloration. [...]

(“Out on the grass, I saw them: my deceased father and his mother. [...]

(“Now my grandmother was on her knees, kneeling upright in the grass. [...]

Now the grass is growing here but it is turning brown. There is a brown high grass in this one area and the bottom of the trees is black and there are large berries. [...]

Now the grass is growing here but it is turning brown. There is a brown high grass in this one area and the bottom of the trees is black and there are large berries. [...]

[...] The above data is a good description of the yellowish brown grass in back of the cat’s head, as explained under the yellow and green data on page 212; and of the way the yellow grass merges into the darker green brown grass around the edges of the photo. [...]

[...] Don took the picture of the ceramic cat as it sat on a brick wall cutting across grass as indicated in the tracing on page 206. [...]

(The grass immediately in back of the cat is light yellow brown in color, shading off to a darker greenish brown around the edges of the photo. [...]

(“Grass.” [...] Grass of course is implied through the object in many ways: Campgrounds for one; also, before leaving for Maine Leonard had his new tent set up on the grass in the backyard of the apartment house for several days, checking it out. [...]

[...] Grass. [...]

[...] Imagine a man standing on a typical street of houses and grass and trees. [...] He would feel the experience of being anything he chose within his field of notice: people, insects, blades of grass. [...]

[...] The grass has even started growing again, after lying dry and dormant for a long period this summer.

still the rains fall and the grasses grow

[...] We’d also had a little snow coating the grass this morning when I got up. [...]

[...] High grass for awhile, and some wooden posts and wire.

[...] (Pause.) Dane or Norwegian, domestic scenes, 1700’s. (Pause.) Straggly grass scenes and small mounds of ground, brownish foregrounds. [...]

[...] Jane said she had visions of brown earth and clumps of grass while she gave the data. [...]

[...] I thought it was going to rain, which meant that Frank wouldn’t be doing the grass again. [...]