“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

[...] The same applies to the snow, so you disapprove of yourself whether you have the grass or the snow taken care of—or whether you try to do it yourself.

[...] Some may be filled with soft grasses, innocent of sand.

The whole issue involving shoveling snow or mowing the grass also involves your ideas of time. [...]

[...] I mowed some grass, worked with the pendulum, helped Jane walk—she’s still taking steps—and wrote these notes. [...]

[...] According to his proficiency, in a like manner he would feel the experience of being the intervening grass and so forth.

[...] The bank was covered with brightly colored high grass and weeds. [...]

(We sat for the session at 9, but just then a neighbor began cutting his grass with a power mower. [...]

Deep is the sleep
Of the moss and the pebble.
Long is the trance
Of the grass and the meadow.
Footfalls come and footfalls pass,
But no sounds can break
That green-eyed trance.

[...] According to his proficiency, he would feel in like manner the experience of being the grass and so forth. [...]

[...] There is no building immediately outside of them, but grass and street or a courtyard.

“To reach Wilbur Avenue we cut across the tennis court, of grass, that my father had built for his teen-age sons so long ago. [...]

[...] Although Jane had the serape spread on grass, she sat within perhaps five feet of the flagstone patio which is directly underneath the studio. [...]

[...] I haven’t been able to get back to painting since Jane left the hospital, and I’ve had to hire help to mow the grass. [...]

[...] During one delivery he remarked somewhat humorously that the Sumari “want someone else to take care of what they have created …”, that “they don’t hang around to cut the grass….” [...]

[...] There is high grass for a while, and some wooden posts and wires.”

[...] I then realized that I saw a darkened ball something like an old tennis ball, lying in grass in front of me and somewhat to my left. [...]

[...] It was night outside, and I was sitting on the green grass in front of the theatre, beside Mohawk St., again quite unconcerned as many well-dressed people passed me by. [...]

[...] It was just this little inlet, with the rocky hills and not much grass. [...]

[...] It is in a park-like place with grass and trees all around. [...]

[...] The grass began to change color from brown to a pale yellow-green. [...]