“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

Monday, June 10, 1974, I lay down to take a nap. It was very noisy; a neighbor clipping a hedge and machinery of some kind grinding away at the new bridge site. Suddenly I became aware of a mental image, with sound that I couldn’t hear; like a silent movie. I was getting out of a car, with a man, and we were on our way toward a house in which a healer or physician lived. As that me, I had this emotional gratitude: thank God; at last, someone who can really help—or something like that; I think though I’m not sure that I also meant... someone who knew our way of thinking and what I was up to. This vanished almost at once when I snapped to, feeling that a bug or something was crawling up my leg. It was; an ant. A few minutes later, another ant, plus the noises.

Now in that infinite becoming, there are states that you would call perfected, but had creativity rested within them, all of experience would be destined to grind to a halt. [...]

[...] Jane had needed a rest for some time, after the long grind of sessions from late 1963.

[...] We thought possibly the animal reference concerned our occasional use of pepper acorns, which we used to grind ourselves. [...]

If there is no life after life,
then what cosmic spendthrift formed
the universe,
for Chance alone can’t be
that prolific, or fake an order in which
an accident of such proportions
as the creation of a world
seems so inevitable,
each random element
falling pat, into place,
and each consciousness promptly appearing
with body parts all neatly assembled—
only to be squandered,
falling apart, dissolving into nothingness
while Chance grinds out newer odds.

[...] Handmade, they had to grind the glass and stuff. [...]

[...] They were handmade; they had to grind the glass. [...]

Yoga and psy-time helped reduce the symptoms temporarily, but by last week, the stiffness was so bad that my entire shoulder was grinding like jammed sandpaper. [...]