“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

(Long pause at 9:04.) There is no doubt that differing portions of Ruburt’s body are quite comfortable, and far more flexible, when he relaxes in such a fashion. He does well to move about in his chair, as he does often, exercising when he is alone. He can do more of that to his advantage. It is important that he tells you when he does feel panicky. [...]

[...] Ruburt needs time to give himself a few suggestions in the morning, to start up his journal again, even to paint if he wants in a framework in which he allows himself that much freedom. [...] He does not have to publish a book every year on the button. [...]

[...] He is safe, supported and protected—that is, of course, the message that he is trying to get through his head at this time. [...]

[...] His ideas as he tried to explain them to you earlier this evening are excellent. They remove him psychologically, particularly with your help, as he discusses them. [...]

Tell him that he produces books as naturally as a tree produces leaves. He does not have to try so hard then. When he lets himself alone this happens naturally. Now this may sound redundant, but he has been listening to me rather well of late, and I know that there is significance even behind the obvious words I speak.

When he allows himself spontaneity his true vitality returns, and the feeling of joy, active joy, that he has so often missed. My word to him now then, for the 100th time—but now he will take it—is to allow himself spontaneity on a daily basis, the feeling of playfulness. A clue incidentally that his vitality is returning: he has not been nearly so tempted to nap, particularly in the afternoon.

He is to forget thinking of the dream book as something he must do. [...] He has been using the idea of the contract as a club, and this is why he has been so sensitive about it. [...]

I have told him that concentration on his work will dissipate the rest of his symptoms, but he adopted a too-conscious (underlined) deliberation here. He should write his book the same way that he writes his poetry—not demand of himself, but simply and quietly and joyfully expect.

He realizes well now that money is not all that important, yet the old beliefs were so entangled that he had to prove to himself that it was not so important after he achieved it. Otherwise he would always tell himself that he believed money basically unimportant because he was not able to achieve it.

In his twenties he could well combine the idea of little money with his writing because he realized it might be that kind of profession, but he became frightened as the years passed. [...] Then he will be able to feel completely free from that particular kind of long-term charged reaction.

A clear understanding of the point of power will clear that up, that seeming discrepancy between what he wants and what he has. The improvements constantly show him that what he has is changing for the better and ever-approaching the flexibility he wants. [...]

[...] The feeling of trust, emphasized, will help Ruburt so that he does not become too impatient. When you go out in public he immediately thinks in terms of absolutes, and feels himself inadequate as a result, and his improvements seem trivial in comparison to what he wants.

[...] He struggled, for example, against the old ingrained pattern, to get himself up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, or to stop what he was doing in the day, to go every hour, yet he did so. [...]

Actually, many times he walks to the bathroom faster at night, since he is not worried about how he looks. [...]

He did well in other areas when you were concentrating only upon the bathroom, for he ceased worrying, concentrating upon one area where he could and did improve.

This was important, because it showed that he could change, and removed physical fears he had, for example about his kidneys—but more important, because you zeroed in on an area in which change was possible.

[...] He said he remembered the information Seth was giving him. It concerned the manner in which he would be advanced. John was concerned about where he would go to beyond the triangle, for at first glance he said he seemed to have nowhere to move to.)

He is an acquaintance of the messenger and he is superficially friendly with the messenger, and he may (underlined) have warned you against him in the past. If he has not, he has been personally suspicious but did not consider the man that important, though the term is relative.

[...] He has short legs. [...] While he is honest when he says something, his own ambitions betray him into untruths. He is not to be trusted. I believe he is two steps away from you, and usually you know better a man who stands between you and him. [...]

[...] He will lose his position as far as bargaining power is concerned, or he will let it go. But for some reason he will lose within the organization what strength he now has.

He quite understands how in childhood he adopted colds and discarded them, and is to see then the other symptoms in the same light. [...] He needed to see how he himself in a relatively harmless (underlined) incident in miniature, so to speak, could create such conditions as the cold, and in growing out of it see how he can grow out of the other symptoms.

[...] He has had a better appetite. The body has been calling for more food and nourishment, and quite unconsciously he has been consuming a larger amount of peanut butter, which is giving him several nutriments that he needs.

Intuitively he began to understand the physical connections between that kind of cold and sinus involvement, and his condition. (Gestures to include the whole body.) A cold is something that comes and goes, and is not permanent, and he is to see his other symptoms in that same light—not as he saw them earlier, as a permanent-like situation.

[...] He needed to know that people saw and recognized the symptoms of a cold so that when he was rid of it he could see for himself that they no longer perceived those symptoms in him.

[...] (Pause.) In a strange fashion he does not feel a responsibility to write poetry—he doesn’t use the ability because he thinks that he should. In fact, sometimes he writes poetry when he thinks that he should not be doing so, but instead doing something more responsible. [...]

It seems to him as if he would—if he were using all of his abilities as he should—be a public figure. He would also be far more capable of helping people solve their problems through some kind of therapeutic framework. (Pause.) He would see to it that as many persons as possible had the opportunity to see a session, and he would furthermore also be developing his own psychic experience at a far greater rate. Against that kind of image, he feels inferior. [...]

[...] Difficulties arise, however, in book dictation on those occasions when he becomes too heavy-handed and worries about the responsibility of helping to solve the world’s problems—about his or my capacities in that regard, and when he considers the possible and various objections that any given subject matter might activate on the part of any given group of people. [...] Sometimes I insert the particular material in your private sessions first of all, so that he becomes somewhat acclimated to it. [...]

The only other times there is any such difficulty also involve responsibility when he concentrates upon his responsibility to hold the sessions—that is, when he focuses upon need, function, or utility as separate from other issues involved. Such feelings can then for a while override his natural inclinations and his natural enjoyment and his natural excitement with which he otherwise views our sessions. [...]

He is ill-disposed, and quite honestly so. Therefore he covers himself. If he does not get an idea tomorrow he has the excuse, anticipated, of being ill, and this also serves as a punishment. He will punish himself on any day that he does not put in his allotted hours in what he considers a constructive manner.

I would have thought that any advice to Ruburt would have involved suggestions curtailing his robust and ever curious intuitional abilities, but he is holding them down with too heavy a hand. He so feared that he lacked discipline that he becomes too stern a keeper of his own inner fires.

Monday he also worked, and the following day he did not immediately begin another story. [...] But to hide from himself the dire imagined sequence he must have an excuse.

Consciously he knows better. [...] He will learn shortly, and without any real difficulty, that while his new schedule will be, as it should be, followed with discipline, nevertheless he cannot expect a new idea every day.

[...] Now he cannot stand to feel loyalty divided. He must feel his complete loyalty to you or to another. He cannot seem to divide the two. When he is with you, his loyalty is yours. When he is with the grandfather, however, he relates to those characteristics that are like yours. [...] They confuse his sense of loyalty and he feels that he is supposed to relate to the grandfather as a male image when he is away from you. He feels that this will hurt you, but more than this, it makes him feel insecure. [...]

[...] A difference in the behavior of two personalities that he holds dear. [...] He has been identifying with you as his male image. [...] When he is away from you, however, in his particular case, any characteristics that are not yours that he sees in his grandfather somehow become threatening. He wants to identify with both of you. He wants to think of you in some manner as one. [...] When he is alone, however, with the older man, any characteristic of his that does not agree with yours becomes threatening to him. [...]

[...] He has the feeling, I will not say he has been given the feeling, but he has it, that his father demands a strong emotional attachment on his part and deep loyalty, and he relates strongly to him for this reason, but when the father is absent then he experiences hesitation. [...]

[...] Now, as Ruburt told you, the Alpha I state is an adjacent state of consciousness, and when he has talked about it he has spoken about going below into other deeper layers, and also in his mind, he also has the idea of going above into other layers. [...]

He is not to feel at the demand of letters, people, calls or otherwise. He is to feel free of those demands. [...] When he realizes he need not be at their demand he can be freely grateful for his mail, and not resentful.

The peanut butter he instinctively seeks out, but he should get in the habit of eating other kinds of nuts—cashews particularly. And as he suspected lately, sunflower seeds are good. Cottage cheese with lettuce he likes, and both are good for him. Olives are an important corollary, and he likes them.

He was afraid of going too far too fast, and worse, of going alone. Controls were applied as he learned to experience and use his growing abilities. The fears about being an official psychic were to see that he did not fall into the temptation of allowing all the dogmas to be tacked upon the phenomena, so that he would not operate within old frameworks, and therefore tacitly give voice consent to them.

Earlier he experienced high accelerations of creativity and consciousness (pause). [...] He sensed the energy, of course, and considered it one of his characteristics, but it frightened him. He had definite ideas of the ways in which energy should properly be used and channeled.

[...] Basically, he is highly affectionate. He believes in communicating through words, and he believes particularly in communicating “in a positive manner.” He does not believe in communicating disapproval or aggression. [...] He equates silence with disapproval. He does believe in communicating love verbally and through touch, whether or not sexual feelings specifically are involved.

[...] He needs the verbal expression of love and affection, not only in regard to his work, which he appreciates immensely, but in terms of his person. He used to try to trick you into such remarks. Sometimes he pleaded, and finally he decided they were simply against your nature, and so he must forget it.

[...] Ruburt, however, feels that it is not safe to express disapproval—the opposite of your habit—and so he feels threatened to some extent because your verbal expressions are so often of that nature, even if they are not directed to him, and he inhibits his own expression of any disapproval he feels, or frustrations. Lately he has made an effort to speak out.

[...] They led Ruburt into periods of time in which he enjoyed simple pursuits—the making of a meal, for example. [...] He was reacting to new stimuli, as is natural for the body. He stretched just about every muscle in a new way, and made new demands upon the body, that the body quite agreeably tried to meet.

He has done already more good than he knows. He must realize all of these points.

He is progressing. [...] Therefore he had to seek others. [...]

He must fully understand that while thought is action, thought cannot hurt nor help another without the consent of the other person involved. [...] He had nothing to do with making his mother a cripple, nor does his fear, hatred or scorn of her keep her in that condition.

He is not responsible for the fact that his father left his mother. Now he did contribute, but no more than many others, and the main circumstances were chosen by the mother and the father.

[...] He who does not have expectations along certain lines will not commit himself, and will not achieve; in the particular instance he will not give enough of himself, and he will not receive, except in proportion to what he gives.

For this he is to blame, and not you, since he knows intuitively what I will say; and out of fear and doubt he has refused to act upon the knowledge. You could have been persuaded, but again for all his yacking, he did not have the courage of his inner convictions, and really made no attempt to act upon them.

When man realizes that he creates his own image now, he will not find it so startling to believe that he creates other images in other times. [...]

He would have been acting out of expectancy, in league with subconscious as well as conscious need, and the impetus of wanting money would have given it to him, if he closed off the other means. He did not.

[...] He knows what he sees, but perhaps we can aid in our Ruburt’s commitment. He demands proof of the validity of this material, his psychological time experiences notwithstanding. He demands physical effects and then freezes up. He questions everything that happens in the sessions, and sometimes I think he believes none of it.

[...] He was always in search of the discipline he lacked. [...] Well, now he has his discipline, but it has been overdone. [...] He is now doing better with his psychological time experiments, and he must let this spontaneity expand into other aspects of his life. [...]

[...] He made a quick sketch on the back of the already used paper and passed it to me. I saw that he had roughed out Jane’s features, stressing her closed eyes. I also saw that he had drawn, upon the closed upper eyelid, an iris, thus superimposing upon Jane’s closed eye an open one. I nodded to Bill to show that I understood that he was seeing an eye or eyes upon Jane’s closed lids.)

[...] The reason that his paintings upset him is that they reflect his inner knowledge, of which he is well aware. It is true that his poetry does also, and over the years he has come to take this for granted. [...] And since he is still a doubter of the material, he sees this inner knowledge in a new light, and is upset.

The police didn’t know how he arrived in town either, without money or even a coat. Chances are he’s left town by now. They don’t think he has a family. He did tell them he had an apartment in Denver, CO, but obviously no local agency was going to pay to transport him back home; we’d wondered about that, too. [...]

I explained a few more details to the officer today, and he told me to give them a call if by any chance Fred shows up again. Like me, he didn’t believe that Fred flew here from Denver—that is, talking a stewardess into giving him free transportation all that way—yet Fred got here somehow, and I explained that the manuscript of Fred’s that I’ve looked over contains descriptions of his landing in Pittsburgh, PA, and working his way east through a series of stops at restaurants, in which he’d add to his manuscript each time. [...]

[...] He delivered a name and phone number from a woman in Alberta, Canada, who wanted Jane to call her. [...] However, he knew about his fellow officer’s encounter here at the house with Fred Conyers last Saturday. [...]

[...] He was kept in jail overnight, then released. [...] He didn’t though; so far, that is. [...]

[...] And determined that he would try to circumvent it—hence your sketches in Dialogues; for despite your avid and determined dislike of the marketplace and its imperfections, of which he is more aware than you think, he thought that he would still see to it that your talent was placed to some extent at least before the world —rail as you would against the stupidities and poor craftsmanship. He was determined, protesting or not, that your work would see the light of day, that despite any compromises its merits would appear.

All of this occurred—the symptoms—while he tried to gain what he felt was the necessary wisdom to handle his experience. He now has that wisdom. [...]

He has done remarkably well with the gums also. [...] As probabilities go, he can avoid losing any other teeth. He can. [...]

[...] Ruburt knew that the adventure required a finesse, a juggling of realities, and he felt a maturity or wisdom that his years had not given him. [...] He was persuaded.

[...] Seth quite emphatically reminded us that most of the time he “kept his feet on dry land,” but he did talk about a few voyages he made. He stressed that he was a merchant rather than a sailor.

(Seth said he was not careful enough in sorting out his own impressions. He picked up accurately enough that the test object could be held in the hand, had a connection with water and an indentation—the opening in the teapot—but erred in the rock or stone terminology, the color and the word nondescript. [...] Seth said Ruburt transmitted accurately enough the data he gave. He also said that we would conduct a series of tests with the Gallaghers, involving objects, and that they would be successful.)

[...] Seth told me I would become a very well-known painter; Ruburt, he said, knew nothing about artists’ agents or their locations in New York City, he said for the record, adding that there is an agent on 62nd street who can be of great help to me. [...] He did not give me the agent’s name. [...]

(Seth told me that as the years passed and these sessions continued both Jane and I would become more and more sure that he is what he says he is—an energy personality essence. [...]

[...] In our sessions he lets himself alone, and in class and with Sumari, and with poetry. He knows what that feeling is. [...] It might take a bit before he understands what that means enough to practice it, but he can understand.

Tell him that when he is writing a poem, or wants to, he does not stop each time he picks up a pen and says “I can’t do it.”

When he finds himself thinking that he cannot walk properly, have him at least recognize the thought, as a thought and belief. [...] The reflection will automatically set up a gap of time in which he is not acting automatically in response to the negative suggestion.

[...] He has been over-suggesting again, particularly at nap time—at himself too much. [...] Beyond that he should leave himself alone—as far as specific suggestions are concerned.

He wanted you to have what you wanted to have. He considered your painting—and much that he has done has been on your behalf as well as his own. It may seem, as you say, that he did not take your feelings into consideration—as no man wants, on that level, to see his wife at all incapacitated. But in his own way, and no matter how misguided, he was trying to pace himself and his temperament with yours, to play up those mental writing abilities that would help his career, and in which you took such pride—and while doing that, play down qualities that might distract you from your own work, by encouraging physical activities—parties, vacations, travelings, that would further take up your time, when you were already taking time away from your art to help him in psychic work.

[...] He is revitalized. He tries his best under the circumstances to look his perkiest, to have fun. He wants to dance, and he tries, and he does. [...]

Whenever his confidence is built up to even a small degree, and he shows signs of wanting to go to your joints, then you call the tune, and he lets you. He lets you because he is afraid he has indeed gone too far, and believes that is as far as you want him to go—for all of the reasons given earlier.

[...] He would not be making money for both of you that would enable you to paint, etc., but losing it, if he allowed himself the freedom to run all over the place, take vacations, etc. He thought he was buying you time, and for himself as well.

He wrote poetry as a child because he is a poet. He never consciously asked himself why he did something for which there was so little practical reward in the childish world. As he grew older it did put him in the papers, as he won poetry awards, but it was not a thing that others understood.

By then, however, Ruburt began to fear that he was headed for trouble—that he was too impetuous, headstrong and impulsive. Leaving Walt for you on a moment’s notice, so to speak, was not extremist behavior either, for he had spent three years in that relationship, and gave it indeed all the trial period it deserved. And though he loved you, he did not “plunge” into marriage with you either. [...]

Ruburt is not an extremist—nor, on the whole, is he given to extremes. He has at times taken some comparatively extreme measures, and they were taken to some degree because he felt he could be an extremist.

Now, what would that extreme behavior consist of “at its worst?” He felt that if he were a person given to extremes, then to use his abilities he must apply due discipline so that his head was not turned, so that he did not become a victim of fame, as many other writers and artists did—or so it seemed. [...]