“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

[...] As I type its pages for the final time, I’m back at our old Water Street apartments, and in our new “hill house” at once; I’m referring to 1975 sessions and recording Seth’s dictation on his latest book as well. [...]

“The view of sky sweeping over our hill makes it much easier to see the great flights of geese heading south for the winter. [...]

[...] We watched the geese fly toward the hills on the far side of the valley; we could still hear them even when they’d become practically invisible.”

[...] In the world that you recognize as official, however, they moved into the hill house. [...] I do not mean that they are simply familiar with the exterior thought processes involved, such as: “The hill house is better constructed,” or “It has a fine view.” [...]

[...] (Long pause.) They identify with the selves who moved into the new “hill house.” [...]

2. Our “new” hill house is really 21 years old. [...]

But first, the beautiful little house that Jane and I bought in 1975 sits near the top of a moderately steep hill at the western edge of Elmira. We soon came to call it the “hill house,” in person and in our books. (Eventually mail began to arrive addressed to us simply at “The Hill House, Elmira, N.Y.” [...]

[...] I didn’t start doing this to avoid the bedroom that Jane and I had shared in the hill house for the last nine years, but because I’d always wanted to and now can. [...]

[...] The woods come down over the crest of the hill in back of the house, to the north, and with a sound like an ocean tide the wind was racing through their treetops, plunging south past the house and into the valley. [...]

[...] The reference to hills is clearly seen in the photo: Jane sits on a group of craggy high rocks on the Maine seacoast. With the figure painted out of the photo the rocks would easily resemble any number of aerial shots of denuded mountain ranges, or hills, depending on scale.

[...] I think now of a border of flowers, and of the two people, a man and a woman, and J. B. I think also of hills.

[...] Floyd is an extremely generous and caring individual who has helped us many times over the years; he’s the contractor who converted half of our double garage for the hill house into Jane’s writing room.² Jane and I have each shared a number of psychic experiences with him.

[...] A flash flood watch is in effect—nothing to worry us on our hill! [...]

[...] When Jane and I were on our way to the home of the Gallaghers, who live on top of a steep and long hill outside Elmira, the car lost power, then stalled out on the hill. It was after dark, the road was slippery with snow; I had to back down the hill while Jane lighted the way with a flashlight, until I found a driveway. I did not realize I had run low on gas at the time, for the car started as we coasted down hill. [...]

[...] The good skier feels a part of the snowy hill, yet most skiers feel that the hill must be conquered. [...]

The last stop in our group’s little tour was to visit the hill house. 1730 Pinnacle Road sits on a corner lot up a modest hill on the western outskirts of Elmira. [...] The woods continuing on up the hill begin only 50 feet from the garage. [...]

[...] Our rich memories of those gatherings are nourished each time we drive past the Inn on our way to the hill house. [...] Then, with Laurel driving and our friends’ cars following, we traveled up a steep and winding hill just outside the city to not only a fine view but to Quarry Farm, an old-fashioned but large and elegant wooden homestead where Mark Twain had done some of his finest writing. [...]

Actually, Laurel and I drive past 458 often, without paying much attention to it on our way from Sayre to the hill house. [...] I hadn’t set foot in 458 since the day we’d moved to the hill house 27 years ago. [...]

[...] I made it up the hill okay, but with hints of sliding around. [...]

(Late last night I stepped out onto the screened-in back porch of the hill house. [...] The woods on the hill in back of the house echoed with the stridulations of the cicadas and katydids. [...]

Just as though it had been waiting for the right moment last night, a screech owl began to sound its sorrowful descending cry in the black woods on the hill behind our house. [...]

I’d rather write about the nature that Jane and I live amid here at the hill house, I suppose, but it seems that in the beginning each great secret we uncover in our world is a “natural” one. [...]

[...] I carefully propped up the tree, a balsam fir, in the woods at the back of the hill house. [...]

[...] Those entities, in your terms so ancient, left fragments of themselves in trance (underlined), so to speak, that form the rocks and hills, the mountains, the air and the water, and all of the elements that exist on the face of the earth.

7. Added later: See the notes on the hill house at the beginning of the 736th session. [...] Seth made no predictions, about the hill house or any other, nor did we ask him to.

[...] Without feeling any great curiosity I checked out one place we’d seen before: the hill house. [...]

[...] A couple of weeks later I felt considerable humor upon rereading Seth’s statement here: See the notes about the hill house, inserted at the beginning of the 736th session.

[...] It was John Bumbalo, our neighbor who lives across the street from our hill house. [...]

[...] She followed me down the hill and into the service station there, where I waved goodbye. [...]

[...] Last Christmas he arranged for me to have a show of paintings at Harris Hill Inn, just outside Elmira, in February 1965. [...]

(“A connection with a February event,” is the show at Harris Hill Inn, arranged by Roy Fox. [...]

(Harris Hill Inn was closed on Monday, February 1,1965, and Jane and I met the proprietor there Monday evening and hung the paintings. [...]

[...] There was fog on the way up Coleman Avenue toward the hill house.

[...] “I even have these dreams that you can wish me out into the car and take me down to those hills in Pennsylvania.... [...]

Section 6 also contains the story of how Jane and I searched for the “hill house” we bought and moved into before the last section of “Unknown” Reality was finished. [...]

[...] You form the roads, your method of travel, the hills or mountains or oceans, as well as the hills, farms, and villages of the self, or of the psyche, as you go along.

[...] That is, the living room in the hill house is now her writing room, and her one-time writing room at the back, north side of the house has become the living room — or call it the den-and-television room. [...]

[...] Already I looked forward to their migration, that ancient movement I’ve become especially fond of since we moved into the hill house over four years ago. [...]