“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

[...] He started to whimper and to cry when he knew that he had his home and his family to protect and he didn’t do it, and I had crying kids and I didn’t need a crying husband because the older kids could shoot much better than their father because he didn’t know how to pull the trigger. [...]

The body is a sending and receiving organism; your home station, so to speak, and the focus for your activity. [...]

[...] “Maybe I’ll get to go home after all?” she asked. [...]

[...] I tried mentally contemplating the brick wall in Ed Robbins’ fireplace at his home in New Paltz, N.Y. It seemed to work. [...]

His powerful basic insecurity was caused by a broken home, and a situation where he was also thrown into alien cultures; not only was he unsure of belonging to a family, but also felt he had no cultural or national belongings.

(Ida’s brother, Louie, had also been following the material somewhat more thoroughly, and he visited the four of us at Bill’s home Saturday night. [...]

[...] And yet through living at home while helping the father, on the one hand, in the establishment, at the same time on unconscious levels by his very presence he says “I am not doing what I want to do, and you are to blame.”

[...] “I can’t even go home for an hour, without it costing two hundred dollars,” Jane said, and started to cry. [...]

[...] At the same time he described the object the Gallaghers were focusing upon in their home outside of Elmira at session time. [...]

[...] I went outside to get the car to take Jane home, and found it gone. [...]

(Yesterday afternoon and evening, May 20, we had as guests Reverend James Crosson and his wife; they visited us at the end of a lecture tour that had taken them from their new home in Florida to their summer camp in the Berkshires. [...]

[...] She was taken directly to the hospital when I called the doctor, and I went back home to that odd, nervous house that felt strangely vacant with her presence gone. [...]

[...] I want to go home.” [...]

I half waken and then drift into a recurring scene from an old childhood dream: There is a killer fog behind us, and we must get down a snowy path to home before the fog gets us. [...]

[...] Want to come home and see the paintings I’ve done?’

Nap at Home

[...] He was not sure enough of his new world; he was still enough a part of the old one so that he often saw his life and abilities through the eyes of the “old world inhabitants” — the others who might scorn him, or set him up for ridicule.¹³ They represented portions of his own psyche still at that level of consciousness, not having quite assimilated the greater knowledge or experience, so he felt he needed protection — the protection that would … cleverly … serve all of his purposes, allowing him to go ahead as he wanted to … that would keep him at home working, and yet also serve as a control against too much inner spontaneity until he learned that he could indeed trust the new world of experience.

[...] Thus she gained new insights into Seth and his home environment. [...]

[...] For a few minutes, then, she was able to speak for Seth about his home environment — but since the information wasn’t recorded I have nothing to quote here. [...]

[...] When you gave up your job you did not have to explain why you did not have to find another as “any normal red-blooded male should do,” but stayed at home devoted to a time of painting and philosophy. [...]

[...] The event reinforced much of the material in the session itself, and my idea that had brought it about: As Jane and I were finishing supper last night Tom D’Orio from Binghamton visited us with two of his friends [they had a small Seth group going at home]. [...]

[...] During their visit the woman, Carol, several times expressed the thought that she returned the second time, to see if we were home, because “it was meant to be,” or words to that effect. She also said that if we hadn’t been home, that was meant to be also. [...]

Now: In my home environment I assume whatever shape I please, and it may vary, and does, with the nature of my thoughts. [...]

[...] When I returned home I visited our next-door neighbors, the Bumbalos, briefly. [...]

[...] One person was still home upstairs however, as I reminded Jane; the reminder had little effect.

[...] Nor had I written it up in my notes for the one day recently when Jane didn’t have a session — the 13th, I found out when I got home.

[...] You were also close to hiding within your home with the cat and ignoring physical reality. [...]