“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

[...] Since I had to wait for his call — which never came — I couldn’t leave the house to get Jane’s typewriter. [...]

[...] People often keep track of changes in hometowns that they may not have visited for twenty years except in the dream state, when they familiarize themselves with the alterations that have happened, visit beloved streets and houses, or view old classmates.

As for myself, I think I’ve had some good results keeping informed through the dream state about people and events in my home town of Sayre, which lies just across the New York State border in Pennsylvania, and is only 18 miles from the hill house in Elmira. [...]

[...] The whole house was aware of your feelings and absorbed them. [...]

On hearing this, I feel sorry and eerie, as I imagine the house actually absorbing my ill feelings. [...]

[...] We all make the safety of the house, and I wish all the characters in the dream peace and safety from the killer fog. [...]

[...] You think of the body as a warm house indeed, and you are loathe to leave it.

[...] I took it for reference for a future painting, and consists mainly of a mass of tangled marsh grass in the foreground; in the background rise a couple of average-looking houses, a telephone pole and some wires. [...]

[...] A “framework of thin lines” is an apt description of the patterns formed by the high marsh grasses in the foreground of the photo, with the houses rising in the background as “cube formations... [...]

(While she was giving Seth’s data, Jane said she had images of a childhood playground in Saratoga Springs, NY, with houses nearby, but recognized this as her own data and did not give it as Seth’s. She felt sure the test object had a northern, as versus a southern, background, but did not say so because Seth did not say so.

[...] Place: outside one of our favorite dancing establishments, a few blocks down Water Street from our apartment house.

(The call was from Callista Buffalin, a widow now in her late twenties, who had lived in our apartment house until about two years ago. [...]

[...] The husband still visits the house. [...]

We have an excellent stone fireplace in the living room of the hill house, and often during the winter months I used to build a fire in it at suppertime; we ate while sitting on the couch. [...] We had the fireplace cleaned a couple of years ago, however, and with that break in routine I gave up using it: By then my time had become so taken up each day with what seemed like an endless list of things to do—with trying to help Jane, with working, with running the house, with answering the mail and so forth—that I just stopped making fires.

By August, however, Jane hadn’t “walked,” even by leaning upon her typing table and pushing it before her, for over eight months; she was still getting around the hill house in either her wheeled office chair, or the old straight chair I’d equipped with casters last June. [...]

[...] The yearning I feel each time I drive past the apartment house Jane and I lived in for 15 years, just west of the business section of Elmira, represents my conscious reunification of the past with the present, and even a projection of both into the future in ordinary terms.

When I look up at those three high, old-fashioned bay windows that illuminate the living room of Apartment 4, on the second floor of that house, I visualize Jane sitting behind them at her oak table, thinking and writing, intrigued and comforted by the busy patterns of people and automobiles traversing the intersection she looks down upon: Walnut and West Water Streets. [...]

[...] You were in the house, in the cellar or on the upper story. You were not on the main floor of the house. [...]

[...] Today he told us that as he drove within about four blocks of our house, he received the strong urge to visit us.)

[...] At break she said this data was an attempt by Seth to get her away from the D’Andreano family, the members of whom we know relatively well, back to Barbara, the newcomer to our apartment house, who is a relative stranger to us.

[...] As your own complaints grew however, about your job, this place (house), publishers, and his behavior, he began to feel that he did not have your trust, and therefore the old doubts, slowly at first, began to emerge.

(Checking his mail in California, Dick found a letter on White House stationery, written by Mr. Andrews. [...]

(Eleanor said Mr. Andrews is on the White House staff, and the letter is President Nixon’s way of inviting Dick to dinner with him.

[...] 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.

The comical series of events involving Floyd, one of his sons, and another helper had started this noon: “Hell, Rob, it’s a coon!” a surprised Floyd called down to me from the roof of the house, after the beam from his flashlight had illuminated the black mask across the animal’s face and made its eyes shine as it crouched at the base of the fireplace chimney. [...]

[...] Since returning to the house, though, I’ve had absolutely no time at all for the mail, and have stopped answering it except for business and an occasional exceptional letter, or a request for a visit, etc. [...]

(Sue Watkins has offered to help with the mail, but I don’t know what to do —guess I’m afraid that once it’s out of our house and hands the situation would turn into a mess. [...]

[...] Each day now, I want him to take his walk, even if it is only around the house. The corner is fine, but around the house is better than none; and to sit down for bowel movements.

[...] The apartment house provided a structure in which Ruburt—

While Ruburt was in the framework of beliefs he held, the apartment house then did serve somewhat as a countermeasure. [...]

[...] Our house was turning noisy but she showed no signs whatever of unease. [...]

[...] Because of the noise distractions in the house I kept Ruburt in trance longer — it is easier that way.

[...] He did not want him in the house. [...]

[...] And so he felt extremely guilty because he did not welcome the thought of this other Negro into his house.

[...] He knew that it would be quite an occasion for this young man to visit informally, so to speak, with the mayor, though he would vehemently deny it; and yet Ruburt did not want the man in the house, therefore denying him such a privilege at least in thought.

[...] It was a warm if snowy night, and we had a kitchen window open for fresh air; all through her delivery I’d been aware of the traffic ceaselessly negotiating the intersection just west of “our” apartment house, of course, and had asked her to repeat a number of words. We do intend to move out of our two apartments early next year, as soon as I finish the illustrations for Jane’s Dialogues — that is, we’re going to start looking for a house we can buy.

5. In Volume 1 Seth described the role a nonphysical Stella Butts played in Jane’s and my house-hunting activities in Sayre, Pennsylvania, last April: See the 693rd session, with notes.

[...] I see a lower story of a house that is divided in two, it seems. [...]

The “house of clay” does not immediately deteriorate when you leave it. [...]

[...] We had most of our windows and both doors wide open, but since all seemed rather sheltered from the wind anyhow, I decided to see if we could ride out the storm without shutting up the house.)

[...] Now the storm was going full blast, but we left the house open to the wind, thunder, and lightning. [...]

[...] The purpose however was two-fold again, the development of an environment in which controls would be there: the symptoms taking the place in this case of the mother’s restrictive presence, and the comparative isolation in the house, the comparative solitude that he felt was necessary then for the emergence of the creative abilities—both of these you see existing in the child environment.

[...] If you drive past his old house he should tell himself that he no longer needs it or what it stands for, that he can retain good memories of it. [...]

[...] She met some schoolmates, saw her old house, etc., and thoroughly enjoyed herself.)