“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

During a break Rob told me what Seth had said about the images. Neither of us had ever heard about thought-forms then, and the whole thing sounded incredible to me. [...]

Later Rob told me that he had all kinds of questions, but he didn’t want to interrupt, and his hand was already tired from taking notes. [...]

[...] They really frightened me by their uncanny resemblance to Rob and myself. [...]

[...] I was afraid of making a fool of myself, but Rob dragged me out on the dance floor. [...]

[...] He does not block me as much as he did, and our material has been coming through very well. However he could, it seems to me, show somewhat more confidence in my ability. [...]

[...] She has also offered to do some typing for Jane and me.

For the benefit of our visitor, let me say that action is the vitality of the universe from which all realties spring. [...]

(Jane gestured and smiled broadly, turning her head toward me even though her eyes remained closed.

You will ask me, then, the source of the wish to be. You will of course ask me the source of the source, and I will say again that only within the framework of your intense but limited camouflage universe does such a question have meaning or validity.

(The arrival of two unexpected witnesses made Jane a little nervous, but the mood passed rather quickly, she told me later. [...]

Ruburt, at the age of I believe seventeen, began a poem with the line, and if he will forgive me I will quote: “The end overshadows the beginning,” end of quote. [...]

[...] To make this as simple as possible is difficult, since it has been simplified for me. [...]

(Long pause.) Because you believe that physical self-defense is the only way to counter such a situation then you will say, “If I am attacked by another person, are you telling me that I cannot aggressively counter his obvious intent to destroy me?”

(Since I hadn’t finished typing the 633rd session yet, Jane asked me to read her the last couple of pages of it from my notes.)

(The Mitzi episode in turn reminded me of a series of little poems Jane wrote a few years ago. [...]

[...] She was eager to have me read Seth’s material back to her, but then: “Oh, wait a minute… I’m already starting to get more, and I want to get up and move around first.” [...]

[...] The envelopes contained a black and white photo of York Beach, ME, taken there last summer, that is the summer of 1964. [...]

Dr. Instream understands, I am sure, that we are not only involved here with inner perceptions, and with translations that must be made as data is given by me to Ruburt, but we are also working within human limitations, and of course with human potentialities.

[...] I had decided to pass up the test for this session, and certainly had no thought that Seth would ask me for one.

[...] She said that when she heard Seth ask me for the envelope test, she became nervous, for as Jane she had no intention of asking for a test. [...]

[...] When I got to 330 this afternoon Jane told me about an excellent dream she’d had last night. [...] Jane also described to me how she negated some poor suggestions a couple of the people who take care of her had made this morning, concerning a couple of her bedsores. [...]

[...] “This really gives me hope,” she said. [...]

[...] A couple of the girls also gave me rolls, sauerkraut and hotdogs for supper this evening. [...]

[...] All the windows of apartment 5 that I glimpse as I go past seem to hold a special charm for me. [...]

(It was getting close to turn-on-her-left-side time when Jane told me to get out my paper for a session.)

(Margaret Bumbalo and Debbie visited Jane last night; she also called me around 8:30. [...]

[...] It made me wonder just how many ills are treated in this way, with the “cure” being given to the patient through conventional treatment, where if the patient understood what mechanisms were operating within, the cure could be attained without medical intervention. [...]

[...] While we were talking Jane told me that she’s been quite successful at imagining herself back at 704 N. Wilbur Avenue, in Sayre—the home of my parents. [...]

[...] Because of certain dreams I believe that even portions of my own entity (Seth calls me Joseph) are joining in. [...]

[...] For weeks after her admittance in April, I didn’t know if Jane would ever do any “psychic” work again, but three months later she surprised me by beginning a series of dialogues similar to the “world-view” material she’d produced for her books on the psychologist and philosopher William James, and the artist Paul Cézanne. [...]

[...] This presented a dilemma for me.

(Aside from her sympathetic response, Jane found the letter evocative of some of her own psychic experiences, and asked me to put it in our Seth notebook for an answer — we felt that Seth’s reply would be of interest to many. [...]

[...] By the time this episode was resolved Jane had come alert, and surprised me by saying she wanted to hold the session. [...]

[...] Instead Seth decided to relay a page of material for Jane and me before launching into Chapter Twelve. [...]

(Carla was back from vacation, and I thought she might help Jane call me tonight. As I was taking my nap in 330 this afternoon, Margaret Bumbalo called, inviting me across the street for supper this evening.)

[...] Room 330 was on the chilly side to me, but Jane was comfortable.

[...] Jane asked me to rub a certain spot on her left temple. [...] She asked me to rub the equivalent spot on her right temple, but before we got any results a nurse came in to say, “I’m making my 4 o’clock check a little late. [...]

(“And I got hot too, after that,” Jane said, referring to her forehead reaction, This made me think that the warmth she felt was a sign of bodily healing, such as Seth had said recently was associated with warmth.

[...] I knew that Jane was in the house somewhere, that she was walking perfectly all right, and that Jim had come to see her, not me. [...]

[...] I told her of the insight that came to me as she talked. [...]

(After eating an excellent lunch, Jane told me of her own long and complicated dream of last night. [...]

[...] Many of the events and feelings evoked such deep implications of trial and challenge for Jane and me that we were often left with strong feelings of unreality: This can’t be happening to us. [...]

[...] And for me, Jane’s condition came to stand for everything we don’t know in our particular joint, chosen, probable earthly reality.

[...] And I’m sure that as the reader works his or her way through the essays, it will become quite apparent that I wrote them just as much for Jane and me as I did for others—all in our ceaseless attempts to better understand, to grasp a bit more firmly, those mental and physical adventures that we’re trying to delve into “this time around.”

(To me): Now you early foresaw your part in these sessions, and our work. [...]

All of this was decided by you both, and by me before you began this particular lifetime. [...]

[...] At first she had forgotten what the frame looked like, she told me, but now correctly described it. [...]

[...] A gentle rain had recently stopped and everything looked washed and renewed, so it took me a few minutes to realize that her perceptions did indeed go beyond that fresh appearance. [...]

[...] “The night colors damned near transfixed me — they were so brilliant, glowing, and spectacular. [...]

[...] To me this meant there was legitimate data there.

(At the moment, 7:30 PM on Monday, June 12, pendulum tells me the above list is complete and correct. [...]

(At about 4 PM yesterday Jane called me out to the card table to show me the much improved movements she could make with her head: She rotated it more freely up and down and from side to side, her whole body participating somewhat as she sat in her chair. [...]

(Briefly: Earlier this afternoon Jane had told me that “someone” was going to speak to and for her as though she were “a child.” [...]

(“Let me know when you get clues as what part is speaking,” I said. [...]

[...] She finally told me that when she first looked at the envelope object during break, she read my penciled word “Man-a-me,” to the right of the poem used as object, as “Man-O-War,” which is the name of a very famous race horse. [...]

[...] She called me once again; as I went to her she burst into tears; her crying was strong and highly charged; it seemed obvious she was responding emotionally to an experience of Barbara’s of an early age; Jane seemed to have attained a state beyond words. [...]

[...] Jane told me that toward the end of the experience she felt as though she were in a deep pit with smooth sides. [...]

Do you have an envelope for me?