“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

(To me again:) Your birth (in 1919) coincided with the birth of your mother’s child in that other reality, hence her stronger feelings toward you. Your birth, and that of your youngest brother (Richard) were highly charged for her — yours for the reasons just given, and your brother’s because it represented the time of your mother’s hysterectomy in that other reality. [...] Your mother had him defiantly, after the usual childbirth age (she was 36) almost reacting against that [probable] hysterectomy. [...]

[...] When your mother died in her 50’s in one probable system, your mother in this system was the recipient of energy that then returned.

(Some quick figuring showed us that the 50’s for my mother had encompassed the years 1942–51. [...] In 1947, for example, when my mother was 55 years old, I was 28 and living in New York City. [...]

(Jane now said my mother had talked with Dr Martin’s wife Emma on the telephone earlier in the day. Emma had bought a new satin gown that day, and my mother was jealous. [...] Jane said she “was sort of aware of a dress, and a telephone conversation between your mother and Emma.”

You picked up thoughts from your mother, directed against your father, and your father’s telepathic reply. [...] Your father was in the living room and your mother in the bedroom. [...]

(Jane now said she picked up something about my mother and dishes. [...]

You see, as Ruburt allows himself spontaneity, again, the mother identification will automatically vanish, and with it the symptoms it causes. [...] The constructive suggestions before bed are particularly important, and the request for therapeutic dreams, as these automatically relieve the morning symptoms, and further dissipate the lingering mother identification.

[...] And Ruburt’s mother did not approve of his.

[...] All of this added to the previous negative associations, and reinforced the existing symptoms, except that the identification was with the mother. [...]

[...] A point here involving Ruburt’s hands and his mother’s sweaters: he knew that knitting was a therapeutic measure suggested in the past to exercise his mother’s hands. [...]

[...] His mother, incidentally, called him greedy for wanting to use her perfume. [...] It reminds him of his mother’s space heater. [...]

[...] One small note here: at those times when Ruburt wears sweaters to bed, you see, they serve as reminders of his mother’s bed jackets. [...]

His mother banked upon her femininity, or so it seemed, stressing what Ruburt thought of as feminine wiles. That approach had not worked with Ruburt’s mother, who recognized Ruburt’s writing ability at least, and tried to encourage it. The mother however also overstressed the importance of a formal education as a quite bloodthirsty method of surviving in a hostile world. [...]

Yet to Ruburt’s mother, if you were a woman you either banked as she had on that femininity, and used it as a tool, or you became educated. [...] She also felt that Ruburt was a poor woman to begin with, in a way, because the intellect and femininity did not seem to mix—that is, Ruburt’s mother considered them odd components.

He saw his mother, but the image was a projected one. [...] Yet when he asked his mother, “Can you see?” it was obvious that she could.

(“Do you want to say something about Jane’s dream about her mother, on Monday—the one that upset him?”)

[...] The cats did not represent your physical cats (Mitzi and Billy Two), but old comfortable beliefs about the nature of the spontaneous self connected with ideas he picked up from his mother, in which cats represented the worst aspects of human behavior and impulses: they fawned upon you, yet were evil, and could turn against you in a moment.

[...] It was taken by an older lady friend who was treating her to an outing at a spa just outside of the New York State resort of Saratoga Springs, where Jane lived with her bedridden mother, Marie, and a housekeeper. [...] Many years later she was to tell me, “My mother hated that woman.” [...] She wears a print dress that had been given to her in the Roman Catholic orphanage in Troy, some 35 miles from Saratoga Springs; she’d spent the previous 18 months there in the institution while her mother had been hospitalized in another city for treatment of rheumatoid arthritis. [...] Her mother had knitted it during her stay in the hospital.

He was always highly imaginative, as was his mother. His mother was socially defiant, flaunting her beauty with the “disreputable” elements of society. Much later, Ruburt would date the “disreputable” men in his environment, yet neither mother or daughter saw that parallel. Ruburt’s mother by then wanted a respectable, hopefully rich husband for Ruburt, and could not understand why he chose men who did not conform.

[...] At his preference and demand, he changed from a public to a Catholic school after the third grade.⁴ This was against his mother’s judgment. [...] Ruburt, at that age — when he changed at the third grade — had quite a will then, in that he forced his mother to acquiesce to the change of schools. [...]

[...] He feels as if his mother is getting your mother to do her dirty work for her, and when your mother said to him “You are a phony,” it was also his own mother for the thousandth time putting him down.

He feels trapped in this apartment, that he is here because he is readily accessible to help your mother, as when he was a child he was readily accessible to help his own mother. [...]

[...] Jane and I were of course with Betts and Loren, my mother, and various other friends and relatives in Tunkhannock over the weekend. [...]

[...] The painting was an act of defiance against your mother, an act of independence. [...] Therefore if you made money through your paintings, then subconsciously you thought that your mother would still be getting her way. [...]

[...] When you were attempting to take your father’s place, you used your talent as your mother wanted you to. [...]

You were a commercial artist to make your mother happy, and to take your father’s place as breadwinner.

[...] Your mother would never think of it as freedom, but as slavery, so she had no use for either of them. [...] It was because your father was not willing to pay the price that he was attracted to your mother, although other elements also entered in here.

[...] The mother indeed has no great love for the daughter. There is a deep rage inside the mother. [...]

[...] My mother and father and my brother Loren and his wife and son were also there. [...]

[...] When she went into the bedroom for her 11 AM nap she ended up getting some forgotten memories about the dishonest treatment she’d received from her mother. [...] “My mother assaulted me psychologically in front of others,” she said. [...] Jane described several humiliating incidents her mother had perpetrated upon her. [...]

His mother’s pathological lying meant that Ruburt had to assess and reassess any given situation as a child. He determined not to be malicious as his mother was. [...]

[...] Ruburt did not tell anyone about his mother’s lying, for example, not until he was in his teens, and he was too ashamed of how his mother often treated him to tell anyone. [...]

[...] You never forgave yourself, and now in your first reincarnation as a woman since that time, you decided to be the vehicle through which he could enter physical reality again, and so became his mother in physical terms.

You had not been a mother to a male before.

You also wondered about depriving your mother of a grandchild now, for though you tell yourself she would not understand, still you wonder if interest in the child would not give her additional impetus and interest.

[...] On the other hand the woman image that she understands, because of her mother, is a dominating woman image. [...] At the same time her personality is far different than her mother’s, and less focused.

[...] You are treating her as a wife and mother, primarily. [...] She wants to be regarded as a desirable woman who happens to be your wife and a mother.

[...] Her mother’s domination had more masculine aspects. [...]

The sexes will be reversed and your mother will make a fine husband. [...] Your mother has been a female now twice in a row, and is ill at ease, and will do much better as a male. The mother-love experience has done much however to balance a too-aggressive nature.

[...] In many ways your mother was also wiser. [...]

[...] The man reminds Ruburt personality-wise of your mother, hence his dislike of seeing the characteristics so similar in the male and younger portrait.

[...] The picture on the postcard used as object contains many small circles, mainly the flowers as noted above, and the small circular designs, also apparently flowers, on the blouse and cap of Mother Goose. [...] Mother Goose wears no earrings.

[...] As stated the stamp on the object is gray blue, and bears a figure 5. It seems however that this data probably refers to the figure of Mother Goose, shown on the object, and to the statue standing upon a base that is painted blue. In addition Mother Goose wears blue shoes. [...]

[...] It is of a display called Story Book Land at Woodbridge, VA, and shows Mother Goose. [...]

Therefore the symptoms were adopted, mimicking the mother’s symptoms was the next best thing to having the presence of the mother as a control against the spontaneity.

[...] Your father’s condition frightened him because of the mother’s old suggestions of losing the mind, and of course the nursing home environment that represents to him the mother’s environment.

[...] Before, the presence of his mother and those surroundings acted as both restraints on over-spontaneity, and as aids for the growth of creativity. [...]

[...] It developed that Jane had to think hard in order to tentatively link the object with a hand-knit sweater she had received from her mother as a birthday present. Jane’s birthday is May 8, but she received the package sometime after this; we located a letter from Jane’s mother dated May 10, in which she discusses mailing the sweater to Jane soon. [...]

[...] Jane’s mother is a bedridden arthritic in a nursing home at Middle Grove, NY. [...] Jane’s mother mentions the name of the nurse, Fran, specifically in the letter of May 10.

[...] The nursing home or hospital in which Jane’s mother is cared for is also actually in the country, outside the small town of Middle Grove,NY. The ribbon which served as envelope object of course helped wrap a package coming from Jane’s mother. [...]

(Yet she finally admitted that she knew she’d succeeded with my mother — not with my father, though. As to her own mother, Marie, I said it was perfectly okay to admit that she didn’t succeed there, or chose to withdraw or admit failure. Jane thought her mother hated her as a child, and still did even now. The mother’s hatred, Jane said, led to her need for protection — perfectly normal, I said. [...]

[...] His mother helped make him feel unlikeable, but his abilities seemed to be his saving grace — and therefore to be encouraged and protected at all costs.

[...] This led her into talk about my mother’s opinion of her — though I tried to show that Stella’s opinion had changed and that she really liked Jane in later years. [...]

[...] You also felt that this would equate you in your mother’s eyes with your father. She, your mother, went with the main stream. [...] Your mother did think of Ruburt as a threat, for she recognized at once that Ruburt would not encourage the tendencies that she herself respected.

[...] To help support your mother, particularly in the beginning under the situation as he sensed it, and with all of his other anti-mother sentiments, was the greatest of outrages. [...]

Here you were influenced, where Ruburt was not, toward a job because of ideas of security that came from your mother, and, despite your conscious evaluations, from the activities of your brothers. [...]

(“Out on the grass, I saw them: my deceased father and his mother. [...] I estimate that his very elderly mother had died in 1926, when I was seven years old [I’m almost 59 now].

[...] He was more shadowy all through the dream, however, not nearly as substantial and real as his mother was. Nor did I see my own mother — his wife — much more clearly. [...]

[...] My mother, who died five years ago at the age of 81, was with me. [...]