“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

Ruburt once wrote a poem about a nail on a window sill. He endowed the nail with consciousness and self-awareness. Now every nail is indeed in its own way responsive to stimuli. It acts and reacts. A nail may not choose to jump down from a window still and dance about the room, but a nail is indeed aware of the room, of the window sill, and aware of the temperature on both sides of the window. The atoms and molecules that compose the nail possess their own lively consciousnesses. Their motion is directed by electrons, so that within itself the nail actually experiences constant motion. Indeed, a dance is executed of great symmetry and rhythm. The nail, then, is indeed filled with its own sense of self-approval.

The nail had to do with a horseshoe in a previous life. At that time an unshod horse stepped upon a nail caught between the wooden planks of a portion of a stable floor, the nail being in an upright position and the horse’s foot tender from an injury.

Your father in that life tried to control the horse but its forefoot came down upon the nail. [...] When you stepped upon the nail in California, the memory leaped from the depths of the third level of the subconscious, through shock, into the uppermost or first subconscious level.

[...] You identified in terror with the animal, and hence when you stepped on the nail for a moment the identification brought on the physical condition.

I can tell you, for example, that there is consciousness even within a nail, but few of my readers will take me seriously enough to stop in midsentence, and say good morning or good afternoon to the nearest nail they can find, stuck in a piece of wood.

Nevertheless, the atoms and molecules within the nail do possess their own kind of consciousness. [...]

[...] So much force was used to shatter the table leg that a nail two and a quarter inches long, that I had used in my previous repair bout, was bent at an exact right angle. This nail remained embedded in the detached leg. Other smaller nails in the same leg were pulled through the detached leg and remained in the central pedestal.

(I repaired the broken legs with nails and glue, to insure a strong job; before, the legs had been merely dowel-fastened. [...]

An added note: When you can, a gentle massaging of the tops of Ruburt’s^* toes, by the nails, and perhaps down a bit toward the first joints, will help increase the body’s entire circulation. [...]

(I clipped Jane’s nails. [...]

[...] The nails were to be easily seen. Had they been Jane’s own fingers, the nails would have been on the undersides, and invisible.)

[...] Her doctor, Marsha Kardon, had had her admitted at supper time the day before [May 20, Thursday] because the middle finger of Jane’s left hand had begun to turn blue from the last joint to the nail. [...]

[...] We noticed increased redness, also, around the nails of the other fingers on the left hand, but that situation had prevailed to varying degrees for a long time.

[...] Ruburt’s consciousness merged, while still retaining its own individuality, with the consciousness of the leaves outside his window, and with the nail in the windowsill, and traveled outward and inward at the same time, so that like a mental wind his consciousness traveled through other psychological neighborhoods.

(From his notes:) I was pounding some nails with a hammer, working on some frames. [...] I felt the hammer, saw the nails.

[...] Jane said she felt like she could chew nails. [...]

[...] Physically you are a part of every other person upon the earth, and you have a connection with each leaf and frog and nail.

[...] For now I was touching up my nails — I’d worn off all the new polish on their edges from typing my Speaker poetry all day. [...]

[...] The consciousness of matter is present in any matter — a fetus, a rock, a blade of grass, a nail.

[...] Some of your physical cells are brand new, so to speak — the regeneration of fresh life is physically within you; in your terms this is true not only until your death but even after it, when your hair and nails can still grow. [...]

(“It was for tetanus, after I stepped on a rusty nail,” I said. [...]

[...] All was quiet when suddenly Willy burst out of the closet in a mad scramble, his nails sliding on the bare floor. [...]

[...] Imagine what it is like also to be a tree, to be a nail, and then to be an entirely different consciousness. [...]

[...] Moreover, this second set had the fingernails on top. Had they been Jane’s own fingers, the nails would have been on the undersides and invisible.

[...] It is a bed of nails. [...]