“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

oak tree

the oak tree grows and I grow

then I can speak to the oak tree

and understand what the oak tree knows

Physically, an oak tree may cast a rich deep shadow upon the ground. It will move, faithfully mirroring the tiniest motion of the smallest leaf, but its freedom to move will be dictated by the motion of the oak. Not one oak leaf shadow will move unless its counterpart does.

Following our analogy, in the dream world the shadow of the oak tree, once cast, would then be free to pursue its own direction. [...] Anyone fully accustomed to inner reality would have no difficulty in telling the dream oak tree from its frisky shadow, however (humorously), any more than awaking photographer would have trouble distinguishing the physical oak tree from its counterpart upon the grass.

(On leaving Nassau October 31, we passed a memorial, though not a statue, dedicated to Sir Harry Oakes, who was murdered. [...]

[...] Sir Harry Oakes was bludgeoned to death, I think, though he may have been stabbed too, I don’t know.”)

(“Commemorates Oakes, who was murdered.”)

(During break Don P. remarked about the mistletoe above the door and that it could be an oak leaf if it was thought sacred.)

The oak tree is sacred and any tree is sacred and any twig is sacred and one whisker is sacred. [...]

(“Oak Ridge?”)

(“Oak Ridge?”)

[...] It is born and nurtured in those feelings of peace, joy and contentment that he experiences watching his oak tree. [...]

[...] On the other hand, my voice is as natural as oak leaves blowing in the wind, for I speak from a level of awareness that is as native to your psyche as now the seasons seem to be to your soul.

[...] I knew, or saw, that these lights came from ordinary table lamps with columnar shades of white fabric, and that they sat on a round oak table like the one in our living room. [...]

[...] I am not the oak that the seed will become. [...]

“Anyhow, each morning when I scatter birdfeed in the driveway of the hill house, the cardinals and the mourning doves, the chickadees and the blue jays and the other birds are waiting in the nearby Russian elms, the oak tree, or lined up on the telephone wires. [...]

[...] For instance, he included among other impressions, “a commemoration of a murder … a statue …” It developed that the Gallaghers had passed a statue, a memorial to Sir Harry Oakes who had been murdered in a sensational, well-publicized case in 1943. [...]

[...] (The apartments are on the second floor.) Jane’s psychic identification with the leaves of the great oak tree, growing so close beside the second apartment’s kitchen windows, marked the beginning of a different kind of relaxation for her; the kitchen became her evocative “tree house.” [...]

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. [...]

[...] I’ve made things for her before.² Recently she had been having trouble comfortably lifting her hands high enough to reach her typewriter as it sat upon either the oak table in her writing room, or upon her standard metal typing table. [...]