“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

At midnight I rush to the river’s edge.
I’d bay at the moon if I could.
And fish and birds and sky and sand
Cascade in a splash in my blood.

A frog sat still and stared with awe
At a watch that lay in the sand.
“Now,” he thought, “I am quite sure
There is such a thing as Man.”

So the frog spent all his life
Trying to understand.
While he grew old and feeble
The watch ticked on in the sand.

[...] I saw waves of sand gracefully rise up from the bow of the freighter. [...]

[...] Men dreamed their own maps in the same fashion, one man dreaming perhaps a certain portion, and several dreamers contributing their versions, drawing in sand in the waking state, or upon cave walls. [...]

[...] With a floor of stone or cement, sand-colored. A veranda outside their door, and a large bucket filled with sand. [...]

[...] Know that she is held and loved, and that life itself will sustain her, and let the demands upon life drain away like sand between the fingers.

[...] Perhaps someday you will bring a handful of sand back from a Florida beach. [...]

You are not to hide your heads in the sands. [...]

[...] The slight motion of one grain of sand causes a corresponding alteration in the distribution of the stars and in all matter’s fabric, from an atom in a man’s skull down to the slightest variation in a microbe’s action.

[...] Without warning I felt as if the bed was disappearing beneath my hands, as sand will shift away, leaving pockets of nothingness there, that kept enlarging. [...]

([Peg:] “I had a white towel, but used it to sit on sand. [...]