“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

Many such people feel before death that the body is a shell from which death will free them—and here you have a verbal symbol: the shell of the body, with a gun shell, and the soul being propelled out of the body, though that was not part of the dream. But if there is order to being, then there is order—and even the most chaotic-seeming episodes must and do have a larger meaning, and a constructive purpose.

[...] A fragment, the shell that you know, remained.

[...] The shell of your father rejoiced. [...]

[...] The father’s shell will feel pushed out initially, but then will find peace and contentment, for it is passive, and has been pushed to exhaustion. [...]

[...] (Pause.) Your father’s ghost or shell waits to be reunited with the other portions of itself. [...]

(Regarding Seth’s statement about a string of shells, the only association with shells that Bill recalls is that shell ashtrays were used at the party. [...]

[...] I also believe he was in a group with four men, maybe something to do with a string of shells, also.”

Quite frankly, I believe that normal dreams are the outside shell of deeper inside experience. [...]

The other part, / dispassionate, / flows together /
with the waves / past world and rock / dispersed as mist, /
beyond impediments / uncaring / while my heart /
in the fragile shell / calls out, / “Come back /
dear counterpart. / I am exhausted, / near dying, /
a partially empty / shell, paper-thin / with all my /
life alive / and flaming / only in my head / but nearly /
unstirring. [...]

Something in me / ebbs and tides, / as if I let myself /
for a while / be washed away / out to sea / while leaving /
some spidery shell / upon the shore / dry and shriveled, /
scarce alive. [...]

[...] / The spidery shell that /
holds my heart / is lifted at one edge /
as if by a sudden wind / and coiled / dry tendrils /
of nerves and muscles / unwind themselves. [...]

[...] / My shell / grew soft as a web /
then it fell apart / and was whisked off sighing /
in the morning / wind. [...]

[...] Early man did not feel like an empty shell, and yet selfhood existed for him as much outside of the body as within it. [...]

[...] So he did indeed —to some extent, now—turn his body into a shell of a kind, cutting down spontaneous activity in an unsafe universe.

[...] Open up your imaginations in this regard ...throw off the shells of habit ...all kinds of habits (pun to Gert, a former nun). [...]

[...] He will not hurt you if you hurt him to retaliate, but he will escape, close himself off from further hurt, leaving a shell behind, an animated but empty one.

[...] That network is unpredictable, yet from it Ruburt can predictably put ashes into that shell. (Jane held up her favorite ashtray, the abalone shell we’d found in Baja California in 1958, and tapped some ashes into it from her cigarette.) The predictability of that gesture rests upon the basis of an unpredictability, in which multitudinous other actions could have occurred, and in other realities do occur.

A shell. A man’s hat on a table next to a shell, such as a seashell. [...]

You do not have completely empty shells of matter about to be filled, in that the new personality hovers in and about, particularly after conception and with greater frequency and intensity thereafter. [...]

[...] When man’s ego turns instead into a shell, when instead of interpreting outside conditions it reacts too violently against them, then it hardens, becomes an imprisoning form that begins to snuff out important data, and to keep enlarging information from the inner self. [...]

[...] He is somewhat like a snail without a shell, and could benefit strongly by your affection, shown in a more practical manner.

Jane, then, wrote those two poems 16 days before she dictated the last session for Seth’s The Nature of the Psyche on April 4, 1977; one month before she began dictating Mass Events on April 18, 1977; two years and two months before she began God of Jane on May 6, 1979; two years and six months before she began dictating the Preface for Dreams on September 25, 1979; two years and eight months before she came up with the idea for If We Live Again on November 15, 1979; three years and five months before she began dictating Seth’s material on the magical approach to reality in Dreams on August 6, 1980; four years before she began dictating Seth’s sinful-self material in that book on March 11, 1981; four years and three months before she began coming through with her own sinful-self information on June 17, 1981; and four years and five months before, on August 26, 1981, she wrote the poem in Note 6 for Session 936 of Dreams: “Something in me / ebbs and tides, / as if I let myself / for a while / be washed away / out to sea / while leaving / some spidery shell / upon the shore /….”

[...] For the scientist, if he would heed the call and if he would take a spade and dig in the middle of February perhaps down into the earth to find our seed, would find simply a shell. [...]

[...] I also believe he was in a group with four men, maybe something to do with a string of shells, also.

When man’s ego turns instead into a shell — when instead of interpreting outside conditions, it reacts too violently against them, then it hardens and becomes an imprisoning form that begins to snuff out important data and to keep enlarging information from the inner self. [...]

[...] The family living in it was moved and the shell boarded up — with Rooney, as a kitten, trapped inside. [...]

[...] Suddenly I feel the shell of my physical body for what it is — my own creation — and am aware of how much more I am. [...]