“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

Now many of you here use the word “shit.” You apply the term in a derogatory manner to yourselves, and you think: “I am full of shit.” And where does the great spectacular reality, the physical reality of your earth, spring from? Why is shit not considered sacred and blessed and glorious? You think of shit, unfortunately, as the antithesis of good; and when you play around it or with it, you think you are being childish at the best, and wicked at the worst.

You think that the soul is a white wall with nothing written upon it, and so your idea of sacrilege is to shit upon it, not realizing that the shit and the soul are one, and that the biological is spiritual; and that, again — if you will forgive my homey concept — flowers grow from the shit of the earth. And in a true communion, all things of this life return to the earth, and are consumed and rise up again in a new life that is never destroyed or annihilated, though always changing form.

A child sits, perhaps three years old, with his finger stuck up his ass, feeling the shit that warmly runs down, and that child knows that shit is good. Then, give him credit!

So, when you shrink from such words or such meanings, why do you shrink? Because you do not trust the biology of your being or the integrity of your soul in flesh. You are people. You are made of the stuff of the earth, and the dust from the stars has formed into the shit that lies in piles — warm piles that come from the beasts and the creatures of the earth. And that shit fertilizes the flowers and the ground, and is a part of it.

Comes to me today that years ago I got scared when I thought anyhow that Rob’s parents “shit on us” when we were broke; before I hadn’t worried about money—just writing . [...]

[...] I’m so disgusted I don’t give a shit,” I said. [...]

[...] “It’s sure as shit something I couldn’t do before.” [...]

[...] No sooner had Jane spoken Seth’s greeting than a student nurse came in to take her temperature, at 101.2. “Shit,” Jane said. [...]

[...] “I feel like I could shit and burp for a week,” she laughed. [...]

[...] “I didn’t give a shit,” Jane said, coming out of trance. [...]

[...] He could have said, “Had it, shit,” but he did not. [...]

[...] “Shit,” Jane said, “if my body can recover like it has, then it can fix the leg too.” [...]

[...] “That’s what shits me—and here last night and this morning I was getting it all so clearly.” [...]

(“Oh shit, I’m getting more.” [...]

[...] “I get nervous as shit when I’m away from them—more than a week or so, I mean. [...]

[...] It’s satisfying as all shit.”