“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

(I’m writing this down finally two days later and even right after the dream, much was confused. I’m sure of this much: a group of people were with me at a large round table. Right in front of us was the sky, which somehow came right down to the floor; the view was spectacular and the sky was doing something very strange; it was all made up of large sky-folds which blew and changed, huge folds coming down from inexpressible heights, past us, I think. Maybe the sky shuddered or something too? Or the earth did. No one was alarmed but when the sky stopped doing that I said something about always being very relieved each time it was over. Then I began to serve dinner to these people, started counting how many to be served, and got a bit confused because there were more people than I’d counted on....

[...] The sky is sudsy, like soapy clouds, mixing with the water. [...] Another person says something I’ve forgotten to the idea that… the ocean water or sky, … were dangerous or maybe that it was lightening, but I dismiss this, stand in the bathtub and the water is great, hot and soapy. [...]

Now, emotions flow through you like storm clouds—or like blue skies—and you should be open to them and react to them—and let them pass. [...]

[...] But a summer day is composed of far more than the sun and the clouds in the sky. [...]

Now I ask you—how far do you think a flower would get if, in the morning, it turned its face toward the sky and said, “I demand the sun?” “And now I need rain. [...]

(Pause at 10:12.) Mundane language tells you, as you think with its patterns, that your imagination is running away with you, for obviously you are one thing and the sky is another. You and sky do not equate — or (amused) as friend Spock would say: “It is not logical.” [...]

[...] You might momentarily experience a great yearning or feel your own emotions suddenly filled with that same moving majesty, so that for an instant you and the sky seem to be one.

[...] In those terms you are one person physically objectified, staring upward in the scene just mentioned at an objectified sky. [...]

But time and space are one to us.
The infinite skull
Opens skies all curled within,
Miniature world on world.

fly into tomorrow’s skies,

[...] Though the skies quaked or folded he would serve meals to many—meaning that he would offer them nourishment of another kind. [...]

[...] You should have known that you could not escape my ceremony—and my ceremony is a ceremony of the skies and trees—and even of the grass. [...]

[...] And let the energy of All That Is flow through you as indiscriminatelyas clouds through the skies. [...]

Naturally, left alone, men and women would cry without embarrassment, for crying would have no connotations of defeat, any more than the sky is embarrassed when it rains. [...]

or the rain that falls from other skies

[...] And in a matter of speaking, again, man becomes the earth thinking, and thinking his own thoughts, man in his way specializes in the conscious work of the world—a work that is dependent upon the indispensable “unconscious” work of the rest of nature, a nature that sustains him (all very intently). And when he thinks, man thinks for the microbes, for the atoms and the molecules, for the smallest particles within his being, for the insects and for the rocks, for the creatures of the sky and the air and the oceans.

Traveling from one shore of it to another becomes a vast learning adventure, in which both sea and sky are observed in all of their moods and nuances while you are safely ensconced all of the while. [...]

[...] Your skies are filled with breezes, currents, clouds, sunlight, dust particles and so forth. The sky vaults above the entire planet. [...]

[...] We had read that some of the quasars were found on old sky photographs.)

Now, even the home skies about you are filled with other realities, as I have said often. [...]

Now I have the impression that the shadow-shapes are like a latticework of leaves, with the sky behind them. [...]

[...] They were, in a strange way, mathematicians and scientists, but in a way that had nothing to do with physical space or physical theories, and they imagined out of their great power, a dimension of reality in which there were trees and fields and physical beings with physical bodies; skies that were blue; water that fell down from the sky. [...]

[...] And those from whom you originated watched and when great clouds scurried across your primitive skies in those days those who had originated you came down and you saw them and wondered. [...]

Let’s cut loose, you and I,
Zig-zag like fools beneath the sky,
Follow the crazy plunging moon
Through secret towns like crying clowns,

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.

I seem to pick up a connection with Christmas or Christmas tree, though I believe this is indirectly connected rather than directly; and something dark of rectangular shape, and also again of a border (pause) and something shady, and a sky symbol.

[...] Jane also said the sky symbol, to her, is quite definitely the circles used in the Ballantine trademark, the three-ring sign. [...]

From the blameless sky,

“The view of sky sweeping over our hill makes it much easier to see the great flights of geese heading south for the winter. [...]

In its way the nighttime visitation was even more mysterious, for that time I looked up at a starlit but moonless sky that didn’t have a cloud in sight — and heard this multitudinous sound moving across it. [...]

I’ve always transferred my life to letters,
and one day it will reside
exclusively in written nouns and vowels,
clean paragraphs
distilled from mysterious life’s days.
Even before death’s event
I plan my mind’s resting place
as if there is a second life
in thought’s products that defies
the brain’s shorter span, and rises
sans blood, flesh, hand or eye,
self-contained, truly alive at last;
like some mental balloon
set on a safe course finally
through unexplored skies
when the hand that holds it
lets it go.