“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

(I should add that when I realized what the check for the $1,000 meant, I had strange initial feelings of guilt and of rebellion, of being now in a pretty vulnerable position in some strange way, even though the money would help with hospital charges. I also thought that although Helen Park said in her letter that there were no strings attached to the donation, still there must be attachments in some form — that it was natural that there would be. The only way out of that situation that I thought of at the moment was that the giving of the gift, and the personal contact it meant, constituted the attachment. I now think there will be a variety of strings, in some form or another, and I don’t mean to be cynical in making this observation.

(I worked on Dreams this morning. The day was cold — about 22 — when I left for 330 at 12:30. I’d just turned Jane when the phone rang. It was someone called Danny Olson, from a small town in Missouri. He’d sent some home-canned jars of fruits and vegetables at Christmas time; for the past year he’d also written a string of long letters signed “me,” meaning I couldn’t answer him to say thanks for the stuff. He’d done the same thing the Christmas before last, also.

(By now Jane was dictating steadily, almost as she does when speaking for Seth.) “Now everything I just said came in a flash while I was waiting for you to write down what you just wrote; but what I got originally was like a ball of string, so that as I explained it the string unraveled into the words …

A connection with grassy land, and strings, such as apron strings. [...]

(“and strings, such as apron strings.” [...]

The apron strings referred to your Marilyn, who holds her son on her apron strings.

(This reminded Jane and me that during Saturday evening, Marilyn had described to us how her young son had discovered what fun there was to the universal game of hanging by his mother’s apron strings, as she tried to go about her duties in the trailer home in nearby Wellsburg, NY.

However, in our imaginary assortment there are many such strings, and when a light goes out on one string “it” almost automatically appears on another string. Now generally speaking the lights are all lit at once on any given string, except for those that now and then go out.

Imagine a string of different-colored Christmas tree lights, all glowing on a given tree. [...]

[...] But unless you step far back from the tree you will not realize that the entire string of lights exists at once. [...]

(“Stringy or to do with string.” Possibly, according to Jane, a reference to her borrowing string from Gladys Austin one class day at the JCC. The class members were to string Cheerios to make necklaces, etc., but the string was too flimsy and deteriorated too easily; knots couldn’t be tied in it, etc.

[...] Stringy, or to do with string. [...]

[...] (Pause.) A string, as of lights, or pearls, in a string of succession, of items in succession.

(“A string, as of lights, or pearls, in a string of succession, of items in succession.” [...]

[...] Driving into New York City by tunnel from New Jersey, I remember a long curving tunnel lit by strings of lights. [...]

(Now in an aside Seth told me there were many “strings” to the material; that it seemed to come “sideways,” but that it would all come together.)

In the meantime—now, another string—he felt the need again to come closer to you, and you ended up eating over there (Apartment 5). [...]

Another string: Because he hid from you for the reasons given, then he would become angry at you, perversely enough, when you did not understand his great joyful triumph when he felt like dancing. [...]

(Later I wondered whether Seth had been trying to get at the idea of string crossing itself around a package. [...] The cross effect can be easily found in the way I habitually wrap packages with strings and in the way I specifically wrapped the package to be mailed to the Bernards, thus:

(My next quick sketch as Jane continued speaking for Seth: Is this sign, +, a reference to the string wrapped around the Bernard package? [...]

(“A string of numbers. [...] There is a string of symbols across the bottom of the object, but mainly of letters, rather than numbers.

[...] A string of numbers. [...]

From the very beginning we kept detailed notes of the sessions, even when we were writing down strings of meaningless letters. [...]

[...] Certain postures were allowed, certain motions, and not others, as if Ruburt operated his body as though it were a puppet, keeping it in certain ritualized motions by holding the strings too tightly.

In this case the strings would be the muscles and tendons. [...]

[...] “Look” I said, “no strings, no cards hidden within cards, no bag of tricks beside me on the floor.” [...]

Also the impression of a string or series. [...]

(“Also the impression of a string or series. [...]

[...] A string of numbers. [...]

[...] A string of numbers.” [...]

[...] For the poet did not simply string words together, but sent out a syntax of consciousness, using rhythm and the voice, rhyme and refrain, as methods to form steps up which his own consciousness could rush. [...]

[...] I also experienced a whole string of glimpses of people, some of them very striking close-ups of features, as eyes, etc.

A roll of string. [...]

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

(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. [...]

[...] In his dreams he practiced stringing the words together to form their meanings, so that finally he could consciously begin a sentence without actually knowing how it was begun, yet in the faith that he could and would complete it.

I also get the impression of a string, of what I do not know. [...]

(Returning to the outside, calendar side of the test paper, there were several strings of numbers. [...]