“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

[...] 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. [...]

[...] It might delight the eye as decoration, or cover a blank spot upon the wall. [...]

[...] I told Jane the little session was her best yet—that if it would do any good I’d put it up on the wall. [...]

[...] You would end up, I imagine, tearing down a wall.

[...] You would definitely however end up tearing down a wall, and I believe that you might add another room, or want to possibly in the future, to one side. [...]

(Jane sat in her rocker facing the living room wall upon which hung my oil portrait of Seth. [...]

(Now Jane, as Seth, pointed to an acrylic seascape that I had recently hung on the wall opposite Seth’s portrait. [...]

(Margaret Bumbalo gave Jane a colored-glass butterfly of yellow and blue-stained glass, opened flat for a wall decoration, and fastened by a suction cup. [...]

[...] This wasn’t her really strong voice by any means, yet it echoed from the living room walls; this effect I believe was accentuated because we had taken the rug up from the floor for the summer. [...]

[...] Throughout, her voice has been loud and strong, with an echoing quality engendered by our walls and the rugless floor.

[...] I sold it for $30.00 to an older man who returned to my outside wall, where I had my work hung several times before he decided to buy it. [...]

[...] Do not put your hand through walls, it is bad on the wall and bad on the hand. [...]

(Seth’s reference to a tree concerns one I had drawn directly on the kitchen wall, in India ink on the yellow paint. [...]

[...] My younger brother Bill and I were in a very deep mountain valley, with steep rocky brown walls. [...]

[...] At least part of the time I was in a brick-walled room partially underground. [...]

[...] He swooped down beside my bed, skidded along the top of a covered radiator, crashed into a wall and fell down onto another radiator top at a lower level. [...]

(Then I saw that someone had left the shack’s door open, and that everything, the walls, the ceiling, the open door, etc., was covered with hordes of insects of various kinds and colors, all crawling and flying about. [...]

[...] Do you remember our imaginary painting that hung upon the wall?

You knock your head against walls that you yourselves have made. [...]

(At first I thought it was a trick of sunlight—which was quite diluted as it came through the room’s east windows—but all of a sudden I stopped to look at the painting as it sat on the shelf I’d built high up on the south wall just inside the door. [...]

[...] When she reads with the left eye open also, she can still read, but gets a “ghost image” of whatever is in front of her—my paintings on the wall at the foot of her bed, say—on the typewritten page as a miniature image. [...]

[...] And I’ve pinned a copy of that poem to the wall of 330, opposite the foot of Jane’s bed. [...]

China wall collapses.

[...] To the inner self neither house nor walls exist. [...]

[...] Some of the walls were of floor-to-ceiling glass. [...]

[...] “There is a boy in a third or fourth seat, back from the front, in the left row toward the wall. [...]

(“Was this the reason for the experiment in trance states involving Jane, Bill Macdonnel, and myself, some months ago-the night I saw Joseph and the wall?”)