“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

[...] (Pause.) This was part of the association leading to the dream. As mentioned, Ruburt’s interpretation was correct. The climbing up was also connected with fruit, as you might climb a tree to pluck it. [...]

(Before the session tonight I said I was curious about Seth’s interpretation of my dream of October 9. This will be given in the appropriate place in the text. Jane said that Seth was going to talk about the electromagnetic units discussed in the last session—she could “feel him buzzing around.”)

[...] I believe a doctor told me it was cancer—not very dangerous, could be removed in his office. [...] He was dominant, round-faced with thick glasses. [...]

[...] (Pause.) I do not know the specific painting, although a round object was involved. It was I believe one of the pieces of fruit. [...]

[...] She told me how a traffic light was installed at the corner of Lake Street and Nelson Avenue, as a result of the suit Marie won against the city, concerning her grandmother’s death. [...] She talked about her grandfather’s death at the age of 68, when she was 20 years old. I was surprised to hear her say that she’d never read any of her poetry to him.)

[...] She agreed that her own behavior was compulsive, in her fastening upon religion, say, and later on me. [...] She also felt “betrayed” by Father Darren when he made advances to her when she was in her earlier teens. [...]

(Jane did get a few answers, and was able to hold the pendulum better in her left hand than she’d thought she could. [...] She did get the feeling of weight or motion while using the pendulum, which she said was a good sign. [...]

The television program, about the communication of plants, also served as an impetus, so that Ruburt was able to sense the continuous “inner world” flow of love and cooperation within which all of life is couched. Ruburt had spoken about feeling isolated at times, and the experience was meant also to show him that isolation itself is an illusion.

[...] As I was getting ready to leave after reading her the prayer at 7:00 PM, Jane said she could feel that she could “take off” with more motions right then. Her left foot was moving. I told her that it was safe for her to move after I left—that is, when she was alone, I’d pulled up the guardrails, so she was in no danger of falling out of bed, etc. [...] It was another sign of the body’s willingness to move at any time, I thought.

(I told Jane the important thing was that the areas hadn’t broken down, and that was what counted. [...] I told Jane I supposed it was a good thing that others learned how to handle her; someone could always get sick, or quit, etc., and Jane agreed. [...]

[...] I told her the right leg was starting, and that was good. [...] I reminded her that yesterday Seth had said the right leg discomfort was only temporary. [...]

[...] Oddly enough, the break didn’t bother Jane, since a pillow was used beneath the leg as a cushion—but, Jane said, her feet did, so she didn’t stay in that position for more than fifteen minutes. But the fact that she’d moved onto her right side at all was a help, I said, another step along the way. [...]

[...] Jane was dissociated as usual. She was surprised at the quick ending to the session; she had hoped Seth would discuss other material also. [...] However we went for one together, and before the evening was through she was her old self.)

[...] His energy today was turned inward more than it was turned outward.

[...] He was neither wholly oriented to the inner world nor to the outer, and therefore was not efficient in either.

[...] Jane was dissociated as usual. She reported she understood the gist of what she was saying, whereas usually she has little or no idea.

(She was gloomy and afraid. She’d had a pain in her side lying there, and was afraid that it was something serious — but when I put her on her back she began to feel better, and thought the pain might only be from gas. [...] When I asked her if she was up to her old tricks, she said, “I know what I’m doing — but that doesn’t mean I can’t goof up once in a while.”

[...] After that she was still very quiet as she had a smoke and I did mail. [...] She was interrupted by Carla taking her temperature — 98.3.

(Long pause.) Ruburt had a dream with excellent connotations, in which he looked through a beautiful old house of lovely carved wood and spacious rooms, and decided to move into the house, even though it was in an area that had previously nearly been condemned — signifying that he was indeed rising from beliefs that he condemned into a larger, spacious area of expression.

[...] “If you hadn’t asked, he was going to say something about your parenthood thing,” she said. We talked about how strange it was that no one had been in yet to take her blood pressure and pulse — not that it would have mattered if they weren’t taken. [...]

For a while there was a severe crisis, which passed, when he had difficulty writing, even, and we have discussed this, the conflict of images. When that was resolved the creative breakthrough was possible, and the resulting financial gains.

[...] His father had money and was useless—according to early beliefs received from his mother. The father was also, with money now, sexually promiscuous, according to those beliefs.

It was never, except for the time mentioned, the writing self that Ruburt distrusted, but he feared for the worthiness of his being. The writing self was obviously a part of his being, and so justified it.

You see, he was afraid that he moved too fast for his own good, that to move too fast was irresponsible. [...]

The fact that you would say “I am giving you the opportunity to do this by my job” entrapped him further, for he felt basically that underneath this was another reason: that if you wanted badly enough to paint all the time that you would do so, that you should have done so, that you should do so, that you would and could have managed without jobs, particularly in the later years, and that you were betraying yourself and therefore him. He did not feel this was his responsibility. It was a reversal of the leadership for him to tell you what to do.

I told you some of this was review, but pertinent. He felt that when he had initiated action in the past that it had not worked, and he was then afraid of initiating new action, so he kept waiting for you to do so. [...]

None of this was spoken, and he felt it disloyal. [...] He was finally driven to voice some of these attitudes as the years passed; particularly after your 50th birthday and his 40th, he became literally panic-stricken, yet you did nothing, to his way of thinking.

[...] There was the struggle to succeed and not to succeed. He felt you were not putting yourself to the test, that you were holding back while he was putting himself to the test, and often not doing too well.

In Greece the young man was a senator, extremely brilliant, and emotionally immature and cold. He was very quick and impatient, particularly with the mental incapacity of others, yet he played upon their weakness in that regard. This was in Athens, and there was also a connection with Cato (pause), and a Hebrew background.

(The dictionary tells us that the Stoic philosopher and statesman, Cato, was a Roman, and lived from 95—46 BC. He was called Marcus Porcius the Younger; his great grandfather, Marcus Porcius the Elder, was a Roman statesman who lived from 234—149 BC.

(The first part of the session was held for Al and Gertrude Laux of Columbia Crossroads, Pennsylvania. [...]

(The second half of the session was held for Alma Priestley, of Clearwater, Florida. [...]

(This afternoon while painting the thought came to me that Jane’s trouble was that she was avoiding success; and success was looming ever closer with the advertising campaign planned for her ESP book, the near-completion of the dream book, etc. [...]

[...] He was uncontrolled— uncontrollable, lax, slow, and yet evil. The father had money and was evil. [...]

[...] She was evil. [...] I have been a safeguard, for I was between him and complete spontaneity, you see.

The preaching element was always strong. The poetry went against the church, but here the overconscientious self was able to realize the church’s limitations and went along.

(4:44 p.m. That was it, although Jane said she had more material available. It was time to turn her. The situation was somewhat frustrating, since I’d looked forward to some good material in changing the past from the present; I hadn’t wanted the question to be forgotten.

(In the dream she was in a bathtub, without water, talking to her mother whom she could not see. This was followed by “a very sensual” episode she cannot recall at all. [...]

[...] At first she was afraid to, but it went well — with only a little catch in her throat she faced herself, and did very well at it. The main point we agreed on was that using a mirror meant one less important hassle to deal with; she’d be hiding that much less from herself.

[...] Karina had definitely been a bother this afternoon, and she was still calling out, her voice hoarse and much weaker. I told Jane I thought she sounded like she was reliving a reversion to her childhood. [...]

(Then, I was directly above a parked car, an older type of sedan with a rounded gray roof. Looking down upon this car, I saw a wiry youngish man in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled above his elbows; hurriedly, he was circling the car, going all around it and peering into the windows. I could not see if the car was on a highway, in a driveway, or where.

[...] Yet later, out for a drive with Jane, it popped to mind that the town name I wanted was Sheridan. During the experiment I then recalled thinking that the name George Marshall gave me was a reasonable one for a town, and that it was the same as a town [or city] in Wyoming.

(By 8:59 Jane was a little nervous, but nothing like she used to be in earlier sessions. [...] Our cat Willy had become very frisky just before the session was due, as he has done lately, so to forestall interruptions Jane deposited him in another room.

(Jane began dictation at 9:01 in a quiet voice, at a comfortable rate as far as my writing speed was concerned; her pacing was also moderate, and her eyes darkened as usual.)

Besides normal reasons, he was psychically inclined, at a time when Jane was young and herself close to a past life. [...] In his solitary nature he came close to being a mystic, but he was unable to relate his personality as Joseph Burdo with the social world at large, or even to other members of the family. There was a block, regrettably. [...]

Her grandfather responded to his own attraction for her, and was able to expand in her direction because she was not an adult. He was essentially childlike in one manner, and yet he had little use for most people. [...]

“I was going back to bed when my last lines suddenly reminded me that I still feel the way I did when I was a young girl; that some part of the dawn does come for me; personally; and that to some extent time didn’t exist before I was born. [...]

[...] I wrote the first tentative notes for it shortly after the 679th session was held, in February, 1974, with the idea of adding to them later if necessary. As events worked out, Seth was halfway through Volume 1 of “Unknown” Reality before I realized that these supplementary notes would work well as the first appendix in the first volume. [...]

[...] “The funny thing is,” Jane said, “I thought that that was coming from Seth—that is, he was speaking the words, though he usually doesn’t do things like that.... [...] I had the feeling that that was being read loudly and clearly and richly by Seth—I could hear him doing it.”

(At the start this evening, she’d been unsure that Seth was involved. [...] “That was probably because he didn’t want me to think he was challenging me,” Jane said. [...]

(The day was warm—better than 60 degrees—when I got to 330, and sunny, though the sky soon began to turn darker. Jane was doing well. [...]

[...] “I got that thing with the light again,” she said as soon as she finished by 3:00—meaning her vision was better, the colors brighter again. [...]

One of the reasons that the intellect refused to see, that its own search was bound to end up in this fashion, was Ruburt’s inability to see beyond organized religion’s hypocrisy. This was mentioned earlier in tonight’s session in regard to you.

[...] When it was assured that this was the mission for which the personality had waited, and only when it was positive, did it free its protective hold and give its blessings.

Your own early environment should also be considered for what it was, a challenge set by you to bring out your full potential, through making you face problems from which you would have only too readily isolated yourself. [...] He will be free, you see, to work in fiction, and will do so in the future, because fiction will be something different than it was.

(I neglected to add that after this unscheduled session, which was held at night, Jane also spoke as Ruburt. This was the first time I had seen this take place, although it has happened a few times before, usually in ESP class. [...]

[...] Jane was dissociated as usual for a first break. [...] Her pace was good, her voice a little stronger than usual, and with a trace of her brogue. Lorraine was also taking shorthand notes.

(As before, Jane’s “moment” was actually very brief, much shorter than many of her routine pauses. It was now that I was quite conscious of traffic noise. [...]

[...] Jane was dissociated as usual, she said. [...] She was not nervous in giving the data on Dr. Instream, or on our own test object. Suffice it to note here that this was Jane’s third test before witnesses. [...]

(It will be remembered that our 2nd envelope test, held during the 180th session, was held on August 23, and that it featured a photograph of Jane at York Beach. Now checking our records, we saw that an unscheduled session was held on August 28. [...]

(I’m writing this down finally two days later and even right after the dream, much was confused. [...] 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. [...] No one was alarmed but when the sky stopped doing that I said something about always being very relieved each time it was over. [...]

[...] Jane was by now quite tired. [...] Her voice was lower than usual also. In order to check a bit on whether any telepathy was involved between us, I told Jane I had a question I wanted to ask Seth, but was not going to voice it, at least not yet.

(This time Jane was pretty well dissociated. [...] The question came up because I thought she was getting tired. Her voice was becoming hoarse. [...]

[...] She said that sometimes during a monologue she was aware that she was sipping wine or milk, and sometimes not.

(Jane’s voice during delivery tonight was a little stronger than usual throughout the session. Her pace was not fast, her eyes dark as usual.)

(Long pause at 9:55.) In the beginning, then, there was a subjective world that became objective. Matter was not yet permanent, in your terms, for consciousness was not yet as stable there. In the beginning, then, there was a dream world, in which consciousness formed a dream of physical reality, and gradually became awake within that world.

In the beginning there was instead, once more, a divine psychological gestalt—and by that I mean a being whose reality escapes the definition of the word “being,” since it is the source from which all being emerges. That being exists in a psychological dimension (long pause), a spacious present, in which everything that was or is or will be (in your terms) is kept in immediate attention, poised in a divine context that is characterized (long pause, eyes closed) by such a brilliant concentration that the grandest and the lowliest, the largest and the smallest, are equally held in a multiloving constant focus.

The universe is the natural extension of divine creativity and intent, lovingly formed from the inside out (underlined)—so there was consciousness before there was matter, and not the other way around.

[...] In your terms the magnetic fields themselves fluctuated—but all of the species were there at the beginning, though in the same fashion, for as the dream world broke through into physical reality there was all of the tumultuous excitement and confusion with which a mass creative event is achieved. There was much greater plasticity, motion, variety, give-and-take, as consciousness experimented with its own forms. [...]

(9:05.) Initially, then, the world was a dream, and what you think of as waking consciousness was the dreaming consciousness. In that regard the earth’s entire environment was built mentally, atom by conscious atom—each atom, again, being initially formed by units of consciousness. I said that these units could operate as entities, and as forces, so we are not speaking of a mental mechanics but of entities in the true meaning of the word: entities of unimaginable creative and psychic properties, purposeful fragments propelled from the infinite mind as that mind was filled with the inspiration that gave light to the world. [...]

[...] Very simply: I dreamed that I was a youth, and that even though there was snow on the ground I’d been given the task of taking care of a beautiful young tree growing in a large field next to the Butts family home in Sayre, Pennsylvania. (Sayre is only 18 miles from Elmira, New York, where Jane and I live now.) Even though it was wintertime, the tree carried a sparse cover of leaves. [...] Jane was inspired by the dream to write a series of excellent short poems about it today.

[...] In the beginning of the world there were numberless groupings, however, and affiliations of consciousness, many other organizations of identity that were recognized, as well as the kind of psychological orientation you have now—but [your] kind of orientation was not the paramount one. While, generally speaking, earth’s species existed from the beginning in the forms by which you now know them, consciousness of species was quite different, and all species were much more intimately related through various kinds of identification that have since gone into the underground of awareness.

[...] After forms were fully physical, however, all species operated as sleepwalkers for many centuries, though on the scale that existed then the passage of time was not considered in the same fashion. During that period the work of wedding nonphysical consciousness to matter was accomplished. [...]

(The call was over our speakerphone, so Jane could hear SC when he said that her Seven III “was charming,” and that he liked it very much. [...] Jane was very pleased that SC liked Seven, since I learned that she’d been worrying about this. [...]

[...] The call was in response to my letter to Nancy on October 22, re Tam telling Jane that Pocket Books had published the paperback edition of Seven II. Not so, SC explained, citing the mix-up surrounding Tam’s leaving and his own efforts to learn what was going on in the new job. [...]

[...] Now Jane told me however, that she was feeling “panicky.” [...] Then she said she thought her fright was connected to her fear of abandonment as a child—and that she would finally make life so miserable for me that I’d leave her. [...]

[...] A primary one was why Jane’s personality would continue behavior that could bring on the threat of abandonment, as she saw it—the symptoms—if she had such a fear of that possibility. [...] Another question was why her overall personality would continue behavior that could conceivably bring about the eventual demise of the physical body—and thus the death of those very portions of the personality that were causing all the trouble, and had been for years. [...]