“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

[...] You can of course feel the invisible wind against your cheek, but touch involves an immediacy different from the distant perceptions of sight and smell.

[...] Like Ruburt I enjoy the wild wind, and there were many nights when we three walked down spring streets together.

[...] And as I watched it strike the ground, I felt a wave of sensation sweep over me, the rich tingling, the feeling of perhaps an inner wind that I described first in the 24th session. [...]

[...] She went back into it within a couple of minutes to wind up the session.)

[...] / The spidery shell that /
holds my heart / is lifted at one edge /
as if by a sudden wind / and coiled / dry tendrils /
of nerves and muscles / unwind themselves. [...]

[...] / My shell / grew soft as a web /
then it fell apart / and was whisked off sighing /
in the morning / wind. [...]

[...] You felt an onrush — or should I say an onslaught? — of data in its pure form, rushing through the inner senses like a wind in a kaleidoscope because you did not know how to control or disentangle it.

[...] My fondest wishes to you all, but you are all indeed like nervous birds perched on a peaked roof, in the midst of a high wind; at least this evening, and if I treat you with less politeness, it is only because I speak with the license of an old and trusted friend.

It floundered like a wet rag in a foul wind. [...]

[...] Then, as he was about to wind up the session:

[...] A rather strong northerly wind periodically rattled the house’s metal blinds. [...]

while that rainy wind blows.’

[...] If you agree with the killing of birds for example, you wind up with the killing of men. [...]

[...] What you experienced was an onrush, or should I say onslaught, of data in its pure form, rushing through the inner senses like a wind in kaleidoscope, because you did not know how to control or disentangle the data.

[...] A tree does not divide itself up into a self that grows leaves and roots, and into a self that is automatically moved by the wind through its branches.

[...] It floundered like a wet rag in a foul wind. [...]

[...] “As the seed falls, blown by the wind in any environment, so there’s a seed of personality that rides on the wings of itself and falls into the worlds of many times and places. [...]

[...] Others are carried by the wind some distances into areas that the tree itself, for all of its height, could not perceive.

Probabilities may be swirling everywhere, yet remain of course unperceived in any given instant, so that you might in this odd strange analogy (pause) hear a dim brief whirr, as in the whirling of winds, and think it unimportant—while what you heard instead was an entire world of probabilities speed past where you stood (intently).

In what past lives
did we live before?
My cells remember
what my brain does not recall.
Your touch
sends images flying up
like leaves rising in a wind
from silent layers
underground.

[...] I believe it was I who then asked her to repeat what she had said, over the noise which was something like a rushing wind. [...]

Or the flight of a leaf by the wind blown.