“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

The man represented the reason for the symptoms—the dark side, which you both decide to avoid. You leave him in the woods, and then begin the ascent.

It means that you have no more association with it, that you leave it in the woods from which you both emerge for the ascent.

Give us a moment. In the beginning the house is small. Ruburt wants to put up the window so that a porch can be added to living space. Instead you lead him out of the house. This represents your current and late attempts to lead Jane outside physically, and your determination to get you both out of the woods.

She wanted to hide inside the house. You led her through the woods past the symptoms represented by the man, to the ascent.

[...] There is a difference, however, between a story told to children about forests, and a real child in a real woods. Both the story and the woods are “real.” But in your terms the child entering the real woods becomes involved in its life cycle, treads upon leaves that fell yesterday, rests beneath trees far older than his or her memory, and looks up at night to see a moon that will soon disappear. Looking at an illustration of the woods may give a child some excellent imaginative experiences, but they will be of a different kind, and the child knows the difference.

such lovely wood.

in Maine’s deep woods

The small woods are still

[...] The crickets and wood bugs rose up in song from the summer-thick woods out back. [...]

[...] He made them out of wood, I think, and they served as molds or models that ended up cast in metal. He rubbed a substance on the wood grain to protect it. [...]

[...] When it hit the street it bounced, and white chips of wood flew up like sparks from an anvil. [...]

As to now, I see him in connection with a railing, of steel or wood. [...]

[...] A connection with a fabric, and something to do with wood, and a house. [...]

[...] Our table at the dancing establishment Saturday night had a top of simulated wood grain. [...]

The number 12, 14 steps and a circular clock, very large, above a stairway, with spokes out from it in gold, of wood, of nautical design.

The direct expression through writing confuses him, for he is faced with a different kind of construction, say, than one might feel in a kindergarten, where blocks of wood carry the alphabet, and physical blocks might be moved around to form words. [...]

(“A connection with woods.” Our own interpretation here is that woods refers to the literal Biblical Garden of Gethsemane, which is spoofed in the poem used as object. [...]

[...] A connection with woods. [...]

Vertical objects close together, as a woods. [...]

(“Vertical objects close together, as a woods.” [...]

(Another valid connection is that Leonard mailed the card to us from the state of Maine, where he was vacationing on a camping trip; implying woods in the state parks where he did stay, as we later learned.

My heartiest wishes to you both, and my assurances to Ruburt that he is indeed out of the black woods.

[...] But she doesn’t know whether it is of brick or wood, for instance; she last saw it about 1952. [...]

Woodcarvings are woodcarvings made of wood. [...]

(“Well, suppose I tried to carve a likeness of you in wood. [...]

In more specific terms, I’m organizing this rather short exploration of Jane’s death around these items; a loose chronology surrounding her writing of Seth, Dreams … in 1966-67, and our unsuccessful attempts to sell the book; my acceptance of the survival of the personality after physical death; a waking experience involving my sensing Jane very soon after she had died; a metaphor I created for her death; a dream in which I not only contacted her but gave myself relevant information; another metaphor for Jane’s death; my speculations about communication among entities, whether they’re physical or nonphysical; a letter that could be from the discarnate Jane — one that was sent to me by its recipient, a caring correspondent whom I’ll call Valerie Wood; a note I wrote to Sue Watkins about the death of her mother; some quotations from a published letter of mine; Jane’s notes concerning the relationship we had; and, finally, the poem in which she refers to her nonphysical journeys to come.

[...] I’m offering two such events of my own, and one from the friend I’ve never met in person, Valerie Wood.

[...] The woods come down over the crest of the hill in back of the house, to the north, and with a sound like an ocean tide the wind was racing through their treetops, plunging south past the house and into the valley. [...]

I first heard from my unseen correspondent, Valerie Wood, not long after Jane had died thirteen months ago. [...]

[...] The night was warm, heavily overcast, and mysterious: The streetlight down at the corner of our lot cast long shadows up the road running past the house and into the woods. [...] My father had taken my brother and me into the woods one night, at first tracking one of the insects by its sound, until finally he’d been able to illuminate with his flashlight the katydid as it perched on a branch at just the right height for us.]

[...] The woods on the hill in back of the house echoed with the stridulations of the cicadas and katydids. [...]

Just as though it had been waiting for the right moment last night, a screech owl began to sound its sorrowful descending cry in the black woods on the hill behind our house. [...]

[...] In the warm evening the silent road still ran uphill past the house and into the woods. [...]

[...] It is also responsible for your image of the woods. This has to do with immediate psychological associations of a camp in the woods. [...]

(I glued a square of the burlap to a wood panel with a very white acrylic gesso that is used to prime artists’ canvas, then used a razor blade to trim off the excess around the edges after drying. [...]

(As indicated on page 251, the object was cut off the edge of the wood panel with a razor blade; the blade had to be sharp to slice cleanly through cloth, and such cuts were made on two sides of the object.

[...] Opening them, I find a lovely table-and-chair set of simulated wood, and I tell Rob that we can use them in our new kitchen.

[...] She is at this point like a child in the woods, but the potentialities are there for an excellent relationship.