Skater (1964). Skater — painting by Alex Colville. Skater 1964. Acrylic polymer emulsion on hardboard 113 x 69.8 cm.

Acrylic polymer emulsion on Hardboard

113 x 69.8 cm.

© 1964 Alex Colville.

Provenance: Museum of Modern Art, New York City.

Without a doubt, one of my favourite Alex Colvilles.


Sponsor: Suhail Mubeen – Certified numerologist & Vedic astrologer.

© 2014 Arvin da Braga.  All Rights Reserved.

Posted in 20th century Canadian art, 20th century Canadian artists, Acrylic paintings, Art, Art Collection, Artists, Canadian art, Canadian artists, Contemporary art, Contemporary Canadian art, Contemporary Canadian Artists, Painting | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Art Toronto 2014

Today, I reported to one of four jobs – well, of course, I work a million jobs… you can hardly expect someone so resourceful and prodigious in the dreamtime to be an idle sort when awake – at the Metro Toronto Convention Centre and pumped fists in the air when seeing that it was one of the annual art shows that roll into the workplace.

It was beautiful and readily inspiring to make my way through the installing exhibition.  Here are a few gems that really moved me… I will return as a member of the public towards the end of the run.



Kae Sasaki, Untitled, Oil and Patina on Gold-Leafed Panel, 2014, 40- x 40-


Oil and Patina on gold-leafed panel

40 x 40 inches

© 2014 Kae Sasaki

Presented by Gurevich Fine Arts of Winnipeg – Booth 1114

Buffy Sainte-Marie, Elder Brothers, Ilfordchrome (cibachrome) photograph, 73

Elder Brothers

Ilfordchrome (cibachrome) Photograph

73.5 x 90.0 inches

© Buffy Sainte-Marie

Presented by Gurevich Fine Arts of Winnipeg – Booth 1114.


Come and Get your Love @cantstopgoodboy

Come And Get Your Love

© @Cantstopgoodboy

Presented by ProjectLA Gallery of Los Angeles  – Booth 915



Postma Fine Art of Calgary – Booth 114


rande-cook-painting-idle-no-more 8x6

Idle No More

Acrylic on Canvas on Board

6′ x 8′

© 2013 Rande Cook

Presented by Fazakas Gallery of Vancouver – Booth 1020


Martin Bourdeau

© Martin Bourdeau

Presented by Galerie Division of Toronto/Montréal – Booth 900

I found this show much better than last year’s.  You must go!


Sponsor: Suhail Mubeen – Certified numerologist & Vedic astrologer.

© 2014 Arvin da Braga.  All Rights Reserved.

Posted in 21st Century American Art, 21st Century Art, 21st century Canadian art, Acrylic paintings, American Art, American Artists, Art, Art Collecting, Art Exhibition, Artists, Award-winning artist, Canadian art, Canadian artists, Contemporary American Art, Contemporary American artists, Contemporary art, Contemporary Canadian art, Contemporary Canadian Artists, First Nations Art, Oil paintings, Painting | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The troubled vizier and essence contact with shy oldster.

egyptian palace

Two rather interesting dreams are to be found amongst these next offerings.  One dream was a past-life quest that went way back to ancient Egypt.  During the course of said dream, I would actually see the astral cord as I flew through air moving between this age and the age of the Egyptian past life. 

Furthermore, there was another dream wherein I experienced the most beautiful moment of essence contact.  This, without a doubt, was one of the most rhapsodic dreams had during the course of this lifetime. 

While the Moon transited both Gemini and my first house, I would on January 30, 1996 dream the following dreams.  They were marvellous sojourns along the ever-winding pathways of my spiritual quest this time around. 

These dreams were audio-cassette recorded on tape number two hundred and five and are to be found in volume XXI of the XXV volumes of my inordinately beautiful dreams. 

Turn off the television – it causes your pineal gland to atrophy, take a long warm bath with Epsom salt, some eucalyptus, patchouli and lots of bubbles – the bath detoxes your aura of positive ions and begins the process of opening up your chakras. 

Next, take to bed, lie there naked, wide-open, honest.  Luxuriate in the breath that you choose to continue inhaling because this is a beautiful world and you are a soul drinking of this beauteous cup called life. 

Relax… let go, grow warm, fecund and allow the river of your consciousness to become drowned in the oceanic abandon of spirit.  There, within sleep’s wet unfathomable folds, lie adventures which on awaking you could never have imagined before sleep. 

Dreams are the very essence of your being; it is how your soul seeks to fulfill itself, beyond the restricting confines of wakefulness, ego and solipsism.  Breath is movement and no more beautiful movement is there than the poetry your soul magically weave in dreams. 

One more deep breath… breathe out and let spirit push off and fly away with that breath and off you go… you are dreaming.  For your ongoing support, I have grown in spirit and for this I am both grateful and mean it when I say, I love you more! 


A past-life dream quest, proved the focus of this the first dream, which was set in Egypt.  I had a problem wife who was a dark-complected East African from the south.  I was a ‘Waat’ – vizier.  I, too, was also dark-complected and East African.

I had to flee the scene due to all the political tumult that this archly greedy wife had gotten me embroiled in.  I then had an out-of-body experience in which I flew through the city streets.

These streets were incidentally very congested and made dusty by a fine, perpetual sand.  Soon, my flight brought me to Crab Hill, Sandy Point, St. Kitts; there, I had to negotiate the electrical cables by Odile Famosa’s going south at early morning time.

Tumbling on myself, I slowly turned around during flight.  I then went back to visit with the distraught Waat.  As I turned around, I saw the silver-white cord of light which trailed after me as I was astral-projected.

The wife spoke Egyptian which was very African-sounding and was.  In her bid to escape prosecution and disgrace, she harped on to excess.  Going back into the house, I was reminded in passing of the Crab Hill house.

There, I visited with the man who was unmistakably myself in a former lifetime.  Here, I felt complete compassion for what this man was being put through or, perhaps, I ought to say what he had put himself through.

Certainly, he felt betrayed by this woman who was a completely enervating, self-obsessed selfish individual.  I thought that she undoubtedly had a chief feature of greed.

She drove this man to exhaustion – physically and spiritually.  To a fault, he had loved and looked up to this woman.  In the end, this woman would prove his nemesis.  Waat, incidentally, was pronounced: Wa-ah-at.


In what proved the second dream, two young boys were presently eating, perhaps, having cereal.  They sat a kitchen table and were rather rude.

They refused to have anything to do with me and, also, didn’t offer me any.  I then decided to leave their house and ignored their eye-cutting at me.


cemetery at night

While in Basseterre, St. Kitts, while focussed in the third dream, I ran into Gabriella Vartan.  She had just received a book that I had sent her.  Gabriella told me that she had just read it.

Then, she Pandora da Braga, her fiancé – the Attorney-General of St. Kitts-Nevis, and I waited in the sunny outdoors.  Meanwhile, a fierce arctic wind blew out of the northwest raping the exposed field.

The grass here was wild and had grown considerably long.  So dry was it that it looked almost like wheat that was ready for harvest.  We had been there waiting for a bus.

Lots of livestock – sheep and goats – were perishing because of the sudden fierce cold.  Compelled, I went over and rescued a woolly sheep that looked so resigned to its cruel fate.

How could I not have felt for it?

Stroking it, I pleaded with it not to give up the ghost.  All was not lost, I assured it.  The healer in me was awakened.  Both Pandora and Gabriella held the sheep still between their legs.

They were protecting it from the fierce winds.  To further protect it, they had turned it such that its arse was facing into the wind.  The reasoning here was to prevent its sinuses from being affected by the cold winds; in that way, this would starve off a case of pneumonia.

I then told Gabriella that I was shortly going to mail her another book.  Since I didn’t have a letter that I had intended for her, on the spot, I wrote her a little witty note.  The note was very funny and on giving it to her, I assured of two things,

“One.  Ah don’ du wok no obeah.

“Two.  An ah ain’ implyin dat yu du wok obeah either.”

This was to calm her nerves as she started carping on and accused me of implying that she was into the occult.  The fact is that she was being playful; all the while, she was passionately being dead serious.

This was so refreshingly West Indian and so very real.  A good astral plane encounter with her this proved.  We then sat on a wall across from a cemetery which was bordered by a wire mesh fence.

The property was raised off the street with a wall of about four feet high.  The wire fence had started at the ground level.  Inside, I saw her Attorney-General fiancé walking from right to left.

He was a large, stout handsome man.  He wore a grey pinstripe suit.  Looking at him, it was obvious that he was aroused and his was quite the massive tool.

There was someone speaking of him as I looked on.  I do believe that it was either Vanessa Banks-Abella or Heathcliff Mars-Provencher but the person was being very excited.  The person was speaking about Gabriella Vartan’s fiancé’s legendary cock,

“Boy ah tellin yu yu hear.  De man ha one ah dem dey serious giant ah spear iron, yu know.  Lawd me punchinarnie ya t’nite.”

On hearing this, I threw my head back and vulgarly roared.  So refreshing was it to have heard talk like this – Kittisian patois.

At this point, it was fairly sunny out.  With that, we then went into the grounds of the cemetery to meet up with Gabriella’s fiancé – Gabriella, Pandora and I.

As we went, one had to go along a narrow little footpath.  All around were various-sized upright tombstones.  This was an ancient jam-packed cemetery.

This was like one of those old cemeteries in St. Kitts where persons from the era of Sir Thomas Warner’s stay, possibly earlier, were buried.  Everywhere there was space, there were large, beautiful, old soulful trees that lorded over the grounds.

What I wouldn’t give to work in a place like this, I thought in passing.

Even though it was sunny out, the trees were dank with the pungent smell of the moss – high up the sinuses – that covered their north sides.

Even the tombstones were, for the most part, time and moss-blackened.  Lots of these tombstones were made of white marble, maroon and grey-coloured granite.

This place was one of the most solid-grounding places to have experienced in the dreamtime.  As we came down, we passed one cluster of kids; they were mostly White students who were on a fieldtrip to the cemetery.

They were being accompanied by two teachers; they were conducting research into the historical figures buried there.  After having passed them and warmly interacted with the early pubescent students – they were familiar with Gabriella, we then passed a cemetery groundskeeper.

He was a dear, old-souled older man who graciously raked leaves; he was utterly lost in his slow dance with nature itself.  I was moved by his inner radiance and beauty of spirit.

Just then, I saw a man in a cloth green parka.  When he turned around, it turned out to have been that gorgeous Vietnamese man who worked at the Mount Pleasant Cemetery with me in the waking state, Harold Keel.

He was so soulful.  There and then, my suspicions that this man was an older soul were confirmed.  This man’s face was so incredibly old-souled that to have seen it caused me to light up with awe.  His visage elicited the same ecstatic response as seeing a spectacular full Moon break from behind dark clouds.

He had been living in Germany, before coming to Toronto, and really wanted to return there.  He had left because of the uncertainty that the collapse of the Berlin Wall had created.

On seeing him, I walked over and extended both my hands to him.  He instinctively knew what to do and extended his.  Palms splayed, we thusly made contact and bled each other’s energies into each other.

Quite remarkably, this was the most sublime experience.  This was merely two souls acknowledging each other’s connectivity soul-to-soul.  There were no words exchanged between us… nor were they necessary.  The energies coming from this man were intense and overwhelmingly loving.

I could have taken to flight, then and there, so filled up had I become for having drunk of his very soul.  Rapturous!

While this was taking place between us, Gabriella had reconnected with her fiancé.  They hung out together and grew more lost in their passionate love.

Turning away from my friend, who returned to raking the leaves, I looked on as Gabriella and he warmly embraced.  Walking on a bit, at the back of the cemetery, I passed through a couple of swung-open, wrought iron gates.

The open gates led to an old moss-covered rectory which long ago had lost its roof.  There, I tried to be alone with a man whom I had seen on the grounds of the cemetery.  I had wanted to be alone with him and, clearly, he me.

We were sexually drawn to each other.  However, we were soon cockblocked by others who were wandering through the sizeable grounds of the cemetery.

*One day at lunchtime while Harold and I both worked at Mount Pleasant Cemetery – Merlin was already discarnate – we retreated to one of the great beech trees on the grounds of the beautiful park.  While toned Yuppies from Forest Hills jogged way below us, Harold – who was a man of few words but the most arrestingly direct eye contact, called me to him.

There, about thirty-five feet off the ground, I curled up in his arms and wept while he caressed me.  He said nothing.  We said nothing.  Soon, we began kissing and rare though it was, though never having touched each other sexually, we both simultaneously climaxed.

The interesting part about the interlude was that it was not sexually focussed.  The moment had been so intimate between us that as our sensual dance flowered, our sexual release was a manifestation of that intimacy; however, it was not the focus of our intimacy.  We were not embarrassed by it; as a matter of fact, it was not awkward between us when it happened.

We continued being intimate, caressing and kissing.  We were two souls looking into each other, warmly saying hello and acknowledging our bonds across multiple lifetimes.  For those brief moments, I no longer felt utter despair at being alone in the world without the physical intimacy that Merlin and I had shared.  END.


Photo credits:  Dynastic Egyptian palace interior.

Stock photo of an old cemetery at night.

Sponsor: Suhail Mubeen – Certified numerologist & Vedic astrologer.

© 2014 Arvin da Braga.  All Rights Reserved.

Posted in Animals, Chakras, Dream sex, Dream Shamanism, Dreams, Dreams shamanism, Flying dreams, Longreads, Michael Overleaves, Michael Teachings, OBEs, OBEs in dreams, Out-of-Body Experiences, Past-life dreams, Reincarnation, Shamanism | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Lavender Fields.

Lavender Fields 16x16 Acrylic on Panel 2014 Cody Hooper

Acrylic on Panel

16 x 16 inches

© 2014 Coody Hooper

I’m so humbled to be inspired by such breathtaking beauty and creative genius…


Suhail Mubeen – Certified numerologist & Vedic astrologer.

© 2014 Arvin da Braga.  All Rights Reserved.

Posted in 21st Century American Art, Acrylic paintings, American Abstract Art, American Abstract artists, American Art, American Artists, Art, Art Collecting, Art Collection, Artists, Contemporary American Art, Contemporary American artists, Contemporary art, Painting | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Extra-humans with mythic counterparts.


While the Moon transited both Capricorn and my eighth house, I would have two sleep cycles that day.  Of the first sleep cycle’s five dreams, only the fifth I have chosen to share herein. 

Both sleep cycles featured dream encounters with extra-humans.  The extra-human encountered during the second sleep cycle was truly magnetic.  Over the years, I have dreamt of this particular extra-human. 

Late last week, I got invited to a dinner party where the dream blog entry entitled, “The other Johnson wax,” was the source of much discussion and raucous laughter. 

Kyle Fleming whom I had not seen in long ages invited me to his Queen Street West neighbourhood loft where there were several friends of his, all West Indians, whom I hardly knew.  Kyle a retired dancer and his very successful chartered accountant lover threw a beautiful evening. 

However, we all came undone when the very funny Kyle – mature sage – got his iPad mini and proceeded to dramatically regale us with a reading of aforementioned dream.  Truly, it was great fun seeing the pleasure that a rather unusual dream sojourn had stirred in others. 

Though the plan was to have gone to see a film, we ended up staying in being further regaled by Kyle’s dramatic reading of other dreams on this blog.  I trust that these dreams will continue to enrich, enlighten, inspire and spur you on, dear reader, to your own flights of spirit while focussed in the dreamtime. 

These dreams were dreamt on that rarest of days, Saturday, February 29, 1992 – a leap year it indeed was.  For the record, they were recorded on audio cassette ninety-eight, volume X of the as-yet published 25 volume dream opus. 

Love.  Light.  Laughter.  Raise hell unflinchingly and swiftly whenever necessary.  Love & dream with equal parts passion and ferocity because we are beautiful you and me… I love you more! 


I then went and looked beyond the window into the gut, in this the fifth dream, beyond our house in Crab Hill, Sandy Point, St. Kitts.  While looking out, I thought of what Oleg de Brontë spoke: Artemis de Bolanos’ allegations that I had been promiscuous since the age of fourteen.

There in the gut, I had seen persons down in the bushes of the gut having sex.  I had gone to close the window after Harella da Braga and others had left.  They had gotten all dressed up and were picked up by a party in a couple of cars; Participants included, Harella, Isha and Penina.

I had stopped to look at them get dressed, at one point, when thinking of what Oleg had said.  Predictably, this had taken place while he and I were visiting.  Seemingly, someone had died and to attend the funeral, they had gotten up in their best black finery.  The funeral service was going to be held at the church in The Alley, Sandy Point, St. Kitts that Harella had built.

On peering out, I noticed that the McHughs across the street were also intently looking on.  The cars, both of them, were quite tightly packed.  After having initially stayed behind, Penina would later join me.

However, while alone in the house, I went to the living room to lock the window to the veranda which looked across the street to the McHughs.  I was so glad to have locked it because I had just managed to lock out Gaëtan Hamelin who came bounding up onto the veranda.

I have never liked this man nor, for that matter, trusted him.  Along with his companion, whom I did not recognise, he had wanted to come inside and join me.  They both had this geechy grin on their faces which precisely is how Gaëtan behaves.

*Frankly, he is both risible and stupid and does seem like a fairly young soul to me.  END.

There were two people there with me but there was something odd about them.  They were as if extra-humans and this in fact is why Gaëtan and his friend had been so eager to come inside.

As though they were some exhibit at a Natural Museum, they wanted to come in and gawk at them.  This I had no intentions of doing because I didn’t think it very polite to be gawking at anyone.  Somehow, Gaëtan had been able to put his hand through the pane of the closed window and undo the latch.

At that, he came into the living room through the window.  I was there with the two strange men and, soon enough, a fight broke out.  I had grabbed a gun and shot Gaëtan in the chest.  I did so, to be precise, just below the throat chakra and just above the solar plexus.

He had been wearing a thick blue shirt under a very dark jacket.  The two men already in the house were White but there was something very unusually otherworldly about them.  They may even have had four arms; they were most unusual.

Though I didn’t want them being treated like freaks of nature, it seemed unreasonable of me to have expected mere mortals to not have been garishly curious.  Inevitably, a fight broke out while I was up on the veranda.

Penina was there and I had been experiencing a lot of bleeding for having been punched in the mouth during the mêlée with Gaëtan.

At one point, I had even gone to the edge of the veranda so that I could spit yet another mouthful of blood into the beautiful front garden.  On seeing the blood, Penina advised me to be very careful and to take care.

To transcend the funk of the moment – my bloody mouth and the fight that had gone down, I began doing a dance.  After having held it en avant en attitude, I rose my leg up in attitude en arrière.  My turnout was rather exquisite, at all times, especially on the supporting leg.

I was holding my poses quite long and did a lot of deep yogic breathing while perpetually moving during the poses.  They were never static poses; there were no moments of pause or stillness throughout.

This was a performance that I undertook for the guys who were clearly extra-human.  Penina, again, told me to be very careful; this time her admonition was with regards to the EHs.  Somehow, it seems as though I could possibly have gotten into trouble with them for having danced.

Hopefully, these were not a race of baby-souled killjoys.



Harella and I were together, in this the first dream, and ventured into this church.  This church proved a large ancient cathedral where an elaborate service was underway.

The ceremony was either a funeral or memorial service.  There was a wide aisle along which I was seated in the front pew with Harella.  Across the way were another set of pews.

The interesting thing here was that, on entering the church, the pews faced each other across the central aisle much as at Westminster Abbey.  One had to make one’s way all the way down the entire aisle that was beautifully carpeted in a long, single red rug.

This was such a large beautiful cathedral.  Truth be told, it was an even more gothic and ancient Cathédrale than Notre Dame in Paris.  This structure was incredible.  In the church, there was a horde of famous persons; they were celebrities all.  There was Michael Douglas, Don Johnson and Warren Beatty; they were all actors.

Then a third-tier Hollywood actor came in; it was either Mickey Rourke or Bruce Willis but whoever it was, Michael Douglas had been keen to snub him.  Michael Douglas was on my side of the aisle and behind us, a bit to the right and closer to the door.

Michael Douglas wore a grey suit.  They stood up whenever persons entered the cathedral.  Lastly, these two guys came in because they wanted to make an entrance such that people could be impressed by them.

Except that it was so typical of the parvenu that there was hushed laughter, as they were being dismissively ridiculed, by the older and generational Hollywood players in attendance.

Warren Beatty was humoured by their posturing and looked down at his hands; his face furrowed in a dimpled crease as he thusly snubbed them.  Michael Douglas’ grey pinstriped suit was rather beautiful.  His suit was almost grey-silver.

Harella was seated behind me.  Along the aisle came a whole bunch of Black women who had arrived considerably late.  One of them was very skinny and not unlike Iman, the famous model, but I was not certain that it was her.  She was absolutely exquisitely beautiful.

Bedazzled, I thought to get up and saunter down the aisle turning it into a catwalk while throwing my hips like Yasmeen Ghauri.  However, Harella telepathically picked up on my reverie and firmly, coolly advised me not to go making an arse of her.

At one point, when I was with her, I had laid back into Harella.  This was some sort of ceremony after which we were going to see a film.  In that sense, it seemed not unlike the Academy Awards.

More to the point, it seemed a retrospective of some great actor’s career.  There was a lull in the proceedings because the lights had gone down to begin showing the filmed section of the tribute.  This served as my cue at which point I went outside.

Making my way, I went up this wide street that was covered in loose dirt or sand.  There, I met Martin Procunier who immediately began whining about me still owing him money.  On realising what a somnambulant arse he was, for wanting money in the dreamtime, I gladly gave him the money.

*Magically, on reaching into my pocket, I had willed a wad of notes into my hand then produced them for him.  Of course, not only impressed was he but he had been besotted and pacified – he, of course, of the Berkshire-Hathaway stocks and passing his life cheap-no-arse as though life were a dress rehearsal and for what?

I dismissively thought,

“Who the fuck but Martin, is going to be carping about money in the dreamtime?”

I then enthusiastically told him about the proceedings at the cathedral.  Martin, however, could not have cared less.  Clearly, the man just wanted his money back.  I then headed back for the cathedral which was quite a colossus and set way back from the road.

Incredibly, it was old and tall; as a matter of fact, the cathedral was several stories high.  Quite simply, it was truly majestic.

When I was going back into the cathédrale, I passed this bazaar and went in to browse.  There, I got this whole bunch of herbs which were still fresh and aromatically pleasant.  Some of these long herbs were even red.

Realizing that it would be inappropriate to take them back into the cathedral, I went down a hallway from the main vestibule.  There, I found a whole bunch of lockers.  Too, I saw a whole bunch of Black and White kids; there were four or five of them.  One of them was on a tricycle being pushed by an older sibling.

They were holding up my progress; I impatiently snapped at them to get out of the way.  Hurriedly, I got past them and went to put away the herbs into an empty locker.  Then when I made my way back into the cathedral proper, I went to sit next to Harella and lounged onto her.

At this point, the ceremony was near completion.  One of things that I had bought was a book which I had stored in the locker with the herbs.  I really resonated with it when I saw the book cover and impulsively chose to purchase it.  The book cover depicted these large blue planets and seemed to be in the Sci-Fi genre.

The planets emitted this softly intense blue light and seemed as if alive.  The main reason for getting it, however, was for the face of the man on the cover.  He was someone whom I had seen before.

*On July 29, 1988, I had an out-of-body experience.  At the end of the process, I had collapsed crashing back into my body and made a very loud snorting noise.  The sound of my gulping breath had actually awakened Merlin from sleep; he was, to say the least, quite concerned.

The experience was quite incredible because I was as if in a trance-like state and not yet dreaming.  I was fully aware of everything that was spatially going out about me our Cabbagetown bedroom in real/waking time.

What was really interesting about this book is that the man on the cover was the man whom I had encountered in the aforementioned OBE.  So while there in the cathedral, the same man who was on the cover of the book which I had just bought came into the cathedral and joined us.

He sat on my immediate right.  He had a body that was made of blue light; quite remarkably, he emitted blue light.  His head was quite disproportionately larger than the rest of his James Tramblesque statuesque body.

He was power incarnate.  He wore a headdress that was Egyptian which made his head look even more so like that of Pharaoh Akhenaten’s.  He was quite incredible.  There was no way to get around it but in the true sense of the word and otherwise, this man was a being of light.  He was soulful beyond belief.

As we were watching the scene, I again saw the two planets that were on the cover of the book which I had moments earlier bought and placed in the locker out in the hallway of the cathedral.

He didn’t want them to do what they were next going to do.  In any event, the planet that was smaller and in the upper left and in the distance of the other planet, which was blue, began aligning with the blue planet.

With regards this blue planet, I had seen it in my OBE on July 29, 1988.  Said planet was an energetic force to which I hurtled through a space of blue-white light at great speeds.  This seemed some sort of film on the order of the Star Wars trilogy but wasn’t any of them.

Nor for that matter was it an action film.  Next, music began playing and the man of light next to me really didn’t want this going down.  Nonetheless, the alignment continued.  The music was very powerful, symphonic and like nothing ever heard on this side of the dreamtime – the waking state.

Though it was somewhat symphonic, it was not truly symphonic.  Great pomp and circumstance associated with the opening movement of the piece.  In that sense, it was very Wagnerian in grandeur and power.  The planet in the rear, which was blue but with glimmers of yellow-red in it, novaed.

Somehow, it seemed that the playing of the music and the people gathered therein had caused the planet to nova.  The man of light did not want this to happen.  At that, he crouched over and turned away to his right racked with pained.  While he cowered away from the horrid spectre, the exploded planet’s asteroids came forward in an explosive fiery wave.

Obviously, this explosive wave would affect the blue planet in the foreground.  The being of light simply did not want this to happen to the blue planet.  He didn’t want the planet, to which he was clearly very much so connected, becoming affected by this fallout.

This was too much for the being of light to take.  With that, the dream suddenly began shifting and dissolved around us all.  Hurriedly, though not technically taking flight, I got to my feet and began flying from the cathedral.  There was a large bus there which we were supposed to have taken in order to clear out of the place.

This bus was so long, large and streamlined that it seemed as though built to travel through time dimensions or between galaxies.  Clearly, it was an EHV (extra-human vehicle or UFO) of some sort; however, while sitting there it did rather look like a bus.

Getting aboard, I was sitting close to the rear of the bus which had three sets of doors along its body.  I had entered at the front doors.

Soon, I began rummaging through things looking for my much coveted book but couldn’t find it.  So I went up to the front of the bus where, interestingly enough, there were shelves outside.  You could move outside and around the bus yet still be onboard; it was unusual and hard to explain linearly the goings on while aboard the streamlined vehicle.

Jody Watley – Black pop singer, turned out to have been the bus driver.  She sat there waiting for the bus to get fully loaded.  She was able to see and talk through the pane of the windshield.  Strangely enough, the windshield was down; however, when she had started driving, it had slid up shut like the windows on the doors of most cars.

Not only that, the vehicle was hovering just inches off the ground while stationary.  Too, there were no signs that an engine was running.  I knew that this vehicle was capable of travelling at great speeds.  The streamlined vehicle seemed to have been made of some alloy or other: ceramics, stone, steel; it was a hard, sturdy alloy.

Most of the people on board were Black.  They were quite amused at the sight of me as I tried to find the book.  At one point, I even went back into this little room to try and find it.  My search did procure a magazine which was in the comic format but the contents were not at all comics.

One of the magazines came closest to being like the comics and had a picture on the back of it.  They were clear pictures but blue and they depicted the anatomy with blue and red lines for the differing arteries.  Still, they were not what I was looking for, although, I did settle on the magazine.

Jody Watley, or the woman with an uncanny resemblance to her, was saying,

“But I don’t think that it’s lost.  It’s yours and it’s always going to be yours.  Maybe you’re looking for it in the wrong place.”

Resigned to the fact that it was lost to me, I then returned to the streamlined bus.  At that, just as I had anticipated, the bus started moving at great speeds.  When you looked outside, at this point, it had grown dark because the already visorred windows had grown even darker.

This naturally gave a blackened hue to the vista outside; however, because of the vehicles immense speeds, the exterior morphed to grey, then blue and finally onto becoming a white streak.

This vehicle was traveling at phenomenal speeds.  Naturally, at such phenomenal speeds, I whited out and found myself lucidly come to in the pyramid where I slept at my tiny Queen Street West apartment.


Photo credits: Lakshmi goddess of wealth and prosperity.

Bust of Queen Nefertiti.

Suhail Mubeen – Certified numerologist & Vedic astrologer.

© 2014 Arvin da Braga.  All Rights Reserved.

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Horowitz: Live in Vienna (1987)

A Good Photo Vladimir_Horowitz

A week prior to his passing, Merlin was allowed out of Wellesley Hospital to wind down his ennobled incarnation.  That first evening, Friday, November 10, 1989, we sat in our 20 Amelia Street living room and listened to Vladimir Horowitz as he had requested.

Earlier that week, on Sunday, November 5, 1989, Vladimir Horowitz had passed.  Enveloped in our waxing love, our souls were embalmed by Horowitz’s stellar artistry.

Shaman.  Genius.  Guru.  For both Merlin and me, there was no greater combo of these qualities than embodied in Vladimir Horowitz.

The following day, actor, Joe Morton would fly in from Los Angeles for 24 hours to say farewell to Merlin.  Though Merlin had not eaten in long weeks, his Candida precluded being able to ingest solids, he pulled up a chair and joined Joe and me as we dined on Chinese take-out.  This one act of Joe’s allowed Merlin to heal from the rejection of having been abandon by his god-fugly Toronto friends and leave this world void the bile of having been rejected – they chose to act as they did because at the end of the day, a dog can always be counted on to lick itself and eat its vomit.

Vladimir Horowitz’s Michael Overleaves to follow and also to now be included in the Michael Overleaves Appendix page.



A good Vladimir and Wanda

Horowitz, Vladimir 1/10/03 Kiev<O>5/11/89, NYC

This fragment was, in his immediate past life, a mid-cycle mature scholar in passion mode, with a goal of growth, a pragmatist in the moving part of emotional centre.

Vladimir had a Mercury/Lunar body type.

Vladimir’s was a strong primary chief feature of arrogance and a weaker secondary of stubbornness.

This fragment was second-cast in his cadence and his cadence is fifth in the greater cadence.   He is a member of entity five, cadre two, greater cadre 14, pod/node 449.

He and the fragment who was Wanda Toscanini are task companions, both now discarnate.   The fragment who was Wanda was a fifth level mature warrior.

Vladimir’s essence twin is a scholar and is incarnate on the physical plane, is female, age seven years.  There are plans for them to complete the mother/son monad in Vladimir’s next incarnation, which will probably occur during the third decade of the next millennium.

So here was an artisan-cast scholar with a great deal of sage energy, most of which was expended in his personal life.  This fragment’s relationship with his task companion was passionate, explosive and mutually satisfying.

This scholar’s demeanour in public contrasted greatly with his behaviour in his private life.

It is interesting to note that this fragment has had only one other life as a practicing musician and that was as an organist at the Chartre Cathedral in the early part of the nineteenth century.

However, this fragment has a long stage history, beginning in Greece during its Golden Age.

This fragment also built harpsichords during the latter part of the eighteenth century and actually built one for Leopold Mozart.

As a highland warrior in the latter part of the seventeenth century, this fragment distinguished himself both on the battlefield and in fashioning bagpipes.

He was an exemplary soldier in many lives and many guises.

However, the place where this fragment was most at home was on the stage or behind the scenes.


Photo credit: Stock photos Vladimir Horowitz & Vladimir Horowitz and Wanda Toscanini

Suhail Mubeen – Certified numerologist & Vedic astrologer.

© 2014 Arvin da Braga.  All Rights Reserved.

Posted in Music Video, Art, Michael Teachings, Artists, Award-winning artist, Michael Overleaves, Stage performers, Astral plane habitué, 20th century American artists, Pianists, Music | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Some guru that… but is it Blackglama?

space docking

While the Moon transited both Cancer and my second house, I would that day indulge in two sleep cycles.  Too, it was Sunday, June 20 – the very cusp of the summer solstice, 1993.  Perhaps, it was because it was so close to the summer solstice why I would dream so many dreams. 

Of course, it does go without saying that these dreams were both pan-Solar and varied.  As with such astral plane-focussed dreams, there was also dream contact with extra-humans. 

These dreams eventually are to be found in volume XVI of the dream opus.  In this case, they span both audio-cassettes one hundred and fifty-seven and one hundred and fifty-eight of my two hundred and fifty audio cassette recording of dreams. 

There were two sleep cycles that day and all the dreams dreamt that day, in both cycles, are herein included.  I trust that you will be richly inspired for having shared of these dreams. 

Sweet dreams, thanks for your ongoing support.  I love you more. 


In this the first dream, I was seated in a large comfortable chair.  At the time, I was in the work place.  Who should then come by but Joya da Braga?  I couldn’t believe what I was witnessing as she had come from the second floor stairs.

What struck me right away was the fact that she was wearing exactly what she wore to work last Friday.  A black top with a pair of floral-printed stretch pants.  The pants were quite pretty too.

The top revealed that she was no longer pregnant which, to say the least, really surprised me.  Besides, all that I could think of was why was she back at work so soon?

With her were two sons; both of them were rather quiet and well-behaved which, for being her children, they would have to be.  The younger was the child that she had recently been off work to have had.

To say the least, this all made little sense to me.  The younger son’s eyes were very light-coloured and blue-green.  His were also extremely powerful, potently scorpionic eyes.

Clearly, from the looks of things, she had never returned to work after the birth of the first son.  The younger was ten to eleven months old and a big-boned child at that.  The child was lighter-complected than her.

The infant was wearing a green-coloured tunic.  Joya da Braga came over and sat on the edge of chair while my legs were wide-open.  Leaning forwards, she rested her head on my chest then turned it and rested the right side of her face against my quickened heart.

This was the last thing that I would have expected from her.  The older child was about 42 months old and sat on my right knee.  The other child she held in her left arm, though, he mostly rested against me.

Looking at the infant, he was such an adorable, clear-eyed child.  He had a lot of hair on his head which she kept braided in a couple of plaits.  His hair was naturally curly.

While looking at his eyes in greater detail, he looked out at me.  In that moment, there was no denying that he was a soul incarnate.  He was very scorpionic, powerful and with Pluto clearly close to the ascendant of his chart.

In the typical scorpionic fashion, he was such a quiet.  At the time, I remarked out loud what a quiet child he was,

“What a well-behaved child, you are.”

He kept clinging to his mother’s left shoulder; as a result, I tried getting him to come to me so that I could hug him.  Looking up at me, he then began crying and protested being made to leave his mother’s embrace.

Joya da Braga stirred telling him not to worry.  Picking him up, she stood up again and held him away from her body.  Caring for him, she directly looked into him and thereby calmed his nerves.

When he quieted, she turned to me and unexpectedly announced that she had to get going.  This she had telepathically done.  Taking the child for a short walk, she sought to pacify him thus.

The child had a pronouncedly-sexualised nose; indeed, he was a very beautiful, sexy man in the making.  While she walked away with him, I studied his looks while intently thinking.

The large frame and nose suggested that it was Guy de Picard’s son; yet, the light-complexion caused one to wonder if, in fact, he were not fathered by Marcel Agnew.  I thought long and hard about that one for a while.

At the time, I had a piece of paper in my hand which I absently looked at; this was a bid to distract anyone from looking at me.  Internally, I was deeply pensive and ruminated about the child’s true parentage.

I was left to wonder if, in fact, she had not been scheduled to have a second child but this one by Marcel Agnew.  Then I thought that, perhaps, the older child was a relative of hers and not her son.  That child, too, was quite well-behaved.

I had been lovingly looking at her as she walked off nurturing the child.  She had gone off in the direction of the far aisle beyond the RDX suites.  All in all, I couldn’t believe that Joya had come by and related so warmly with me.

This, of course, after all that had transpired between us in the waking state.  When last I saw her in the waking state, we were very much so wary of each other.

I think that her behaviour was a result of what I had written to her on the card which she received, on Friday, on the last day of work for her.  She was simply tying up loose ends between us.

She was being thankful which, frankly, her waking state ego could have never afforded her doing.  Meanwhile, I had been explaining that the child may have been born with its Moon in Cancer.

Apparently, her water had broken after she finished working on Friday – her last day before leaving on maternity leave.  Instead of being born around June 30, the child was born this weekend.

Here she was, up and about, bearing me the embodiment of that child which just might turn out to be a little boy.  I thought it strange that, after having given birth, she had return to work almost immediately.


Was in the process of moving, in this the second dream, in what seemed to be the Recreation Fields of Sandy Point, St. Kitts.  I was over by the wall which separates the hospital grounds from the main road.

At the time, I had been heading for the road when I saw a long procession of persons; they were heading for this large building.  Many of these persons were famous Hollywood celebrities.

Diana Ross was close to the front of the line.  Going across the street, I had cut through the line and behind Diana Ross.  The front of the line faced due north and towards Crab Hill, Sandy Point, St. Kitts.

When going down to the end of the line, I noticed standing apart from the other celebrities – and a bit out in the street, Cher.  Seeing her, I became as if star-struck and decided on boldly cutting through the line.

On passing her, I said nothing to her but kept on taking noticeably unusual, long strides.  At the end of the fourth stride, I sunk into a lush plié and soon began gliding through the air.

My feet were gathered in sous-sous, fifth position, just inches above the street.  This shamanic turn made it look as though I was performing the most effortless bourrées.  My movement was lyrical… ethereal even.

By now, I had made it back across the street and ended up on the sidewalk which runs along the hospital wall.  In all, I repeated the same movement six times.  I then slipped in past the gates, to the hospital grounds from whence I had come moments earlier.

I had decided to head inside the complex which was not the same building that stands on that location in the waking state.  This was a much more complex, multistoreyed affair.

After having forgotten it there, there was really nothing inside for me to return and get.  I had simply been hoping to come out again, making an entrance, in hopes of attracting the attention of the glamorous people hanging out there.

This, of course, was not going to work as it was always all about them and no one else.  When I turned around, preparing to leave the grounds of the hospital again, I saw Vanessa Banks-Abella.

She was in front of the store that served as the gas station that was part of Lara Wellesley, her grandmother’s, shopping complex.  While animatedly speaking to a couple of people, she had had her back turned to the front of the line.

Vanessa wore a beautiful little white dress that sexily showed off her cockbottom.  Cutting across the street, I had noisily called out to her to attract her attention when yelling,

“Vanessa Banks-Abella!  How yu doin’?”

Turning back to look at me, she gave me a dead cold stare and, without missing a beat, none-too-sincerely asked,

“Boy, wha yu doin’ here?”

Grandly, I kissed her on first her right then left cheek when being continental.  This was so greasily pretentious and the kind of behaviour that makes my skin crawl.  I have no idea who exactly I thought that this was going to impress?

Socially aggressive, I told her to come hang out with me; of course, she graciously endured and slipped away from the line and the persons with whom she had been speaking.  Going across the street, we sat down by the entrance to the hospital grounds.

While sitting up on our sitting bones, both of us were in a loose lotus frog-position.  The look was not unlike that warm-up stretch that dancers do.  Bouncing my knees, I would then stretch them to touch the ground while we spoke.

I was telling her about Joya and her children as I had recently encountered them.  While we were visiting, along went a woman before us.  Vanessa Banks-Abella and I were then joined by a couple of dancers who stretched along with us.

I realised, just before her profile was lost from view, that the woman going past was the dancer, Desirée Johnson.  She had such a high voice that both Vanessa and I found it highly irritable.

The other girl was mentioning that her irritable voice was why no one tended to stay in touch with Desirée.  Walking towards Mount Idle Square, she was with a few other persons and doing most of the talking as she walked past.

I did not, like the other dancer did, get upset about her voice.  So far as I could see, it was all a part of what made her Desirée; therefore, so be it.


Next, in this the third dream, I was in a home that was high up in an apartment building.  At the time, a television was on.  The very large living room had seating that was in a box formation; there were black sunken sofas that were very comfortable-looking.

A large, black glass-topped table that was six feet square sat in the midst of the same-coloured sofas.  I was down in one corner of the sofa formation while in back of one arm of the sofas was a large-screen TV.

From three of the sofas, you could comfortably look at the television.  In back of the screen was a great deal of space.  Directly across from the screen, there was a single sofa such that others could look at the screen that the three wings of the major sofa faced.

Interestingly, behind that single long sofa was another large screen TV which sat directly opposite the other.  The lighting in the room was on and cascaded down in soft hues; these lights were strategically placed about the room.

Between the lone sofa and the square formation of sofas was a wide passageway which gave access to and from the living space as well as the rest of the house.  Penina da Braga was present in the spacious condominium.

At the time, she had hidden the remote control because she wanted to watch specific shows on the TV.  A television advertisement appeared that was memorable.

The ad showed a pair of dentures that appeared to be blue for having soaked in the overnight cleansing solution being advertised.  These dentures were outfitted with a series of tiny clasps that were used to secure the full plates to what was left of the gums.

There seemed to have been some sort of lever system for the dentures.  The whole thing was filmed in slow-motion and in extreme close-up; as a result, you could have really seen the cleanser go to work on the gunk.  Nice.

There was then another ad which featured a little blonde girl.  She entered the room and affectionately hugged her mother while she spoke on the phone.

Kissing her, she asked her if she had put on any ‘Fallin’; that supposedly was the name of the talcum powder being advertised.

“Yes, honey, I did…”  The actress-cum-mother replied while she sweetly smiled to the charming child actress.

They were both in close-up.  The mother in her mid-thirties was very mature-souled-looking.  I found it very interesting to look at.  Just as with the previous advertisement, it was all done in extreme close-ups with lots of slow-motioned moments.

There was such a rich vein of details in every shot that it can only be described as having been surreal.  The daughter wore a puffy-sleeved white dress.  They were at a kitchen table while the daughter stood beside her mother who sat there talking on a cellular phone.

The girl kept on grabbing her mother about the neck and demanded her total attention by affectionately being overbearing.  She kept on kissing and smelling her mother; she was checking to see if her mother was wearing the talcum powder being advertised.

While trying to maintain her phone conversation, the mother had had to lean forward a bit.  The child’s behaviour suggested that she was jealous of the fact that her mother was paying attention to someone else.

For that reason, she tried to distract her.  I thought that it was a good plot for the advertisement.


I was on board a shuttle, in this the fourth dream, which had gone to the Moon.  When I arrived at the Moon, the trip from Earth had lasted not very long.  The shuttle took a while to dock with the spaceport that was on the edge of the Luna Base.

When it docked, you could see a woman in the back who gave a report about the manoeuvre.  Though it looked wide-open, it wasn’t.  There was a large oval window in that part of the shuttle.

When we got into the docking bay, the doors closed after us then those doors ahead of the shuttle opened up;  they allowed the craft to be slowly guided in on a tram system.

A man was there when we arrived who, for being so tall, looked like a giant.  He definitely was a holy man and the leader of the base.  He was quite powerful; nonetheless, he was corrupt – on the dark side, if you like.

Many of the followers, who were based there, wore saffron-coloured robes.  As part of their spacesuits, there were little saffron caps that they also wore.

They seemed to be Tibetan monks now relocated to a Luna base; what with all the persecution that they had been subjected to by the Chinese government, this seemed the reason for their having relocated to the lunar base.

Either way, their leader – not necessarily the Dalai Lama and certainly not the current one from the waking state – was a corrupt master.  Their leader, incidentally, was White; this seemed strange, in the least, considering that they were a society of Tibetan monks.

The followers, all Tibetans, were darker-complected rather than not.  Certainly, they appeared much darker next to their White leader.  Of course, I don’t know if this man represented that supposed reincarnated Lama who is of White (Spanish) heritage – Spaniard to be exact.

Perhaps, this was seeing him in the future when he has fully grown and has assumed the mantle of leader to this group of Buddhists.  The leader wore a white spacesuit and was accompanied by two White women.

He kept on making cryptic comments to them which they thoroughly enjoyed.  From their laughter and his clipped expression, it was fairly obvious that he was being sarcastic.

The leader went over to one of the acolytes and began adjusting his saffron-coloured cap’s placement.  What sadly the devotee didn’t realise was that the White leader, who was totally consumed with mindfuck, was actually fucking with his mind.

At the time, the Tibetan was walking on the White giant-like man’s right side; this man was unusually tall and thin.  He easily was in excess of nine feet and, as such, clearly he was an extra-human.

Using his right index finger, he had pushed it up beneath the devotee’s skull cap at just above the right temple.  The devotee then progressively grew weak.  This was soon followed by a steady trickle of blood from the location where the White leader had placed his finger.

As the blood flow continued, his body appeared to be overheating.  Seemingly, the White leader had pricked him and thereby infected him with a very lethal poison.

Meanwhile, the women kept on giggling that vulgar laugh that one hears of some Whites when they’re being racist; it is the most hideous sound of repressed aggression imaginable.

Meanwhile, as it was part of being processed on docking at the base, I kept on moving along with them.  The afflicted man stopped, tried to scream but couldn’t make any noise.

I found it so sad to have watched his face warped with pain.  Of course, two parts of his pain was the psychological pain of realising that he was being betrayed; he had been had.

Looking at him, the acidic poison rapidly consumed his entire body.  In short order, he was reduced to a melting acidic soup.  Horrific!  Eventually, he was reduced to a crumpled up saffron rode on the cool-looking, black-rugged corridor.

There was a little bit of steam that escaped from the saffron fabric as it settled into stillness.  Looking back, I felt a great deal of compassion for the departed soul and sent his astral body a great deal of Love and healing energies.

I Just thought that it was so utterly sad for him to have been duped like that.  I thought, too, of how utterly sad that these people are as a culture.  I did not want to suffer being in their midst for a second longer.

*I suspect, though, that this man might have been as tall as he was owing to the fact that he might have been in space for several decades.  I think that one of the effects of long-term negative Gs on the human space-bound body will be that it will tend towards becoming taller and readily in excess of nine feet.

Actually, as we’ll probably evolve into a species with bodies that more resemble cetaceans or reptilians, I think that the more appropriate term here would be longer.

After all, we do have a reptilian brain stem back there; therefore, it is quite possible that free of Earth’s G forces, we would likely evolve into long-backed and possibly tailed, short-limbed spacemen.  END.


After that, in this the fifth dream, I was then outside where it was quite sunny.  There was a shrine that was dedicated and I intuitively knew that this was in Germany.

The shrine was made of one of those houses where, in recent times, immigrants had been burnt to death.  The perpetrators were disaffected German youths who, in protest of seeing their social troubles exacerbated by the influx of foreigners, had taken to being Neo-Nazis.

As a procession came up the road bore an East Indian man on a bier, the massacred victims were clearly East Indians.  His corpse was being taken to be placed on a funeral pyre to be cremated.

Everywhere, there were the most beautifully gold-threaded purple sarees with some of them being pink sarees.  Everywhere, there were the biggest wreaths imaginable as well as beautiful garlands which adorned all the mourners.

The house being dedicated as a shrine was to my right along the road; the house was set back a bit and up a hill.  They had chosen to leave it gutted, ravaged and a charcoalled monument to this outrage that could never be tolerated.

The corpse was draped with garlands made of blue and white flowers that were the prettiest sight ever seen.  Beneath the literal blanket of flowers, the corpse progressed feet first.

A bend in the road meant that they had had to turn right to manoeuvre the corpse through the narrow, old world streets.  Naturally, the women here were all doing traditional chants.

For all intents and purposes, they were truly celebratory while singing and dancing as the progression neared the shrine.  This was a neighbourhood where a great many East Indians had chosen to settle down.

There was a scattering of other immigrant enclaves close by such as Turkish and North African.  However, I think that the majority of the persons who had been burnt alive were Sri Lankan refugees.  They had been fire-bombed with tremendous loss of life in the process.

There were some Germans there to show their support.  For many of them, especially the older ones, there was such pained looks on their faces.  One had the sense that they were truly ashamed of being German.  This reawakened Nazi nightmare was too painful for the older ones to deal with.

The middle-agers were boisterously protesting against this rise in Neo-Nazi activity.  One middle-aged German woman – a real warrior-souled, big-boned frau, was vehemently arguing her point.

She was shouting at the top of her lungs and protested against Germans having to be apologetic for their past.  She was quite the firebrand.  Her argument was that the Skinheads were right to be doing what they were doing because Germans simply needed to protect their stock.

After all the perpetual vilification by the Jews, they were not going to have their fatherland overrun by a bunch of foreigners.  She was quite adamant and a prime example of a warrior soul incarnate.  She took a stand in what she believed in.

*Then, again, she may well have been a priest soul.  END.

This, indeed, was her passion.  She was completely unapologetic.  Her argument persisted during which she claimed that no one could possibly understand how crucial it was that Germany remain of pure heritage and genetic stock.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

Here was this blonde frau claiming a need for not being overrun; meanwhile, her race had done nothing but just that the world over.  You just know that she found a sympathetic ear in this one.  They were after all, she argued, civilisation and the uplifting force in the world.

If it were not for them – the White tribe, there would be nothing but anarchy in the world.


What better place to find oneself, in this the sixth dream, after all that xenophobic zeal but inside a pub!  There were two levels to the bar.  Soon, I realised that this was no mere pub; rather, it seemed as if a living museum.  This was clearly on the astral plane.

Here, one was being shown what had happened relative to German history.  There were all these older persons who had been leftover since WWII.  However, no one had ever taken the time to document their existence on television or in documentaries.

They were as if a lost generation who represented this abominable moment in Time.  They were all Germans and were people who had suffered as a result of WWII.

They had been Germans who had perished as a result of nuclear accidents.  These had occurred during the development of the atom bomb on which Germany had secretly worked.  All of them were White and unmistakably Germanic-looking.

Strangely, it was as if seeing Germans in place of the Japanese who had suffered at Hiroshima and Nagasaki.  For the deep devastation that that generation of Germans had suffered – for being stigmatised as they have been, I think that this served as a fitting metaphor.

Nor was it Jews or any of the other deemed undesirable peoples who had perished during the Third Reich; rather, these were Germans.  These were the Germans, it seemed, who had stood by and done nothing to prevent the displacement that Adolf Hitler represented.

They were the most surreal persons; they were simply skeletons whose flesh had rotted away off their bodies.  They were skeletons that were covered in a growth of mutated calcified series of what appeared to be warts.

A most unpalatable sight they proved.  As if made of charcoal, their bones were all sooty and blackened.  Sitting around, they were a group of the most dense-energied persons that I had ever encountered.

Their density was the weight of all the karma that they had amassed for the human rights abuses that they had committed.  They were suffering lost souls.  I found their dilemma gravely disturbing.  They were there to do nothing but drink away their pain.

All of them were on a quest to grow drunk; they sought to numb themselves to the pain which they had inherited.  As a result of the immense karma and displacement of spirit that they created, they were drunk.  God, this was an awful space which truly was sad to have witnessed.

Some of them who contained a good forty to sixty percent of their flesh were degenerate; as a result, their spirits were defiled.  Spiritually, they were most uncouth and wayward.  Loose; they were without any form to their character.

A great density of hostile energies radiated off these people.  I found it hard to conceive that anyone could be so negative.  To put it mildly, theirs were not the most highly evolved of energies.


Slowly, when focussed in this the seventh dream, I saw a group of wonderfully aerodynamic spaceships go sailing through the air.  I felt great joy in looking at them as they moved across the sky.  They were dark and were all congregating around Japan.

There was a rapid progression of images which one experienced as an inner vision.  The vision detailed the rapid technological advances of Japan.  Japan was the centre for a great deal of technological energy on the planet, I learnt, because it served as an outpost or central hub for an extra-human civilisation which was in contact with this world.

I was frankly not inclined to accept this because it suggests that, somehow, the advances that the Japanese have made, could not have been achieved by humanity herself; rather, it must have been introduced.

I was not prepared to accept this negative interpretation of human capabilities; regardless of where this information was coming from, I was readily sceptical.

According to this report, regardless the collapse of the civilisation which was centred in Europe and North America, the Japanese civilisation had grown so rapidly after WWII because it was an alien hybrid civilisation.

Indeed, the Japanese had gotten to the point technologically where there was now regular travel off-planet by members of the Japanese-centred civilisation.

When I had been on the shuttle to the Moon, there was talk that it would take under a day to get back down to Earth.  The great speeds involved were the result of the Japanese technological advances which, if you like, were partly due to alien intervention.

Needless to say, this information was all going over my head because I refused to believe that the Japanese – Americans or any other group of humans – could not have developed space travel comparable to what I was experiencing in this dream.


Once again, in what proved the eighth dream, I was back at the bar which may as well have been called The Hellhole.  There were two sections to the bar; I hung out in the risen section.

I was in the company of a group of Whites who were dressed in the way-cool Zoot suit fashions of the 1930s.  They were pointing across the way, through the open doors, to the large wide street outside.

Across the way were persons, who were similarly dressed, with whom they were supposed to have connected.  They were getting up and preparing to leave the bar.

These were contemporaries of Noel Coward’s and were possessed all the racy sophistication of that archly debonair gentleman.  I was supposed to have been leaving the bar with the group who were on my side of the bar.

We were then to have headed out onto the road.  Once outside, it proved to have been a beautiful night as me and two others ambled along the sidewalk.  A White guy, with whom I had warmly connected, casually walked alongside me and another guy.

The winding road took us along; meanwhile, we tried to figure out what was up with the people who seemingly followed us.  They seemed to be secret agents of some kind.

As it turned out, these men were there to capture us.  The moment at which I intuited this, I said to my White companion,

“Get going and run.  You have to bolt!”

Whether the other man with us was Japanese or African, from the South East regions of the continent, it was really hard to tell.  He was tall and long-limbed.

Suggesting that we split up, I told the Japanese-African-looking man to go and get into a cab and take off.  With that, the White guy and I then turned around and started running up the street at full speeds.

This was to distract the lone agent who, in a bid to have apprehended us, had been dogging after us.  As we walked on, he had been coming towards us.  By the time that we had turned around, the others who had been behind us had long ducked out of sight.

Only the guy coming towards us was left to pursue us.  The others in back seemed to have reported where we were headed; they had then taken their leave of the scene.  The street dead-ended into a major thoroughfare.

Meanwhile, I had sent our other friend onto the side street.  This was in hopes that he would escape being captured by the lone agent.  Here, it seemed like some European city; perhaps, it was somewhere in the Paris arrondissements.

Here, too, it was an indeterminate time of day.  Not quite twilight, the light was further not readily placed as it was heavily dappled.  Strangely enough, it was not an overcast sky.

Running along, we managed to hail a cab, leapt inside and ended up escaping from the lone pursuer.  We then had to return to see what had happened to our lone companion with whom we had earlier split up.

When we were getting into the cab, I noticed that the agent had abandoned chasing after us; instead, he opted to pursue the Japanese-African guy.  Our friend had gotten into a tiny white cab; it was a sports convertible which had these gorgeous bucket seats.

They were tan leather and beautifully interiored with marvellous wooden highlights.  Scrambling inside, he had sat on the right side which was away from the curb.

Making down to the intersection, I noticed that the agent had also made it inside the cab with our exotic-looking friend.  Hustling my other companion, I told him that we had to hurry to help out our companion.

Before he could have been intercepted by the agent, I strongly felt that we had to go rescue him.  The agent came out, of the cab, only to have revealed that he had done a great deal of damage to our companion.

The agent had fiendishly chopped him up and made a gruesome mess of things.  He had used a razor to mercilessly slash the guy.  Our companion was left a slashed up mess.  The cab driver got out of the car because he understandably was totally in shock.

The two had come bolting into his cab and fearing that they were trying to carjack him, he had simply bolted to save his hide.  The entire interior of the car was now a slithering sanguineous flow of red everywhere; the blood was in various tones of coagulated intensities.

Naturally, by this point, the agent had long fled the scene.  Somehow, people had tried to help him successfully flee the scene of the crime undetected.

Across the road, at the intersection, was a quartet of White women; they were standing by a steel traffic post.  There was a sign on the post, in red and white, listing the times of the day and month that one had to park on that side of the street.

The post was bent out of shape and no longer stood upright.  All these women were exceptionally well-dressed and seemingly were from out in Hollywood.  They were very racy sophisticates who were unusually big-boned.

As they took delight in our predicament, theirs was a chorus of cruel laughter.  Bolstering his spirits, I told my companion that we simply had to press on.  Above all else, I admonished him to never be afraid.

So, on we forged, along the perpetually winding road which eventually started going up a hill.  As soon as we got to about midway up the hill, there started on either side of the road the most elegant boutiques.

Everywhere you looked, everyone was decked out in the most stylish and opulent-looking furs.  As a matter of fact, it was almost as if they were animals because the fur was so close to their bodies.

There were dye jobs on these furs that boggled the mind with their beauty.  The colours were like stepping into a Pablo Picasso portrait and experiencing first hand all the stabbing force of its colours.

Some were orange, still others grey.  These furs were all-encompassing of their bodies in their entirety.  Even their faces were hard to make out for all the fur there; they were, without a doubt, extra-humans.  This left them looking like a strange hybrid race of bipeds which were much in need of radical depilatories.

On seeing a cab, my companion had rushed out to get it but I drew him back and advised against taking it.  The cab had gold trimming and was a blue-bodied affair.  As a matter of fact, it looked almost identical to the car that Sarah Vaughan drove in that dream on August 1, 1990.

For being right in front of the fur boutique, that we had been checking out, was my reason for not taking the cab.  By that point, too many people on the street and in the boutiques would have already seen us long enough to have had an apt description of what we looked like.

He agreed and so we decided against taking it.  Besides, the agent would have pounced on us in a minute if we were to have taken it.  Seeing that our unfortunate companion had already met his fate in a cab, I was convinced that it was a trap to lure us in.

To my way of thinking, this just was not a good idea.  The blue car was a 1960s model and looked much like a Rambler.  The trunk in back was longer than the front end of the car.  The vehicle was creature-shaped and really looked more like a bird.

There were wing-like signatures on the tail, above the lights, that vertically rose from the back trunk.  This was also a common look for some cars from that era.  However, this car was much more aerodynamic than its 1960s counterparts.

Goodness, it was a beautiful sight; one could have spent long hours admiring it.  This was all the more reason for me to have suspected that it was a trap set by the agents.

So much eye candy, to have lured us in, seeing that our companion had fallen for a cab parked along the side of the road.  Besides, how could I have possibly trusted the driver of this cab to not have abandoned the cab as we got inside?

After all, the other cab driver had done just that thus leaving him looking like some sort of accomplice.  Indeed, the other agents spotted earlier had probably gone off to pose as cab drivers.

I was not going to be so readily taken in by any such possible ruse.  Further up the block, the steeply inclined street ended in a series of steps that took one further up the hill.

The boutiques, all of which were painted white on the outside, continued on at this level.  They were quaint but contained an array of the finest, obviously expensive items: antiques, furs, and clothing.

Soon, we were surrounded by agents who were then joined by backups.  All of them were Black.  From the masks and daggers that they carried, the agents came off looking like Balinese shadow puppets.

Their backups wore costuming that looked like they were participating in Caribana; of course, they were not costumes.  They carried white-bladed daggers with which they had intended to splice us to bits.

Quite charmingly, we managed to escape capture and ran down into the main street.  There below, there was greater chance of becoming lost amongst the crowds.  Here the road did incline but was not yet stepped.

A couple of police cruisers pulled up whereupon the officers asked to see our IDs.  A woman boldly went up and sat on the hood of one of the cruisers and seductively crossed her legs.  She looked good too.

She had originally been one of the many persons in our group back at the astral pub.  She had made herself appear as if pregnant; this had left her too vulnerable to have been attacked by the agents.

Of course, we were looking to be protected by the police.  In this way, the agents nor their Black henchmen would have been able to nab us.  We were quite intent on evading capture.

Increasingly, it became more chaotic to evade capture or to find our way out of the labyrinthine streets of the unfamiliar place.  What struck me was the officers’ demand; they had wanted us to prove whether or not we were married.

We also needed to provide proof that we had the right to be in that particular urban area.  Incidentally, parts of this locale did seem like the Georgetown district of Washington D.C.

Of course, we had no such thing.  Our nimble-minded female companion hopped off the hood and came to our rescue.  She had claimed that, of course, we had the necessary clearance.

Cunningly, she offered to prove it if the officers were to give us a ride home.  Once arrived home, we would procure the documents and thus put an end to their concerns.  This was quite clever of her.

One way or another, we needed to get out of this place.  Far better that we got a police escort that would not end up at their precinct but one that would take us home.  Either way, we wanted out of there without being taken out of there by the agents and their henchmen.

I had the sense that the police were firmly of the impression that we were not supposed to be there.  After all, everybody on the streets were these strange-furred, creature-looking people.

These people were, truth be told, very treacherous.  The intensity of this dream’s vividness was such that when the officers decided to buy her story and take us home, I had noticeably shuddered.

At once, my exhausted sigh awoke me; I was finally released and relieved.

*Clearly, this was a part of town which was designated exclusively for the use of the furred extra-humans.  That we were wandering about their über-soignée part of town meant that every step had been taken to have us out of there.

Likely, the plan was to have had us killed off as we were not supposed to have known of their existence.  Indeed, this may well have been the extra-human hybrid civilisation that was being referred to.  My earlier disbelief of extra-humans having given much of their advance technologies to the Japanese had, perhaps, earned me this bit of roughing up.

I guess that for not having believed the information being afforded me, in the vision by the guide’s accompanying narrative, only led to my having to see firsthand that not only were there extra-humans in our midst; more importantly, I was made to see what could happen when one did not believe in the extra-humans’ presence.

I am also inclined to believe that this part of town, that one stumbled onto, existed at a different frequency than with which one was normally familiar.  In that sense, it was as if a cloaked part of town rather than say an underground locale.

Indeed, it is as though the furred extra-human hybrids were able to go about their lives here on Earth in Japan.  Seemingly, they physically occupied the same space as humankind; however, this they did at a different frequency.  As a result, humans were completely left unaware of their being there.

Of course, there obviously would have been some humans who would have been cognisant of their being there.  Truth be told, the hapless souls like my companions and me were in likely trouble when having stumbled on this well-guarded reality.

Obviously, the reason why our companion had been slashed by razor is that the extra-human agents likely had razor-like claws rather than fingers.  This would explain why they never did reveal any weaponry.  They knew quite confidently the fatal damage they could inflict on humans with their claws.

This, of course, would explain why it was necessary that we be hunted down and eliminated.  We had seen too much; we knew too much.  END.

christoffer stai 2013


I had decided to go to a lecture series, in this the first dream, which was taking place on the fifth floor of an academic building.  Taking the elevator up, I got off on the fifth floor with the silver steel doors hissing open; they had hissed open faster than usual.

All of them considerably younger than me, there were several students on the elevator.  Getting off, I had had no clue in which direction to have turned.  In search of the lecture, I had decided on going right.

In what proved a very large building, I ended up doing a lot of walking around.  The corridors were always set on the outer rim of the building.  Always on my right was one of the structure’s four walls.

From time to time, the wall was broken by large strips of glassed windows; they gave a commanding look to the outdoors.  Although there were shades which inclined downwards at a 45 degree angle, it was easy to tell that it was sunny out.  In this way, sunlight was not permitted to directly spill into the building.

After considerable wandering about the floor, I turned left when meeting the end of that side of the building.  Along I progressed and eventually came to the end of that side as well.

There were times when the hallway would progress towards the centre of the building.  However, it would eventually make its way back out to the periphery.  All this meandering had not gotten me to where I had been in search of.

I knew that the lecture was to be held in an auditorium.  When I came to the end of the second corridor, it proved to have been longer than the first one.  This had been the length of the building which was clearly not a square formation.

Again, to next cover the third side of the building, I made a left turn.  Pretty soon, I had grown impatient and wondered when the devil this bloody auditorium would present itself.

Finally, I came to a section where there were these Chinese students who talked amongst themselves.  What was really obnoxious was the way that they snickered at me.

Telepathically, they could be overheard wondering what the hell I was doing in an academic setting.  Readily, I closed my mind to being impacted by their hideous ignorance.  This section of the complex was painted in rich soothing tonalities of blue.

Off to the left were a set of double doors which were down a short flight of steps.  Going down the steps, I had felt uncertain of the place and thought that there definitely was no auditorium close by.

I knew that the steps would lead down to the fourth storey, yet, the lecture was to have taken place on the fifth.  There was a sinking feeling that I was getting more lost by the moment.  Nonetheless, I progressed down the steps which made their way down only half a floor.

As there was a wall directly ahead, at the foot of the steps, turning left was the only other option.  This wall, however, was not one of the ones that bordered the building.  Going along the narrow hallway brought me to another flight of steps which led up half a flight.

From there, I moved along to a series of glassed in walls; these walls were glass half the way up.  One had to make a left turn thus making it a move in the direction of one of the four walls.  The area that I was now in was closer to the centre of the building.

Following a private corridor, it emptied out into a large section.  This proved a series of offices in the open which were blue-interiored.  Off to the left was another private corridor and it led to another set of office suites that were rather private.

Undoubtedly, these were the offices of faculty members.  Down in that direction, I heard talking while someone took a shower.  Lots of crates and boxes were stacked high atop each other because it was the end of the school year.

Most of the faculty was packing up to leave for the summer.  Though I found the prospect of going to check out whoever was in the shower intriguing, I decided against doing so.

To have done so would only have proven further diversion.  At that point, I had gotten nowhere near the lecture site.  With that, I kept on going off to the right which took me to a particular little corridor.

This corridor went off on a diagonal to everything else that I had progressed along thus far.  This then had me going way back and off to the left rather than to right.

This, of course, was taking me away from the direction of the elevators that had brought me to the fifth storey.  The corridor posited me in an area where there were lots of students about.

This proved the auditorium where my lecture was to have taken place.  As a matter of fact, the lecture was just about to get underway.  Some faculty members were standing around, waiting for everyone to settle in, before they began showing a film.

To best show the film, they would have to project it onto a couple of walls.  This they had announced and it would be in a multiple screen format.  There were still a few good seats up towards the back of the theatre.

Most of the people here were tall, Black, erudite-looking and young.  Some of them were boisterous as they indulged in some pre-show socialising.

The seat that I took was quite weird as it cupped backwards as soon as I sat down in it.  The unusual seat was in a V-formation when you sat in it and thus left me very uncomfortable.

I had been in the very back row.  The seat also turned away from the front of the auditorium.  The seats were staggered in a diagonal formation, I suppose, to allow easy entry and exit to the row.  However, this was all-around poor design.

Clearly, this was a case of form over function and bad form at that.

Someone had come up placing their hand across the top of my head while I sat there.  The individual had been a woman.  Not liking this, I got up and walked around the length of the auditorium in order to get to the front.

However, I was on the outside of the walls on which they had intended to show the films.  Finally, I managed a seat closer to the front when a big-bodied, warrior-bodied woman came up and joined me on the left.

She asked why I didn’t want to have to sit down or had left where I had been sitting before.  Her tone was adversarial which only made her personally uncomfortable body type that much more off-putting.

I had no desire to interact with this woman.  So, I decided to pacify her by being very elevated in thought and spirit.  This was the only way to not have fallen prey to her mindset and negative energies.

There was no other dynamic here but an adversarial one which proved a power trip on her part.  Leaving where she was, I moved about looking for another seat.

As I did so, I happened to walk into the scene of what everyone was there looking at; it was a film.  This film was an anthropological study which had to do with Africa and Africans.

This was all about perpetuating the racist nineteenth century paradigm postulated in every facet of Eurocentric thinking.  There were the most beautiful trees around in a quite lush environment.

Three or four Black guys were travelling together when they happened on a Black woman.  Dressed in a white tunic, she was out in the fields.  On seeing her, they began chasing her until she managed to dodge them by lying perfectly still in the long grass.

They stopped for a while and gave her a chance to get up when thinking that they had taken off.  At the first sign of her, the chase was on again.  They had already decided that they would take turns having sex with her.

Two or three White males were also a part of the archaeological expedition.  Somehow, for looking at the film, I had stumbled into the scene itself.  This caused me to go along with the flow of things.

A shed on stilts was to left as I stood there looking on at the woman.  She was fairly young; she was still pubescent.  Laying there, I could see her plainly from where I was as she laid in the grass.  She was in the distance and to the right.

Her feet were closer to us than her head.  Her head was to the left while her feet inclined on a diagonal to the right.  Resigned to her fate, she laid there with her legs wide-open and made not a sound.

One guy got up to her and promptly entered her passionately screwing.  He was an ardent lover.  When the third one got up to where she was, he turned around buck-naked; this man had the biggest, thickest, blackest dick imaginable.

In unison, we had all shuddered at the sight of the size of him.  I thought it inconceivable how he was going to be able to fit such a humongous cock into her.  Furthermore, how she would be able to take him.

I passingly thought that for her sakes, it would help if she were a crazed size queen.  The second guy was crouched over.  He had the longest legs like a Maasai’s.

The Whites on the expedition were convinced that these were not Blacks because they didn’t have so-called ‘Negroid’ features.  What utter bullshit.

When the third guy showed up, we all went stir crazy.  For looking at the third guy’s massive dick and talking about it, some of the guys who had hung back were saying that we were nothing but battymen (faggots).

The first Black guy who had mounted the nubile young beauty, when he got off of her, turned and grabbed one of the White men who was in the expedition.

At the time, waiting his turn to fuck the woman, the White guy was squatting down.  Instead, the Black man began ferociously fucking him up the arse.

One White guy who was close by me, I thought to screw but then thought better of it.  Deciding that this was definitely not my scene, I completely tuned out and ceased being focussed in the dream.

*I don’t condone or see the point to non-consensual sexual violence.  END.


There was talk of ordering in some food, in this the second dream, but I vetoed the idea.  I had offered to cook instead.  There was some rice and chicken on hand; they were, I reasoned, a strong enough base with which to start cooking.

Found some long tan-coloured beans which would have made a lovely addition to the meal.  Those I decided to cook and planned on covering them in a white sauce.  Another set of beans were also long but these ones were green.

There were different varieties of them: some flat, some thick others not so long.  All of them were good enough for the meal, I decided.  Busying myself, I went and washed out a couple of pots in which to prepare the bulk of the meal.

In the end, there would be three different sets of beans.  The one in the white sauce smelt especially nice.  In this kitchen, there were two stoves that sat side by side.  On the right, that stove was an electric one; conversely, the stove on the left was a gas range and much to my liking.

Satisfied that everything was under control, I decided to go off and do something else.  There was a while yet before the food would be ready; thus, I sought to go off and get something else accomplished in the meantime.


On arriving at a strange building, in this the third dream, I went up to its large doors.  After having climbed a steep narrow flight of stairs, the doors sat at the top of a landing.

There, I was greeted by Owen Danforthe then I began heading up some steps.  Heading up ahead of me, he chatted away; all the while, he kept looking back and affectionately smiling at me.

Here, it was sunny out.  In addition to the other which Owen had offered to carry, I carried a large bag.  I felt really good to have seen him.

Our encounter was brief and pleasant.  Beyond his having welcomed and shown me inside, little else transpired between us.


I was looking at a large rack of magazines, in this the fourth dream, with one publication bearing a large photograph of Janet Jackson on the cover.  The publication, in fact, was Rolling Stone magazine.

However, at the time, I had been looking for Billboard magazine.  I then found another stack of magazines which had the current issue of Billboard magazine.

Inside the magazine, I discovered that Janet Jackson was now #1 on the Billboard charts.  That’s The Way Love Goes, her hit single, was the song at number one on the Billboard top 100 singles chart.  For several weeks now, the song had been at number one.

In second position, and poised to replace Janet Jackson’s #1 song, was the second release from her current album.  Apparently, when this changeover occurred, it would prove an historic event.

There was much chatter in the music trades about the phenomenon.


I was travelling on a wide road, in this the very lucidly focussed fifth dream, which led me onto the soundstage of a film.  As can be expected, the film shoot was set in quite a cavernous building.

An oddity of sorts in his business, the director was soft-spoken and quiet.  I was an actor who, for the scene being set up, would be in a prison cell.

As a prop, I needed a pot so that I could noisily bang on the cell’s gridiron caging.  This was supposed to be a short scene in which my character was supposed to go wild when creating a scene.

He was supposed to be demanding to be let out of prison.  This being a film set, there were a great many technicians off to one side and in back of the director.

Overhead there was a vast array of lights hung; as a result, the lights had left the set flooded with artificial lights.  These lights were just on the verge of being uncomfortable.

Off to one side were all the extras who were supposed to be fellow inmates; they were also being rowdy when following my lead.  This scene called for me to pull off an acting tour de force where I went wild in a rapid-fire tirade directed at the injustices of the system.

The director was an old man who also happened to be a very august-souled individual.  He was a light-skinned Black African of mixed blood.  Stout, he was an intensely powerful individual.

There was a sense of him being possibly from South Africa where there is a tradition of mix-raced persons.  During a run-through, to block the scene, I had fully gotten into the character.

I was truly in my element.  Catching myself, I realised that I had to rein in my performance so as to not run away and steal the entire scene.  Besides, for just one scene in the entire film, it was too much intensity of focus.

Also, I didn’t want to be seen as not being able to take direction from the auteur.  Instead of interrupting me, he had been quite patiently waiting for me to come out of character and realise what was up.

Soon, I realised that I couldn’t get ahead of myself and leave the auteur without anything to do.  I found it interesting the way that the cell was anything but contained an environment.

Opened up, it was accessible by the technical staffers from every angle.  This was not at all a claustrophobic experience.  At any time, I was free to leave from behind the bars.

Doing my scene, I was quite fierce in my portrayal.  Screaming my lungs out, I beat the pot on every surface in sight.  I was quite the runaway firestorm.

Thanks to the enervating heat of the lights, the whole thing left me quickly exhausted.  The crowd that gathered from the rest of the set, to see my scene being run-through, looked on spellbound.

The director stood behind the camera while looking at me perform the scene.  This man was so centred and grounded that he was as if a great master.

All that I had to do was simply look at him and readily I was centred, grounded and fired up to rise to the occasion.  My performance exclusively was for him.

I knew that this man was a shrewdly calculating, hard taskmaster.  He was exacting and just right.  He liked to be placed such that there was no one else ahead of him.

That way, they could never catch his reaction to the actor’s performance.  This proved a most intimidating challenge.  During the run-throughs, until ready to roll the scene, he never looked into the camera.

I was playing for his face.  Everything was being directed by the keen penetrating directions he gave by looking directly into me as I acted the scene.

Though I never looked at him all the time, I was always aware of being in keen telepathic communion with him.  As it were, I played off his face; his spirit and I were involved in a creative partnership at the level of soul.  A very wise man, indeed, was he.

This scene was emotionally exhaustive to pull off.  I honestly don’t know how I managed to do it.  Naturally, I did have the help of the able taskmaster – the soulful-eyed director.  I was possessed and the experience truly visceral.

More of my pandimensional self was acting here; my present ego-personality construct had little to do with my work here.  More to the point, my present persona was a mere transmitter for the portrayal and energy work being channelled through here.

Knowing that the onus was on me to deliver, I poured everything into the performance.  Stepping aside, I allowed the character the portal of my instrument to come through and emotionally manifest.

This was quite a powerhouse of energies – that much is undeniable.  I really had to reach way down, deep inside me, giving of everything.  Truly, this was a phenomenal performance.

I was, though, intent on ripping into the fabric of the Space with my performance.  This untapped energy hadn’t been unleashed before; once freed, it unrestrainedly exploded everywhere.

Never saying a word, he raised his left hand signalling to the cinematographer.  Thus, he had wanted the cinematographer to stop filming when satisfied with how far I had emotionally taken the scene.

On his silent command, he wanly raised his eyes at me and thus expressed his satisfaction with me.  With that, the place went wild when tripping out on my performance.

The place thundered with the sustained echo of the crew’s appreciative applause.  Naturally, after all that, I needed to come down.  So I went outside the studio, to go for a drive, to ground myself.

I was escorted to a nondescript vehicle; I was offered to be taken out for a relaxing ride after all that work.  I thought that it was so very thoughtful of this director to have been so considerate.

Touring through that part of town, it brought home the devastation of the prolonged current recession.  Everywhere you looked, businesses had gone under with storefronts boarded up.  The scene was fairly grim-looking.

At this point, I had been driving through Toronto’s northern suburbs.  Much of the devastation that I saw was in the downtown area.  Here along the Finch and Steeles Avenue corridors, in place of Jewish-owned businesses, there were mostly Portuguese enterprises.

A large blue and white complex had recently opened up.  A three-storeyed modern affair, their signs were white script against dark blue backgrounds.  Situated on the north side of the road, it turned out to be a newly opened auto-dealership.

The dealership seemed to be situated more so on Finch Avenue rather than Steeles Avenue.  Everywhere you looked, Portuguese-owned businesses were absorbing the older, established Jewish enclaves.

In some instances, there were construction crews busily adding to the expansion of the commercial district.  Still in other instances, there were workers putting up replacement signs for businesses soon to be opened up.

All the names of the businesses were in Portuguese.  Travelling along, we passed a parking area and drove into the lot.  We parked and got out to check out the scene.  A blue Volkswagen van that had been, somehow, extended stood out amongst the other vehicles; it was an older model too.

There were two awnings that could be deployed over the side windows.  If viewed from the front, which I was and to the left a bit, a woman was to the left side.

The kids, all three of them, were under the other awning on the right side of the van.  Presently, they had been playing on their bicycles.  The father was in the front of the van where he peeled fruit in a white pail.

Studying him, I thought his technique careless and wasteful.  At the time, he was peeling cucumbers and cutting off much too much of the vegetable itself.

While intently looking at him, I was there and then reminded of the fact that I had left things back at the apartment cooking on the stoves.  All this time, I had been wandering about when already I had promised to cook dinner.

Straightaway, I was overcome with guilt.  I had had a large baking dish on the stove which was being simultaneously cooked on two burners.  I was truly horrified to think of what had occurred in my lengthy absence.

Concerned, I instantaneously willed my way back to the kitchen.  I was keen on rescuing the meal before it had not turned into a house-blazing spectacle.

Relieved was I to find that all had been okay; the stoves were magically turned off in my absence.

Relieved, I sighed a long weary breath.  Effortlessly with graceful ease, I was lucidly awake in bed.  While looking up into the bedroom’s white ceiling, I remained in bed, reached for the audio cassette recorder and began committing the dreams to tape.


Photo credits: NASA space shuttle docking with International Space Station.

Alien heads © 2013 Christoferr S. Stai


Suhail Mubeen – Certified numerologist & Vedic astrologer.

© 2014 Arvin da Braga.  All Rights Reserved.

Posted in Actors, African-Americans, American Art, Archetypes in dreams, Artists, Astral plane habitué, Dance dreams, Dream sex, Dream Shamanism, Dreams, Dreams of ETs, Dreams of extra-humans, Dreams of famous persons, Film, Longreads, Michael Overleaves, Michael Teachings, Reincarnation, Shamanism, Singers, South Africans, Video Documentary, Visionaries | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Falling Into You.

Falling Into You Cody Hooper 2014

Acrylic on Panel

24 x 24 Inches

© 2014 Cody Hooper


Suhail Mubeen – Certified numerologist & Vedic astrologer.

© 2014 Arvin da Braga.  All Rights Reserved.

Posted in 21st Century American Art, Acrylic paintings, American Abstract Art, American Abstract artists, American Art, American Artists, Art, Art Collecting, Art Collection, Artists, Contemporary American Art, Contemporary American artists, Contemporary art, Painting | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The Sacred Lake Fish.


Acrylic on Kraft paper

23.5 x 36.0 inches

© 1973 Norval Morrisseau

Provenance:  The Pollock Gallery, Toronto.

In preparation of this year’s retrospective at the Kinsman-Robinson Gallery, I share one of my favourite Norval Morrisseau paintings.

*Norval Morrisseau’s Michael Overleaves are to be found in the Michael Overleaves Appendix page.


Suhail Mubeen – Certified numerologist & Vedic astrologer.

© 2014 Arvin da Braga.  All Rights Reserved.

Posted in 20th Century Art, 20th century Canadian art, 20th century Canadian artists, Acrylic paintings, Amerindian Art, Animals, Art, Art Collecting, Art Exhibition, Artists, Award-winning artist, Canadian art, Canadian artists, Contemporary art, Contemporary Canadian art, Contemporary Canadian Artists, Michael Overleaves, Michael Teachings, Ojibwe art, Painting, Shamanism, Visionaries | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The other Johnson wax.


Some dreams are truly music for the soul.  While lucidly focussed in these next two dreams, I would indulge in behaviour that is nowhere else possible but the astral plane in the dreamtime. 

The latter experience was about being roused of spirit for having been richly inspired by a couple of musical performances.  The other was all about being otherwise roused and enjoying self. 

Long years after having dreamt these dreams, on transcribing them, I came undone when hysterically laughing at the sheer abandonment of spirit experienced in these dreams.  As you shall yet see, dream like no one is watching and don’t give a rat’s arse. 

Thus, while the Moon transited both Aries and my eleventh house, I would find myself lucidly awakened on the astral plane.  The dreams were set in Vancouver’s West End where I then lived.  Too, it was Saturday, October 7, 1995. 

The dreams were recorded on audio-cassette tape one hundred and ninety-nine and to be yet found in volume twenty of the dream opus.  Sweet dreams and for the record, I would never use baby oil. 


Olaf Gamst and I, in this the first dream, were together here in Vancouver.  We were in a wonderful apartment that was reminiscent of those in New York City’s walkups.

Long and narrow, it was my beautiful apartment.  Currently, Olaf he was out to visit with me here at my West End apartment.  We had gone off to the store to buy some beer.  He then carped on ad nauseam about the marvellous choice of beer.

I was baffled as to why he couldn’t get that choice of beer back East in Toronto.  He was, though, referring to the choice of local beer like Kokanee and some American beer.

Seemingly, there was a real stranglehold that the large beer monopolies back East had that prevented microbreweries from bringing their products into the local markets.

Since this is precisely the case in Toronto, none of this made sense.  There was a vast array of brews to choose from like, Upper Canada Brewery and others.

When I went to the store’s fridge, I saw then what he was referring to.  The beer were in the largest bottles imaginable and looked as though they had been imported directly from the United States.

Even the canned beer were oversized – 32 fl. oz.  There were some in white plastic containers that came with a yellow carrying pouch.  There was a yellow noose about the top and bottom with a connector strip that one used for carrying the beer.

So as to carry said beer on one’s waist, a small loop came with it that could be used to attach to a key clasp.

*Why the fuck am I dreaming about drunken shit like this?  END.

Near the can’s opening, there was a tiny spout which suggested that these containers were recyclable.  I didn’t think it such a good marketing idea because people would clearly be cautious about putting their mouth on some spout where others had placed theirs.

More to the point, the largeness of the beer container and the clearness of it only made on think that it was an easy target for pissing in when drunk and travelling – in a car or in a cinema.

Just not a very well-researched concept, I thought.  Olaf, of course, readily began drinking one of the beer that he had bought.  Though I had taken out one, I had not begun to drink it right away.

Then I decided that I would not finish it; at that. Olaf hungrily offered to finish it for me.  He sounded every bit as greedy as the truly tapeworm-gutted, Martin Procunier – mature scholar soul.  I went off and took my leave of him.

The apartment building was on the south side of Robson Street and where the east parking lot at Safeway is located.  Somehow, I thought that the fact that the local liquor stores stayed open until 23:00, he would have been surprised to learn as much.

However, Olaf said that it was the same in Ontario which was news to me.  What was different here in British Columbia, I pointed out, was the fact that the beer and liquor stores were amalgamated.

The advantages to this were that, unlike in Ontario, one could get both beer and liquors up till 23:00.  To that, Olaf agreed there was an advantage.

While passing, I noticed that there was an eatery with barstools in the large storefront window.  Even though it was daytime here, it was locked up.  This made for such an oddity, here in the city’s West End, a business that had failed.

I felt sorry for the people who had attempted a livelihood there.  The funny thing is that the failed business was exactly in the spot where the liquor store is in the waking state – to the east of the Safeway store and closer to Bidwell Street.

Yet, on walking further east, one did eventually happen on the liquor store.  Crossing the street, I went to the north side of Robson Street and went up the hill due east; I was walking towards Broughton Street.

I went into a store where the two owner-clerks were rather warm, decent human beings.  These two knew all about the business of serving the public.  A patisserie, there was every manner of goodies here.  I asked the two if they carried cheesecakes which happen to be my personal weakness.

There it was, and on seeing the most exquisite-looking blueberry cheesecake off in one corner, I just about gagged.  Though it looked burnt, it wasn’t; it was simply made from a rather nice dark crust.

Right away, I declared that I would like to have two slices.  I then asked after the price of each slice.  They were large generous portions.  The one lady told me that they were only 4$ in all.  I had thought to get both Olaf  and me a slice each for after dinner.  The smell of this cheesecake was unbelievably real.

Getting from the store, I began eating the cheesecakes before getting them home as originally intended.  I got down the hill on Robson Street and took my time leisurely walking while enjoying the cheesecake.

I would then cross Denman Street, by the Canadian Imperial Bank of Commerce, just south of Robson Street on the west side of the street.  I was headed back to my waking state apartment down on Gilford Street at Haro Street.

Somehow, I knew that it was no longer Olaf  at the other apartment but Merlin.  I had gone into the Safeway supermarket for a bit.  There was the likelihood of a confrontation with an old, bigoted White woman but I persisted nonetheless.

Since I didn’t want to kick her prune-faced arse to death and rid the planet of the stench of her old, syphilitic and smelling-like-a-crate-of-rotten-oranges pussy, I took my leave of Safeway.

I didn’t immediately go back, to the apartment, to be with my guest who no longer was Olaf Gamst but Merlin.  I knew that Olaf had gotten drunk on all that beer which is why I initially had avoided going back to the apartment.

More than that, I was wolfing down both slices of the blueberry cheesecake which was way too good to have not indulged my craving.

I then went outside the western entrance of the Safeway supermarket on Robson Street where I saw a cot.  In broad daylight, I whipped out my cock and got it lubed up with baby oil and proceeded to unselfconsciously masturbate.

Me thinks that there must have been something in that cheesecake.  No wonder the two mavens looked so happy and eager to have sold me, not one but, two slices.

A woman wearing a navy blue suit, seated in a wheelchair, began having a fit over my shaking my Johnson when and where-so-fucking-ever I saw fit to so do.  Regardless of who went traipsing by, I spanked that monkey happy till he drooled globs of porridge-like cum.

Then as casually as the day here was uncharacteristically sunny, as though to have laid around on a cot on Robson Street jacking-off were the most perfectly natural thing to have done, I got up and proceeded home.

Once back at the apartment, I patiently waited for Merlin to have returned home.  I knew that he had gone off cruising but I knew that there was nothing that I could do about it.

Merlin simply wasn’t the kind of person whom one could confront about that sort of behaviour.  I knew that he fooled around but he never lied about it.  His libidinal proclivities were simply not discussed and, most importantly, he never paraded it before my face.

In the end, above all else, he loved me and no one would ever come between that love.  He knew it and I knew it too.

With Olaf, it was a completely different story.  Olaf was someone whom I could never trust with regards our sexual relations.

He had lied; he had done it once and thereafter, when it came to our sexual relations, nothing that he ever said mattered.  He was untrustworthy; he had lied and he knew that I knew it.  This was not at all a healthy mix – deceit and drink.

In any event, I was up on a balcony above the CIBC on Denman Street looking out.  I had a strong sense that Merlin would shortly be home and that everything would be alright.  So, with that, I returned indoors and quit unnecessarily worrying.


I had an encounter, in this the second dream, with some truly beautiful-spirited, dark-skinned Black singers.  They were in their early 20s.  They were in a group and were quite the seasoned performers.

There was then an announcement of a four-star performer who was Black.  The performer in question was a Jazz musician who was quite stellar.  Another announcement said that, even better than that, there was also a five-star performer.

As it turned out, it was Itzhak Perlman who was playing an electric violin.  This, I thought, was more so something that one would expect of Vanessa Mae – the abundantly sexy and captivating prodigy.

As it turned out, the genre was fusion music.  All the patrons in this jammed Jazz club were most irate as they were not prepared to have a Black cultural experience, Jazz, turn into some elitist middle class exercise in political correctness.

Furthermore, the announcer was Jewish and had actually carped on about Itzhak Perlman’s genius which, truth be told, is that uniquely American euphemism for Jew.

The atmosphere was a tad tense to say the least.  Itzhak Perlman’s artistry was simply stratospheric; his shamanic skills were sublimely mind-altering.  Next, the Black women came onstage and began singing.

They sang what was clearly a song made famous by the Hip-Hop group, TLC.  The song was a slow tempo version of the hit, Red Light Special.  Theirs proved quite an interesting interpretation.

One of the singers had really beautiful high-arched feet.  She kept on pointing her feet and winging them in her gorgeous high heels.  She was quite the beautiful sight.

This led me to start self-consciously pointing my feet as I drank in the gorgeous drink of them.  Before I knew what next, I began levitating upwards with my feet leading.

Pretty soon, I had risen up to the high ceiling with my feet closer to the ceiling and my head closer to the floor.  While inverted, in the most glorious port de bras that took me up and down like a synchronised swimmer’s when beneath the surface, I gracefully waved my arms.

My movements were so slow and graceful.  I truly adored what was happening here.  The feeling when levitated was as though I were moving in an aqueous medium.

I had been deeply roused of spirit when inspired by the great artistry experienced in the Jazz club.


Photo credit: Times Square Suites Hotel Robson and Denman Streets, West End, Vancouver, British Columbia.

Suhail Mubeen – Certified numerologist & Vedic astrologer.

© 2014 Arvin da Braga.  All Rights Reserved.

Posted in 20th century American artists, Adult Content, African-Americans, American Art, American Artists, Artists, Black creative artists, Divas, Dream sex, Dream Shamanism, Dreams, Dreams of famous persons, Dreams of Merlin, Jazz, Longreads, Michael Overleaves, Michael Teachings, Shamanism, Singers, Stage performers | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment