In this the first dream, I was having a very heated argument with a group of Christian fundamentalists. This concerned the book of Revelations in the New Testament.
My point was that there was no longer any need for them to fixate on the nihilism of that book. There was no need for them to fixate on the actualisation of the Armageddon construct.
I was pointing out that much of the suffering in the world was due to the Christian obsession with violence. For this reason, for the last two millennia, their culture has done nothing but produce men of inordinate violence.
Further, I tried to point out that none of these fatalistic visions were ever prophesied by Christ. Rather, they were the result of a fearful culture’s way of trying to come to grips with having murdered Christ.
The New Testament was simply the Christian Church’s way of manipulating the life of Christ, after his murder, to suit their ends. For having murdered Christ, they have been karmically fated to being a violent culture.
Seeing that it was pointless to be engaged with these blind and lost souls, I chose to move on. To say the least, the energies between us were tense.
*Then, too, it was best that I moved on. The longer that I engaged them, it proved fairly obvious that I would have to up my frequency becoming light and thus invisible to the blind.
Truth be told, they would shortly start ridding me of my soul. After all, I clearly was a heretic in full! END.
An area that seemed like a school, this proved the reality of the third dream, where there were kids who wore navy blue tunics. They were in their early teens and were going out to a courtyard.
We were coming back from a precipice. Everyone here represented several nationalities. Some Hispanic kids, who were clearly well-off, attended the private school.
Looking down at all these people far below, we were out on a balcony. I thought to myself at the time that I simply couldn’t afford to go falling over this balcony.
In the meanwhile, I energetically waved down to the group below. I was encouraging them to financially invest in Africa by supporting African industries.
There was nothing in the world that they had to be ashamed of. They ought to be more proud of their African heritage and their African nations. Indeed, they needed desperately to wake up to the realisation of just how much that they actually had.
Some ten feet away were two white horizontal iron bars that formed a container from the precipice. Naturally, one was expected to use common sense and not go beyond the two restraining bars.
Going to the right of a guy, who did not want to move, I grabbed a hold of the upper bar. I gymnastically snaked my body through both bars and made it onto the safe side of them again.
One girl was approaching her father, to speak with him, as he was surrounded by people. Though daytime, it happened also to be overcast. For being otherwise engaged, her father couldn’t speak to her.
To drive away her disappointment, I grabbed her and started dancing which her father appreciated with a warm smile. She had been quite insistent on speaking to him, however, there was no way that he could have then seen her.
I was trying to get her to see that her father’s diplomatic affairs meant that there were times, even to her, when he was simply unavailable. At the time, he was in the midst of being interviewed by a television crew.
I was in a darkened room, at nighttime, in this the fourth dream. Somehow, Isha da Braga and other family members were also present. A man was lying there on a bed and his physique was that of a warrior or even a king soul incarnate.
He was a pure white-haired man. It was the natural hair colour not due to his agedness physically. He had been across the bed on which I lay. At the time, I was not the least bit tired.
I was supposed to be in repose and there was an implicit order that he not be awakened. There were several talons – fishing flies, however, they were unlike their waking state counterparts.
Apparently intended for me to keep, they were laid out on my pillow. Beyond the head of the bed was the lone door to the room. The look of the door and the room made it seem fairly sepulchral.
Meanwhile, another man had entered the room through those doors. He stood in the centre of the room before me. He wore a gossamer-looking outfit which fell to just below his calves.
It was as if a futuristic version on the chainmail suit of ages past. Bronze-coloured, it fitted his body pretty much like a wet suit would. There were some metallic-looking strips that crossed the outfit.
Behind him were the largest wings imaginable. These were definitely not some theatrical contraptions, they were his. Adding greater drama to his entrance, they flared out behind him and upwards.
To say the least, he was quite the mythic figure. Sadly though, the intensity of the outfit’s glow obscured the look of his face. For that reason, it was hard to say whether he was Amerindian, Indian, Asian, Black or White.
On remembering that dream of September 4, 1988, I instinctively sat up. Straight away, I knew that he would approach the bed. I also knew that while standing there at the foot of bed, he would perform some all-important ritual.
Meanwhile, Penina da Braga and Isha were telling me not to get up. That was because I wasn’t supposed to disturb the man, who lay there, soundly asleep.
Frankly, I did not much care about the archetypal king/warrior-souled man soundly asleep on the bed with me. As I explained to them, I was more concerned with the winged incredibly tall man.
I knew that he was there to collect the fishing flies from me. For that reason, I told them that I was afraid that the winged man may take off, thus making it potentially impossible to get them to him.
Their confusion was distracting; so, with that, I finally got from the bed and left the area. As I left the sepulchral room, I realised that I had been someone who had been quite revered in a past life.
Apparently, this had been in parts of the West Indies – the Virgin Islands and mainland America. As I walked from the room, I had been told this by a guide.
Seemingly, I had been a skilled diplomat which was when I had earlier been out on the balcony. At the time, I had been looking down to the masses and spurring on their spirits.
I was respected and much-loved by the locals.
*The immensely powerful, gossamer-suited, winged and exceptionally tall man was not the Eurocentric angel. He was not, for that matter, some mythic archetype.
He was an extra-human and it was also clear that regardless his packaging, he was clearly a king soul. There was no getting around that fact.
I found that it was quite impactful being in his presence. I also had a strong sense that he was someone with whom I have been familiar, in the dreamtime, throughout my life.
This is one of those rare times that he has manifested in the dreamtime. I do believe that this is the first time that his manifestation has been recorded in this audio-cassette medium. END.
In a courtyard area, I found myself in this the fifth dream, on an estate that was close to the sea. A man was being surrounded by five Italian guys who were being problematic.
Clearly, these men were thugs and the henchmen of someone with whom he was acquainted. Eventually, his mother had shown up wearing this beautiful floral-printed dress. The dress was a sleeveless design.
She was a short study of the babushka archetype. There was no way to get around the fact that this man was Russian. I had had to tell his white-haired mother, to stop being emotionally panicked, to leave the scene.
She could, by her distress, have proven detrimental to his survival. Besides, quietly I had told her to go get help by dialling 9-1-1. Except that when she went to the balcony, she started shining some large spotlights.
Seeing the logic of her actions, I told her that whatever she did, she had to always keep them trained on her son. In the meantime, the henchmen kept on closing in on him. The heavies all wore bathing suits.
On the order of Charlton Heston, he was a tall majestic-looking man. A very warrior-spirited, mid-aged man was her son.
The house was a papaya-toned, West Indian-orange-into-peach tone, to slight-tangerine-red impressive structure. Surrounding the house, in the modern style, was a large stone wall.
There were marvellous sculptural openings in the wall. They were lyrically curvaceous and suggested slow aqueous movement. The style architecturally was really quite timeless.
Set some twenty feet from the house, the wall was an impressive complement to it and was some ten-to-eleven feet tall. The wall was the same colour as the side of the house.
The earthen yard was a roughhewed affair, with exposed roots everywhere, as top soil had long ago been wind-and-rain swept aside. The wall was in three phases, to accommodate the sloping grade of the property, dropping a couple of feet along the way. The distance between a drop-off in the wall was roughly ten feet.
When one got down to the seashore, there was a van circling in the air overhead. This van had the same green tonality of most military helicopters. The look was of that army camouflage gear that is sported the world over.
The craft was definitely not a helicopter. A network of vary-sized antennae shot from all sides of the van-like craft that silently hovered in the air. Down on the shore, parked next to the sea, were a couple of tractor-trailers.
Their being placed so close to the ocean, I thought was dangerous. Both of them were white with one being silver in the back. Clearly claimed by the ocean, they had been abandoned there to rust away.
I couldn’t believe the environmental negligence of whoever had done this. Not realising that the henchmen had landed on the beach and entered the house, a man had come and parked his car down on the beach.
Meanwhile, the girl – who had wanted to talk to her diplomatic father – had learnt that these same people had savagely butchered one of her brothers. They had then disposed of his body at sea.
The man being confronted by the murderous henchmen had come down to the sea. He was there to investigate who they were and why they had landed on his beachfront property.
A number of people had seen them come ashore and had yelled out after them. The concerned were neighbours of the Russian man.
These people then took it on themselves to call the authorities. With that, the murderous henchmen had fled.
By the rising tides, the butchered corpse was slowly beginning to be dragged out to sea. The murderers had fled, behind the house, to the sheer cliff, rock face where there were several abandoned buildings.
These men had split up at once, taking off in divergent directions, to escape being caught together. Running helter-skelter, they veered off in separate directions when fleeing apprehension.
Taking cover myself, I then went indoors; once inside, I immediately looked around when trying to get my bearings. There, I saw a man lying on the floor who was bent over.
Splendidly furnished with an eclectic array of antiques and mementos of a well-travelled life, the interior of this house was busy. The décor here was in the Santa Fe style and warm it was too.
The man was on the lowest of the three levels, of the split-level house, thus leaving him closer to the sea. Theatrical, the house was wide-open and inviting. This layout afforded a commanding view of the wetness of nature’s womb outside.
As each of the three levels had its own sitting room area, he was in that level’s sitting room. The seating was always in the centre of the central hall-like room.
There were lots of potted plants that towered up in search of the comfortably far-off ceilings. They were all big-leafed and, for the most part, succulents.
In this one area, it was absolutely beautiful – where the guy was knocked out and on the floor. Coming closer, I realised that it was my current lover, Gustavo Vadim. He had been badly beaten up by the marauding, interloping murderers.
One of the henchmen, wearing a skimpy little bathing suit, went down before the Russian man’s mother and started masturbating in front of her. As she sat there, on the chair, the henchman air-jacked off though never having taken his hard-on from his tight-fitting spandex.
The poor dear was being totally traumatised by his boorish behaviour. Seated there, she really did want to get a load of that throbbing piece of raw tenderloin. I found it quite comical to look at her.
I, at the time, was up on a ledge that formed part of the structure’s girders. Just as outside, in the stone walls, the same sculptural schemata were reproduced on the walls inside the house. There in one of these openings I had comfortably sat.
Hiding out of view of them, I had been crouching down. To my left, from where I perched birdlike, was the central living space in which were the sitting areas.
A really beautiful organic house; it was not unlike that sublime masterpiece which I explored in the dreams on Thursday, February 16, 1989.
As one walked down the length of the house, towards the sea, the partition on which I hid was off to the right. Beyond the central living space, the same sculptural wall was repeated far opposite across the house.
Too, that wall had groovy openings in its three-foot-thick frame. Here too, as outside, the same colour schemata prevailed. Here in this part of the house, it was dark as there were not many windows in the structure.
There were, interestingly enough, no central skylights in this house. This, I thought, was a design flaw.
As they went off to get dressed in casual wear, one of the Italian guys had seen me. I must say that they were an über-poilu bunch.
The fact that they had been able to inflict a great deal of damage on their target, they openly celebrated. One of them had gone and gotten the guy, who reminded me of Gustavo, putting him on the gas range.
Turning on the gas, they then struck a match on his genitals and arse. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Both his anterior and posterior sexes were on fire. Rushing to his aid, I snapped at them telling them to layoff persecuting him.
Grabbing his body, I pulled him off the range and covered his singeing sexes. I then reached over and put out the glowing blue-flamed gas range.
The Italian guy, it turned out, drank a lot of whiskey then he violently spat out the liquor at me. With lightning ease, I caught it in my mouth and rapidly spat it back at him.
He had followed the liquor with a spurt of flame which, of course, was meant to set me alight. The stunt had failed as intended. I had no intentions of being burned as he had intended.
The way in which I blew the breath out had amazed me. The sound of my breath was a thunderous quake. The process was empowering and felt as though a wind tunnel had opened up. Out of my body, there blew all this warm air.
Though I had feared that he would throw a match at me, setting my breath and self on fire, it never did happen. In the same position, as a frog’s limbs, Gustavo was crumpled on the floor.
Crouched forwards, I turned him back, attempting to right his body. Gustavo, however, remained on his knees. His spread arse cut quite the impressive inviting image.
Finally, on seeing his face, I could see a semblance of Gustavo’s face. More importantly, this reincarnationally was the amalgamated face of his soul over the ages. The nostrils were more flared than Gustavo’s.
Though not dead, he was as if in a deep comatose state. Nonetheless, he was sexually inviting, expansive and to the point of being submissive.
Furious, I shrieked at the henchmen and ordered them to instantly get the fuck out of the house. They were very rebellious though.
Getting outside, I rushed after them and made sure that they were taking their leave of the property. When the authorities pulled up, tires screeching, they had gone down into their car.
Tearing from their cars, they abandoned them fleeing on foot. Before the house, there was a sheer rock cliff which was some eight feet high. Where the millennia of water runoff had created deep cracks in it, there were deep fissures in the rock face.
This is what had caused the earth, in the yard, to become so eroded leaving a bare rocklike surface. While I hid out down in a dugout, I saw the arrival of backups. They arrived in futuristic, EHV(extra-human vehicle)-like machinery.
As if made from malleable chrome alloy, they were silver. In that sense, they appeared as if animated machinery effortlessly floating through the air.
Removing myself from the chaos, I went off on an exploratory tour inside a large complex that seemed like a museum. There, I saw several strange-looking persons who seemed not wholly human.
I couldn’t though quite fathom what it was about them that made them, as it were, not quite homo sapiens. Finally, nothing on display made precious sense to me. With that, I took my leave of the complex.
The persons there were also openly making fun of Blacks though not necessarily me. Since I did not appreciate this, I took off. I was then in this area with a guy whom I initially thought was Black.
He energetically seemed Black. I had been too distracted, by the goings-on outside, to have paid him much attention. There was considerable fighting taking place outside the dugout.
The Italian henchmen were caught in a stakeout with persons who were obviously extra-human. They seemed more so like sentinels – automatons, if you like, rather than humanoids.
With a large pylon slab in it, the dugout was metallic and less than six feet deep. On the other side of the pylon was a doorway. The guy was always on my right as we hid out.
Soon it became apparent that the EH sentinels were aware of our being in hiding. What’s more, they were actually protecting us from being overwhelmed by the Italian henchmen.
When they appeared to do battle with the sentinels, the Italian-looking guys had the most incredibly large guns. A woman in army fatigues had jumped back away from a bullet.
With ferocious skill she had grabbed a bullet, ripping through space, from the air then violently tossed it down into the dugout where we were. Eventually, she had managed to shoot one of the sentinels.
Soon enough, they received backup from the army fatigue-coloured crafts that had appeared as if out of nowhere. At the time, for the first time, the guy that I was with pointed out the sentinels to me.
Not until they had come close enough did I realise that they were as different to us, indeed, as were we to them. They had spindly arachnidan legs. Their bodies were round squat and robotic-looking while their heads were small as compared to their rotund bodies.
However, these were not mere machinery, they were unmistakably sentient. They could fight and were rather immune to battle fire. Seemingly, in composition, their bodies were made of material that was fairly close to steel.
Long-limbed, their legs were frightfully skinny. Terminating in a spear-like or pin-like sharp point, their arms were sticklike and long. A bipedal race they were whose locomotion was rather nimble.
Their legs were in three sections with no discernible feet. They moved as if their extended feet were perpetually en pointe. The henchmen were tossing out these round pellets which seemed some new sort of anti-personnel grenade.
The sentinel would quickly grab a hold of the grenades and instantaneously diffuse them. They managed to throw one down at us and, at that point, the guy got up and made to leave the dugout.
I was uncertain whether or not he had been shot. When he was crawling from the dugout, I could tell from the shortness of his legs – as compared to the length of his back – that he was White rather than Black.
This man was, in fact, Gustavo and I called after him and asked him not to leave the dugout. Reassuringly, he told me that he would be back. Nonetheless, I did not like being left alone without his grounding company.
When he started coming back, his face was now different. He wore a green mask which had a large diamond-shaped, quartz crystal in it. Another person also came from the hall that went down into the earth.
While he was walking there, he and the others all looked like cartoon or animated figures. What they were, in fact, were astral entities that we were witnessing. This creature then came out to do battle with the sentinels.
The creature wore all-black flowing garments that independently billowed in the non-extant wind. A plaque on the slab read ‘Minerva’ or some such ancient name. This woman represented yet another mythological archetype.
I went, beyond the courtyard, to explore the inside of the structure. There, I saw an exhibit of species of sentient beings. They were, some of them, humanoid.
Some were Black but these species were, for the most part, not members of our own homo sapiens species. As it was an anthropological exhibition, at the time, there were several other persons there taking in the exhibit.
With some of the other humans about marvelling aloud at the vast array of sentient life forms, it was all very revelatory. They were all alien to anything that one could fathom evolving here on Gaia.
I had not stayed very long in ‘the hall of species’ which is what it was called. In a soothing blue-walled salon, one hall was adorned with beautiful tapestries.
The designs here were most unusual. They sprung from vastly different aesthetic sensibilities than those to which the human experience has given expression.
One guy who was there, an older man, was talking aloud of the exhibit. He was White and from time to time kept on looking back at me while throwing shade.
Here was this asinine human, identifying with EHs, when he hadn’t even been able to accomplish the same with his own kind. He was also Gay and, for greater impact, doing an affected lisp.
He was a tour guide. He was speciously trying to show how these alien cultures also had connections to ancient Greece. This monologue of his was so much bullshit and, yet again, another example of racist absurdities.
Dismissing him and his ilk, I moved on picking up the pace of my walk. The entire place was a series of stairs that went up, and then down, sometimes even winding but along them the exhibits were visible.
*The sense of the winding stair-interiored museum was not unlike the layout of the Guggenheim Museum on New York City’s Fifth Avenue. END.
As in the waking state, this undoubtedly was not the conventional approach to museum exhibits. The beautiful courtyard was littered with chairs that were of a pinkish-red-toned iron.
They faced up towards the courtyard’s piece de resistance which was a lovely stand of the most unusual-looking trees. The sunlight here could best be described as starlight because its intensity suggested that this was not being illumined by Sol.
After having seen it earlier, now I was seeing it in greater detail. They were preparing to serve a meal there. At that point, I did not get too involved. The mythic woman/creature Minerva was also there in the museum of alien anthropology.
The other species aesthetically were simply fantastical. The chromium stick-limbed sentinels were also represented in the exhibit. I had taken cover in the museum, which was completely underground, to escape becoming caught up in the fighting aboveground.
Under no circumstances did I want to have to get involved in warfare. The man had been spirited away during battle, by one of the hovering vehicles, by the whitish-silver, sentient chrome beings.
The craft had circled the property, before touching down in the sea, away from being overrun by the Italian-looking guys on land. The henchmen had no way of making it out to sea to overwhelm the sentinels’ crafts.
There were lots of especially tall coconut trees that ringed the estate of the marvellous split-level dwelling. The craft had made it ashore, at which point, then morphed into looking like an abandoned car.
In that way, its transformed shell served as clever camouflage. There were several antennae on it as did all the others have antennae. When they had been in the house, they were in constant communication with their crafts.
This was the point at which I made the realisation that the Italian-looking men, in bathing suits, were extra-human got up in human disguise. This is why it had made it so confusing to fully discern what was afoot.
As they were way bigger and more space-aged, than anything native to Earth, the guns that the Italian-looking extra-humans used were a dead giveaway. Though they were young-looking, there was something about them that suggested that they did not fit into the ageing process governed by Sol’s unique vibration.
Warrior-spirited, they were an adversarial people. Clearly, they were there to capture humans for their own purposes whether for research or something else.
That something else, while I was in the museum of EH anthropology, I thought meant capturing human specimens for sale to museums like the one that I toured.
Either way, they were sadistic, extremely unpleasant sentient extra-humans to be around. Theirs was a young-souled focus that was not unlike the rapacious exploitations that began 500 years ago on this planet – which prevail to this today.
These dreams occurred on Sunday, April 25, 1993 while the Moon transited both Gemini and my first house. Unlike dreams from this date previously shared herein, on February 16, 2013: http://dreampoetica.wordpress.com/2013/02/16/dropping-in-on-an-old-favourite-of-many-lives-ago/ these dreams, however, were had during the ‘B’ or second sleep cycle that day.
They were, to say the least, rather transformative dreams.
As per the Minerva mythological woman in this dream, I am beginning to think that she may have been connected to the same mythological female in that dream set on the Moon. Indeed, this dream may also have been set here on Earth’s Moon.
I will also go one further and presume that the dream of the inverted Machu Pichuesque, canyonned civilisation may well have been set on Earth’s Moon. Who are we to say that this is not the case? We are a planetary civilisation where ignorance and superstition are the order of the land.
I think that it makes perfect sense for there to be a museum of anthropology on the Moon. Said museum would, of course, bear examples of all the species which from time to time frequent or have frequented the planet. I am sure with each species on display that there would be a history as to its connection to Earth.
Were they engaged in deep sea marine studies or mining – aquatic or land-based? Were they engaged in trade, research, exchanges with some levels of Earthly governments?
Again, as with the canyonned Machu Pichuesque civilisation, December 29, 1990: http://dreampoetica.wordpress.com/2013/03/05/sequential-dreams-of-winged-simian-mammalian-extra-humans/ there was the sense of the dugout and that dream of October 6, 1997: http://dreampoetica.wordpress.com/2013/03/07/to-the-moon-with-you/ wherein the 500-plus-storeyed skyscrapers sat inside portal-like canyons. I do believe that all three of these dreams are connected and were centred on the Moon.
Photo credit: Interior, Guggenheim Museum New York City.
Sponsor: Suhail Mubeen – Certified numerologist & Vedic astrologer.
© 2014 Arvin da Braga. All Rights Reserved.