I Love You Ollie! Happy Birthday!

oliver-jones

Hymn To Freedom

Oscar Peterson & Oliver Jones at Festival International de Jazz de Montréal, 2004.  

Happy Birthday Oliver…  I have got no end of mad love for you, Sir!

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©2013-2016 Arvin da Braga.  All Rights Reserved.

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Prosecuting the Past whilst at the Deathscape (Redux 8/2016)

Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis3

Since having shared these dreams two years ago, I have been corrected by an authentic Michael Channeller as to Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis’ true role in essence; she is a young soul sage rather than young soul king – her first husband, John F. Kennedy was a young soul king and he was reborn to an aristocratic family in France and I do believe reborn male.  Contrary to the word on the faux-Michael ether, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis – whom I encountered one glorious summer afternoon in 1983 after ballet class at Harkness House with David Peregrine and his lovely sweetheart and former classmate, Jackie Sloane – who both perished in the Canadian Rockies when he piloted some years later in 1989, Ms. Kennedy Onassis vibrationally seemed every bit the king soul.  Alas, that may well have been her well-fortified social persona and false personality then experienced.  Of course, it was at Harkness House where Rebekah Harkness’ cremains perpetually rotated in a golden urn designed by master surrealist himself, Salvador Dali.  

Since these dreams were shared, I have elected to have channelled the overleaves of the following persons: Salvador Dali and Maria Callas.  Too, I am adding here, Frederick Hinneault’s overleaves, though, they have been previously shared in this blog.  Frederick was a the most glorious Cree feather dancer who introduced me to the world of powwows in June 1994.  I met Frederick after having had the most lucidly awakened flying dream to a past-life whereat I witnessed a young shaman coming of age during initiation ceremonies.  Well, you can just bet that after so high a spiritual dream experience, I chose to do no such thing as time-waste in the presence of dense-energied, somnambulant and decidedly spiritually unsophisticated coworkers.  So off I went to Club Vancouver bathhouse on West Pender Street where there I met the genuine article, Frederick.  After having made a sweat lodge of his tiny room, we spent the rest of the summer holding hands and travelling about B.C. Alberta and Washington.  Firstly, though, he took me to a lookout point high above the Cypress Bowl lookout where in a bath of cloud-untrammelled sunlight, we laid naked side by side in the long grass, holding hands and he got out his whistle that called a majestic eagle; this was one of the most magical experiences of this incarnation.  

Frederick, at the time, was full blown with AIDS.  What was most revolutionary was being in the company of two-spirits.  This was the first time being in the company of Gays who were not possessed of racially predatory animus.  That first weekend, just past 1994’s summer solstice was my true arrival and connection with Canada and what she represents.  I finally felt no longer as an outsider.  I will always have the greatest respect for all First Nations peoples from Baffin Island to Patagonia.  

These were truly operatic dreams, drink anew of my chalice and may you, satiated and inspired, slip into lucidly awakened dreamquests of your own.  You’ve a wealth of knowledge and beauty which passively lie awaiting your inner focus deep within the aqueous folds of self.  

Sweet dreams you… ever, we will be kindred spirits – you and me – sharing this magical quest of self-discovery, self-actualisation and self-empowerment.  I am honoured by your continued support and for that, I love you more!  (August 2016)

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Dalí, Salvador 11/5/1904<O>23/1/1989

This fragment was a fifth level mature artisan – third life thereat.  Salvador was in observation mode with a goal of dominance.  A sceptic, Salvador was in the intellectual part of emotional centre.

Body type was Saturn/Mars.

Salvador‘s primary chief feature was arrogance and the secondary self-destruction.

Casting for Salvador is fourth-cast in second cadence; Salvador is a member of greater cadence two.  Salvador‘s entity is two, cadre six, greater cadre 7, pod 208.

Salvador‘s essence twin is an artisan and his task companion a sage.

Salvador’s primary needs were: expression, communion and freedom.

There are 3 past-life associations with Arvin and 8 with Merlin.  (June, 2016)

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Callas, Maria 2/12/1923 NYC<O>16/9/1977 Paris

This fragment was a first level old king – second life thereat.  Maria was in the power mode with a goal of dominance.  A skeptic, she was in the emotional part of moving centre.

Body type is Venus/Saturn.

Callas’ primary chief feature was arrogance and the secondary stubbornness.

Casting for Callas is fifth-cast in fifth cadence; she is a member of greater cadence four.  Callas’ entity is seven, cadre six, greater cadre 7, pod 404.

Callas’ essence twin is a king but does not have a task companion.

Callas’ primary needs were: expression, power, freedom.

There are 8 past-life associations with Arvin and 10 with Merlin.

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Hinneault, Frederick 27/7/56,  Alberta.

The fragment who was Frederick is a sixth level mature artisan, who was in the passion mode, with a goal of dominance, a realist in the moving part of emotional centre.

He had a Mercury/Solar body type.

Frederick had a primary chief feature of self-destruction, with a strong secondary of stubbornness.

This fragment has an artisan essence twin who is alive and currently 22 years old.  The fragment who was Frederick may choose to be born to this young woman during the first decade of the new millennium.

His priest task companion is discarnate and if this fragment’s essence twin chooses not to have children or it is inappropriate for her to have a child when this fragment wishes to reincarnate, they may work together in the next life.

This fragment was third-cast in his cadence and his cadence is second in the greater cadence.  He is a member of entity six, cadre one, greater cadre 7, pod/node 415.

We would add here that this fragment is in the same entity, cadre and greater cadre as the fragment who is Arvin but in another pod/node, which is in position 11 in what has been termed “the group of 12” or, as we would prefer to call it, the cadre’s support circle.

This is why Arvin felt the connection when they met.  These fragments knew each other only as fellow performers in two previous lives but there is an essence tie here that is strong and they may plan to meet on a more serious basis in future lives.

Here is a warrior-cast artisan, who will always have a great need to serve his concept of the higher ideal.  He had very difficult overleaves in this immediate past life, yet successfully completed his fourth internal monad despite serious health problems.

His secondary chief feature helped a great deal in this, as well as the dominance goal.

Frederick had adventure, freedom and acceptance as his three primary needs and the acceptance need conflicted somewhat with his dominance goal.

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These next dreams occurred two days apart and dealt with the same individual.  I have recently written of her and shared a dream of her, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis.  At the time of these dreams, which are currently being chronologically transcribed, Mrs. Kennedy Onassis was a recent astral plane habituée. 

As such, these dreams – and the last in particular – vicariously gave insights to her deathscape on becoming an arrivée astral plane habituée.  I dream it, I share it and pass no judgment on either self or the subject(s) of any dream ever had. 

As with all astral plane-focussed dreams, these were rather intense experiences.  Especially so was the fourth and final dream of the second day of dreams shared herein. 

The first dream was the only dream that day and it sets the mood for the nature of the second dream to come of Mrs. Kennedy-Onassis.  That dream occurred two days later and was more thorough and insightful.  At the time of the first dream, it was Saturday, July 9, 1994 and the Moon then transited both Cancer and my second house. 

Two days later, Monday, July 11, 1994, there were four dreams and as on the July 9, 1994, the fourth and final dream that day focussed on the deathscape for the arrivée astral plane habituée, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis.  As is her wont, Luna had beguilingly slipped from Cancer to Leo and correspondingly from my second to third houses. 

The final was an intensely volatile dream that was all about emotionality and karmic dross.  Having passed near two months earlier, though I was not much-focussed on her life in the waking state, it is not surprising that one would vicariously tune in to the deathscape goings-on of one the century’s most iconic figures, Jacqueline Kennedy-Onassis. 

Sweet dreams as ever.  Rather than the standard one photograph per dream entry to this blog, the break between both days’ dreams will be a second photograph. 

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I was, in this the first dream, in a park like New York City’s Central Park with Pandora da Braga on my right.  From across the vast plain came a large steed from a low, heavy mist atop a knoll.

Here the light was rather diffused and potent.  The horse was a possessed powerful creature.  Rapt in focussed canter, it barrelled across the green grass towards us.

Atop it rode a large-boned woman who was a fierce warrior-spirited individual.  She turned out, no less, to have been Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis.

She rode in traditional riding gear: black cap, white riding breeches and black riding boots, all of which was topped off by a red riding jacket.  Her gloves were short and made of thick black leather.

This woman was arrestingly powerful.

Pandora and I were stunned into silence.  All the shrubs wore various-sized beautiful white blooms that simply zinged with life.

All was ordered and serene here and it clearly was a reflection of this woman’s afterlife passage – the deathscape.  The Earth simply quaked beneath the power and grandeur of both she and the steed.

I mentioned to Pandora, after she had ridden past, that I had seen her, back in the early 1980s, on two occasions in the Manhattan.  She was, to be sure, a very robust, dominance-goaled kind of person.

Hers was a very powerful warrior-energied complex.

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Diva - Maria Callas

Whilst speaking with a man, in this the first dream, I assured him that I could never bed Aaron Wookay because of his pheromones – body odour.

I do believe that it was, in fact, Aaron Wookay with whom I had been speaking at the time and made the slip of saying what I had.  There was certainly a glaringly pregnant pause at the end of it all.

As we spoke, in the middle of the late-afternoon street, a very tall warrior-spirited Karl Weller walked past with a guy on his left.  He was dressed all in black clothes and as I sped up after him, I said aloud to my companion,

“Now there is a man that I could bed…”

I intimated that I had already had an encounter with him in the waking state.  This was in fact true.  I then got him into a black limousine and together we headed for my place.

En route there, at nighttime, we stopped outside a Dairy Queen.  The store was tiny and right at the corner of one of the city’s intersections.  Getting out, on the left side of the car, I went inside where I ordered large slices of a white cheesecake with soft ice cream.

When I returned to the limousine, he was immediately in bed lying on his back on some blankets.  He took a bite of the food and, at that point, I began groaning.

His entire body then lapsed into an adrenalin quake as he had his first all-out experience.  He was full of nerves and caution.  Wanting to leave, Karl Weller then hurriedly got up; I was quite disappointed.

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In this the second dream, Isha da Braga insisted that I deposit some cash – 10$ or 12$ – into her account because I had owed her as much.  I was really pissed off because I knew that I had already paid her whatever monies that I had owed her.

En route to the bank, I stopped off at her condo to which I had a pair of keys.  Slowly, I stirred the pot of stew that she had started before heading to work.  The stew simmered on a low fire.

Soon, I encountered Pandora da Braga who also needed cash.  I then became an issue of how to move around cash, via cheques, from one or more of my little-funded accounts to get to float until the next payday.

With that, I headed off to the bank to begin my unscrupulous activity.

*This is something that I have never attempted and would never think to attempt in the waking state.  Why?

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Soon, in this the third dream, I got sidetracked.  I went off and had a hot encounter with a guy whom I now think was Frederick Hinneault.  We were, in an old building, writhing away on a table.

Splayed and utterly contorted, we were going at each other like there was no tomorrow.  Too, it was also hard to tell just who was fucking whom.

A tall Black security guard, whilst on duty, happened on us.  Pretty soon, he interrupted us and joined in when he oughtn’t to have done so.  He took off his thick, brown leather belt and began beating me with it.

I was truly incensed and let him know that I could damn well file suit against him for having struck me.  After all, it was not a part of his duties to have done so.

He was surprised at my response.  Seemingly, he was a novice in his crisp, brand new khaki uniform and hat.  He was rather handsome a fellow.  Nonetheless, I was still upset with him.

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I would, whilst focussed in this the fourth dream, have an encounter with Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis.  At the time, I was going along a corridor in a palatial residence.  Seemingly, this was an eighteenth century château.

Whilst she was dressed in clothing that was late 1950s-60s, A-line conservative and nothing flashy, I walked after Mrs. Kennedy-Onassis.  There were several other persons about.  Impatient, she was not at all in a very good mood.

Rushing back, I went to the off-white blue hallways to the other wing.  We were two to three storeys aboveground.  There, I saw a dark-haired, strong-featured woman and intuitively knew her to be Maria Callas.

Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis and Maria Callas were in the midst of a nasty feud.  Conversely, it turned out that to get her attention I would have to quickly act.

Pulling out a shotgun, I shot into the ceiling in order to wrestle her attention.  The gunfire stunned Maria Callas; at that point, I then bolted and went back to be with Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis.

Coming to her aid, I held Mrs. Kennedy-Onassis by the forearms as she was slumped in a chair.  She had been truly traumatised by the gunshot going off so close to her.

In light of what she had endured on November 22, 1963, in Dallas, Texas, her reaction was not surprising.  This soon served as a glimpse into who had really killed whom.

From what I learnt here, it turned out that not only did Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis get rid of Christina Onassis and Marilyn Monroe, she also used occult means to get rid of Maria Callas by way of literally bewitching Aristotle Onassis.

I was being told this by a voice which I heard speaking to me.  Interestingly enough, the voice sounded like a gruffer version of Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis’s famous breathy register.

This insight was all being telepathically shared with me.  However, this house was definitely on the astral plane in which Maria Callas was confronting Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis.  As it were, both astral plane habitués were prosecuting their relations in their respective immediate past lives.

There was no getting around the fact that Maria Callas had the upper hand here.  There was a sense that, try as she might, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis simply could not get out of this confrontational drama; it was, as it were, fated based on who owed whom karma.

Maria Callas was truly operatic.  Not the kind of person that one would want to have as a foe was she.  For having predeceased Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis as well as Aristotle Onassis, there seemingly was much that she knew of what really happened whilst she was alive.

This woman, Maria Callas, was truly operatic.  Her rage was such that she seemed to create an emotional tornado.  Even when she spoke, her voice operatically boomed.

This was drama that was supra-Wagnerian.  The palatial, soothing blue-interiored dwelling’s walls violently quaked as Maria Callas fumed and berated Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis from her wing of the château.

Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis looked extremely spent, haggard and aged; she had been completely vanquished by Maria Callas’ rage.  If these karmic debts had really been incurred by Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, it then stands to reason that on reflecting on her just-concluded life, there would be some degree of remorse and inner pain as part of her deathscape on becoming an arrivée astral plane habituée.

Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis was deeply troubled here.  Though she was every bit the lady in her own right, for having been wronged, there was a great impactful power that Maria Callas exhibited for having been wronged.

The whole affair had karmically left her completely in a funk.  All of these done-in women were strong-willed individuals who had, in some way, posed a threat to her sense of self.

Not only did she not suffer fools gladly but from the evidence here, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis did not suffer threats to her power in any way.  Once so threatened, her only response was shrewd and calculating.

They were simply removed from the environment – struck down.  For Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, with a Scorpio rising, it was all too possible that this sort of tactic would have been deemed a viable and appropriate response to such a threat.

Here in the dreamtime, for being alone with her, I came to understand what would have motivated her to have taken such actions.  This was the only way to stake her claim on history and not just near history but millennial history.

At all costs, a statuesque stalwart of power and regal dignity, she had to survive to the end.  To have been respectively displaced or denied by Marilyn Monroe or Maria Callas would have eclipsed her and made her but a footnote in history.

This is how she saw it.  Christina Onassis did nothing but try to have her displaced and dishonoured by way of a divorce; this, too, could not be suffered.  She won.  In all things, she won.

As that dream on July 9, 1994 attested, she was the born warrior-spirited leader who was never felled in battle.  Victorious to the end was ever her approach.

Indeed, coming through the mist of time, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis will transcend Time for several millennial as one of the most pre-eminent leaders of the 20th century and not merely just an iconic woman.

Into the future and legend she will forever ride a valiant steed, though a dark one, a figure of power, strength and dignity.  Indeed, a bloody-talonned warrior this one.

Leaving her, I went running back through the halls saying that I had to get to the ministerial offices.  I wanted to get there at once, in order that the records may historically be set straight.

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Photo credits: Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis fox hunting in Virginia.

Opera diva, Maria Callas.

© 2014-2015 Arvin da Braga.  All Rights Reserved.

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Revisit West Indian colonial past-life, flight and lovemaking (Redux).

Florence Welch Annie Leibovitz Vogue

*As it is yet again the cusp of another year of this incarnation – one of which I am immensely proud – I share these dreams anew.  Too, I am adding the Michael Overleaves immediately following this preamble.  

Not all these Michael Overleaves are to be found on the Michael Overleaves Appendix page.  

As ever, thanks for your continued patronage; it does mean a great deal to me.  Sweet dreams as ever and the very best to you!  

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Botero, Fernando 19/4/32 Medellin, Columbia

This fragment is a fifth level mature artisan – fourth incarnation at this level – in the power mode, with a goal of dominance, a cynic, in the moving part of intellectual centre.

Fernando has a Jupiter/Mars body type.

Fernando’s primary chief feature is arrogance, with a secondary of pronounced stubbornness.

Fernando is fourth-cast in a fifth cadence of the seventh greater cadence, entity seven, cadre four, greater cadre 3, pod/node 418.

Fernando has an artisan essence twin and a sage task companion with whom he is familiar.

Fernando’s three primary needs are: expression, freedom and power.

There are 12 past life associations with Arvin – including collaborative ventures in Venice – and 14 with Merlin.
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Blanc, Jacques 3/’06 – 12/1989, Toronto

Jacques was a second level old slave – first incarnation at this level – in the repression mode with a goal of acceptance, a pragmatist in the moving part of emotional centre.

He had a Mars/Venus body type.

Jacques’s primary chief feature was self-deprecation, with a secondary of stubbornness.

This fragment was fourth-cast in his cadence and his cadence is sixth in the greater cadence. He is a member of entity two, cadre one, greater cadre 7, pod/node 414, so is in the group of twelve entities that form close bonds with one another, and this includes the entity to which Arvin and the fragment who was Merlin belong.

Jacques has no essence twin and a discarnate priest task companion, with whom he is planning his next incarnation.

This scholar-cast slave was very grounded in this particular life. In his immediate past life, he was a prominent physician in Berlin and, in fact, was the personal physician to the Kaiser. He had very strong overleaves in that life – power/dominance – but his need to serve both the common and the higher good kept him from becoming power-mad.

Jacques has been a healer in twelve previous lives, including three lives as a shaman, once in the sub-Sahara, once in New Zealand and, in the mid-eighteenth century, as an Apache in the Western United States.

He was also no stranger to agriculture and had several lives in tribal situations, where farming was a way of life.

As we have already mentioned, his last life as a First level old soul was as a physician.

This fragment has known Arvin in five previous lives but only met Merlin briefly in one other life, when Arvin and Merlin were sisters. Nora, former-Arvin, was the younger of the two, and Maura, former-Merlin, was very protective of her baby sister.

Jacques was a young man who was quite enamoured of Nora, but Nora’s sister did not in any way approve of the relationship and managed to keep them apart.

There were some feelings of estrangement here in this life between them, even though there was no real dislike. Arvin, on the other hand, felt the connections here quite strongly and was a comfort to John in his final illness.

Jacques served as anchor in Arvin’s support circle during that time.

Jacques’s overleaves kept him out of the healing arts in this immediate past life but he is very attracted to that as a profession, so will probably choose this again in the early part of the new millennium.
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Wellington, Lara

This fragment was a sixth level mature slave – second life thereat.  Lara was in the perseverance mode with a goal of dominance.  A realist, Lara was in the moving part of intellectual centre.

Body type was Venus/Mars.

Lara’s primary chief feature was pronounced stubbornness and the secondary impatience.

Casting for Lara is third-cast in fourth cadence; Lara is a member of greater cadence second.  Lara’s entity is one, cadre seven, greater cadre 6, pod 404.

Lara’s essence twin is a slave and her task companion a priest.

Lara’s primary needs were: power, exchange and freedom.

There are 14 past-life associations with Arvin and 8 with Merlin.

This fragment is currently incarnate and is the second incarnation since the second incarnation at sixth mature as Lara Wellington.  (June, 2016)

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Wellington-Banks, Fitzrene

This fragment is a seventh level mature warrior – second life thereat.  Fitzrene is in power mode with a goal of growth.  A pragmatist, Fitzrene is in the emotional part of moving centre.

Body type is Mars/Jupiter/Mercury.

Fitzrene’s primary chief feature is arrogance and the secondary stubbornness.

Casting for Fitzrene is first-cast in fourth cadence; Fitzrene is a member of greater cadence seven.  Fitzrene’s entity is two, cadre three, greater cadre 7, pod 404.

Fitzrene’s essence twin is a warrior and her task companion a scholar.

Fitzrene’s primary needs are: freedom, power and security.

There are 6 past-life associations with Arvin and 4 with Merlin.  (June, 2016)

*This is a very powerful regal woman who is always dignified and statuesque in dreams.  END. (Arvin)

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Banks-Abella, Pia 1/1/61, Basseterre, St. Kitts

This fragment is a sixth level mature priest in the observation mode, with a goal of dominance, a pragmatist in the emotional part of intellectual centre.

She has a Mercury/Venus body type.

Pia’s primary chief feature is impatience, with a strong secondary of arrogance.

Pia was fourth-cast in her cadence and that cadence is seventh in the greater cadence. She is a member of entity seven, cadre two, greater cadre 10, pod 414.

She has a priest essence twin who is alive but there are no plans to meet. She has a discarnate artisan task companion, who exerts considerable influence on her.

This fragment has many cardinal points in her overleaves. She does have scholar casting but her cadence is in the seventh position in the greater cadence and she is a member of the seventh entity of her cadre.

Sixth level mature and old priests do tend to have riveting eyes and tend to make very direct visual contact with others, which can be quite powerful and does give them an edge in any confrontation.

Pia does, however, have communion, security and expression as her three primary needs, so there are some conflicts here in her interpersonal relationships.

Arvin has known this fragment in three previous lives and they were siblings in one of those lives. Her scholar casting does give her the ability to approach life with curiosity and an inquisitive spirit.

It also prompts her to collect information and gather her wits about her before she takes action. This is a rather regal-appearing fragment, so most approach her with caution and just a tinge of awe.

This fragment has not yet transited her fourth internal monad but has begun this transition. Her life task will involve manifesting the higher good through community building and she is well-equipped to succeed at this.

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On the cusp of my birthday, I share these nine dreams had near 21 years ago.  They were beautiful dreams and, of course, there were flying dreams amongst them. 

With wonder, and at times regrettably with trepidation, I lucidly slipped fecund, open and oceanic in sleep’s warm wet folds and into astral consciousness aligning with soul.  There, on Sunday, October 17, 1993, I would whilst the Moon transited both Scorpio and my sixth house live these nine dreams. 

They were beautiful dancerly movements in spirit which culminated with the most sensual of pas de deux whilst lovemaking with the most beautiful woman.  Sweet dreams be yours. 

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In this the first dream, a female TV reporter was speaking about who was the most hard, as in well-hung, in TV.  Peter Mansbridge was cited as such.  She looked like Wendy Mesley but wasn’t.  As this was said, it proved quite the revelation.

Thought about it and realised that it could indeed be true; after all, he is rather beefy, mesomorphic and broad-shouldered a man.  I could, in fact, see him having a large-headed, thick dick.

Soon, they announced on television that starting in two days’ time, Peter Mansbridge would be hosting a new follow-up program after ABC television’s Nightline which was normally hosted by Ted Koppel.

As I didn’t know whether this meant that he had gone to work in the U.S. or if Ted Koppel had died, I found it all very strange.  As he was about to leave Toronto, for work down in New York City, there was then a send-off party of television executives for Peter Mansbridge.

Myself, I was just outside the main ballroom where the guests were standing and sitting about holding drinks and noisily laughing aloud.  On the inside, there was lots of dark wooden panelling similar to a private club like at 21 McGill Street.

The place was dimly lit and for being dark-wooded, this only made it appear even more soft-lighted inside.  I would then go jogging with Peter Mansbridge in a very rich neighbourhood.  Off to our left and down the road a bit, were these large, beautiful rolling plains.

The street would eventually veer off in two directions.  Here it was at nighttime and the night sky was rather beautiful.  Soon, I would decline jogging for very much longer because of the rigours on the heart from jogging.

He was not however fazed by my dropping out.  As we no longer jogged but walked along, I would see the Moon appear from back of these heavy-looking clouds.  There it sailed atop a stand of palm trees off in the distance.

The Moon was high in the eight house, as it were, in the west moving towards the horizon.  Found it strange to find that it was a full Moon.  After all, it was not supposed to be a full Moon at present in the waking state.

Nonetheless, it was such a larger-than-usual awesome sight that I was greatly moved by its impressive beauty.

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Next, in the second dream, I found myself in the environs of a wooden schoolhouse.  The structure was unpainted thus exposing a clear-wooded exterior.  Can’t recall having gone inside but I know that I had been there to do some work.

I had also been playing in the yard and enjoying myself.  In addition, I had gotten paid for the work that I did there.  I was always in the backyard.  Meanwhile, there was some discovery taking place.

There was a large scaffolding that was very tall and multilevelled.  Lots of steel pylons in different sections were placed on the planks; they awaited to be used in the renovation and construction underway.  The scaffold was only on the back of the schoolhouse.

All around were these incredibly large trees; one of them was definitely a breadfruit tree.  Meanwhile, after having made my way up onto the scaffolding, I became suddenly afraid of the heights.  This was because I had seen that there were these persons who had had to jump from the level that I was on.

Here everyone was very mercurial-bodied – slight and wiry.  One had had to jump some five feet down and across the way by more than two feet.  This was something that they had been doing over time; naturally, they had become quite familiar with the whole process.

Their technique involved throwing their body forwards then with the legs out in second position.  The legs were at a twenty-five degree angle; this would enable you to land properly in plié.  On leaping down, there was very little to hold on to; besides, there was also very little foot space on landing on any of the levels.

For whatever reasons, I became suddenly fearful as to whether or not I could actually sustain myself at these heights.  Furthermore, I questioned whether I could successfully cross from one level to the next.  Instead of leaping across, I clambered back down the scaffolding.

From there, I made my way into the building which proved on entering to be an incredibly large recreation room.  The room had a lot of clear and blue plastic covering the floors.  A very high-ceilinged place it was.  One section, to one side of the complex, was very damp.

Entering the complex at the back, I would soon get to the main corridor which ran from left to right.  On the opposite side of the corridor, to the back where I had made my entrance, were several strange-looking compartments.

They were made of three walls of white tiles with large blue plastic which fell down from the ceiling to cover each compartment.  On entering, one had to stand on a large marble slab where it was very damp.

Incidentally, the whole thing looked like the opening of a car wash.  One had to step down to enter the small three-sided compartment.  In back of you as you entered, the length of the room remained opened up.

Unlike anything that I had ever experienced before, this place was incredibly humid.  In that sense, the place was not unlike a steam room.  As I saw some persons leaning against the blue plastics, I went to lean against them as well.

There were two other persons, to the left, leaning against the tubing which accompanied the plastics.  Made little sense to me what they were up to but they did look decidedly lethargic and out of it.

Truth be told, it was almost as if they were asleep or even anesthetised.  An unusual gestalt considering that this was the realms of the dreamtime, I thought.  Figuring that the old adage, ‘When in Rome do as the Romans…’, I went off and tried to put myself in the state that they were in.

However, the plastic snapped, broke and caused me to almost fall face first into the tiled wall ahead of me.  Steadying myself, I decided to not pursue this riddle of a queer experience further and thus took my leave.

______________________

Going out onto the veranda, in this the third dream, I saw Augustus Akins off in the distance.  He was with someone on the landing as well.  Standing there, I was amazed at just how much they had both grown.

Going over to them, I said to Augustus how surprised I was that he had grown so much.  One of them wore a jean jacket which was opened up to reveal a lovely, dark-skinned complexion.

Don’t have any idea who the other fellow was but he was not a relation of Augustus’s.  I was truly amazed that Augustus had grown so tall and looked so self-possessed and aristocratic.

Returning inside to the room where earlier I had been, I thought about both men as they had been leaning against these upright trunks that were out on the veranda.

I had the distinct impression that they were not saying anything to me because they had the distinct impression that my being enthralled with them would lead me back into the room.

Right away, I intuited that this was all a mere trap which was designed to lure me there at which point they could then come in and capture me.  Straight away, I took my leave of them.

The room, though made out to be as if a bedroom, turned out to have been – though dimly lit – a prison cell.  With that, I went rushing from this room in the schoolhouse by way of another door.

This posited me into another room where beyond which was yet another room.  Coming out, I saw that the innards of the room were now dissolved.  Indeed, the whole thing had been a holographic projection.

All that was left was a large Plexiglas cage of a room.  The people who were left in the room, whom I had not initially noticed as being there, were the same comatose-looking persons as those at the plastic tubing.

Instantaneously, for being encased in the trap, they were gassed as the place filled up with a misty gas.  Pretty soon, they were asphyxiated.  The whole thing was very macabre as their screams were drowned out by the airtight-sealed thick Plexiglas encasing, as it were, in which they were entombed.

Truly gruesome a sight was it.  To think that people could be annihilated just like that was truly horrific a spectre.  Next door, in the room that I had rushed into, there was a guard; he was a tall, quiet dignified-looking man.

He decided not to kill the others.  Nothing interested me more than getting the devil out of there toute de suite.  From there, I went rushing down the staircase close by; I made it out into the grounds of the wonderfully treed schoolhouse.

Making it up to the wide road, I intuitively knew that I was being chased.  Obviously, they would do everything in their power to try and capture me.  I do recall seeing Duane Searles down; he was two landings from me as I had fled from the room.

Duane was keeping tabs on the fact that these persons were trying to entrap others.  Duane was also keenly aware that one of the persons that they were attempting to entrap, by way of intimidation or scandal, was me.

I knew that his sense of justice was such that he intended to take them to task – to deal with them.  He was waiting below for the perpetrators of this barbaric crime.  Without a doubt, it was obvious that he had every intention of apprehending them.

These people were up to no good whatsoever.  They knew that they could pull their little vindictive stunts and get away with it because no one had ever threatened their unfair behaviour.

Pretty soon, the relatives of the gassed persons showed up and were intent on avenging their family’s death by gassing.  They pulled guns and soon the senior members of the families were caught cursing and pistol-whipping each other.

They were so despondent that they began attacking anyone in sight.  For that reason, I sought to keep a low profile and went about sneaking from one place to the next whilst trying to stay out of harm’s way.

As they made for each other, I made it outdoors where it was nighttime.  Of all people, Gabriela Denmann was there.  Augustus said at the time that he hated her guts; this whilst I was waiting for a bus to show up.

I thought it weird that he should have said such a thing.  Down the road from off to the left, down an incline, was what proved a truly mobile automaton.  The transport was not operated by humans and could carry a few persons at a time.  If you like, it was a taxi.

Driving past, it was empty and did not stop for us.  Somehow, I had assumed that it would have sensed us and therefore would have stopped.  All that I wanted was to get myself out of this freakish place.  The vibrations in this place were way too negative.

When the family relations who were in hot pursuit of me began coming from the building, I decided to flee from the bus stop.  I made it out to the woods, which were dense, and to the right when looking at the schoolhouse.

The Moon was brightly shining.  Drinking in the light, I simply flew away.  I had not even had to think of willing myself to fly, it had simply happened.  I simply couldn’t afford to be in the line of their gunfire.  Nor did I want to be seeing any bloodshed.

The trees were all very lushly tropical with lots of palm trees among them.  Flying to the right of the paved road, I was also not above the treetops.  Rather, I hung in amongst their crowns and snaked my way in and out of the network of branches as I flew by.

Here, it was effortless to have flown through the trees.  There were even times when I would simply fly through the branches unobstructed by their being there.  As though they were made of a different molecular structure, as their waking state counterparts, thus they did not prove impassable.

I was, of course, simply shifting my vibration so as to allow me to become momentarily one with their vibration and thereby allow me to pass through them unencumbered.

On one occasion, I moved through the most beautiful mango tree; this had filled me with pleasurable memories of the mango tree that I had planted during childhood in St. Kitts.  The memory-filled experience was truly grounding.

As I flew on, I caught sight of the full Moon which was up ahead against the blackened sky.  The Moon here was very yellow-tangerine-coloured.  There were hues too of eggshell-white to it.

This was the most glorious soulful sight imaginable.  If already I had not been in flight, by now, I would have done so.  The Moon was now close to the horizon which made it take on those orange-going-fast-into-harvest-reds tones.

What was truly bizarre, though, was the fact that Penina da Braga began pleading with Harella da Braga to let her have some stocks.  Harella refused saying that Penina was way too irresponsible and had no one to blame for her financial woes.

At that point, as I listened to their banter, the Moon began shifting shape and became truly like a Salvador Dali creation.  As it got closer to the horizon, the Moon appeared to be melting away and became as if a limp piece of paper that was flying in the air.

As would a piece of paper, falling to the ground, the transformed Moon appeared to be flying back and forth in a rocking manner.  A truly displacing state of affairs this would prove.  If intended, it thankfully did not though have a hypnotic effect.

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Next, in this the fourth dream, I was flying in this large salon and just below the ceiling.  The walls were the same colour as the setting Moon had been just recently in the prior dream; at least, before it began shapeshifting and causing me to understandably feel some degree of displacement.

Yellow-orange, it was a beautiful tranquil tone of paint.  Exceptionally high-ceilinged, the ceiling was white.  Though not stucco, it had relief on it; patterns were set in the very thick layer of stonework.  The workmanship in the ceiling was quite beautiful.

Flying on, I could see that up ahead was a door which stood a bit to the left.  I knew that this door was one through which I could fly into the next room.  That room appeared fairly dark.  As I flew, I kept on rising higher in the room.

My progression here, unlike in the prior dream, was truly slow and leviathan.  As I progressed with my back to the ceiling, my head was held at seventy degrees to my toes.  Not quite fully upright, I was though still up vertically rather than progressing horizontally.

A truly beautiful feeling it was.  At the time, I wondered to myself why not simply fly through the ceiling which really seemed to be a dense layer of clouds.  The look was reminiscent of wintry clouds through which one passes, on descending, to land in a plane.

Though there were definite patterns in it, like the aforementioned wintry clouds, the ceiling had a cottony look to it.  For being so close to the ceiling, I couldn’t get a good overview of their design and so was kept ignorant of what exactly the overall look was.  Courageously, I decided to fly through the ceiling.

With that, down to the third eye chakra, my head slowly began penetrating the ceiling.  Here again, I was actively willing my molecular integrity to shift; thus I could vibrationally become one with the ceiling’s frequency and thereby pass through it unhindered.

There was no escaping the fact that the ceiling was a solid entity.  The ceiling was, in fact, quite dense a medium.  I felt as though my head were a diamond-bladed saw cutting through a dense slab of granite.  My focus here was quite intense…

At the point of penetrating to the third eye, I became cautious wondering as to what exactly I would end up seeing once on the other side of the ceiling.

Should I be so bold as to hazard the transition to the other side?  What, indeed, if I didn’t quite like what I encountered there?  Would I be trapped for being there and grow fearful in a potentially hostile situation?  How would I know to get back out of there, once caught in a vortex of fear, if the adventure were to prove hostile in anyway?

With that, my thoughts became so dense, I was simply dropped back down from the ceiling.  My focus had become diverted by negative thoughts; thus, this prevented me from being able to complete my vibrational shift.  The whole thing, to say the least, was interesting.

So again, I collected my energies and attempted to move through the density of the ceiling again.  Alas this time, I did not pull it off.  Sensing that I was only going to strike my head against the ceiling, I righted myself into a more horizontal position and flew off.

I was still fairly high up from the floor.  Somewhat disappointed that I had not broken through to the other side, I flew on making for the door that led to the darkened room.

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Can’t say that I had flown through the door into the darkened room but next, in this the fifth dream, I found myself outside whilst still in flight.  I was going along this wonderful wide road which had these colossal tropical trees that completely overhung the wide boulevard.

There were flamboyas and banyan trees, even Ficus Benjamina trees that were truly stellar in stature and beauty.  All had immensely thick trunks on them.  Arboreal masters all they were.  I was being energised and my thoughts cleansed for being in the sphere of their pure loving energies.

As I flew along, there was an embankment to the left which was three feet from the road.  The trees were next to the road with houses up on the embankments.  The houses were set way back from the edge of the embankments and on large lots that were truly estate-like.  Here too, it was also nighttime.

This was a very astral-planed experience – all these dreams.  Rather than above their crowns, I flew within the crowns of the massive trees.  I had been directly flying above the centre of the wide road; yet, the sprawling branches had splayed out enmeshing me in their friendly embrace with one another.

In this way, as I would have preferred, I could remain unobserved from the ground.  My flight here was measured, deliberately slowed down, so as to allow me to drink of the beauty of these arboreal giants’ energies.

Stopping on one of the branches, I rested reclining in the same horizontal position as when in flight.  At that point, an old Black man came out whilst I had been looking ahead of me at a Black woman.

As if she was a witch, she wore nothing but black garments.  Soon, she was joined by a woman who came from my rear.  The latter was White; both of them very stout women, though, they were not in the manner of the subjects of a Fernando Botero creation.

She wore a silver outfit which was again a long gown; again, it was the same design as the Black woman’s.  They were clearly familiar with one another.  Both had these twigs in their hands that were unusually crooked.

They were shaped as if a frozen, now fossilised, bolt of lightning.  On meeting, they embraced each other and laughed a very full-breathed earthy laugh – think Whoopi Goldberg here of the nature of their laughter.  They were so real and raucous.

Talking, they began dancing around and doing these gestures and movements that were all quite ritualised and seemingly of an occult nature.  Whilst they danced, the old Black man had appeared from off to my left and up on the embankment.

Neither women had been up on the embankment; they met on the road and stayed there.  The man was dressed in a pair of easy slacks, a short-sleeved loose shirt and a hat.  He was a very West Indian-looking chap and he looked every bit the Nevisian.

A real countryman as the old folks in St. Kitts-Nevis would say.  Ancient beyond belief, he was genuinely the real article.  He was an old soul and immediately reminded me of Jacques Blanc.  His demeanour was so gloriously at peace.

He had a sweet easy smile that made him look the most gloriously vulnerable.  I found it was hard to believe that any human being could be born into the waking state and progress to such an old age and remain uncorrupted as that smile of his indicated.

The greatest of energies were his.  On seeing them, he soon grew fearful of them.  He became concerned – assuming, I suppose, that they were witches and could do him much harm.

Things only got worse because he had actually seen me before, as I flew down the street, in amongst the treetops.  Looking up off to his right, as he walked past, he noticed me again.

On seeing me, he became startled so I began flying away; I did not care to disturb this mellow soul.  Though I must say, I did so think it strange that he should find my being in flight an oddity – especially for being here in the dreamtime.

Slowly, I began flying away towards and above the two women up ahead who still remained below on the street.  Seeing me in flight only made him upset because this, to his way of thinking, only validated his fears that this was something sinister.

Clearly, I had to fast rethink my assessment of this one being an old soul.  Basically, things were rapidly changing about him and for someone so ancient it was all a bit too displacing for him to absorb.  He was, sadly enough, left disturbed and fearful.

I was convinced that I was not sporting two or more heads here!

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After having flown ahead of the two women who seemed to be female archetypes of the magi, in this the sixth dream, I arrived at my next dream experience where here it was daytime out.

To the left of the same road, along which I had been flying, I saw an estate just prior to a fort on a high hill.  At this juncture, there were no longer any tall, majestic tropical trees looming over the same road.

Though I was fairly certain that it wasn’t, the fort reminded me much of Brimstone Hill in St. Kitts.  The estate was not unlike one of the ones, from the days of slavery, from which plantations were operated.

Going up past the embankment from the road, I went into the grounds of the estate.  The main house was a conical-roofed château, not unlike the château at Vallière, but it was not particularly French.

The building had such smooth gorgeous curves to its lines; an architectural gem, to be sure, it was.  Though slightly Bavarian in look, it was however very much so a French château.  However, the roof was made of stone and green and not painted blue in the French tradition like at Vallière or Chenonceau.

Centuries old, it was green because of a dense growth of moss covering the copper roofing.  Low lying, it was nonetheless a very heavy-looking imposing building.

Walking up from the main road, I had alighted by this point, there were some steps that took you up to the next level beyond the embankment.  There, one encountered another road and this one not as wide; this road was the one along which I went and it took one into the grounds of the estate.

Facing out to the right, the house was to the left.  Beyond that, there was a low fence and after which was a large road.  There were uniformed Black men who stood about talking whilst guarding the house.  They wore fur-covered hats which were like those of the British honour guardsmen’s.

I knew that this was the residence of the Lieutenant-Governor, the monarch’s representative.  Their uniforms were a grey-brown colour and rather beautiful material which was styled in a splendid design.

Colourful, they were rather original.  The scene here was distinctively tropical and sunny as all hell.  There was movement about the grounds as the score of gardeners and labourers worked the land.

The lowness of the structure did remind me of those low thatched-roofed houses in England which were current during Elizabethan times.  This, however, was extremely large.

Then, I noticed an old White male who was speaking to the others and giving them directions.  He seemed, perhaps, the lord of the manner.  On closer inspection, and without moving, I was able to zoom his face in to a tight close-up at will.

Seeing his right profile, in amongst his long, white flowing hair, he was liver-spotted and had a large broad-nostrilled nose.  There and then, I realised that he was a mix of all the races of this planet.

This was obviously a composite of all the lives that he had lived to date being borne out in his facial structure.  He was however predominantly Black and, at that, an exceptionally fair-skinned Black man.

Definitely, it was not a case of his being a White male with a deep permanent tan after having lived in the tropics for decades.  With that, I took to the air again and flew over the low level stone wall which was white stonewash; this was exactly the same schemata as the house’s walls.

In order to clear the wall, I had had to fly off to the right and went away from the mansion and the estate’s driveway.  I saw there another road along which came William Herbert, the Kittisian politician, in a Hummer jeep.

He looked older as he does at present.  He drove alone in the vehicle.  His spirits were boisterous; a grin on his ruggedly handsome face as dust flew when he made a hard left turn.  With that, he disappeared up a winding road which went up into the fort.

The road was about fifty feet away from the end of the road, which bleeds into the main road, along which I had initially flown up to the estate.  Going along the road, I kept aloft and surveyed the strange but eerily beautiful terrain.  Here, I was flying uncharacteristically low to the ground.

Eventually, I alighted yet again and joined the local teenagers who were all very West Indian-sensibilitied.  They were thankfully not the least bit fazed by my flying.

Here, there were a few old-souled-looking sprawling trees.  There were banyans and flamboyas here too.  This was such an august-spirited place whose energies were truly intense.

Meanwhile, persons were looking on at me. The children here were so august-souled with eyes that were so dynamically grounded, potent and lived in; their eyes were truly ensouled.  A very astral plane experience this was.

I would then leave with Fitzrene Wellington-Banks, Pia Banks-Abella’s mother, in an open vehicle.  I had wanted to go further up the road but the kids being in the middle of the street were as if a telepathic directive to me to not advance any further.

One had the sense that their opinion was that to have ventured any further would be on the order of prying.  So very good it was to see Fitzrene Wellington-Banks who was so incredibly solid and grounded.  Her manner was open, friendly and thoroughly genuine.

So utterly refreshing a state of affairs to be relating to persons without there being any façade or maya.  Fitzrene made very intent, direct and lingering eye contact.  I could actually feel her soul each time that she looked at me.  Truly, it was breathtakingly intimate and arrestingly sublime a beautiful experience.

As we were coming on to the village, we were stopped by road work that seemed not to have been construction-related.  Perhaps, there had been an accident or some such; I couldn’t though quite figure out what was up.  The disturbance was considerably up ahead of us at the time which left us slowed to a crawl.

To the right of the road, as we inched by, I noticed two low-lying, yellow clinic buildings; they were much like the ones at Sandy Point, St. Kitts next to Fitzrene’s apartments at Lara Wellington’s compound.  These clinics, however, had wide ramps in front of them which enabled wheelchair access.

The yellow was a dark rich tone and were not unlike the yellows of the Salvador Dali-like Moon and the walls of the salon through whose ceiling I had attempted to pass.

At that, we saw William Herbert’s very stout son leave the fort; he was in the vehicle that his father had recently been driving.  This young man was energetic, sexually dynamic and light-complected.  His hair was thick, black and curly.

His stoutness reminded me of the local, White Kittisian playboy, Ian Kelsick who was so fond of red motorcycles and who it would seem does have nine lives. A lot of Martial energies here infused this man’s body.

Now, I was returned to the other village from which I had come; earlier, of course, I had been up the tree looking on at the two women enjoying themselves.  Though considerably further along by now, I was on the same side of the road as the château-like mansion.

Beyond the clinics, William Herbert’s daughter was working and wore a light green smock.  Young, she was unbelievably pretty.  She worked with a blond who was very tiny and slight a man.

They were putting sulfur on the globs of blood which had trailed from the street to the clinic.  Apparently, a woman had gone into labour, her water having broken, and left a bit of a mess en route to the clinic.

The blond guy wore a very pointy helmet that looked very Thai.  He looked strange for being covered, as was she, with a lot of loose sulfurous dust.  Next to his blondness, it made him look most strange.

His lashes were already incredibly blond.  This gave him a decidedly extra-human quality.  This man did so have a cool, murderous edge to him.  What with the fine dust of sulfur covering his skin, he didn’t seem human in the slightest.

He had an abundance of Saturn close to his ascendant.  He couldn’t have been any more than 15 or 16 years of age, yet, he was already a right proper stern man of great fixity.

This man’s energies were truly unsettling.  They were bristly for me and reminded me much of the blondness of those kids with whom I would have a very traumatic experience, in St. Croix, U. S. Virgin Islands, in the summer of 1969.

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Next, in this the seventh dream, I saw the performer, Tony Orlando onstage looking very stout to the point of being unhealthy.  At the time, he was introduced by fellow performer and the very sexy, Lionel Richie – a man whom Merlin found so devastatingly sexy.

Tony Orlando wore a wonderful white suit standing way upstage whilst waiting to do a duet with Lionel Richie.  There was a cheesy-looking, shimmering green-looking, festive curtain in back of the performer.

Lionel Richie came onstage from upstage left.  Tony Orlando gingerly bantered whilst waiting for the star to come on.  Lionel Richie came on looking very haggard, fatigued and indeed very grim-looking.

One was made to feel terribly uneasy to look at him.  Lionel was very ill, looking very ill, as though in the later stages of AIDS.  I was acutely uncomfortable.

This was made even more obvious when he stood next to the very plump Tony Orlando who was all shellacked, pulled back and looking as though he had been oozed into his skin; he was all body fat which gave him that smooth flawless-skinned look.

This was simply bad theatre and you just know I had no time for the macabre.  With that, I got to my feet and took my leave of the experience altogether.

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I got home, in this the eighth dream, to find Isha da Braga cleaning up the apartment.  She was being very confrontational fast getting on my every which nerve.

Meanwhile, I went to the fridge to get something on which to snack.  There, I saw lots of soups and meals that I had made that were stored; they were for consumption later in the week.

Isha was so disputatious and her energies so unevolved that I said to myself that I no longer wanted to be around this woman and her bullshit.  I didn’t in the least want to be there.

So with that, I went outside to call Pandora da Braga about whom I have been concerned of

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I rode an elevator up to a twentieth storey apartment, in this the ninth dream, where I was joined by a giggly, young flight attendant.  He wore blue and hailed from the West Indies.

I had been there because I was quite attracted to this woman and wanted to get it on with her.  We then went off to the balcony where I fondled her.

Soon, she laid down on her right side whilst curled up in a near-foetal position.  She shivered growing moist and would eventually cum several times.  As she came, she called out my name and left me very much so excited.

Due to her position, I was able to crouch down and slip into her wet warm pussy and made it all mine.  I loved the strong sweet smell of her.  Excitedly, I began fucking her at which point the dream became lucid and phenomenally real.

I could even hear my heart cantering away as I intensely hammered away at her.  She wore a light blue fabric which I had shoved up over her shoulders – to get a good look at her gorgeous body.

The passion was strong; the silken slipperiness of her so real that, as she came calling out my name, I exploded uncontrollably cumming simultaneously with her.

This was so intense and real that I found myself fully awake and sporting a very moist hard-on.

*To say the least, on awakening, after having audio-cassette-recorded the dreams, I got about the business of auto-erotically celebrating being a phenomenally alive and beautiful incarnate soul.  She was a stunning redhead who proved very alive and passionate.  END.

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Photo: Singer, Florence Welch

© 2014 Annie Leibovitz for American Vogue.

© 2013-2016 Arvin da Braga.  All Rights Reserved.

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Sigmund, Lucian, Carnivorous Lilies & Freudian Overleaves (Redux)

Lucian Freud sleeping nude

*Since these dreams were first published two years ago, I have since had Lucian Freud’s Michael Overleaves channelled.  Naturally, as I have dreamt of him with inordinate frequency, the possible links needed to have been explored.  

As it turns out, Lucian is an entity mate of both Merlin’s and mine.  These were rather good dreams and I am honoured to gladly share them again.  – July 2016.

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reflection_self-portrait

Freud, Lucian 8/12/1922 Berlin<O>20/7/2011 London

This fragment was a fifth level mature priest – third life thereat.  Lucian was in the observation mode with a goal of dominance.  He was a sceptic who was in the moving part of intellectual centre.

Lucian’s primary chief feature was stubbornness and his secondary chief feature was that of impatience.

Lucian’s had a Saturn/Mars body type.

Lucian’s casting is in the fourth position of the fourth cadence in the sixth greater cadence.  He is a member of entity six, cadre one, greater cadre 7, pod 414 – Lucian is an entity mate of both Arvin and Merlin’s.

Essence twin for Lucian is a priest and his task companion is a slave.

The three primary needs for Lucian were: exchange, freedom and power.

There are 17 past-life associations with Arvin and 14 with Merlin.

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These next five dreams were lucidly lived with every fibre of my ensouled being on Tuesday, August 24, 1993.  At the time, the Moon then transited both Sagittarius and my seventh house – wherein is posited my natal Moon sitting opposite Mars and simultaneously squaring Pluto and retrograde Chiron as it is. 

In any event, the beauty of this dream could never be adequately conveyed by mere words.  Whilst in flight in this dream, I experienced nothing short of rapture.  Dreams are so very empowering. 

To hell with what Freud thought; Freud and his opinions are those of a younger soul than yours truly.  Besides, truth be told, Freud’s relevance in the culture has more to do with the need to messianically self-anoint rather than anything else.  Sheer folly it is for any one human to preposterously claim to know the meaning or the value of another’s dreams. 

There is no such thing as dream symbolism as dreams are lived.  Surely, it is not as though each night on taking to sleep, one ceases to exist and dies.  One does not; one continues one breath after the other until wakefulness on the other side and therefore, all experiences whilst being focussed away from the waking state are about being alive, perhaps, even more so than when awake. 

Dreams are part of one’s spiritual journey; they deftly reflect where one has been on one’s reincarnational journey and, as such, can never be analysed, studied and fathomed by mere professionals who seem more concerned about their career advancement and socio-economic status than knowing anything about dreams themselves for having shared theirs – if at all they actually recall their dreams which I highly suspect not to be the case – materialist boors as most such persons appear. 

I will, though, say this much for Sigmund Freud, the only purpose his having been iconised served is that it made it an easier journey for his grandson, Lucian Freud to have achieved his fame – which, alas, is always more desirable than infamy. 

Indeed, Lucian an icon, Sigmund, however, definitely not the genuine article.  For all the sublime art that Lucian Freud has afforded human civilisation, therein lies the value of Sigmund Freud’s worth… and nothing more. 

I have been places and done much reincarnationally, hence, I use more of my brain for being an older soul.  Likewise, that I have been around the block reincarnationally and am an older soul is reflected by the maturity of my dreams and the absence of fear being focussed at the core of my dream experiences. 

Here’s to your own spiritual journey and may these dreams richly inspire you.  Remember, religion is politics; it has nothing to do with spirituality.  Since religion is not sublime art, great food, company or banging sex, let’s not be charitable.  Religion is bullshit.  Cue the music,

“Straighten up and fly right!  Weee shabadoobe do wee yeah yeah… shabada doo ya… poom poom yeah… bada ba doo ya!” 

Now catch the groove, push off and start flying! 

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In this the first dream, I happened on a large body of water which seemingly was a pond.  This pond was quite beautiful, serene and inspiring.  Placidly nesting on it were the largest lily pads imaginable.

This did vaguely seem like the pond before Pogson’s Hospital in Mount Idle, Sandy Point, St. Kitts.  Yet, here in the dreamtime, it would have been up on the hill before the clinic and across the main road from said hospital.

Large enough, this pond was about 40×60 feet.  Though teeming with an abundance of lilies of several species, the water was extremely black and murky.  There were so many life forms in this water; some of them looked like tadpoles, perhaps, they were incubi.

One species of water plants looked remotely nothing like lilies.  They had two large thick leaves that came together.  Where the stems came together, it left them with a shape that was not unlike that of ginkgo leaves.  They both joined the stem exactly as the ginkgo leaves do.

There was a little aperture around the juncture where the two stems met.  These water plants turned out to have been carnivorous because the apertures would be slightly ajar then when the creatures would come around their mouths, they would quickly move upwards clear of the water and closed in the process about the tiny creatures.  They thusly ate the tiny tadpole-like creatures.

I had arrived at the pond whilst in flight.  Very slowly, after having been more rapidly in flight, I had willed my way through the air.  On seeing the pond way up ahead, I had slowed down considerably and glided in so as to be unobtrusive to the activity there.

I wanted to observe the goings on therein.  My movement was as if some majestic crane that was slowly gliding effortlessly through the air.  A very beautiful feeling of abandonment I experienced at this point.

Were I to have flown any more slowly, I would have possibly fallen from the air.  I was as if a giant leviathan leisurely cruising through a dry yet aqueous medium.

After having hung back from the edge, I inched closer then directly hovered above the centre of the body of water.  Whilst looking down, I would move from one lily pad to the next by directly being over it to watch it feed.

Each lily pad was about one foot in diameter and anywhere from 10-14 inches from stem to tip.  These were quite beautiful plants that were the same hue as a green coconut’s shell or, if you like, green olives.

The blackness of the water had a deceptive quality to it.  The opacity made it very hard to exactly tell what, just below its surface, was going on.  One had the sense that it was an abandoned fountain which would mean that it could not have been very deep.

Yet, there was no water being recycled here nor were there any sculptural signs of it being a fountain.  Though daytime, it was non-too-bright here.  The thought occurred to me that if these were the incubi of mosquitoes, they would shortly be hatching and I would likely be eaten by these hungry hatchlings.

This was one scenario that I was not looking forward to; indeed, it was best to avoid the likely eventuality than to have to regret afterwards.  With that, I began flying again.  This time, I soared higher and faster in the direction of the brilliant light with Sol to my rear.

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Whilst inside a house, in this the second dream, I decided to step outside for some air.  On doing so, this was when I saw Marcel Agnew.  Here, in this dream, it was a wonderful afternoon which was not too warm; the light was bright but not too much so either.

The house was not any with which I was familiar.  I was standing just inside the doorway, to the yard, when I noticed Marcel.  He was making a phone call on a cellular phone.

When he called the party, he had had to leave his phone number as the party was away from the phone and had not answered.  His phone number was either 287 or 278 but the rest of the number was 8874.  Keenly, I had been listening to him say the number whilst simultaneously writing it into my left palm.

Then I made for the interior; there, I intended to commit it to paper.  Whilst speaking on the phone, he had mentioned that he would be coming down that way – to Ottawa.

He would then be heading down to Montréal; it was to that city which, at the time, he had been calling.  He wanted to know if he could get together with the person, on his arrival in the city, in a few days’ time.

Standing there, I was quite smitten by him.  He had never noticed me standing there and I certainly had no intentions of calling him over.  This man can be very rude and dismissive of me.

He has a marked homoerotic streak which he is rather keen on denying; at least, in his relations with me it informs his rejection – which, of course, speaks volumes about him rather than not.  After all being associated with me, could only cause others to question his sexuality.

*Of course, in time, I would happen on Marcel at a bathhouse on Yonge Street.  Naturally, after that chance encounter at the bathhouse, his open animus towards me was dissolved.  Naturally, Marcel feared me running off at the mouth to co-workers which he and I both know I am quite capable of doing.

Then again, what do I care?  Marcel is of little consequence; he is a repressed bore despite that cock of his looking like something one is more accustomed to seeing on a young elephant’s face….  END.

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I was in a doctor’s office, during this the third dream, with a female technician.  The doctor was concerned because I had turned out to be rather anemic.  There was a large black machine on the doctor’s desk which was about the height of a Macintosh Classic computer.

There was a monitor with the computer too; I guess that it was, in fact, a futuristic computer which was black.  The technician was brunette, middle-aged and stout and the one who would be running the tests on me.

All that one had to do was put a finger on a pad.  There was no longer any blood drawing done because of the risk of HIV contamination, as well as Hepatitis and other blood diseases.

What this machine did was sample some bit of skin or a hair on the back of the hand and in that way get a thorough reading of an individual’s DNA.  The information gathered was precisely what was required to make an analysis of every aspect of a patient’s health.

This was quite advanced, indeed, revolutionary medicine.  Placing my right index finger down, I felt a slight-to increasing warmth from the dark glass pad below the finger.  This laser-generated heat caused my skin to heat up and sweat.

The briny bodily fluid, which contained the DNA, they needed to analyse a patient’s thorough health.  In mere seconds, the machine gave a result which was completely impartial.

Since it was machine and not human, there was no emotional considerations here.  This approach was strictly an academic one.  The test results indicated that I was HIV-; therefore, without the technicians having to be overly protective, I could go on with the rest of the treatment.

Jan Hartley, who was present, immediately assumed that the machine’s answer of ‘No’ meant that I was not healthy.  She took it to mean that I was HIV+.  She quickly went on blabbing away as though I were some inanimate object.

In any event, she was arguing that I had to have been HIV+ because she knew what a nasty little Jezebel I was.  She dismissed me as a flighty little idiot who no doubt didn’t use protection.

Of course, she added, I had to have been long ago infected.  She was so convinced; rather, she so wanted me to be infected more than anything else.  Truth be told, she was rather rude and abusive.

The grey-walled room was tiny as a matter of fact.  Three chairs sat on the side of the desk which was about six feet long and L-shaped.  I was on the long arm of the desk in the reception area.

The atmosphere here was rather soothing; one had no way of knowing what time of day it was outdoors.

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Whilst walking along, in this the fourth dream, Doug Addergen came towards me; he wore navy-blue overalls.  There were a couple of other people about.  As though to imply that his cock was large, he suggestively held a white ruler in his hand.

He came together with the guys, this after I had passed them, in the high-ceilinged hallway of an industrial complex.  Here, it was near-dark.  The legs of his pants were rolled up such that you could see his very shiny hairless shins.

He wore short socks (Oxfords) and sneakers.  Going down the hall, Doug had been making a number of suggestive remarks about screwing.  He obviously could tell that I was interested in him; this was why he was behaving the way that he was.  He was flirtatious and a bit of a cock-tease.

He kept on mischievously grinning at me then walked down a hall; the hall was perpendicular to the one that we were on.  When he got down a stretch of it, he looked back at me, flirtatiously raised his brows, grinned his non-too-smart-looking face off.

He was really enjoying stringing me along.  Better yet, I was simply playing him.  Of course, he in his solipsistic daze didn’t even realise to have been the case.  He was such a conceited prick.

I then sat there on a window sill where I noticed that there was all this garbage strewn about the place.  Who should come down the way, in these gorgeous bellbottomed pants, but Ghennifer Voss?  When she saw me, she casually remarked,

“Hi Arvin, how are you?”

Though she was being gracious, I could tell that she was uncomfortable.  This finally was the only way for her to have dealt with an unavoidable situation.

Clearly, she had been mindful of relations back at the Royal Winnipeg Ballet School and how less-than-gracious she had been at times towards me.  Not an issue for me was it.  To put it mildly, those had been frosty times.

In kind, I warmly greeted her whilst she collected garbage from the parked flatbed.  Jumping off the sill, I did so not to go help her but rather walked away.  Then, I sat down at a work desk where I busied myself and forgot all about her.

A fat White Gay then came down and proceeded with this not atypical, snarky idiotic behaviour.  Since I neither cared for him or his attitude, I simply and completely tuned him out – to the point where I could no longer even see him.  Several persons in the meantime, kept on passing by the area.

Later on, I saw Ghennifer in an eatery where she sat at a table with friends.  Going past them, we looked at each other and acknowledged the other with genuinely warm smiles.

There was no other way to have related; there was no great loss about any aspects of how we related in the waking state that was wrong.  Besides which, it had all happened too long ago experientially to have emotionally been of import.

I chose to be my true self and generously extended of myself.

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In this the fifth dream, both Pandora and Isha da Braga were in an unfamiliar house with me.  We were getting moved into the house whilst Maxwell Bowleson was giving us a hand.

Harella da Braga, who was also present, was concerned as to how many items I would actually be moving in.  How many boxes, trunks and large items, I had, needed to be assessed.

Afterwards, there had been a lively discussion between us.  After having just eaten the chicken, which I had prepared, Maxwell was grinning away.

I was non-too-pleased that both he and Pandora had had the meal which I had prepared.  Having cooked the food, I had hoped to at least have had some of it; I really did feel cheated out of things here.

I had been so looking forward to eating that food, later on, after having toiled at the task of getting moved in.  So far as I could see, there was a great deal of politics at play here and none of it I especially liked; the politics here did not bode well in my favour.

After that, Maxwell had asked me to come accompany him down on the elevator.  I had had to help him bring up some more items from the move.  This new apartment was quite beautiful.

The hallway was absolutely beautiful.  The carpeting there, which led to the elevators, was the most plush-feeling, gorgeous tone of red.  This was a very tony affair.

The elevator doors were silver and rapidly hissed open then collapsed shut, just as quickly, after having remained open for a few long seconds.

When we got onto the elevator, as soon as the doors closed, Maxwell looked over at me and sincerely smiled into me.  Reaching forwards, he lingeringly kissed me.  This was so totally unexpected that I hadn’t a clue as to what to do.

As he affectionately rubbed me on the back, the bond between us was very warm.  We got down to the lobby and, as we parted from kissing with the doors hissing open, I came to lucidly awake.

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Art: Leigh on green sofa 1993

Oil on canvas

17.1 x 22.9 cm

© 1993 Lucian Freud.

Provenance:  Private collector.

Exquisite Lucian Freud of Leigh Bowery.

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© 2013-2016 Arvin da Braga.  All Rights Reserved.

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Marta.

Marta 74 George Hawken Intaglio on Paper

Marta

Intaglio on Paper

©1974 George Hawken

Provenance: Carleton University Art Gallery, Ottawa, Canada.

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A Hawken with which i am not familiar… it’s fast become a favourite.  

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©2013-2016 Arvin da Braga.  All Rights Reserved.

Posted in 20th Century Art, 20th Century Artists, 20th century Canadian art, 20th century Canadian artists, Art, Art Collection, Artists, Canadian art, Canadian artists, Contemporary art, Contemporary Artists, Contemporary Canadian art, Contemporary Canadian Artists, Creative Genius, Engraving, Etching, Intaglio, Lithography, Michael Overleaves, Michael Teachings, Print, Printmakers, Printmaking, Visionaries | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

This Corona’s for You!

mango treeb

On my return from a giddy trip to both Washington D.C. and New York City – which Merlin ever referred to as Babylon, I would dream this most exquisite of flying dreams.  Too, this dream of bucolic splendour occurred on the eve of that truly rhapsodic adage – previously shared herein – entitled: Won’t Take the A Train. 

At the time, I had decamped to Babylon – after having cut short a trip to Washington D.C. and having secured part of my art collection from a roué Russian boor who, after having attempted to con me out of my art with the offer of setting up a home together, then crawled into my ear, calling me the N-word and let me know that it simply wasn’t going to work between us; this on my return to Toronto from the latest trip down to be with him. 

Naturally, for good measure, he thanked me for the art… as he hissed his racially predatory bile in my fucking ear, my nostrils drew on a few quickened breaths as raptor-like this shrewd intellect of yours truly began rapaciously charming my way back for just one more visit.  Of course, he could have the art but we had after all planned on going to Kennedy Center and the wedding of a friend of his. 

He acquiesced… the damn fool.  Returned to Washington D.C., thank goodness he was into S&M because his neighbours were little bothered as tied and gagged, I took to him with leather strap wrapped tightly about my black custom gauntlet as opera blared through his 5ksqf condo.  After having riotously owned his ploughed under arse, I dragged him to the living room where whilst he remained crumpled, bound and gagged, I patiently removed my art from his previously naked walls, left the god awful gold frames on one, rather than both hooks, as previously, carefully wrapped the prints and placed them in the containers in which they had been transported from Toronto weeks earlier. 

As the music soared, I moved his bound body to the bathtub, slumped him inside, relieved my bladder in his face as he ever loved during regular play… this, though, was anything but regular play.  Truly enraged, as is the custom at such times, I said nothing whilst my eyes remained illegible beyond my shades.  After I was done fucking with him for having fucked with me – I deal with karma here and now; besides, who would want to meet this boor in any future life – I called a cab and went to Union Station.  Took another cab to the airport, changed my flight itinerary and made it to that glorious island like none that I knew whilst growing up in the Caribbean. 

As for the roué, I called his best friend and told him that he, perhaps, ought to go check in on him as I had been out in Dupont Circle and my amour fou – and his best friend – was not answering the phone.  Of course, we both knew that apart from S&M our drunken Russian regularly engaged in auto-erotic asphyxiation.  Since I had met someone at a bar in Dupont Circle, I shared that I intended to go home with him and, perhaps, he ought to go and look in on his best friend.  As expected, he readily agreed and hurried me off the line – to say nothing of permanently out of my life. 

That done, I hung up the payphone at the American Airlines lounge at the airport, boarded my flight and as the plane roared down the runway, the one music I always listen to on takeoff, Jessye Norman gloriously roared whilst singing Richard Strauss’ Four Last Songs. 

Lids languorously collapsed shut as the memory and thought of what should never have progressed beyond a one-night stand drifted away.  Seriously, where would have been the fun of having to pass my life time-wasting with an ill-equipped man of less than five inches… quelle fuck-all joie ça! 

So there was I returned to Babylon having secured MY art.  I then had to prevail on one of Merlin’s oldest friends – a Toronto WASP Brahmin with a penchant for being a classist boor – to say nothing of bore… god who on Avenue Foch knows or cares about these people?  At the time, my other lover, Manhattan cabaret singer, Frans Bloem was out of town and working at his bread-and-butter gig. 

As I was not prepared to pass an evening with Carl Leroiderien, Merlin’s friend, being socially snide and all that transparent silliness, I got up in a pair of high heels, hot pants and tied my shoulder length permed hair in a ponytail and went crawling further south into the Village and ended up dancing at the Stonewall Inn which was recently made a national monument by President Barack H. Obama. 

Of course, whilst I shook arse in my high heels, I had some big-handed, intensely beautiful-eyed Canadian lawyer from Montréal end up bump and grinding against me.  Soon enough, back at his hotel, I discovered there was reward in having recovered my art and not having settled for trifling fare – my Italian stallion proved a girthsome ten inches of delightfulness. 

More than all that, the tree you see accompanying this exquisite flying dream, I planted after having returned to Nevis for my 7th birthday on August 2, 1967.  My mother, Harella da Braga, knew that seven was my favourite number and asked what I would like for my birthday.  As I had relocated from Nevis to St. Kitts at all of 7 months old, there simply was no other gift that could do it for me.  The day trip to Nevis was the most lucidly awakened dream this side of the dreamtime had – at least to that point in my young exciting life.   

The following summer, my mother who was as cold and emotionally remote as can be imaged, came to the door in that photo of the house we then lived in – after having been unceremoniously excommunicated from the Pilgrim Church down the street – and presented me with a lone large mango.   Naturally, as the lastborn of six children, getting a whole of anything – let alone a mango – was simply unheard of. 

However, the enigmatic Harella shared – after I had scrambled down from the genip tree where I daily retreated to take naps, dream and imagine myself on fantastic voyages and sometimes, though, rarely read – that the mango was from Nevis and she knew how much Nevis meant to me.  I was floored by the gesture. 

So whilst I sat making love to the ‘Nevis’ mango, my adorable sister, Pandora edged down onto third to last step to quietly sit – just one behind me – and asked for a bite or two.  Ever precocious, without missing a beat, I assured her that she could have as many mangoes as she wished of the tree that, in time, the half-exposed seed of the fruit that I thoroughly relished would yet bare. 

Always a man of my word, I then promptly planted the seed and – never, of course, having afforded my sister a single bite – erected a flower garden about it.  I made sure to plant it outside my bedroom window so that each day, I would be greeted by its burgeoning beauty on throwing open the bedroom window. 

Life is about giving – giving of self.  I have never tasted a mango from that tree.  The last time that I returned to St. Kitts – 1993 at least whilst the tree yet lived; it was gone in 2002, I am simply too eccentric and too much an off-islander to ever return there – the tree was promptly felled on my departure.  The locals, as human society can ever be expected to react to anything remotely outré, decided that my being long-haired, a ballet dancer, in riding boots and multiple bracelets on each arm was too gross an affront. 

Pandora did have many mangoes from that tree and I was always proud on my first return to St. Kitts in 1989 when Nicole McHugh (6th mature sage) said that she made sure that the tree was protected as it had been planted by myself and she always hoped that I would return one day and see what I had accomplished… indeed. 

There comes a point where high heels, riding boots, long hair and all that run their course.  More than that, I will damn well not go putting myself in harm’s way amongst persons who would just as readily dispense with the threat of my outréness as they did a perfectly beautiful and innocent mango tree. 

That aside, this dream and the corona experienced therein could never have been perceived and experienced had I never planted the seed of that Nevis mango.  This photograph remains my most prized possession… and with good reason. 

The dream was dreamt on Thursday, July 8, 1993 whilst the Moon then grooved its benign waning beauteousness through Pisces and conversely my tenth house, conjunct the cusp of which is my retrograde Chiron which opposese Pluto in the fourth and simultaneously squares both Luna in the seventh and Mars in the first conjunct the ascendant… yes, I can be operatically combative when provoked, though, I have much mellowed of late – fuck it, life’s too short to be doing battle chaque fois… partout… 

Goodness, it’s been awhile since I have taken the time to express my gratitude at your continued patronage.  Too, it gives me no end of pleasure to be of inspiration and wish that you will ever take the time to push off, start flying and make as sweet as that Nevis mango your every dream.  I love you more! 

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At night, in this the first dream, I walked towards Cleverly Hill, Sandy Point, St. Kitts in the streets of The Alley.  There were some guys sitting along the roadside who seemed, perhaps, Italian, Lebanese or Syrian.

They might well have been light-skinned Blacks.  Four of them in all, they wore white t-shirts with different-coloured shorts.

One wore red shorts, another black, one white and the other a blue pair.  I was more connected to the one wearing the red shorts.

They were excitable guys who drew my attention to the large screen, high definition TV that sat just inside the window of Rosita Gould’s old green house.  I could hardly make things out but the action seemed to be occurring in liquid slow-motion.

A young couple were very intimately making love; there were lots of extreme close-ups here.  The guys were very excited by all this, of course, as they sat across the street from the house.

As they hung out liming away, they were closer towards the large drain that dissects the main road.  There was a crumbling wall; the foundation was the remnants of an old house which was long-ago abandoned.

They were commenting on the fact that Hesketh Gould Jr., whilst fucking a woman, was in the house looking at porno.  I couldn’t quite figure out who the woman was supposed to have been.

Going over towards them, I began checking out the guys and found them rather attractive.  They all had rather light-coloured alluring eyes.

Certainly, there in Sandy Point, it was unusual to see such light-coloured eyes.  The one in the red shorts was the definite ringleader.

I approached him and openly groped him.  So bold and uncompromising was I, he could have done nothing but surrender to my forthrightness.

Of course, he was sporting a rock solid hard-on.  Relaxing him further, I then began caressing him gently on his right shoulder.

I looked at him rather lovingly and sweetly.  He surrendered; sweet smiling eyes complemented his colouring as he blushed.

Though these were not energies that he was accustomed to experiencing, I telepathically told him not to be afraid whilst the others remained perfectly arrested by our interactions.  I casually suggested that, perhaps, we could go off somewhere and be alone.

He replied that he and the guys were actually about to head off somewhere.  After having looked at his buddies for a bit, he then offered me to join them.

We ended up in the lobby of what seemed a cinema.  In order to check out the movies, down a flight of stairs we had to go.

Naturally, since being in the dark side-by-side could only lead to greater intimacy, I was all for the experience.  Whilst in the lobby, it was quite busy with lots of Blacks everywhere.

Different group settings of tables were scattered about one section of the lobby.  There were several concession stands about the place.

The usher, a teenaged Black guy, wanted to know where my ticket was.  I told him that my party had the tickets and had gone ahead and that I had come out to get something from the concession stands.

They had actually gone ahead of me and at no time had I seen them show any tickets.  Not that I didn’t have the ticket stub to show but I really didn’t feel like being messed with by anybody.

Showing my legendary impatience, through and through, I got confrontational with him.  He wore a company suit as part of his uniform.

The confrontation occurred at the half-flight down’s landing.  One had had to turn to the right to go down another semi-flight and to the cinemas.

He stubbornly refused to let me go any further or, for that matter, to go call the guys.  Finally, I got pissed off so headed back up the stairs to the lobby and stormed out of there.

When I left the theatre, I became aware of a group of guys close by who were intent on chasing me.  There was no way that I intended to be party to any such scenario.

Looking at them, I said, “No, no, no.  You are not going to.”

With that, I chose to rise above all this and decided to start flying.  Pushing off, I began flying quite slowly.

Nice and peaceful, I thoroughly enjoyed myself whilst in flight.  Rising higher, I grew dissatisfied with my speed and so willed myself to progress much faster.

Going alongside the road, however, I did keep close to the trees.  I always seemed to have problems willing myself to fly higher or lower.

At certain times, it proved problematic when trying to negotiate the branches.  There were times, when it seemed that I would even crash into some of the branches.

Then I reasoned, “Hey there, now Arvin.  Wait a minute now.

“This is a dream and you can do more than fly.  You can make your body even more malleable.”

With that, I upped my vibration and began progressing ahead.  When I came to the next thicket of branches, I effortlessly moved through the branches and leaves without being obstructed by their solidity.

In short, to the point where I became light itself, I had intensified my vibration.  This enabled me to pass through everything without the slightest discomfiture to my body.

In order to have to negotiate safe passage, through the unobstructed air, no longer did I have to go up or down.  Regardless its vibrational density, I had become at one with the light which permeated everything.

I intuitively knew that everything’s vibration is imbued with light, as per the subject’s light properties, which allows it to be a perceived entity.  Becoming pure light enables one to pass unhindered through the filter of all matter.

Therefore, to get through denser matter, one would simply have to will one’s light body at a faster speed so as to continue progressing at undiminished accelerated speeds.  To have attained this degree of focus afforded me even greater expansiveness of spirit than for being in flight.

Next to the weighty confines of being bipedal and earthbound, flight itself had already proven fairly limitless.  Thus, being focussed in the light body proved quite a wonderful experience.

Pushing ahead, I willed myself to fly even faster… soar even higher.  At this point, even if others were on the ground, they would not have been able to see me.

Still following the road, I saw way below a six or seven-year-old White boy playing in the streets.  He did see me, much to my surprise, and came running down the road after me.

He was so excited at the sight of me.  Certainly, it was not as if I was dangerous for being Black and in flight.

The road had at one point veered off to the left, then down a steep incline, into an open expansive valley.  At times, the road was earthen but on the whole it was a paved affair.

Where the road fell down into the valley, I began having problems because I kept on looking down below me to get my bearings.  Part of my problem was experiencing fears, for being that high up, whilst in flight.

There was this sudden apprehension that left me feeling that there ought to have been branches close by; so that, if need be, I could readily grab ahold.  Fears of losing focus and falling from the sky began taking form and assuming a life of their own.

I think that much of the reason for experiencing problems was the fact that I had been of the impression that for making myself light, vibrationally, I could not be perceived.  So that when the young White guy in the road below had seen me, this left my confidence as to what I had been up to understandably shaken.

Before becoming fearful, there had been a point when I had soared high above the treetops.  At those heights, it was fairly obvious that there was a corona of energy that towered up semi-spherically above the collective crowns of the treetops.

Though not perceived, it was raw pure energy which was distinctive.  Energy it was which fed my own light body’s energies.

The really beautiful part of all this is that, in the process of becoming light-energied, I was able to leave tendrils of my light energies whilst moving through space.  Everything, with which I came in contact, also left a residue of its light energies mixed with my own light energies.

In the true sense of the word, this was about becoming one with everything.  Beingness, that state of total acceptance – wherein one is at complete oneness with all nature… all life – I had clearly achieved.

A thoroughly uplifting experience this was.  Becoming infused with aspects of the trees’ collective life-force was akin to the experience on Boxing Day 1972III.

All in all, it was a healing experience.  What alas could be more rejuvenating and uplifting than, my trusted familiars, arboreals?

A very energising experience this proved.  In the final analysis, I was able to recover and not become weighed down in negative vortices of fear based – fear it was which was based on the notion that I couldn’t will myself to stay aloft.

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© 2013-2016. Arvin da Braga.  All Rights Reserved.

Posted in African-Americans, Art, Art Collecting, Art Collection, Dancers, Dreams, Flying dreams, Longreads, Lucid dreams, Mature soul Artisans, Mature souls, Michael Overleaves, Michael Teachings, Opera diva, Photography, Private Art Collection, Singers, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Happy Birthday Frida!

Frida Kahlo Bradley Theodore

Frida Kahlo

Oil Painting

©2016 Bradley Theodore.

Sourced: Maddox Gallery, London, England.

https://www.instagram.com/maddoxgallery/

Bradley Theodore.

https://www.instagram.com/bradleytheodore/

et moi!:

https://www.instagram.com/arvin_da_brgha/

Happy birthday Shaman!  Gosh I love Bradley Theodore’s passionate attack!

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©2013-2016 Arvin da Braga.  All Rights Reserved.

Posted in 21st Century African-American Artists, 21st Century American Art, 21st Century American Artists, 21st Century Art, 21st Century Artists, 21st Century Black Artists, 21st Century West Indian Art, 21st Century West Indian Artists, African-Americans, American Art, American Artists, Art, Art Collecting, Artists, Black American Art, Black Americans, Black Art, Black artists, Black creative artists, Contemporary American Art, Contemporary American artists, Contemporary art, Contemporary Artists, Contemporary Black Art, Contemporary Black Artists, Creative Genius, Oil paintings, Painters, Painting, Portraiture, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Boom!

Let Myself Go 48 x 48 Acrylic on Panel 2016

Let Myself Go

Acrylic on Panel

48 x 48 inc

©2016 Cody Hooper

http://www.codyhooperart.com/

Boom!  Bam!  Boom!  Gosh but I love it!

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©2013-2016 Arvin da Braga.  All Rights Reserved.

Posted in 21st Century Abstract Art, 21st Century Abstract Artists, 21st Century American Art, 21st Century American Artists, 21st Century Art, 21st Century Artists, Abstract Art, Abstract Artists, Acrylic paintings, American Abstract Art, American Abstract artists, American Art, American Artists, American SouthWest, American SouthWest Art, American SouthWest Artists, Art, Art Collecting, Artists, Contemporary American Art, Contemporary American artists, Contemporary art, Contemporary Artists, Painters, Painting, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

The Teacher.

The Teacher 2004 Oil on Canvas

The Teacher.  

Oil on Canvas

©2004 Wim Heldens.

Provenance:  Private Collection New York City.

http://www.wimheldens.com/

 

This was Wim’s first painting of Ariq Robinson his lover…  truly glorious.

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©2013-2016 Arvin da Braga.  All Rights Reserved.

Posted in 21st Century American Art, 21st Century American Artists, 21st Century Art, 21st Century Artists, 21st Century Dutch Art, 21st Century Dutch Artists, American Art, American Artists, American Realism, Art, Art Collecting, Art Collection, Artists, Award-winning artist, Contemporary American Art, Contemporary American artists, Contemporary art, Contemporary Artists, Contemporary Dutch art, Contemporary Dutch Artists, Creative Genius, Dutch Art, Dutch Artists, Gay Artists, Michael Overleaves, Michael Teachings, Oil on canvas, Oil paintings, Old souls, Painters, Painting, Private Art Collection, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Go Hillary!

TOPSHOT-US-CLINTON-VOTE-DEMOCRATS

Bravo!  So very happy…  what a winning and inspiring story…

 

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©2013-2016 Arvin da Braga.  All Rights Reserved.

 

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