Nancy Wilson… and more.

Wilson, Nancy 20/2/1937<O>13/12/2018

Michael: This fragment was a third-level mature artisan – second life thereat.  Nancy was in the passion mode with a goal of growth.  An idealist, she was in the emotional part of intellectual centre. 

Body type was Solar/Saturn. 

Nancy’s primary chief feature was self-deprecation and the secondary stubbornness. 

The fragment Nancy is fifth-cast in sixth cadence; he is a member of greater cadence five.  Nancy’s entity is seven, cadre four, greater cadre 1, pod 129. 

Nancy’s essence twin is an artisan and the task companion a warrior. 

Nancy’s primary needs were: expression, expansion and power. 

There are 10 past-life associations with Arvin and 6 with Merlin. 

____________________________________________

What a truly great voice.  Though over the years, I had attended many Nancy Wilson concerts, one in particular remains the most memorable.  It was the late set at the Blue Note Jazz Club in New York City’s West Village.  A Saturday night performance, it was at the end of the run and Ms. Wilson was in fine form.  With me that evening was Milan Newcombe, the rather eccentric lover of mine who had the most magical residence in Toronto’s Kensington Market.  

Milan and I met about a month before the 350th anniversary celebrations of Montréal in May 1992.  The day of the anniversary, there was a parade through the city’s main artery at night time; quite a unique and spectacular sight.  We stayed that weekend in a loft at the corner of Ontario and St. Laurent Streets and that night, I wore a pair of six-inch, black patent leather Bally talons hauts, a pair of extra short blue jeans that nicely sported the goods, a large, white pirate’s shirt, a confident smile whilst holding hands with the coolest motherfucker I had met since having met Merlin – Milan made a most pleasurable adventure of living. 

Jazz singer Nancy Wilson celebrated her 80th birthday on February 20th, 2017

Having just returned from a weekend in New York City with Manhattan cabaret singer, Frans Bloem, I was crawling the halls of the St. Mark’s bathhouse at Wellesley on Yonge, in a bid to get over decidedly banal sexual relations with Frans.  A great human being to be sure but sex should not be as ennuiyant and tedious as needlepoint.  Well into the late hours, after a few hookups, a long lean body caught my eye as it lay there, waiting to either prey or be preyed on.  

An hour later we emerged into the gritty, callously unforgiving light of daybreak and hopped on our bikes.  Together we rode west along Wellesley, cut through University of Toronto campus and onto Spadina, rode south on said avenue to the most magical lair imaginable.  There above a series of Chinese shops, Milan owned the two storey apartment that was filled with an assortment of Bohemians – or at least trust fund types, bored out of their skulls whilst waiting to collect their inheritance.  

Milan possessed the largest music library, I had yet or since seen.  Moreover, within that library were the most extensive recordings of harpsichord music.  If that were not specialised enough, Milan owned a harpsichord which, after we had riotously slapped, nipple-bitten, punched and me gourmandise his pygmy fin whale schlong: girth and length that makes your upper lip sweat and eyes roll back like Whitney Houston in full song, he would spend the next hour playing what proved the most captivating instrument.  Always at such times, I would become sponge-like and expansive, feeling as though in between wakefulness and sleep with a plethora of the most lucid past-life dreams flooding and surfacing my conscious mind.  Not surprisingly, that harpsichord proved a touchstone to our past-life connections and specifically to the life as court musicians in London, England during the reign of King George III and the Regency when Milan, Merlin and I plus a whole host of others whom I have known in this lifetime were greatly, creatively fulfilled.  

_______________________________________________________

Newcombe, Milan 08/02/56 Toronto <O> Toronto

This fragment was a third level mature sage – first incarnation at this level, likely to repeat the level – in the passion mode with a goal of acceptance.  An idealist, he was in the intellectual centre, emotional part. 

Milan’s body type was Saturn/Venus. 

Milan’s primary chief feature was impatience and the secondary arrogance. 

The essence twin is a sage, also discarnate.  An artisan task companion he’s got, who is incarnate. 

This fragment is second-cast, cadence sixth in the greater cadence, entity six, cadre one, greater cadre 7, node 414.  Milan is in the same entity as Arvin and Merlin, sharing a strong connection through the arts. 

The three primary needs for Milan were: freedom, power and communion. 

Q: Past lives of note for Milan:

Michael:       This fragment has had many lives in the theatre and in performing, as would be expected, due to his soul age, mature and role, sage. 

He has been a well-known courtesan in nineteenth century France, to a second-in-command lieutenant to Napoleon Bonaparte and was involved in many secretive meetings to which she was privy, due to her ability to keep silent. 

She, however, was found guilty of espionage, at a later date, and hanged, at the age of 24. 

This sage has also performed with students of Hippocrates in the fifth century Common Era in Crete and also became interested in herbal medicine at that time. 

Lives in the performing arts total 24 altogether and have been both notable, such as in China in the eighth century as a puppeteer or in the caves of Borneo when he was a painter of walls with what would be called ancient hieroglyphs. 

This fragment was also present in the sixteenth century in Venice and was a student of a lesser artist, not sure about the name. 

Q: Past lives with Arvin:

Michael:      First of all, let us comment that these two fragments did have an agreement which had to do with the validation of personal expression. 

Number of past incarnations total twenty and include:

  1. These two fragments were present in the “George” life; King George III of England, when the sage was a fellow musician and trumpeter. The sage was competitive with the artisan and envious of the artisan’s natural talents.
  2. They have been married once before officially in an area of the Middle East, eleventh century BCE, when they were in an arranged marriage having to do with land and money exchange. They did get along reasonably well due to the entity connection but did argue.
  3. Makers of small ornamental objects in the first century Common Era, Crete. Both were female and cousins.
  4. These two fragments completed a sequence having to do with abandonment/abandoner in the São Paulo incarnation. The female artisan seduced the sage and then subsequently refused to continue in the relationship which led to emotional turmoil for the sage.

This first part of this sequence took place in the 1300’s in Spain when the reverse occurred but the sexes were the same, artisan still female, seduced by the sage then abandoned. 

Had this not been an agreement, there would have been mindfuck karma incurred. 

(KB: this was an important set of incarnations) 

 Q: Past lives with Merlin and the ET:

This fragment was present in the life aforementioned in the fourth century in an area of Tibet and was the mother of the task companion, former-Merlin but separated when the scholar, former-Merlin, was quite young due to religious training. 

There have been an additional four of note including one in the ninth century in China when these two fragments were enemies and came quite close to incurring karma; through combat, not agreed upon in advance, as well as one in the first century Common Era when they were married to the same male fragment; Common Law, Palestine area. 

This sage has also shared three past associations with Arvin’s essence twin which have included living in a small village in western Canada in the 1400’s both male.  They were childhood friends. 

Additionally they have fought side-by-side “on stage” when members of a travelling theatrical group in northern Italy in the sixteenth century.  The essence twin died of a fall which the sage tried to prevent but was unable to, happened when both were teens.  

_______________________________________________

Milan was magical; his home lit throughout by candelabras and the salon an exacting reproduction of an 18th century English salon.  One of the most beautiful things about sleeping over with Milan at his magical lair, was that many were the nights when I would – whilst lying next to him in bed, pleasured and satiated – spontaneously astral project.  During these marvellous OBEs (out-of-body experiences), I would get up out of my body, turn around to look at our smiling pleasured faces harmoniously lying in bed fast asleep, see the cord of silvery white light that attached my astral body to my physical body.  This cord more so resembles a caravan of tiny balls of light that are unbreakable and which attach at the solar plexus of both bodies – astral and physical.  Milan was the most sensual lover and the greatest kisser.  

This song was Milan’s favourite tune and Nancy Wilson his favourite Jazz singer – just as Natalie Cole and Betty Carter mine and John Hirsch was Ella Fitzgerald’s undisputed biggest enthusiast.  Until having met me, Milan had never listened to Jazz or explored the genre.  However, like all persons in the positive pole of their goal of acceptance, he embraced, appreciated and explored the newfound treasure that for him Jazz would prove.  With an intensity never before experienced, Milan insisted on venturing to every Jazz concert imaginable.  To that end, we took several trips to Chicago, New Orleans and, of course, New York City to nurture our souls and forge to greater depths the bond we shared.  Whenever the loving was good and god do I love a cock… especially his – hey, three billion women can’t be wrong, Milan would then play some Nancy Wilson.  Our love faded on my relocation to Vancouver – he hated grey, dreary and rainy weather, I was come undone one early morning whilst meditating in the pyramid in Vancouver, Milan appeared to me and said so long.  I knew that he had died that day – another lover passed of AIDS.  I will ever experience the sweetest memories when listening to Nancy Wilson.  

Sweet and very blissful dreams indeed be yours Nancy: griot, linguist, shaman and truly great performer.  

As ever, thanks for your ongoing support, dream without giving a damn… cause you can and all the more reason to push off and start flying.  

____________________________________________________

©2013-2019 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.  

Advertisements
Posted in 18th Century Art, 18th Century Artists, 18th Century British Art, 18th Century British Artists, 20th Century African-American Art, 20th Century African-American Artists, 20th century American artists, 20th Century Art, 20th Century Artists, African-Americans, Africans, American Art, American Artists, Americans, Art, Artists, Astral plane habitué, Astral Projection in Dreams, Authors, Black American Art, Black Americans, Black Art, Black artists, Black creative artists, Books, channelling, Composers, Creative Genius, Diarists, Divas, Dream Shamanism, Dreams, Jazz, Longreads, Lucid dreams, Mature soul Artisans, Mature souls, Memoirs, Michael Overleaves, Michael Teachings, Modern African Art, Modern African Artists, Modern Art, Modern Artists, Music, Music Video, Musicians, OBEs, Past-life dreams, Photography, Pyramid, Reincarnation, Royalty, Shamanism, Singers, Spirituality, Stage performers, Statesmen, Visionaries, Vocalists, Writers | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Sing it George!

Benson, George 22/3/1943 Pittsburg, Pennsylvania

Michael: This fragment is a fifth level mature artisan – second life thereat.  George is in the power mode with a goal of growth.  An idealist, he is in the moving part of intellectual centre.

Body type is Venus/Mars.

George’s primary chief feature is subdued arrogance and the secondary impatience.

The fragment George is fifth-cast in third cadence; he is a member of greater cadence four.  George’s entity is five, cadre one, greater cadre 7, pod 414 – this is a cadre mate of Arvin’s and Merlin’s.

George’s essence twin is also an artisan and he has a sage task companion.

George’s primary needs are: expression, communion and power.

There are 10 past-life associations with Arvin and 14 with Merlin.

_______________________________________________

Music is a language and Jazz is the language of a people; it speaks to no one else like it does us.  No other music readily restores one’s humanity and sense of self like Jazz does.  Interestingly, when a student at ballet school, I lived the most famous quote uttered by Diana, Princess of Wales in that Panorama interview that she gave to Martin Bashir: “There is no better way to dismantle a personality than to isolate it.” 

That is why during my two hellish years in Winnipeg, the music of Jazz is what saved me.  Interestingly enough, three musicians I looked to during that time more than any others; years later, I would discover that they are all cadre mates: Natalie Cole, John Coltrane and George Benson.  

With the passing of cadre mates Natalie Cole and Roy Hargrove, it is high time to celebrate and pay homage to George Benson while he remains focussed here and now.  

Keep on flying right whether in the most blissful of dreams or the waking state’s unforgiving grittiness… then again, it is also maddeningly beautiful!  

______________________________________________________________________

©2013-2019 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.  

Posted in 20th Century African-American Art, 20th Century African-American Artists, 20th century American artists, 20th Century Art, 20th Century Artists, African Art, African Leaders, African-Americans, Africans, American Abstract Art, American Abstract artists, American Artists, Americans, Art, Artists, Award-winning artist, Be-Bop, Black American Art, Black Americans, Black Art, Black artists, Black creative artists, channelling, Composers, Contemporary African Art, Contemporary African Artists, Contemporary American artists, Contemporary art, Contemporary Artists, Contemporary Black Art, Contemporary Black Artists, Creative Genius, Dreams, Guitarists, Jazz, Magical Realism, Mature soul Artisans, Mature souls, Memoirs, Michael Overleaves, Michael Teachings, Music, Music Video, Musicians, Photography, Pianists, Reincarnation, Saxophonists, Shamanism, Singers, Songwriters, Spirituality, Stage performers, Statesmen, Video, Visionaries, Vocalese, Vocalists, Writers | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Wallis? No, no, no. Try Edward VIII 2.0.

2625

So horrid has been the unbridled racial animus at TRH Duke & Duchess’ interracial marriage that it is past the point of being alarming, to merely being plain hysterical.  Fuck these idiots; just get on with your miserable lives, which clearly were not made miserable by that weak, dimwitted race traitor, Harry, being bullied and hoodwinked into marriage by that Z list, pole dancing, unsuitable, twice-divorced Compton ho.  

wallis &amp; edward5

Naturally, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex an American divorcee, is being compared to her predecessor, Wallis Simpson who was also a divorcee.  She was said to be domineering sort and Edward VIII, her lover, a weak-willed sort who was totally controlled by her.  

wallis &amp; edward4

Similarly, as with Wallis, Meghan who is erroneously being compared to her American predecessor, Henry is seen as pussy-whipped and controlled as was deemed Edward VIII.  Be that as it may, of one thing one can be certain, unlike Meghan, Wallis was not skilled in the arts of the Kamasutra… so there is that.  

besotted and drooling

This shot of Henry during his aunt, Baroness Fellowes’ reading of scripture is seen as proof of his being controlled and foolishly controlled by the lowest of muggles.  Be that as it may, here is a man who is completely besotted and having upped his game, did win his bride in the end.  

henry eyes william

Of course, a sceptic to the core, there was Henry fixing a shrewd eye on his brother, William who everyone has failed to realise is the real Edward VIII in all this, rather than Henry.  William has more in common with the abdicated Edward VIII than does Henry.  

charles &amp; camilla

Granted, Rev Curry was a blasted buffoon who embarrassed no one but himself and it was nothing the royals had seen – to his dying day the right reverend will think himself to have been a hit… American conceit is staggering – but there were Camilla and Charles trying to make sense of what they had just seen,  

shade

Returned from having signed the registry with his son’s gracious mother-in-law, Doria Ragland, there was William whilst the cellist weaved his magic, openly ridiculing and throwing shade.  

shades curry

There could be no doubt of William’s loathing of Rev. Curry and all that he represents.  Trust you me, if Henry had taken a Jewish wife and there was some aspect of the ceremony after Henry had converted that was bizarre, there is no way in high hell that William would have sat there and openly ridiculed the rabbi.  This display, only demonstrates William’s open bigotry.  This among other things exposes him further at having been cognisant of the “blackamoor brooch” incident.  This is the same William who has seen fit to stridently decline going on tour to any predominantly black Commonwealth nation; this has been left to his father and his wife, Camilla to undertake instead.  Scholar souls when in the negative pole of their overleaves happen to be the smog, arrogant, prejudicial persons going.  Sadly, William will never change his outlook for the remainder of his life and it will cost him dearly down the line.  

This august woman, Camilla who does not gladly indulge hostilities declined to attend Andrew’s daughter HRH Princess Eugenie’s wedding last October to Jack Brooksbank; he had always been openly hostile towards her.  Similarly, she declined to attend Christmas Service 2018 at Sandringham as she is clearly not pleased with how the senior royals, namely William and Catherine are being frosty towards Henry and his American wife.  

wallis &amp; edward2

Just as Wallis was the centre of everyone’s vitriol, as time always lays bare all secrets, Edward VIII would be exposed for the vile, bigoted, Nazi sympathiser that he was.  So, too, William has proven himself a bigoted boor on par with his great-great uncle Edward VIII.  I think it interesting that so many of the souls who have reincarnated after the Me generation have turned out to be such petty, bigoted boors, which they love smugly terming conservative. 

Lead Free Pewter Large Maple Leaf Connector

The same is seen in the current Canadian PM who has thought nothing of repeatedly running off to India to act like a buffoon in a Bollywood flick, attend every town in the land’s Gay Pride parade; however, he flatly refused to attend the 50th anniversary Caribbean Carnival celebrations in 2017.  Instead, he went kayaking.  Naturally, the same social butterfly tried his damnedest to score an invitation to the royal wedding of TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex but was justifiably decline.  He also saw positively nothing odd in excluding either blacks or Chinese from his cabinet in 2015.  Enough about Bathhouse Pierrette and his über Ketaine, just-a-tad-too-eager fag hag.  

carriage kiss

For any and all sceptics (Princes Philip and Harry – and yours truly) what we pay attention to is details.  We don’t focus on what you say but we are ever keenly focussed on what you do not say and more importantly what you do.  This can sometimes have us come off as slightly on the paranoid side but, trust you me, nothing escapes our shrewdly focussed gaze.  

William has emerged as Edward VIII’s bigoted reanimation rather than Meghan, Wallis’s reanimation.  Not a single tour to a predominantly black Commonwealth nation, turning away during the scarf incident this past Christmas when Meghan tried to engage him in conversation.  

Charles and Camilla standing at the end of the receiving line of Westminster Abbey clergy to greet senior royals, who in this case would be HM The Queen and Prince Philip.  Naturally, The Sovereign exchanges pleasantries then greets her son, father of the groom and they share a congratulatory kiss at the occasion of TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge’s 2011 wedding.  

Westminster Abbey, this past Armistice Day for the service of remembrance.  Though, I was then in London, I did not attend outside the Abbey to observe; rather, I was attending a commemoration concert at Barbican Centre by the London Symphony Orchestra.  Here, TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex wait, as is customary, at the end of the receiving line of the incoming senior royals.  

TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge deliberately stayed overlong, greeting and chatting up the Westminster Abbey clergy; they were making a point of snubbing the Sussexes.  Naturally, another betrayal of his role of instigator in the “Blackamoor Brooch” incident, William has no qualms about dismissing his brother and his otiose wife as he and by now his equally curt wife see things.  Her reaction on entering the Abbey and noticing the Sussexes spoke volumes.  

As it was plainly obvious to sceptic Harry that he was being snubbed by that conceited, thick-as-plank, bigoted brother of his, he simply walked away and was followed by his wife, rather than continue suffering the indignity of being made to wait overlong.  William is a bigoted arse of the first order and where the Duke & Duchess of Windsor are concerned, the parallels are to William the bigot and Edward VIII the Nazi sympathiser rather than Wallis the divorcee and Meghan also an American divorcee.  

wallis &amp; edward3

The Cambridges no more wanted to talk to the clergy and PM Theresa May than they want to have to tour some predominantly black Commonwealth nation.  They were snubbing the Sussexes because Meghan has draw and mass appeal and is not a mousy little whimp when speaking publicly like the bigot’s mare who looks frightfully severe when not grinning like a semi-feral gibbon en chaleur. 

meghan-markle-royal-wedding-dress-1526730077

Oh well, there was Meghan ascending the steps of St. George’s Chapel with John & Brian Mulroney, doing their parents proud, to say nothing of Ivy in her own right.  Thank god for Jessica Mulroney, for her role in that wedding as she helped to strike it straight out of the park – and she also happens to have the most deliciously vulgar laugh that tickles the soul every time.  A wedding like no other and that will always have sphinctered, drivelfest, bigoted boors seething with grudge because… well, petty humans can be expected to behave no differently.  

As ever, thanks for your ongoing support and don’t ever forget to push off and start flying when lucidly awakened in the dreamtime.  

Posted in Actors, African-Americans, Africans, Artists, Astral plane habitué, Authors, Black Americans, Black artists, Black creative artists, British Artists, Canadian artists, Design, Mature soul Artisans, Mature souls, Memoirs, Michael Overleaves, Michael Teachings, Reincarnation, Royalty, Spirituality, Statesmen, Writers | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Roy Hargrove 16/10/19692/11/2018

Image result for roy hargrove autumn leaves

Hargrove, Roy 16/10/1969<O>2/11/2018

Michael: This fragment was a fifth-level mature scholar – 2nd life thereat.  Roy was in the perseveration mode with a goal of growth.  Roy was a realist who was in the intellectual part of moving centre.

Roy’s primary chief feature was arrogance and his secondary was impatience.

Roy’s body type was Mercury/Lunar.

The fragment Roy is second-cast in the fifth cadence; the fragment is in the first greater cadence.  Roy is a member of entity six, cadre one, greater cadre 7, pod 414 – here we have another entity mate of both Arvin’s and Merlin’s.

Roy’s essence twin is a scholar and the task companion is a sage.

Roy’s three primary needs were: expression, adventure and security.

There are 9 past-life associations between Roy and Arvin and 14 between him and Merlin.

_______________________________________________

I have always exquisitely found centre for listening to this recording.  Time seems to drift away and ideas flow with greater ease… indeed, how sweet it is to be richly inspired by an entity mate.  

“I’m in service.  I am here to touch people and make them feel better through music.” – Roy Hargrove.  

Well if that is not validation of being a member of an entity six of a cadre one, I don’t know what it.  

I always good for long days after a concert of his.  A beautiful human being.  

Sweet and blissful dreams be yours dear ennobled entity mate.  

_______________________________________________________

©2013-2019 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.  

Posted in 20th Century African-American Art, 20th Century African-American Artists, 20th century American artists, 20th Century Art, 20th Century Artists, 21st Century African-American Artists, 21st Century American Artists, 21st Century Art, 21st Century Artists, 21st Century Black Artists, Abstract Art, Abstract Artists, African Art, African-Americans, Africans, American Artists, Art, Artists, Astral plane habitué, Be-Bop, Black American Art, Black Americans, Black Art, Black artists, Black creative artists, Blues, Bop, Composers, Contemporary American artists, Contemporary Artists, Contemporary Black Art, Contemporary Black Artists, Creative Genius, Diarists, Links, Mature souls, Michael Overleaves, Michael Teachings, Modern Art, Modern Artists, Music, Music Video, Musicians, Pianists, Reincarnation, Spirituality, Stage performers, Statesmen, Video, Visionaries, Writers | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The Scarf… There’s the Culprit.

Scarf moment 2018

Without doubt, though the most reviled black woman on the planet, I knew that though cited as the instigator in the tabloid media, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex could not have been the cause of the obvious rift between Diana, Princess of Wales’ sons: HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge and HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex.  When someone is guilty of having wronged, denigrated or slandered another, that guilty party is always acutely uncomfortable in the presence of the subject of their animus.  This past Christmas church service at Sandringham, HRH Prince William unwittingly unmasked himself as the guilty party.  I never for a moment believed that Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge was the instigator.  

george-prince-william

In September 2017 when HRH Prince George of Cambridge was widely photographed attending his first day of school in Battersea, one thing stood out in the reporting at the time: his father’s very close friend and cousin, Lord Frederick Windsor’s daughter Maud by actor wife, Sophie Winkleman also attends the same school.  This is the same cousin whose cocaine addiction had caused HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales to put an end to the close relations his sons enjoyed with their cousin; however, HRH Prince William remained close to this cousin.  

Engagement photo

One of the things that struck me is the interviews given after their engagement was announced in late November 2017.  

Camilla, HRH Duchess of Cornwall was her usual adroit, eloquent self, and her husband, 

HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales was the second most upbeat.  

At the time, HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge was less upbeat, did not mention Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex; rather, he essentially characterised his brother as a thief.  

 

Similarly, Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge spoke of their happiness but never mentioned Ms. Markle and this came a day later after her husband; indeed, it was as though, Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge had been tasked with doing damage control after William’s snub of Meghan by mentioning her name.  

Princess Michael of Kent with the blackamoor brooch

A month after the engagement announcement, though not yet a royal bride, Meghan Markle was invited to attend HM The Queen’s traditional Christmas lunch with her especially enamoured fiancé, HRH Prince Henry of Wales.  So as not to be mistaken, the continental put-on wore a starkly white coat such that her blackamoor brooch would not be properly photographed on a dark coat.  At the time, there was justifiable furore in the press and the narcissistic twit was made to issue a rather disingenuous-sounding mea culpa.  Clearly, she could never in a million years have acted on her own.  

Xmas 2017

Later that month, Christmas Day, 2017, again Meghan not being from Britain was invited – though not yet a royal spouse – to HM The Queen’s Christmas Church Service at Sandringham.  On looking at the video, it was clear that there was tensions between the two senior royal couples.  By that point, there was widespread open animus towards Ms. Markle and though it was never directly addressed and always vehemently denied, her race was the source of the vitriol.  Whilst entering the church, there was smugness from HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge towards Ms. Markle.  As they left the church, there was no denying HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales’ open affection for Ms. Markle and in the above photograph, he is beaming directly at Ms. Markle, making her feel welcome whilst the keenly onlooking HRH Prince William in the rear was tense-looking.  

William, Kate, Harry and Meghan at the Royal Foundation Forum

A couple of months later, when appearing as the ‘Fab Four’ charter members of the Royal Foundation, HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge spent most of his time crouched forward; his posture was predatory and he was keenly eagle-eyed as he monitored Ms. Markle’s performance.  As ever, HRH Prince Henry of Wales looked nervous, Ms. Markle was poised though her chief feature tended at times to get the better of her – more on that later.  I shall do a thorough overview of these major royals’ Michael Overleaves, which were channelled by two authentic Michael channellers and by none of the ever burgeoning scores of two-bit charlatans.  

William cruising Ben Mulroney

Finally, the big day arrived for Diana’s younger son; and what a wedding it would prove.  There sat HRH Prince William displaying those urges for which a life at public school leaves one possessed of certain proclivities.  In the above photograph, William is eyeing Ben Mulroney – well, because he can – at the time neither of his inner circle chums (Thomas & Charlie van Straubenzee) were present in the quire.  At least on two other occasions, William openly coveted Mr. Mulroney during his brother’s nuptials.  

the betrayer

On her arrival to the altar to join her husband, Meghan looking more confident and radiant than most brides was being suspiciously eyed by her brother-in-law in his role of disproving, to say nothing of delusional, final arbiter.  

no wave william

As the newlywed TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex departed St. George’s Chapel in the Ascot Landau, all the members of the Cambridge family at the top of the west steps waved off the couple save, of course, HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge.  He kept holding George’s hand and the order of service in the other.  

 Senior members of the Royal Family appeared impressed as the array of aircraft flew over Buckingham Palace

Windsor, HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge 21/6/1982 London, England

Michael: This fragment is sixth-level mature scholar – third life thereat.  William is in the observation mode with a goal of acceptance.  A pragmatist, he is in the intellectual part of moving centre. 

Body type is Lunar/Mars/Saturn. 

William’s primary chief feature is stubbornness – death of his mother, Diana, Princess of Wales, was the triggering event and the secondary arrogance. 

The fragment William is third-cast in sixth cadence; he is a member of greater cadence seven.  William’s entity is four, cadre one, greater cadre 6, pod 208. 

William’s essence twin is a scholar and he has a warrior task companion to whom he is married, Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge. 

William’s primary needs are: exchange, freedom and security. 

There are 6 past-life associations with Arvin and 3 with Merlin. 

__________________________________________

Windsor, Catherine HRH Duchess of Cambridge 9/1/1982

Michael: This fragment is a fifth-level mature warrior – third life thereat.  Catherine is in the perseveration mode with a goal of growth.  A pragmatist, Catherine is in the moving part of intellectual centre. 

Catherine’s body type is Saturn/Mercury/Venus. 

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

The fragment Catherine is fourth-cast in the sixth cadence.  Catherine is a member of greater cadence one.  Catherine’s entity is four, cadre one, greater cadre 6 pod 208. 

Catherine’s essence twin is a warrior and the task companion a scholar, her husband, HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge. 

Catherine’s three primary needs are: expansion, power and expression. 

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

_____________________________________________

Windsor, HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex 15/9/1984 London, England

Michael: This feisty fragment is a fifth-level mature warrior -– fourth life thereat – to his sixth-level mature brother, William.  Henry is in the power mode with a goal of growth.  A sceptic, he is in the moving part of intellectual centre. 

Body type is Mars/Saturn. 

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

The fragment Henry is first-cast in second cadence; he is a fragment of greater cadence three.  Henry’s entity is one, cadre six, greater cadre 7, pod 418 – Henry is an entity mate of his paternal grandmother, HM Queen Elizabeth II. 

Henry’s essence twin is a warrior and he has a scholar task companion. 

Henry’s primary needs are: freedom, adventure and exchange. 

There are 9 past-life associations with Arvin and 5 with Merlin. 

___________________________________________

Windsor, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex 4/8/1981

Michael: This fragment is a mid-cycle mature artisan in the tradition of the deceased mother fragment who was Diana, Princess of Wales — third life thereat.  Meghan is in the observation mode with a goal of acceptance.  An idealist, Meghan is in the moving part of emotional centre. 

Meghan’s body type is Venus/Solar. 

Meghan’s primary chief feature is self-deprecation and the secondary of mild impatience. 

The fragment Meghan is fourth-cast in the fifth cadence.  Meghan is a member of greater cadence four.  Meghan is a member of entity one, cadre six, greater cadre 7, pod 418 — she is an entity mate of both her spouse, HRH Prince Henry of Wales with whom she shares 20 past lives and also an obvious entity mate of Her Majesty, The Queen. 

Meghan’s essence twin is an artisan and the task companion a warrior. 

Meghan’s three primary needs are: expression, acceptance and expansion.

There are 4 past-life associations with Arvin and 6 with Merlin. 

Incidentally, this artisan has been a member of the British royal family twice before.

Firstly, as Margaret Beaufort, Countess of Richmond and Derby, she was the cousin of King Henry VI and mother of King Henry VII.  As such she was the matriarch of the House of Tudor.  Her grandson was Henry VIII and her great-granddaughter, Elizabeth I. 

This artisan in that lifetime was involved in the sacraments of the church being included in the newly established college system.  She founded Christ College, Cambridge and was instrumental with the founding of St. John’s College as well. 

Secondly, she was HRH Prince Edward, Duke of York and Albany and younger brother to George III, whose father the Prince of Wales, HRH Prince Frederick died before ascending the throne after George II.  In that lifetime, the artisan (now Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex) was interested in military structure.  He, of course, died young of a then unknown illness but which had to do with dysentery. 

Incidentally, in the current incarnation, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex has suffered from gastroenteritis, which is related to the last-life health issues – this is the immediate past life and not that in 18th century when the artisan died aged 28.  

__________________________________________

Windsor, HM Queen Elizabeth II 21/4/1926 London, England

Michael: This fragment is third-level mature slave –- second life thereat.  Elizabeth is in the perseveration mode with a goal of dominance.  A realist, she is in the moving part of intellectual centre. 

Body type is Venus/Lunar. 

Elizabeth’s primary chief feature is stubbornness and the secondary self-deprecation. 

The fragment Elizabeth is fourth-cast in fifth cadence; she is a fragment of greater cadence six.  Elizabeth’s entity is one, cadre six, greater cadre 7, pod 418. 

Elizabeth’s essence twin is a slave and the task companion is a priest. 

Elizabeth’s three primary needs are: security, adventure and exchange. 

There are 6 past-life associations with Arvin and 4 with Merlin. 

__________________________________________

Mountbatten, Prince Philip HRH Duke of Edinburgh 10/6/1921 Greece

Michael: This fragment is fourth-level mature warrior – second life thereat.  Philip is in the observation mode with a goal of preferred dominance.  A sceptic, he is in the moving part of intellectual centre. 

Body type is Saturn/Mars. 

Philip’s primary chief feature is stubbornness – due to early death of a family member and the secondary subdued impatience. 

The fragment Philip is seventh-cast in first cadence; he is a member of greater cadence six.  Philip’s entity is one, cadre six, greater cadre 7, pod 408. 

Philip’s essence twin is a warrior and he has a scholar task companion who is known to him. 

Philip’s primary needs are: exchange, acceptance and power. 

There are 14 past-life associations with Arvin and 6 with Merlin. 

______________________________________________________

Frances, Diana, Princess of Wales  July 1/1961<O>August 31/1997.

Michael: The fragment who was Diana Frances is a second-level mature artisan and was in the passion mode with a goal of acceptance, a pragmatist in the moving part of emotional centre. 

She had a Lunar/Mercury body type. 

Diana’s primary chief feature was stubbornness with a secondary, not of self-destruction but of self-deprecation. 

Diana Frances was first-cast in her cadence and her cadence is fifth in the greater cadence.  She is a member of entity one, cadre six, greater cadre 48, pod/node 380. 

This fragment’s essence twin is a discarnate artisan and her task companion is a discarnate sage, both of whom are staying near her, waiting for her to become oriented to her situation. 

Here, we had an artisan with drama in her casting but also with a very deep need to serve both the common and the higher good, which she did with grace, charm and a good deal of conviction. 

__________________________________________

Windsor, HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales 14/11/48 London

Charles Windsor is a seventh-level mature second-cast warrior.  Charles Windsor is in observation mode, with a goal of acceptance, and attitude of pragmatist, moving part of intellectual centre.  

Charles’s body type is Mercury-Saturn. 

Charles’ primary chief feature is stubbornness, secondary is self-deprecation. 

He has an incarnate warrior essence twin with no plans to meet and a discarnate priest task companion, who exerts considerable influence on him. 

His casting is virtually the same as Robert Bateman’s: entity two, cadre four, greater cadre 16, pod/node 404 but he is a second-cast in a fourth cadence, entity four, cadre four, greater cadre 16, pod/node 404. 

_________________________________________

Windsor, Camilla, HRH Duchess of Cornwall 17/7/1947 London, England

Michael: Yes, this scholar is at the mid-level of the mature soul cycle — third life thereat.  Camilla is in caution mode with a goal of growth.  A pragmatist, Camilla is in the moving part of intellectual centre.

Body type is Lunar/Venus.

Camilla‘s primary chief feature is impatience and the secondary arrogance.

The fragment Camilla is third-cast in sixth cadence; Camilla is a fragment of greater cadence seven.  Camilla‘s entity is five, cadre six, greater cadre 7, pod 129.

Camilla’s essence twin is a scholar and the task companion is a warrior.

Camilla’s primary needs are: exchange, freedom and power.

There are 10 past-life associations with Arvin and 6 with Merlin.

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­_________________________________________

Now for the esoteric Michaelese breakdown of what all this means.  All told, there are 9 major players chosen here; of them warrior souls predominate with four such persons: Catherine, Henry, Philip and Charles.  Two scholars: William and Camilla.  Similarly, there are two artisans, Diana and Meghan.  Lastly, there is but one slave, HM The Queen, who happens to have the strongest overleaves of them all.  As HRH Prince William is the subject of this blog, I shall explore his overleaves lastly.  

First and foremost, there are only two ways to approach all of life, either from a place of fear or a place of love.  That having been said, there are both positive and negative poles of all overleaves.  Similarly, just because an individual is an older soul does not mean that they are a more evolved human being and is all good.  Of all these 9 royals, HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales, is the oldest souled member with Diana, Princess of Wales having been the youngest soul among them.  Bear in mind, too, that some of these persons are if not entity or cadre mates, at the very least are pod mates.  I am going to go through these nine souls in order of soul age and though Charles is the oldest of the group, I will discuss William’s last even though he is the second oldest soul.  

The Diana, Princess of Wales

Diana: Second-level mature artisan; she lived the charmed life, great overleaves.  She had the great goal of acceptance, which incidentally so too do William, Charles and Meghan.  There was considerable Maya involved and she created a ton of drama out of sheer boredom and also as a way of fighting back when realising that she was in a loveless marriage and nothing but a pawn.  No idea, if she is yet reincarnated.  

Queen Elizabeth II attends a service for the Order of the British Empire at St Paul's Cathedral on March 7, 2012 in London, England. (Photo by Geoff Pugh/Getty Images)

HM The Queen: A third-level mature slave soul, she is on her second life at that level and is in dominance.  This is as close to perfect and positively manifested the overleaves of anyone within that family or elsewhere.  These are great overleaves, which are positively manifested.  

Camilla: She is a mid-cycle mature scholar soul and a pragmatist in growth.  This woman is a solid and as gracious a scholar as you can find.  No surprise that she focusses on literary charities and organisations and hosts the annual Man Booker Prize awards.  She is a scholar’s scholar and does not do drama.  Camilla is another BRF (British Royal Family) member who gets it right and is manifesting in the positive pole of her overleaves like HM The Queen.  

Meghan: Like Camilla, the Duchess of Sussex is also mid-cycle mature; however, like Diana, Princess of Wales she is an artisan.  As is obvious from her overleaves, she chose to reincarnate to do something.  Where she is is precisely where she is supposed to be.  One does not end up with body-type of Venus-Solar and do nothing and does not become a major player on the global stage.  Incidentally, usually only one life is passed at mid-cycle mature; it is a bridge lifetime between third mature and fourth mature and it is the only soul age where this occurs – there are exceptions to everything as this is Meghan’s soul’s third life as mid-cycle mature.  At the end of fourth mature, more of the brain is used going forward and there is greater complexity to the persona.  Meghan, having been Margaret Beaufort in a past life when she was the most pivotal Lancastrian woman during the War of the Roses, matriarch of the Tudor Dynasty, cousin of King Henry VI, mother of King Henry VII, beloved grandmother and mentor of King Henry VIII and great-grandmother to HM Queen Elizabeth I.  Furthermore, Meghan is an entity mate of both HM The Queen and her husband HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex.  They form a troika that is unshakeable.  She is an idealist in acceptance; she will always be emotionally and empathetically open and mature.   Sadly, though, the fact that this soul chose to be black in this lifetime has meant that she has become the most reviled black woman on the planet for having married into the BRF and its most loved prince.  Incidentally, her husband, HRH Prince Henry was black in his immediate past life.  Meghan’s primary chief feature is that of self-deprecation which is never attractive and this leaves her copping the shy smile routine and in particular placing her hand over her mouth.  Your chief feature is a cactus never to be cradled… that said, this soul who as Margaret was first wedded before the age of two and had four husbands will be striking it out of the park in this lifetime again.  

The Duke of Edinburgh has undergone a successful hip replacement

Philip: Fourth mature warrior in dominance, this is an equally solid soul as is his wife, HM The Queen.  A warrior’s warrior to the core.  

Prince Harry

Henry: A fifth-level mature warrior; this man is the most interesting and underrated royal.  First of all, at fifth-level mature, he is more complex than any of the other royals thus far; he is also a sceptic and the only other of the nine being the rather shrewd Prince Philip.  This means that he is all 9 parts intellect, sees straight through everything and is able to think outside the box.  Fifth-level is also synonymous with the goal of acceptance; therefore, this man will always have great appeal within a group dynamic.  He is also thoroughly unpretentious and in growth.  As a warrior, he inputs on one channel as do scholars and kings.  Similarly, as a warrior, Henry will never forgive disloyalty of any kind; a betrayal of any kind is unforgivable.  

Catherine Duchess of Cambridge

Catherine: Like Henry, Catherine is not only also a warrior but she is also fifth-level mature.  These two are rather simpatico and there is no way that they would never get along; there would be nothing but mutual respect and understanding.  Fifth-level mature is also a time of incredible creativity, especially among warrior souls.  Catherine also happens to be not just an entity mate of her husband’s but they are also task companions, which is as close a relationship at the level of soul that you can have as is possible.  Task companions are like oxen sharing the same yoke; they get things done and Catherine also has a goal of growth like her brother-in-law, Henry but she is in perseveration mode.  Catherine is all steel and will endure much and scale any mountain to get the job done.  Admirable lady.  

Prince Charles

Charles: the fourth of the warriors, he is also the oldest soul of the senior royals.  Dream encounters with this man are truly evolved.  Naturally, as a seventh-level mature warrior issues of stewardship of the planet would be paramount among his concerns.  He is also a warrior in acceptance and lives a life that is truly a positive expression of his overleaves.  Kind and inclusive, he is understanding and truly accepting.  Like every warrior there ever was, he does not forget or forgive disloyalty.  

Prince William

William: He is the second scholar soul and also the second oldest soul of the group.  Sixth-level mature, William is at that all unforgiving sixth-level where those lives are all about paying back karma and having to work in the larger arenas of life and providing stewardship.  William, born on the summer solstice, was also born with a stellium in his astrological chart which among other things means that he is prone to being very narrow in his focus; more importantly, it indicates someone who cannot see the forest for the trees when expressed negatively.  

Though William has a goal of acceptance, he also has a chief feature – no chief feature is ever positive – of stubbornness, which means that he is rarely regardless of his perfected persona ever either at ease or accepting of anyone.  Moreover, when a scholar is not in the positive pole of its role – as Camilla is – then that scholar will be an obstinate (stubbornness) negative and prejudicial (acceptance’s polar opposite rejection goal). 

image

This is why it is almost 100% likely that William not only knew of HRH Princess Michael of Kent’s intention of wearing the blackamoor brooch to the 2017 Christmas Lunch at Buckingham Palace but he likely was the one to have sanctioned it.  William is very close with Frederick who with his Jewish actor wife spend lots of time in Los Angeles where there is inordinate racial animus towards blacks.  

Wearing the blackamoor brooch to HM The Queen’s Christmas Lunch was tantamount to wearing a swastika to said lunch the first year that Sophie Winkleman attended, knowing fully well that Lord Frederick Windsor’s wife is Jewish.  The idea that somehow Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex is behind a rift between both princely brothers or is contentious with Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge – who as a warrior is more likely to be openly hostile towards Meghan than the other way around – couldn’t be further from the truth. 

James Middleton roasts Tom Bradby

I think that it is safe to say that the Middletons have become rather high and mighty with themselves as evidenced when James Middleton was seen being socially hostile towards ITV’s royal correspondent, Tom Bradby outside St. George’s Chapel at the royal wedding of TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex.  

Here are further examples of HRH Prince William being rejecting, obstinate and plain rude.  William and not Meghan refused to have Sarah, Duchess of York attend his wedding.  William and not Meghan sat in the Chapel at St. George’s Chapel and openly ridiculed Reverend Curry to his father, HRH Prince Charles.  It was William and not Meghan who decided after the birth of HRH Prince George of Cambridge that the infant’s paternal grandparent would not be afforded access to his first grandchild.  William rather than Meghan told Dave Clark that he was not desirable as a husband for his cousin, HRH Princess Beatrice, thereby putting an end to a relationship that was no business of his.  

One of the most disarming things to know about HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge is that he is basically stupid and lacks awareness.  This is how he always comes off in very lucid dream encounters.  Furthermore, like all scholars in the negative pole of their soul/role, he is given to being discriminatory and readily judgmental.  As a scholar with a chief feature of stubbornness, William is not given to being open to change and has an inordinately corrupted, almost delusional, sense of self.  There is high conceit when dealing with this man.  Indeed, he has taken  his brother Henry, with an attitude of sceptic, none too seriously and definitely not as an equal; however, HRH Prince Henry does not – for being a sceptic – take this man too seriously nor does he take personally his hyper-inflated sense of self.  

engagement interview 2010

During their engagement interview, Catherine sat on the edge of the sofa; only once did they touch and it was her initiating.  William during the interview self-congratulatorily referred to his great sense of humour – blind conceit.  Catherine’s hair almost covers her eyes so that she can remain tunnelled in focus and not become overwhelm by William’s intimidating nature.  Catherine’s mouth is pursed and turned down at the corners, betraying her discomfiture for being in William’s presence; this suggests an unpredictable nature and a violent temper.  Frankly, Catherine looks as though she fully expects to be slapped at any moment and with some regularity.  

Catherine enters Abbey

Catherine as she appeared on entering Westminster Abbey and being greeted by the Dean of Westminster.  Her smile is warm, relaxed and she radiates her inner beauty; indeed, it is uneclipsed.  

Vows2

Catherine, now in the presence of William becomes clenched, clipped and her radiance lacks its lustre.  All this because of the unpredictable nature of the man she is about to marry.  This very man is also her task companion; however, his perfectly good overleaves have become corrupted and are not positively expressed in the least.  

gloves

William the none-too-bright finally figures out how to properly fasten his gloves.  

carriage entry

William enters the carriage and sits with his back to the horses drawing the carriage; he had even looked back over his shoulder to the horses, yet still sat down in the improper position in the carriage.  

readjusted

William in this photograph has now changed seats after having been instructed to do so by the footman, wearing the white-plumed hat; the footman did so under his breath.  

footman &amp; pipa

In this shot, after having told William to properly sit, facing the front and not the back of the carriage, the footman could be seen looking at Pippa Middleton and she looks at him with a knowing and dismissive look and smile.  This interchange between both the footman and Pippa indicates that it is common knowledge by those in the know that William basically is stupid.  

Observant Henry

A keenly observant HRH Prince Henry on entering Westminster Abbey with his older brother on the day of William’s wedding.  This is the look of someone with an attitude of sceptic.  He knows that he has to hang back and take everything with a grain of salt as basically, his brother William is dense and unaware. 

Dismissing Henry

While being hosted by the dean of Westminster, Henry ventures a comment and like a scholar in stubbornness and who has been groomed to always be deferred to, William in essence tells his brother to shut up with a dismissive remark.  At all times, like a person in stubbornness, William’s body language is rigid and controlling with his hands ever clasped, the same few remarks and the same loud vacuous laughter and of course that ever present smile that is evocative of his mother Diana, Princess of Wales.  

fighting

Scholars in the negative pole of their role/soul can be the biggest bores; ever, they are a font of useless information and often unsolicited.  Here the newlyweds ride up the Mall to Buckingham Place; at least three times on the ride from Westminster Abbey William became impatient with Catherine and they rowed.  Here, he is shouting at her and telling her to be observant; she like the warrior she is, anywhere and anytime, she will sound off and protest without so much as thinking twice.  Love her!  

rowing on the mall

Do not be fooled by Catherine’s smile; he is grilling her and she is fighting back.  This, of course, is a healthy part of their relationship as long-term lovers and also for that matter for being task companions. 

Catherine truce

After the harsh words, naturally, William was a sulky petulant bore.  Warrior to the core, Catherine leans in and nudges him with her left shoulder and gets him to get out of his funk.  Catherine is one of the strongest royal women going.  

balcony deflection

Once on the balcony, William becomes a right bore with the endless drivelfest of observations.  On more than one occasion, one captured above, Catherine simply dismisses the ennui that is William by pointing instead towards the Canada Gates whilst he was directing her to look down the mall towards the approaching planes taking part in the flypast.  And at all times, Catherine maintains equilibrium with that Cheshire cat grin.  

William simply assumes because he is destined to be king and is never challenged, he could do as he pleases and attack his brother’s lover without there being the slightest repercussions.  

engagement interview 2017

Newly engaged, Henry and Meghan openly displaying their love for each other and both possessed of emotional intelligence that speaks to their reincarnational history, their being entity mates and the fact that as a yogi who has mastered the kamsutra, Henry is a happy camper.  Xerxes, a seventh-level mature warrior friend sums up the warrior’s motto thusly: feed me, fuck me but do not annoy me.  

Henry winks

Here, Henry on taking his vows and slipping the ring on Meghan’s finger with the most sexually suggestive intimacy, then winks at her.  This is a couple completely and thoroughly besotted, in love and passionately consumed with each other.  

Now there is a happy warrior; Henry deplanes when on first tour of the Commonwealth with his serenely pregnant wife, whilst sporting a chubby.  

the kiss

William, who is inordinately so a control freak, is threatened by his brother’s wife who is not a controlled, plus one and subservient wife.  Meghan has style and is not a blank foil to allow the blood royal spouse and only the blood royal spouse to shine at all times.  I don’t, though, agree with Meghan’s inability to strictly follow royal protocol and walk behind her blood royal spouse.  

meghan-markle-royal-wedding-dress-1526730077gallery_5_3 (1)Sussexes

Henry made sure to have a wife who would be for him what his father never was for his mother; a lover, companion and equal team member.  Meghan is forthright, articulate.  Like every artisan soul, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex inputs on five channels (the most of all the seven soul types) which means she can evoke mood and inject that certain “je ne sais quoi” into what she wears.  Artisans are said to be atmospheric; just slipping into an item of clothing and it is as though we shift personae and become as well as project the right mood into the environment.  Artisans are atmospheric; we set the mood by just being.  

Most of all, this appearance by Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex at the 2018 British Fashion Awards is why William fears her.  Hatred is nothing but fear and to be obstinate and conspire with the Kents for Frederick Windsor’s mother to wear the blackamoor brooch only points to how much William fears his brother’s wife; to fear someone is to readily reveal how miserably you have no power over that someone.  Onto that stage, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex walked and had the room in the palm of her hand.  William knows that Catherine his wife could never have that command of an audience; what’s more, Catherine is a whimpering mousy little thing as compared to eloquent, confident trained thespian, Meghan. 

In the 21st century, Brand Windsor needs an ambassador who is media savvy and can walk out onto a stage and deliver like only Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex does.  That awards ceremony at Royal Albert Hall would have been a room with more than 60 per cent artisan souls whereas artisans make up 22 percent of the population of souls cosmically.  In Meghan, the fashion worlds of couture, design and jewellery have one of their own – she is akin to a patron saint.  This was the same effect that Diana, Princess of Wales also had for being an artisan soul. 

rs_634x1024-171221041524-634--1PHMM-MK122117

In Meghan, William is having to endure some self-karmic issues; you own no one and cannot push around anyone as you please.  Thus far, he has irreparably damaged his relations with two strong warriors – his father and brother.  Long before Meghan arrived he had sabotaged his relationship with Charles for not approving of Camilla, blaming his father for his mother’s death and denying his father access to his first grandchild.  With regards Henry, he has done Meghan a big favour for with his open animus and hideous bigotry vis-à-vis the blackamoor incident, William has lost Henry’s trust and it will only forge the love and loyalty between him and Meghan.  

Duchess Kate and Prince William's togetherness was discreetly on show as she placed her hand on her husband's leg at an official welcoming ceremony on day one of their 2016 royal tour of Canada. Photo: Karwai Tang/WireImage

Thus far, William and his family have twice been to Canada on royal tours; they have also been to the U.S., Singapore, Australia, New Zealand and the Pacific Commonwealth nations and India; however, William and his family have yet to set foot in a predominantly black Commonwealth nation.  There are no coincidences.  Persons in stubbornness are the most difficult people to deal with as they are pigheaded in the extreme and relish being difficult.  As he clearly has no interest in being on tour in a predominantly black Commonwealth nation, this is why TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex were appointed as Commonwealth Youth Ambassadors.  Far be it for William to become Sovereign where more than half the countries in the Commonwealth are peopled by blacks.  As ever, tabloid media will blame Meghan the unsuitable black woman for the rift; truly, one need look no further than William, who is not in the positive pole of acceptance; rather he is in the negative pole of its opposite, rejection, which makes for the scarf incident, the blackamoor incident and all the other deplorable things he’s gotten up to: Sarah not at his wedding, Charles having little to no access to newborn George, froideur towards Camilla and now Meghan.   Too bad for his scheming, though, because within a year of marriage, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex will be mother to a royal child which further solidifies her staying power.  

As ever, don’t let fear and chief feature get the better of you as so clearly it has HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge.  Just straighten up and fly right… especially when lucidly awakened in the dreamtime.  For your ongoing support, I am inordinately grateful.  Happy New Year and here’s to the very best in 2019.  

________________________________________________________________

©2013-2019.  Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.  

Posted in Actors, African-Americans, Artists, Astral plane habitué, Astrology, Authors, Awards, Black Americans, Black artists, Black creative artists, British Artists, Design, Diarists, Dreams, Dreams of famous persons, Fashion, Longreads, Lucid dreams, Mature soul Artisans, Mature souls, Memoirs, Michael Overleaves, Michael Teachings, Music, Photography, Reincarnation, Royalty, Spirituality, Stage performers, Visionaries, Writers | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Past-life Dream Set at Spencer House.

20181118_095725

These dreams are from the upcoming third volume of my dream memoirs.  I share them here and now as within there is at least one dream which is set at Spencer House, which I finally visited in this lifetime on the occasion of the 29th anniversary of Merlin’s passing.  

The dreams were recorded on audiocassettes over the course of a decade following Merlin’s passing as he had requested that I stay tuned on his passing as he intended however possible to get through to me from the other side.  250 audiocassette tapes later, at the end of that decade in among them were the most glorious dream encounters with Merlin on his passing.  These dreams in their rich pandimensioality were dreamt in lucid astral plane realism in late October 1991.  

As this is an excerpt from the as-yet published third volume all the dreams are in italics and everything else in normal script.  Observations after the fact about dreams are not in italics and conclude with END at the end thereof.  At the time, though I did not know it, the dream was set at Spencer House.  

great_room_primary

___________________________________________________________

Before ecstatically flying off in search of lives up ahead, it is oftentimes good to know where one has been.  These next dreams occurred during the second or ‘B’ cycle of sleep and dreamtime that day.  Prior to sleep, I had been meditating with crystals in the pyramid and was inordinately focussed in my intention.  After having adequately fortified myself, I was clear in my intentions to dreamquest in search of past lives.  Thus, I would vicariously revisit two past lives which were complementary.  During the first life in question, I was male and Merlin was then present with me and female.  We were musicians at the court of King George III where also present was the Prince Regent and future King George IV.  The second life seemed to have been longer-lived and in that one I was female.

The dreams of both lives overlapped and it was good to have acquired the past-life information of those lives through Michael channeller, Sarah J. Chambers.  Of course, there was a dream of a third past life, it was that of my immediate past life.

painted_room

This having been the first dream, it was an extremely involved odyssey.  A dream it was in which I had gone off to a performance, at nighttime of course, but it was as though it had been onscreen.  Before the performance had begun, there had been a comedian onstage.  There had been many wings to this performance because it had been set in a house.  In fact, it was a period piece.  The people who had been watching this had been, as it were, very much so out of time.  This was set in the late eighteenth century.  There had been a very nasty racist, in fact, send-up of ‘the savages in the jungle’. 

This was all in British accents and very eighteenth century language. 

*As I had meditated before sleep, I had opened myself up to experiencing insights into past-life reincarnational monads.  As it had turned out, I would end up gaining much insight to my reincarnational past.  This was set in the parlour of a very affluent Georgian residence.  There was a white comic onstage, not unlike Tom Kneebone — who was possibly one of the most loathsome pieces of bigoted shits that I have ever met.  Otto Dix arsehole that he is; Tom was a vile, pinched, sphinctered nobody-arsed faggot.  Whilst looking at the comic onstage, I realised that one of the reasons why I loathed Tom Kneebone — on meeting him — was because he bore such strong resonance to the past.  The comic was uncannily like Tom Kneebone.  By that I mean that my visceral connection to the very racist performer was because, he was me in a former life in Britain — lived at court as a white male performer.

Of course, it was not Tom Kneebone but he had the same racist, pinched, WASP lack of tolerance and awareness as the Otto Dix arsehole — such an ill-evolved piece of shit that one.  END.

The comic was entertaining the guests in this salon.  He was doing this whole thing about, ‘the Pickaninnies’, ‘the darkies’.  Also, he had had to have an accompanist to show the ‘natives’ and their gargantuan, elephantine dicks.  Clearly, from the way that he had been holding it, the cock had not even been yet erect.  He was all bulging eyes that had rolled with wide-opened mouth.  Everyone was just spellbindingly charmed by his wicked witticism.  I, however, had not been in the least entertained by it.  In fact, I had felt greatly embarrassed to have seen him. 

This was like having to have faced embarrassing skeletons in one’s reincarnational closet.  After his routine, it then led into this performance that they had been putting on.  In point of fact, the performance actually was quite funny.  Everyone would leave the salon and then come back in but they would all have on Regency dress and wore makeup specific to that era.  At one point, all the women had come back in.  From where I had seen the performance, through an open door, there were people off to the left in a smaller room who were not performing.  They were crowded around on divans.  There was a large open space on the floor where the exquisite rug sat. 

There was one woman there who had had a bad sniffle; she had kept on sniffling and was near consumptive.  Why does she not just get up and get lost?  I was quite impatient with her.  At the time, I was closer to the main players.  These were people who had been sitting in the salon in front of me.  There was a whole cluster of them immediately before me and to the immediate right of the large white doors that led you from room to room.  Exiting that particular room into which I had looked, where the performance was taking place, were more doors.  The door half, which was close to us, was open and served as the wings to the stage. 

Up in front of the mantelpiece was where the performers had come on to perform their scenes.  They were quite funny.  There were parapluies that had wonderful little floral designs on them.  The performers were made-up in such a way that their faces looked like bouquets that resembled large English white and faded yellow roses — very oversized roses.  The faces of the persons were very much in keeping with the zeitgeist of the late-Georgian era.  This was the look that was proper in that time.  As a result, the souls that had been incarnate at that time, were wearing those faces.  At two separate occasions, everybody seated in the salons had had to get up and leave then come back in. 

The last time that they had come back in, all the women were dressed in long, flowing tangerine-coloured dresses that had dragged on the floor.  All the dresses had little flowers on them.  The tangerine colour was muted by a sheer fabric of white silk overtop the tangerine bodice.  The silk had left it a seemingly faded colour.  All along the grid patchwork were these tiny roses that were the colour of the fabric underneath the tangerine-coloured material.  The look was very beautiful.  As they had spoken, there was wonderful repartee going around the room.  This one woman was croaking away, saying, “Oh why don’t they go to church, anymore? 

“Doesn’t anybody go to church anymore?”  She had gotten up, going around the room, to make the point.  She had then come back and sat down on the arm of the chair.  Her husband was very stout and he had remained seated there in an armchair.  One chap, who was on one of the chaise longues where some of the other spectators were seated, was bantering away.  He was very dynamic, in a sage-souled sort of way.  The costume changes between sets went on almost forever; at such times, the salon would become abuzz with lively discussions about whatever socially or politically was au courrant.  Of course, that had meant anything that was superficial and that they, at their level of society, had found très amusant. 

This particular costume change was quite long and some of the players, who were going to have been participating in the next piece, were seated on that particular chaise longue.  They were talking, amongst themselves, when this one man had said, “Well, I certainly hope that you don’t go, looking like that…”  His was a very cutting double entendre because, though the dowager was quite the frump, it was really a comment on her horrid-looking face; this, in an age, long before plastic surgery could have come to the assistance of women of her class.  The woman’s face was very puffy and dowdy and, also, full of makeup. 

She, so without a clue, had replied, “Well, what’s wrong with me going like this?” 

“In a dress, there is certainly something wrong going like that.”  This was very, very witty racy banter and much filled with double entendres. 

The poor frump was daft and had not quite gotten it.  She was wonderfully being sent up by everyone.  “Oh dear me, I never quite seem to know what to wear.  The fashions changing all the time, I can hardly ever keep up…” 

This had only made for more cutting, though hushed, laughter.  I do not even know but it was at this point, as she had spoken, that I had seen her in close-up.  I had wondered if, perhaps, she were not Francesca — the name of a past-life of mine lived in Georgian England.  Just as in that last dream encounter with Francesca, during the onset of menopause, I experienced the same visceral connection with the subject.  Then, as now, I was seeing her face in keen close-up.  Now, I was experiencing her at a much later stage in her life.  She was a late septuagenarian.  Still, though, she was very much so into the heavy makeup but at this point, she had suffered from senility and was pronouncedly neurotic. 

Afterwards, everybody had looked out at me and asked me if I had ever seen the performance presented like this before.  One of the things that they were talking about was an expedition that had just returned from, ‘Deepest, darkest, Africa, in the Jungles.’  This was, in fact, a production of Romeo and Juliet that had been set in colonial Africa.  They had openly wondered, specifically of me, if I had ever seen so racy a production.  All these people were very sophisticated, sagely persons, of whom it was safe to say, they were all very much so artisan-like — in essence, they were the glitterati.  More to the point, they possessed goals of discrimination and predominantly were in repression mode. 

“Well actually, I had seen the original classic production.” 

“Yes but have you seen any modern updates of it?” she had asked, by which she meant a production from the Georgian era. 

“Well, no.  Well I did but it was when I was at school, in Sandy Point.” 

Of course, they did not get it at all and found my accent far too queer for words.  Besides, it was all very post-modern as far as they were concerned.  At that point, the lights in the salon went down, in this beautiful, large high-ceilinged place.  A movie screen then appeared and Diana Ross was going to be the mother to Juliet and the Juliet was a beautiful, beautiful, long-haired High-Yellow heroine.  She had seemed East Indian but was not.  She had gotten up and gone running to the window because Romeo was calling her.  Clearly, it was a filmed version.  She was wearing a black and white checkered dress that had no sleeves. 

The dress really was more like a jumper — an A-line dress.  She was so gorgeous; the young actress was stupendously radiant.  Presently, she was praying and the camera was a slow, sweeping crane shot that had kept on rising up and away from her left profile.  Filled with so much earnestness in her face, she was quite beautiful.  A teenager, she was quite the stunning little actor.  The actress was not Diana Ross‘s daughter, Tracee Ellis Ross but someone who had a stunning High-Yellow resemblance to Diana Ross with those stunning eyes and with very, very gorgeous long, long wavy hair.  To just above her arse, her hair was thick and beautifully cascaded down.  She was very gorgeous. 

When she had run to the window, she was as if a ballerina by the way that she had held out that beautiful, delicate tiny face.  An exquisitely beautiful face it was that sat on that long neck of hers.  Looking out the window, she had dreamily called down, “Oh Romeo.  Romeo.  Romeo.”  Truly, it was sheer spellbinding magic. 

A Brimstone Hill Sandy Point Panorama                                       

In this the second dream, I had gone off and was walking in Crab Hill, Sandy Point.  Whilst there, I had seen these unfamiliar persons.  One of them had had one of the most interesting faces.  She had a very unusually large face and very beautiful teeth that were somewhat compacted.  She was very lovingly dark-skinned.  She was unusual-bodied; her head was very, very large and her body, in comparison, very squat – unusually so.  To be precise, her body was like a dwarf’s.  Her legs were very stubby and bulky. 

My goodness, this woman could run.  She had had a great deal of physical power.  A lot of Earth planets that were fixed, to be sure, were part of her makeup.  I found it very, very interesting to have watched her.  On having passed her, I had said hello and noticed that she had shut her eyes.  That was when I had realised that this woman had almost never looked at anyone.  Then, finally, I had commanded her attention and directly looked into her eyes.  To have looked into her eyes was tantamount to looking into her soul. 

Her eyes were so large.  Hers were as if seeing, up close, the eyes of a giant cetacean.  Yet, these stellar eyes were on a human face.  These eyes were extremely large with the lids half-collapsed over them.  The brown of the eyes was dappled and mixed in with some blues with little streaks in the blues.  Talk about beauty.  Nonetheless, they were very, very old-souled and very, very powerful eyes.  At the time, I had thought of how much they reminded me of the eyes on the totemic cranes that I have seen throughout my life. 

She had just laughed and turned her head away.  She was a woman of substance and great grace; not unlike Jessye Norman°, in that sense, was she.  I had specifically focussed on her right eye.  Hers were not unlike the dappled blue-green colour that Owen Hawksmoor°‘s eyes take on, of course, when he is wearing his coloured contact lenses.  However, her eyes were quite gorgeous.  Predominantly brown but there were lots of brown and red streaks in the white of the eyes.  These were from very large bulbous blood vessels.  The whites of them were very white, almost caramel-coloured on closer inspection, from the timeworn passage of their agedness. 

Boy, this woman had a lot of strength of character in that body.  Hers was a solid, solid body.  Following after this guy, I had then come back over this little barbwire fence.  We clearly, I realised, cannot go getting ourselves scraped.  As we had been passing, there had been a window to our right that had looked into a house.  Whilst looking at the screen, on which Romeo and Julie was supposed to have been playing, we had gone and sat down.  Protesting, I had said that this could not have been the case because it would only have meant that I had missed so much of the performance.  In all this time, of having gone and wandered off, one would have missed too much of the production. 

At that point, there had been someone on the screen performing a Shakespearean soliloquy.  This clearly was an updated version of the text.  I had started watching it and got back into the film.  The one thing that I had not liked about it, was that there had been lots of flies on the set.  After having been made uneasy by the bugs, I had gotten up and walked about for a while.  When I had gotten back into looking at the production again, it was as if looking at it from the Georgian salon again.  However, now it was slightly different.  To myself, I had remarked that it had seemed so much like Toronto. 

That was because this production, like Toronto does in summertime, had all these damn flies.  All the people around me in the Georgian salon had not gotten what Toronto had meant at all.  As well they understandably would not have, they had looked at me very strangely.  There were flies in the air which I had kept on swatting out of the air.  There was a whole scene in progress, when I had decided that I would just have to have seen the production again or, perhaps, get it on videocassette.  At that point, I had simply missed too much of the production.  I had realised, too, that I could easily have seen it when it made it to the Revue second-run cinemas about Toronto.  At that point, I had turned and left. 

*This heavy-lidded young girl could well have been me, Theresa, in my immediate past life.  That life was lived in Brazil and I had a goal of dominance.  Of course, on Tuesday, September 17, 1991(39), I would dream of Theresa in her adult years.  Similarly, she also could have been Merlin reincarnated.  In December 2006, Merlin was reborn female in the Netherlands; however, at the time of the channelled session, the female reborn Merlin’s ethnicity was not shared.  Thus, this could well be Merlin reborn in early 21st century Netherlands about whom I was dreaming.  END.

I had next, in this the third dream, been up on this rise with Isha where she and I had been doing something.  We had discussed the fact that I had needed more money.  I had told her that my PIN number, for some bank card that I had had, was 8411.  She had called up the bank and was being pushy with them.  Isha was telling them that she had been very ill and incapacitated.  For being bedridden, they would therefore have to let her have the money in cash with me acting on her behalf.  She had assured them that I would be right over and to let me have the funds.  As she had spoken on the phone, this black woman and her white husband had come by. 

The man wore glasses and they were, very much so in love, embracing each other.  There was a little girl with them to whom I had meltingly said, “Come here sweetheart.  My goodness!  You have American money and you have a 10.00$ Canadian note there, I see and a 20.00$ too.  Why don’t you let me have an American bill?  And some of those Canadian bills because you’re not going to need the Canadian bill.” 

“Why?  It’s my money.” 

“Okay then, fine.  Come on over here and give me some sugar,” I tried charming her as she had been off to my left.  On having wrapped my left arm around her, I had kissed her on the cheek saying, “Return the kiss, please.”  We had kissed and had done so, on both cheeks, in the French style.  I had looked down at her parents and they were quite sweet and in love.  At the time, I had been thinking of Pandora.  I could not, though, have made out the mother’s face all that well from the table; I had been seated there with Isha.  A square, black metallic affair with a glass top the table proved. 

As a result, the table was covering the face of the woman and I could not make out who she was.  At the time, I had thought of Pandora and her present beau.  This child had then appeared but it was like a doll; she was so tiny and was, in fact, as if a pygmy.  She proved to be Barry Thomas‘ younger sister.  Every time that she had bawled, her neck had extended and craned up into the air and was pinkish-coloured like a white doll.  She, though, was actually a black baby — you could tell from her facial features.  She was very much so alive but she was in this rubbery body that was like a doll’s.  I had put her up on a mantelpiece to sit because she had been so damn noisy and obstreperous.  

Penina had come and disputatiously confronted me about what I had done to the poor little girl.  Whilst Isha had been on the phone, I had gotten up and gone to take a pee.  On entering into the bathroom, I had been shocked and horrified.  On looking in the mirror, I had noticed that Isha had cut my hair.  I had let out the most enraged scream, “Isha!  How could you do this to me?”  What had happened, was because of the way that I had been lying on my back, she had managed to cut off all the hair on the side of my head up to the top and on the other side as well.  This was the most ludicrous haircut. 

In the back, leaving the length in place, my hair was still long.  “I don’t want my hair looking like some bloody Mohawk warrior’s,” I shrieked.  To have seen the roots of my hair, which were unpermed, I was truly pissed off.  Having my hair chopped off, was not something that I had wanted and I definitely did not want this frigging fascistic cunt fucking with me.  I had been truly incensed at her.  Truly enraged, I returned to confront her and found her lying down in bed.  Immediately, she went on the blind defensive, “I don’t see anything wrong with it.  Besides it’s already done and you might as well cut off the rest,” she had laughingly dismissed me. 

“Isha how could you do this?  This is exactly like when you destroyed my writings.” 

Impatient with her indifference, I had launched through the air at her and begun beating the living shit out of her: hitting, slapping and kicking her.  Grabbing anything that I could find, I had beaten her with it.  All the rage that I had felt at her, for destroying my writings back in the mid-eighties, had come flooding out. 

*Back then, when she had been confronted, she had launched into a clawing defensive attack on me as we rode home in a blinding rainstorm from Solomon King‘s wedding in Rochester, New York.  END.

Earlier, I had gone to get my brush, to brush my hair and, on not having found it, had borrowed hers.  On brushing my hair, I had noticed that the brush was really scraping my scalp.  On having looked at things in the bathroom mirror, I had been left horror-struck.  On seeing what she had done, I had sucked my teeth and decided then and there to kick her arse.  I had known then and there that this would not have happened had I taken her to task, blow-for-blow, back in 1985.  Also, I had seen this brown bag, a large, black canvas bag and a shoulder bag — they were all mine.  In the travelling bag were these two tickets because I was going to be travelling.  I had really been upset and pissed off at Isha as she had laid there under green sheets. 

Penina had come into the room and tried intervening on Isha‘s behalf.  Penina had tried to get me to accept the fact that what had been done, was final and to just get on with things.  That had only more infuriated me.  Turning on her, I had screamed, “Oh Penina, why don’t you shut up?  You’re so damn stupid!  Of course, you would agree anyway.” 

This woman had then shown up who was Jewish and it had turned out to have been, Ariel Gothberg.  She had worn this dark purple turtleneck bodysuit — over that, she had worn a brown very, very thick, woollen jacket.  The jacket had lots of gold zippers that showed down the front and the length of it.  The jacket had no collar.  On either side of the sleeves, there were gold zippers that went midway up the arm.  There were two on the breast, one zipper each, over each breast for pockets.  They had little golden tassels that held the zipper.  The outfit was quite nice and was in brown and black. 

Ariel Gothberg had looked quite smart.  I had asked her what she had thought of my hair looking like that.  “Well it’s your hair and it’s natural.  I think the natural version looks kind of nice, anyway.  Well, you’ll decide what you have to do with it,” she had then gone off, up these stairs.  Yeah, right; fuck you, you bitch, I rudely dismissed the thought of her.  Whilst there, she had joined two or three other smartly dressed persons.  I had come around and begun leaving then went out into the outdoors.  There, I had stood by a shed whilst talking with somebody about things in St. Croix, U. S. Virgin Islands.  Just then, a large plane had gone by directly overhead. 

At the time, I had thought this plane too unusually close to the ground.  We also were close to the ocean.  The building was a long white shed, like a greenhouse, beyond a sandy slope.  Generous clumps of long grass held the sand from drifting too much.  We were standing just beyond a stand of palm and sea dates trees.  The ocean was rather tranquil and gently breaking.  The ambiance here was rather beautiful.  I had then seen a large plane come by that was like an American Airlines plane; except, on the back of it, it had had this large caboose. 

This was a large unusual extension that had flared out.  To say the least, this was most unusual and there seemed to have been no exhaust.  The bottom of the craft was very silver.  Also, there were the red and blue stripes along the sides like an American Airlines carrier would bear.  However, nowhere were there any demarcations, indicating that it was an American Airlines craft.  Unusually so, the craft was very long.  Long and sleek, like a Boeing 727, except that it had had no mid-fuselage wings;  way at the back of the plane, there were some smaller wings.  As it effortlessly sailed through the air, I figured, oh dear no, it is going to crash.   

As it had flown by, it had bizarrely veered off to the left and head first.  Next, it had shot up into the air and then come down.  I had screamed aloud, horrified for the passengers aboard.  Immediately, of curiosity, people had begun running towards its obvious crash site.  To check things out, I had gone running around the corner of the building.  There was smoke in the air but it was general pollution from the community; also, there had been no smoky fireball as with an obvious crash. 

“Oh dear.  I think it crashed…” I had helplessly said to a man who had reminded me much of my uncle Michel King, rather than his brother Marcel King°

 “No, it didn’t,” he had confidently said.  Another plane had then come in and that was when I had suddenly remembered that I had had a flight to catch.  At that, I had gone running, hurrying out of there, and gone around the building.  This was a wonderful large hangar-like building.  In this building, there were many persons.  I had seen several travellers there.  Once outside, I had had to go up an immensely long flight of stairs to have gotten up to where the plane was.  On the outside, it was a pure white aircraft with two propeller engines on each its wing; the propeller engines were running at the time that I had arrived. 

The wings were extended; they were actually quite long.  I had demanded that they cut out the engines so that I could safely make my way to the man who had been at the gate.  He was an older, dark-skinned man in uniform.  He could have been Egyptian, Hispanic, East Indian or Arabic.  I had had to pay him to get aboard the plane and it had come to 14.00$ for the flight.  Incidentally, as he told me that, I had recalled that the PIN number was 8411, which coincidentally does add up to 14.  I had given him a 20.00$ bill.  He had told me not to worry, that it was already running late, and assured me that I could get my change on board the flight.  I had boarded the plane which, oddly enough, was unusually low to the ground.  On having entered inside the plane, it was as though you were outside again and had to go up a further flight of stairs — just like the ones that had earlier gotten me to the tarmac. 

A truly dream surreal moment this proved.  Penina had been concerned because, on this flight that had just come in, there was supposed to have been a little boy that we were supposed to have met.  He had been coming from Nevis.  I had told her that I still was really frigging pissed off — at having had my hair cut off by Isha — and could not have cared less about any little boy.  So we had gotten into the plane and it was again unusually interiored.  There was a wide enough single aisle with all the passengers in seats that had faced each other.  This had immediately reminded me of when I was a child, prior to having taken my first flight, I had always envisioned the seating arrangement on board an aircraft to be like this.  There are, of course, no such seating arrangements in conventional aircraft. 

As we had moved down the aisle, we had passed a number of little boys.  There was a little boy on the right of the aisle and I had thought that, perhaps, that was him.  However, we had gone down with Penina having followed after me.  There were, incidentally, lots of potted plants here on board the highly unconventional aircraft.  The aircraft was white-interiored, as outside, and there was a lot of sunlight coming through the top of the aircraft which was completely glass-topped.  The ceiling was really like a long trough in a greenhouse because there was a drain in the ceiling that had run the length of the aisle.  Lord knows, we were definitely well beyond the Kansas City city limits.  Also, it had been very humid inside the craft. 

Many, many potted hibiscuses were present and some of them were in bloom.  Just where the stem had exited from the pot, one plant had fallen over and broken.  On righting the pot, I had felt for it.  The plant had sadly kept on dangling over.  I had called the boy’s name which was something like, ‘Orello’, to which he had immediately answered an alert yes.  He had been way in the back.  I had pointed him out to Penina and told her to go and take care of him.  Furthermore, I had told her to get off the plane with him because she was not supposed to have been travelling anyway. 

I had then gone up to the front of the craft and there I noticed that there was a large opening.  Here at the front of the craft, it was as though one was in a hangar or large indoor room.  Whilst other people were lost in reading, what had clearly been scripts, there was a girl doing some homework.  The studious girl was very stout and wore a school uniform.  Early teenaged and definitely black, she was very light-complected.  A tall, gangly white male had come in; this man was very much so old.  He was incredibly gentle and soul-soothingly so.  He was as if a gardener or caretaker. 

He had sat next to me and warmed me further when he asked, “Do you have piece of paper, please?  Just something to write on.” 

“Well, I don’t even know…” I had really wanted to help him out and been of service to him.  He was so sweet-spirited like Catherine Angelica (‘Lica)  or as Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon°, Queen Elizabeth, The Queen Mother seems — that kind of evolved grace of spirit.  I could not immediately find anything and, in the meantime, the girl had not been prepared to part with any of her school paper.  There, I had told him, pointing in front of me to a little desk on which were some clothes and my bag.  I had gotten out my bag and started talking to him.  He was very, very wonderful and very old-souled in feel.  He was very healing to have been around.  He had reminded me of James Tramble or Merlin’s guide as I had seen in those dreams — the tall shaman. 

He had commenced writing on this piece of paper and he had asked me my name to which I had replied, “Arvin da Braga.” 

“Oh really?” he good-naturedly replied.   

I had then given him my statistics.  Continuing on, told him that I was born on August second, nineteen sixty.  We had talked on some more and then he had asked, “And what about your friend?” 

thumbnail_IMG_20181123_093417_760

“Oh Merlin?  Merlin Ben-Daniel.  Merlin B.”  When he had asked me my name, I had initially said, “Arvin M.  M, as in Merlin, spelt ‘lin’ not ‘lyn’ and which, incidentally, was my lover’s name.  Merlin; spelt the same as my middle name.”  As we had spoken, I had grown more and more intensely lucid and light-headed; it was as though I was channelling.  “Merlin B.  B, as in Bechbache, which is his mother’s family name.”  We were talking about Merlin and he was doing this write-up about Merlin and me. 

He had then turned to me and said, “Well anyway, I’m leaving you now and I want you to write this down.” 

“Is it a number you’re giving me?” 

“Just some important information.  But you must remember it and you must never forget it.”  What he had said was, “Proper posture leads to purpose and prosperity in time.”  He had said it with the greatest enunciation and slowness. 

There was a woman who had stood out in my mind as he had spoken.  She was very much so like Francesca who was down below and outside an opening in the airplane.  She was inside the building at a window, looking up at me and saying, “I will be with you, don’t worry.  And I’ve remembered it.  I’ve recorded it.  And I’ll keep reciting it to you if you need me to.” 

The gracious gentleman had then left.  His was not unlike the yogic centred serenity of Yehudi Menuhin.  At that, I had had a sense of motion and that we had travelled.  The sensation was not for very long but you just knew that we had covered massive distances in what had seemed a mere breath.  As I had watched him write with the greatest of care, he was right-handed.  At one point, he had stopped and disruptively said as I had spoken of Merlin and me, “You’ve a very distinctive accent and it’s so layered.  You can see so many languages in it.” 

“Well, yes that’s because I’ve lived all over the place, actually.  My upbringing was very middle class in the West Indies with maids, in fact.  I like speaking this way because it’s who I am.  It’s about intellect.” 

“Right you are,” he had said whilst warmly smiling. 

We had then gotten to where we were going but he was no longer with us.  We had deplaned and come down the flight of stairs.  Everybody had gathered about this courtyard and was walking around.  Most people who had deplaned had been white.  All the kids were in the rear and we were separated — the kids and I.  I had then left everybody and started walking ahead because I had wanted to go and get Penina.  She had shown up and was running to go and get Orello now that he had arrived.  She had on this long, floral-printed dress that had proven to be a jumpsuit that had turned into culottes. 

Her outfit was brown, yellow and green which were all one-inch slats of colour.  The jumpsuit was a predominantly off-white, faded yellow number that had these yellow, brown and green horizontal slats that were crammed together and haphazardly spaced.  They had created a wonderful motif on the fabric.  Somehow, it seemed that I was supposed to have been deplaning.  Seemingly, I had to get aboard a larger plane and continue on with my flight.  For having interacted with Penina, I had missed the connecting flight.  This had mightily upset me.  Initially, when she had come aboard the first flight with me, I had turned to her as we had progressed down the aisle and asked if she had remembered to get all my bags. 

A second flight, not unlike an American Airlines carrier, had come in through the air and landed.  This had proven my signal, to have started moving and get aboard the initial flight.  When I had deplaned, I was supposed to have gone to another flight.  For some strange reason, everybody was marching in a circuitous route.  They had gone down this street and turned off to the right; they then had gone down this wide boulevard into another courtyard.  That courtyard had contained another plane which one had to board.  A sareed, East Indian woman had looked back at me and energetically said, “Hurry, hurry, hurry because the engine has already started.” 

“Don’t worry…” I had evenly replied.  She was a really sweet gracious soul. 

You could have seen the engine and when it had started, the wing that had been turned horizontally then swivelled and turned to the vertical position.  This was set in a compound that was surrounded by a large white fence.  Going up to the courtyard, the steps were white and the interior of the building and all the low-lying buildings around were all pure white.  The look was that of permanent whitewash paint. 

“…I’m coming.  I’m supposed to be on this flight,” I had called out. 

When I was making my way there, there was a large wooden gate that had a glass in it.  One of the things that had kept me distracted, was that I had gone into this room, where Penina had been and wanted to look at the Romeo and Juliet drama again.  Instead of having been able to get it on television again, there was a video music station on.  The music video was set in a large room.  Irene Cara was singing a song in said music video.  Natalie Cole° was there, as well, as some other black entertainers.  She was in a living room in that segment of the video, which was for a love song.  Natalie Cole was participating in the video but not singing.  Irene Cara had worn a black tunic overtop black narrow-legged pants. 

Natalie Cole had worn black and white; they were very much so enjoying themselves.  Soon, I had caught myself when being distracted and had gone running out of the place.  I suddenly remembered the petite, beauteous East Indian woman; she had a striking resemblance to the author and socialite, Geeta Mehta.  She had been telling me that I was supposed to, in fact, have been getting onto the other flight.  So off I had gone, running down the road; it was a narrow stretch of earthen road.  Even though it had long been closed, I had opened the door to the craft.  The stewardess was slowly closing the door when I had leapt through the air and pulled it forcefully open.  At the time, the engines were already running — all of them. 

They had had to stop the engines so that I could make my way past them and safely get aboard the flight.  I had shown her my ticket and very cleverly said, “Here’s my ticket.  I’m supposed to be on board this flight; thank you very much.”  Again, the interior was much like a waiting area and a greenhouse at that.  There was a sense, once again, of light coming through the glass-topped ceiling of the craft.  The craft’s interior was all whitewashed.  There were lots of persons, mostly guys, standing about.  The first thing that I had noticed, was that they were all dressed in white and were dressed in clothing from another age. 

They were dressed as in the latter half of the eighteenth century — the age of Wolfgang A. Mozart§.  I had passed the flight attendants; they were off to my left and up towards the cockpit.  There was the familiar large open area, as well, off to the right of the skylight.  There was a narrow door that had gotten you back to the main cabin of the plane.  The 18th century persons were in the open, which had an earthen floor.  Here, it was very humid and damp.  These were all young and white males, who wore white clinging tunic that went down to just below the knees.  They wore tight breeches, really tight, with white stockings that came up to above the knees. 

They wore white shoes; large ones with white buckles.  Large-sleeved white shirts, most of them, although some wore shirts whose sleeves were those of the conventional style of the waking state.  They were, all of them, very young and very dark-haired.  These persons had the faces that were exactly peculiar to their age.  The hairstyles, the makeup and the expressionism; it exactly was what the aristocrats of late eighteenth century Vienna looked like.  On having entered this craft, I had immediately noticed that there were little rooms as in a salon in eighteenth century Vienna.  There were these white doors with glass panes for two-thirds of them.  There were little concert hall boxes that were set up; all this occurred inside the cabin of the plane no less. 

I could distinctly have heard the engines whirring away, outside the craft, whilst drinking in this most unconventional of plane interiors.  We were going to take this flight and whilst in flight, there would be a performance.  Everybody was an actor and like that man on the chaise longue, with the wicked tongue, also very much so sage-souled.  I then went and took my place.  There was a box where the performers would sit, as in an opera house, but it was on the ground.  This was not a Boeing 747 series type airliner.  The opera house-interiored craft had been lined with red carpeting and red velvet.  The seats were all one embankment and quite plush. 

There was a doorway there with a man who had been crouched down.  He was dark-haired and had a mole just below his left eye.  He was most handsome and looked like the soulfully august aristocrats, of the court of King Joseph II of Hapsburg-Lorraine, in the age of Wolfgang A. Mozart.  His face was very, very unusually large.  He had worn a ponytail that was tied back with a black ribbon.  Just inside the door to my right, he had been crouched down.  I had looked off and on having seen him, had smiled.  He had looked up at me and was quite smitten by me. 

I realised that I had found my place and had come in to the box to sit.  We were obviously about to witness a drama that was clearly Romeo and Juliet that was set, in the Mozartean era, in the city of Vienna, Austria.  I had gotten so energised for having been in the company of these people, whom clearly I had known at the level of soul, and thus had squealed and laughed aloud.  Also, my response was in anticipation of the great fun that we shortly would share.  At that, I awoke in bed. 

*I was not chagrined to have awakened at that point.  Already, I had been refamiliarised with all these persons.  There was something very much so familiar about the handsome-moled man.  We did look at each other as I took my seat and I was passingly reminded of Merlin.  Beyond the eighteenth century energetics that he wore in that life, he was familiar, intimate and a companion.  That was all I had needed of the very layered, very enriching and very, indeed, pandimensional aspects of this dreamquesting odyssey into a past life.  This was very real and I was very much so in my element.  That dream initially was definitely set in the Georgian era and the people there were all familiar.

They were all white and very much so alive.  I guess that this was an astral plane projection in time, to experiencing aspects of past lives.  I was able to have used the astral plane, to have transited the spiral arms of time and enter two different time frames in which I was clearly incarnate.  Also, it was very much so the eighteenth century and the height of the colonial era.  Here was someone who had just returned from an expedition to deepest, darkest Africa.  Down to the accent and the language as it existed then, they were very much so British.  The most important insight that I learned, for having revisited that lifetime, was the lasting effects of racism to which I was exposed, engaged in and was much informed by.  To say the least, in this life, I am truly repulsed by racism’s ubiquity and its effects.

This explains why I am so passionately impatient with and can see and understand, so clearly, my hypersensitivity to racism.  I see it for what it is and where it comes from.  The second flight’s exposé into Mozartean Austria was, I am certain, more about getting insights to a past life of either Merlin’s or someone with whom I share as strong a soul connection.  Perhaps, it was someone on the order of my essence twin.  I am not convinced that this was Merlin, in a past life, even though I did not see the eyes in close-up.  I knew them not to be his eyes.  The eyes are always the dead giveaway in these instances.  Though packaging changes from life to life, the eyes do not; except to change colour and grow older and softer with the reincarnational maturation of the soul, the eyes are always recognisable as self’s in past life dreams.

**Further insights that I would like to add at this time, I do believe that the latter dream of the Mozartean era, harkened back to when Merlin and I were incarnate together, again lovers, and were court musicians.  This, however, was during the court of one of the English rather than Austrian monarchs.  During the reign of George Hanover, King George III, which was during the 1700s to early 1800s, Merlin and I were then incarnate.  Also, the Prince Regent and later King George IV was also familiar to both of us.  The latter monarch would have been instrumental in the flourishing of the arts, which is why Merlin and I had creatively blossomed in that life.  King George IV, when the Prince Regent and during his brief reign, had been a great patron of the arts — life at court would have been artistically fulfilling and that it clearly was.  In any event, I also sang during that life.  Usually, my performances were to smaller audiences of aristocrats; Merlin, then female, played the harpsichord and was my accompanist.

I guess that the Francesca lifetime could have been a complement to that lived at court during King George III’s reign — whose father was rather German and caught up in the Austrian succession intrigues during the early 18th century.  There was a late Georgian to early Victorian sensibility to the first dream; it featured a septuagenarian Francesca who rather than me in a past life, was Merlin when a harpsichordist and my then lover.   These are insights gleaned from Michael Overleaves by Sarah J. Chambers who, prior to passing in 1999, channelled the Michael.  What’s more, at that time, also present and likely participant in this dream was the Duke of Bronté.  Of course, said duke was also the 1st Viscount Nelson, none other than Vice Admiral Horatio Nelson.  Naturally, in the late 18th century, Horatio Nelson had spent much time at court whilst trying to get  himself positioned after the American war of independence, which left the admiral and many others out of work.  At the time that he spent at court, both Merlin and I, knew and socialised with the young, dashing admiral – the 2nd Earl Spencer was the Lord of the Admiralty, which would have made him an invaluable contact to Earl Spencer and a frequent guest to Spencer House.  No doubt, it was his tales of his adventures and especially his time spent in Nevis that served as a source of wonderment for me.

As Merlin and I were then cohabiting as lovers and professional associates, it is likely that I then expressed some interest in going off to an exotic isle like Nevis.  Indeed, perhaps, the reference to deepest darkest Africa was really to the West Indies.  Either way, it is obvious that the fascinating Duke of Bronté, Vice Admiral Horatio Nelson planted a seed, which would lead to my choice to reincarnate three lifetimes later in Nevis.

***I should also think that the man with the extra-large head and the striking, large mole below his left eye, should have been more readily discerned.  Merlin’s dear friend, the actor, Joe Morton°, is the one who would fit this bill.  Indeed, Joe does have just such a large mole below his left eye.  The only difference between these two — Joe Morton and the moled actor in the dream — was their disparate races.  The white male’s in the dream was the exact same large mole at the exact same position as is Joe Morton’s.  Further, this Caucasian male’s teeth exactly were like Joe’s as they are in this lifetime.  Again, apart from their disparate races, there was one other difference between Joe Morton and his past-life counterpart.  Joe’s mouth and lips are bigger and fuller respectively and Joe’s comparably was, to say the least, a more elastic and expressive face.

To say the least, that was rather insightful a past-life dreamquest.  Joe, of course, is in the fifth/sage position in his cadence which not surprisingly would leave him inclined to being so sage-like and regal in essence.  Naturally, this regal energy is due to the power mode energy, which innately infuses all fifth-cast fragments, especially in cadences 1, 5 and 7.  Joe, of course, is in the first cadence in his greater cadence.

****I should also like to add here that the large-moled gentleman may well have been in London; at that the time of mid-to-late 18th century, there was a large Austro-German community in London.  King George III was, of course, German.  At that time that Merlin and I were then incarnate, we were rather familiar with one such German patron who happens also to be an entity mate, Arianna von Reinhard.  Wealthy, the German patron of the arts very likely could have funded a trip to Austria and German, during which time Merlin and I could have been on a concert tour to royal courts of those countries.  Who knows, perhaps, at that time, we even met and attended concerts for stellar creative genius, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart§.  END.  

See the source image

At the conclusion of audiocassette-recording these dreamquests to past lives, in late October, 1991, I got about the business of choosing an appropriate musical complement.  Naturally, I would end up playing some Joseph Haydn° symphonies.  Back in 1987, whilst being a muse to Olaf Gamst, I was introduced to Joseph Haydn in great detail as he was a composer whom Olaf favoured.  When sitting for the artist, often were the times, when he would play selections from his formidable Haydn collection.  Without doubt, I would come to favour Haydn’s London Symphonies.  That is why, I had crawled through a couple of secondhand record shops in a bid to build my own Haydn collection.  To that end, I got out an old recording from 1977; it was still in fairly good condition.  Released on the Philips label, Neville Marriner conducted the Academy of St. Martin-in-the-Fields.  

20181118_123539(0)

For the rest of the day, I repeatedly listened to Symphony No. 104 in D Major Op. 21 ‘Londoner’.  This symphony truly made my spirit soar and allowed me to remain resonant with the past-life to which I had so lucidly dreamquested.  

MAASDO II

As ever, thanks for your ongoing support, sweet dreams and my dream memoirs, the first in recorded human civilisation can be found online at Amazon and wherever discerning bibliophiles satisfy their insatiable need.  

ASVMOA II

______________________________________

©2013-2019 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.  

Posted in 18th Century Art, 18th Century Artists, 18th Century British Art, 18th Century British Artists, 20th Century Artists, Actors, African-Americans, American Artists, Americans, Architecture, Art, Artists, Astral plane habitué, Astral Projection in Dreams, Austrian Artists, Authors, Black Americans, Black artists, Black creative artists, Books, British Artists, Canadian artists, channelling, Cinema, Creative Genius, Crystals, Diarists, Dream Shamanism, Dreams, Dreams of Merlin, Fantastic Realism, Fashion, Film, Flying dreams, Jazz, Literature, Longreads, Lucid dreams, Magical Realism, Mature soul Artisans, Mature souls, Memoirs, Michael Overleaves, Michael Teachings, Movie, Music, Musicians, Past-life dreams, Photography, Reincarnation, Shamanism, Spirituality, Stage performers, Visionaries, Writers | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

An Awakened Dream Like No Other!

20181118_095725

On the final full day of this trip to London, it was also the 29th anniversary of Merlin’s passing.  I had planned on visiting Spencer House, the Monday evening prior; however, the event which was a ticketed lecture had been cancelled –  this was my only chance at getting to Spencer House.  

20181111_161749

Climbing from the Underground at Green Park, the park was relatively empty and there was a crisp bite to the early morning air as I walked along the periphery of the park’s western edge.  I opted to take that route and be close to the park’s trees than use the suggested route – St. James Street and St. James Place.  The only persons in the park were intermittent joggers, looking fit; strange in November it was to see persons running in shorts.  

20181118_095705

Walking along, I passed a narrow break in the shrubbery; the narrow path that ran beneath on the houses stated that it was a private road and to keep out.  A few more steps revealed the signage; yes, indeed, this was the place that I was looking for.  Turning back, I made for the private narrow pathway and awaited as a tanned, moneyed man approached with a wonderful, happy dog before him.  The fat little thing tried its best to act on his vibes and grumbled; staying my ground, I waited for him to get closer, said hello and asked if this was the way to Spencer House.  

20181118_121414

“Is this the way to Spencer House?” 

“It is a private path…” he replied from behind thicker, darker and more-expensive-than-mine sunglasses, to which I brushed past his American accent by elegantly rebutting, “Thanks, I’ll find my way…”  

Entrance to Spencer House: looking west to Green Park & East.  

entrance_hall_primary

On entering Spencer House, I noticed that the splayed and slightly bloated feeling that began on approaching the stately home continued.  Inside were two men; both were rather pleasant.  We began speaking; for the next half an hour, we warmly visited.  Seemingly, there was a group tour booked and they thought that I had simply arrived especially early.  

morning_room_primary

As members for the guided tour arrived, I slipped into the ante room and enjoyed the still-life.  Remarkably, there was a real ease for being in his place, which seemed more than passingly familiar.  Finally, when enough of us were arrived for the tour, a silver-haired lady with clear, focussed eyes entered the foyer, walked up to me and smiling, we warmly greeted.  A group of no more than twenty-five persons, the informal gathering was cosy and engaging.  

ante_room_primary

As the tour began in earnest, it dawned on me that this house was remarkably familiar.  There were no doubts in my mind that I had never previously visited it; however, even the tour guide approached me and asked when I had last been to the house.  She was convinced that I had been there before and scoffed at my response that I had never before visited the stately home.  She had done so because I seemed with uncanny accuracy to know which door to next use to progress on the tour.  That aside, the energy between us flowed with the greatest ease.  

library_primary

As she spoke, the guide mentioned that Jerry Hall and Rupert Murdoch, who lived in the same street as Spencer House had actually had their wedding reception in the Georgian masterpiece.  As she spoke of the ladder, I suddenly experienced a vision and it was of seeing the room as it looked during Georgian times; however, as in dreams everything was back-to-front from the current life experience.  Indeed, I had definitely been in this room in the past; moreover, I had a rather memorable dream, which was set in this house.  Then as I intently looked to one corner of the room, the rather knowledgeable tour guide announced that in that very corner, Vice Admiral Horatio Nelson loved sitting in that spot as he was a frequent and favoured guest to the house as the 2nd Earl Spencer had been First Lord of the Admiralty.  

diningroom_primary

In this marvellous salon is a painting of the Death of General Wolfe… it is even more grand and emotive than the painting of General Wolfe’s death on the Plains of Abraham at the Royal Ontario Museum.  

During that time, as a countertenor with Merlin (then female) my accompanist on harpsichord that I would have encountered Vice Admiral Horatio Nelson, 1st Viscount Nelson.  I have dreamt of this man many times and some were set in the very house where, though it had not been planned, on the 29th anniversary of Merlin’s passing, I was taking a tour.  

20181118_112903

Just before we left the library, the tour guide then announced as she drew our attention outside the window from the library, there on the grounds of Green Park were cattle and other livestock kept.  Indeed, in one such past-life dream, which was set at Spencer House, there was the intense smell of livestock.  For this reason, I had assumed on awaking that this stately home on the edge of vast acreage was situated in the English countryside rather than in London.  

great_room_primary

Definitely, this room – the great room – was familiar; however, somehow, it did not seem as large as it ought to have been.  

20181118_093021.jpg

The view from the great room out to the beauty of Green Park.  Suddenly, it dawned on me as I looked out the window that is why on Armistice Day after I left the splendid exhibition: Russia, Royalty & the Romanovs at Queen’s Gallery, Buckingham Palace and cut through Green Park en route to Green Park Station, I felt so joyous. 

20181118_095657

That is why too, for moving past Spencer House earlier on November 11, 2018 and in essence, becoming harmonised with the locale of a past life that I would have such lucid flying dream activity on returning to the hotel that late afternoon and napping.  

painted_room

Without doubt one specific dream was centred in this room and there, a play was being staged in the past life dream.  In between acts, one retired to this room from the great room and visited whilst the performers took almost forever at costume changes.  

staircase_primary

This was the setting of great music and laughter; indeed, I may well have performed for the Georgian glitterati on this balcony/stage-like staircase.  

lady_spencer_room_primary

Lady Spencer’s room.  lovely.  

music_room_primary

The Music Room where 2.5 centuries earlier, Merlin and I were in creative full bloom.  I had a really powerful response when in this room.  I was left teary eyed and on looking in the mirror, I actually saw the outline of my aura; it was silvery as it picked up the stunning sunlight streaming through the windows on either side.  Somewhere in spirit, Merlin was with me and there was further validation that this place, this day… indeed, nothing is coincidental.  

palm_room_primary

This room was pure sensory overload.  I felt gay and as though on the cusp of flying.  This visit was more adventure than even I could have imagined.  When the tour was concluded, I warmly parted with the staff and assured them that I would be back.  Then out into all this balmy, glorious sunshine, I headed into St. James Street and made my way to Piccadilly Street. 

20181112_113344

Feeling way too glorious, I decided against using the Underground and instead, headed east along Piccadilly and slipped into the Burlington Arcade’s splendour, browsed then went coffee table book-shopping at the Royal Academy.  Though I hardly had room to pack the six books.  Well in excess of 300£, the handle-barred and zoot suit-wearing poseur – eccentricity is never affected, asked way too condescendingly what did I mean by VAT “dear” and why would I get money back.  You blasted, silly little twit; as I do not gladly suffer fools, I shot back, “Look do us both a favour and go restock these… and try finding a brain while you are at it…” the latter stated whilst walking away from the counter; you’ll get no commission from me.  Who are these people, forever trying so damn hard? 

20181112_113337

With that, it was across the street into Fortnum & Mason to buy more teas and rose petal marmalade and jelly.  From there, further easterly I bopped and grooved in the glorious sunlight and circumambulated Piccadilly Circus and bailed into Coventry Street and into the crowded intensity of Leicester Square. 

20181118_123406

From there, I snuck from the rear of the National Gallery and inside.  

The delightful guide at Spencer House had insisted that I return to the National Gallery before leaving London and catch the Mantegna and Bellini exhibition.  She could not have spoken more highly of it.  I did tell her that I had reservations about seeing Italian art as it was much too ecclesiastic for my liking.  However, since she had been such a gracious host, I decided to just this once to go with an open mind and just explore. 

20181118_123413

You cannot believe how fast, I got out of there.  As I said to the West African museum worker, who asked why I had left the show so quickly, “You cannot imagine how deeply disturbing I find a culture that goes to such great length to never address in their art their savagely ‘civilising’ influence in the world.  It is as though it never happened or they played positively no role whatsoever in the brutal murder, enslavement, extinction of peoples and cultures.  His response was, to the victor go the spoils and the shaping of history in his image; he added that he was very very proud that I am aware, unlike so many of us.  With that, we bumped fists and it was back out into the bright sunlight of this glorious day.  

20181118_123539(0)

Apart from the usual suspects, Yodas seemingly levitating – now there’s a gig! – I made it past a rather engaging African artist who had the soul of a sage if ever anyone ever did.  Being drawn to its beauty, I drew closer to get a really good shot of St. Martin-in-the-Fields and it was then I made the most glorious of discoveries.  

Well, there could be no better way to restore the spirit after the disquiet that I experienced for moving through the Mantegna & Bellini show.  Great art should reflect life, not neatly reinvent and compartmentalise away all that which one would rather not address – likely, though, Bellini had no knowledge of Columbian expeditions to the New World. 

Bellini maria1.jpg

Presentation at the Temple – Giovanni Bellini c 1460

Certainly, the prominent artists of the 16th century: Tintoretto, Botticelli, Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, Titian were supported by the Church of Rome, which by its patronage of these artists was intent on depicting itself in a glowing ecclesiastical light rather than the brutal realism which afforded it the prominence and wealth it then enjoyed… which endures even now. 

20181110_101946

So with that, richly inspired by both the guitarist and Spencer House and all that it represented, I slipped into the National Portrait Gallery, to drink once more Wim Heldens masterful Oil on Canvas of the collectors Harry and Carol Ann Djanogly – she passed earlier this year.  Satiated of spirit, it was off to grab a bite and then a nap of glorious dream-filled sleep – one of which was a flying dream.  God it felt goodly glorious to have returned in spirit to Spencer House.  

20181118_210510

After having overslept by a hair, it was a mad dash by Underground and taxi make it by mere minutes to Royal Albert Hall.  One of my favourite concert halls, any show would do.  

Ah nothing beats a good old nostalgic adventure.

Interior of Royal Albert Hall.  

Intermission from the stalls at Royal Albert Hall.  

You cannot beat a room full of love and wonderment.  Truly spectacular.  Of course, it goes without saying that Merlin was wild about Jim Henson, George Lucas and Steven Spielberg.  This was a glorious way to have capped off a great trip and to remember the life of an extraordinarily phenomenal human being, Merlin.  

thumbnail_IMG_20181123_093417_760

And like that, the following day, I was returned to Toronto, my art-filled home and this most glorious photograph of the most magical fellow who made life truly a happening, for seven glorious, love-filled and magical years.  

As ever, sweet dreams and thanks for your ongoing support.  

_______________________________________________________________________

©2013-2019 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.  

Posted in 15th Century Art, 15th Century Artists, 15th Century Italian Art, 15th Century Italian Artists, 16th Century Art, 16th Century Artists, 16th Century Italian Art, 16th Century Italian Artists, 18th Century American Art, 18th Century American Artists, 18th Century Art, 18th Century Artists, 18th Century British Art, 18th Century British Artists, 18th Century Canadian Art, 20th Century American art, 20th century American artists, 20th Century Art, 20th Century Artists, 21st Century Art, 21st Century Artists, 21st Century Dutch Art, 21st Century Dutch Artists, Africans, American Artists, Americans, Architecture, Art, Art Collecting, Art Collection, Art Exhibition, Artists, Astral plane habitué, Authors, Award-winning artist, British Art, British Artists, Canadian art, Chakras, channelling, Cinema, Composers, Contemporary American Art, Contemporary American artists, Contemporary art, Contemporary Artists, Contemporary Dutch Artists, Creative Genius, Dance, Design, Diarists, Dreams, Dutch Artists, Film, Flying dreams, Longreads, Lucid dreams, Magical Realism, Mature soul Artisans, Mature souls, Memoirs, Michael Overleaves, Michael Teachings, Movie, Music, Musicians, Oil on canvas, Oil paintings, Painters, Painting, Photography, Portraiture, Reincarnation, Religious Art, Renaissance, Renaissance art, Renaissance Artists, Sculpture, Spirituality, Video, Visionaries, Visual Artists, Visual Arts, Writers | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The Day After the Night that Was.

20181111_073750

By now the effects of the stewed fruit at breakfast has seen my waist shrink; I am grateful.  The morning after the night that was, I am still elated and humming away that catchy melody from Ludwig Minkus’ greatly composed ballet.  

20181117_093412

After breakfast I decamped at Leicester Square where it was time to enjoy the bright, cool sunlight and catch a movie.  The Vue cinemas are rather interesting; I was keen to know if I would have a repeat of what had transpired last winter. 

f26b7046508219.58579b8d72341

Back then, I was upstairs at the same cinemas watching, Darkest Hour, which proved a real tour de force performance from Gary Oldman.  Sat in the back row, soon I became bloated and expansive.  Though not the least bit drowsy, I felt wide-open and lucidly self-aware.  Next, as the film progressed, I watched as several pure white humanoid forms simply stood up and walked to the sides and quite seamlessly walked through the very real walls of the cinema.  

fantastic-beasts-poster-1-700x1037

One of the things that Merlin and I always loved doing, was seeing a film during its opening weekend.  Naturally, so close to the anniversary of his passing, I was keen on seeing a film.  J. K. Rowling is among my favourite contemporary writers and having seen the first film in this series, it only made sense to go.  

 

 

Whilst waiting for the cinema to open, I caught a series of items; all are favourite actors of mine, especially Sir Kenneth Branagh.  

20181117_095155

The first screening of the day was a special affair with about one third of the theatre occupied.  A lovely Chinese couple sat to my right with their precocious son of about ten years stuck between them.  We chatted briefly and I thought it so strange that conversation with strangers is almost unheard of when attending a Canadian movie.  

20181117_093248

I emerged into the crisp Saturday morning in Leicester Square a bit teary eyed as thoughts of Merlin at one point during the film overwhelmed me.  It was after all the eve of his passing some 29 years earlier.  

20181117_093801

Slipping inside this tiny joint – I always favour hole-in-the-world, ma-n-pa joints, I got a couple of really good slices of pizza whilst pouring through the Times of London.  There was conversation close by, which struck me as interesting; it went from Theresa May and Brexit to Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex.  I soon realised that both persons were openly criticised chiefly for being women; in the case of the Ms. May, she is dismissed and not taken seriously chiefly for being female.  As for Meghan, like every woman who marries into the BRF, she is readily reviled, though, some of this has bordered on racial hysteria and seriously threatening.  

20181111_143226

In a bid to cleanse my very soul, after all that, I slipped from Leicester Square for the uplifting sophistication of the National Gallery where I deftly moved through my favourite salons with usual mercurial speed, taking the time to pause and admire the key works of art that bring me the greatest pleasure.  

20181117_212811

Well, after all that art, it was time for more prowling the decidedly unCanadian wintry streets of London.  Along Shaftesbury, I strode my Crockett & Jones booted and blistered feet into Neal Street where my favourite hippy-dippy (as Merlin would remark) New Age store, The Astrology Shop in Covent Garden.  Though, it most definitely does not have the best choices, I still love the feel of the place and their sagebrush collection is second to none.   

20181117_150421

Along with marvellous pieces of crystals and a wonderful Citrine, I really connected with this gorgeous agate ring.  The moment that I saw it, I really resonated with me and it felt so right. 

20181119_174829

After a rather warm conversation with a green-eyed, redhead, she was fascinated by my custom Reuben Mack messenger bag.  

20181114_114933

I then headed back to The British Museum for more shopping.  As it was the weekend, there was now a sizeable lineup to gain entry.  As though my impatience with crowds were not enough but soon, I had two Torontonian women doing what Canadians do best; they spent much of their time gawking at me, talking about me and cultural appropriation for wearing the custom Reuben Mack messenger.  Standing there in line, I was reminded of what petty, small-minded bigoted jackasses the average Canadian can be and god do they love being openly racially predatory towards blacks. 

thumbnail_20181216_054733

Never once had I experienced a scintilla of racial animus from a Briton or for being in London to that point; there you have it, the land where racism is enshrined in law: employment equity law of Canada: All employers must employ, Caucasians, First Nations persons, Disabled persons and visible minorities and therein is the framework of Canada’s own form of Apartheid – state sanctioned racism.  All employers, in particular crown corporations (government agencies – federal and provincial) employ visible minorities to the exclusion of blacks and if and when they do employ blacks, they then hire blacks only as casual workers which means they are not entitled to benefits, pension and guaranteed hours.  

20181117_145347

So smugly established is this state of affairs that the current prime minister refused to attend the 50th anniversary of Caribana – the nations West Indian community’s gift to Canada on its 100th birthday in 1967; however, he attends ever Gay pride parade in the same city as Caribana, Toronto, and has repeatedly been to India, to dress up and act a right clown because who gives a damn about blacks in Canada.  As one friend said, blacks over the past three decades have become as marginalised as First Nations persons.  But enough about aggressive young souls and their racialised worldview.  Meanwhile, as they were openly rude towards me whilst queueing to enter the British Museum, I grabbed my phone and pretended to film them to which one of them suddenly became enraged, demanding that I not film her…  You have to laugh or truly you would go mad.  In any event, I got the feisty Buster a nice but scary Egyptian stuffed cat – he is actually afraid of it.  

thumbnail_Screenshot_20181216-060809

On my return to the hotel, a couple of blocks from The British Museum, I slumped into bed and decided that my aching feet needed a break from the rest of the day’s planned events.  To that end, I stayed in that night rather than return to Barbican Hall to catch a celebration of the Windrush Migration.  At that concert were to have been Calypso Rose and The Mighty Sparrow; though it had been years since last seeing either performer, I just was not into it.  Moreover, I wanted to take the time to be with myself and reflect on the eve of Merlin’s passing some 29 years earlier.  

20181114_122344

As ever, thanks for your ongoing support and ever remember to push off and start flying.  

___________________________________________________________

©2013-2019 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.  

Posted in Actors, American Art, American Artists, Americans, Animals, Animism, Architecture, Art, Artists, Astral plane habitué, British Art, Buddhism, Canadian art, Canadian artists, Chakras, Cinema, Composers, Creative Genius, Crystals, Design, Diarists, Dreams, Fantastic Realism, Film, First Nations Art, First Nations Artists, Magical Realism, Mature soul Artisans, Mature souls, Memoirs, Michael Teachings, Modern Art, Modern Artists, Movie, Music, OBEs, Out-of-Body Experiences, Photography, Russian Artists, Russian Composers, Shamanism, Singers, Stage performers, Statesmen, Visionaries, Visual Artists, Visual Arts, Writers | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

At Last, The Day Has Finally Arrived.

20181116_091626.jpg

With a spring in my step, I came up for air at Piccadilly Circus Station, whistling Ludwig Minkus’ glorious recurrent melody from La Bayadère with thoughts of the astounding Natalia Osipova uppermost in my thoughts.  

20181116_091645

I was returned to the Royal Academy to hunt for coffee table books.  

20181116_091305

More than that, I was on a mission; returned to Fortnum & Mason was I, directed there by the gracious clerk at The British Museum’s Grenville Room.  

unnamed

Armed with just over a dozen rose petal jellies, there was no less spring in my step as by now I sang aloud my merry little melody from La Bayadère.  I truly felt as though, on this trip to London, I was lucidly awakened in the most sensual dream.  Dreams so luscious are the ones which cause you to pause, smile and whisper near-mischievously, “Arvin, this is a dream and you’ve earned it.  Now push off and start flying.” 

20181116_091753

At such times, there is no thunder more glorious than the roar of my very soul as I laugh, enjoying my creative soul fulfilling itself.  I was reminded of those early days in our relationship in Manhattan when whilst ambling late at night for staying at Merlin’s agent Joyce Ketay’s Upper West Side apartment, whilst holding hands, I would push down as in dreams but end up doing an assemblé, in place of flying.  His rosy choirboy lips would warm in a smile whilst the ubiquitous fag or joint was elegantly perched between left index and middle fingers. 

20181116_090916

Bailing into to Piccadilly Circus, still feeling mighty spiffy of spirit, I opted against heading back down into the Underground – the place leaves me with sooty phlegm each time nose-blowing.  With that, I bailed out of the Circus and onto Shaftesbury Avenue and made my way to a favourite joint, Ben’s Fish n Chips.  

20181209_063314

There at a cosy table in the rear, I leisurely pleasured myself whilst finally reading the HRH Princess Margaret biography; it is delicious.  

20181114_115047

Blisters be damned, I elected to walk from Shaftesbury Square up to The British Museum and take in more art.  This being a Friday, there were school kids everywhere; my goodness, children have got powerful noise-making lungs!  Then again, what is childhood but play for the soul, which after having recently lived and died is now reborn and gets to celebrate and run up and down in a brand spankingly new and excitingly different body – to say nothing of being in the company of reincarnational travel companions some of whom now you can get a good schtup off of this time around, seeing that last time he now she looked like Quasimodo and even so, you weren’t then same-sexed focussed.  Ha!  

20181114_122628

In the bookstore was a clerk with whom I shared an interesting conversation last winter; he was a dead-ringer for scholar soul, right down to the glasses.  He suggested that I could take refuge in the Japanese wing and avoid the madness that was happily reincarnated souls screaming their lungs out and running hither and yon.  

20181116_121128

Before I could get there, moving around one corner from one gallery to the next, will you look at what I happened on.  

20181116_121122

On seeing it, I was readily warmed of spirit and let out a celebratory, “Yeah, yeah, yeah!”  In that moment, the sense of fellowship and belonging I only ever feel when in Canada for being around First Nations cultures, whether at a pow wow or not, proved the most refreshing drink for my questing soul around a corner in my favourite city, London.  

20181116_121955

Up one elevator, down one corridor then up another elevator and one was then posited into the most serene of galleries.  Now this is more my kind of groove.  

20181116_122054

20181116_122149(0)

All this exquisite splendour and not a single recently reincarnated soul running about and screaming way too powerful lungs out for such a tiny body.  

20181116_122209

20181116_122321

This proved an interlude of slow-dancing with my very soul… the vibrations here were utterly harmonious with spirit.  

20181116_122352

Photography can never do this masterpiece justice.  

20181116_122703

20181116_122427

20181116_122438

20181116_122807

20181116_122927

I am reminded with this gem of the fabulous kimono of Merlin’s hung in our Cabbagetown home.  

20181116_123021

Can you hear my soul purring…

20181116_123145

Phenomenal. 

20181116_123201

My very favourite piece in the gallery; warm, fecund, sensual, curvaceous, feminine, grounding.  It truly is perfection; this after all is what womakind are: perfection of creation – we men just can’t handle it, hence religions which all without exception oppress womankind and tell them that creation is outside of themselves and some warring male god somewhere.  Ha… we men can never endure the pain of labour then get up a completely new aspect of creaturehood – no longer a woman but a mother to whom that child will ever be more closely bonded.  Love this piece.  

20181116_123324

This was the most beautiful adventure… for now, with a couple of coffee table books and toys for kids of a friend’s, I crisscrossed Russell Square Park and slept with my blistered feet raised whilst being held closer in sleep’s warm nurturing bosom and was readily tugged under into the world of lucid, inspired dreams.  

20181116_184606

On a gloriously balmy mid-November evening, I emerged from Covent Garden Station into a sea of humanity filled with love and laughter as the weekend was begun.  As lovers ambled past holding hands, I was reminded then of my life twenty-nine years earlier when the Berlin Wall was being toppled.  I was grateful in the moment because back then, two days before Merlin’s passing, I could not imagine myself being still focussed in this life with so much death and dying around me. 

20181116_184523

Yet, here was I with my happy little lambious (Merlin called me Lamb because I was more 9 parts enraged grizzly than timid lamb) self, in Covent Garden about to see a ballet because Marianela Nuñez, Natalia Osipova, Vadim Muntagirov, Matthew Ball, Francesca Hayward, Joseph Sissens, Steven McCrae, Iana Salenko were part of the most glorious group of ballet dancers.  

20181116_184800

Oh my, look at this; there have been changes afoot since last winter.  

20181116_184846

My pilgrimage to the shrine of high art is finally here!  What’s this, new coat check, new toilets, new dining area… wow! 

20181116_190238

20181116_190638

20181116_190622

No sooner than was I sat and along came a Jurassic hybrid, no chin, back so long may well have extra vertebrae and a neck that is too thick and long to be on a woman’s body but I am not judging just saying,.. 

20181116_204641

Well I did not cross the Atlantic just for this obstruction and her pheromone were decidedly reptilian.  As Frederick Jones would say, “I’m not havin’ it!” After a few gracious words with the accommodating ushers, my offer to stand through the entire performance seemed reasonable enough. 

20181116_190646

I stood on the steps up to the last row that was more centre of house than my ticket.  I did my best to ignore the chinless spinster who sat at the edge of the row, who promptly repositioned her handbag, as if it were a blasted Birkin!  Naturally, she kept eyeing me.  As I always carry Shaniqua in my back pocket, I was ready to hiss, the minute she stepped out of line.  

During the performance after the Bronze Idol danced his spectacular solo, I lost myself and yelled the loudest bravo in the house and wouldn’t the old bat have something to say, “Be quiet!” to which I leaned in and hissed, “grip harder on your butt plug and shut the fuck up!” Why do people insist on leaving their homes and act as though they are lord or lady of anyone else’s reality.  

Never mind her, the lovely Russian couple who sat in the front row looked back and approvingly yelled “Da!” at my exuberance.  Truly, what a glorious night in the theatre.  You cannot possibly begin to fathom the amount of flying dreams I have had since that night; it is as though, I perpetually am now flying-without-moving.  Of course, I haven’t yet shaken that exquisite Minkus melody from my lips but so be it.  There was something simply transcendent about having experienced the purity and perfection of the Kingdom of the Shades opening of Act III that will ever keep me richly inspired.  

Love is all and whatever it is that makes you want to fly without moving when awake grab on and tightly hold on – drugs don’t do it, they do you!  As ever, come closer let’s have a group hug and a bit of air frottage because life, alas, is the sweetest of dreams!  

______________________________________________________

© 2013-2019 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.  

Posted in 19th Century Russian Art, 19th Century Russian Artists, 20th Century Artists, 20th Century British artists, 20th Century Russian Artists, 21st Century Art, 21st Century Artists, 21st Century Black Artists, 21st Century British Artists, 21st Century Russian Artists, 21st Century Spanish Artists, African-Americans, Art, Artists, Authors, Black artists, Black creative artists, Books, British Art, British Artists, Choreography, Composers, Creative Genius, Dance, Dancers, Design, Diarists, Dreams, Fashion, First Nations Art, First Nations Artists, Flying dreams, French artists, Haida Art, Haitian Artists, Japanese, Japanese Art, Japanese Artists, Jazz, Longreads, Mature soul Artisans, Mature souls, Memoirs, Michael Teachings, Music, Musicians, Painters, Painting, Photography, Print, Printmakers, Printmaking, Prints, Reincarnation, Royalty, Russian Artists, Russian Composers, Sculpture, Set Design, Spanish Artists, Spirituality, Stage performers, Visionaries, Visual Artists, Visual Arts, Writers | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Pilgrimage to Windsor… that dress!

Windsor_Castle_from_the_Air_wideangle

Aerial view: Windsor Castle, Berkshire.  

20181115_092221

In the mad dash to board the train from King’s Cross/St. Pancras Station to Paddington Station, I boarded the wrong train and ended up losing almost of hour of valuable time.  Nonetheless to Windsor with me, indeed.  

 

 

The ride to Windsor was lovely and it was still well before before 1000 when I got into town.  So nice to know that a flash of the London Pass gets one into the Castle, plus to see the exhibition of TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex’s wedding finery plus the outfits worn by pageboy, HRH Prince George of Cambridge and the always ‘on’ HRH Princess Charlotte of Cambridge.  

20181115_100236

Next, through the hurdle of being scoured by the most thorough security detail; and with good reason too.  

20181115_101319

The mélange of Chinese, Japanese and Korean dialects made for an interesting symphony of sounds as I made my way past security and onto castle grounds.  

20181115_101711

I am reminded of Vancouver Island by the hearty vegetation down below.  

20181115_101714

Nothing is more refreshing than the smell of moss in cooler weather.  The air is so fresh here in Berkshire.  

20181115_101810

The view from the Middle Ward down to St. George’s Chapel; but that’ll come after touring the castle’s state apartments.  

20181115_101929

The glorious view north across the River Thames to Eton College Chapel… Nothing beats being out on the terrace and looking out to the landscape below.  

20181115_102116

The view along the terrace towards the entrance to the castle. 

Inside-Windsor-Castle-Grand-Staircase-Windsor

Once inside, of course, photography is not allowed.  This, understandably, is for security reasons; it is after all the Sovereign’s main residence.  Formidable, an entrance indeed.  Touring the state apartments, the progression’s starting point was different to previous visits.  

4c80e9e200000578-5753387-image-a-21_1526911277517

Without doubt, I knew that the wedding outfits worn by TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex would not be on display in the castle’s Green Drawing Room; there is only one door into said room for the public and the other at the opposite end, leads directly into the Sovereign’s private apartments. 

Inside-Windsor-Castle-Green-Drawing-Room

Furthermore, that single door is too narrow to accommodate persons going and coming into the Green Drawing Room, if they were to enter and exit by said door.  

This SGH

Similarly, I knew that the exhibition, A Royal Wedding: The Duke and Duchess of Sussex could not have been held in St. George’s Hall above.  There is simply too much natural light which floods the space; this could actually prove more harm than good – even though it would be best to see the dress in natural light.  Moreover, I did not expect that it would be held there as the space is too large and, frankly, with the amount of racially charged animus towards this marriage, it would likely not draw as large a crowd to warrant being staged there.  Truth be told, there were no Caucasians viewing the exhibit when I moved through it, than there were East Asian and blacks combined.  

State-Apartment

I will never forget my confusion on first experiencing The Waterloo Chamber in this lifetime.  I just felt as though, perhaps, my sense that I had been to Windsor Castle in prior lives or a lifetime was off.  Of course, I would learn that this marvellous salon was installed during HM King George IV’s reign, at which time, I had reincarnated into Barbados, after having been a countertenor at the court of HM King George III and during the early years of his son’s Regency.  

Inside-Windsor-Castle-Waterloo-Chamber

Then again, those high-placed windows in the Waterloo Chamber would preclude its assignation as the setting for the exhibition, A Royal Wedding: The Duke and Duchess of Sussex.  

Inside-Windsor-Castle-The-Crimson-Room

Though noted for its stunning portraits of both HM Queen Elizabeth, The Queen Mother and HM King George VI, this room much like St. George’s Hall has too much light exposure.  

On entering the long narrow hallway with large windows that look out onto the terrace, the River Thames and the north shore beyond, one happens on a wall of linen panels which cover the floor to ceiling cabinets with priceless china from the Royal Collection.  

2625

2240

9322198d-9f31-4126-9980-1add428e9615-getty-960534728

gettyimages-960056382-2-1527764448

prince-harry-duke-of-sussex-and-the-duchess-of-sussex-leave-news-photo-960080372-1540488903

royal-wedding-markle-jumbo

meghan-harry-1527764426

meghan-markle-dress-today-180519-inline2_b5578bb93108cd6dbf635b39f3c53cd6.fit-560w

Imagine all these iconic moments from the wedding of TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex on hanging linen panels of more than 8 or more feet tall.  The effect is warm, enveloping and their size deftly impress on one, the uneclipsed love between these two star-crossed lovers.  

state-rooms-1010w

Next, into the grandeur of the Grand Reception Room one slips and with the heavy red curtains drawn, the effect is even more stunning.  The large chandeliers are softly dimmed and handsomely display the bridal garments of the wedding party.  

meghan-markle-wedding-dress-1540471039

The embroidery on HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex’s uniform, to the Queen Mary Diamond Bandeau tiara when seen in intimate detail proved more breathtaking than I had anticipated.  Goodness, even the shoes worn by Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex were exquisite.  

rc-weddingdress-windsor-241018-18-1540489737

What I found most interesting about the dress was its sheer simplicity.  The dress serves as a foil for the intricacy of the five metre veil entwined with the fifty-three flowers of the Commonwealth nations, along with the state flower for Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex’s home state of California.  Not until in the presence of the dress did its simplicity make sense; the dress is masterfully constructed such that its simplicity reminds one that only the expert craftsmanship of a couturier could have designed and manufactured the dress. 

meghan-markle-wedding-dress-1535470515

Yet, there was more to the simplicity of this Clare Waight Keller dress for Givenchy and it was not until moving around it a second time that it struck me; the simplicity of the dress speaks to the recent past of Ms. Markle’s African heritage.  Its simplicity speaks of the history of a people which was erased, wiped out by the terror of having been robbed and enslaved.  

meghan-markle-royal-wedding-dress-1526730077

Yet like the simplicity which belies the masterful craftsmanship of the couturiers who created this stunning dress, there is also greatness to a people though reviled, socio-economically oppressed, criminalised, marginalised and made to feel inferior… the same people whose greatness shrines through in Jazz, for one.  Remarkably, the simplicity of the dress, is like the sheer eloquence with which HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales sincerely both acknowledged and apologised for the past, which his society and family had contributed to in the immense suffering of Africans; this he did this past autumn when touring West Africa on behalf of HM The Queen.  

Inline_2158785_3.4

This was not only not a heavily attended exhibition but, at the time that I moved through it, there was not a single Caucasian viewing the wedding garments.  Though many would like to have you believe that there is no basis in race why they dislike Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex, that is just a damn lie.  Naturally, neither medicine nor academia acknowledges the existence of the racial predator as ‘No’ is the most powerful word when dealing with blacks.  Indeed, not until going to St. George’s Chapel after the tour of the castle was concluded, did one see Caucasians in numbers that reflect their proportions in the society.  Indeed, unlike previously, one was being fixed with looks that were charged with racial animus.  

Margaret Beaufort Ascension2

Though she is now the most reviled black woman on the planet, truth is that the soul who is now Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex was Margaret Beaufort, Tudor Matriarch: key figure in the War of the Roses, cousin of HM King Henry VI, mother of HM King Henry VII, mentor, counsel and favourite of her grandson, HM King Henry VIII who was much impressed by her focussed untrammelled ambition, great-grandmother of HM Queen Elizabeth I. 

rs_634x1024-171221041524-634--1PHMM-MK122117

Without her drive and singleness of purpose, England may still be a Catholic nation and its language may well be French.  Nonetheless, such is the rabid, irrational tribalism that is racism; her true nature cannot be perceived by the blind who can never see either the links to the past or the bigger picture.  

gettyimages-960173986-3-1527764475

In the end, I was much inspired for having made this pilgrimage to see this dress, which in its simplicity symbolised hope, atonement and the love of two entity mates who have known each other in twenty prior lifetimes.  The simplicity of this dress proved an epiphany.  

20181115_111608

Statue of HM King Charles II without whose drive, there would have been no Restoration.  

20181115_111907

View of the round tower on exiting the State Apartments and at the edge of the Quadrangle.  

20181115_112227

Details of St. George’s Chapel.  

20181115_112231

Details… and more details.  

20181115_112233

Even more interesting details…

20181115_112236

Sadly, photography is not allowed inside the chapel.  

St.-Georges-Chapel

Despite the general seething that being black elicited from most persons here – thanks to HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex having married the black woman, I rather enjoyed revisiting the spiritual home of the Knights of the Garter.  There is a certain warmth and intimacy to the quire’s dark woods that I favour.  

1024px-Windsor_Castle_at_Sunset_-_Nov_2006

And like that, another day of adventure was completed.  

20181115_093921

As the train sped back to London, I spotted this queer, though, appealing architectural gem.  

As ever, thanks so much for your ongoing support and always remember to become awake when asleep into the magical realm of dreams.  

_______________________________________________________________________

©2013-2019 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.  

 

Posted in African-Americans, Africans, American Artists, Americans, Animism, Architecture, Art, Art Collection, Art Exhibition, Artists, Black Americans, Black artists, Black creative artists, Books, British Art, British Artists, Creative Genius, Design, Diarists, Dreams, Fashion, Jazz, Longreads, Mature soul Artisans, Mature souls, Memoirs, Michael Overleaves, Michael Teachings, Photography, Portraiture, Reincarnation, Royalty, Sculpture, Spirituality, Statesmen, Uncategorized, Visionaries, Visual Artists, Writers | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment