An encounter with Theresa.

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Whilst the Moon transited both Capricorn and my eighth house, I would astral project across time and dream these most potent dreams, on September 17, 1991.  I do believe that it was an encounter with a probable, future lifetime of Merlin’s; it was a most interesting of visits. 

As always, as with such dreams, my every sense was intensely acute.  I was lucidly awakened and the fluidity with which the dream progressed was bucolic in places.  The second being the one in question, there were two dreams that day. 

More than that, what was truly interesting was the way in which I felt on awakening from these dreams.  In particular, the second dream was the one that had the most impact on me. 

I was splayed, enervated and sported a tension headache.  I also spent long stretches of time, with long pauses as I tried whilst half-awake, groping my way through the recording process. 

Also, it is key to bear in mind that the train travel alluded to, in the first dream, is of paramount import.  Oftentimes when moving across time, whilst traversing the astral plane to visit with astral plane habitués or visit past or future lifetimes, one does so in the protected confines of waking state transports such as the train. 

This metaphor reflects the dream in question being rooted at the very core of the soul; hence, one has to be transported to fathoms of the greenhouse – subconscious – not readily voyaged to or attained in the dreamtime. 

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I was on a platform in a train station.  There had been transportation going to this particular place.  Getting upstairs, it much reminded me of Broadview subway station where one waits for the bus outside.

A woman in a car that looked like an old 1970s Monte Carlo, which was cream and brown, pulled into the station.  Soon enough, she realised that she had made a wrong turn.  She cut across a bus then came out right away, onto Broadview Avenue, making a right turn.

I had come out and began following but on foot.  Coming out, I realised that she had made a left turn and gone up a back lane to go up onto that street west of Broadview Avenue where Maxwell Roberts IV and Heather Ronald lived.

In any event, there was a police woman on a bike who started following; I thought that she was going to go after the driver of the car.  She, however, did not.

In the meantime, all these cars had come and parked on the dirt road that we were on.  They parked in the middle of the road such that you had to walk around them because traffic couldn’t proceed anymore.  People were walking about.

The woman, who was White, had very strongly developed legs; she wore a blue denim skirt.  She walked very briskly, at daytime, ahead of me.  There was a lot of gravel on the earthen road and the updraught of wind sent dust blowing everywhere.

Facing the oncoming flow of persons, from the abandoned vehicles stalled in traffic, a blond guy stood straddling his bike.  He had looked at me; he was younger – in his teens really.  I realised that the woman was not, after all, going to be pursued by the female police officer.

I went walking along and left this place behind me.

<O>

Next, in the second dream, I was in Manhattan where I went into this store; it was thrift shop really.  I thought to myself that it was high time that I bought a piece of fabric to take home.  I had had in mind to make myself a big pair of flare-legged, eveningwear pants – something that I could have to show-off my sense of style with.

I did buy a piece of very thick, green thread with which I was going to sew.  There was this wonderful black fabric that had, in a grid formation, these thick welts in the fabric like corduroy does but very thick welts.

It was a dark-green-merging-into-black.  In the end, I wasn’t too keen on it.  I kept on looking around the store which was quite spacious; it was, truth be told, more like a Salvation Army Store.

There were, up on the second level high up, these rows and rows of dark suits which I did not care for.  Too drab were they; besides which, I was looking for fabric to purchase.  Above that, you had to reach up to get the clothing down off their hooks.

I then found this iridescent, two-toned, purple and brown jacket – a parker-like fabric, which had a hood to it; it was very beautiful and all the same size.  Did find it sort of nice but, again, I did not go there to buy prêt-à-porter.

I wanted fabric, so that I could make what I wanted and keep that sense of distinctiveness to my style.  Going up to the counter, I was asking the guy where one could get more of the choice fabrics.  The Black salesclerk was saying that they did not have anything beyond what was on display.

I then began chatting him up, trying to get on good terms with him, asking where in the neighbourhood an out-of-towner could stay.  Referring to a bathhouse, I mentioned that I had heard of a place in Maiden Lane.

However, he said that one only had to go down one block, to 44th Street by the subway entrance, at Eighth Avenue; apparently, it was to the right of that on 44th Street.  This meant that I was up at 45th Street.

Nonetheless, I thought of going down one block beyond that because I could see a big, empty lot, thinking that the block below that would be 45th Street, instead of course, it would be 43rd Street.

I then said goodbye to him – he was, in fact, rather pleasant.  I left the store and headed across the wide avenue where the cars were flowing southward.  This meant that it was perhaps Seventh Avenue or Ninth Avenue but I was more inclined to believe that it was the latter.

Whilst they waited at the north side of the cross street, on a red light, I had diagonally cut across the avenue doing a brisk walk.  There was no traffic flowing on that particular side street.

I then got to this big, empty lot.  At the front of it, which in this case would look out onto Eighth Avenue, there was this row of houses that were gutted out from the back.

They were already doing renovations.  As Manhattan seemed in the midst of a building bust, due to the worldwide recession, I realised that these were recently bought by large development firms.

This firm, however, decided that they were going to erect a massive structure.  They had demolished two of the buildings that were in the centre of the row of block-long brownstones; it would serve as the entrance to the skyscraper.

On either side of the entrance would be these five-storey, classic, New York brownstones.  They would, of course, be renovated becoming very exclusive townhouses and condos.

The skyscraper would be a ten-to-twenty-storeyed, luxury, apartment/condominium, block-square building right in the heart of midtown.  This was most unusual for midtown Manhattan and on the west side at that.

As a result, it would have a great deal of security features to it.  The reason for it being located where it was, quite simply, it had to do with space.  The Upper East Side was now too densely populated, even overpopulated, to have accommodated more luxury high-rises.

There was, in fact, a city ordinance banning further construction of high-rise dwellings on the Upper East Side.  As a result, there was a mini-building boom occurring in midtown Manhattan.

The building’s façade, for the first three storeys, was already in place; it was a sand-coloured marble.  I had begun crossing the street on realising that this was definitely not where I wanted to go.

I found a magazine which I began pouring through and, on turning the pages, happened on an advertisement for the company that had the fabrics that I was looking for; it said in bold letters: AD&G.

It also had a map of the environs showing how to best locate their address; this was very helpful.  There was an ad for cheese, then other ads, which I looked at admiring the style and photographic compositions.

The moment at which I saw the ad for AD&G, on looking at the store’s beautiful façade, I was immediately posited inside it.  It was beautiful, gloriously wood-panelled and owned by orthodox Jews and, in fact, was more so an apothecary.

There were these wonderful white bags that were glacé-looking and folded up.  Inside were wonderful spices such as turmeric and powdered herbs.  The variety of herbs was staggeringly impressive.

For a mere $28.00, you could walk off with three or four ounces of the cheapest herbs; they were terribly expensive.  In one instance, a mere ounce of some herb or other was a cool $45.00; it wasn’t even saffron.

The merchant was a very pleasant soul; for working in such a healthy place, how could he not have been?  The store did zing with an abundance of health-sustaining life.  Its elevated, harmonised chi was tangible.

“Yes, I know.  It’s very expensive.” said the store’s younger merchant.  This man’s passing resemblance to Merlin only that much more warmed me towards him.

Apparently, the store was around since the seventeen hundreds.  They had been purveyors to presidents and royalty worldwide.  There was rich, dark, oak wood-panelling everywhere.

There were two Jewish gentlemen who, at present, ran the business; both were very handsome.  They were mid-aged and about five years apart in age.  They were both very pleasant with a serene expression and looked like they had each passed a near-recent past life, in a monastery, in the Orient.

I went and sat down on this large seat from which one could look at displays and samples on a wall.  This man was so evolved and truly refined of spirit.  A principal merchant, who was white-smocked, came over bearing a portfolio for me to look over.

The portfolio contained a canister that reminded me of something that Merlin would have owned.  It also seemed like something that had to do with drugs.  From within the black, velvet-interiored case, he placed the silver canister that comfortably fitted in the palm of the hand.

As it opened up, it got larger right before my eyes.  It had a little glass bottle that was connected to a collapsible spoon that folded out like a wing.  The glass bottle actually seemed not unlike an I.V. tube.

It contained a very syrupy serum that reminded me a great deal of morphine; at the time, I recalled Merlin having been prescribed some.  This serum moved around very slowly in the organically enlarged bottle.

It also did remind me a bit of Castor oil and it was something one could take, in small rations, when travelling.  Of course, I had no desire to be taking drugs of any kind.

At that point, I remembered that my intention was to be buying clothing and not drugs.  There was also a vial of bee pollen that this courteous gentleman merchant wanted me to purchase.

One has to use such glowing terms, for these two merchants, because their purpose was not solely to partake of the capitalist bump and grind.  More importantly, they were firmly committed to serving the good health of their clientèle.

This man was genuinely concerned for my wellbeing – a rare occurrence that would be, indeed, in the waking state.  It was bee pollen which, of course, meant that it was even more expensive.

It was said to be the elixir that was appropriate for me.  He did not foist it onto me though his manner suggested that he was, along with the other man for that matter, a spirit guide serving in regards issues of health.  It was much evolved an approach.

Both men then ushered me into an inner room where I was graciously seated at a polished table; it was a light wood and not unlike pine.  This was a dream of high moment because of the deference with which human beings were extending themselves to me.  This, of course, is behaviour so rare in the waking state.

On the right, sat an older man and a woman; hers were the most unusual eyes imaginable.  She was the wife of one of the two merchants who worked in the front of the shop.

By no means was she a beautiful woman; more so handsome was she for the strength and distinctiveness of her total look.  Very tall, dark-haired, angular; her eyes were so unusually large that she seemed to have the most severe case of thyroids though she did not.

The lids were thick and heavy.  In fact, the lids really did give the look of an iguana’s from the way the lids draped the large eyes and almost completely draped them shut.  However, she was very much so alive.

She was talking with the rest of them as they discussed the different products and lines that they carried.  Their daughter was in an inner room talking to someone.

She entered and graciously introduced herself.  She was the exact, youthful version of her very strong-willed mother.

*These were people, at least on her side of the bloodlines, whose family could trace its ancestry right back to the court of King David and beyond.  They were Jewish nobility that spanned more than a couple of millennia and it showed; there was nothing nouveau about them.

They were a family who had lived socially elevated lives, for more than forty-plus generations.  Too, wherever they had lived, be it Alexandria, Persia, Rome, Jerusalem, London or New York, they had known wealth; it went right back to their noble heritage in dynastic Israel.

The daughter was, in fact, very pleasant to look at though a bit too nervous.  I was wondering if this, in fact, was getting a glimpse into a future life set in Manhattan.  She had just returned from England where she had been studying; she had a British accent.

She joined us, sitting down on her mother’s left, across the table to my right.  The mother sat directly opposite me.  She had that way of looking, right into you, that the socially prominent affect with a confidence that is unparallelled.

One of the brothers, who ran the business, was on the mother’s immediate right and her lover.  The daughter had come out with of all people, the actor, Robin Williams.

He was unusually hirsute, even more so than in the waking state and seemed not unlike those extra-humans encountered in the dreams of February 16, 1989.  They sat there talking and visiting on welcoming me into their presence.

Robin was not the hyper-energied, talkative and over-compensatorily – to the point of being grossly dysfunctional, funny ham.  He was contained and near-Buddha-like.  Perhaps, this must be a future life bleed-through for him.

We visited for a whilst then got up and went back, into the inner room, with Robin and the daughter joining the rest of us.  At one point, as I sat there in their company, I thought of how very energetically aligned these people were to the mandalas that Merlin had done during his lifetime.

The eyes of this woman did, in fact, remind me of the eyes of the elephant featured in the mandala that Merlin had made for Maxime Gascoigne-de Montigny.  Interestingly enough, in that mandala which Merlin did, in 1977, at the time of his Saturn Return – the majority of the mandalas he created were done at that time – the eyes were Merlin’s eyes; he had told me as much once.

I then began speaking to them of mandalas; they were genuinely interested in my views on the subject.  I then pushed on, to tell them that I was presently writing a book about my experiences with Merlin and when I said that they had an immediate reaction.

They simply shut down and the mother’s response was the most visceral.  She simply turned away, upset.  Her reaction was exactly like Merlin’s reaction was, when I spoke to him about my life during the Spanish Inquisition.

It was in that dream in which I dreamt of Elizabeth and Ludnez, Elizabeth being Pannonica Kertész.

*It was very interesting because Pannonica had had the same reaction, to my telling her of the book when we met.  It was as though she thought that I was only there, to give her a mandala, in the hopes that she would become my agent to have the book marketed – far from it, my dear.  END.

At that point, I decided that I would take my leave of them.  It was at nighttime; it was in a darkened room as she sat on a sofa across from me.  She simply collapsed onto the sofa – just as Merlin in that dream had during the past life dream set during the Spanish Inquisition.

Quite simply, she became drained and simultaneously it was very visceral for me.  My reaction, to her being in distress, was tantamount to how I would become enervated on watching Merlin collapse fainting during his illness.

Robin Williams was there lying, on his back, on a sofa with his head closer to me.  The husband was on the floor.  When I went to say goodbye, I reached to the mother’s face and kissed her on both cheeks very grandly.

However, she was very cool.  As a matter of fact, it was as though sensing Merlin’s energetics got up in another body.  It was as if a living masked ball, if you like, whereat Merlin was got up as the handsome woman.  Going into a backroom, I wrestled with what I was doing by taking my leave of them and the place.  Somehow, it just did not seem right.

It was then that I noticed the daughter who was standing close by – as if to see me to the door.  Robin Williams got up and came in my direction to go do something.

I abruptly left the room that I was in and hurried to the kitchen.  Of all things, I pretended to be taking a pee in the kitchen.  There was a garbage container which I decided was safe enough a place where I could take a pee.

As I began peeing into the container, Robin entered the kitchen and saw me.  My cock was partially tumescent and unusually large.  Robin wore a green t-shirt and nothing else.  His cock was very visible; it was very skinny and long but flaccid.

“Whoa, I did not know you were taking a pee.  I could come back.” he said and embarrassingly laughed.  It really was the exact likeness of the waking state actor.

Slowly, sultrily, I began turning towards him yearning for him.  He shyly giggled and behaved awkwardly and became more like his cartoonish self in the waking state,

“No, no.  Not this time.  I have to go back, okay.”

He returned to join the others and I returned to the bathroom where originally I had been primping.  I began caressing myself and admiring my dream wunder-schlong hoping that he would come back and join me.  He never, however, did come back.

*This was a very potent dream and, in some way, Merlin was definitely connected to this woman.  Her interest, as I spoke of mandalas he had done, was exactly the kind of absorption he would have shown.

I am very certain that this was seeing Merlin, in a future life, as a very handsome Jewish woman and reborn into a very old, noble family; a very pleasant, prophetic dream.

She ran a gracious home.  The furnishings were all antiques in the salon; they were very Old World pieces.  There was a wealth of heritage and august ambiance like you would expect in the palaces of the Windsors.

**I am beginning to think, especially with the passage of much time, that the woman whom I assumed to have been Merlin in a future life was actually myself in my immediate past life.  At the time, I was married to a doctor and as part of my own shamanic practice I, then Theresa, ran a salon.

I was said to have been a statuesque, strikingly handsome woman of Incan descent.  What was never shared, in the channelled overleaves, was the fact that I may well have been also of Jewish descent – in the immediate past life.

This bit of arcana would make a great deal of sense on two fronts: based on what I would later in life learn and for another, it would stand to reason that after having been Jewish in my immediate past life, I would be Black in this one.

Between Merlin and me, it should be noted that there is a bit of reversal at play.  In his immediate past life, Merlin had been Black as I am now Black and he – when Merlin – was Jewish.  Rather interesting!

Her large eyes and her Jewish heritage made me assume that it was Merlin in the future.  However, at this ‘masked’ reincarnational visitation dream, I was really encountering myself in my immediate past life.  END.

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Photo: Photo of mandala created by Merlin in 1975 for his oldest friend.

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