March 2019 – Dreams are the poetic expression of the soul.

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Battle, Kathleen Deanna 13/8/48 Portsmouth Ohio

This fragment is a seventh level mature sage – second life at current level, likely will be old soul soon. Kathleen is in the power mode with a goal of growth. An idealist, she is in the moving part of intellectual centre.

Body type is Venus/Mercury.

Kathleen’s primary chief feature is arrogance and the secondary martyrdom.

The fragment Kathleen is seventh-cast in seventh cadence; she is a member of greater cadence six – very cardinal. Kathleen’s entity is four, cadre six, greater cadre 5, pod 408.

Kathleen’s essence twin is a sage and her task companion is an artisan.

Kathleen’s three primary needs are: expression, freedom and expansion.

There are 16 past-life associations with Arvin, 14 with Merlin.

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This next dream does reflect the beauty of being in the company of spiritually evolved souls. Said dream was the first on Monday, June 17, 1991, whilst the Moon transited both Virgo and my fourth house – close enough to the summer solstice.

Interestingly enough, there was a dream within the dream in question. This was one of the most rhapsodic and uplifting dreams had during my fourth decade of life.

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I was going out from this apartment block’s front door. I was aware that in apartment 6, down the hall, the door was slightly opened.

I could hear some classical music being played and tried to figure out who the composer was. It was very complex music. I went down to the front door of the building, unusually enough, to call Whoopi.

However, I had decided not to open the door to call her because if I were to have called her there, I wouldn’t have wanted her to then start showing up at that door to be let in.

I had noticed, on the way to the door, a whole stack of mail outside the door to one of the apartments here. It was a door, which sat in the middle of the hallway wall, where there shouldn’t have been a door.

Stranger still, it was brown unlike the other four doors which were white. So at that, I decided to walk under the ground floor by going down into the basement.

Whilst I was going, I was still listening and then heard Kathleen Battle being introduced on the radio… She was going to sing.

As I was walking, Whoopi appeared in the basement as I headed for the backdoor of the building. She began playfully running amongst all the many boxes stacked high in the basement. From time to time, the adorable cat would run ahead of me and was quite playful.

Kathleen Battle† then began to sing and, my dear sweethearts, greater music has never been woven in the waking state. The music was highly complex indeed. It was supremely divine.

The aria this woman sang and the beauty of her voice was supremely stellar. It was dignified; it was divine. It was so beautiful that, as I walked and Whoopi joyously played, my body became healed to have heard this music.

At that, I hurried Whoopi upstairs into the apartment and took to lying in the bed to more intently listen to the music. There was much talk afterwards about the music.

There was a White man around and I was being told by him that this music was, in fact, not native to this world. The music was not native to Earth, he claimed.

I certainly agreed with the information. It galactically towered above any of this world’s greatest music to date.

Also, lying on the bed with me was a girl. She deliberately was forcefully putting her feet down the bed and was trying to put them in my face as I lay in my bed with my head at the foot. She was White and I was just too into the high just experienced with the glorious music to have had time to go fighting with anyone.

Later on, I went out to wait for a bus. Yet here too, at the closest bus stop, the music kept on playing. It simply permeated the fabric of the dream experience.

*Of course, it should come as no surprise that all throughout sleep, the radio here in the waking state was on in the room whilst I slept dreaming. END.

However, the music being filtered into the dreamtime had been considerably transformed. Here it was uplifted and expressed in a superior light which befitted the dreamtime’s magic.

The radio being on became my leap off point to experience some truly uplifting moments in the dreamtime. Though CBC FM was playing classical music, at the time of my dreaming, the galactic music that I was hearing far outdistanced the familiarity of classical music by light years.

It was so complex and cerebral that as I stood there, at the bus stop, I suspected it was the classical music created by cetaceans. I speculated that a pod of dreaming cetaceans was weaving their music, in the classical idiom, in the dreamtime.

I merely happened to have tuned into it, whilst the waking state music served as the leap off point, for vicariously entering the cetaceans’ dream dimensions. This was so much more complex than classical music.

It was an intellectual high beyond belief. Kathleen Battle, throughout it all, kept on singing. It blew me away, to contemplate the amount of breath work involved in Ms. Battle singing that complexly and for that length of time.

There was a guy when I got onto the bus which was like the double-deckers of London. I was on the lower level, in the middle section, looking back to the rear.

On the same side, as I was seated, there was a guy there who seemed very familiar. He was aware of me in the same soul-resonant way that I was him. However, we did not interact.

Across from him, there was a rowdy guy who seemed drunk. The police had come and taken him to the front of the bus to take him away. Interestingly enough, the police wore the uniform of the London Bobbies with the hat and the whole gear.

When I got to where I was going, it was a wonderful, wonderful, wonderful tropical island with a beautiful mountain range. There were two large homes and I was told that both of these homes were, in fact, owned by Kathleen Battle.

This was where she retired to recharge her batteries.

‘How fine, indeed,’ I thought.

There was a party being thrown for her by marvellous celebrities. It was then that I recalled having been at a concert earlier prior to going out and taking the bus.

It was either at Salzburg or Bayreuth. When Ms. Battle was onstage, she wore a blue dress that billowed in the breeze which created a wonderfully hypnotic slow-motion effect.

She had more fucking-goddamn fire planets in this dream, I can assure you, than Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis does with her six fire planets no less. Kathleen Battle possessed, in this briefly recalled dream within a dream, great spiritualism.

She sang and what she was doing with her voice was nothing short of magic. She was as if the ocean because each note was so liquid, time-stretched yet complex. There were more nuances worked into each note than is, in the waking state, humanly imaginable.

It was not unlike all the funky innuendo that a female Jazz singer can cram into one little song. It was absolutely incredible what she was doing.

When she was done, the house went wild. Everybody here was so spiritually elevated. I was up in the balcony, on the right side of the stage and I screamed down bravo with thunderously deafening passion. My ecstatic celebration made all the people close to me laugh with enjoyment at my rapture.

As I lay asleep, my body simultaneously began zinging and tremblingly with energy as I thunderously shouted, ‘Bravo’. When articulating my passion, I had shoved out my neck and at that my neck began elongating.

My overjoyed face moved possessed as my voice operatically roared from my soul itself. My face ended up snaking down through the air, from the balcony to the stage, my neck like some exquisite anaconda swimming through the air bearing my proudly ecstatic face.

My face was peeled wide-open with ecstasy. Indeed, the fire in my eyes was just phenomenal. This dream was inordinately empowering.

It was as though I had become truly animated with a hyper-elongated neck and my face was not unlike the faces of those spiritually elevated and regal ladies that I had recently dreamt of.

Also, I was quite certain that my warping behaviour in this dream had been much inspired by the eloquence of physique that these strangely beautiful women had presented me with their august bodies in another dream of days earlier.

To have best expressed the gratitude that I felt, from my very soul itself, it was as if my neck had become a giraffe’s. Here I was looming down over the house and up to the stage.

To begin with, in all of this, I had not even been seated at the front of the balcony. My ‘bravo’ was a very long, extended, purely male-energied war cry. This was pride in this woman that had nothing to do with our shared race of being both Black rather our both being human.

I was simply applauding her very soul itself for its great achievement in artistic self-expression. In point of fact, I actually got a high from hearing the thunder of my voice when saying bravo because this very deep and resonant baritone was not my familiar register.

Moving up, I climbed up the hill to both Kathleen Battle’s houses. There was a woman there who was White and older. She was helping this old, old, ancient White man. I wondered,

‘Who is this man?’

I knew straight away that he was definitely very important, in the spiritual scheme of things, here on this planet. I thought that, perhaps, it was Herbert von Karajan but he is now passed on.

He did, after all, have quite an attachment to Kathleen Battle. This is why she was always invited to Salzburg.

However, then too, I thought that it was more than likely Herbert von Karajan because the energies of this man were incredibly magus fitting the archetype of the magnetic old king from the Michael Teaching which Herbert von Karajan was/is.

I thought that perhaps he looked as old because he was doing so much immense energy work in his function as a sixth level old, magnetic old king soul. Naturally, his agedness would have been a reflection of his having passed a large number of lives, to date, at sixth level old.

He was very transcendent and, you could tell, was no longer physically focussed. More importantly, everything about this dream indicated it being very much so alive. The dream was very much so real and set on the astral plane which is where that magnetic old king, Herbert von Karajan, now resides.

In any event, he was being helped down by this long-legged, handsome, strong-willed woman. She much reminded me of Marella Agnelli, the wife to the CEO of FIAT motors of Italy Gianni Agnelli. However, this woman was older than Marella Agnelli presently is.

*One of the things about some, definitely not all, wealthy persons is that their stratospheric wealth enables them to be in their element. As they are such mature-souled, august, reincarnationally sophisticated souls, money allows these spiritually elevated persons to exist in the world unencumbered by the Maya of the wretchedness of every day existence.

Such wealth enables them to transcend the Maya of financial limitations that entraps and stifles the merely working class to upper middle class.

For the latter classes, the lines of demarcation are more nebulous than they would like to accept. Hence, the excessive restrictiveness and obsessions with class, looks, greed, Brahmanism et al.

Some of these truly wealthy people do not suffer the strictures of belief systems. This allows them to just live in their element and be supremely human.

This is not true of all wealthy persons because, for one, the nepotistic cupidity of Hollywood certainly validates this. These people, such as Gianni Agnelli and Marella Agnelli, do not suffer the displacement of humanity that many greed-fixated wealthy persons experience. END.

This woman here in the dream, in that sense, reminded me of Marella Agnelli. The latter impresses me as someone who truly does embrace her humanity. One gets the sense of her that she is not separated from the little people of choice.

We then all came down after, of course, I had gladly gone to give the graciously handsome woman a hand with assisting the magus himself. We sat in this long, long, long enclosed veranda that had a fine linen mesh covering it.

There was a wonderful breeze. The magus was on my immediate right and talking away. Indeed, he did make my energies zing and become reshuffled. It was at the level of the atomic and it was subtle but noticeable.

He was talking about the music, raving about how great it was, and how fabulous Kathleen Battle had been in performance. Next, he opened a large bottle of spirits which was like champagne but it looked more like a bottle of gin.

He then took up a magnum of some expensive champagne or other and raised it saying,

“My dear, you must have a drink. You have earned a drink.”

He had a wonderful soulful voice. Whatever he said became the law. He was beingness in the flesh. He simply held court. You experienced his spirit, more to the point, one experienced his very soul.

He was truly what the Michael Teachings would call a magnetic old king. One just intuitively sensed and knew it because this, after all, was the astral plane. One did not doubt insights gleamed here. He was so grounding to have been next to.

When he was pulling out the cork it proved very long. In fact, it was extremely sexual what he was doing with the cork. It was very slow and hypnotic. I got a sexual high experiencing him uncork the champagne.

I never did look into this man’s eyes overlong because his face was so powerful and so tremendous. He was someone who was clearly passed on. I also knew that it was not Merlin.

I had only looked at his face, in the distance, when he was up on the hill. He wore the most spiritually refined face imaginable. Up close, I knew that I just did not have the power to peer overlong into this face.

I was too drunk by his magus energies that bled outwards magnetically permeating and fine tuning everything – man and nature. Thus I had to hold the champagne flute with both my hands with my knees sexily drawn up whilst my feet rested on the edge of the chair.

Giggling, simply giddy from his energies, I said en Français,

“Champagne! Oh god I love champagne.”

He began pouring in the champagne whilst it was fizzing. He poured it in a decadent manner. As it crashed into the glass there were a lot of bubbles from the bottle, gurgling aloud, where gobs of drink orgasmically splashed over the rim of the flute.

It was so sensual, so timeless and wonderful that on concentrating on his actions, I experienced the stasis of time. I began besottedly drinking and grew giddy at the implications of the fine company that I was in and that he was serenading me at that.

It much reminded me of the garden party that I attended in Toronto with Merlin, the second to last summer of his life, when the writer Ted Allen had me sit by him spending the party regaling me and flirting with my spirit.

It was a nonsexual thing… just an intimate commune of our spirits. Really fine and memorable it was too. There were other family members about – Pandora as well as Harella.

He told me to move away the glass before the champagne did not spill, over onto my lap, which shortly it would have had he not prompted me. I moved it to the right between him and me.

Immediately, on taking the first sip from the flute my mind stood still because the cool potent touch of it illumined me. Instantly, I realised that the bottle of drink was merely a metaphor. What I was being given was an elixir from his very soul itself.

The magus was healing me thus. What utterly potent aqueous magic. It was cool yet simultaneously warm. It was all the things that the music was and more.

In fact, it was exactly what I needed after having been made drunk and high from the music of Kathleen Battle’s magic. When he finished, it turned out that he had only poured a drink for two other persons of all the others gathered at the party.

I was so blown away by the fact that he genuinely wanted me to be sitting next to him. Perhaps, it was because I had been considerate enough to have assisted him. I had made it possible for him to go down, the hill from the upper mansion’s gardens, to the veranda of the lower house.

He chose not to have passed on the drink to anyone else. It was very subtle but was not, of course, lost on me. He did not pass it around although everyone had glasses and were quietly waiting to be served by him.

Certainly, the impressive magnum could have amply supplied every glass. I was then told by Harella not to be greedy and she advised me to perhaps offer my glass to others.

Ignoring her, I languorously looked out beyond the mesh and thought aloud in a whisper,

“God this is such a wonderful dream. What did I do to deserve this dream?”

Just like that the dream dissolved for me being doubtful and seemingly unappreciative.

vDream one. Earlier, in one section of the dream as I had listened to the music, I saw an inner vision of a holographic diagram. The hologram indicated where in the Cosmos the particular music that was playing, to which Kathleen Battle was singing, had originated.

There was this cardboard-like diagram, which much resembled an Olaf Nordstrom lithograph, which was very sculptural and intellectually placed. Olaf Nordstrom interestingly does, in fact, have six air planets.

Simultaneously, I knew that as much as the successive diagrams were of the cosmos, they were also of the human spine, the nervous system and the human chakra points.

I could see the crown chakra which was very, very expansive. I then saw the first chakra which was close to the tip of the spine. I was being shown that it was very tight and needed to be opened up.

I was being told, by way of seeing this network of cables of light, one had to have one’s energies realigned. It basically was about yoga, breath and, also, about the awakening of Kundalini energy within my body.

It was about becoming more so opened up, at all chakra points, so that I could get more flow. Too, it was stressed that I needed more positive light into and through me.

There was a great deal of blue light flooding the diagram’s holographic systems. There was red light, as well, in certain areas of some of the chakra points.

It was deemed to be neither good nor bad. Rather, it was an energy that was presently focussed in my body.

I was being told that it could be successfully transmuted. I certainly think that I know, to what it was referring, in terms of the sexual energy flow and my sexual centre’s proper functioning.

It was mentioned that it was terribly ego-based and not all that highly evolved in the end.

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As ever, thanks so much for your ongoing support; I am immensely grateful. Sweet dreams and don;t ever forget to push off and start flying.

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