Shaman’s Staff

This dream occurred, on Monday, December 7, 1992, whilst the Moon transited both my twelfth house – appropriately enough – and Taurus.  Merlin my mentor had initiated in me the task of coming into my own and becoming the awakened warrior.

Here was I, dream magus, awakened warrior, displaying my power – bonding with nature and bonding with the very force itself.  Said dream was the first experienced in exquisite lucidity in the ‘B’ or second sleep phase that day.

Calling Forth the Light

A yard at late twilight when morning breaks, rather than the indeterminate light that pervades astral plane dreams, was the setting for this dream.  It seemed pretty much like the backyard of the Crab Hill, Sandy Point, St. Kitts house. I was in a tree that looked like a giant bug weed.  I stepped out onto one of its branches.  Whilst simultaneously in the body and astrally projected, somehow, I could see myself from behind and above. This dream began as I boldly, in mid-stride, walked towards the large soulful tree.  Here, I had incredibly long hair and it was totally white.

Jah Rastafari!

The snow-white mane went down to the small of my back.  Mine – it was no absurd weave.  Full and luscious, it was a massive mane that handsomely flared out. Here, I met the dream magus within.  I held a staff which was very wonderful.  It was made of a tanned polished wood.  As if something that Bill Reid would bring forth from the depths of his creative genius, it was a very sculptural staff.

“One Good Thing About Music, When It Hits You Feel No Pain!” Bob Marley

Like a totem, the staff had lots of symbols throughout its length.  In some of the grooves, there were several large crystals with some of various colours.  Like Merlin did, in our first dream encounter of 1978, I wore a long, white flowing robe that billowed in the wind. Whilst radiating much of my inner light, I was very regal.  This was a moment of stellar beauty; too, the sight of myself empowered blew me away.  It was so humbling. I had a long beard and drooping moustache.  It was also white and considerably longer than Merlin’s facial hair ever was. As a matter of fact, it was like the flowing, wispy beards of some Japanese and East Asian holy men.

Mighty Oak

On going out to the edge of the branch, I stabbed my staff into the tree and let out a war cry.  Almost immediately thereafter, a fierce wind picked up.  It was gale-forced. The sky became blackened with mushrooming, heavy grey clouds.  The branch, on which I stood, was no more than four feet off the ground.  The winds were so fierce that it felt as though I were out to sea. I regally stayed my ground as though the captain at the bow of a galleon – one being swept by fierce waves. Whilst anchored on the branch, all I held on to was the staff.  With my free hand, I held on to a branch on the left – of course, the branches moved with a life of their own. The tree was partially submerged in the ghaut that bordered the back of the Crab Hill, Sandy Point, St. Kitts property.  Looking across the ghaut, I had been facing due north. The winds were so fierce that I could never see to the other side of the ghaut.  What’s more, it was a much wider gorge than Crab Hill’s.  Besides which, I had no time to project that far.

The Force Behind the Power

For one thing, the winds were too fierce and for another, the task of staying atop this branch proved far too demanding.  This wind was fiercer than anything I had ever experienced. The saving grace of it all was that it was not, thankfully, a wintry wind.  The funny thing about the whole experience was that I had called forth the elements to energise my being. So in tune with nature was I, I was able to summon the gale-force winds at will.  I wished to align with nature’s empowering, life-sustaining energies.  I was fiercely enjoying the charge from it, screaming aloud and becoming transfixed. It truly was as if being stationary whilst flying at hyper-speeds in an upright position; thus, there was the dual sense of being not only on the high seas but also as if riding on a magic carpet.

Copper Pyramid: The Portal to Shamanic Quests

There was one point that, as I screamed into the wind, I immediately then saw my face from above.  Whilst simultaneously astral-projected, I was looking down into my face as I looked up into the billowing clouds. Beyond those clouds, there was some spectacular planet-being; it was much like the one that I thrillingly encountered in the dream earlier this year, on Tuesday, September 22, 1992. This was quite an exhilarating experience.  I felt a massive surge of energy flowing through the staff and into me.  The staff was marvellously potent. The look of the staff was a mélange of the creative geniuses of the artists, Bill Reid, Antoni Gaudí and Erté.  A very shamanic, magical totem it was. My face was possessed of a very high forehead; my face was also timeworn.  A face that had spanned several millennia, to date, it certainly was.  More than that, there they were my familiar, papaya-seed-succulent brown eyes.  Here, they were large, supra-dilated eyes.

After lying there fully recalling the dreams just experienced in soul-satiating lucidity, I got from bed, fed Whoopi whilst she loudly purred, made my way to the living room and sought the warm embraceable magic of Oscar Peterson’s genius at his most profoundly sublime…

Whenever this song plays, I will ever remember the night after attending Bob Marley’s concert at Maple Leaf Garden; it was November 1, 1979 and I was in my second year at York University with a hell of a lot of freedom away from my controlling mother, who was then in the early stages of the colon cancer which would claim her, a year later. Oddly enough, she was convinced that she was with child and had even begun buying diapers. After the concert, Michael, Terry, Vincent, Arnold, Donovan and I climbed into a couple of cabs and were off to Vincent’s place on Yorkville Avenue. Donovan I had met on New Year’s Eve and left the party with and bedded for the next several months. We all wore white to the concert and Vincent, who was a wealthy biracial Bajan with the most beguiling green eyes, had organised the evening. Michael was Jamaican with the most beautiful big bubble butt and a cock that can best be described as a baby elephant’s trunk. Terry was Afro-Indian from Trinidad with a temper that I knew well to stay clear of. Arnold, Nova Scotian with the sweetest laugh, was always great company. Whilst they all drank Bajan rum and enjoyed themselves, I spent most of the time, shaking ass to more Bob Marley. Everyone was in the early to mid-twenties at most with me still then nineteen years old. It was one of the best concerts ever and a spiritual moment of truly high order. Naturally, we ended up a tangle of legs, arms, tongues, cocks. Listening to this music recently, I realised that not only was I the only one of the group left, more importantly, they had all perished of AIDS, as I had recently leant of Terry.

Robert Nesta Marley 6/2/45<O>11/5/81

Michael: This fragment is (still – currently incarnate) a third level old sage – third life thereat.  Robert was in the power mode with a goal of growth.  A spiritualist, he was in the moving part of intellectual centre. 

Body type is Mars/Saturn. 

Robert‘s primary chief feature was arrogance and the secondary stubbornness – a contributing factor in his death; he refused some medical treatment. 

The fragment Robert is second-cast in second cadence; he is a member of greater cadence one.  Robert’s entity is seven, cadre one, greater cadre 1, pod 414. 

Robert’s essence twin is a sage and his task companion an artisan. 

Robert’s primary needs were: expression, freedom and acceptance. 

There are 19 past-life associations with Arvin and 13 with Merlin.  ___________________________________________

This song, this Diana Ross performance, perfectly encapsulates the empowerment and beauty of spirit that I felt on awakening from this most rapturous of dreams. I simply cannot fathom the lack of depth and awareness of persons, who never recall their dreams – truly foreign to me. Also, I include this song here because although I am not a big Diana Ross fan, I’ve only ever seen her once in performance, I share here as a tribute to all five persons with whom I attended that Bob Marley concert at Maple Leaf Gardens 44 years ago; they were, every last one of them, a diehard Diana Ross fan and lived vicariously through her music, beauty and style.

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Life is like a flying dream; if you look down, you’re fucked. Enjoy the ride and fear no one!

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