Go On, Put A Doily On It…

Must you prey on us? Good god someone put a damn doily on it, already!

This past weekend, I looked at the 2021 Oprah Winfrey interview with Duke & Duchess of Sussex; you are always bound to find some new kernel with each viewing. Et voilà, there it was; not once did either the Duke or Duchess mention, Camilla, Duchess of Cornwall. So, I fast began reviewing the evidence.

During their first royal engagement after their 2018 wedding, HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales says something to footman and soon enough the Sussexes are ushered from the Buckingham Palace garden party, where Camilla famously waves off Meghan, Duchess of Sussex by rudely waving her right hand in a slapping gesture. HRH Prince Harry, Duke of Sussex looking both surprised and upset, soon departs the event with wife and that’s that.

Camilla all along has been given a pass. What she has never been able to do, is sink her talons into Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge. For one, Catherine, bless her, is a warrior soul and with the toughest Michael overleaves imaginable. For another, her task companion, HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge is not only his mother’s son but he is deeply protective of his wife, who is the more dominant partner in their soul connection. I do believe as much as it was to shield the new-born HRH Prince George of Cambridge from HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales, it was also TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridges’ desire to be nowhere near Camilla, HRH Duchess of Cornwall.

Windsor, Camilla HRH Duchess of Cornwall 17/7/1947 Pig 8.6.9 = 5

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.  (July, 2017) ­­­­­­­­­­­­­­

______________________________________

Like HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge, Camilla, HRH Duchess of Cornwall is a scholar soul and like William is also a mature soul. Camilla is the same soul age, mid-cycle mature as Meghan, Duchess of Sussex. Camilla is on her third life at mid-cycle mature, though this soul age, which only ever occurs during the mature soul cycle usually takes one, two at the most incarnations to complete…. obviously, there are exceptions to everything. Third-level or third life at any soul age is more likely where one creates karma. Like Catherine, one of Camilla’s primary needs is power. Unlike Catherine’s powerful overleaves, Camilla’s overleaves are pretty straight forward; slow and steady wins the race. As such, she has done every shady underhanded thing imaginable to be the one wearing the Kohinoor crown at Charles’ coronation.

One of the rare photographs of Diana, Princess of Wales and Camilla, HRH Duchess of Cornwall in 1980. Diana was the threat, the enemy; a mere lamb to a famished eagle was Diana to Camilla. Camilla’s numerology is remarkable and apart from 8 in the first position – greedy persons who expect their partner to serve them the world on a platter, she has 5 in the fourth position. Indeed, she would eventually emerge a full-blown blemished flower, tarnished by sexual scandal. Hundreds of years into the future, Camilla will be known as the most powerful royal woman of the 20th century. Without doubt, it will have been because of Camilla why Charles will be dismissed by historians as the Tampon King. Both Camilla and Charles have 5 in the fourth position, which always introduces scandal of a sexual nature into the picture. That 9 of Camilla’s speaks to her unmatched ambition to bulldoze anything in her journey to end up Charles’ Queen Consort.

Windsor, Charles Prince of Wales 14/11/48 Rat 5.7.2 = 5 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. 

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. 

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

_________________________________________

Charles is rather interesting; he is an older soul than his late father, his mother, HM The Queen, both his wives as well as both his sons and their respective wives. Thus far, of the overleaves of royals channelled by yours truly, the only immediate relative of his who is close to him in soul age is Archie, who is also a seventh-level mature soul; however, Archie is a priest soul, which is an exalted role. Charles has been seen as ahead of his time on environmental issues because he happens to be an older soul. As I am also seventh-level matures-souled, artisan and on third life thereat, it is always deeply satisfying to dream of HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales. He is always very gentle, hobo-like and utterly without airs, which are indicative of his being an older soul. He is almost always in nature and shamanic to the core. Incidentally, Charles paints as it is a function of his casting position in cadence – second/artisan/creative – this is Michael overleaves rather than numerology. As is obvious from his numerology, Prince Charles would be affected by sexual scandal during the course of his life.

Incidentally, Camilla & HM Queen Elizabeth, The Queen Mother, a mature slave, are both souls from pod 129. Charles is in pod 404. William and Catherine are in pod 208. Diana, Princess of Wales in pod 380. Prince Philip a mature warrior soul in pod 408. Here is where it gets interesting, HM The Queen, Duke and Duchess of Sussex, both their children Archie & Lilibet along with Prince George of Cambridge are all in pod 418 and they are also all if not entity mates at least cadre mates. That is a pretty strong contingent with an immutable bond. Positively no one will ever come between HM The Queen and Prince Harry.

Simon Dorante-Day 5.4.1966 Horse 5.9.4 = 9

When there is a 5 involved, there is truth to the rumours. Both Camilla and Charles have 5 in the fourth position. There is no way that HM The Queen could have sanctioned a marriage of a seventeen-year-old HRH Prince Charles to Camilla Shand. She was a commoner. Charles is the heir to the throne and could not be having a shotgun wedding to an obviously pregnant commoner before he is even twenty years old. Coming so soon after the scandal with her sister, HRH Princess Margaret and in the 1960s, there is no way that a marriage was possible between Charles and Camilla. There had been no long courtship and all of a sudden within 9 months of their marriage Camilla gives birth; the amount of planning for a state wedding of the future Sovereign, ruled out the wedding. Goodness, Camilla would have been in her third trimester by the time of a wedding. Canada was too close to America with a tabloid leak possible. New Zealand too small and South Africa too controversial. Australia large enough and remote enough. The obvious resemblance to both HRH Prince Charles and Mark Shand, Camilla’s brother are not coincidental. Do you think that after having to give up her son with the future Sovereign, her maternal instinct would not have had a vested interest in Diana, Princess of wales, who was 14 years her junior and utterly clueless? Diana was prey and no predator can ever resist prey whose offspring would prevent her from her rightful title of future Queen Mother.

Throat singers are openly ridiculed by Camilla, HRH Duchess of Cornwall whilst on tour with HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales in Iqaluit, Canada in June, 2017. To their right in the video is Governor-General David Johnston, who looked understandably embarrassed. It is simply astounding to me how this woman could have been afforded so many passes time and again for being so damn despicable. Sweet baby Black Jesus, can you just imagine how Meghan, Duchess of Sussex would be mercilessly lynched in the British tabloids if she were to have behaved so disrespectfully to the Inuit, Canadians, the Commonwealth, the Governor-General of Canada, to say nothing of HM The Queen. But there she is, the Rottweiler to have ensnared the future Sovereign and leaving him for all history to be dismissed as the Tampon King.

True to her innate scholar soul inclination towards prejudice, Camilla, HRH Duchess of Cornwall has given the plot away over the years. She has taken to using her handy little prop – the small white parasol if only so that her hands are always occupied such that she doesn’t have to lean in and god forbid kiss or shake hands with anyone who is an otiose, undesirable… an untouchable – you know the usual sort that one can expect an aversion from bigots: darkies, brown people, golliwogs, the whole lot. Trust you me, I have been in London for Trooping the Colour and it is way too damn hot with all that exposed crushed red clay or limestone, especially so when air conditioning is almost unheard of in England. Alas, there she is each year without her trusty little white parasol to ward off golliwogs et al. God only knows, the very admirable, superior statesperson of impeccable diplomacy, HM The Queen was never given to traipsing about the ‘colonies’ with parasol in hand to ward off the untouchable darkies, golliwogs et al. Truth be told, Camilla could not be attempting to preserve her dubious, renowned beauty parasol-armed as she prefers when amongst the colonies, teeming with darkies and golliwogs, whom she ever seems intent on being rid of ASAP.

Alice Keppel 29.4.1868 Dragon 2.6.2 = 1

Numbers like these present a woman of inordinate confidence, charm, style and when she entered a room, she owned it. It is the mark of a superior courtesan; she could seduce anyone. Hypnotic and bewitching, her effect would have been magical.

HM King Edward VII 9.11.1841 Ox 9.2.7 = 9

A snob to the core; this man appreciated nothing but the finest – double 9s. For him, there could have been no finer, ravishing, prized mistress than Alice Keppel. His mindset of 2 would have left him completely besotted by her magical aura; their passion would have been consuming and sizzling.

HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales arrives minus Camilla, Duchess of Cornwall to HRH Princess Eugenie of York’s October, 2018 wedding at St. George’s Chapel, Windsor Castle. Where Alice Keppel, Camilla’s great-grandmother, failed to have bagged her prince, once finally having gotten that ring, Camilla did not have to play nice… if ever she had. Prince Andrew disproved of her and as she is not an older soul, Camilla would have wasted no time in saying sod off to Andrew and his daughter’s trifling nuptials.

Camilla is a pragmatist and having survived the British tabloids and secured in the knowledge that she had given birth to Prince Charles’ firstborn, she could not have given a damn. There was an engagement at a school the day of Jack and Eugenie’s nuptials and she was not going to change her itinerary. Royals lined up at Galilee Porch for sending off of Jack and Eugenie, yet nowhere was Camilla, HRH Duchess of Cornwall to be seen. She is a future Queen Consort, Andrew is a damn Paedophile and currently, her predatory focus was dispensing with that damn Yank golliwog, who was too charismatically like Diana for her own good and Camilla’s liking. Scholar’s are very good at sabotaging others.

HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales presiding at the handover ceremony of Hong Kong to China in June, 1997. Naturally, Charles was then divorced from Diana, Princess of Wales, who a month later would attend the funeral of murdered fashion designer, Gianni Versace and herself violently killed a month later in Paris.

Charles, November 2021 in Barbados for the handover ceremony as the Bajan government removed the Crown as head of state and became a republic. Just as at HRH Princess Eugenie of York’s wedding, Camilla could not be bothered and chose to be a no-show. She who is future Queen Consort, could not have cared less as this was just some otiose castoff island full of golliwogs. Besides, the ceremony was at night and since she could not be shielded from bloody golliwogs with her ubiquitous parasol – honest to god what beauty pray tell could she be protecting – to hell with them, she will not be going. Contemporaneous with the blackamoor-wearing bigot HRH Princess Michael of Kent is Camilla; a fact which should not be overlooked in how the Sussexes were racially preyed on in the various royal households. Charles and his wife Camilla are the direct representatives of HM The Queen; it was an important event and it was not as though she, Camilla, was back in London on a ventilator for suffering severe Covid. Indeed, it is not as though the failed broodmare had to stay behind and nurse Charles’ latest issue.

Well, ain’t karma a bitch! So having murderously driven Diana, Princess of Wales to the astral plane, Meghan, Duchess of Susssex to California, Camilla’s hope of having her son with Charles sequestered in Australia all these years, recognised and made heir presumptive, the ungrateful bugger had to go and marry and breed with a damn mongrel golliwog! If you think that for one second Camilla has not been a vile witch towards Diana’s beloved sons, just look at her response to throat singers in Iqaluit and HRH Princess Eugenie of York’s wedding. She doesn’t look like Plotte Visage Queen Consort for nothing!

First the baby, then the ring 40 years later… hardly worth it, was it?

Do Nothin’ Till You Hear From Me – Ella Fitzgerald

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

_______________________________________________________________________________

©2013-2022 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.

The Whirling Dervish

DhC8IRtVMAAD_G_

Whirling Dervish

Trevor Leat 

©2012

_________________________________________________________________________

__________________________________________________________________________

©2013-2022 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.  

Bullocks! That Is Not A Fucking Clit!

game-show-connection-stage-setup

Game show host: Famous Quotes.  “Bullocks!  That is not a fucking clit!” 

Game show host: Contestant, respond either A or B to which you think is the correct answer.  Who was this said about when seen naked for the first time by her future husband, was it A. Vicereen Bianca of Trenchtown or B. Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex? 

Contestant: A! 

Game show host: Right, you are!  

15709264-7220343-A_second_shot_in_black_and_white_shows_Meghan_dressed_in_white_g-a-86_1562446657742

From Alanna Plattapuss, to Pierre-Karol Gorgon, all week long they and the OTT vicereen – she of none-too-dubious gender and the likely need for a surrogate’s services, carped on with their usual vitriol against, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex.  Just imagine the temerity of the Trenchtown sketel, likkle jagabat rass, carping on about Meghan not being royal and a hustler who needs a new act and all that, commandingly boomed with the rolling vowels and vulgar cocksucker mouth to boot.  Then by the end of that week, along rolls the weekend full of karmic retribution et voilà Lord Porchester’s sprog was back in the news for those proclivities of his that has him favouring veal and other minor fare.  

diana-princess-of-wales-by-mario-testino-at-kensington-palace-2

Diana, Princess of Wales gave good face; she went in, shook hands, did the doe-eyed routine and sold millions of copies to say nothing of raising funds.  I was in London’s Chelsea the night in June 2017, having just returned from Covent Garden where I discovered, Natalia Osipova, when what sounded like several fire trucks, raced through the streets of West London. 

800px-Grenfell_Tower_fire_(wider_view)

The next morning as Grenfell dominated news everywhere on the tube, I watched as first HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge followed after by HM The Queen, visited the site of the horrific towering inferno.  Soon enough, having done their duty, they were gone.  

meghan-markle-royal-wedding-dress-1526730077

Will someone please ask that blasted cross-dresser, masquerading as a woman, toff or god forbid royal, what is not admirable, to say nothing of royal about Meghan, Duchess of Sussex?  First order of business, after having so handsomely given good theatre as she commandingly ascended the west steps of St. George’s Chapel, Windsor Castle to join her warrior-souled entity mate, HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex with whom she has enjoyed relations in 20 past lives, Meghan goes and meets with the victims of the Grenfell Tower tragedy. 

91uLdDOUpoL

Now, here is where she goes one better and is the true evolution of all that Diana, Princess of Wales represented, she not only meets with them, however, she devises a scheme whereby those victims can experience a continued sense of community and in the process, she created a cookbook which as part of her charitable endeavours, has greatly assisted these victims in need.  Say what you want, but Diana, Princess of Wales never did any such thing.  A copy of said cookbook has repeatedly sat on my kitchen counter as I have prepared meals from those recipes.  

369826

Yet, there is that blasted jagabat, Vicereen Bianca as pompous and full of shit as they come, hopping on the bandwagon in hopes of earning a few more pence so she can go shopping at Poundland to fill Castle Chav, for which she plays chatelaine whom no one on Avenue Foch to say nothing of Kensington Palace Gardens could care less about.  With that cookbook, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex did something that Diana, Princess of Wales and no other royal before her had pulled off or could, she effectively greatly humanised and endeared the royals to not just the Muslims of the Commonwealth but to the 2.5 billion Muslims the world over.  Too, it matters with her biracial ambiguity that Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex is able to fluidly straddle ethnic, racial and religious lines where others in the royal family cannot.  

_99340428_hi043706897

Someone please remind Vicereen Bianca, Monsieur Gorgon et al who are so quick to racially foam at the mouth that after having been booed at Royal Albert Hall and Princess Michael of Kent, having sported the blackamoor brooch to The Queen’s Buckingham Palace Christmas lunch in 2017, all the more reason why Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex would require being sat alone with her two friends at Winbledon without having persons close to them so that she can enjoy a social situation without having the average garden variety bigot make cutting, racially predatory remarks about her for being within earshot.  If you think that this is something which every black does not endure on a daily basis then you are free to go outside and see the Virgin Mother in the next cloud formations – funny how these delusional people never see comeback pussy when cloud-gazing,  

Never once have Gorgon, Vicereen Bianca, Plattapuss et al made mention of that outright racist attack on the part of Princess Michael of Kent.  First of all, for her deliberate racist action, she should not have been suffered at what also happened to have been a black wedding on May 19, 2018.  Not only did she not represent, by her racist attack, HM The Queen, HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales, HRH Princess Anne, Princess Royal but she did not represent her husband, HRH Prince Michael of Kent and his mother, Princess Marina and her family the Greek and Yugoslav royals.  For god sake, stop claiming to know what Diana, Princess of Wales would have thought or how she would have gotten on with Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex when she, Vicereen Bianca cannot produce a single photograph of herself and the late Diana, whose son, Meghan’s loving husband, ought damn well to know more than the fabulist royal, to say nothing of arch-fantasist, or any other racially predatory, vile, obsessed arsehat.  

16473002-7283825-image-m-78_1564024546745

With Jeffrey Epstein once again white hot in the media, far be it from Vicereen Bianca of Trenchtown, Alanna Plattapuss and snivelling pompous racial predator par excellence, Pierre-Karol Gorgon who has conspicuously fallen catatonic with revelations of rather unseemly behaviour becoming of royals from the Earl Porchester’s minor proclivities and the minor royals’ being pimped out by crass parvenu fare from the Far East.  Just imagine the field day these clowns would have if it were Harry & Meghan?  Funny how they have all fallen silent.  What a shame that Madame Safra did not expediently have Vicereen Bianca dispense with as so resoundingly Mr. Epstein has been.  Alas, why should Madame Safra have when the Vicereen Bianca herself is fucking nobody…. let her live and suffer… indeed, a fate far worse than Epstein’s…. Poor, pompous miserable-arsed Vicereen Bianca über poseur (definitely not poseuse) having to drag arse through life in search of that can’t-come-soon-enough casket of hers.  

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

All their racially predatory braying, regardless how much they protest it having anything to do with race – the cowards never concede the obvious, this has all been seen before.  The same mass hysteria Doria Ragland was familiar with in the 70s as the racial predators foamed and raged at bussing in Massachusetts.  Earlier, too, in the 60s, just as now with Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex, Doria would remember the water canons and dogs in George Wallace’s gallant South.  

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Just know this, no matter how much you vilify, demonise and slander Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex, she is going nowhere.  Social media and the amount of open racist animus that is directed Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex’s way is not in the least surprising.  Social media is merely an evolution of behaviour on the part of non-blacks when privately looking at television.  One of the things I realised and it was something that Merlin actually pointed out to me when we were in the early days of our relationship in Manhattan: when whites are looking at television and someone black appears on the screen, their response will 9 of 10 times be negative.  This can run from simply turning the channel, leaving the room or simply engaging in conversation and ignoring the television such that the black person on screen simply is not heard.  There is nothing more infuriating than trying to look at a live television concert or event, like an awards show and the moment someone black walks out on stage, the negative noise pollution starts up.  At one dinner party, on the Upper West Side, Merlin had invited Frederick Jones to come along as Merlin met with a set designer friend of his.  Every time that someone black appeared on screen, the character assassination would kick off.  Of course, it did not take too long before gifted milliner, Frederick Jones simply got up and walked out as more yapping ensued when Gladys Knight and the Pips began singing.  At this point in life, I never look at television, when rarely I do, in the company of non-blacks; it is simply not worth the ghettoised racialised response, which manifests each time.  

She, Meghan, and more importantly her soul when incarnate as Margaret Beaufort, not you Vicereen Bianca of Trenchtown, Pierre-Karol Gorgon et al made possible Christ’s College Cambridge and St. John’s College Cambridge as a result of her soul’s effort in a past life.  For being a fierce feminist in that illustrious past life as Tudor matriarch, mother of King Henry VII, grandmother of King Henry VIII and great-grandmother of Queen Elizabeth I, has a women’s college, Lady Margaret College, Oxford in her honour been established.  Nothing you do here and now can invalidate that soul’s past accomplishments, no more than it can prevent her soul’s agendum in this lifetime.  

a4191e90e823af6ee4fa458f6c678ec2

Of course, it is understandable that with the discovery of King Richard III’s remains in 2012 with their reburial at Leicester Cathedral in 2015, we would discover that William Shakespeare’s portrayal of Richard III as the hunchback monster was misguided.  Indeed, it is not coincidental that Richard III would resurface within a couple of years of Meghan Markle’s ascendancy.  Meghan’s soul, then Margaret Beaufort in her bid to secure the supremacy of the Tudor claim, had Richard III demonised.  Now returned, and also mid-cycle mature-souled, Meghan finds herself beset with open animus.  As much as this is in part due to rabid open racial animus, let’s not avoid facts, it is also because mid-cycle mature lives tend to come with a bit of self-karmic drama and some degree of infamy.  

Richard_III_voice-770x437

For having slandered Richard III, returned here Margaret Beaufort’s reincarnated soul, who is now now Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex, finds herself despite her considerable accomplishments when Margaret Beaufort, opposed and rejected.  Nonetheless, she is possessed of a Venus/Solar body type, which means that she will, in time, transcend the current open animus and prove immensely popular and well-loved.  Moreover, another mid-cycle mature-souled member of the House of Windsor happens to be Camilla, HRH Duchess of Cornwall.  She too, owing to whatever went down in past lives, relative to this one, has seen her tried by fire, vilified and demonised; yet, she has handsomely weathered the storm of rabid gutter snipes being bitter bitches to emerge as one of the most loved, warm, august-souled royals.  What’s not to love, she champions literacy, literature and hands out the Man Booker Prize each year!  

All that aside, no matter how these race-baiting agitators vent, rant and instigate, they will change nothing.  Their campaign has been so doggedly juvenile and at every turn, they fail.  It all began with the Straight outta Compton missive and it has been one racially charged attack, assumption, innuendo-filled report after another.  All have been transparently specious: There will never be an engagement; The Queen would never allow it.  Then, indeed, when it happened, HM The Queen was dismissed as clearly demented.  Meghan is not fit to be a royal.  She has been married three times before.  She is actually 41.  Samantha is secretly raising her bastard child.  She is just a z-list actress.  She is a yacht girl,  She was not properly vetted.  She is a narcissist.  She is vile; how could she not speak to her father?  Doria is a felon and was imprisoned.  She abandoned her dogs.  She was living with Corey and seeing Prince Harry.  I hate Prince Harry.  Oh Harry what have you done?  All that The Queen has worked for!  That was not a royal wedding.  All that gospel crap and all the celebrities; it made a mock of royal weddings.  There was clearly tension in the marriage when Meghan brushed off Harry whilst sat in the quire at HRH Princess Eugenie’s marriage.  Eugenie’s was a real royal wedding.  Meghan’s dress was a disgrace and it did not fit.  

369852

Days after having decided that there was trouble in the Sussexes’ marriage, there was the announcement of the pregnancy; this was readily followed by Meghan being attacked: she is selfish and narcissistic, for having announced the pregnancy at Eugenie’s wedding; this of course when they had no idea when the rest of the Royal family was informed of the pregnancy.  She bleaches her skin.  None of those celebrities at her wedding know her.  It was the worse wedding ever; definitely, it was not a royal wedding.  All that money on clothes and she never looks good; they are all ill-fitting clothes.  Thank god, she is such a terror that the queen has banished her to Frogmore Cottage, right next to Wallis Simpson’s grave.  Prince William can see through her.  She has caused nothing but trouble in the royal family.  They need to be banished.  She is Wallis Simpson reincarnated (never mind that you first have to die before reincarnating; Wallis died in 1986, five years after Meghan’s birth.  Moreover, there is usually anywhere from 15 to 30 years, roughly twenty before most souls reincarnate).  Harry doesn’t smile anymore.  Harry is lost.  Harry is pussy-whipped.  She is not pregnant.  Pillow gate.  Stop clutching that bump.  There is a pillow, see how it moves.  She is not pregnant.  She is definitely using a surrogate.  Oh my god, she is writing notes on the bananas, who does that?  Who does she think she is?  Thank god William was born first.  Kate is a real princess.  Catherine is pure class; never puts a foot wrong.  

611lOeDj64L

This campaign of race-baiting and hatred is but a macrocosm of the microcosmic dynamic which is acted out in families all too often.  A perfectly balanced child is projected onto and bullied into fitting into some ascribed persona within the family’s iconographic dictates.  Bob the little devil or Miranda the little Lolita when in fact, these archetypes have nothing to do with the subject of the projection.  Daily attack articles and specious speculative articles in the print medium to further incite the public to hatred changes nothing.  Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex is phenomenally popular across the Commonwealth, in particular amongst blacks.  This need to vilify Meghan is rooted in the collective psyche of white tribalism, which feels itself tasked with having to remain top baboon as it were as the white population in Western Europe contracts and is further stressed by the burgeoning Islamic population in its midst.  This need to play soap opera with the royals is part and parcel of that dynamic need to be on top… and always winning,  One must ever be in control and be first, better than and all that maya.  This is why Simon Cowell has become phenomenally wealthy; he is simply tapping into the tribal zeitgeist.   Cowell knows damn well that regardless how good a singer is, he can depend on the predominantly white audience be it in America or the UK to choose a white contestant over a non-white any and every time.  This phenomenon precisely is why Jennifer Hudson did not win during the year that she appeared on American Idol.  There is a grudging need to bar, hamper and eclipse the non-white other, in favour of one’s own.  If this truly racialised paradigm existed in the 1960s, there would have been no Aretha Franklin, no Patti Labelle, Chaka Khan et al – simply too black.  Indeed, in this racialised caste system, the global paradigm does exist just as much as the current environmental collapse such that were Henry to have chosen a Chinese, East Indian or Jewish bride, though, there would have been pockets of disapproval, it would have been comparably muted at best and nowhere near the lynch mob intensity that animus towards Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex has become, thanks in large part to the orchestrated propaganda produced by racially predatory boors like Pierre-Karl Gorgon, Alanna Plattapuss and Vicereen Bianca of Trenchtown.  

960x0

Of course, in all of this, they keep focussing on Meghan as they are so perplexed by the rumbling tectonics in the Cambridges’ marriage.  Recently at the revived King’s Cup Regatta 2019 at the Isle of Wight, there was Catherine being her steely warrior-spirited self.  After receiving her wooden spoon for placing last, the female who placed second along with William her husband, took to the stage and on receiving her champagne tried to get next to William and in a move that was pure warrior canny, Catherine shimmied with lightning ease into place and thereby blocked the woman from getting close to ‘her’ man.  Throughout their stay on the stage William made no mistake about telegraphing how utterly disinterested and fed up he is, having to be stuck with Catherine.  Naturally, none of this will ever be reported by the likes of Pierre-Karol Gorgon, Alanna Plattapuss, nor will there be another shrill blast from the pompous ass, Vicereen Bianca of Trenchtown herself (himself).  Every warrior is the dominant partner in any relationship and Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge is no exception that is why I am fully confident that she will fare better than Diana, Princess of Wales did; moreover, Diana an artisan was doing battle with her warrior partner, HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales. 

William is immensely innately arrogant for being a scholar and his astrological stellium and his attitude number of 9 are precisely why in the above clip, he does not bow to HM The Queen.  He sees himself as a Sovereign – as in all time is present; since he will be sovereign in the future, simultaneously he is sovereign in the past since birth and now.  William with an attitude of 9 is incapable of not holding grudges and he very likely regards both his father and paternal grandmother as having been complicit in his mother’s demise.  

William like every scholar incarnate will wander but he will always be miserable being with Catherine because she will suffer no Camilla, HRH Duchess of Cornwall – herself a scholar soul.   This is why though things got a little too chummy at Houghton Hall, it will only ever be whispered about; the chatelaine of Houghton Hall will never displace Catherine as future Princess of Wales.  Try coming between task companions and good luck with trying to displace that task companion, who happens to be a warrior – not happening.  

In the meantime, William will just have to merrily go roving along as is his scholarly and princely wont to find other prey.  Just as Melissa Percy had no intention of sharing either her man or her bed, so, too, strong-willed, warrior Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge will never be dislodged by another.  Thus Thomas van Straubenzee is on to marriage number two, which will no doubt leave William with continued full access to both his loyal public school special chum and Thomas’ blissfully unaware blonde walker.  

17151646-7346077-Relaxed_the_Prince_was_seen_smiling_as_he_shared_a_chauffeured_r-a-42_1565523519133

Fascinatingly enough, as the days drift by after Jeffrey Epstein convenient expiration, there is a gnawing, burgeoning silence as that vile, toxic bigot remains conspicuously silent, News of the World vile snob and bigot, Gorgon.  Please dear god, let his name appear just once somewhere in association with Jeffrey Epstein,  The Trump-loving, nasty racist parasite… just one photograph; that is all it takes to have the tables turn on that fucking nez brun, snivelling twat, Pierre-Karol Gorgon.  These racial predators who use the print medium to race-bait as they know law number one being, familiarity breeds contempt.  Yes, indeed, every day multiple scathing articles against Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex.  

What more proof does one need that these gutter snipes are purely racially focussed in their agendum of attacking Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex?  Somehow, the very real spectre of paedophilia raises its can’t- shake head and not a peep out of these persons, who so claim to love their venerable institution, the Monarchy.  How or when pray tell has Meghan been a paedophile or when did she take funds from crass, foreign parvenu fare?  No indeed, not a single winded turn, grandstanding with faux indignation of Meghan being unsuitably common and a dark blemish on royalty that must not be suffered overlong.  

190415180215-notre-dame-ghitis

Indeed, this is a civilisation where one does not have to think; you are simply groomed to form opinions on anything.  Naturally, it is a culture that prides itself on being negative; one sees being negative as a good thing.  After 60 years of television, the same negative, readily racially predatory animus towards blacks had a new outlet in being able to comment, anonymously no less, on the internet – just as one has done for 7 decades in the privacy of one’s home when looking at television.  With Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex, we have reached a new plateau in mob rule… Indeed, it is a new form of lynching wherein Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex has become surrounded by a forest of burning crosses as these non-blacks in their lust for blood and addiction to hate have never been more ecstatic.  And everyone of these people will let you know that it has nothing to do with race and they all, for one being black, have to mention out of the blue how, they can’t stand or they just hate that Meghan. 

Who has time for anything but apathy when seeing Notre Dame Cathedral ablaze indeed.  Enough of giving a damn; no more of this Pray for Paris fare on social media… just not worth it.  The week following the Jeffrey Epstein suicide, homicide – you decide – old Gorgon goes into hiding and is conveniently on a break – goodness knows, unless he is in hibernation en route to Mars, there is no reason why News of the World potty-mouth should not be foaming at the mouth about unroyal-like conduct.  Alas, there is more acrimony against the Sussexes, while the Cambridge’s privately jet to Mustique and they to Spain, though, the Sussex’s trip is less taxing on the environment, the Sussexes are labelled eco-hypocrites.  

17421508-7371321-The_Duke_and_Duchess_of_Sussex_seven_times_the_emissions_per_per-m-12_1566227171457

Then to top off the week, new polling numbers show that Catherine is now more popular than Meghan and even Harry, thanks to Meghan’s negative impact has slipped in popularity.  Well guess what Einsteins, Diana Krall was more popular than Natalie Cole, Shirley Horn, Nancy Wilson and Betty Carter combined.  Simply put, tribalism is more pronounced with Caucasians than any other group.  They will ever hate, hiss and boo Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex in the United Kingdom; indeed, no predominantly non-black Commonwealth nation has yet extended the Sussexes an invitation, though, HM The Queen, appointed them Commonwealth Youth Ambassadors – a title which was largely due in part because HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge has yet to tour any predominantly black Commonwealth nation and with an attitude number of 9, numerologically, nothing would get him to budge on touring such countries.  Naturally, with the marriage of Henry & Meghan, though, he has previously toured those countries, predominently non-white, non-black Commonwealth Singapore and Malaysia have invited the Cambridges to tour autumn 2019, in an obvious move to show their disfavour at Henry having married the black woman.  

17451632-7372161-image-a-33_1566230738150

What would move Elton John to make this impassioned post to his Instagram account about the racially predatory abuse that TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex are being subjected to?  Elton John like model, Lauren Hutton, James Middleton, Madonna and every gap-toothed adult Caucasian was in his immediate past life black.  Not surprisingly, Elton was the only non-black on the AIDS charity anthem of 1985, That’s What Friends Are For.  The abuse has gone way beyond the line and one can no longer idly stand by and say nothing.  

There she is Madonna and if ever one needed validation that this is someone who is completely at ease and accepting of blacks’ humanity, you need no further proof.  There are people the world over, not least Hollywood, who would find it extremely uncomfortable being in the same room as someone black.  Madonna’s extended family and the love between her and David Banda as well as all her other children is all the validation one needs that in her immediate past life she was Bessie Smith and prior to that, a few lifetimes before, 17th century Italian composer, Claudio Monteverdi.  

thumbnail_Screenshot_20190821-000416_Instagram

“Race is everything and yet it is nothing…” a phrase Merlin often repeated during our seven years together at the incidences of racism which he witnessed for being my lover.  Naturally, Canada has yet to invite the Sussexes on a tour – though, one can hardly be surprised at that.  70 million Britons may hate Meghan’s guts but there are close to a billion blacks in the Commonwealth for whom the Sussexes will always matter.  Meanwhile, there were no body language experts waxing overlong about William’s aloofness at the King’s Cup Regatta.  The fact that Gorgon, Bianca et al are not writing about the obvious problems in the Cambridges’ marriage does not mean that it does not exist.  Goodness, they have just spent a whole week in the 24/7 news cycle of 21st century online news media, making positively no mention of Jeff Epstein and the troubling connections that the Earl Porchester clearly had with the conveniently deceased paedophile whose autopsy showed from the broken neck vertebrae that he was a likely murder rather than suicide.  

balcony deflection

150 years hence, historians will look back at the Cambridge’s marriage and point to whatever drama unfolds between now and then and point to their rowing en route to Buckingham Palace from Westminster Abbey and Catherine’s rude dismissal of William whilst they stood on the balcony being celebrated and William’s fate was being sealed.  Who cares how adored you are by outsiders, being trapped in a miserable marriage must be sheer hell.  No need to gloat about how more popular Catherine is than Meghan, which would not be the case had Henry married blonde Chelsy Davy or Cressida Bonas.  Indeed, if Henry had married a Chinese, East Indian or Jew, though, there would doubtless be resentment, it would by no means be so rabid and unrelentingly feral. 

meghan fashion

The fact remains, when and where it matters most, it is a public role and all the scathing, derogatory, race-baiting articles notwithstanding, Meghan’s commanding performance at the 2018 British Fashion Awards was a salvo which illustrated why she has more star power than Catherine and no amount of hatred is going to change that.  It has been cruel to watch how Catherine is being jousted to get out there and suddenly make speeches. 

God lord, the poor woman is not then and never will be in her element; she is glorious at being Catherine, future Queen Consort, sporty and ever steely but being speech-giver is no forte of hers – never has been, never will be.  The sad thing about Meghan’s speech at the 2018 British Fashion Awards is that it has been heavily edited and only now carried by the Royal Family’s YouTube channel.  It is almost as if, Meghan cannot to be seen to be outshining Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge; moreover, I think that palace mandarins may have deemed Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex’s speech too political. 

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

One should never forget the song which the Kingdom Choir sung as the newly wedded TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex departed St. George’s Chapel Windsor Castle, This Little Light of Mine.  No amount of racial animus or hatred will ever be able to eclipse the light of the soul which, when previously incarnate, was the Tudor Matriarch, Queen Mother to Henry VII, grandmother and favourite adviser to Henry VIII and great-grandmother to HM Queen Elizabeth I.  

17395742-7367511-At_this_point_Prince_Andrew_dressed_casually_in_a_blue_shirt_and-a-76_1566074566960

Good god!  Talk about true hypocrisy!  Where in the hell are Vicereen Bianca of Trenchtown and that louche bigot whose unsavoury deeds precipitated News of the World’s demise, Pierre-Karol Gorgon?  That’s right, not a peep out of them.  This is the same royalty that they have been defending against the likes of the descendant of enslaved Africa and a hustler to boot, being deemed not fit to be royal.  Imagine that, the black woman excoriated with coded language like hustler well at least she is not a blasted paedophile!  There is damn value in Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex being welcome as she was by HM The Queen and her gracious father-in-law, HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales, she is articulate, intelligent, strong-willed and has commanding stage presence; she is indeed the beau idéal when one wants to address and engage the Commonwealth, which is predominantly brown and black.  

dicklessgorgon2

Well at long last Pierre-Karol Gorgon has come out of hiding!  What does the no-balled fucker do, he blithely goes back to excoriating TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex and pretending as though the biggest story in the House of Windsor has not reared its ugly head yet again.  Yes, clueless, dickless one, keep caterwauling like the true castrato that you are but ignoring the elephant in the room, does not make it go away.  There you go, karma has served up Epstein’s corpse go on carrion, no need to be bashful, go ahead and start feasting on the real story to be writing about and growing incandescent with rage.  Fucking no-balled racial predator, you try convincing the rest of us that Meghan is not royal enough and your animus is not in the least rooted in racial hatred.  

1495235412054

Your racial animus towards HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex for having married the black woman notwithstanding, do be very careful what you wish for.  All this talk about: I cannot support this royal family anymore, they are nothing but hypocrites, nothing but scroungers. as soon as HM The Queen dies we need a referendum on the monarchy; we need to become a republic.  In case you have not noticed, your marvellous empire Britannia is no longer a realm of white tribal homogeneity.  Within your midst are persons who will never assimilate and within a generation of having declared a republic, you will end up with a succession of presidents, who will not look like you and who will want their religious laws, and get their religious laws become the law of the land.  These presidents will have been groomed from birth to perceive you as the enemy who must be vanquished… go on keep being blinded by hatred of the black woman and see where it gets you.  

9781788702560_2

But enough about bothering with blasted racial predators, who as karma would have it, has backhanded them good and hard with Jeffrey Epstein’s convenient, though by no means ended, demise.  Now the drama royal, truly gets underway in coming months.  Go on, likkle jagabat, let’s see your cocksucker mouth gag with indignation, feigned or otherwise, about the bold audacity to have mere paedophiles in one’s regal realm.  Go on, we know you can’t afford to go grouse-hunting, time to eat crow… blasted fraud.  

Lord_Louis_Mountbatten1925

In the meantime, I have pre-ordered my very own copy of Master Andrew Lownie’s deliciously indulgent exposé about one of my favourite rats, Earl Louis Mountbatten… Oh Louella darling, clutch your pearls, lick your lips, it’s going to prove a true bibliophilic gourmand’s wet dream… and infinitely better fare than that trifling garbage that ought rightly to have been pulped!  I cannot wait to read this book!  When Merlin was first hospitalised with full-blown AIDS, at Toronto’s St. Michael’s Hospital in January 1988, he began ferociously re-reading every book that had brought him the greatest pleasure; this is someone who concluded reading a book each day.  One of the books he shared with me as he knew what books I most loved, was this wonderful book about Mahatma Gandhi’s life; of course, one of the first films we saw together was Gandhi at the Ziegfeld in Midtown Manhattan way after midnight, after we had been to dinner, fucked like rottweilers then headed off into the night, holding hands – a thing which back in 1982, you most definitely could not then have done in Toronto, and saw a film that moved us to tears.  There within the covers of that biography, I discovered the most ravishingly fascinating couple, Louis & Edwina Mountbatten.  Now, there was a true vicereen!  

____________________________________________________________________________________________

____________________________________________________________________________________________

©2013-2022 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.  

Buster En Repose Pyramid Green Room.

thumbnail_IMG_20190808_010603_147

(L to R,) Yonge Street Mask (George Hawken Lithograph 1971), Pink Chair (George Hawken Lithograph 1990 of yours truly; there are only three copies in existence) Woman (George Hawken Lithograph 1980) Sockeye Salmon (Bill Reid Lithograph 1991), Four Standing Figures (Henry Moore Lithograph 1978) 

Buster is a really keen familiar.  Recently, someone of dubious intentions visited my home; needless to say, I had dreamt of the encounter days prior.  As he spends long hours therein, Buster came from the pyramid and promptly hissed at the individual then returned to the pyramid where no doubt, he communed with his Egyptian ancestors.  He only ever enters the pyramid at the eastern corner and when meditating will face one of the four corners in the sphinx position and remain thus for long hours.  

Buster loves that duvet; therefore, year round I have to sleep with one.  Now that it is summer, I avoid roasting beneath the down duvet by having the AC on high 24/7.  Bad carbon footprint; then again, I don’t drive.  

_____________________________________________________________________________

_____________________________________________________________________________

©2013-2022 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.  

The Fawn… It Definitely Was A Miracle.

Merlin Christmas 88

On this the eve of what would have proven Merlin’s 72nd birthday, I share these rather totemic dreams.  This November 18, 2019 marks the 30th anniversary of Merlin’s passing of full-blown AIDS, on a cold November Saturday morning when icy snowflakes aimlessly drifted across the city streets.  Whilst at dinner recently, a dear friend asked if I am never saddened at the loss of Merlin and if I ever do miss him. Of course, as I write this blog, I am warmed by the fact that on December 2, 2006 – almost 13 years ago, Merlin was reincarnated in a canalled northern European city.  Merlin is now female and the third of three children – two older brothers. 

What’s more, Merlin reborn has eyes that would now be even more phenomenal than when last I gazed besotted and rhapsodic into those large, soulful hazel eyes.  Whereas Merlin was on his sixth life as a seventh level mature scholar soul, now reincarnated and female that soul is now living its first incarnation as a first level old scholar. These next dreams were dreamt in May, 1989 when Merlin was then still incarnate and at that point, he daily listened to the audiocassette recording of my dreams.  This he did because they fascinated him; more than that, he did so because ever the director, he was keen to give insight and direction. 

“Come on, Arvin, you have to be more descriptive.  I have no idea if the car was blue, green, for that matter a convertible and was it a tan or white leather interior?” 

Certainly, it can never be underestimated the pivotal role that Merlin played in the depth and thoroughness of the audiocassette recorded dreams.  He was ever a loving but tough taskmaster and happy am I to have had his loving input and direction. After having listened to the recorded dream being now shared herein, Merlin came to dinner at our 20 Amelia Street home and declared, “Well, let’s not get too caught up in trying to interpret and figure out the symbolism of those dreams.”  After, he winked, we softly kissed; his lips as ever warm and full as internally an unrelenting disease determinedly consumed his body… but never alas his spirit. 

These were potent, lucid astral plane dreams.  To say that they were totemic would be understating fact.  The dreams were a glimpse beyond the veil as Merlin shamanically wound down another incarnation and got ready to put to rest another life. Ever focussed on my spiritual maturation, I am immensely proud to have survived so long after Merlin’s passing.  Had anyone wagered that I would be still in the game 30 years later, I would have said, “You are reading the wrong tea leaves.”  

Well, here I am still shaking arse and the Rathore to the core.  These totemic dreams were dreamt on Monday, May 22, 1989, audiocassette recorded on tape IX of the 250 audiocassette recording of my dreams and yet to be found in Volume one the 25 Volume dream opus. Too, at the time, the Moon then transited both Sagittarius and my seventh house – wherein my natal Moon is posited.  Truly few are they who are brave enough to drink from the chalice that is life. 

Your support and choice to be focussed herein are both humbling and a source of inordinate pride.  I am immensely grateful. Sweet dreams and as ever do remember, death is just a shift in focus; one is merely focussed at a different frequency.  Besides, as one rather beguiling astral plane habituée put it, “Trust me, death is not wasted on the living.”  

Dreams serve as the most expedient conduit for sustaining the bonds and communion of souls between persons who are no longer focussed in the physical plane but refocussed on the astral plane between lives as astral plane habitués whilst resting, reviewing and weaving the tapestry of future incarnations.  So, drink and live in the moment.  Take a deep breath, open your eyes within – don’t be afraid – and there within the silken folds of self is the massive beauty which is spirit.. go on explore and discover the true you.  I love you more. 

________________________

Montpelier Plantation Nevis

The first dream found me posited on a hilltop looking down into a valley which then rose up into a lower hill.  From the vantage of the mountains in Sandy Point, St. Kitts or Nevis, the view was of being down towards the ocean.  Topographically, it seemed more like St. Kitts – however, this was definitely set in Nevis.  I looked out and what did I see but a house on this hill; it was a very huge and lovely house.

Down from the sky, before the house on the rolling plains, fell a column of white light that shimmered.  The manifesting light had the power of a tornado and it was a force that moved… it undulated.  Truth be told, this was a liquefied white light – not unlike a waterspout.  As compared to the left and right sides of the shaft, it was as though the centre of the light was faded.  The centre of the column of light seemed invisible but it wasn’t.  As a matter of fact, it was sort of greyish-coloured.  

*A very fleeting dream this was but it was one that was potent.  The sky overhead was ominously dark as though the cloud cover was simply to mask something else.  There was no getting around the fact that the light was used as some sort of transport or conveyance.  The light was being used for the relay of energies between the house’s occupants, if there were any, and whatever was beyond the clouds.

The dream seemed to have abruptly collapsed because I had happened on the scene.  There was no one else about.  Too, it was the only house on the landscape.  I felt as though I had been ejected, from the dream, for having been there and witnessed what I wasn’t supposed to have been privy to.  The dream collapsed around me; I was deprived any further knowledge of what was going on.  In light of the dream that would follow, it became fairly obvious that the light column was channelling.

Eventually, the astra-human soul quality of Merlin’s would quite potently manifest.  Of course, just as in the dream of Thursday, July 7, 1988VI, again, there was a lone house on the landscape.  As will become evident, in later moments of the dreams, Merlin’s soul quality would manifest.  END.

_________________________

Satiro de Aaron Sims

The next dream immediately found me in bed with Merlin.  He got up and he looked very old.  Looking very tired and old, he turned around to me then went out into the hallway.  He turned around and asked me, “When are you going to start moving on because I’d like to die by the end of this year?  When are you going to go back to school?  I’m really tired of this; I’m tired of this illness… I just want to move on.”

He was terribly impatient.  Indeed, Merlin here was very forceful.  That was when he began shapeshifting; Merlin underwent a metamorphosis before my eyes.  He became, as he spoke, more impatient.  I watched spellbound as his physiology morphed into the very astral-looking faun – though elfin-looking, he was taller than his known humanoid self; Merlin became the archetypal Chiron.  I started crying sounding real childlike and said, “No… no!  Please, please don’t!”

His face then became part of the pink walls, thus his transformed face was flesh-toned.  Here his face looked faunlike; his eyes were on the sides.  He had the face of a faun and I only ever saw the right eye.  The eye was black-within-black.  The eye looked down at me because the head – which was the only thing visible when mounted – was up on the wall.  Shapeshifted, Merlin’s was a very hard-looking eye.

bison-1344761_960_720

Merlin’s eye rapaciously looked right into the soul.  An ancient eye it was.  I caressed the softness of the fur-like skin and pleaded with him and said, “Please, I can’t live without you.  I couldn’t go on.  Please don’t lose your strength and get ill,” I pleaded with the shapeshifted Merlin and cried.  I was aware of being here in bed asleep whilst dreaming and that my body was going through the motions of crying and being pained.  Merlin did not hear me, although, I thought that as I slept that I was talking aloud in my sleep.

*This was an intensely upsetting dream because it dramatised how Merlin wished to be allowed to move on.  He no longer cared to be focussed in the life.  Though it was obvious that he could have soldiered on for months more, he simply lost the desire to go on being focussed.  Clearly, this was owing to the bilious discord created by Tytanikka and Oleg’s betrayal.

Though he never physiologically resembled the classic centaur, Merlin’s face not only further morphed becoming like a fawn’s, more accurately, his head and face did have the eventual shape of a young bison’s – very Taurean, strong and potent.

______________________________

On preparing for the video to celebrate the 70th anniversary of Merlin’s birth back in 2017, I decided then to head off to the costumer, Malabar on McCaul Street where artist and lover George Hawken lived in the late 80s to early 90s.  Inspired by the first dream of Merlin had 41 years ago in July 1978, I decided to get a cowl as a tribute to the cowl Merlin wore in the inaugural dream encounter with him, four years before having met on Friday, October 1, 1982 in New York City.  So, there was I at Mount Pleasant Cemetery on Saturday, July 15, 2017 in my cowl and the panama hat purchased at Versailles to escape the heat.  I thought it fitting as Merlin always loved wearing panama hats.

My trusty friend, J.J. who happens to be an artisan entity mate whom I have known in 20 past lives –- which is a high incidence of contact -– was the director.  Initially, I had hoped to throw a white party on the lawn to the southwest of the chapel at Mount Pleasant Cemetery and have a drone film the event where a gathering of friends would raise a glass to Merlin on the anniversary of his ennobled birth.  Merlin always threw a white party each year for his birthday at his parents’ stunning backyard in north Toronto’s Servington Crescent.

The plan was not approved by the cemetery and thus, one had to improvise.  I got my panama hat and my cowl and together, we proceeded with a dozen long-stem white roses to visit Merlin’s resting place.  I had a pretty good idea what I was after.  With the matching white cowl, I wanted to evoke the magic of meeting Merlin in that initial dream which is shared in volume one of the dream memoirs, which is already published: Merlin and Arvin: A Shamanic Dream Odyssey.  

maasdo-ii1

Get your copy!  Thanks as ever for your support!

In the hardcover edition of human civilisation’s first dream memoirs, the initial dream encounter with Merlin is shared.  The dream begins on page 110 in the hardcover edition.  I wanted the same sense of wonderment and magic that I felt for having met Merlin in that first dream four years prior to having met reflected in the video.  In that dream, Merlin’s appearance was preceded by a white totemic creature which seemed, in its astral plane outréness, to be part Russian wolfhound, part alpaca, part dog.  

20111027mausoleum

So, moving to the lawn, having descended the steps of the chapel, I began walking across the open lawn towards the statuesque lion-festooned mausoleum with the five remaining white long-stem white roses.  Seven roses, of course, were left at Merlin’s grave -– one rose for each of our seven glorious years together.  As I stepped onto the lawn, it seemed magical… timeless even.  Slowly, confidently as I approached the filmmaker at the other end of the lawn, I thought of Merlin and that initial dream.  

41567660520_aa45897de7_b

Just then, I very distinctly thought of Merlin greeting me by purring, “Hello Lambs.”  As if right on cue, from off stage left, an adult deer came from behind the bushes and tombstones that line the far edges of the open lawn.  Never before had I seen a deer at Mount Pleasant Cemetery.  Indeed, the good burghers of Forest Hill who clearly regularly jogged in the park-like setting stopped and were overheard remarking that they had never seen a deer in the cemetery before.  All that I could do was tear up and continue walking as the deer then bolted and ran from stage left to right as I continued my stride uninterrupted –- unfazed by the appearance of an adult deer on the grounds of the cemetery.  What is more astounding, is that J.J. at the time was filming my walk; at the last minute, I decided against a run-through as I was concerned about the natural light possibly changing if we were to rehearse the shot.  

Unbeknownst to me, the deer after having made it to stage right, then returned to the centre of the lawn and stood there perfectly still whilst observing my progression across the lawn.  J.J. who was astounded by the occurrence remarked that he had just witnessed a miracle.   There is no doubt in my mind as I tried to recapture the magic of that initial dream encounter that there was a subtle validation of that dream from the magical shaman himself on the other side by having had Merlin’s spirit step in as director emeritus and had the deer enter the shot as validation and a token of his appreciation of the love that we shared and my steadfast loyalty to him.  After crossing the lawn and turning to watch the deer stand there, looking down the lawn at me, I felt such utter peacefulness and abandonment of spirit — just as when alone and intimate in the dark with Merlin.  

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Yes, I believe in magic as did Merlin and as though an appreciation of having stridently done everything to fulfil his mandate to me, Merlin’s astral body conjure up the same magic here and now as he had in July 1978 –- four years before slipping inside a Hell’s Kitchen walk-up and readily winning me over with his sexy elfin charm, magic and sex that proved the most grounding shamanic passion… every time.  Standing there, I was reminded, too, of that dream in 1989 before Merlin passed wherein he shape-shifted and became a fawn-like creature who morphed and became one with the wall in our Cabbagetown home.  

All the music chosen for this 13-minute video is music that Merlin loved whilst incarnate and to which he returned time and again -– whether at Joe Morton’s tiny Upper West Side apartment in autumn of 1983, Toronto’s 20 Amelia Street in tony Cabbagetown.  From Glenn Gould’s mastery of Johann Sebastian Bach’s Goldberg Variations, to Elton John, Stevie Wonder, Gladys Knight and Dionne Warwick singing That’s What Friends Are For –- in that segment of the video, I included friends whom Merlin valued: Kareem Benezra, myself, Wayne Robson and his oldest and most loyal friend, the ever-gracious, Maxime Gascoigne-de Montigny.

Of course, for Stevie Wonder’s Isn’t She Lovely, I exclusively included photos of Merlin and his very handsome and gracious father, David Ben-Daniel.  Whereas I favoured Sir Paul McCartney’s Hey Jude, Merlin ever loved George Harrison and especially My Sweet Lord.  Of course, one Saturday, whilst staying at actor, Joe Morton’s Manhattan apartment, when Merlin and I secretly committed to being together, we slow-danced to Supertramp and Roger Hodgson’s unmatched magical vocals on Supertramp’s Breakfast In America.

Additionally, Jeffrey Osborne’s On the Wings of Love which was one of Merlin’s favourite ballads is also included.  Merlin loved Black male soul singers: Otis Redding, Marvin Gaye, Jeffrey Osborne –- most especially –- George Benson, Al Green, Teddy Pendergrass, Donny Hathaway, Barry White.  Most of all, I am especially proud of the video that J.J. and I have created; I think that it masterfully captures the depth of my love and fealty to the most fabulously magical shaman encountered on this incarnation’s spiritual odyssey.

Naturally, before having left for Mount Pleasant Cemetery, I had flooded my apartment with the music that appears in the video.  Perhaps, unwittingly by so doing, I was invoking Merlin’s spirit, which later joined us when he played ultimate director and pulled off the most magical bit of stage direction –- an adult deer in the middle of a cemetery in the heart of mid-town Toronto.  Lastly, I played the sublimely soulful Shirley Horn’s interpretation of, Here’s to Life!  Whilst raising a glass of coconut water, I had forgotten to pick up some champagne the evening prior and it was too early in the morning to find champagne anywhere –- the lighting was way too good.  Besides who knows if that magical deer would have been anywhere about.

Here’s to life… most of all, here’s to Merlin… here’s to dream shamans everywhere!

Merlin & Arvin 1987

Merlin’s mandate to me ever remains:

“Please my darling, I want you to write about our lives together.  I promise you, however possible, I am going to send you dreams to include in the story of our love… our lives together.”

Of course, there is my Instagram account:  Instagram Arvin da Brgha

The YouTube channel is:  Arvin da Brgha YouTube

For now, here’s to life, here’s to you and thanks so much for your ongoing support all these years!

_____________________________________________________

©2013-2022 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.

The Markle Sparkle.

The duke and duchess were two hours late for their welcoming ceremony due to the knock-on effect of an earlier delay to their scheduled air service

Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex in Valentino Haute Couture in Morocco.  

Many moons ago, in the 80s when living next-door to designer, Alfred Sung on Cabbagetown’s Amelia Street, I was more obsessed with fashion than I now am.  Back then, lots of friends used to bemoan the paucity of black models appearing on catwalks of major house, in particular, Armani.  

In this 1992 Fashion Television feature portrait by Jeanne Beker, the thinking model, Veronica Webb makes passing reference to the paucity of black models in ad campaigns and even walking the catwalks of some houses.  

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Then along came a picture-perfect day in Berkshire when Sol shone with rays that sparkled as though laced with diamonds and platinum.  This phenomenal woman, this soul who had previously been Margaret Beaufort, she with an unparallelled sense of theatre, with poise, self-absorption and awareness in the space of a couple of hours proved herself a game changer.  That poise, elegance and revolutionary arrival onto the world stage got everyone to sit up and take notice.  Certainly, Pierpaolo Piccioli took notice.  He clearly thought that if Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex were going to favour haute couture in choosing Givenchy for the elegantly minimalist wedding gown then Maison Valentino had to step up and court the Duchess.  

Bored out of my mind, one day, I happened to be tune into a live event on Eva Chen’s IG @evachen212.  It was the Spring/Summer 2019 Maison Valentino Haute Couture show and as Eva shouted and praised the models and creations as they walked, I began crying.  Never had I seen so many black models walking in a show.  Then Naomi Campbell appeared, closing the show and I was simply floored.  Never had Ms. Campbell looked more radiant when walking the catwalk.  There was so much tangible love in the air, in that room.  This was a moment like no other.  There was no denying that Piccioli was courting Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex with that show, not just the ubiquity of black models but the number of creations that featured a bateau neckline were clear homage to the latest duchess of the House of Windsor.  

Listen to what Naomi has to say, near the end of the video, when speaking to British Vogue Editor, Edward Enninful.  There was nothing more overwhelming that seeing the response in that salon, from Naomi crying, to the adorably eccentric Reine de Charlemagne, Céline Dion, crying her eyes out whilst sitting FROW along with Mr. Valentino himself, Valentino Garavani.  

Related image

Campbell, Naomi 22/5/1970 London, England

Michael: This fragment is a second-level mature artisan — third life thereat.  Naomi is in the caution mode with a goal of rejection.  A realist, Naomi is in the moving part of emotional centre. 

Naomi’s body type is Saturn/Mercury. 

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

The fragment Naomi is fifth-cast in the sixth cadence; she is a fragment of greater cadence four.  Naomi’s entity is two, cadre four, greater cadre 7, pod 414. 

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

Naomi’s primary needs are exchange, expression and freedom. 

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

________________________________________________

Valentino : Runway - Paris Fashion Week - Haute Couture Spring Summer 2019

Naomi epitomises what someone in the positive pole of discrimination looks like.  Of course, she is an artisan soul, which gives her that kaleidoscopic, chameleonesque mystique.  She also happens to be an entity mate of both John Hirsch and George Hawken; this is why George was always left speechless when she appeared on television.  He was bewitched and fascinated by her, which was rare for him where adoring famous persons was concerned.  As the recent trip by TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex to Morocco revealed, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex certainly took notice of Pierpaolo Piccioli’s homage to her discriminating  sense of fashion and design.  

__________________________________________________

As ever, I would be remiss if I did not take this time to state how deeply appreciative of your support all these years I am… thank you.  Here’s to life.   Here’s to you dreaming the most lucid of flying dreams… cause you can!  

___________________________________________________________________________

©2013-2022 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved. 

All Too Human… And Then Some!

man-s-head-self-portrait-1963

Well, after having been dazzled by Natalia Osipova, there was no doubt what next adventure my soul had to devour.  I arrived at Pimlico Station and enjoyed the cool brisk walk to the red and white gorgeousness of the neighbourhood architecture.  I arrived at 08:50, a good hour ahead of the opening.  I took the time to place my palm on as many of the august sycamore trees in the neighbourhood as I could.  There were some high-end cars waiting out front of the Tate Britain Museum to take in All Too Human as yet another jetliner roared towards London Heathrow.  Definitely bulletproof, a stately Benz sat closest to the entrance with a smoky grey Bentley, SUV no less, parked furthest of the cars.  

the-big-man-1977

Eventually, persons began turning up and the engaging West African security agent who had the same strong, proud, full-lipped mouth as Leontyne Price’s closed one of the two heavy black doors to protect me as I waited outside the main glass sliding doors as a private event was underway — thus one couldn’t be allowed inside.  Finally, persons began leaving, one of whom — in a beautifully vivid red coat — was Cherie Blair CBE, QC.  She was proud-looking and had the kind of broad body that as I child was so familiar when growing up in the West Indies.  She had that air about her that bespoke a life in the public eye; someone made a curt remark and she was quick on the rebuttal.  I was much humoured and reminded of Saddam Hussein trading insults with the men who moments later gladly terminated his life.  

two-plants-1980

Finally, it was on to the business in hand and what a beautifully stunning exhibition; one of the best contemporary art exhibitions that I have attended in years.  The greatest discovery was the lush, richness of the Lucian Freud still-life, Two Plants.  Thoroughly layered, engrossing and lyrical in its deft vividness.  I was left teary eyed by its sublime beauty. 

Sleeping by the Lion carpet Leigh Bowrey

Of course, I was moments earlier moved to dewy-eyed focus when drinking in the rich tableau of the portrait of creative artist and true eccentric, Leigh Bowery whom many years earlier I had seen perform in New York City.   I was reminded, of course, in Leigh’s passing of the countless many whom I have lost along the way to AIDS.

All Too Human

The poster for the show at Russell Square Tube Station in Bloomsbury.  A wonderful tribute to Leigh who covered a fair bit of ground during his lifetime… sweet and blissful dreams be yours…  

Francis-Bacon-Portrait-1962

Naturally, I booked my flight based on two things: one, Giselle with Osipova and secondly, a joint exhibition featuring Lucian Freud and Francis Bacon.  For that, I would gladly hop a Tesla to Iapetus.  Of course, this exhibition was a pilgrimage of sorts for me and it was a way of paying homage to the artistic accomplishments of cadre mates.  

Study for Portrait of Lucian Freud Francis Bacon

As per the portrait of Lucian Freud above, these two artists are cadre mates of mine and Merlin’s.  Lucian Freud is a mature priest in our entity (6).  Along with Rudolf Nureyev and Grace Jones, Francis Bacon is next-door in entity 5 of our cadre.  Francis is a mature artisan, Grace Jones a mature warrior and Rudolf Nureyev a mature sage… and how.  I was thoroughly warmed to have drunk of their spirits.  

Portrait of Isabel Rawsthorne 1966 by Francis Bacon 1909-1992

This particular portrait, Isabel Rawsthrone, I especially loved.  Raw, primal and emotionally intense there is something decidedly operatic about the focussed intensity of this portrait.  After initially getting over the intensity of it, it proves rather warm and enveloping.  

Three Figures and Portrait 1975 by Francis Bacon 1909-1992

This was a thoroughly arresting and soul-stirring adage; it was a beautiful way to have begun the day’s adventures.  

20180302_104844

After walking past the noise of the construction/renovations taking place on the first floor — one of the workers was a real pulse-racer, looking as he did like no end of hot, rough sex and in work gear no less!  Then it was downstairs to take in the Impressionists in London exhibition.  I did not buy the catalogue.  I always am a bit put-off by the association of the word “dream” when describing the works of impressionists.  There is nothing unfocussed or diffused about dreams.  Trust you me, as someone who recalls at least half a dozen dreams on average, oftentimes, dreams prove the most lucid part of any given day.  Perhaps, it was all the wine the French impressionists consumed but the maudlin-feeling lighting just doesn’t do it for me… most times.  

Notting Hill Gate

Having had my fill, off I went from Pimlico to Nothing Hill Gate in the wet snow and made the long trek to Kensington Palace where one of the most glorious flying dreams in this lifetime was set — also, in that dream was a then incarnate, Diana, Princess of Wales with her two beautiful-spirited sons, the future HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge and HRH Prince Henry of Wales and Duke of as-yet-known after he marries his beautiful bride, Ms. Meghan Markle — a mature artisan, to his mature warrior and an entity mate of his no less.  

Kensington Palace

On the long trek along Broad Walk in Kensington Gardens from the high street, I enjoyed the look of snow everywhere.  The odd flake fell from time to time as joggers braved the fierce wind off the park.  One brave soul with a shock of close-cropped red hair, sported the greatest thighs as he jogged strictly in a pair of wrestler’s shorts.  He proved warming for my blood, indeed.  

20180302_114238

As I got towards the edge of Kensington Palace the handsome raven above swooped in from off my rear right and towards the palace.  He alighted, cocked the head at me and kept taking to the wind to come closer, all the while fixing me with a hard gaze.  “Yes, of course, you can see my heart.  Love is the password” I said aloud to the totemic creature as it kept on calling at me and edging ever closer, though, not being confrontational.  Satisfied with my password, seemingly, it bobbed and took to the air never to alight again.  I rather appreciated the warm welcome.  

20180302_115503

I loved the sparse beauty of the King’s Gallery at Kensington Palace, which — for me at least — was lauded over by the Equestrian Portrait of HM King Charles I by Sir Anthony van Dyck, who happens to be in entity 1 of my cadre; he, presently incarnate and one of my oldest friends, shortly is about to return from his winter stay at his Acapulco penthouse; I will be visiting him later this spring on the Canadian west coast.

20180302_123009

A truly beautifully tailored, handsome suit, this one.  I am not a big fashion person — I believe that one is best dressed when naked and preferably tumescent.  I did, though, rather enjoyed the movement through the Diana, Princess of Wales exhibition.

20180302_123120

A very beautiful second-level mature artisan, she was too.  

HRH Catherine Duchess of Cambridge

Having been inspired by Diana, Princess of Wales’ portrait, I made my way to Charing Cross Station in Trafalgar Square and cut across the street where there was a broken water main flooding the street.  As usual, Yoda was there doing his routine and, no doubt, earning a pretty quid.  I took in the HRH Catherine, Duchess of Cambridge-curated exhibition, which had opened two nights earlier on my arrival.  Though, I had stood outside the National Portrait Gallery to catch a glimpse of her arrival, I soon dashed off in the increasing snowfall, if I were to make my Jazz at Lincoln Center performance across town at the Barbican Center.  So, having missed seeing her in person, the next best thing was to go gaze at the portrait of HRH Catherine, Duchess of Cambridge.  I love it as it is so layered and complex; she is a late-mature warrior soul.  

National Portrait Gallery

As I move very, very quickly, I was out of there and soon grabbing a take-away fish and chips at Ben’s on Shaftesbury.  I then headed back to my hotel, ate, napped and got ready for a night at Royal Albert Hall to see OVO.  

Royal Albert Hall

Never before had I taken in a Cirque du Soleil performance — I have my reasons…  Nonetheless, I just wanted to enjoy anew the ambiance and acoustics of the marvellous auditorium.  

OVO

The show was no more engaging or exciting than bad bathhouse sex, which if it weren’t so late, one would never have bothered engaging in.  A perfectly forgettable tourist sort of thing to indulge when there was no other nighttime entertainment going that was worthwhile.  I could have taken in 42nd Street in the West End but I had already seen it at least a dozen times when then living and dancing in New York City in the early 1980s.  The idea of taking in 42nd Street was only slightly less irritating than the thought of messy bathhouse sex… options… choices, indeed!  

20180302_191420

After the show, on the long walk from Royal Albert Hall to South Kensington Station, a young mesomorph asked me for a fag — I don’t smoke — but it was obvious what he was after.  He sat across the narrow aisle on the eastbound Piccadilly Line ride and the rest proved a rather memorable night.  

20180302_081601

The morning after the night before, it was off to Windsor Castle, of which I will next blog.  

All Too Human Catalogue

__________________________________________________________________________________________

As ever, sweet dreams and thank you for your ongoing support.  

__________________________________________________________________________________________

©2013-2022 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved,

Two Albrechts But What A Giselle!

Giselle Royal Ballet

Second night in London and there was still lots of snow — at least, by London standards; after Montréal where three feet of snow is no horror, 1.5 inches seemed to have arrested London in its tracks — I was all excited to see David Hallberg whose recent memoir I read on the flight over and carried in my custom Ruben Mack messenger bag, to have it signed after the performance.  Enjoyed my glass of champagne and being in the balcony at Royal Opera house was magical.  My seat was smack in the middle of three Japanese young ladies who were being chaperoned by their lovely teacher.  I negotiated and they excitedly expressed their appreciation at being able to switch with me being on the end so that that they could all sit together.  The closest two sat on their coats and I even offered the tinier future Giselle my coat to sit on.  

Natalia Osipova Matthew Ball

Naturally, I was returned to London as last June, I had pleasantly discovered Natalia Osipova dancing in Marguerite and Armand and was instantly a fan.  There was no way that I was going to miss her Giselle.  Midway through Act I of Giselle, David whom I had never previously seen perform, failed to have impressed.  He seemed not to be dancing full out and the partnership seemed strained; it was as though they had not had enough rehearsals.  Then after intermission and really good champagne, the company’s artistic director came to the stage to announce that Mr. Hallberg had been injured during Act I and would not be proceeding; he then announced that the youngster, Matthew Ball would dance the role of Prince Albrecht in Act II — the house went wild as he had days earlier made his debut in the ballet.  

Natalia Osipova

What then unfolded was the most glorious of evenings in the theatre.  Ms. Osipova, who has the most phenomenal ballon ever witnessed on any ballerina — to say nothing of her turns — danced as if truly overjoyed.  Mr. Ball was also fantastic and I howled for joy at their curtain calls.  Heck, I, who never go backstage, went in hopes of having Mr. Hallberg sign my copy of his book; however, he was a no-show.  Ms. Osipova, inordinately gracious and an ecstatic Mr. Ball, who had had to dash back to the theatre that evening, was only too happy to sign my copy of the program as a steady drizzle fell beyond the double, glass stage doors.  

BernsteinJLCO

Of course, the night prior, I had trekked in even more snow out to Barbican Centre to catch yet another performance of the Jazz at Lincoln Centre Orchestra led by the unparallelled genius, Wynton Marsalis.  The programme was exclusively Leonard Bernstein in a celebration of his centenary… and what a phenomenal show it was.  London’s Jews were out in force to be sure.  I sat next to a princely 93-year-old Jew whose energies were rather like those of Yehudi Menuhin and boy was this man gracious of spirit.  To say the least, I had a ball.  

Barbican2

Naturally, one goes to a Wynton Marsalis performance for the encores!  And boy, he did not disappoint.  As always, I unashamedly howled like mad at the end of all that.  This musical genius’s fabulousness is out of this world.  This truly was a marvellous way to celebrate  a homecoming of sorts; London truly does feel like another West Indian isle.  As Merlin and I shared a rather accomplished life as court musicians in late 18th century London, it is always great to be in London.  

Arvin da Brgha 1.3.2018 Royal Academy London, England

Though I had downloaded the app and had planned on biking whilst in London, the snow everywhere precluded any such adventure.  So there was I next morning — the night of which I attended Giselle, leaving my hotel in Bloomsbury and making it from Russell Square to Piccadilly Circus to, of course, look at art.  

Royal Academy2

Naturally, I had arrived at the Royal Academy at Burlington House to see what for me was the most eagerly anticipated art exhibition in years:  Charles I, King and Collector.  I was the first to have arrived for the show, slipped inside from the snow before being asked to wait outside by security.   Whilst waiting at the head of the queue, there were three gentlemen who arrived, all on the other side of 70 years of age and they were the most urbane aristocrats whom I had ever encountered.  The way they spoke; there was no denying that they were posh.  Moreover, it was more than their accents; their use of language made it sound as though they were speaking a form of English which was mannered, musical and as though another language entirely.  

Royal Academy

Finally, once inside the exhibition, I was truly enthralled, moving from salon to salon as though in the most lucidly captivating dream.  Here were all my favourite Sir Anthony van Dyck paintings in one place — plus, there were some which previously I had not seen… at least, in this lifetime.  Naturally, there were also some rather intimate Sir Peter Paul Rubens in the exhibition, which featured the art from the impressive collection of HM King Charles I… that ode to swaggerliciousness and a young sage to boot.  

HM King Charles I Three Positions Sir Anthony van Dyck Oil on Canvas

I had managed to snap four paintings whilst moving through the first of ten salons when a kindly security agent asked that I obey the rules and refrain from taking photographs.  This truly was as though caught in a flying dream as I moved intoxicated of spirit from salon to salon, I managed whilst looking at murals in one of the larger salons, to make my way to the inner sanctum where the most glorious Sir Anthony van Dycks were hung — the two equestrian portraits one from the National Gallery in Trafalgar Square the other, which previously was hung at Buckingham Palace; there was also that most striking portrait Charles at the hunt which normally is hung at Musée du Louvre.  A lovely henna-braided African security agent informed me that I had progressed improperly and ought to retrace my steps and view the art in the salons on the periphery of the three large internal salons where murals, tapestries and the prized, aforementioned van Dycks of the Royal Collection collected by HM King Charles I were hung.  

Sir Peter Paul Rubens Self-Portrait Oil on Canvas

At the point at which I was about to leave one salon for the next, I suddenly and distinctly thought of Kritika Bhatt the Michael channeller who had been trained by Sarah J. Chambers one of the original channellers in the Michael group.  I thought it odd at the time as I only ever would think of her when a request for overleaves are outstanding and my impatience is having her surface to mind as I wonder if I would be receiving the requested overleaves that day.  Since this was not the case, I thought per chance, that I was thinking of her as she is known to have King Charles spaniels.  Yes, that must be the out-of-nowhere association, I concluded.  

Esther_before_Ahasuerus_(1547-48);_Tintoretto,_Jacopo

On entering the next salon, I immediately moved towards the largest masterpiece and was struck by its depth and impressive use of strong bold colours.  What’s more, I had never seen the painting before.  Fascinating, I whispered before heading to the title to see the title and artist.  I was struck dead in my tracks when reading, Esther before Ahaseuras by Jacopo Tintoretto.  Wow!  I exclaimed.  Years earlier, in an email regarding the overleaves for other artists, Kritika had made mention that her current son had previously been the 16th century Italian artist, Jacopo Tintoretto!  I was floored and for me that out-of-nowhere associative thought of Kritika was validation of the overleaves and information shared years earlier.  

Sir Anthony van Dyck Self-Portrait with Sunflower Oil on Canvas

Earlier, whilst moving through the first salon, I had never come so close to Sir Anthony van Dyck’s Self-Portrait with Sunflower before.  Taking the time to really study the painting, I was struck by my response; suddenly, at my solar plexus, I began experiencing a — not though rare — thumping which was independent of my cardio rhythm.  Never before had I been able to so closely inspect the eyes in the self-portrait.  What was really interesting was the look of the artist’s left eye in the painting; it really was a darker version of my Dutch born and oldest friend, Joop who previously had been Sir Anthony van Dyck.  Though Joop’s eyes are a strong, soulful blue in this lifetime, they truly are the same eyes as Sir Anthony van Dyck’s in the self portrait.  Different colour, same vibration… same intensity.  I had not been expecting that and just as later whilst moving from one salon to the next, I was not expecting to have the Michael Teachings and overleaves validated.  Nonetheless, there is was, two instances of overleaves validated and that was the kind of bonus that one could not have anticipated whilst planning this trip.  

Fortnum & Mason

After purchasing my lovely catalogue of the exhibition, I moved across the street and did some shopping at the grand old dame, Fortnum & Mason.  Let’s face it, I was there to slip into the eatery and score myself the best free lunch in London… and as ever, the bites on offer did not disappoint.  I bought marvellous teas as only can be found at Fortnum & Mason then hopped onto a double decker, driving westerly along Piccadilly.  Making my way up the stairs, I soon had to double back on myself when realising that the upper deck was packed with a sprinkling of London’s homeless, who obviously had been afforded refuge out of the cold and what for London was unheard of snows.  God it smelt atrocious.  As the bus made a right onto Buckingham Palace Road, I hopped off and made my way past the Royal Mews which were closed owing to snow and made it for the Queen’s Gallery at Buckingham Palace.  

Charles II Art & Power

I was there to be wowed, though, sadly was not by the Restoration exhibition.  Naturally, how could it have been a show to rival that at the Royal Academy when most of that art had been sold off by the time of HM King Charles II’s coronation.  I would have been rather underwhelmed, had I gone to London just to take in this show.  As it was, it served as ample reason to have appreciated the Royal Academy show even more.  

HM King Charles IIb

Really got off on the vibration exuded by HM King James II as he held court in all his glory in the portrait in the same show at the Queen’s Gallery Buckingham Palace (following painting). 

HM King James II when HRH Prince James Duke of York

Well having had my fill of the Restoration art or the paucity thereof, I enjoyed trekking in the snows along Buckingham Palace Road to Victoria Station and descended into the depths of London’s Underground for yet another adventure.  

St. Paul's Cathedral

Emerging from the bowels of London, I made it to the soul of the nation to pay homage, yet again, at St. Paul’s Cathedral.  

St. Paul's Cathedral4

I wanted to go and light a candle, I lit two actually, in homage to the ennobled lives that both Merlin and I enjoyed in this glorious city three centuries earlier — the memories of which readily surface in the dreamtime.  

St. Paul's Cathedral3

Before one gets too old to be able to make the trek, I managed my way to the whispering gallery, sat down and caught my wind back whilst reflecting on my life.  

Henry Moore

This place so rich in history, is also the sacred shrine where entity mates have left their mark.  Henry Moore is an old artisan in my entity.  

Arthur Duke of Wellington

Of course, no visit to St. Paul’s Cathedral would be complete without paying a visit to the soul of the nation at its crypt and paying homage to ennobled souls who’ve made an indelible mark on London… on history.  There is great and fittingly so, grandeur in the tomb of Arthur, Duke of Wellington’s resting place.  

Admiral Nelson

Of course, the other tomb which dominates the crypt at St. Paul’s Cathedral is that of Admiral Nelson, whom both Merlin and I knew during that incarnation.  Doubtless, it was his passion and tales for and about Nevis, which planted that seed that sparked three lifetimes later with my soul’s choice to reincarnate into Nevis; indeed, it has proven an isle no less magical than his captivating anecdotes then must have been.  Days later, of course, I would see the bullet which felled this great man whilst visiting Windsor Castle; that is for another post.  For now, I rushed home, took a dream-filled nap before heading to Covent Garden and being wowed by two not one Albrechts and the most exciting prima ballerina on the planet… at least, as far as I am concerned.  

20180304_065639

__________________________________________________________________________________________

As ever, thanks for your ongoing support and look forward in coming months to book three of my dream-filled memoirs, mandated by Merlin and which prove human civilisation’s first dream memoirs.  

__________________________________________________________________________________________

©2013-2022 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.

Four Standing Figures.

Four Standing Figures Henry Moore

Four Standing Figures

Lithograph

12.5 x 15 in

11/50

©1978 Henry Moore

Provenance: Collection of Arvin da Brgha

Let there be art.  Let there be love.  

Back in 1982, Merlin and I were holding up at the Trockadero loft — home of Natch Taylor and his dancer lover, William Zammy Zamora.  Theirs was a beautiful loft in New York City’s Chelsea where across the street presided the block-long, imposing green edifice of one of those grand buildings found only in America.

One evening after rehearsals for a dance concert, I hung out with dancers from the Nanette Bearden Dance company, then finally made my way home late at night.  When I got in, Merlin was at the loft’s rustic kitchen/dining table with a large sketch pad with director, Jim Henson with whom he would be working in Toronto, filming the inaugural season of Fraggle Rock.  Tall, slightly drooped and intense, Jim briefly chatted but remained focussed on the task in hand.

Presently, he and Merlin were going over sketches and design ideas on respective pads for the shows.  At the time, whilst standing behind Merlin seated at the table, I remarked that the sketches were not unlike Henry Moore sculptures.  Both men simultaneously responded, “Hmm” to which we all laughed as it was reminiscent of the creatures in Mr. Henson’s feature film, Dark Crystal which had weeks earlier opened wide in theatres.  The film was a definite favourite of Merlin and mine.

Merlin remarked that the design were not dissimilar to Henry Moore’s sculptures whose massive curvaceousness, Merlin and I had agreed were feminine, .elegant and beautiful.  This discussion about art was had late at night, after having fucked like rottweilers at the Hotel Chelsea where he held up one weekend when in town from Toronto to both network but mostly to secure a right, proper ploughing of which he could never get enough… we both could never get enough.

On the whole, both men agreed that there were unconscious Henry Moore influences to their design sketches.  Those sketches would be further refined and were recently shared herein.  What none of us at the time could have known, was how spot-on was my observation.  As it would turn out, Henry Moore happens to be an old soul artisan who is an entity mate of both Merlin’s and mine.  Furthermore, Jim Henson who is an early mature artisan, also happens to be strongly bonded to Henry Moore, Merlin and I as he is in entity one of cadre one, greater cadre 7, pod 414, to all three of us being in entity six, of cadre one, greater cadre 7, pod 414.

Always, it is nice to find the ties that bind and it was really good of me to have picked up on that cadre connection when looking at the sketches and throwing Henry Moore ‘out there’ as it were.  The evening was lovely but I was in my restless youthfulness, dying to be alone yet again with Merlin and get on with the business of sinfully sweating whilst celebration life… love.

As ever, thank you for your ongoing support and do know that I shall shortly be starting a podcast, plus volume two of both my dream memoirs and the Michael Overleaves appendix will be launching soon, here at my art filled and recently redecorated home…

Sweet dreams as ever!

____________________________________________________________________________________

____________________________________________________________________________________

©2013-2022 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.

Here’s to Life! A celebration of the 70th anniversary of Merlin’s birth.

On this the eve of the July 21, 2017, 70th anniversary of Merlin’s birth, I am still over the moon and greatly inspired for having travelled to London, England, Paris and Versailles France and Amsterdam, the Netherlands in June.  I wanted to take in the pomp and pageantry of trooping the colour, revisit the National Gallery in Trafalgar Square, the British Museum, the National Portrait Gallery, Tate Britain, Tate Modern… and did!  I really loved my visit to the new wing of the Tate Modern and the beautiful panoramic views that it affords of the north bank across River Thames.

Staying in the beautiful SW10, I had a great place to stay and had a marvellous time.  Great it was to revisit Westminster Abbey, feeling the sense of history and the grandeur of the abbey.  Every moment of being in London was sheer magic.  This city, more than any other, readily evokes a sense of home –- somehow, in its magical agedness, there vibrationally is something perfectly harmonised about London with aspects of the West Indies into which I chose to reincarnate and where my sense of ‘home’ is grounded.

The LGBT exhibition at Tate Britain was a bit underwhelming; however, I enjoyed being exposed to the many female artists and their Lesbian-themed art, which heretofore I was not cognisant of.  Naturally, the male perspective has always been prominent in homoerotic art.  Without doubt, the best exhibition was at the Queen’s Gallery at Buckingham Palace and the Crown’s exhibition of aspects of the Canaletto collection.  Naturally, I did have to return to the National Gallery to take in my favourite Sir Anthony van Dycks in their collection; among them, that ode to sage essence grandeur, King Charles I’s Equestrian Portrait of Charles I.  The Rotunda at Ranelagh remains my favourite and most moving Canaletto; of course, it did prominently feature at the end of a flying dream, during early pubescence, that had me dreamquest to a past life in London, England.

That past-life was shared with Merlin when we were musicians at court in late 18th century London.  During that lifetime, we knew 1st Duke of Brontë, Vice-Admiral Horatio Nelson.  Apparently, Viscount Nelson was a great raconteur and it was likely his tales of his love of Nevis which proved the seed that eventually led to my choice at the level of soul to have reincarnated into Nevis –- which incidentally Canadians are wont to mispronounce as Knévis…  Sorry, the third world natives are not wrong; besides no one in London would ever think to say, Knévis.  The correct pronunciation is Kneevis… Knévis is no more correct than is Kanarda the correct pronunciation of Canada.  Enough about the risible ignorance of elitist petit bourgeois Canadians and their need to forever condescend.

So, there was I arrived in London with umbrella, pea coat, raincoat and it was all hotter-than-hell climes for the two weeks!  After trooping the colour, I decided to escape the heat of London and decamp à Paris… what was I thinking; goodness, it was at least 5 degrees hotter there!  Alas, Paris has become an armed camp -– I suppose this is what Paris during the Nazi occupation in WWII was like.  Either way, I could not wait to hightail it out of there.  Firstly, though, I had to head off to Versailles where previously I had not been.  Goodness, what grandeur -– the scales are truly phenomenal.  If I had ever had a dream set on the grounds of Versailles, it is highly likely that I would have awakened and assumed that I had just dreamquested to a marvellous world where the architectural scales surpass anything witnessed here on Earth.

In all that heat, I was told it was just a stroll away from the entry gates of Versailles to Grand Trianon to take in the Pierre Le Grand exhibition celebrating the 300th anniversary of Peter the Great’s trip to Paris.  Finally, after 50 minutes in my brand-new Crockett & Jones wellingtons, I arrived to what was not an especially impressive show.  However, the last piece — a beautiful bust of the Tsar — made my sweaty and blistered foot ordeal worthwhile.

After having been quite underwhelmed by Paris –- save of course my visit to Père Lachaise cemetery where I left pine cone tributes to Marcel Proust, Chopin, Oscar Wilde and Honoré de Balzac –- it was off to Amsterdam.  Finally, I had escaped hellish climes!  Amsterdam proved the most gloriously idyllic experience.  With a cool welcome breeze off the North Sea, the temps were in the low 20s and, of course, everywhere just about everyone rode a bike.  As I made the pilgrimage to the Rijksmuseum to be richly inspired, I was warmed as passing cyclists called out to me in my white panama hat that I purchased at Chateau de Versailles to beat the heat, “Hello!”  “Hi there!”  “Hi ya!”  This excursion to Amsterdam was truly soul-warming.  Nothing was more glorious than entering that salon and seeing Night Watch and the Meager Company.

Whilst browsing, I thought of George Hawken and wondered if ever he had made it to Amsterdam.  Just like that, on coming around the corner, the first painting I noticed in the salon which contains Jan Vermeer’s The Milkmaid, was an exquisite, stunning still-life of white asparagus.  The one legume that George considered the perfect signature to a fine meal -– cooked by himself -– was asparagus.  His most memorable meals ever featured asparagus coated in the most sublime sauces made from scratch.  I was truly warmed on seeing the still-life seconds after nostalgically thinking of him.  Yet another moment of synchronicity.

On preparing for the video to celebrate the 70th anniversary of Merlin’s birth, I decided last week to head off the costumer, Malabar on McCaul Street where George lived in the late 80s to early 90s.  Inspired by the first dream of Merlin had 39 years ago in July 1978, I decided to get a cowl as a tribute to the cowl Merlin wore in the inaugural dream encounter with him, four years before having met on Friday, October 1, 1982 in New York City.  So, there was I at Mount Pleasant Cemetery last Saturday, July 15, 2017 in my cowl and the panama hat purchased at Versailles to escape the heat.  I thought it fitting as Merlin always loved wearing panama hats.

My trusty friend, J.J. who happens to be an artisan entity mate whom I have known in 20 past lives –- which is a high incidence of contact -– was the director.  Initially, I had hoped to throw a white party on the lawn to the southwest of the chapel at Mount Pleasant Cemetery and have a drone film the event where a gathering of friends would raise a glass to Merlin on the anniversary of his ennobled birth.  Merlin always threw a white party each year for his birthday at his parents stunning backyard in north Toronto’s Servington Crescent.

The plan was not approved by the cemetery and thus, one had to improvise.  I got my panama hat and my cowl and together, we proceeded with a dozen long-stem white roses to visit Merlin’s resting place.  I had a pretty good idea what I was after.  With the matching white cowl, I wanted to evoke the magic of meeting Merlin in that initial dream which is shared in volume one of the dream memoirs which is already published: Merlin and Arvin: A Shamanic Dream Odyssey.

Get your copy!  Thanks as ever for your support!

In the hardcover edition of human civilisation’s first dream memoirs, the initial dream encounter with Merlin is shared.  The dream begins on page 110 in the hardcover edition.  I wanted the same sense of wonderment and magic that I felt for having met Merlin in that first dream four years prior to having met reflected in the video.  In that dream, Merlin’s appearance was preceded by a white totemic creature which seemed, in its astral plane outréness, to be part Russian wolfhound, part alpaca, part dog.

So, moving to the lawn, having descended the steps of the chapel, I began walking across the open lawn towards the statuesque lion festooned mausoleum with the five remaining white long-stem white roses.  Seven roses, of course, were left at Merlin’s grave -– one rose for each of our seven glorious years together.  As I stepped onto the lawn, it seemed magical… timeless even.  Slowly, confidently as I approached the filmmaker at the other end of the lawn, I thought of Merlin and that initial dream.

Just then, I very distinctly thought of Merlin greeting me by purring, “Hello Lambs.”  As if right on cue, from off stage left, an adult deer came from behind the bushes and tombstones that line the far edges of the open lawn.  Never before had I seen a deer at Mount Pleasant Cemetery.  Indeed, the good burghers of Forest Hill who clearly regularly jogged in the park-like setting stopped and were overheard remarking that they had never seen a deer in the cemetery before.  All that I could do was tear up and continue walking as the deer then bolted and ran from stage left to right as I continued my stride uninterrupted –- unfazed by the appearance of an adult deer on the grounds of the cemetery.  What is more astounding, is that J.J. at the time was filming my walk; at the last minute, I decided against a run-through as I was concerned about the natural light possibly changing if we were to rehearse the shot.

Unbeknownst to me, the deer after having made it to stage right, then returned to the centre of the lawn and stood there perfectly still whilst observing my progression across the lawn.  J.J. who was astounded by the occurrence remarked that he had just witnessed a miracle.   There is no doubt in my mind as I tried to recapture the magic of that initial dream encounter that there was a subtle validation of that dream from the magical shaman himself on the other side by having had Merlin’s spirit step in as director emeritus and had the deer enter the shot as validation and a token of his appreciation of the love that we shared and my steadfast loyalty to him.  After crossing the lawn and turning to watch the deer stand there, looking down the lawn at me, I felt such utter peacefulness and abandonment of spirit — just as when alone and intimate in the dark with Merlin.

Yes, I believe in magic as did Merlin and as though an appreciation of having stridently done everything to fulfil his mandate to me, Merlin’s astral body conjure up the same magic here and now as he had in July 1978 –- four years before slipping inside a Hell’s Kitchen walk-up and readily winning me over with his sexy elfin charm, magic and sex that proved the most grounding shamanic passion… every time.

All the music chosen for this 13-minute video is music that Merlin loved whilst incarnate and to which he returned time and again -– whether at Joe Morton’s tiny Upper West Side apartment in autumn of 1983, Toronto’s 20 Amelia Street in tony Cabbagetown.  From Glenn Gould’s mastery of Johann Sebastian Bach’s Goldberg Variations, to Elton John, Stevie Wonder, Gladys Knight and Dionne Warwick singing That’s What Friends Are For –- in that segment of the video, I included friends whom Merlin valued: Kareem Benezra, myself, Wayne Robson and his oldest and most loyal friend, the ever-gracious, Maxime Gascoigne-de Montigny.

Of course, for Stevie Wonder’s Isn’t She Lovely, I exclusively included photos of Merlin and his very handsome and gracious father, David Ben-Daniel.  Whereas I favoured Sir Paul McCartney’s Hey Jude, Merlin ever loved George Harrison and especially My Sweet Lord.  Of course, one Saturday, whilst staying at actor, Joe Morton’s Manhattan apartment, when Merlin and I secretly committed to being together, we slow-danced to Supertramp and Roger Hodgson’s unmatched magical vocals on Supertramp’s Breakfast In America.

Additionally, Jeffrey Osborne’s On the Wings of Love which was one of Merlin’s favourite ballads is also included.  Merlin loved Black male soul singers: Otis Redding, Marvin Gaye, Jeffrey Osborne –- most especially –- George Benson, Al Green, Teddy Pendergrass, Donny Hathaway, Barry White.  Most of all, I am especially proud of the video that J.J. and I have created; I think that it masterfully captures the depth of my love and fealty to the most fabulously magical shaman encountered on this incarnation’s spiritual odyssey.

Naturally, before having left for Mount Pleasant Cemetery, I had flooded my apartment with the music that appears in the video.  Perhaps, unwittingly by so doing, I was evoking Merlin’s spirit which later joined us when he played ultimate director and pulled off the most magical bit of stage direction –- an adult deer in the middle of a cemetery in the heart of mid-town Toronto.  Lastly, I played the sublimely soulful Shirley Horn’s interpretation of, Here’s to Life!  Whilst raising a glass of coconut water, I had forgotten to pick up some champagne the evening prior and it was too early in the morning to find champagne anywhere –- the lighting was way too good.  Besides who knows if that magical deer would have been anywhere about.

Here’s to life… most of all, here’s to Merlin… here’s to dream shamans everywhere!

Merlin & Arvin 1987

In coming weeks, there will also be other tokens of this celebration of Merlin and his mandate to me:

“Please my darling, I want you to write about our lives together.  I promise you, however possible, I am going to send you dreams to include in the story of our love… our lives together.”

Of course, there is my Instagram account:  Instagram Arvin da Brgha

The YouTube channel is:  Arvin da Brgha YouTube

Do please be patient and stay tuned as there will be a site where one can purchase merchandise that’ll greatly assist with the costs of having overleaves channelled that will yet appear in the five volumes of human civilisation’s first dream memoirs to come.  Also, there will be a podcast link.

__________________________________________________________________________________

For now, here’s to life, here’s to you and thanks so much for your ongoing support all these years!

___________________________________________________________________________________

©2013-2022 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.