Prosecuting the Past whilst at the Deathscape.

14.08.201602.01.2026 Arvin da Brgha1 Comment

Since having shared these dreams two years ago, I have been corrected by an authentic Michael Channeller as to Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis’ true role in essence; she is a young soul sage rather than young soul king – her first husband, John F. Kennedy was a young soul king and he was reborn to an aristocratic family in France and I do believe reborn male. Contrary to the word on the faux-Michael ether, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis – whom I encountered one glorious summer afternoon in 1983 after ballet class at Harkness House with David Peregrine and his lovely sweetheart and former classmate, Jackie Sloane – who both perished in the Canadian Rockies when he piloted some years later in 1989, Ms. Kennedy Onassis vibrationally seemed every bit the king soul. Alas, that may well have been her well-fortified social persona and false personality then experienced. Of course, it was at Harkness House where Rebekah Harkness’ cremains perpetually rotated in a golden urn designed by master surrealist himself, Salvador Dali.

Since these dreams were shared, I have elected to have channelled the overleaves of the following persons: Salvador Dali and Maria Callas. Too, I am adding here, Frederick Hinneault’s overleaves, though, they have been previously shared in this blog. Frederick was a the most glorious Cree feather dancer who introduced me to the world of powwows in June 1994. I met Frederick after having had the most lucidly awakened flying dream to a past-life whereat I witnessed a young shaman coming of age during initiation ceremonies. Well, you can just bet that after so high a spiritual dream experience, I chose to do no such thing as time-waste in the presence of dense-energied, somnambulant and decidedly spiritually unsophisticated coworkers. So off I went to Club Vancouver bathhouse on West Pender Street where there I met the genuine article, Frederick. After having made a sweat lodge of his tiny room, we spent the rest of the summer holding hands and travelling about B.C. Alberta and Washington. Firstly, though, he took me to a lookout point high above the Cypress Bowl lookout where in a bath of cloud-untrammelled sunlight, we laid naked side by side in the long grass, holding hands and he got out his whistle that called a majestic eagle; this was one of the most magical experiences of this incarnation.

Frederick, at the time, was full blown with AIDS. What was most revolutionary was being in the company of two-spirits. This was the first time being in the company of Gays who were not possessed of racially predatory animus. That first weekend, just past 1994’s summer solstice was my true arrival and connection with Canada and what she represents. I finally felt no longer as an outsider. I will always have the greatest respect for all First Nations peoples from Baffin Island to Patagonia.

These were truly operatic dreams, drink anew of my chalice and may you, satiated and inspired, slip into lucidly awakened dreamquests of your own. You’ve a wealth of knowledge and beauty which passively lie awaiting your inner focus deep within the aqueous folds of self.

Sweet dreams you… ever, we will be kindred spirits – you and me – sharing this magical quest of self-discovery, self-actualisation and self-empowerment. I am honoured by your continued support and for that, I love you more! (August 2016)

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These next dreams occurred two days apart and dealt with the same individual. I have recently written of her and shared a dream of her, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis. At the time of these dreams, which are currently being chronologically transcribed, Mrs. Kennedy Onassis was a recent astral plane habituée.

As such, these dreams – and the last in particular – vicariously gave insights to her deathscape on becoming an arrivée astral plane habituée. I dream it, I share it and pass no judgment on either self or the subject(s) of any dream ever had.

As with all astral plane-focussed dreams, these were rather intense experiences. Especially so was the fourth and final dream of the second day of dreams shared herein.

The first dream was the only dream that day and it sets the mood for the nature of the second dream to come of Mrs. Kennedy-Onassis. That dream occurred two days later and was more thorough and insightful. At the time of the first dream, it was Saturday, July 9, 1994 and the Moon then transited both Cancer and my second house.

Two days later, Monday, July 11, 1994, there were four dreams and as on the July 9, 1994, the fourth and final dream that day focussed on the deathscape for the arrivée astral plane habituée, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis. As is her wont, Luna had beguilingly slipped from Cancer to Leo and correspondingly from my second to third houses.

The final was an intensely volatile dream that was all about emotionality and karmic dross. Having passed near two months earlier, though I was not much-focussed on her life in the waking state, it is not surprising that one would vicariously tune in to the deathscape goings-on of one the century’s most iconic figures, Jacqueline Kennedy-Onassis.

Sweet dreams as ever. Rather than the standard one photograph per dream entry to this blog, the break between both days’ dreams will be a second photograph.

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I was, in this the first dream, in a park like New York City’s Central Park with Pandora da Braga on my right. From across the vast plain came a large steed from a low, heavy mist atop a knoll.

Here the light was rather diffused and potent. The horse was a possessed powerful creature. Rapt in focussed canter, it barrelled across the green grass towards us.

Atop it rode a large-boned woman who was a fierce warrior-spirited individual. She turned out, no less, to have been Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis.

She rode in traditional riding gear: black cap, white riding breeches and black riding boots, all of which was topped off by a red riding jacket. Her gloves were short and made of thick black leather.

This woman was arrestingly powerful.

Pandora and I were stunned into silence. All the shrubs wore various-sized beautiful white blooms that simply zinged with life.

All was ordered and serene here and it clearly was a reflection of this woman’s afterlife passage – the deathscape. The Earth simply quaked beneath the power and grandeur of both she and the steed.

I mentioned to Pandora, after she had ridden past, that I had seen her, back in the early 1980s, on two occasions in the Manhattan. She was, to be sure, a very robust, dominance-goaled kind of person.

Hers was a very powerful warrior-energied complex.

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Whilst speaking with a man, in this the first dream, I assured him that I could never bed Aaron Wookay because of his pheromones – body odour.

I do believe that it was, in fact, Aaron Wookay with whom I had been speaking at the time and made the slip of saying what I had. There was certainly a glaringly pregnant pause at the end of it all.

As we spoke, in the middle of the late-afternoon street, a very tall warrior-spirited Karl Weller walked past with a guy on his left. He was dressed all in black clothes and as I sped up after him, I said aloud to my companion,

“Now there is a man that I could bed…”

I intimated that I had already had an encounter with him in the waking state. This was in fact true. I then got him into a black limousine and together we headed for my place.

En route there, at night time, we stopped outside a Dairy Queen. The store was tiny and right at the corner of one of the city’s intersections. Getting out, on the left side of the car, I went inside where I ordered large slices of a white cheesecake with soft ice cream.

When I returned to the limousine, he was immediately in bed lying on his back on some blankets. He took a bite of the food and, at that point, I began groaning.

His entire body then lapsed into an adrenalin quake as he had his first all-out experience. He was full of nerves and caution. Wanting to leave, Karl Weller then hurriedly got up; I was quite disappointed.

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In this the second dream, Isha da Braga insisted that I deposit some cash – 10$ or 12$ – into her account because I had owed her as much. I was really pissed off because I knew that I had already paid her whatever monies that I had owed her.

En route to the bank, I stopped off at her condo to which I had a pair of keys. Slowly, I stirred the pot of stew that she had started before heading to work. The stew simmered on a low fire.

Soon, I encountered Pandora da Braga who also needed cash. I then became an issue of how to move around cash, via cheques, from one or more of my little-funded accounts to get to float until the next payday.

With that, I headed off to the bank to begin my unscrupulous activity.

*This is something that I have never attempted and would never think to attempt in the waking state. Why? END.

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Soon, in this the third dream, I got sidetracked. I went off and had a hot encounter with a guy whom I now think was Frederick Hinneault. We were, in an old building, writhing away on a table.

Splayed and utterly contorted, we were going at each other like there was no tomorrow. Too, it was also hard to tell just who was fucking whom.

A tall Black security guard, whilst on duty, happened on us. Pretty soon, he interrupted us and joined in when he oughtn’t to have done so. He took off his thick, brown leather belt and began beating me with it.

I was truly incensed and let him know that I could damn well file suit against him for having struck me. After all, it was not a part of his duties to have done so.

He was surprised at my response. Seemingly, he was a novice in his crisp, brand new khaki uniform and hat. He was rather handsome a fellow. Nonetheless, I was still upset with him.

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I would, whilst focussed in this the fourth dream, have an encounter with Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis. At the time, I was going along a corridor in a palatial residence. Seemingly, this was an eighteenth century château.

Whilst she was dressed in clothing that was late 1950s-60s, A-line conservative and nothing flashy, I walked after Mrs. Kennedy-Onassis. There were several other persons about. Impatient, she was not at all in a very good mood.

Rushing back, I went to the off-white blue hallways to the other wing. We were two to three storeys aboveground. There, I saw a dark-haired, strong-featured woman and intuitively knew her to be Maria Callas.

Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis and Maria Callas were in the midst of a nasty feud. Conversely, it turned out that to get her attention I would have to quickly act.

Pulling out a shotgun, I shot into the ceiling in order to wrestle her attention. The gunfire stunned Maria Callas; at that point, I then bolted and went back to be with Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis.

Coming to her aid, I held Mrs. Kennedy-Onassis by the forearms as she was slumped in a chair. She had been truly traumatised by the gunshot going off so close to her.

In light of what she had endured on November 22, 1963, in Dallas, Texas, her reaction was not surprising. This soon served as a glimpse into who had really killed whom.

From what I learnt here, it turned out that not only did Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis get rid of Christina Onassis and Marilyn Monroe, she also used occult means to get rid of Maria Callas by way of literally bewitching Aristotle Onassis.

I was being told this by a voice which I heard speaking to me. Interestingly enough, the voice sounded like a gruffer version of Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis’s famous breathy register.

This insight was all being telepathically shared with me. However, this house was definitely on the astral plane in which Maria Callas was confronting Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis. As it were, both astral plane habitués were prosecuting their relations in their respective immediate past lives.

There was no getting around the fact that Maria Callas had the upper hand here. There was a sense that, try as she might, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis simply could not get out of this confrontational drama; it was, as it were, fated based on who owed whom karma.

Maria Callas was truly operatic. Not the kind of person that one would want to have as a foe was she. For having predeceased Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis as well as Aristotle Onassis, there seemingly was much that she knew of what really happened whilst she was alive.

This woman, Maria Callas, was truly operatic. Her rage was such that she seemed to create an emotional tornado. Even when she spoke, her voice operatically boomed.

This was drama that was supra-Wagnerian. The palatial, soothing blue-interiored dwelling’s walls violently quaked as Maria Callas fumed and berated Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis from her wing of the château.

Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis looked extremely spent, haggard and aged; she had been completely vanquished by Maria Callas’ rage. If these karmic debts had really been incurred by Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, it then stands to reason that on reflecting on her just-concluded life, there would be some degree of remorse and inner pain as part of her deathscape on becoming an arrivée astral plane habituée.

Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis was deeply troubled here. Though she was every bit the lady in her own right, for having been wronged, there was a great impactful power that Maria Callas exhibited for having been wronged.

The whole affair had karmically left her completely in a funk. All of these done-in women were strong-willed individuals who had, in some way, posed a threat to her sense of self.

Not only did she not suffer fools gladly but from the evidence here, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis did not suffer threats to her power in any way. Once so threatened, her only response was shrewd and calculating.

They were simply removed from the environment – struck down. For Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, with a Scorpio rising, it was all too possible that this sort of tactic would have been deemed a viable and appropriate response to such a threat.

Here in the dreamtime, for being alone with her, I came to understand what would have motivated her to have taken such actions. This was the only way to stake her claim on history and not just near history but millennial history.

At all costs, a statuesque stalwart of power and regal dignity, she had to survive to the end. To have been respectively displaced or denied by Marilyn Monroe or Maria Callas would have eclipsed her and made her but a footnote in history.

This is how she saw it. Christina Onassis did nothing but try to have her displaced and dishonoured by way of a divorce; this, too, could not be suffered. She won. In all things, she won.

As that dream on July 9, 1994 attested, she was the born warrior-spirited leader who was never felled in battle. Victorious to the end was ever her approach.

Indeed, coming through the mist of time, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis will transcend Time for several millennial as one of the most pre-eminent leaders of the 20^th century and not merely just an iconic woman.

Into the future and legend she will forever ride a valiant steed, though a dark one, a figure of power, strength and dignity. Indeed, a bloody-talonned warrior this one.

Leaving her, I went running back through the halls saying that I had to get to the ministerial offices. I wanted to get there at once, in order that the records may historically be set straight.

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Photo credits: Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis fox hunting in Virginia.

Opera diva, Maria Callas.

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Prince.

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Prince 7/6/58<O>21/4/2016

The fragment who is most commonly known simply as Prince has also had an illustrious past as a performing artist. However, his first life in the music world was as one of the many children of Johann and Barbara Bach.

This child was female and did not become a musician but was surrounded by the musical life. She was particularly close to her brother, Carl Philipp Emanuel, and this started the fragment’s interest in music as a vehicle through which one could perform.

Although this fragment has enjoyed many stellar performances as an actor, a dancer and a singer of opera, it is this fragment’s immediate past life that is most pivotal to his current endeavours.

As the composer/pianist Scott Joplin, this fragment popularised ragtime as an art form that did not have its foundations in European music and was uniquely American.

Prince is a fifth level mature sage in the passion mode, with a goal of rejection, mostly functioning in the positive pole of discrimination, a sceptic in the moving part of emotional centre.

He has a Mercury/Saturn body type.

Prince’s primary chief feature is that of impatience, with a strong secondary of arrogance.

He was sixth-cast in his cadence and his cadence is fifth in the greater cadence. He is a member of entity two, cadre four, greater cadre 43, pod/node 414.

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Miles Ahead!

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Davis III, Miles Dewey 26/5/26 <0> 28/9/91 Tiger 8.4.4 = 7

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I am so looking forward to the opening of Don Cheadle’s Miles Ahead this week. i think of any other Jazz artist, Miles is the only one whose every album, on listening to it, I conclude is a favourite. This creative genius just oozed authenticity. Of course, a major part of his outréness and originality had to do with his having been an actual old soul.

I have always been partial to him as he was briefly married to Cicely Tyson who was a maternal first cousin of my late mother’s who in her youth did play the cornet. Of course, Cicely Tyson, who is still going strong and currently starring on Broadway, is an entity mate of Miles Davis’.

My creatively gifted mother whose songs are published in the hymnal of the now Wesleyan Church was a remarkable woman who was pure intellect and a source of fierce pride. She whose paternal grandparents were Sephardi from the small Brazilian community which settled in Nevis. Indeed, she who is now reincarnated in London, England, male and first-born and about whom I have dreamt – East Indian/Caucasian heritage in this lifetime and currently aged 13 years old.

Sadly, none of my dream encounters with Miles Davis were ever audiocassette-recorded as they were never had during the decade when I did so – 1989 to 1998. Each of those dream encounters did, though, validate his agedness of spirit and he seemed every bit an old soul during astral plane encounters.

In anticipation of this long overdue film – imagine that, the paucity of Jazz biopics when so clearly Jazz is rooted in Klezmer! More than that, on to the matter of saluting a true original, a true creative genius and a giant of Black high art.

*Sadly, I have spent the last couple of weeks trying to track down the title of the Miles Davis painting herein featured; alas, to no avail have I managed to have discovered its title et al.

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Birth of the Cool, 1957.

Kind of Blue 1959.

– This is the music (Kind of Blue) I am mostly likely to listen to, after having audiocassette-recorded the dreams, on awaking from a flying dream. This music is about finding centre whilst simultaneously remaining aloft in the realms of the flying dream. As West Indians would say, it’s sweet!

Milestones, 1958.

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Two Men In the Studio.

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Oil on Canvas

185.4 x 120.7 cm

1987-1989 Lucian Freud

Masterful.

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If only I had begun audiocassette-recording the dreams on awaking prior to February 1989. In mid-1987, I had the most lucidly awakened dream encounter with the artist, Lucian Freud. I had been in a flying dream and instinctively knew that I was in London. On alighting, I moved through a woodsy artist studio and found there the artist himself.

To better absorb his process, I had rendered myself invisible and remained in a corner whilst onlooking. Without a doubt, I had dreamquested to a session for which both men – the subjects of this canvas – sat for this painting. Of course, at the time, I was then a muse and lover to master printmaker and painter, George Hawken. This was an immensely fulfilling time in my life; it was also rather adventurous as I was then quite happily ensconced in my relationship with Merlin.

Suspecting that he was ill with AIDS, Merlin had long canned our physical relationship. Since I was in my 20s and one of my three primary needs is adventure, I most unashamedly roamed and salaciously ploughed the town. Along with Francis Bacon, Lucian Freud’s masterful work has always fascinated me. Not surprised then was I to have recently discovered that the trigger for that 1987 dream was the fact that we are entity mates.

Here’s to you and as ever sweet dreams and thanks for your ongoing support.

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Thank You for the Joyous Music!

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Maurice White 19/12/1941<O>3/2/2016

Sweet and blissful dreams be yours… thanks so much for the joyful uplifting magic you weaved in song. I love you more… A final breath wearily collapses, focus turns inward and into the sea of wonder you fall, flying upwards to heights previously unattained. Fly! Fly! Fly!

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On The Sunny Side of The Street, It’s Black History Month!

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Happy Black History Month! Who cares about the Oscars? The most important point of power in all situations is being able to see through to the structure of anything. Those who cannot manipulate real time events to show themselves, chosen, entitled, special, ‘genius’ and all that nonsense will ever cheat, lie and steal. Please do tell in in what other universe would there be a tie between Katherine Hepburn and Barbra Streisand for Best Actress but in this one where the most venal racists run the show and everyone looks like another variation on Jackie ‘blasted god-fugly’ Stallone.

Go on, give each other awards; what does it finally matter when you know nothing of being cool and sophisticated as in those whom you so revile, vilify, loathe, incite others to hate – all the while crying of being victimised. You know… those marvellous people whose spirit you will never crush, despite the attempts of Orly Taitz and the returned de Torquemada – now no less fugly got up in reincarnational drag – Jackson, Woods and Cosby and you just know that the swine has only just begun. They, those marvellous people, who like dreams – wherein only truth and beauty exist – are the ones to have invented Jazz and whose spirit will never be eclipsed by your god-fugly ugliness. Yes, them… they who don’t need awards to show how special, chosen and what marvellous geniuses one so over-compensatorily is not!

Alas, for the truly marvellous people every day of the year is awards season; despite your alarming ugliness, you have positively no power over any of us when we set feet into our homes. There, despite your lunacy, we affirm our creaturehood, our beauty or phenomenalness and we turn on some Jazz which can speak to no one else as it speaks to every last one of us – not you! So while you infest the culture, like some fetid mould – which thankfully are never lasting – just know that the ugliness of your lies can in no way invalidate the beauty of Miles Davis, Duke Ellington, Ella Fitzgerald, Betty Carter, Lena Horne, Anita Baker, Sarah Vaughan, Diana Ross, Natalie Cole… and countless others.

So go on and speciously raise your rear right leg and take to the airwaves claiming, “Jazz has its roots in Klezmer!” Just remember this: forgiveness is the price a damn fool would gladly pay to forget anything. Clearly, you do not know Black people and come November, we won’t collectively have taken leave of senses and do as you would wish… not after Orly… Who cares about the Oscar vote? Our vote is the one that truly matters… Remember eight years ago… “I’m Voting For Her!” We do not forget… where is that displaced haus frau anyway? You know, the one who was partout on TV demanding that the unchosen sheeple, “Vote For Hillary!” followed by that demented laugh of hers… perhaps, she is too distracted these days trying to recall with which hand she ate last night.

Truly empowered are they who always say what the fuck they mean and never leave any doubt as to their resolve.

Incidentally, all the Jazz artists mentioned in this blog, I have to date done their Michael Overleaves. Some are listed in the Michael Overleaves Appendix page those which aren’t were only recently channelled; they are… Natalie Cole, Anita Baker and Lena Horne. Not in the least surprised was I to have found that Natalie Cole is an entity mate. Every time I hear her voice, I am instantaneously catapulted to a groove that I can only call a soul high… So then here are her Michael Overleaves with one of my favourite video performances of hers. Every idiosyncrasy of hers resonates to the very core of my being… God she could represent!

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*Richard is New York City academician whom Merlin met during the final couple of years of his life. This man had the most uncanny resemblance energetically to Merlin and I only met him a week after Merlin’s passing as he ventured to Toronto; he had previously planned to, to bid Merlin farewell. Alas, unlike Joe Morton who flew in from Los Angeles for 24 hours to be with Merlin, Richard had been too late but came nonetheless; the gesture was truly noble of spirit and was greatly appreciated.

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David Bowie 1947†2016

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Sweet and blissful dreams be yours. Some of my best memories of living in Babylon/Manhattan involved hanging out with Philip Emerson for whom everyday was a good enough reason to play David Bowie’s music.

A true creative genius and someone whom it was also inspiring to have dreamt of. Here’s a repost/link to a dream previously shared herein involving him and his beautiful widow, Iman, displaying for all the universe the sheer beauty of their enraptured love.

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Bowie, David 8/1/47 – 10/1/16

This fragment was a fifth-level mature artisan in the passion mode with a goal of discrimination. David was a sceptic who was in the intellectual part of emotional centre.

David’s primary chief feature was impatience with a secondary chief feature of stubbornness.

David’s casting is the fifth position of the third cadence in the fourth greater cadence. He is a member of entity six, cadre six, greater cadre 1, pod 404.

This artisan chose overleaves that would allow him to be more fluid in terms of personal expression whilst at the same time work effectively with the goal of discrimination, specifically in terms of not adhering social and cultural stereotypes and, as a result, he became an icon in his own right to other fragments who preferred not to follow the cookie-cutter rules and instead sought their own personalised self-expressive nature.

Of course, David was not the only fragment to break the barriers in this regard as others including but not limited to Andy Warhol, for example, who were also at the fifth or expansive level of the mature cycle and these fragments served as inspiration to others both in their own culture and across the pond.

It is not unusual for expression polarity fragments to seek visibility in this regard, though, we will say that this artisan, David Bowie, was in fact shy to some degree and was not as adventurous in his personal life as he might have been perceived to have been. In other words, his stage personae were not in complete alignment with the true personality. We do think, however, that he was well aware of himself as a spirited human being and did validate reincarnation as a personal truth as did his family by the way.

Too, this fragment was well aware of impending decline and death and did seek to express himself through his music and subsequently his fans.

*These overleaves were not exclusively requested by me but they were channelled by an authentic Michael channeller and, in fact, the reliable channeller whom I always use. END.

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Natalie Cole 6/2/50 ]-O-[ 31/12/15

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Cole, Natalie 6/2/1950<O>31/12/2015

Michael: This fragment was a fifth level mature artisan – 3^rd life thereat. Natalie was in the power mode with a goal of growth. She was a sceptic who was in the moving part of intellectual centre.

Natalie’s was a Saturn/Mars body type.

Natalie’s primary chief feature was stubbornness with a strong secondary chief feature of self-destruction which was primarily internally focussed.

Natalie’s casting is in the fifth position of the fourth cadence in the second greater cadence – she is a cadence mate of Richard E. White (he is in fourth position). She is a member of entity six, cadre one, greater cadre 7, pod 414 – another entity mate.

Natalie’s essence twin is a discarnate artisan and her priest task companion was known to her.

The three primary needs for Natalie were: expression, freedom and power.

There are 12 past-life associations between Natalie and Arvin whilst there are 16 past-life associations with Merlin.

I am so devastated by this loss that I don’t even have the time to do the usual due diligence of listing credits.

So poised, elegant, admirable, fabulous, fantastic… could scat/vocalese just as stratospherically as Ella Fitzgerald.

From seeing her at Ontario Place’s Amphitheatre in the ’70s, whilst she did her funky soul diva incarnation, to the sheer brilliance of her sophisticated Jazz syncopation, there was no one else who could make me feel more fuck-all fabulous pride and take seriously this joint call being Black.

Natalie got to the very essence of who we, a proud noble people, truly are. Her album: Take A Look (1993) literally afforded me the grace and dignity to get through the most hellish experience of being in a workplace surrounded by people who haven’t a clue that they are crazy – a people who collectively render us as invisible and who relish at every opportunity the racially predatory thrill of talking about us and openly ridiculing us as though we were a weeble-infested bag of flour in the corner. These marvellous people for whom the gun is g_d incarnate and for whom it has never once occurred that we possibly could perceive them as crazy – crazy as in having invented something as absurd as Apartheid, crazy in openly gunning us down because well… one can, crazy as in busing, crazy as in building latter day landlocked Mayflowers whose hull hold a cargo that staves off the flowering of the next Coltrane, Tatum, Monk, Ellington et al… crazy as in harvesting a most strange fruit from poplar trees whilst crazily dressed up in the coward’s garb from pointy head to toe, crazy as in then having the fuck-all temerity to squat all over the culture and ape, ape, ape like crazy every thing we do culturally, creatively…. alas, who else but the crazy would openly hate you then turn around and ape everything you do from Jazz, to Hip-Hop, to Rap and all the while, like the truly crazy then somehow think that we never notice that they never ever have personal relations with Blacks… la Krall, Bublé and Eminem to name but a few readily come to mind.

Every day in Vancouver, for having survived and gotten one day closer to triumphantly getting through 24 months of workplace probation, it was to my lovely art-filled West End apartment that I retreated where this lovely beauteous-eyed goddess, Natalie Cole, would greet me with a voice that would truly embalm the soul from the bilious dissonance of the racial predator – those who haven’t a fucking clue that they are crazy… And how the crazy people love to laugh at everything.

Sweet and blissful dreams dear Natalie, you proud noble griot who came to remind us that we are the most beautiful lotus to have flowered from the hellish swamp known as the semi-feral well-armed racial predator’s paradise. What a positively rich, layered, textured, august life you accomplished…

A better place this world, a more grounded people we are, for you having chosen to be focussed herein at this time, in this place.

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*As I had always planned on doing Natalie Cole’s Michael Overleaves, they had not been done at the time of her passing and my having penned this impassioned tribute. A couple of weeks later when her overleaves arrived, it was one of the rare times that on receiving someone’s overleaves that I broke down crying. I always felt strongly connected to this woman – she was family. Here then, at this juncture, though they have been added previously and subsequent to this original post – it is now December 2016 as I change the copyright time stamp – are Natalie Cole’s rather august Michael Overleaves – Natalie’s overleaves are now listed above.

There are these little things that bind us for being entity and cadre mates… at the end of the video for Route 66 which accompanies this tribute post, Natalie Cole can be heard saying, “Yeah, yeah, yeah!” This is precisely what fellow artisan and entity mate Attila Isaksen and I would repeat to each other as a greeting or when slipping out of inner musings after long pleasurable sexual play. END..

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Celebrate: Frank Sinatra 100 Years!

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Whilst the Moon transited both Taurus and my twelfth house, I would dream the most lucid astral plane dream in long ages. At the centre of that dream encounter was the man of the hour, the newly refocussed, Frank Sinatra.

Over the years, I have had very few dream encounters with this man. As befitting his Michael Overleaves, I found this man to be rather arrogant and abrasive.

*Frank Sinatra’s Michael Overleaves were channelled as those of a young soul sage. END.

This for me has always been an indicator that one is dealing with a young soul. They are just so damn impatient, arrogant and socially aggressive – sorry but these spiritual boors just bore the living shit out of me.

Prime example of the young-souled zeitgeist is deftly validated in the dream encounter with the quintessential young-souled female of the 20^th century, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis. Add to all that animus-charged angst is the fact that she also happened to have been a young-souled king.

Her effect on me during the dreams of December 30, 1992 – which in this blog are entitled: King Holding Court – are the dynamic of a late mature soul (self) being socially shunned by a young soul (Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis). These persons, for me, are extremely enervating and real crushers of my aura.

Although, to be sure, when Merlin was incarnate I would have suffered much with regards socially aggressive young souls, now I simply do not suffer. I simply walk away – life is too fucking short to suffer spiritually dense-energied boors.

In any event, the dream was of Frank Sinatra being feted as the arrivé astral plane habitué that he then was. This was one of the most beautiful, healing and lucid dreams imaginable.

Well you can bet your bottom dollar that I spent the next several days saturating the walls of my Montréal home with Sinatra’s sublime soulfulness. I have chosen to include all the dreams had that day as they allow me to fill the spaces between with another YouTube video of Sinatra’s shamanic wizardry.

At the time, it was Sunday, May 24, 1998 and the dreams were audiocassette-recorded on tape CCXLVIII and are to be found in Volume XXV of the 25-volume dream opus. Be well and as ever, know that the love you afford me by being herein focussed is relished with every fibre of my creative soul and, in turn, is returned to you tenfold.

Sweet dreams – for we are, you and me, marvellous shamans. I love you more!

__________________________

A room, where there was a tall countertop, proved the setting for the first dream. Two large books were sitting on the countertop whilst a fat Jewish man was putting on a play.

I too was supposed to have been putting on a play. Going to one of the books, I opened it and looked inside.

A black-covered book, it contained fascinating information. For starters, it stated that on June 5^th, I had tested HIV+.

On learning this, I remained rather detached. I was not in the least bit devastated by the news.

I thought that, perhaps, this had likely occurred when I had been off being frisky in Vancouver’s Stanley Park. Being blasé about the news, I shrugged saying aloud, “Oh well, that’s life.”

Next I was naked and squatting. I looked back over my shoulder at my body and thought that at some point my body was going to become excessively skeletal.

Honestly, I was not upset to have learnt this news. Later on, I would get together with Xerxes Hamelin who was seated on a bunk to my immediate left.

Turning to look at him, I told him the news and adding that he needed to go and get tested. He, too, was not especially upset and remained seemingly resigned to the ramifications of the reality at hand.

Holding my hand, he said that it was okay with him and that we would move through this together. Furthermore, Xerxes said that whether or not he tested HIV+, we would remain together.

He assured me that we would go through it all. I was reminded of how fiercely loyal an individual Xerxes Hamelin is.

The Jew was stout with curly black hair; too, he had a bit of a receding hairline. He was most intent on putting on his play and was quite passionate about it.

Myself, I had lost all focus with being creative. I knew that it was going to take me some time to adjust to experientially being in this new space. There would be a lot to have to assimilate.

At the time, I had told Xerxes Hamelin that I was already taking a whole battery of pills – vis-à-vis being HIV+. Seemingly, among other things, I was also taking AZT pills.

So far, none of the drugs were proving toxic which was nice to have known. I was wearing a black jockstrap whilst seated on my folded legs and looking down at myself.

Looking at the outside of my left thigh, I was inspecting myself with visions of what aesthetic horrors laid up ahead. There was a moment there of chilling terror.

The interlude was, though, brief as I realigned my energies by starting to do deep yogic breath exercises; thus, I eclipsed all negative thought processes. Quite simply, there was no time to be negative as nothing was to be accomplished by being thusly focussed.

After having known so many people who have passed of AIDS, I had to be accepting of the inevitably of Life. In the end, I chose to be philosophical about this change in my life experience.

I must say that one had to be more positive about the inevitable. After all, death was merely a transition into the greater community.

Indeed, more persons have died than have lived.

________________________

Next, in this the second dream, I was in a salon where on one side there were large floor-to-ceiling windows. This was a long salon and 18^th century in style.

The style was decidedly French and the colour a soft, soothing blue. Lots of chandeliers dominated here which were pear-shaped.

Lots of persons were here and everyone sat on Louis something-or-other chaises. The chairs were white with gold filigree.

Down the centre of the salon ran a plush-looking red carpet. I sat, down in one corner of the room, being none-too-loud-personalitied.

There were all kinds of famous persons scattered about the salon. Too, there were non-famous persons none of whom I recognised.

As for the famous persons, some were no longer incarnate whilst very much so alive at present.

A door stood off to my left across from where I sat. Though I was with someone, I cannot now recall who exactly it was.

That particular door opened and revealed an incredibly intense blue light. The light flooding into the room was also the same intense blue and, by far, was more than sunlight.

Nor was it platinum-hued or matted as if the Moon’s light. The light flooding the room through the opened door was incredibly intense.

The large regal-looking double doors had opened simultaneously from outside. Goodness, I could not believe what next happened.

Into the stately salon walked the recently discarnate Frank Sinatra. Quite simply, this man exuded power itself.

God… I simply had to sit up, straight-backed, in my chair.

*I can’t recall ever having had a dream encounter with this man whilst he was incarnate, though, I may have. Too, I have never really paid much attention to his musical career.

Certainly, I was not anticipating a dream encounter with this individual. Indeed, as it is, I am loathed to have to admit dream encounters with famous persons. END.

Straight away, I stood up in deference to the elder creative statesman. Quite obviously, Frank Sinatra had now awakened from the so-called ‘soul sleep’ to being an astral plane habitué adept.

After having completed the transition to being no longer focussed on the physical plane, this was a coming-out party for the much-loved entertainer. God, it was good to have been there in the salon.

Frankly, I had no clue why I was there. Way down the exceptionally long hall were Dean Martin and Sammy Davis Jr..

The latter two, of course, are older astral plane habitués than Frank Sinatra. Too, the comic genius Charlie Chaplin was closer to the door with Dean Martin and Sammy Davis Jr. to greet Frank Sinatra.

All the stellar personalities, who had already passed on, were closest to the door through which Frank Sinatra entered. Next in line, were the incarnate celebrities who were familiar with Frank Sinatra at the time of his passing.

Jay Leno was one of the incarnates present at the astral plane salon. He got up and nobly walked over to greet Frank Sinatra.

Jay Leno had been the one to usher Frank Sinatra into the room and was quite an affable easygoing host. Frank Sinatra was so fuck-all fantastical and magnetic.

What was most extraordinary about this dream was how undeniably Alive Frank Sinatra was. He looked no more than fifty years old.

Above all else, Frank Sinatra looked well-rested. There is simply no other way of describing how he looked and energetically felt.

There was such an abundance of love in this room – even more so than outpoured at his passing. Truly phenomenal was it to have been in this salon.

What remained with me, long afterwards, was what an honour it was to have experienced this transcended being’s awakening. Truly uplifting an experience it was for me.

I think that I may have been with Xerxes Hamelin. In any event, as we stood there clapping and cheering, excited to see him, the arrogant one simply turned his back on us as though we were so much uninvited guests. At the time, I had been thinking that he was going to make his way over to us and whilst en route he would be shaking hands with everyone.

Alas, no such luck. He did shake hands with some long-dead celebrity who remained seated on the ornate-looking chairs.

I believe that it was someone whom he had known earlier in his career and who was a record or film producer. Someone, it was, whom one would never have known for being a member of the public.

I was left with the impression that Frank Sinatra was not only difficult but arrogant as all hell. I for one was not put out by his behaviour.

I was thrilled to have seen him awakened, as it were, into the light. This was not about gawking at celebrities but, rather, I was there to salute his just concluded and quite accomplished life.

After all, he had creatively achieved a fantastical amount. Truth be told, 200 albums is nothing to sneeze at.

My companion and I had been the first and, it turned out, only ones to have gotten up and clapped. This made us look that much more out of sorts.

As if to show his disapproval, Frank Sinatra had suddenly turned his back on us.

We had made embarrassing arses of ourselves; his reaction was, more or less, “Shut up and sit down!”

Way down at that end of the salon, there was a great deal of laughter as he, Dean Martin and Sammy Davis Jr. got reacquainted. Frank Sinatra looked so incredibly on; he was so in tune with his very soul itself.

He was in total command of the situation. He knew where it was at.

There were no misconceptions as to what was going down. After having moved on from a rather accomplished life, he had just arrived in grand style.

Power to him!

*I think that it should be stated that part of the reason for Frank Sinatra’s arrogance is owing to the fact that he was authentically channelled as a young soul. Furthermore, this was a young soul sage which means that he would be possessed of much dramatic and aristocratic airs.

With such Michael Overleaves, at the very least, Frank Sinatra would definitely come off as acutely arrogant. As a recent astral plane habitué, Frank Sinatra could be expected like all young souls to be arrogant, blunt and frankly rude.

Either way, that does not detract from his stellar creative accomplishments. Certainly, I was not going to hold it against him being merely human even when an astral plane habitué. END.

_____________________________

I was working in a corner, in this the third dream, at the offices in Vancouver. Whilst walking south, I was looking for a place to sit and work.

Rashima Mittal was trying to pre-set something on the seat which I wanted. Calling out to her, I let her know that I had already taken the seat.

There were no hostilities between us; in the end, she ended up taking the seat ahead of mine. At the time, it was nighttime out.

_____________________________

Whilst in another office working, in this the fourth dream, I noticed at the supervisor’s podium writing away was none other than Kari Laitinen. He was writing on a writing pad.

On noticing me, he blushed – he was being shy. Going over, I warmly greeted him whilst marvelling at his handwriting.

He remained shy as we warmly visited together. For most of the conversation, he shyly looked down and not because he was trying to avoid or shun me.

Initially, I had been standing before him and then moved around to the side of the podium. By so doing, I ended up standing on his immediate right.

What struck me most was that he was not writing in French. Rather, he was using a language of symbols which seemed more so Middle Eastern; possibly, it was Arabic if not Hebrew.

Though there were others around, they didn’t factor into the scheme of things. What struck me, too, was the fact that aspects here were set simultaneously outdoors.

_________________________________________________________________________

I Remember.

29.08.201503.01.2026 Arvin da BrghaLeave a comment

Michael Jackson by Andy Warhol. On this the anniversary of Michael Jackson’s birth, I thought to pay tribute to one of the most inspiring creative geniuses to have ever graced this world. This is a work by Andy Warhol which is part of the Revolver Gallery’s Andy Warhol: Revisited – A Pop Art Exhibition in Yorkville at 77 Bloor Street West, Toronto. One of the truly fantastic shows to have graced Toronto in long ages.

I finally got to attend a couple of weeks ago with my brother and my only nephew – in town for the summer from the Bahamas. We had a good visit and the show was the most spectacular show I have seen in long ages. Beautifully curated and just intimate enough that it doesn’t end up being overwhelming or, more importantly, underwhelming.

https://warholrevisited.com/

Michael Jackson: August 29, 1958 [-O-] June 25, 2009.

Here’s a dream, previously shared in this unique and utterly unrivalled blog of mine, of Michael Jackson being his marvellously shamanic wonderful self. I love you more, Michael – sweet and blissful dreams.

https://dreampoetica.com/2014/09/17/oh-what-joy/

https://www.youtube.com/embed/LeiFF0gvqcc“>http://