So much of what happens in the waking state is smothered by fear-based strictures like tribalism, classism, sexism, racism et al which results in one being preyed on – one’s very life threatened. Sadly too many proceed through their lives impervious of the Maya that effectively leaves them blind to the ties that bind us all together as souls incarnate in the human experience.
Being as awakened when awake as when asleep and dreaming, gives one a greater appreciation of the beauty of life and the beauty of all humanity. This awareness also allows one to see across the illusion of time.This sensitivity and awareness affords one the ability to perceive and appreciate the gift of persons known and loved along the way – from lifetime to lifetime.
This visionary dream not only spans the rifts of time but it also gets to the heart of the love that binds all souls together. That love that endures regardless the strictures of the waking state and the perceptions of those involved.The dream was rather magically and lucidly experienced, on Tuesday, January 9, 1996, whilst the Moon transited both Leo and near-conjunct the cusp of my fourth house.
*Prior to sleep, I meditated with crystals in the pyramid. I then focussed on being able to astral project, during sleep, to specific points on the astral plane where desired experiences could be had.I opened myself up to, requested of my soul itself, pleasurable experiences with persons whom I have shared multiple past life experiences. Most of all, I was clear that the bonds had to have been predominantly of a positive nature.
Thus, I fell into sleep open to whatever laid ahead.
Buster Asleep in Pyramid
In the first dream, I was having a phone conversation with both Isis and Isabella. In some way, this involved much discussion about Pandora.I had been concerned afterwards that I had not upset Pandora for having overly spoken of her. This is an area, her private affairs, which Pandora never treads into with anyone.There was real pressure here, on both her siblings’ part, to see to it that Pandora went out and got herself a job. Both were furious with Pandora and claimed that she was not putting any effort into finding a job.
Concerned for Pandora, naturally, I thought of how possibly I could help her get grounded. I thought perhaps to phone Maddox Pool and see if he could not get her work in I.A.T.S.E.However, I really did not think that Pandora would be able to adapt to such a work environment. Besides which, realistically, my connections to the place precluded her being able to get her foot through the door.Since Owen Hawksmoor knew Pandora and her connection to me, I knew that Vikram Srinivasan would definitely not approve of her getting work there.
Officine Renault Oil on Linen 2007 Alessandro Papetti
The next dream then found me in an incredibly far-off land. This is the only way that one can best describe this place. Here, it was nighttime out. A black capsule, in which one was able to sit, was being prepared.An additional person could sit on one’s lap though it was basically a single-occupant capsule. It was shaped not unlike the lunar modules, which returned to Earth and landed in the ocean, during the Apollo missions to the Moon at NASA’s heyday in the late 1960s to early 1970s.However, this capsule was conical. There were exceptionally tall men who wore black clothing that covered them from head to toe. Their faces were kept hidden by black visors. The capsule door was opened and closed by these same men who seemed like sentries.
At this point, when sitting in the closed capsule one would seemingly travel to distant places without moving. Of course, this was the astral projection that I had coveted during pre-sleep meditation whilst in the pyramid. Nonetheless, I became highly suspect of this capsule’s true purpose.A couple was there with a young child. They wanted the child to sit in the mother’s open legs whilst she was already seated in the male parent’s opened legs. The three members of the family wore thick saffron robes.For whatever reasons, the little girl tugged free of her mother’s embrace and began running away. Immediately, the sentries were hot on the heels of the child in a bid to apprehend her.
Of course, as it only validated my reservations about the true nature of this machine, this I did not find very reassuring. Opting out of taking a flight aboard the capsule, I shoved off instead and began flying.I left the large hangar-like structure behind me and flew out into the outdoors. Next, I was beneath the awning of the building; the awning extended from the building for about fifty yards. It was a most massive structure!The architectural proportions here were inordinately massive. The scale here was on the order that things appeared in that dream of Merlin, on July 9, 1993, which was truly astral… truly colossal.
I thought that I shouldn’t stay too close to the building – any of the sentries could come around the corner and apprehend me for having left the queue to the capsule.I then held on to the awning’s beams whilst inverted much as though I were a fly on the awning’s underside. I then went to the right, of the far left corner, where persons were way below me who busily walked about on the sidewalk and in the infrequently trafficked street.No one had noticed me. I did grow concerned, nonetheless, at being spotted from below thereby drawing unwelcome attention to myself. As I crawled along the awning, it gave way inside to the ceiling of a very noisy watering hole.
This bar was jam-packed with high-spirited persons. Not liking the energies here I crawled, still inverted, back into the large complex from which I had fled.From inside I peered outside, beyond the awning, where I saw a large craft. White and massive, it made the Boeing 747-400 series look like a compact glider. The craft’s nose, however, more resembled that of the Concorde aircraft.Thinking that the sentries were perhaps on the inside of the craft, I let go of the awning beams. Of course, these beams were the typical dark woods of the astral plane.
With that, I had resumed flying. Whilst still inverted, I flew from just inches below the beams. From time to time, I held on to a beam to get my bearings. At such times, I looked over my shoulder below and behind me.I then went in through a proper entrance to the building which I used for crossing over to another section of the noisy bar. With that I then did a half-tumble, rolling over, to now face down to the patrons in the bar below.Slowly and effortlessly, I floated down and alighted. I had not made too much of a spectacle of myself as there was a major disturbance happening in the bar to which everyone was noisily focussed.
A Hispanic man and another, who much reminded me of Diego Lunamas, were being especially rowdy. The bartender decided to maintain order and left his post to show them to the door. He was a large burly man.The door, through which they had been ushered outside, had a view to the outdoors. The natural pathway from the bar led to a large tropical-looking growth beyond the complex.Soon after they went outdoors, there was a sudden outbreak of light flashes. Basically, they had had a run-in of sorts or had been apprehended by the sentries who were clearly extra-humans. Soon after they had left the bar, I also headed outside.In search of the Hispanic with the uncanny resemblance to Diego Lunamas, I had gone flying through the air. I had remained, when airborne, between ten and fifteen feet off the ground. My flight was slow; my flight was languorous. This was clearly astral projection.
The growth here was very thick. Enjoying the purity of their energetic signature, I flew through the trees whilst simultaneously revitalising myself in the process. This soon gave way to an opening, in the thick growth, beyond which was the most breathtaking vista. These were by far the most beautiful trees imaginable. They were simply colossal. Each arboreal’s trunk was about fifty feet across whilst they towered up at least a mile. I momentarily hovered whilst my entire body quivered throughout at the powerful vibration that they exuded. This was a truly humbling experience for me. Right away, I was reminded of the ecstatic epiphany that I experienced on Boxing Day, 1972.
One tree snaked from the ground and rose up into the air. It leaned against the right side of a tree that was incredibly immense. It seemed a mile-high astral plane baobab.Flying over, I landed on the trunk of one tree. This tree had two leaves that were frond-like but incredibly oversized. Whilst I stood on the trunk, a slight man – he looked Amerindian though likely Balinese or even Fijian – approached me.
*He seemed from an earlier age in human history. Of course, this was likely owing to the fact that he was yet another humanoid, extra-human species. END.
He suggested that I look at where the growth began. The vine-like trunk was some fifty to seventy-five feet in the air; it extended at an incline to a great distance far away. It was a truly fantastical tree.There were the beginnings of the two frond-like leaves close-by. He told me that he used them to get milk. He said that the milk derived from this rare arboreal genus was used in all manner of applications.
He was a shaman. He was a true, innate dream magus.
I then noticed an indigenous ladder that they used to climb up the tree. Here it was nighttime. The frond-like leaves grew side-by-side and curled over. The leaves looked, as a matter of fact, not unlike umbrellas. It was these trees to which the locals came to harvest the vine-like tree’s milk.I then began moving down the tree trunk growing concerned as the much-feared extra-humans were expected to return soon. They seemingly appeared at set intervals and their intentions were generally adversarial.
With that, I flew away and returned into the clearing. As I flew back, where there was now a large open area below, I saw a Black man who was an agricultural engineer. He carried a wheelbarrow of earth. He had placed the earth over a trap of some sort which employed a cord system.They apparently also captured cicadas. When I came off the inclined vine-like tree, I had briefly landed on the ground before taking flight again. To my amazement, I had landed in a patch of a few hundred cicadas.They were exclusively on a tree which seemed the very centre of the growth. This central tree gave off a definite hum. All the cicadas were on the trunk of the same unique tree that seemed, by its vibrational signature, to be a life-sustaining energetic magnet.This tree was not a member of the pine family. Rather, it was a tropical tree which made the Sitkas in Vancouver’s Stanley Park or the redwoods in northern California look like seedlings.
I remained motionless for the longest while. I was magnetised by the tree’s vibrational hum. It was hypnotic. There was nothing but love radiating from this tree. It was a truly humbling encounter.The cicadas had swarmed onto its trunk to become harmonised with its vibration. As I flew off and looked back, I realised that the cicadas were being caught by the locals as they had proven themselves a nuisance.The cicadas were not in the habit of eating the crops but there were so many of them that their noisy song made the locals devise a plan. The locals simply captured and relocated as many of the cicadas as they could.I realised that this bit of drama, being acted out in the clearing, was also a metaphor for the larger drama back at the cosmopolitan complex.
There the extra-humans were laying traps, by way of the oval-shaped black capsule, for capturing unsuspecting humans. However, there was also another aspect to all this symbology that was not lost on me.I knew, though many of the cicadas were still alive, that the ones who had left their empty shells behind represented two things. The symbol of the empty cicada shell was that of being astral-projected out of the shell of the sleeping body.Secondly, the other symbolic reference was that, each discarded cicada shell represented a lifetime already concluded. They were as if totems of past lives. This was validated by the fact that here was I visiting, as it were, a remnant of a former life.It was a life that was lived in Southeast Asia. A life it was in which my spirituality was closely connected to the strong bondedness that I achieved with the all-encompassing beauty of nature.
This was validated by the ectomorphic loin-clothed Balinese – Southeast Asian – who had come from his little thatched hut to greet me and serve as a guide to me.He was, if not me, then definitely someone whom I have known in this lifetime but with whom I have shared multiple past lives. I can’t say, however, that this was Merlin in a past life.He was quite familiar and was more than likely an entity mate of mine. I was similarly reminded of Diego Lunamas in his fey sweet-eyed beauteousness.
I then flew back through the growth where I saw the Hispanic man who had been kicked out of the bar. He was standing outside a thatched hut.This man was so exceptionally good-looking. He no longer looked like his Hispanic self when at the bar. Then he had had a striking resemblance to Diego Lunamas. Here he seemed now Balinese, possibly Sumatran, though on the outside chance he could have been Filipino.He held something in his hand that looked like a knife. However, it was not a weapon as such. As he stood there, his back to the hut, he was unaware of the intense light flashes taking place inside his hut.
This to me suggested that the extra-humans were inside the hut. It was possible that this man had alternately just died and had emerged from the hut, his final astral projection, though not yet aware that he had died.I then moved inside the hut where I was able to get a handle on what was taking place. The door to the hut was a drape of green banana leaves that were regularly replaced.Lots of bamboo shoots were used to anchor and set the frame of the hut. The slight man had been desperately trying to cut through the door of leaves in a bid to get outside.
Each time that he would cut his way through one drape of leaves, to get through the door, another would manifest beyond the other that already existed there. He could never seem to cut his way free fast enough. It proved a futile attempt to get out.Each door was made of a different type of leaf and reed but all of them were green. The hut was eight feet square with a conical roof. As a matter of fact, it was more so pyramidal.I floated close to the ceiling of the hut as he desperately tried to break out. I am not at all sure that most people were able to observe me in any of these giddy dream experiences.
The loin-clothed local did not quite comprehend the nature of the shiny object that he used to try and cut his way free. Soon enough, the hut was burnt-out with a few burnt-out frame beams standing.The remaining beams were charred with black ashes everywhere. It was obvious that in his bid to escape he had not made it out.Here, it seemed as though I was experiencing a series of vignettes – vignettes into past lives – all of which were interconnected. A very intense experience of soul journeying these dreams would prove.
Again, I saw the man who much reminded me of Diego Lunamas. I flew out to the tree, with the two frond-like leaves, on which I had been earlier.I, soon enough, came down off the tree on seeing these green gourds that were cut open down on the ground. From the inside, a thicker version of what looked like coconut milk spilt out.The milk was being bled into appropriately placed containers. On closer inspection, I realised that the gourds were grown below the surface of the ground. The liquid looked much like cassava root milk.
From there, I flew ahead to another section of the great arboreal growth. Now I came to a clearing which was set in Japan. I intuitively knew that this dream occurred in Japan.For me, this was readily discernible owing to the strong past-life resonance that I experienced for being in this locale. There I saw a series of cultured rivulets that were part of a water fountain. The fountain was part of an extensive irrigation system.The cultured rivulets were stone affairs in which flowed green fluid rather than the clear transparency of water. As I had flown over this site, I saw from on high that everything was completely white.
The trees and every aspect of the landscape were completely white. I knew that it was not a snow-covered landscape. Rather, this was the result of some sort of attack from the black-clad and visored extra-humans with the conical, black space capsules.This I knew meant that they would soon be returning to the area where I was. Closer to hand, I hovered above the Japanese village.
I saw here lots of Japanese women who were performing a ritualised dance. They ritually sang and danced using fans. As they danced, they were a study in grace and reserve.From there, I decided to fly on in search of the source of the oddly green river. I rose in the air as I flew by following the incline to where the fountain began. This led me in flight into a hilltop complex where the fountain began.It was a large compound which included a temple, shrine and living quarters. Here there were more women who, though not ritually dancing, carried fans and were just as reserved.
At once, I alighted hurriedly moving through the compound. I was as if possessed. I knew at every turn which corridor to follow. On my arrival, I let out a cry upset at what I had found.I couldn’t believe what these people had done. They had desecrated this important bit of their culture and heritage.Of course, this was an astral projection to a past life milieu. Everything was at once familiar. My sense of smell was acute. All the writings I fully understood though they were in Kanji and Sanskrit.In that past life, my former self had had a hand in establishing the temple and its shrine. Now some time later, however, they were performing these rituals in appeasement of the new overlords.
Of course, the new overlords would have been the extra-humans. I was really upset… I was really hurt. They shook the fans as they danced and this was supposed to have mimicked something about the extra-humans’ culture with which I was not familiar.To atone, the Japanese humans had set up several altars to the extra-humans. Truth be told, they worshipped the extra-humans as their deities. The reserved women had the same milk-like substance which I had earlier seen being harvested.Said harvesting area looked to be in Bali more than anywhere else. The harvested milk-like drink was stored in very ornate vessels that were decidedly Japanese and examples of ancient Japanese pottery.
In particular, there was a large dark-wood altar – Butsudan – that captivated me. Inside the Butsudan were several wooden carvings which were in the likeness of the visored extra-humans.I grabbed one of the carvings, enraged, and began banging it against the other carvings. In short order, I had desecrated the imposition that the extra-humans’ presence represented.I began furiously yelling at the Japanese locals for having sold out. What really surprised me was just how enraged and powerful a persona I possessed. I was intensely warrior-spirited.I seemingly was a member of a Samurai sect which meant that there was fierce pride and honour at stake here. This was such a gross betrayal.
“Where was their loyalty to traditions and history?” I rhetorically asked.As I bashed away at the carvings, I heavily panted. I felt rather passionate, on my return, about the fruits of my past-life labour having been defiled once left behind on my passing in that former lifetime.I addressed them in Japanese, no less. It was quite something.
*It much reminded me of that dream encounter with ‘Francesca,’ on January 1, 1989. I had then encountered the fiery redheaded Briton who had been a former life of mine.I was quite the strong-personalitied dramatic woman who was quite sparkling-personalitied and with great presence. END.
In that former Japanese life my body of work was clearly dear to me. I couldn’t conceive of how these people would turn their backs on the efforts made on their behalf.With that I took leave of them and went rushing into the shrine’s private apartments. I ran up the stairs then stopped and walked along the unusually narrow hallways. The proportions here were decidedly Japanese.On the walls were engravings that bore inspiring words and poems. All of the art was spiritually focussed. Too, there were lots of long narrow rugs on the wooden floor of the hallways.
An extremely ancient Butsudan sat in the private apartments where once I had lived in that former life. The Butsudan’s two silver latches were complicated to open.In fact, they were not readily opened based on the way that they appeared. Nonetheless, from memory, I effortlessly opened them on the first try.The shrine was so immediately familiar. I couldn’t believe that it still stood there. My fingers actually trembled as I made to open the latches. The Butsudan was also covered in wooden engravings.One set of the latches ran across the midsection of the Butsudan. Still, the other latch system came down vertically at the bottom. So excited was I that I began levitating whilst opening the Butsudan.
I first opened the one at the midsection, then the other, after which I flung open the door excited to once more see the Butsudan’s coveted scroll.Just inside the door, there was a dark-brown leather flap with engravings on it. Raising the flap finally led the light to be cast in on the most time-yellowed Gohonzon imaginable.It was truly antique and I couldn’t quite believe what I was seeing. The structure was so very powerful. On realising what it was, I shuddered and began quivering throughout.Immediately, my connection to Buddhism in this lifetime was being validated. Of course, having seen Diego Lunamas in the environs of prior dreams made perfect sense.
He had also been on the palatial grounds of the temple as I had hovered in the air. On opening the shrine, I alighted and collapsed on the floor in lotus position before the Gohonzon.I keenly focussed on the Gohonzon though mindful of the fact that the black-clad and visored extra-humans would be returning soon. Here in this most awakened of dreams, I began chanting Daimoku. I cannot stress enough how intensely lucid a dream experience this was.As I chanted, I became aware of my vibration rapidly intensifying. I remained reverential before the ancient Gohonzon, with hands clasped, yet I found it hard to believe that I was having the experience.More than that, the flow of energies from the time-yellowed Gohonzon to me was as real and intense as the intense light flooding the tiny private apartments – an apartment where once I had lived in a former life when Japanese.
There was the sillage of sweet sandalwood incense ghosting the air. For some time, I chanted aloud then concluded with a long, slow, piercing utterance of Nam-Myoho-Renge-Kyo.With that, I shot to my feet and fled from the room going down the hallway and turned to the left. In my haste, I had left the Butsudan opened with the Gohonzon exposed.However, there was a strong sense that it was to have been left opened. The light and energies from the Gohonzon needed to be obstructed no more.I then arrived into the large palatial living quarters that were quite open. There was a low mat, a futon actually, to the left of the door on entering the room.
To the right of the door, half of the wall area opened up to a view of the beautifully terraced gardens outdoors. I knew that whoever presently lived there was coming.I could sense the person’s approach down on the grounds to the right. With that, I floated down to the ground level and effortlessly moved through the pane of glass.I simply upped my frequency and willed myself to become light-bodied. Thus, I was able to effortlessly move through the thick floor-to-ceiling pane of glass.I went to the left of the building, slowly moving through the night air, on the terraced grounds of the temple compound. At that point, I noticed that there was a man approaching.
About my neck, I still wore a brown scarf that had covered the Gohonzon. On opening up the large Butsudan, I had removed and placed the scarf about my shoulders.As I flew with the scarf, I realised that I could be apprehended once spotted with the unique telltale scarf. The man waited for me around some large wooden pylons that served as the opening in the fence.It was, in fact, a gate system. It led from the private inner courtyard to the outer courtyard where others could gather.There were several wooden stools on which one could sit and reflect on the beautiful gardens. Architecturally, this place was simply inspiring. It was truly Zen here and was both uplifting and conducive to serenity.
On coming around the pylons, the man turned out to be none other than Kaarlsohn Frieden. From above in the air, I was stunned to have both seen and found him here and excitedly beamed down at him.He wore only a large top that fell to just below his arse. Floating down, I alighted whilst the brilliance of a full Moon night seemed to magically shift to intense daylight.The lighting here was truly ethereal. The energies here were wonderful. Here on the grounds of this compound, the energy was very densely negative-ioned.
Way down the hill, whilst in flight, I had noticed several children playing. They were all Japanese. I had landed by a series of stone shrines that had been strategically placed about the gardens. A stone table sat close by that looked several centuries old.I simply couldn’t believe that I was having a dream encounter with Kaarlsohn. Here was I so lucid and he was so real. Truly, this was an astral plane encounter of the highest order.On ambling over, I warmly greeted him. I chose not to try and get rid of the scarf. I was, though, concerned whether or not he would be mad with me for being there.
He called me over. Kaarlsohn’s stubby thighs were strong and athletic-looking as though he were in his twenties. Understandably, he did look older than when I knew him.On the inside of his right thigh, I noticed a large thick vein. As he looked at me warmly smiling, I stood to his left. Kaarlsohn was so warm but, more importantly, I couldn’t get over how real an encounter this was.As he was only wearing the large unisexed top, and nothing beneath it, I got a good drift of his sex’s strong musk. It was a bit overwhelming but I kept focussed on his clear smiling eyes.
Looking into his eyes, I spoke to him making sure to be simultaneously telepathic – there is greater power of persuasion when thus focussed,“Oh my god, Kaarlsohn, I’d give anything to be alone with you. To be intimate but not necessarily sexual, mind you.“I’d do anything to relax and recline with you, sensually. I’d really love to laze about with you… caressing.”At that point, I placed my arm about his lower back whilst we unflinchingly looked into the other’s eyes. He smiled sweetly blushing. I then caressed his arse and felt its firm roundness beneath the sheer light fabric.
Then Kaarlsohn surprised me by saying, “Well, I like to do that, from time to time…”He slowly, suggestively arched his brows high up his forehead. It was a gesture that was reminiscent of Merlin when he wanted to be intimate. What was really telling though was Kaarlsohn’s enunciation when he had uttered those words.By ‘time’ he meant reincarnational time and not time relating to his present incarnation. So that he meant at the level of soul, he did not mind having a same-sexed or bisexual focus ever so often when incarnate.
I looked at him and was blown away by his mischievousness. With that, we both playfully laughed at his teasing winsome handsomeness. Here his voice was not as strong a bass as his voice is in this lifetime.Beyond all that, the level of love, warmth and intimacy between us was astonishing. It was a rare pleasure to be so genuinely intimate with another soul. This depth of openness and acceptance simply blew me away.Then as if all that weren’t revolutionary Kaarlsohn initiated sexual play. He fondled me whilst undoing me with the most sensual kisses all over.
By this point, we were now sitting down on the table in lotus position ravenously groping each other. From time to time, he would stop kissing me to directly look into my eyes.On those occasions, it was as though time itself stood still. My senses were so heightened that I thought I would simply die of joy during the dreamtime.Kaarlsohn’s eyes were so real and focussed. His eyes’ intensity was only distantly frightening as they were so potent.Lips passion-reddened, moist and apart revealed his quivering tongue. He quickly breathed in shallow breaths in between groaning. His groans were filled with yearning and called out to me.
Truly aroused, he seductively invited me to come out of myself to join him in ecstasy. His hard, firm hands were tightly wrapped about my throbbing cock slowly kneading and massaging it.What he was doing was not sexual. Rather, he was performing energy work. With each groan that called out to me, he was inviting me to do the same for him.So I did in kind. Kneading, gently and just as painstakingly slowly, I massaged his thick, large, foreskinned cock.There was nothing more potent and shamanic than the energies that passed between us. It was electrifying. It was magus.
I did sense that there were a couple of bruises on his cock which I had passingly noticed. I thought that, perhaps, they were from an outbreak of herpes.He then said, as my cock grew more tumescent,“This is a really nice cock, you’ve got…”As he gently massaged me and pulled back on my foreskin, my cock kept stabbing into the centre of his cupped right palm. As I danced and flew without moving, in spirit, a more sensual solo variation could not have been danced by Evelyn Hart. Indeed, he was as if David Peregrine to my Evelyn Hart – in the sensually exquisite pas de deux, Belong.
At this point, I lucidly became aware of my intentions prior to sleep. I had specifically meditated asking to have memorable experiences, on the astral plane, with those whom I have shared positive past life experiences.Whilst I looked hypnotised into his large clear eyes – which here were a brownish-green, I recalled having shaped my dreams.The light here was so intensely brilliant. Much of the light here was being initiated by the love that this man’s very august soul was imparting to me. A truly energising magus dream experience this was.
*What is most phenomenal about this soulfully intimate experience, of all the people I know, Kaarlsohn is the least homoeroticised. He is also the most macho of men.Too, I had neither spoken to him in ages nor had I recently thought of him. Yet here was this major totemic encounter. It truly proved healing and insightful a dream encounter.Whilst in the midst of our intimacy, I let out a sigh and suddenly found myself being slapped back into my body. At having had my astral projection aborted, there was weightiness at my solar plexus as I suddenly awoke.I had been slapped awake by the shrill cries of raccoons outside my opened bedroom window. They were having yet another nasty fight. They had come out of Stanley Park to forage for food.
I had been terrified on hearing the grunting and screeching, whilst in the midst of my potent astral plane encounter with Kaarlsohn. I had assumed that it was the sound of the extra-humans advancing on us.Now, I realised that these so-called extra-humans were, in fact, astral guides. Rather than being a negative force, the sentries were there to assist with proper astral protection.I had been projecting the disturbance outside the window onto the visored and unseen astral guides. Raccoons are visored, as it were, with their distinctive black band across their faces at the eyes.As was the case, the raccoons had been fighting for some time and continued fighting for much of the night. In fact, they fought till daybreak. They prowled the West End in search of food before scurrying back to Stanley Park at twilight.
**What’s really interesting about these astral plane rendezvous was that both Diego Lunamas and Kaarlsohn Frieden I met during my stay in Winnipeg. With both men, I had enjoyed an ease of communication and instinctively knew that we had had past life contacts.Diego I had introduced to Nichiren Buddhism. Kaarlsohn had already been practicing when I started. Kaarlsohn proved a good companion with whom to chant Daimoku.Rarely have I felt this satiated on awakening from the dreamtime. Though understandably aroused as all hell, I cried for joy at the beauty that I had just experienced and chose to remain lying in repose within the pyramid.The reason for some of the cicadas having been alive was that they represented the ever present “now” of the soul which does not experience time. Initially, the cicadas had all been alive but then some flickered out of existence.
Those cicadas that remained were quite a few. They surely represented the potential of future lifetimes. However, the remaining cicadas that were still alive were not in the majority.The cicadas initially were all alive because to the soul they were being experienced simultaneously – past lifetimes, future lifetimes and this lifetime.The sum totality of my lifetimes, as symbolised by the cicadas, was a swarm of creative energy which was magnetised to this great arboreal giant. Of course, the arboreal giant represented the soul to which ultimately all cicadas – in order that they may experience transformation, reincarnational metamorphosis – are anchored.The tree to which the cicadas were anchored also represented the physical plane. A physical plane into which the lifetimes of the reincarnating soul, as symbolised by the cicadas, had to manifest in order to become self-actualised and fulfilled both spiritually and creatively.
As much as the arboreal giant represented the soul quality on the astral plane, simultaneously, it represented the physical plane into which the soul was reincarnationally focussed.Since I was on the astral plane whilst dreaming – where time as such does not exist – the cicadas were all-extant. The totemic cicadas represented every lifetime’s dreamer self which is never extinguished.Thus the dreamer self forms a conduit, like the black teleportation-like capsule, to having connective glimpses into past or even future lifetimes.
I suppose too that, at the start of this lyrical dream adventure, the black conical capsule in which one sat and travelled was a symbolic icon of my pyramid. Of course, when lucidly dreaming these truly marvellous dreams of uplifting adventure, I was sleeping in my pyramid.This was a truly illuminating dream experience. To have experientially undertaken this astral awakening was very rhapsodic, in each lucid moment, as it swept me along.A sensory feast this was. A feast on which my very soul was made pleasurably besotted. A truly magus dream odyssey this was and one which validated anew that dreams truly are the poetry of the soul. END.
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Late last month, October26, 2025, I attended the final evening of concerts in honour of Oscar Peterson’s centennial. It was simply glorious. At the end of part two, Cécile McLorin-Salvant sung the most haunting rendition of Hymn to Freedom, which above is performed live in 1964 in Denmark by Oscar Peterson and his trio of Ray Brown and Ed Thigpen. Sweet and blissful dreams ever be yours ennobled Sir.
Harry 40th Birthday Prince Harry and Here’s to Your Fifth Decade!
Windsor, Henry 15/9/1984 London, England
Michael: This feisty fragment is a fifth-level mature warrior – fourth life thereat – to his sixth-level mature brother, William. Henry is in the power mode with a goal of growth. A sceptic, Henry is in the moving part of intellectual centre.
Body type is Mars/Saturn.
Henry’s primary chief feature is arrogance and the secondary stubbornness.
The fragment Henry is first-cast in second cadence; he is a fragment of greater cadence three. Henry’s entity is one, cadre six, greater cadre 7, pod 418 – Henry is an entity mate of his paternal grandmother, HM Queen Elizabeth II.
Henry’s essence twin is a warrior and he has a scholar task companion.
Henry’s primary needs are: freedom, adventure and exchange.
There are 9 past-life associations with Arvin and 5 with Merlin.
Past Lives of Note:
Michael: There is long standing rivalry between Catherine and this fragment. Fought in many wars together, 14 past lives of note between Catherine & Henry.
1. This fragment was also present in the 13th century Khan lifetime as the first cousin of the scholar William. He (former Henry) was disruptive at best and had difficulty following orders with a primary chief feature of self destruction and a secondary of greed fixated on independence.
His (former Henry) view of his cousin’s preference of male company was negative at best, and he continues to have strong viewpoints of what he considers moral. Of course, at this time, Henry is working through 4th internal monad issues and has chosen a partner, Meghan, similar to his mother, the late Diana, Princess of Wales through efforts to provide protection that he was unable to do when he was young.
The fragment who is now Catherine was a soldier (male) in the Khan lifetime who also disapproved of this warrior’s (Henry) behavior. Catherine was incidentally a lover of the fragment who is now William, hence the triangulation of this trio.
We will concur here that there are many complexities between the principals in the royal family which is not unusual given their mature soul status at this time.
2. This warrior and his previous relationship with the mature artisan Chelsy Davy of Southern African descent were married and ruled the island of Tonga during a constitutional crisis and reorganization in the 1800’s – King George Tupou I. His temperament was much calmer than it is today due to the choice of acceptance and stoic.
3. Member of a large sailing expedition under the command of Cortés. Spanish. (former Henry) Was cast overboard when he refused to comply with implementing rules of conduct. Died of hypothermia.
*Dec, 2023.
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Context: Coupled with his numerological two 6s, Harry is power mode and a sceptic. He is a very shrewd and deeply complex human. One thing that I have come to know, is that apart from the fact that all gap-toothed Whites having been Black in their immediate past life, when such persons have two such 6s, which has to do with being focussed on their familial iconography, such persons always display a deep affinity towards Blacks. The other prominent gap-toothed White with two 6s who has that abiding affinity towards Blacks is Madonna; they have major issues with familial iconography – Papa Don’t Preach, Like A Virgin, Like A Prayer et al. Madonna, of course, had been Blues/Jazz singer/songwriter, Bessie Smith. There are other famous gap-toothed Whites who were Black in their immediate past life, who are not necessarily focussed with Black culture as such. They are model and actress, Lauren Hutton and the riveting, handsome actor, Willem Dafoe. Harry’s affinity and deep empathy for Blacks is reflected in his having started Sentebale in Lesotho with Prince Seeiso of Lesotho. I will always remember seeing Harry dance in Jamaica and a friend with whom I watched TV before dinner, clapped, laughed and declared, “That Boy’s got soul!”
Prince Harry 15.9.1984 Rat 6.6.1 = 4Madonna 16.8.1958 Dog 7.6.2 = 6
Ciccone, Madonna Aug 16 1958 Michigan
Now, for Madonna Louise Ciccone, who was also very well-known in her immediate past life, as Bessie Smith, the “Empress of the Blues.”
This fragment was, in her most famous life, however, the composer of many madrigals and operas, the forerunner of today’s 12-tone compositions, Claudio Monteverdi.
The voice has always been this warrior-cast sage’s favourite instrument, whether the fragment was writing for it or performing with it, but the fragment has also danced and acted on most of this world’s stages at one time or another.
A consummate performer and a shrewd judge of the way the world works, this fragment likes nothing better than to know she has caused a shockwave to reverberate around the globe.
Madonna Louise is a sixth level mature sage in the observation mode, with a goal of dominance, a cynic in the moving part of emotional centre.
She has a Lunar/Venus body type.
Madonna’s primary chief feature is arrogance, with a strong secondary of stubbornness.
This fragment was third-cast in her cadence and her cadence is fifth in the greater cadence. She is a member of entity six, cadre four, greater cadre 41, pod/node 414.
A fragment of this entity recalls acting with the fragment who is now Madonna Louise on the Greek stage 1800 years ago and being completely in awe of his, at that time male, talent; also, at that time, this fragment was a seventh level young soul sage and the fragment of our entity was a sixth level old soul and a sage-cast king.
We would not exactly brand Madonna Louise as androgynous, since she uses every feminine wile she can possibly bring to bear. All three of these fragments: Madonna, Prince and Michael Jackson, have a very high percentage of yin energy as compared to yang energy.
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I do believe that the channelled information touched on the life at sea with explorer Cortés for Prince Harry because it was also a reference to one of the 9 past-lives where we were known to each other. In this past-life dream in 1989, Prince Harry would have been not yet five years old and thus he was though vaguely familiar also not readily discernible. I identified with him, assuming that it was me in a past life, but it clearly was not the case. I would have been aboard ship at the time when Harry in that past life was thrown overboard. Clearly, the rules of conduct had to do with the sexual mores of the crew, to which Harry stubbornly objected having to do anything about. The dream follows…
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The fourth dream then found me about a large, hangar-like dormitory area. As a matter of fact, it seemed like a prison because it was very dark and wooden all about – below deck of a large ship. Somehow, one had the sense of Elektra Munk-Ejoonhoè being about. Too, there were lots of Hispanic – Latino, youth about. Jorge Delacruz was there and on seeing him, I enthusiastically reconnected with him. I decided to see him later.
Then a man came and sat where I was and when he had, he had come over and he had on a dark coat. He had bags of fruit and there was a large light-green fruit, like really large green grapes – like the ones you get in Paris. Then he had two other bags – those bags that have got slits in them so that the contents in the plastic can breathe. He had dark and green grapes. I asked him for some whilst we sat about.
As he was sitting there eating, I bent over to his right ear and said, “Why don’t you come on and let me give you a blowjob. I’ll suck you off and make you feel real good.”
However, in fact, I had said this to Jorge Delacruz and he had said, “No. No. There is no technique. I once got in trouble because only a woman can know how to do it. I once got a nickname for getting into stuff like that which is why I’m in trouble. Now I’m only with ladies. You know, there are times when these ladies can get to me, I was caught with a younger girl.”
He then went on about all this personal demonic stuff. I was saying, “Come on. We can go across there and then inside there in that room. There is that room where nobody goes into. We can go in there.”
So finally, we did go across the way. This was after Jorge had been in a scuffle with some other guy who had on a pretty t-shirt. There was also a guy there with a fat arse. He wore red shorts and top and he was holding on to the guy telling him,“Don’t go get mad, don’t go get mad. Man don’t go get yourself into trouble. Lord I love you too much.”
Most of these were Spanish guys and they were all Gay. They were in a larger dormitory area in which I had been earlier. Guys were on top of guys frottaging and carrying on.As a matter of fact, their play was quite affectionate and loving. There was a little guy on top of a big guy and he was very paternal. I found it rather nice and interesting to have observed them. There was so much machismo to this group of men.
What ended up happening was that I progressed to the scene wherein I went into the little area up towards what would be the bow of the ship. I was in there with Jorge and wanted to give him a blowjob.Though I went off that way to be with Jorge, yet a part of me was separate – I was astral-projected. So naturally, I was able to go up above deck and look at the ship whilst still privately being alone with Jorge.
This was a large wooden ship with sails and it was out to sea. At the time, it was dark like in the night but coming on to daytime. I looked into the sea and it was greenish, heavy and as if molten liquid. As the ship sailed through it, it made no furrows because the water was so heavy and molten.The ship almost did not create any waves. Seemingly, the large ship merely glided through the ocean. There were just little circling pools of water where the ocean was organically green. I was up on a raised part of the deck towards the front of the ship’s bow.
Way down at the very front of the ship, on the right side, was a man and he had a fishing line and he was fishing. He was an older White. Every now and again, the little fish would leap out of the water as he fished. He got the anchor and I knew that when he threw it in the water, the rope that it was tied to was in the room where my primary dreamer self and Jorge now were in the midst of having frisky relations.
I was somewhat concerned but anyway remained unmoved. He tossed the anchor that looked like a bucket. The unusual-looking anchor was large and the rope had knots with wood along it so that you could walk up these wooden strips like a ladder. Overall, it was rather interesting. He tossed it in and the anchor, however, pulled him in. There was so much rope, it kept on going down, down and further down into the calm ocean; that was when I realised how far out to sea we were.
I then was concerned for both the man and myself in the room where the rope originated. I was afraid that we would be exposed as I gave Jorge a very energetic blowjob. Was the rope going to catch amongst our feet and drag us off?I was frantic about the older White who had gone overboard whilst fishing. I thought,My god what if he gets attacked by sharks or such?
I was indeed quite concerned. The older White never did surface for the longest time. I was concerned that he was caught down there or attacked by sharks. I was looking to see if there were any sharks in the water, but there weren’t any.The water was such a soulful green. Too, it was so richly heavy, liquid and tranquil, I thought, Oh how beautiful to be on the ocean. I found it to be rather nice. I was wondering if he going to drown? Is this me drowning in another life, as it were?
Being there for the man and feeling great empathy for his dilemma, I was rendered catatonic. Eventually, I did see him come up to the surface. His face, however, never did break the surface of the water. He just seemed this large body of clothing and flesh that was floating just below the surface. I thought,Oh dear… I guess it meant that he had drowned. I did not see any sharks about and was pleased at that.
At that point, I then progressed back into the hull where all the people were. Jorge was coming out and I was with him. Again, he got accosted and he was going to get into a fight situation.Now he was quite lean-bodied, wearing just underwear and a merino. I saw his basket and I was quite attracted to him. He was quite virile and boyish in that frame of body.
Virile, in the sense that he was quite macho and very much so into abusing people, if need be – in self-defense. He was being groped, sexually assaulted, by these lecherous Gays and he was exceptionally pretty indeed.
*I think that it is safe to say that this was a past-life dream experience. The man who went overboard was, without a doubt, someone of note connected to me in a life where I was at sea.
**Long after the fact and so many channelled overleaves later, I suspect that based on how information in shared, when it is relevant to one’s arcana, the man who went overboard may well have been Harry in that past life where he served Cortés. I felt such empathy for his situation; he was clearly at odds with what his superiors charged him to undertake aboard ship. Life aboard was all about debauchery, licentiousness, all of which would have left the old man incapable of keeping order aboard the ship, nor was he much inclined to have intervened. END.
William, The Prince of WalesHM King Henry IV of England
Windsor, Prince William, Prince of Wales 21/6/1982 London
Michael: This fragment is sixth-level mature scholar – third life thereat. William is in observation mode with a goal of acceptance. A pragmatist, he is in the intellectual part of moving centre.
William’s body type is Lunar/Mars/Saturn.
William’s primary chief feature is stubbornness – death of his mother, Diana, Princess of Wales, was the triggering event and the secondary chief feature that of arrogance.
The fragment William is third-cast in sixth cadence; he is a member of greater cadence seven. William’s entity is four, cadre one, greater cadre 6, pod 208.
William’s essence twin is a scholar and he has a warrior task companion to whom he is married, Catherine, HRH The Princess of Wales.
William’s primary needs are: exchange, freedom and security.
There are 6 past-life associations with Arvin and 3 with Merlin.
Past Lives of Note:
Michael: Past lives of note include the following:
1. This fragment was the second in command to the Khan of the Mongol empire and helped explore and deploy wartime strategies, a skill he had developed over time and throughout multiple incarnations. His expertise was that of a cartographer and he put to paper various “options” that could be utilized depending primarily on the weather.
He did not marry or have children and preferred the company of men. This past life occurred during the 13thcentury.
2. Female, head of matriarchy, New Zealand. Fought against the encroachment by Cook, married to Tupaia (sic) and served to assist in negotiations with the invading forces, mid 18th century.
3. Henry IV of England. Highly influential in War of the Roses in his overthrow of the monarchy. Fought for his inheritances. The current warrior spouse, Catherine, was also present as Mary, his first wife. The fragment who is now his eldest son, Prince George, was his daughter, Philippa, who became Queen of Denmark, Norway & Sweden, in this life of note.
*Dec, 2023.
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As Merlin is my task companion and a scholar; it is always good to have dream encounters with William. Regardless his persona in the waking state, like most scholars, he is fairly centred and serene. Always, without exception, he sits comfortably with legs gathered beneath him as is distinctly unique to males on the spectrum or as I recently discovered neurodivergent. He is never hostile and sometimes telepathic. The only other times he has not been thusly sat, was one dream of him on the eve of his mother, Diana, Princess of Wales’ violent departure – assassination, wherein he was asleep in bed. More recently, when he was having rough sex with Catherine where he bottomed and she used a strap on; he was pleasured rather than violated during their sexual play. Of course, this would be owing to his fourth number of 5, which is always about outré sexuality; that too would have harked back to the 13th century past life when serving the Mongol Khan and he was same-sex focussed. Though William has the great goal of Acceptance, it’s opposite or negative pole is Rejection/Discrimination. That means that with a mind set of 9, he would rarely be focussed in acceptance at this point in life, but a discriminating snob, and as we now know a blasted racist boor. The preceding photo of a young William is what acceptance looked like before it withered and was replaced by his hatefulness and he moved to a goal of Rejection.
Elephant mandala created by Merlin for his oldest friend
Incidentally, on the matter of sexuality, I must state that the whole business is rather queer to my perception. Men are perfectly attracted to men and if they weren’t, they’d not be human, as for that matter are women attracted to women. Obviously, a lot of that same-sex attraction is oftentimes triggered by past-life connections that are undeniable and magnetic. The notion of Queer men finding women sexually revolting, is absurd to me. Nothing beats honouring womankind by eating pussy like a famished gilt set loose in truffle patch… grunt, grunt. It is a man’s honour to make the Queen he sexually serves squeal! Alas, just as William when King Henry IV started the House of Lancaster, he seems now destined to start another royal House as he, rather than Harry, seems the obvious illegitimate. At the end of the day, the human body comes equipped four sex organs, your mouth, your anus, and what ever happens to be up front, which for far too many unstable souls is no longer an immutable proposition. Most of all, the fourth and most powerful sex resides between one’s ears; one would be amazed at the countless millions who die, never having known of their fourth sex. For all such persons, they are just goddamn zombies, who aimlessly breed out of season. As for those of us who wear our pussy between the ears, we are never fucked!
HM King Charles III by Jonathan YeoHM King Charles III
HM King Charles is, of course, like his son, Prince Harry, Catherine and the late, Prince Philip, The Duke of Edinburgh, a warrior soul; he is the oldest soul warrior of the group at seventh level mature. HM King Charles III is an entity mate of Canadian artist, Robert Bateman who is a seventh level mature soul, though, a king soul; the latter’s task companion is the mature warrior soul, Bristol Foster. George Hawken, who was a first old soul artisan when recently incarnate and a lover of mine, collaborated with Robert Bateman. Not surprisingly, Jonathan Yeo who masterfully captured the sanguineous essence of HM King Charles III in the official portrait is an entity mate of the King’s and Jonathan is a sixth mature scholar soul.
Windsor, HM King Charles III 14/11/48 London
Michael: Charles Windsor is a seventh level mature second-cast warrior. Charles Windsor is in observation mode, with a goal of acceptance. Charles’ attitude is pragmatist, and he is in the moving part of intellectual centre.
Charles’s body type is Mercury/Saturn.
Charles’ primary chief feature is stubbornness, secondary is self-deprecation.
Charles has an incarnate warrior essence twin with no plans to meet and a discarnate priest task companion, who exerts considerable influence on him.
His casting is virtually the same as Robert Bateman’s: entity two, cadre four, greater cadre 16, pod/node 404; however, Charles is a second-cast in a fourth cadence, entity four, cadre four, greater cadre 16, pod/node 404.
Past Lives of Note:
1. This fragment served as a primary advisor to King Henry VIII between the years 1510-1536. Male. Charles Brandon. Duke of Suffolk. Married into the royal family and was a close friend of the sage, HM King Henry VIII, who was third level mature at the time.
2. Member of the Roman senate, 10 BCE. He was a leader and adjudicated trials as a magistrate known for being a bit heavy-handed and leaned in the favor of the wealthy. Assassinated by poison at an evening meal and still has an aversion to certain spices.
3. A well-known calligrapher and scribe for the old king soul, Lao Tsu, 600 BCE. Helped to document what later became the Tao Te Ching. Very significant life.
*Dec, 2023.
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King Charles, of course, is born in the year of the Rat. 14.11.1948. 5.7.2 = 5. Like Prince Louis of Wales, he has an energy body of 5, and also has 7 but more importantly, 5 in the fourth position. Sexual scandal, debauchery and outré sexuality are the hallmarks. 5 in the fourth position is also in Prince Andrew, Prince William and Prince George’s numerological makeup. One of the wonderful things about British society is how, apart from being chiefly ruled by the number 9 – bullying, rapaciousness, superiority complex, it is also ruled by 5 and 2. 2 not only governs giftedness and creativity with a healthy dash of genius and eccentricity, it also rules a deep an abiding love for members of one’s sex; there is a keen yearning of men to bond with a trusted man/men. This is why the culture of the military, warfare and prison/punishment is so pronounced in British culture. It also, not surprisingly, governs the aristocracy for whom the rules of engagement do not apply as with mere mortals. Eton, Harrow et al are all institutions which foster this underlying manly bonding that marries loyalty with an abiding love – physicalised or otherwise. It is not coincidental that both 2 & 5 are present in the numerology of King Charles III, Prince William, The Prince of Wales and Prince George of Wales the future King George VII. George and William are especially close and always will be because among their strong past-life history, is that of King Henry IV (Prince William) & Queen Philippa (Prince George) when they were also parent and offspring who would become Sovereigns in their own right. As King Charles III has a goal of acceptance, this is why he has the sweetest, smiling soulful eyes, that warm hushed almost silent laugh and is ever approachable. Acceptance is the great goal and such persons radiates the love vibe, which Charles does as a late mature warrior soul on the cusp of being an old soul, likely in his next incarnation.
Edward ‘Fruity’ Metcalfe & Edward VIII
Edward ‘Fruity’ Metcalfe. Wallis Simpson & Edward VIII
Edward ‘Fruity’ Metcalfe
Wallis Simpson. Edward VIII & Edward ‘Fruity’ Metcalfet
Edward VIII & Edward ‘Fruity’ Metcalfe
Edward ‘Fruity’ Metcalfe. Edward VIII & Louis Mountbatten
Edward VIII & Louis Mountbatten
Edward VIII & Louis Mountbatten
Edward VIII & Louis Mountbatten
Edward VIII & Louis Mountbatten
Prince Charles & Louis Mountbatten
Let’s then explore the interactions of 5 & 2 numerologically and how it is explored by the upper classes in this cases, the British royals. Edward ‘Fruity’ Metcalfe was, like Louis Mountbatten, a man with whom King Edward VIII was deeply besotted. Edward ‘Fruity’ Metcalfe’s companionship was so indispensable that he was made King Edward VIII’s equerry, the one aide who spends more time with the Sovereign than anyone else – you can damn well bet that it was not owing to their passion for needlepoint! Both Edward VIII and Edward ‘Fruity’ Metcalfe had 5 & 2 in their numerology. King Edward VIII 23.6.1894 Horse 5.2.6 = 4. Edward ‘Fruity’ Metcalfe 16.1.1887 Pig 7.8.5 = 2. Knowing both the numerology and Michael Overleaves of hundreds of persons as I do, I can quite confidently state that Edward VIII would have been an aggressive, besotted bottom with Edward ‘Fruity’ Metcalfe… good God look at the feet on the man! What’s more, Pigs, such as Edward ‘Fruity’ Metcalfe, are the most horny, raunchy, loud fuckers. Yes please! No one is born White, Black, male, female, Straight or Gay. We are souls incarnate, pursuing the human experience in as many variables, with as many choices and options as all lives are chosen for starters. I don’t have 5 in my numerology but in speaking to other male 2s, one thing we all admit to, even the ones who are not ‘Gay’ is that we love the smell of a man, we love male energy and ever yearn to touch, bond, be intimate with a man. Religion and societal mores are all mindfuck. Souls incarnate will and must do as they choose as we are numerologically hardwired to do. Being possessed of 2, 5 or even both numbers do not mean that one wants to put on high heels and act as though every goddamn day is DragRace, it is perfectly possible to compartmentalise that aspect of self and be a perfectly full blooded tail-wagging pussy hound, who enjoys the companionship of a woman, wife and creating a family as is human… it’s all a manifestation of human civilisation.
Queen Elizabeth II 21.4.1926 Tiger 3.7.7 = 8
Windsor, HM Queen Elizabeth 21/4/1926<O>08/9/2022
Michael: This fragment was a third-level mature slave – second life thereat. Elizabeth was in the perseveration mode with a goal of dominance. A realist, she was in the moving part of intellectual centre.
Body type was Venus/Lunar.
Elizabeth’s primary chief feature was stubbornness and the secondary self-deprecation.
The fragment Elizabeth is fourth-cast in the fifth cadence; she is a fragment of greater cadence six. Elizabeth’s entity is one, cadre six, greater cadre 7, pod 418.
Elizabeth’s essence twin is a slave and the task companion is a priest.
Elizabeth’s three primary needs were: security, adventure and exchange.
There are 6 past-life associations with Arvin and 4 with Merlin.
Past Lives of Note:
Michael: Past lives of note include the following:
1. Daughter of Queen Victoria, named Alice. Devoted servant of the people through medicine. (nursing) Health was compromised due to exposure to many contagions.
2. Son of Malcolm, king of Scotland. David. Interested in business and promoting townships. Very powerful. This incarnation was during the 12th century.
3. Two lives in South America. Not notorious by any means, but known for her intricate designs (Mexico, pottery and Chile, clothing) Her slave role life task had to do with practicality.
4. Roman senator. Dedicated to the people through passing laws that were more favorable through less taxation. This incarnation was during the 2nd century BCE.
*Dec, 2023.
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As Queen Victoria’s daughter, Princess Alice’s short life, to age 35, prepared her for the rather momentous journey in her next life, as Princess Elizabeth, daughter of the Duke of York, later King George VI. As her passing has borne out, this was a very phenomenal human being and a Sovereign who will remain unmatched for centuries yet. It is always exceptionally good to dream of this ennobled soul, to have dreamt of her imminent passing, will remain a highpoint dream of this lifetime, and for me that’s saying a lot! Elizabeth is a cadre mate of Prince Harry, Meghan, The Duchess of Sussex, Prince George, Doria Ragland, Prince Archie and Princess Lilibet. Regardless what relation someone is to HLM Queen Elizabeth II, if they are not entity or cadre mates, they will never have had a stronger heart connection to her than the aforementioned people. For example, King Charles in not only not an entity or cadre mate, but he is from an entirely different pod, 404. There is no way that The Queen would have been warmer or closer to Charles than to say, Prince Harry or Meghan; one just knows… we all do. Kindred spirit bond is immutable. Similarly, The Queen would instinctively feel closer to Prince George than to either of his parents, William and Catherine, The Prince and Princess of Wales. Further, the Queen with two 7s in her numerology was a superior empath and would most definitely have been able to observe persons’ aura; this, of course, like all 7s, she would never advertise. Though I don’t know their overleaves, if Pamela Hicks, Lord Louis Mountbatten’s daughter and Zara Tindall are both cadre mates (pod 418) of The Queen’s, she would have had a greater affinity for both rather than King Charles and Queen Camilla, who respectively are in pods 404 and 129 – they are not kindred spirits as it were.
Once more, I share the most uplifting dream which foretold The Queen’s passing and arrival on the astral plane. One of the truly most festive dreams in this lifetime.
Prince Philip 10.6.1921 Rooster 1.7.2 = 1
Mountbatten, Philip 10/6/1921<O>9/4/2021 Greece/Windsor
Michael: This fragment was a fourth-level mature warrior – second life thereat. Philip was in observation mode with a goal of preferred dominance. A sceptic, he was in the moving part of intellectual centre.
Body type was Saturn/Mars.
Philip’s primary chief feature was stubbornness – due to early death of a family member and the secondary subdued impatience.
The fragment Philip is seventh-cast in first cadence; he is a member of greater cadence six. Philip’s entity is one, cadre six, greater cadre 7, pod 408.
Philip’s essence twin is a warrior and he has a scholar task companion who was known to him.
Philip’s primary needs were: exchange, acceptance and power.
There are 14 past-life associations with Arvin and 6 with Merlin. _____________________________________________________
As I have had a relatively strong past-life connection with the Late Prince Philip, he has certainly been ‘solid’ in dreams. There is an immediate and strong connection; they have been far-ranging dreams and nothing extraordinary such that one would share herein. Again, like Prince Harry, Prince Philip had very strong overleaves, was also a sceptic and also is a warrior soul.
Windsor, Queen Camilla 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 of 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.
Past Lives of Note:
1. This scholar was also present in the Henry life of note, HM King Henry VIII, with her now husband Charles. She was his lover, clandestine. Promises made at that time to bring her “Into the light” (limelight) This promise was brought to bear in the current lifetime as it was not possible at the earlier time. She was maid to Queen Anne Boleyn, who was approving of the relationship.
2. Similar to the theme just mentioned, this fragment followed behind the footsteps of Emperor Yuan, 3rd century CE. Her innate neutrality assisted her in being the “silent partner and support” of her husband.
3. The *task companions Camilla and Charles have also accomplished tasks that include some of the following:
a. Designed habitat in Amsterdam, having to do with waterways that are still being used today.
b. Scribes at the Library of Alexandria prior to its downfall. Helped to preserve documents and catalog information.
c. They have created maps, charts of both land and sea, and these include trade-routes from Europe around the South African Cape.
d. Worked on military uniforms for both practicality and flare – late 18th century.
4. Exemplary harpsichordist who accompanied the child prodigy Mozart. She was also a gifted vocalist and played 4 other instruments.
*One’s task companion is never the same soul type as one’s own; for instance, Charles is a Warrior soul and Camilla is a Scholar. The task companions is 99% of the time in one’s entity; there are times that the task companion may be outside the entity but within the cadre. Then there are cases such as Charles and Camilla where over the course of several lifetimes, during which time they shared positive experiences, there is an agreement made between both souls to be honorary task companions, as the two souls have found themselves a good fit, as it were. Charles and Camilla could only be honorary task companions as they respectively are in pods 404 and 129. Past-life example #3 explores those four times when they served as honorary task companions and accomplished much for the sake of society at large. Incidentally, as scholar souls are adept at being detached from their emotions, it is much easier for scholar soul Prince William to get along with scholar soul Queen Camilla than it is for warrior soul Prince Harry. Loyalty is the hallmark of warrior souls and there is no way that Harry could with William’s ease, compartmentalise the strong emotions, pain and public humiliation that Camilla (fourth number of 5) caused Diana, Princess of Wales, William and Harry’s mum.
Charles, The 9th Earl Spencer 20.5.1964 Dragon 2.7.9 = 9
Spencer, Charles The 9th Earl 20/5/1964 London, England.
Michael: This fragment is a fourth level mature scholar – second incarnation at this level – in the observation mode, with a goal of dominance. A sceptic, Charles is in the moving part of intellectual centre.
Charles has a Saturn/Mars body type.
Charles’ primary chief feature is stubbornness and a secondary of arrogance.
Charles is third-cast in the fourth cadence of the fourth greater cadence, he is a member of entity one, cadre six, greater cadre 48, pod/node 380 – he is an entity mate of Diana, Princess of Wales’.
Charles has a female scholar essence twin, who has been known to him. Charles’ warrior Task companion is an incarnate elder statesman, living in South Africa.
Charles’ three primary needs are: exchange, security and freedom.
Charles has had 6 past-life associations with Arvin and 4 with Merlin. __________________________________________________
Charles, The 9th Earl Spencer is as steely as they come. Not only is he an entity mate of artisan soul, Diana, Prince of Wales, that would also make him an entity mate of Dodi Fayed, who is also an artisan soul. Charles passionately gave his word before the world at his late sister, Diana, Princess of Wales’ funeral that he would protect William and Harry. Needless to say, William has no use for Charles Spencer. A sceptic, like Harry and Prince Philip, Charles, The 9th Earl Spencer will always be there for Prince Harry and his family; this is precisely why on Harry’s return to England to attend, Lord Robert Fellowes’ memorial service, Charles welcomed Harry to stay with him at Althorp, rather than having anything to do with the racist boors who rule the House of Windsor in Queen Elizabeth’s wake.
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Diana, Princess of Wales 1.7.1961 Ox 1.8.7 = 7
Spencer, Diana July 1/1961<O>August 31/1997.
Michael: The fragment who was Diana Frances is a second level mature artisan and was in the passion mode with a goal of acceptance, a pragmatist in the moving part of emotional centre.
She had a Lunar/Mercury body type.
Diana’s primary chief feature was stubbornness with a secondary, not of self-destruction but of self-deprecation.
Diana Frances was first-cast in her cadence and her cadence is fifth in the greater cadence. She is a member of entity one, cadre six, greater cadre 48, pod/node 380.
This fragment’s essence twin is a discarnate artisan and her task companion is a discarnate sage, both of whom are staying near her, waiting for her to become oriented to her situation.
Here we had an artisan with drama in her casting but also with a very deep need to serve both the common and the higher good, which she did with grace, charm and a good deal of conviction.
*Shared September, 1997
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The incomparable Diana, Princess of Wales, as is obvious, is an entity mate of both her brother, Charles, The 9th Earl Spencer and Dodi her lover. I do believe that based on her numerology 7 in the fourth position, also solidified by a second 7, she was assassinated. 7 in the fourth position is more likely indicative of a public figure who has been assassinated. Also, when such persons are eliminated, their violent death stuns and has a devastating effect on society. This was also the case for U. S. President, John F. Kennedy whose numerology was 29.5.1917 Snake 2.7.7 = 7. That’s a lot of 7s. He was too great a threat for the powers behind the throne, as it were, and thus was assassinated. Similarly, Diana was removed because she could not be allowed to start a rival court with a Muslim, bare him offspring whilst still the future King Mother. Based on dream insights gleaned, here is how I foresee this all playing out. William will groom Prince George to have a Jewish wife as his Queen Consort. She will in turn will insure that her firstborn is female, thereafter that future female Sovereign will choose a Jewish spouse thus precipitating a name change from the House of Windsor to what seems obvious – William’s choice of a wedding date, and his abrupt cancellation of his appearance at his godfather, the Late King Constantine II of Greece’s service of thanksgiving. At that point, well into the future, it will then be implied that William himself was never a Windsor anyway. The clues are all there, which is precisely why Nicky Hilton was wedded at Kensington Palace’s orangery. All this, further lends credence to the violent opposition to Meghan marrying in so high up the line of succession. The one thing that has always been obvious, is how thoroughly the mere mortals choose to be blind to the truth… facts after all are truth. History will see the eighteenth letter of the alphabet playing a key role in the name change. And you can bet your bottom dollar for all that displacing sea change, racist Britons, too fearful to cause offence, will readily look back in history and blame it all on Meghan… but, of course.
David Mirvish. Diana, Princess of Wales & Ed Mirvish 1991
Back in October, 1991, as part of my annual Toronto Symphony Orchestra subscription, I attended an Emanuel Ax recital. Thankfully, it was short and sweet as his diminutive stature left him bobbing about, which proved irritating for me. I got out of Roy Thomson Hall and noticed that there was a large gathering on King Street West just west of the concert hall on Simcoe Street at King Street West. Soon enough, on learning that Diana, Princess of Wales was at the Royal Alexandra Theatre to see Les Misérables, I hightailed it down the block then across King Street West to the north side and back easterly towards the theatre. I knew that with persons in wheelchairs just beyond the marquee that the Princess would make it for them as they eagerly waited to have an audience with her. I was floored when the Princess emerged from the theatre, there was a deafening frenzy of cheers, a blinding lightning storm of camera flashes. Eventually, she made to the wheelchaired persons beyond the barricades that kept the rest of us in check. She was steely, her eyes were phenomenally blue and doe-like. Dazzling, I was then completely won over when she made it eventually to her limousine. She sat into the car backwards, knees and ankles together, she then did the most graceful port de bras imaginable; she pushed off, swivelled and swung her legs and body into the car, all the while maintaining the elegant line of her long neck.
Diana, Princess of Wales at Toronto’s AIDS hospice Casey House, 1991
Years later, as a dear close friend, the first Gay friend with whom I never once had sex – truly remarkable, came by to help me get situated on my move from Vancouver to Montréal, we talked overlong about Diana, Princess of Wales as Graeme had been visiting me from Toronto at the time of her violent death. Graeme, who was the most truly Boteroesque man imaginable, was a stickler for facts and ever keenly observant. He shared that he thought it was pretty bizarre as he was a keen royalist, less so than his chum, Ms. Kitty Litter – local Toronto drag queen who in the unforgiving world of drag, was said to both smell and look like piss-sodden, shitty kitty litter! They had both attended every visit that Diana ever made to Toronto and were present at Casey House, Toronto’s AIDS hospice, and the Royal Alexandra Theatre and as I recalled, Diana, Princess of Wales once settled into her ride, did put on her seatbelt. Ms. Kitty Litter whom we called and consoled as he was an hysteric mess back in Toronto, swore up and down that there is no way that Diana would not have put on her seatbelt in that car… go figure. Sobbing, Ms. Kitty Litter blurted out, “Oh my god, they’ve killed our angel, I’m telling you. They’ve killed her!” Three years later, Graeme who lived alone with his mum, suffered a heart attack whilst reading the morning’s newspapers on the living room sofa, in tony the Beaches, in the city’s east end. For more than a week, Graeme’s mum left his body on the sofa and kept calling on him to wake up. Needless to say, the city’s social services moved in, as he had no children nor she relations, and took her into psychiatric care – neighbours had raised concerns about the lack of activity and a foul odour. Diana, Princess of Wales had an energy body of 1 and such people pay keen attention to details and are the most cautious, self-aware and leave nothing to chance.
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Dodi Fayed 15.4.1955 Goat 6.1 3 = 1
Fayed, Dodi 15/4/1955<O>31/8/1997
Michael: This fragment was a third level mature artisan – second life thereat. Dodi was in power mode with a goal of submission. A realist, he was in the intellectual part of moving centre.
Dodi’s body type was Saturn/Lunar.
Dodi’s primary chief feature was arrogance and the secondary mild stubbornness.
The fragment Dodi is third-cast in second cadence; he is a member of greater cadence four. Dodi’s entity is one, cadre six, greater cadre 48, pod 380.
Dodi’s essence twin is an artisan and his task companion a sage, both of whom are discarnate at this time, though, they plan on reincarnating soon. Dodi is an entity mate of Diana, Princess of Wales’ – there was a mutually facilitating agreement for “unconditional support.” There were 26 past-life associations between Dodi & Diana, Princess of Wales.
Dodi’s primary needs were: expression, freedom and security.
There are 4 past-life associations with Arvin and 5 with Merlin. _________________________________________________
Summer of True LoveDiana & Dodi
Respectively, The Queen, Harry, Meghan are in entity one of cadre 6, which resonates with slave and priest soul energies which is all about a life that is committed to serving as well as doing so for a higher good. Similarly, Charles, The 9th Earl Spencer, Diana, Princess of Wales and Dodi Fayed are in entity one of cadre 6 of their pod, 380 to the others’ pod 418. There is positively no way that Diana, Princess of Wales and Meghan would not have gotten along. During their engagement interview with the BBC, Prince Harry said that Diana, Princess of Wales and Meghan would have been as thick as thieves in their ease of friendship and he was correct. One thing that is certain about Dodi, for being in the intellectual part of moving centre, there is no way that Diana and Dodi were not passionately involved. Moving centred persons are intensely highly sexed persons and by the time of their assassination, it is highly probable that they were already unofficially engaged, Diana, Princess of Wales was pregnant and it would have been the best fucking sex that both had ever had to that point in their lives. They are entity mates and sex with such persons is truly ecstatic. Furthermore, Diana, Princess of Wales with her two 7s would have definitely seen their aura during sex and there is no way that she would not have wanted to spend the rest of her life with Dodi. Good God they had had 26 past lives together to that point; they were in deep and nothing and no one was going to stop them except, of course, someone immensely richer than her in-laws and his family. Making deals with the devil, is precisely why the little grovelling bastard wailed as he did on seeing Diana, Princess of Wales’ lifeless body in the Paris hospital. He was truly horrified of what a mess he had made of things and how callously he had been betrayed by someone he thought he knew… someone who neither looked up to him nor considered him an equal.
Meghan, The Duchess of Sussex 4.8.1981 Rooster 4.3.4 = 11
Windsor, Meghan The Duchess of Sussex 4/8/1981
Michael: This fragment is a mid-cycle mature artisan in the tradition of the deceased mother fragment who was Diana, Princess of Wales – third life thereat. Meghan is in the observation mode with a goal of acceptance. An idealist, Meghan is in the moving part of emotional centre.
Meghan’s primary chief feature is self-deprecation and the secondary of mild impatience.
Meghan’s body type is Venus/Solar.
The fragment Meghan is fourth-cast in the fifth cadence. Meghan is a member of greater cadence four. Meghan is a member of entity one, cadre six, greater cadre 7, pod 418 – she is an entity mate of both her spouse, HRH Prince Henry, The Duke of Sussex with whom she shares 20 past lives and also an obvious entity mate of Her Majesty, The Queen.
Meghan’s essence twin is an artisan and the task companion a warrior.
Meghan’s three primary needs are: expression, acceptance and expansion.
There are 4 past-life associations with Arvin and 6 with Merlin.
Incidentally, this artisan has been a member of the British royal family twice before. Firstly, as Margaret Beaufort, Countess of Richmond and Derby, she was the cousin of King Henry VI and mother of King Henry VII. As such, she was the matriarch of the House of Tudor. Her grandson was King Henry VIII and her great-granddaughter, Queen Elizabeth I.
This artisan, Margaret Beaufort (former Meghan) in that lifetime was involved in the sacraments of the church, being included in the newly established college system. She founded Christ College, Cambridge and was instrumental with the founding of St. John’s College as well.
Secondly, she was HRH Prince Edward, Duke of York and Albany and younger brother to George III, whose father the Prince of Wales, HRH Prince Frederick died before acceding the throne after George II. In that lifetime, the artisan (now Meghan, The Duchess of Sussex) was interested in military structure. He, of course, died young of a then unknown illness but which had to do with dysentery.
Comment on Megxit:
Michael: This is a complex issue and as noted there is a karmic debt owed by Harry to Catherine. As a warrior, Catherine expects strict loyalty from the scholar soul William, her task companion, and this position has influenced the separation at this time.
Catherine and Meghan have also been adversarial when they were members of an aristocratic family, China, 7th century. They each sought power and this discord was continued in a life in Portugal when they were married and the fragment who is now Meghan abandoned the warrior due to war time activities. (Meghan was then male)
Finally, there is strong dominance on the part of Catherine who now disapproves of Meghan’s “celebrity” and is distrustful of her motives. Warrior Harry is loyal to his spouse and this loyalty was part of the motivation for the move to America.
*Dec, 2023.
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Both Diana, Princess of Wales and Meghan, The Duchess of Sussex are emotionally centred members of a very military family where such intensity of emotional intelligence is not the norm; both Diana and Meghan are in the moving part of emotional centre. Emotionally centred persons are usually focussed in the arts, are especially gifted dancers, singers and actors; however, what each one of them is, is the most gifted empaths. This is why Diana, Princess of Wales was deemed the people’s princess. They have the ability, for being emotionally centred, to create magic – they set the tone wherever they are, make you feel loved and can quite literally heal one’s spirit. Again, this is why during the BBC engagement interview, the very astute Prince Harry stated, “And the corgis took to you straight away, for the last 33 years been barked at and this one walked in and absolutely nothing, just wagging tail…” The Queen’s corgis recognised that Meghan was an empath; it is not something that you can fake. Also, the Queen with her two 7s would have clearly discerned the truth of whom Meghan was when presented at court by Prince Harry. The Queen would have keenly taken note of the corgis reaction, she likely would have seen Meghan’s aura which emotionally centred persons can ‘broadcast’ at will. Furthermore more spectacularly than any other senior member of the royal family, Meghan has Venus/Solar body type, which is rare in the extreme. Meghan is the real McCoy!
Margaret Beaufort Countess of Richmond & Derby The Tudor Matriarch
Statue of Margaret Beaufort at Cambridge University
King Henry VII’s Lady Chapel at Westminster Abbey
Margaret Beaufort’s tomb at Lady Chapel Westminster Abbey
Meghan, The Duchess of Sussex the reincarnated Tudor Matriarch
As Meghan was not unknown to Queen Elizabeth II at heart centre that is why she was allowed to walk in alone at her wedding as a Queen, King Mother of King Henry VII returned. It was a truly millennial moment of theatre as Meghan, The Duchess of Sussex walked down the aisle unaccompanied to the quire, returned as she was as the reincarnation of Margaret Beaufort, Countess of Richmond & Derby, Tudor Matriarch, King Mother, mother of King Henry VII, grandmother of King Henry VIII and great-grandmother of Queen Elizabeth I. Children fan yourselves!
Meghan channelling Margaret Beaufort… the lighting pure sublime theatre
And how like a true Queen, Meghan walked down the aisle at St. George’s Chapel, Windsor Castle one gloriously sunny mid-May Saturday at noon, truly momentous. It was not just a royal wedding, it was the most sublime theatre. As she walked alone in the nave, there were times, as in the photo above, where she was umbraed. She was as though Margaret Beaufort being channelled in the diffused light of the veiled past, coming forth to be celebrated as having been the Tudor matriarch, affording the world not just Henry VII her son, but larger-than-life, Henry VIII and the most phenomenal Sovereign, Elizabeth I, whose namesake half a millennium later would sanction this union of two entity mates of hers. Meghan’s overleaves in this lifetime are simply wonderful, for not only is she emotionally centred, but she has the great goal of acceptance – as do King Charles & Princes William and George; incidentally, so did Diana, Princess of Wales have the same great goal. It is the feel-good, how can I be of service to you, goal. Dogs, cats and even arboreal life react positively at all times to persons in acceptance. All the lies you hear by Britons about Meghan are just Britons being horrified that this woman would be reborn Black and expect to be accepted in their kingdom. Britons have proven themselves the ugly, drunken hooligans that they truly are; after all, they are ruled by 9 – bitchy, bickering, fault-finding, negative, biting, sarcastic, bullying, xenophobic and racist. Why the fuck would Meghan ever want to set foot in that hellhole? Meghan is a Queen in acceptance and she knows her worth.
Queen Elizabeth II & Ghanaian President Kwame NkrumahHarry Archie Meghan & Desmond Tutu
Here was The Queen dancing with Ghanaian President Kwame Nkrumah, because she was human as was he and she also knew the optics for the health of the commonwealth if she were seen to be in service to them as well and not just to the United Kingdom. Thus it was that The Queen saw the advantage to her legacy of the ably Meghan, The Duchess of Sussex and her inordinately charismatic grandson, Prince Harry, fellow entity mates carrying on that work with the commonwealth to keep the healthy relations with the Crown and making the commonwealth politically, financially, culturally viable well into the next century. Then along came Catherine, William, Charles and Camilla filled with racist venom, spite, jealousy, aggression and off to work they went trying to vilify, demonise and exile Harry and Meghan.
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Prince George of Wales 22.7.2013 Snake 4.2.8 = 5
Windsor, George 22/7/2013 London, England
Michael: This fragment is a fourth-level mature king – third life thereat. George is in the observation mode with a goal of acceptance. An idealist, George, at this time (December 2019) does not yet have centreing.
George does not yet have chief features.
George’s body type is Jupiter/Mercury and a small tertiary of Venus.
The fragment George is fourth-cast in the seventh cadence. George is a member of greater cadence seven. George’s entity is five, cadre six, greater cadre 7 pod 418.
George’s essence twin is a king – they are likely to meet at a later date and also head of state. The task companion is a warrior.
George’s primary needs are: expression, power, security and freedom.
There is a facilitating agreement with the father, HRH Prince William, The Prince of Wales, for training and preparation for ‘duties’.
There are 4 past-life associations with Arvin and 2 with Merlin.
Past Lives of Note:
Daughter of King Henry IV (William his current father), Phillipa of England, Queen of Denmark, Norway & Sweden – co-regent.
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Prince George is a king soul, which is the most rare of souls. He is an entity mate of Prince Archie’s – they likely had an agreement to be close and a support to each other. Your chief feature and centreing are not chosen until experiencing individuation and exerting one’s will against parental imprinting – teen rebellious years. George will always be especially close to his pa, William who has an agreement to thoroughly groom him towards becoming Sovereign in due course. A Jupiter body means that he will be taller than William and likely have issues with controlling his weight; George will be prone to being massive on the order of King George IV. That George’s primary need is expression means that he will likely be focussed in the arts in some way an actor, director, voracious collector or even a painter. Certainly, he will be damn good at whatever he chooses to become focussed on creatively in due course. George is a cadre mate of Meghan, Doria, Harry, The Queen, Archie and Lilibet – regardless how much he will be groomed to shun the Sussex family, they are family at the level of kindred spirits on the order of first cousins or even closer.
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Prince Archie 6.5.2019 Pig 6.2.5 = 4
Mountbatten-Windsor, Prince Archie H. 6/5/2019
Michael: This young fragment is a seventh-level mature priest – second life thereat. Archie is in the perseveration mode with a goal of stagnation. A realist, Archie does not yet have a centre.
Archie, as can be expected, does not yet have chief features.
Archie’s body type is Venus/Mercury/Mars.
The fragment Archie is second-cast in the second cadence. Archie is a member of greater cadence four. Archie’s entity is five, cadre six, greater cadre 7 pod 418.
Archie’s essence twin is a priest and the slave task companion is likely to be known at a later date.
Archie’s three primary needs are: exchange, acceptance and communion.
There are 6 past-life associations with Arvin and 7 with Merlin.
This fragment does have a facilitating agreement with the father, HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex to be his son; he also has one with the artisan, his mother Meghan, The Duchess of Sussex and it is that of parent/child. All three, along with HM, The Queen are of course cadre mates.
We would say that this inspirational fragment is likely to have some notoriety as would be expected and can serve to inspire others to cross perceived boundaries.
Not only are Princes George and Archie entity mates for being in the fifth (sage) entity of cadre 6 (priest) but they also have two numbers in common, 2 & 5 which has much to do with loving persons regardless of their sex. Archie, of the Michael Overleaves done of the royal family has proven the oldest soul of those done – that is saying a lot. He is an older soul than HM King Charles III. Regardless the politics, I would not be surprise if George and Archie are not reunited as adults and remain in touch; they are after all entity mates. As such, they are both cadre mates of The Queen, Doria, Prince Harry, Meghan and Princess Lilibet. No one glows more radiantly than priest souls and an older soul priest like Prince Archie will be known for his remarkable wisdom and the beauty of his eyes. This will be especially enhanced as his mum, Meghan has a goal of acceptance and is an empath for being emotionally centred. Music, yoga and wholistic living will greatly appeal to Prince Archie. He will definitely give off a zen/guru vibe in later years.
Michael: This young fragment is a third-level mature sage – second life thereat. Lilibet is in observation mode with a goal of dominance and has an attitude of idealist.
Lilibet has neither centreing nor chief features at this time.
Lilibet’s body type is Mars/Mercury.
The fragment Lilibet is second-cast in the third cadence. Lilibet is a member of greater cadence four. Lilibet is a member of entity two, cadre six, greater cadre 7, pod 418. (Adjacent entity, same cadre as her father, mother, grandmother, brother, Prince George and The Queen).
Lilibet’s essence twin is a sage and the task companion a warrior incarnate at this time.
Lilibet’s needs are exchange, communion, adventure.
She has shared 8 past-life associations with Arvin and 5 with Merlin.
There is an agreement with the older brother for emotional support.
This fragment has been a revered performer in a recent past incarnation,primarily operatic but with some aspect of light entertainment. She was also present in several lives of note in European aristocracy (Italy and Spain)
Michael: This fragment is a fifth-level mature slave – second life thereat. Doria is in the perseveration mode with a goal of dominance. A realist, Doria is in the intellectual part of moving centre.
Doria’s primary chief feature is impatience and the secondary, stubbornness.
Doria’s body type is Venus/Saturn.
The fragment Doria is fifth-cast in the second cadence. Doria is a member of greater cadence seven. Doria’s entity is three, cadre six, greater cadre 7 pod 418.
Doria’s essence twin is a slave and the task companion a priest who is known to her.
Doria’s three primary needs are: exchange, adventure and power.
There are 5 past-life associations with Arvin and 6 with Merlin.
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As is obvious, Doria is a slave soul – the most populous soul type at 25 per cent of all souls cosmically, is a cadre mate of her daughter, Meghan, son-in-law, Prince Harry, The Queen and both grandkids, Prince Archie and Princess Lilibet. Doria, as is obvious, has rather strong overleaves and is a study of poise and graciousness and she has the same slave soul vibe as her cadre mate, Queen Elizabeth II. All these persons, The Queen, Doria, Meghan, Harry, George, Archie and Lilibet are quite familiar with each other; they would have a very rich and varied past-life history. Now it is obvious why during their BBC engagement interview, Prince Harry said of Doria, “Her mum is amazing!” And that she certainly is; Doria, it cannot be stated enough, has truly regal overleaves.
Catherine, The Princess of Wales 9.1.1982 Rooster 9.1.3 = 4
Windsor, Catherine HRH The Princess of Wales 9/1/1982
Michael: This fragment is a fifth-level mature warrior – third life thereat. Catherine is in the perseveration mode with a goal of growth. A pragmatist, Catherine is in the moving part of intellectual centre.
Catherine’s primary chief feature is stubbornness and the secondary, arrogance.
Catherine’s body type is Saturn/Mercury/Venus.
The fragment Catherine is fourth-cast in the sixth cadence. Catherine is a member of greater cadence one. Catherine’s entity is four, cadre one, greater cadre 6 pod 208.
Catherine’s essence twin is a warrior and the task companion a scholar, her husband, HRH Prince William, The Prince of Wales.
Catherine’s three primary needs are: expansion, power and expression.
There are 10 past-life associations with Arvin and 8 with Merlin.
Past Lives of Note:
Michael: This warrior has held positions of influence in three past incarnations.
1. This fragment was present at the crucifixion of Jesu and served as an apostle known as Matthew in the not entirely accurate version of early history. He was considered evangelical but in our estimation this had more to do with this early young soul’s approach to life which had little room for compromise or discussion.
2. Present at the beginning of the Fall of Rome by the Visigoths in the 5th century. Leader of advancing forces. Second in command to the sage Alaric I. Was wounded mortally by the fragment who is now Harry, The Duke of Sussex (karma) that has not been repaid fully and is part of the current debacle.
3. Samurai. Japan, 1650. Skilled in the art of the bow and horsemanship. Crafted sword and weaponry. Edo period. As the Samurai prestige was reduced, this warrior became a respected diplomat who was adept in contractual negotiations.
The fragment who is now Princess Lilibet was present as his wife who died in childbirth (sixth child.)
*Dec, 2023.
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Launch fire!
Of the current group of royals, Catherine, The Princess of Wales is the most phenomenally powerful. She is truly a powerhouse. As we have ten past-life associations, I dream more of Catherine than any other royal. During her prominent Roman past life, I would most likely to have known her. At the time, I served Alaric I and was instrumental in affecting the outcome of the campaign for having been the one to have invented the giant scaffolds from which catapult firebombs were launched; were it not for those structures, the sacking of Rome would not so quickly have then succeeded. I have dreamt of this tumultuous period more than once. Very intense and ridiculously lucid past-life dreams. Past-life dreams usually begin when you are caught in a flying dream, always at night time and easily at least five thousand feet above the action way below; all at once, as though an eagle going in for the kill, one zooms down into unfamiliar territory. As you move from flight to being ambulatory, one shifts from one’s waking astrally projected current persona to that of the past life being visited. You enter the body of either the male or female former self and the action unfolds over which one has no control. These are always the most exciting dreams.
Windsor walkabout
Catherine has been the catalyst for everything that has gone down in the so-called Megxit. Her powerful overleaves have meant that long before The Queen’s passing, she operated as a rouge agent. Of course, she had license to because she is future King Mother and as such, the most important member of the royal family is Prince George and that would make his mother’s womb more valuable than was The Queen’s. Camilla never factored into any of this; she bore no royal offspring. Everything that has happened has been a testament to how women are groomed from birth to be of no support to other women. Moreover, warrior and king souls are always the dominant partner in any relationship, personal or otherwise. It does go without saying that the one doing the yelling in any relationship, does not have power. Based on her soul type and her phenomenally powerful overleaves, Catherine is a far more potent and powerful human being than is William. Catherine’s numerology only adds to her power. Catherine is also well aligned with the kingdom’s psyche. She has an energy body of 9 and the UK is ruled by 9. Catherine is also in the perseverance mode, with a personal need for power.
Chelsy DavyCressida Bonas-Wentworth-Stanley
Anyone, regardless of race, was going to have a tough go of it for having married Prince Harry. Based on their past-life history in Tonga, Harry and Chelsy would have made a formidable team; however, I rather suspect that Chelsy is also a warrior soul in her own right. Most of all, once exposed to who Catherine is, Chelsy chose not to be subjected to that archly negative, dense energy bully, to say nothing of inarticulate arachnidan bore, Catherine. Also, there is easy, breezy, wonderful lovely Cressida. If Cressida is not an artisan soul, like Diana and Meghan then I don’t know anything about the Michael Teachings. Cressida may also, like Meghan, have a goal of acceptance. Either way, forget about driving Meghan to tears, Cressida would fast become a complete basket case for having to suffer Catherine and her attack dog, William. Absolute power corrupts each human who would ever choose to pursue such an Icarian life; Catherine is no different to all who previously have so chosen and there is always a waste of bodies in their wake.
William 6th Mature ScholarCatherine 5th Mature Warrior
Sixth mature lives, as is William’s are all about stewardship. In his case, he follows the example of his father, King Charles III in stewardship of the environment and nature, as per his conservancy work in Africa. Sixth level lives are all about paying back karma; in the process one can, as in all lives, create karma – this he certainly has been actively engaged in doing. Of course, William has done so at the behest of his dominatrix wife and task companion, Catherine. You will reincarnate more often with your task companion and form as many life experiences as is imaginable than with any other soul. Catherine and William are as solid as it gets. For Catherine, and for that matter Harry, she is living a fifth level mature life. Mature level lives bring on the drama and that they currently do so in spades in the House of Windsor. More of the brain is used from fifth level lives onwards. One is campaigning in focus in such lives. As is obvious, the very complex and strong-willed Harry is on a campaign to avenge his mum’s abuse at the hands of his family, the press and the firm. Catherine would have been better served had she been born aristocratic like, Alice Manners. She sent William into the House of Windsor to do the heavy lifting of being born and affording her access; she wanted a female life and at the time, a female firstborn would never be Sovereign. Catherine, however, does not have the polish and class sophistication to have addressed Meghan, returning to the royal family for the third time reincarnationally. Do not ever forget that Thomas Markle Sr. admitted that Jason Knauf had him attempt to sabotage Harry and Meghan’s wedding, by way of faking a heart attack and thereby pulling out of the wedding. Everything that has occurred has been instigated by both Catherine and William. She lied via the tabloids that Meghan made her cry. She has zero fuck-all credibility. Catherine does not have cancer; it is a ruse to cover for her facelift downtime. More importantly, it allows the stigma of having been outed by Omid Scobie’s exposé as royal racist, to go away. Just as Catherine & William got Thomas Markle Sr. to fake a heart attack to sabotage Harry and Meghan’s wedding, once outed by Omid Scobie, she then fakes cancer to engineer public opinion in her favour. Crying cancer also afforded Catherine the rallying support of the idiot isle of hooligans, who readily blame Meghan for having made their mumbling heroine sick. God only knows, Catherine’s self-toxicity could not have played a role, that is, if indeed she did have cancer.
Harry & Meghan with OprahMeghan & Harry St. Paul’s Cathedral
Of course, there is serious karma between Catherine and Harry, very serious and she has chosen to strike at Harry by way of cannibalising Meghan. Regardless her powerful overleaves, Harry is a blood Prince, he is also a sceptic and there is no shrewder fighter than a sceptic. Prince Philip was also a sceptic. Such persons, myself included, are able to see all sides of everything, readily know our enemy’s every weakness and will keep score and never stop until scores are settled. What Catherine and William had not anticipated was Harry’s response to their racist abuse of his wife. Harry effectively said, “My wife is my life, fucking with Meghan happens to be fucking with me. You want Meghan gone? Cool. Then go fuck yourselves. We are out of here!” No matter how the royals and their Fleet Street goons spin it, Harry’s rebuttal against Catherine was swift, thorough, eviscerating to the very core of her soul and the response that they had never contemplated. With Harry and Meghan departed the racist Guglielean court, Catherine and William are left on the backfoot, gutter sniping via Fleet Street to no effect. “I may owe you karma, but you do not go after my wife, grow a fucking pair and come for me!” For Harry, anyone fucking with Meghan, is where he goes nuclear, because it also goes to the very core of his soul and how as a warrior soul, he has been bruised at not having been able to better protect his mum, Diana, Princess of Wales when she was being ravaged by Charles, the Firm, Camilla and their Fleet Street henchmen. Meghan has the most sophisticatedly evolved of spirit overleaves of the lot of the royals. She did not come into this world to do Jerry Springer. No matter how you throw shit at her and lie, that Venus/Solar body type means that she will always outshine Catherine from here to Alpha Centauri. Healing Harry’s spirit and bringing up two emotionally grounded and loved humans is her sole agendum; beyond that, Meghan really does not have time to give a fuck. Meghan has master number 11 and two 4s, she so does not give a goddamn!
The mature soul cycle is all about high octane drama; it is where old karmic debts are finally settled so that one can move on the groovy splendour of being an old soul. All these major players of the House of Windsor are not only mature souls, but they are all related at the level of soul and have a very complex and rich past-life history, some of which include having been members of the royal family. Far be it for mere mortals to ever take anything such as spirituality and soul histories into consideration. For the truly racist boors, Catherine and William, Meghan was straight out of Compton. Meghan’s Black heritage was a non-negotiable. Adversely, William and Catherine, in general, fawn over non-Blacks as this is the current vogue in Western civilisation. And Britons are the only group of Whites who will never ever admit to being racist and to have mightily gained from the enslavement and exploitation of Meghan’s ancestors. Somehow, King Arthur, in their make believe world, merely waved his magic sword and faeries flittered about their magical isle where the kingdom was suddenly populated by castles and grand homes far and wide. Fleet Street has no other job, but to do the bidding of the senior royals: Charles and Camilla, William and Catherine. Conversely, for not having been born an aristocrat, Catherine was not an inappropriate bride for William. Indeed, classist boors notwithstanding, Catherine was born to be King Mother and that she has admirably achieved. It would also do one good to see beyond façades. Sight being the most dominant of human senses, we ever need to take the time to look callously at everyone through less myopic, jaundiced lenses. Who is this person, are they a mind set of 9 or energy body of 9? Could it be that they are a young-souled sage who happens to be a cynic with strong warrior casting, plus warrior task companion? Is this a mature or baby soul slave or just another young soul with truly fucked up overleaves? It is always good to hang back and critically listen. If one takes the time, you can glean a great deal beyond mere tangential markers like race, skin tone, body type, socio-economics. Seriously, Meghan is not a grifter, who is out to ruin Harry then divorce him for another husband. No, Meghan is a phenomenal artisan with an impeccable reincarnational royal backstory, who has the most awesome overleaves. You cannot fake Venus/Solar body type that’s coupled with being emotionally centred – The Queen’s beloved corgis attested to that. The racially predatory boors on Fleet Street do not know sweet fuck all and what they do know – the state of William and Catherine’s marriage, they will never ever divulge for fear of being ruined. Again, Catherine is as power mad as she is embarrassingly inarticulate. She is petty, vengeful, jealous and fault-finding, which is precisely why The Queen hardly ever had anything to do with her. She does not have cancer anymore than Meghan made her cry. What Catherine does have, is a newly refreshed face, looking like grandma’s doily-covered brand new Naugahyde sofa, on which positively no one is allowed to sit.
Harry & his Queen, Meghan
Harry: Sportsman Philanthropist
Nacho & Harry
Go Harry go! Play hard and go to court and lay waste to Fleet Street like Alaric I did Rome. Harry was then present and it was at that time during battle that he mortally wounded Catherine, who of course has a score to settle. Like every human owed karma, passion more often than not gets the better of the magnetic pull of karmic bonds and before you know it, you are creating new karma, which had never been part of the original plan. In Meghan, Harry, you have a Queen, wife, lover, partner and mother to your two beautiful children, both of whom are cadre mates. In *Nacho, a man of fierce loyalty, you have a true brother, a comrade-in-arms who will never betray you; Nacho is neither interloper nor racist boor. Happy 40th Sir.
Nacho Figueras 4.3.1977 Snake 4.7.4 = 6
*Nacho is a seventh level young soul Warrior on his third life thereat. He is in the power mode and in the intellectual part of moving centre. He is kingly cast in cadence, in entity seven, cadre one, greater cadre 7, pod 414, which would make him a warrior cadre mate of Merlin and mine as we are next door in entity six of cadre one.
Sing it Frank! Happy 40th Birthday Harry, you epitomise the very best of the indomitable human spirit. Shine on!
On Monday, April 4, 1994, while the Moon transited both Capricorn and my eighth house, I would dream the following six dreams. These dreams were recorded on audiocassettes one hundred and eighty through one hundred and eighty-one.
These were marvellous dreams; there was flight and there were dreams of extra-humans. More than that, there was information gleaned in the final dream, which spoke of hidden knowledge about intelligent life here in the Solar system.
As ever, sweet and blissful dreams to you; I love you more.
Chinese Vagrant
Saw Wilbur Clemsworth and a couple of others outside, in this the first dream, where it was uncharacteristically sunny – at least by Vancouver standards. They were on an incline above and to the left of the street. As it turned out, they were on the hunt for extra-humans. This was because a singing, pink chimpanzee had fallen from the sky. Three or four guys had, thus far, been rounded up. A Chinese vagrant showed up from up the hill; he had been at a busy intersection seated on a large green-trunked tree. He pointed out that some of the knobby-trunked trees were, in fact, hosts for stowaway extra-humans.
Psychadelic Dream House
I was part of the group and there were three or four others. They were all very odd-looking guys. I was then on a busy sidewalk where there energetically was lots of colour. Young couples hung out beneath café awnings whilst enjoying the Sun and their love. When looking down the block, I saw – two intersections away – a house that was painted an electric psychedelic array of colours: pinks, purples and greens predominating. There on the second storey and at the far-left window, the actor, Teri Garr was seen being deeply French-kissed by one of the extra-humans. The extra-human was a blonde vixen who literally raped Teri Garr of her breath.
Angolan Model, Maria Borges
I was with a very dark-skinned beauty who wore a tight white dress; there was African-beaded print that horizontally moved across the fabric. She walked so beautifully that I began dancing ahead of her while serenading her progression. Gingerly, dancing along the sidewalk, I did pas de courrus as in the coda from the Don Quixote grand pas de deux. Soon enough, I leapt into the air and took to flight. Effortlessly, I left the group and the area while moving through a towering canyonned growth of cedars. Eventually, I had come out to a cul-de-sac where the canyon ended. At that, I rose some three or four storeys higher into the air.
Angolan Model, Maria Borges, Vogue Portugal
Next, I started to make my way back. This time, however, I would veer off to the left; this brought into view the vibrantly painted tropical villas in the village. Going to the closest, it had orange-exteriored walls. On the villa’s patio, I would try dialling a brown phone. The phone was long abandoned, broken and cordless. As it was, the place had seemingly been broken into long ago. Going inside, there I found a lightweight silver camera; it was like the old, large flash numbers that the Hollywood paparazzi in the 1940s would use. On its underside was a large cartridge that sat to the left front when looking at it face on. On checking it out, it proved an empty case in which batteries could be stored.
Dream Model Not Penina da Brgha
I took a few frames of Penina da Braga who was about and was taken aback at the speed with which they were developed. Certainly, the thing did not seem like a Polaroid camera; yet, it had spat out the developed product even faster than a Polaroid would have. There were different exposures of Penina lying on a red footstool. The stool was reminiscent of the tacky ones that used to be at 122 Mortimer Avenue. Large enough, it was such that it could comfortably host her curled up body. Penina reclined with right knee up with her face inclined to the right. While posing, she had squarely looked up into the camera. Her pose and energy were rather warm and arrestingly beautiful. She was so impressively alive and awakened here.
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Roy Marcus Cohn
Going into a large, nearby empty hall, during this the second dream, there I saw a curly-haired man who was distinctly Jewish. We sat in one corner by some crates and started fondling each other. He let me know that he has got quite the mouthful. Soon, he had gotten up onto his knees facing me and rammed his ridiculously huge thick dick down my throat. His cock was so massive that I began gagging on the damn thing. I did not appreciate his hairy-back-and-arsed brawny approach. A real low-browed grunt he was.
He then yanked his monster schlong away from me. Next, he got up and left by the doors that were off to my left rear. Waiting there interminably, he never did show up again. This is the sort of thing that one could readily expect of someone of his ilk whose raison d’être is fucking le tout goyim because… well… one can. Soon after, a tall cropped-haired brunette appeared and walked her horsy-faced arse past me. By now, I was in lotus position in the middle of the room. As a result, she went and took the same position to my rear. She laughed at me as I tried bending forwards to place my chest on the floor. I had had to use my clasped hands behind my back throughout the exercise.
I had placed my hands such, to give myself momentum; however, in this instance, it caused me to fall forwards onto my forehead. Meanwhile, the size queen in me was disappointed that the wunder-schlonged Jew had not reappeared.
*Roy Cohn was not the subject of this dream; however, the Jew encountered had the same vile, racist, depravity of spirit about him. END.
Next, in this the third dream, I was walking in a grove of mossy alder. While there, I saw a species of reptile never before encountered in the dreamtime. About 8-12 inches long, they were diamond-headed and looked like young snakes. Fat-bodied, they had a short squat tail. Theirs were large black eyes with wide round mouths which were not unlike some lizards’. They did not, however, have four limbs like an iguana whose length they approximated. Nor, for that matter, did they have two limbs like a tadpole’s whose short finlike tail they matched. The face and neck of these creatures were white throughout. Too, the white applied to their undersides just aft of what would have been their four limbs.
They clung to the barks sucker-style and always hung such that their faces always faced down to the ground. Observing them for a while, I was intrigued to find out how they managed locomotion. They were never anything but perfectly immobile with the most penetrating gaze. Their intelligence was so uncannily discernible that it was almost as if they were looking into you. There was a real scorpionic intensity to their eyes; in that sense, they were not unlike Pericles da Braga’s eyes. The edge of having a scorpionic Moon that affords such persons the ability to directly look into you.
Prashant Sharma, too, does have this characteristic. Without warning, one of them leapt from its suckered perch and directly made for my face in one lightning fast move. In one agile duck, I was cleared of being attacked by the stealthy creature. From my squat position, I made a plié of it and pounced with feline ease into the air. Shooting upwards, I flew high into the air and thus avoided contact with these creatures. I then came to perch atop a 150-foot cedar which was no taller than its neighbours. The creature had been so fiercely agile that I experienced its approach as if it were happening in slow-motion. Finally, I had gotten their locomotion figured out; they simply sprung like a cobra on the attack.
They, though, were able to will themselves through the air; it was as though it were an aqueous medium and they merely newborn puppy sharks. When making for their chosen target, they simply bolted at you in an arrow-like short flight. They flew with their mouths agape because on landing, they took initial purchase by clamping down hard with their fierce-looking mouths. Theirs was a mouth full of razor-sharp-looking teeth with double fangs no less; they were a truly monstrous sight. The others, meanwhile, bolted for cover as I took flight. I suppose that they were surprised that I could fly; well, I am certainly no sleepwalker when in the dreamtime.
Chiropractic Neck Manipulation
*This jarring experience, which truly terrified me, had had the advantageous effect of manipulating my problem neck vertebrae. Goodness knows that they had been a source of much pain of late. On awakening, I was really only too glad to have been free of the pain. When the sudden jarring motion of being startled by the attacking creature had occurred, in the dreamtime, I was suddenly aware of my body lying asleep in the pyramid. At the time, my spine was being manipulated back into place. Although I had been acutely aware of the corrective manipulation of my spine, I had not awakened.
Though I continued to be ‘under’ in the dream state, I was spatially aware of my waking state body. I remained focussed and engaged in the process of dreaming. As a result, these strange creatures could be said to have been healers whose purpose it was, to have jarringly righted my aches at this time.
**As will be obvious, this manipulation occurred in preparation of the astral projection that would take place during the sixth and final dream. END.
Next, in this the fourth dream, I found myself in Crab Hill, Sandy Point, St. Kitts. At the time, I was walking and thinking of Pandora da Braga as I progressed on foot across the bridge to Patrice Wellesley’s store just a short distance away. As I did so, I had heard someone call out to me and it turned out to have been Ian Banks Jr.. He then called me inside where we visited; he was exceptionally handsome. He took a break from working at the store and asked me to join him for a drink. Dimpled, he was stout and had a bit of a paunch which I found surprising.
Dismissing my fears about him possibly rejecting me, he was genuinely pleased to have seen me. I had had concerns all along that he would not have approved of me – if only because of my sexual proclivities. This man’s presence was so very real and intense that I was completely energised by him. I was really turned on by his strong sexual magnetism. Finding myself in such strongly intense dreams has never ceased to inspire awe within me. Pandora then joined us and let me know that she didn’t appreciate my being loudmouthed about her having gone Rasta, “to please some stinking-mouthed, potbellied wimp.”
You just know too that I had said as much with regards to Roman Danier. Pandora here was long-haired; her hair was braided in cornrows. Looking to shift gears, I had asked her if she had had to cut off her dreadlocks to start all over again. Somehow, she had apparently gotten her hair untangled by a professional and was able to braid it. This I thought was highly unlikely.
I went into a work area, in this the fifth dream, by some oversized cases beyond a set of machinery. There I saw Lola Davidoff as well as Lawrence Moncton. Naturally, Lola was wearing a hat and looked as stylish as ever. I was really pleased to have seen her. She wore a black outfit. There was a slight bit of tension as Lawrence was being sarcastic. Abruptly, I took my leave of them as I was not prepared to suffer either him or his bullshit.
Lola, however, was genuinely pleased to have seen me. She had been visiting with Lawrence when I happened on them. This woman was so sweet on running into her. Her face was so cute; her face was like a little China doll’s. She readily lit up and she does, in fact, remind me of Inge Wolfgang.
In what proved the sixth dream, I went through the multi-tiered lobby of a large palatial hotel. Lots of gold leaf everywhere; the carpet was a rich mix of red and gold. The interiors were wide and spacious and of old stone. The place looked as if it had been hanging around for several millennia. The colour of these walls was an off-white to near-sandy tone.
I then walked past models in different salons; they were being prepared to be in a show. Specifically, they were there to model hats; some of these hats were cascading with lots of tulle and feathers. High heels and body stockings were de rigueur. A tall, light-skinned, big-nosed Black hairdresser did the many Black models; they were all together on one side of the large vestibule of the floor that I was on. This place was quite large. Across the hallway, all the White models were being prepared; this was about their hair being prepared in as natural a state as possible. This, therefore, did require different approaches and thus the separation of the models.
I did though notice that the White models were being prepared in a much better salon than that of their counterparts. I wondered if this hairdresser was in fact Chiquita Fines, whom I’ve not yet met in the waking state but have been meaning to see.
*Chiquita would prove herself a cross-dressing queer bird, who was given to pressing up against me while having my hair permed. Certainly, it took me a while to realise the reason for the long penetrating staring, while doing my hair, when I finally figured out that it was Chiquita’s cock that was aggressively pressing against my forearm as I sat there having her/him work on my hair. END.
She did though remind me of Carmelina Dunkins, that Jamaican shrew who works in Toronto. Taking my leave of the place, I moved to the outdoors where I found myself in a covered alcove that turned out to be high up the massive structure. I was so thrilled by the density of this architectural gem that I stretched out my hands drinking in this strange city’s beauty. Across the way, on the other side of a body of water, which from the towering heights where I stood looked jet black, was a massive structure in the same Gothic style as Westminster Palace.
Twin Earth, Relatively Gargantuan & Millennially More August
This, however, was considerably larger; the structure was easily 7-10 times more massive than Westminster Palace. I was so invigorated by this massive metropolis that I climbed up on the balustrade then pushed off and began flying. This city was just as colossal as that encountered when up on the winding road of a city, where I was in search of a concert hall. That was that very same dream in which I would have a most sublime encounter with Merlin on July 9, 1993. Of course, that dream is in this blog and entitled: “Won’t take the A train.”
I had flown out, too, to get a better view of this truly massive city. The blackened river way below was so coloured because for being canyonned by all these massive structures, it never got direct sunlight. The replica of Westminster Palace was made from a darker rock and easily 15 millennia older than the current structure on the banks of the river Thames. What really struck me too, about this building, was that I thought at the time of how much it made Westminster Palace comparatively look like a child’s toy model of the real thing.
Finally, on getting out into the beautiful-feeling sunlight, I turned around while I had been hovering at least forty storeys above the light-starved blackened river. I had done so to gaze at the structure from which I had just flown. Though a hotel, it seemed like a beautiful palatial structure on the banks of the ancient river. The structure was sandstone and Château-like in style. Easily in excess of twenty storeys, this was a truly massive structure.
Twin Earth Architectural Grandeur
This palatial structure made the Château Frontenac in Québec City look like a child’s dollhouse. There were innumerable dark spired turrets everywhere like at Château de Chenonceau. Fleetingly, I experienced a stabbing anxiety at being so high up in the air with a body of water way below. I was worried as to whether or not I would be able to stay aloft at these heights. Thanks to the sombre, umbraed river way below, I was also fearful of possibly experiencing vertigo. Isha da Braga came rushing out onto the balcony, from which I had flown, and excitedly called out to me.
She was worried to death that I would fall; she excitedly demanded that I return at once. Truly fearful, she asked that I stop being reckless with my life and to please return. Poor dear, she didn’t quite get it; this was about complete release and being at one with All. This dream was truly lyrical; it was sheer poetry. This architecture was as distinctive and revolutionary as Antoni Gaudí’s vision has to date been on this planet.
A Millennia Aged Civilisation
Looking up above me, I found out that the sky too was jet black and rather ominous looking. One had the sense that there was a giant black hole on the verge of devouring the local star to this world – just as it had all others in its wake. There were no doubts in my mind that this was, definitely, not here on Earth. This, altogether, was a totally different star system to Sol. Everything here was so intense and existed on a scale that was anywhere from 3-10 times more colossal than anything on Earth which closely resembled it. Most of all, this was a beautiful old-souled world.
Architecturally, buildings here were considered old if they had survived past a dozen millennia. What really impressed me about this astrally projected experience, though, was the fact that everything was so alive, awakened and real. My senses were keenly attuned. The light here, though beneath a jet-black sky, was more intense than on Earth. Though I never did see the star, or stars, of this particular system, nonetheless, it was a stellar source which was far more intense and powerful than Sol.
A truly rhapsodic dream this proved. After having telepathically told her not to worry, I spent a great deal of time soaring higher and just indulging in every aspect of this marvellous place and completely ignored Isha.
Architectural Scales on Twin Earth
*Before having begun audiocassette-recording the dreams, as well as after having stopped recording the dreams on audiocassettes, I have had many dreams which were set on a companion Earth. What was interesting to have discovered, is that this twin of Earth, is right here in Sol orbit, rather, than about another star. According to these dreams, the parallel Earth, which is exactly the same size as Gaia, is at exactly the same location in its orbit about Sol as Earth. That planet, however, is on the opposite side of Sol and as it travels in the same orbital plane as Earth and has the exact rotation and speed as Earth, we never see it.
In that sense, Earth’s twin which sits on the other side of Sol is much like the dark side of the Moon. Just as we never see that side of the Moon, we have also never seen Earth’s twin in the diurnal or nocturnal skies. At this time, there is common knowledge of this planet’s existence by some governmental agencies. Conversely, that twin Earth has not one but two moons. They sit at the same distance relative to Earth’s Moon to the Earth twin.
Elusive Twin Earth
One is roughly 81.5 per cent the size of Earth’s Moon. The other is roughly 18.5 per cent the size and mass of Earth’s Moon. The smaller Moon orbits the larger one and together they have the same tidal effects on the Earth’s twin as does Earth’s moon, Luna. The twin Moons of Earth’s twin affords its ensouled inhabitants greater psychic and telepathic abilities than Earth’s humans.
However, as that world is light years more technologically advance and is populated by different ensouled species, who peaceably cohabit their planet, it is best to keep mere mortals of this planet in the dark. Incidentally, both Atlantis and Lemuria are current and starfaring civilsations on that parallel Earth. Atlantis is an aquatic civilisation of seafaring humanoids which is where the tales of mermaids originates. Lemurians are a land-based civilisation.
More than 80, 000 years ago, the Lemurians altered their genetics to totally remove the primate instincts which left their DNA prone to being a warring race – as for that matter are Earth’s humans. Atlantean Mermen do not have primate genetics and thus were never warring. Too, there are three races of ensouled cetaceans on that world. Further there are at least two dozen extra-human races with which they are in regular and ongoing contact. The parallel Earth is a favourite, galactic tourist destination. From time to time, visiting extra-humans to the hidden Earth twin venture to Earth and these are the UFOs/Aliens reported.
The reason for the sky appearing so black and foreboding, I should think, has much to do with Twin Earth having developed the technological ability to cloak the planetary and lunar space. This would afford them the ability to not be detected or photographed by a now-spacefaring, albeit solar, Earth civilisation which could prove hostile to them. I should think that the foreboding blackness of the sky, observed from while being in the dream in flight on the planet, protects Twin Earth from any contaminants, especially nuclear, from Earth should there be any accidents. This makes perfect sense when considering that both planets share the same orbit about Sol. That blackness of the sky, though it was daytime, is what affords Twin Earth from going undetected.
Roughly, 17 per cent of current Earthly humans have had a reincarnation cycle on Earth’s twin and are therefore intuitively aware of that world. For these humans, it is part of their soul memories and periodically is accessed in dreams. END.
Diana, Princess of Wales & HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex.
On the eve of what would have been her 58th birthday, I share a dream encounter with Diana, Princess of Wales. At the time of the dream, July, 1996, Diana was then incarnate and would be dead less than 14 months later. The dream suggested Diana, parenting a male child of mixed race heritage. Naturally, at the time of the dream, she was not then yet involved with Dodi Al-Fayed. Years later, whilst living in Montréal and transcribing the 250 audiocassette recordings of my dreams which spanned a decade, I happened on the dream. By the time of the transcription, Diana was dead and so, on poring through the dream I thought that the male child in the dream to whom Diana seemed a mother, must have been a child of hers and Dodi’s.
Fast forward twenty-three years from the dream in question and I am beginning to think that this exceptional male royal child was actually a dream of tuning into a future in which Diana was serving as protector of her beloved son’s own baby boy, Archie Harrison. The skull of the baby boy in the dream who seemed like a son of Diana, Princess of Wales’, is exactly shaped like that of Archie, Diana’s grandson by way of her son, HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex with his black wife, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex.
Alas, another dream encounter with Diana, Princess of Wales. This one would involve moving into a probable reality scenario which may well have eventualised had she not tragically died thirteen months after having had the dream.
*Then again, it may well have been tuning into a future which has now come to pass wherein, the interracial Sussexes have a male firstborn. END.
As with the dream of July 9, 1993, in which I would have a most rapturous astral plane encounter with task companion, Merlin, here too there would be lots of train travel. This means of transportation, I have come to realise is employed by the soul when one is questing and traversing the astral either to past, future or probable timelines.
In this case, I had clearly dreamquested to a probable and non-too-distant future for Diana, Princess of Wales. Sadly, it was not to be. Obviously, in this probable near-future astral plane dream, Diana, Princess of Wales was fulfilled and had gone on to start a second family and was mother to a rather precocious son; a son whom I might add was clearly at least fourth level old-souled.
At the time, it was Sunday, July 27, 1996 and the Moon then transited both Capricorn and my eighth house. The house of death wherein is posited my retrograde Saturn, gave interesting insights to things as they might have unfolded as others’ agendum precluded Diana, Princess of Wales’s life becoming more of an inconvenience.
*Then, too, as time has unfolded, this rather prophetic dream was actually tuning into a probable reality which has become the collective future of human civilisation and one which we enjoy today. Here’s to TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex and their incredible baby boy, Archie Harrison. END.
Of course, at the time of these dreams, I was then resident in Vancouver’s West End. The dreams were audiocassette-recorded on tape two hundred and seventeen and to be found in volume XXII of the dream opus.
There was much sturm und drang in parts of the dreams as it mirrored the vicious tectonics, long after Merlin’s passing, being played out legally and otherwise with persons whom I am so glad to be finally rid of. Chief among them that STD-riddled, dominatrix poseuse and fag-hag to boot, who quixotically saw herself cast into the world to play Merlin’s protector and saviour – the dreams of lost village idiots… indeed.
At the end of the day, Merlin never liked her and rightly so considered her a damn idiot. At his passing, he had nothing to do with her; hence the fool spent the next two-plus decades being bedpan-changer of Merlin’s betrayers – a poor play at atonement that.
Enough about knock-kneed caribou roadkill; the journey endures. Besides, the bond with Merlin could never have been successfully broadsided.
Come now my magical darlings, mischievously sport that wry smile known only to kindred spirits, slip into a luxurious plié, take my hand and let’s have ourselves a delicious group flying dream. We are better for sharing this journey together; for your support, I love you more.
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Whilst heading down a street in what was undoubtedly Toronto, in this the first dream, it was then daytime. The street seemed like the one just around the corner from the Underground Railroad Restaurant, on King Street West, to the west of Sherbourne Street – Frederick Street. Going down Frederick Street’s incline, I noticed along a back lane that there was a large building. Too, I noticed a great many persons from past workplaces. The building seemed to be an annex to the main workplace as I had known it.
One of the first persons whom I recognised was Milton Bloomfield. He was wearing a pair of dark blue slacks and powder-blue short-sleeved shirt. Excited to see him, I bounded over and went around to the back entrance. Immediately, I began seeing persons whom I had completely forgotten about. Indeed, some of these persons looked as though they were definitely astral plane habitués. In particular, one old White male had that outré habitué look to him. I was simply astounded to have seen some of these persons. Truth be told, I had not thought of so many of them long in ages.
‘How quickly we do forget,’ I thought.
Such a very pleasant discovery of things past, it turned out to have been. That aside, I resumed my search of Milton Bloomfield in earnest. Again, I saw him in the distance. This time he was walking away from me without having noticed that I was there. In the end, though it would have been nice to have interacted with him, I just didn’t see the point in going after him. On going around another corner, since I was amongst persons from the past, I had thought to go in search of Yaramé Snead. I went over by some machines which no longer exist, in the waking state, seeing that she would shortly have shown up at the start of her shift. I then saw her at a desk working away and hurried over to be with her.
Stooping down to her left and rear, I playfully called out hello to her. On turning and seeing me, her reaction had been low-key. I was surprised really as I thought that she would at least have been her usual boisterous self. Her hair was beautifully braided. Frankly, I felt putout as she seemed not the least bit pleased to have seen me. With that, not wanting to be more of a seeming bother, I wrapped up the visit. Since she had declined to have become engaged, I just couldn’t be bothered to have invested much energy in the encounter.
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Part of the focus of this the second dream, a man and I were together and seemingly were lovers. Tall, he was a redhead; as such, he represented one of my more choice sexual partners. Somehow, this man was in showbiz. We were definitely lovers. Whilst looking at TV Rosie O’Donnell had made remarks about him that were rather cutting. Initially, I had thought that her remarks had been about Xerxes Hamelin. The joke had been a crude remark wondering as, to which sex Xerxes Hamelin was.
This was in reference to her having breast reduction surgery. As I did not appreciate the crass put-down of Xerxes Hamelin, I would abruptly take my leave. I then went indoors of a house which, here, was like moving from the veranda indoors of the Crab Hill house. A few persons were inside the house as I ranted, vowing to get that fat ugly dyke, Rosie O’Donnell. There also was much laughter as I added,
“And we all know that I’m wicked enough, to do just as I say. But first we’re going to sue her frigging Mickey ass.” But my lover didn’t want to go through with it, he was a showbiz lawyer. Snapping at him, I said,
“I won’t hear of it. I will not be cutting him or her any slack. Get her fucking ass! There is no way that that no-classed fool is going to insult Xerxes Hamelin and get off lightly. End of fucking discussion. We sue! During the show’s rehearsal when that joke came up around the production meeting table, she could have had the decency to say, ‘no way, I’m not doing that kind of humour’. Obviously, she fucking well didn’t.
“It’s not about the fucking money; she will learn a thing or two, when I’m done with her fat-retaining, tired-looking ass.” What really amazed me was how lucid and lived-in, in the body, I was. I was really killer mad and out to do battle, “There is positively no way that she’d have gone out there and made disparaging remarks about Jews. And if you can’t knock the fucking Jews, you sure the fuck can’t haul your tired grey arse out on a stage to knock Blacks. Just stop and think about it. If a Jew would have her head in a nanosecond, then so the fuck will I.”
After that, we went off together. My lover was ever quiet and reserved whilst I did much of the talking. In that sense, he energetically was much like Merlin. However, it definitely was not Merlin.
As we walked about, we ran into Diana, Princess of Wales, who had a little child on her hip. One had the sense that, after having divorced HRH Charles, Prince of Wales, she had gone on to start another family. Definitely, this third child of hers was a son. Apparently, she had always wanted a little girl but here she was with a dark-haired bouncing boy. Obviously, from the looks of things here, Diana, Princess of Wales was going to have more than one family.
One interesting feature was that the boy was born with almost a full mouth of teeth. I mentioned in passing that I guess if you end up grinning as much as she does, it would not be surprising to have newborns appear grin-ready. Too, the child was already able to say some words at birth. The child was exceptionally intelligent. The young son’s most interesting feature was that even at less than six weeks, he was able to follow conversations.
The eyes on this child were exceptionally old-souled and wise. Not the feigned coyness of Prince William was his demeanour. We were in a huge stately Bentley whilst the child sat on his regal mother’s lap. Diana, Princess of Wales sat on my left with my lover, a showbiz lawyer-celebrity, seated next to me. My lover was of British birth; he was a well-placed Londoner and terribly well-off at that.
He was part of the few in whom Diana, Princess of Wales confided and had done so during her divorce proceedings with the Firm. From the Bentley, we got into another car. Although he really didn’t need it, the precocious son was travelling in a basket here. This child perceptively was quite advanced for his mere few months of life. He represented hands down a case for reincarnation.
Though he could talk, especially for someone less than a year old, he was still rather stubby and full of baby fat. I took the rather self-aware child from Diana, Princess of Wales and headed for the car. I then didn’t know whether she would be sitting in back of the car with us. Considerately, I had opened the front door for her but she told me that it wasn’t necessary.
She then went into the back of the car at which point I returned her son to her. In all of this, the precocious son hadn’t uttered a word of whiny protest for having been separated. He had simply looked me in the eye whilst studying me and not, god forbid, because of something as absurd as my being Black. This woman, his mother, was rather a genuinely sweet-personalitied soul. Not your typical animus-charged, parvenu, New World wealthy snob, like heaven only knows so many North Americans, was she. After we had taken off, I had mentioned that I had heard Prince William – who now was much taller than her – was very well-hung.
Furthermore, he loved roughing it with all the little willing boys at Eton. This supposedly was hot gossip in those circles and which both my lover and Diana, Princess of Wales thought hysterical. She expressed great pride in having produced such a fine stud for the Firm. She mentioned that he had to start his studding practice sometime and far better that it be at Eton than with too many willing little girls the world over. Clearly, Diana, Princess of Wales had no desire to turn grandmother just yet. She was a very funny person with a distinctive snort-like giggle.
We then went into a store that was called something like Mayfair & Browne or something along those lines. A small, high-end department store it was.
*The warm blues here would suggest that it was, in fact, Fortnum & Mason. END.
Afterwards, we had attended the opening of Parliament where Queen Elizabeth II had naturally been present. The Queen had asked the House of Lords to stand and, at that point, they had drawn some heavy red drapes. At this point, there were rituals of an occult nature which were being performed. This had been the custom for centuries and had been nobody’s business. The few priests, who performed the rituals, spoke in an ancient tongue; olde English and Gaelic it would seem.
As part of the ceremony, the queen adopted a raspy, adversarial and tyrannical tone. She snapped at them as they spoke to her. Of course, this was to validate her absolute power as monarch. She had spoken by using the same ancient tongue as they had. Quite illuminating was all this for me. From where we all sat, the monarch sat opposite us at the far end of the stately hall. On the right was the House of Lords.
On the left, was the House of Peers where things were even more arcane and secretive. Clearly, there was much more wealth possessed by the members of the House of Peers than those in the House of Lords; for one, they wore more expensive fur-lined robes. Queen Elizabeth II then stood and put an end to the rituals. When the priests retreated, the curtains rose again and at that point members of both houses of Parliament rose to bow to her majesty, the queen.
The Queen now looked her usual stoical self. Next, a loud debate rang out in the House of Lords; this was the point at which bills were being introduced. All in all, this was a very noisy affair. This was the point at which my London-born lover was expected to have introduced my suit against Rosie O’Donnell. However, he was blowing cold on the issue and tried to back out of it.
What caused him to have hung back was the raucous fight that had broken out between two Lords on some point or other. In point of fact, they had been quite vituperative. Soon after, we took our leave of Westminster Palace. Diana, Princess of Wales was not seated with the rest of the royals. Nor, for that matter, was the more royally scorned Sarah, Duchess of York seated with the royals.
The ride to the department store was no more than ten minutes. Once inside, we had gone some escalators which took us to a cosmetics counter. The look was pretty much like a Clinique counter, though, I really don’t think that it was such. On seeing an extended member of the House of Windsor coming down the aisle towards us, my lover had dropped behind. The focus of my lover’s attention was a rather princely gentleman. He was young with full red lips but not was horsey-looking.
*This princely gentleman was, in fact, James Ogilvy – grandson of the dashing Prince George, Duke of Kent. END.
They exchanged pleasantries and it was clear that my lover was rather smitten with him. I didn’t though get the sense of him, Mr. Ogilvy, that he was Gay. From there, we kept going further down in the complex below street level. Each time that we had come off an escalator, we had headed to the left to get the next. This in turn had taken us down another flight. Eventually, we arrived at a level which was clearly part of the city’s sprawling Underground.
As we walked, there were two little birdlike, old English women whose slow amble gait had gotten me fast impatient. Finally, we managed to have pushed past them and gotten the train just in time. Here we had travelled at fantastic speeds. The trip was for quite some time and, somehow, it seemed as though they used magnetic conductors here in this civilisation. There was a sense too that we had been travelling several miles, at least 100, below the surface.
When finally we had arrived at our destination, we had gotten out into a labyrinth of tunnels which had eventually led above-ground in a Japanese city. We spent not very much time in Japan as it proved a stopover where we changed trains. Moving on, we had travelled on a futuristic-looking train. On board were two stylish, East Indian young women. Both were clearly tired for having travelled a lot and having crossed several time zones. A loud American was on board; she was an overweight woman. As can be expected, she talked aloud for everyone to notice her. She moronically complained about the trains not being aboveground and whined,
“I want it to be aboveground. There’s nothing to see down here. It’s all black and dark.” She said the word ‘black’ with the same customary loathing as she had applied to African-Americans her whole life. “Don’t they realise that there’re lots of tourists and we want to see. It’s so boring being down here in all this blackness.”
‘Such a fucking acculturated bigoted asshole,’ I thought. The train was painted white on the outside with lots of chrome and walnut finishing on the inside. Very comfortable, red leather seats throughout the interior; this was a truly posh experience. We had boarded at the front of the train. We pulled into a station, though, only briefly; the train took off again never having opened its doors. This time it took off in the opposite direction. By now, my lover and I were no longer travelling together; however, I did have a travelling companion with me.
On this leg of the trip, we had moved above-ground at one point where we had passed the most glorious stand of ancient old trees. They were ginkgoes that looked millennia-old. Each was easily in excess of 200 feet. I quite liked it here. Though the vista was beautiful, it didn’t last very long as once again we were below-ground whilst ploughing through the lurching labyrinth of tunnels deep in the earth.
At the end of the trip, we had arrived at a swank hotel which seemed to be in either Switzerland or Austria. From the hotel, my lover and I were reunited and began trying to get in touch with Diana, Princess of Wales. He wanted to write to her instead of speaking so had sent her a fax. Here we were a bit in the future, where everyone was automatically assigned their personal phone number with cell phone/fax.
*Truth be told, rather than a fax, it was a text. Of course, at the point of the dream texting was well ahead of its time. END.
No matter where one was in the world, regardless of the borders, the same phone number managed to get you. Interestingly, they were not excessive amount of numbers. He had sent her a fax (text) with his private number and had asked Diana, Princess of Wales to call him; he had wanted to lend his support in her divorce proceedings.
At one point, when we had been driving, Diana, Princess of Wales opened up and spoke about her divorce from HRH Charles, Prince of Wales. She said that it had left her feeling truly awful. At the end of it, the one thing that she had taken away was the sense that she felt greater empathy for what Blacks suffer globally. Said she, she had gone to a couple of stores to shop, after having been divorced, where the mere salesclerks treated her with scorn.
Nobody wanted to serve her as if she had even been hostile to them. Diana, Princess of Wales said that it had been so overwhelming that in one case she had gone rushing back to her car in tears. For no longer being a part of the ‘Firm’, the public simply treated her as an unfortunate laughing stock. Some clerks had been outright rude to her. She said that she couldn’t believe that anything could have made her so mad.
To have been denied was the most painful experience. They were so mean-spirited and spiteful she claimed. Her voice here was high-pitched and almost feverish when she expressed her rage at the injustices she had experienced. She said that the idea of racial animus that she has heard Blacks speak of, she could finally understand. Diana, Princess of Wales said that she had experienced something pretty close to it in the lack of civility that she had gotten from everyone. Intently looking at her large clear eyes as she spoke, I was much impressed by her remarks. She was rather ravishing-looking and was so in her element for being mother to this exceptional child.
*Long after the dream and as things played out, the male child whom Diana, Princess of Wales had parented in this dream was clearly fathered by Dodi Fayed. Of course, at the time of the dream, I hadn’t a clue of Mr. Fayed’s existence. The precocious boy had his father’s nose and brows.
Clearly, this dream was tuning into a probable reality which finally was not to be. The child was clearly at least fourth level old-souled and may well have been a king or if not warrior soul.
**More thoughts on this dream. The fact that the lawyer who proved a lover of mine in this dream was a redhead, is at this time, I believe, a reference to HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex. As it is extremely rare that I would dream of the latter, it is not a surprise that he was translated here by my waking consciousness as anyone but Prince Harry. Also, in light of the fact that in marrying Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex, Prince Harry can be said to be an advocate of sorts for racial reconciliation with regards to the ties that the BRF historically have to the enslavement of Africans. Interestingly, that Diana, Princess of Wales should talk about having empathy for the racism that Blacks experience on a daily basis, is a dead giveaway. The theme of race and racism is a prevalent one where her son, HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex is concerned.
For having chosen to wed an entity mate of his (HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex) with whom he has a long reincarnational history and someone who has twice previously been a senior royal in the British Royal Family, is reason enough why the theme of race would be discussed and why Diana, Princess of Wales would be both empathetic and speak passionately about this issue. Naturally, throughout the dream she would be closely bonded with a firstborn male from another marriage; however, rather than being a firstborn of hers in a subsequent marriage, this older soul child would prove to be the firstborn mix-raced child of her son, Prince Harry, who was represented by the redhead lawyer/advocate who happened to be my lover. Indeed, Prince Harry can be seen to be an advocate for addressing and advancing racial dialogue and race relations. Similarly, that his firstborn son, Archie is a seventh-level mature priest soul would indicate someone whose focus in life will be about inspiring, uplift, healing and harmony… god only knows that is sorely needed at this time. END.
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Straighten up and fly right! I love you more than you know…
Goodness, it has been a long time since I have posted a dream herein. I have been busy putting the finishing touches on the memoir for which many of the dreams shared herein will be featured. The subtitle for the memoir will be: Human Civilisation’s First Dream Memoir.
More recently, I was having a leisurely ride home in the morning up Yonge Street. I had just ascended the last incline on Yonge before it cruises down to a level grade, then it is hang a right and cruise along Wellesley Street East and home. Just as I crossed Carlton Street and begun the real steeply graded portion of the ride, a cab pulled up and immediately out popped a female in suit at the start of her business day; she was headed for the 24hrs Shoppers Drug Mart.
Immediately, I opted to change course and rode around to the driver’s side of the cab and cruised along the little bit of leeway afforded as yet another condominium construction – Yonge & Grenville meant that the two lanes in each direction were reduced to only one. As I cruised past ringing my bell, the cab driver suddenly began opening his door; I could not believe his audacity. I shouted him down and insisted that he let me pass, to which the dirty-looking mid-aged Dravidian shot back, “Oh shut up as if you matter!”
My heart was already pumping beyond the norm after the fright of seeing his door beginning to open as I rode alongside. Indeed, who are we to think that Black lives matter? As I was too exhausted to fight just then, I continued peddling hard then started back to the right and towards the curb where I always ride. No sooner than had I made it round the front of the cab that the hairy back and arsed southern Mediterranean construction worker on the east side of Yonge Street holding up a stop sign, on having witnessed the near miss, shouted, “Kill him! Kill him!”
My heart only pumped even more deafeningly as his face became contorted with racially predatory hatred his ilk own so well but are forever careful to claim not to have any awareness of. Exhausted and feeling like I was going to keel over, I soldiered on too proud to have to stop and deal with the ubiquitous ugliness that is racism. Yes indeed, Canada is a racist hellhole and they are so stratospherically sophisticated at being venal racists that unlike their tormented neighbours to the south, they do not need the ubiquity of guns when they have quite effectively rendered Blacks as negligible as a weevil-infested bag of flour in the corner.
Edging less gingerly up Yonge Street than normally I would, I was met two blocks north by more lane closure; yet another block long condo complex was breaking ground – east side of Yonge Street from Maitland Street south. Riding past, I made eye contact with a mid-aged member of the local constabulary who on making eye contact smiled and nodded in kind; I have always found Toronto’s officers to be worlds removed from their counterparts in Montréal. Getting to Wellesley Street, I realised that the store to which I would normally drop in to get my cache of lottery tickets and ice cream did not have my choice flavours.
Thus, I hung right and began homeward east along Wellesley Street East. Riding past, opposite the subway entrance to Wellesley Subway Station, I noticed three large 5 tonne trucks lined up along the south side of Wellesley’s eastbound lane; they actually were obstructing the bike lane. Again, I grew understandably cautious and began ringing my bell on approaching the first of three trucks waiting to service the condo complex under construction on the north side of Wellesley where the three hundred pound-plus Dr. Edward Kamski with a drifting eye serviced one of Toronto’s largest group of AIDS patients back in the 1990s in an office low-rise tower that no longer exists.
As I rung my bell and cruised along, I heard a male voice to my rear impatiently yelling for me to get the hell out of the way. Finally, when I cleared the third 5 tonne truck, the White male pulled alongside on his bike to start shouting at me. I was called a fucking stupid arsehole and a moron and called crazy for wearing a helmet with lights on at just past 0700 when the Sun had not yet fully risen. Of course, White male bigot number 1 million and two wore no helmet and fixed me with hostile looks that were full of rage that had nothing to do with my having been in his way. Naturally, his whiteness is his helmet and were he to have fallen, he could never possibly suffer brain injury of any kind.
I am always so happy when the weather turns icy and snowy because all these casual cyclists who never wear a helmet and are forever speeding and illegally dashing through red lights are not a nuisance for a good six months. Naturally, he let a green light turn red at Church Street so that he could wait for me to catch up to him after he had initially sped off owing to cowardice. Now he had to return to get his fix of being hateful and seeking someone Black to blame all that was wrong and blameworthy in the world.
Again, he started with the racially predatory yelling as though this was some moment in Apartheid South Africa and I was his bitch. Because life is too short to suffer the White tribe and its fucked up psyche, I simply began singing aloud whilst drowning out his dreck – with a little change of lyrics, “Ooooh wooo wooo wooooooo, what a little sunshine wouldn’t do-ooooooo!” Thereafter, I followed with loud merry scatting as though having to drive off another bothersome neighbourhood yapping stray dog. You will never fucking-goddamn-arse snuff out the spirit of the people who invented Jazz! Know that!
Finally, I got to the store along Wellesley Street East where I have visited since it opened a few years back. In the last couple of years, I have stridently avoided frequenting said store in daytime as there is a White female clerk there who from the first time that I entered the store, she was rude and has remained rude on the odd occasion that I would pop in.
Last June close to the end of the school year, I dropped in the store to get a couple of lottery tickets in the afternoon whilst en route to work. Naturally, there was a gaggle of giggly, bubbly youths from Jarvis Collegiate Institute, the city’s oldest high school. As I patiently waited, I admiringly observed three Black males who were negotiating with their Filipino and Somali female friends. They were giving them cash and a list of what they wanted.
Said one youth, when asked by one of the scarfed Somali why don’t they just get their stuff themselves, “She’s a bitch! I’m not going in there to be yelled at.” Another of three out rightly dismissed her as a racist bigot who was always targeting them for being Black. Straight away, I knew to whom they were referring. Finally, I made it into the store where as I got my tickets again, the cigarette-smoking, mouth-breather whose idea of post-secondary education will amount to how to successfully cock-suck and breed more ignorant offal just had to be rude, snicker and fight-pick.
I ignored her because again, life is way too short to have to suffer shit that just does not count. Previously, I had walked out the store to avoid having to operatically scream at her sleepwalking hateful arse. Of course, on that occasion, I got home only to realise that my lottery tickets had not made it from the store with me. I then returned hours later when she was already concluded her shift to pick up my tickets.
So there I was, after having been met by three rounds of racial animus all within five minutes of each other and mere hours of these persons having awakened; at least I was near the end of my day. All I wanted was my blasted ice cream, my lottery tickets and go home, turn up my ever turned-on BOSE to JazzFM and have Garvia Bailey lay some culture on me. For the brief time that I was in the store, as ever, the racist White boor kept up the usual sotto voce remarks and insisted that I get the hell out of the store and take my bike with me. The bike she has always used as her crutch for dicking with me and since I have always had the manager’s permission to bring my bike into the store, long before she ever dropped out of high school, I had no intentions of being bullied by her.
So I ignored her bullshit and had quite had enough when she said, “Are you deaf too; like don’t you hear me, just take you and your bike and get out of the store.” Taking two steps back, I began channelling Leontyne Price after she has just stridden victorious offstage to rapturous applause in Tosca, to Nina Simone singing with stinging rebuke Mississippi Goddamn, to Diana Ross in her live 1992 show in New York City singing with callous brutality, Strange Fruit, to Betty Carter wrapping it all up breezily singing, Thou Swell – and you can always count on Heather Bambrick to drop some Betty Carter when she is on-air hosting on JazzFM.
“Why don’t you go lay your fucking grey arse in the sun…” I lethally shot back, to which she rebutted aloud, “Excuse me! Why would I want to lay in the sun? Like, why would I want to look like… you?”
“No sweetheart never mind that, the sooner you lay your hideous grey arse in the sun, the sooner you’ll get cancer and crawl the fuck in your casket.” Of course, never before having had her daily fix of racially charged aggression challenged, her feeble comeback was another, “Excuse me?” said with the sort of lisp that likely meant that her brother and or father were devout cocksuckers as is one’s wont.
Always having to have the last word, she then added, “Go on, get out the store, you are blocking the aisle.”
“Shut the fuck up and get some sun, you fucking hideous lizard-lipped fraud. Not only are a poor excuse for a human but you long ago used up your quota of oxygen. Go on, crawl the motherfuck in your casket!”
“Yeah whatever, get out of here!”
Life is all about choice: you can either play Rodney King or you own your power and be a proud motherfucker like Lena Horne or Frederick ‘Mr. Hat’ Jones for that matter. As I began leaving the store, right on cue, the morning radio show chimed in with the opening sounds of Robert Nestor Marley crying out, “Oh Yeah!” at the start of his famous anthem.
Oh ye fucking gods, never before had Bob Marley sounded so sweet… been so empowering. Getting to the automatic doors, I drowned out her bullshit as the White loutish effete Athenian – whose thick moustache likely stunk of phlegm and faeces – who was in the store observing what went down, got to the counter and began saying some shit about ‘them’; singing for joy, I joined Bob Marley and shouted, “Rasta-far-I” as I slipped through the door and into sunlight which suddenly seemed more crisp, indeed, more vibrant.
In having taken the time to take this racial predatory boor to task, the universe had synergistically harmonised and lifted me higher as Bob Marley’s infectious idealism took control. Never before had Marley sounded so beautiful, been so right. Had I done as too many times previously I had, I would have suffered the indignity of being driven out of the store by the racist lout and missed out, most importantly, on that Bob Marley tune.
I then got home, had Garvia Bailey’s magical energies groove me back to centre. But enough of me kicking racially predatory arse; let’s then focus on the business in hand. I found this wonderful dream of the most glorious eccentric who much informed my upbringing in Crab Hill, Sandy Point, St. Kitts. She was the original, the real McCoy… a true eccentric. Unlike that other Florence (Foster Jenkins) there was nothing lunatic about the eccentric Kittisian Florence (Pole).
These marvellously uplifting dreams, which had also included a right proper astral plane fuck, were gloriously lived on Thursday, April 1, 1993 whilst the Moon then bugalooed through Cancer and my second house. These swell uncompromisingly beautiful dreams are to found in volume XV and were audiocassette-recorded on tape one hundred and forty-seven.
The second dream of eccentric Florence Pole was dreamt on Saturday, March 10, 1990. At the time, it was a full Moon in Virgo and thus Luna transited my fourth house whilst being conjunct my natal Pluto and simultaneously opposing retrograde Chiron and square both natal Luna and its opposition to Mars at the ascendant. This dream of Florence was the most lucidly awakened dream poetry imaginable.
Go on drink from the chalice that is this rare beautiful flower; but don’t get too close and definitely do not get out of line ‘cause I’m a rapaciously carnivorous motherfucker who will hand you back your arse roughly ploughed and bloodied – beautiful flowers always have to protect themselves from being preyed on. More than that, please know that your support these past three years have been immensely encouraging.
I quite look forward to sharing the bounty of dreams and the story of Merlin and me in the memoir which will be dropping in coming months. Be well and always straighten up and fly right, you cool shamanic kindred-spirited cats! Sweet dreams whether focussed in the waking state or dreamtime; anything less is just not living.
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Arriving at Florence Pole’s, next door to our Crab Hill, Sandy Point, St. Kitts house, I ventured indoors. Naturally, in this the second dream, the entire house was boarded up.
When crossing the veranda, I had cautiously treaded; I knew that the floorboards there had a history of being broken or rotted away. On entering the doors from the veranda, in place of a living room one immediately entered a bedroom.
This was the easterly room off the veranda which, in the waking state, had always been the living room. A large single, metallic bed sat in the center of the room.
Seeing it brought back childhood memories that were pleasant to the touch. Though it was fairly dark inside, I knew that Florence Pole was in the house.
At one point, she called me from across the house; with that, I went in search of her. From the room, I made it into a large, impressive hall which seemed too large to be contained in the confines of her quaint Kittisian bungalow.
I was quite surprised that it existed and its high-ceilinged beauty was inspiring. Though the entire house from the exterior appeared to be completely boarded up and thus shutting out any possible light of day, there was a great deal of light flooding into the hall.
Several beautiful area rugs were strategically placed on the floor of the hall; the rugs, however, never overlapped. They were in the center and were placed in square formations.
The parquetry, down the centre of the hall, was so well polished that it shined. To see all this splendour really blew my mind.
Seeing that she is such an eccentric, I thought that perhaps she would been some celebrated aristocrat in a past life. She certainly is an intellectual aristocrat; Florence is so fine-tuned that she is beyond the ordinary.
This makes it impossible for her to relate on the level of the mundane. How good it was to see her ensconced in such splendour.
She is certainly an eccentric, mature-souled, evolved creature. A breed apart and onto herself, for that matter, I thought as I moved through the palatial hall.
On further reflection, I realised that her inner life would really look this opulent. There would be nothing but splendour here; after all, all she gets in the waking state is social ostracism and derision.
The rugs were genuine Persian rugs and were in tiptop shape at that. They were well preserved and of the finest quality; seemingly, they were hundreds of years old.
There were two long ones, on either side, which ran the length of the hall. Between them and the dark, rich panelling of the walls were some two feet of empty space.
The grid, which formed the rectangle of exposed parquetry, was some five by twelve feet long. Wanting to hear the sound of my feet when striding through such a majestic place, I kept to the parquetry as much as possible.
The sunlight flooding the hall left the space infused with the very warmth of Florence Pole’s spirit. Eventually, I entered the room off the central hall from which she had called me.
When I entered, she greeted me grandly and was truly eccentric. She recognised me, right away, and was warm and genuinely excited to see me.
Her energies were thoroughly theatrical. All that I could think was how wonderful it was to see her again.
Here, in this room, there was an identical bed to the one in the guest room; this one, though, was in a far corner of the room. This room was sparsely furnished.
Over in the far southwest corner of the room, the head of the bed was facing due south. The door faced eastward and into the hall.
There was no disputing the fact that the interior of this house was considerably larger than her waking state house. As a matter of fact, it was palatial in dimensions and the home of a very wealthy person.
This, of course, was a metaphor for this woman’s considerable wealth of spirit, intellect and creativity. Florence Pole has substance and it was being borne out in this dream.
That no one in the waking state actually perceived her, for her true self, is not the issue. They frustrated her because of their intolerance but ultimately, she was not lunatic, crazy or demented.
This dream encounter validated my suspicions, held since my childhood, of her. Style and character were innately hers.
Florence Pole had this one particular painting which was in the far, northeast corner of the room. The painting was on the northern wall but towards the eastern edge of it.
This painting was the most incredibly beautiful work of art. The art was held in an ornate wooden frame that was gold filigree; the frame was about two and one half inches thick.
Bevelled, the frame graded in towards the painting. The painting was oil on canvas and was quite rich.
There was a wonderful sense of the ‘blue’; indeed, it was an aqueous sky. On the ocean was the most magnificent large ship.
The ship was from the age of the buccaneers. Right then and there, it dawned on me that the painting hearkened back to a past life of Florence Pole’s.
Thus, I presumed, she perhaps had been a pirate; a European pirate who had come over on one of the galleons during the 16th or 17th centuries. Perhaps, I further speculated, she had come to St. Kitts and had so loved the place that her soul had decided to pass a future lifetime there; of course, that future lifetime is the life that she is now living.
She would definitely have been European, perhaps, British, French or possibly Spanish. That experience, as it were, had ended up planting a seed in her soul.
There was no mistaking that this lifetime of hers presently hearkens back to a disputatious lifetime of hers; a past life in which she was White of European descent and deeply involved in the pillage, rape and plunder of the spoils of colonialism. She had clearly had a swashbuckling lifetime somewhere back there.
The ship was brown and black with three masts. Two of its sails were unfurled.
The ship was the most majestic vessel imaginable. Never before had I seen a painting that was so alive with sheer realism and creative genius.
She stood there whilst admiringly looking at me as I rather admired the painting. I knew that Florence Pole knew that I was getting the gist of the ship’s importance.
The oils used were as if still wet and slowly, hypnotically in motion. This painting was as captivating as when I stood before Rembrandt van Rijn†’s Night Watch back in 1992.
Quite simply, I was blown away by the languorousness of the painting. This was not static; it was as if having a window onto a past in which simultaneously said ship was on the high seas centuries across time.
To say the least, Florence Pole in that past life would have been on board that ship then and there. Perhaps, she was even the captain of the vessel.
The colours here were so masterfully rendered. A truly realistic reproduction of things this proved.
In that sense, it truly was magical as it simply seemed to be the seed point from which the actual vessel was created. The blues of the sea, as contrasted to the blues of the sky, were so subtle that it was mind-blowing.
This was a very rich blue with different tonalities to it. In its subtleties, this work of art was so sublimely magical that it was mind-expanding.
Also, in the room were two antique chests of drawers. There was as well an antique rocking chair.
This woman was so very regal and dramatic. I rather got off on being in her presence.
We completely connected; there was no way to get around the fact that we were not strangers to each other. She did very much so appeal to my Sagittarian energies.
Our sense of self and style were completely harmonious; in that sense, we were kindred spirits in the true sense of the word. So very good it was to see her that I said, “Oh, it’s so very good to see you…”
With that, I grabbed her by the hand and energetically squeezed it. She warmly smiled and together our hands remained at our sides.
The touch of her hands relayed to me that energetic spark of her soul itself. The feel of her vibration was readily familiar.
She was showing me around the room; together, we spent much time looking over the oil painting of the galleon. Florence Pole then told me that it was her very favourite painting and held a special place in her heart.
This, of course, made perfect sense to me as it was clearly a pivotal lifetime of hers. Clearly, it was a lifetime in which she commandeered on the high seas and was quite the adventurer.
There was no sense that there was something lacking in her life, in this lifetime, because she was isolated. There was a lot of processing going on in her life at present.
I had the sense that she was in the process of transiting soul ages; as a result, she was having to take stock before making the next big leap forwards. There was nothing wrong in her present lifetime.
She was an older soul; of that much I was, for having experienced her, certain. I then left the room and walked about the hall more leisurely whilst exploring the various rooms off the central hall.
Meanwhile, Florence Pole could be heard very beautifully singing as though I was not even there. This was the kind of inner musings in which she constantly engaged without as much as a thought to others’ opinions.
This was one of the most pleasurably rapturous experiences.
*To have been in this great eccentric’s presence as she was simply being herself whilst caught in a groove, I thoroughly understood. This truly was an utterly amazing dream odyssey.
Here, it was quite nice and uplifting. More than ever, this astral plane encounter impressed on me how very rich a life this woman is leading.
She was letting me into her innermost lair whilst following her inner voice. This was the most beautiful and intimate of dances of souls.
I thoroughly connected with the every complex idiosyncrasy of her being. Florence Pole, contrary to waking state misperceptions, was quite grounded and completely aware of her selfhood.
This woman has achieved a great deal in this lifetime and I am very honoured to have been witness to it; a totally admirable soul. During childhood, this woman was the object of intense study for me.
Every time that she would fly out onto her veranda, taking to the stage, I would become as if possessed by her. There was no way to get around the fact that this was great theatre; every time she appeared, I was captivated by her every stunning, quicksilver innuendo.
What I learnt most of all, about her self-absorption, was that it does not matter what it is you do. You simply have to go ahead and do it because ultimately no one can either stop you but you.
When it is all said and done, Florence Pole was simply exploring her beingness. For flying out onto her veranda, in full operatic rant, she was fulfilling herself. END.
When I ventured into another bedroom, I found there a man. He was mesomorphic, tall and blond. Although his body reminded me of Storm Isbister’s, I could not make out who he was.
He called me over to join him in bed – even better than I would have scripted it myself, “Oh, my goodness! Yes… let’s make love…”
The sheets were a quilted satin, the most luxurious touch, as I seductively slithered into bed. Passionately, we groped each other’s hard-ons whilst groaning and hungrily looking into the other’s eyes.
We truly delighted in each other’s bodies. All the windows to the house were of course closed; thus we were provided with ample privacy.
Climbing atop him, I rubbed my cock hard against his. As he lay back there, into the propped up pillows, his body reminded me in its largeness of Karl Weller’s.
Nimbly, I straddled him whilst making his body familiar territory and all mine at that. We grabbed a hold of both cocks whilst frottaging atop the other.
His cock was longer and considerably thicker than mine. He was also uncut.
What really freaked me out about the whole experience was how wonderfully real it was. I could smell his maleness: his balls, cock, precum, armpits, sweat and breath.
Our passionate play was profoundly grounding. After pinching hard his nipples, with my left hand, I flipped around.
Now I straddled him with my back turned to him whilst still frottaging. With that, he righted himself by propping his upper body with the elbows.
Grabbing a hold of my contracted scrotum, I began rubbing the ridge between it and the anus against his hard, throbbing cock. Sweaty and on the verge of going wild, I cried out to him, “Yes, oh god, let’s fuck.”
With that, I went to get a vial of lubricant that sat across the room on a bureau. Straight away, he drew my attention to the fact that this was the dreamtime and there was no need for lubricant.
More to the point, his referral was to the condoms which I brought back to the bed. Irritated, he shot at me, “Come on, let’s not use them.
“Look, at you. Look at where we are, will you?”
Yet I felt the need to use them, of habit, as in the waking state. He did not protest any further; I then began squeezing some of the lubricant into my palm.
The feel of it was so cool and luxuriant that it made me shiver throughout. I so wanted him that I lunged at him and began passionately kissing him.
We both hungrily struggled in the other’s arms whilst consumed with one another. The experience was so incredibly intense.
I did take note that his eyes were very waking state in focus. That is to say, there was nothing soulful or old-souled about them.
He was very grounded, young-souled and sexually dynamic. I am not quite certain that this was indeed an encounter with Karl Weller.
His face was not distinctive; besides, I was too overcome with lustful desire to have paid his looks that much attention. All the way through, I kept on groaning whilst completely enjoying myself.
Nothing else in the world existed whilst being alone with him. I was not the least bit self-conscious about Florence Pole being close by in another room of her palatial digs.
In all honesty, it was hard for me to transcend my lust and get into him. All I wanted was to have my size queen’s every yearning fulfilled.
Nothing about him mattered to me but his cock. I wanted his cock inside me; I wanted the feel of his powerful body all over me.
On my knees in the bed, I faced out whilst he got well lubed and slippery. The slippery bulbous head of him was just comfortably past the plush, relaxed rim of my butthole when we heard Florence Pole noisily rushing down the hall towards us.
From outside the door, she called out concerned and wanted to know what noise was this. Stealthily, we both leapt from the bed whilst still engaged and onto the floor.
We threw ourselves onto the ground, on the far side of the bed – north side, away from the door. Somehow, in our energetic manoeuvre, I had managed my way on top of him whilst he was now completely buried deep up inside me.
The feel of him was mind-altering and exquisite. Florence Pole then entered and projected her usual feisty, argumentative waking state persona.
Right away, she demanded to know what we were doing; this, of course, was her way of feigning ignorance. She then grandly announced that she did not want us messing around or carrying on like this in her house.
Speciously, I called out to her and let her know that we were not doing anything untoward. My left elbow was on the bed, bracing me up, whilst he was lying behind me on the floor; at the time, he was totally hidden from view.
I sat squarely on his cock, with my back fully elongated, whilst yogically breathing. Whilst she stood there and stayed her ground, I tried to stave off her intervention but the feel of his cock thrusting unabated and rhythmically deep into me was fast rocking me to a cerebral orgasm.
To not lose it and shriek at her to get lost, it took every fibre of my being. Consciously, I began elevating my vibration whilst simultaneously projecting this process onto her.
The object here was to quiet her fears and elevate her life condition to a place completely removed from all fears. Try as I might, she would have none of it and simply stayed her ground.
Florence wanted to have whatever we were up to, on the other side of ‘that’ bed in ‘her’ house, to be readily concluded. Fussily, she told me to get up and be decent.
I was not, after all, even wearing any clothes. At this point, we had long since ripped off all our clothing.
Florence then insisted that I get dressed and immediately get going. Pulling up off his cock, I groaned aloud as there was a vacuum tug created in the wake of his bulbous-headed departure.
I could not have cared less that she had heard it all; there was no way to have controlled such intensity of emotions. This was the kind of cock which on seeing it in the waking state, one had to readily sublimate one’s usual posture as top and pay homage by way of experiencing a momentary lapse and play bottom.
She came over to the bed whilst insisting that we both get up and take our leave of her house. I then suggested to my uber-lover that we slip out the house, by way of the side doors, which would have faced Jestina Hendricks’ house to the south.
He did not like the idea of being seen together when leaving the house. Agreeing, I offered to meet him down the street after heading out the front door.
He was mindful that no one suspect him, or us, of having been physically intimate. I then offered him to come home with me as I had to be heading back anyway.
With that, we parted and left the house at opposite ends. Eventually, we came together around the corner of the house; there, we pretended to have just met.
We then went walking along the street. What was really interesting was in my haste to get dressed before Florence Pole went truly wild, I had pulled on my blue jeans and forgotten to put on the underwear first.
Funnily enough, I had only remembered the underwear when I saw it fall out the left leg of my jeans. The underwear had slipped out ahead of my pointed foot as I hurriedly got dressed.
Quickly, I grabbed it up off the floor and tucked it into my waist. I secured it there so that it would be held in place beneath my shirt by the belt.
All that I could think of, when we were alone outside, was the fact that we had not used condoms. All this even though I knew pretty much so that this was a dream.
In my mind, I went through a battery of fears about him being riddled with STDs of one kind or the other. I became quite concerned and fearful.
I then got in and on entering the house, I could feel Isha da Braga’s vibration about the interior. Pandora da Braga was there with a brown-folded brochure for a concert or some such.
We were looking at it when she began naively asking, what I had been doing; there was so much implied about the super stud with whom she had seen me out in the street. Deflecting her intrusion, I told her that I had merely been next door to visit with Florence Pole.
Next, I pointed out that the guy was there with her. We met and he decided to go for a tour of the place with me.
Earlier, as we walked home, I had been urging him with the suggestion that we go get a room at a bathhouse; there, at least, we could fuck our brains out. All I wanted to do was to be with him and fuck ‘til daylight.
I told him that there was no way that we would have any privacy at my family’s. Looking disappointed in me, he let me know that he never went to places like that and did not like my idea of finding nothing wrong in frequenting such a place.
“That’s not my scene. I wouldn’t want to go to a place like that, at all.
“I just wouldn’t be comfortable,” he protested.
Nonetheless, I was persistent, “Come on. It’ll be just you and me.
“We’d be together in a room, away from being spied on by anyone.” I could see that he wasn’t going to get into it.
Contrary to the waking state arrangement, the walk from Florence Pole’s to our house was unusually long – especially for being a next-door neighbour. Both houses are separated, in the waking state, by the narrow earthen lane.
Outdoors, it was quite sunny and bright. This, too, had been the case inside the sky lighted grand hall at Florence Pole’s palatial digs.
Sol’s intensity here was also a metaphor for what I was feeling, deep within, as I had literally been walking on air – after having played St. George to this veritable dragon of a schlong. Well quelle scandalle!
He would have none of my deceptive banter. Just like that, he put in and let Pandora da Braga know, “No, no, no. We were over there, in bed.
“And we had a good time. We really connected and we fucked.
“I mean, we didn’t get to fuck as much as we’d like to. But it was really a good, good fuck nonetheless.
“It’s like we didn’t do anything. Yet, we did everything…”
Talk about being completely mortified. Yet, there he stood all man and no bullshit.
There was no way to get around his candour. Obviously, he was feeling the depth of sublime connectivity as much as I was.
The passion to be sure was there as well. Though we had not been able to go all 15 rounds, it was all around a pretty damn good fuck.
Interestingly, Florence Pole’s interruption and nonstop banter moved us onto an alternate, totally unexpected plane. We were arrived at a groove where we were able to experience the most meaningful of orgasms: an intellectual high, communion of spirits.
What passed between us was quite incredible. Overwhelming it was and thrilling too.
He was pleased at what we had experienced and, for that matter, he could not bear to have the beauty of it marred by my being in denial of what had had transpired between us. Finally, I felt embarrassed before both.
Pandora meanwhile, to say the least, did not much care to hear about any such thing. Adroitly, before being possibly late for some appointment or other, she declared that she had to get going.
With that, I took my leave of them both.
*Back to Florence Pole, she was channelled by Sarah J. Chambers as being a mid-cycle mature sage. Previously, Florence had been the daughter of the Maharajah of Jaipur in the 15th century.
Too, she has had many celebrated lifetimes on the stage; furthermore, she had had an illustrious past life in Rome. There, she had been a celebrated sculptor some of whose works still exist.
More than that, as is obvious, she was no stranger to either Merlin or I. Of course, Florence never did meet Merlin. END.
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I was on the veranda of 20 Amelia Street and this old White couple who live here in Cabbagetown were present. They live on Metcalfe Street right at the corner of Amelia Street across the street from Mark Stuartson’s.
*This same august-souled couple also worked at Canada Post Corporation. They worked there until long years after their official retirements. END.
They were going home from Parliament Street across Amelia Street. They stopped because this man was coming towards them; he stopped and they took the time to talk with him.
He was telling them, “Oh yes man. Yup, Florence Pole died.”
I immediately ran down towards them. I was truly stunned and called out, “Ou true!”
I ran all the way down and around onto Parliament Street. On entering Cabbagetown’s Parliament Street, it immediately became the main road in Crab Hill, Sandy Point, St. Kitts.
You could see all the people in Crab Hill. They were hanging out around Florence Pole’s house.
They had her corpse lain out on the veranda. I went up filled with love and paid my respects.
I was really pleased to see her because she did look good. Florence was the picture of ethereal serenity.
Laying there, truly in state, she was truly at peace with her ruggedly eccentric, accomplished life. Though she obviously was not breathing, there was no getting around the fact that she was aglow.
Everybody was laughing and basking in storytelling tributes to the dear old soul. Then somebody had us all howling when they said, “Is all dem cussing why you see ‘e live so long ‘o know.”
Truly, it was a testament to her marvellous spirit that it seemed as though all of Crab Hill, if not Sandy Point, had turned out to pay their respects. Rightly so, Florence was being deferred to.
She lay in a vivid purple casket which sat on three sturdy-looking typical dining room chairs as those popular in West Indian homes. Her head was facing due south towards Brimstone Hill Fortress and her feet towards the north, the main exit from the veranda and our home.
Florence wore a rich multitoned blue dress which was muted by a thin film of white diaphanous linen. All about her body were a rich array of local flowers and that green vine whose leaves looked like miniature Christmas trees.
Though it had never been used when she was widowed, the official stairs from the main road up to the veranda was opened. Persons would arrive to pay their respects by mounting the official, though never used, stairs from the main road.
They would then move about the casket with some speaking lovingly of her. On the side of the casket closest to the house stood a group of women – they were actually fairly androgynous-looking persons.
Their sole purpose, it seemed, was to fulfill their role as astral guides. Perhaps, they were astral plane habitués with an obvious soul connection to Florence.
Truly impressed, I had taken my time and stood beside her coffin. With head cocked to the side, I lovingly looked on at a truly remarkable life in full which had been lived with the greatest panache.
Whilst admiring the collapsed lips of her supremely serene face, my already enthralled lids slid shut. They did so more for being hypnotised by Florence’s regal beauty than for being intentionally slid shut.
Just like that, my lids reopened. The moving dream vista before me, however, was totally gone.
That aside, here then I share a glimpse into the future with a vision of a lifetime up ahead. It was a visionary dream and I found myself the trusted confidant and lover of a most beautiful public figure.
The dream in question occurred during the second or B sleep cycle that day. It proved the third dream that dream quest, however, in the prior sleep cycle that day there were some ten dreams.
At the time, Sunday, October 4, 1992, the Moon was in Capricorn transiting my eighth house. Therein is posited my natal retrograde Saturn.
Of course, this is a house innately ruled by Pluto whose powers afford one the ability to plummet the depths of the soul’s wealth of experiences across time.
In this case, the time in question proved to be into the future.
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This was a most incredible experience. I still have no idea in what time it took place. However, a great religious event was taking place.
One of those massive cultural events that would transcend history this proved, rippling through time, enshrined in religious iconography. This was set either in the very distant past of this planet’s history or, perhaps, somewhere distantly in the future.
This was a rite that was clearly Hindu in nascence. Basically, they were performing human sacrifice. It was most graphic and intense.
There was a great cenotaph made of natural white stone. This was clearly a memorial to Mahatma Gandhi thereby making it a future time-framed dream.
For the human sacrifice, persons would be placed on a bier. This was simply one of three ways that an adherent, of this future manifestation of the Hindu religion, was put to death if they were deemed to have sinned.
They could be stoned to death by the wronged community. Secondly, they could simply be executed by firing squad – clearly this was sometime in the future. Thirdly, before the community by burning alive – immolation, they would publicly perform ritual suicide.
This – the latter – was just such an occurrence. I was right there, up front, witnessing one of these public ritual suicides. This was basically a way for the priesthood to indulge in human sacrifice.
For having been falsely accused for having created karma, in some way or other, it was thus all too easy to have someone put to death. This process of being tried and found guilty was, of course, totally arbitrary. Inevitably mob rule, as influenced by the priesthood, had the ultimate power.
Myself, I was quite appalled to have witnessed such barbaric acts of communal sadism. I was basically seeing what culturally had been done to Mahatma Gandhi – how he had been iconised – because he was most definitely sacrificed.
He was sacrificed, he was made a martyr when assassinated to serve the needs of the priesthood – politicians – who could not suffer the threat that he represented.
*This was a very upsetting and vivid experience and, like most such karmically resonant touchstones, there was no way to get out of it. Basically, one was being shown how this whole thing had evolved. END.
Mahatma Gandhi was now being held as the penultimate icon of this future sect of the Hindu faith. For adherents to violently die was an honour and a coveted way to die.
Since Gandhi had been assassinated, in this future manifestation of Hinduism which seemed also to have been infused with radical, Islamic elements, a violent death by way of suicide was de rigueur.
You could die by way of being sacrificed but, like Mahatma Gandhi, you would be shot. You would be shot, of course, by initiates of the priesthood which was considered quite the honour. It was, as a matter of fact, all terribly gruesome.
In this new religious rite, there was a whole progression to being sacrificed. After one had been executed, by the initiates, one’s violently killed body was then placed on the memorial altar to Mahatma Gandhi.
On the cenotaph, the great martyr’s name was inscribed in large, golden letters. This then was clearly some 200-plus years after the death of Mahatma Gandhi.
An age, indeed, in which a nationalistic Hindu fervour would sweep through India leaving in its wake a new society. It would be a religious culture in which there would be semblances to Adolf Hitler’s 1930s Germany in an India easily ten generations into the future.
This seemed very fanatical a place. There was also much need to keep India thoroughly pure. Moreover, India was become a Hindu state with no tolerance for either Islam or even Sikhism.
What struck me as peculiar, about it all, was the fact that it was definitely Hindu in essence. I would, though, have much sooner associated this degree of zealotry coming from the early dawn of the warrior-spirited Sikh community.
However, there was no mistaking that this was definitely a Hindu cultural experience. Definitely, it was set in India and one which captured the very soul of the community – the present time of 200 years hence.
*Perhaps it all means that I will reincarnate into India, an East Indian, in a future lifetime. Naturally, I have had several past lives in India to date.
As an older soul, I would gladly welcome yet another life in India knowing full well that like all older souls, I would have positively no use, patience or tolerance for religiosity of any kind.
I think that this militant sect of the noble Hindu faith had arisen because with massive population explosion and an increase of Islamic terror within India, there was inevitable pushback which led to this politicised sect of Hinduism. The result would be an India that would be kept a purely Hindu state with, perhaps, Sikhism still present but definitely not Islam within its borders. END.
After the body had been riddled with bullets, they then began pulling it down. The site was up on a plateau where it was presently dark out. This was in a mountainous area and it was cool out.
As it was fast-approaching dawn, it was seen as the auspicious time for the ritual to have taken place. Since the priesthood’s fixation with human sacrifice had grown, on the order of the Spanish Inquisition, the rite in progress was often practiced.
The body was then taken down and cremated. During the cremation process, devotees were encouraged to go up and pull off pieces of the body. They would then prostrate themselves making penance to the god Mahatma – Mahatma Gandhi – to seek his mercy and beneficence.
Before the still glowing remains of the cremating body, they would focus whilst praying to Deva Mahatma. It was also considered more potent, if one showed true devotion, by taking some of the hot coals and energetically rubbing them in the palms.
It was seen as identifying with the ecstatic pain that the Mahatma had endured during his assassination. I think it will be very interesting to see if, in the future, some sect of Hinduism will be this zealous and hold Mahatma Gandhi as its martyred figurehead.
I, for one, think that this would be so many steps backwards. Do we really need to see humanity descending into this sort of nihilistic, diversionary, perpetuation of human suffering?
This group Neptunian – escapist – endeavour disguised as something as noble and high an ideal as spirituality, is not though spirituality. As ever, all things religious are political entities.
There was this one guy there who was supposed to have been, somehow, the reincarnation of Mahatma Gandhi. Or perhaps, he had been chosen as the astrological heir of the great evolved energies which were Mahatma Gandhi’s.
I was, somehow for being there, expected to go and make love with the chosen one – the heir to Mahatma Gandhi’s birthright. So, off I went to fulfill my role.
*Alas, yet again, I serve as lover, confidant, companion, advisor and healer of the spirit. END.
I knew, of course, that this could not have been Merlin in a future lifetime. Since Merlin was alive during Mahatma Gandhi’s life, there is no way that this supposed reincarnated soul of Gandhi’s could have been Merlin.
Nor for that matter, evolved though he was, would I be so preposterous as to suggest that Merlin was Mahatma Gandhi reincarnated. Even if Merlin were born after Mahatma Gandhi’s assassination, which he was not, I still would not ever make such an assumption.
This man was very dark-skinned and young. He turned out to be the most beautiful man imaginable. His were the most wonderful, large eyes imaginable. He definitely had a Pisces rising.
Lying on top of him, we were kissing and making love. We spent a great deal of time in conversation. He was debating whether or not he felt that he could go on. Basically, he was not prepared to willingly accept his chosen position in the sect’s iconography.
He said that he felt quite uncomfortable about it all. I agreed with him and pointed out that it was obviously his karma. Furthermore, there was no way that he could get out of his duty.
We agreed that there did not seem any way for him to escape this fate of his. We had at least been humorous about it all.
Somehow though, in the larger context of things, it seemed likely that he would impact history on the order of Christ. He did feel quite locked into this life. In that sense, he was rather resigned to it – playing his role.
This man’s eyes were the most old-souled portals imaginable. The one feature that he did have was that his eyes actually had light emanating from behind them.
Not only did his eyes have this unusual capacity but, next to his richly-melanined, brownish-black skin, they actually were purple.
They were even more so violet-coloured than Elizabeth Taylor’s. Though hers may be violet, his were a deep royal purple. Well! These were unusually large eyes, too, the whites of which were spectacularly white.
These purple eyes seemed to be glowing from within. To look into those eyes was, quite simply, a cosmic experience of the highest order. Quite simply his eyes were bewitching.
Additionally, all he ever did was look right into you. The eyes were the most important of the sensory organs. For that reason, he did nothing except directly, unflinchingly, gently look into one’s eyes.
This was not like when speaking to a Westerner who looks everywhere but into your eyes. Such persons look at you and direct their transparently bigoted perceptions one’s way.
This man cared nothing about lookism. There was absolutely no Maya to him. He simply represented centredness of being. He was quite simply a soul in residence and nothing else.
There was no personality, no bullshit and, definitely, no ego. He was a mind-altering experience onto himself. Truly a force of the Cosmos was he.
*That was the beauty of this man, unlike the countless gurus of India, he was not a personality. They are all spiritual celebrities.
They are, for the vast majority though not all, nothing more than charlatans rather adept at deception and masquerading as older souls. Of course, these charlatans are keen to take advantage of the Western world’s need to romanticise India. END.
Whilst we spoke, I kept on kissing his mouth, as we made love. Though he was a robust wiry man, he was immensely passive and all-accepting.
I had a soul, I was a soul incarnate, and this was his reason for making love with me. He was dancing with my soul.
This was a most intense and vivid experience. This was simply Zen.
Obviously, I have taken the liberty of using the photo of an historical royal to betray the exquisite beauty of the avatar encountered in this dream. Perhaps, it was merely about astral projecting into a probable future – one in which the effects of population explosion and sectarian tensions would manifest in a militant sects arising. Either way, it was trip and a half being in commune with the purple-eyed one.
Astral-projected, this next dream would prove a most lucidly awakened, lyrical adage. It was a most beautiful drink for the soul.
________________________________________
The dream was an encounter with a famous person, on whom I was neither especially focussed – in the waking state – nor about whom I was impressed favourably or otherwise.
These dreams simply unfold and I do not pass judgment either on self or the dreams as they progress.
The dream occurred, on Sunday, June 21, 1992, whilst the Moon on the summer solstice transited both Pisces and my tenth house wherein is posited Chiron retrograde. It was a most potent dream – shamanic even.
A house sat on a yard that was very West Indian-looking. It was all dark exposed earth and raw. As though it had lost all its topsoil, the soil was very hard. There were lots of these marvellous tropical trees about.
From the front, the garden and house reminded me much of Esmeralda da Braga’s house in Brown Hill, Nevis. The front garden was filled with an abundant array of cacti most of which were gloriously in bloom.
They were all very tiny plants. As it was such an arid place, the plants could thrive quite beautifully. Since it hardly ever rained here, the cacti garden made more sense. I noticed that there was a hose about the garden.
Then too, I saw that some of the hens-and-chicks cacti were, for lack of water, brown and shrivelling up. I was saddened by the sight. I impulsively ran over to try and take care of them. I knew that they desperately needed the nurturing touch of my caring heart.
The door to the house was opened and afforded one a look inside. There I saw a woman lying in bed asleep with her head closer to the window. I could only make out from the crown of her head to the chest.
In the second room, back from the front of the house, she was asleep. Her head faced to the front of the house. The house itself was set up exactly like Esmeralda da Braga’s house in Brown Hill, Nevis is.
If it were set in Nevis, then I was on the side of the street and house that is closer to the gut which is also where the garden was. That means that when facing the house, I was on the right corner of the house looking through a window. It was a glass-louvred window.
The woman laid there on her back as though she were asleep or, perhaps, even dead. She was quite dark-skinned and wore a floral-printed dress with some dark tones in it. As this person was so dark-complected, I thought that it could not have been Esmeralda da Braga.
I carried on with taking care of the garden. Then after awhile, I came out and went into this wonderful canopied area which was up on a different level on the street. It was part of the property but in a different section.
It was as though the street in Nevis did not exist because obviously it was not set in Nevis, finally. I came into the covered area which appeared to be a house. There I saw a man who was lying on his stomach and seemingly asleep.
His face was down into the pillow thereby only affording me a partial look at this left profile. He was White but he had such pale skin that he seemed a luminescent tone of actual white.
In addition, his skin was excessively wrinkled. Goodness, did this man look ancient? It was as though he were easily several millennia old. Such a wonderful, soft wise-looking face he had.
As I had entered the space there was a number of these large canvas drapes that were drawn up. It was bright out. Incidentally, I had never gotten around to picking up the hose and watering the parched cacti because I had come inside to curiously explore.
As I had stepped up the few stone steps, to enter the canopied pavilion, I had noticed that his eyes were opened – at least the left one was. On hearing my approach, he had closed it and pretended to be asleep.
He laid there wearing a robe that was pastel-coloured with lots of beautiful floral designs in it. Beneath the beautiful robe, he wore a pair of pyjamas. Whilst I was there in the room, looking about, he affected a disoriented awakening.
All that I could think of was that on awakening, like most men, he would probably be aroused. Indeed, he was aroused and seemed not very well-hung. Nonetheless, I thought that it would be interesting to get it on with a millennia-old individual.
He went off to go pee but when he got from the bed and began walking he resuscitated and started getting younger and younger with each deep laborious breath. It was, as a matter of fact, quite yogic.
In time, the millennia-old metamorphosed man proved to be the actor Kyng Soale. Noticing me, he smiled a genuinely friendly, ruggedly handsome closed-lipped smile. It was a warm greeting.
Instantaneously, the dream became very awakened.
He took a few steps then looked after himself at me and smiled again. This time his teeth did validate that it was, indeed, the actor Kyng Soale. He was possessed of the most striking eyes – very magnetic.
This dream experience was very real – an astral plane experience, it definitely was. I was amazed that he proved to be such an old soul. Off he went, through the space, to take a pee. He went through these drapes that were very Oriental in style.
There was lots of gold threading and deep crimson reds. It seemed to be either in Indonesia, Bali more specifically, or elsewhere. Very lush and tropical a place this proved.
On the outside chance, it might well have been set on a private island in the Philippines. Definitely, it did not feel as if set in Tahiti, Fiji or Réunion.
As he went off to pee, I got up from the comfortable, cushioned, dark rattan armchair into which I had earlier slumped. I had sat there to look at him sleep. It was a raised house, on stone stilts, much as in the Caribbean. In addition, it did have a veranda.
On closer inspection, the architectural style was unmistakably Balinese. The windows here, all wooden, opened out from the bottom. This was a very richly detail-specific dream.
*On awakening, I am inclined to think that perhaps Kyng Soale is presently vacationing on some secluded Balinese estate recharging his batteries. END.
This was, I must convey, a very intense dream experience. There were aspects of his energetics that rather reminded me of Carl Leroiderien’s who, of course, is a mature king soul.
That ruggedness that transcends their handsomeness which reflects aspects of the true mettle of their soul type – that of being a king soul. This was also a very definite and real experience. There was astral projection involved in us having encountered each other.
As he entered the room, to go pee in the lavatory, I began walking very slowly and felinely towards him. We never did utter a single word towards each other.
I walked up on him and inspected him as he peed. He held his erection upwards, in the air, after he had finished peeing. He was foreskinned and it was not especially thick a cock but it did have a handsomely large, though not excessively so, head.
I came around to him and held his hand. At that I turned him around. We looked into each other’s eyes very soulfully, long and hard. This was the greatest intimacy imaginable. We slowly danced soul-to-soul, at which point, he smiled and was clearly pleasured.
I then opened the robe, drawing open the string of his pyjamas letting them drop a bit. Holding his cock in my hand, I slowly stooped whilst throughout maintaining seductive eye contact.
Looking at it, his cock was now very red. At that I drew back the foreskin, after he had surrendered it to my hands, and began very slowly to go down on him returning my fixed gaze into his soulful eyes.
Now his cock had looked very different to when I had seen it, from afar, initially. At the feel of my warm mouth pleasurably caressing him, he let out a long satiated groan. The taste of him was very real.
I could taste the precum, mixed with the last drops of his loud-smelling pee, in my ravenously hungry mouth. He encouragingly began grinding his hips letting me pleasure him. His lids closed shut on losing himself to my sensual touch.
When staying himself, he then began running his fingers through my hair which was out and not gathered in a bun as per usual. Slowly, very intensely, his strong warrior-like hands began massaging my scalp. It proved to be the most energising experience.
It was as though he were realigning my chakras’ vibrations. Indeed, it was very occult – magus – what he was doing whilst I serviced him.
*Of course, this is such a dead giveaway of what this man and I were doing. It was not about sex anymore than it was about energy transference. He was a king soul and part of the function, of his role in essence, is to heal and fortify the spirit of other and all souls.
He knew innately that I was attuned and aware of his role in essence. I was not some stalking fan who was homoerotically obsessed with him. Truth be told, I have never before been auto-erotically focussed on this man in the waking state.
What we were doing was spiritual work – sex was merely a way of best facilitating that work. For both of us being in the roles to each other, he was fulfilled and so was I.
There was nothing homoeroticised about the encounter. It was tantric sex which is all about being spiritually focussed and engaging in energy transference. END.
“Oh god, yes man…” the actor groaned from time to time.
I, on the other hand, was deliberately soulful about what I was doing for him. It was not mere cocksucking that I engaged in.
It was as though I used his phallus, to give his entire body and energetics a cleansing massage, much the way that one can affect the same thing in reflexology by way of the feet.
Soon, I had to get up or at least chose to do so because there was a darker-complected-than-not Oriental woman about the house. She had been approaching us.
Kyng Soale said softly in the most soulfully sonorous voice,
“Come on, let’s go inside.”
Returning indoors from the back veranda, which was canopied and private, we took to the bed where earlier he had been lying. The bed was close to the window which is how I had initially seen his face, when it was in its natural soul state, which reincarnationally reflected his maturation.
Casually, he dropped all his clothing on the floor and got into bed on his back. When he settled into the comfortable bed, he drew his legs up giving me a good look at his exposed arse and anus.
The skin around the anus was very plush, swollen and relaxed, suggesting that he loved being anally serviced. In fact, he laid there in a very passive pose with his face the most relaxed one can imagine of anyone whilst making love.
He had reddish pubic hair. On raising the brows and smiling at me, he extended his hard-bodied hand to me. It was more a command than invitation.
I climbed into bed and immediately, on lying in amongst his open arms, it was like when being intimately entangled with Olaf Nordstrom. This man similarly proved to be possessed of the most exquisitely pronounced feminine principle. Very sublime, slow and soulful was his vibration.
Whilst looking intently into each other’s eyes, we began kneadingly rubbing our achingly hard cocks slowly against each other’s when frottaging. This was the first time that I had really been so close to his eyes and they were the most intensely blue with a submerged veneer of greens.
Quite magnetic eyes, too, they were.
Immediately, I thought to myself that he was a king soul. Very incredibly intense was the fusion between us. Even if I wanted to, there was no way that I could awaken from this dream. He vibrationally held me in his presence.
This was not the usual dream experience wherein for getting too physicalised one prematurely awakened. He had command of the situation and I was his and for as long as he desired.
As it progressed, the whole experience was navigated by his formidable will. We began smiling at each other. He then drew my head down and began fucking my mouth with his rough, intensely masculine tongue.
Again, those hands began giving me that deep scalp massage that was, more than not, all about energy work. This was very much so alive and awakened.
*Interestingly, I have never paid this actor’s looks or career a passing curiosity. As a matter of fact, the only time that I have seen his work is when Merlin and I went off to see an actress that he liked who appeared in film with him. At the time, in the first place, it is something that Merlin wanted to do.
Here in the dream, when he had transformed to being youthful, he was a man in his mid-forties which he is not – I don’t think, in the waking state. I think this is suggesting that he may, in fact, be a king soul and one who is mid to late mature-souled.
Very intense and forceful yet passive, when needed, was he. He was also on the verge of being silver-haired.
Whilst he peed I had been hypnotised by the sound of his piss hitting the hardened earth, outside the veranda’s window, through which he had been peeing. END.
As we were writhing and I had penetrated him, there was a noticeable barometric shift whilst I hammered away at him. As though one were in the midst of monsoon season just after a massive deluge, there was now a heavy humidity in the air.
Whilst we were carnally lost in each other, the Oriental woman had also returned to the house. She had been calling and looking for him. In one forceful move he got to his feet taking me with him.
Here too, he was considerably taller than in the waking state he appears to be. Very martial-bodied, Wotanesque almost was he. It was as though this mesomorphic, astrally projected body of his was born to wear metallic armour and do battle.
A fierce protector, rather than conqueror, he was. As I had prematurely slipped from his exquisitely plush anus, there was a sudden energetic surge.
He had pronounced sensory capabilities in the every nerve of his anus. It would seem that it was so plush because part of the energetic work that he did was all about playing cosmic mother/nurturer/healer, by way of his anus, to transmute the energies of multitudes.
This is why he seemed so much a king soul. It was as though myself, and countless others, astral-projected to have an audience with him in which he did serious energy work. Very shamanic indeed was this man and this encounter.
Taking me by the hand, he rushed in through the large compound by another exit into a pavilion. Here he now wore this incredibly wonderful, elaborate, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful ceremonial robe.
It was very much so in the Oriental style and it looked millennia old. The robe that he wore was worked with lots of gold threading. Greens and yellows – very bright and uplifting colours covered the fabric.
Here he was walking in this very large, exposed-beamed wooden hall which was a couple of storeys high to the ceiling. He was quite simply regal in the true sense of the word because this was only something that one could experience from the level of soul itself. It could never be affected.
I, for one, was very upset. Not at the interruption of our lovemaking, rather, the woman was truly livid with us. She was as if some dragon lady who was truly out to consume us with her fiery fury.
She had shot an arrow from a gold-leafed bow which was held horizontally and shot as if a handgun. When she shot at us, he affected this stature that instantaneously had him become puffed up into true archetypal warrior stature.
It was nicely affected by the robe’s draping but it was clearly animated by more than the mere fabric. The robe began to billow now with his, yet again, transformed stature.
He had also grown taller and was now close to just less than seven feet tall. The arrow became stuck in the robe but it was clear that he had never once been injured by it.
After that, we took flight from the hall. Hurriedly, we parted with me saying a grateful goodbye.
We paused to knowingly look at each other with eyes directly focussed on each other’s soul. We warmly smiled. A very intense and vivid experience this proved.
I knew that he knew that upon awakening, in that look, I would remember the dream experience which was no mere dream. At that, I took my leave of him by going through a door to my rear.
*I awoke from this and immediately went into the pyramid, where I recorded the dreams on audio-cassette, whilst allowing my energetics to become fully harmonised for having just had the astral plane encounter with Kyng Soale.
This man is clearly a king soul; I would be very surprised if he were not. Furthermore, as I regard sex as the height of human spirituality, dream sex is always about energy work and high shamanism.
This was not exactly some random stomp through a bathhouse on the astral plane which, of course, can be terribly intense and engrossing. This is because most such persons encountered during such astral plane sexual rendez-vous tend to be persons who had recently passed of AIDS.
It has been my experience that such persons are just hell-bent on getting some action. After having been caught wasting away for long months of AIDS, this tends to be the case.
After having recorded the dreams, I grabbed my crystals. Rather than lube up and indulge in auto-eroticism, I then laid back and meditated for about an hour with beeswax candle and incense going.
Thankfully, the phone was turned off. Who needs people and their waking state solipsism after such phenomenal astral plane sojourns? END.
**For obvious reasons, the actor’s name was changed to protect his identity. I do not know this actor. Furthermore, I have no idea whether this individual, beyond their public persona, has a same-sexed focus to their physical relations; therefore, it is best to protect that individual’s identity by simply changing his name to that of ‘Kyng Soale’ – this is clearly a way of referring to him as being a King Soul vis-à-vis the Michael Teachings as he definitely was experienced in this dream. Too, the dream occurred on the summer solstice and it is not the first time that I have encountered a king soul on the astral plane on the summer solstice. END.
So much of what happens in the waking state is smothered by fear-based strictures like tribalism, classism, sexism, racism et al which results in one being preyed on – one’s very life threatened. Sadly too many proceed through their lives impervious of the Maya that effectively leaves them blind to the ties that bind us all together as souls incarnate in the human experience.
Being as awakened when awake as when asleep and dreaming, gives one a greater appreciation of the beauty of life and the beauty of all humanity. This awareness also allows one to see across the illusion of time.
This sensitivity and awareness affords one the ability to perceive and appreciate the gift of persons known and loved along the way – from lifetime to lifetime.
This visionary dream not only spans the rifts of time but it also gets to the heart of the love that binds all souls together. That love that endures regardless the strictures of the waking state and the perceptions of those involved.
The dream was rather magically and lucidly experienced, on Tuesday, January 9, 1996, whilst the Moon transited both Leo and near-conjunct the cusp of my fourth house.
*Prior to sleep, I meditated with crystals in the pyramid. I then focussed on being able to astral project, during sleep, to specific points on the astral plane where desired experiences could be had.
I opened myself up to, requested of my soul itself, pleasurable experiences with persons whom I have shared multiple past life experiences. Most of all, I was clear that the bonds had to have been predominantly of a positive nature.
Thus, I fell into sleep open to whatever laid ahead. END.
In the first dream, I was having a phone conversation with both Isis and Isabella. In some way, this involved much discussion about Pandora.
I had been concerned afterwards that I had not upset Pandora for having overly spoken of her. This is an area, her private affairs, which Pandora never treads into with anyone.
There was real pressure here, on both her siblings’ part, to see to it that Pandora went out and got herself a job. Both were furious with Pandora and claimed that she was not putting any effort into finding a job.
Concerned for Pandora, naturally, I thought of how possibly I could help her get grounded. I thought perhaps to phone Maddox Pool and see if he could not get her work in I.A.T.S.E.
However, I really did not think that Pandora would be able to adapt to such a work environment. Besides which, realistically, my connections to the place precluded her being able to get her foot through the door.
Since Owen Hawksmoor knew Pandora and her connection to me, I knew that Vikram Srinivasan would definitely not approve of her getting work there.
The next dream then found me in an incredibly far-off land. This is the only way that one can best describe this place. Here, it was nighttime out. A black capsule, in which one was able to sit, was being prepared.
An additional person could sit on one’s lap though it was basically a single-occupant capsule. It was shaped not unlike the lunar modules, which returned to Earth and landed in the ocean, during the Apollo missions to the Moon at NASA’s heyday in the late 1960s to early 1970s.
However, this capsule was conical. There were exceptionally tall men who wore black clothing that covered them from head to toe. Their faces were kept hidden by black visors. The capsule door was opened and closed by these same men who seemed like sentries.
At this point, when sitting in the closed capsule one would seemingly travel to distant places without moving. Of course, this was the astral projection that I had coveted during pre-sleep meditation whilst in the pyramid. Nonetheless, I became highly suspect of this capsule’s true purpose.
A couple was there with a young child. They wanted the child to sit in the mother’s open legs whilst she was already seated in the male parent’s opened legs. The three members of the family wore thick saffron robes.
For whatever reasons, the little girl tugged free of her mother’s embrace and began running away. Immediately, the sentries were hot on the heels of the child in a bid to apprehend her.
Of course, as it only validated my reservations about the true nature of this machine, this I did not find very reassuring. Opting out of taking a flight aboard the capsule, I shoved off instead and began flying.
I left the large hangar-like structure behind me and flew out into the outdoors. Next, I was beneath the awning of the building; the awning extended from the building for about fifty yards. It was a most massive structure!
The architectural proportions here were inordinately massive. The scale here was on the order that things appeared in that dream of Merlin, on July 9, 1993, which was truly astral… truly colossal.
I thought that I shouldn’t stay too close to the building – any of the sentries could come around the corner and apprehend me for having left the queue to the capsule.
I then held on to the awning’s beams whilst inverted much as though I were a fly on the awning’s underside. I then went to the right, of the far left corner, where persons were way below me who busily walked about on the sidewalk and in the infrequently trafficked street.
No one had noticed me. I did grow concerned, nonetheless, at being spotted from below thereby drawing unwelcome attention to myself. As I crawled along the awning, it gave way inside to the ceiling of a very noisy watering hole.
This bar was jam-packed with high-spirited persons. Not liking the energies here I crawled, still inverted, back into the large complex from which I had fled.
From inside I peered outside, beyond the awning, where I saw a large craft. White and massive, it made the Boeing 747-400 series look like a compact glider. The craft’s nose, however, more resembled that of the Concorde aircraft.
Thinking that the sentries were perhaps on the inside of the craft, I let go of the awning beams. Of course, these beams were the typical dark woods of the astral plane.
With that, I had resumed flying. Whilst still inverted, I flew from just inches below the beams. From time to time, I held on to a beam to get my bearings. At such times, I looked over my shoulder below and behind me.
I then went in through a proper entrance to the building which I used for crossing over to another section of the noisy bar. With that I then did a half-tumble, rolling over, to now face down to the patrons in the bar below.
Slowly and effortlessly, I floated down and alighted. I had not made too much of a spectacle of myself as there was a major disturbance happening in the bar to which everyone was noisily focussed.
A Hispanic man and another, who much reminded me of Diego Lunamas, were being especially rowdy. The bartender decided to maintain order and left his post to show them to the door. He was a large burly man.
The door, through which they had been ushered outside, had a view to the outdoors. The natural pathway from the bar led to a large tropical-looking growth beyond the complex.
Soon after they went outdoors, there was a sudden outbreak of light flashes. Basically, they had had a run-in of sorts or had been apprehended by the sentries who were clearly extra-humans. Soon after they had left the bar, I also headed outside.
In search of the Hispanic with the uncanny resemblance to Diego Lunamas, I had gone flying through the air. I had remained, when airborne, between ten and fifteen feet off the ground. My flight was slow; my flight was languorous. This was clearly astral projection.
The growth here was very thick. Enjoying the purity of their energetic signature, I flew through the trees whilst simultaneously revitalising myself in the process.
This soon gave way to an opening, in the thick growth, beyond which was the most breathtaking vista. These were by far the most beautiful trees imaginable. They were simply colossal.
Each arboreal’s trunk was about fifty feet across whilst they towered up at least a mile. I momentarily hovered whilst my entire body quivered throughout at the powerful vibration that they exuded.
This was a truly humbling experience for me. Right away, I was reminded of the ecstatic epiphany that I experienced on Boxing Day, 1972.
One tree snaked from the ground and rose up into the air. It leaned against the right side of a tree that was incredibly immense. It seemed a mile-high astral plane baobab.
Flying over, I landed on the trunk of one tree. This tree had two leaves that were frond-like but incredibly oversized. Whilst I stood on the trunk, a slight man – he looked Amerindian though likely Balinese or even Fijian – approached me.
*He seemed from an earlier age in human history. Of course, this was likely owing to the fact that he was yet another humanoid, extra-human species. END.
He suggested that I look at where the growth began. The vine-like trunk was some fifty to seventy-five feet in the air; it extended at an incline to a great distance far away. It was a truly fantastical tree.
There were the beginnings of the two frond-like leaves close-by. He told me that he used them to get milk. He said that the milk derived from this rare arboreal genus was used in all manner of applications.
He was a shaman. He was a true, innate dream magus.
I then noticed an indigenous ladder that they used to climb up the tree. Here it was nighttime. The frond-like leaves grew side-by-side and curled over. The leaves looked, as a matter of fact, not unlike umbrellas. It was these trees to which the locals came to harvest the vine-like tree’s milk.
I then began moving down the tree trunk growing concerned as the much-feared extra-humans were expected to return soon. They seemingly appeared at set intervals and their intentions were generally adversarial.
With that, I flew away and returned into the clearing. As I flew back, where there was now a large open area below, I saw a Black man who was an agricultural engineer. He carried a wheelbarrow of earth. He had placed the earth over a trap of some sort which employed a cord system.
They apparently also captured cicadas. When I came off the inclined vine-like tree, I had briefly landed on the ground before taking flight again. To my amazement, I had landed in a patch of a few hundred cicadas.
They were exclusively on a tree which seemed the very centre of the growth. This central tree gave off a definite hum. All the cicadas were on the trunk of the same unique tree that seemed, by its vibrational signature, to be a life-sustaining energetic magnet.
This tree was not a member of the pine family. Rather, it was a tropical tree which made the sitkas in Vancouver’s Stanley Park or the redwoods in northern California look like seedlings.
I remained motionless for the longest while. I was magnetised by the tree’s vibrational hum. It was hypnotic. There was nothing but love radiating from this tree. It was a truly humbling encounter.
The cicadas had swarmed onto its trunk to become harmonised with its vibration. As I flew off and looked back, I realised that the cicadas were being caught by the locals as they had proven themselves a nuisance.
The cicadas were not in the habit of eating the crops but there were so many of them that their noisy song made the locals devise a plan. The locals simply captured and relocated as many of the cicadas as they could.
I realised that this bit of drama, being acted out in the clearing, was also a metaphor for the larger drama back at the cosmopolitan complex.
There the extra-humans were laying traps, by way of the oval-shaped black capsule, for capturing unsuspecting humans. However, there was also another aspect to all this symbology that was not lost on me.
I knew, though many of the cicadas were still alive, that the ones who had left their empty shells behind represented two things. The symbol of the empty cicada shell was that of being astral-projected out of the shell of the sleeping body.
Secondly, the other symbolic reference was that, each discarded cicada shell represented a lifetime already concluded. They were as if totems of past lives. This was validated by the fact that here was I visiting, as it were, a remnant of a former life.
It was a life that was lived in Southeast Asia. A life it was in which my spirituality was closely connected to the strong bondedness that I achieved with the all-encompassing beauty of nature.
This was validated by the ectomorphic loin-clothed Balinese – Southeast Asian – who had come from his little thatched hut to greet me and serve as a guide to me.
He was, if not me, then definitely someone whom I have known in this lifetime but with whom I have shared multiple past lives. I can’t say, however, that this was Merlin in a past life.
He was quite familiar and was more than likely an entity mate of mine. I was similarly reminded of Diego Lunamas in his fey sweet-eyed beauteousness.
I then flew back through the growth where I saw the Hispanic man who had been kicked out of the bar. He was standing outside a thatched hut.
This man was so exceptionally good-looking. He no longer looked like his Hispanic self when at the bar. Then he had had a striking resemblance to Diego Lunamas. Here he seemed now Balinese, possibly Sumatran, though on the outside chance he could have been Filipino.
He held something in his hand that looked like a knife. However, it was not a weapon as such. As he stood there, his back to the hut, he was unaware of the intense light flashes taking place inside his hut.
This to me suggested that the extra-humans were inside the hut. It was possible that this man had alternately just died and had emerged from the hut, his final astral projection, though not yet aware that he had died.
I then moved inside the hut where I was able to get a handle on what was taking place. The door to the hut was a drape of green banana leaves that were regularly replaced.
Lots of bamboo shoots were used to anchor and set the frame of the hut. The slight man had been desperately trying to cut through the door of leaves in a bid to get outside.
Each time that he would cut his way through one drape of leaves, to get through the door, another would manifest beyond the other that already existed there. He could never seem to cut his way free fast enough. It proved a futile attempt to get out.
Each door was made of a different type of leaf and reed but all of them were green. The hut was eight feet square with a conical roof. As a matter of fact, it was more so pyramidal.
I floated close to the ceiling of the hut as he desperately tried to break out. I am not at all sure that most people were able to observe me in any of these giddy dream experiences.
The loin-clothed local did not quite comprehend the nature of the shiny object that he used to try and cut his way free. Soon enough, the hut was burnt-out with a few burnt-out frame beams standing.
The remaining beams were charred with black ashes everywhere. It was obvious that in his bid to escape he had not made it out.
Here, it seemed as though I was experiencing a series of vignettes – vignettes into past lives – all of which were interconnected. A very intense experience of soul journeying these dreams would prove.
Again, I saw the man who much reminded me of Diego Lunamas. I flew out to the tree, with the two frond-like leaves, on which I had been earlier.
I, soon enough, came down off the tree on seeing these green gourds that were cut open down on the ground. From the inside, a thicker version of what looked like coconut milk spilt out.
The milk was being bled into appropriately placed containers. On closer inspection, I realised that the gourds were grown below the surface of the ground. The liquid looked much like cassava root milk.
From there, I flew ahead to another section of the great arboreal growth. Now I came to a clearing which was set in Japan. I intuitively knew that this dream occurred in Japan.
For me, this was readily discernible owing to the strong past-life resonance that I experienced for being in this locale. There I saw a series of cultured rivulets that were part of a water fountain. The fountain was part of an extensive irrigation system.
The cultured rivulets were stone affairs in which flowed green fluid rather than the clear transparency of water. As I had flown over this site, I saw from on high that everything was completely white.
The trees and every aspect of the landscape were completely white. I knew that it was not a snow-covered landscape. Rather, this was the result of some sort of attack from the black-clad and visored extra-humans with the conical, black space capsules.
This I knew meant that they would soon be returning to the area where I was. Closer to hand, I hovered above the Japanese village.
I saw here lots of Japanese women who were performing a ritualised dance. They ritually sang and danced using fans. As they danced, they were a study in grace and reserve.
From there, I decided to fly on in search of the source of the oddly green river. I rose in the air as I flew by following the incline to where the fountain began. This led me in flight into a hilltop complex where the fountain began.
It was a large compound which included a temple, shrine and living quarters. Here there were more women who, though not ritually dancing, carried fans and were just as reserved.
At once, I alighted hurriedly moving through the compound. I was as if possessed. I knew at every turn which corridor to follow. On my arrival, I let out a cry upset at what I had found.
I couldn’t believe what these people had done. They had desecrated this important bit of their culture and heritage.
Of course, this was an astral projection to a past life milieu. Everything was at once familiar. My sense of smell was acute. All the writings I fully understood though they were in Kanji and Sanskrit.
In that past life, my former self had had a hand in establishing the temple and its shrine. Now some time later, however, they were performing these rituals in appeasement of the new overlords.
Of course, the new overlords would have been the extra-humans. I was really upset… I was really hurt. They shook the fans as they danced and this was supposed to have mimicked something about the extra-humans’ culture with which I was not familiar.
To atone, the Japanese humans had set up several altars to the extra-humans. Truth be told, they worshipped the extra-humans as their deities. The reserved women had the same milk-like substance which I had earlier seen being harvested.
Said harvesting area looked to be in Bali more than anywhere else. The harvested milk-like drink was stored in very ornate vessels that were decidedly Japanese and examples of ancient Japanese pottery.
In particular, there was a large dark-wood altar – Butsudan – that captivated me. Inside the Butsudan were several wooden carvings which were in the likeness of the visored extra-humans.
I grabbed one of the carvings, enraged, and began banging it against the other carvings. In short order, I had desecrated the imposition that the extra-humans’ presence represented.
I began furiously yelling at the Japanese locals for having sold-out. What really surprised me was just how enraged and powerful a persona I possessed. I was intensely warrior-spirited.
I seemingly was a member of a Samurai sect which meant that there was fierce pride and honour at stake here. This was such a gross betrayal.
“Where was their loyalty to traditions and history?” I rhetorically asked.
As I bashed away at the carvings, I heavily panted. I felt rather passionate, on my return, about the fruits of my past-life labour having been defiled once left behind on my passing in that former lifetime.
I addressed them in Japanese, no less. It was quite something.
*It much reminded me of that dream encounter with ‘Francesca,’ on January 1, 1989. I had then encountered the fiery redheaded Briton who had been a former life of mine.
I was quite the strong-personalitied dramatic woman who was quite sparkling-personalitied and with great presence. END.
In that former Japanese life my body of work was clearly dear to me. I couldn’t conceive of how these people would turn their backs on the efforts made on their behalf.
With that I took leave of them and went rushing into the shrine’s private apartments. I ran up the stairs then stopped and walked along the unusually narrow hallways. The proportions here were decidedly Japanese.
On the walls were engravings that bore inspiring words and poems. All of the art was spiritually focussed. Too, there were lots of long narrow rugs on the wooden floor of the hallways.
An extremely ancient Butsudan sat in the private apartments where once I had lived in that former life. The Butsudan’s two silver latches were complicated to open.
In fact, they were not readily opened based on the way that they appeared. Nonetheless, from memory, I effortlessly opened them on the first try.
The shrine was so immediately familiar. I couldn’t believe that it still stood there. My fingers actually trembled as I made to open the latches. The Butsudan was also covered in wooden engravings.
One set of the latches ran across the midsection of the Butsudan. Still, the other latch system came down vertically at the bottom. So excited was I that I began levitating whilst opening the Butsudan.
I first opened the one at the midsection, then the other, after which I flung open the door excited to once more see the Butsudan’s coveted scroll.
Just inside the door, there was a dark-brown leather flap with engravings on it. Raising the flap finally led the light to be cast in on the most time-yellowed Gohonzon imaginable.
It was truly antique and I couldn’t quite believe what I was seeing. The structure was so very powerful. On realising what it was, I shuddered and began quivering throughout.
Immediately, my connection to Buddhism in this lifetime was being validated. Of course, having seen Diego Lunamas in the environs of prior dreams made perfect sense.
He had also been on the palatial grounds of the temple as I had hovered in the air. On opening the shrine, I alighted and collapsed on the floor in lotus position before the Gohonzon.
I keenly focussed on the Gohonzon though mindful of the fact that the black-clad and visored extra-humans would be returning soon. Here in this most awakened of dreams, I began chanting Daimoku. I cannot stress enough how intensely lucid a dream experience this was.
As I chanted, I became aware of my vibration rapidly intensifying. I remained reverential before the ancient Gohonzon, with hands clasped, yet I found it hard to believe that I was having the experience.
More than that, the flow of energies from the time-yellowed Gohonzon to me was as real and intense as the intense light flooding the tiny private apartments – an apartment where once I had lived in a former life when Japanese.
There was the sillage of sweet sandalwood incense ghosting the air. For some time, I chanted aloud then concluded with a long, slow, piercing utterance of Nam-Myoho-Renge-Kyo.
With that, I shot to my feet and fled from the room going down the hallway and turned to the left. In my haste, I had left the Butsudan opened with the Gohonzon exposed.
However, there was a strong sense that it was to have been left opened. The light and energies from the Gohonzon needed to be obstructed no more.
I then arrived into the large palatial living quarters that were quite open. There was a low mat, a futon actually, to the left of the door on entering the room.
To the right of the door, half of the wall area opened up to a view of the beautifully terraced gardens outdoors. I knew that whoever presently lived there was coming.
I could sense the person’s approach down on the grounds to the right. With that, I floated down to the ground level and effortlessly moved through the pane of glass.
I simply upped my frequency and willed myself to become light-bodied. Thus, I was able to effortlessly move through the thick floor-to-ceiling pane of glass.
I went to the left of the building, slowly moving through the night air, on the terraced grounds of the temple compound. At that point, I noticed that there was a man approaching.
About my neck, I still wore a brown scarf that had covered the Gohonzon. On opening up the large Butsudan, I had removed and placed the scarf about my shoulders.
As I flew with the scarf, I realised that I could be apprehended once spotted with the unique telltale scarf. The man waited for me around some large wooden pylons that served as the opening in the fence.
It was, in fact, a gate system. It led from the private inner courtyard to the outer courtyard where others could gather.
There were several wooden stools on which one could sit and reflect on the beautiful gardens. Architecturally, this place was simply inspiring. It was truly Zen here and was both uplifting and conducive to serenity.
On coming around the pylons, the man turned out to be none other than Kaarlsohn Frieden. From above in the air, I was stunned to have both seen and found him here and excitedly beamed down at him.
He wore only a large top that fell to just below his arse. Floating down, I alighted whilst the brilliance of a full Moon night seemed to magically shift to intense daylight.
The lighting here was truly ethereal. The energies here were wonderful. Here on the grounds of this compound, the energy was very densely negative-ioned.
Way down the hill, whilst in flight, I had noticed several children playing. They were all Japanese. I had landed by a series of stone shrines that had been strategically placed about the gardens. A stone table sat close by that looked several centuries old.
I simply couldn’t believe that I was having a dream encounter with Kaarlsohn. Here was I so lucid and he was so real. Truly, this was an astral plane encounter of the highest order.
On ambling over, I warmly greeted him. I chose not to try and get rid of the scarf. I was, though, concerned whether or not he would be mad with me for being there.
He called me over. Kaarlsohn’s stubby thighs were strong and athletic-looking as though he were in his twenties. Understandably, he did look older than when I knew him.
On the inside of his right thigh, I noticed a large thick vein. As he looked at me warmly smiling, I stood to his left. Kaarlsohn was so warm but, more importantly, I couldn’t get over how real an encounter this was.
As he was only wearing the large unisexed top, and nothing beneath it, I got a good drift of his sex’s strong musk. It was a bit overwhelming but I kept focussed on his clear smiling eyes.
Looking into his eyes, I spoke to him making sure to be simultaneously telepathic – there is greater power of persuasion when thus focussed,
“Oh my god, Kaarlsohn, I’d give anything to be alone with you. To be intimate but not necessarily sexual, mind you.
“I’d do anything to relax and recline with you, sensually. I’d really love to laze about with you… caressing.”
At that point, I placed my arm about his lower back whilst we unflinchingly looked into the other’s eyes. He smiled sweetly blushing. I then caressed his arse and felt its firm roundness beneath the sheer light fabric.
Then Kaarlsohn surprised me by saying, “Well, I like to do that, from time to time…”
He slowly, suggestively arched his brows high up his forehead. It was a gesture that was reminiscent of Merlin when he wanted to be intimate. What was really telling though was Kaarlsohn’s enunciation when he had uttered those words.
By ‘time’ he meant reincarnational time and not time relating to his present incarnation. So that he meant at the level of soul, he did not mind having a same-sexed or bisexual focus ever so often when incarnate.
I looked at him and was blown away by his mischievousness. With that, we both playfully laughed at his teasing winsome handsomeness. Here his voice was not as strong a bass as his voice is in this lifetime.
Beyond all that, the level of love, warmth and intimacy between us was astonishing. It was a rare pleasure to be so genuinely intimate with another soul. This depth of openness and acceptance simply blew me away.
Then as if all that weren’t revolutionary Kaarlsohn initiated sexual play. He fondled me whilst undoing me with the most sensual kisses all over.
By this point, we were now sitting down on the table in lotus position ravenously groping each other. From time to time, he would stop kissing me to directly look into my eyes.
On those occasions, it was as though time itself stood still. My senses were so heightened that I thought I would simply die of joy during the dreamtime.
Kaarlsohn’s eyes were so real and focussed. His eyes’ intensity was only distantly frightening as they were so potent.
Lips passion-reddened, moist and apart revealed his quivering tongue. He quickly breathed in shallow breaths in between groaning. His groans were filled with yearning and called out to me.
Truly aroused, he seductively invited me to come out of myself to join him in ecstasy. His hard, firm hands were tightly wrapped about my throbbing cock slowly kneading and massaging it.
What he was doing was not sexual. Rather, he was performing energy work. With each groan that called out to me, he was inviting me to do the same for him.
So I did in kind. Kneading, gently and just as painstakingly slowly, I massaged his thick, large, foreskinned cock.
There was nothing more potent and shamanic than the energies that passed between us. It was electrifying. It was magus.
I did sense that there were a couple of bruises on his cock which I had passingly noticed. I thought that, perhaps, they were from an outbreak of herpes.
He then said, as my cock grew more tumescent,
“This is a really nice cock, you’ve got…”
As he gently massaged me and pulled back on my foreskin, my cock kept stabbing into the centre of his cupped right palm. As I danced and flew without moving, in spirit, a more sensual solo variation could not have been danced by Evelyn Hart. Indeed, he was as if David Peregrine to my Evelyn Hart – in the sensually exquisite pas de deux, Belong.
At this point, I lucidly became aware of my intentions prior to sleep. I had specifically meditated asking to have memorable experiences, on the astral plane, with those whom I have shared positive past life experiences.
Whilst I looked hypnotised into his large clear eyes – which here were a brownish-green, I recalled having shaped my dreams.
The light here was so intensely brilliant. Much of the light here was being initiated by the love that this man’s very august soul was imparting to me. A truly energising magus dream experience this was.
*What is most phenomenal about this soulfully intimate experience, of all the people I know, Kaarlsohn is the least homoeroticised. He is also the most macho of men.
Too, I had neither spoken to him in ages nor had I recently thought of him. Yet here was this major totemic encounter. It truly proved healing and insightful a dream encounter.
Whilst in the midst of our intimacy, I let out a sigh and suddenly found myself being slapped back into my body. At having had my astral projection aborted, there was weightiness at my solar plexus as I suddenly awoke.
I had been slapped awake by the shrill cries of raccoons outside my opened bedroom window. They were having yet another nasty fight. They had come out of Stanley Park to forage for food.
I had been terrified on hearing the grunting and screeching, whilst in the midst of my potent astral plane encounter with Kaarlsohn. I had assumed that it was the sound of the extra-humans advancing on us.
Now, I realised that these so-called extra-humans were, in fact, astral guides. Rather than being a negative force, the sentries were there to assist with proper astral protection.
I had been projecting the disturbance outside the window onto the visored and unseen astral guides. Raccoons are visored, as it were, with their distinctive black band across their faces at the eyes.
As was the case, the raccoons had been fighting for some time and continued fighting for much of the night. In fact, they fought till daybreak. They prowled the West End in search of food before scurrying back to Stanley Park at twilight.
**What’s really interesting about these astral plane rendez-vous was that both Diego Lunamas and Kaarlsohn Frieden I met during my stay in Winnipeg. With both men, I had enjoyed an ease of communication and instinctively knew that we had had past life contacts.
Diego I had introduced to Nichiren Buddhism. Kaarlsohn had already been practicing when I started. Kaarlsohn proved a good companion with whom to chant Daimoku.
Rarely have I felt this satiated on awakening from the dreamtime. Though understandably aroused as all hell, I cried for joy at the beauty that I had just experienced and chose to remain lying in repose within the pyramid.
The reason for some of the cicadas having been alive was that they represented the ever present “now” of the soul which does not experience time. Initially, the cicadas had all been alive but then some flickered out of existence.
Those cicadas that remained were quite a few. They surely represented the potential of future lifetimes. However, the remaining cicadas that were still alive were not in the majority.
The cicadas initially were all alive because to the soul they were being experienced simultaneously – past lifetimes, future lifetimes and this lifetime.
The sum totality of my lifetimes, as symbolised by the cicadas, was a swarm of creative energy which was magnetised to this great arboreal giant. Of course, the arboreal giant represented the soul to which ultimately all cicadas – in order that they may experience transformation, reincarnational metamorphosis – are anchored.
The tree to which the cicadas were anchored also represented the physical plane. A physical plane into which the lifetimes of the reincarnating soul, as symbolised by the cicadas, had to manifest in order to become self-actualised and fulfilled both spiritually and creatively.
As much as the arboreal giant represented the soul quality on the astral plane, simultaneously, it represented the physical plane into which the soul was reincarnationally focussed.
Since I was on the astral plane whilst dreaming – where time as such does not exist – the cicadas were all-extant. The totemic cicadas represented every lifetime’s dreamer self which is never extinguished.
Thus the dreamer self forms a conduit, like the black teleportation-like capsule, to having connective glimpses into past or even future lifetimes.
I suppose too that, at the start of this lyrical dream adventure, the black conical capsule in which one sat and travelled was a symbolic icon of my pyramid. Of course, when lucidly dreaming these truly marvellous dreams of uplifting adventure, I was sleeping in my pyramid.
This was a truly illuminating dream experience. To have experientially undertaken this astral awakening was very rhapsodic, in each lucid moment, as it swept me along.
A sensory feast this was. A feast on which my very soul was made pleasurably besotted. A truly magus dream odyssey this was and one which validated anew that dreams truly are the poetry of the soul. END.