The first dream that I had of Merlin, occurred four years prior to meeting him in the waking state. In that dream, there was the most beautiful heron which flew close by; it blinked and when its lid reopened, the eye had become liquid eventually transforming to the most intense white light. Forty-two years ago, after a four-year wait, Merlin sexily slipped into my life at my Hell’s Kitchen walkup. For the next seven years our dance together was truly sublime.
Heron at Cowichan Estuary, Vancouver Island, B.C.
The last time I saw Joop, whom I had met five years prior to Merlin, I stayed at this lovely home in Victoria B. C. for a couple of weeks. We drove up the TransCanada Highway to the northern tip of the island one weekend, stopping off at the Cowichan Estuary and Cathedral Grove. On the drive back, we were followed by a lone heron as we drove southward through Cowichan Estuary a local nature preserve for herons. I was reminded of Merlin whilst holding hands with Joop. Joop was the oldest and most sensual of my lovers; too, he has been the oldest soul of my lovers. It was sad to say so long to him last summer.
Sir Anthony van Dyck, Self-Portrait
van der Pelster, Joop 12/1948 <O> 8/2023
The fragment who was Joop was a fifth level old artisan – second incarnation at this level – in the observation mode, with a goal of stagnation, a pragmatist, in the emotional part of intellectual centre.
This fragment had a Saturn/Lunar body type.
Joop’s primary chief feature was stubbornness with a weak secondary of self-deprecation.
Joop is sixth cast in his cadence and his cadence is fourth in the second greater cadence. He is a member of entity one, cadre one, greater cadre 7, pod/node 414.
Joop has a discarnate artisan essence twin whom he did know in childhood and an incarnate priest task companion, with whom no plans were made to meet in this lifetime.
This was a resting life for this fragment, whose three primary needs were: security, communion and exchange.
He was a sculptor in Russia – at the time of the 1917 revolution, took a stand with the communists and was killed in a riot in St. Petersburg. He chose not to be reborn during the Second World War, in Western Europe, but in an old soul country (Netherlands), rather than a mixed young/mature society.
At that time, the Soviet government was very early-young soul repressive, while the general population was mid-cycle mature and even though he was only 30 when he died, in that previous life, he chose not to be reborn in the Soviet Union and took a resting life in the Netherlands.
Arvin felt a connectedness with Joop because they are in the same cadre, and Joop had a great deal of service in his casting as does Arvin. Here is a priest-cast artisan who is a member of an entity one, so he has needs to serve both the higher ideal and the common good.
There was a great deal of the “Visionary” here, which is one of the seven aspects of the artisan. He was also a “walker” in that he could pierce the veil between the planes at will, even though he did not call this phenomenon by name.
He and Arvin have known each other in many previous lives. They have been lovers of both sexes and of both hetero and homoerotic orientation. Joop has filled the mentor position in Arvin’s support group three times.
Perhaps the most notable life that this fragment had was in the late sixteenth century-early seventeenth century, when he was the Flemish portrait painter and depicter of religious themes, Anthony van Dyck. Anthony was later knighted and is known historically as, Sir Anthony van Dyck.
Massacre of the Innocents, Oil on Canvas. Peter Paul Rubens 1611-1612
He was a good friend, sometimes-lover and collaborator of Peter Paul Rubens – during that lifetime, I was then briefly a lover of Peter Paul Rubens, female and a muse; the relationship was not long-lived. Both of these men, Anthony and Paul, were bisexual and lusty and enjoyed the company of both men and women, even though they pretended to be very good Catholic boys.
Interestingly enough, the fragment who was Peter Paul was in the immediate past life, the imminent American photographer, Ansel Adams – same great artistic ability, different medium.
Joop did have great ability to make his lovers feel loved; this is something that generally goes along with the latter part of the old soul cycle.
They are no longer so concerned about their own sexual pleasure, mainly because it is easier for them and rather commonplace but they do generally enjoy bringing others to the heights of ecstasy.
Every mature soul should have a late old soul lover at least once, just as the opposite is true. The mature soul brings to the sex act the passion and the fire, while the very old soul brings to it the skill and patience of so many lives.
All told, Joop to date has had 18 past lives with Arvin and 12 with his task companion – who was recently – Merlin Ben-Daniel.
Karl Lagerfeld, one of the most eccentric, creative geniuses of the 20th/21st centuries. This is a tribute to the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Costume Institute Benefit, 2023. Who can forget the 90s each Saturday evening, watching Toronto’s Jeanne Beker on CityTV’s FT: Fashion Television. I always looked forward to any segment that featured the gloved, fast-talking eccentric with this fan and clipped laughter. His fashions are, of course, legendary and the Chanel suit was reborn with understated elegance thanks to him. What’s more, always in Lagerfeld’s orbit were exciting personalities and eccentrics like André Leon-Talley, Anna Piaggi, Baroness Amanda Harlech, Inès de La Fressange & the archly eccentric Isabella Blow.
This year, the Costume Institute’s Ball was co-chaired by Roger Federer, Penelope Cruz, Michaela Coel, Dua Lipa & Anna Wintour. Later this month, KARL LAGERFELD A LINE OF BEAUTY celebrates Lagerfeld’s reign as creative genius at Balmain, Patou, Chloé, Fendi & Chanel.
Yung Miami, I loved the theatricality of this costume. She carried it off handsomely, has a great personality and was escorted by the ever debonair, Diddy!
More fashion brands by the season, it would appear. Chi Ossé is a New York City Council member and his numerology suggests a lifetime in politics. I love the cut and tailoring of his bespoke attire.
Eddie Redmayne and his wife, Hannah Bagshawe are beautifully dressed; his suit’s detailing is elegantly understated and there is a lot of lines and textures going on with her Alexander McQueen, none of which outdoor each other.
Ariana DeBose though having won an Oscar for her explosive star turn in Steven Spielberg’s remark of West Side Story, earned herself no end of scorn for turning up at the 2023 BAFTA Awards and turning her performance into some ‘woke, hip hop, American affair. When are Americans going to dispense with Britons and their stinking sphinctered condescension. Beautiful gown. Love her style.
Vittoria Ceretti, is one of the next wave of catwalk goddesses strutting, vamping and leaving us all besotted. She is über chic and then some. Elegant.
Though previously ruled by the inimitable Karl Lagerfeld, Balmain is now the house of young creative genius, Olivier Rousteing. His creations are truly futuristic yet grounded in practicality, sensuality and function. Above all else, humour reigns.
New York City Ice Spice beautifully evokes Lagerfeld’s fluid style with the camera prop, which was definitely not in common use by the time of her reincarnation – whoever she last was. Love her curves and attitude. Elegant.
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Conan Gray’s existence was sheer mystery to me until he appeared, dripping of fluid style at the 2023 Met Gala. His fluidity and fan are marvellous odes to Lagerfeld, indeed.
This devastatingly handsome, phenomenally multifaceted performer, Jeremy Pope, is a joy to behold whether onscreen or onstage. Here’s to the next generation’s of sexy leading man. The Costume Institute’s ball is a theatrical event, who better to bring be this year’s showstopper. Ingenious creativity on the part of Olivier Rousteing yet again.
Usher chose to highlight the designs of a young African-American designer. As ever, he looks suave, cool and as sophisticated as crooners before him: Teddy Pendergrass, Barry White and Marvin Gaye.
Emily Adams Bode, fashion designer and next generation industry superstar. She is ethereally elegant in this pale yellow design.
Toronto Born fashion designer and activist, Aurora James, is elegant, understated; she brought some Canadian content to the Costume Institute Ball, 2023.
Isabelle Boemeke aka Isotope, young nuclear clean energy activist also attended the ball.
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Dynamic American photographer, Tyler Mitchell was stylishly elegant in an eclectic design by Bode.
Los Angeles Clippers basketball star, Russell Westbrook arrived in a colourful but subdued, was part of the collection of athletes in attendance.
NFL championship quarterback Patrick Mahomes and his wife, Brittany arrived outfitted in BOSS designs.
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Coming on strong, the devastatingly dashing Italian tennis player, Matteo Berrettini serves up nothing but aces in this superb Boss suit.
Columbian heartthrob, singer, entertainer, Maluma turned out looking elegantly fluid in this Boss ensemble. I still do not get the appeal of tattoos but there you have it.
What would a costume ball be without Queens turning up and boy does Mary J. Blige deliver show stopping theatrical style.
The riveting actor, Jodie Comer turned up kitted in Burberry and looking every bit the thespian.
British born, BAFTA award winning actor, Naomi Ackie seems to have been the only attendee whose Burberry outfit was not the current deep dark blue and black schemata.
British model, Liberty Ross and her American music producer husband, Jimmy Iovine showed up rockign Burberry.
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BAFTA Award winner for best supporting actor, 2023, Barry McKeoghan came through wearing the blue and black Burberry of the season.
Burna Boy, one of three African kings rolled up in Burberry.
Up next, Skepta full of style and swagger as ever.
Completing the troika, the most dynamically charismatic Stormzy, the third of the African kings.
A man of exceeding charm and cool, Dr. Dre rounds out the Burberry brigade.
Britney Griner & Cherelle Griner were delightful – so glad her adventure turned out handsomely – Both were rocking bespoke Calvin Klein.
African model, Adut Akech brings her warm beauty to the proceedings, owning her Carolina Herrera gown.
Anna Wintour & Bill Nighy walk the red carpet at the Costume Ball.
Andy Roddick & Brooklyn Decker; she is pitch perfect… lovely.
Angéle, Belgian singer, goes for an edgier more avant-garde approach; it works.
Film producer, Fabiola Beracasa Beckman’s approach was mature and elegant.
The Brazilian amazon, Gisele Bündchen, went for a gorgeous vintage Chanel affair that did not disappoint.
Eaddy Kiernan Bunzel’s, Vogue contributing editor, approach was sleek, elegant and it came together beautifully. Gotta love those shoes!
The One! The Icon! Queen. Naomi pulled out another vintage design; She was stunning…. but of course.
TV producer and philanthropist, Christine Chiu, handsomely pulled out all the stops! #BAM
Seemingly, a funny thing happened on the way to the ball for Marion Cotillard… The hair? Whatever.
Bollywood meets little red riding hood and who else but powerhouse, co-chair Penelope Cruz can winningly pull this look off. Fabulous!
I am reminded of Irina Shayk’s leather outfit at last year’s Met Gala by Lily James’s black leather ball gown. Wow!
Chameleon Nicole Kidman wore the dress that featured in her Chanel perfume ad back in the naughties directed by Bazz Luhrmann. As ever, stylish, cool and elegant.
Korean singer/rapper Jennie Kim went for a edgy girly/sex kitten look. Cool!
Everybody’s Queen, living her best life and proving an inimitable inspiration to us all. Lizzo rocks the glamour of Chanel pearls and comes up winning as always.
Another co-chair, Dua Lipa, opted for Chanel and it worked beautifully. One very stunning woman and look at that Tiffany & Co necklace.
Baroness Dambisa Moyo was elegant in a Chanel with colours that a reminiscent of African fabrics. Elegant.
90s catwalk Queen, Carolyn Murphy came out rocking that amazing yellow, layered tulle affair. Her presence brought back some sweet memories of the 90s.
Canadian actor, Whitney Peak, magically pulled off the bejewelled flapper decked in tulle and diaphanous cloud of white. She was a dreamy vision of beauty.
Gossip Girl castmate of Whitney’s, Margaret Qualley, nicely pulled off the ballet ribbons and short cocktail dress, even at the Met Gala it worked beautifully.
The most exciting actor of her generation, Margot Robbie always seems on the cusp of explosive, infectious laughter. Elegant. Sophisticated.
Lauren Santo Domingo, maverick, editor and philanthropist was coolly elegant, especially so when being unintentionally photo-bombed by Lil Nas X’s painted arse.
Kristen Stewart’s turn as Diana, Princess of Wales was one of greatest revelations to say nothing of a truly commanding performance. Elegantly, this artist disappears into her roles and, more importantly, her private life is a non-negotiable.
Baroness Amanda Harlech turned up to pay respect to Karl Lagerfeld, wearing a Chanel haute couture gown which I am almost certain she modelled when his muse and later working for Lagerfeld after having been introduced by André Leon Talley as a result of a fallout with the astounding creative genius, John Galliano.
Who else but Cardi B. can stick her mile-long nails into cucumber and swirl it about a plate of gravy, sopping it up and then get that slice of cucumber into her mouth without disturbing her flawless lipstick? No one beats Cardi B. that’s who. Always, she is a welcome and refreshing sight.
Maude Apatow’s appearance was more elegant relative to last year. I do not know her work as an actor but she a quiet dignity that is readily admirable.
Vanessa Kirby to date has turned in one of the two three acting turns on Netflix’s The Crown. Her turn as Princess Margaret was riveting and totally engrossing. What a thoroughly fascinating actor and she looks damn good here too.
Though this actor’s personal life seems to have taken up permanent residence in the tabloids over the past 1.5 years, I have no idea what her acting chops are like. Not because of lack of interest, as a lucid dreamer, the less I look at films and TV the less intrusion there is on my dreamlife’s integrity. This though is a rather beautiful Chloé dress chosen by Olivia Wilde.
Margaret Zhan, Editor-in-Chief Vogue China and other impressive accomplishments aside, this star turn at the Met ball was impressive. I love her dress.
Choupette!
Jared Leto as Choupette & Karl Lagerfeld whom he will portray in upcoming biopic.
Karen Elson’s Christian Siriano dress seems slightly to have missed the mark; will she be invited back?
Ava Max’s cottony confection is a truly delicious indulgence worth pursuing.
Something tells me this woman doesn’t get out much. One does not wear a goddamn hat and certainly not one to rival Nicki Minaj’s Yosemite Sam’s affair from last year to an evening event. Come on Alex Newell. Just no!
Darling, it’s called a tea cosy, it’s not meant to be worn to a ball. Grace Elizabeth on the tail end of her 15 minutes. Next!
Gabriella Karefa-Johnson clearly did not get the memo; white next to mounds of rolling fat is not slimming. Clearly, she does not have a stylist.
Actor Alexandra Daddario opted for a pale, layered Dior and it actually beautifully works.
The ever elegant Miranda Kerr swanned to the ball in an ethereal white Dior.
Vogue marketing editor, Alexandra Michler Kopelman shows off her baby bump and expectant glow, both shown off in a beautiful two-toned Dior.
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Costume Institute Ball co-chair, Roger Federer was exceptionally refined in Dior attire.
The man with the best ‘whatever’ attitude to life circumstances, Pete Davidson exudes his unmatched cool in masterfully cut Dior.
Hey you only live once in each lifetime. I’m loving the audacity but if it were me, I would have opted for some silver talons hauts; the nails are truly next-level glam. Bravo!
Like his ex, Kristen Stewart, there is so much that’s mysterious about Robert Pattinson. He is, though, a stunning actor and beautifully attired here in Dior.
English actor, Harris Dickinson is decidedly tall and unmistakable in his Dunhill gear. I am not in the least familiar with his acting chops.
Scotsman, James McAvoy who packs serious metal, came admirably attired with a fan in an homage to Karl Lagerfeld. A winner all around, of course and he is wearing Dunhill at that.
Glenn Close always goes big and this year’s Met Gala found her in her element. She was escorted by designer Erdem Moralıoğlu whose elegant design she wore.
Fendi creative director Kim Jones, is also joined by Fendi family director of Jewellery design (r) Silvia Venturini & Delfina Delettrez. They are on a work assignment; they are not there to look glam.
Suki Waterhouse attended with her lover, Robert Pattinson in a flowery Fendi that was both cool and breezy.
Uma Abedin returns this year in a glorious Fendi design which along with hair, makeup and earrings is pure flawless elegance.
Eva Chen’s silver and green with matching green opera gloves are Audrey Hepburn chic; this colour combination actually works and beautifully set off glowing complexion.
Gwendoline Christie flesh-toned gown does her no favours. This colour next to her pale complexion renders her almost invisible. Stylist fail.
Yet, again, this Korean actress does not put a foot wrong in the style department. Song Hye-kyo is always elegant.
Precious Lee chose handsomely when opting for this Fendi design. It is flattering of her commanding presence and both elegant and restrained in all the right proportions. Stunning woman and the black leather opera gloves only add to her fierceness; she is gifted and self-aware model.
Kate Moss and daughter, Lila Moss were demure in their pale pink Fendi outfits.
Christina Ricci is chameleon; she is a boss. Lovely Fendi design.
Sometimes, you only need one Hadid to bring it. Gigi definitely came through in this memorable Givenchy design.
What a difference a year makes, and some Disney funding, Halle Bailey this year has scored a style coup in Gucci design. Showtime!
I positively love every film this Oscar winning actor stars in. Jessica Chastain’s Gucci is flawless.
Though not familiar with the British actor’s work, Daisy Edgar-Jones’ Gucci here is daring without being risqué; she’s on point.
By far, one of my favourite couples: great actor, gorgeous model whose their chemistry is sizzling. Dapper and ever debonair, he is handsome to her cool intoxicating beauty.
Three-time Emmy award winner, Julia Garner, is fittingly commanding in this caped Gucci ensemble.
Like Viola Davis and Angela Bassett, Salma Hayek has been cheated out of a deserved best actress Oscar for her star turn in Frida. That notwithstanding, she remains the most ravishing film actor of her generation and always a joy to behold on or offscreen.
Show the children how it’s done, Jordan Roth. Why it is so difficult to stand on the red carpet and not be pigeon-toed? Sienna Miller and others take note. Seriously!
Congratulations to the G.O.A.T Serena Williams on the good news of adding to her beautiful family with Alexis Ohanian. As ever, Serena looks marvellous.
Bad Bunny is the moment. Bad Bunny is hopping! Style and so much more!
Kylie Jenner brings the glam factor wherever she vamps. This is a beautiful Jean-Paul Gaultier design.
I’ve not really seen Yara Shahidi walk the red carpet before; I don’t know if it is just a matter of her being a face but this design and her body are not harmonised. Then again it could just be me and the fact that her right foot has triggered my number one pet peeve, it is sickled in.
Devon Aoki, that most exotic of oiseaux, walks the Met Gala 2023 carpet with designer Jeremy Scott whose design she clearly here favours.
Carla Bruni had the gall to diss Meghan, Duchess of Sussex on her IG page then quickly pulled it down and featured Prince Harry’s SPARE shortly afterwards and offered a review that haemorrhaged obsequiousness partout. Of course, it did not go either unnoticed or unchallenged by yours truly. The blasted, vile depilated macaque Couchon. You don’t like Blacks… Fuck You!
That’s right, keep doing your Icarian turn, Cara Delevingne; no one can ever resist a delicious slice of schadenfreude…
Caroline Lebar, team Karl Lagerfeld honcho, coming through owing the place and spreading her light.
Amber Valletta, another 90s catwalk champ; always good to see her.
Survivor. Legend. Boss. Diane von Fürstenberg. G.O.A.T that’s who!
Last year, in her Prabal Gurung pink outfit, Michelle Yeoh was not only a standout but she had winner written all over her aura. And just like that, she returns to Met Gala having become the first Asian to win best actress Oscar. Go Lady! Always, she is exceptionally elegant.
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Bryan Tree Henry got the memo. Go big or go home! Solid!
Alton Mason ain’t funning. This gorgeous star means business. This was one of the most beautiful costumes on the night. This is a Lagerfeld bride that gives Claudia Schiffer a run for her dimpled gorgeousness.
Oh my darlings, it’s the deliciously arousing Manu Rios back to keep our pulses racing. Gosh but he’s delightful.
African-American beauty queen turned actress, Rachel Smith, was a regal vision in a smoky silver strapless Lavin.
Then along came that delightful amazon, Karlie Kloss in a long black Loewe sheath. Her jewellery was spot-on and unlike Kim Kardashian’s, her pearls did work. The bowed shoes handsomely added to her allure.
Nichapat Suphap contributing editor for Vogue Thailand was smartly elegant in her black opera gloves to set off the black and white Louis Vuitton gown.
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Sino-Korean Hong Kong rapper, Jackson Wang, did not disappoint when it came to delivering his trademak style and swagger. Gorgeous.
Curvaceous model, Paloma Elsesser arrived on the arm of the designer Raul Lopez whose LUAR designed her très chic gown.
John Galliano, creative director Maison Margiela. Genius. Visionary. Shaman.
Great-granddaughter of John Paul Getty, Ivy Getty models and focusses on chiefly being an artist. For Met Gala 2023, Ivy chose this exquisitely elegant one-shouldered, tulle-covered Maison Margiela grown with multiple tassels of dripping sable-toned fringe. Details. Details. Details.
TKF Twigs, like Jennifer Lopez, one always get the feeling that at some point FKA Twigs will resume relations with Robert Pattinson. Time will tell. As with Ivy Getty’s design, there is a lot of details in this masterfully constructed design. These are the designs of a truly master couturier and that John Galliano has always been and remains. So very good to see his creative genius having a home to flourish. John Galliano is as equally eccentric and just as ravishing a creative genius as was Karl Lagerfeld.
Fiery Brazilian singer, Anitta, came through in a sculptural Marc Jacob designs with contrasting white opera gloves and the most handsome Tiffany & Co. diamond necklace with sizeable ruby pendant. Yes!
At long last, Paris Hilton is a mum and looking just as ‘hot’ as ever. I could not believe that during her interview with La La Anthony, she declared that it was her first time at the Met Gala. She looked beyond elegant whilst being walked by Marc Jacobs in his eponymous designs.
Giving Kylie a run for her money, Kendall Jenner arrived taller than usual in a shimmering minimal design by Marc Jacobs. How she and Paris Hilton managed those heels is a true mystery.
Kim Petras’s Marc Jacobs design was a bit too busy and crunched at the bustier. Just as long as she wasn’t with that triffling they/them/it/other blob was just fine. Besides, the Met is not about the alarmingly drab.
Ew! You bred with that? Georgina Chapman in Marchesa. Moving right along.
Erykah Badu doing Erykah Badu; I should think that her shadow has grown bored by now. Thankfully, no shadow has had to hang around moored to a put-through appendage for centuries… so there’s that.
David Byrne pulls up on a white bike and what’s not to love? He sports an eye-searing white bespoke suit from Martin Greenfield of Brooklyn as only he can carry off cool.
Michael Kors in Michael Kors; of course, the best dressed men always wear shades.
You can always count on Emily Blunt to bring on the hold Hollywood glamour; the lace is everything. Elegant.
Artist (singer/actor) Kaitlyn Dever decided to set pulses racing in this dramatic red gown and work it did. What a truly stunning gown.
Vanessa Hudgens came through laying on the glamour with a serious side order of sexy; that train and the eyes are fierce.
Lea Michele has survived much and still standing she does rather elegantly. Stunning; just look at that shower of shimmering metallic silver.
The very versatile actor, Ashley Park, evokes the old Hollywood glamour vibe and beautifully so.
Actor/producer, Kerry Washington’s look at last year’s Met Gala was more dramatic than her look this season. I rather favour her Tory Burch drama gown from last year to this fishtail gown. Either way, she is as ever stunning; her smoky eyes and that choker are everything.
Emma Chamberlain, internet phenom, wore a faux two-piece Miu Miu in powder blue.
Sydney Sweeney, young versatile American actor with the dreamiest eyes, wore not surprisingly a dreamy pastel Miu Miu affair.
Ashley Graham, another model, effectively used by designers to best ‘walk’ their designs at the Costume Institute Ball’s red carpet. Obviously, as arrangements go, it is a win win. I personally do not like the look of fishtail but this Nina Ricci design’s colour schemata against Graham’s tawny complexion works beautifully.
This Oscar de la Renta design chosen by Lily Aldrige is far superior than her Kaithe design worn at Met Gala 2022. The elegance of this off the shoulder affair cannot be denied. The contrasting giant salmon bow and train may, though, be distracting.
Every time I see her, I am readily disinclined to become focussed on either her or her music. Even her ode to Choupette is off; why not choose a design from one of the houses with which Karl Lagerfeld was associated. For me, she never draws you in and I have no idea what her music is like, old fossil that I am becoming. Her feline prosthetics and makeup are spot-on.
Though this is a very beautiful design worn by gifted actor, Amanda Seyfried, sorry, I just can’t get past the pigeon-toed pose. How does this daft archly gauche pose ever look good to either photographer or subject? Beautiful colour, the cut is superb and her hair is gloriously styled.
Allison Williams, American actor/scream queen, is elegantly presented in this ode to couturier, Karl Lagerfeld in this beautiful Patou design. I love the cut and colour.
Alia Bhatt, Indo-British actor, is beautifully turned out in this Met Gala favourite designer Prabal Gurung design. The shimmering princess ball gown of white tulle is ethereally chic.
Quinta Brunson nova onto the TV cosmos, bagging Emmy awards along the way. I do believe that this is her first Met Gala. Sheer black overtop creamy pink with matching two-toned train works handsomely.
After last year’s powder blue princess, tulled affair, also by Prabal Gurung, Quannah Chasinghorse has opted this year for an edgier look and this time in pink. I suppose that I am more partial to last years look, as here was more southwest jewellery on display then. Perhaps, it is the opera gloves but then lend an air of punk which may not have been the intention; nonetheless, love her energy.
Yellowstone actress, Kelsey Asbille Chow cuts a dramatic figure with her fire engine red Prabal Gurung with train. So who exactly doesn’t like a garter?
Rita Ora and her haute exoticism looked truly drop-dead gorgeous in this double-trained black number.
Gorgeous African model Anok Yai is all that and lots more. Loving the dark shades adding more drama to her fringe and gold bustier Prabal design.
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Taika Waititi is boldly debonair in this long flowing smoky gray coat with double stranded pearls and more confidence than a can of sardines. The man is damn fine.
Gabrielle Union has always been a favourite actor of mine; she is so readily engage from role to role. She really earned a major supporter in me when she and her dashing husband, Dwayne Wade, spoke very passionately at the NAACP Awards this year in support of their MTF daughter, Trans and LGBTQ+ rights. These is nothing demure about an extra thick red leather coat atop red gown with tail. Bravo!
Maya Hawke, actor daughter of Uma Thurman & Ethan Hawke, in this pose looks no dissimilar to a young Shirley MacLaine. That aside, I love the white-on-white look and the feathery details plus train nicely carries it off.
British actor, Letitia Wright is one of these born somnambulant Blacks who are forever grateful for being over lorded by the god of what is clearly one’s enemy’s religion. Trust you me, if it were that important, you would not be afforded access to their religion, anymore than a Black is afforded a best actress Oscar. Her choice of Prada design merely betrays how self-restrained her perceptions. All alas is choice.
This woman swans through life, being feared/adored for being a moneyed Jew but she will never be nothing more than a vile anti-Black racist. One does not forget! All the moneyed men in the world and she will never rise above the repugnant conceit that had her sat for that pose.
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Coming on strong, it’s none other than Chinese singer/dancer/rapper, Kai Xu Kun. What’s not to love, we share the same birthday! Beautifully attired, love the jewellery, coat’s detailing and those Prada shoes are everything.
Rami Malek’s Freddie Mercury will standout in time as one of the best biopic performances in cinema. Clean, unfussy elegance.
Kodi Smit-McPhee’s appearance this year soars stratospherically above his Met Gala 2022 appearance. The shoes and the blue detailing are restrained… elegant.
Broadway actor, Jeremy Strong successfully transitioned to TV and in the process won himself Golden Globe & Emmy Awards for his turn on Succession. There’s flair but he is a man with a family to support and seemingly not the slightest focussed on celebrity. Admirable.
Dwayne wade continues to impress and inspire millions. Tall, dark, devastatingly handsome, he drips nobility of spirit like no one else. His is such a beautifully cut coat. Fabulous human.
Was anyone else wearing Ralph Lauren? Does even matter? Jennifer Lopez looked regal and hers was the only fascinator/hat worn to an evening event which proved not to be a faux pas. Jennifer was the moment at this year’s Met Gala 2023. The lines, the fabrics, the colour co-ordination all made for the most handsomely elegant look. Queen!
Grammy Award-winning, Broadway/TV singer/actor, Julliard alumna, Phillipa Soo showed up. That’s all that matters, love the riot of black and white getting it on for a handsome design for Richard Quinn. Go Mama!
Eileen Gu’s Robert Wun red polka dots design is not what I expected of an explosive athlete. She looks beautifully poised and elegant.
This is a massive turnaround, after that unaware indulgent horror at the 2023 Oscars, TEMS does not here commit a fashion faux pas, as these feathery tendrils though fascinator, do not obstruct and look glaringly out of place. Will she ever live down her Oscars appearance? Lips, nose, eyes, brows, love her look and the feathers at the bustier, plus the fishnet face veil do it for me; she has the most alluring eyes. I want those opera gloves… Keep doing you, Darling.
Model/Actor Camila Morrone came through rocking her Rodarte design: lace, velvet, slight fishtail and train. Sensational!
Always stylish, Alexa Chung opted from an eclectic design that’s both busy and avant garde. What does it matter, it’s Alexa that’s who and it works.
Chinese model, He Cong comes on strong. This is an awesome outfit.
Ghanian-British actor/filmmaker, Michaela Coel is also co-chair of this year’s Met Gala. Her diaphanous cocoa design by Schiaparelli nicely sets off her gorgeous complexion. Her cornrows are exquisite and those golden heels are perfecton. Love her, simply stunning!
Well, much like her relationship with her escort last year, her beading did not hold up too well. Ms. Kardashian has looked way more stunning at past Met Galas.
Natasha Poonawalla, India’s vaccine Queen, showed up in a futuristic mirrored Schiaparelli and cast shards of her light partout.
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Jordan Roth is Showbiz incarnate. And boy does he know how to infuse the right dash of drama into his theatricality. Go on, show them how it’s done. What better ode to Karl Lagerfeld could there be than being a human fan; hands down best dressed attendee at Met Gala 2023.
Diddy arrived representing Sean Jean with the grandest gestures. What was most refreshing was him grabbing the black battery operated fan from production as he chatted with hostess, La La Anthony who was a gorgeous vision in white. God was she light years more sophisticated than last year. Brilliant. Back to Diddy, the black on black on black is divine.
La La Anthony’s praises I cannot sing enough. This year’s chosen design knocked it out of the park, relative to last years design which left her looking shorter and it was way too busy and the hat was just so wrong. Not to knock Derek Blasberg but La La Anthony by far was the better host this year. Go on Lady, rock it!
Comedic actor, Rachel Brosnahan came through in cape, starburst pasties all in black with come hither eye makeup. Rather alluring.
Singer/comedic actor, Keke Palmer came through in a strapless multi-beaded column gown accompanied by a billowing powder blue and mauve cape. She looked marvellous.
Julia Carey also chose a swirling geometric Simkhai and did not put a foot wrong, right down to being accompanied by her charming partner, James Corden who opted for a brilliant blue jacket to match his cool.
Mindy Kaling made a massive revolution in her Met Gala appearance this year over last year when she chose a Prabal Gurung design. Accompanied by Jonathan Simkhai, An intricate layered design, there is a lot happening here; most of all, Kaling looks light years more body confident and this photograph does not do justice to the amount of weight loss that she’s successfully shed. Simply stunning.
Billie Eilish opted to attend in a Simone Rocha design that looked better suited to a themed gathering at Halloween. Perhaps, my taken on her look is coloured by the fact that simply do not get the draw of this artist.
Model Imaan Hammam chose a sleek white column with train Standing Ground design. The stark white handsomely set off her tawny complexion and gave added drama to her amazing locks.
Designer Stella McCartney wore a beaded black jacket/mini dress with dramatic leggings and chunky footwear as she walked with Madelyn Cline & Audrey Plaza.
Actor Madelyn Cline opted for a gun-metal gray and black strapless sheath with modest train as she walked in with Stella McCartney.
Quirky actor, Audrey Plaza, I believe that her social behaviour is chiefly rooted in her personal vibrational dynamics than anything else. Interesting design they are not standouts, this speaks more to the design elements rather than not.
Filmmaker Baz Luhrmann and his wife Catherine Martin came fully kitted in Thom Browne (he at least did) and looked marvellous for it.
As with last year’s Met Gala, Thom Browne was heavily represented this year, starting with Korean model, So-Ra Choi. Hers was a massive oversized coat which asymmetrically draped about her body in heavy fabric, all of which was winningly capped off with a black fishnet face veil which nicely highlighted her heavy lipsick. Powerful.
Writer, Amy Fine Collins, 30-year veteran at Vanity Fair Magazine came with the general black & white theme with stabs of red a braided hairstyle that matched the ribbing in her beautiful Thom Browne skirt.
The ever fluid Janelle Monae chose another oversized jacket/coat dress with its hoop exposed. Then, darlings, she moved the coat from atop the hooping and began vogueing with the malleable hoop exposing her body-hugging outfit. She like Amy Fine Collins opted for a dog bag that completed the little girl in adult clothing theme to this masterfully cut Thom Browne designs.
Disney alumna, Jenna Ortega, has that magical aura which allows her to convincingly inhabit whatever role she is focussed in. Here, her costume is evocative of the swashbuckling pirate thanks to the sweep of her train and her confident swagger.
Bella Ramsey’s pose more than her costume is the winning photograph. She seems as though a mere child wide awake at the ball, neither groggy nor fazed. She is stunningly august-souled.
Another Disney alumna, whose matured into a pop princess, is Olivia Rodrigo whose costume is utterly marvellous. Love Thom Browne’s use of prime colours black and white and the range of combinations are incredible. Ms. Rodrigo is seriously fabulous…. what a great dress.
Not really classic tweed, there is something about the fibres and fabric that’s evocative of another age. The tailoring, the ribbing, the oversized stitches, to say nothing of the fishnet face veil are all winners. The real standouts are the exposed hips compensating for the monochromatic gloves is an ingenious detail that successfully works, especially so on singer, Teyana Taylor.
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Athlete Shai Gilgeous-Alexander brings it in this elegantly cut Thom Browne where white rather than black predominates. Gorgeous ensemble.
African Writer and entertainer, Trevor Noah looked decidedly handsome in his cornrows and the usual innocent smirk.
Pusha T. sports the rapper’s signature cornrows which nicely complements his two-toned Thom Browne suit.
Here’s a rather straight forward Thom Browne outfit being worn by actor Alexander Skarsgård.
The master himself, designer Tom Ford adding commanding power, style and elegance to the costume ball.
Pierce Brosnan wears Tom Ford whilst his beautiful wife, Keely Shaye Smith, is adorned in Monique LHuillier. Gosh she’s glamourous.
Next up, Seth Meyers and wife, Alexi Ashe. He definitely is attired in Tom Ford, she though I’m not certain of.
The always elegant, Joan Smalls brings her light and glamour to the gathering. Who doesn’t look sensational in black lace? Smashing!
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Always expect Bradley Cooper to be among the most stylish at any gathering. Suave and elegant.
Dee & Tommy Hilfiger appropriately attired in Tommy Hilfiger. Still going strong.
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NFL wide receiver, Stefon Diggs looking ever bit like a power athlete. Handsome man in a very beautifully cut suit.
Singer Jack Harlow returns to the Met Gala, looking even more dashing than last year. Here he does look like the subject of a 17th century Flemish painting.
Tory Burch of her eponymous design house came through as last year, looking next-level poised and glamourous. That is a very beautiful dress.
Indie folk Queen, Phoebe Bridgers wore one of the more elegant designs of Met Gala 2023. The beading and shoulder details evoke flapper/Edwardian glamour.
Emily Rajatkowski, of course, showed up. I think that I am being to get this human. This design is a bit understated for her ‘out there’ persona; it is beautiful.
Model Liu Wen, chose wisely. Off the shoulder, bouquet of white roses wrapped in a black column, black opera gloves capped off by perfect makeup.
What a difference a year makes. Just look at Nicole Peltz Beckham. She has so grown into her role of being on the world stage and a recognised actor. She glows, is more relaxed and clearly comfortable in her skin. They are genuinely a couple, Brooklyn looks ever more comfortable being her plus one. Her black ribbon choker is everything.
Go Priyanka! The Citadel is some serious chops! The white opera gloves and Nick Jonas’s leather jacket, to say nothing of the Bulgari necklace beautifully complement their synergy.
Rhianna and A$AP Rocky have graced the costume ball this year… and she is yet again expectant and it shows. Rhianna always seems to be most comfortable at the Met Gala and enjoying herself.
EGOT(Emmy Grammy Oscar & Tony) Viola Davis is coming through that’s who. No one does pink and red like Valentino and no one wears colours better than the masterful actor, Viola.
Oscar-nominated actor, Stephanie Hsu presented a beautiful interpretation on Hollywood Glamour, which in the age of gender fluidity was celebrated with the tie’s inclusion. This dress was magnificent.
Another actor at the Costume Ball, Florence Pugh certainly brought that drama in a headdress that worked at night for its theatricality and much reminded of delightful Poppy Delevingne’s blue feather fascinated worn at Jack Brooksbank and Princess Eugenie’s delightful wedding. Pugh’s black fascinator was nicely set off by the floor length black ribbon that kept her business in check as this seemed to want to spill out from the exquisite white gown with train.
Designer Vera Wang attended in a design that light and airy; mostly tulle there was an ode to Karl Lagerfeld with the use of an oversized pearl-like necklace and his first name on ther train.
Actor Lily Collins wore a black and white version of Vera’s gown with Karl’s name on the black rather than pale train.
Donatella wore a beaded pink column that was minimalist and elegant.
Actor Anne Hathaway, who rarely does events like these, looked radiant as ever in a pearl ribbing trained gown that was a clear ode to Karl Lagerfeld.
Charlotte Tilbury wore a jade green Versace which handsomely set off her healthy red mane. Exuberant.
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Sino-Canadian actor, Simu Liu looked naturally refined in this snug Versace; love those shoes.
Actor Elle Fanning, who attended Vivienne Westwood’s London memorial February past along with Kate Moss, Victoria Beckham, Anna Wintour, Chryssie Hynde, the ever bewitching Lily Cole, Bob Goldof, Bianca Jagger, Zhandra Rhodes, Edward Eninnful, Vanessa Redgrave, Bella Freud, Marchioness of Bath Emma Thynn, Stormzy, Twiggy, Marc Jacobs, Farida Kelfa, Yasmin, Amber & Simon Le Bon, Erdem Moralioglu, Tracy Emin, Paloma Faith & Alexa Chung. Elle’s floral crown and bouquet is a fitting tribute to the departed creative genius, Karl Lagerfeld.
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Finneas O’Connell always looks Straight outta the closet as he hides out in this Vivienne Westwood coat.
Chloe Fineman did a horrible job of hosting the red carpet at Met Gala 2023 along with the unflappable Derek Blasberg who did his elegant best to make sure that none of that shit got on his shoes. Her Jackson Wiederhoeft was chic and understated, all eclipsed by her deplorable social skills on the evening.
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Broadway star, Ben Platt was memorable in his white with black trimming suit proved a smash.
Unlike last Met Gala’s leather clad dominatrix chic, this year, Irina Shayk went for a totally different approach and opted for Yohji Yamamoto’s ethereal white design.
Hugh Jackman here is attired in Zegna, his wife, Deborah-Lee Furness’s attire I never discovered. As ever, the partners always look blissfully harmonious. Elegant.
NOTABLE
Agnes Chiu, president Entertainment, Condé Nast & Tom Gilmore also attended the Costume Institute Ball. All these notables are here gathered as their outfits’ designers were not readily found anywhere. Look good they did nonetheless.
When you mum is Anna Wintour, you are going to show up. The lovely Bee Corrozzini and filmmaker partner, Francesco were cool, relaxed, adding the wow factor to the evening.
Everyone’s favourite crooner, Josh Groban, who currently stars on Broadway, arrived with Natalie McQueen, tatts and all. He’s marvellously attired… smooth as ever.
Willow Bay & Bob Iger turned up in honour of Karl Lagerfeld. Gosh her gown is next-level fabulous whilst he kept it real in Karl Lagerfeld sneakers.
Kargo Global CEO, Harry Kargman and partner Jill Kargman attended the Costume Institute Ball celebration of Karl Lagerfeld’s creative genius. She looks marvellous.
Condé Nast CEO, Roger Lynch & partner Cathleen Lynch attended this year’s Met Gala. Her dark blue gown is supremely elegant.
Instagram CEO, Adam Mosseri & partner Monica Mosseri graced the evening with their dignified presence. There is a lot of detailing her her dark elegant attired nicely complemented by the black opera gloves.
Grace Murdoch and her mum, Wendi Deng Murdoch attended the affair in beautiful pastel gowns looking ethereal with mum anchored by that exquisite necklace.
Tony-nominated (win it) Wendell Pierce stepped away from starring on Broadway to attend the evening’s Gala. He was joined by the chic, Erika Woods. Good luck, June 11th Mr. Pierce!
Blackstone Group CEO Stephen Schwarzman was accompanied by the shimmering Christine Schwarzman in a gold one-shouldered gown. Glamourous… mais oui!
Charles Shaffer, Anna Wintour’s son and partner Elizabeth Cordry bringing their warm glamour to the ball.
Entertainment executive, Casey Wasserman & partner Jennifer Chandler brought their warmth and glamour to the ball.
Adrienne E. Adams, speaker of the New York City Council attended the ball in a beautiful single shoulder lace affair. Elegant with a most warm beautiful smile.
Dr. Lisa Airan attended in a beautiful yellow flowing gown, radiating her light. Beautiful earrings.
Model Montana Cox breezed through in a minimalist lean black sheath.
She’s just a Broadway Baby! Yeah, Micaela Diamond is coming through that’s who. Currently, on Broadway in Parade, she wore an exquisite lilac gown to the ball.
Vogue & Teen Vogue director, Lisa Love was chic in vintage coat dress attire. Refine.
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Broadway Tony-nominated actor, Jonathan Groff came through with a touch of theatricality to his suit and looked every inch the winner.
Well, of course, Vogue creative editorial director Mark Guiducci would attend the glamourous ball. The white tie was sublime.
Two-time Emmy-nominated E! presenter and Variety executive, Marc Malkin came through and did not disappoint in his red carpet turn at this year’s Met Gala. From the tie, to jacket to nails, he wore dignified iconic style like a pro.
Norwegian billionaire, Gustav Magnar Witzoe must be the obsession of every latter day Andrew Cunanan, working the 1% sugar daddy circuit. Gustav, of course, is a model… no shit! Darling… does it even matter if it is not art?
Karl was many things beyond eccentric and creative genius of he highest order; he was also the godfather to Hudson Kroenig who along with Choupette has inherited the majority of his vast fortune. Sweet and blissful dreams Karl; thank you for having grace this world with your stellar magic. No not adieu, à la prochaine!
Hand in Hand – Mulgrew Miller Full Album 1993
1. Grew’s Tune
2. For Those Who Do
3. Thinkin’ Out Loud
4. Leilani’s Leap
5. Like The Morning
6. Hand In Hand
7. Return Trip
8. Waltz For Monk
9. Neither Here Nor There
Christian McBride – Bass
Lewis Nash – Drums
Joe Henderson – Tenor Saxophone
Eddie Henderson – Trumpet, Flugelhorn
Mulgrew Miller – Piano
Kenny Garrett – Soprano & Alto Saxophones
Steve Nelson – Vibraphone
This past week, I had the most lucid of dreams; this was decidedly beyond the norm. It was set at the cosy intimate funkiness of the Village Vanguard; this reanimation was, though, set on the astral plane. As in all astral plane-focussed dreams, the basement Jazz club had ridiculously high vaulted ceilings and the ambiance in the place seemed millennia old. Everyone here was of 9 strand DNA heritage and the most refined of souls. I sat at a deuce, alone, nursing a glass of Henny and smoking a decent Cohiba. Onstage the divinely gifted astral plane habitué Mulgrew Miller was alone, playing the most mind-altering Jazz not often heard this side of the dreamtime. I drew on a quickened breath as walking to join me was Merlin; he wore a panama hat and a parrot brooch, both favourites of his and his loose slacks were held in place with suspenders. What was different here, was Merlin looked as he did in the life prior to being reborn in Toronto. In that life, Merlin was born creole (high yellow) in Louisiana and made his way to New York City during the Harlem Renaissance; he was an amateur Jazz musician. He sat, put his arm around me and we kissed; it had been too long since I had felt such quiet ecstasy on kissing a lover most rare. Just like that, I awoke and began flooding my art-filled home with Mulgrew Miller’s Hand in Hand.
These utterly stunning dream experiences occurred on Thursday, February 16, 1989, whilst the Moon transited both Cancer and my second house.
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I was on a street and just beyond the other side of the street was the edge of a cliff; it looked down into a distant valley. It was very sunny out. I was seated in front of a house.On my right was a man who had come home from work in a car. He looked very Italian except that he seemed to be very hirsute – as though he had quite dark skin.However, on closer inspection, he turned out to be rather hirsute. A little later on, he came outside again. His neighbours were looking at him, kind of strangely, like they weren’t already accustomed to looking or reacting to him in a strange manner.
He sat down next to me outside, on the neighbouring bench to my right, both of us with backs to the neighbours. He turned and looked at me and his face was rather ape-like.It was the colour black and his hair was quite different. This man had a long widow’s peak and his face was literally the colour black. It was quite ape-like. He said nothing. More than that, he seemed rather friendly and nice.Along that street, there were kids when a car had pulled up. They were very teenage kids – all boys. A boy came out further along and returned to join one of his companions.
Then it turned out that his companion was in a car that was black and seemed to move, as it were, on air-cushioned rubber wheels. This black car of his was rather aerodynamic.After his friend took off, he then – this is the little blond timid guy – went over towards the cliff. Directly in front of the hirsute ape-like man, who was seated to my right, the blond guy went into the bushes.The young guy turned out to have been his brother – that guy who looked like a twin of his or resembled a brother. They hung out together and then he went moving on.
As he passed me, going from right to left, a friend of his was coming down the road. The road had a curve in it and went steeply up a hill. The hill, in fact, looked like the hill at Toronto’s Prospect Cemetery on the south side of Kitchener Street. His friend came down and he was wearing a helmet because he had been on some sort of vehicle. He removed the helmet, carrying it in his right hand, as they greeted each other.Strangely, they greeted by grabbing each other around the hips and rubbed their crotches together, joked and laughed. In essence, they engaged in clothed frottage.
I thought it interesting that two males would engage in open sexual play, however, this seemed the natural standard way of greeting in this culture. Clearly, this was a sign that this was not exactly Kansas.I had the distinct impression that the twin blonds had gone into the gorge to do drugs. As they were blissing out, only the crown of their golden mops was visible.They were using the very intense lushness of the rolling hills, in the valley way below, as a stimulant. Everything here was so pronouncedly healthy, even the star that shined seemed more intense and pure than Sol.I carefully looked at some of the trees and realised that they were bonsai, furry, mossy centuries-old plants that seemed to hum at a frequency higher than their arboreal counterparts on Earth.
I was able to zoom into the plants in the valley way below and experience them in intimate close-up. Of course, this I accomplished whilst remaining seated on the bench where to my right on another sat the über-poilu, intensely warm, handsome ape-like man.The helmet was the same black, light, metal-plastic alloy material as the car. It seemed to have the ability to absorb the intense sunlight, which was not scorching, and cool the interior.The blond who greeted his Italian-looking helmeted friend – they were all, incidentally, the same hirsute ape-like stock as the jet-black man seated to my right – had patted the car as he moved around its rear into the road to meet his dark-haired friend.He had patted the car much like one would a trusted horse. At that, the car had hissed and lurched to the road from its hovering stationary position a foot off the ground.
Later on, in the second dream, I was still on the same street. There were all these little kids. They were on skateboards. They came down about four, five, six, of them – little guys. One of them was Black. He was quite light-skinned. They were from a high social class. They were very friendly and nice and I warmly interacted with them.However, they were quite reserved and it wasn’t as though they weren’t friendly. As I was a stranger, for that reason, they kept me at bay.On the lower part of the street, where I was with them, it was clearly a cemetery. As far as cemeteries go, it was quite different an arrangement. It had quite large tombstones in it – monuments.
There was one woman there in black who was seemingly Italian. She was carrying on; she was grieving by this one monument. It had on it a very interesting design and some of the graves were fresh.I explained to them, the little boys, that this was where one went. However, then one came back from there and was able to live a life again like they were now living.I explained to them in those terms, however, I did not force them to look at funerals. People’s focus on funerals as the end and fear of death was the trap, I explained to them.
In this the third dream, I was under these hugely tall trees and was working at the time. Clearly, I had been working for someone like Pete Wilkens or someone like him.I had left a shovel around. The shovel had been left about and from a long, long time ago. This was on the grounds of a park-like setting where there were lots of skeletons about. The skeletons were covered with a whole bunch of ants. It was strange because it seemed as though the bones were the remnants of lunch and had just been eaten.They seemed like the skeletons for fish except that the head bone of the fish – skull – was quite flat.
The head had three sides to it and the skeleton was again a narrow filament that had two identical spines that trailed the unusual-looking skull.The skeletons were quite white and were flexible like the white cartilage of a chicken breast. There was a bunch of ants all over them.I might also add that these flexible, double-spined, fish-like skeletons were covered with ants that were quite feathery and lumpy. These ants were almost like miniature tarantulas because they were so bulky, dark, rich and, in a way, nice to look at.
There was a shovel sitting about and I realised that I had left it there, when I worked last time which was some time ago, last season. However, nobody had actually moved it because it meant that it was my responsibility to have moved it.So I ended up moving a couple of rakes – they were, in fact, more like pole saws. When trying to clear the space, I took them from one area to the next.I must say that I was quite struck by the face of that particular man that I did see, whilst he sat on the neighbouring bench to my right, in the initial dream. Even here in another dream entirely, I kept seeing him in my mind’s eye.
The fourth dream found me going back to an apartment where Merlin and I were living together. There were ants all about the apartment.I told him,“You have to get out and go away for a while so I can clean away the ants.”I then went about disinfecting the place and got rid of the ants. I was even disinfecting beneath the floorboards… everywhere.Owing to his being full-blown with AIDS, I did not want Merlin being exposed to the harmful chemicals in the disinfectants. That, certainly, could have resulted in horrific consequences on his vastly compromised immune system.
With the fifth dream, I was in a large department store. There, I saw Isis da Braga who was there to buy a scarf. At the time, I was with two males; it was a Gay situation.Owen Hawksmoor was talking to someone who had a very large nose. The man to whom Owen spoke was Black. He seemed like we vaguely knew each other. He seemed, in fact, like Don Baxter.However, the face on this man was black and had hues of red in it. Not the colour black but as Black people look. More than that, such that it looked like the nose of an animal’s would like an aardvark or some such, the nose on this man was more like a snout.He wore white; both he and Owen did. There was some function, that one had to go to, for which Owen had complimentary tickets.
These two people, whom Owen and I had encountered, were saying that they did not know where their complimentary tickets were. I said that I knew I had mine. Anyway, Owen left them and went back up a flight of steps.It was quite light out, up the staircase, as though there was a skylight hung high overhead. Owen moved on and I went in search of Isis who had passed by. She was quite embarrassed, in fact, at seeing me with my arm about a Gay person.She went in and picked up a scarf and the scarf was worth 52$, I think, because she was putting down the balance of the money – the other half – 26$. She was there shopping.It was a black scarf and it had beautiful… the borders were red and green designs. It really was quite nice. I came and leaned on the counter and said hello to my sister.
She was reserved, cool and detached. She turned to me and was beautifully made up and looked very young with beautiful, flawless, flawless skin.She spoke about the fact that she did not go shopping with me anymore. She insisted that my accusation that she did not go shopping with me anymore because I was with men was not true.She was wearing a beautiful mustard-coloured jacket and a scarf about her neck. Indeed, she was quite well-off.
*The thing about these unusually droopy noses is that they looked as though this was a race of extra-humans (extra-terrestrials) which had evolved from simian mammals who were descended from proboscis monkey stock rather than not. It is a race of primates native to Borneo and the faces of those simians are rather human.This is how this man and others in this dream would appear. However, it was more than that look. END.
In the sixth dream, I was in an office that was like an indoor greenhouse. If you like, it was a mausoleum rather than greenhouse. It was sky-lit and there were a lot of caskets about. Some of them had flowers and some of them did not.When you came in, you went down some stairs and into a more open area. There you saw a burial crypt. It was an indoor burial crypt. There was a man about as well as a grand piano.Whenever the employees of the place came in, there was a woman standing about and she would excitedly say,“We have to go out, we have to go out.”I was with those little children, from the earlier dream, who were skateboarding and whom I had instructed earlier about the whole idea of reincarnation. These children were mostly White. We were also being hustled out of the place.
The woman then said,“What is he doing? There is not another service. Why is he trying to start up that piano?”The man at the piano was large and bent over and he looked somewhat out of place being there. Before we could be ushered out of the place, I managed to run up and put some flowers – some yellow flowers, on one of the brown caskets that was there.
*He was inordinately tall and hence drooped over a lot. Whilst seated at the grand piano, his towering height made it look as though an adult seated at a dollhouse piano. Too, he was inordinately pale… END.
As we were going out, the procession was coming in and people were being hustled in. It was quite a fast procession. I stuck around and tried to see the place and see why there was so much hustling.There and then, it turned out that I saw the casket. It was very flat and plain and I thought,‘Well why is it being hustled out? If it’s a funeral why would the relations be so ecstatic?’However, it turned out that because the burial box was so flat I thought it was going to be cremated. It turned out, however, that it was for the office. There was going to be a surprise party.
It was actually a cake. It was covered up in wonderful, colourful wrapping paper. There was going to be a celebration and those were all the workers from the company. The atmosphere was quite nice and friendly.
In this the seventh dream, I was in a very, very large and busy restaurant where I ordered myself a bowl of soup. I was going to go upstairs to the bathroom but I had my bowl of soup in my hand.It was very Gothic-styled. It seemed, in fact, like the inside of a château. It was in the Gothic style except that the walls were rose granite – rose-coloured granite. It was, however, rather smooth-surfaced.I then accidentally spilled my bowl of soup. The waitress who had come to my aid was dark-haired – short, dark hair. She looked like a dancer who danced with the Winnipeg Contemporary Dancers when I was living in Winnipeg – the one who was Lebanese and had had a back injury.
Anyway, this waitress went off and I was waiting there being quite embarrassed. I was trying to rush to the toilet. I asked someone where the toilet was and they said,“No, no, not upstairs.”It turned out that the washrooms were, in fact, to the rear. So off I went to the bathroom and I was quite embarrassed. I tidied up myself and I came back out and my white cotton pants – nice, beautiful trousers; they were baggy but they came in tight and folded in a pleat at the end at the hem – were quite stained by the soup.It was a dark sort of pea soup. A dark brownish fare, like a lentil soup, it was. However, it was not like a lentil soup because it was red.
I was trying to ask this man to move, in order to get by him, en route to the washrooms. There was a couple behind a man and they were very lovey-dovey.The man had to ask them to get up to let me get to the bathroom. He did not want to get up or anything like that but he finally realised he had to get up. So he basically moved and he was quite unusually blond.Everybody in this place was very unusual-looking. They had extraordinary features about them. They were excessively good-looking but they had an outstanding feature that made them seem Thothesque.Again, noses here were very long, droopy and bent over. Their noses were almost beaklike in that sense. That was the extraordinary thing about that jet-black skinned man, in the initial dream, as well as this blond man who had the same feature.
Humanoid with exact nose as this Proboscis Simian
These persons were all exceptionally tall. They were each on the other side of seven-plus feet. Also, they were so über-poilu, it made it look like they were either jet-black when Black or yellow-white for being blond.Finally, he did move and when I was leaving, I looked at him. He was looking down at me because I was out of sorts, out of place, being there. Standing before him, he really did tower over me.Clearly, these persons were EHs – extra-humans or ETs.Another person had come by and tidied me up. He busily got me back to where I was seated. Then he had mumbled something like, “Why don’t you get out of here real fast?”
So I went out into the vestibule and I was waiting and waiting for the waitress to come by because I wanted to pay her for my bowl of soup. I think it was going to be $3 or something like that.Isis just said,“Why don’t we just get out of here?”We were waiting out front and it was busy so I finally got out. However, I was arguing and said,“That’s not the point of it.” I strongly felt that I should be paying my way. So I thought to just go back and put down my money on a table somewhere – I would feel better.However, I did finally leave, after having been more or less harassed by Isis without having paid. She was asking, “If you can save the money, why not save it?” that was her attitude.
When we were leaving there was a tall, enormously tall, man. He was White. Again, he had the same beaklike nose and there was something about his face that I found immediately sexual. His face was intensely sexualised.I was going to indulge and not leave because I so wanted to explore this man. However, Isis hustled me out of there.
Dream eight found me in the streets. I was walking with a baby – a little Black baby who was light-skinned. I carried the baby on my shoulders.It was rather nice. This time, out on the street, it was dark out and it was night time. This place we went to, that was quite busy, was bustling with lots of wonderful, wonderful people. It was very cosmopolitan here. A brief dream it was too.
I next found myself in a ninth dream experience that had a great deal of uproar and tumult to it. There were figures in black who were part of some sort of religious sect. These persons were just alarmingly fanatical.They were terrorists and they wore black. They had some sort of insignia on their bodies. As a matter of fact, they were looking for me; there was no mistaking that fact.I was in what would be Catherine Angelica Montpelier’s yard. I was trying to hide out there. There were, somehow, attempts to get me out.Then there was this truck which the people who were like security guards used. I was told where to find them and where they weren’t.
So I went into this yard and it seemed like part of Catherine Angelica Montpelier’s property and the neighbourhood in Crab Hill, Sandy Point, St. Kitts. However, it was differently set up here.There was an Indian-looking girl – Amerindian-looking and not Dravidian. She, too, had a beaklike nose and I tried to explain to her,“Well look, you know I’m being pursued…”
“Oh yes!” further, she made reference to the fact, “Oh yes, you’re the one who killed Bob… or somebody.”Up on the roof was like Bob’s brother, whoever Bob was, but it wasn’t a name that I recognised. His name was Bob, however; it was Patrice Wellesley, of all people, who was keeping a lookout.He was supposed to notify the guard-like people. I intuitively knew that on the far side of the wall, of the place where I was hiding out, was a guy and a girl. She had very long black hair and was quite militant. They were looking out for me and talking.
I was telling the Amerindian-looking girl with the Thothesque nose, who was talking to me and dropping pieces of information, to just shut up and calm down, “You don’t need to say everything and carry on and on.”However, she still kept on blabbing away.I then managed to go around the side of the house. She was with her sister and they were playing some sort of game. So I thought to actually go around, to the front of the house, to ask her who her sister was.I then went around to the front of the house and there was her sister who seemed like Diana Nottingham – with whom I modelled at OCAD and did that pose with her at OCAD that Olaf Nordstrom had painted.
Anyway, she was quite wonderfully made up in whiteface. As though she were a Kabuki actor/actress, she wore white pancake makeup. She was, in fact, an actress. She was waiting to go on and perform a role of hers.It was quite interesting because she was, in fact, filling me in on what was going on,“In point of fact Arvin, you know, basically someone died because in self-defence in a rumble with them… it was just a lazy man about town, an idler and a drifter.”He apparently ended up dying because, during some sort of attack on me, as I was defending myself he was accidentally killed. As a result, I was on the run and there was a plot – the militant group was out to get me.
Immanuel Methodist Church, Sandy Point, St. Kitts
She told me that what I could do was go behind the Methodist Church in Crab Hill, Sandy Point, St. Kitts. The place, however, was set out as if a mélange of Crab Hill, Sandy Point, St. Kitts and elsewhere.So she told me to go across the railroad tracks. On coming around, I would be able to come home free to my home in Crab Hill. However, she pointed out that all along the route there were the same guards – militant fanatics.However, I just had to play it safe. She confidently assured me that they could be headed off. I was grateful for her advice and took her directives to heart.Well, low and behold, the girl – the militant sibling – came around the yard and caught me. When she caught me, I fled in escape. I went and hid behind the wall.I am not referring to Diana or one of the two sisters who had been around the backyard but there were two other sisters. These other two sisters were part of the militant group that was on the hunt for me.
The girl pulled out a weapon and it had a little blade on it. It was quite deadly and I kept hiding myself trying to extricate myself out of the place. I did so by holding up one of the sisters, in front of me, as a hostage.Someone got spliced in the left hand. I don’t recall that it was me or if it was me, I simply did not feel any pain when attacked. The vicious-looking wound had self-healed right away. I had focussed my light energies on the wound and caused it to instantaneously self-heal.Anyway, I was able to push the sister onto them. I then made my way around to the back of the house. By this time, the brother was coming around the house from the other direction.
When I say I went around to the back of the house, it was where I had originally encountered the two militant sisters. By that point, she had already called for help from the guardsman. He was somewhat ecstatic as he came around. However, this was my chance to flee. So I climbed over the fence and immediately there was a lot of plastic on and all over everything. When I climbed over the wall it was, clearly, what in the waking state would be the very back end of the Methodist Church estate.It was covered with a heavy plastic and there was a lot of wood. There was scaffolding everywhere. I climbed along the wood and the sister – the white-faced, actor of the two sisters – had told me that I could get immunity by saying that I was coming to work on the grounds or some such.
Next, I crawled along the scaffolding and looked to my left. However, this being a dream, it had semblances to being Sandy Point but it wasn’t really Sandy Point either.I realised that there were apartments, tiny apartments, which were glass-enclosed. They were all quite in disarray. People lived there but nobody seemed to be home.Here I was trying to make my escape and if anybody had seen me, of course, I would be squealed on. Then I finally jumped down, out of the ceiling-like area, because there were crates and boxes and a straw-stuffed bed under me directly below the window.I came down to an open area and there I saw a much darker version of Artemis da Braga, my niece. She was sitting wrapped with a telephone cord about her as she played with the phone.I greeted her but I did not want to get her excited because I wanted to flee the area.
Sentient Alien Land Rover
Next, in dream ten, I came out of this beautiful house and came out into a wonderful backyard. Immediately, whilst there, I saw another of those vans. There had also been a van in the earlier dream that showed how these people, the militant people, worked.They had a van and it had another little van on the inside when it opened up claw-like. It appeared that the top and the bottom, the back rather, could open up. Inside it revealed another vehicle that was covered in a brownish greasy goop. The most interesting feature of this entire affair was that, although they looked human enough, the militiamen were not human. They were extra-human. So too was the machine which, from its goopy fluids, was sentient.It was an EH species which they were using to capture and feed one to. It seemed that the machine-like EHs were, in fact, in control of the militia-type EHs rather than the reverse.
It seemed more creature than a vehicle and, somehow, this was what I was supposed to be put in when captured. These two Black men, who were guarding the house and who let me know that they were guarding the house, were saying,“Aha! Now we’ve caught you.”You know, I thought about it and there was just no way that I was going to let them capture me.‘I’ve got to get away,’ I thought.At the time, one of them was taking a pee – both these men were Black. They were quite casual about having caught me. They apparently were going to get their supervisor who would take care of me.
The supervisor came and he looked like the guy from Trinidad who had worked as a chef at the Underground Railroad Restaurant when, long ago, I worked there. He did, at least, seem like that man.This man, who was their supervisor, was also Black. He had the semblance, the air about him, of that chef but he did not so much look a great deal like him. He was rotund and fairly light-complected.He lived in the house. Rather, he did not live in the house but he was staying in the house as a caretaker. I thought,‘I’m not going to be captured. I’m not going to be caught. I can disguise myself.’
Rendering Self Invisible by Increasing Light Vibration
I immediately started accelerating my energies and, as a result, I was able to transform myself. As I upped my frequency, I heard an increase in the universal hum.I looked down at the backs of both my outstretched hands, keenly observing the intense sunlight react to my skin in a glowing sizzling manner, until my aura intensified and became visible about my body.My aura’s light grew brighter as my skin actually glowed with increasing intensity. It continued until the skin, throughout my entire body, was indistinguishable from the rest of the intense morning sunlight. When they went down the hill and came back with the guy, I was standing there right in front of the house. It was this particular, large wooden house.
It wasn’t large, for being a bungalow, but the door was large. This house was definitely not part of the landscape in Sandy Point, St. Kitts. As I looked on, the guards came bearing the portly gentleman.I was aware from the way he – the supervisor, Zen sage – was talking that he was aware that I was there. Perhaps, he could see me but the other two – the militant guardsmen – couldn’t see me.I realised what I had done: I had made myself light so that I blended in with the landscape and couldn’t be seen. I had rendered myself invisible!
I then decided that I could further transform myself. Next, I made myself into this little white piece of what seemed like string. However, it was more like nylon. It was like shiny waxed dental floss.Such that half way there was a loop in it, it was tied in a knot. It was doubled on itself so that it was, I would guess, three to five inches long at the most.I obviously was astrally projected to another world where, rather lucidly, I was dreaming and interacting with extra-humans. The dental floss-like string was the cord of light which keeps one’s astral body connected, to the waking state body, when astral-projected during sleep.
The Light Umbilical Cord Connected to Astral Body
Immediately, the caretaker guy took the cord – the wax-like cord – which was my transformed-dreamer self in his hand. It was my astral body’s cord which was left rendered visible whilst I remained invisible.He began giving the two guardsmen a walk-through of the house in which only he should have been. It was a house that was no longer lived in. It was wooden all about and very organic.It was a house that allowed for natural light to pour in. There was a skylight. The house was low in the sense that it was dug in. The house was built such that it was somewhat half-buried below the surface. In that way, it was kept cool because it was partly below-ground. All about, on either side, as you walked in every part of this beautiful, sprawling bungalow were every manner of cactus.
These were cacti that were shaped like trees that had leaves. Absolutely stunning and incredible, they enlivened the house throughout.He gave me a tour of the place with the two guardsmen, who could not see me, in tow. As he walked them back to the front door he said,“So you see, he really couldn’t be here. You go off and look for him.”He tossed me or what was my representation – the wax-looking string or my astral body’s umbilical-like cord of light – from his right hand sending it through a doorway of the house. He then went about his business and showed them to the door and got rid of them.At this point, I rematerialised back to my regular dreamer self in this dream and I was able to let on to him that I knew that he knew of my being invisible. So I called him, on another phone in the house, and I remained absolutely silent.I then telepathically shared my thoughts with him. I inferred that I knew that he was aware that I was present in the house though invisible to most. Of course, he knew that I was there but he was just not going to acknowledge my being friendly with him.The fact is that he knew that I was in trouble. He was just trying, out of the goodness of his heart, to help me out. However, he wasn’t going to befriend me or anything like that.
Sprawling Partially Submerged Bungalow
So anyway, on my own I began exploring this beautiful, beautiful labyrinth-like bungalow. The walls of it were wooden. It was a reddish wood like redwoods normally look. It had a shiny hue to it because it was polished.I was talking about it to someone, later on in the dream, and it was in fact the same guy – the caretaker – who had accompanied me at one point. I said it seemed like it was built by Frank Lloyd Wright and he said,“No. Not really…”It seemed like it but it was a different style altogether; however, it was more or less like Frank Lloyd Wright. Seriously though, it was a totally different style.So I went about exploring the place. I went in this one room that was clearly a bedroom. I opened the door and went in – it was a glass door. I went in and on the left were shelves.
There were tiny, tiny, little cacti in pots and some of them were large and some of them were blooming. They were heliotropically craning over to one side.This place had been abandoned for quite some time. However, all the cacti in the place had managed to grow quite large. They were big, bulbous, beautiful and wonderfully lifelike.The spread to the bed was turned down and discarded. It had been left just as when last used by the owner. There was a bulldog; it was not a live one but a statue of a bulldog.This person had a great deal of style and was quite successful. I realised that the owner, the former occupant, was Black. I saw the face and I can’t say that I can recall the face but, somehow, I got the impression that the face was a face of mine if you like.
Bungalow’s Debonair Former Occupant
It was interesting because when I saw the face that is basically the information that I got from looking at the face in the photo. There was a tiny time-faded photograph of a face. It was of a Black man.This was the sense that I got from it, that it was me, in fact.There were beautiful trousers about. As well, there was a large armoire with tons and tons of beautiful, silk robes that I had worn in that life.They were worn around the house by the former occupant. There were, on the bed, some clothes. Too, there was a table beside the bed.Everything in this bungalow was very organic: the bed was very organic, the desk was and even the fixtures were very organic. As well, the cloth was very organic – by organic, I mean that it wasn’t inanimate.
It was organic because it was lifelike. More than that, it was organic because it was breathing. That’s why it had lived so long because it was quite some time since last occupied by the owner.However, it was very much so still alive. The sheet and bedding, on the bed, were woollen and greyish-coloured.The only reason why I had entered the room, in the first place, was I wanted to roam – to see if there were any signs of underwear… there was. There was tons of underwear on the shelves behind me.I wanted to check and sniff his underwear, to see if he had masturbated.
Anyway, when I got into the room, that little adventure had totally evaporated. For having seen the photograph, if you like I was quite interested in exploring the place and getting to refamiliarise myself with the place.The bedroom was just absolutely beautiful. Off to the left, rather behind the shelves and straight ahead, was the closet and the bed was to the right of the door.
Down this long hallway that was sky-lit were the tables and tables of clothing. There was a door past the shelves, on the left, and it looked into more and more clothes.I then came out of there and I went about exploring all over. This time, I went to explore all the cacti in the place. There were tons and tons of them.Shortly thereafter, I was joined by Carl Leroiderien, Merlin and someone else who seemed like Mario of Paris – Mario D’Agostino, however, it wasn’t him.I had a sense of Maxime Gascoigne-de Montigny being about and Carl Leroiderien had seemed like a custodian of the place. Carl was a caretaker or curator of the sprawling bungalow which now seemed like an historic site.When he was excitedly walking everyone through the place, to show them the place, he was referring to the owner. I was there but, again, none of these people had any awareness that I was there – not even Merlin.
He was sort of filling them in on who the owner was. From what I could see, Carl was doing a good job of it.There were cacti that were tall. There were also red ones. There was one cactus that was tall and it had needles on it. It had large, large leaves and two or three leaves like those of a royal palm’s.Most of it was like a palm tree but it was like a breadfruit leaf or some sort of leaf like a maple leaf – albeit an extra large maple leaf. It was, however, cactus.Everywhere there were plants on either side of the skylight hallways. The bungalow was a series of long halls that were all connected and veered off in different directions.
However, it was a house that had basically become a living garden such that it was organic. The cacti truly were the lungs of the house. The air was really nice and it was cool.The humans were able to live with the cacti because it was a totally self-sustainable dwelling. As the light came in heliotropically sustaining the various cacti species, it added breath, depth and dimension to the space thereby making it equally organic.Too, because it was partially submerged belowground, there was a lot of moisture from underground that kept these plants alive. The cacti were quite happy and they had grown so beautifully.It was as if they were bonsai cacti. It was quite incredible how they were all over the place throughout the house.
Then I went down some steps to another open area of the bungalow. Again, there were more cacti. We moved off and came to an area where Carl said,“Oh let’s go downstairs, I can show you the basement. You can see all these wonderful things.”When you looked out the skylight area, it was of the street, the pathway into what would seem Crab Hill, Sandy Point, St. Kitts. So I immediately was afraid to be seen yet I was assured by Carl as he stilled my nerves telepathically saying,‘Oh, it’s okay… it’s okay.’I was concerned about the people, who lived across the street, reporting me to the militia-types. There was bamboo, organic bamboo if you like, that was made into a fence.It seemed like the backyard of what was the neighbour’s house and they weren’t there. I was told it was quite safe that it was okay. The neighbours weren’t there to squeal on me.
Before you went down the steps, into this other area, there were all these beautiful, beautiful organic works that are quite common in the Orient. For example there were many objets d’art.These were objets d’art which were beautiful temples and totems. They were all made from the ivory of elephants’ tusks. It was all beautifully detailed and in miniature – all the miniature designs were made of ivory.That was the sort of stuff. This particular objet d’art was large. It was square-shaped so that it wasn’t like an elephant’s tusk. More like an obelisk, if you like, it was.They were more so little temples. They were shrines and Greek temples if you like. What was truly fascinating was how incredibly detailed they were though scaled down versions of the real architectural gems.
We moved on and now we came to an area that had nothing but wares. There were lots of baskets everywhere because this was where the ornaments were kept. They were all stored therein.Carl was the caretaker of these things. He was quite familiar with every item and, again, there were bamboo basket-like wares and objets d’art.I was told that this was, in fact, like a wine cooler. It was so delicately and intricately made. Also, the item was collapsible. It could open. The objet d’art was like a valise and it could open up.Merlin went and opened it and was prying into it. It had two African skulls or heads on it and it was quite beautifully detailed as a matter of fact.
We then moved on and came into the downstairs area. This place was like a cellar. Somehow, copious rays of sunlight made it to this part of the sprawling, multi-levelled bungalow.Even though we were further underground yet, somehow, the sunlight came in. However, I soon realised that it wasn’t sunlight. It was just this light that was white and somewhat diffuse.It was quite soft and nice to the touch. Among the many stored wares, there was something that had a white bamboo-like coil. This thing had a piece of string attached to it with two yellow sticks or shoots like chopsticks.
You could insert it and it was, in fact, quite sexual. The Mario D’Agostino character immediately grabbed it up. Whilst simulating sexual play, he was playing around with it.He was making noises filled with sexual innuendo and then said,“Umm, get undressed and put it on your cock because that’s what it’s made for.”Oh he was so happy to perform and went off to try on the item.
*Here now, some further comments set in the dream in the beautiful house. Here, the atmosphere in this house was one of serenity and it was a reflection of that particular life that one had led whence the proprietor was Black.Tall and very erudite, he seemed a man of the world. He was well-travelled. He loved beautiful music and he had a collection of things in his bedroom that were totems from his travels.He was obviously tall because there were lots of khaki and white summer pants which all gave a sense of his height. When I had first entered into the room, there was also a rack that I had bumped into.I hadn’t noticed it because it was suspended from the ceiling. It was racked with leather suspenders and an enormous collection of belts: broad belts, narrow belts, as well, skinny belts.
There were all kinds of beautiful belts. They were very expensive and they were also very organic and ancient. They weren’t brand new any of them.It was all a reflection of the person’s spirit. You never met the person but you knew the person through the house. It was beautiful and wonderfully planned out.The sprawling, organic bungalow was so multidimensional; it went off in all these directions and avenues because that was who this person was in that lifetime. In a box to call home, he was not contained or restrained.The organic house constantly veered off. It had many apartments and veered off and had many cul de sacs. There were areas where he could go and be removed from all the other areas yet be surrounded by plants.
At all times, he was surrounded by life itself and it was healthy… quite nice.Whilst at the restaurant having the lentil-looking soup, the reason for the extra-tall, obvious extra-human being impatient with me was more subtle than one may assume. With their sophisticated proboscis, it is safe to assume that smell was the most developed of this extra-human race’s senses rather than sight as is the case for we humans.Likely, there was something very off-putting to my pheromone makeup which left the seated extra-human uncomfortable. I don’t think that it was a matter of my race, Black, but my species, Earthly human, which made the über-poilu, blond extra-human uncomfortable.
As I was in his home world, he naturally felt put upon for having the unfavourable aspects of my pheromones anywhere near him. At the end of the day, he was an incarnate ensouled fragment who is one of seven soul types and with the same selection of overleaves as any Earthly human. Any Earthly human would have similarly responded to having someone of outré pheromone and species in their midst.
Almost instantaneously, as the Moon transited Leo in my third house, my lungs besottedly drank the warm and dank, dark air. Thus I effortlessly drowned into sleep. Whilst wintry winds howled outside the window, this cold early Saturday morning – November 18, 1989 – my lucid focus seamlessly shifted into the dreamtime.
I readily knew that I was dreaming.
Here, just as moments earlier whilst awake and meditating, Merlin was uppermost in my thoughts. I could sense his presence. The shift from one dimension to the other was seamless. Lucidly self-aware, I was immediately come to in a dream that was set in the bedroom where I slept.
I was in bed with the artist Olaf Nordstrom – a source of loving support at present in the waking state. I was lying in bed, leaning on his bony chest, as he sat up in bed. It was obvious from his body language that he did not want to be in bed with me. I felt a still and quiet vibration to this dream. The moment was truly serene and peaceful. This was not a sexual or post-sexual interlude. We were both reflective. It was obvious that we were on the cusp of something momentous. It was the sort of vibration that signalled that something extraordinary was about to unfold.
Olaf behaved as if he was uncomfortable being there – it was a grave moment. He wanted to be there, however, to merely lend his support. It was obvious that he was wary of my clinging. Clinging, however, was not my intention. The moment together was brief – just a preparation for things to come. With that we parted. It was time to get up and participate in the events of whatever was to unfold.
This dream was possessed of inordinate lucidity; its every detail and nuance my faculties absorbed with acuity beyond the norm.
In the second dream, this cold Saturday morning, I found myself in the familiar territory of the Cabbagetown streets where we lived. I went into a store which does not exist in the waking state. It sat just south of the Pet Menagerie store, on the east side of Parliament Street, between Amelia and Winchester Streets.
It was a tailor’s shop that carried rather high-end fabrics. I was there to pick out some fabric because I had a definite idea of what I wanted to wear to Merlin’s funeral. I knew that the only way, to get the look that I wanted, was to make the outfit myself. The kindly, gracious salesman was trying to get me interested in a rather conservative plaid fabric but it simply was not to my liking. My aversion was not because it was plaid; rather, the tone was too sombre.
He was not insistent but let me know that it was appropriate. However, I would have none of it; I simply did not like the fabric or the colours. I simply was not going to have it. Unable to make up my mind and not wanting to make a decision about fabric, as there were so many ramifications to what it all meant, I left the store stepping into the light of day. It had been a very dimly lit, nicely wood-panelled, stately shop.
Once outside, I became acutely aware of Merlin. I was now returned to the yard of Cabbagetown’s 20 Amelia Street, where we lived, and Merlin was present with me. Thoughts of Merlin, on leaving the store, had me immediately posited in the front yard of 20 Amelia Street where I happily joined him. We were watering the lawn even though it was wintertime. Next door at 18 Amelia Street, where at this point Club Monaco designer Alfred Sung no longer lived, there were lots of potted plants hanging from the lone, purple-leaved, sugar maple tree.
Merlin was telling me to water the plants. He then began telling me, rather matter-of-factly, that I had to start taking care of the apartment – I had to make it a home again. Merlin asked me to start preparing things. He meant that this was not the time for procrastination. Of course, moments earlier in the prior dream, I had been procrastinating when down on Parliament Street to pick out fabrics to wear to his funeral. By avoiding the matter altogether, I had chosen instead to forego the purchase. As Merlin spoke to me, I became so aware of him that I completely became self-aware – both in the dream and in my sleep whilst in bed at 20 Amelia Street.
I was standing there very intently looking at Merlin. He, too, was very intently looking at me. Whilst we were unflinchingly looking into each other, I thought aloud with quiet resignation, ‘Merlin has died.’
I knew, too, that Merlin had heard my thoughts in the dream.
At that moment my sister Pandora da Braga, with whom Merlin enjoyed the best relations of anyone else in my life, suddenly became a presence in the dream. She never fully became physically manifested but her energies became overwhelmingly strong. Her energies were just to my rear as she played a loving and supportive role.
Suddenly, introspectively, I recalled a dream which I had had earlier in the week. With everything moving so quickly, in the waking state – with little time to collect my thoughts, let alone overlong time to record any dreams- it had slipped by unrecalled on awakening. However, now it was not merely being recalled, it was being relived in its entirety. I stood there and as I recalled the dream, rather seamlessly, I actually entered the dream which was being reanimated as it was being holographically recalled.
Within the reanimated dream being recalled and relived, I was again on the lawn at 20 Amelia Street in the warmth of the Sun’s rays. Just as in today’s dream, I was on the front lawn facing due north and the house with 18 Amelia Street on the left to the west. As Merlin and I were visiting in the outer dream of today, I had turned my body. Being in the same physical position had triggered the recall and reanimation of the dream from the past week.
To my left, I saw an incredibly ancient-looking, wise being who progressed across the lawn. The slowness of his progression was so measured that one’s experience of time, in the reanimated and recalled dream, progressed outside of time itself. It was simply magical to experience the progression of the very ancient and mystical being. The millennia-ancient figure progressed across the lawn, of 18 Amelia Street, heading towards our home at 20 Amelia Street. The being was male and small in stature; he was hobbit-like. His head was large, disproportionately large, compared to his tiny, frail-bodied frame.
He could not have been more than four feet tall. His head was absolutely massive. His forehead arched up and was high like an African’s. Too, his head was elongated in the back, reminiscent of Pharaoh Akhenaten’s skull. More striking than the majesty with which the august being progressed outdoors, towards our home at 20 Amelia Street, was the look of his face.
It was simply magical. From beneath the translucent skin, soft yellow-white light escaped revealing his very visible aura. Nothing but pure love, along with the same nonjudgmental look that ever peered back from Merlin’s eyes to mine, radiated from this being. The love radiating from the being towards me was awesome, immense – intense. The great being’s progress was purposeful. He was on a mission; he was unstoppable. The process had begun.
I was struck by the uncanny resemblance, which the face of this being bore, to the planet-being in the skies of Sandy Point, St. Kitts in a momentous dream during September 1983. It was a dream whose potency and beauty would lay unfathomable for years to come. The being progressed as though levitating mere millimetres above the rather zingy, extra-green grass of the lawns at both 18 and 20 Amelia Street. Though he did not pause as he progressed, the radiant being did turn and look at me. As though he was familiar with me, he acknowledged me by slightly nodding. However, he continued on towards our home.
He moved past me as I stood there, still and silent, drinking in the majesty of the experience. At soul-centre we were familiar to each other. I knew him. He knew me. I stood, alone and awestruck, in the front yard being refamiliarised by the vibration of his beauty as the effect of his potent powers spatially affected the dream. As he moved past, I was reminded of the film The Dark Crystal, by Jim Henson – with whom Merlin had worked, directing two episodes of the Fraggle Rock television series in its inaugural season. This movie would for several months, after we saw it together in New York City, be our favourite film.
Thereafter for several weeks, whenever we looked at each other – even when not being intimate, we had hummed at each other as the rival beings in the film did when communicating. The being here was much like the good beings in the Jim Henson film The Dark Crystal. The being progressed up the few stone steps, to the wooden veranda at 20 Amelia Street, and began making his way inside the house. As I watched him ascend, from the lawn to the veranda, it was clear to me that he was levitating. Though it was a dream and I too could have levitated and flown, he though had a power which surpassed mine.
This august-souled, mystical being clearly originated from a dimension which vibrationally and spiritually was of a higher plane than the astral, where the dream occurred, and the physical in which I am incarnate. Indeed, the same physical plane from which Merlin was rapidly taking his leave – it was that discernible. The moment the mystical being entered our home, being lost to view, I came to from the inner holographic dream which was a recall and reanimation of a dream that I had experienced within the last week. As I came to, I was about to go indoors to see what had become of the being that had clearly entered our home.
It was then, having returned to being fully focussed in the outer ‘shell’ dream of today November 18, 1989, that I saw Merlin anew. He was standing at the front door looking out at me. I stood there, in the front yard, transfixed whilst the bright daylight bathed my body throughout. The look on Merlin’s face was purely transcendent. He was perfectly still and perfectly radiant. Merlin stood in the midst of a nimbus of dazzling, blue-white light. As he lovingly glowed out at me, this splendid light only intensified.
Merlin was transformed and as his face lovingly lit up, at me, the light grew to more completely envelop his body. Whilst lovingly glowing at me with the warmest, most familiar knowing smile, Merlin slowly brought his right hand up with the palm facing me and more completely smiled. The radiance of his smile soon became lost in the glow of his aura’s light. The nimbus, enveloping his transformed body, radiated even more intensely at that point.
I was blown away. Arrested, I readily knew what I was experiencing; I could feel it. I knew that across dimensions, in the waking state, Merlin had just died.
However, as is my wont, I protested. I dropped the hose which was still bleeding its nurturing water onto the frozen, wintry lawn at my feet. I stood – paralysed. Determinedly, I then bolted for Merlin. I headed up to the veranda as my lover, as my mentor, as my friend stood transcendent in the doorway to what had been the most beautiful sense of home ever experienced. “Merlin!” shrieking in protest, I yelled out his name.
(Detail of oil on canvas by my sister Pandora of Toronto’s Mount Pleasant Cemetery where Merlin is buried.)
Suddenly, the thunder of my protesting breath abruptly drew me from sleep. I sat upright in bed, my arms outstretched and beyond, after having crashed back into my body and no longer astral-projected. From the foot of the bed both cats – Zora and Whoopi – knowingly, silently looked up. I was arrested by the frozen horror-struck face staring at me from the mirrored closet doors across the room.
In the near-darkness of the bedroom, a few rays of early morning light made it past the blood-red, velvet drapes heavily hung at the windows. Those rays starkly cast light on how horribly desolate my life now was. Merlin was gone. His spirit had taken leave from this world. It was that discernible as my world, my very universe, had experienced a massive vibrational shift.
I had been abruptly displaced from the astral plane. I had been lucidly dreaming a dream within a dream. I was being told so long as Merlin, transitioned from incarnate to astral plane habitué, bade farewell to our magically glorious union on the physical plane. I was heartened by the peace and knowingness in his transcendent face because I knew that it was a, “See you soon…” parting, for now.
I knew that there would be dreams aplenty up ahead. Just as he had pledged, he would magically weave in his indelible promise to me, before departing from the physical plane. There was such a cold silence, a stinging finality to the moment, as I sat there in bed. After having looked back at myself, silently waiting, I placed a call to the eighth storey nursing station at Wellesley Hospital.
I was immediately aware that the tone of the nurses, with whom I was by now long-familiar, had changed. In very little time, it was official… Merlin had indeed passed. Truth be told, it was not a surprise; I could sense it on awaking. He simply was not there. As always, I had reached out to sense him on awaking – his energies – just blocks away at Wellesley Hospital. Now, there was nothing.
Then, as if needing further proof, I thought about Merlin calling each morning. He would do so, to lovingly say hello and thereby, to lovingly wake me up. Merlin would then lovingly ask for a call-back, after I had audio-recorded the dreams. Merlin had, thus far, not called. Once again, I saw the stillness of my reflection across the room. I knew then, really knew… Merlin was gone.
*Since having posted this dream blog some years back, I was always fascinated why I was simply summoned to be with the actor, River Phoenix when he passed. I did mention that sense of feeling strong resonance at the time of cadre mates’ passing. This dream was a poignant example of being called into action, to be of service to someone with whom I have a strong and connected soul bond that spans multiple past lives.
This was something that I felt at Natalie Cole’s passing and, of course, she proved to be an entity mate. In the case of River Phoenix, whose overleaves I will include here and which can now be found in the revamped and tidied up Michael Overleaves Appendix page, not only is he also an artisan soul but he happens to be a greater cadence mate of mine. This dream would not have occurred if we did not share this very strong bond; as a result of my cardinal casting, I am often called into action in dreams such as this one when entity and cadre mates pass on.
Read these dreams anew and do enjoy!.
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Whilst the Moon transited both Gemini and my first house, I would be transported to a cul de sac of the astral plane wherein I am not frequently focussed. It was Monday, November 1, 1993. At the time, as now, I did not own a television and hardly looked at it. Also, at the time, I hardly listened to radio or read newspapers et al. I was also much removed from most daily chatter as I had been off sick from work but did go in to participate in the annual Halloween costume competition which the year prior I had won when dressed in full drag and looking hotter than even Tina Turner herself in my high heels. The above photo of yours truly was taken at Halloween 1993, the day prior to this dream.
Thus it was that I would fall into sleep and immediately be summoned to be in service to the higher good. What is really interesting about the experience with the famous actor encountered in these dreams, I rather suspect that he may be a cadre mate from the tenor of the dream encounter. Too, there are a number of famous persons in my cadre and he seemed vibrationally not dissimilar to them.
That being the case, this likely explains why I was called on to be of service at the time. I am said to be rather cardinal in casting, which is clearly reflected in yours truly being inordinately gifted when it comes to fathoming the depth and breadth of the dream realms. Too, as these dreams were clearly focussed on the astral plane, naturally, there was dream flight. More than that, whilst focussed on the astral plane in the dreamtime, one did encounter at least two, possibly three, extra-human species.
As there is flight and levitation in these dreams, I pray that they will richly inspire you. Fly my darlings, fly, don’t even for a second doubt, just melt into a mischievous plié and start flying – cause you can… cause you are magic incarnate!
A woman and I were together, in this the second dream, above the Arctic Circle. This woman did remind me of the woman, who had earlier been in the previous dream encounter with Niles Ben-Daniel and seemingly his lover. I was not fully certain that this woman was one and the same as, the one posing as Niles Ben-Daniel’s lover, in the prior dream. She had a couple of siblings whom she had asked to find out what time it was.
Here, they kept time quite unusually because there was no tundra about. They, as a result, kept sundials. They grew their grass such that they were able to tell from Sol’s shadows what time of day it was. Their sundial was a natural phenomenon which used the rugged flat landscape for keeping time. Standing there, I faced due north. Sol was still in the sky, but low, and at the two o’clock position. Sol was red and potent; it was almost serene-looking.
Over time, they had planted a hedge of Chinese boxwood, which stood a foot tall. From it were a series of radial-like spokes radiating out from the centre. All told, there were twenty-four spokes; of course, the spokes lined up with each hour of the day. Even in the wintertime, the hedge though submerged maintained an imprint of itself above – in the snowed and iced over terrain. It was quite nude (barren) landscape here. Sol’s shadow was presently pointing directly at the ten o’clock position though it clearly wasn’t. Ten o’clock could also have been four hours past midnight.
I decided that it had to be around four, in the morning, which is why Sol appeared in the sky where it was. This was the time of year when Sol never sets which made it difficult for me, a novice in these parts, to readily get my bearings. Quite a strange phenomenon because my body felt nocturnally phased, yet, there in the sky was Sol as plain as the Moon. She wanted to know what time it was because she was getting ready to go down south to the ‘Southland’.
She also referred to it as, ‘the land of the setting summer Sun,’ which did make sense. She had said all that in her Inuit tongue, yet I had been able to follow perfectly well as though she had been speaking English. More than being with her, rather, I was there as an observer and took in the minutiae of this unique culture. Certainly, we were keenly aware of each other and that we were both gifted telepaths.
Next, in this the third dream, I was in a crowded interior. It was a waiting lounge in a large depot that was not unlike New York City’s Grand Central Station. A sandy marble, time-yellowed hue, the walls here were the same colour as at Grand Central Station. A high-ceilinged cavernous place it also was. The main hall had several wings that adjoined its considerable length. Here, there was natural light coming in from the bathysphere-like windows that sat way up the walls and close to the ceiling.
In that sense, this was not unlike the grand hall in which I walked with Merlin during which we encountered the exalted magus on September 4, 1988. I was seated on these large wooden benches that were old, comfortable and looked not unlike church pews. Semi-circular in shape, they gave a sense of inclusiveness to them. All around me exclusively were men. This place seemed, if you like, some sort of way station. One guy there was very slight-bodied, young and naïve-looking.
Looking at him, he wore a navy-blue track suit. He came over to sit next to me, eventually sitting on my right. Patting him on the back, I told him that it was really good to see him. I wished him a safe passage and asked that he go in peace, “Have a safe passage. Go in peace and do have a good journey…”
Of all people, it was the actor, River Phoenix – he recently overdosed on heroin, early on Sunday, October 31, yesterday. This was a very vivid dream. I was quite lucidly awakened. Feeling great compassion for his tragic departure, I thought to be of comfort to him and to uplift his spirit in whatever way possible. There and then, I realised that this was a place where persons who had recently died came whilst in transit to their final destination as returning astral plane habitués.
*This, of course, did not surprise me. Right away, I was reminded of the sense of mammoth dimensions that also exemplified the architecture of the train termini, where I had run into Merlin in that momentous dream on Friday, July 9, 1993. END.
Seated there, next to him, I exclusively turned my focus on him. I then began doing an enormous amount of energy transference, thereby healing his spirit, before he could move on. Who cares the attachments to this man, in the waking state? I have never followed his career but here, in his astral plane hour of need, we were souls and healing is the most generous gift of love. After having left his life in such a dissociate state, River Phoenix needed to be made more whole.
This is why he had seemed so naïve and as if in a daze. He saw me and purposefully began walking towards me. God only knows what he noticed in me that was different to the others. Until he was about two feet away from me, I for one had not realised that it was him. By that point, he had already been intent on coming to sit with me. He clearly needed my services.
Phoenix, River 23/8/197031/10/1993
This fragment was a second level mature artisan – third life thereat. River was in the observation mode with a goal of growth. A realist, he was in the intellectual part of emotional centre.
Body type was Lunar/Mercury.
River’s primary chief feature was self-destruction and the secondary stubbornness.
Casting for River is fifth-cast in second cadence; he is a member of greater cadence three – greater cadence mate of Arvin’s. River’s entity is six, cadre one, greater cadre 7, pod 414.
River’s essence twin is an artisan and he has a sage task companion.
River’s primary needs were: exchange, expression and power.
There are 18 past-life associations with Arvin and 16 with Merlin.
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At the level of soul, I could not have cared less who he was; his energy body’s vibration needed a good deal of realignment before he could move on. He chose me and I gladly obliged his wishes. When patting him on the back, I was keenly focussed on sending him a great deal of near-aqueous blue-white light. River Phoenix was saddened. Rather, he seemed to be in a state of shock, though, not horrified or enraged. There was just a degree of resignation as he came to terms with where he was at. When it was all over, in the brief moments that it took to lay my hand on his back, he got up to get going.
He was obliged to take his leave and move on. He seemed here truly dazed. Perhaps, these were residual effects of his having passed in a heightened soporific state. Seated there, I felt completely drained of my very breath itself. I was left feeling so overwhelmingly sad and strangely alone. Another guy had sat down, on the other side of me, whilst I energetically focussed on River Phoenix.
I can’t, for the life of me, say whether or not the guy had ambled up to join us seated there or if he had simply materialised – on the astral plane – for having just projected himself into our midst. Looking Hispanic, more than anything, this man had yellow-coloured eyes. Absolutely bewitching they were. He wore cream-coloured jeans with matching cream-coloured jacket. There was a lot of black in the clothing. This was in the style of Hip-Hop fashions.
He was a very sensitive man with a Hispanic accent and was slightly older than River Phoenix; he was about 24 or 25 years – at least he looked about that age. His hair was thick, black and curly. By way of conducting focussed energy transference, my function here was to provide counsel. I would simply tap into their vibration and, by way of their chakras, realign their energy. All of them seemed to have passed suddenly, completely unexpectedly. Thus they had a great need to become assimilated to what was clearly an unexpected turn of events.
They needed immediate supervision and companionship, until having become further acclimatised. Meanwhile, the persons around me were all being counselled by others – who were more solid-looking – whose role was like that of mine. I was, like all the others, a guide, companion and energetic facilitator to the arrivée habitués.
Architecturally, this place was so immensely massive. It was also more ancient by at least 30 millennia than the rise of the Roman Empire. Clearly, there is no way to get around the fact that this was an astral plane experience. There was also no way to get around the fact that the first man, with whom I worked, was the actor, River Phoenix. What was really impactful for me was that River Phoenix, like all the others, had absolutely no emotions. He was in a place of total detachment.
Though a sudden departure from the life being lived, his soul consciousness was totally matter-of-fact about the situation at hand. The past, his recently accidentally concluded incarnation, was concluded and behind him. Period.
Whilst we were all there, we were caught in some commotion when a Black guy appeared. He wore a blue jean jacket and wore on his face a flesh-toned fabric mask. He looked as though he had been in a burn unit at a hospital, I assumed, after having suffered massive burns to more than 95% of his body. It was the mask used for allowing skin grafts in such instances to take without becoming infected. My sense impression of his situation was that he had been in a violent car crash which turned into an explosive fireball. He had survived and was in hospital, for a while, undergoing massive skin grafting surgeries.
He also wore dark shades. The moment that he appeared, everyone instantaneously freaked out. All that one could see, was his mouth and nose; the image was upsetting, menacing. Right away, we all began fleeing that section of the grand hall. His arrival was simply instantaneous. He had simply manifested in plain view. When he came through, he brought with him a great explosive energy and immense suffering.This is what had upset the Chi in the place; it was quite an impactful energy wave that accompanied his manifestation. On closer inspection, I realised that he had not been a burn victim as he was still brandishing a large semi-automatic weapon.
Clearly, he had been holding up a business and got himself shot to death in the process. Thus, as is, he instantaneously appeared on the astral plane. The energy around his death was+ so immensely violent, as he went berserk, that it proved rather jarring for the rest of us. His body was violently sputtering away, as though, still echoing the massive volley of bullets that were being pumped into him. No doubt, a battery of over-armed police officers were only too happy to waste yet another ‘Black’ male.
We all immediately started bolting because here was he, suddenly arrived and carrying a weapon, on the astral plane to which all these arrivés were not yet fully acclimatised. There was a group of urbane Gays over to one side who kept to themselves. The Gays went truly berserk, fearful of him, as this man was clearly a zealous homophobe. That too was the other thing about this place; one was able to accurately ‘read’ a person on their arrival.
As I sat there on the pews doing my energy work with River Phoenix, most of the light flooding the hall came from off to the right and rear. From the inner hall, I went bolting along with everyone else and took cover. The armed Black man had manifested across the hall from me. Making my way from what I thought previously was the main hall, I ended up in a grand hall that was easily seven times larger than the atrium in which I had been counselling River Phoenix and then the yellow-eyed Hispanic.
As everyone else had been bolting in that direction, I made a left turn. From the main hall, I was now in another atrium; this one, however, was considerably darker. This one was several storeys high with the same colour schemata as at Grand Central Station. Though there were no discernible floors as such, at each storey there were landings. I would then bolt down to where all the other Gays were ahead of me. In a bid not to be captured by this guy, who had no awareness that he was now dead and on the astral plane, I leapt over the railing and down onto the escalator where the Gays were.
As they were all still clambering down the steps, this was not the greatest idea on my part; it was a truly chaotic scene. Deciding against pursuing the herd mentality, I willed myself from amongst them. With that I began levitating, above them and shot upwards, flying up into the nave of the towering complex. Goodness, this place was immensely massive. Soon enough, the man came to where we had been and made for the stairs from which I had just taken off. Being sufficiently distracted, I knew that he wouldn’t be able to either hear or see me way above him.
Too, he wouldn’t think to look up and see me. I flew in such a way that I progressed around a corner which took me into another wing of the massive complex. Here, there was a balcony whose wall was such that it had an indentation in the shape of an inverted top hat. Thus, the balcony was as if wrapped inside the hat. Hiding out in the cover of the balcony, I peered out – from time to time – where I saw others on lower balconies who peered up at me.
Others were off to the right in the inverted balcony. They discouraged me from coming because they thought that, somehow, my movement would attract the newcomer with semi-automatic weapon. They were of the impression that he was, in the first place, out to get me. All around, this whole episode was terribly unpleasant. It had all the chaotic madness that must surely exist, at present, in the streets of a war zone like Bosnia or Croatia.
Deciding against hiding out, I sought to be rid of this place altogether. With that, I began flying upwards towards the very ceiling of the grand hall. The ceiling was as if a force field and not a physical construct. Thus, without incident, I was able to will my way through its parameters. I was truly relieved to have made it out of there. One had the sense of leaving one dimension and moving on to another, whilst seemingly clearing the grand hall’s ceiling, and into the next dream experience.
Next, in this the fourth dream, I was outside where I immediately encountered some young teenage females. All were sarcastic, bitchy solipsistic twits. They were on an empty city street. Racy-edged, in the extreme, were they. Especially for feeling the enervation that I did for the massive energy transference work that I had undertaken with River Phoenix, I really did not care to be around these people’s energy.
At the time, I was still in flight but had slowed down, hoping possibly to interact with them. Finally, I had no time for them and their bullshit. No need to be around their imploding energy. Without haste, I flew on and went onto a side street. There, I saw a really large building from which there were some persons presently exiting.
It was as if one were looking outdoors, due west towards Fifth Avenue, in Manhattan. A young couple came from the building and entered a car which looked like a Bentley limousine. A massive stately old car it was and looked every bit as though it had been made from lead. A large structure stood to my left as I watched them drive away towards what seemed to be Fifth Avenue.
Looking to the structure, I realised that the structure was in fact St. Patrick’s Cathedral which, of course, meant that I was at 51st Street at Fifth Avenue. Naturally, the car made a left turn and went south down Fifth Avenue. Here it was nighttime with lots of snow in the street, the sidewalk, and covering just about everything. The car wanted, once on Fifth Avenue, to go westwards along 50th Street, but couldn’t because that street runs easterly one-way.
There was also too much snow jammed there in the street. So, in the end, the car went down to the south end of Saks Fifth Avenue to try and get onto 49th Street. Here in the dreamtime, contrary to the waking state arrangement, 49th Street flowed easterly. This made me realise that its attempt to go along 50th Street was not bizarre. I guess that they then intended to go easterly along 49th Street, over to Park Avenue then up 57th Street, make a left at that street, to try and get across town that way.
I figured that that major thoroughfare would not be impassable. I was keen to find out who was inside the car, which was a very regal, stately affair; they were a sophisticated well-bred couple. I was more intrigued by the car because it was mostly glass, with the rear windshield arching up to above their heads, as they sat there exuding their exalted classism. The side panelling on the outside, and where the rear windshield met the roof, was all solid gold. Atop the roof there was a beacon like on a taxi cab, however, it was made of solid gold.
Really, it was more a coat of arms than anything so crass as a taxi’s beacon; this was a truly luxurious-looking vehicle. As I inspected it, I had been in flight hovering a couple of floors above it. Rising in the air, I began speeding down on the east side of Fifth Avenue over St. Patrick’s Cathedral. When I got over the cathedral, I noticed that – unlike its waking state counterpart – this one had flying buttresses. Though it was very dark out, as though the dead of a Dark Moon night, I noticed that there was activity atop the cathedral. There were things there which I found immediately intriguing.
Abandoning my pursuit of the Bentley landau, I slowed down, coming closer to observe what was going on atop the cathedral’s roof. There, I saw wonderful fowl; there was a whole array of them which were quite large. One species was white with lots of black specs throughout its body. They were all on different ledges on the flying buttresses. All of them had nests that they were tending.
One of the nests had 8 large speckled eggs inside. There was, however, no fowl tending to this nest. Flying slowly, within ten feet of the buttresses, I inspected everything with a keen eye. This was so very astral plane in focus. Considering that I had previously been counselling River Phoenix, who had recently passed, it made sense that I should be on the astral plane. In any event, the rooftop was pitch-black and covered in tar. The masonry here was also much blackened with time’s passage. Too, there was a lot of moss covering every available nook and cranny.
I suppose that this replica of St. Patrick’s Cathedral needed to exist, here on the astral plane, to provide some sense of continuity to the dearly departed recent arrivés of the Catholic persuasion. Here on the astral plane, this St. Patrick’s Cathedral was considerably larger than its waking state counterpart. As well, it was millennia older than the Roman Coliseum. The older dead moss had left the structure blackened – along with the centuries of pollution and soot caked on in layers. Naturally, in order to get up to the roof of the nave, I had had to rise higher and beyond the buttresses.
Once higher in the air, I saw down between these two buttresses a group of Whites. They were dressed in animal skins and were, in the true sense of the word, barbaric-looking. They had not yet fully developed the ability to speak; thus, their speech consisted of a series of barks and grunts. Quite hirsute, they were obsessively fearful. Huddled on the top of the structure, they proved a smelly lot.
Everything was quite ancient and scorpionic-hued. As well, there was a tribe of black-furred monkeys with some red in them. The Barbarians also wore a skin that had a reddish hue to it which was seemingly a doeskin. Theirs was, as well, a tawny reddish complexion. On noticing me, the monkeys went wild, climbing up to the tops of the buttresses; frantically, they pounced and screamed up at me. Goodness, they had such large vicious-looking teeth; thank goodness they could not fly.
Mildly horrified, I simply levitated higher into the air and stayed clear of their none-too-evolved noise. Exceptionally tiny, they were also very intelligent-looking. Truth be told, they looked much more evolved intellectually than their simian cousins, the Barbarians. Goodness, they were feisty and noisy. Wanting to investigate everything about the queerness of the sight of me, they were truly inquisitive.
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Going higher, I reached to the top of the nave where I noticed a couple lying there. They were lying on their backs. Looking not unlike the sphinx’s, theirs were the most abnormal-looking skulls that were splayed and large. Their clothing was unusual-coloured; however, on closer inspection, it turned out to have been their skin. Basically, their skin was as if a floral-printed fabric. Very brightly coloured, their skin was an interesting sight… to say the least. They lay there, looking not the least bit surprised at the sight of me. They also seemed not inclined to do anything but enjoy themselves in repose.
They seemed so mysterious. Looking down, I alighted to investigate. I spent some time looking down at their feet where their skin was also uniformly distributed. I had wanted to leave but decided to head in the opposite direction; as they lay there, their feet were in my way. I didn’t want to have to upset or interact with them. They seemed alien, in the true sense of the word, but were not in fact to be disturbed. Silently, they lay there and directly looked at me. One had the sense that they could have turned deadly in a femtosecond and gone at me like a cobra on the attack. They had very cool eyes that were powerful, truly scorpionic. Theirs were the kind of eyes that were beguiling but utterly untrustworthy.
*Their eyes much reminded me of that dream encounter with Lars Gamst, set in the British Isles some centuries back, wherein we encountered a litter of oversized cats, which turned out to be not only psychic but also feral. This was back in the summer of 1988 – before recording the dreams on audio-cassettes. END.
Soon enough, I flew away from there because this was much too astrally focussed an experience. I might add, as dreams go, it was one that was very much so real and quite layered. It was simply much too intense; so, with that, I withdrew being energetically focussed therein.
Dreams are the poetic expression of the soul. 