Go In Peace: Energy Transference with Recently Departed Famous Entity Mate.

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*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!

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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 there. 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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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Hope you enjoyed having taken this groovy little trip with me… Go on, hop to it, start flying. I love you more.

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©2013-2020 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.

Cicada Principle.

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So much of what happens in the waking state is smothered by fear-based strictures like tribalism, classism, sexism, racism et al which results in one being preyed on – one’s very life threatened.  Sadly too many proceed through their lives impervious of the Maya that effectively leaves them blind to the ties that bind us all together as souls incarnate in the human experience.

Being as awakened when awake as when asleep and dreaming, gives one a greater appreciation of the beauty of life and the beauty of all humanity.  This awareness also allows one to see across the illusion of time.

This sensitivity and awareness affords one the ability to perceive and appreciate the gift of persons known and loved along the way – from lifetime to lifetime.

This visionary dream not only spans the rifts of time but it also gets to the heart of the love that binds all souls together.  That love that endures regardless the strictures of the waking state and the perceptions of those involved.

The dream was rather magically and lucidly experienced, on Tuesday, January 9, 1996, whilst the Moon transited both Leo and near-conjunct the cusp of my fourth house.

 

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*Prior to sleep, I meditated with crystals in the pyramid.  I then focussed on being able to astral project, during sleep, to specific points on the astral plane where desired experiences could be had.

I opened myself up to, requested of my soul itself, pleasurable experiences with persons whom I have shared multiple past life experiences.  Most of all, I was clear that the bonds had to have been predominantly of a positive nature.

Thus, I fell into sleep open to whatever laid ahead.

In the first dream, I was having a phone conversation with both Isis and Isabella.  In some way, this involved much discussion about Pandora.

I had been concerned afterwards that I had not upset Pandora for having overly spoken of her.  This is an area, her private affairs, which Pandora never treads into with anyone.

There was real pressure here, on both her siblings’ part, to see to it that Pandora went out and got herself a job.  Both were furious with Pandora and claimed that she was not putting any effort into finding a job.

Concerned for Pandora, naturally, I thought of how possibly I could help her get grounded.  I thought perhaps to phone Maddox Pool and see if he could not get her work in I.A.T.S.E.

However, I really did not think that Pandora would be able to adapt to such a work environment.  Besides which, realistically, my connections to the place precluded her being able to get her foot through the door.

Since Owen Hawksmoor knew Pandora and her connection to me, I knew that Vikram Srinivasan would definitely not approve of her getting work there.

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The next dream then found me in an incredibly far-off land.  This is the only way that one can best describe this place.  Here, it was nighttime out.  A black capsule, in which one was able to sit, was being prepared.

An additional person could sit on one’s lap though it was basically a single-occupant capsule.  It was shaped not unlike the lunar modules, which returned to Earth and landed in the ocean, during the Apollo missions to the Moon at NASA’s heyday in the late 1960s to early 1970s.

However, this capsule was conical.  There were exceptionally tall men who wore black clothing that covered them from head to toe.  Their faces were kept hidden by black visors.  The capsule door was opened and closed by these same men who seemed like sentries.

At this point, when sitting in the closed capsule one would seemingly travel to distant places without moving.  Of course, this was the astral projection that I had coveted during pre-sleep meditation whilst in the pyramid.  Nonetheless, I became highly suspect of this capsule’s true purpose.

A couple was there with a young child.  They wanted the child to sit in the mother’s open legs whilst she was already seated in the male parent’s opened legs.  The three members of the family wore thick saffron robes.

For whatever reasons, the little girl tugged free of her mother’s embrace and began running away.  Immediately, the sentries were hot on the heels of the child in a bid to apprehend her.

Of course, as it only validated my reservations about the true nature of this machine, this I did not find very reassuring.  Opting out of taking a flight aboard the capsule, I shoved off instead and began flying.

I left the large hangar-like structure behind me and flew out into the outdoors.  Next, I was beneath the awning of the building; the awning extended from the building for about fifty yards.  It was a most massive structure!

The architectural proportions here were inordinately massive.  The scale here was on the order that things appeared in that dream of Merlin, on July 9, 1993, which was truly astral… truly colossal.

I thought that I shouldn’t stay too close to the building – any of the sentries could come around the corner and apprehend me for having left the queue to the capsule.

I then held on to the awning’s beams whilst inverted much as though I were a fly on the awning’s underside.  I then went to the right, of the far left corner, where persons were way below me who busily walked about on the sidewalk and in the infrequently trafficked street.

No one had noticed me.  I did grow concerned, nonetheless, at being spotted from below thereby drawing unwelcome attention to myself.  As I crawled along the awning, it gave way inside to the ceiling of a very noisy watering hole.

This bar was jam-packed with high-spirited persons.  Not liking the energies here I crawled, still inverted, back into the large complex from which I had fled.

From inside I peered outside, beyond the awning, where I saw a large craft.  White and massive, it made the Boeing 747-400 series look like a compact glider.  The craft’s nose, however, more resembled that of the Concorde aircraft.

Thinking that the sentries were perhaps on the inside of the craft, I let go of the awning beams.  Of course, these beams were the typical dark woods of the astral plane.

With that, I had resumed flying.  Whilst still inverted, I flew from just inches below the beams.  From time to time, I held on to a beam to get my bearings.  At such times, I looked over my shoulder below and behind me.

I then went in through a proper entrance to the building which I used for crossing over to another section of the noisy bar.  With that I then did a half-tumble, rolling over, to now face down to the patrons in the bar below.

Slowly and effortlessly, I floated down and alighted.  I had not made too much of a spectacle of myself as there was a major disturbance happening in the bar to which everyone was noisily focussed.

A Hispanic man and another, who much reminded me of Diego Lunamas, were being especially rowdy.  The bartender decided to maintain order and left his post to show them to the door.  He was a large burly man.

The door, through which they had been ushered outside, had a view to the outdoors.  The natural pathway from the bar led to a large tropical-looking growth beyond the complex.

Soon after they went outdoors, there was a sudden outbreak of light flashes.  Basically, they had had a run-in of sorts or had been apprehended by the sentries who were clearly extra-humans.  Soon after they had left the bar, I also headed outside.

In search of the Hispanic with the uncanny resemblance to Diego Lunamas, I had gone flying through the air.  I had remained, when airborne, between ten and fifteen feet off the ground.  My flight was slow; my flight was languorous.  This was clearly astral projection.

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The growth here was very thick.  Enjoying the purity of their energetic signature, I flew through the trees whilst simultaneously revitalising myself in the process.

This soon gave way to an opening, in the thick growth, beyond which was the most breathtaking vista.  These were by far the most beautiful trees imaginable.  They were simply colossal.

Each arboreal’s trunk was about fifty feet across whilst they towered up at least a mile.  I momentarily hovered whilst my entire body quivered throughout at the powerful vibration that they exuded.

This was a truly humbling experience for me.  Right away, I was reminded of the ecstatic epiphany that I experienced on Boxing Day, 1972.

One tree snaked from the ground and rose up into the air.  It leaned against the right side of a tree that was incredibly immense.  It seemed a mile-high astral plane baobab.

Flying over, I landed on the trunk of one tree.  This tree had two leaves that were frond-like but incredibly oversized.  Whilst I stood on the trunk, a slight man – he looked Amerindian though likely Balinese or even Fijian – approached me.

*He seemed from an earlier age in human history.  Of course, this was likely owing to the fact that he was yet another humanoid, extra-human species.  END.

He suggested that I look at where the growth began.  The vine-like trunk was some fifty to seventy-five feet in the air; it extended at an incline to a great distance far away.  It was a truly fantastical tree.

There were the beginnings of the two frond-like leaves close-by.  He told me that he used them to get milk.  He said that the milk derived from this rare arboreal genus was used in all manner of applications.

He was a shaman.  He was a true, innate dream magus.

I then noticed an indigenous ladder that they used to climb up the tree.  Here it was nighttime.  The frond-like leaves grew side-by-side and curled over.  The leaves looked, as a matter of fact, not unlike umbrellas.  It was these trees to which the locals came to harvest the vine-like tree’s milk.

I then began moving down the tree trunk growing concerned as the much-feared extra-humans were expected to return soon.  They seemingly appeared at set intervals and their intentions were generally adversarial.

cicadas

With that, I flew away and returned into the clearing.  As I flew back, where there was now a large open area below, I saw a Black man who was an agricultural engineer.  He carried a wheelbarrow of earth.  He had placed the earth over a trap of some sort which employed a cord system.

They apparently also captured cicadas.  When I came off the inclined vine-like tree, I had briefly landed on the ground before taking flight again.  To my amazement, I had landed in a patch of a few hundred cicadas.

They were exclusively on a tree which seemed the very centre of the growth.  This central tree gave off a definite hum.  All the cicadas were on the trunk of the same unique tree that seemed, by its vibrational signature, to be a life-sustaining energetic magnet.

This tree was not a member of the pine family.  Rather, it was a tropical tree which made the sitkas in Vancouver’s Stanley Park or the redwoods in northern California look like seedlings.

I remained motionless for the longest while.  I was magnetised by the tree’s vibrational hum.  It was hypnotic.  There was nothing but love radiating from this tree.  It was a truly humbling encounter.

The cicadas had swarmed onto its trunk to become harmonised with its vibration.  As I flew off and looked back, I realised that the cicadas were being caught by the locals as they had proven themselves a nuisance.

The cicadas were not in the habit of eating the crops but there were so many of them that their noisy song made the locals devise a plan.  The locals simply captured and relocated as many of the cicadas as they could.

I realised that this bit of drama, being acted out in the clearing, was also a metaphor for the larger drama back at the cosmopolitan complex.

There the extra-humans were laying traps, by way of the oval-shaped black capsule, for capturing unsuspecting humans.  However, there was also another aspect to all this symbology that was not lost on me.

I knew, though many of the cicadas were still alive, that the ones who had left their empty shells behind represented two things.  The symbol of the empty cicada shell was that of being astral-projected out of the shell of the sleeping body.

Secondly, the other symbolic reference was that, each discarded cicada shell represented a lifetime already concluded.  They were as if totems of past lives.  This was validated by the fact that here was I visiting, as it were, a remnant of a former life.

It was a life that was lived in Southeast Asia.  A life it was in which my spirituality was closely connected to the strong bondedness that I achieved with the all-encompassing beauty of nature.

thatched-hut

This was validated by the ectomorphic loin-clothed Balinese – Southeast Asian – who had come from his little thatched hut to greet me and serve as a guide to me.

He was, if not me, then definitely someone whom I have known in this lifetime but with whom I have shared multiple past lives.  I can’t say, however, that this was Merlin in a past life.

He was quite familiar and was more than likely an entity mate of mine.  I was similarly reminded of Diego Lunamas in his fey sweet-eyed beauteousness.

I then flew back through the growth where I saw the Hispanic man who had been kicked out of the bar.  He was standing outside a thatched hut.

This man was so exceptionally good-looking.  He no longer looked like his Hispanic self when at the bar.  Then he had had a striking resemblance to Diego Lunamas.  Here he seemed now Balinese, possibly Sumatran, though on the outside chance he could have been Filipino.

He held something in his hand that looked like a knife.  However, it was not a weapon as such.  As he stood there, his back to the hut, he was unaware of the intense light flashes taking place inside his hut.

This to me suggested that the extra-humans were inside the hut.  It was possible that this man had alternately just died and had emerged from the hut, his final astral projection, though not yet aware that he had died.

I then moved inside the hut where I was able to get a handle on what was taking place.  The door to the hut was a drape of green banana leaves that were regularly replaced.

Lots of bamboo shoots were used to anchor and set the frame of the hut.  The slight man had been desperately trying to cut through the door of leaves in a bid to get outside.

Each time that he would cut his way through one drape of leaves, to get through the door, another would manifest beyond the other that already existed there.  He could never seem to cut his way free fast enough.  It proved a futile attempt to get out.

Each door was made of a different type of leaf and reed but all of them were green.  The hut was eight feet square with a conical roof.  As a matter of fact, it was more so pyramidal.

I floated close to the ceiling of the hut as he desperately tried to break out.  I am not at all sure that most people were able to observe me in any of these giddy dream experiences.

The loin-clothed local did not quite comprehend the nature of the shiny object that he used to try and cut his way free.  Soon enough, the hut was burnt-out with a few burnt-out frame beams standing.

The remaining beams were charred with black ashes everywhere.  It was obvious that in his bid to escape he had not made it out.

Here, it seemed as though I was experiencing a series of vignettes – vignettes into past lives – all of which were interconnected.  A very intense experience of soul journeying these dreams would prove.

Again, I saw the man who much reminded me of Diego Lunamas.  I flew out to the tree, with the two frond-like leaves, on which I had been earlier.

I, soon enough, came down off the tree on seeing these green gourds that were cut open down on the ground.  From the inside, a thicker version of what looked like coconut milk spilt out.

The milk was being bled into appropriately placed containers.  On closer inspection, I realised that the gourds were grown below the surface of the ground.  The liquid looked much like cassava root milk.

japanese temple compound2

From there, I flew ahead to another section of the great arboreal growth.  Now I came to a clearing which was set in Japan.  I intuitively knew that this dream occurred in Japan.

For me, this was readily discernible owing to the strong past-life resonance that I experienced for being in this locale.  There I saw a series of cultured rivulets that were part of a water fountain.  The fountain was part of an extensive irrigation system.

The cultured rivulets were stone affairs in which flowed green fluid rather than the clear transparency of water.  As I had flown over this site, I saw from on high that everything was completely white.

The trees and every aspect of the landscape were completely white.  I knew that it was not a snow-covered landscape.  Rather, this was the result of some sort of attack from the black-clad and visored extra-humans with the conical, black space capsules.

This I knew meant that they would soon be returning to the area where I was.  Closer to hand, I hovered above the Japanese village.

fan dance

I saw here lots of Japanese women who were performing a ritualised dance.  They ritually sang and danced using fans.  As they danced, they were a study in grace and reserve.

From there, I decided to fly on in search of the source of the oddly green river.  I rose in the air as I flew by following the incline to where the fountain began.  This led me in flight into a hilltop complex where the fountain began.

It was a large compound which included a temple, shrine and living quarters.  Here there were more women who, though not ritually dancing, carried fans and were just as reserved.

At once, I alighted hurriedly moving through the compound.  I was as if possessed.  I knew at every turn which corridor to follow.  On my arrival, I let out a cry upset at what I had found.

I couldn’t believe what these people had done.  They had desecrated this important bit of their culture and heritage.

Of course, this was an astral projection to a past life milieu.  Everything was at once familiar.  My sense of smell was acute.  All the writings I fully understood though they were in Kanji and Sanskrit.

In that past life, my former self had had a hand in establishing the temple and its shrine.  Now some time later, however, they were performing these rituals in appeasement of the new overlords.

Of course, the new overlords would have been the extra-humans.  I was really upset… I was really hurt.  They shook the fans as they danced and this was supposed to have mimicked something about the extra-humans’ culture with which I was not familiar.

To atone, the Japanese humans had set up several altars to the extra-humans.  Truth be told, they worshipped the extra-humans as their deities.  The reserved women had the same milk-like substance which I had earlier seen being harvested.

Said harvesting area looked to be in Bali more than anywhere else.  The harvested milk-like drink was stored in very ornate vessels that were decidedly Japanese and examples of ancient Japanese pottery.

In particular, there was a large dark-wood altar – Butsudan – that captivated me.  Inside the Butsudan were several wooden carvings which were in the likeness of the visored extra-humans.

I grabbed one of the carvings, enraged, and began banging it against the other carvings.  In short order, I had desecrated the imposition that the extra-humans’ presence represented.

I began furiously yelling at the Japanese locals for having sold out.  What really surprised me was just how enraged and powerful a persona I possessed.  I was intensely warrior-spirited.

I seemingly was a member of a Samurai sect which meant that there was fierce pride and honour at stake here.  This was such a gross betrayal.

“Where was their loyalty to traditions and history?” I rhetorically asked.

As I bashed away at the carvings, I heavily panted.  I felt rather passionate, on my return, about the fruits of my past-life labour having been defiled once left behind on my passing in that former lifetime.

I addressed them in Japanese, no less.  It was quite something.

*It much reminded me of that dream encounter with ‘Francesca,’ on January 1, 1989.  I had then encountered the fiery redheaded Briton who had been a former life of mine.

I was quite the strong-personalitied dramatic woman who was quite sparkling-personalitied and with great presence.  END.

In that former Japanese life my body of work was clearly dear to me.  I couldn’t conceive of how these people would turn their backs on the efforts made on their behalf.

With that I took leave of them and went rushing into the shrine’s private apartments.  I ran up the stairs then stopped and walked along the unusually narrow hallways.  The proportions here were decidedly Japanese.

On the walls were engravings that bore inspiring words and poems.  All of the art was spiritually focussed.  Too, there were lots of long narrow rugs on the wooden floor of the hallways.

butsudan

An extremely ancient Butsudan sat in the private apartments where once I had lived in that former life.  The Butsudan’s two silver latches were complicated to open.

In fact, they were not readily opened based on the way that they appeared.  Nonetheless, from memory, I effortlessly opened them on the first try.

The shrine was so immediately familiar.  I couldn’t believe that it still stood there.  My fingers actually trembled as I made to open the latches.  The Butsudan was also covered in wooden engravings.

One set of the latches ran across the midsection of the Butsudan.  Still, the other latch system came down vertically at the bottom.  So excited was I that I began levitating whilst opening the Butsudan.

I first opened the one at the midsection, then the other, after which I flung open the door excited to once more see the Butsudan’s coveted scroll.

Just inside the door, there was a dark-brown leather flap with engravings on it.  Raising the flap finally led the light to be cast in on the most time-yellowed Gohonzon imaginable.

It was truly antique and I couldn’t quite believe what I was seeing.  The structure was so very powerful.  On realising what it was, I shuddered and began quivering throughout.

Immediately, my connection to Buddhism in this lifetime was being validated.  Of course, having seen Diego Lunamas in the environs of prior dreams made perfect sense.

He had also been on the palatial grounds of the temple as I had hovered in the air.  On opening the shrine, I alighted and collapsed on the floor in lotus position before the Gohonzon.

I keenly focussed on the Gohonzon though mindful of the fact that the black-clad and visored extra-humans would be returning soon.  Here in this most awakened of dreams, I began chanting Daimoku.  I cannot stress enough how intensely lucid a dream experience this was.

As I chanted, I became aware of my vibration rapidly intensifying.  I remained reverential before the ancient Gohonzon, with hands clasped, yet I found it hard to believe that I was having the experience.

More than that, the flow of energies from the time-yellowed Gohonzon to me was as real and intense as the intense light flooding the tiny private apartments – an apartment where once I had lived in a former life when Japanese.

There was the sillage of sweet sandalwood incense ghosting the air.  For some time, I chanted aloud then concluded with a long, slow, piercing utterance of Nam-Myoho-Renge-Kyo.

With that, I shot to my feet and fled from the room going down the hallway and turned to the left.  In my haste, I had left the Butsudan opened with the Gohonzon exposed.

However, there was a strong sense that it was to have been left opened.  The light and energies from the Gohonzon needed to be obstructed no more.

I then arrived into the large palatial living quarters that were quite open.  There was a low mat, a futon actually, to the left of the door on entering the room.

To the right of the door, half of the wall area opened up to a view of the beautifully terraced gardens outdoors.  I knew that whoever presently lived there was coming.

japanese garden4

I could sense the person’s approach down on the grounds to the right.  With that, I floated down to the ground level and effortlessly moved through the pane of glass.

I simply upped my frequency and willed myself to become light-bodied.  Thus, I was able to effortlessly move through the thick floor-to-ceiling pane of glass.

I went to the left of the building, slowly moving through the night air, on the terraced grounds of the temple compound.  At that point, I noticed that there was a man approaching.

About my neck, I still wore a brown scarf that had covered the Gohonzon.  On opening up the large Butsudan, I had removed and placed the scarf about my shoulders.

As I flew with the scarf, I realised that I could be apprehended once spotted with the unique telltale scarf.  The man waited for me around some large wooden pylons that served as the opening in the fence.

It was, in fact, a gate system.  It led from the private inner courtyard to the outer courtyard where others could gather.

There were several wooden stools on which one could sit and reflect on the beautiful gardens.  Architecturally, this place was simply inspiring.  It was truly Zen here and was both uplifting and conducive to serenity.

On coming around the pylons, the man turned out to be none other than Kaarlsohn Frieden.  From above in the air, I was stunned to have both seen and found him here and excitedly beamed down at him.

Gay couple cuddling in bed

He wore only a large top that fell to just below his arse.  Floating down, I alighted whilst the brilliance of a full Moon night seemed to magically shift to intense daylight.

The lighting here was truly ethereal.  The energies here were wonderful.  Here on the grounds of this compound, the energy was very densely negative-ioned.

Way down the hill, whilst in flight, I had noticed several children playing.  They were all Japanese.  I had landed by a series of stone shrines that had been strategically placed about the gardens.  A stone table sat close by that looked several centuries old.

I simply couldn’t believe that I was having a dream encounter with Kaarlsohn.  Here was I so lucid and he was so real.  Truly, this was an astral plane encounter of the highest order.

On ambling over, I warmly greeted him.  I chose not to try and get rid of the scarf.  I was, though, concerned whether or not he would be mad with me for being there.

He called me over.  Kaarlsohn’s stubby thighs were strong and athletic-looking as though he were in his twenties.  Understandably, he did look older than when I knew him.

On the inside of his right thigh, I noticed a large thick vein.  As he looked at me warmly smiling, I stood to his left.  Kaarlsohn  was so warm but, more importantly, I couldn’t get over how real an encounter this was.

As he was only wearing the large unisexed top, and nothing beneath it, I got a good drift of his sex’s strong musk.  It was a bit overwhelming but I kept focussed on his clear smiling eyes.

Looking into his eyes, I spoke to him making sure to be simultaneously telepathic – there is greater power of persuasion when thus focussed,

“Oh my god, Kaarlsohn, I’d give anything to be alone with you.  To be intimate but not necessarily sexual, mind you.

“I’d do anything to relax and recline with you, sensually.  I’d really love to laze about with you… caressing.”

At that point, I placed my arm about his lower back whilst we unflinchingly looked into the other’s eyes.  He smiled sweetly blushing.  I then caressed his arse and felt its firm roundness beneath the sheer light fabric.

Then Kaarlsohn surprised me by saying, “Well, I like to do that, from time to time…”

He slowly, suggestively arched his brows high up his forehead.  It was a gesture that was reminiscent of Merlin when he wanted to be intimate.  What was really telling though was Kaarlsohn’s enunciation when he had uttered those words.

By ‘time’ he meant reincarnational time and not time relating to his present incarnation.  So that he meant at the level of soul, he did not mind having a same-sexed or bisexual focus ever so often when incarnate.

I looked at him and was blown away by his mischievousness.  With that, we both playfully laughed at his teasing winsome handsomeness.  Here his voice was not as strong a bass as his voice is in this lifetime.

Beyond all that, the level of love, warmth and intimacy between us was astonishing.  It was a rare pleasure to be so genuinely intimate with another soul.  This depth of openness and acceptance simply blew me away.

Then as if all that weren’t revolutionary Kaarlsohn initiated sexual play.  He fondled me whilst undoing me with the most sensual kisses all over.

By this point, we were now sitting down on the table in lotus position ravenously groping each other.  From time to time, he would stop kissing me to directly look into my eyes.

On those occasions, it was as though time itself stood still.  My senses were so heightened that I thought I would simply die of joy during the dreamtime.

Kaarlsohn’s eyes were so real and focussed.  His eyes’ intensity was only distantly frightening as they were so potent.

Lips passion-reddened, moist and apart revealed his quivering tongue.  He quickly breathed in shallow breaths in between groaning.  His groans were filled with yearning and called out to me.

Truly aroused, he seductively invited me to come out of myself to join him in ecstasy.  His hard, firm hands were tightly wrapped about my throbbing cock slowly kneading and massaging it.

What he was doing was not sexual.  Rather, he was performing energy work.  With each groan that called out to me, he was inviting me to do the same for him.

So I did in kind.  Kneading, gently and just as painstakingly slowly, I massaged his thick, large, foreskinned cock.

There was nothing more potent and shamanic than the energies that passed between us.  It was electrifying.  It was magus.

I did sense that there were a couple of bruises on his cock which I had passingly noticed.  I thought that, perhaps, they were from an outbreak of herpes.

He then said, as my cock grew more tumescent,

“This is a really nice cock, you’ve got…”

As he gently massaged me and pulled back on my foreskin, my cock kept stabbing into the centre of his cupped right palm.  As I danced and flew without moving, in spirit, a more sensual solo variation could not have been danced by Evelyn Hart.  Indeed, he was as if David Peregrine to my Evelyn Hart – in the sensually exquisite pas de deux, Belong.

At this point, I lucidly became aware of my intentions prior to sleep.  I had specifically meditated asking to have memorable experiences, on the astral plane, with those whom I have shared positive past life experiences.

Whilst I looked hypnotised into his large clear eyes – which here were a brownish-green, I recalled having shaped my dreams.

The light here was so intensely brilliant.  Much of the light here was being initiated by the love that this man’s very august soul was imparting to me.  A truly energising magus dream experience this was.

*What is most phenomenal about this soulfully intimate experience, of all the people I know, Kaarlsohn is the least homoeroticised.  He is also the most macho of men.

Too, I had neither spoken to him in ages nor had I recently thought of him.  Yet here was this major totemic encounter.  It truly proved healing and insightful a dream encounter.

Whilst in the midst of our intimacy, I let out a sigh and suddenly found myself being slapped back into my body.  At having had my astral projection aborted, there was weightiness at my solar plexus as I suddenly awoke.

I had been slapped awake by the shrill cries of raccoons outside my opened bedroom window.  They were having yet another nasty fight.  They had come out of Stanley Park to forage for food.

I had been terrified on hearing the grunting and screeching, whilst in the midst of my potent astral plane encounter with Kaarlsohn.  I had assumed that it was the sound of the extra-humans advancing on us.

Now, I realised that these so-called extra-humans were, in fact, astral guides.  Rather than being a negative force, the sentries were there to assist with proper astral protection.

I had been projecting the disturbance outside the window onto the visored and unseen astral guides.  Raccoons are visored, as it were, with their distinctive black band across their faces at the eyes.

As was the case, the raccoons had been fighting for some time and continued fighting for much of the night.  In fact, they fought till daybreak.  They prowled the West End in search of food before scurrying back to Stanley Park at twilight.

**What’s really interesting about these astral plane rendez-vous was that both Diego Lunamas and Kaarlsohn Frieden I met during my stay in Winnipeg.  With both men, I had enjoyed an ease of communication and instinctively knew that we had had past life contacts.

Diego I had introduced to Nichiren Buddhism.  Kaarlsohn had already been practicing when I started.  Kaarlsohn proved a good companion with whom to chant Daimoku.

Rarely have I felt this satiated on awakening from the dreamtime.  Though understandably aroused as all hell, I cried for joy at the beauty that I had just experienced and chose to remain lying in repose within the pyramid.

The reason for some of the cicadas having been alive was that they represented the ever present “now” of the soul which does not experience time.  Initially, the cicadas had all been alive but then some flickered out of existence.

Those cicadas that remained were quite a few.  They surely represented the potential of future lifetimes.  However, the remaining cicadas that were still alive were not in the majority.

The cicadas initially were all alive because to the soul they were being experienced simultaneously – past lifetimes, future lifetimes and this lifetime.

The sum totality of my lifetimes, as symbolised by the cicadas, was a swarm of creative energy which was magnetised to this great arboreal giant.  Of course, the arboreal giant represented the soul to which ultimately all cicadas – in order that they may experience transformation, reincarnational metamorphosis – are anchored.

The tree to which the cicadas were anchored also represented the physical plane.  A physical plane into which the lifetimes of the reincarnating soul, as symbolised by the cicadas, had to manifest in order to become self-actualised and fulfilled both spiritually and creatively.

As much as the arboreal giant represented the soul quality on the astral plane, simultaneously, it represented the physical plane into which the soul was reincarnationally focussed.

Since I was on the astral plane whilst dreaming – where time as such does not exist – the cicadas were all-extant.  The totemic cicadas represented every lifetime’s dreamer self which is never extinguished.

Thus the dreamer self forms a conduit, like the black teleportation-like capsule, to having connective glimpses into past or even future lifetimes.

I suppose too that, at the start of this lyrical dream adventure, the black conical capsule in which one sat and travelled was a symbolic icon of my pyramid.  Of course, when lucidly dreaming these truly marvellous dreams of uplifting adventure, I was sleeping in my pyramid.

This was a truly illuminating dream experience.  To have experientially undertaken this astral awakening was very rhapsodic, in each lucid moment, as it swept me along.

A sensory feast this was.  A feast on which my very soul was made pleasurably besotted.  A truly magus dream odyssey this was and one which validated anew that dreams truly are the poetry of the soul.

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As ever live as lucidly awakened when awake as when self-aware in the most fuck-all glorious lucid dreams.  I love you more.  

 

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© 2013-2020 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.

Shamanic Dreams Aplenty.

orbed-pyramid-lightened21

Two weeks before Merlin’s passing, at a time where my focus in the dreamtime was rather intense, I dreamt the most uplifting of dreams.  As it was leading up to Merlin’s transition or ascension, there was a massive opening up of my consciousness.  For having served Merlin in such an intimate and compassionate role and thereby healing his spirit, there was much spiritual growth and resultant advancement for me.  Merlin used his illness to serve as a mentor to me and thus teaching me so very much in the process.  The dreams were dreamt, on Saturday, November 4, 1989.  The dreams that day spanned two sleep cycles and proved both intense and illuminating.

AlsatianSavesTroops

I was quite consciously aware that I was dreaming and had slipped into sleep from a very deep, expansive meditative state.  On coming to, I was walking along in a street; it was quite sunny out.  There was a brown dog that appeared.  The dog came over to me, from off to the right, from behind a rock.  I felt that it looked ready to attack me.  The dog was a very short, smooth-haired creature.  Truth be told, it was a beautiful dog.  When the dog came over, I declined the gesture of friendliness and did not put out my hand. 

I knew then that I could not be sensed to be fearful because then the dog would sense my fears and thus defensively attack.  Reassuringly, I spoke aloud and guided myself through the scene by saying, “Be calm and be understanding; just reach out to it.”  So I did and extended my hand.  However, the dog was a very contained creature.  Though its mouth was clenched shut, the dog bore its teeth at me.  The dog then opened its mouth to bite at my hand; I countered by forcefully stabbing and ramming my hand into its mouth — much as though I had just stabbed it to the hilt with a massive sword.  I then started forcefully twisting my fist against the canines.  As I twisted against the canines, I rotated my right hand counterclockwise. 

Such that his left cheek was rotating skyward, thus the dog’s head was being uncomfortably twisted about.  Clearly, my actions were hurting him.  His neck was wringing.  I was in control and he could not really do me a great deal of harm.  Further, I guided myself with assurances that I was in control of the situation and not the dog.  I was sending it focussed energy and telling it to calm down and not to be in attack mode.  However, the dog still would not desist and persisted with resisting my directives.  All of this, interspecies communication, I telepathically undertook. 

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I realised then and there that this was getting tedious.  Besides, I was not here in the dreamtime to do battle with some mutt.  So, still with considerable force, I hurled the dog to the left.  As I hurled it, it became transformed and was now a square which seemed to be made of glass or hard plastic.  The transformed dog also seemed to be shimmering.  Next, it started moving around in the air.  After I had thrown the dog away, from off my right fist, it was transformed but remained a separate entity.  I then followed it with my mind and sight.  The transformed dog-cum-geometric airborne object then moved about at my command. 

Initially, it went off to the left where it was going to crash into a wall.  Even though this was the former difficult creature, it was now too beautiful.  In its transformed state, I could not let it be destroyed.  I was also pleased and amazed at what I had affected with my mind.  So I drew it away from the wall, from which it had abruptly veered off, and instead moved to the right.  I then brought it a little closer and then moved it about some more.  Next, I decided that, maybe, I should just let it go down; however, at that point, I thought aloud, “Wait a minute here.  I’ve got control here with my mind. 

flying-dream

“Now it’s time for me to fly!”  Immediately, I abandoned the construct.  I gladly left it hovering there in the air.  Next, I simply shoved off from where I was and started flying.  I said aloud, “Yeah!  See, I can do it!”  I roared with sweet pleasurable laughter.  Next, I began moving, not directly upwards but, out before me in a low gradual rise like an aeroplane at takeoff. 

My arms were outstretched, perpendicular to my torso — palms faced down and were winged up and back, a bit, creating the right aerodynamic drag.  With that, I started moving at such great fantastic speeds that I immediately came to the end of the road.  Before me, the land began falling away.  Here before me, I came to a most beautiful, beautiful, beautiful sea.  I was above an inlet in flight and the hills were very green and the sand on the shore was beautifully white.  The sea was a beautiful blue and it was so tranquil and wonderful. “ Whoa, I’m going to be travelling over the ocean.  What happens if I start losing control?” 

I then, though, reminded myself not to be fearful.  At the same time, I was quite aware of my body, lying here on the bed and the thrilling feeling I was having whilst in flight, resonated throughout my body.  “My goodness, I’m projecting my consciousness; this is what you’re doing… you’re flying.  You’re advancing with your psyche… here in the dreamtime.  Do not focus on the water; it’s a wonderful scenic aid.  Go on Arvin, just focus ahead.”  Immediately ahead of me, at the great speeds that I was progressing, I saw a light.  A beautiful, beautiful, white enveloping light it was. 

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I then began shoving my way through the light at great, great speeds.  Now, I was going at fantastic speeds whilst in flight above the expansive sea.  This was so very thrilling and incredible; however, I really did not want to go all the way.  As it were, I did not want to come out on the other end of the light — to explore beyond that.  In point of fact, I was quite aware of my body lying in bed and I was lying on my left side.  I was saying to myself that I was not even in the meditative state that I had actually hoped for.  To fortify myself, I had grabbed the large quartz crystal.  However, before I had gone to bed, I had really wanted to masturbate.

Thus I realised that I really had to come out of this experience and masturbate, after which go to bed, after meditation as I had intended.  So I did get up. 

*Not that it was shallow of me to have abandoned a great cosmic experience, to go wank off, but I do think that it was actually good of me to have ceased being astrally projected when I did.  However, the need to survive was sustained by being grounded to my sexuality.  As I progressed through the light, I knew that the further I got, the more likely it was that I would not want to return.  Once I got onto the other side, I felt quite strongly that I would experience something much on the order of Tuesday, December 26 “Boxing Day” 1972III.  I just knew that I could not go all the way.  For one thing, Merlin needed me here, to see him through to the end.  For another, I had to come back and not go all the way because there was no one at the apartment with me.  Should I slip in too deep and imperil my life, in some way, there needed to be someone here with me to safely bring me out.

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I was growing more and more relaxed — feeling like I just did not care to any longer be focussed in my body.  This was why the thought of sex was so important.  My sexual focus had actually allowed me to stay ensouled in the body and not altogether spirit away from my life.  However, it was definitely that close.  I did experience rapture — on an order of the cosmic.  I was probably guided to my sexual centre by the soul and Merlin.  Of course, Merlin wanted me not to expire prior to him — as we had agreed.  Truly, it would really have been a great cop out, were I to have passed on prior to him.

So for once, as it were, my masturbatory obsession saved the day.  I do too believe that the attack dog, whose animus towards me I was able to have skilfully diffused, represented the amount of treachery afoot in the waking state at exactly two weeks prior to Merlin’s passing.  END.

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I was in an area that looked like a cemetery.  There were these little girls who carried these objects that looked like fans.  They each had a little stick at the end of which was a handle; really, it did look like a table tennis racquet.  At the end of it, the rod was bent down and then went off.  The queer rod was shaped like a little crown or a maple leaf.  What’s more, it was golden-coloured.  They were white girls under the age of twelve.  Too, they were both redheaded. 

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They were holding up the object before them.  Incidentally, I had one as well.  Somehow, I did not know what it was supposed to do.  The trees were large, like silver maples, and there seemed to be some large, centuries-old moss-covered tombstones about.  They both held out their arms in one direction.  They were behind me and we were facing in opposite directions.  They directly pointed the forking golden sticks ahead of themselves.  Still directly pointing their golden sticks ahead, they then came over to where I was. 

Immediately, when we were in close quarters and they were directing their sticks, one of them struck gold — the stick in her hand started shaking.  She let go of it and it fell to the ground but then straightaway up-righted itself.  The golden, wooden forking object then started moving towards this energy source.  The other girl laughed and went and put hers down.  I was amazed on recognising that there really was a definite energetic force present.  Likewise, I went and also put down mine.  As I did so, it was pointing up under the tree.  Straight away, you could see the manifestation of a sphere that was glass-like but it was shimmering. 

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I could visually make out that there was the outline of a rainbow that encircled the sphere’s rim.  Through the eye of this opening, the space simply shimmered.  Fantastically, it was absolutely wonderful to watch this manifestation.  The shimmering sphere was about four-to-six feet in diameter.  There was a gardening hose close-by.  As the watering hose rotated in the direction of where the circle was, the aperture became even more outlined when the water from the hose struck the space wormhole.  When the water hit and penetrated the shimmering portal, this was when the rainbow was created.  Thus, it became even more outlined and visible. 

Remarkably, it was a predominantly golden-coloured rainbow.  Quite magnificent and quite wonderful a sight it was.  Moreover, it was truly powerful.  I went running off to the source of the hose — it was being moved because of the water pressure.  I picked up the hose but then I put it back down.  There was then a guy and a girl and as they put the hose down, I was trying to see if there was going to appear anymore signs of the sphere.  However, they had messed up the hose; the hose had gotten knotted which precluded any water from being discharged.  Incidentally, it was a black hose. 

The girl, who had moved the hose when I had seen the wormhole-like dimensional portal, quite reminded me of Artemis de Bolanos.  In the sense that she looked somewhat like Artemis, I was led to believe this.  She was also flaky like Artemis.  However, it was not Artemis.  I promptly took my leave of them and moved on.  These girls were rather small and looked like the classic faeries.  They were unusually pale.  On closer inspection, they had unusually large, dark eyes that were almond-shaped and went upwards at the outer corners. 

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Their hair was so intensely red that it seemed, in fact, to glow and to be as if iridescent.  They also had no eyebrows which only highlighted the wide-open expanse of their foreheads.  Where the third eye resides, it was quite unusually expansive in that part of their foreheads.  In fact, that part of their face seemed slightly concave, however, only slightly so; in that sense it did resemble the indentation of a radio telescope.  Though they seemed like prepubescent girls, they were fully grown.  They may well have been several decades old; however, they did not look old.  Moreover, they exclusively communicated telepathically.  However, there was no getting around the fact that they were EH (extra-human or extraterrestrial). 

One thing about them was most telling — my pronounced ease for being around them. 

*Much like natural redheads, in the waking state, these persons’ vibrations were considerably more attuned and intense than others’.  One always has the sense that most redheads are ‘broadcasting’ when in their presence, in the waking state, so strong is their psychic abilities.  The golden rainbow spheres were portals which were used — as their desired EHVs (extra-human vehicle or UFO) — to move through and forth from their world, in which I incidentally was a visitor, and others.  They seemed as though intent on showing me how to call forth an EHV to relocate from their world.  I happen to think that though I awoke to masturbate and not go all the way, on returning to sleep, I did return to being focussed in the far-off locale, to which I had ventured in the A sleep cycle.  This incidentally is not uncommon.  Hence the locals’ desired to show me how to safely get back, through the golden shimmering portals, to my dimension.  The trees here were phenomenally huge and had the same intense negative ions as were those experienced in the valley, of the far-off world, had during the dreams of Thursday, February 16, 1989(168).  END.

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The third dream in this cycle — I have chosen not to include the second dream here — found me with a group.  The group was a Rock ‘n Roll band.  They had finished a show and were taking off their makeup.  They had backup singers with them.  One of the female performers went and was washing her hands.  Just like the seeming little girls had worn, she was wearing similar garb.  Their clothing seemed to be from earlier times as in the Middle Ages to the Nineteen Century.  She washed her hands in a common open trough — some of her clothing she had taken off to remove her makeup. 

I felt as though I could have started seducing her, if I wanted to, but I chose not to.  She had matted, reddish hair that was up in a bun.  Her hair was strawberry reddish-blondish like the two girls in the earlier dream.  These redheads were of obvious Druidic heritage.  Meanwhile, the guys in the band were coming back.  They wore makeup that was painted in streaks — more like the way tribal and Amerindian warriors adorned their faces with paints.  They were white.  None of them seemed interested in fucking the women. 

They were then going off, to a club, to hang out.  I went off with them.  On arriving at the club, I found it quite interesting.  There was an advertisement about enlarging your balls.  The thing to do was to put your testicles in cow dung.  That is clearly ridiculous — you cannot put your balls in cow dung.  The ads showed the vat of dung, which was steaming.  The dung had to be steaming, affecting the notion of it being steaming warm, as when coming out of a cow. 

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The balls distended outside the body so that they could be kept sufficiently cooled and not become warmed by one’s internal body heat.  Straight away, I knew that that was a bogus remedy for having your balls enlarged.  The club had this wonderful entrance.  From the ground, the entrance took you down below the surface and into this darkened cavernous area.  Once inside, it was quite interesting.  People were going in and out.  The bouncer/maître d’ had huge balls, his actual testicles, which he held — one in each hand. 

*I dream it, I report it.  Who knows how this testicular adventure arose for having been auto-erotic on briefly awaking — well, not too briefly.  END.

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He was juggling them around like a lewd stripper would her ample tits.  They were individually wrapped with a green straw-like fibre.  Thus the balls could be pulled and stretched.  I found it all remarkably funny.  His cock comparatively seemed nonexistent next to the humongous balls.  He was the usher/maître d’ who let people into the club.  The club was called The Hell’s Gate.  He would be looking over the women who would come in and decide if any of them were exciting enough. 

Naturally, it was a bawdy house of ill refute – a bordello.  There was a lot of wholesome fucking going on inside.  The joint was jumping.  Truly, it was very funny. 

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In this the fourth dream, I next found myself in the streets at nighttime.  This was after the rock band had disbanded.  There were people in the street whilst other persons were watching them.  Also, there were other cars around.  They were large unusual-looking cars.  I went in and I joined a guy and started voguing on him.  He was very jet-black and had large full lips.  We were voguing a kiss and then another. 

I would then go down, as if to go down on him, whilst sensually dancing on him.  Our movements were very stylish and very beautiful.  There were two other couples, on my left, as I faced the guy dancing.  We were the best dancers, of course, and the most original.  Our dance was strictly erotic.  As a matter of fact, our movements came pretty close to fucking.  Our dance was more suggestive and engaged than a tango.  The magic we weaved, was absolutely wonderful. 

Quite a crowd was soon gathered around us.  Anyway, I went down into the club, The Hell’s Gate.  There was Louise Donlon [Denise Donlon] — the woman who does the NewMusic for MuchMusic — she is gap-toothed.  This club was obviously over in Britain, perhaps, Ireland.  She was interviewing musicians over there. 

*Ms. Donlon is, of course, married to legendary Canadian singer/songwriter, Murray McLauchlan.  END.

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I was fixing the cuffs of my jeans, rolling them down, to put them inside my penny loafers.  These were a tanned, almost teak-coloured, beautiful pair of shoes.  As I adjusted them, Denise was interviewing some musicians.  People would go off and become lost to sight.  This was in a large tent area.  They would slip outside after being interviewed.  Also present was, Nina Hagen, the German eccentric Punk/Rock/Opera singer with the vulgar-looking mouth.  She had extra-long red hair. 

She asked Denise if she was still writing and what had she written lately.  Nina Hagen said that she had done this song; the song was about the planet and her concern for its fragile ecosystem at present.  Denise then started playing a guitar.  Nina got really excited and told her that it was good and excellent.  She also told Denise that she was happy for her.  She seemed almost a bit too hyper-excited.  Then she abruptly stepped backwards and disappeared through the folds of the tent’s white-cream, silk-looking, heavy canvas flaps.  As Nina disappeared, on the other side, she was heard singing her song and carrying on — like the right eccentric loon that she is. 

On leaving the tent, I moved on and went inside the club.  A girlish woman — these women were so diminutive that they seemed like girls though not — was being chased; it was part of a contest.  Everybody chased her with pretty-coloured balloons.  She was trying not to get hit by one.  Eventually, she did get hit by one but she went and hid behind something.  There were a lot of girlish women there with big bums who were very short.  Some of the patrons were in the earthen floor itself with only their torsos sticking out.  For having such huge bums, these big-arsed girlish women seemed like they would topple over backwards. 

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However, their supra-mammaries created a good counterbalance.  They reminded me of Galina Yordonova — the former Bulgarian ballerina who ended up coaching Evelyn Hart at the Royal Winnipeg Ballet — with their petite-framed bodies.  These women were almost as if pygmies.  They were not dwarfs but just tiny people.  These persons were clearly of extra-human stock.  They had on black lace and they were shaking their boumpsies (bums) and dancing by themselves.  They were like go-go dancers who danced in a group, on the spot, on the floor.  I was moving around and thinking that it seemed like a very exclusive club. 

I had hoped that they did not exclude certain people, based on race or did not play certain music, based on race.  At heart centre, I knew that this was not the case at all.  I then left the lobby but was still inside, en route out, when I realised that there were a series of funerals going on.  At the time, I was with an irascible English aristocrat whom I had to tell, be quiet.  The funerals were all happening underground — at least, it seemed very much so to be underground.  Rather, if they were above ground, it is possible that they took place in a catacomb or caved sepulchre.  Everybody seemed to exist in a caved city.  There were little trees, like miniature cypress trees, that divided off the lots. 

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As I was moving along, I was asking the man to please be quiet.  There was obviously a very solemn affair afoot.  There were people standing around and they were saying en masse, “For thee, thy name sake…”  They were speaking very olde English at the funeral.  A little girl knelt down and put down a flower and she was holding a kerchief to her face.  She was crying and bawling.  I wondered if that is how I was going to behave at Merlin’s funeral.  A bit overwhelmed, I then moved on only to encounter another funeral. 

This funeral had less people in attendance.  This one was also wrapping up.  Both were obviously funerals for someone white.  There were mostly whites there.  People had on cardigans and sweaters because it seemed a bit chilly in the air — like an underground habitat would naturally be.138

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After having audiocassette-recorded these dreams, I placed a call through to Merlin over at Wellesley Hospital and chatted.  As had become habit, he would call to awaken me, I would then call back after having recorded the dreams.  As I would be taking him the morning newspapers and other items that he requested, I went about feeding the cats and doing some other chores about the house.  Whilst getting ready to be with Merlin, I went poring through our music library for something to play as I showered.  Finally, I had found it, it was Itzhak Perlman with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra playing Brahms Violin Concerto in D Major Op. 77; on the Angel label it was a coveted recording of both mine and Merlin’s.  Whilst I sat in Merlin’s favourite rocking chair, I sipped on tea made with the leaves of soursop.  Months prior when visiting St. Kitts and Nevis, I had managed to stealthily bring back some of the leaves in my luggage.  This fruit tree’s leaves induce the greatest serenity and dream lucidity when ingested as a tea.

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Of course, it has since been discovered that the soursop is said to be a thousand times more potent than the drugs used in chemotherapy.  That aside, I sat perfectly poised, slowly rocking back and forth whilst listening to and being enraptured by Mr. Perlman’s unique brand of shamanic magic.  Eventually, as the album played on repeat, I showered and got ready to go in and be with my lover.

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As ever my groovy shamanic kindred spirits dream like it is the most magical thing in the universe… well why not… it is after all.  Dance and fly in the dreams like the magical shaman that you are and hiss and piss on any fool’s grave who would have the temerity to have messed with you… cause life is not a dress rehearsal and loving self means protecting self from all ill-evolved dreck.  Thanks for your ongoing support and remember, my magical dream memoirs are available where all discriminating bibliophiles get their fix.  I love you more.  

 

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©2013-2020 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.  

Astral Projecting into Dreamtime.

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Recently, in the blog: Nancy …. and more, I spoke much of sage entity mate, Milan Newcombe – incidentally, Frans Bloem is also an entity mate.  In any event, during that tribute to Nancy Wilson, which also proved a tribute to mature sage entity mate, Milan, I spoke of how for having made love and sleeping together with Milan would frequently trigger the languorous process of astrally projecting from the sleeping body and progressing into the dreamtime whilst remaining lucidly self aware.  

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Interestingly enough, Jan Hartley whom I encountered on immediately astral projecting is another mature sage soul entity mate of mine and Merlin’s.  She is a freak-all fabulous Jamaican amazon, who is just as iconic and statuesque as Grace Jones who happens to be another cadre rather than entity mate.  Eden Battersea who appears in said dream, I also dream often of.  The energy between us was always simpatico.  I think that it is safe to state that Eden is likely an entity mate; however, I have never had her Michael Overleaves channelled.  

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©Alex Grey

A week prior to these dreams, Milan and I had been to Montréal where we had quite the time at the 350th anniversary celebrations and parade for the continent’s most cosmopolitan French city.  At the time of these dreams, it was Monday, May 25, 1992 and the Moon then transited both Pisces and my natal 9th house.  

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Astral Projected Self-Portrait.

Crayola on Paper 

©1984-2019 Arvin da Brgha. 

What I love about this self-portrait of myself whilst astrally projected, is that it perfectly depicts what takes place during the process of astral projecting on May 25, 1992.  There are many forms that the body takes on during astral projection; as in the self-portrait, in this dream I stayed connected to the physical body by way of the crown chakra rather than the solar plexus chakra.  Dream experiences such as these and the process of moving from being fully awakened in the waking state to remaining lucidly focussed into the dreamtime marvellously validate how beautiful it is to be incarnate; we truly are magical beings – and there were no drugs involved in getting one to groove out…

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*Prior to sleep, I did a great deal of meditation and energetic work with the crystals.  Soon, I became bloated and expansive and fell into a free-flowing awareness.  I saw a very large, slow-moving galaxy-like, cluster of spiral light.  It slowly rotated and was the most gloriously hypnotic, grounding experience. 

At one point, I too felt as though my body was also turning.  All sense of the normal parametres bled away and the room and bed seemed to drift away, leaving me slowing turning in the blackness of space.  Milan Newcombe was close by, his breathing while already asleep, kept me grounded.  Interestingly enough, the transition from this experience into the dreamtime was almost seamless.  

Although, at one point, it had become so displacing that I had had to forcefully grab hold of the bed and force myself to sit upright in bed, to come out of the experience.  This, of course, caused Milan to stir but he did not awaken.  END.  

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                                                            Dream one.  I was on a brown and red-covered bed and it was very dark here.  Interestingly enough, as the sense of the room about me fell away, I would find myself on this other bed, in a totally different space.  I then had an acute awareness of something being there on the bed with me.  It was most upsetting. 

I could not quite figure out what was going on.  It felt like something like a cat but I knew that Whoopi was not about, since I was after all asleep at Milan’s apartment.  By the time of the dream, Milan had already gotten up and moved about the apartment.  Also I knew that it was not energetically something as terrifying as a snake. 

However, it was very uncomfortable and quite weighted as a matter of fact.  Felt as though that just below the edge of the futon, on which I slept, that a hole had opened up in the floor, to the right.  Seemingly, a hole had in fact opened up in space itself.  The wall of the room was as if also impacted with one of these holes. 

This one was considerably larger and more powerful than the one on the floor.  Sequentially, it had also appeared after the one on the floor.  This thing was so ominous that I felt as though, were I to have gotten up, it would have simply sucked me into its vortex.  I knew intuitively that were I to have fallen into its pull, I’d have fallen to my death. 

There was a strong sense of them being a black void and very ominous but one which I could not quite see.  Simultaneously, my body felt so ridiculously bloated.  I just hated the way that my body felt, I literally felt trapped in my own body.  I simply wanted to get out of the shell of my body. 

At that, I willed my self to get out, to get up.  Impatient with the feeling of being weighed down, I decided to astrally project, to move beyond my body.  Decided that I had had more than enough of this feeling of being helpless and entrapped by my own, leaden, bloated body.  Struggling, I pushed against my own body.  

It was as if the blackhole which had manifested beside the bed had so much gravity that it was literally crushing my body.  My chest and entire body felt as though leaden, as if strapped in to the bed.  I simply could not get up.  Since my physical body could not get up, I impatiently said, “Well fuck, I’m going to get up.” 

It’s as though, I had been infused by Milan’s very intense nonconformist energy, for which I do so truly love him.  “No, Arvin.  I have simply got to get up.  I will not suffer this.” 

With herculean effort, I willed myself to a crouched position then made my way down to the foot of the bed.  Turning around, I was surprised to see that my body was still lying, a very slow-breathing shell of a space.  Knew immediately that I was astral projecting and did not have to freak out, thinking that this was my death.  I also did not want to have to see my body and become overly focussed on it, so that I could really trip out, as it were. 

Turning around, I got up, keeping my back turned to my body.  When I got up, I was still aware of the great void being there.  There was a heavy bleed of energy out the crown chakra, atop my head.  This was as if I had the crown of a baobab coming from my head’s crown chakra but a baobab of light energy.  

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It was funnel-like and spiralled out, then moved back down and outwards, before veering off to behind me to my body, lying asleep on the bed.  What was really interesting about the vortices’ energy, was that they had warped the funnel of light energy, out and towards them, before it was then trailed back down to my body.  It had the appearance of a not fully vertical tornado that manages to swirl way off its central axis, in the cloud, before making contact with ground. 

Getting up, I started walking deliberately, as though in slow motion.  Moving with focussed intent, I managed to effortlessly move through the closed french doors, in Milan’s Spadina Avenue two-storey apartment and crossed the hallway into the kitchen.  The further I got from the french doors and the magnetic black holes, the lighter I became and the easier it was to manipulate in my light body.  I had gone there in the first place to collect messages from the answering machine, as I knew that Pandora had tried to call me from Paris, in the waking state, while I slept. 

Who should be in the kitchen but Eden Battersea and Jan Hartley, both Black Jamaicans from the work environment.  Jan was very much so in charge and in her element, as she cooked and Eden tidied up the rest of the kitchen.  It was also unusually dark here, just as it was in the bedroom, where the holes seemed to suck so much of the light from the room.  Eden was by the fridge, except that there was more space at the counter beside the phone and fridge. 

Eden was there making a sandwich of some sort.  Jan was at the table, chopping of things as she had pots going on the stove, preparing food.  She was quite warm and friendly, energetically greeting me.  I went to the answering machine to check and see if in fact Pandora had yet called from Paris. 

However, there were some problems because I could not find the buttons to start playback of the messages.  It was also a quite different machine to the one from the waking state.  Now, it was an elongated black and brown affair, very unusual-looking.  Jan soon joined me in trying to figure out, how the devil to figure the workings of the thing. 

But then she turned and looking into my face said, from under furrowed brows.  “Buh chile ah wha rang wid ounu face.  Chile yu muss tekk kare ah yur face an ting no man.”  At that, she drew closer, putting her hand over my face. 

Though she did not squeeze or anything, she then said in that loud Jamaican voice of hers, “Clean it way ma…”  I then rubbed my fingers across my nose, thinking of things in the waking state. 

*Presently I do have a bad cold in the waking state.  There have also been lots of problems since I began growing in my moustache, clogged pours more often than not, turning into puss-filled zits.  Ick!  I suffer from a patch of ingrown follicles at the same spot in the moustache. 

Every time I shave it down, it then gets problematic and soon enough gets infected and puss filled thanks to naturally curly black hair becoming ingrown.  Charmant.  This, of course, because I also have such legendary oily skin.  END. 

Cleaning my face with a napkin from the counter top, I would see all this puss on my face.  I was stunned by how realistic it all was.  Jan was so protectively nurturing of me.  Then she began rambling away in Jamaican patois, about not having any trust in technological appliances. 

She threatened to send it off to the states where she would have two of her sons, fix it up for her.  Finally, she could not be bothered, so was not going to do anything about it.  Thoroughly enjoyed her energy.  Going up on this ladder, I went up onto a stand, in the kitchen. 

This was when I realised that the answering machine was connected to another machine; a black box which had these long beaker-like tubes.  They were much like the tubes in the old radios.  A little red spark of laser light, powered the machinery.  Asked Jan if there were not any calls that had come through for me. 

Eden then turned around, looking over her right shoulder at me, when answering, “Sorette, or Soret I think it was, called.” 

“No you mean Pandora, don’t you?” 

“No, I’m quite sure the machine said Saurette.”  Finally, we figured out how the bloody machine worked and it was a strange one indeed.  Somehow, the calls were being routed off-planet, not as to satellites, but to another Star system.  So I thought that perhaps Saurette was the name of a Star from which the messages came. 

Thus it was a static-saturated trunk call but one which was travelling through hyper space.  Very interesting.  Eventually, we got to a message from Pandora, in which she was saying that she would meet me later.  She let me know that she was okay and had gotten my message without any trouble. 

i then announced that I was going to go back out to the salon, which is Milan’s quarter of the house.  Told them that I was planning to go get dressed and go out and meet Pandora.  It was then that I noticed that there was a pair of shorts that I’d left behind at Milan’s, sometime before.  More importantly, the clothes that I slept in were there but discarded since of course I was in an out-of-body state. 

They were the clothes I wanted to put on anyway.  An extra pair of pants sat about; they were jeans.  I was surprised to see that I had left so many clothes laying around at Milan’s place.  They laid across a chaise longue much like Milan has. 

A bed, very shortened, sat on this mattress frame.  I had been on it before.  Jan came in and took it up, banging it against the mattress frame, shaking it out.  I helped her move it, after she asked that I give her a hand. 

We moved it from the outer room, which looks out onto Spadina Avenue to the salon where the harpsichord sits.  The space was like Milan’s apartment but much larger and much more furnished with antiques.  Even here, it was more cluttered than Milan’s beautifully eclectic space.  We took it out to the inner salon which here was like a dining room space. 

There was another bed there with no mattress, which we were going to go use.  We were both barefooted at the time, when she noticed that there was broken shards of a mirror, which were laying about on the floor.  Some were even on the wooden bed frame.  A medium tone wood, it definitely was not a dark wood. 

Jan kicked away the shard with her right big toe.  When I told her to be careful she boisterously chimed, “Me na kno say ma?  Me knoe man, me knoe say ah so de sinting go.  Yu ha fe wartch yur self too chile.” 

Jan was so refreshingly good to be around.  Really, it was quite a pleasure to have helped her out and drink of her spirit.  At this point, I was fully dressed, then announced to her, in a convincing Jamaican accent, “Yeah me dear, me garn gu lang dong ya su, fe book up pan me sista an dem.” 

She cackled, enjoying my accent then affectionately waved me off, “Okay den chile, laita on, fu uknu.”  As I walked, I began going through the closed french doors of the salon.  I effortlessly moved through them as before. 

buenos aires2

                                                            Dream two.  In an instant from effortlessly passing through the closed glass French doors, I was posited out on the side of this very, very wide boulevard, in broad daylight.  Even for me, a seasoned adept at the exigencies of the dreamtime’s pandimensionality, it was a surprising transition.  In an instantaneous puff, there I was, elsewhere.  I had materialised along this boulevard, which had no vehicular traffic whatsoever. 

The thing about this transition was that I had total and clear lucid continuity of consciousness whilst moving from one dream locale to the next.  What was even more bizarre about this, was that I was striding westwards going through the closed door.  In an instant, my stride continued but now I was going eastwards, in the opposite direction.  It was light out whilst in the company of half a dozen men, who were wearing green overalls. 

It was militia garb, tucked into very long, thick riding boots.  With them, they carried long black, billy clubs like the London Bobbies.  I had also materialised in the presence of Penina, Pericles, Pandora, Isha, all my siblings except as per usual, Rio.  It is rare that I ever dream of this man, even in childhood when he was around. 

Pericles was wearing a brown silk shirt, over his brown, baggy slacks; he looked very dapper.  Terribly elegant and very refined with himself, as well he is.  Pandora wore a long flowing skirt that was pleated.  White, it was covered with beautiful floral designs in blue and red. 

Tiny rose petals, in fact, they were.  She wore a navy blue jacket with gold buttons that looked like the classic Chanel suit.  Very large-buttoned, this beautiful suit truly was elegant.  Isha wore a similar suit but there was more colour and flare in her suit. 

A less conservative approach than Pandora’s was Isha’s.  Penina’s outfit, I cannot even now recall.  Undoubtedly, it was not some overdone number, very low key, as is her style.  Functional and comfortable, her criteria. 

Incidentally, the secondary players in this dream were Pandora and Pericles.  On my arrival, I saw this guy and immediately thought of Karl Weller°, from the work environment.  Looking into his face, I said to him, “My god, I thought that you’d have been taller.”  We were standing on an incline but were face-to-face. 

On closer inspection, when looking in his face, I realised how more so he looked like John Milachek.  He looked at me with this look on his face, which was so loving and filled with longing for me.  Throughout, he remained silent, never once having said a word.  Again, I told him that I thought that he’d have been taller. 

He was one of the soldier-militiamen, so that was why he could not get too engaged with me.  Though he never reciprocated, it was obvious that the feelings were mutual.  Another guardsman passingly seemed like Milan; however, I had not spent much time looking at him.  There was an obvious, loving bond between us. 

This was also about acknowledging the fact that we had just met in the waking state.  But it was all done without words; rather, it was done at the level of soul.  It was very electric between us.  So thrilled was I that I broke into song, singing and winding up me waist and celebrating. 

I wind up on the other guy who passingly reminded me of Milan, without giving so much as a damn what others were going to say.  My lips pursed, my arsed cock high, out and ready.  Yes indeed, I was ready to rock and in heat, too.  Pericles sucked his teeth in disgust, turning away from me, saying, “He’s becoming more and more of a problem. 

“And a total embarrassment for this family.  I just do not know how we can put up with this.  Look, what am I doing here anyway?”  Turning around on my heels, I grabbed the long riding whip, from a guy and violently struck Pericles, booming into him, “Shut up!

“I’ll have none of this.  I have every intention of expressing who I am and being who the fuck, I am.  I’m not intent on pleasing you or anybody.”  With that, I continued my frenetic attack on him, whipping him into shape as it were. 

“Shut your narrow-minded ass, the fuck up!”  Forcefully, I cut him down to size and laid into him, all eyes, whip and rage, “I will have abso-fucking-lutely, none of this.  You own nothing here, nor are you running anything.  You’re not doing anything, except as per usual to stand here on the sidelines, passing judgment. 

“That’s all you ever do.  So shut the fuck up!”  I was truly livid with him or anyone trying to rein me in.  Incensed at this sphinctered rigidity, I abruptly took my leave, turning back to head across the extra wide, deserted 

A Brimstone Hill Sandy Point Panorama

                                                            Dream three.  Almost immediately, it became the lane up Crab Hill next to our house there.  This lane, of course, separated us from the very disputatious Florence Pole°.  Just as before, while in the midst of my stride, I was posited from one locale to the next.  Again, much was different here. 

Though there was continuity of lucid awareness, it had also transformed from bright daylight, to the stark finality of night time.  When I came down to the road, the McHughs’ house was there.  Going out into the street, I was surprised to find that it was considerably wider than in the waking state.  There were lots of ancient-looking bas relief.  This was so stunningly incredible.  Thus the effect was one of her legs seemed improperly attached to her body.  This was all about getting to a Space of Spirit and Intellect, where one was then free to creatively explore. 

This was in essence a creative incubator, at the level of the astral plane.  After all, everything about this experience from the projection out of my body, lying there asleep behind me, was truly about ascending to a higher stratum of the astral plane.  This abandonment was so mind warpingly complex, yet paradoxically simple in its sheer eloquence, that all I could do was throw my head back and riotously laugh.  Along with myself, there were other waking state locals there experiencing this as spectators. 

We were getting such a high at what these great masters could pull off.  It was as if, prior to setting out on their impactful incarnations, this is the astral school where souls like Martha Graham and George Balanchine° went to master their creative expressionism.  Quite simply, this was the school where great masters went to work it out, before reincarnating with an agendum to take the world by visionary, revolutionary, creative expressionistic storm.  Everyone of these people would evolve the art and styles would be created as a result of these souls attending this astral plane school of high priestdom. 

This is the only way to describe the scope of this realm’s essence.  These were a very august-souled people, who were mastering their art.  The art of pure creative expressionism.  They then announced,   “Okay, okay, okay. 

“Here comes the other guys.”  This led to the introduction to the opposing team of players.  One of them was seemingly the ancestral forebear of the McHughs, our Crab Hill neighbours.  There were obviously a great many Europeans in the McHughs’ family tree, on Baron McHugh’s side. 

The matriarch on the father’s side was then brought out of the McHughs and proved a very skeletal, ancient white.  She had apparently had a double mastectomy.  Very senior easily centuries old-looking, she was borne up by a couple of attendants, who were of Amerindian descent.  Everybody then started laughing, all the players on both teams, because she was so full of fear

She was possessed of an enormous amount of sexual guilt because of her nakedness.  Her body was truly bizarre.  It was quite concave; it was collapsed in on itself and birdlike.  When it got down to the hips, they disproportionately ballooned. 

Quite simply, she had a hideous mess for a body.  More to the point, it was all about how very uncomfortable some persons in the waking state, of southern Eurpean cultural heritage, are so guilt-ridden.  This is about how they see sex as being base and dirty.  As a result, such persons become so acutely uncomfortable in their bodies. 

There was another white who passed by in a blue and white muu-muu.  It was hard to tell which sex the individual was.  What was really interesting about this all, is the fact that the McHugh matriarch had been initially clothed, then stripped naked.  This is what had caused her such distress. 

For being so absurd in her self-denial, the others who were perfectly at ease with their nakedness, had begun laughing at the bizarreness of her.  She was lost in her beliefs.  The person went down between the McHughs and Saunders residences.  Two of the most grotesque thighs supported the gargantuanly hideous body. 

They were stubby little legs under this grotesquely bloated body.  If that were not enough, there was then a third Caucasian who looked like one of those early washing machines, from the 1950s.  The ones that had the roll wringers atop the round-lidded container.  This individual was Boteroesque in the true sense of the word. 

Very baby-souled, indeed, in focus.  Totally ill-proportioned and as well completely ashamed of their bodies.  They were so not into their bodies, that they were resoundingly subjected to ridicule.  They were a moment of Comedia dell’Arte. 

At that, I turned around and walked across the street heading as if towards Florence Pole’s verandah.  There were many more steps up to the verandah, which here was quite raised off the ground.  Going up on the steps, there were several of the naked giant people seated there, who were laughing their heads off at these freaks of daymare fare.  Not everyone was naked however. 

Going up on the last step, I sat down to the right, passing this woman.  On sitting down, I’d looked down into her eyes, with her on my left.  Ahead of me there was a guy standing up, who could have been earlier seated where I now sat.  The woman turned out to be pretty much so like the actor Kathy Bates, trying to verify, I called out the name, “Kathy Bates. 

“Hi, how are you?  You know that year, the Oscars were such a low-key affair and then there you were, breezing in with a spectacular win.  You were so refreshing and it was so refreshing.  Look, I’m really happy for you.” 

She energetically thanked me.  Kathy wore a brown large blouse.  Refreshingly, she wore no make-up whatsoever, a lot like that other grounded actor, Tyne Daley that way.  She was so refreshingly real and normal. 

Very clear, strong brown eyes, that were totally self-possessed, centred and contented.  Good for her.  The skirt matched the blouse, both covered in these daisies in various stages of maturation from bud to full bloom, then on to withering expiration.  Some were tight buds, buds breaking open. 

Daisies opening, others still in full bloom, still others past their prime.  Some after their zenith, some with three or four petals left.  A few still with only one withered petal left and some more with nothing but a petal-naked seed pod.  There were all very tiny, all the full bloom daisies less than one third the size of a dime. 

Quite a beautiful ensemble and I rather admired it while we spoke, from time to time pulling away from the unobstructed beauty of her warm eyes, to look at them.  Even for me, it was a bit humbling to have to look into so serene a pair of eyes.  Excitedly she called out to a man who was down below the steps, who turned out to be her husband.  Energetically, she had him come up and join us. 

He was a stout man and he reminded me of the actor, Jeffrey Jones, who played emperor Franz Joseph in the cinematic tour de force Amadeus.  He carried a wonderful little child who had the sweetest, sunniest disposition.  The husband did, though, have a rather distended stomach.  At one point, she got up and went to sit on the edge of the verandah. 

I knew that she had gone there because she had found my eye contact a tad too direct, which it always is, whether in the waking state or dreamtime.  She had kept on looking away, for no other reason than that my gaze was a bit too intense.  I was not upset by it, accepting her choice.  Alas, it was not the end of the world. 

Her husband remained where he was, originally on her right, with the boy.  He was excitedly speaking about what the naked giants were able to pull off with their bodies.  He seemed about 37 years old and undoubtedly an actor; theatre or perhaps an acting coach.  They were a really refreshing group of persons to be around. 

It turns out that they were mostly white on the steps.  The boy sat on his father’s lap, wearing a sunny shirt to match his wonderful personality.  It was covered throughout with sunflowers in bloom.  This little man had such beautiful little teeth, against his generous gums. 

Perfect teeth, on the four year old.  His hair was brown to black, with a beautiful natural oily sheen to it but one that was not problematic, falling in a bang on his forehead.  He had such beautiful, smiling sunny eyes.  God it was breathtaking to look at him because here was a soul incarnate in the most sunny of childhoods. 

Spectacular!  He was happy and a precocious, charmer.  As I looked at him and he was smiling, he suddenly got dead serious on making eye contact with me.  Time seemed to stand still as the most intense fusion occurred between us; it was really quite powerful. 

“I wonder if you are Merlin?” I thought to myself whilst reciprocally looking directly into his.  He looked at me saying absolutely nothing, his lips pursed, knowing, then broke into the most glorious, knowing laughter.  It was as if to say, “Well, you tell me.  What do you think?”  

It was very direct and very connected.  With that, I reached out to him, rubbed his little thighs, to which he giggled with utter abandon.  This child asked so many questions, of adults who actually took the time to be there for him and not relegate him as a bit player in their agenda.  Very impressive parenting approach, to which he was focussed. 

Goodness, this kid was so filled with life, positive life.  Good for him.  Kathy Bates then leaned forward, asking after me.  She then drew to my attention, the vista across the way where our Crab Hill house used to be. 

There had been a fire, burning the entire structure to the ground.  Apparently, it was arson but the saving grace was reconnecting with the genip tree, which though considerably larger, towered seemingly more so, without the grounding of the house.  The trunk was so thick that I squealed with delight, letting everyone know that I was the one who had planted the mango tree.  It had been singed on one side, during the fire. 

Remarkably, it had survived the fire and not burnt down, for which I was grateful.  Looking across the street to the McHughs’ yard where their truck used to be, there was now a majestic poplar tree and in St.  Kitts at that but it was quite sturdy and strong.  Quite handsome and though thin-trunked, I was quite pleased to see it in these parts.  It was not unlike a columnal oak, spiralling up as it did. 

Every time that the breeze blew through it, the leaves rustled, beautifully laughing; it was the most exquisite drink.  It affected a great tranquillity to the evolved Chi of the place.  Standing up, the steps were quite high, as I looked down into the road.  As a matter of fact, the lane was considerably wider and being used here as a street. 

At that point, I saw Pericles, Isha and Pandora.  I had pulled up my leg, on seeing this young black boy.  He was beautifully dark-skinned and slightly over weight.  As he walked towards us, on noticing Whites on the step, he immediately became very subdued and self-conscious. 

As a matter of fact, he was quite afraid of being taunted and harassed by whites. 

*Which finally is a reality that all blacks experience, with varying degrees of intensity and frequency.  It was all about the psychic abuse that one is perpetually subjected to.  Outright ridicule, crossing to the other side of the street, women clutching their handbags.  Being sniffed at rudely and spat at with cutting aggressiveness. 

Nasty, animalistic behaviour, all of it.  Aggression that is daily perpetuated, to justify the absurdism of their arbitrary superiority.  Finally, their acute insecurity about being arbitrarily superior.  A very mad, twisted little World that we all inhabit, in the waking state: both blacks and whites, for its a displacement of spirit that we are as if unable to constructively address and affect. 

Quite interesting to experience this degree of WST (waking state transference) and I really reached out compassionately to the young black man.  Finally, I knew that I could only do so much for him; he would have to make his own way.  Penina then came over, bearing this pair of pants that was on a hanger.  It came with a pair of briefs attached inside. 

She instructed the young boy.  She was letting him know that it was time for him to go run the race and she had not spent all this time coaching him, for him not to win.  She was her usual feisty self.  Humorously, she went about bolstering his spirits. 

It served to pull him away from the vortex of predatory racial animus that he was succumbing to.  This exactly was what he needed then and there, being spirited away from the black hole of racism.  This was about the debilitating effects of racism on black males in the waking state.  Excusing myself, I said, “Oh good, there is Pandora. 

“Allow me, to go down and greet Pandora, again.”  Rushing down, she beamed at me as we warmly greeted each other.  Wrapping arms about the other’s waist, we walked away with her on my immediate left.  Languorously, we had kept directly looking into each other’s eyes. 

You could feel the mostly white waking state humans back on the steps, admiringly looking on at us.  Pericles was coming towards us and it was obvious that he could not be avoided.  However, we lapsed back into looking into each other’s eyes, in that way snubbing him, letting him know that we had no intention of acknowledging his narrow-minded energy.  He was royally pissed off at that, as well he should have. 

Finally, we did not care for his arrogance.  Isha was there with Gina Morton and some other girlie friends, ponging ‘tory, as is their wont.  Hurriedly, I invited Pandora to come along, at which point we walked around the road past the Crab Hill property.  I was supposedly taking her to the poplar tree.  

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                                                            Dream four.  Yet again things immediately shifted and now it was an entire city block, which was not like anything in Crab Hill at all.  Turns out, this strange city had been burnt completely to the ground.  Quite so, it seemed to be an industrial complex, with all these exposed frame work of the larger buildings.  Many of the skyscrapers here still had their steel ribbing in tact. 

It was all very garish a sight.  As we crossed, I pointed out all the exposed pipes and burnt out wood everywhere.  Somehow, many of these wasted structures had become organically transformed.  The wooden beams were now exposed, black charcoaled sculptural signatures. 

In one locale, a set of pipes came up out of the ground.  Conscientiously, I pointed out that we had better get out of there.  My concern was that the pipes were bleeding gas, which was not only invisible but unscented as well.  Noticed as I inspected that one of the pipes had a heat vapour rising from where it was broken; this was not a good sign. 

So we decided to turn right, heading down this off-street from the major thoroughfare.  Along it, there were lots of exposed pieces of plastics which were mixed into the mortar along the side of the road.  It was quite interesting to see how this civilisation chose to recycle its plastics, burying them in the mixture to help make more affordable and durable roads.  The road did incline downwards as we went along it. 

This then took us to this large, old wooden building, which still stood.  It was pink with louvres which covered the outside, where just inside there was a verandah with an indoor garden.  Glass louvres shut out the elements allowing the plants to grow healthily.  But in the very last apartment, I noticed that there were two of them that were totally abandoned. 

I was thinking at the time that we could easily move into them.  Fixed up, they’d prove wonderful large apartments and a wonderful place to live.  Saw no reason why we could not fix them up and end up getting good rates for them, on resale.  Arriving at the last apartment, I excitedly announced to Pandora, that it was where Hélène Plotte-de Visage lived. 

We were able to peer inside the apartment.  It was reminiscent of the cottage that she owned on Ontario Street; however, this was differently laid out.  It was then and there that I recalled being there to visit with her, earlier in another dream.  It was a beautiful apartment, laid out so that it was like a stage set, on several levels. 

No walls just different levels, adding a sense of spaciousness to the space.  A piano then began playing, which was soon accompanied by a chorus of singing kids.  Realised then that she was a pianist and a school teacher to these kids.  We went walking past as Hélène got up to sing a Christmas carol, which they were rehearsing, at all of summertime. 

To hear the carol at summertime, reminded Pandora and I simultaneously of our childhood Christmases in Crab Hill, where it was of course a perpetual summer.  Looking at each other, we had a moment of true intimacy, smiling lovingly at each other.  We were so moved that we sweetly laughed whilst enjoying the tight groove that only the two of us, could have fathomed then and there.  Hélène’s apartment was at the end of the complex, that led to a wonderful garden, to the side of the building. 

Here the road dead-ended into this beautiful large park.  There was a road that ran east-west, because we had gone due south, along the road.  The east-west street presented us with a choice and I suggested that we go right and so we did.  We walked on the south side of the street, which inclined, with the park close by. 

We’d originally turned right to get onto this street.  We crossed to the north side to get on the same side of the street as the park.  When we got up, this street dead-ended into a plaza before the park.  There were lots of people just hanging out, kicking back. 

Here, it was very mellow.  Mostly, they seemed to be a bunch of hippies, with several of them wearing the same high-riding boots.  Though the garb bordered on that of some skinheads, they were, however, not such persons.  A long backed, high-yellow woman was there with her family. 

She had two daughters and a son.  One of the daughters had great potentials of becoming a spectacular model.  She did look not unlike the East Indian-German, beauteous supermodel Yasmine Ghauri, though, a younger version.  She wore a blue bathing suit, which I noticed when she got up off the picnic blanket to stretch out. 

They were in our way but not obtrusively so.  We continued along and happened on these very young-souled  Americans.  We instinctively held on tighter to each other because these people were so aggressively young-souled.  It was fairly obvious to us that we were likely to be at least verbally attacked by them. 

Thus we chose to shield ourselves from their potentially stinging sarcasm.  As we moved along, I was amazed to find that one person to our left, in passing, was Bruno Lambsdorff.  Saw another young, high-yellow girl because she so reminded me of Martha Wexler, I called out to her.  She wore a white silk blouse. 

When we came over, she joined us immediately, holding hands with us and walking between Pandora and me.  A dark-complected black girl then came up, whose hair was braided.  The other’s hair, like Pandora’s was gathered back in a loose bun.  So too was mine, for that matter. 

As we intimately progressed, enjoying each other’s company, we were aware of the onlookers, trying to fathom the extent and nature of our connection.  It was as though to them, the high-yellow girl was too beautiful to be an offspring or sibling of ours.  Most of all, we were gathered thus to shield and protect ourselves against the vicissitudes of rough-going racial animus that foamingly swirled about us.  Arriving in the plaza area, the two girls had these yellow-handled camcorders. 

The rest of the tiny machines were black, which they placed over their eyes, with their right hands, to begin filming away.  Isha started dancing, at which point, I suggested that Pandora ought to go join in the dance.  Myself, I let them know that I was unsure whether or not I wanted to be dancing.  Pandora was decked out in these high heels, doing these wonderful, elegant movements. 

Isha, quite out of character, was also wearing high heels.  She was dancing away to which I added, by energetically scatting away.  Soon enough, people started materialising, to check out our performance but I, however, did not want to be so hemmed in.  Further, I suggested that they visit while I head off to explore some more. 

Pandora, however, decided that she wanted to continue along, in my company, so I galdly accepted her offer.  

tour bus2

                                                            Dream five.  We headed off and soon got aboard this tour bus, where there were all these Japanese persons.  We began reading this book together; that famous Hindu book of worship.  It was a new version of it.  It had been updated, because a new religion had recently been born to the world. 

This was all very scary for us, as we read on.  It spoke about after the history of things.  Accordingly, after Lord Buddha there was the ambisexual Buddha, which did not make much sense.  So I read the fine print of this blue covered text, of religious writings. 

Here there were poems and historical accounts of events.  There were excerpts from the Lotus Sutra to the front, of the text, with newer religions in the middle section of the publication.  The end of the book, spoke of this new religion’s rise.  It informed that the Great Master was known to have been born in Israel. 

The complete statistics of his birth, astrologically, were listed.  At the time, all that I could think was that he was implying that the reborn Christ was going to be reborn in Israel.  Twice in a row, I thought.  Talk about lightning striking twice. 

This of course was a reference to Christ who had long come and gone but interestingly enough, he was referred then as the Buddha.  This was very current; the moment that we stepped on board the bus.  The bus seemed to be on Canada’s west coast.  This was a very densely populous Asian city. 

There were also a ton of whites here, as well.  They also had very thick Australian accents.  I found it all so bizarre that anyone could so casually be sitting around reading this book.  But almost everyone on the bus was. 

These people were very young-souled and frenetic.  Pandora and I were the only blacks here.  Incidentally, who should be on board but a blond guy, who was wearing shorts.  He was Australian and stood there, looking down at me because I was reading the book. 

Soon, he leapt into this whole sermon that was of a religious, fundamentalist bent.  He was, though, not a Christian fundamentalist but a zealous devotee of this newly formed world religion.  These people were terribly zealous and went about trying to confiscate the book, from so many people who were on the bus.  It just was not right. 

I fast blew my cool and leapt to my feet, “Hey now, wait a minute! You have no such, fucking right.  Stop it!”  The incredible thing about this dream too, was that one had to have a tattoo of the national flag of one’s country of origin. 

It was then that I knew that they were definitely from Australia.  The Asian tourists meanwhile were very young-souled but younger still than the zealous Australians.  They all stood there on the bus, holding it hostage for many people.  Stealthily, Pandora had gotten up and charmingly excused herself from the bus. 

When I had turned to say something to her, found out that she was nowhere at hand.  An Asian man now sat next to me, whose face much reminded me of Rio’s.  He was however Chinese and very fat-faced and his face was ravaged by acne.  They were eating quite ravenously together but soon it turned out that they could not digest food because they would immediately throw up after eating. 

The windows on the bus, were constantly being opened, allowing them the chance to throw up their food.  They were like babies whose digestive system were not yet fully developed.  This was clearly a reference to where these people were at reincarnationally.  They were quite simply a bus load of baby-souled tourists. 

One couple had actually had to stick their baby out the window, in a bid to have it fully throw up everything, along with its parents.  I was so fucking incensed and had no intention of idly sitting by and tolerate any of this repressive outrageous shit.  Shrieking at the standing Australians, I let loose, “Damn it, get off the bus! With your fucking, goddamn-assed insolence… get off!” 

At that, I began taking the books, anything and forcefully began ejecting them.  When that couple had put out the baby to throw up, a large group of people; mostly whites, had begun piling onto the bus.  Some were also Australians but different to the original group of fanatics already on board.  The Australian fanatic who had started the attack wore these silver-rimmed glasses, which did not contain the wild intensity of his close-set eyes. 

He was tall, wearing unusually short, cut-off jeans.  On his thigh was the tattooed flag.  The pants were quite ripped up, completing the look were his weathered Birkenstocks.  He wore a large backpack, over top his cut-off-sleeved shirt. 

This man was very arrogantly blind in his young-souled awareness.  Quite gung ho as a matter of fact was he.  Of the new arrivals a white couple stood out.  The man was so pale-skinned that his near white completion made him glow in the intense light; it was incredible. 

He carried a baby of about six months old.  Both father and child had unusually large heads, with the child being just as pale as him.  At the time, all I could think of was Srivatsan Gurucharan.  They were in profile, on the steps at the front of the bus, waiting for others ahead of them to settle in, before they could properly enter. 

The East Asians on the first set of seats, had had to put out their child to throw up.  During emergencies the windows could be opened from the bottom, which is exactly what was being done.  The windows were extended to a maximum of forty five degrees, allowing just enough room for an infant to be shoved through, to vomit.  The father held the child by the armpits and the crotch in a diving position so that it could throw up. 

And boy did the infant ever go on a binge.  Everybody here, had these little bowls that they ate what seemed steamed bamboo shoots and other foods.  For some strange reason, all of these adults lacked the capacity to fully digest their food.  Pretty soon, I was beating the living shit out of everyone on the bus. 

Simply could not tolerate having any of this shit go down.  My main target was the bespectacled zealot.  Grabbing him, I began kicking and shoving him, to get him off the bus, all the while screaming expletives at him, “How dear you?  Get out of here, with your fucking goddamn-assed, stupidity and damn insensitivity!

“Get out!”  Using the book, I whipped, pushed and kicked all of them, out of my sight.  Frankly, I was surprised at my own behaviour.  I had not a clue where I was getting all this energy from. 

Just could not tolerate their stinking insolence.  They were completely stunned by my energy.  They themselves, knew in their heart of hearts that I was wrong.  After all I was black, not an Australian. 

Though they could not deny my eloquence and greater awareness.  Honey chile, I was one wrongly provoked, coloured queen, in this experience.  Was going to have none of this shit.  Soon enough, I got all of them off the bus. 

Those who did not get forcefully ejected, did themselves some good and scurried out of there, knowing that all hell had broken loose and I would come after them too.  They knew only too well that this bus was not going anywhere, as long as there was one irate coloured queen on board.  You simply had to bail out, toute de suite.  We soon got off, when I realised this guy who was seated next to me, was not in fact Pandora. 

I went outside in search of her, going up the road.  Then when I returned sometime later, realised that the front of the bus had this large staircase leading up to it.  The bus driver then called out to me, asking if I was coming along or not.  Now the bus was more so like a Hovercraft rather than a bus. 

This was a rather long transport and definitely not a bus, though, not a train.  So, perhaps, these persons had been throwing up earlier, due to possible sea sickness.  Although I do doubt very much, if this were the case.  I think rather that this had much to do with the fact that this had everything to do with their being baby and early-young souls.  

Reclining Buddha of Galvihara-sunny

                                                            Dream six.  I then went up this hill, where there were lots of tall, beautiful old-souled looking trees.  There I found Pandora and she had said very sleepily that she did not think that she wanted to go along after all.  She encouraged me to do so but surely I did not have to stay with her.  She was being very introspective, claiming that she would rather be alone. 

Reassuringly, she let me know that we woud doubtless reconnect later on.  She was being accommodatingly amiable.  I then went up and climbed over this banister, to get up this iron plank.  As I did so, there was a fat, stubby-legged, lobster red, tanned Australian coming off. 

He was coming off the transport and passing him, I brushed back my hand forcefully, saying, “Come on, get off the damn thing and get going.”  At that, he was sent rumbling down the ramp, though, he had been trying his Jurassic best to inch down, fearful as he was, of possibly falling.  I then got back aboard the transport, which when inside seemed, conventionally enough, to be a bus.  Settled in again, my stomach lurched at the intense smell of all the vomit everywhere. 

It was then that I wondered, if my being on the bus, meant that I too was a very young soul, a la baby or early-young soul at the most.  Possibly not even young-souled as yet.  I had always thought myself a much older soul than that.  After all, look at the degree to which I dream. 

On further reflection, I thought that perhaps I was mature-souled.  For one, the dreaming suggested as much.  Furthermore, mature souls tend to be plunked down in the mire of baby and young souls, who try their every which nerve.  Seeking some air, I had turned to open up the window, only to have the smell slap me in the face. 

The stench was even worse when I shoved open the window.  An up draught brought the putrid smell of vomit on the ground, outside the window, high up my sinuses.  Overwhelmed, I decided to awake and be rid of the stench. 

*Interestingly enough, when the book spoke about the Ambisexual Buddha, it was clearly speaking of Christ.  The dates for his birth, were not using the Julian calendar.  It was clearly the Jewish calendar.  However this was clearly a reference to Christ. 

Here, he was depicted as being very lusty, passionate, with a strong martial element to his body, all of which was borne out by his chart, whose statistics were included.  This made absolute sense to me; after all, how could it not have been the case.  This was a king soul on his last life.  As someone at the penultimate level of old souldom, he would have been very casual and indifferent to the gender preference with regards to matters of intimacy.  

All he would have seen was a soul incarnate, a soul which innately has no sex.  Certainly, there must have been some physical intimacy between him and the prostitute, Mary Magdalene.  In this way he would want to show her acceptance, as well to heal her of any bitterness or guilt she may feel for being a social outcast.  How too, could he not have had some moments of physical intimacy with some of the more passionate, older-souled members of his disciples. 

Same-sex experiences have always been part of the human condition and certainly the incidence of male same-sex experience, has been widely documented in Middle Eastern cultures.                             

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To paraphrase Scotiabank: you are more magical than you realise!  Put away the crutches and excuses, take a deep breath, accept that you are phenomenal and deserving, let go, move within and start living the magical wonder that is you… and don’t forget to push off and start flying.  

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©2013-2020 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.  

You are not alone.

black ET

Short and sweet, there is only one dream shared here of that day’s dreams.  At the time, it was Sunday, December 3, 1989, less than a month after Merlin’s passing.  Also at that time, the Moon transited both Aquarius and my ninth house.    

As Merlin was making the journey to becoming a fully realised astral plane habitué, for being task companions, many of my dreams were astral plane-focussed.  The dream involved interactions with extra-humans species that I had never before encountered. 

Dreams such as this one always make me grateful for being focussed here on this world.  Though it can at times be anything but civilised, it is still a remarkably beautiful world. 

The dreams that day were recorded on audio-cassette, twenty-eight and to be found in volume III of the dream opus.  As ever, sweet dreams and thank you for your ongoing support. 

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In this the first dream, I was in a far-off place; it was a strange land really.  Truth be told, this dream was focussed on another world.  I went to get on a streetcar/tram because I wanted to get home.  The tram eventually went and made a loop.

The tram here was more like the ones in Europe.  This was a dark, wet, cobblestone old street.  Almost with sentient ease, the tram had the capacity to bend; it was lifelike.

There had been a jerking motion as we moved along the tracks.  Next, I noticed that the tram did a most beautiful U-turn as though it were a snake turning back on itself.

Here, on this world, it was as though the physics gave things the ability to morph.  This was most unusual.  The manoeuvre, I might add, was carried out with the greatest ease.

The tram after having turned around then went back in the opposite direction.  We then crossed a river and were on another bank of the city.  I was now in a raised area and could look back at where we had been.  I was trying to make out on what street I had come along.

I had a companion with me who was talking; I really was not much focussed on my companion’s chatter.  This was a very densely populated area.  I can’t say that it looked like a European city but it was an aged place; yet, everything here was organic.

I then came into this large building and before going up the stairs of this dark, cavernous area, there were people who had come and moved in all-around us.

There were creatures, extra-humans, which were in helmet and combat gear.  I was then going up a gangplank which was like going onto a spaceship.  As a matter of fact, it actually was just that.

Even though these were helmets, they were as one would expect not synthetic but rather organic.  The helmets were almost as though the faces of the people.

In a strange way, they were almost like the many wonderful heads in Egyptian hieroglyphs.  Their helmeted faces were like those of the falcon-headed gods et cetera; they were like a mélange of humanoids, bird and animal forms.

There was one particular creature that was the actual colour black.  The extra-human’s skin seemed like a black body stocking.  This one was a Spiderman-like creature; however, the extra-human’s skin glowed and was black.  This extra-human being was quite a force and had great presence.

He had about his torso and on his back – I never did see his face because special care was taken so that I never saw his face, a soft, blue light aura.  The aura then collapsed in and became a hard blue tendril-like wing apparatus.  In point of fact, he had floated down through the air but the tendril-like appendages were not wings.

Again, this was another display of this world’s rather evolved technologies.  The interesting feature was that he was able to mentally make the aural light collapse; indeed, it was a form of technology which was controlled by the mind.  This light source was very thin and it also undulated.

The light underwent a transformation as he was gliding down to touchdown on the floor of this cavernous building; said building was, of course, the interior of a giant spacecraft.  The collapsed aural light became almost like a backpack which no longer glowed.  Too, the apparatus seemed like a soft metallic medium with some platinum and lapis lazuli hues to it.

The equipment had all the aerodynamic sleekness of something that was a mélange of Art Deco and, perhaps, the very futuristic features of a Porsche vehicle well into the next century.  The apparatus seemed like something that the creative genius, Erté would have designed.  The whole affair was very interesting indeed.

He was coming down to take care of me.  He was a guide and a guard for me and I knew it.  He was quite a force.  All the people gathered around down at the foot of the plank.  I went up into the upper chamber of this place and there were many people about.

Whilst onboard the giant spacecraft, I was helping to apply makeup around the eyes of a woman.  I had a strong sense that Maria di Caspieri was also about.  There were also other human-enough seeming people about; they were, however, extra-humans.  I was applying the makeup and showing them how to best do it.  I started paying more focussed attention to things as I worked.

Whilst all of this was going on, there was an ambush going down all-around us.  There were these enemy troops who were trying to come in and overwhelm us.  They were launching an ambush; they had come inside the giant spacecraft and had managed to trip the security system and make their way in.  Shortly, were about to take us as hostages.

I was at that point quite fearful because they did have the equivalent of weaponry; however, they never did use their weapons.  As they had to be very silent, they chose not to use their weapons.

They had come through an air duct system and had literally bled their way through the wall of the force field.  Not surprisingly, they had simply rendered themselves light and thereby moved through the force field.

This they had also quite skillfully done by jimmying the security system.  However, it was only a matter of time before they would be found out.  This, though, was a trap to try and capture my guide/guard; he was part of a whole legion of other beings who had been down below and looking out for us.

More than that, it was only a matter of time before these interlopers had been outsmarted and gotten rid of.  No one was hurt because there wasn’t any shooting.  They had mentally, by way of telepathy, overwhelmed the foes and tricked them into confusion once they had broken through the force field.

Thus, the interlopers were subdued and thereby any kind of physical struggle or combat was averted.  This was all done psychically, by telepathy, and I was telepathically aware of them doing this.  Even on me, at whom it was not directed, the power of their greater psychic abilities was certainly experienced as a paralyzing force.

This was a very definite, otherworldly dimensional dream experience.  Although I did not have the companionship of my wonderful friend and lover, Merlin, I was still not uncomfortable or out of place.  I felt a strong sense of security for having had my astral guide about.

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Photo: French screensaver of extraterrestrial.

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© 2013-2020 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.