Ensouled Proboscis Simian Humans

These utterly stunning dream experiences occurred on Thursday, February 16, 1989, whilst the Moon transited both Cancer and my second house.

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I was on a street and just beyond the other side of the street was the edge of a cliff; it looked down into a distant valley.  It was very sunny out.  I was seated in front of a house. On my right was a man who had come home from work in a car.  He looked very Italian except that he seemed to be very hirsute – as though he had quite dark skin. However, on closer inspection, he turned out to be rather hirsute.  A little later on, he came outside again.  His neighbours were looking at him, kind of strangely, like they weren’t already accustomed to looking or reacting to him in a strange manner.

He sat down next to me outside, on the neighbouring bench to my right, both of us with backs to the neighbours.  He turned and looked at me and his face was rather ape-like. It was the colour black and his hair was quite different.  This man had a long widow’s peak and his face was literally the colour black.  It was quite ape-like.  He said nothing.  More than that, he seemed rather friendly and nice. Along that street, there were kids when a car had pulled up.  They were very teenage kids – all boys.  A boy came out further along and returned to join one of his companions.

Then it turned out that his companion was in a car that was black and seemed to move, as it were, on air-cushioned rubber wheels.  This black car of his was rather aerodynamic. After his friend took off, he then – this is the little blond timid guy – went over towards the cliff.  Directly in front of the hirsute ape-like man, who was seated to my right, the blond guy went into the bushes. The young guy turned out to have been his brother – that guy who looked like a twin of his or resembled a brother.  They hung out together and then he went moving on.

As he passed me, going from right to left, a friend of his was coming down the road.  The road had a curve in it and went steeply up a hill.  The hill, in fact, looked like the hill at Toronto’s Prospect Cemetery on the south side of Kitchener Street. His friend came down and he was wearing a helmet because he had been on some sort of vehicle.  He removed the helmet, carrying it in his right hand, as they greeted each other. Strangely, they greeted by grabbing each other around the hips and rubbed their crotches together, joked and laughed.  In essence, they engaged in clothed frottage.

I thought it interesting that two males would engage in open sexual play, however, this seemed the natural standard way of greeting in this culture.  Clearly, this was a sign that this was not exactly Kansas. I had the distinct impression that the twin blonds had gone into the gorge to do drugs.  As they were blissing out, only the crown of their golden mops was visible. They were using the very intense lushness of the rolling hills, in the valley way below, as a stimulant.  Everything here was so pronouncedly healthy, even the star that shined seemed more intense and pure than Sol. I carefully looked at some of the trees and realised that they were bonsai, furry, mossy centuries-old plants that seemed to hum at a frequency higher than their arboreal counterparts on Earth.

I was able to zoom into the plants in the valley way below and experience them in intimate close-up.  Of course, this I accomplished whilst remaining seated on the bench where to my right on another sat the über-poilu, intensely warm, handsome ape-like man. The helmet was the same black, light, metal-plastic alloy material as the car.  It seemed to have the ability to absorb the intense sunlight, which was not scorching, and cool the interior. The blond who greeted his Italian-looking helmeted friend – they were all, incidentally, the same hirsute ape-like stock as the jet-black man seated to my right – had patted the car as he moved around its rear into the road to meet his dark-haired friend. He had patted the car much like one would a trusted horse.  At that, the car had hissed and lurched to the road from its hovering stationary position a foot off the ground.

 Later on, in the second dream, I was still on the same street.  There were all these little kids.  They were on skateboards.  They came down about four, five, six, of them – little guys. One of them was Black.  He was quite light-skinned.  They were from a high social class.  They were very friendly and nice and I warmly interacted with them. However, they were quite reserved and it wasn’t as though they weren’t friendly.  As I was a stranger, for that reason, they kept me at bay. On the lower part of the street, where I was with them, it was clearly a cemetery.  As far as cemeteries go, it was quite different an arrangement.  It had quite large tombstones in it – monuments.

There was one woman there in black who was seemingly Italian.  She was carrying on; she was grieving by this one monument.  It had on it a very interesting design and some of the graves were fresh. I explained to them, the little boys, that this was where one went.  However, then one came back from there and was able to live a life again like they were now living. I explained to them in those terms, however, I did not force them to look at funerals.  People’s focus on funerals as the end and fear of death was the trap, I explained to them.

In this the third dream, I was under these hugely tall trees and was working at the time.  Clearly, I had been working for someone like Pete Wilkens or someone like him. I had left a shovel around.  The shovel had been left about and from a long, long time ago.  This was on the grounds of a park-like setting where there were lots of skeletons about. The skeletons were covered with a whole bunch of ants.  It was strange because it seemed as though the bones were the remnants of lunch and had just been eaten. They seemed like the skeletons for fish except that the head bone of the fish – skull – was quite flat. 

The head had three sides to it and the skeleton was again a narrow filament that had two identical spines that trailed the unusual-looking skull. The skeletons were quite white and were flexible like the white cartilage of a chicken breast.  There was a bunch of ants all over them. I might also add that these flexible, double-spined, fish-like skeletons were covered with ants that were quite feathery and lumpy.  These ants were almost like miniature tarantulas because they were so bulky, dark, rich and, in a way, nice to look at.

There was a shovel sitting about and I realised that I had left it there, when I worked last time which was some time ago, last season.  However, nobody had actually moved it because it meant that it was my responsibility to have moved it. So I ended up moving a couple of rakes – they were, in fact, more like pole saws.  When trying to clear the space, I took them from one area to the next. I must say that I was quite struck by the face of that particular man that I did see, whilst he sat on the neighbouring bench to my right, in the initial dream.  Even here in another dream entirely, I kept seeing him in my mind’s eye.

 The fourth dream found me going back to an apartment where Merlin and I were living together.  There were ants all about the apartment. I told him, “You have to get out and go away for a while so I can clean away the ants.” I then went about disinfecting the place and got rid of the ants.  I was even disinfecting beneath the floorboards… everywhere. Owing to his being full-blown with AIDS, I did not want Merlin being exposed to the harmful chemicals in the disinfectants.  That, certainly, could have resulted in horrific consequences on his vastly compromised immune system.

With the fifth dream, I was in a large department store.  There, I saw Isis da Braga who was there to buy a scarf.  At the time, I was with two males; it was a Gay situation. Owen Hawksmoor was talking to someone who had a very large nose.  The man to whom Owen spoke was Black.  He seemed like we vaguely knew each other.  He seemed, in fact, like Don Baxter. However, the face on this man was black and had hues of red in it.  Not the colour black but as Black people look.  More than that, such that it looked like the nose of an animal’s would like an aardvark or some such, the nose on this man was more like a snout. He wore white; both he and Owen did.  There was some function, that one had to go to, for which Owen had complimentary tickets.

These two people, whom Owen and I had encountered, were saying that they did not know where their complimentary tickets were.  I said that I knew I had mine.  Anyway, Owen left them and went back up a flight of steps. It was quite light out, up the staircase, as though there was a skylight hung high overhead.  Owen moved on and I went in search of Isis who had passed by.  She was quite embarrassed, in fact, at seeing me with my arm about a Gay person. She went in and picked up a scarf and the scarf was worth 52$, I think, because she was putting down the balance of the money – the other half – 26$.  She was there shopping. It was a black scarf and it had beautiful… the borders were red and green designs.  It really was quite nice.  I came and leaned on the counter and said hello to my sister.

She was reserved, cool and detached.  She turned to me and was beautifully made up and looked very young with beautiful, flawless, flawless skin. She spoke about the fact that she did not go shopping with me anymore.  She insisted that my accusation that she did not go shopping with me anymore because I was with men was not true. She was wearing a beautiful mustard-coloured jacket and a scarf about her neck.  Indeed, she was quite well-off.

*The thing about these unusually droopy noses is that they looked as though this was a race of extra-humans (extra-terrestrials) which had evolved from simian mammals who were descended from proboscis monkey stock rather than not.  It is a race of primates native to Borneo and the faces of those simians are rather human. This is how this man and others in this dream would appear.  However, it was more than that look.  END.

In the sixth dream, I was in an office that was like an indoor greenhouse.  If you like, it was a mausoleum rather than greenhouse.  It was sky-lit and there were a lot of caskets about.  Some of them had flowers and some of them did not. When you came in, you went down some stairs and into a more open area.  There you saw a burial crypt.  It was an indoor burial crypt.  There was a man about as well as a grand piano. Whenever the employees of the place came in, there was a woman standing about and she would excitedly say, “We have to go out, we have to go out.” I was with those little children, from the earlier dream, who were skateboarding and whom I had instructed earlier about the whole idea of reincarnation.  These children were mostly White.  We were also being hustled out of the place.

The woman then said, “What is he doing?  There is not another service.  Why is he trying to start up that piano?” The man at the piano was large and bent over and he looked somewhat out of place being there.  Before we could be ushered out of the place, I managed to run up and put some flowers – some yellow flowers, on one of the brown caskets that was there.

*He was inordinately tall and hence drooped over a lot.  Whilst seated at the grand piano, his towering height made it look as though an adult seated at a dollhouse piano.  Too, he was inordinately pale…  END.

As we were going out, the procession was coming in and people were being hustled in.  It was quite a fast procession.  I stuck around and tried to see the place and see why there was so much hustling. There and then, it turned out that I saw the casket.  It was very flat and plain and I thought, ‘Well why is it being hustled out?  If it’s a funeral why would the relations be so ecstatic?’ However, it turned out that because the burial box was so flat I thought it was going to be cremated.  It turned out, however, that it was for the office.  There was going to be a surprise party.

It was actually a cake.  It was covered up in wonderful, colourful wrapping paper.  There was going to be a celebration and those were all the workers from the company.  The atmosphere was quite nice and friendly.

 In this the seventh dream, I was in a very, very large and busy restaurant where I ordered myself a bowl of soup.  I was going to go upstairs to the bathroom but I had my bowl of soup in my hand. It was very Gothic-styled.  It seemed, in fact, like the inside of a château.  It was in the Gothic style except that the walls were rose granite – rose-coloured granite.  It was, however, rather smooth-surfaced. I then accidentally spilled my bowl of soup.  The waitress who had come to my aid was dark-haired – short, dark hair.  She looked like a dancer who danced with the Winnipeg Contemporary Dancers when I was living in Winnipeg – the one who was Lebanese and had had a back injury.

Anyway, this waitress went off and I was waiting there being quite embarrassed.  I was trying to rush to the toilet.  I asked someone where the toilet was and they said, “No, no, not upstairs.” It turned out that the washrooms were, in fact, to the rear.  So off I went to the bathroom and I was quite embarrassed. I tidied up myself and I came back out and my white cotton pants – nice, beautiful trousers; they were baggy but they came in tight and folded in a pleat at the end at the hem – were quite stained by the soup. It was a dark sort of pea soup.  A dark brownish fare, like a lentil soup, it was.  However, it was not like a lentil soup because it was red.

I was trying to ask this man to move, in order to get by him, en route to the washrooms.  There was a couple behind a man and they were very lovey-dovey. The man had to ask them to get up to let me get to the bathroom.  He did not want to get up or anything like that but he finally realised he had to get up.  So he basically moved and he was quite unusually blond. Everybody in this place was very unusual-looking.  They had extraordinary features about them.  They were excessively good-looking but they had an outstanding feature that made them seem Thothesque. Again, noses here were very long, droopy and bent over.  Their noses were almost beaklike in that sense.  That was the extraordinary thing about that jet-black skinned man, in the initial dream, as well as this blond man who had the same feature.

Humanoid with exact nose as this Proboscis Simian

These persons were all exceptionally tall.  They were each on the other side of seven-plus feet.  Also, they were so über-poilu, it made it look like they were either jet-black when Black or yellow-white for being blond. Finally, he did move and when I was leaving, I looked at him.  He was looking down at me because I was out of sorts, out of place, being there.  Standing before him, he really did tower over me. Clearly, these persons were EHs – extra-humans or ETs. Another person had come by and tidied me up.  He busily got me back to where I was seated.  Then he had mumbled something like,Why don’t you get out of here real fast?”

So I went out into the vestibule and I was waiting and waiting for the waitress to come by because I wanted to pay her for my bowl of soup.  I think it was going to be $3 or something like that. Isis just said, “Why don’t we just get out of here?” We were waiting out front and it was busy so I finally got out.  However, I was arguing and said, “That’s not the point of it.” I strongly felt that I should be paying my way.  So I thought to just go back and put down my money on a table somewhere – I would feel better. However, I did finally leave, after having been more or less harassed by Isis without having paid.  She was asking, “If you can save the money, why not save it?” that was her attitude.

When we were leaving there was a tall, enormously tall, man.  He was White.  Again, he had the same beaklike nose and there was something about his face that I found immediately sexual.  His face was intensely sexualised. I was going to indulge and not leave because I so wanted to explore this man.  However, Isis hustled me out of there.

Dream eight found me in the streets.  I was walking with a baby – a little Black baby who was light-skinned.  I carried the baby on my shoulders. It was rather nice.  This time, out on the street, it was dark out and it was night time.  This place we went to, that was quite busy, was bustling with lots of wonderful, wonderful people. It was very cosmopolitan here.  A brief dream it was too.

I next found myself in a ninth dream experience that had a great deal of uproar and tumult to it. There were figures in black who were part of some sort of religious sect.  These persons were just alarmingly fanatical. They were terrorists and they wore black.  They had some sort of insignia on their bodies.  As a matter of fact, they were looking for me; there was no mistaking that fact. I was in what would be Catherine Angelica Montpelier’s yard.  I was trying to hide out there.  There were, somehow, attempts to get me out. Then there was this truck which the people who were like security guards used.  I was told where to find them and where they weren’t.

So I went into this yard and it seemed like part of Catherine Angelica Montpelier’s property and the neighbourhood in Crab Hill, Sandy Point, St. Kitts.  However, it was differently set up here. There was an Indian-looking girl – Amerindian-looking and not Dravidian.  She, too, had a beaklike nose and I tried to explain to her, “Well look, you know I’m being pursued…”

“Oh yes!” further, she made reference to the fact, “Oh yes, you’re the one who killed Bob… or somebody.” Up on the roof was like Bob’s brother, whoever Bob was, but it wasn’t a name that I recognised.  His name was Bob, however; it was Patrice Wellesley, of all people, who was keeping a lookout. He was supposed to notify the guard-like people.  I intuitively knew that on the far side of the wall, of the place where I was hiding out, was a guy and a girl.  She had very long black hair and was quite militant.  They were looking out for me and talking.

I was telling the Amerindian-looking girl with the Thothesque nose, who was talking to me and dropping pieces of information, to just shut up and calm down, “You don’t need to say everything and carry on and on.” However, she still kept on blabbing away. I then managed to go around the side of the house.  She was with her sister and they were playing some sort of game.  So I thought to actually go around, to the front of the house, to ask her who her sister was. I then went around to the front of the house and there was her sister who seemed like Diana Nottingham – with whom I modelled at OCAD and did that pose with her at OCAD that Olaf Nordstrom had painted.

Anyway, she was quite wonderfully made up in whiteface.  As though she were a Kabuki actor/actress, she wore white pancake makeup.  She was, in fact, an actress.  She was waiting to go on and perform a role of hers. It was quite interesting because she was, in fact, filling me in on what was going on, “In point of fact Arvin, you know, basically someone died because in self-defence in a rumble with them… it was just a lazy man about town, an idler and a drifter.” He apparently ended up dying because, during some sort of attack on me, as I was defending myself he was accidentally killed.  As a result, I was on the run and there was a plot – the militant group was out to get me.

Immanuel Methodist Church, Sandy Point, St. Kitts

She told me that what I could do was go behind the Methodist Church in Crab Hill, Sandy Point, St. Kitts.  The place, however, was set out as if a mélange of Crab Hill, Sandy Point, St. Kitts and elsewhere. So she told me to go across the railroad tracks.  On coming around, I would be able to come home free to my home in Crab Hill.  However, she pointed out that all along the route there were the same guards – militant fanatics. However, I just had to play it safe.  She confidently assured me that they could be headed off.  I was grateful for her advice and took her directives to heart. Well, low and behold, the girl – the militant sibling – came around the yard and caught me.  When she caught me, I fled in escape.  I went and hid behind the wall. I am not referring to Diana or one of the two sisters who had been around the backyard but there were two other sisters.  These other two sisters were part of the militant group that was on the hunt for me.

The girl pulled out a weapon and it had a little blade on it.  It was quite deadly and I kept hiding myself trying to extricate myself out of the place.  I did so by holding up one of the sisters, in front of me, as a hostage. Someone got spliced in the left hand.  I don’t recall that it was me or if it was me, I simply did not feel any pain when attacked.  The vicious-looking wound had self-healed right away.  I had focussed my light energies on the wound and caused it to instantaneously self-heal. Anyway, I was able to push the sister onto them.  I then made my way around to the back of the house.  By this time, the brother was coming around the house from the other direction.

When I say I went around to the back of the house, it was where I had originally encountered the two militant sisters.  By that point, she had already called for help from the guardsman.  He was somewhat ecstatic as he came around.  However, this was my chance to flee. So I climbed over the fence and immediately there was a lot of plastic on and all over everything.  When I climbed over the wall it was, clearly, what in the waking state would be the very back end of the Methodist Church estate. It was covered with a heavy plastic and there was a lot of wood.  There was scaffolding everywhere.  I climbed along the wood and the sister – the white-faced, actor of the two sisters – had told me that I could get immunity by saying that I was coming to work on the grounds or some such.

Next, I crawled along the scaffolding and looked to my left.  However, this being a dream, it had semblances to being Sandy Point but it wasn’t really Sandy Point either. I realised that there were apartments, tiny apartments, which were glass-enclosed.  They were all quite in disarray.  People lived there but nobody seemed to be home. Here I was trying to make my escape and if anybody had seen me, of course, I would be squealed on.  Then I finally jumped down, out of the ceiling-like area, because there were crates and boxes and a straw-stuffed bed under me directly below the window. I came down to an open area and there I saw a much darker version of Artemis da Braga, my niece.  She was sitting wrapped with a telephone cord about her as she played with the phone. I greeted her but I did not want to get her excited because I wanted to flee the area.

Sentient Alien Land Rover

Next, in dream ten, I came out of this beautiful house and came out into a wonderful backyard.  Immediately, whilst there, I saw another of those vans.  There had also been a van in the earlier dream that showed how these people, the militant people, worked. They had a van and it had another little van on the inside when it opened up claw-like.  It appeared that the top and the bottom, the back rather, could open up.  Inside it revealed another vehicle that was covered in a brownish greasy goop. The most interesting feature of this entire affair was that, although they looked human enough, the militiamen were not human.  They were extra-human.  So too was the machine which, from its goopy fluids, was sentient. It was an EH species which they were using to capture and feed one to.  It seemed that the machine-like EHs were, in fact, in control of the militia-type EHs rather than the reverse.

It seemed more creature than a vehicle and, somehow, this was what I was supposed to be put in when captured.  These two Black men, who were guarding the house and who let me know that they were guarding the house, were saying, “Aha!  Now we’ve caught you.” You know, I thought about it and there was just no way that I was going to let them capture me. ‘I’ve got to get away,’ I thought. At the time, one of them was taking a pee – both these men were Black.  They were quite casual about having caught me.  They apparently were going to get their supervisor who would take care of me.

The supervisor came and he looked like the guy from Trinidad who had worked as a chef at the Underground Railroad Restaurant when, long ago, I worked there.  He did, at least, seem like that man. This man, who was their supervisor, was also Black.  He had the semblance, the air about him, of that chef but he did not so much look a great deal like him.  He was rotund and fairly light-complected. He lived in the house.  Rather, he did not live in the house but he was staying in the house as a caretaker.  I thought, ‘I’m not going to be captured.  I’m not going to be caught.  I can disguise myself.’

Rendering Self Invisible by Increasing Light Vibration

I immediately started accelerating my energies and, as a result, I was able to transform myself.  As I upped my frequency, I heard an increase in the universal hum. I looked down at the backs of both my outstretched hands, keenly observing the intense sunlight react to my skin in a glowing sizzling manner, until my aura intensified and became visible about my body. My aura’s light grew brighter as my skin actually glowed with increasing intensity.  It continued until the skin, throughout my entire body, was indistinguishable from the rest of the intense morning sunlight. When they went down the hill and came back with the guy, I was standing there right in front of the house.  It was this particular, large wooden house.

It wasn’t large, for being a bungalow, but the door was large.  This house was definitely not part of the landscape in Sandy Point, St. Kitts.  As I looked on, the guards came bearing the portly gentleman. I was aware from the way he – the supervisor, Zen sage – was talking that he was aware that I was there.  Perhaps, he could see me but the other two – the militant guardsmen – couldn’t see me. I realised what I had done: I had made myself light so that I blended in with the landscape and couldn’t be seen.  I had rendered myself invisible!

I then decided that I could further transform myself.  Next, I made myself into this little white piece of what seemed like string.  However, it was more like nylon.  It was like shiny waxed dental floss. Such that half way there was a loop in it, it was tied in a knot.  It was doubled on itself so that it was, I would guess, three to five inches long at the most. I obviously was astrally projected to another world where, rather lucidly, I was dreaming and interacting with extra-humans.  The dental floss-like string was the cord of light which keeps one’s astral body connected, to the waking state body, when astral-projected during sleep.

The Light Umbilical Cord Connected to Astral Body

Immediately, the caretaker guy took the cord – the wax-like cord – which was my transformed-dreamer self in his hand.  It was my astral body’s cord which was left rendered visible whilst I remained invisible. He began giving the two guardsmen a walk-through of the house in which only he should have been.  It was a house that was no longer lived in.  It was wooden all about and very organic. It was a house that allowed for natural light to pour in.  There was a skylight.  The house was low in the sense that it was dug in.  The house was built such that it was somewhat half-buried below the surface. In that way, it was kept cool because it was partly below-ground.  All about, on either side, as you walked in every part of this beautiful, sprawling bungalow were every manner of cactus.

These were cacti that were shaped like trees that had leaves.  Absolutely stunning and incredible, they enlivened the house throughout. He gave me a tour of the place with the two guardsmen, who could not see me, in tow.  As he walked them back to the front door he said, “So you see, he really couldn’t be here.  You go off and look for him.” He tossed me or what was my representation – the wax-looking string or my astral body’s umbilical-like cord of light – from his right hand sending it through a doorway of the house.  He then went about his business and showed them to the door and got rid of them. At this point, I rematerialised back to my regular dreamer self in this dream and I was able to let on to him that I knew that he knew of my being invisible.  So I called him, on another phone in the house, and I remained absolutely silent. I then telepathically shared my thoughts with him.  I inferred that I knew that he was aware that I was present in the house though invisible to most.  Of course, he knew that I was there but he was just not going to acknowledge my being friendly with him. The fact is that he knew that I was in trouble.  He was just trying, out of the goodness of his heart, to help me out.  However, he wasn’t going to befriend me or anything like that.

Sprawling Partially Submerged Bungalow

So anyway, on my own I began exploring this beautiful, beautiful labyrinth-like bungalow.  The walls of it were wooden.  It was a reddish wood like redwoods normally look.  It had a shiny hue to it because it was polished. I was talking about it to someone, later on in the dream, and it was in fact the same guy – the caretaker – who had accompanied me at one point.  I said it seemed like it was built by Frank Lloyd Wright and he said, “No.  Not really…” It seemed like it but it was a different style altogether; however, it was more or less like Frank Lloyd Wright.  Seriously though, it was a totally different style. So I went about exploring the place.  I went in this one room that was clearly a bedroom.  I opened the door and went in – it was a glass door.  I went in and on the left were shelves.

There were tiny, tiny, little cacti in pots and some of them were large and some of them were blooming.  They were heliotropically craning over to one side. This place had been abandoned for quite some time.  However, all the cacti in the place had managed to grow quite large.  They were big, bulbous, beautiful and wonderfully lifelike. The spread to the bed was turned down and discarded.  It had been left just as when last used by the owner.  There was a bulldog; it was not a live one but a statue of a bulldog. This person had a great deal of style and was quite successful.  I realised that the owner, the former occupant, was Black.  I saw the face and I can’t say that I can recall the face but, somehow, I got the impression that the face was a face of mine if you like.

Bungalow’s Debonair Former Occupant

It was interesting because when I saw the face that is basically the information that I got from looking at the face in the photo.  There was a tiny time-faded photograph of a face.  It was of a Black man. This was the sense that I got from it, that it was me, in fact. There were beautiful trousers about.  As well, there was a large armoire with tons and tons of beautiful, silk robes that I had worn in that life. They were worn around the house by the former occupant.  There were, on the bed, some clothes.  Too, there was a table beside the bed. Everything in this bungalow was very organic: the bed was very organic, the desk was and even the fixtures were very organic.  As well, the cloth was very organic – by organic, I mean that it wasn’t inanimate.

It was organic because it was lifelike.  More than that, it was organic because it was breathing.  That’s why it had lived so long because it was quite some time since last occupied by the owner. However, it was very much so still alive.  The sheet and bedding, on the bed, were woollen and greyish-coloured. The only reason why I had entered the room, in the first place, was I wanted to roam – to see if there were any signs of underwear… there was.  There was tons of underwear on the shelves behind me. I wanted to check and sniff his underwear, to see if he had masturbated.

Anyway, when I got into the room, that little adventure had totally evaporated.  For having seen the photograph, if you like I was quite interested in exploring the place and getting to refamiliarise myself with the place. The bedroom was just absolutely beautiful.  Off to the left, rather behind the shelves and straight ahead, was the closet and the bed was to the right of the door.

Down this long hallway that was sky-lit were the tables and tables of clothing.  There was a door past the shelves, on the left, and it looked into more and more clothes. I then came out of there and I went about exploring all over.  This time, I went to explore all the cacti in the place.  There were tons and tons of them. Shortly thereafter, I was joined by Carl Leroiderien, Merlin and someone else who seemed like Mario of Paris – Mario D’Agostino, however, it wasn’t him. I had a sense of Maxime Gascoigne-de Montigny being about and Carl Leroiderien had seemed like a custodian of the place.  Carl was a caretaker or curator of the sprawling bungalow which now seemed like an historic site. When he was excitedly walking everyone through the place, to show them the place, he was referring to the owner.  I was there but, again, none of these people had any awareness that I was there – not even Merlin.

He was sort of filling them in on who the owner was.  From what I could see, Carl was doing a good job of it. There were cacti that were tall.  There were also red ones.  There was one cactus that was tall and it had needles on it.  It had large, large leaves and two or three leaves like those of a royal palm’s. Most of it was like a palm tree but it was like a breadfruit leaf or some sort of leaf like a maple leaf – albeit an extra large maple leaf.  It was, however, cactus. Everywhere there were plants on either side of the skylight hallways.  The bungalow was a series of long halls that were all connected and veered off in different directions.

However, it was a house that had basically become a living garden such that it was organic.  The cacti truly were the lungs of the house.  The air was really nice and it was cool. The humans were able to live with the cacti because it was a totally self-sustainable dwelling.  As the light came in heliotropically sustaining the various cacti species, it added breath, depth and dimension to the space thereby making it equally organic. Too, because it was partially submerged belowground, there was a lot of moisture from underground that kept these plants alive.  The cacti were quite happy and they had grown so beautifully. It was as if they were bonsai cacti.  It was quite incredible how they were all over the place throughout the house.

Then I went down some steps to another open area of the bungalow.  Again, there were more cacti.  We moved off and came to an area where Carl said, “Oh let’s go downstairs, I can show you the basement.  You can see all these wonderful things.” When you looked out the skylight area, it was of the street, the pathway into what would seem Crab Hill, Sandy Point, St. Kitts.  So I immediately was afraid to be seen yet I was assured by Carl as he stilled my nerves telepathically saying, ‘Oh, it’s okay… it’s okay.’ I was concerned about the people, who lived across the street, reporting me to the militia-types.  There was bamboo, organic bamboo if you like, that was made into a fence. It seemed like the backyard of what was the neighbour’s house and they weren’t there.  I was told it was quite safe that it was okay.  The neighbours weren’t there to squeal on me.

Before you went down the steps, into this other area, there were all these beautiful, beautiful organic works that are quite common in the Orient.  For example there were many objets d’art. These were objets d’art which were beautiful temples and totems.  They were all made from the ivory of elephants’ tusks.  It was all beautifully detailed and in miniature – all the miniature designs were made of ivory. That was the sort of stuff.  This particular objet d’art was large.  It was square-shaped so that it wasn’t like an elephant’s tusk.  More like an obelisk, if you like, it was. They were more so little temples.  They were shrines and Greek temples if you like.  What was truly fascinating was how incredibly detailed they were though scaled down versions of the real architectural gems.

We moved on and now we came to an area that had nothing but wares.  There were lots of baskets everywhere because this was where the ornaments were kept.  They were all stored therein. Carl was the caretaker of these things.  He was quite familiar with every item and, again, there were bamboo basket-like wares and objets d’art. I was told that this was, in fact, like a wine cooler.  It was so delicately and intricately made.  Also, the item was collapsible.  It could open.  The objet d’art was like a valise and it could open up. Merlin went and opened it and was prying into it.  It had two African skulls or heads on it and it was quite beautifully detailed as a matter of fact.

We then moved on and came into the downstairs area.  This place was like a cellar.  Somehow, copious rays of sunlight made it to this part of the sprawling, multi-levelled bungalow. Even though we were further underground yet, somehow, the sunlight came in.  However, I soon realised that it wasn’t sunlight.  It was just this light that was white and somewhat diffuse. It was quite soft and nice to the touch.  Among the many stored wares, there was something that had a white bamboo-like coil.  This thing had a piece of string attached to it with two yellow sticks or shoots like chopsticks.

You could insert it and it was, in fact, quite sexual.  The Mario D’Agostino character immediately grabbed it up.  Whilst simulating sexual play, he was playing around with it. He was making noises filled with sexual innuendo and then said, “Umm, get undressed and put it on your cock because that’s what it’s made for.” Oh he was so happy to perform and went off to try on the item.

*Here now, some further comments set in the dream in the beautiful house.  Here, the atmosphere in this house was one of serenity and it was a reflection of that particular life that one had led whence the proprietor was Black. Tall and very erudite, he seemed a man of the world.  He was well-travelled.  He loved beautiful music and he had a collection of things in his bedroom that were totems from his travels. He was obviously tall because there were lots of khaki and white summer pants which all gave a sense of his height.  When I had first entered into the room, there was also a rack that I had bumped into. I hadn’t noticed it because it was suspended from the ceiling.  It was racked with leather suspenders and an enormous collection of belts: broad belts, narrow belts, as well, skinny belts.

There were all kinds of beautiful belts.  They were very expensive and they were also very organic and ancient.  They weren’t brand new any of them. It was all a reflection of the person’s spirit.  You never met the person but you knew the person through the house.  It was beautiful and wonderfully planned out. The sprawling, organic bungalow was so multidimensional; it went off in all these directions and avenues because that was who this person was in that lifetime.  In a box to call home, he was not contained or restrained. The organic house constantly veered off.  It had many apartments and veered off and had many cul de sacs.  There were areas where he could go and be removed from all the other areas yet be surrounded by plants.

At all times, he was surrounded by life itself and it was healthy… quite nice. Whilst at the restaurant having the lentil-looking soup, the reason for the extra-tall, obvious extra-human being impatient with me was more subtle than one may assume.  With their sophisticated proboscis, it is safe to assume that smell was the most developed of this extra-human race’s senses rather than sight as is the case for we humans. Likely, there was something very off-putting to my pheromone makeup which left the seated extra-human uncomfortable.  I don’t think that it was a matter of my race, Black, but my species, Earthly human, which made the über-poilu, blond extra-human uncomfortable.

As I was in his home world, he naturally felt put upon for having the unfavourable aspects of my pheromones anywhere near him.  At the end of the day, he was an incarnate ensouled fragment who is one of seven soul types and with the same selection of overleaves as any Earthly human.  Any Earthly human would have similarly responded to having someone of outré pheromone and species in their midst.  

A very serene dream it remarkably was.  END.

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Groovin’ High, Dizzy Gillespie 1955

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

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©2013-2023 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.

Cicada Principle.

Bonsai

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.

20141207. The main entrance colossal and classic brutalist Ross

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.

SONY DSC

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He then said, as my cock grew more tumescent,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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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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© 2013-2023 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.

At Last, The Day Has Finally Arrived.

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With a spring in my step, I came up for air at Piccadilly Circus Station, whistling Ludwig Minkus’ glorious recurrent melody from La Bayadère with thoughts of the astounding Natalia Osipova uppermost in my thoughts.  

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I was returned to the Royal Academy to hunt for coffee table books.  

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More than that, I was on a mission; returned to Fortnum & Mason was I, directed there by the gracious clerk at The British Museum’s Grenville Room.  

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Armed with just over a dozen rose petal jellies, there was no less spring in my step as by now I sang aloud my merry little melody from La Bayadère.  I truly felt as though, on this trip to London, I was lucidly awakened in the most sensual dream.  Dreams so luscious are the ones which cause you to pause, smile and whisper near-mischievously, “Arvin, this is a dream and you’ve earned it.  Now push off and start flying.” 

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At such times, there is no thunder more glorious than the roar of my very soul as I laugh, enjoying my creative soul fulfilling itself.  I was reminded of those early days in our relationship in Manhattan when whilst ambling late at night for staying at Merlin’s agent Joyce Ketay’s Upper West Side apartment, whilst holding hands, I would push down as in dreams but end up doing an assemblé, in place of flying.  His rosy choirboy lips would warm in a smile whilst the ubiquitous fag or joint was elegantly perched between left index and middle fingers. 

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Bailing into to Piccadilly Circus, still feeling mighty spiffy of spirit, I opted against heading back down into the Underground – the place leaves me with sooty phlegm each time nose-blowing.  With that, I bailed out of the Circus and onto Shaftesbury Avenue and made my way to a favourite joint, Ben’s Fish n Chips.  

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There at a cosy table in the rear, I leisurely pleasured myself whilst finally reading the HRH Princess Margaret biography; it is delicious.  

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Blisters be damned, I elected to walk from Shaftesbury Square up to The British Museum and take in more art.  This being a Friday, there were school kids everywhere; my goodness, children have got powerful noise-making lungs!  Then again, what is childhood but play for the soul, which after having recently lived and died is now reborn and gets to celebrate and run up and down in a brand spankingly new and excitingly different body – to say nothing of being in the company of reincarnational travel companions some of whom now you can get a good schtup off of this time around, seeing that last time he now she looked like Quasimodo and even so, you weren’t then same-sexed focussed.  Ha!  

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In the bookstore was a clerk with whom I shared an interesting conversation last winter; he was a dead-ringer for scholar soul, right down to the glasses.  He suggested that I could take refuge in the Japanese wing and avoid the madness that was happily reincarnated souls screaming their lungs out and running hither and yon.  

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Before I could get there, moving around one corner from one gallery to the next, will you look at what I happened on.  

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On seeing it, I was readily warmed of spirit and let out a celebratory, “Yeah, yeah, yeah!”  In that moment, the sense of fellowship and belonging I only ever feel when in Canada for being around First Nations cultures, whether at a pow wow or not, proved the most refreshing drink for my questing soul around a corner in my favourite city, London.  

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Up one elevator, down one corridor then up another elevator and one was then posited into the most serene of galleries.  Now this is more my kind of groove.  

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All this exquisite splendour and not a single recently reincarnated soul running about and screaming way too powerful lungs out for such a tiny body.  

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This proved an interlude of slow-dancing with my very soul… the vibrations here were utterly harmonious with spirit.  

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Photography can never do this masterpiece justice.  

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I am reminded with this gem of the fabulous kimono of Merlin’s hung in our Cabbagetown home.  

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Can you hear my soul purring…

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Phenomenal. 

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My very favourite piece in the gallery; warm, fecund, sensual, curvaceous, feminine, grounding.  It truly is perfection; this after all is what womakind are: perfection of creation – we men just can’t handle it, hence religions which all without exception oppress womankind and tell them that creation is outside of themselves and some warring male god somewhere.  Ha… we men can never endure the pain of labour then get up a completely new aspect of creaturehood – no longer a woman but a mother to whom that child will ever be more closely bonded.  Love this piece.  

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This was the most beautiful adventure… for now, with a couple of coffee table books and toys for kids of a friend’s, I crisscrossed Russell Square Park and slept with my blistered feet raised whilst being held closer in sleep’s warm nurturing bosom and was readily tugged under into the world of lucid, inspired dreams.  

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On a gloriously balmy mid-November evening, I emerged from Covent Garden Station into a sea of humanity filled with love and laughter as the weekend was begun.  As lovers ambled past holding hands, I was reminded then of my life twenty-nine years earlier when the Berlin Wall was being toppled.  I was grateful in the moment because back then, two days before Merlin’s passing, I could not imagine myself being still focussed in this life with so much death and dying around me. 

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Yet, here was I with my happy little lambious (Merlin called me Lamb because I was more 9 parts enraged grizzly than timid lamb) self, in Covent Garden about to see a ballet because Marianela Nuñez, Natalia Osipova, Vadim Muntagirov, Matthew Ball, Francesca Hayward, Joseph Sissens, Steven McCrae, Iana Salenko were part of the most glorious group of ballet dancers.  

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Oh my, look at this; there have been changes afoot since last winter.  

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My pilgrimage to the shrine of high art is finally here!  What’s this, new coat check, new toilets, new dining area… wow! 

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No sooner than was I sat and along came a Jurassic hybrid, no chin, back so long may well have extra vertebrae and a neck that is too thick and long to be on a woman’s body but I am not judging just saying,.. 

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Well I did not cross the Atlantic just for this obstruction and her pheromone were decidedly reptilian.  As Frederick Jones would say, “I’m not havin’ it!” After a few gracious words with the accommodating ushers, my offer to stand through the entire performance seemed reasonable enough. 

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I stood on the steps up to the last row that was more centre of house than my ticket.  I did my best to ignore the chinless spinster who sat at the edge of the row, who promptly repositioned her handbag, as if it were a blasted Birkin!  Naturally, she kept eyeing me.  As I always carry Shaniqua in my back pocket, I was ready to hiss, the minute she stepped out of line.  

During the performance after the Bronze Idol danced his spectacular solo, I lost myself and yelled the loudest bravo in the house and wouldn’t the old bat have something to say, “Be quiet!” to which I leaned in and hissed, “grip harder on your butt plug and shut the fuck up!” Why do people insist on leaving their homes and act as though they are lord or lady of anyone else’s reality.  

Never mind her, the lovely Russian couple who sat in the front row looked back and approvingly yelled “Da!” at my exuberance.  Truly, what a glorious night in the theatre.  You cannot possibly begin to fathom the amount of flying dreams I have had since that night; it is as though, I perpetually am now flying-without-moving.  Of course, I haven’t yet shaken that exquisite Minkus melody from my lips but so be it.  There was something simply transcendent about having experienced the purity and perfection of the Kingdom of the Shades opening of Act III that will ever keep me richly inspired.  

Love is all and whatever it is that makes you want to fly without moving when awake grab on and tightly hold on – drugs don’t do it, they do you!  As ever, come closer let’s have a group hug and a bit of air frottage because life, alas, is the sweetest of dreams!  

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© 2013-2023 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.