Elderflower? No! We Only Use White Flour..

Just when I thought there could be no tea more sublime than soursop bush tea – a favourite since childhood in the West Indies, I discovered Fortnum & Mason’s elderflower-flavoured green tea. As my latest order arrived just in time for what would have been Merlin’s 74th birthday on July 21, [21/7/1947 Pig 3.1.4 = 8] I thought to go one better and try and get myself a lemon and elderflower cake for my birthday on August 2 [2/8/1960 Rat 2.1.8 = 11]. After all, it was the Sussexes’ gorgeous-looking lemon and elderflower wedding cake that got me thinking. Soon, I was on the quest for an elderflower-flavoured cake for my upcoming birthday. Daniel et Daniel, which really is not what it was in the 80s when Merlin and I got choice pastries and at least one dish per week there, carried no such cake. Restless, I called partout and eventually got around to placing a call to another of the Weston family’s refined businesses, the Loblaws at Maple Leaf Gardens. Eventually, I was put through to the bakery department where I got an haughty prude, who seemed too bothered to have to take the call. For the third time, I repeated that I was looking for an elderflower-flavoured cake, when Ms. Krakow, 1978, third runner-up dismissively bulldozed back, “Elderflower? No! We only use white flour in our cakes!” Well, there has to be a first time for everything because early in my seventh decade, I laughed so damn hard that I fell onto the sofa, clapping, tearing up and simultaneously experienced the most mind-altering trifecta of ageing: leaking, farting and feeling damn near on the cusp of what one assumes an aneurysm must feel like. I am determined to yet have that lemon and elderflower-flavoured cake.

The tea photographed is actually not elderflower; it is a far more pale, sublimely subtle affair.

Beyond these gates, at a royal Roman villa, recently occurred the most sublimely magical theatre…..

Unescorted by her father, Lady Kitty Spencer proved that Spencer women are indomitable whether her aunt, Diana, Princess of Wales or for that matter, Georgiana spencer, Duchess of Devonshire. Ah those fabulous, formidable Spencer women!

30/12/1990 (Horse) Lady Kitty Spencer-Lewis 3.6.7 = 7

Georgiana Spencer Cavendish, Duchess of Devonshire…. a Spencer woman to the core.

7/6/1757 (Goat) Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire 7.4.6 = 8

A Spencer woman who more than measured up to Georgiana – standard bearer of Spencer fortitude, Diana, Princess of Wales.

1/7/1961 (Ox) Diana, Princess of Wales 1.8.7 = 7.

Diana despite what has been claimed, was immensely uncomplicated and the most dynamic Spencer woman. She was 1 energy body, which means that regardless of her artisan soul doe-eyed fawning, she was a loud, combative, bossy bully-arsed Amazon and as tough as they come. Diana’s second number of 8 simply means that she was going to earn even more money than that into which she was born, which was true – though the Spencers are infinitely more ancient a family than the Windsors. Most of all, Diana was possessed of double 7s. All 7 persons can see beyond the veil and know exactly what is going down at all times. They can see ‘dead people’ as the saying goes but tend to rarely advertise this. They see auras and they more than anyone else can penetrate beyond the veil such that they can be as readily focussed on the astral plane as they can the physical plane. They are master manipulators and they are the ultimate power in any dynamic. Diana was neither pawn nor unaware. Most of all, all persons with more than one 7 in their numerological makeup and when the fourth/destiny number is a 7 run the very real risk of being murdered/assassinated.

29/5/1917 (Snake) President John F. Kennedy 2.7.7. = 7.

There are only 2 deaths of persons in public life in the West during the 20th century, which to our very core collectively broadsided us and shook us to our soul… all of us. President John F. Kennedy and Diana, Princess of Wales. The President was openly assassinated as it was a message to all future presidents not to ever think of trying to dismantle the Federal Reserve, which is a private rather than government entity. All persons in public life who are assassinated if they are politicians will have a 4th number of 4, 5 or 8; however, when that public person has a 7 as fourth number they were assassinated by a institution in Kennedy’s case the cartel families which own the U.S. federal reserve and in Diana’s case the dynastic institution and power behind the Windsor dynasty. Diana was pregnant and as mother of a future sovereign and future head of the Church of England, she could not be allowed to start a rival dynastic house, which would doubtless be after she had converted to another religion.

21/4/1926 (Tiger) Duke of Lancaster 3.7.7 = 8.

Diana was a damn bully and her two 7s were no match for her ultimate rival, the very powerful Duke of Lancaster, who also happens to have two 7s and the fourth number is 8, which is the ultimate sign of ruthless power. More artisan souls get knocked off for being a pain in the arse than any other role. Flaunting her pregnancy in the South of France was the final straw for the Duke of Lancaster. Diana had bullied the Duke of Lancaster’s son, Charles, Prince of Wales. Indeed, it was quite one thing for Diana to have provoked the Duke of Lancaster’s ire by producing a firstborn who only happened to be an obvious Bourbon bastard but it was quite another to be hellbent on further ridiculing and insulting the Duke of Lancaster by starting a rival dynasty and of a totally unacceptable faith.

Diana’s death was such callous open warfare. It was such vicious business that we became for a week, and longer, unhinged. How could this have happened? How could every effort not have been made to save Diana when clearly she had survived the car crash? Well, when make it look like an accident, does not work, then you scream down the phone, “then kill her goddamn it! I want that damn woman dead!” Like John F. Kennedy’s open assassination, we collectively fell to our knees and came undone with Diana having been ruthlessly assassinated.

Time is a most callous business and sooner or later, like shit, it always surfaces the secrets and lies and lays them irrefutably bare. One of the features of Diana’s two 7s is that the fourth number being 7 means that such persons once assassinated, have the ability to avenge their murder from beyond the grave. This is rare but does occur when there is more than one 7 and the fourth number is a 7. Prince Andrew’s undoing and the Sussexes quitting royal life in a blow to the Duke of Lancaster’s Commonwealth legacy, seem in part to be influenced by the long shadow that Diana’s assassination has caused. In quitting royal duties, Diana’s revenge has also struck a blow to Prince Charles, Prince of Wales, who treated Diana so horribly. Indeed, as the Duke of Lancaster has shrunken with age so, too, it seems that the longer the Duke of Lancaster lives, the more Diana’s revenge exacts its toll.

Just as the Duke of Lancaster grew drunk sipping on Diana’s warm blood whilst seething with contempt for the rabble drunk with grief, so too time will reveal why the Duke of Lancaster refused to honour Diana’s murder for days on end. Time will callously reveal the dark visage of the most deceptive Duke of Lancaster yet – double 7s notwithstanding.

Though in utero, enwombed in this photograph is the most fascinating Spencer woman of the modern age after, Diana, Princess of Wales. Lilibet Diana Mountbatten-Windsor born 4 June 2021 an Ox, she will have Diana, her paternal grandmother’s inner strength. Most of all, what this reborn soul has is an inner fortitude that will be a force to be reckoned with. 4/6/2021 Ox 4.1.6 = 11. This Spencer woman is a powerhouse, who will stand shoulder to shoulder with Diana and Georgiana before her. Lilibet has 3 numbers in common with her father, Prince Harry, Duke of Sussex 15/9/1984 Rat 6.6.1 = 4 and, of course, she has two numbers in common with her mother, Meghan, Duchess of Sussex 4/8/1981 Rooster 4.3.4 = 11. Having master numbers of 11 means that just as Meghan is more famous than Harry in their dynamic so, too, is Lilibet Diana going to be more famous than Archie her older-souled brother. It matters, too, that during a near recent past life of Lilibet Diana’s, she was famous and a seasoned performer – she has reborn, having already mastered the fame game. More than that, like her mother, Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, she is as tough as they come and with master numbers of 11, Lilibet like her mother will be iconic and a lone panther. Persons will drop in and leave her life – they will never stay a nanosecond longer than necessary. She was born to rule… and will.

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Mountbatten-Windsor, Lilibet Diana 4/6/2021

Michael: This young fragment is a third-level mature sage – second life thereat.  Lilibet is in observation mode with a goal of dominance and has an attitude of idealist. 

Lilibet has neither centreing nor chief features at this time, owing to her age – this occurs during late teen years. 

Lilibet’s body type is Mars Mercury. 

The fragment Lilibet is second-cast in the third cadence.  Lilibet is a member of greater cadence four.  Lilibet is a member of entity two, cadre six, greater cadre 7, pod 418.  (Adjacent entity, same cadre as her father, mother, brother, Prince George and The Queen). 

Lilibet’s essence twin is a sage and the task companion a warrior incarnate at this time.  

Lilibet’s needs are: exchange, communion, adventure. 

Lilibet has shared 8 past-life associations with Arvin and 5 with Merlin.

There is an agreement with the older brother for emotional support.

This fragment, Lilibet, has been a revered performer in a recent past incarnation, primarily operatic but with some aspect of light entertainment. She was also present in several lives of note in European aristocracy (Italy and Spain)

End (August, 2021). 

22/7/2013 (Snake) HRH Prince George of Cambridge 4.2.8 = 5

Speaking of Spencer women… Always follow the numbers for clues as to just how history is likely to repeat itself; of course, with each generation the players and the drama may change but the numbers always produce the same personae; however, the results may vastly vary. Want to know how Prince George of Cambridge is going to turn out? Apart from the fact that like his maternal and paternal uncles, he is gap-toothed and thus in his immediate past life, like both uncles were, also black. George is a king soul, not that that should make him superhuman; however, the template for this royal role-play is Edward VIII, Duke of Windsor.

25/6/1900 (Rat) Earl Louis Mountbatten of Burma 7.4.5 = 7

14/11/1948 (Rat) HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales 5.7.2 = 5

23/6/1894 (Horse) Prince Edward, Duke of Windsor 5.2.7 = 5

25/6/1900 (Rat) Earl Louis Mountbatten of Burma 7.4.5 = 7

Also, possessed of two 7s, like Diana, Princess of Wales and the Duke of Lancaster, was Earl Louis Mountbatten of Burma. Just as with Diana & President John F. Kennedy, one of his multiple 7s was in the fourth position, which resulted in him having been assassinated. Of course, the line at the time and possibly still floated was that it was an IRA hit job. Nonsense. Louis when in India as Edwina his stylish wife openly saw Nehru, this freed up Louis to be with his one true love, Edward, then Prince of Wales, who was truly besotted with the charming, manipulative double 7 lover. This is why, they were sequestered in the colonies in India where their love could be fully flagrant and that it was. Persons with 2 and 5 in their numerology, King George V, Prince William, Duke of Windsor, Prince Charles, Prince of Wales and Prince George of Cambridge are sexually addictive and indulge readily and with whomsoever. Whether male or female, they will have long, passionate, abiding, same sex-focussed love affairs, though, will marry and procreate as is expected of them. All Edward, Duke of Windsor wanted was to marry Louis Mountbatten and fuck night and day but that could not have been. So, the very mannish, bullying Wallis was a useful beard. Of course, Edward would have gotten off on being bullied by Wallis and likely Louis also got off on watching them at play whilst Wallis would definitely have gotten off on Edwin and Louis lovemaking. Eventually, the well-hung Louis Mountbatten would move on to Edward’s coveted great-nephew, Prince Charles, Prince of Wales. Equally as besotted, Charles, Prince of Wales would have loved Louis Mountbatten as deeply and passionately as his great-uncle, Edward, Duke of Windsor had decades earlier in India and thereafter. Of course, it was not until Louis was assassinated that Charles finally sought to get over the assassination of his lover, Louis Mountbatten, by marrying not the Rottweiler beard, rather the conveniently clueless virgin, Diana who faster than a sneeze grew wise and more importantly shrewd and gave the Windsor’s something to gloat about, the flat-footed Bourbon bastard heir to the Windsor dynasty.

19/2/1960 (Rat) Prince Andrew, Duke of York 1.3.1 = 5.

Where 2s favour being bottoms and being bullied, 7s however, are sadistic and among their sexual fetishes apart from S&M, is having sexual slaves and also power-tripping by way of having sex with minors. It is a known fact that Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, Edward, Duke of Windsor and Charles, Prince of Wales’s special friend, Louis Mountbatten got himself assassinated for his sexually predatory exploits with male minors, which saw the IRA having no part in his assassination. Whereas one could lie and cover in the past as in 1979, today, and thanks to American irreverence, Prince Andrew finds himself exposed with nowhere to hide for cover and mummy’s ermine coat just won’t do. Andrew is a bully, 1 energy body, and it is no surprise that with a fourth number of 5, Andrew has been exposed as a sexual predator; infamy is a common outcome when 5 is in the fourth position. Andrew is also a rat and more rats cause their families to stay up late at night in the near-dark, looking at the ceiling and wanting the rat curse to go away.

3/6/1865 (Ox) King George V 3.9.2 = 5

23/6/1894 (Horse) Prince Edward, Duke of Windsor 5.2.7 = 5

21/6/1982 (Dog) HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge 3.9.2 = 5

5/1/1938 (Ox) King Juan Carlos 5.6.9 = 2

King Juan Carlos is also possessed of 2 & 5 in his numerology; however, his 5 is in the first position – the energy body. This is the signature of the serial womaniser who likely has fathered multiple offspring. Prince William has three numbers in common with Juan Carlos whereas with Prince Charles, Prince of Wales, William shares only two numbers. William also shares no numbers with his mother whereas Harry shares one with Diana, Princess of Wales.

9/1/1982 (Rooster) Catherine HRH Duchess of Cambridge 9.1.3 = 4

22/7/2013 (Snake) HRH Prince George of Cambridge 4.2.8 = 5

With the tyranny that is both his parents’ 9s, apart from the usual 2 and 5 mix, which will leave Prince George sexually addictive, he does possess one feature that is mildly alarming. He has 8 as his third number. This position of 8 usually manifests as massive financial setbacks and losses. All in all, 8 in the third position likely means that during his lifetime, George will possibly lose his title to the crown jewels either by abdication; quite simply, George can find himself displaced, for doing something that has not been done before. In short with that 2 & 5 mix of being sexually fluid, George just might end up becoming the second Spencer woman named Georgiana!

Windsor, George 22/7/2013 London, England

Michael: This fragment is a fourth-level mature king – third life thereat.  George is in the observation mode with a goal of acceptance.  An idealist, George, at this time (December 2019) does not yet have centreing. 

George does not yet have chief features. 

George’s body type is Jupiter/Mercury and a small tertiary of Venus. 

The fragment George is fourth-cast in the seventh cadence.  George is a member of greater cadence seven.  George’s entity is five, cadre six, greater cadre 7 pod 418. 

George’s essence twin is a king – they are likely to meet at a later date and also head of state.  The task companion is a warrior. 

George’s three primary needs are: expression, power, security and freedom. 

There is a facilitating agreement with the father, HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge, for training and preparation for ‘duties’. 

There are 4 past-life associations with Arvin and 2 with Merlin.  ­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­

END. (December, 2019).

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With a predominantly Jupiter body type, HRH Prince George of Cambridge, like King George IV before him, will tend towards having a large overpowering body; his 5 does run the risk of him being gluttonous.

4/8/1900 (Rat) Queen Elizabeth, The Queen Mother 4.3.4 = 11

4/8/1981 (Rooster) Meghan, Duchess of Sussex 4.3.4 = 11

Both women are mature souls: Meghan (mid-cycle mature artisan soul) slightly older-souled than Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon (second mature slave soul). Numerologically, both women are vibrationally exact in every way. How you would respond to one, is exactly how you would respond to the other in a one-on-one encounter. However, aristocratic Elizabeth married a royal and though an outsider (Scottish) was not baited and hounded by an as yet out-of-control tabloid press. Meghan, self-made, black and an American exposed everything that is ugly about British society in an age where post Charles & Diana, the tabloid media are way out-of-control and hold to ransom the BRF. In marrying Meghan, Prince Harry has exposed what ‘yank’-hating, ugly, racist, truly small-minded, classist boors inhabit the small isle of England.

19/6/1896 (Monkey) Wallis, Duchess of Windsor 1.7.4 = 3

23/6/1894 (Horse) Prince Edward, Duke of Windsor 5.2.7 = 5

Let me start by making it perfectly clear; the only 3 similarities between Wallis and Meghan are these: both are women, both are American and both are human. They have positively nothing else in common. Secondly, before you can reincarnate, you must first die and Meghan was already very much so alive before Wallis, Duchess of Windsor died in 1986. All men with both 2 and 5 in their numerology are innate bottoms regardless their sexual focus; they love to be dominated by strong sexual and emotional partners. 2 introduces fluidity with regards sense of self to all such men. With the combination of 5 which rules excess, gluttony, perversion and insatiable indulgences, all such men need to be sexually dominated, owned and submit to their partner. 1 in the first number, the energy body, is that of the bully, the bossy, emasculating woman. Such women would be driven to be with men who wish to be dominated and who were born to strong, controlling women. The combination of 2 & 5 in a man’s chart always leads to sexual intensity, perversion and being gratified by fetishes of one type or another. From being yelled at, punched, bullied, cursed, pissed on to being strapped such men are also turned on by men and love to be controlled by strong men with whom they are prepared to indulge but would never consider it homoeroticised. Wallis with an energy body of 1 would perceive Edward, Duke of Windsor as her bitch and may well have referred to him as such during their very intense, ritualised and heavily fetish-focussed sexual relations. Edward, Duke of Windsor was as he was because 2 causes fluidity in men which is readily perceived as weakness, effeminacy… or both. 5 persons will always rebel against the rigidity, judgmental, controlling, stubborn restrictiveness of 9. Even though possessed of 5 himself, King George V’s 9 proved too overwhelming for Edward, Duke of Windsor and would have caused him to rebel which resulted in his relationship with Wallis because of her 1 and also because his father’s 9 meant that he positively despised Americans and their culture. Wherever you find 5 in a numerological chart, you also find both excess and infamy.

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What stunning portraits these latter day Gainsborough (@dolcegabbana) have realised. Their muse is no less stunning, by far, than the original Spencer trailblazer, Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire.

Brava!

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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©2013-2021 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.

Oh quelle fuck-all joie ça!

Well isn’t that just marvellous! Look at little Billie Bourbon Flatfoot! Pussywhipped by the dominatrix fakester from Bucklebury. Go on, yada yada all the blasted frig you want but ever bliss eludes this sorry pantomime one decade and counting.

Horowitz, Vladimir 1/10/03 Kiev<O>5/11/89, NYC

Michael: This fragment was, in his immediate past life, a mid-cycle mature scholar in passion mode, with a goal of growth, a pragmatist in the moving part of emotional centre. 

Vladimir had a Mercury/Lunar body type. 

Vladimir’s was a strong primary chief feature of arrogance and a weaker secondary of stubbornness. 

This fragment was second-cast in his cadence and his cadence is fifth in the greater cadence.   He is a member of entity five, cadre two, greater cadre 14, pod/node 449. 

He and the fragment who was Wanda Toscanini are task companions, both now discarnate.   The fragment who was Wanda was a fifth level mature warrior. 

Vladimir’s essence twin is a scholar and is incarnate on the physical plane, is female, age seven years.  There are plans for them to complete the mother/son monad in Vladimir’s next incarnation, which will probably occur during the third decade of the next millennium. 

So here was an artisan-cast scholar with a great deal of sage energy, most of which was expended in his personal life.  This fragment’s relationship with his task companion was passionate, explosive and mutually satisfying. 

This scholar’s demeanour in public contrasted greatly with his behaviour in his private life. 

It is interesting to note that this fragment has had only one other life as a practicing musician and that was as an organist at the Chartre Cathedral in the early part of the nineteenth century. 

However, this fragment has a long stage history, beginning in Greece during its Golden Age. 

This fragment also built harpsichords during the latter part of the eighteenth century and actually built one for Leopold Mozart. 

As a highland warrior in the latter part of the seventeenth century, this fragment distinguished himself both on the battlefield and in fashioning bagpipes. 

He was an exemplary soldier in many lives and many guises. 

However, the place where this fragment was most at home was on the stage or behind the scenes. 

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What I love about the Horowitzes is how much so they are like Felipe VI’s step-brother and his dominatrix frau. Both Wanda Toscanini Horowitz and Catherine are fifth mature warrior souls who were/are married to their scholar task compaanion – Vladimir Horowitz and William the Bourbon pretender.

Just like the Horowitzes for being task companions the Bourbon-Bucklebury duo are a combustible, combative couple, who’ve openly rowed and cussed sotto voce in public their entire marriage but alas who is going to be so daft as to break from fairy story to either perceive or acknowledge the truth of this sorry pantomime?

Wanna know what Catherine & William are really like, take a long hard look at two more intensely soul-bonded lovers, Elizabeth Taylor & Richard Burton – they are essence twins, in Mike Nichols’ “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf.” Like Martha, Catherine also is a heavy cigarette smoker.

They, el duque y la duquesa Bourbon y Bucklebury, are a rivetingly complex but utterly volatile couple – all task companions and essence twins are; however, for the British tabloid media to pretend that they are all that is risible in the very least. They both have 9 in their numerology and all such persons are archly self-toxic, which therefore dictates how they relate to everyone. Want to imagine what the Cambridges worldview is like, just listen to Lady Colin Campbell and Piers Morgan speak. They, the Cambridges and the aforementioned two media personalities, are argumentative, scathing, fault-finding, abusive, manipulative and bigoted… all 9 persons are.

Their contempt for their subjects notwithstanding, the Bucklebury muggles are also stressed to the gills from the perpetual rowing they witness when around their oh-so-tightly-wound-to-saccharine-perfection-fake parents.

It should be noted that during several dream encounters with HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge that I’ve had – as someone who dreams lucidly and recalls dreams each time that I sleep, it is not uncommon to dream of persons known or unknown to me – when he sits, he favours doing so with his legs gathered and folded. I remember the first time that I made the connection when visiting a friend’s family in the Eastern Townships on the drive from Montréal whilst en route to a long weekend in Québec City. Not only did the co-worker’s cousin exclusively sit with his legs gathered beneath him all times when sat; however, he was made ever acutely and openly hostile by my presence. Like another co-worker at another job whose stepson was on the spectrum, that man was also acutely uncomfortable in my presence and sat with legs gathered beneath him whenever sat. Like William, all these persons have a vacant look about them; though, William has been intensely groomed to be normal, he is normal simply because there is so much vested interest in how we perceive him.

He is a prince. He is Diana’s boy. He is the future king. We collectively are at once somnambulantly caught up in the fairy story and in his tightly choreographed outings, he is deftly able to pull the wool over our collective eyes. However, when he is challenged, like all 9s and spectrum-focussed persons, he will go off-piste and betray the intransigent stubbornness at the core of his being as a scholar in stubbornness and a spectrum-focussed human being. William betrayed his spectrum-focussed prejudice and oafishness by lacking sophistication when stating, “We are very much not a racist family.” Merely, by his statement’s ambiguity, its basic double negative, William thereby betrayed the racism rife within aspects of the BRF. Full stop! Alas, whatever is a trapped spectrum-focussed oaf to do? Stayed tuned, there is yet to be a sequel, this one in future will be deemed, the Madness of King Wills.

Ten years of rowing on the way up the Mall from their wedding ceremony, to all the private hissing, to the dominatrix brush off of the tedious spectrum-focussed oaf whom Catherine at best is damn sick and tired of having to babysit, especially when it cannot damn well stop pursuing his bits of roughs on the side and one should never rule out his male relative – no, not King Felipe VI rather his violent wife’s brother; there is a reason why James is never photographed anywhere near William. Just look at these two photos released to mark their 10th wedding anniversary, Catherine does not once look at William. He is an oaf and what she prominently displays is Diana’s engagement ring. That’s right, I am the one possessed of the womb, which brought forth the future sovereign, I don’t give a damn and if I made the little negro cry…. so damn fucking what. I am a bitch… deal with it.

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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©2013-2021 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.

Well, Of Course, They’re Frigging Racist!

Time and again, the British tabloids, media and royal sycophants keep repeating that there is no racism within the BRF and that it is rather a damning allegation to have made on the part of the Sussexes in their sit-down interview with Oprah Winfrey on CBS. What the hell are these people on about? There she was Princess Eurotrash of Flat-Arsedom, going full gansta in her blackamoor brooch; yet, there is no racism within the BRF tabloid sycophants loudly protest.

Of course, right on cue, along came the knock-kneed, flat-flooted Bourbon, displaying his frightful lack of awareness, tack… to say nothing of intellect. Indeed, let’s take Meghan & Harry detractors one and all to task as well they damn well ought to be. Please know this, if you don’t like black people… fuck you!

That’s right, Britons are not in the least racist. God only knows, it is at American baseball, basketball and football games that fans make monkey noises, make Nazi salutes and toss bananas on the field/court… indeed. From top to bottom, whether emboldened royals ie HRH Princess Michael of Kent to chavs and others at a football game, Britons are hideously racist and this need to deny their ugliness is betrayed by their need to sublimate all that by forever masquerading the aristocracy in cinema and art as though to entice and beguile the wayward, rebellious kin across the pond.

Petra…. seriously. Unlike you, Meghan married a blood prince. You, however, fittingly wedded a greasy-looking, conman with obvious substance abuse issues… Come on, you actually laid there and had that walrus slither atop you and pass out after another drunken orgasmic fit… Ew fucking ew! Moneyed trash is still trash… you are but another bigoted, spiritual blackhole aimlessly flitting about from beach to yacht to shopping whilst waiting to finally lay your casket chic looks in a casket. Not surprisingly, that chaviola father of Petra’s has proven himself, vis-à-vis Lewis Hamilton’s phenomenal F1 success just another moneyed bigoted pigmy.

Child, after a lifetime of being all god’s children’s favourite windup fool, there you’ll be all smiles and perky only to hear St. Peter say, “Do me a favour, go on over there and grab that candelabra, I could do with some light…” Honest to fucking god, self-loathing fools are the most contemptable of fools. Leave Meghan alone… you know nothing, save looking for another opportunity to make yourself beloved by those for whom Billie Holiday sang Strange Fruit.

A veritable chavfest of pretentious elitist boors. Imagine the fuck-all temerity of these jackasses to insist that CBS and Oprah postpone the Meghan & Harry interview out of consideration of Prince Philip, HRH Duke of Edinburgh, spouse of HM The Queen, being hospitalised. Naturally, it never once occurred to these ugly-of-spirit, racial predators how their unrelentingly racialised aggression in the media against Meghan & Harry was affecting not just the Sussexes but HM The Queen and her spouse Prince Philip, HRH Duke of Edinburgh. For nine long excruciating months, they badgered away at the pregnant Duchess of Sussex for having dared to have wedded at the apex of their racist society but to go on and start breeding mongrelised royal blood, was simply untenable an affront.

There is not a single white female who would have been racially preyed on by the British tabloids the way that Meghan, Duchess of Sussex has been. Whilst this racially predatory feeding frenzy has endured, not a single protest ever emanated from the BRF or the Royal Households on their behalf. The tabloids knew that in an archly racialised society – apeing black footballers on the field – the business of open racial animus towards the Sussexes was big business…. indeed, not since the phenomenal business that Diana represented for them, had they enjoyed such profits. What neither the royals nor the tabloids had envisioned, was the Sussexes not playing along; they had never fathomed the notion that an American, a black American, would simply pick up, take her blood royal prince and son and relocate to a society where for being a self-made woman, a self-made black woman, she could be challenged, engaged and supported rather than being eclipsed, dehumanised, demonised, silenced…. lynched. No star ever takes second billing to a dull as sodden cardboard ingenue of neither awareness nor discernible intellect… ditto Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge. The problem with the British tabloids and media who cover the BRF were how homogenous they are; with the exception of BAME Roya Nikkhah, this semi-feral herd of racist cattle are overwhelmingly white, which means that everything that they plotted and schemed about meting out to Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, was gleefully done with a racially predatory agendum – it is in the nature of the rabid beast.

By extension, both Oprah Winfrey and Gayle King have relatively demonstrated what a racially suffocating society Britain is. There simply aren’t any paths to success in British media for blacks as in the case of American society. This all begs the question, why again when America has ceased being a British colony, is there a need to lionise British actors in American cinema and all but relegate and ghettoise American actors to the hinterland that is television – although what with the devastating restructuring that the Coronavirus pandemic has caused, Netflix and by extension all cable, have become the newly dominant medium rather than cinema.

Thomas Markle deftly validates the Michael Teaching knowledge that from lifetime to lifetime, you have only one parenting agreement with one of both parents. Obviously, in the case of Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, who was formerly Margaret Beaufort, Doria Ragland is the parent with whom she has the parenting agreement in this life and that’s that. In a manner which deeply rips off the scab of American racism, Thomas Markle in essence treats his own daughter as property… as a mere runaway slave, who needs to be punished at all cost for disrespecting him and not staying her arse on the plantation where she belongs. It can never be forgotten that Thomas is possessed of a 9 in his numerology which would make him just as archly bigoted, conservative and interfering as the Duke & Duchess of Cambridge.

There are two families in each lifetime; the one chosen by soul into which to reincarnate and once incarnate, the onus is on one, to use the greatest discretion in choosing in whom you trust and such persons are family. Sadly, Samantha is like 7 of 10 white females who simply hate Meghan because she married a blood prince; this reality has proven an affront to their lifelong cherished fantasy, indeed, their sacred notion of whom a prince should marry – clearly, it should not be a black woman or else the white female tribal psyche goes on the warpath… as most definitely it has. Meghan has never been perceived by Samantha as anyone but the otiose, nappy-headed bastard who needs to be pinched, bullied, spat at and reviled at every turn and Samantha in her blind rage, was not going to miss her chance to get on the stage before the world and remind us all what ugly malaise of spirit this thing called white privilege is and how it thoroughly immolates thusly focussed persons.

What more proof does one need? Thank you, Master Archie Manners for doing right by your namesakes’ honour; your slight of hand was truly masterful. The whole lot of these blasted dogs have been exposed and as for Victoria Arbiter, she needs to be fired by CNN. Sorry, it is the vicious lynching of the American Duchess, Meghan, Duchess of Sussex by this group of racial predators, empowered by the hideous Bourbon-Bucklebury duo, which drove Meghan to being suicidal.

See this right here; these blasted fucknuts would like to have the world believe that there was no racism to which Meghan, Duchess of Sussex and by extension Harry, Duke of Sussex were subjected and that because the Sussexes chose to have a private moment whilst being counselled by the clergyman and romantically take their vows, which could not have been legal, thus it was a lie, somehow, everything else was a lie. Well see here duckies, the big, flat-arsed princess Eurotrash’s racist shade-throwing could not possibly have been racist, right? Bullshit! Not only was it vile, racist cowardly social aggression, it was also completely and utterly sanctioned by the Cambidges who do no give two fucks, which is precisely why HRH Prince Charles was not allowed access to HRH Prince George for long months after his birth. These are the same Cambridges who leaned forward across the quire aisle from the keenly observant and savvy Mulroneys at the Sussexes’ wedding to hiss and ridicule as well persons possessed of 9 can be expected to do. One should never forget that as a mature soul warrior in perseverance mode with a primary need for power, Catherine knows and understands full well her power.

The moment that Catherine gave birth, and to a firstborn who proved a prince no less, she immediately became the second most powerful woman in Britain after HM The Queen. This is precisely why she showed her power by retreating to Bucklebury and refused her father-in-law access to her child and future sovereign as this was a direct snub of Camilla, HRH Duchess of Cornwall who at most would be Queen Consort, though, never Queen Consort and future Queen Mother. Hers was the second most valuable womb in Britain, she had given birth to a future sovereign and fuck everyone else… all the social/classist aggression that she had endured was, like an irritating mirage, suddenly collapsed into nothingness. Like Camilla, Meghan, Duchess of Sussex could not eclipse, challenge Catherine… What other response could one expect of an inarticulate mousy woman of another who is articulate, self-made, charismatic and unacceptably non-white. Again, all women with a 9 energy body are the biggest shit-disturbers, saboteuse and are fiendishly controlling. I love the official portrait of Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge at the National Portrait Gallery as it truly captures the complexity of a mature soul warrior in perseverance mode with a primary need of power. She was wedded at her Saturn return and it is at that point that you truly start manifesting, who were born to be. Power corrupts and it is obvious in Catherine’s face in the later photos in the above set. Seven years into her marriage and mother of a future sovereign, Catherine was power mad at the point of the Sussexes wedding and there is no way that she wanted Meghan at court anymore than she suffers the non-threat of Camilla who will never be Queen Mother.

Some fucking how, Meghan, Duchess of Sussex was supposed to have endured the unrelenting racially predatory harassment never before experienced by any other black woman in history and, somehow, these bipedal dogs were in essence braying, “Come on, you’re a nigger, come on play along, come on, you can take it… it’s only a poplar tree, what’s the big deal? Why are you afraid to be lynched? It’s your birth right; this is your role in our national sport… we decide and you are not allowed to be in our fairy story. It’s your history to be lynched for fuckssakes. Stop whining and fall into line.” And whilst all this endured the culpable Cambridges, used tampon et al simply sat around inebriated and somnambulant, chuckling, “one ibble dibble, two ibble dibble.”

Sharon Osborne, fired! Now get out of America. Piers Morgan, fired! Fuck you, you rabid racist coward. Victoria Arbiter, CNN needs to fire this charlatan Briton and soon; that exposé by Archie Manners is all one needs to get a fair assessment of these clowns, claiming to be royal expert this and royal expert that. These same clowns in a post-Oprah CBS Interview are claiming victory as the Sussexes poll numbers have plummeted. Seriously, the Sussexes now live in America; trust you me, neither they nor Americans give a rat’s arse about what island-dwelling xenophobic bigots think. No matter how you keep grasping at straws, the Sussexes are well out of your lives – they do not give a blasted damn.

This now frees you up to focus your jaundiced tabloid and fabulist biographies on the rest of the royals… you know, the one with a proclivity for minor fare. Then there is the knock-kneed, flat-footed Bourbon oaf whom you have yet to have a million body language experts opine about the royal brushoff during Mary Berry’s A Berry Royal Christmas Special. That’s right, their marriage is a volatile, shattered affair, which was just as plainly obvious during the BBC Christmas baking special as it was the day of their marriage a decade ago as they rowed all the way up the Mall and whilst on the balcony at Buckingham Palace. Even their miserable-looking kids betray the froideur of their sado-masochistic arrangement.

William is a flawed, weak oaf who hasn’t a clue. Catherine, however, is as rapaciously shrewd as they come. This is why the day after Oprah’s Interview for CBS with the Sussexes when asked by the reporter if the royals were a racist family, William walked right into the trap and spoke up, declaring: We are very much not a racist family.” Catherine, though, pretended not to have heard any of it and simply kept on walking away – indeed, she knew it was best to run away as every coward does. The Cambridges are the architects of it all and unfortunately as he has had to be screamed at and brushed off time and again by Catherine, William stupidly fell for the bait and shot off his mouth where he most definitely ought not to have.

This Betty Carter tour de force, Thou Swell, deftly sums up the superior strategists that the Sussexes are to the Cambridges. Meghan was a Queen Mother too and what is past is present is always future. I played this tune for a couple of hours after William outed himself as the Sussexes intended in their interview with Oprah for CBS, enjoying the deliciousness of their groove which like Jazz, is sophistication most rare. Jazz touches those for whom it is native, it is breath, like it does no one else… go on ape the culture all you want but we both know that, like Billy flat-foot, it don’t mean a damn thing…

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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©2013-2021 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.

Once A Queen…

Back in May 2018, at the time of their dazzling wedding, many television commentators asked, how is Meghan going to change the monarchy? Well, now we know how… certainly, not as anyone had envisioned. However, the need to demonise, vilify and make sport of being racially predatory, was the singularly focussed agendum of many – especially those of the tabloid press and obviously some royals.

Meghan is a master strategist; like every artisan, she knows how to lay a trap and watch mere fools reveal their hand.

Hey Stooopid! Well, of course, the thick-as-a-plank William would take the bait, which was issued by the Sussexes when speaking with Oprah Winfrey before everyone on either side of the pond. William’s rebuttal, the pissed off double negative uncharacteristic outburst, naturally serves as a validation of whom the Sussexes wished to protect, though, not really. “We’re Very Much Not A Racist Family.” Naturally, he who chose during his gap year to travel to a Catholic South American country to assist disadvantaged persons – persons they were who were not part of the Commonwealth, of which one day he will be king – more importantly, a country to which he travelled where not only was it not a Commonwealth nation but it is also not a predominantly black country.

Really, William, the mother of your closest royal male friend, shows up to your brother’s future wife’s inaugural Christmas lunch at Buckingham Palace and she wears a blackamoor brooch and this is not racist? Certainly, it could not be racist when that male best friend royal’s wife is Jewish and works as an actor in Los Angeles. Nah, there couldn’t possibly be malicious, racially predatory, shade-throwing afoot in such an open display of racism, which you did not object to, especially when it was your supposed much-loved brother’s affianced. For that outburst of William’s to the reporter, the prosecution would say to his colleague, I’m afraid you’ve a fool for a client, to which the defense attorney would not object. If Princess Michael of Kent wore the blackamoor brooch to the Sussexes’ wedding as a result of Meghan allegedly having made Catherine cry, days leading up to the wedding that would be one thing – doing so as a way to put the upstart American in her place. Either way, it would have been no less controversial. Indeed, it would have been more controversial had she worn the blackamoor brooch to the wedding as more blacks with the televised global audience would have been aware of the racist attack than were aware of the Christmas lunch at Buckingham Palace.

For being task companions and both possessed of 9 in their numerology, William as he guilty admitted by his outburst, have been the major racist architects of the Sussexes banishment from court – all of which they orchestrated by having the tabloid press do their bidding and the sycophantic ‘royal experts’ vilify the Duchess of Sussex at every turn. As ever, this being a patriarchal society, thus two prominent women had to be pitted against each other. Catherine, a weak, mousy inarticulate woman was threatened by a self-made woman… a black woman and that simply just could not be tolerated. Of course, Catherine fully empowered as future Queen Consort and future Queen Mother, disinvited Meghan from her sister’s wedding to the exceptionally well-hung, odd-looking billionaire whose father’s legal troubles are not dissimilar to prince Andrew’s. At the short-lived Royal Foundation press conference, Catherine sat there hissing an already full bellied python ready to unhinge, strangle and expediently devour the far too challenging prey that was her brother-in-law’s affianced. At Wimbledon 2019, Catherine much as she had at Ascot was just grinning her best ‘fuck you, fuck off’ mask, telegraphing to her sycophants that the American was truly done and finished. Catherine, energy body of 9 – the fiendish shit-disturber, dominatrix and archly discriminating snob held court and telegraphed much at Wimbledon and Royal Ascot 2019.

Back in March 2017, Harry and Meghan flew to Tom Inskip’s wedding in Jamaica. Two months later, betraying their grudge and racist ill-conceived plan to ban Meghan the American, the self-made black woman from the wedding, the Cambridges devised a scheme whereby Pippa was made to ban anyone who was neither wedded nor engaged to attend the church service of her wedding. Meghan, though, to be bullied and shown by the petty Cambridges that she was not welcome was invited to attend the wedding reception in Bucklebury where there was no press. This naturally was a message to Meghan that she was not going to enjoy a long lasting relationship with Harry if they had anything to do with it. However, there was one glaring omission to their bold-faced lie at excluding Meghan from Pippa’s wedding to the billionaire son of a sexual predator – Princess Eugenie attended the church service of the wedding with her boyfriend Jack Brooksbank. Though at the time, the media lied for the Cambridges by alleging that there was assured knowledge that both Jack and Eugenie had been secretly engaged in December 2016; therefore, this enabled Jack to accompany Princess Eugenie to the wedding’s church service. Time as ever always reveals truth; thus it was that in January 2018, long months after Pippa’s wedding HRH Prince Andrew proudly announced that Jack and Princess Eugenie were engaged. So in Pippa’s aka the Cambridge’s alternate reality, Harry a senior royal to Eugenie cannot bring his lover, Meghan, to non-royal Pippa’s wedding; however, junior royal Eugenie was accompanied by Jack at both wedding service and reception. Damn right, slam the door in her damn face and toss the goddamn flowers in the trash – that is what any self-respecting, self-made woman would do. Americans are no one’s inferior and black Americans definitely do not have time to play Prissy to anyone.

All of this drama has originated with the Cambridges, who for being possessed of 9 and being task companions readily became obsessed with banishing Meghan from court. After having successfully banned Meghan from Pippa’s wedding, Meghan was the last person to be surprised at princess flat-arsed-no-calved Michael of Kent showing up to Buckingham Palace 7 months later, sporting the blackamoor brooch because that’s damn well what Catherine & William would have wanted and directed princess Eurotrash to do. Now it was Meghan’s turn to repay Catherine in kind. Catherine who studied art history at university and who had clearly chosen the bridal party for her sister Pippa’s wedding, felt herself perfectly entitled to insist that Meghan’s flower girls and page boys should follow the royal tradition and be stockinged – her son and daughter were part of the party after all. Finally, Meghan gets what Meghan wants and there was damn well no way after being banned from Pippa’s wedding and Princess Michael’s blackamoor brooch that the Mulroney twins were going to look like blasted little stockinged poufters before the world simply because power mad Catherine knows best. In the end, though Meghan won the day, she broke down and cried after being yelled at and put in her place by future Queen Consort and future Queen Mother over-compensatory commoner Catherine. Catherine first number of 9 (shit disturber, dominatrix), perseverance mode and primary need of power could make the strongest self-made woman cry – especially within the confines of the hereditary system that sees her do as she damn well please without ever being challenged and certainly by über milquetoast William.

There they were sat, William and Catherine, throwing shade at his brother’s wedding before the 2 billion onlookers across the planet… to say nothing of the shrewdly observant television industry insiders across the quire’s narrow history-worn aisle. They betrayed their true nature because this is the bane of whites when being racialised towards blacks: open ridicule without a care in the world is more the norm than not; indeed, without the lightest awareness are they just how stupidly ignorant such behaviour is perceived by all humanity, who happen not to be small-minded bigoted whites. Indeed, smugly racialised are such persons who are possessed of zero awareness of just how stupid they are; alas, such persons never own their racism. It is that fix, like all other addictions, that they simply cannot get enough of. Catherine’s visit to Clapham Common was a PR stunt, which only occurred thanks to the truth of what occurred, leading up to Meghan’s wedding being outed during the sit-down with Oprah Winfrey. Meghan made only 2 balcony appearances at Trooping the Colour and on both occasions, she was relegated to the back of the balcony whilst HRH Prince Andrew, who is not a more senior royal than HRH Prince Harry and wife, was given a front row placement. That was not happenstance; just as it was not happenstance that as the Sussexes were banished from court, HM The Queen’s 2019 Christmas address would feature four sovereigns in a crafty way of eclipsing the much too popular Sussexes then along came the jealous Cambridges with their Bourbon-Bucklebury muggles on parade for Christmas Day service in Sandringham; as ever, there the Cambridge kinder progressed, looking just as lost, stupid and clueless as can be expected of bastardised Bourbon blood. Do you think that after that bit of “Fuck you, one of these things just doesn’t belong here” ploy by the Cambridges (the 4 sovereigns photos and the Sandringham walkabout) Meghan was going to sit there before the Queen, Oprah, and not lob a torch over the castle wall by mentioning the royal’s racist obsession with what intensity of melanin Harry’s children would manifest – to which, of course, William could not keep his damn guilty yap shut.

Diana, Princess of Wales spoke across time to her boys and the message was loudly and deeply embedded into the very fabric of Harry’s being: “If you find someone in life, you must hang on to it and look after it. And if you are lucky enough to find someone who loves you, then you must protect it.” Protecting the love with the soul which previously was the matriarch of the Tudor Dynasty, is a true mark of fealty and valour in love. Who has time to remain at the court of two bullying, grudging, jealous boors, who not only have 9 in their numerological makeup but are also task companions? William is not smart in the least but he is stubbornly rigid and exactingly uncompromising; he is also driven by an equally bullying dominatrix whose remarkable jealously has seen Meghan’s articulate command of the stage, scrubbed from the Internet as was deftly and elegantly on display at the 2018 British Fashion Awards.

Not only has Meghan shrewdly outed the Cambridges for the racist boors that they are, she has also cast a rather unflattering light on racism in American cinema, which must and will change. The small-islanded, arch racism that Meghan for simply being, exposed in the British psyche, will lead to Americans taking action on the constant influx of Britons, jumping the queue into Hollywood and being afforded American awards when Americans find themselves being passed over time and again in favour of Britons as arrivistes in Hollywood suck up and seek entry and access to British aristocracy by tossing Emmys and Oscars at British thespians. Honest to fucking god, why in the hell did Kate Winslet and Emma Thompson, to name but two, get awarded an American acting award when they aren’t Americans and there is a nation of more than 330 million with actors of every range and hue, being passed over time and again in favour of hideously racist Britons. And what exactly does one get in return but stinking arrogance and a complete contempt and disregard for American culture and its people. You never ever hear Britons in American, commenting on race; then again, Meghan for marrying at the very apex of their classist/racist society, exposed Britons for being even more hideously racist than Americans can ever possibly be considered. How is American cinema thriving when the tendency is towards brown-nosing Britons and for what? So many American stories from American civilisation are being eclipsed by these arrogant, archly condescending, cultural boors who can never decade after decade of being in Hollywood, shake that godawful, small-island accent that sounds as though talking whilst juggling hot coals up your flat arse. How much longer is American cinema to be deprived the celebration of Hispanic, Amerindian, Asian, Black and all the other rich cultures, which make up the American quilt, in favour of being recolonised by these racist boors?

What gives this displaced, boorish haus frau the right to go on an American talk-show and bully and belittle Americans? Since when have Americans been tolerated on British television? That’s right, regardless the Oscars and Emmys tossed their way, it has garnered nothing for Americans on the other side of the pond. What exactly do you think that racist boor, storming off set was up to, save looking to be relocated by the Murdoch family to America so he can grandstand on Fox TV, spewing his obsessive, racist hatred for Meghan, Duchess of Sussex day in, day fucking out – God only knows, an American could not have been found to replace Larry King on CNN. For having been there and done that, Piers’ plan in walking off the set of GMB, is to relocate across the pond and continue his racist diatribes with Meghan, Duchess of Sussex in mind; after all, someone has to take up the space recently vacated by Rush Limbaugh on American conservative talk radio. Indeed, Piers is yet another racist, hate-filled white male, who is adored and empowered by the tribe for “telling it like it is…” though perception for such persons is tribal, thankfully for the rest of humanity, perception is entirely a personal matter.

The second photo is a screenshot of ITV’s broadcast of the 2018 Remembrance Day in Whitehall. The red line of the YouTube video passes just below my right ear as I gazed across Whitehall to the balcony where directly opposite stood Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex. Ahead, there were persons 4 deep in front of me, I never did see the royal males who stood directly before me, facing the Cenotaph and laying wreaths there. I went home that night and when I got in, I was so overwhelmed with the amount of hatred directed at the Duchess of Sussex from every single person around me that I just silently lay there in my hotel bed and cried. It was the longest release…. I knew that I was crying because the vitriol made me recall the exquisite isolation and pain I knew for living in Winnipeg. Moreover, I recalled at one point as I walked back to the hotel what Diana, Princess of Wales had said in her televised interview with Martin Bashir: “There is no better way to dismantle a personality than to isolate it.” In that moment, I knew that Meghan’s life was not as it seemed; yet, I hoped against all hope that this pang of fear was not true. Yet in the end, we have all come to realise that it was true; this was especially evident when Meghan appeared in the landau with Harry and the Duchesses of Cornwall and Cambridge – she was bloated, depressed and at an obvious low point. What is even more disturbing, is knowing the amount of pain that his mother suffered, William has unrelentingly charged forth with his court of sycophants – blackamoor brooch and all – making Meghan’s life exquisitely unbearable… Can you not just imagine the amount of racially predatory peals of laughter that regularly rang thorough Kensington Palace as Meghan was being further subjected to some hideously racist indignity by obsequious staffers, courtiers, his friends and wife. Why if it were not for a campaign of racist attacks would the Sussexes refuse to move into the refurbished Kensington Palace apartment next to the Cambridges and settled instead on Frogmore Cottage?

One fact has become increasingly clearer, William is HFA. Though he is well-practised to within an inch of his life, beneath that deceptive Neptune conjunct the ascendant veneer are the giveaways; among them, he has a marked aversion for blacks, regardless what his handlers have made him get out there and do – it is after all a job. This explains why he never tours predominantly black Commonwealth nations. It also explains why he goes steely even deadly at times in that manner that is common to spectrum fare and no other humans.

Bully and violently loud to say nothing of stubborn are also marked HFA traits, which he possesses in spades and which are borne out by both his geniture and numerology. There is also that vaguely je ne sais quoi aspect to his totally; it is that babyish quality that all spectrum persons possess and his Neptune is conjunct the ascendant – talk about your loaded piece of burnt toast indeed. As with a preponderance of HFA persons, William’s geniture is marked by a stellium. If ever one needed further proof, his dark Moon conjunction sits at the descendant – Catherine the dominatrix revealed to a T.

All of this racist, immature, destructive behaviour would have, after the Sussexes, more devastated HM The Queen than any other royal. The Sussexes as Commonwealth Youth Ambassadors were going to keep alive The Queen’smost cherished legacy, the Commonwealth. Meghan attended Royal Ascot only once, June 2018. Naturally, her arch enemies, the Cambridges, stayed away so that they could stay at home and watch the procession on TV whilst bitching and ridiculing just as openly as they did Meghan and her culture before 2 billion people at the Sussexes’ wedding. Then there were the Cambridges the next year, 2019, with Catherine smugly celebrating because to that point, it was a done deal, Meghan had cracked and it was just a matter of time before they were kicked out of the Firm and be banished from what was soon to be Wiliam & Catherine’s realm.

Well thank the good lord the BRF and empire has no power over American media and in particular very powerful American media persons who happen to be black. William apart from having a stellium has Neptune conjunct the ascendant opposite the dark moon conjunction which sits squarely at the descendant. William is a weak, deceptive, not very swift eel, who is totally dominated by a unrelentingly power mad partner Catherine (dark moon in Gemini at the descendant). Numbers, astrology and overleaves do not lie…. you can fool no one and William and Catherine will never win in the current power play against the Sussexes for ultimately Americans neither care nor defer to royalty and once a Queen, Meghan is supremely in control and empowered by the supremely knowledgeable Harry born in the year of the Rat.

These are the all-important supporting power hitters who not only know where the bones are buried, they have the emails and texts. More than that, they are all strong, self-made, shrewd, intelligent women and absolutely nothing is more thrilling than the empowering laughter of a strong woman.

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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©2013-2021 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.

The Black Queen: Racism and the British Royals.

Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge: The Black Queen |

 

Windsor, Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge 9/1/1982

 

Michael: This fragment is a fifth-level mature warrior – third life thereat.  Catherine is in the perseveration mode with a goal of growth.  A pragmatist, Catherine is in the moving part of intellectual centre. 

 

Catherine’s primary chief feature is stubbornness and the secondary, arrogance. 

 

Catherine’s body type is Saturn/Mercury/Venus. 

 

The fragment Catherine is fourth-cast in the sixth cadence.  Catherine is a member of greater cadence one.  Catherine’s entity is four, cadre one, greater cadre 6 pod 208. 

 

Catherine’s essence twin is a warrior and the task companion a scholar, her husband, HRH Prince William Duke of Cambridge. 

 

Catherine’s three primary needs are: expansion, power and expression. 

 

There are 10 past-life associations with Arvin and 8 with Merlin.  ­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­ _____________________________________________

 

 

Reputed to have the largest collection of tiaras, odd isn’t it that prior to having attended HM The Queen’s 2017 Christmas Lunch at Buckingham Palace when HRH Prince Henry’s affianced Meghan Markle made her inaugural attendance, never before had HRH Princess Michael of Kent worn this brooch. A brooch it is that is decidedly offensive in its racially focussed animus towards blacks. How does one account for this bold, racist display, if one did not have the sanction of those who matter?

 

 

HRH Princess Michael of Kent 15/1/1945 Monkey 6.7.8 = 3

 

For, HRH Princess Michael of Kent, the person who matters is not HM The Queen – we have no idea how HM The Queen is perceived by senior royals, though, there are obvious factions who see HM The Queen as having overstayed her tenure. Who could HRH Princess Michael of Kent have been sucking up to by wearing that brooch? Who were the puppet masters of that emboldened display of venal bigotry? Who was “Princess Pushy,” HRH Princess Michael of Kent taking orders from?

 

 

Lord Frederick Windsor, 6/4/1979 Goat 6.1.9 = 7

 

The male royal with closest connection to HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge is HRH Princess Michael of Kent’s only son, Lord Frederick Windsor. Indeed, Freddie & William are so close that it was to Frederick’s daughter, Maud’s, school in Battersea that the Cambridges’ firstborn, HRH Prince George of Cambridge, began his schooling. Why are they so close – apart from a possible soul connection (entity, cadre, pod) and past-life connections, Frederick Windsor, William and Catherine, The Black Queen all have 9 in their numerological makeup. The hallmark of persons with 9, is that they are all shit-disturbers and love plotting, scheming and sabotaging persons of whom they do not approve. No 9 person ever misses an opportunity to fuck with someone… anyone. 9 persons are incredibly insecure.

 

 

HRH Prince Michael of Kent 4/7/1942 Horse 4.2.9 = 6

 

Though these persons do not see themselves as being racially prejudiced – they simply are defending their way of life and how they perceive that their way of life ought to look – its makeup and exclusivity. Also possessed of 9, Frederick would have been much informed by his father’s worldview and perception of reality. All four persons being 9s, would willingly support William and Catherine, The Black Queen‘s edict not to have to countenance blacks being deserving of being in their midst, indeed, being socially acceptable in their midst. The impact that this would have had on the royal households cannot be overlooked. This bold racist slight against Meghan, Duchess of Sussex would have left much of the royal householders at Kensington Palace feeling themselves fully entitled to be openly racist towards both Harry & Meghan. Without doubt, this toxic environment would be a significant factor for the Sussexes not to have moved in to the newly renovated apartment next-door at Kensington Palace to the Cambridges, rather they would end up setting up their household at Frogmore Cottage.

 

 

Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge 9/1/1982 Rooster 9.1.3 = 4

 

HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge 21/6/1982 Dog 3.9.2 = 5

 

Lord Frederick Windsor’s close friend, the future sovereign, William, the Duke of Cambridge is also – along with his wife, Catherine, The Black Queen – possessed of 9 in his numerological makeup. Above all else, William is noted to be a petty, fault-finding, toxic (like all 9s) intensely discriminating, stubborn man who is also inordinately dense and unaware.

 

 

HRH Prince Henry of Wales & Meghan Markle December, 2017.

 

Be that as it may, both the royal rota journalists and their racist hateful fans would readily conclude that in a bid to garner sympathy, Meghan actually presented the brooch to HRH Princess Michael of Kent and asked her to wear it to HM The Queen’s 2017 Buckingham Palace lunch, with the senior Kent princess not having any idea of the brooch’s racially offensive symbology. Indeed, both the print media and Meghan racist detractors have simply glossed over that pivotal episode, which signalled the declaration of a warring campaign of harassment, racism and bullying that would be focussed on both Henry & Meghan and coming chiefly from the Cambridges and all their cronies, the Kents and royal households alike.

 

 

 

TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge with HRH Prince Henry of Wales.

 

When was HRH Prince Henry ever reported to have been rude and disproving of Catherine Middleton because she was not a suitable spousal candidate for a royal and his much-loved brother?

 

 

William is carefully studied and great at slight of hand; at least, this is the case when he is making tightly choreographed appearances, which do not allow for moments of spontaneity. He enters, hands clasped, he makes a speech with a joke that displays the same saccharine, clipped laughter. In the above GIF, Catherine, The Black Queen, is seen brushing off her husband, the future sovereign, HRH Prince William. This quintessentially is the response of someone (Catherine, The Black Queen) possessed of a first number of 9. They are rude, dismissive and never mask their true feelings. William is truly beneath the thumb of his wife, Catherine, The Black Queen. Look at the way that William ducks down, neurotically rubs his arm and then looks to see if anyone has caught the behaviour, which clearly is never supposed to be observed beyond the walls of either Amner Hall or Kensington Palace.

 

 

Royal Wedding HRH Prince William & Catherine Middleton, 29.4.2011

 

Though there were multiple examples of William’s lack of awareness and his inability to mask his appalling lack of sophistication when in spontaneous live events, as at his wedding in April, 2011, a prime example of his behaviour on leaving Westminster Abbey with his new bride. At the second hour and 9th minute of the above video, [02.09.25] and the next two minutes William is totally self-absorbed and completely unaware of his new wife, Catherine, The Black Queen. He fidgets and is unable to properly put on his white gloves. Next, he gets into the Imperial State Landau and sits with his back to the horses; he, as it were, was sat such that his back potentially was to the crowds during procession. When finally he was directed aright by the footman, who knowingly looked at Pippa Middleton whose response validated that it was common knowledge that William is a fool, he then shifted to correctly sit, facing to the back of the horses. Naturally, totally unaware, he simply shifted from one seat to the other and remained seated as his new wife entered the landau. Selfishly, he is then observed shoving Catherine, The Black Queen‘s, beautiful Alexander McQueen gown out of the way and off his uniform.

 

 

Royal Wedding HRH Prince Henry & Meghan Markle, 18.5.2018.

 

At the fourth hour and 7th minute [04.07.00] of The Royal Wedding of HRH Prince Henry and Meghan Markle, Harry takes the time to speak to his new wife and then puts on his hat and gloves.

 

 

Windsor, HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex 15/9/1984 London, England

 

Michael: This feisty fragment is a fifth-level mature warrior -– fourth life thereat – to his sixth-level mature brother, William.  Henry is in the power mode with a goal of growth.  A sceptic, he is in the moving part of intellectual centre. 

 

Body type is Mars/Saturn. 

 

Henry’s primary chief feature is arrogance and the secondary stubbornness. 

 

The fragment Henry is first-cast in second cadence; he is a fragment of greater cadence three.  Henry’s entity is one, cadre six, greater cadre 7, pod 418 – Henry is an entity mate of his paternal grandmother, HM Queen Elizabeth II. 

 

Henry’s essence twin is a warrior and he has a scholar task companion. 

 

Henry’s primary needs are: freedom, adventure and exchange. 

 

There are 9 past-life associations with Arvin and 5 with Merlin.  ___________________________________________

 

Henry, infinitely more aware than his brother, then gets into the Ascot Landau and does what his brother never did. Throughout, he remained standing in the Ascot landau, gave his new wife a hand inside then after she was comfortable sat, like a true gentleman, he then sat besides his wife. Their father, HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales also did the honourable thing and stood whilst his new bride, Diana, Princess of Wales stepped into the Imperial State landau and was comfortably sat at the foot of the steps at St. Paul’s Cathedral one glorious July day in 1981 whilst I then lived in Winnipeg during my studies at the Royal Winnipeg Ballet’s school.

 

 

Duchess of Sussex, Endeavour Fund Awards 2020, Mansion House.

 

What Meghan possesses in spades is intellect and emotional intelligence, which eclipsed and served as so glaring a foil that Catherine, The Black Queen, would not have been human if she would not have felt threatened by Meghan. Unlike Catherine, The Black Queen & William, Meghan is a keen strategist because like her mother-in-law, Diana, Princess of Wales, she is an artisan soul. As Diana deftly illustrated during her interview with Martin Bashir, she was not an airhead and clueless lost soul as she was mistakenly perceived. This is not uncommon a response to artisans; however, what all artisans possess, is the ability to see through to the heart of anything and anyone. When you know the structure of anything, right down to the subatomic level, you can never be threatened by it.

 

 

 

Diana, Princess of Wales.

 

One of the most powerful women in the 20th century lets her mask down and reveals how deeply misunderstood she was. What you are looking at, is an artisan soul in essence, being fully lived in and fully in control. Diana, Princess of Wales was always three steps ahead of any of the sharks with whom she swam. The parallels between Diana and Meghan are not coincidental. Both women are artisan souls who whilst within the Firm were feared and great pressure was exerted to impede the progress of both feared women.

 

 

That there were no doubts that Meghan wanted to send a message as to who was the architect of the racist campaign against her and her husband, HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex and also why she would choose never to have her black son brought up amongst such persons, is revealed by the choice made to announce their stepping back as senior royals; the announcement to step down as senior royals was done on the eve of Catherine, The Black Queen‘s 38th birthday – thus, she sent a parting shot, making it perfectly obvious who needed to be wiped arse with on Meghan’s departure. Meghan is an infinitely more shrewd and complex artisan soul than was Diana, Princess of Wales. Meghan has master numbers of 11 – such persons will always leave their detractors dazed and unaware; they are visionary, bold and decisive… as is Meghan. Unlike Diana, Princess of Wales, Meghan did not feel that all she had was the comfort of the Firm; a self-made woman, Meghan knew that she could walk out the racially predatory and suffocating confines of the Cambridges’ court and not just survive but thrive.

 

 

Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge, The Black Queen.

 

Catherine, The Black Queen, is a scorned wife and a mousy, jealous, petty, small-minded boor, who was perfectly at ease with the blackamoor brooch being used. Catherine, The Black Queen‘s husband, HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge is moving centred. All such persons are inordinately high-sexed individuals. Not only are they physically active persons but they have a voraciously engaged sexual appetite. As a warrior, Catherine, The Black Queen, is amply able to fulfil such needs of her husband’s. Nonetheless, as a moving centred individual, who also happens to be both male and a scholar soul, it is virtually impossible for William not to have a roving eye and to act on those urges… always.

 

 

Catherine, The Black Queen‘s behaviour on taking a seat, along with her task companion, that equally dense plank, William, at Westminster Abbey at the 2020 Commonwealth Day Service, betrays what a crass boor, the perpetually fake-grinning, inarticulate, mousy pretentious toff she truly is. Look at the Cambridges from the 6th through 9th minutes. They are clipped and William makes a point to mask Catherine as they take their seats so that Catherine, The Black Queen will not have to acknowledge Meghan. When sat, Catherine, The Black Queen makes a point of turning directly to speak with Sophie, the Countess of Wessex behind her whilst being sure to never look in the Sussexes’ direction.

 

 

What 21st century woman would go trotting out a pre-mid-twentieth century pram but an aspirant, insecure lower class Briton ever intent on impressing her overlords. Both of them, the Cambridges, are so frighteningly pretentious; just one look at that photograph and how possibly could Meghan not have been scoffed at by such starchy, uptight, mean-spirited perpetually fault-finding persons both numerologically possessed of 9. They, the Cambridges, were prepared to racially attack with their royal household gang of low-browed bigots, Harry’s wife as it was pure sport; it is always sport to racially prey on blacks. Indeed, how better to make that lazy broodmare, Catherine, The Black Queen have to work and go tour the predominantly black Commonwealth nations than by stepping down?

 

 

Look at William at the 04.00.00 mark on and his interactions with his father, whom he does not even realise, is embarrassed by his behaviour as before all the world’s 2 billion persons onlooking, he openly ridicules the preacher and by extension his brother, his brother’s new wife and her people and culture. This is the same little kiss-arse who ran to Israel to solemnly place his hand on a millennia-old wall, which no one on Haida Gwai could give a living shit about.

 

 

Windsor, HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge 21/6/1982 London.

 

Michael: This fragment is sixth-level mature scholar – third life thereat.  William is in the observation mode with a goal of acceptance.  A pragmatist, he is in the intellectual part of moving centre. 

 

Body type is Lunar/Mars/Saturn. 

 

William’s primary chief feature is stubbornness – death of his mother, Diana, Princess of Wales, was the triggering event and the secondary arrogance. 

 

The fragment William is third-cast in sixth cadence; he is a member of greater cadence seven.  William’s entity is four, cadre one, greater cadre 6, pod 208. 

 

William’s essence twin is a scholar and he has a warrior task companion to whom he is married, Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge. 

 

William’s primary needs are: exchange, freedom and security. 

 

There are 6 past-life associations with Arvin and 3 with Merlin.  __________________________________________

 

William lacks sophistication and by his every action, he betrays what a small-minded bigot he is and thereby reveals himself working in tandem with his task companion that listless Edward Gorey somnambulist of zero spontaneity, zero stage presence and who is incapable of speaking articulately, eloquently and convincingly. In short, Catherine is just someone who after having persevered and ingratiated her way well beyond her class, ended up being settled on when Cressida Bonas’ sister saw no winning hand in having to pass a life, babysitting a boor, adulterer… to say nothing of bore. All Catherine, The Black Queen is capable of doing, in her glaring emotional immaturity, is focus on working with children and early this and early that developmental mental health psycho twaddle all of which has positively nothing to do with frig all anything.

 

 

A family void spontaneity… always on… always staged. This on the heels of William’s latest adulterous dalliance. Both on either side of that path with the kids divided between them. What is Catherine, The Black Queen to do but be a saccharine, utterly transparent dolt in her response.

 

 

Both Diana, Princess of Wales and Meghan, Duchess of Sussex are artisan souls, who proved unfathomable women, women who proved too powerful to not be threatening. Look at them both, where did they get this power from? Where did they intend to use this power and why do they want for change? In the case of Diana, hers was a fairy story in which both the media and public were vastly invested. With Meghan, however, hers was a fairy story that simply could not be tolerated. In every way, the affront of a black duchess, a black royal simply had to be challenged at every turn, in every way… every day. Both the media and public were hellbent on invalidating, obstructing and destroying the marriage of Henry & Meghan, if alas they could not have prevented their wedding.

 

 

Windsor, Diana Princess of Wales July 1/1961<O>August 31/1997.

 

Michael: The fragment who was Diana Frances is a second-level mature artisan and was in the passion mode with a goal of acceptance, a pragmatist in the moving part of emotional centre. 

 

She had a Lunar/Mercury body type. 

 

Diana’s primary chief feature was stubbornness with a secondary, not of self-destruction but of self-deprecation. 

 

Diana Frances was first-cast in her cadence and her cadence is fifth in the greater cadence.  She is a member of entity one, cadre six, greater cadre 48, pod/node 380. 

 

This fragment’s essence twin is a discarnate artisan and her task companion is a discarnate sage, both of whom are staying near her, waiting for her to become oriented to her situation. 

 

Here we had an artisan with drama in her casting but also with a very deep need to serve both the common and the higher good, which she did with grace, charm and a good deal of conviction. 

 

*These Michael Overleaves were channelled in early September, 1997 just after Diana’s death by Sarah J. Chambers who was part of the original Michael group and part of the composite Jessica Lansing in the Chelsea Quinn-Yarbro Michael Teachings books. END.

 

__________________________________________

 

 

Windsor, Meghan HRH Duchess of Sussex 4/8/1981

 

Michael: This fragment is a mid-cycle mature artisan in the tradition of the deceased mother-in-law fragment who was Diana, Princess of Wales — third life thereat.  Meghan is in the observation mode with a goal of acceptance.  An idealist, Meghan is in the moving part of emotional centre. 

 

Meghan’s primary chief feature is self-deprecation and the secondary of mild impatience. 

 

Meghan’s body type is Venus/Solar. 

 

The fragment Meghan is fourth-cast in the fifth cadence.  Meghan is a member of greater cadence four.  Meghan is a member of entity one, cadre six, greater cadre 7, pod 418 — she is an entity mate of both her spouse, HRH Prince Henry of Wales with whom she shares 20 past lives and also an obvious entity mate of Her Majesty, The Queen. 

 

Meghan’s essence twin is an artisan and the task companion a warrior. 

 

Meghan’s three primary needs are: expression, acceptance and expansion.

 

There are 4 past-life associations with Arvin and 6 with Merlin. 

 

Incidentally, this artisan has been a member of the British royal family twice before.  Firstly, as Margaret Beaufort, Countess of Richmond and Derby, she was the cousin of King Henry VI and mother of King Henry VII.  As such, she was the matriarch of the House of Tudor.  Her grandson was Henry VIII and her great-granddaughter, Queen Elizabeth I. 

 

This artisan in that lifetime was involved in the sacraments of the church being included in the newly established college system.  She founded Christ College, Cambridge and was instrumental with the founding of St. John’s College as well. 

 

Secondly, she was HRH Prince Edward, Duke of York and Albany and younger brother to George III, whose father the Prince of Wales, HRH Prince Frederick died before ascending the throne after George II.  In that lifetime, the artisan (now Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex) was interested in military structure.  He, of course, died young of a then unknown illness but which had to do with dysentery. 

 

Incidentally, in the current incarnation, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex has suffered from gastroenteritis, which is related to the last-life health issues – this is the immediate past life and not that in 18th century when the artisan died aged 28.  

 

 __________________________________________

 

 

Without reason, even when it was obvious that Diana was no saint, however, so strong was the investment in that fair story that both the media and public were prepared to turn a blind eye. Diana like every artisan was a shrewd strategist who was always three steps ahead of her enemy.

 

 

Diana was at war with Camilla Parker-Bowles – interestingly, the media never refer to the latter as such, yet going on a decade after her marriage, they continue referring to Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge as Kate Middleton, so strong is the need to be classist boors in British society – and unlike any royal bride before her, Diana aired her linen in public with the Andrew Morton 1992 biography. Only an artisan soul would have had the balls and vision to pull that off, knowing that by so doing, she would win public support.

 

 

Windsor, Camilla HRH Duchess of Cornwall 17/7/1947.

 

Michael: Yes, this scholar is at the mid-level of the mature soul cycle — third life thereat.  Camilla is in caution mode with a goal of growth.  A pragmatist, Camilla is in the moving part of intellectual centre. 

 

Body type is Lunar/Venus. 

 

Camilla‘s primary chief feature is impatience and the secondary arrogance. 

 

The fragment Camilla is third-cast in sixth cadence; Camilla is a fragment of greater cadence seven.  Camilla‘s entity is five, cadre six, greater cadre 7, pod 129. 

 

Camilla’s essence twin is a scholar and the task companion is a warrior. 

 

Camilla’s primary needs are: exchange, freedom and power. 

 

There are 10 past-life associations with Arvin and 6 with Merlin.  (July, 2017).

 

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­_________________________________________

 

An older soul than Diana, Princess of Wales, Camilla, HRH Duchess of Cornwall is better suited to be HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales’ spouse. In general, Warriors and Scholars make better companions and, of course, in such pairings, the warrior is always the dominant partner. This is why no matter how you cut it, Catherine, The Black Duchess is the dominant partner in the Cambridges’ marriage – they, of course, also happen to be task companions, which only adds more texture and complexity to their bond, which is rigid in terms of who gets into their inner circle – they both do have a primary chief feature of stubbornness.

 

 

The Cambridges in their every outing with Meghan and Harry wasted no time in telegraphing just exactly their displeasure at having her in their midst. Meghan was a welcome addition to the monarchy and the royal family as a senior royal for as HM The Queen saw it, in a Commonwealth whose member states are predominantly black, having a Commonwealth Youth Ambassador’s wife be black was a masterful move and one which would assure The Queen’s legacy as she comes to the end of her life. However, William and, more importantly, Catherine, The Black Queen could not give a damn; they are the imminent future of the monarchy and they do not care about Meghan or anyone who looks like Meghan. Again, this is a couple who have chosen not to tour any predominantly black Commonwealth nation since being wedded nine years ago. There is no such thing as happenstance. Both William and Catherine, The Black Queen have a chief feature of stubbornness and such persons never change and are never open to change or deviation from the norm and their position on any subject. They – persons with a primary chief feature of stubbornness – are difficult, intransigent persons and both the Cambridges’ 9s only add to their difficult nature.

 

 

In the Cambridge’s world, they want a realm that is Brahmanistic as per their worldview: Whites, Asians and blacks somewhere comfortably distant with the rest of the uncivilised teeming humanity. They are no different to the average white of their generation – they are alarmingly racist; however, their brand of racism is so sophisticated that one never ever discusses race. Why would they? That would be giving away the power enjoyed by those who thrive on racism. Their realm is mirrored by the teeming trolls who in the tens of thousands flock to tabloid online outlets to spew their vitriol at this fairy story that should never have been that they, the print media and the Cambridges will stop at nothing to nullify. Now that they have succeeded in banishing that black bitch from the realm, their current focus is on divorce watch.

 

 

At every turn that goddamn black bitch was to be lynched, unrelentingly vilified and ostracised in no uncertain terms. At the core of it all are the Cambridges, who have smugly, idly sat back and watched their scheme unfold. Of course, like HRH Prince Andrew, Duke of York, the Cambridges’ have failed to realise that they do not have absolute power to have things turn out as they would wish them to.

 

 

At their core, all racialised persons are cowards. Indeed, how cowardly have the Cambridges proven themselves as they have fled to Amner Hall yet try and remain relevant with these PR outings that only highlight the source of Catherine, The Black Queen‘s grudge of Meghan. Listen to Catherine, The Black Queen speak; she is a weak, mousy, inarticulate bore who no doubt is bullied by the boor next to her for being such a dense, listless plank. Catherine, The Black Queen is as wooden as HM Queen Mary was a dour, starchy-looking, mean-spirited boor.

 

 

In two short years, the Cambridges managed to have reset the fairy story to better reflect their sense of what a fairy story should be. How like all the childless, spinster white females for whom the fairy story of being rescued by a prince, like Harry, the Cambridges had to wage war to restore order to the realm. Not only is it an attack on an individual; it is also an attack on an entire people. The Cambridges have decided that you do not belong; you are not welcome within upper echelons of the epitome of civilised, classist society.

 

 

If for a nanosecond you think that race has nothing to do with how Meghan was treated within the royal households, the print media and British society at large then you sadly have failed to realise that fairy stories are not real. The callous truth is that if HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex had taken a Jewish, East Indian, East Asian or Muslim wife, there is positively no way in high hell that such a wife would have been meted out the same treatment in general and especially in the print media’s tabloid cesspool as has so racially predatorily been meted out to Meghan… and Harry. There is no way, had Harry married a Jew, East Indian, East Asian or Muslim, that one would want to give offence to Jews, East Indians are way too favoured to be openly ridiculed and discriminated against and god only knows, the very real threat of retaliatory violence from radicalised Muslims, would have Britons making of such a marriage a fairy story like no other and proof that they were no longer a stuffy classist society; rather, as per a marriage by Harry to a Jew, East Indian, East Asian or Muslim, the United Kingdom was truly an inclusive, modern society.

 

 

After the blackamoor brooch incident, seven months earlier, you can bet that Meghan did not want that vile, flat-arsed woman, HRH Princess Michael of Kent, at her wedding. Clearly, though, she was overruled. Just imagine if Meghan were Jewish and HRH Princess Michael of Kent had shown up wearing a swastika to The Queen’s Christmas Lunch in 2017 at Buckingham Palace; there would have been outrage across the globe and there is positively no way that she would not have been banned from the wedding. Even if Meghan were to have objected to her presence, she would clearly have been overruled and was.

 

 

Much of the decision to step away, is due in part to the Cambridges; however, HM The Queen has to take some ownership of this turn of events. This has always been her MO. Perhaps, it is because she takes seriously her role as supreme governor of the Church of England; however, HM The Queen has one weak spot and it played out with the Sussexes treatment in the media as has previously occurred. The Queen simply does not become involved; instead, she would rather that things play themselves out.

 

 

Previously, this was the same response that Her Majesty employed during her sister, HRH Princess Margaret’s life when tormented by the politics of whom she had fallen in love with. Rather than get involved, The Queen was cold and resolute in not getting involved and letting the thing play itself out – much to the detriment of her own sister.

 

 

Again, with Diana, Princess of Wales, The Queen was cool, indifferent and just hung back and let the thing play itself out. There was a great deal that HM The Queen could have done; she could better have protected Diana, Princess of Wales when she clearly knew that the young bride was but a lamb to the slaughter – look at HM The Queen’s indifference to Earl Spencer on the carriage ride back from St. Paul’s Cathedral to Buckingham Palace after her heir had just wedded a woman whom she, HM The Queen, knew her son, HRH Prince Charles, Princes of Wales, did not love. Look at the 02:07:00 through 02:10:00 minutes, HM The Queen clearly could not have cared less about the Earl Spencer.

 

 

Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge, The Black Queen has been the architect of all this vicious vendetta against the Sussexes. Back in November 2016, HRH Prince Henry of Wales, released a scathing attack on the print media for their focussed agendum of vilifying, demonising and character assassinating his then finacée, Meghan Markle. Months later, in May 2017, though, it was an established fact that HRH Prince Henry was committed to and in love with Ms. Markle, Catherine, The Black Queen and her family banned Meghan from attending, Pippa Middleton’s marriage to James Matthews; Meghan was, however, permitted to attend the wedding reception. This act betrayed Catherine, The Black Queen‘s petty, mean-spirited persona. She is a 9 and like females with 9 energy body, Catherine, The Black Queen is possessed of a spiteful, malicious, sadistic disposition. Catherine, The Black Queen has always been the dominant partner in her marriage to the hapless, dolt, HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge, who is an emotionally juvenile, spiteful boor as a result of his parents’ loveless marriage and divorce; William has also never recovered from his mother’s death, which he considers murder. As with Catherine, The Black Queen‘s rude dismissal of her husband, the future sovereign, during the taping of the BBC’s A Berry Royal Christmas in 2019, this woman, Catherine, The Black Queen, simply does not give a damn. She has had a tough go of it not being aristocratic by birth as with all past Queen Consorts; she suffered mightily in the cutthroat world of Britain’s rigid class system and damned if it did not leave her scarred and compensatorily arrogant, discriminating and a vulgar boor.

 

 

No matter how the print media try and paint this woman as elegant, stylish and the epitome of class – all of which are just non-too-veiled racialised language – she is an inarticulate, bland, sadistic boor who for being a warrior soul – in perseverance mode no less – would compete with Meghan or any other woman who married her brother-in-law. Even if HRH Prince Henry of Wales had wedded Cressida Bonas, Catherine, The Black Queen‘s reaction to her would have been the same. Catherine, The Black Queen would have been less favoured by the public than blonde Cressida and for that, there would be nothing but misery meted out by Cressida by Catherine, The Black Queen behind the scenes. The fact that racism is so rife in classist Britain, gave Catherine, The Black Queen the upper hand against the threat of her brother-in-law’s wife.

 

 

Added to all that, Catherine, The Black Queen a warrior – all warriors make the most formidable foes – is in perseverance mode, which means that she would stop at nothing to see that Meghan was literally driven out of the kingdom. It does not matter that like a disproportionate number of Caucasian persons born after the mid-1970s, Catherine, The Black Queen is averse to being around blacks, thus it would have been to Catherine, The Black Queen‘s advantage as HM The Queen deemed having the black duchess, Meghan, Duchess of Sussex going on those Commonwealth tours to predominantly black Commonwealth nations which she, Catherine, The Black Queen, still cannot bring herself to undertaking. No matter how prejudicial HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge is, he is ruled by a wife who is more prejudicial and sadistic than he is. Anyone who intimately knows Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge would readily admit that hers is a bitchy, biting, sarcastic sense of humour that is given to being vengeful, mean-spirited and adversarial.

 

 

Here in the 02:14:00 minute mark Catherine, The Black Queen on her wedding day is supremely in control. Of one thing she is assured, she is now to be the mother of a future sovereign and in time Queen Mother. She has a confidence which befits her knowledge of her place in dynastic history but she also has a focus which betrays her being a warrior soul in perseverance mode.

 

 

From the 04:20 minute mark, Meghan proves a contrast and validation of her role in essence. As an artisan soul, she becomes almost manic-euphoric as her multiplicity of channels become engaged and she becomes caught up in fantasy merging with reality – the same artisan soul euphoria was evidenced as newlywedded Diana, Princess of Wales walked down the aisle at St. Paul’s Cathedral in July, 1981. A warrior would never do this and certainly, Catherine who had focussed on becoming Queen Consort for years and also a warrior in perseverance, was singly focussed on being poised, regal and glossily plastic.

 

 

By the time that Meghan came along, Catherine, The Black Queen had morphed into the unpleasant aspects of her nineness and comfortably secured in her role in history and within the Windsor dynasty as future Queen Consort and future Queen Mother to HRH Prince George – should William predecease her. Warrior souls compete with everyone and everything and where Catherine, The Black Queen is most admirable is as Sporty Kate. Her athleticism is truly admirable – I often wonder what she must be like racing on horseback. However, in all other areas of her life, she is surpassed by Meghan. Catherine, The Black Queen lacks the stage presence, she is inordinately inarticulate all by herself, to say nothing to being compared to trained thespian Meghan who excels at being centre stage. Meghan can command one’s attention where Catherine, The Black Queen never can.

 

 

Catherine, The Black Queen has a power which befits her role as a warrior in essence. Catherine, The Black Queen is supremely confident in the fact that not only is she a future Queen Consort, she also is very likely to be Queen Mother; this is a role which Camilla will never fulfil as she did not give birth to any blood royal child. Until Meghan came along, all that Catherine, The Black Queen had in the way of competition was Camilla – she who would never be mother of a future sovereign; indeed, where is the threat to Catherine, The Black Queen from Camilla? This awareness of her place and power had Catherine withdraw to the Middleton seat in Bucklebury, Berkshire rather than visit with her father-in-law HRH Prince Charles and his wife, Camilla with whom he has no heirs after HRH Prince George of Cambridge was born and for months thereafter.

 

 

Thus, Camilla is no threat to Catherine, The Black Queen. Indeed, both Camilla and Catherine, The Black Queen are comrades-in-arms as they both are solid, single-channel roles which preyed on artisan soul threats to their power. Artisan Diana, Princess of Wales was bullied and driven to divorce by Camilla, who considered Diana a nuisance and a threat. Similarly, Catherine, The Black Queen has considered Meghan, also an artisan soul like Diana, a threat to her power. What Diana & Meghan possess is the artisan’s inability to remain singly focussed on the task in hand. Also, both Diana & Meghan were/are emotionally centred artisan souls who would have found it virtually impossible to stay the course when subjected to the campaigns that each uniquely met in the way of Camilla and Diana, and now Meghan and Catherine, The Black Queen.

 

 

Look at Catherine, The Black Queen in action; she hangs back and says positively little to nothing, allowing Meghan to shine… or does Meghan actually shine? Of course, in the tradition of a nine energy-bodied female, she hangs back because in the tradition of being a snide, snarky passive-aggressive, condescending Caucasian who traditionally fault-finds, criticises and is negative in response to everything about someone black, Catherine, The Black Queen, knows that to hang back wins her favour throughout the realm. Catherine, The Black Queen, hangs back grinning like a Cheshire cat as she knows that she has the non-blacks of the realm in her palm; she knows that the more Meghan speaks, the more she will be resented. This is good for Catherine, The Black Queen because she simply cannot speak whilst sharing the same stage with Meghan; however, in a society and world where race is everything, Catherine, The Black Queen‘s liability proves an asset.

 

 

 

True to her role in essence, warrior soul, for Catherine, The Black Queen, clothes are uniform. Indeed, the future Queen Consort, like the sovereign, is at the apex of the United Kingdom’s Armed Forces. With a chiefly Saturn body type, Catherine, The Black Queen, is tall, angular, steely and given to being power-focussed and competitive. Another reason where both Camilla and Catherine, The Black Queen were destined to succeed in their campaigns against their perceived biggest threats is seen in all four royal women’s body-types, their centreing plus primary needs.

 

 

Both Camilla & Diana though rivals had the same body types: Lunar/Venus; however, as they are very different soul types Diana (artisan), Camilla (scholar) their use of those energies, especially the lunar energy, would be markedly different. Catherine, The Black Queen is Saturn/Mercury/Venus body-type whereas Meghan is Venus/Solar body-type. For an artisan soul, this puts Meghan in a league stratospherically above and beyond Catherine, The Black Queen and she would always have greater mass appeal than Catherine, The Black Queen, as a result.

 

 

How could Catherine, The Black Queen, not be jealous of Meghan; moreover, what tempers that friction is that Catherine, The Black Queen, is focussed in the intellectual centre as compared to Meghan in the emotional centre. This is precisely why in her interview with ITV’s Tom Bradby, Meghan focussed on how she was feeling and how no one took the time to ask how she was doing? Both Camilla and Catherine, The Black Queen are focussed in the intellectual centre and similarly, as with Meghan, Diana was focussed in the emotional centre. Both Camilla and Catherine, The Black Queen would perceive their rivals, Diana and Meghan respectively as weak and a nuisance for being focussed in the emotional centre.

 

Anna the protagonist of the TV series V is a perfect embodiment of Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge: The Black Queen’s true persona.

 

Not only is Catherine, The Black Queen, a warrior in perseverance mode, which is as devastating a foe as one can encounter, she also has power as one of her three primary needs. The woman is bad-ass maniacal when threatened and to top it off, she has a task companion, William her husband, who is moving centred. Everything she utters in her scheming pillow talk, like an attack dog en chaleur, William would unfailingly execute.

 

Catherine, The Black Queen: Warrior, perseverance, power, intellectual centre.

 

The Black Queen, Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge with a nine energy body with primary need of power does cast quite a long sadistic shadow. Like Anna in V in the clip above, the Cambridges with their 9 numerological makeup, wanted not to have their dynasty diluted/sullied by the presence of Meghan; she is not fit to be within their realm. In her campaign to dispense with the threat of Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, Catherine, The Black Queen, needed the obsequious sado-masochistic loyalty of persons, also numerologically possessed of 9, in the media.

 

 

Lady Colin Campbell 17.8.1949 Ox 8.7.3 = 9.

 

 

Pay close attention to minutes 1:14 through 2:05. Listen to that laugh; if that is not a likkle Trenchtown skekkle, I don’t know what is. So goddamn fake, you can almost smell the formaldehyde. More than that, like Thomas Markle Sr., TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge, HRH Prince Michael of Kent, Lord Frederick Windsor, the failed fluid-gendered, old bat has got that archly toxic and bigoted 9 in her makeup. She is no more aristocratic than the paucity of nacre sliding down her orangutan breasts are decidedly Poundland fare. A true pity that Lily Safra pulped the wrong work of fiction.

 

 

Piers Morgan 30.3.1965 Sheep 3.6.9 = 9 Double 9s.

 

Double the toxicity from the drunken, racist eunuch, who as can be expected, sees nothing remotely racist in his and other media Brits’ lynching of Meghan, Duchess of Sussex. No matter how Piers et al try turning their stale piss into wine, Catherine, The Black Queen, has not found her voice – you cannot find what you never had to lose, is not the epitome of class, style and royalty. Catherine is The Black Queen, a paragon of 9 toxicity grown rabid with power; the media and Britons at large still have yet to address her rude dismissal of their future sovereign during BBC’s A Berry Royal Christmas. Catherine, The Black Queen, is, like Anna, the usurper Queen in the American TV series V – there can be but one queen and Diana her mother on the TV series V had to be slain. Just as these venal 9s in media refuse to expose or fixate on HRH Prince Andrew, Duke of York’s sexually predatory behaviour and paedophilia, is precisely why they have yet to expose Catherine, The Black Queen, for precisely what she is. Both the paedophile and racial predator are white; besides, perpetuating racial animus towards blacks is the most lucrative business venture in media.

 

James Matthews, Pippa Middleton & Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge
Piappa Middleton 6/9/1983 Pig 6.6.9 = 3.

 

Fact is, if Meghan were difficult and given to being a toxic diva, there would have been reports from ‘sources’ advantageously leaked, of course, by Catherine, The Black Queen, that Meghan refused to attend Pippa Middleton’s wedding because she was not a royal. Indeed, if Meghan were truly difficult, after having been excluded from the church ceremony, clearly by Catherine, The Black Queen, and by extension William, Meghan would then have insisted to Harry that she was not going to attend the reception – especially the reception of a non-royal. That is how a diva would have responded.

 

 

Nonetheless, in keeping with the media narrative, in collusion with the Cambridges, of vilifying, demonising and racially preying on the black duchess who does not belong, as soon as the royal wedding of TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex was concluded, the divorce watch was on – a media blitzkrieg against the Duchess of Sussex was begun with every effort made never ever to mention her race as Meghan, Duchess of Sussex fast became the most famous lynched black woman in history.

 

 

Well, there you have it. Go think twice if you believe that the Duke & Duchess of Sussex are going to be suffering for leaving the royal fold and being successfully driven out of Britain by Catherine, The Black Queen and her pussy-whipped dolt, William, in collusion with the royal households and the media spinning lies in place of the truth.

 

Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge Oil on Canvas Paul Emsley National Portrait Gallery. The Back Queen perfectly captured.

 

My first reaction on seeing this masterful portrait of Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge during my visit in 2017 to London’s National Portrait Gallery was visceral. Straight away, I was reminded of all the times to that point – once every weekend for at least the first 18 months after their marriage, you simply cannot capture everything on one viewing – that I had looked at the Royal Wedding of TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge and how much they rowed on the way back to Buckingham Palace during the imperial state landau carriage ride, as well as how utterly dismissive of him Catherine, The Black Queen, was whilst standing on the palace balcony. This portrait perfectly captures Catherine, The Black Queen‘s false personality, her sadistic/Saturn body type and primary need for power. Most of all, this is the portrait of a woman whose first number – her energy body – is 9.

 

The Five Sovereigns Portrait: HM The Queen, HM King George VI, future sovereigns, HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales, HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge & HRH Prince George of Cambridge.

 

After having been successfully lynched in the British tabloid media, Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge, The Black Queen went one better and made her point by having her place as mother of future sovereign, Queen Consort and future Queen mother solidified against the threat of the abundantly more popular Meghan, Duchess of Sussex. Just as she had stood, grinning sarcastically at Royal Ascot sticking her tongue out whilst being regaled by senior royals, Catherine, The Black Queen had her campaign of banishing the otiose black threat magnified by tearing her arse in Meghan and Harry’s faces with the 2019 Queen’s Christmas message where the photos on display eclipsed and banished the Sussexes’ existence by including sovereigns and their direct heirs.

 

 

Alas, history is the most callous of whores and she is never economical with the truth. In time, history will reveal Catherine, The Black Queen as truly unsavoury fare, who was the architect of all that transpired in the Sussexes’ banishment from court. Actions ever betray the truth and it is not happenstance that Catherine, The Black Queen has refused to undertake a tour of any predominantly black Commonwealth nation 9 years into what is not the most loved up or blissful of royal marriages. Her 9 betrays her true nature. More than that, that Catherine, The Black Queen was not of aristocratic birth is precisely why this hideous racism has blossomed within the royal family, royal households and media. You most certainly cannot accuse aristocratic persons like Ashley & India Hicks of being racist boors as has episodically manifested with Catherine, The Black Queen being a warrior with need for power and the most powerful royal at court at present. More than any other royal, Catherine, The Black Queen, is the most powerful royal at present. HM The Queen is at the end of her reign. Charles has no power as his Queen Consort will never be loved as long as the memory of Diana, Princess of Wales survives. More than that, Camilla also has no power as she will never be Queen Mother and no issue of hers will ever be sovereign. William is weak, unaware and bullied by his wife, Catherine, The Black Queen. Catherine, The Black Queen is the most powerful royal, especially since she does have a primary need of power in dynastic Britain. When HM The Queen passes, Catherine, The Black Queen will set about cutting adrift the predominantly black Commonwealth nations with the same disregard as her campaign to banish the threat represented by the blackamoor brooch – Meghan, the self-made vastly more articulate, charismatic American outsider and black to boot.

 

 

Most of all, what Catherine, The Black Queen has unleashed with her grudging campaign against Meghan has taken on a life of its own, which as with HRH Prince Andrew, Duke of York, she could not have fathom. Catherine, The Black Queen, in collusion with William, the royal households, the tabloid media engaged in the deliciously indulgent game of racist bullying which has seen an explosion of racist attacks against the Sussexes and by extension the British Royal Family. This is not to be taken lightly and one of the chief reason for the Sussexes having removed themselves from the cesspool that is Britain is the very real threat that they faced for being in Britain. This all began with a scheming, jealous, bigoted nine-energy body insecure woman who has never fully gotten over her being not of aristocratic birth into a world where she now finds herself at the apex of power. Of course, just as with Camilla, Duchess of Cornwall who for causing Diana, Princess of Wales to experience sheer hell, Catherine, The Black Queen will also – for not being of aristocratic birth – always be insecure and Meghan’s ascendancy only heightened how woefully ill-equipped Catherine, The Black Queen ever will be. All of that was assured, when Catherine, The Black Queen chose to be racially predatory towards Meghan – by extension Harry and everyone else – thereby revealing her true nature to all who are not blind. History will be callously ruthless to Catherine, The Black Queen; indeed, how utterly prophetic Paul Emsley’s portrait of Catherine, The Black Queen has proven. Remarkably, that portrait will stand the test of time to best illumine the dark, sinister and sadistic persona which lies beneath the façade of Catherine, The Black Queen as she beguiles the blind in the here and now.

 

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Please visit my other site: https://theblackduchess.com/

 

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

Jessye Norman 15.9.1945 ✟ 30.9.2019

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Tonight my home is awash in the music of Jessye Norman… this brings me inordinate comfort at this time.  Sweet and truly blissful dreams dear ennobled soul.  As I am unable to do little else, owing to being emotionally overwhelmed, I pause here to republish this blog of earlier this year.  So very glad that I was able to attend the Glenn Gould Prize Gala this past February.  

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GGPrize

As I work 7 days a week, I was debating whether or not to attend the Twelfth Glenn Gould Prize Gala at the Four Seasons Centre for the Performing Arts.  That morning en route home from some errands, I discovered that someone had jumped from a neighbourhood condo.  I got in and realised that there was no more feet-dragging; to hell with being dog-tired.  I got on the phone and called up Lucian Mann-Chomedy and said, “My darling, we are going to the Jessye Norman Gala!”  As ever, always positive, Lucian chimed in, “Oh my, oh yes, how lovely.  Well, I’ll be both honoured and delighted.”  Indeed, life is for living!  

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Merlin and I met Friday, October 1, 1982 in a Hell’s Kitchen Walk-up, the following Monday evening, on his return to Toronto, Merlin called up crying.  The man whom he had spent so much of our first evening together speaking of, had died; Glenn Gould had died.  For the seven years that we were together, Merlin listened to Glenn Gould’s interpretation of J. S. Bach’s Goldberg Variations at least thrice weekly.  Indeed, the first gift I purchased Merlin, was a recently released recording of the Goldberg Variations at Christmas 1982: I think that it is safe to say that that gift sealed the deal, I was a keeper for sure.  

GGPrize3

As I had waited until the last minute to get seats, I was sat in Ring 4 rather than the usual Ring 3.  This, alas, was my view of the stage and of course, the butterflies are from the set for Atom Egoyan’s masterful staging of Mozart’s Cosi Fan Tutte, which the moment I saw the set, I began chuckling to Lucian on recall of Tracy Dahl’s unsurpassed performance as Despina.  

GGPrize2

As I was too busy trying to throw something together for Instagram, I was heard gasping when it was announced that the head of the Glenn Gould Foundation’s Jury this twelfth prize was none other than the actor, Viggo Mortensen, who then walked out onto stage.  He, indeed, who in a few days time will be attending the Governors Ball where he may or may not be holding an Oscar.  

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Out onto the stage arrived the Twelfth Prize Laureate, Jessye Norman.  Truly, it was a shock to the very core to see Madame being ushered out in a wheelchair.   Suddenly, I was reminded of the events of earlier which caused me to rush home and purchase two tickets for the event.  That aside, there was no greater joy than drinking of her soul’s inspiring beauty.  

This beautiful gala was so filled with touchstones for me, none more so than the moment that bass baritone, Ryan Speedo Green was in full song.  When he sang, “Aprite un po’ quegli occhi” from Wolfgang A. Mozart’s Le Nozze di Figaro.  

Yes, indeed, this marvellous aria’s orchestration included a harpsichord.  Straight away, I was teary-eyed as memories of the truly eccentric and delightful Milan Newcombe readily surfaced; Milan will ever remain a lover like no other.  

Elektra2

During the intermission, I ran into two old friends not seen in at least 1.5 decades; we spoke of nothing but our surprise at Ms. Norman’s entrance.  Life really does march full speed ahead.  

After the intermission, it was the announcement of the Glenn Gould Foundation’s Progidy Prize with the recipient being none other than, Cécile McLorin-Salvant, the most fabulous Jazz singer on the planet.  Is this not an evening to remember during Black History Month indeed.  

This stunningly unforgettable gala was closed out by the final recitalist being the divinely gifted soprano and Glenn Gould Foundation Prize juror, Sondra Radvanovsky in full song, singing Verdi.  

The gala concluded with Ms. Norman returning to the stage and singing a duet with Cécile McLorin-Salvant.  This was a moving, emotionally intense evening and my life was greatly enriched for having chosen to attend.  The gala was nothing short of magical.  

GGPrize5

As a tribute to this marvellous evening in the theatre, I will include herein two dreams, which were originally audio-cassette-recorded in the 1990s.  Before each deam, one of Glenn Gould, the other Jessye Norman, I will include each individual’s Michael Overleaves.  

GG

Gould, Glenn Herbert 25/9/32 – 4/10/82, Toronto

This fragment was a sixth level mature artisan in the repression mode, with a goal of growth, an idealist in the moving part of intellectual centre.
He had a Mercury/Saturn body type.

Glenn’s primary chief feature was self-destruction with a secondary of arrogance.

Glenn was third-cast in his cadence and his cadence is fourth in the greater cadence. He is a member of entity four, cadre five, greater cadre 17, pod/node 819.

This fragment has an artisan essence twin who was alive during Glenn’s life but there were no plans to meet. This fragment is still incarnate on the physical plane.

The fragment who was Glenn has a scholar task companion, who was in a previous life, Carl Philip Emmanuel Bach. They were not incarnate at the same time.

However, the fragment who was Glenn was exerting considerable influence on Carl Philip Emmanuel.

These two fragments had many lives together, once as luthiers, three times as court musicians, nine times as brothers of the cloth, twice as brothers in the flesh, as well as completing several important life monads, including student/mentor and master/slave.

In the immediate past life, the fragment who was Glenn had as his three primary needs: security, communion and exchange. Only the first of these was ever even partially satisfied.

So here we had a warrior-cast artisan who had seriously conflicting overleaves and a primary chief feature of self-destruction. He had a goal of growth but a repression mode which would not allow him to flourish.

He had a need for communion, but was sexually ambivalent and socially inept. Undeniably, he had great talent but took no pleasure from performing in public.

This fragment has a great deal of scholar energy that was used in the immediate past life to enable Glenn Herbert to painstakingly examine and interpret the works of Johann Sebastian Bach.

He was very interested in form and structure for all of his adult life. This fragment was, unfortunately, the victim of a severe obsessive-compulsive disorder, also for all of his adult life, which worsened considerably during his third and fourth decades.

This fragment did not, as popular wisdom teaches, retire from public life because of any strong beliefs in the recording industry. Glenn Herbert retired from public life because he could no longer bear to be in crowds, even if he was distanced by a proscenium.

Needless to say, this fragment did not complete work on his fourth internal monad.  

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A Glenn Gould

Astral Plane Glenn Gould Recital!

 

Nothing is more uplifting than finding oneself at a great musical performance on the astral plane.  This dream was about being richly inspired and by Glenn Herbert Gould, no less; it was truly marvellous an adventure for the spirit.

The dream occurred, on Tuesday, October 6, 1992, whilst the Moon transited both Aquarius and my ninth house.

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I am in France where I leisurely browsed through a store; perhaps, it was somewhere in Paris.  It seemed here like at nighttime.  Whilst in one corner of the store, I noticed that there were all these big slabs of cheese in packaged containers.  There was a woman coordinating the display of the cheeses.  Sometimes the cheese was being grated and other times not.  There and then, I decided that I was going to buy one slab of the cheese that was packaged in a rectangular box.

The cheese was about an inch thick and about eight inches long.  The cardboard box that it was in was white and almost like the size of a box of Cream of Wheat.  Surprisingly, the box was rather heavy.  Though not unlike cheddar, it was a dark cheese.  The smell of this cheese was really hard – quite the bite to it.  It had seemingly been opened for too long as parts of it was growing hardened and turning colour.  I knew straight off the bat that I wanted to have some to take home with me.  

So, off I went to purchase the slab that I liked.  Everyone here was, of course, speaking French which I quite so understood and liked.  Interestingly, I too was speaking very competently in French.  It was obvious that I was not too heavily accented as the others were pleasant-enough with me.  

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The second dream had me leaving the store; I then found myself hovering in the air.  Whilst in flight, I went into a building which had a green – oxidised-copper – roof.  It was part of a long set of buildings that had very, very tall stone chimneys.  These were chimneys that were not unlike the ones at the Palais du Louvre.  As a matter of fact, the building was similar to the Canadian Parliament buildings though it was not those buildings.  

This complex was considerably longer.  These were a series of complex buildings.  Here, I was easily thirty storeys up whilst in flight.  I looked down at the complex which at maximum could not have been more than five storeys tall.  After having contemplatively observed the complex for awhile, I began very slowly gliding down through the air.  I intently studied a procession of persons, way below, who were bailing out of very large buses; they were, as a matter of fact, tour buses.  

This was all happening in a courtyard-like area and away from the bustle of the street.  I next noticed some men who appeared; they seemed, in their long, flowing white robes, to be priests.  They were not Arabic or Muslims in caftans; rather, they were definitely Whites.  The buildings here were long on the order of Palais Richelieu in Paris.  When I finally alighted, we had to go through this incredible entrance.  

This led into a wonderful sandstone building; it was very modern with a neo-classical design.  On the order of being imposing, the door to this place was massive.  They seemed to be the doors to a temple.  To get to the entrance, there were many steps which one had to climb.  On entering, off to the right, there was a passage that one could take.  

An aisle led along another passage; it seemed illumined by a skylight.  The priestly men had all entered before me.  They preceded a procession of adherents who had come to partake of some ritual.  I had gone to explore, off to the left, because it was the wing of the building that had reminded me of the Palais du Louvre.  Going there, I wandered about being fascinated by the place.  

Some women were posing for artists in this particular wing.  They wore modern garb but were very exceptionally beautiful.  What was most intriguing about their look was that it was exactly as they would have appeared on the finished canvases.  They were very nubile young women; they had to hold their poses for interminably long periods.  Here several kids kept on going through the place; they were seemingly art students.  

They were all very North American, middle class with their loud, snobbish bourgeois affectations.  Right away, it was obvious that all the muses were still virgins.  Theirs was an innocence that could never be affected.  They were all teenage girls whose bodies were very voluptuous and full.  These were not skinny people at all.  There was one point at which one girl was holding different poses.  Each girl would be painted by from three-to-five artists, at a time.  Thus every pose would be captured from different perspectives.  

At one point, they told her to take a break; they then reverted back to an earlier pose.  This was so that they could return to that work and put some more work into finishing it up.  When she changed the pose, she had also turned some 180 degrees.  This particular model, whom I was studying, wore socks with Oriental-looking sandals.  Inside her socks she kept little items of hers.  Whilst she was making the transition, she simply reached up her foot and pulled up her right leg to reach down into the socks.  

Hers was a pair of blue-coloured socks – pale blue.  To just above the ankles was the extent to which the socks rose.  Looking at her, she took out something from about her ankle which looked like a wafer.  Not the least bit self-conscious, she ate it at once; it seemed like a chocolate wafer which she favoured.  She seemingly needed it to get an energy boost so that she could stay focussed on the tedious work that she did.  After having found it all very interesting, I moved on sufficiently knowledgeable of the goings on here.  Walking along a corridor, I ended up going into a room where everyone was very strange.  

A guy there was a lot like Galen Shim – my very beautiful, Hong Kong-born, Eurasian friend.  He reclined on a bed with his head close to the door.  When I came in, I noticed that he was naked.  When giving him a massage, I began by oiling his body.  It was quite fragrant oil.  Rubbing down his body, I began working on his toes and feet.  Afterwards, I got up to leave but he very silently began coming with me.  So out we went and joined the procession of persons; among them this time were several kids.  Mostly, they were teenagers – amongst whom I did not want to be.  

Galen or the guy who seemed like him, here the guy was not wearing glasses as before nor would Galen for that matter, and I kept walking through the place.  Pretty soon, after we had left the noisy kids, we started hearing the most beautiful music.  This was one of the rare times that I found the music of the pipe organ to be beautiful.  Within the complex, we happened on this wonderful cathedral inside which were most of the people from the procession.  On entering the structure, it seemed more like a concert hall.  We soon learnt that the hall was specifically built so that only Johannes Sebastian Bach’s music could be played there.  

Never before had I heard classical music sound so beautiful.  We stood there transfixed whilst listening together.  Who then should I notice way at the front of the hall, at the pipe organ that sat high on the dais-like stage, but Glenn Gould.  I could see his right profile as if in close-up.  My god, this was rapture and then some.  He was playing with such rapt abandon that I steadied myself and whispered more to myself than to Galen, “My god, what an incredible dream to be having…”  

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There seemed to be a skylight on the side of the high-ceilinged nave.  Instead of there being stained glass windows, windows for that matter, there was only intense light raining down through what seemed to be a skylight system.  The centre of the halved skylight was a wonderful neoclassical, oxidised, copper-looking, greenish flying buttress.  Here the look, though modern, was more in the style of Islamic mosques or even Moorish architecture rather than the classic Gothic signatures.  

A series of the most intricate and complex circles intertwined, like some riotous jungle vine, in the cathedral-like, concert hall’s stonework.  Breathtakingly beautiful it was.  I stood there, just inside the entrance to the hall, on the left of the wide aisle.  This was a very wide-bodied structure.  As you progressed down the aisle, there were different levels where one could go up and sit.  These were either on the right or left.  The central aisle was covered by the most beautifully designed red carpet.  

This place was considerably wider than Notre Dame Cathedral.  Unlike the Parisian Gothic structure, it was not a darkened affair.  Here it was very intensely bright out.  The light coming in on the right and left side of the flying buttress-like, central girder fell through a slightly frosted glass.  The light was an intense – almost aquatic – blue.  Interestingly, there were no beams or columns, supporting the unusual central, flying buttress-like beam.  For looking at the light, one became slightly languorous.  I felt paralysed with pleasure; there before me, down the massive hall, sat Glenn Gould.  

He wore the most thick-fabricked garb; it seemed from an earlier age.  All the men in the white gowns were up at the front.  They were all transfixed – as well they should have been.  Though I love Johannes Sebastian Bach, at the time, I had some reservations as I am not especially fond of pipe organs.  I suppose that it is because it has always had too many religious associations during my childhood.  The persons attending the concert were there simply to recharge their batteries.  They seemed, all of them, as if not quite in their bodies for being so transfixed – they were otherwise-engaged.  

Eerily, I had a sense that these were all persons who were between lives as is Glenn Gould.  They were in a form of processing, a form of deep meditation on the order of sleep, as they prepared for the next incarnation.  This fugue was the most complex music imaginable.  Indeed, the music seemed designed for those between lives.  The fugue was composed for astral plane habitués who, sans bodies, could best endure the music’s intensity.  Getting a sense that I really shouldn’t be there, plus the fact that I finally couldn’t get into the pipe organ, I started taking my leave of the place.  

Galen, or the person who seemed a lot like him, and I then went out front.  There we waited for the specific tour buses to show up and take us away.  Whilst I waited with Galen, or the person who seemed a lot like him, I was joined by Pandora.  It seemed that most of the people who were here were very young-souled.  They seemed to be on a pilgrimage, like visiting the original Gohonzon in Japan or going on the Hajj, at Mecca.  

As the pipe organ played, I could hear in the tone of the place a faint whisper from the men in white robes.  Their thoughts, it turned out, could be telepathically heard.  Even earlier, when I had been hovering in flight high above the complex, I knew that this was more so a political institution rather than not.  This was a structure which was just as colossal as the temple at Karnak and considerably older.  This place was mind-bogglingly complex and massive.  The temple was posited directly in the centre of it all.  

Just like La Chapelle in Paris is comparably dwarfed, by its surroundings, so too the massive concert hall-like temple was dwarfed by the complex.  This architectural marvel was simply soul-inspiring.  Whilst all the buses were waiting, I took to one of the buses with Pandora.  I had gotten impatient waiting to be assigned to one.  We spoke in French because everyone else here did the same.  This was not unlike a Parisian bus – the seats all faced each other.  Seated close to the front, we were on the left side of the aisle behind the driver.  

As though getting close to Saint-Sulpice Métro, I got up and said goodbye to Pandora.  I wanted to get off there then walk back to her rue de Grenelle apartment.  Pandora planned to go out then come home later so had asked me to wait for her at her place.  Here it seemed as if nighttime coming on to dawn.  Speaking guardedly in French, I made sure that I was speaking properly and not just fumbling partout.  Really, I rather enjoyed this experience of being together with Pandora.  

I was very serene enjoying the very beautiful experience.  Galen, or the person who seemed a lot like him, had silently slipped from my side when Pandora came and joined me.  

*Of course, it would turn out that the person in question was Louka Duplessis and not Galen.  I would meet Louka, who accompanied me in this dream, the day following this dream.  Just prior to meeting for the first time, it is not uncommon for me to dream of persons who will prove important in my life experience.  

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Jessye Norman

Norman, Jessye 15.9.45 ✟ 30.9.2019,  Georgia

Jessye is a first level old priest in the passion mode, with a goal of rejection – functioning for the most part in the positive pole of discrimination, a spiritualist, in the emotional part of intellectual centre.

She has a Jupiter/Saturn body type.

Jessye’s primary chief feature is arrogance, with a secondary of stubbornness.

This fragment was third-cast in her cadence and her cadence is fifth in the greater cadence.  She is a member of entity five, cadre six, greater cadre 33, pod/node 212.

She has a discarnate priest essence twin whom she did know earlier in this life but this fragment died in Vietnam.  She has a warrior task companion and they have worked together and continue to do so occasionally.

Her three primary needs are: freedom, expression and power.

The warrior energy gives Jessye tremendous organisational powers and her stubbornness has enabled her to stick in there when the going got very rough many times.

Jessye is a warrior-cast priest who has been a spiritual rebel in this life.  This is, by the way, not the first time this fragment has sung professionally.  This fragment was a well-known castrato in seventeenth century Italy and performed many times before the crowned heads of Europe.

Jessye has great need to serve her concept of the higher ideal and has done so admirably by combining the folk music of her people with her operatic repertoire.

She performs well, as do most entity five fragments.  This fragment has always enjoyed her work.  Singing has been an extension of her inner spirituality.  It is, in fact, a form of meditation for her.  

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Now that’s a Hollywood wife!

Jessye

These rather lucidly awakened dreams were experienced with an intense sense of wonder and joy, on Monday, July 2, 1990.  At the time, the Moon transited both Scorpio and my sixth house.  

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This first dream found me in a very busy place.  When going south towards the Danforth, it was not unlike being on Broadview Ave.  It was at nighttime.  I came there and found that there were tons and tons of Black people.  Even so, it seemed like Toronto and at Broadview Subway station because there are all these streetcars there.  One of the streetcars was improperly parked, as a result, it was going to go and turn around.  

Waiting for it to do what it had to do, there was another streetcar out in the street.  It was really more like a red-rocket streetcar.  It was not like one of the newer ones.  Everyone here was Black.  There were no Whites or other non-Blacks that I saw.  Everybody was in the street which was very jam-packed.  They were getting ready to cross, after the streetcar had passed, to go in.  

There was now a system, where you paid your fare aboard the streetcar, so that you did not have to enter the front doors of the station on Broadview.  When you got aboard the streetcar, it was mandatory that you pay a fare.  So it did not matter whether you paid a fare at the proper entrance or not.  There were many people queuing up to get aboard a streetcar.  

Passing these people who were seated there, I went through the proper entrance.  One of them seemed like Gabriella Vartan and they were talking about me.  I came around and began going down the steps, into the nether regions, en route to the trains.  There was this little old lady who was taking her time, holding up things, so I pushed her to my right.  I made my way down then had to go around taking another flight of stairs; I then kept on going.  There were a whole lot of levels to this subway system.  

When I got down, there was this little cul-de-sac where there were these Black guys – homeboys – hanging out.  However, they were not Black American.  I found one of them very attractive and smiled at him.  He, however, was very homophobic.  He went running upstairs to go call the police on me.  The train then came into the subway and it was a very, very large train.  It towered very high to the ceiling.  It was like an Amtrak train which seemed like a double Decker train.  It was mostly silver, however, it turned out not to have been double Decker.  

When it stopped, I began running full speed because I did not want the guy to come back and board the same car as me.  I ran to the front of the train only to find that one couldn’t board there.  Instead, one could only enter this train where the cars joined each other.  You could enter the front or backdoors of each car but not the front ones of the first car.  It was very sleek, round and Deco like a train from the 1930s.  The whole place did have a feel of the ‘30s to it.  It was very neo-Gothic like the Chrysler or McGraw-Hill buildings in New York City, or for that matter, even the Empire State Building.  

It was reminiscent of very early in the twentieth century which was all about great architecture – of things being large, mammoth and spiralling upwards, too, things getting faster and faster.  That sense of adventure about the wonderful world of commerce that one had created.  It was that time when people had not yet begun to see, as we now know, the consequences of things being bigger and better and faster and all the effects on nature.  I got onto the train heading, again, towards the front.  Somehow, I felt relieved because I had lost the guy.  I was there and noticed a stout man who was either High-Yellow or, perhaps, even White.  

The people here were very strange because they were just rather unusual.  Even though they looked White, they seemed more bronzish, actual bronze, than the pinkish tonality of the waking state.  This was not a place that I knew.  It was very otherworldly here, I soon realised.  I did not get a seat and as I stood there I then noticed a woman.  She was standing at the very front of the train.  The train progressed with unusual speeds, I immediately noticed.  When the train had shaken, the stout man had tried to brace himself by putting out his foot that was already out in the aisle.  

In the process, he had stomped me and I had had to pull my foot out from under his and pushed his away.  He wore business attire, a suit and tie, as though en route to an office job.  The woman who was standing up was playing on a wooden flute-like instrument that was less than a foot long.  However, the thing about all this was that she had unusually short arms.  They were fully functional hands with tiny little fingers that nimbly danced over the valves of the wooden, wind instrument.  Her arms were like a Thalidomide-damaged child’s.  

Then I noticed too that there were other people on the train, about three or four musicians, practicing as well.  I soon realised that everyone on board had some sort of physical deformity.  They were just ill-proportioned people with torsos that were too long or arms that were too short.  Arms too long or what have you, moreover, this also applied to the legs.  The most pronounced cases were always the musicians like the female flautist – two or three of the other musicians were male.  

Someone else who was on the train began laughing and, out of nervousness, I joined in.  The person was laughing at the woman.  She, however, hadn’t paid them any mind.  Nobody else was paying people, who were laughing, any mind.  They did not see anything wrong with the people who were being laughed at.  I then got off the train and was out in this concourse area, where the trains arrived, before I went upstairs.  Before I would go upstairs I saw this child seated in the middle of this white blanket that seemed more like diaper material than flannel.  

The child wore a salmon-coloured merino.  He had little, white, cloth diapers on.  The infant had, again, very unusually, unusually short, short legs that made it look almost like a child because it was seated upright on its bottom.  However, it had a very big torso – matured, such that the child seemed like a very big, big child for its age.  Its head was very large with a very developed large and soulful-looking face.  At the time it made me thing of Jake Hudson.  Jake does have a very large head and face.  I was trying to connect with him.  He reached out his short little arms, crying out and said, “Dad, I want to go.”

There was this youngish man, who was blond like the child, and he seemed not unlike the guy Olaf Knight.  He picked up his son and used the blanket, on which the child sat, that had these straps and put him around his shoulder.  Like an African mother would, carry her child when in the fields, thus he was carried on his father’s back.  He walked off with the child, who was holding on to him, except that the child was really an adult male.  It was all very strange here in this otherworldly place.  

I ended up coming upstairs and going out in the outdoors.  There were people here – again, mostly Black people.  I was talking to them when I heard the strains of Richard Strauss‘s Four Last Songs beginning.  I beamed and excused myself from the people, with whom I was interacting, and went running off up this plaza.  It was a clay-tiled plaza and when I got there, I saw the symphony.   I went and sat in lotus position and sat very close to the front.  There was a gathering of persons in a semicircle and I was, as a matter of fact, the closest to the stage.  

The stage was above on a dais and it was edged by old gold juniper.  The juniper was really, really nice and quite fragrant, refreshingly so, to the smell.  Along came, from around a corner walking, Jessye Norman – the high priestess herself.  She had been preceded by her divine voice’s magic.  She was, of course, singing Four Last Songs.  She wore a beautiful, beautiful, glistening black dress that seemed almost organic with a life of its own.  It was twinkling on and off but the lights were lifelike like fireflies.  

They were sequins but they seemed, somehow, to be organic.  It had hues of gold, silver, bronze, and dark green hues like pine and blue hues like lapis lazuli.  It was very, very intensely rich a fabric.  She started singing the first song, Frühling, and it was very hauntingly beautiful.  She saw me and beamed down at me.  It was so connected between us.  I was so enthralled and overpowered; I was quite smitten by her.  I thought very rapturously awakened,

‘Yes!  I’m having a dream of Jessye Norman.  So very good to see her again, my god here she is and performing Four Last Songs.’  

She then came almost to the lip of the stage and stopped as though about to sneeze.  Then she held her breath and started laughing because it was so hysterical.  The look on my face was one of being truly horrified for her.  This had actually caused her to crack up.  Then she began singing again and began making gestures for me to move or be removed.  I was stunned and thought this some sort of betrayal.  

‘Why is she snubbing me like this?’ I wondered.  Then these two huge, burly guys came to eject me out of the area.  As I was leaving, I could hear her starting to sing again.  I was very, very upset.  

Image result for large many floored steep roofed house

I was, in the second dream, in this large house that was a very many-storeyed place.  It had many apartments.  I came out and it had a very slanted roof that one could go out onto.  This roof was, however, very dangerously precipitous.  I was looking about and thinking of Carl Leroiderien because, somehow, someone was talking about him.  This White man was talking to me and telling me that Carl had been enquiring after me.  

He then went on to ask me if I smoked dope which I denied.  I can’t think of it doing anything for me except, perhaps, to make me sneeze at the most.  Sometimes if mixed with hashish, I then got a massive headache.  “It doesn’t do anything for me, I don’t really like it.  I don’t see the point to it and I don’t smoke it.”  

At the time that he was saying this, we were climbing some very, very steep stairs.  Then at that point, after she had given her performance, I encountered Jessye Norman again.  She was seated on a bench and called me over.  She said hello very warmly and apologised saying, “I hope you weren’t upset.  You realise that it was a misunderstanding.  I wasn’t laughing at you; it’s just that you don’t seem to realise where you were.  

“You were, well there are certain degrees of protocol and you were ahead of the dignitaries.  And you shouldn’t have been so close to the stage because one of the reasons why your nose started bleeding was, in this dimension, if you’re this close to the stage… when I’m singing, when I hit certain notes it can shatter your eardrums but also shatter your mind.  

“So you see it was very crucial that I get you out of there.  Also, I was having a very bad allergic reaction to the plants at the edge of the dais.  They made me want to sneeze.  It wasn’t at all you or exclusively you.”  In having embraced me thus, she was being most healing.  I did, in fact, have quite the nosebleed.  As I was being hustled out of the place, by the burly guards, it was then that I realised that my nose was bleeding.  

At the time, I had thought it strange.  As this dream progressed very lucidly and linearly, there was no point at which either burly guard had so much as touched me.  I was so upset.  It was so very good, after the fact, to have had her explain as she did.  

*This dream really does validate the notion that all persons encountered in the dreamtime, without exceptions, are separate entities and not figments of one’s imagination.  END.

When I was being bounced by her, I was so stunned, upset and humiliated.  Had she not explained as she had just done, I would have awakened from this dream with a totally different perception of events.  I had also no way of knowing that she was having an allergic reaction to the juniper which, at the time, I found so wonderfully soothing.  What’s more, I hadn’t a clue that I had thrown the Chi of the place by having disrespected protocol.  

I would never have thought that my nosebleed was due to her singing.  In fact, it is possible that I could have awakened and not recalled that, indeed, I had had a nosebleed which I had totally forgotten until she had mentioned it.  Jessye Norman has indeed straddled, with great élan and diplomacy, many a dimension with great frequency and fluency.  

I then began holding her hand and told her that there were times that I had dreams of her, in which there were sometimes cetacean-looking creatures that came and did formations around her as she sang hyper-dimensionally.  She was just enthralled and pleased.  She squeezed my hands and laughed a healthy, really wonderful laugh.  She was quite smitten by me and encouraged me to write it all down.  

Her eyes here were so very large, soulfully dark and focussed right into me.  It gave me a high just to have experienced them.  I was wearing, when close to the stage, a satin merino-like shirt.  So at the time of being bounced out, I had passingly thought that I had been dressed too scantily for her liking.  

In any event, it was quite interesting.  

a madonna mtv 1990

This third dream was truly hysterical.  It seemed like on Eglinton Avenue East, between Yonge Street and Mount Pleasant Road.  It was at nighttime.  There was a lot of goings on.  Shirley MacLaine was there, Warren Beatty and Madonna Ciccone, as well.  Warren Beatty was the man of the hour and the centre of everybody’s attention.  He had a great deal of sexual energy and magnetism.  He had been performing for the camera and for everybody around.  It felt very staid to me though.  

One very interesting thing that happened was that he had been heavily drinking and, whilst laughing, had bent forward.  He then began uncontrollably coughing and was holding his chest and faking a massive heart attack.  Next thing you knew, we were in a very crowded area and it turned out that he had not been faking the heart attack.  He had a very, massive, massive heart attack.  He was dead just like that.  He was gone within moments.  It was just incredible.  Shirley MacLaine became utterly hysterical.  Her bawling was like from some Greek tragedy.  

She went into a trance-like frenzied state and began calling on astral guides and her Pleiadean guides.  Pulling out a very impressive clutch of crystals, she threw herself onto him and tried healing him of death.  She was placing them all over his body – at the chakras and elsewhere.  It was too humourous for words.  Meanwhile, as Warren Beatty died, Madonna came rushing up to the scene.  It had all been too late and they couldn’t rush him to a hospital.  There was no way that he could have been revived.  

They had been out in some desert area having a big party; there were no doctors around.  There was nothing that they could do; he couldn’t be saved.  He was dead… he was gone.  Shirley MacLaine started cursing to the gods, saying, “This is so unfair.  He hasn’t even been able to make the sequel to Dick Tracy.  And right when he’s at the top of his career this is happening?”  

“Well you know this will really immortalise him now.  Definitely, this is great publicity, right at this point in his career.” someone had dryly said who was not attached to his whole entourage.  I had heard this but Shirley MacLaine hadn’t heard it.  Madonna came and whatever she thought about I could telepathically hear it.  Her immediate response was, ‘Oh shit!  This is just going to fuck up my goddamn career.  If only I’d gotten a child by him.  Shit why did I have to have that abortion of his child.  Shit!’  

She was thinking fast.  She was someone who knew how to manipulate the media.  She was really pissed off because it would have meant immediate Hollywood sainthood for her, were she to go on and have Warren Beatty’s only child, after he had tragically died.  She was really pissed off because this was media manipulation beyond her wildest schemes, ‘I’ve got to get him out of here.  I’ve got to have the best genetic engineers flown in immediately…’  

I was stunned when I read her thoughts because, of course, she intended to harvest his seed and impregnate herself and then have a premature love child of Warren Beatty’s.  I was stunned by this woman’s phenomenal megalomania.  ‘During the autopsy, I’ll have his sperm taken out and I’ll have it copyrighted.  It’ll be my possession.  I’ll have it engineered so that I’ll have a child… a son.  God we can even have twins…’  She, all the while, was cowering over his face… kissing him and doing the wailing widow number, ‘…Can you imagine, Madonna?’  

She privately squealed to herself – unaware, of course, that she was broadcasting to someone like me.  She was so triumphant at having had that idea because all she knew was that people who so loved Warren Beatty would take to her now.  She was insecure as to whether or not she would endure through time.  However, with this, she knew that she would automatically become iconic.  She would become truly the virgin mother!  She would be actually giving birth to some dead man’s child – he of course being, Warren Beatty.  It was destiny.  After all, she was ‘the’ Madonna.  

She had this flash that this was why she had always been so drawn to crucifixes.  She was going to capitalise on the whole drama by making sure that it would be a son.  Of course, not to be outdone by that old, other Holy Mother with the virgin birth, she would eclipse that Madonna by having twin sons.  Again, La Stupenda squealed with delight to herself.  I passingly wondered if I were the only one to be privy to her thoughts.  Then I realised that from my detachment, as everyone bawled and was truly horrified as though these were Olympians and not mere mortals, that I was the only one.  

‘What could be better than having two Warren Beatty lookalikes crawling around the planet and who were his twins?  And his only heirs!  With today’s genetic engineering it will be a great coup.  ‘Think of the press!  I’ll be guaranteed perpetual immortality.  I’ll be iconised for all history…’  I thought then and there, ‘My god, this woman is monstrous.’  

In any event, the funeral was upon us and by some strange quirk of the dreamtime, I was very much so a part of the funeral.  I was as though a fly on the wall, as it were, and aren’t you lucky?  Why, was I participating?  I do not know?  

In any event, I was dressed to the nines.  I had on a wonderful, lace outfit with a mantilla with my veil covering my face.  I was part, somehow, of the funeral party.  It turned out that Warren Beatty had had five wives and, at the point at which he died, his fifth wife was a High-Yellow woman.  She was part Black, part White, partly Latina.  He had had all these wives.  They had always been paid and kept to remain silent.  They were never brought out in the public or media.  It was one of Hollywood’s biggest secrets.  

People, obviously, never knew about it.  It had never once been spoken about.  There was an interesting turn to all of this… I had been going along Eglinton East on the south side.  It was as though I was going towards Yonge Street; however, it was not Eglinton Avenue East.  Madonna was going to be late because, luckily, it was that time of the month for her.  She was off having herself impregnated, by way of a turkey baster, with Warren Beatty’s frozen sperm – the planet’s most expensively rare caviar fertiliser of sorts.  

I was attending the funeral with a short woman who was the fifth wife’s mother.  She seemed a lot like Sybil Ben-Daniel and wore a brown coat over her dress.  I walked with my right arm embracing her as she was on my right.  I had burly bodyguards all about me, before, beside and behind me.  They were real Mossad-goon-cum-Wrestlemania types.  My pants were those flare-legged Giorgio Armanis that allowed me to stride throwing my legs.  

There was a lot of train to them and I had such utter style.  I had enormous energies about me and great flare.  My eyes were bedazzling even though mantilla-veiled.  They were what were, of course, fuelling my high spirits.  The onlookers were lapping up my entrance; I felt wonderful.  We then went into the church and the mother was talking about, “We want the money to go to the Church because the Church is really the staple of society and civilisation.  The Church does so much good.”  

I just decided to let her babble on and kept my tongue in check.  However, I cussed her under my breath saying, “You demented old fool.  What Church are you talking about?”  

The church had a metallic-silver front and it looked not unlike York Cinemas on Eglinton Avenue East.  It was not a very big church on the inside.  As we got inside, I turned around and hissed at one of the bodyguards because he had earlier stepped on my train.  Of course, we were surrounded then by the paparazzi and the little people.  His Bigfoot’s footprint was there on the pant’s train.  I reached back and slapped his face real hard, calling him a fucking asshole.  

Of course, I knew that it was safe to do it here because everyone here knew, only too well, that side of me.  However, I couldn’t wreck my public image doing so outside.  As we got closer to the church, I began striding firmer with each step in anticipation of getting his oafish arse.  I was really careful not to show that side of me when in public.  I started going down the aisle and there at the end was Warren Beatty’s corpse in the open casket.  It was a pure black casket that glistened.  It was a dark black wood and a really gorgeous casket.  

Escorting the mother-in-law, I came all the way down the aisle.  I decided that I would go into the first pew on the right.  The first pew on the left actually went further down the aisle and did go past the casket.  It held men in white flowing robes; they were priest of whatever denomination this was – very cream, ivory-coloured and obviously very Catholic.  I went and sat down and immediately behind me was the fifth wife’s family.  They were very Hispanic-looking more so than Black.  They were very handsome in that family.  

I turned around and smiled at one of the men and the energies coming from them weren’t as I had expected – I had thought that they would hate me.  I knew Madonna; I was apparently part of her hangers on.  Somehow, I had known her through dance.  I thought that, for that association, they would hate me.  However, they displayed no such hostilities towards me.  

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Finally, the fifth wife came and was walking very slowly, regally.  She carried a globular bouquet consisting of tiny, little white roses that were sprinkled in amongst some baby’s breath.  There were one or two little red roses as well.  She wore a white, lace outfit.  Deliberately dressed as though attending her wedding, she was not though veiled.  She came down to the casket and knelt before it, like Jacqueline Kennedy-Onassis at the rotunda, staking her claim on history by her performance.  

She sobbed in a controlled breath and then got up and walked around to the right end of the casket.  Facing the church, she was now behind it and up on the altar.  She was before the pews on the left side of the aisle.  She knelt down again and this time began wailing and ululating.  She was doing ritual port de bras with her torso and head as well.  She kept on holding on to the bouquet.  

It was a very Latin; a very emotional display; definitely, not Jacqueline Kennedy-Onassis.  It was very soulful and moving.  One really felt for her.  Finally, Madonna made her entrance and began slowly progressing down the aisle.  There was utter silence in the place because everybody was thinking, ‘Oh dear, poor Madonna was slutting with Warren Beatty at the point of his death.  Here is the fifth wife and is she going to create a scene or not?’  

Well, of course, she is.  The fifth wife is Latin so, of course, there will be theatre.  When the fifth wife had been crossing the casket, I took in her body which was very wide-beamed.  I knew then, in a flash, that she was pregnant with Warren Beatty’s child and four months pregnant.  It was clearly no Immaculate Conception as per Madonna’s little trick.  She was a very big-boned woman.  She got up when Madonna entered the church and stopped crying.  

Madonna saw her and avoided her glance as I turned and watched this fascinating bit of theatre unfold.  Everyone was really excited at the potential fireworks about to go off.  She started coming down to confront Madonna.  I immediately and intuitively knew that there was a gun inside the bouquet that the fifth wife so firmly clutched.  Positioning the gun, the fifth wife began holding the bouquet to her stomach.  Madonna, staying her ground, kept on proudly walking down the aisle.  

She wore black; it was an outfit that was not dissimilar to mine.  She wore a short veil and not a mantilla like I did.  She came walking down towards the casket staying closer to the left pews.  The fifth wife came around the right side of the casket and was walking down the right side of the aisle looking at Madonna.  She had a very, very vexed and determined – an almost trance-like, expression of self-absorption on her face.  All the energy in her body was directed at Madonna.  

When she was about five feet away from Madonna, she held up the bouquet and callously said, “I’m going to blow your fucking brains out!”  It was filled with so much venom that it reverberated throughout the very high-ceilinged-though-tiny church.  It was also very Gothic an interior.  Madonna stopped truly catatonically horrified.  You could see it beyond the veil.  She had no entourage or bodyguards.  She showed up alone, so confident was she of the coup that she had just scored at the geneticist’s.  

She was so flustered that she gallantly stuttered back, “I dare you…”  She was very nervous and said very quickly with a weak, little laugh.  She was also vamping à la Breathless Mahoney – the character she played in Warren Beatty’s Dick Tracy film.  She was, however, visibly ashen.  Madonna was visibly shaken with fear.  

Those persons in the left pews automatically screamed out and crouched down for cover because the fifth wife had held up the bouquet in both her outstretched arms like the gun that it so obviously hid.  “Come on.  You wouldn’t want to do that.  That’s just stupid…” Madonna bravely said. “…You can’t do that.  Besides Warren’s already dead.  What are you trying to prove?  You can’t do this to me!  Don’t be stupid.”  

The woman, however, started slowly walking towards her not buying her bullshit.  At that, Madonna turned around and started to bolt and she fell down over her long-trained dress.  She had already made it to the back of the pews on the left.  She was much too vain, to run outside and possibly be murdered in front of the little people.  So she got up and began running around the far side of the pews.  Of course, as she ran away, the fifth wife could easily have shot her in the back. 

Then Madonna got really pissed off, stopped against the far left wall of the church, holding out her palm at her attacker saying, “Stop it!  You don’t want to do this.  This is stupid.  You can’t kill me.  I’m Madonna!”  She was just winded; the expression on her face was unbridled rage, fear, terror, chutzpah, all in one.  Then the fifth wife pulled the trigger, which was the only sound in the place, releasing the magazine.  

Madonna cried out and began pleading with her.  It was truly a spectacle.  It was really pathetic.  The fifth wife then pulled on the trigger and there was a loud plopping sound.  Everybody just screamed and the place became flooded with blinding blue light.  It turned out to have been an older-model camera and the flashbulb from the camera as it went off.  

Image result for large old flashbulb paparazzi camera

At that, the fifth wife laughed this loud, truly callous, heavy-from-the-womb, ripe, wicked, vindictive, victorious-all-in-one laugh.  It echoed throughout the church.  When her echo collapsed, as Madonna stood there truly disempowered, the fifth wife uttered in a weary breath, “I always said to Warren that you’re an ugly slut.  This picture will prove it.”  

At that the fifth wife turned and came and sat down on the pew next to me.  Her Latina family members were just going wild clapping and hysterically shrieking.  Now that’s a Hollywood wife!  Poor Madonna was still standing there involuntarily shaking.  She was holding her chest and gasping for air like an asthmatic.  Her left hand placed on her chest, with her right hand holding on to the pew, thus she stayed her ground.  

Although her hand was on her chest, she was being most clever.  However I knew that really where it should have been was at her pussy because what the fifth wife instinctively knew, as did I, was that she had just miscarried.  Madonna was profusely bleeding.  Poor Madonna was so humiliated.  The look on her face was truly sad; she was sweaty and runny-nosed.  She soon collapsed and had to be taken away.  Of course, she would be beaten out of having Warren Beatty’s heir by the fifth wife.  

The whole thing was so funny and hysterical.  I was so stunned that the fifth wife was going to pull this stunt.  I really thought that it was a gun; I had, at least, gotten this flash that it was a gun.  The idea to have a bolt release, affecting a gun, was truly ingenious.  The picture turned out to be truly horrific.  It was all a joke being played on Madonna by Hollywood’s film elites who could not have cared less about her and her parvenu ambitions.  

The whole affair was so very wickedly political.  The whole thing was so hysterical.  I wondered as to what next was going to happen.  Is the fifth wife going to come forward and produce the first Warren Beatty heir – the true child?  A child that would look like Warren Beatty – more like a child of the future being of multiracial heritage and a bronzed version of Warren Beatty would the fifth wife bear.  

What then will she do about Madonna’s copyright of Warren Beatty’s sperm?  Will the fifth wife, for producing the heir, win the legal rights to them and have them destroyed if she chooses to?  Will this not, in fact, begin a Pop Religion rivalling the King, Elvis Presley’s, if Madonna had won custody of the sperm and gone on to impregnate herself and bear those miscarried twin sons because of her bonds to Warren Beatty and his two pseudo-virgin-birthed children – sons at that?  

Truly, this is iconography for the new millennium, indeed.

*A very, very interesting dream.  Certainly, that I would be dreaming about these people is interesting enough.  I don’t pay much attention to any of them beyond the passing.  I had seen Dick Tracy three weeks ago.  That the whole thing would evolve the way it did was rather insightful.  I was totally surprised, as much so, as was Madonna in the church.  

I really did think that she was going to be shot.  I thought that it would be so messy.  You know, I just did not want having anybody’s can’t-wash-out bloodstains on my Giorgio Armani pants.  A truly, truly funny dream this was.  

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*What can I say, dreams are purely experiential.  I dream it and awaken, immediately bringing forth the dream experiences, committing those experiences to audio-cassette tapes. I rather enjoyed being alone and visiting with Jessye Norman in the earlier dream.  Clearly, those dreams were set on a parallel Earth in another dimension and one in which the mostly Black population is differently proportioned than we humans of waking state Earth are.  

On the eve of the Oscars, I thought this a fitting offering.  I could never have fathomed the outcome of the fifth wife’s agendum until it unfolded.  Ingenious, to say the least, was her use of the bouquet.  As ever, sweet dreams and don’t forget to push off and start flying… and so what if you bump into a wall, just attempt doing so again and this time believe that you can effortless transcend the barrier.  Perception is, alas, everything.  

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As ever my dear sweet ennobled friends, I am ever grateful for your continued support.  Please do spread the word, far and wide about this happening dream joint on the cosmic wide web.  Always remember to push off and start flying… I love you more.  

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

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.

Hubble mosaic of the majestic Sombrero Galaxy

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.

Prophetic Dream With Diana & Archie

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Diana, Princess of Wales & HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex.  

On the eve of what would have been her 58th birthday, I share a dream encounter with Diana, Princess of Wales.  At the time of the dream, July, 1996, Diana was then incarnate and would be dead less than 14 months later.  The dream suggested Diana, parenting a male child of mixed race heritage.  Naturally, at the time of the dream, she was not then yet involved with Dodi Al-Fayed.  Years later, whilst living in Montréal and transcribing the 250 audiocassette recordings of my dreams which spanned a decade, I happened on the dream.  By the time of the transcription, Diana was dead and so, on poring through the dream I thought that the male child in the dream to whom Diana seemed a mother, must have been a child of hers and Dodi’s.  

Fast forward twenty-three years from the dream in question and I am beginning to think that this exceptional male royal child was actually a dream of tuning into a future in which Diana was serving as protector of her beloved son’s own baby boy, Archie Harrison.  The skull of the baby boy in the dream who seemed like a son of Diana, Princess of Wales’, is exactly shaped like that of Archie, Diana’s grandson by way of her son, HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex with his black wife, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex.  

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Alas, another dream encounter with Diana, Princess of Wales.  This one would involve moving into a probable reality scenario which may well have eventualised had she not tragically died thirteen months after having had the dream. 

*Then again, it may well have been tuning into a future which has now come to pass wherein, the interracial Sussexes have a male firstborn.  END.  

As with the dream of July 9, 1993, in which I would have a most rapturous astral plane encounter with task companion, Merlin, here too there would be lots of train travel.  This means of transportation, I have come to realise is employed by the soul when one is questing and traversing the astral either to past, future or probable timelines. 

In this case, I had clearly dreamquested to a probable and non-too-distant future for Diana, Princess of Wales.  Sadly, it was not to be.  Obviously, in this probable near-future astral plane dream, Diana, Princess of Wales was fulfilled and had gone on to start a second family and was mother to a rather precocious son; a son whom I might add was clearly at least fourth level old-souled. 

At the time, it was Sunday, July 27, 1996 and the Moon then transited both Capricorn and my eighth house.  The house of death wherein is posited my retrograde Saturn, gave interesting insights to things as they might have unfolded as others’ agendum precluded Diana, Princess of Wales’s life becoming more of an inconvenience.  

*Then, too, as time has unfolded, this rather prophetic dream was actually tuning into a probable reality which has become the collective future of human civilisation and one which we enjoy today.  Here’s to TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex and their incredible baby boy, Archie Harrison.  END.  

Of course, at the time of these dreams, I was then resident in Vancouver’s West End.  The dreams were audiocassette-recorded on tape two hundred and seventeen and to be found in volume XXII of the dream opus. 

There was much sturm und drang in parts of the dreams as it mirrored the vicious tectonics, long after Merlin’s passing, being played out legally and otherwise with persons whom I am so glad to be finally rid of.  Chief among them that STD-riddled, dominatrix poseuse and fag-hag to boot, who quixotically saw herself cast into the world to play Merlin’s protector and saviour – the dreams of lost village idiots… indeed. 

At the end of the day, Merlin never liked her and rightly so considered her a damn idiot.  At his passing, he had nothing to do with her; hence the fool spent the next two-plus decades being bedpan-changer of Merlin’s betrayers – a poor play at atonement that. 

Enough about knock-kneed caribou roadkill; the journey endures.  Besides, the bond with Merlin could never have been successfully broadsided. 

Come now my magical darlings, mischievously sport that wry smile known only to kindred spirits, slip into a luxurious plié, take my hand and let’s have ourselves a delicious group flying dream.   We are better for sharing this journey together; for your support, I love you more. 

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Whilst heading down a street in what was undoubtedly Toronto, in this the first dream, it was then daytime.  The street seemed like the one just around the corner from the Underground Railroad Restaurant, on King Street West, to the west of Sherbourne Street – Frederick Street.  Going down Frederick Street’s incline, I noticed along a back lane that there was a large building.  Too, I noticed a great many persons from past workplaces.  The building seemed to be an annex to the main workplace as I had known it.

One of the first persons whom I recognised was Milton Bloomfield.  He was wearing a pair of dark blue slacks and powder-blue short-sleeved shirt.  Excited to see him, I bounded over and went around to the back entrance.  Immediately, I began seeing persons whom I had completely forgotten about.  Indeed, some of these persons looked as though they were definitely astral plane habitués.  In particular, one old White male had that outré habitué look to him.  I was simply astounded to have seen some of these persons.  Truth be told, I had not thought of so many of them long in ages.

‘How quickly we do forget,’ I thought.

Such a very pleasant discovery of things past, it turned out to have been.  That aside, I resumed my search of Milton Bloomfield in earnest.  Again, I saw him in the distance.  This time he was walking away from me without having noticed that I was there.  In the end, though it would have been nice to have interacted with him, I just didn’t see the point in going after him.  On going around another corner, since I was amongst persons from the past, I had thought to go in search of Yaramé Snead.  I went over by some machines which no longer exist, in the waking state, seeing that she would shortly have shown up at the start of her shift.  I then saw her at a desk working away and hurried over to be with her.

Stooping down to her left and rear, I playfully called out hello to her.  On turning and seeing me, her reaction had been low-key.  I was surprised really as I thought that she would at least have been her usual boisterous self.  Her hair was beautifully braided.  Frankly, I felt putout as she seemed not the least bit pleased to have seen me.  With that, not wanting to be more of a seeming bother, I wrapped up the visit.  Since she had declined to have become engaged, I just couldn’t be bothered to have invested much energy in the encounter.

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Part of the focus of this the second dream, a man and I were together and seemingly were lovers.  Tall, he was a redhead; as such, he represented one of my more choice sexual partners.  Somehow, this man was in showbiz.  We were definitely lovers.  Whilst looking at TV Rosie O’Donnell had made remarks about him that were rather cutting.  Initially, I had thought that her remarks had been about Xerxes Hamelin.  The joke had been a crude remark wondering as, to which sex Xerxes Hamelin was.

This was in reference to her having breast reduction surgery.  As I did not appreciate the crass put-down of Xerxes Hamelin, I would abruptly take my leave.  I then went indoors of a house which, here, was like moving from the veranda indoors of the Crab Hill house.  A few persons were inside the house as I ranted, vowing to get that fat ugly dyke, Rosie O’Donnell.  There also was much laughter as I added,

“And we all know that I’m wicked enough, to do just as I say.  But first we’re going to sue her frigging Mickey ass.”  But my lover didn’t want to go through with it, he was a showbiz lawyer.  Snapping at him, I said,

“I won’t hear of it.  I will not be cutting him or her any slack.  Get her fucking ass!  There is no way that that no-classed fool is going to insult Xerxes Hamelin and get off lightly.  End of fucking discussion.  We sue!  During the show’s rehearsal when that joke came up around the production meeting table, she could have had the decency to say, ‘no way, I’m not doing that kind of humour’.  Obviously, she fucking well didn’t.

“It’s not about the fucking money; she will learn a thing or two, when I’m done with her fat-retaining, tired-looking ass.”  What really amazed me was how lucid and lived-in, in the body, I was.  I was really killer mad and out to do battle,  “There is positively no way that she’d have gone out there and made disparaging remarks about Jews.  And if you can’t knock the fucking Jews, you sure the fuck can’t haul your tired grey arse out on a stage to knock Blacks.  Just stop and think about it.  If a Jew would have her head in a nanosecond, then so the fuck will I.”  

After that, we went off together.  My lover was ever quiet and reserved whilst I did much of the talking.  In that sense, he energetically was much like Merlin.  However, it definitely was not Merlin.  

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As we walked about, we ran into Diana, Princess of Wales, who had a little child on her hip.  One had the sense that, after having divorced HRH Charles, Prince of Wales, she had gone on to start another family.  Definitely, this third child of hers was a son.  Apparently, she had always wanted a little girl but here she was with a dark-haired bouncing boy.  Obviously, from the looks of things here, Diana, Princess of Wales was going to have more than one family.

One interesting feature was that the boy was born with almost a full mouth of teeth.  I mentioned in passing that I guess if you end up grinning as much as she does, it would not be surprising to have newborns appear grin-ready.  Too, the child was already able to say some words at birth.  The child was exceptionally intelligent.  The young son’s most interesting feature was that even at less than six weeks, he was able to follow conversations.

The eyes on this child were exceptionally old-souled and wise.  Not the feigned coyness of Prince William was his demeanour.  We were in a huge stately Bentley whilst the child sat on his regal mother’s lap.  Diana, Princess of Wales sat on my left with my lover, a showbiz lawyer-celebrity, seated next to me.  My lover was of British birth; he was a well-placed Londoner and terribly well-off at that.

He was part of the few in whom Diana, Princess of Wales confided and had done so during her divorce proceedings with the Firm.  From the Bentley, we got into another car.  Although he really didn’t need it, the precocious son was travelling in a basket here.  This child perceptively was quite advanced for his mere few months of life.  He represented hands down a case for reincarnation.

Though he could talk, especially for someone less than a year old, he was still rather stubby and full of baby fat.  I took the rather self-aware child from Diana, Princess of Wales and headed for the car.  I then didn’t know whether she would be sitting in back of the car with us.  Considerately, I had opened the front door for her but she told me that it wasn’t necessary.

She then went into the back of the car at which point I returned her son to her.  In all of this, the precocious son hadn’t uttered a word of whiny protest for having been separated.  He had simply looked me in the eye whilst studying me and not, god forbid, because of something as absurd as my being Black.  This woman, his mother, was rather a genuinely sweet-personalitied soul.  Not your typical animus-charged, parvenu, New World wealthy snob, like heaven only knows so many North Americans, was she.  After we had taken off, I had mentioned that I had heard Prince William – who now was much taller than her – was very well-hung.

Furthermore, he loved roughing it with all the little willing boys at Eton.  This supposedly was hot gossip in those circles and which both my lover and Diana, Princess of Wales thought hysterical.  She expressed great pride in having produced such a fine stud for the Firm.  She mentioned that he had to start his studding practice sometime and far better that it be at Eton than with too many willing little girls the world over.  Clearly, Diana, Princess of Wales had no desire to turn grandmother just yet.  She was a very funny person with a distinctive snort-like giggle.

We then went into a store that was called something like Mayfair & Browne or something along those lines.  A small, high-end department store it was.

*The warm blues here would suggest that it was, in fact, Fortnum & Mason.  END.  

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Afterwards, we had attended the opening of Parliament where Queen Elizabeth II had naturally been present.  The Queen had asked the House of Lords to stand and, at that point, they had drawn some heavy red drapes.  At this point, there were rituals of an occult nature which were being performed.  This had been the custom for centuries and had been nobody’s business.  The few priests, who performed the rituals, spoke in an ancient tongue; olde English and Gaelic it would seem.

As part of the ceremony, the queen adopted a raspy, adversarial and tyrannical tone.  She snapped at them as they spoke to her.  Of course, this was to validate her absolute power as monarch.  She had spoken by using the same ancient tongue as they had.  Quite illuminating was all this for me.  From where we all sat, the monarch sat opposite us at the far end of the stately hall.  On the right was the House of Lords.

On the left, was the House of Peers where things were even more arcane and secretive.  Clearly, there was much more wealth possessed by the members of the House of Peers than those in the House of Lords; for one, they wore more expensive fur-lined robes.  Queen Elizabeth II then stood and put an end to the rituals.  When the priests retreated, the curtains rose again and at that point members of both houses of Parliament rose to bow to her majesty, the queen.

The Queen now looked her usual stoical self.  Next, a loud debate rang out in the House of Lords; this was the point at which bills were being introduced.  All in all, this was a very noisy affair.  This was the point at which my London-born lover was expected to have introduced my suit against Rosie O’Donnell.  However, he was blowing cold on the issue and tried to back out of it.

What caused him to have hung back was the raucous fight that had broken out between two Lords on some point or other.  In point of fact, they had been quite vituperative.  Soon after, we took our leave of Westminster Palace.  Diana, Princess of Wales was not seated with the rest of the royals.  Nor, for that matter, was the more royally scorned Sarah, Duchess of York seated with the royals.  

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The ride to the department store was no more than ten minutes.  Once inside, we had gone some escalators which took us to a cosmetics counter.  The look was pretty much like a Clinique counter, though, I really don’t think that it was such.  On seeing an extended member of the House of Windsor coming down the aisle towards us, my lover had dropped behind.  The focus of my lover’s attention was a rather princely gentleman.  He was young with full red lips but not was horsey-looking.

*This princely gentleman was, in fact, James Ogilvy – grandson of the dashing Prince George, Duke of Kent.  END.  

They exchanged pleasantries and it was clear that my lover was rather smitten with him.  I didn’t though get the sense of him, Mr. Ogilvy, that he was Gay.  From there, we kept going further down in the complex below street level.  Each time that we had come off an escalator, we had headed to the left to get the next.  This in turn had taken us down another flight.  Eventually, we arrived at a level which was clearly part of the city’s sprawling Underground.

As we walked, there were two little birdlike, old English women whose slow amble gait had gotten me fast impatient.  Finally, we managed to have pushed past them and gotten the train just in time.  Here we had travelled at fantastic speeds.  The trip was for quite some time and, somehow, it seemed as though they used magnetic conductors here in this civilisation.  There was a sense too that we had been travelling several miles, at least 100, below the surface.  

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When finally we had arrived at our destination, we had gotten out into a labyrinth of tunnels which had eventually led above-ground in a Japanese city.  We spent not very much time in Japan as it proved a stopover where we changed trains.  Moving on, we had travelled on a futuristic-looking train.  On board were two stylish, East Indian young women.  Both were clearly tired for having travelled a lot and having crossed several time zones.  A loud American was on board; she was an overweight woman.  As can be expected, she talked aloud for everyone to notice her.  She moronically complained about the trains not being aboveground and whined,

“I want it to be aboveground.  There’s nothing to see down here.  It’s all black and dark.”  She said the word ‘black’ with the same customary loathing as she had applied to African-Americans her whole life.  “Don’t they realise that there’re lots of tourists and we want to see.  It’s so boring being down here in all this blackness.”

‘Such a fucking acculturated bigoted asshole,’ I thought.  The train was painted white on the outside with lots of chrome and walnut finishing on the inside.  Very comfortable, red leather seats throughout the interior; this was a truly posh experience.  We had boarded at the front of the train.  We pulled into a station, though, only briefly; the train took off again never having opened its doors.  This time it took off in the opposite direction.  By now, my lover and I were no longer travelling together; however, I did have a travelling companion with me.

On this leg of the trip, we had moved above-ground at one point where we had passed the most glorious stand of ancient old trees.  They were ginkgoes that looked millennia-old.  Each was easily in excess of 200 feet.  I quite liked it here.  Though the vista was beautiful, it didn’t last very long as once again we were below-ground whilst ploughing through the lurching labyrinth of tunnels deep in the earth.

At the end of the trip, we had arrived at a swank hotel which seemed to be in either Switzerland or Austria.  From the hotel, my lover and I were reunited and began trying to get in touch with Diana, Princess of Wales.  He wanted to write to her instead of speaking so had sent her a fax.  Here we were a bit in the future, where everyone was automatically assigned their personal phone number with cellphone/fax.

*Truth be told, rather than a fax, it was a text.  Of course, at the point of the dream texting was well ahead of its time.  END.

No matter where one was in the world, regardless of the borders, the same phone number managed to get you.  Interestingly, they were not excessive amount of numbers.  He had sent her a fax (text) with his private number and had asked Diana, Princess of Wales to call him; he had wanted to lend his support in her divorce proceedings.  

At one point, when we had been driving, Diana, Princess of Wales opened up and spoke about her divorce from HRH Charles, Prince of Wales.  She said that it had left her feeling truly awful.  At the end of it, the one thing that she had taken away was the sense that she felt greater empathy for what Blacks suffer globally.  Said she, she had gone to a couple of stores to shop, after having been divorced, where the mere salesclerks treated her with scorn.

Nobody wanted to serve her as if she had even been hostile to them.  Diana, Princess of Wales said that it had been so overwhelming that in one case she had gone rushing back to her car in tears.  For no longer being a part of the ‘Firm’, the public simply treated her as an unfortunate laughing stock.  Some clerks had been outright rude to her.  She said that she couldn’t believe that anything could have made her so mad.

To have been denied was the most painful experience.  They were so mean-spirited and spiteful she claimed.  Her voice here was high-pitched and almost feverish when she expressed her rage at the injustices she had experienced.  She said that the idea of racial animus that she has heard Blacks speak of, she could finally understand.  Diana, Princess of Wales said that she had experienced something pretty close to it in the lack of civility that she had gotten from everyone.  Intently looking at her large clear eyes as she spoke, I was much impressed by her remarks.  She was rather ravishing-looking and was so in her element for being mother to this exceptional child.

*Long after the dream and as things played out, the male child whom Diana, Princess of Wales had parented in this dream was clearly fathered by Dodi Fayed.  Of course, at the time of the dream, I hadn’t a clue of Mr. Fayed’s existence.  The precocious boy had his father’s nose and brows.

Clearly, this dream was tuning into a probable reality which finally was not to be.  The child was clearly at least fourth level old-souled and may well have been a king or if not warrior soul. 

**More thoughts on this dream.  The fact that the lawyer who proved a lover of mine in this dream was a redhead, is at this time, I believe, a reference to HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex.  As it is extremely rare that I would dream of the latter, it is not a surprise that he was translated here by my waking consciousness as anyone but Prince Harry.  Also, in light of the fact that in marrying Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex, Prince Harry can be said to be an advocate of sorts for racial reconciliation with regards to the ties that the BRF historically have to the enslavement of Africans.  Interestingly, that Diana, Princess of Wales should talk about having empathy for the racism that Blacks experience on a daily basis, is a dead giveaway.  The theme of race and racism is a prevalent one where her son, HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex is concerned.  

For having chosen to wed an entity mate of his (HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex) with whom he has a long reincarnational history and someone who has twice previously been a senior royal in the British Royal Family, is reason enough why the theme of race would be discussed and why Diana, Princess of Wales would be both empathetic and speak passionately about this issue.  Naturally, throughout the dream she would be closely bonded with a firstborn male from another marriage; however, rather than being a firstborn of hers in a subsequent marriage, this older soul child would prove to be the firstborn mix-raced child of her son, Prince Harry, who was represented by the redhead lawyer/advocate who happened to be my lover.  Indeed, Prince Harry can be seen to be an advocate for addressing and advancing racial dialogue and race relations.  Similarly, that his firstborn son, Archie is a seventh-level mature priest soul would indicate someone whose focus in life will be about inspiring, uplift, healing and harmony… god only knows that is sorely needed at this time.  

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Straighten up and fly right!  I love you more than you know…

 

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

An Incredible Baby Boy!

HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex announces the birth of his son.  

Henry announces birth

Lips trembled and I came undone whilst watching this beautiful spirit revealing his sheer delight at becoming a father.  As a last-born, I always more readily identified with this man rather than his brother.  

Archie meets HM

Archie Harrison Mountbatten-Windsor being introduced to his great-grandmother HM Queen Elizabeth II whilst his grandmother, Doria Ragland, his great-grandfather HRH Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh by his enraptured parents, TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex.  

Doria Ragland

Doria Ragland, grandmother of Archie Harrison Mountbatten-Windsor, Earl of Dumbarton.  This woman has the most exquisitely beautiful papaya-seed succulent, ensouled eyes.  

The wedding of Prince Harry and Meghan Markle, Pre-Ceremony, Windsor, Berkshire, UK - 19 May 2018

Meghan Markle en route to be wedded and pronounced, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex.  

There is a reason why there was so much beauty and love overflowing at the marriage of TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex, for less than a year later they would give birth to a most remarkable older soul.  Before getting to that, I still think that the best dressed woman at their nuptials was the dowager Duchess of Westminster who looked for all the world as though she were merely traipsing about her lair in her favourite muumuu.  There was something so disarmingly unpretentious yet elegant about the look and air she projected.  

Harry May 12 2019

At once delicate and vulnerable; it is so immensely satisfying to see this young man flower into the true essence of his being.  

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As Meghan possessed of a true sense of theatre, she who was formerly Margaret Beaufort, entered and strode the knave of St. George’s Chapel alone… a Queen returned, she joined her lover and invited us in to share in a love that was tangible, real and undeniable.  

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Less than a year later, the love blossomed into the most beautiful, magical flower.  

Archie Harrison Mountbatten-Windsor2

There he is, Archie Harrison Mountbatten-Windsor, of all the senior royals he would prove the oldest soul.  This young man will prove a most uplifting member of the British Royal family.  

Earl of Dumbarton

Mountbatten-Windsor, Archie H. 6/5/2019

Michael: This young fragment is a seventh-level mature priest – second life thereat.  Archie is in the perseveration mode with a goal of stagnation.  A, realist Archie does not yet have a centre. 

Archie’s, as can be expected, does not have chief features. 

Archie’s body type is Venus/Mercury/Mars. 

The fragment Archie is second-cast in the second cadence.  Archie is a member of greater cadence four.  Archie’s entity is five, cadre six, greater cadre 7 pod 418. 

Archie’s essence twin is a priest and the slave task companion is likely to be known at a later date. 

Archie’s three primary needs are: exchange, acceptance and communion. 

There are 6 past-life associations with Arvin and 7 with Merlin.  ­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­

This fragment does have a facilitating agreement with the father, HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex to be his son; he also has one with the artisan, his mother Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex and it is that of parent/child.  All three, along with HM, The Queen are of course cadre mates. 

We would say that this inspirational fragment is likely to have some notoriety as would be expected and can serve to inspire others to cross perceived boundaries. 

The higher ideal has to do with unification. 

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HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales his paternal grandfather has to date been the oldest-souled senior royal.  Like HRH Prince Charles, Archie is a seventh-level mature soul; however, whereas Charles a warrior soul is an ordinal fragment, his grandson, Archie is an exalted fragment for being a priest.  Priests are the feel-good great souls.  I rather suspect that this man will go on to have the same inspirational effect as have Barack H. Obama, Nelson Mandela and Martin Luther King Jr. all of whom are priest souls.  

Of course, President Obama is a young-souled priest, whereas both Martin Luther King Jr. and Nelson Mandela were both sixth mature priest souls.  Archie is an older soul than the latter two mature-souled priests and like both, his role will prove rather uplifting and inspirational to blacks globally.  Indeed, there is no happenstance that as TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex departed St. George’s Chapel in the Ascot landau, after their nuptials, the Kingdom Choir sang, This Little Light of Mine.  

All priests have one thing in common; they have the most radiant, magnetic eyes.  You never forget their eyes; indeed, their inner beauty of spirit is more readily reflected in their eyes than with any other role – at least, that has been my experience of priest souls.  Priests constitute roughly eight percent of all souls in the cosmos.  They are greatly motivated by a sense of justice and are in the world to both inspire and promote harmony.  With his father’s double sixness, Archie, born a six day, is well equipped to inspire and empathise with the needs of many.  He is, like his father, greatly gifted with the ability to inspire others.  Archie also happens to be a cadre mate of both his parents TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex, plus his paternal great-grandmother, HM The Queen.  

One thing is guaranteed, as the only priest soul who is a senior royal*, Archie is going to be a standout like no other.  This is a family of slaves, scholars, warriors and artisans.  I think that his parents’ open and abiding love speaks to them serving as parents to this rare soul being born into the BRF.  In a way, he is the perfect maturation of the qualities that his paternal grandmother embodied; Diana, Princess of Wales with her inordinate empathy and compassion gave birth to a deeply empathetic warrior, HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex, who in turn has fathered the very embodiment of all the higher ideals that both mother (Diana) and son (Harry) have represented.  

*As I have not had channelled the Michael Overleaves of the three children of TRH Duke & Duchess – HRH Prince George of Cambridge, HRH Princess Charlotte of Cambridge and HRH Prince Louis of Cambridge, I do not know if any of them are older souled than HRH Prince Charles or Archie.  I also do not know if any of them is an exalted role – King, Priest or Sage, though, none of them strike me as any of those three roles.  

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On another note, what more proof does one need that Diana, Princess of Wales had greatly succeeded in being a parent.  

Mr. &amp; Mrs. Thomas Kingston

Third royal wedding in twelve months, featured the handsome Lady Gabriella Windsor – look at that neck! As always, one looks for the notable sartorial moments.  

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Carole Middleton wearing the best hat and outfit that easily surpassed the Catherine Walker ensemble which she wore to her daughter, Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge’s wedding and her outfit at the royal wedding of TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex last year.  

TRH Prince &amp; Princess Michael of Kent

Look, as we West Indians always say, ‘there is always a but’ her blackamoor brooch notwithstanding, I am always a sucker for a woman with a prominent forehead and HRH Princess Michael of Kent has always been a favourite of mine.  

mother &amp; daughter

I definitely did not like her lilac outfit at the wedding; the mother of the bride looked infinitely more elegant in what she wore later to the reception.  

HRH Princess Anne The Princess Royal Lady Frederick Windsor HRH Prince Henry Duke of Sussex

HRH Princess Anne, The Princess Royal, Lady Frederick Windsor and HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex.  

Hands down, Lady Frederick Windsor was the best-dressed lady at the recent royal wedding – that hat, those feathers that soothing blue… perfection.  

TRH Duke &amp; Duchess of Kent

HRH Princess Marina, HRH Prince George TRH Duke & Duchess of Kent.  

Without doubt, the most handsome Windsor male of the past century.  Of course, that tiara was worn this past weekend at the royal wedding of the Mr. & Mrs. Kingston. 

HM The Queen

HM The Queen at Lady Gabriella Winndsor’s wedding.  

HRH Prince Philip Duke of Edinburgh

HRH Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh at Lady Gabriella Windsor’s wedding.  

James Middletonx

James Middleton attending the recent royal wedding at St. George’s Chapel, Windsor Castle, Berkshire.  

james middleton

There is no stronger validation for the fact that all gap-toothed Caucasians having been black in their immediate past life than this photograph of James Middleton.  James is a spitting image of a black Haitian former coworker in Montréal.  Same vibe, same eyes and the exact same teeth.   Jean-Yves was a pretty laid back man who loved fishing and riding donkeys in his native Haiti.  One gets the same vibe of James; his is a look that I have seen many times throughout the West Indian community – laid back men with the same gap-toothed smile.  Moreover, his smile is exactly like that of a voluptuous woman who lived in Sandy Point, St. Kitts when I was a child; who knows, perhaps, James is her reborn.  

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Here’s to love!  Here’s to this beautiful dream called life.  Here’s to HM The Queen.  God Save the Queen!  

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Most of all, thank you for your ongoing support, happy to have you vicariously along for this most lucid of flying dreams.  Be well as ever, and don’t forget to push off and start flying for magic is the stuff of the sweetest dreams.  I love you more.  

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

Earl of Dumbarton.

Earl of Dumbarton

HRH Prince Philip Duke of Edinburgh, HRH Prince Henry Duke of Sussex, HM Queen Elizabeth II, Doria Ragland, Earl of Dumbarton (Archie Harrison Mountbatten-Windsor), Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex.  

I positively screamed and then began ululating at the news that TRH Duke & Duchess had been safely delivered of a healthy son.  I broke into tears on watching the BBC statement made by the Duke of Sussex.  Everything about this extraordinary human being inspires nothing but warmth, happiness and compassion from deep within me.  

Henry announces birth

Watching HRH Prince Henry bursting with pride as he announced the birth of his son, Earl of Dumbarton, I welled up with tears and burst out crying.  To me it was a healing moment after I fell to the floor of my Côte-des-Neiges, Montréal apartment crying as he walked behind his mother’s casket almost 22 years prior.  He had made it through alright after all.  

Archie Harrison Mountbatten-Windsor2

Archie Harrison Mountbatten-Windsor, Earl of Dumbarton.  

The night after the birth, at the end of La Boheme, I cried my eyes out; happy at the birth of this wonderful child but also because I had just witnessed one of the best opera performances in long ages. 

Sussexes2

Based on past-life histories of the three persons in this photograph, there is no coincidence with them presenting the Earl of Dumbarton in St. George’s Hall, Windsor Castle.  

Sussexes3

Diana, Princess of Wales’ greatest legacy will always be how handsomely she succeeded at being a great parent. 

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As ever, thanks for your ongoing support.  Thanks for your patronage in the past and do please continue buying my dream memoirs, available online partout!  

 

 

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