Diana’s Resolve… Extra-Human Tall Whites Arrive.

21.11.201406.01.2026 Arvin da Brgha1 Comment

One of the last dreams I would have, before moving to Montréal from Vancouver, would be a most ominous dream of Diana, Princess of Wales. At the time, my life was in flux as I hurriedly packed up my art collection and made preparations to fly out of Vancouver to Montréal.

As Pandora da Braga had lived in Paris for ten years, after having worked in the Prime Minister’s Office – Prime Minister, John Turner – studying then working as a journalist in the city of lights, I would make wonderful friends of my own in Paris.

Naturally, they all implored me to move to Montréal because they could then visit me and not have to worry about not speaking English. Of course, if you can’t live in Paris, Montréal will make a damn good substitute – the locals’ hideous xenophobia notwithstanding.

To say the least, I was only too happy to take flight from Vancouver which had proven a racially suffocating hellhole once too many for my legendary impatience… to say nothing of pride and integrity. Since I am not in the world to suffer the racial predator overlong, it was time to move on when I chose to. Knowing when to take leave is key to survival in any situation.

The astral plane dream encounter with Diana, Princess of Wales was inordinately lucid and possessed of a clarity that spoke to its prophetic potency. Of course, on awaking from the dream, I had completely misread the message of the dynamic being played out. At the time of the dream and on awaking, I had assumed the subject of ominous prophecy to be Prince William rather than Diana, Princess of Wales herself.

The dream proved rather sobering. The evening when the news broke of Diana, Princess of Wales’s death, I stood in my Montréal living room and screamed horrified because in that moment I had finally gotten whom the subject the prophetic dream was; it was Diana, Princess of Wales.

There was the same density and foreboding in this dream as in all dreams which presage death. There was no mistaking the ambiance of the dream; death palpably hung in the air.

At the time, it was Sunday, July 27, 1997 and whilst the Moon then transited both Taurus and my twelfth house, I did nothing more than pack and run off to Stanley Park after dark to get one more last session of hot sex in the midst of five-hundred-year-old moss-furred Sitkas.

Oh what delicious fun times! Nothing beats having sex in the middle of nature; it is so primal, so spiritual, so shamanic and elemental.

The dream was a beautiful farewell from Diana, Princess of Wales. I am sure that she would be immensely proud of how Prince William has fared since she bade him fare well in that dream.

Sweet dreams as ever.

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Pandora da Braga and I visited with Diana, Princess of Wales, at night-time, in this the first dream. I spoke to her of her great insights to world politics.

As well, I told her of how much she had learnt in this lifetime – the great insights garnered from her experiential awareness of human suffering and the human condition.

This woman was incredibly powerful in this astral plane encounter.

You had a sense of her very soul itself being present in her body. As this was an astral plane encounter, one was not experiencing Diana, Princess of Wales the glamour puss, the manipulative or, for that matter, the fucked-up basket case.

You saw the power behind the incarnate persona and understood why she was born to be Diana, Princess of Wales. All that emotional baggage ultimately was mere façade. This was a very steely tough customer.

Her eyes were always very direct and clear; they were not soft and dewy or doing the virgin bride Diana Spencer routine. She wore a powder blue suit and was in supreme control.

She then went to a near dark bedroom to check on Prince William, the future Duke of Cambridge. The heir apparent was lying in bed, foetally curled up whilst soundly asleep.

He looked so tiny and so frail and vulnerable that one had to wonder if he were an asthmatic or suffered from seizures. Even though asleep, Prince William seemed emotionally needy.

I was much reminded of Clarice Seberg-da Braga^† in this woman’s resolute steeliness. I stood a few feet away whilst Diana, Princess of Wales stood leaning over the side of the bed next to her sleeping firstborn, Prince William.

The energies here were those of a retirement home or an orphanage. The vibration here was both dense and very sad; it was a most sombre ambiance here. I even passingly wondered if Prince William were in danger of dying.

When I spoke to her, she had said nothing and seemed remote, removed and otherly focussed. However, she was undividedly listening to me. Her focus was intense, with a singleness of purpose that was so unlike her incarnate persona, it was hard to believe that she could have become so legendarily emotionally fucked-up.

For being in this woman’s presence, one realised that this individual has seen a lot. By far, much more than mere mortals see in the course of three or four lifetimes has she.

Her energies surprised me as they were massive. One had to exactly wonder who she has been in past lives. I had a sense of her that she was an early mature soul.

*This would indeed prove a rather prophetic dream. I remember been so upset at this dream that on awaking, I went and looked up Prince William, Duke of Cambridge’s astrological chart to see if there were any indicators that he could possibly die early in life or imminently.

So ravishing was Diana, Princess of Wales that it never occurred to me at the time of the dream or on awaking, to have looked at her chart to see if there were any signs of her possibly dying imminently. Of course, there in her chart was a very ominously looming Pluto square transit which went exact the day she died.

I might also add that it is an afflicted Pluto which is conjunct her natal Mars. Think what you want but there is no way that Diana, Princess of Wales was not assassinated.

She was, in the dream, clearly resigned to her fate. She was obviously aware of her role in the historical drama being played out and she, finally, fulfilled her role with great aplomb. END.

**Of course, at the time when living in Vancouver, where the dream was dreamt, I had attended a dinner party at friends’ Sentinel Hill bungalow where a gay South African of British aristocratic heritage spoke at length about Charles and Diana and their ‘child’. Said he, Harry was not the child born out of wedlock – the second born was a real Windsor prince. The real bastard had been her firstborn which meant a lot, especially since the Bourbon father was Catholic – little else was then divulged. This was in late 1995 – with Nelson Mandela coming to power, he like many whites fled South Africa with a sizeable colony settling in the lower mainland – when Charles and Diana clearly were headed for divorce. That dinner party was the second time that I had heard this rumour about Diana’s sons.

A couple of years earlier, after I broke off relations with Manhattan cabaret singer Frans Bloem as a dinner guest of his proved a vile racist Jew, who vehemently denied that Blacks had any connection, let alone claim, to Jazz. I promptly decamped for the rest of my vacation from Frans’ West Village apartment to Chelsea with an old dancer friend, whose lover had died of AIDS and left him fabulously well-off. One evening, we went to a dinner party on the Upper West Side where the view across Central Park was to the condo where Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis would die short months later. Present at the lovely dinner of a wealthy Mexican, whose home was truly grand, was a Spanish aristocrat; he spoke at great length of Diana and Charles – it was the time of their recent separation. The minor Bourbon royal was keen to let it be known that Juan Carlos, the King, was William’s father and not Charles. This he said with great pride and who knows, added he, maybe one day the Church of Rome would reclaim Westminster Abbey and Britain become annexed to Spain. END.

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Then, in this the second dream, I entered a film which advanced back in time. I was taken back to the beginning of my reincarnational cycle here on Earth. That is to say that for my soul’s experience here on Earth, it was the beginning of time.

There were lots of heavy-looking satellites here. As a result, the celestial lights are strange as compared to contemporary times. There was a sense of purple intensely coming through from the light spectrum.

Too, blue came through strongly here rather than the intense ‘white’ with which we are so accustomed. A very interesting phenomenon this was.

This was a very rocky terrain as I stood looking down to a spectacular vista below. Next, there was a mass influx of people who came from another planet.

There had been a mass exodus to Earth. The arrivée extra-human’s spaceships were not all that sophisticated comparable to today’s space shuttles. When they disembarked, they were an unusually tall race of Whites.

They averaged over seven feet each, on the short side, pushing nine feet; even the women were in excess of seven feet tall. They were a shabbily dressed group. Too, they looked truly shell-shocked; it was as though they had had to take flight in a hurry.

Seemingly, there had been a massive apocalyptic crisis which had precipitated their sudden departure. As a result, they had ventured here to take up residence on Earth. They seemed as if refugees from a war zone.

They were, the whole group of them, quite a mess. Immediately, they set about on a campaign to subjugate the planet and make it theirs. Theirs was a focus that was driven of their having been from elsewhere.

This was hostile territory that had to be tamed and made to order; the new planet, Earth, had to support their agenda and nothing more. This was the beginning of a reign of terror which clearly endures to this age.

They had a series of rulers, who came with the mass exodus, all of whom were male. They were a militaristic culture. They were the quintessential warrior warlords; brutish and sadistic to the core were they. They had no qualms about killing.

They couldn’t have cared less, after all, about the people whom they were killing; after all, they were all merely humans and not of their extra-human race.

They were brutish specimens, the hunter-warrior extra-humans, with thick full beards. These were a people who had known nothing but a long history of warfare. They were bred to be killers. Truth be told, they were deadly and at war with life itself.

Alas, it was a sad but true fact and one that was rather insightful as to the real deal behind history of this planet. As life on Earth ultimately proved a non-viable long range proposition, they elected to adapt to Earth by breeding with select humans.

The group which proved, in the long term to be most viable for their genetic stock to endure and prosper would become today’s Caucasians. As a result, the hybridised Earthly humans became as if at war with themselves. Incidentally, all the racial groups were hybridised; however, what would become Caucasians were deemed most desirable.

I have always thought it very interesting that the all-dominant White tribe is home to Europe, the only continent on the planet where the inhabitants never constructed pyramids. They, pyramids, are in Africa, the Americas and Asia but not to be found in Europe.

These people were truly Hitlerian in their savagery. I could see how easy it was for the true Earthlings to have been subjected by these people.

The locals were a peaceful people who lived close to and in accord with nature – that included the pre-hybridised Caucasians. Then along came this exodus of Tall White extra-humans who proceeded to subject both them and nature.

This seemed to have, perhaps, been in New Zealand but it was obvious from what I learnt here that the invading Whites had touched down in several locales on the planet.

Theirs was an agendum whose task demanded timely action over a given breath of time. They were intent on suppressing the Earthlings, all over the planet. When their extra-human stock began dying out, they then elected to hybridise the native humans of Earth.

Obviously, at the end of this campaign, they would then choose to settle in Europe. What was really telling in all of this was the fact that all of life in the Universe is cyclical.

To that end, we see history being repeated in modern times with the campaign begun by Christopher Columbus. There is nothing ennobling or uplifting about this European exodus which, as per the panorama I witnessed, mirrored the campaign of the Tall White extra-humans on their arrival to Earth. Though less savage, the strong Tall White extra-human genetic markers in Caucasians has affected their outlook on being focussed here on Earth.

As a result, the hybridised Caucasians humans’ raison d’être has been about warfare, rape and separatism. Notice, too, that until the rise of Judaism, there were no patriarchal religions on this planet. Religions weren’t of any use, prior to the arrival of the Tall White extra-humans, as all the people of Earth were living in accord with nature.

Too, the rise of Judaism marked the ascent of the notion of a single god and, most of all, one which was vengeful, warring and decidedly patriarchal. Like the orthodoxy of Judaism, it was anathema to the arriving extra-human Tall Whites to mix or cohabit with the true Earthlings – at least until their long term survival proved impossible.

That aside, the extra-human Tall Whites went about suppressing the planet. They did so in a reign of terror that was truly horrific. They murdered and savaged the Earthlings with ferocity that one would a species which was not one’s own.

The Earthlings were being killed as though they were an infestation of vermin who had to be culled and controlled. This they did in their campaign to make the planet viable for their extra-human Tall White stock.

So very telling as this is precisely the repeated/mirrored history which we are living today. A history, indeed, in which the White Tribe has spread over the planet in the last half millennium, displacing the local Earthlings in their path. Sadly, so dominant is the Tall White extra-human genetic makeup in hybridised Caucasians, it has been as though their fellow humans were not also human.

This has being most actively pursued in Africa at present which thanks to racism makes it permissible. Truly horrific a spectacle this proved. Devastating were the campaign’s results, to say the least, on the locals then as now.

*I must note here, though, that the original Tall Whites were little related to today’s Whites. Not only were they close to nine feet tall, if not more, they were pasty to grey-white in colour.

In the true sense of the word, they were Tall Whites rather than Caucasians. END.

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When planning to go to a movie, in this the third dream, I had asked Ian Banks Jr. if he would accompany me. Flatly, he replied no.

The look on his face was truly hostile as if to ask if I were out of my mind to have asked him. I was very stunned, in fact, by his reaction.

In any event, I readily recovered and went off looking for a seat in the theatre. I ended up close to a White couple with three small kids.

The children were talkative but there was nothing objectionable in their behaviour. I actually quite liked being near them with their refreshing playfulness and spontaneity.

As the house lights went down and everyone grew quietly anticipatory, I seamlessly refocussed from the dreamtime to the waking state.

*On awaking, I felt exhausted from the travel involved in moving back in time to seeing and experiencing the arrival of the Tall White extra-humans. I took the time to remain in the pyramid, after having recorded the dreams, to meditate with crystals and thereby restore my energies. END.

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Photo/Art: HRH Diana, Princess of Wales

Oil on Canvas

64 x 40 Inches

Provenance: Collection of Charles, Ninth Earl of Spencer.

http://www.spencerofalthorp.com/

http://www.nelsonshanks.com/

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Merlin.

17.11.201406.01.2026 Arvin da BrghaLeave a comment

Merlin.

July 21, 1947 <O> November 18, 1989

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I could never have imagined surviving Merlin by 25 years. More than that, I could never have fathomed how immensely enriched I would grow for having known and loved Merlin. Certainly, I would never have imagined that our relationship would continue, merely otherly focussed, beyond his passing. However, as many dreams herein have attested that we most definitely did and have.

I offer the links to three dreams had after Merlin’s passing – all of which are to be found in the ‘Dreams of Merlin’ category. The first dream occurred as Merlin passed, the other two dreams three and four years after his passing. Do enjoy and I trust that for your own loved ones, these dreams will inspire you to remain open and focussed on being attuned and ever in love with loved ones when they transition to merely being at a different vibration as astral plane habitués.

Incidentally, Merlin was reincarnated on December 2, 2006 as a first level old scholar in an old soul northern European country’s capital city. Merlin’s soul has chosen in this lifetime to be female and yes, I have dreamt of this beautiful-eyed young woman. Love ever endures.

These dreams, without a doubt, attest to Merlin and I having shared a most remarkable love affair. All is choice. Sweet dreams and love you and your loved ones even more!

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Photo: Merlin 1977 in Montréal.

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Horowitz: Live in Vienna (1987)

17.10.201406.01.2026 Arvin da Brgha2 Comments

A week prior to his passing, Merlin was allowed out of Wellesley Hospital to wind down his ennobled incarnation. That first evening, Friday, November 10, 1989, we sat in our 20 Amelia Street living room and listened to Vladimir Horowitz as he had requested.

Earlier that week, on Sunday, November 5, 1989, Vladimir Horowitz had passed. Enveloped in our waxing love, our souls were embalmed by Horowitz’s stellar artistry.

Shaman. Genius. Guru. For both Merlin and me, there was no greater combo of these qualities than embodied in Vladimir Horowitz.

The following day, actor, Joe Morton would fly in from Los Angeles for 24 hours to say farewell to Merlin. Though Merlin had not eaten in long weeks, his Candida precluded being able to ingest solids, he pulled up a chair and joined Joe and me as we dined on Chinese take-out.

This one act of Joe’s allowed Merlin to heal from the rejection of having been abandoned by his god-fugly Toronto so-called friends and leave this world void the bile of having been rejected – they chose to act as they did because, at the end of the day, a dog can always be counted on to lick itself and eat its vomit.

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Photo: Vladimir Horowitz. Vladimir Horowitz and Wanda Toscanini.

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Happy Birthday!

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My birthday, August 2, 1989.

Last birthday celebration with Merlin before his passing 3 months later. I am wearing the presents afforded me by one of Merlin’s friends – a disturbed woman whose perception of me was just that… hers. So as she took my picture – which I later learnt, so that she could show it to Merlin’s mother, Sybil, and claim, “See, who said pigs don’t wear lipstick?” – I, possessed of the most well-endowed pineal gland, looked straight through her and her insignificance to Merlin who stood in back of her beaming his pride, love and joy at having found me and as he said later at dinner in Yorkville, he wouldn’t miss being here for the most happening moment in the universe.

Silly woman; so sad, parading through life without so much as a clue that the better bitches on this planet wear their sex between the ears. Well, as Merlin’s friend, the actor, Joe Morton – he of the John Sayles film, ‘Brother From Another Planet’ and who currently stars in TV’s Scandal; so I am told because I never look at television – passionately intoned, “Don’t you ever forget this, if you were White and a woman, you would never be treated this way.”

When it came to friends, Merlin’s choices could have been more discriminating; however, when it came to lovers, he never set a foot wrong. All the lovers who preceded me were stellar, spiritually evolved human beings and I am proud to have been included in their company; prouder still am I to have been enraptured for seven glorious years with the one, the man, the shaman, the dream shaman, Merlin and my task companion no less. For me, there can be no greater gift each birthday than celebrating the love we shared.

Birthdays are a time for giving thanks and for your support and loyalty I am immensely grateful.

Sweet dreams, if I have inspired just one person to look inward and embrace their spiritual journey through becoming more self-aware when dreaming, I will have accomplished much indeed. I love you more!

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=^.|.^=

Nelson Mandela.

Image05.12.201318.11.2024 Arvin da Brgha2 Comments

You are the most beauteous lotus who sprung from the swamp that is the racial predator. Sweet and blissful dreams are yours… I love you more. __________________________ Photo: © 1994 Nelson Mandela. ___________________________________________________________________ © 2013-2025 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.

A Few Crystals.

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A clutch of my many crystals being re-charged after having been bathed in both sunlight and moonlight and cleansed in ph-balanced reverse osmosis water…

The tiny transmitter crystal to the immediate right of the crystal ball and to the left and between the rose quartz crystal and the smoky quartz crystal was worn by Merlin for the last 15 months of his life…

Crystals being charged in a troika of pyramids.

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Photo: Crystals being charged.

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Collapsible Pyramid with Crystals.

28.02.201331.01.2026 Arvin da Brgha1 Comment

Look closely and you will see the pyramidal orb formations affected by the pyramid’s magnetic energies. This trusty medium – I’ve owned one since 1984, is the conduit which has spirited me to places far and wide across the cosmos during the pandimensionality of the dreamtime…

Truly, dreams are the portal for vicariously going along with the soul as it ventures on its nocturnal sojourns…

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The Avatar Manifests.

28.02.201331.01.2026 Arvin da BrghaLeave a comment

That aside, here then I share a glimpse into the future with a vision of a lifetime up ahead. It was a visionary dream and I found myself the trusted confidant and lover of a most beautiful public figure.

The dream in question occurred during the second or B sleep cycle that day. It proved the third dream that dream quest, however, in the prior sleep cycle that day there were some ten dreams.

At the time, Sunday, October 4, 1992, the Moon was in Capricorn transiting my eighth house. Therein is posited my natal retrograde Saturn.

Of course, this is a house innately ruled by Pluto whose powers afford one the ability to plummet the depths of the soul’s wealth of experiences across time.

In this case, the time in question proved to be into the future.

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This was a most incredible experience. I still have no idea in what time it took place. However, a great religious event was taking place.

One of those massive cultural events that would transcend history this proved, rippling through time, enshrined in religious iconography. This was set either in the very distant past of this planet’s history or, perhaps, somewhere distantly in the future.

This was a rite that was clearly Hindu in nascence. Basically, they were performing human sacrifice. It was most graphic and intense.

There was a great cenotaph made of natural white stone. This was clearly a memorial to Mahatma Gandhi thereby making it a future time-framed dream.

For the human sacrifice, persons would be placed on a bier. This was simply one of three ways that an adherent, of this future manifestation of the Hindu religion, was put to death if they were deemed to have sinned.

They could be stoned to death by the wronged community. Secondly, they could simply be executed by firing squad – clearly this was sometime in the future. Thirdly, before the community by burning alive – immolation, they would publicly perform ritual suicide.

This – the latter – was just such an occurrence. I was right there, up front, witnessing one of these public ritual suicides. This was basically a way for the priesthood to indulge in human sacrifice.

For having been falsely accused for having created karma, in some way or other, it was thus all too easy to have someone put to death. This process of being tried and found guilty was, of course, totally arbitrary. Inevitably mob rule, as influenced by the priesthood, had the ultimate power.

Myself, I was quite appalled to have witnessed such barbaric acts of communal sadism. I was basically seeing what culturally had been done to Mahatma Gandhi – how he had been iconised – because he was most definitely sacrificed.

He was sacrificed, he was made a martyr when assassinated to serve the needs of the priesthood – politicians – who could not suffer the threat that he represented.

*This was a very upsetting and vivid experience and, like most such karmically resonant touchstones, there was no way to get out of it. Basically, one was being shown how this whole thing had evolved. END.

Mahatma Gandhi was now being held as the penultimate icon of this future sect of the Hindu faith. For adherents to violently die was an honour and a coveted way to die.

Since Gandhi had been assassinated, in this future manifestation of Hinduism which seemed also to have been infused with radical, Islamic elements, a violent death by way of suicide was de rigueur.

You could die by way of being sacrificed but, like Mahatma Gandhi, you would be shot. You would be shot, of course, by initiates of the priesthood which was considered quite the honour. It was, as a matter of fact, all terribly gruesome.

In this new religious rite, there was a whole progression to being sacrificed. After one had been executed, by the initiates, one’s violently killed body was then placed on the memorial altar to Mahatma Gandhi.

On the cenotaph, the great martyr’s name was inscribed in large, golden letters. This then was clearly some 200-plus years after the death of Mahatma Gandhi.

An age, indeed, in which a nationalistic Hindu fervour would sweep through India leaving in its wake a new society. It would be a religious culture in which there would be semblances to Adolf Hitler’s 1930s Germany in an India easily ten generations into the future.

This seemed very fanatical a place. There was also much need to keep India thoroughly pure. Moreover, India was become a Hindu state with no tolerance for either Islam or even Sikhism.

What struck me as peculiar, about it all, was the fact that it was definitely Hindu in essence. I would, though, have much sooner associated this degree of zealotry coming from the early dawn of the warrior-spirited Sikh community.

However, there was no mistaking that this was definitely a Hindu cultural experience. Definitely, it was set in India and one which captured the very soul of the community – the present time of 200 years hence.

*Perhaps it all means that I will reincarnate into India, an East Indian, in a future lifetime. Naturally, I have had several past lives in India to date.

As an older soul, I would gladly welcome yet another life in India knowing full well that like all older souls, I would have positively no use, patience or tolerance for religiosity of any kind.

I think that this militant sect of the noble Hindu faith had arisen because with massive population explosion and an increase of Islamic terror within India, there was inevitable pushback which led to this politicised sect of Hinduism. The result would be an India that would be kept a purely Hindu state with, perhaps, Sikhism still present but definitely not Islam within its borders. END.

After the body had been riddled with bullets, they then began pulling it down. The site was up on a plateau where it was presently dark out. This was in a mountainous area and it was cool out.

As it was fast-approaching dawn, it was seen as the auspicious time for the ritual to have taken place. Since the priesthood’s fixation with human sacrifice had grown, on the order of the Spanish Inquisition, the rite in progress was often practiced.

The body was then taken down and cremated. During the cremation process, devotees were encouraged to go up and pull off pieces of the body. They would then prostrate themselves making penance to the god Mahatma – Mahatma Gandhi – to seek his mercy and beneficence.

Before the still glowing remains of the cremating body, they would focus whilst praying to Deva Mahatma. It was also considered more potent, if one showed true devotion, by taking some of the hot coals and energetically rubbing them in the palms.

It was seen as identifying with the ecstatic pain that the Mahatma had endured during his assassination. I think it will be very interesting to see if, in the future, some sect of Hinduism will be this zealous and hold Mahatma Gandhi as its martyred figurehead.

I, for one, think that this would be so many steps backwards. Do we really need to see humanity descending into this sort of nihilistic, diversionary, perpetuation of human suffering?

This group Neptunian – escapist – endeavour disguised as something as noble and high an ideal as spirituality, is not though spirituality. As ever, all things religious are political entities.

There was this one guy there who was supposed to have been, somehow, the reincarnation of Mahatma Gandhi. Or perhaps, he had been chosen as the astrological heir of the great evolved energies which were Mahatma Gandhi’s.

I was, somehow for being there, expected to go and make love with the chosen one – the heir to Mahatma Gandhi’s birthright. So, off I went to fulfill my role.

*Alas, yet again, I serve as lover, confidant, companion, advisor and healer of the spirit. END.

I knew, of course, that this could not have been Merlin in a future lifetime. Since Merlin was alive during Mahatma Gandhi’s life, there is no way that this supposed reincarnated soul of Gandhi’s could have been Merlin.

Nor for that matter, evolved though he was, would I be so preposterous as to suggest that Merlin was Mahatma Gandhi reincarnated. Even if Merlin were born after Mahatma Gandhi’s assassination, which he was not, I still would not ever make such an assumption.

This man was very dark-skinned and young. He turned out to be the most beautiful man imaginable. His were the most wonderful, large eyes imaginable. He definitely had a Pisces rising.

Lying on top of him, we were kissing and making love. We spent a great deal of time in conversation. He was debating whether or not he felt that he could go on. Basically, he was not prepared to willingly accept his chosen position in the sect’s iconography.

He said that he felt quite uncomfortable about it all. I agreed with him and pointed out that it was obviously his karma. Furthermore, there was no way that he could get out of his duty.

We agreed that there did not seem any way for him to escape this fate of his. We had at least been humorous about it all.

Somehow though, in the larger context of things, it seemed likely that he would impact history on the order of Christ. He did feel quite locked into this life. In that sense, he was rather resigned to it – playing his role.

This man’s eyes were the most old-souled portals imaginable. The one feature that he did have was that his eyes actually had light emanating from behind them.

Not only did his eyes have this unusual capacity but, next to his richly-melanined, brownish-black skin, they actually were purple.

They were even more so violet-coloured than Elizabeth Taylor’s. Though hers may be violet, his were a deep royal purple. Well! These were unusually large eyes, too, the whites of which were spectacularly white.

These purple eyes seemed to be glowing from within. To look into those eyes was, quite simply, a cosmic experience of the highest order. Quite simply his eyes were bewitching.

Additionally, all he ever did was look right into you. The eyes were the most important of the sensory organs. For that reason, he did nothing except directly, unflinchingly, gently look into one’s eyes.

This was not like when speaking to a Westerner who looks everywhere but into your eyes. Such persons look at you and direct their transparently bigoted perceptions one’s way.

This man cared nothing about lookism. There was absolutely no Maya to him. He simply represented centredness of being. He was quite simply a soul in residence and nothing else.

There was no personality, no bullshit and, definitely, no ego. He was a mind-altering experience onto himself. Truly a force of the Cosmos was he.

*That was the beauty of this man, unlike the countless gurus of India, he was not a personality. They are all spiritual celebrities.

They are, for the vast majority though not all, nothing more than charlatans rather adept at deception and masquerading as older souls. Of course, these charlatans are keen to take advantage of the Western world’s need to romanticise India. END.

Whilst we spoke, I kept on kissing his mouth, as we made love. Though he was a robust wiry man, he was immensely passive and all-accepting.

I had a soul, I was a soul incarnate, and this was his reason for making love with me. He was dancing with my soul.

This was a most intense and vivid experience. This was simply Zen.

Obviously, I have taken the liberty of using the photo of an historical royal to betray the exquisite beauty of the avatar encountered in this dream. Perhaps, it was merely about astral projecting into a probable future – one in which the effects of population explosion and sectarian tensions would manifest in a militant sects arising. Either way, it was trip and a half being in commune with the purple-eyed one.

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Photo: Bollywood actor, Hrithit Roshan.

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Tantric Transference With Famous Actor (*Adult Content).

23.02.201331.01.2026 Arvin da Brgha1 Comment

Astral-projected, this next dream would prove a most lucidly awakened, lyrical adage. It was a most beautiful drink for the soul.

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The dream was an encounter with a famous person, on whom I was neither especially focussed – in the waking state – nor about whom I was impressed favourably or otherwise.

These dreams simply unfold and I do not pass judgment either on self or the dreams as they progress.

The dream occurred, on Sunday, June 21, 1992, whilst the Moon on the summer solstice transited both Pisces and my tenth house wherein is posited Chiron retrograde. It was a most potent dream – shamanic even.

A house sat on a yard that was very West Indian-looking. It was all dark exposed earth and raw. As though it had lost all its topsoil, the soil was very hard. There were lots of these marvellous tropical trees about.

From the front, the garden and house reminded me much of Esmeralda da Braga’s house in Brown Hill, Nevis. The front garden was filled with an abundant array of cacti most of which were gloriously in bloom.

They were all very tiny plants. As it was such an arid place, the plants could thrive quite beautifully. Since it hardly ever rained here, the cacti garden made more sense. I noticed that there was a hose about the garden.

Then too, I saw that some of the hens-and-chicks cacti were, for lack of water, brown and shrivelling up. I was saddened by the sight. I impulsively ran over to try and take care of them. I knew that they desperately needed the nurturing touch of my caring heart.

The door to the house was opened and afforded one a look inside. There I saw a woman lying in bed asleep with her head closer to the window. I could only make out from the crown of her head to the chest.

In the second room, back from the front of the house, she was asleep. Her head faced to the front of the house. The house itself was set up exactly like Esmeralda da Braga’s house in Brown Hill, Nevis is.

If it were set in Nevis, then I was on the side of the street and house that is closer to the gut which is also where the garden was. That means that when facing the house, I was on the right corner of the house looking through a window. It was a glass-louvred window.

The woman laid there on her back as though she were asleep or, perhaps, even dead. She was quite dark-skinned and wore a floral-printed dress with some dark tones in it. As this person was so dark-complected, I thought that it could not have been Esmeralda da Braga.

I carried on with taking care of the garden. Then after awhile, I came out and went into this wonderful canopied area which was up on a different level on the street. It was part of the property but in a different section.

It was as though the street in Nevis did not exist because obviously it was not set in Nevis, finally. I came into the covered area which appeared to be a house. There I saw a man who was lying on his stomach and seemingly asleep.

His face was down into the pillow thereby only affording me a partial look at this left profile. He was White but he had such pale skin that he seemed a luminescent tone of actual white.

In addition, his skin was excessively wrinkled. Goodness, did this man look ancient? It was as though he were easily several millennia old. Such a wonderful, soft wise-looking face he had.

As I had entered the space there was a number of these large canvas drapes that were drawn up. It was bright out. Incidentally, I had never gotten around to picking up the hose and watering the parched cacti because I had come inside to curiously explore.

As I had stepped up the few stone steps, to enter the canopied pavilion, I had noticed that his eyes were opened – at least the left one was. On hearing my approach, he had closed it and pretended to be asleep.

He laid there wearing a robe that was pastel-coloured with lots of beautiful floral designs in it. Beneath the beautiful robe, he wore a pair of pyjamas. Whilst I was there in the room, looking about, he affected a disoriented awakening.

All that I could think of was that on awakening, like most men, he would probably be aroused. Indeed, he was aroused and seemed not very well-hung. Nonetheless, I thought that it would be interesting to get it on with a millennia-old individual.

He went off to go pee but when he got from the bed and began walking he resuscitated and started getting younger and younger with each deep laborious breath. It was, as a matter of fact, quite yogic.

In time, the millennia-old metamorphosed man proved to be the actor Kyng Soale. Noticing me, he smiled a genuinely friendly, ruggedly handsome closed-lipped smile. It was a warm greeting.

Instantaneously, the dream became very awakened.

He took a few steps then looked after himself at me and smiled again. This time his teeth did validate that it was, indeed, the actor Kyng Soale. He was possessed of the most striking eyes – very magnetic.

This dream experience was very real – an astral plane experience, it definitely was. I was amazed that he proved to be such an old soul. Off he went, through the space, to take a pee. He went through these drapes that were very Oriental in style.

There was lots of gold threading and deep crimson reds. It seemed to be either in Indonesia, Bali more specifically, or elsewhere. Very lush and tropical a place this proved.

On the outside chance, it might well have been set on a private island in the Philippines. Definitely, it did not feel as if set in Tahiti, Fiji or Réunion.

As he went off to pee, I got up from the comfortable, cushioned, dark rattan armchair into which I had earlier slumped. I had sat there to look at him sleep. It was a raised house, on stone stilts, much as in the Caribbean. In addition, it did have a veranda.

On closer inspection, the architectural style was unmistakably Balinese. The windows here, all wooden, opened out from the bottom. This was a very richly detail-specific dream.

*On awakening, I am inclined to think that perhaps Kyng Soale is presently vacationing on some secluded Balinese estate recharging his batteries. END.

This was, I must convey, a very intense dream experience. There were aspects of his energetics that rather reminded me of Carl Leroiderien’s who, of course, is a mature king soul.

That ruggedness that transcends their handsomeness which reflects aspects of the true mettle of their soul type – that of being a king soul. This was also a very definite and real experience. There was astral projection involved in us having encountered each other.

As he entered the room, to go pee in the lavatory, I began walking very slowly and felinely towards him. We never did utter a single word towards each other.

I walked up on him and inspected him as he peed. He held his erection upwards, in the air, after he had finished peeing. He was foreskinned and it was not especially thick a cock but it did have a handsomely large, though not excessively so, head.

I came around to him and held his hand. At that I turned him around. We looked into each other’s eyes very soulfully, long and hard. This was the greatest intimacy imaginable. We slowly danced soul-to-soul, at which point, he smiled and was clearly pleasured.

I then opened the robe, drawing open the string of his pyjamas letting them drop a bit. Holding his cock in my hand, I slowly stooped whilst throughout maintaining seductive eye contact.

Looking at it, his cock was now very red. At that I drew back the foreskin, after he had surrendered it to my hands, and began very slowly to go down on him returning my fixed gaze into his soulful eyes.

Now his cock had looked very different to when I had seen it, from afar, initially. At the feel of my warm mouth pleasurably caressing him, he let out a long satiated groan. The taste of him was very real.

I could taste the precum, mixed with the last drops of his loud-smelling pee, in my ravenously hungry mouth. He encouragingly began grinding his hips letting me pleasure him. His lids closed shut on losing himself to my sensual touch.

When staying himself, he then began running his fingers through my hair which was out and not gathered in a bun as per usual. Slowly, very intensely, his strong warrior-like hands began massaging my scalp. It proved to be the most energising experience.

It was as though he were realigning my chakras’ vibrations. Indeed, it was very occult – magus – what he was doing whilst I serviced him.

*Of course, this is such a dead giveaway of what this man and I were doing. It was not about sex anymore than it was about energy transference. He was a king soul and part of the function, of his role in essence, is to heal and fortify the spirit of other and all souls.

He knew innately that I was attuned and aware of his role in essence. I was not some stalking fan who was homoerotically obsessed with him. Truth be told, I have never before been auto-erotically focussed on this man in the waking state.

What we were doing was spiritual work – sex was merely a way of best facilitating that work. For both of us being in the roles to each other, he was fulfilled and so was I.

There was nothing homoeroticised about the encounter. It was tantric sex which is all about being spiritually focussed and engaging in energy transference. END.

“Oh god, yes man…” the actor groaned from time to time.

I, on the other hand, was deliberately soulful about what I was doing for him. It was not mere cocksucking that I engaged in.

It was as though I used his phallus, to give his entire body and energetics a cleansing massage, much the way that one can affect the same thing in reflexology by way of the feet.

Soon, I had to get up or at least chose to do so because there was a darker-complected-than-not Oriental woman about the house. She had been approaching us.

Kyng Soale said softly in the most soulfully sonorous voice,

“Come on, let’s go inside.”

Returning indoors from the back veranda, which was canopied and private, we took to the bed where earlier he had been lying. The bed was close to the window which is how I had initially seen his face, when it was in its natural soul state, which reincarnationally reflected his maturation.

Casually, he dropped all his clothing on the floor and got into bed on his back. When he settled into the comfortable bed, he drew his legs up giving me a good look at his exposed arse and anus.

The skin around the anus was very plush, swollen and relaxed, suggesting that he loved being anally serviced. In fact, he laid there in a very passive pose with his face the most relaxed one can imagine of anyone whilst making love.

He had reddish pubic hair. On raising the brows and smiling at me, he extended his hard-bodied hand to me. It was more a command than invitation.

I climbed into bed and immediately, on lying in amongst his open arms, it was like when being intimately entangled with Olaf Nordstrom. This man similarly proved to be possessed of the most exquisitely pronounced feminine principle. Very sublime, slow and soulful was his vibration.

Whilst looking intently into each other’s eyes, we began kneadingly rubbing our achingly hard cocks slowly against each other’s when frottaging. This was the first time that I had really been so close to his eyes and they were the most intensely blue with a submerged veneer of greens.

Quite magnetic eyes, too, they were.

Immediately, I thought to myself that he was a king soul. Very incredibly intense was the fusion between us. Even if I wanted to, there was no way that I could awaken from this dream. He vibrationally held me in his presence.

This was not the usual dream experience wherein for getting too physicalised one prematurely awakened. He had command of the situation and I was his and for as long as he desired.

As it progressed, the whole experience was navigated by his formidable will. We began smiling at each other. He then drew my head down and began fucking my mouth with his rough, intensely masculine tongue.

Again, those hands began giving me that deep scalp massage that was, more than not, all about energy work. This was very much so alive and awakened.

*Interestingly, I have never paid this actor’s looks or career a passing curiosity. As a matter of fact, the only time that I have seen his work is when Merlin and I went off to see an actress that he liked who appeared in film with him. At the time, in the first place, it is something that Merlin wanted to do.

Here in the dream, when he had transformed to being youthful, he was a man in his mid-forties which he is not – I don’t think, in the waking state. I think this is suggesting that he may, in fact, be a king soul and one who is mid to late mature-souled.

Very intense and forceful yet passive, when needed, was he. He was also on the verge of being silver-haired.

Whilst he peed I had been hypnotised by the sound of his piss hitting the hardened earth, outside the veranda’s window, through which he had been peeing. END.

As we were writhing and I had penetrated him, there was a noticeable barometric shift whilst I hammered away at him. As though one were in the midst of monsoon season just after a massive deluge, there was now a heavy humidity in the air.

Whilst we were carnally lost in each other, the Oriental woman had also returned to the house. She had been calling and looking for him. In one forceful move he got to his feet taking me with him.

Here too, he was considerably taller than in the waking state he appears to be. Very martial-bodied, Wotanesque almost was he. It was as though this mesomorphic, astrally projected body of his was born to wear metallic armour and do battle.

A fierce protector, rather than conqueror, he was. As I had prematurely slipped from his exquisitely plush anus, there was a sudden energetic surge.

He had pronounced sensory capabilities in the every nerve of his anus. It would seem that it was so plush because part of the energetic work that he did was all about playing cosmic mother/nurturer/healer, by way of his anus, to transmute the energies of multitudes.

This is why he seemed so much a king soul. It was as though myself, and countless others, astral-projected to have an audience with him in which he did serious energy work. Very shamanic indeed was this man and this encounter.

Taking me by the hand, he rushed in through the large compound by another exit into a pavilion. Here he now wore this incredibly wonderful, elaborate, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful ceremonial robe.

It was very much so in the Oriental style and it looked millennia old. The robe that he wore was worked with lots of gold threading. Greens and yellows – very bright and uplifting colours covered the fabric.

Here he was walking in this very large, exposed-beamed wooden hall which was a couple of storeys high to the ceiling. He was quite simply regal in the true sense of the word because this was only something that one could experience from the level of soul itself. It could never be affected.

I, for one, was very upset. Not at the interruption of our lovemaking, rather, the woman was truly livid with us. She was as if some dragon lady who was truly out to consume us with her fiery fury.

She had shot an arrow from a gold-leafed bow which was held horizontally and shot as if a handgun. When she shot at us, he affected this stature that instantaneously had him become puffed up into true archetypal warrior stature.

It was nicely affected by the robe’s draping but it was clearly animated by more than the mere fabric. The robe began to billow now with his, yet again, transformed stature.

He had also grown taller and was now close to just less than seven feet tall. The arrow became stuck in the robe but it was clear that he had never once been injured by it.

After that, we took flight from the hall. Hurriedly, we parted with me saying a grateful goodbye.

We paused to knowingly look at each other with eyes directly focussed on each other’s soul. We warmly smiled. A very intense and vivid experience this proved.

I knew that he knew that upon awakening, in that look, I would remember the dream experience which was no mere dream. At that, I took my leave of him by going through a door to my rear.

*I awoke from this and immediately went into the pyramid, where I recorded the dreams on audio-cassette, whilst allowing my energetics to become fully harmonised for having just had the astral plane encounter with Kyng Soale.

This man is clearly a king soul; I would be very surprised if he were not. Furthermore, as I regard sex as the height of human spirituality, dream sex is always about energy work and high shamanism.

This was not exactly some random stomp through a bathhouse on the astral plane which, of course, can be terribly intense and engrossing. This is because most such persons encountered during such astral plane sexual rendez-vous tend to be persons who had recently passed of AIDS.

It has been my experience that such persons are just hell-bent on getting some action. After having been caught wasting away for long months of AIDS, this tends to be the case.

After having recorded the dreams, I grabbed my crystals. Rather than lube up and indulge in auto-eroticism, I then laid back and meditated for about an hour with beeswax candle and incense going.

Thankfully, the phone was turned off. Who needs people and their waking state solipsism after such phenomenal astral plane sojourns? END.

**For obvious reasons, the actor’s name was changed to protect his identity. I do not know this actor. Furthermore, I have no idea whether this individual, beyond their public persona, has a same-sexed focus to their physical relations; therefore, it is best to protect that individual’s identity by simply changing his name to that of ‘Kyng Soale’ – this is clearly a way of referring to him as being a King Soul vis-à-vis the Michael Teachings as he definitely was experienced in this dream. Too, the dream occurred on the summer solstice and it is not the first time that I have encountered a king soul on the astral plane on the summer solstice. END.

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Photo: Kimono.

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Merlin Shapeshifts.

22.02.201331.01.2026 Arvin da BrghaLeave a comment

So here then a most jarring dream had, on Thursday, January 11, 1990. This truly disturbing dream occurred whilst the Moon transited both my second house and Cancer. Of the ones lived that day, it was the fourth dream recalled.

This dream was had less than two months after Merlin’s passing of AIDS and to have found him in a dream, rather unexpectedly, the revivification of life, health and boisterousness was stunningly jarring an experience. Certainly, when last I had seen him he was within either side of 70lbs.

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I would then be moving on as if going along the main road of The Alley, Sandy Point, St. Kitts. There were some persons who were coming out of a large house that was much like Lara Wellesley’s. However, it was white… it was an off-white, whitewashed, large stone house.

Everyone coming out of there was talking and laughing. They were getting ready to go to a church somewhere. They were piling into a minivan that was also white.

I had gone past them. When coming back from Mount Idle, on the east side of the road by the old bank of the ground floor of Eustace Milne’s childhood home, from behind the minivan coming around between it and the bank building was Merlin.

He was wearing his light blue bandana – bought for him by Noëll, when he was in the hospital towards the end of his life. He wore very ordinary clothing like he always did. It was Merlin and he was very healthy.

He saw me at the same time that I saw him.

I was stunned. I stood there catatonic. I did not know what to do, and I thought,

‘What are you doing here?’

I was so happy to see him. I hadn’t dreamt of him in so long. I simply froze in my tracks. I just couldn’t bring myself to talk… I just did not know what to say.

I wanted to scream my way out of being paralysed. There was Merlin the embodiment of renewed vitality, I just couldn’t get over the fact.

He saw me and was momentarily surprised but instinctively he neurotically went into action. Merlin simply began energetically walking and went up these stairs.

I bolted after him after getting over the added shock of his response. I was surprised to see him in Sandy Point, St. Kitts. I was so surprised to see him up and about.

I got up onto this landing after having lost sight of him. When I got there, on my immediate left was a Chinese woman. She was just on the cusp of her twenties.

She was wearing what Merlin had been wearing except that she had no pants on. It was now a dress and the colour of the bandana… she no longer wore the bandana.

I felt so betrayed by this development. Merlin had camouflaged himself, by shapeshifting, to become a woman. He had shapeshifted becoming another race and another sex.

Merlin knew that I wouldn’t be able to relate to him thus. Transformed, he wasn’t the Merlin with whom I was excited to interact.

Thus he became female, a counterpart of his totality, to create the distance between him and the Arvin that he had known. I did not even look at her/him overlong.

The woman who was in charge of everything, organising the church outing, was not unlike Pannonica Kertész. I said to her, “I came to get Merlin… to get his things, his bandana…”

“Well you can’t. You can’t see him. You have to make a deposit and then you wouldn’t be able to see him until giving the ring deposit back.” or something to that effect.

She had replied very matter-of-factly. It was as though there had been a pact and somebody had reneged or something to that effect. I found it most upsetting.

I was completely flabbergasted.

*Of course, Merlin chose to shapeshift in this dream because he wanted to have some distance between the raw emotionalism of the attachments associated with his just completed life. I thought it interesting that though he had never travelled to the Caribbean of my upbringing, one of the earliest dreams of him on becoming an astral planet habitué found him there and of all places in Sandy Point, St. Kitts – a place he much wanted to visit. END.

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Photo: Chinese model in A-line dress.

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Dreams are the poetic expression of the soul.

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