When Things Don’t Go to Plan.

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Just another hotel that looks onto Bloomsbury’s Russell Square. 

Monday morning, November 12, 2018 rolled around with me being a bit on the antsy side.  Just a couple of days before leaving on the trip, I received an email notice that a talk and drinks scheduled for that evening at Spencer House had been cancelled.  That being the case, I emailed, called and prevailed on each day Ronnie Scott’s Jazz club in Soho to try and get my reserved seat for the Tuesday evening show, moved up to Monday evening instead. 

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Finally, the night before, I got a human rather than no voicemail or no email replies from Ronnie Scott’s.  Incredibly, the rep did not know the number for box office and let me know that the Monday show was booked and I could not change my itinerary.  Trying to reason with her proved a nonstarter.  If I could be missing for my reservation on Tuesday, so too could someone booked on Monday be missing which means that I could at the very least stand in the back of the club and sip on a drip.  Nothing doing.  Monday came and passed and not box office nor anyone ever once answered the phone.  

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One of my favourite journeys when in London is to get to Piccadilly Circus and head towards Burlington House.  There, one is always going to be wowed by great art – this trip certainly delivered,  

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This, without doubt, is the show that I came to London highly anticipating.  What I had not anticipated was the sheer scope of the exhibition.   Certainly, it was a welcome change after paying to move through the Klimt / Schiele exhibition.  One thing that struck me, which always occurs regardless which museum or which continent, whenever there is an exhibition of non-white art alongside another of white art, the latter is patronised by a ratio of three to one,  

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Franz Hauer 1914  Egon Schiele

To be sure, the space for the Klimt / Schiele was much smaller than the ten salons for the Oceania exhibition – the same salons in fact which were used for last winter’s, Charles I: King and Collector.  Indeed, there is a certain appeal about being able to view art this up close and intimately.  Nonetheless, the crowd here was predominantly older – the diapered set and they of course can be expected to have little relish for adventuring beyond that which is deemed art or superior.  

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Nude Self-Portrait 1916 Egon Schiele. 

Naturally, not having read up on the exhibition prior to arriving in London, I had assumed that it would be paintings of both artists in the exhibition.  As it turned out, my weak vision could not fully appreciate these drawings and the cramped quarters was no good for my usual wariness of crowds.  

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Female Bust,1916 Gustav Klimt.  

Thoroughly underwhelmed more than not, I made my way in search of the Oceania exhibition.  Imagine having made that treacherous trek all the way up those potentially slippery metallic stairs, only to have been left none-too-inspired.  Oh well, too many old fossils in too tight a space pour moi-meme.  

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Straight away, I was soothed, uplifted and engrossed by the fecund richness of the blue-interiored salons.  Where months prior were hung van Dycks, Rubens and a most memorable Tintoretto, now into these large magical ten salons, I slipped lucidly awakened with wonder.  

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Here, in this marvellous exhibition, the worlds of dreams and spirit were fully realised.  I was in awe, inspired and fully engaged for moving through, as though in a lucid dream, salon after salon of this mammoth, breathtakingly beautiful exhibition.  

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Papuan soul canoe.

Steeped in animism and ancestor-worship, these beautiful cultures of the South Pacific (Oceania) speak to me.  Naturally, much of this is due to strong resonance, owing to past-live memories.    

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What I found rather interesting about this exhibition, is how locals reacted to the art and artefacts on display.  They were actually deferential, which is worlds removed from the usual open ridicule and vile remarks made by persons when touring the Barbara and Murray Frum African Art Collection at Toronto’s AGO (Art Gallery of Ontario).  Indeed, days later, I would be reminded of how archly racist Canadians currently are and with a smugness that defies reason.  

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This exhibition is handsomely curated and the show was staged with the greatest sensitivity and respect for the cultures represented.  Rather refreshing an approach.  

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Marvellous.  Powerful and so like the totemic masks of West African cultures.  

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I especially loved this sculpture and found it vibrationally rather powerful.  

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Sublime.  

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My attempts at capturing this marvellous piece proved frustrating as a German couple who were close by were slow to move along; my impatience is of course legendary.  

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Beautiful textiles featured in the exhibition,  

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Positively love this Papuan mask.  

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Star map for navigating the seas of Oceania’s cultures.  

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August.  Regal.  There is something deeply astral about the cultures of Oceania; these are cultures which are firmly grounded in the worlds of dreams and spirit… indeed.  

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Wow!  This is what I came hunting for; I was most definitely greatly inspired.  What past-life dreams are yet to be triggered by this lucidly awakened journey through Oceania and my own reincarnational past.  

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Hands down, this was my favourite piece in the exhibition; it seemed like some interdimensional craft for travelling between distant worlds and galaxies as is only now possible in dreams.  The lines are so amazingly elegant and masterfully executed.  Phenomenal.  

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What a wonderfully uplifting exhibition!  Bravo!  

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The view on exiting the Royal Academy’s Burlington House.  

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Just look at the view across Piccadilly from the Royal Academy…  Fortnum & Mason.  Well, off we go for some retail therapy; on crossing the street, I delightfully hummed the most memorable melody from La Bayadère.  

Oh look, way below that famous Fortnum & Mason blue beckons.  For now though, I made another feverish perusal of my email.  There is nothing from Ronnie Scott’s and the hotel has emailed to say that they have not received word from them nor have they called back.  

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A gourmand’s wet dream.  

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Art whilst shopping… truly civilised.  

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A trip to the basement and my favourite Jamaican clerk was not on duty.  I did though meet a lovely, lively West African who much reminded me of the spirited gardener in the dreams of July 9, 1993, which proved one of the most beautiful yet of this incarnation wherein I travelled and had the most lucid astral plane dream encounter with Merlin in the afterlife – it will appear in the sixth and final volume of my dream memoirs of Merlin and me, Merlin and Arvin: A Shamanic Dream Odyssey, which will prove human civilisation’s first dream memoirs when fully published.  20181112_124934

Thanks to the West African clerk and how beautifully she spoke of Canada’s Weston family, who own Fortnum & Mason, I was sold.  To hell with dropping money at Ronnie Scott’s when they could not be bothered to accommodate me.  With that, I had a couple of signed copies of Tom Parker-Bowles’ recently published cookbook, Fortnum & Mason Christmas.  For good measure, it is always good to have wonderful fragrances.  

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On getting outside, whilst prowling Piccadilly in search of the Herrick Gallery in Mayfair where a Nevisian artist was having an exhibition, the skies opened up and delivered a monsoon deluge, which readily reminded that this truly was the age of climate change.  The Herrick Gallery was a beautiful affair; however, I had arrived a day early so there was nothing to see as large canvases were being unwrapped and hung.  Getting into Green Park Station, I ducked in to use the toilet and was reminded of 28 years earlier, when you didn’t then have to pay to use the facilities.  That day, in the heat that was London in July, an old, homeless black woman sat on one of the toilets in a stall, which like all the others had no door affording privacy.  She seemed utterly otherworldly and just as removed.  Certainly, she was impervious to the bacchanalia afoot; a tall East African with the most massive cock to that point seen, was actually charging various denominations based on what the throng of near-ululating size queens were prepared to do to that unrivalled wunder schmekelof his.

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Onward, the journey continued.  The next stop was Westminster Station where my main focus was touring the exquisite architectural gem that is the Lady Chapel at Westminster Abbey.  Built by King Henry VII as Lady Chapel and deemed as the ode to the Virgin Mother, I rather suspect though that the Lady in question is his mother, Margaret Beaufort.  Hers is the only effigy that is not marble but distinctive bronze. 

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(Though photography is not permitted, I managed rather skilfully to have captured a shot of Lady Margaret Beaufort’s bronze-effigied tomb whilst in the spectacular Lady Chapel at Westminster Abbey)

Of course, that soul is now incarnate and though the most reviled black woman on the planet at present, I have every conviction that Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex will just as nobly distinguish herself as when a key figure during the War of the Roses, mother of King Henry VII, grandmother of King Henry VIII after whose coronation she died days later, and great-grandmother of Queen Elizabeth I.  She who founded Christ’s College and St. John’s College at Cambridge University and for whom Oxford University’s first college to admit women, Lady Margaret Hall is named.  Indeed, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex has been a feminist for some time.  

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A lone shot of Westminster Abbey from the quire, looking to the altar before being approached by security and asked to cease doing so.  Before departing I took the time to pause at the three wreaths in the stalls of Lady Chapel, which is the spiritual home of the Order of Bath.  In recent months, three knights of the order had passed.  

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The view from the Cloisters from Westminster Abbey, to the courtyard fountain and the grandeur of Palace of Westminster’s Victoria Tower to the rear.  It was also a chance to wait out the downpours.  

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Excitedly the dash back from Westminster Abbey to Westminster Station on the Circle Line was one filled with giggles as I tried to avoid being dowsed by puddles as traffic sped past.  Next stop, Mansion House which eventually led to a break in the rains as I emerged from the Underground.  

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Look at that, the monsoon had eased up and there was even sunlight trammelling the dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral.  Always, it is good to mount the steps to this grand shrine.  

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As it is the season of Remembrance, it was time to pause and pay homage at the tomb of Vice-Admiral Horatio Nelson whom both Merlin and I knew in our past lives in London when musicians at court during the reign of HM King George III and the Regency of HM King George IV.  

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The Earl Jellicoe. Admiral of the Fleet.  Love that there are actual poppies on his tomb.  

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Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington.

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One of the sights whilst ambling after yet another tour of St. Paul’s Cathedral.  

With that, it was back on the Underground and a return to Bloomsbury, where dinner and dream-filled sleep awaited.  

As ever, dream as though every moment is a dream memory of a past life (this one) for you in a future incarnation.  See it, experience it fully – without bias – appreciate it and be richly inspired by it.  Again, I can never say enough how deeply appreciative I am for your ongoing support.  

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©2013-2025 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.  

Into the Blue.

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There are dreams that transcend the merely mundane and, as such, they properly throw into perspective what is and what is not important.  In the long run, this dream makes all the Maya in the waking state but a silly distraction.

In the larger scheme of things, all the things that we become focussed on overlong are truly irrelevant.  What we don’t see and what is not readily discernible are infinitely more important than not.

This dream of intense astral plane focus occurred on Saturday, August 10, 1991.  At the time of the dream, which was the third and final one that day, the Moon transited both Leo and my third house.

Dreams such as this one definitely are a departure from the norm.  They do betray the very real fact that there is more beyond the veil than we are prepared to acknowledge.  

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I was, in this the third and final dream, in the lobby of a wonderful modern skyscraper.  It was not especially large a skyscraper.  In fact, it reminded me a great deal of that skyscraper at the south-eastern corner of Queen and Yonge Streets.

The copper-toned, glass tower that’s thirty storeys, if that much, is the one in question.  I was in the lobby waiting for the elevator.  Some persons had gotten onto the elevator but I was still waiting.

There was then some sort of an emergency and the police showed up, as did the Fire department and the Ambulance service.  Whilst these professionals tried to figure out where the problem was, this then meant that we had to be waiting around.

Somewhere in the building, there was something untoward going down.  We, the innocent bystanders, were briefed and told that we couldn’t leave the building.  There were lots of people gathering outside.

Assuming that it was just a regular fire alarm, set off as a prank, we also saw no reason to go out of the building.  However, I then realised that the fire alarm system was not going off.

It was quite interesting because people began running.  There was something wrong, so I assumed that there was someone on a rampage with a gun in the building.

Immediately, getting my wits about me, I decided that I had to take care of myself.  Whilst investigating, I began moving around the place.  Too, I noticed that people were being zapped, it was most bizarre.  I witnessed two or three people who for no particular reason were just zapped.

Basically, there would be a flash of blue light from an elevator.  The elevator door would open, filled with a bright light, whilst from the lighted elevator the blue light would shoot out.  It was laser-like and readily zapped persons in the vicinity.

Immediately, people grew fearful on seeing this.  Right away, there was pandemonium in the place.  I was with the crowd of people and knew that it was not wise to follow the herd.  With that, I went around the central column that housed the skyscraper’s elevator shafts.

In this way, I fled seeking to protect myself.  I had noticed that the people were being zapped by way of the security system.  The oscillating, silver security cameras, which were up in the corners of the building, had a wide firing range as they turned.

In fact, it was not a blue light that was flashing; instead, it was done by microwave.  So you couldn’t see this.  Nonetheless, I was told this by James Tramble’s trusty voice.

It was, just then, pointing down at the ground in my direction.  I decided that I knew what I had to do.  At that, I levitated and went up to the ceiling of the lobby.

Knowing that the cameras did not tilt upwards, they would therefore not be able to direct their deadly microwave beams at me.  However, someone came around the way.

He was part of the whole operation of indiscriminately killing innocent human beings.  I did not even need James’s guidance here; you just knew that he wasn’t human – he was extra-human.

He wore a red shirt.  The man just looked like an automaton.  There was something about him that was not with-it.  He may even have been White, however, their humanity was all disguise.

Regardless the race, he was not one of us.  In spite of human racialism, in a jam like this, we were all frigging one – human.  This droid clearly was not, human, one of us.

His task was to capture persons who could possibly get away, that is, from the reach of the microwave emitters.  He was to facilitate the success of the whole operation.

I levitated above him but he saw me.  He stood there for a moment, as if doing some serious computations, after which he made a gesture.  He was alone but I soon realised that these people had the capacity to hypnotise their subjects by looking at them.

I thought then that I was not going to be captured or annihilated by these people one bit.  At that, on effortlessly going up through the ceiling, I began to flee from the scene by further levitating.

Sure enough, without incident, I was able to penetrate the ceiling.  Next, the building’s hidden infrastructure of pipes, beams and cabling, dropped by as I cleared the floor en route to the next storeys.

Without incident, I rose upwards clearing the floor.  On looking down at my feet, I continued levitating until my feet were fully free of the stone floor.

I was now on a narrow stairwell.  As the building craned upwards, it was a staircase that had a single banister that kept going around and around.

There were little landings, all the way up, as you circled upwards with three landings between each floor.  It was quite beautiful, in fact.  I was frantically running up and saw that he was coming after me.

On seeing him enter the stairwell, I was certain that he was following me.  In my bid to outdistance him, I was about four storeys ahead of him.

I thought that no matter what, I had to get to the top of this building.  Luckily, it was not 60 to 80 storeys tall.  Somehow, I would just have to escape.

Yet every time I would go around a corner, I had stopped on realising that it was more than likely a form of entrapment.  It was fairly obvious that the security system was headquartered at the top of the building.

Thus it made little sense to be rushing up there.  Something was definitely off about his approach.  I soon realised that you couldn’t really see him running around the stairwell.

He was always in the same spot on the landing.  As I ran around like some mad hamster on a treadmill, he was now one floor below me.

It was then that I realised that just as I had earlier come through the ceiling from the lobby, to the next storey above, so too was the automaton levitating and penetrating the structure of the stairwell.

He was confident in his hunt to capture me.  Clearly, I was not getting anywhere with this approach.  Victory was clearly his.  As I had, the lobby and second storey, he was smartly moving between the landings.

Instead, he levitated upstairs by passing through the concrete of the stairwell.  Had he levitated in the open well of the stairwell, I would have seen him and caught on to what he was up to.

No heap of metal him.  I thought,

‘Enough of this fear-based irrational behaviour, I am simply going to leap out a window and make this a flying dream.’

This seemed like a sure way of ridding myself of this nuisance.  I got to the window and, when looking out, I was surprised at how high up I actually was.

You could see a body of water which was unusually blue.  As though a dense fog that strangely hung very low to the ground, there was a great deal of cloud cover.

I was certainly high up enough to be above much of this cloud cover.  However, when I went to leap out the window, he went out the window wearing his red top.

Such that he was looking directly up at me, he was on his back and floated out the window.  I thought,

‘Well good for you, now you’ve gone and levitated.’

This was clearly a trap, as well, because I ran up one floor and as I did went south.  I was running to another window to get away from him.

I knew that if I were to have leapt from the window before, he would have been there to either zap me or catch my fall.  I had planned to simply jump directly down to the ground.

Since it was a dream and I knew that I was dreaming, I would simply have broken my fall at will when a couple of storeys off the ground.  At that point, I could then turn it into a flying dream.

However, now the automaton dork made me have to abandon that little plan of escape.  So then I thought of what I would do, I would simply go through the window anyway.  Then it dawned on me,

‘What if he is simply one of an army of these automatons who look alike?  My god he could be everywhere.’

Rushing up to the next floor, as I looked out the window, I saw that he had floated up at will to the floor that I had just left.  I knew then, without a doubt, that it was a damn trap.

I was becoming more than a little bit pissed off.  I had no intentions of being entrapped or captured.  My resolve was steely, I would not be captured.  Period!

Since the other one had gone out the window and I hadn’t seen where he had gone, I thought that I just had to take my chances.  At that, I pushed off and went flying through the window.

I instantaneously began having the most wonderful flying dream.  It was so bright out that it seemed like the sunlight was streaked with platinum.

I was progressing towards the body of water as I flew, as if on my stomach, travelling headfirst.  I could see that there was an unusual cloud formation covering the water.

It wasn’t much but there was a great halo.  There was a fine light-intense mist that the cloud had been producing.  It was as if, somehow, there had been a storm that had brought the clouds sweeping down to the water.

Now, as it were, the clouds were beginning to gather.  This was definitely an astral plane dream.  Emitting a light all their own, the clouds were very thin but very, very white and seemingly iridescent.

The clouds caught the light in such a way that it caused them to glimmer tendrils of light away from the amassing clouds.  The clouds were slowly drawing together into a singular, massive formation.

They were hiding something and I couldn’t see what it was.  As I was travelling, I noticed that there were these little globes of blue light.  They were very, very intense spheres of blue light.

Around them, they had rings like Saturn does.  I thought then,

‘Obviously these are extra-humans (EHs), and this armada of little shuttle-like crafts of blue light must be how they were ferrying, the previously captured, persons back to the mothership or probe.’

At that, I decided,

‘This is too interesting a dream to be fearful any longer.  Let’s get investigative here.’

At that point, I decided to follow through and see where these little crafts were headed.  Of course, they were making for the strange, massive cloud formation.  I knew that I had to fly ahead and see what the cloud formation was hiding.

I began following one and it was definitely gravitating towards something up ahead.  On closer inspection, I realised too that they were much too small to hold any human being.

Why they wanted to be ferrying back foetuses was beyond me?  Surely, I was not carrying a foetus.  Therefore, they had to have not been ferrying back foetuses in the tiny crafts of spherical, ringed blue light.

As if the equator of the sphere was tilted on its axis at a slight angle, the wings were tilted just a little bit above the horizon.  I followed the sphere of blue light and I seemed to be caught in its drag.

I was being swept along at even greater speeds than, to that point, I had been willing myself in flight.  It was then that we cleared the land way below and began cruising, at great speeds, over the immensely blue water.

On flying above it at easily more than forty storeys, it was so thrilling to experience resonance with the body of water.  I began dropping back, not going very fast, keeping my distance behind the sphere on which I had focussed.

However, I was still being swept along in its rapid wake.  As we came closer, I realised that the cloud was so colossal that it was taller than the skyscraper that I had just been running through in terrorised flight.

As I got closer to it, I noticed that it was less so a cloud.  Too, I was able to discern that there was some force within the cloud that was also extremely bright and emitting light.

Getting closer still, I realised that the spheres of blue light were actually reflecting the starlight of whatever Star system I was in.  It was broad daylight but this immense cloud formation blocked it from my view.

The Sun was directly ahead, just above the horizon, and beyond the cloud mass.  The numerous spheres of reflecting blue light were moving back to this large cloud formation.

When they got close to the cloud, they began going towards it at an angle.  They then began circling, too, they began rising up in the air a bit.

So too, I began tilting my left shoulder and began going up to the right through the air.  Still, I was travelling in the wake of the one that I had psychically latched on to – earlier near the start of my flight.

Next, I got into the outer layers of the cloud formation and it was very thin and wafer-like.  This allowed me to progress unobstructed.  I got much higher still and then noticed that up higher there was a break in the clouds.

The look was reminiscent of when one got close to the eye of a hurricane that was forming.  Going up, I encountered the most mind-expansive vista imaginable.

There in the water and simultaneously hovering just above it was the most intensely bright and incredibly large, pure blue sphere.  It was perfectly shaped and it was like a globe of liquid light that was blue merging to a soft green.

It was so light-intense.  This incredible globe of light was such a powerhouse, such a life-force onto itself.  Slowly, I spilled over the edge of the protective cloud cover and began levitating downwards towards it.

Every dream of high moment that I had ever had, clearly, had prepared me for experiencing this sphere’s incredible pure love.  I progressed headfirst downwards and into the side of it.

Interestingly, the spherical balls of light were making their way into it.  I realised that it was not at all a hard shell.  It seemed expansive, liquid… inviting.

I thought that I could definitely dive into its liquid-light shell.  Goodness, it was so serenely tranquil and beautiful.  I sobered myself with the reminder that I had come too far and there was nothing but fear itself to fear.

So at that, I chose a region of the equatorial area and projected myself at will into it.  I immediately was jettisoned, at light speeds, into it.  At once, inside the thin liquid shell, there was an even greater sense here of bright blue light.

I was now posited inside this room.  Here there were several of the persons whom I had earlier seen being zapped in the lobby.

‘You just had to go walking into a trap!’ I wearily admonished myself.

For seeing these persons present, however, I felt no pangs of fear at the obvious ramifications.  These were mostly older people but earlier they had all been stunned in the lobby.

A handful of younger persons were also present.  They were all there looking rather disoriented, slowed down and looking like they had just been zapped by lightning.

They seemed as if the experience had sent them on a wild ride around a half dozen galaxies at faster-than-light speeds.  A truly enervating experience they seemed to have endured.

These people were, in the true sense of the word, spooked.  They were all slowed down and could hardly intelligibly speak.

The first thing that I noticed about the room was that it had grey walls and not a single door.  There was no way out of this.

There were windows, however, whose drapes were very surrealist.  They were red drapes that were like the red that the automaton wore.  Though the windows were open, they weren’t really worth the bother because there wasn’t anything for you to go look out and see.

With bars that were warped, twisted and broken, the windows were arrogantly left wide-open.  The drapes were also warped and twisted, as if frozen in mid-motion, creating a surreal effect.

There were a few cots around.  Everybody who was there was assigned to a cot.  These persons seemed impaled and as though paralysed.  There were such utterly warped expressions of frozen pain on their faces.

It was as though the moment at which they had each been zapped, the look on their faces had become frozen.  Yet their frozen expressions were simultaneously elasticised and allowed them to sleepily drool to themselves.

Naturally, they carped on about the plight that they were in.  Mostly, they were communicatively trying to get through to me because I was not warped face.

It obviously seemed to be a mothership.  Yet, it was more than a spaceship.  I thought to myself,

‘Well here I am having an astral plane experience, isn’t that wonderful.’

Hollywood be damned, I was not about to grow fearful of monster EHs wanting to abduct and torture me.  I couldn’t quite figure if I had travelled into another dimension, by way of the astral plane, or had simply encountered an EH civilisation by way of the astral plane.

Regardless, it was so very wonderful.  Here were all these people who were doubly stunned at their predicament but I kept on saying,

“Come on people.  Get up, get up, get up!”

I seemed the only person unaffected by this warping paralysis.  Since they were not going to budge, because they couldn’t, I chose to join them eventually lying down on one of the free cots.

“Let’s just relax.  After all, we just have to wait and see what happens next.  We’re not in control here.  So let’s just wait this out.”

There was an East Indian guy also present whom I wanted to seduce.  I was besottedly enjoying the drink of his Dravidian-thin body.

Suddenly, there was an oval opening that appeared in one of the walls.  When it occurred, we were all lying with our heads towards that wall.

On my left, as I lay on the cot, there was a window.  On the right, there was a large opening in the wall.  It was as though an elevator had arrived and seamlessly opened in the wall.

It had deposited more people.  Looking just as stunned as the others, they stood there frozen.

The lissome East Indian guy then stood up and decided that he was going to go and put away his clothes.  I was impatient with his denial and snapped at him,

“Stop being so finicky and fussy, come and lay down.  Don’t be ashamed of your body.”

He was wearing a towel and trying to cower and run away.

“Come back and lie down.” I added.

We waited and waited for another round of arrivals.  Little children were the next round of arrivés.  They interestingly were all fresh-faced and seemingly not as stunned, if at all, as the adults.

The people, when I had first arrived – especially the older ones, looked transient like street people.  It was not that they were street people.  Rather, they were left so drained and stunned that they seemed very downtrodden like people who live in the streets.

Concerned about her metamorphosis, this one woman who was there started becoming frantic,

“Look what’s happening to me.  There are these bands on my arms!”

Indeed, this was true.  There was just below the elbow an indentation, as though an invisible band was about her arm, like some sort of shackle.  We all, for being made aware, confirmed that it was on all our arms.

She had noticed it because it was causing her some discomfiture.  It was a burning sensation that she said was painful.  She was crying and beginning to get hysterical,

“Now, now.  Just relax, stop freaking out.”

She then got up and walked over to this one cot next to hers.  She then pounced onto the man on the cot.  He was an older man as was she.  She began talking getting her voice to sound more normal.  I immediately realised that she was channelling.

As she spoke in a really archaic fashion, her body was in this weird surreal pose like a Victor Brauner subject’s.  The use of language was very ancient.  Sounding almost manly, she spoke to the man,

“Tonight I want you to bury your seed deep into me.  And be the father that bears fruit to bring forth my child; my seed; to nurture my seed.

“And turn my soil…”

I listened and thought,

‘Indeed, she’s definitely being mind-controlled by whoever has been doing the zapping and capturing.

‘Right!  At your age and well above your childbearing years, well above your seventies, you want to be impregnated.  Indeed.’

Then strangely enough, she slipped out of character and on becoming herself would embarrassingly restrain herself profusely apologising,

“My goodness, what’s happening to me?  Please.  No, no, no.  That’s not what I meant to say.  What’s happening to me?”

She, as well as the others who were being channelled in this fashion – all of them women – realised that they were being used beyond their will.  They did not want to participate or at least have it get out of hand.

So they were trying to rein it in.  However, my reaction was that they should go with the flow… at least so that I could see where this was leading.

She was then straddling the man’s hips as he lay on his back looking truly mortified.  Grinding her hips into him, she looked truly possessed by some male-energied, satyric force.

She was very carnally focussed.  On closer inspection, I realised that she was cloven-hoofed.

‘Boy this is quite the astral plane experience… indeed.’ I thought.

Here on the astral plane, these women were so keen on having a sexual experience.  Each and every one of us, they were obviously going to end up screwing to the hounds.

As the experience progressed and was getting around to me, as they took turns with everyone, I awoke.  Sadly, the phone rang as I had forgotten to turn it off on taking to bed.

*I was, to say the least, most upset because this was such an intense and involved dream.  I spoke to the woman but I was slowly coming out of the dream.

Although, I must admit that I did not feel displaced, bloated and all the usual telltale signs that I had been astral plane-engaged.  However, I did sneeze a great deal.  This, truth be told, is customary after such dream activity.

I suspect that had I gone the whole nine yards with this dream experience, the outcome for me would have been different.  I am convinced that had I consummated with the possessed women, I would have awakened feeling immensely drained.

**Later on, during the course of the day whilst meditating, I reflected on this dream.  Suddenly, a thought of Merlin fell into my mind rather lucidly.

I thought of how he used to first read then listen to the audio-cassette later in the day and comment.  Rather intently, I heard Merlin say,

“This lamb is always getting its little magic hooves into no end of trouble!”

With that I collapsed from lotus position into the plush comfort of the pyramid’s cushioned interior laughing for joy.

***Recently, I spoke to a friend who’s been following this dream blog.  He wanted to know, with regards the dream blog – Time-Travelling Georgian/Regency Dandy, if I’ve ever given thought to what might have happened had I not chosen to awaken when I had. 

I don’t believe that I would have passed as he wondered.  However, as I stated to my friend, I believe that had I acquiesced and allowed myself to have been captured by the mind-controlling extra-human sentries that I would have awakened without the slightest recall of having had the astral plane ‘dream’ encounter. 

One only has to look at Hubble space telescope images to realise that to fall for the millennia-regurgitated fare, of our being alone in the universe, has long passed its usefulness.  Why would this ignorance be perpetuated but to keep us ever unaware of what is truly afoot – not just out there but even right here on Earth? 

I hope that you continue enjoying these dream experiences of mine.  More than that, I trust that they will inspire you to become more awakened and focussed when asleep.  For starters, it is a great way of keeping the brain healthy.  Conversely, it enhances one’s ability to see beyond the waking state’s Maya-saturated veil.  END. 

As ever, sweet dreams and don’t forget to push off and start flying! 

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Photo: Giant blue spherical glass sculpture & Neptune captured by James Webb Telescope.

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© 2013-2025 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.

Nubian-Egyptian Past-Life Dream In Middle Kingdom Egypt – Local Travel Means

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The dream, the first that day, occurred in exquisite lucidity on Sunday, August 11, 1991 whilst the Moon transited both Virgo and my fourth house.  

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Set in another time, this was a most potent dream.  I was very self-aware in this dream.  I was with both Pandora and Isis.  The dream was set in the northeast of Africa… in Egypt.  This was millennia ago.

I never honestly did see the pyramids around – at least those at Giza.  It was also not as densely populated an area of Egypt as let’s say, Lower Egypt and that aspect of the Nile Valley.

We were in a small village, perhaps, in Aleppo.  I really did not know where it was but I do know that we were far west of river Nile itself.  It was broad daylight and intensely hot.

*Clearly, Aleppo is in Syria.  However, at the time of the dream and on awaking I couldn’t quite place the name.  I knew that from the sound of it that the city was one whose name began with an A and was to the west of the River Nile in Upper Egypt.  Alexandria came to mind whilst I recorded the dreams and I knew that that was incorrect as that is a coastal city in Lower Egypt.

Finally, as I wanted to move on with recording the extensive dream recollection, I settled on Aleppo.  However, I do believe that the correct city would have been Abydos in Upper Egypt.  Too, much of the dream occurred at the far-western outskirts of said city.  END.

My sense of smell was most acute and allowed me to distinguish the array of odours about the busy village.  This was, clearly, a dream connecting me to a past life experience.

Again, we were in the bazaar section of the town.  It seemed like the busy market day – whichever day of the week that would have been back then.

Most people were dressed in long, yellowed-white, flowing cotton robes.  The Sun was incredibly hot; amazingly, here the Sun was more brilliant than it is during this time epoch.

There was a large, wicker seat that was very strong and sturdy – it was like a sofa that one would lounge on in the shade of a veranda.  I went and sat in it.  It had an awninged hood over it, such that the sofa was high-backed and enclosed, to protect one from the sunlight and unrelenting heat.

The awninged wicker seat was covered in heavy dark rugs.  They were the finest quality rugs that were, for the most part, dark browns and cranberry reds with lots of black in them.  There was little or no white used.

The awning was made of incredibly thick fabric which perpetually kept the shaded areas cool.  There were rather plush cushions to sit on which one could adjust to affect the desired backrest.

Whilst sitting on the right side of the covered seat, I was joined by Pandora to my immediate left and Isis to the far left.  A man was giving us instructions.  He was very loyal and displayed the kind of deference that suggested that I, at least, was someone very important.

The mid-aged dark-complected man of mixed race – Black and Arabic – was to the right before me and directed my attention to a large black rug, in the corner of the awninged wicker seat, which was to my immediate right.

It was so thick a rug that it almost looked like a briefcase – which was just as well because it certainly would have been out of place here.  Nonetheless, the rug was structurally hard like a briefcase.

It seemed, in fact, like a little Louis Vuitton travelling case that one carried make-up or jewellery in.  I couldn’t quite fathom what it was for or what was inside it.

Yet when he obligingly directed my attention to it, self-deprecatingly smiling, the object’s purpose began vaguely becoming familiar.  It was as though I had been unconscious and had just come to so was vaguely getting my memory back.  However, I still did not quite know what was what.

There were the usual sounds of animals around.  Finally, he told us of the object’s purpose.  He spoke in a distinctly African tongue, however, I perfectly understood him as if he were speaking in English.  My sisters, as well, were aware of what he was saying.  Pandora was fully acculturated to this civilisation.

She was actually more advanced in her knowledge, of the intricacies of this culture, than I was.  It was like when being in Paris, in the waking state with her, and her having a real grasp of the culture and the language.  More to the point, it is all in the subtleties of human nonverbal communication which I have noticed that she does have a special gift for.

To the right was a tether that connected it to the black-fabricked case that seemed like a miniature steam trunk.  Though initially it looked like it, the tether was a long cable that was not rope.  In places the tether was hollow.

There was a network of strings that went up the length of it that were attached in clusters though sometimes individually attached.  All in all, they really did resemble umbilical cords.

He opened the black fabric; I immediately held my breath at the loud stench of what unmistakably was camel piss.  It was quite pungent.  However, it proved to be the skin of some inner organ of a camel.

It had the rank male stench of a billy goat but louder.  The object was very large and spherical.  It was taut like an animal hide that had been stretched before being made into a drum.

The instrument had been designed to stay taut but it could also expand.  Yet, it could never fully contract and collapse.  For this reason, it had to be kept in the special black fabric.

There in its little incubator, if you like, it was able to organically breathe.  When the instrument got exposed to the light – whether sunlight, moonlight or candlelight – it would operate.

The exposure to the light organically began the process whereby the instrument would breathe and expand.  The hot air, trapped inside the instrument, would instantaneously get hotter when exposed to the light because it was a membrane that was thin like intestines.

It, somehow, was a mélange of intestines and hides to allow it best to breathe and expand.  It was a patchwork of both and there were large discernible stitches, in places, throughout the surface of the sphere.  In fact, it was not unlike a bellows system in that sense.

It would actually begin breathing like a perfectly living lung system.  This was revolutionary engineering and it was all very familiar.  I knew the intricacies of its design and makeup, if you like, the moment at which the loyal large-toothed aide had gestured to it and pried the fabric inviting me to start up the engines.

It was off-white, sooty, sandy ostrich-eggshell in colour.  There was something about it that made me passingly think that just such egg shells – ostrich, if not part of the schemata, certainly were instrumental in the inspiration that led to the system’s design.  It was a stained colour.

Also, there was a sense that there was some particular chemical mix taking place – either inside the sphere or below the seat of the sofa that led to the sphere – which gave the sense of combustion.  In this case, the process was ignited by the exposure to the sunlight.

The awninged wicker seat began slowly lifting off the ground to which the man shook his head encouragingly smiling.  I let out an excited squeal at the prospect of flight; also, I delighted in being refamiliarised with this technology.

People in the bazaar looked at us to see who we were but they were not stunned as though this were some extra-human (extraterrestrial) bit of technology that they had never before witnessed.

The covered wicker seat slowly rising was no more so cause for alarm than getting into a car, at a busy market and slowly beginning to drive, would be to anyone today.  It was commonplace.  It was no new invention.

They looked, however, because persons who owned these things were usually rich and the rich are always being gawked at.

Floating upwards, it beautifully levitated as if by will.  The man’s face fell away warmly smiling up at us whilst, to the right, the sphere kept on expanding and emitting a noticeable heat.  This made such utterly perfect sense.

*Exactly why would the people who built pyramids not have such a technology?  Since it was all made with hides, fabrics, innards and woods, they would all easily disintegrate and leave no archaeological evidence that they ever existed.

Like a dream, technologically and historically, this levitating transport system was – with the passage of time – utterly ephemeral.  Not having any physical evidence, to validate on awakening that one did in fact dream, does not however mean that one did not dream.

That someone should also not recall their dreams, on awakening, does not therefore make dreams any less valid or not possible for those of us for whom dreams are very valid and clearly validated.  END.

We rose up off the ground, to between three and four feet, with our feet dangling off the awninged, wicker seat.  Instinctively, I peripherally noticed that Pandora had gathered one of the throw rugs to her rear, placing it on her lap, to cover her exposed legs dangling over the awninged wicker seat’s edge.

I was blown away by the sheer magic of the experience.  I squealed aloud,

“Yes!  Of course…”

It had all come back to me.  Pandora sweetly laughed and put her hand on mine, affectionately patting it, saying with her gesture,

“…yes, of course.  Don’t you remember this?”

I was being refamiliarised with the past – a past life lived in Africa, in Egypt.

Everybody here, interestingly enough, was Black regardless of what Eurocentrism will never concede.  After all, I have yet to have a past life dream in pre-Columbian Europe, in which the place was populated by the Chinese.

The Mongol hordes did not succeed in their expansionist campaign thus there are never dreams of a mostly Eurasian or Chinese stock, in eighteenth century France, when I have been there in time-accurate past life dreams.

I suppose that were the Mongol hordes to have ravaged Europe, finally, the rest of the world would have been overtaken by them as later Europeans would do.  Thus propelled by their fears, of being vanquished by an advancing, Eastern warrior civilisation, this led to the European conquest of the so-called New World.

So had the Mongol hordes made it into Africa, then today with all the heavy kohl depictions of the Egyptian artefacts, then the Sinocentric reinvention of the past would have the Egyptians as having been Chinese or at least Asian.  How could they not have been with all that almond-contoured heavy kohl on the eyes?

The man certainly was of Arabic extraction but the predominant race here was Black.  The common people here had thick, leathery-looking black skin that was unmistakably Nubian – that blue-blackened tonality and with that soft plush-leather texture.

This dream of a past incarnation was set, further back in time, long before the influx of the Aryan peoples into dynastic Egypt.  Long, too, before the influx of Middle Eastern peoples was this dream of a past life.  I should think that definitely it was set before the middle of the Old Kingdom Period.

However, frankly, I really don’t think that I had been incarnating at so early a date.  It is possible that I may have incarnated in the latter part of the intrigue-filled, New Kingdom Period.  Even then, I would have been a relative newcomer reincarnationally.

It definitely was neither in the epicentre nor was it in Lower Egypt.  It was not as cosmopolitan an area, as say immediately west of the Nile and to the South, definitely.  It hadn’t yet become the desertified area that it would become in later years – millennia.

Interestingly, desertification had not matured to the extent that we now know.

Later, as we ascended high enough making it out above the sandy plains, I could see the pyramids but there were date trees and palm trees.  The living quarters were very old and well lived-in.

We began moving forward whilst slowly negotiating the crowded bazaar.  There were people in a very narrow alleyway that was off the main site of the bazaar.  Pandora, who was so much more savvy at all this, called out to the unsuspecting locals getting them to move.

The locals turned around, giggled and gave us right-of-way.  The alleyway was a series of landings that were stone-stepped which, in fact, were quite worn from centuries of use.  This was a very ancient city.  Everything was very white or sand-coloured – limestone.

There was a noticeable veneer of fine sand, on most of the buildings, deposited by windstorms.  This fine veneer of sand made the upper parts of the buildings glisten in the sunlight.

High up the sinuses, there was a ripe smell of dryness from the desert.  There was a sense of the many spice aromas.  Of course, there was a perpetual haze of smoke from the methane fumes of guano-fuelled fires going everywhere.

This was a town of about two thousand people.  There was a lot of smoke in this part of town perhaps because we were in the bazaar.  However, I should think that there must have been a high incidence of respiratory illnesses from all that thick stifling smoke.

Not too familiarised, I wasn’t properly working the pulley system.  So at one point, as we came to the cobblestone steps though the transport levitated we had to use our feet to get purchase and push down and clear the steps.

Pandora, true to her no-nonsense heart, smacked me on the back of the hand and leaned across to the controls saying,

“No, no.  Use this.  You’re supposed to be using this one.”

I was not properly working the pulley system; I had totally forgotten about it and so had stopped using it.  Following her directives, I pulled on certain strings and the transport readily levitated higher.

Each string, attached to the main cabling tether, was connected to a small duct on the sphere.  Pulling on a particular string caused the corresponding duct to open and it, in turn, was related to a particular lever beneath the sofa that allowed it to dip, turn, rise or go forward – all the possible combinations of movement desirable.

This system of transportation was developed because they did not believe in the abuse of animals, such as camels, oxen, asses, et cetera, as beasts of burden.  After all, this was a culture whose religion at its core was animist – intrinsically African.

Besides, it should be obvious that this degree of engineering ingenuity would have existed then because they did build the pyramids.

It also makes it very feasible to speculate that modes of levitation, such as this used in the passenger transportation, were used and probably developed to ferry building materials on-high during the mammoth engineering endeavour of erecting the pyramids.

This was so very simple an engineering feat that it made such utter sense.  After all, engineering breakthroughs don’t happen because one is posited in a deemed modern age.

At all times, there will be mature to old souls incarnating on the planet.  At any given time, it will be the ingenious ideas of such visionary souls to come up with whatever engineering marvel is needed at that time.  These engineering breakthroughs can then be applied in the culture to make things that much more practical, functional and operationally efficient.

Thus an old soul like Leonardo da Vinciº appeared when he did, and not now, because it was about his personal, spiritual, evolutionary perspective.  Indeed, it is not the group perspective that produces the visionary breakthroughs.

As for Leonardo da Vinci, he was naturally a sceptic which is the one attitude that leads to all originality of thought, breakthroughs and inventions… it is the attitude of the visionary.

So that it’s not about social evolution, along a progressional linear timeline, rather older souls stepping to the fore in their time to invent and eventualise those visionary breakthroughs.

This is why Pharaoh Ramses IIº was the great architect and visionary that he was.  It was not because he represented the ultimate expression of Egyptian civilisation’s evolution, rather, he was an older soul who had the vision.

Being well-placed at birth, to affect the massive cultural and architectural changes and advances required, served Pharaoh Ramses II for being an older soul and visionary.

Why should we be considered the apex in engineering achievement, indeed?  Mercantilism has little, after all, to do with efficiency or serving a higher good.

So as long as existing cartels continue abusing resources, why should this be considered the apex of engineering achievement when visionary ideas rarely see the light of day because of the threat they pose to most such large monopolies – petroleum being a prime example.

In effect, these early Egyptians were harnessing the existing energies for making life more viable – from an engineering viewpoint – with regard to having large centres of population.

How could it not have been solar energy?  The light that the spheres needed to be exposed to, to begin operating, were: the Sun, the Moon and fire – at whose zenith the Egyptian pantheon was ruled by Ra, the Sun.

Indeed, it was technology that pragmatically applied higher principles in everyday life.  In a latter day translation, this use of Ra\Sun\Light was the Judeo-Christian notion of God in man, God in nature.

The sphere, the link of Ra to man, was being applied in everyday life and thereby elevated the quality of their lives.  It is inevitable that such large centres of population would produce bursts of engineering innovations to address and release some of the tensions of population density.

One other reason for this transport being used, and why camels and mules would not have been used owing to Egyptian cosmology being both African and animist, is readily validated in the surviving hieroglyphics which do not show Egyptians indulging in riding camels or mules et al.

Animals were much too revered and respected, for their spiritual totemic importance, for them to have been ridden – abused.  Hence, there was the need for a practical invention like the sofa-like, awninged, wicker seat transport.

The strings allowed you to release excess hot air from the sphere, so that one could descend or drop to a lower altitude.  It was a way of manoeuvring that allowed you to get to the desired speed, height or locale.

The central tether was umbilical but multisided and thus you could actually steer the transport by the degree of rotation employed.  It was a five-sided cable that when turned in a clockwise direction, in my right hand, the awninged, wicker seat transport turned to the left.

Pandora had given one of her wan looks – at my finally beginning, as it were, to see the light.  When we came out, into this square away from the bazaar, we had to then go through a narrow street.

Getting to the entrance of the narrow alley-like street, I had manoeuvred the levitating, awninged, wicker seat transport into the air so that we comfortably passed easily feet above the locals’ heads.

Nobody here was surprised or upset at the sight of us because it was such a commonplace occurrence.  The levitating, awninged, wicker seat transports were, long ago, incorporated into the weave of what was deemed natural.

What proved really interesting was, on getting out into the square area, I realised that there were more people in the same transports.  Some were in motion much faster than we were.  Others still, were at much higher altitudes than us.  Too, there were some who were down on the ground of the square.

The thick black fabric, which covered the sphere, allowed it to sweat creating a lubricating body of moisture.  Once the awninged, wicker seat transports were in motion, causing the sphere to become heated up, the excess moisture would come out and trickle down one or two of the strings.

This water was actually quite purified and was therefore fit for consumption.  Thus it was possible for one to go for long distances, over the desert area, and to also be assured of a source of fresh drinking water.

Further, it could simply be allowed to drain out and trickle to fall from the airborne awninged, wicker seat transports whilst away from peopled areas.  This excess water could also, of course, be used to feed animals if desired.

This was a very, very advanced engineering feat.  For me, it was a very, very advanced dream.  Certainly, it was an archaeological dream – serving as it did, to cast light on aspects of human history which were more advanced that one has been led to believe possible.

This was a mode of transportation which was quite viable, ecological and purely practical.  Naturally, for a civilisation based on Sun worship by way of Ra, why wouldn’t all the engineering advances of that age be based on solar technology?

Sure enough, there were massive paddies of camel dung in another pouch to the rear right corner of the sofa.  These were obviously used to burn the slow-burning fires that were used at nighttime to create the fire, and as such light, to fuel the sphere’s apparatus.

The flame’s light would actually be drawn up through the tether system and into the sphere to give the necessary light ballast to its engine system.  The flame’s light simultaneously provided illumination for occupants whilst in the awninged, wicker seat transport at nighttime.

Indeed, could this not be the fabled magic carpet of ancient times from that region of the world?

When we got through the arroyo of the tall-buildinged alleyway, where there were lots of people out and about with awnings to cool the place from the unrelenting Sun, there was lots of bartering going down.

The people were so lively and African; lots of laughter and spirited arguing over the barter of goods.  Of course, there was the ubiquitous sound of music that was distinctly African in its drum-based, syncopated percussiveness.

This was a trading town, not a major centre but a point between destinations, where one stayed the night and a marketplace was set up.  It was obvious that, in that lifetime, I had not had much interaction or awareness of this level of society due to my elevated station in life.

Pandora on the other hand, who was quite adept in the culture, had been to outposts like this before; she was my guide really.  Isis was there as not much more than an initiate to all this splendour.

In fact, Isis’s total silence in this dream would suggest that she was merely a tourist to this time frame because it was long before she had ever first begun incarnating.  She was, in that sense, a dream tourist.

I was not a dream tourist although I am convinced that the time, at which this dream was set, was perhaps one-and-one-half possibly two millennia before I had first begun incarnating.  So although I had had incarnations in the late era, of the Middle Kingdom period, I could be said to be a dream tourist of sorts.

If this dream did, however, occur after the influx of non-Black peoples into the Nile Valley then this outpost town was clearly in the southern border regions of Upper Egypt.  In that region there was little, if any, immigration of non-Blacks occurring.  Thus, it is possible that this technology did exist during the late era of the Middle Kingdom period.

It may have been used mostly by desert peoples at that point in time.  This transport, perhaps, may have been so commonplace at that point in time that it was not incorporated in the depictions of life.

When we went out onto the square, the winds were noticeably stronger whilst we were exposed to the great expanse of land and sands.  There was a great updraught that immediately took us aloft even higher.

I became concerned and began pulling at the strings in a bid to have us descend.  Pandora was able to stay my fears by smacking me on the hand and telling me to relax.  It was perfectly okay she assured me.

I can’t relay enough how very intense and involved a dream this was.  The smell of the desert was more intense, once we were airborne and had left the stew of methane fumes, spices, animals and people.  Additionally, there was no longer the stench of human feces marginally piquing the sinuses.

I was able to feel the sunlight on my skin.  I remember how much cooler, too, the air was the higher we rose.  Even though the awninged, wicker seat transport was open in the front, the design of its seat caused one to slump back into the seat.

Too, the awninged wicker seat naturally tilted a little backwards on liftoff such that you never felt like you were sitting on the edge of a great height.  There was no sense of vertigo.

Besides which, in spite of the fact that there was no barrier across the front of the seat, the heavy rugs placed on the lap that covered the legs did have a restraining effect.

*This dream was, in essence, a splice of a life lived very long ago… millennia ago, in fact.  I was being refamiliarised.  Whilst dreaming, I realised that my cautiousness had to do with my lucidly alert, dreamer self, attached to my waking personality, who had to be illumined as to the intricacies of what was common knowledge to a life of mine which was lived very long ago.

I was, in this dream, in the dream body which relates to my waking state experience in this life.  Uncharacteristically, I was not in the dream body of who I was in that life lived at that time.

This dream was more displacing than that dream had, on January 1, 1989, in which I entered my former body in a past life in England.  In that dream I was female, a fiery redhead with quite the temper – impatient.

Experiencing that time in the body of that past incarnation, lived in England, meant that there was less to become refamiliarised with as in this dream.  In the English past-life dream, I was merely my present consciousness having to experience her totality.

Although it was more work to pull off on some levels, it was still easier than in this Egyptian dream, I was a dream tourist to the time.

For not experiencing that epoch in Egypt simultaneously from my dreamer self/waking self’s present perspective and that time’s life’s body, I was less savvy and acculturated to the time as was Pandora.  END.

As I sat there in the awninged wicker seat, I thought then that the same person who represented a past incarnation of my soul’s could have had a dream in which they visited me here in my time frame.  Like me in theirs, they would be wowed by the transportation technologies existing in this time frame.

As I was having of his/her time, I thought of how fantastical it would seem to my former self experiencing my world in just such a dream.  They would be with me in a car and, for all intents and purposes, this technological marvel would be powered by psychic energy.

After all, there would be no discernible sphere or a sense of the combustion necessary to propel the vehicle.  I was blown away to think of how excited one would be to have to describe, on awakening to contemporaries, the revolutionary advances in transportation in this fantastical time when visited in the dreamtime.

I was certain that the car would be seen as a mode of transport that was solely powered by will.  After all, one did not have to do much – one was free to converse, be at ease.

It would, I am sure, seem just as magical and just as unfamiliar as was the awninged, wicker seat transport initially for me.

A truly wonderful dream experience this was.

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Photo: Pyramids at Giza.

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© 2013-2025 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.

Magus Maharaja Holds Court.

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As the stately Moon drifted on its transit through Aries and thus my eleventh house, I would – whilst I serenely slept – experience the most exquisite glimpse into Merlin’s spirit.  It was one of the most lucidly engaged dreams had in long ages.

Of course, it was Monday, April 11, 1994.  This was a dream encounter with Merlin not soon forgotten.  It was, in fact, the second dream that day.  

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Next, I was ushered inside this large beautiful hall that was columned by the princely Maharaja.  Here it was a cream-coloured, slightly tan marble structure.

From outdoors, wonderful streams of dappled sunlight flooded the interior.  Whilst moving through the gracious palace, I passed a dozen or more beautiful saried ladies.

All of them were tall and beautifully dark – in that gorgeous Dravidian manner.  However, these were more mythic archetypes than aristocrats, courtesans.

Their saris were saffron-coloured, some with hues of peach, all of them beautifully flowing fine fabrics.  In what were the finest silks imaginable, somehow, there seemed to be actual light woven into the fabrics.

There was a lot of gold jewellery here, as a matter of fact, everywhere on their person.  They did, though, seem none-too-thrilled at my presence.

At a low table, which was beautifully set, we were next seated on silken cushions.  Lots of fine wares: gold and brass, were among them.

The light flooding into the place caused everything to become imbued, in the true sense of the word, with a glowing hue which was ethereal.  Everything here seemed to zing at a higher frequency, for being infused with this magical starlight, which merrily flooded into the palatial salon.

The Maharaja, who had been our host, was immediately familiar as well as warm and good to be around.  He had the most handsome, soulful smiling eyes.  He sat directly across from me and we were not seated at the heads of the long table.

To my left was a very beguiling, genuinely yellow-eyed beauty.  She was nubile and immensely arousing.  I wanted to fuck this woman from the moment that I laid eyes on her.

She was, in fact, the hostess who sat across the table from the Maharaja – she was clearly his Maharani.  Seated on the opposite side of the table the Maharaja seemed totally transcendent.

Indeed, this man was so elevated that he needn’t have eaten of the food – so long was he removed from being in the body.  His was an august, truth be told, fixed gaze that was the most hypnotic.

Sitting there, he directly looked across and into me.  He paid attention to no one else.  I could feel the warm caress of his mind’s touch as he became telepathically harmonised with me.

He knew exactly everything that was going on in my mind.  He was a most utterly beguiling man.  His were the energies of a truly evolved individual.  He had a large robust, though softening, body which was rather Zen-energied.

Too, the ease with which he had slipped into my mind bespoke a great intimacy which we have shared over several lifetimes.  Whilst he sat opposite me, grounding me, on his side of the table were all the other mythic-looking saried women along with some truly princely-looking gentlemen.

The one feature of all these persons was the beautifully haunting silence in which they sat here whilst we took a meal in their presence.  Seeing the Maharaja reminded me of Merlin.

Observing the maharaja was akin to when looking across the magic carpet-like platforms, as we sat in lotus position in a circle, during the final dream on Friday, July 9, 1993.  There was no getting around the fact that the maharaja bore a connection to Merlin.

Meanwhile, the Maharani was graciously lowering her beauteous head just-so.  At the time, she was eating and had done so in order to whisper instructions to me.

She discretely shared the finer points of dining etiquette when in their rarefied milieu.  This meal involved a great deal of ritualised behaviour throughout.

I was astounded by the array of gold being used here: the goblets, jugs and plates.  This proved to be one of the most lavish multi-coursed meals that I had ever partaken of.

Lots of beautiful blooms dreamily floated, perfuming the air, in gold bowls of water.  Some were purple, others yellow, whilst some pink blooms; they sat in bowls which were placed along the centre of the table’s considerable length.

This was terribly refined beyond the extraordinary.  Naturally, there was no flatware which, had there been, would doubtless have been made of the same yellow-white gold.  Whenever the Maharani had spoken to me, she had lowered her head and smiled exposing those beautiful compacted teeth.

Beguilingly, from behind her smile’s alluring façade, she had given clipped directives.  She was never impatient with me, either.  The food was spiced ever so delicately, seeming more so like Chinese – Szechuan or even Japanese cuisine – rather than East Indian.

Either way, this fare had a bite to it that was truly sublime.  I had taken a bite of some deep-fried fish which had proven mind-expansive.

The subtlety of the seasonings, and the degree to which each spice had been cooked into the fish, was truly phenomenal.  She discreetly told me not to get ahead with myself thereby, ending up eating the wrong dishes or at least, eating something before it was meant to be eaten.

There were lots of chutneys being used here.  Goodness it is simply not possible to convey, in this medium, how utterly refined the seasonings and the overall ambiance of this meal was.

Rarely does one get to be in such refined company.  Truly, these were highly evolved persons.  Nonetheless, their wealth was not a mercantile state of affairs.

Rather they were wealthy, surrounded by all this exquisite refinement, as it accurately reflected their state of soul evolvement.  Truly refined were they.

There was nothing classist or elitist about this august company in which I found myself.  To avert embarrassment for me, she had reached forward for something from a dish and thereby cut me off in the process.

As she foiled my none-too-couth display, she had rapidly told me not to take another piece of the fish.  It had not been meant to be eaten just then during the meal’s many courses.

What could I have cared?  This was the most glorious of experiences.  Indeed, this meal and refined company were truly music for the soul.

I had been so ravenous.  I so wanted to have another piece of fish for so good was it.  Seemingly, one was expected to take but one bite of each dish.

This was about showing control, about being able to then move on to the next dish, even though one was dying for more of the last dish.  Control, discipline and grace – these were the hallmarks of this ritual dining experience.

Distantly, the strains of strings came wafting through the air and were laced with the sweet fragrance of jasmine, oleander and sandalwood incense.  All along the length of the table, plumes of incense hypnotically danced into the air.

There were times, when it was hard to make out the eyes of my host which were so immediate and so familiar.  His were eyes which had an uncanny resemblance to those of Merlin’s.

Flames also burnt at the centre of the table heating up and cooking some of the dishes.  In one instance, a large flame suddenly rose up between the Maharaja and me.

As if I had not known or noticed the resemblance before now, for the first time, the magical flames caused a phantom of Merlin’s face to dance through the fiery veil.  I was astonished yet not surprised.

All that I had been feeling was, in one flicker of the suddenly rising flame, being validated.  The flame had served to sear away layers and dimensions, as if so many lifetimes were being wiped clean, to reveal the residue of the individual Merlin whom I had most intimately known.

Though revelatory, the flames also served as the barriers – dimensional barriers – which now separated us.  Though Merlin, he was now more than Merlin had ever been.

Lifetimes and dimensions impassably stood between us.  Nonetheless, there was a knowing and connectivity there which could never have been extinguished.

There was something primal, magical even, about the flames.  The ever gracious Maharaja had not quivered one iota, though they had suddenly shot up into the air, when the rising plume of fire had roared to life between us.

There he sat radiant and more focussed and intense as though, somehow, he had magically affected the flame’s uproar.  His cool betrayed that of only one other human being that I have ever known – Merlin’s.

Suddenly, he was illumined.  Perhaps, there had been a light breeze wafting a silken curtain, just off the colonnade or even the movement of piece of polished gold on the table.

Whatever it was, the light struck him just-so.  For the first time, without the flame’s effect, there was no mistaking the fact that here across from me sat the soul of the man who had recently been Merlin.

The shaft of light had fallen in back of him, off to the right and rear, bouncing off so many surfaces.  The effect that it had, from where I sat, was that of creating what seemed like a halo, an icon, about the head of a princely maharishi.

Unmistakably, there was an aura of mysticism about him which clearly had been hinted at before.  Seated there, my lips quivered, as I experienced sheer ecstasy for seeing the beauty of this being’s spirit.

There was no way of getting around it… this was an utterly beautiful dream.  Whilst sitting there, I felt much as I had in that dream wherein Merlin and I flew together into the intense blue-white light, in an upright position and laughing our heads off.

Of course, that amazing flying dream between Merlin and me did occur on Friday, August 10, 1994.  It was, by far, one of the most beautiful dreams.

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Photo: c. 1860 Maharaja Duleep Singh.

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