The Thrill Is Gone… Or Is It Really?

Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge at Mayan pyramid in Belize. This is immensely sad. All is choice and Catherine very strategically is choosing to demonstrate that she is alone, adrift, pained and utterly isolated. It has been simply intriguing to observe the metamorphosis that she has undergone during this trip and it is not yet over. And no matter what, she endures, Catherine is being blindly made to play her role in this pantomime in which the people have exalted her, making her the penultimate icon of the great white hope. She just wants to be human… and clearly, she just wants to be loved and not iced out.

On their arrival they were stiff and awkward, having to deal with as online commenters claimed ‘the natives.’ Of course, much of their behaviour towards the locals was informed by their 9s’ innate need to reject all that is ‘other.’

Just look at HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge, he stands there betraying his 9 mindset and having held hands with the Black dance partner, is scratching at the back of his hand as though trying to rid himself of having been sullied in some way. That is quintessentially the behaviour of a scholar soul and most definitely a scholar soul with 9 in its numerology.

Having danced and loosened up, though, William seemed to be wanting to exorcise the blackness to which he had been exposed, soon enough, they would undergo further metamorphosis. More to the point, they needed to be exorcised of the entrapping reality in which they are usually cocooned.

These moments at the Mayan pyramid were painful to have observed. It was here at that Catherine chose to lay her dilemma on the line. There is no way to get around the distance between the royal couple. However, there was hope, having bee surrounded by spiritually focussed Mayans and tangentially smudged by the smoky fire before which they sat.

Metaphysically, the Cambridges’ trip to Belize was in some way a reckoning; they would be more aware of this but as the trip progressed more and more things became clearer. Either way, I think that it is safe to say that they departed Belize vastly different to when they arrived days earlier.

Yet another disturbing moment wherein Catherine chose to telegraph her distress and allowing herself to be portrayed as being moored by drink in an escape from her malaise of being exquisitely alone… set adrift. There is positively no way that HRH Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh would have allowed himself to be photograph next to the Sovereign with a drink in hand. Catherine is away but she also pained and these moments seem a desperate cry for help.

Marvellous shimmering Jenny Packham design that beautifully betrayed Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge’s innate warrior soul handsomeness. There is never any doubt that Catherine would excel at being winningly stylish whilst on royal tour. With each outfit, Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge seems as if finding her power and emerging from a cocoon of painfulness. It is admirable to observe. That drink in hand is a disturbing prop, especially when one realises that warrior souls are more likely to take to drink when not fulfilled… when they are in some way pained. Scholar soul to the core, this speech of HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge painfully illustrated that he has neither gravitas nor charisma; in this day and age of swelling republicanism, this should be of some concern for monarchists throughout the realm.

What a wonderful way to decompress and get closer to nature and to one’s soul centre. This is especially true when one realises that TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge are task companions.

And then, Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge deplaned in Kingston, Jamaica and Sol shone as never before. This Jamaican trip has been an absolute watershed moment. I am always pleased to see Catherine at those three times of year as previously stated multiple times on this blog. This radiantly yellow Roksanda dress was the most uplifting experience imaginable. The moment I saw that shocking yellow, I yelled triumphantly, ‘Go on Girl!’

Lisa Hanna & Catherine HRH Duchess of Cambridge conversing.

As stated by Ms. Hanna in an article that she wrote in the guardian.co.uk, at no point did the alleged incident which appeared in dailymail.co.uk occur. The video has since been proven to have been doctored to look as though Ms. Hanna snubbed Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge. Curiously enough, I watched the event being streamed and at no point when Ms. Hanna & Catherine, Duchess of Cambridge were sat side by side, did the incident in the manipulated video occur.

The moment that I saw Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge in that yellow Roksanda dress, I thought back to July 23, 2013 when she appeared on the steps of St. Mary Hospital, holding her firstborn, HRH Prince George of Cambridge. Visiting with friends, I raised a glass of champagne and toasted, ‘Hip hip, here’s to the future HM Queen Catherine, Queen Mother!’

The energy between both women was always civil, courteous and harmonious; there was no snub from either woman towards either woman as alleged. This Roksanda dress with its shot of uplifting energy just made Catherine exceptionally shine and if only she could be perpetually in a state of inner peace as the Roksanda design brought forth.

This was not the standard gurning fare with and by which we have all been familiar and bored. This was Catherine, becoming besotted on those Bob Marley vibes and laughing and looking genuinely happy, smiling such that it was infectious. May these fleeting moments in the Caribbean eclipse her pain, which unabashedly she has no qualms with displaying in public as when holding a drink whilst William spoke and her forlorn, pained look as she stood before the Mayan pyramid, looking for all the world to see like a lost Lara Croft.

Bedazzling in her impeccable Alexander McQueen white pantsuit, there was Catherine meeting the Jamaican Prime Minister’s wife, Juliet Holness. Known as the island of amazons, Juliet did not disappoint because in her near 11 years as senior royal, Catherine was come face-to-face with a woman, who was actually taller than her! Indeed, there is a first time for everything. And boy, both ladies looked fabulous.

And then my darlings, Jenny Packham worked more of her incomparable magic, which handsomely spirited Catherine away from pain and isolation, to ravishing über soignée splendour. Who cares that the mad, little Ural Doddy has got oil and wheat prices going nuts, to say nothing of eventual famine, possibly kicking off WWIII and nuclear winter, all the more reason why Catherine (and her cool but distant scholar task companion, William) on royal tour in the Caribbean has proven the right tonic to keep us euphoric, distracted and less – if only momentarily – gripped with fear.

HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge wears the tropical uniform of the Blues & Royal along with his garter sash; he is the 1000th Knight of the Garter, too. Catherine was equally handsome in delicate, white lace Alexander McQueen topped off by a Philip Treacy fascinator.

My second favourite photograph of Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge on the royal tour of the Caribbean was her interaction with three Jamaicans at Norman Manley International Airport before departing for the Bahamas. All four humans are genuinely happy and relaxed in their company; who knows, they may all be cadre mates. Catherine wears the hummingbird brooch gifted to HM The Queen on her last visit to Jamaica in 2002 during her Golden Jubilee tour.

By far, one of my favourite outfits worn by Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge. As I have family from posh Bahamian society, this dress is the true beau idéal. Wool crepe, it is a heavier fabric, which is just right for the Bahamas, which are farther north in the Caribbean which at this time of year is cooler rather than not. Furthermore, with 700 plus islands, there are no mountains in the Bahamas, so there is always a breeze, at times brisk, and of course at this time of year, cooler rather than tropical. For that reason, this heavy almost quilted-looking wool crepe, for being lined, is positively the proper choice. Catherine would not be reminded of England for being braced against the cool breezes of the Bahamas on arrival.

Beautiful, elegant, 8-year-old Aniah Moss clearly won the Duchess of Cambridge over from her smile… right down to her gloves.

Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge’s Singin’ In the Rain moment. I love this photograph as it is the Carole smile as I like to refer to this look of Catherine’s; she always reminds me when she genuinely smiles as in this photograph of her mum, Carole. I think that it is safe to say that this royal tour brought the Cambridges closer together; they both appeared more relaxed with each other, themselves and it is the most relaxed either has ever looked when in the company of Blacks. This is especially true for HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge as it is not easy for all persons with mindsets of 9 (second number) to ever grow comfortable about persons whom they adversely perceive.

Love this marvellous breezy chiffon pale green dress by Self-Portrait; the earrings are especially beautiful.

This was the old HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge. He was completely manifesting as late mature scholar soul – he is sixth-level mature – with a chief feature of stubbornness with a mindset of 9. He, like any such soul, would never mask his feelings; they simply cannot fake it. They have very strong positions on anything and anyone ‘other’ and this was certainly the case in December 2017 when HRH Princess Michael of Kent wore the blackamoor brooch and his brother’s royal wedding in May 2018. William is moving centred whereas Catherine is intellectual centred. Prime example of that is during the royal wedding of the Duke & Duchess of Sussex, William was not able to contain his mirth at Rev. Curry’s longwinded buffoonery. Moving centred persons are spontaneous, react in he moment and are rarely diplomatic then after the fact, realise that they could have been more tactful. It is the shoot first ask questions later approach to things.

This is Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge, energy body of 9, caustic, socially glacial, distancing and never touched Black children. Talk about the Oprah effect; that interview and its fallout, along with the Duke & Duchess of Sussex having to leave hideously racist Britain, has caused them to soul-search, be more aware, empathetic. This trip was a major test for their 9 energy to be challenged and it is not every day that one gets to work on 9 energy, which is the most difficult to master and transmute. The Oprah interview led to Barbados removing the Sovereign as head of state and at this rate, other predominantly Black states, especially in the Caribbean, will follow Barbados’ suit when HM The Queen passes.

One cannot possibly begin to fathom how much HM The Queen is loved in the Caribbean – she has never been regarded as ‘white’ because she is not about being White – she meant her vows when pledging to dedicate her life to the service of the people… all people. For me, it is especially passionate a subject as the current deputy Governor-General of St. Kitts & Nevis is a relative and there are two former Governors-General of the federation who were also relatives.

William, of course, does have a black sister-in-law and his gorgeous redheaded niece and nephew do have a black maternal grandmother, Doria Ragland. William a scholar in stubbornness with mindset of 9 actually touching a Black child and genuinely being relaxed in the company of Blacks, is a major spiritual achievement for him.

Code: when William places his hand on Catherine’s back, she is livid and hissing beneath her breath. When Catherine places her hand on his back (mid to upper back) she is telling him to chill the eff out. When she places it in the small of his back, it is affectionate. Again, they are task companions and it will always be a very push-pull, intense relationship. They will row just as passionately as they will be tenderly intimate.

TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge competing in the Bahamas Platinum Jubilee Sailing Regatta, of which Prince William’s yacht was the winner. Like every warrior soul, Catherine will always be up for an adventure and being competitive; It’s truly engaging at the level of soul for her, and any warrior soul for that matter, to be focussed in any manner of sport. Both Catherine & William are living their third incarnation at their respective soul age, fifth mature for her and sixth mature for him, and as such will be fairly energetic, enterprising, and can be expected to have quite the shockingly impatient tongue on them – as well I should know; this is my third life at 7th level mature (artisan).

Another state dinner and Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge elegantly swans through the evening in a Phillipa Lepley gown with bows at the shoulder, matching clutch with William in smoking whilst in the Bahamas.

Last day of the three-nation royal platinum jubilee tour and TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge packed in a wallop of events. The more interesting was the fish fry and from HRH Prince William’s squirming, likely the least favourite was having to be around somnambulant locals in their repaired church on Abaco after devastating hurricane season in 2019.

When a child, I loved going to St. Kitts’ Warner Park in Basseterre where troops would be on parade. I always loved the large dome-shaped white hats of the soldiers, much like the ones worn by the Bahamian soldiers. HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge looked regally commanding in his tropical Blues and Royals uniform, especially so whilst wearing the blue garter sash.

So long, for now. This was without doubt a completely successful royal tour. Most of all from start to end, one watched both Catherine and William metamorphose into a better more harmonised version of themselves as humans and as a working partnership. What I loved about the trip, is the undeniable spiritual growth that TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge clearly achieved.

From the start, the couple seemed pained and broken. It was tough to watch, especially seeing Catherine yet again nursing another drink in public.

Day by day, they got out of the rut of whatever has been keeping them pained and distant as has been plainly evident for the recent few years back at home in Britain.

With every breath, Catherine came more into her true self. Perhaps, it is the cacophony of insects at night that triggers lucid dream-filled sleep, all induced by the smell of ocean overwhelming the lungs.

This proves my favourite photograph of Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge; these are the soulful eyes of a older soul warrior soul. From fifth level mature onwards, more of the brain is used and the realms of dreams and creativity expand exponentially. This is an august soul and her eyes betray her agedness of soul. Talk about exorcism, their journey to the Caribbean was a spiritual rebirth of sorts for this couple.

Metaphorically, this hurricane-ravaged building’s window in Abaco beautifully frames the Cambridges’ historic roles. The royal couple are looking out from the painful history of slavery to a future, a future wherein the commonwealth will continue growing, as all things do, in whatever way the people of the Caribbean and that wing of the commonwealth choose. They are walking away but most of all, one hopes that they take away a renewed spark that keeps their personal partnership more harmonious and supportive. I do believe that this trip saw the Cambridges commit themselves to serving the realm in a manner that would do the legacy of HM Queen Elizabeth II proud.

Look, it is in the nature of dogs to needlessly yap; but all this lamenting how disastrous the royal tour has been, is nonsense. Naysayers abound partout; however, at the end of the day, I was pleasantly surprised by the royal couple’s maturity and I do believe that TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge can feel justifiably satisfied in a job well done. Hip hip!

Count Basie Orchestra – Corner Pocket.

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

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©2013-2022 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.

The Scarf… There’s the Culprit.

Scarf moment 2018

Without doubt, though the most reviled black woman on the planet, I knew that though cited as the instigator in the tabloid media, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex could not have been the cause of the obvious rift between Diana, Princess of Wales’ sons: HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge and HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex.  When someone is guilty of having wronged, denigrated or slandered another, that guilty party is always acutely uncomfortable in the presence of the subject of their animus.  This past Christmas church service at Sandringham, HRH Prince William unwittingly unmasked himself as the guilty party.  I never for a moment believed that Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge was the instigator.  

george-prince-william

In September 2017 when HRH Prince George of Cambridge was widely photographed attending his first day of school in Battersea, one thing stood out in the reporting at the time: his father’s very close friend and cousin, Lord Frederick Windsor’s daughter Maud by actor wife, Sophie Winkleman also attends the same school.  This is the same cousin whose cocaine addiction had caused HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales to put an end to the close relations his sons enjoyed with their cousin; however, HRH Prince William remained close to this cousin.  

Engagement photo

One of the things that struck me is the interviews given after their engagement was announced in late November 2017.  

Camilla, HRH Duchess of Cornwall was her usual adroit, eloquent self, and her husband, 

HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales was the second most upbeat.  

At the time, HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge was less upbeat, did not mention Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex; rather, he essentially characterised his brother as a thief.  

 

Similarly, Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge spoke of their happiness but never mentioned Ms. Markle and this came a day later after her husband; indeed, it was as though, Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge had been tasked with doing damage control after William’s snub of Meghan by not mentioning her name; however, neither did Catherine as if to drive home the point of not welcoming Meghan into the fold.  

Princess Michael of Kent with the blackamoor brooch

A month after the engagement announcement, though not yet a royal bride, Meghan Markle was invited to attend HM The Queen’s traditional Christmas lunch with her especially enamoured fiancé, HRH Prince Henry of Wales.  So as not to be mistaken, the continental put-on wore a starkly white coat as her blackamoor brooch would not be properly photographed on a dark coat.  At the time, there was justifiable furore in the press and the narcissistic twit was made to issue a rather disingenuous-sounding mea culpa.  Clearly, she could never in a million years have acted on her own.  

Xmas 2017

Later that month, Christmas Day, 2017, again Meghan not being from Britain was invited – though not yet a royal spouse – to HM The Queen’s Christmas Church Service at Sandringham.  On looking at the video, it was clear that there was tensions between the two senior royal couples.  By that point, there was widespread open animus towards Ms. Markle and though it was never directly addressed and always vehemently denied, her race was the source of the vitriol.  Whilst entering the church, there was smugness from HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge towards Ms. Markle.  As they left the church, there was no denying HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales’ open affection for Ms. Markle and in the above photograph, he is beaming directly at Ms. Markle, making her feel welcome whilst the keenly onlooking HRH Prince William in the rear was tense-looking.  

William, Kate, Harry and Meghan at the Royal Foundation Forum

A couple of months later, when appearing as the ‘Fab Four’ charter members of the Royal Foundation, HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge spent most of his time crouched forward; his posture was predatory and he was keenly eagle-eyed as he monitored Ms. Markle’s performance.  As ever, HRH Prince Henry of Wales looked nervous, Ms. Markle was poised though her chief feature tended at times to get the better of her – more on that later.  I shall do a thorough overview of these major royals’ Michael Overleaves, which were channelled by two authentic Michael channellers and by none of the ever burgeoning scores of two-bit charlatans.  

William cruising Ben Mulroney

Finally, the big day arrived for Diana’s younger son; and what a wedding it would prove.  There sat HRH Prince William displaying those urges for which a life at public school leaves one possessed of certain proclivities.  In the above photograph, William is eyeing Ben Mulroney – well, because he can – at the time neither of his inner circle chums (Thomas & Charlie van Straubenzee) were present in the quire.  At least on two other occasions, William openly coveted Mr. Mulroney during his brother’s nuptials.  

the betrayer

On her arrival to the altar to join her husband, Meghan looking more confident and radiant than most brides was being suspiciously eyed by her brother-in-law in his role of disproving, to say nothing of delusional, final arbiter.  

no wave william

As the newlywed TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex departed St. George’s Chapel in the Ascot Landau, all the members of the Cambridge family at the top of the west steps waved off the couple save, of course, HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge.  He kept holding George’s hand and the order of service in the other.  

 Senior members of the Royal Family appeared impressed as the array of aircraft flew over Buckingham Palace

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

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

Body type is Lunar/Mars/Saturn. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Body type is Mars/Saturn. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Meghan’s body type is Venus/Solar. 

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

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

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

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

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

Incidentally, this artisan has been a member of the British royal family twice before.

Firstly, as Margaret Beaufort, Countess of Richmond and Derby, she was the cousin of King Henry VI and mother of King Henry VII.  As such she was the matriarch of the House of Tudor.  Her grandson was Henry VIII and her great-granddaughter, Elizabeth I. 

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

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

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

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Windsor, HM Queen Elizabeth II 21/4/1926 London, England

Michael: This fragment is third-level mature slave –- second life thereat.  Elizabeth is in the perseveration mode with a goal of dominance.  A realist, she is in the moving part of intellectual centre. 

Body type is Venus/Lunar. 

Elizabeth’s primary chief feature is stubbornness and the secondary self-deprecation. 

The fragment Elizabeth is fourth-cast in fifth cadence; she is a fragment of greater cadence six.  Elizabeth’s entity is one, cadre six, greater cadre 7, pod 418. 

Elizabeth’s essence twin is a slave and the task companion is a priest. 

Elizabeth’s three primary needs are: security, adventure and exchange. 

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

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Mountbatten, Prince Philip HRH Duke of Edinburgh 10/6/1921 Greece

Michael: This fragment is fourth-level mature warrior – second life thereat.  Philip is in the observation mode with a goal of preferred dominance.  A sceptic, he is in the moving part of intellectual centre. 

Body type is Saturn/Mars. 

Philip’s primary chief feature is stubbornness – due to early death of a family member and the secondary subdued impatience. 

The fragment Philip is seventh-cast in first cadence; he is a member of greater cadence six.  Philip’s entity is one, cadre six, greater cadre 7, pod 408. 

Philip’s essence twin is a warrior and he has a scholar task companion who is known to him. 

Philip’s primary needs are: exchange, acceptance and power. 

There are 14 past-life associations with Arvin and 6 with Merlin. 

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

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

She had a Lunar/Mercury body type. 

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

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

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

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

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Windsor, HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales 14/11/48 London

Charles Windsor is a seventh-level mature second-cast warrior.  Charles Windsor is in observation mode, with a goal of acceptance, and attitude of pragmatist, moving part of intellectual centre.  

Charles’s body type is Mercury-Saturn. 

Charles’ primary chief feature is stubbornness, secondary is self-deprecation. 

He has an incarnate warrior essence twin with no plans to meet and a discarnate priest task companion, who exerts considerable influence on him. 

His casting is virtually the same as Robert Bateman’s: entity two, cadre four, greater cadre 16, pod/node 404 but he is a second-cast in a fourth cadence, entity four, cadre four, greater cadre 16, pod/node 404. 

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Windsor, Camilla, HRH Duchess of Cornwall 17/7/1947 London, England

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

Body type is Lunar/Venus.

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

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

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

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

There are 10 past-life associations with Arvin and 6 with Merlin.

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Now for the esoteric Michaelese breakdown of what all this means.  All told, there are 9 major players chosen here; of them warrior souls predominate with four such persons: Catherine, Henry, Philip and Charles.  Two scholars: William and Camilla.  Similarly, there are two artisans, Diana and Meghan.  Lastly, there is but one slave, HM The Queen, who happens to have the strongest overleaves of them all.  As HRH Prince William is the subject of this blog, I shall explore his overleaves lastly.  

First and foremost, there are only two ways to approach all of life, either from a place of fear or a place of love.  That having been said, there are both positive and negative poles of all overleaves.  Similarly, just because an individual is an older soul does not mean that they are a more evolved human being and is all good.  Of all these 9 royals, HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales, is the oldest souled member with Diana, Princess of Wales having been the youngest soul among them.  Bear in mind, too, that some of these persons are if not entity or cadre mates, at the very least are pod mates.  I am going to go through these nine souls in order of soul age and though Charles is the oldest of the group, I will discuss William’s last even though he is the second oldest soul.  

Diana

Diana: Second-level mature artisan; she lived the charmed life, great overleaves.  She had the great goal of acceptance, which incidentally so too do William, Charles and Meghan.  There was considerable Maya involved and she created a ton of drama out of sheer boredom and also as a way of fighting back when realising that she was in a loveless marriage and nothing but a pawn.  No idea, if she is yet reincarnated.  

elizabeth12

HM The Queen: A third-level mature slave soul, she is on her second life at that level and is in dominance.  This is as close to perfect and positively manifested the overleaves of anyone within that family or elsewhere.  These are great overleaves, which are positively manifested.  

DdjfZN0WkAEwgjX

Camilla: She is a mid-cycle mature scholar soul and a pragmatist in growth.  This woman is a solid and as gracious a scholar as you can find.  No surprise that she focusses on literary charities and organisations and hosts the annual Man Booker Prize awards.  She is a scholar’s scholar and does not do drama.  Camilla is another BRF (British Royal Family) member who gets it right and is manifesting in the positive pole of her overleaves like HM The Queen.  

Meghan: Like Camilla, the Duchess of Sussex is also mid-cycle mature; however, like Diana, Princess of Wales she is an artisan.  As is obvious from her overleaves, she chose to reincarnate to do something.  Where she is is precisely where she is supposed to be.  One does not end up with body-type of Venus-Solar and do nothing and does not become a major player on the global stage.  Incidentally, usually only one life is passed at mid-cycle mature; it is a bridge lifetime between third mature and fourth mature and it is the only soul age where this occurs – there are exceptions to everything as this is Meghan’s soul’s third life as mid-cycle mature.  At the end of fourth mature, more of the brain is used going forward and there is greater complexity to the persona.  Meghan, having been Margaret Beaufort in a past life when she was the most pivotal Lancastrian woman during the War of the Roses, matriarch of the Tudor Dynasty, cousin of King Henry VI, mother of King Henry VII, beloved grandmother and mentor of King Henry VIII and great-grandmother to HM Queen Elizabeth I.  Furthermore, Meghan is an entity mate of both HM The Queen and her husband HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex.  They form a troika that is unshakeable.  She is an idealist in acceptance; she will always be emotionally and empathetically open and mature.   Sadly, though, the fact that this soul chose to be black in this lifetime has meant that she has become the most reviled black woman on the planet for having married into the BRF and its most loved prince.  Incidentally, her husband, HRH Prince Henry was black in his immediate past life.  Meghan’s primary chief feature is that of self-deprecation which is never attractive and this leaves her copping the shy smile routine and in particular placing her hand over her mouth.  Your chief feature is a cactus never to be cradled… that said, this soul who as Margaret was first wedded before the age of two and had four husbands will be striking it out of the park in this lifetime again.  

HRH Prince Philip Duke of Edinburgh

Philip: Fourth mature warrior in dominance, this is an equally solid soul as is his wife, HM The Queen.  A warrior’s warrior to the core.  

Prince Harry

Henry: A fifth-level mature warrior; this man is the most interesting and underrated royal.  First of all, at fifth-level mature, he is more complex than any of the other royals thus far; he is also a sceptic and the only other of the nine being the rather shrewd Prince Philip.  This means that he is all 9 parts intellect, sees straight through everything and is able to think outside the box.  Fifth-level is also synonymous with the goal of acceptance; therefore, this man will always have great appeal within a group dynamic.  He is also thoroughly unpretentious and in growth.  As a warrior, he inputs on one channel as do scholars and kings.  Similarly, as a warrior, Henry will never forgive disloyalty of any kind; a betrayal of any kind is unforgivable.  

Catherine Duchess of Cambridge

Catherine: Like Henry, Catherine is not only also a warrior but she is also fifth-level mature.  These two are rather simpatico and there is no way that they would never get along; there would be nothing but mutual respect and understanding.  Fifth-level mature is also a time of incredible creativity, especially among warrior souls; Catherine is greatly fulfilled for having art history and photography is creatively rewarding for her at the level of soul.  Catherine also happens to be not just an entity mate of her husband’s, William, but they are also task companions, which is as close a relationship at the level of soul that you can have as is possible.  Task companions are like oxen sharing the same yoke; they get things done and Catherine also has a goal of growth like her brother-in-law, Henry but she is in perseveration mode.  Catherine is all steel and will endure much and scale any mountain to get the job done.  Admirable lady; however, she does have a personal need of power – without exception power absolutely corrupts all such focussed persons.  

Prince Charles

Charles: the fourth of the warriors, he is also the oldest soul of the senior royals.  Dream encounters with this man are truly evolved.  Naturally, as a seventh-level mature warrior issues of stewardship of the planet would be paramount among his concerns.  He is also a warrior in acceptance and lives a life that is truly a positive expression of his overleaves.  Kind and inclusive, he is understanding and truly accepting.  Like every warrior there ever was, he does not forget or forgive disloyalty.  

Prince William

William: He is the second scholar soul and also the second oldest soul of the group.  Sixth-level mature, William is at that all unforgiving sixth-level where those lives are all about paying back karma and having to work in the larger arenas of life and providing stewardship.  William, born on the summer solstice, was also born with a stellium in his astrological chart, which among other things means that he is prone to being very narrow in his focus; more importantly, it indicates someone who cannot see the forest for the trees when expressed negatively.  

Though William has a goal of acceptance, he also has a chief feature – no chief feature is ever positive – of stubbornness, which means that he is rarely regardless of his perfected persona ever either at ease or accepting of anyone.  Moreover, when a scholar is not in the positive pole of its role – as Camilla is – then that scholar will be an obstinate (stubbornness) negative and prejudicial (acceptance’s polar opposite rejection goal). 

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This is why it is almost 100% likely that William not only knew of HRH Princess Michael of Kent’s intention of wearing the blackamoor brooch, to the 2017 Christmas Lunch at Buckingham Palace, but he likely was the one to have sanctioned it.  William is very close with Frederick, who with his Jewish actor wife spend lots of time in Los Angeles where there is inordinate racial animus towards blacks.  

Wearing the blackamoor brooch to HM The Queen’s Christmas Lunch was tantamount to wearing a swastika to said lunch the first year that Sophie Winkleman attended, knowing fully well that Lord Frederick Windsor’s wife is Jewish.  The idea that somehow Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex is behind a rift between both princely brothers or is contentious with Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge – who as a warrior is more likely to be openly hostile towards Meghan than the other way around – couldn’t be further from the truth. 

James Middleton roasts Tom Bradby

I think that it is safe to say that the Middletons have become rather high and mighty with themselves as evidenced when James Middleton was seen being socially hostile towards ITV’s royal correspondent, Tom Bradby outside St. George’s Chapel at the royal wedding of TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex.  

Here are further examples of HRH Prince William being rejecting, obstinate and plain rude.  William and not Meghan refused to have Sarah, Duchess of York attend his wedding.  William and not Meghan sat in the Chapel at St. George’s Chapel and openly ridiculed Reverend Curry to his father, HRH Prince Charles.  It was William and not Meghan who decided after the birth of HRH Prince George of Cambridge that the infant’s paternal grandparent would not be afforded access to his first grandchild.  William rather than Meghan told Dave Clark that he was not desirable as a husband for his cousin, HRH Princess Beatrice, thereby putting an end to a relationship that was no business of his.  

One of the most disarming things to know about HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge is that he is basically stupid and lacks awareness.  This is how he always comes off in very lucid dream encounters.  Furthermore, like all scholars in the negative pole of their soul/role, he is given to being discriminatory and readily judgmental.  As a scholar with a chief feature of stubbornness, William is not given to being open to change and has an inordinately corrupted, almost delusional, sense of self.  There is high conceit when dealing with this man.  Indeed, he has taken  his brother Henry, with an attitude of sceptic, none too seriously and definitely not as an equal; however, HRH Prince Henry does not – for being a sceptic – take this man too seriously nor does he take personally his hyper-inflated sense of self.  

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During their engagement interview, Catherine sat on the edge of the sofa; only once did they touch and it was her initiating.  William during the interview self-congratulatorily referred to his great sense of humour – blind conceit.  Catherine’s hair almost covers her eyes so that she can remain tunnelled in focus and not become overwhelm by William’s intimidating nature.  Catherine’s mouth is pursed and turned down at the corners, betraying her discomfiture for being in William’s presence; this suggests an unpredictable nature and a violent temper.  Frankly, Catherine looks as though she fully expects to be slapped at any moment and with some regularity.  

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Catherine as she appeared on entering Westminster Abbey and being greeted by the Dean of Westminster.  Her smile is warm, relaxed and she radiates her inner beauty; indeed, it is uneclipsed.  

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Catherine, now in the presence of William becomes clenched, clipped and her radiance lacks its lustre.  All this because of the unpredictable nature of the man she is about to marry.  This very man is also her task companion; however, his perfectly good overleaves have become corrupted and are not positively expressed in the least.  

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William the none-too-bright finally figures out how to properly fasten his gloves.  

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William enters the carriage and sits with his back to the horses drawing the carriage; he had even looked back over his shoulder to the horses, yet still sat down in the improper position in the carriage.  

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William in this photograph has now changed seats after having been instructed to do so by the footman, wearing the white-plumed hat; the footman did so under his breath.  

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In this shot, after having told William to properly sit, facing the front and not the back of the carriage, the footman could be seen looking at Pippa Middleton and she looks at him with a knowing and dismissive look and smile.  This interchange between both the footman and Pippa indicates that it is common knowledge by those in the know that William basically is stupid.  

Observant Henry

A keenly observant HRH Prince Henry on entering Westminster Abbey with his older brother on the day of William’s wedding.  This is the look of someone with an attitude of sceptic.  He knows that he has to hang back and take everything with a grain of salt as basically, his brother William is dense and unaware. 

Dismissing Henry

While being hosted by the dean of Westminster, Henry ventures a comment and like a scholar in stubbornness and who has been groomed to always be deferred to, William in essence tells his brother to shut up with a dismissive remark.  At all times, like a person in stubbornness, William’s body language is rigid and controlling with his hands ever clasped, the same few remarks and the same loud vacuous laughter and of course that ever present smile that is evocative of his mother Diana, Princess of Wales.  

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Scholars in the negative pole of their role/soul can be the biggest bores; ever, they are a font of useless information and often unsolicited.  Here the newlyweds ride up the Mall to Buckingham Place; at least three times on the ride from Westminster Abbey, William became impatient with Catherine and they rowed.  Here, he is shouting at her and telling her to be observant; she like the warrior she is, anywhere and anytime, she will sound off and protest without so much as thinking twice.  Love her!  

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Do not be fooled by Catherine’s smile; he is grilling her and she is fighting back.  This, of course, is a healthy part of their relationship as long-term lovers and also for that matter for being task companions. 

Catherine truce

After the harsh words, naturally, William was a sulky petulant bore.  Warrior to the core, Catherine leans in and nudges him with her left shoulder and gets him to get out of his funk.  Catherine is one of the strongest royal women going.  

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Once on the balcony, William becomes a right bore with the endless drivelfest of observations.  On more than one occasion, one captured above, Catherine simply dismisses the ennui that is William by pointing instead towards the Canada Gates whilst he was directing her to look down the mall towards the approaching planes taking part in the flypast.  And at all times, Catherine maintains equilibrium with that Cheshire cat grin.  

William simply assumes because he is destined to be king and is never challenged, he could do as he pleases and attack his brother’s lover without there being the slightest repercussions.  

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Newly engaged, Henry and Meghan openly displaying their love for each other and both possessed of emotional intelligence that speaks to their reincarnational history, their being entity mates and the fact that as a yogi who has mastered the kamsutra, Henry is a happy camper.  Xerxes, a seventh-level mature warrior friend sums up the warrior’s motto thusly: feed me, fuck me but do not annoy me.  

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Here, Henry on taking his vows and slipping the ring on Meghan’s finger with the most sexually suggestive intimacy, then winks at her.  This is a couple completely and thoroughly besotted, in love and passionately consumed with each other.  

Now there is a happy warrior; Henry deplanes when on first tour of the Commonwealth with his serenely pregnant wife, whilst sporting a chubby.  

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William, who is inordinately so a control freak, is threatened by his brother’s wife who is not a controlled, plus one and subservient wife.  Meghan has style and is not a blank foil to allow the blood royal spouse and only the blood royal spouse to shine at all times.  I don’t, though, agree with Meghan’s inability to strictly follow royal protocol and walk behind her blood royal spouse.  

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Henry made sure to have a wife who would be for him what his father never was for his mother; a lover, companion and equal team member.  Meghan is forthright, articulate.  Like every artisan soul, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex inputs on five channels (the most of all the seven soul types) which means she can evoke mood and inject that certain “je ne sais quoi” into what she wears.  Artisans are said to be atmospheric; just slipping into an item of clothing and it is as though we shift personae and become as well as project the right mood into the environment.  Artisans are atmospheric; we set the mood by just being.  

Most of all, this appearance by Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex at the 2018 British Fashion Awards is why William fears her.  Hatred is nothing but fear and to be obstinate and conspire with the Kents for Frederick Windsor’s mother to wear the blackamoor brooch only points to how much William fears his brother’s wife; to fear someone is to readily reveal how miserably you have no power over that someone.  Onto that stage, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex walked and had the room in the palm of her hand.  William knows that Catherine his wife could never have that command of an audience; what’s more, Catherine is a whimpering mousy little thing as compared to eloquent, confident trained thespian, Meghan. 

In the 21st century, Brand Windsor needs an ambassador who is media savvy and can walk out onto a stage and deliver like only Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex does.  That awards ceremony at Royal Albert Hall would have been a room with more than 60 per cent artisan souls whereas artisans make up 22 percent of the population of souls cosmically.  In Meghan, the fashion worlds of couture, design and jewellery have one of their own – she is akin to a patron saint.  This was the same effect that Diana, Princess of Wales also had for being an artisan soul. 

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In Meghan, William is having to endure some self-karmic issues; you own no one and cannot push around anyone as you please.  Thus far, he has irreparably damaged his relations with two strong warriors – his father and brother.  Long before Meghan arrived he had sabotaged his relationship with Charles for not approving of Camilla, blaming his father for his mother’s death and denying his father access to his first grandchild.  With regards Henry, he has done Meghan a big favour for with his open animus and hideous bigotry vis-à-vis the blackamoor incident, William has lost Henry’s trust and it will only forge the love and loyalty between him and Meghan.  

Duchess Kate and Prince William's togetherness was discreetly on show as she placed her hand on her husband's leg at an official welcoming ceremony on day one of their 2016 royal tour of Canada. Photo: Karwai Tang/WireImage

Thus far, William and his family have twice been to Canada on royal tours; they have also been to the U.S., Singapore, Australia, New Zealand and the Pacific Commonwealth nations and India; however, William and his family have yet to set foot in a predominantly black Commonwealth nation.  There are no coincidences.  Persons in stubbornness are the most difficult people to deal with as they are pigheaded in the extreme and relish being difficult.  As he clearly has no interest in being on tour in a predominantly black Commonwealth nation, this is why TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex were appointed as Commonwealth Youth Ambassadors.  Far be it for William to become Sovereign where more than half the countries in the Commonwealth are peopled by blacks.  As ever, tabloid media will blame Meghan the unsuitable black woman for the rift; truly, one need look no further than William, who is not in the positive pole of acceptance; rather he is in the negative pole of its opposite, rejection, which makes for the scarf incident, the blackamoor incident and all the other deplorable things he’s gotten up to: Sarah not at his wedding, Charles having little to no access to newborn George, froideur towards Camilla and now Meghan.   Too bad for his scheming, though, because within a year of marriage, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex will be mother to a royal child which further solidifies her staying power.  

As ever, don’t let fear and chief feature get the better of you as so clearly it has HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge.  Just straighten up and fly right… especially when lucidly awakened in the dreamtime.  For your ongoing support, I am inordinately grateful.  Happy New Year and here’s to the very best in 2019.  

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©2013-2022.  Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.  

Pulp You!

17.8.1949 Ox 8.7.3 = 9

Energy body of 8. All persons with 8 are lazy and entitled. They marry with the opinion that their spouse is supposed to afford them the riches to which they were destined – god forbid these slobs should ever attempt being something as gauche as being self-made. Too much work…

Attitude of 7 – the holier-than-thou entitled god complex. Meh! These people are in touch with the other side, see things and can be rather elegantly reserved…. obviously, there are exceptions to everything!

Third number of 3, which denotes intellect and all things literary. Again, in Vedic numerology, there is nothing positive about any number. In other words, this is just another Jamaican skekkle who like fe chat too much. And yes, they are more interested in the sound of their voices and creating a stir than they are possessed of truly stellar intellect.

Most of all, 9 is the soul number – where this one has been and what it is here to divest itself of. All 9s are innate bigots and the biggest snobs and defenders of the flame – whatever they deem that to be.

HRH Princess Anne, Princess Royal. 15.8.1950 Tiger 6.5.2=4

As ever, the need to get a rise with the latest shocking fabulist fare and soar above the fray, telling any lie in order to stay relevant and sell more pulpable fare – so that she can keep buying strands that readily scream Poundand Duchess, along comes the specious allegation, spoken as though the gospel truth of course, that HRH Princess Anne, Princess Royal was the one to have expressed concerns about the Sussexes’ melanin-blessed offspring. Like HRH Prince Harry, Anne has a 6 in her numbers which means, she is fiercely loyal and not given to gossip. More than that, Princess Anne is a 4 and such persons do not gladly suffer fools nor would they take kindly to someone implicating them in a lie. With that 4, it is very likely in the right circumstance, HRH Princess Anne would readily hunt down our runaway Jamaican skekkle turned Poundland Duchess, hogtie and use the crop on her until she is within a breath of expiring. It was not HRH Princess Anne, Princess Royal whom the Sussexes implicated in their sit-down interview with Oprah on CBS.

Obviously, the Sussexes in their sit-down interview with Oprah on CBS were referring to a more senior-positioned royal than the Eurotrash bigot, HRH Princess Michael of Kent. This, of course, the Poundland Duchess knows but if you throw gasoline on HRH Princess Anne, Princess Royal’s statute and scream fire, the blind en masse will look and start claiming to see. It was the Cambridges; this was validated by the weak, oafish William outing himself by weakly protesting, “We are very much not a racist family!” Talking crap about ‘some people’ like taking offense at everything. Well guess what orangutan-mammoried one, Princess Eurotrash of Flat-Arsedom’s little blackamoor brooch incident, was not some dream of the Duchess of Sussex’s that she shared whilst in conversation with Oprah on CBS. It occurred, may I remind you, in December 2017 at HM The Queen’s Christmas lunch at Buckingham Palace. The blackaoor brooch was as racist as if Meghan were Jewish and HRH Princess Michael of Kent showed up being anti-Semitic and wore a swastika. Put that in your crackpipe, why don’t you?

The Poundland Duchess needs to get real and start writing truth rather than more of the same pulpable fare. Just look at the material on offer: paedophilia, adultery in Norfolk and lots more. Leave the Sussexes alone; these bigoted jackasses have no idea the incalculable damage they cost Britain LLP.

A true pity that Lily Safra pulped the wrong trifling drivel. That aside, sooner or later, you will bend down, pick your shadow up off the floor and crawl you and your Poundland strand-draped orangutan mammaries into your casket. In the age of mercantile excess, you and your throwaway dreck are precisely what are increasingly insufferable. I’ve a copy of Empress Bianca, on which I expect a damn good return. Go on, stop timewasting you casket fugitive and crawl the fuck in your casket. Pulp you!

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

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©2013-2022 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.

How Fucking Dare You, Piers!

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How fucking goddamn dare you, Piers Morgan use Kobe Bryant’s passing to try and whitewash the ugliness that is the fiendish lynching of Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex that you, Piers, and the rest of British media engaged in whilst whipping your isle of hooligan louts to frenzied hysteria of hatred and racism?  Then when Meghan wipes arse with you and takes her leave, which never in a million years you had anticipated, you bring proud black women like Afua Hirsch on your show and subject her to the usual white male asshole brow-beating as you talk over top of her for 70 per cent of the time because ‘you are a black bitch and we owned the likes of you for 400 years and we will tell you what to think even when we both know damn well that we are nothing but racially predatory swine.’  

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Never once during his twenty-year career did opposing fans, when Kobe and Lakers played away games, scream and make monkey noises as is regularly the case on your isle of drunken boors where you swear up and down there is no racism.  How dare you!  Leave Kobe the blasted motherfuck to rest in peace.  He is far better deserving than to have self-serving tributes as revisionist boors like you are quick to engage in.  What you damn well ought to be doing is schooling that porcine fuck, Thomas Markle Sr., in the fact that the daughter whom he claims to love, whom you equally speciously claim never suffered racism in Britain, was subjected to racism by HRH Princess Michael of Kent when she wore the blackamoor brooch to The Queen’s 2017 Christmas Lunch at Buckingham Palace.  That’s right, I may be a lucid dreamer but I am pretty fucking sure that this did not occur in some dream to which only my lucidly engaged mind was privy.   

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Please leave Kobe the hell out of your revisionist BS because unlike your racist isle of louts, only in America could Kobe have achieved his phenomenal greatness and this in spite of America’s own brand of racism.  Hell, at least in America, blacks are respected and not culturally ghettoised as in your fair barbaric isle.   

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Please, Piers go and explain to Thomas Markle Sr. that Danny Baker’s incendiary tweet was not in the least remotely racist but mere jest.  Please Piers go and convince your knuckle-dragging readership that were HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex were to have wedded a Jew that you would have engaged in an openly vile antisemitic campaign of hatred towards his wife then deny that it was remotely antisemitic.  More to the point, had this been the case, you would be damn well unemployed ages ago.  The mere fact that at this juncture Thomas Markle Sr. has come forward to state that his daughter experienced no racism whilst being lynched in Britain, shows how desperately Britons are prepared to throw money at the issue of their alarmingly savage racism to make it go away. 

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Perhaps, the Cambridges want the predominantly black Commonwealth states to take leave as they tear arse time and again in their faces.  Just look at them today at the 75th anniversary ceremony on Holocaust Memory Day, all poised and obsequious in stark contrast to their behaviour at the reception for the African heads-of-states last week at the UK/Africa summit.  

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Perhaps, Piers, you can explain to Thomas Markle Sr. that though Lewis Hamilton has won 6 F1 Championships, he has only been made an MBE, whereas Ben Stokes was made an OBE.  And please do try explaining to him that it has positively nothing to do with race that five F1 Championships later, Lewis Hamilton remains an MBE whereas Andy Murray, no Mamba he, was made a CBE for merely winning twice the championship at Wimbledon.  Naturally, never in a million years would Jenson Button have been relegated to mere MBE status if he had won 6 F1 Championships.  How fucking dare you, Piers!  How are you celebrating Lewis Hamilton as your own Mamba, 6 fucking F1 Championships on?  

MEGHAN-MARKLE (1)

Like Kobe, this woman Meghan is a true Mamba.  She came, she saw and like Kobe, would never settle for petty, lazy mediocrity and that is why she took her leave of the Cambridges and their petty grudging machinations, the racism at Kensington Palace as was outed by HRH Princess Michael of Kent – why do you think that the Sussexes moved to Frogmore Cottage… all the more reason why they should not be paying for your entrenched racism by paying for Frogmore Cottage.  

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Piers, how pray tell can the likes of you aspire to being Mamba when all you and your isle of bigots are, are mere lazy, colonialist, racist boors, who can never cease being slavishly addicted to your truly deluded idea of superiority and entitlement?  Did it never occur to you as you racially preyed on, hunted, lynched and celebrated Meghan’s departure that all of this was affecting The Queen whom you claim to cherish, honour and respect?  In lynching Meghan, you were also dismantling The Queen’s proudest legacy, the Commonwealth?  Well, she is gone and like Thomas Markle Sr., you never knew Meghan and she will never suffer you nor your BS.  Stop trying to absolve yourselves of your ugliness… your racism; it is at the very core of your collective isle-dwelling souls.  

Go on, if you had treated Kobe as you treated Meghan, would he have achieved his greatness?  Fuck no!  Meghan knows her worth, as did Kobe, which is why she took leave of lazy, petty assholes like you – and elsewhere royals, royal households – who could never aspire to being Mamba.  How dare you, you small-minded, bigoted fool deny your racist birthright?  How dare you presume that you could possibly ever be perceived as Mamba?  Indeed, you may yet begin to transcend your mediocrity by doing something so bold and Mamba-like as writing about the Cambridges’ crumbling façade as alluded to by BBC’s Mary Berry’s A Berry Merry Christmas TV special at Christmas 2019.  Indeed, I dare you, you failed Mamba twat, write about the vile paedophilia within the House of Windsor, which to deny is just as risible as your winded rants about Mamba Meghan never having been subjected to racism by the British media, royal households, royals or society at large.  

How dare you Piers when the very racism you deny is at the heart of why Meghan could not achieve her own greatness in Britain.  Unlike the raw spontaneity of sport where Lewis Hamilton, Kobe Bryant, Michael Jordan, Usain Bolt and countless others cannot be hindered and interfered with in real time by the likes of insufferable and ubiquitous racist boors like you, ready to lynch, vilify and criminalise such persons, they unlike Meghan are able to achieve greatness without being hindered, driven out of town and having the mob incited to hatred and lynching them because of your racism and grudge.  You cannot warp and interfere in real time events such that you who must always win, must always be superior, come out on top – hell why do you think Simon Cowell is so damn rich?  Simon Cowell allows you a guaranteed winner to your liking, of your fragile-sensibilitied likeness every time.  No asshole, Meghan didn’t run; Meghan’s greatness belongs in real time, which is guaranteed beyond your isle of bigoted boors – the royals, royal households, Britons at large and most definitely Mamba-challenged assholes like you!    

How fucking goddamn dare you?  

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©2013-2022 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.  

By Any Means, We Win!

King_Jigme_Khesar_Namgyel_Wangchuck_(edit)

What William wants, William gets; he is the spoilt, over-indulged man-child, who also happens to be inordinately stupid and lacks awareness in direct contrast to his paternal grandmother, HM The Queen – one only has to recall his behaviour during Sheku Kanneh-Mason’s performance at the 2018 Royal Wedding of the Sussexes which validates this fact.  

What possible strategic import is Bhutan such that TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge had to pay the inordinately handsome King a visit?  None!  William bothered and besotted, clearly had to make that journey and realise his public school boy fantasy.  

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Obsessively controlling, this is the only known photograph of HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge with a gun whilst hunting.  A carefully stage-managed persona, which airbrushes out anything that could possibly cast him in a negative light.  Just like when recently stridently denying that there was any bullying on his (William’s) part of Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex or that TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge could in any way have been party to the campaign of isolation, racially predatory bullying and collusion with the print medium to slander, vilify and drive the American negro from being within the ranks of the senior royals.  

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Following TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge, everyone fell into line and ignored, isolated, excluded and condescendingly gloated, hissed at Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex.  The Cambridges, like HRH Prince Andrew, Duke of York and his relations with murdered paedophile Jeffrey Epstein, simply do not relate to or engage with blacks.  Period.  There is no fudging the issue.  As such, they would have seen it as a betrayal on the part of HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex to have gone and wedded a black woman, thereby bringing into their midst, the most undesirable of possible wives. 

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The Cambridges’ bigotry is precisely why that flat-arsed, no-calved freak, HRH Princess Michael of Kent, felt perfectly justified in wearing the blackamoor brooch to HM The Queen’s annual Christmas Lunch in 2017.  This display would have been a way of currying favour with the toxic 9s (the Cambridges) who head the court at Kensington Palace.  

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This is precisely why it was contingent on TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge visiting his shitty little enterprise, there was pea-brained Amir Khan, claiming to all the world that there is no racism in England; however, you can damn well bet that the blithering jackass certainly thinks that there is Islamophobia in England.  Matters not how the Cambridges run off to Pakistan and find them more desirable than the predominantly black Commonwealth countries’ citizens, radical Muslims are never going to cease fantasising of putting your skull in the small of your back.  So sad to watch the descendants of the world’s greatest empire kiss-arse in a bid not to be hunted by those who will never cease seeing them as the enemy, even in your own land.  Alas, such is the cruel justice that is karma.   

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Here we have another Asian Briton, running off at the mouth and making absurd inflammatory claims as there is no racism in England.  That is as absurd as any man anywhere, denying that women experience sexism.  If there is no anti-Semitism, no Islamophobia then yes, there is no racism towards blacks.  Obviously, no way Muslim Khans, Amir & Saira, would agree that there is no Islamophobia.  These Asians as they curry favour with whites, just come off looking as latter day house niggers for stridently denying that blacks experience racism.  Just because a Mongolian does not experience anti-Semitism does not meant that anti-Semitism does not exist.  Really sick and tired of all these holier-than-though, non-white, non-blacks, stoking racial divisions by denying racism towards blacks exist, simply because it earns then favoured nation status with people they would, in the case of the Khans et al, readily favour the heads of the same whites, they feign defending, in the small of their backs.  

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Henry & Meghan attending HM The Queen’s 2017 Christmas Lunch at Buckingham Palace.  

Where pray tell were the Cambridges coming forward at Christmas 2017 and stridently defending Harry and his wife and stating that there was no place in their court for behaviour like that of HRH Princess Michael of Kent.  Yet, there was William having the clueless Amir Khan, pronouncing that there is no racism in England.  Alas, there is no sophistication in the actions of stupid persons.  He said nothing about the brooch incident; however, when your brother and his wife are being run out of England, you get a convenient kiss-arse to come forward and deny racism in England.  

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As fate would have it, it truly would be poetic justice to have HRH Prince George of Cambridge end up marrying one of the many well-heeled and aggressive Indo-Pakistani families that now see opportunity, what with the American negro crashing the gates of the palace.  Sadly, of course, George will likely end up converting to his wife’s religion in such a scenario and there would go all those centuries of tradition and history.  Just imagine, all the art in Buckingham Palace carted to the courtyard and destroyed like the Buddhist statues in Afghanistan were; thereafter, Buck House become a palatial mosque at the end of the mall  Indeed, fitting karma for a history of warring and slavery; more than that, fitting karma for having bullied, racially preyed on and driven out Meghan that undesirable American negro. 

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You keep on avoiding those predominantly black Commonwealth countries, though future sovereign thereof; you may yet rue the day your bigotry got the better of you.  Look at the preceding photograph, both Cambridges are hard-faced and sullen, betraying their desire not to be in the company of people like these, who happen to be predominantly black as they are the leaders of Africa at a UK/Africa summit.  All royals with hands clasped as though wanting not to be contaminated by undesirables.  

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Just as at Archie Harrison Mountbatten-Windsor’s christening photograph, William had the same look of disgust and loathing for having to be in the presence of such undesirables… blacks.  

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Both the Cambridges walking into the salon at Buckingham Palace to meet the predominantly black delegation of African leaders at the reception for the UK/Africa Summit with the faces looking hard, vexed and like thunder; apart from the fact that their marriage is a fractious, hostile waste of time, they are also not holding back on their displeasure at having to engage people about whom they do not give two fucks.  

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All this trip demonstrated, is who William’s advisers are and who he looks up to.  There was no import in a future head of the Church of England, kowtowing to any other religion anywhere.  HM The Queen has never done it; then again, Israel is not a predominantly black Commonwealth nation.  The sad reality is, William could not fathom that to many with a discerning intellect, he looked as ridiculously silly as he found Rev. Curry as he openly ridiculed him to his father during the Royal wedding in 2018 of his brother at St. George’s Chapel in Windsor Castle before his brother’s mother-in-law.  William is an alarmingly clueless chump.   

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Indeed, there were the Sussexes on the eve of the 2019 Remembrance Sunday service in Whitehall with Camilla, HRH Duchess of Cornwall not turning up; she bowed out at the last minute over claims of being under the weather.  Yet, there she was the day following in the balcony in Whitehall next to HM The Queen, looking as prune-faced as ever.  

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Well before you knew what next, there was Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex emigrated to Canada.  Now that’s more like the Tudor matriarch we know and love; damn right said Meghan, ‘Bitch I’m not your dirty tampon!’  Regardless how that sissy-arsed closet case, Piers Morgan loudly farts from the wrong orifice, Meghan is not a quitter.  Funny how he failed to have stated that though not the star, Meghan did not quit Suits for all of seven years.  Wanna know why pussy-face, because she was not being racially preyed on, disrespected and of all people by persons whom she readily discerned are fucking idiots… to put it delicately.  

Just look at the rabid, racially predatory idiot having to soul-search and claim after Meghan has said, ‘Fuck you, I’m out,’ having to run around and defend that they were never being racist.  If Meghan had not left, you would not be having this debate, rather, you would be continuing on with the same racialised reportage that got you massive advertising revenue.  Well, don’t you worry about it, Americans do not like being treated like shit and they are second to no one.   The days of British actors migrating to America and walking off with awards, awards season after awards season are numbered.  How many American actors from Julliard end up in BBC dramas or anywhere for that matter on British TV or film?  None; it simply never happens!  

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Only a self-assured soul who had been highly placed in the BRF in previous lives and one who played just as pivotal a role as the current sovereign, HM The Queen, could be so strong, indomitable and possessed of a true sense of self.  Yes, indeed, why suffer through decades of being racially preyed on by royal households, royals both minor and senior?  Good of the Sussexes to have gotten out now, in the next decade or two at most, William will likely be sovereign and he and his warring wife are the most ill-equipped persons you can possibly imagine, to carry on the heritage of the current sovereign, HM The Queen.  

Ragland, Doria 2/9/56 Cleveland, Ohio.

Michael: This fragment is a fifth-level mature slave – second life thereat.  Doria is in the perseveration mode with a goal of dominance.  A realist, Doria is in the intellectual part of moving centre. 

Doria’s primary chief feature is impatience and the secondary, stubbornness. 

Doria’s body type is Venus/Saturn. 

The fragment Doria is fifth-cast in the second cadence.  Doria is a member of greater cadence seven.  Doria’s entity is three, cadre six, greater cadre 7 pod 418. 

Doria’s essence twin is a slave and the task companion a priest who is known to her. 

Doria’s three primary needs are: exchange, adventure and power. 

There are 5 past-life associations with Arvin and 6 with Merlin.  ­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­

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As is obvious, Doria is a cadre mate of HM The Queen, her daughter, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex, HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex, Archie Harrison Mountbatten-Windsor and HRH Prince George of Cambridge.  Archie and George are entity mates; however, whereas Archie is the 7th level mature priest, George is a fourth mature king!  The senior Cambridges are in no way connected to any of the aforementioned persons at the level of soul; the former persons, though, share a bond, which would never be marred by anything that the Cambridges would do.   

How’s that for karmic dessert for the bloody savagery you meted out to Africa and her descendants even to this day and which, like the smug cowards you are, will rant up and down, protesting that it has anything to do with race as you lynched HRH Prince Henry and his wife for being a goddamn American negro straight out of Compton.  These people actually get a high out of fucking with blacks and denying to our faces that racism exists.  There is no way in high hell that Piers Morgan would bring a Muslim, Muslim cleric or Jihadist onto his show and take pleasure in fucking with such an individual and claim that there is no such thing as Islamophobia – certainly, his open animus towards Afua Hirsch is standard behaviour towards blacks. 

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In all this high jinks, William and Catherine had not foreseen the ramifications of their grudging, racially predatory behaviour towards Meghan and her husband.  Now that Meghan has taken Harry and her family to Canada, there is HM The Queen’s greatest legacy, the Commonwealth, left in ruins as it is a known fact that neither William nor Catherine have any desire to mix with the predominantly black Commonwealth heads-of-states and definitely they are not the least bit inclined to go visit those nations.  

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Archie was the catalyst for the Sussexes to make their break for North America.  There was Meghan, refusing to play by the rules and when finally she revealed a photo of Archie with his great-grandmother, there were they all looking on adoringly as though he were the messiah.  Further, there was of all things a dread-locked black woman in the photograph and the royal baby’s grandmother no less.  If that were not bad enough, without access to Archie as the Sussexes denied the royal rota for attacking Meghan, they presented him at court to Archbishop Emeritus Desmond Tutu, the very reminder of white privilege not being a given anymore.  There was Archie, a royal baby, being fawned over by that vile attacker of Apartheid as heroic Baroness Thatcher saw him, to say nothing of Nelson Mandela. 

Indeed, Meghan is infinitely smarter than the royal rota realised; this is after all, the same soul who proved the matriarch of the Tudor dynasty.  No messing with Meghan.  Britons with their inferiority complex towards richer, larger, brasher Americans just had to bully, bray and racially prey on the black witch.  Too bad, you never thought that black American woman was going to fight back and pull the rug out from under the bullying royal rota’s feet.  

This couple, possessed of matching numbers, and toxic at that, 9 and 3 are as culpable in Meghan deciding that the best move to save their marriage and sanity was to hell with the Cambridges’ games and get out.  The royal rota is dead and for being in Canada, who could care less what they think? 

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Now the ball is in the powerful royal rota’s court and the The Sun’s racist editor can go stuff a cock in every orifice as he does the bidding of his vile overlord, whose oft-passed-around, Texan escort wife pretty much sums up the lack of integrity associated with that racist behemoth.  Who cares now what Piers Morgan thinks in his daily shrill, race-baiting sniper fire at Meghan and Harry?  All this because it has everything to do with race. 

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The Windsors represent the lionisation of white privilege; more than that, they represent the purity of white genetics.  The irony of all this is that almost all European royals invariably descend from HM Queen Victoria, who was directly descended from the very equally black wife as Meghan, Duchess of Sussex of HM, King George III’s, Queen Charlotte.  

Archie Harrison Mountbatten-Windsor is the manifestation of Piers Morgan and all racist Britain’s worse fears.  There is a royal child, who is directly born to the womb of a black woman.  Of course, that black woman would be reviled and become the most lynched black in human history.  Indeed, why should she suffer it; it is madness, has nothing to do with her or reality and as the Sussexes clearly love each other, why subject yourself to such toxicity?  Why be vilified, lied about, openly hated and ridiculed all because you did not give birth to a child who is of pure white heritage.  

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This ultimately has nothing to do with Meghan.  Meghan, though, was the crucible of their worse fears realised; the moment you breed with non-whites, you lose your very less than dominant genetic blonde and blue-eyed stock, which of course is widely claimed as superior.  The obvious love this man, HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex has for his wife, Meghan, a black woman and their non-white child is at the heart of the open racially predatory animus these ugly people bear Meghan and her family; yet, these cowardly liars swear up and down that it has nothing to do with race!  

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Well here’s another obvious lie of yours, on which your civilisation is based: sorry not buying it – Mary did not lay down and give birth to Christ without once having fucked.  From that one lie, has sprung a culture of lies where everything is based in lies…  right down to trying to deny Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex her humanity.  To hell with the royal households, the Cambridges and any other royals who would deny this great eloquent, intellectually and emotionally intelligent woman her rightful human respect. 

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Since the institution and its rabid racists could never be expected to change, on realising this, fast enough, one day Meghan looked herself in the mirror, smiled and said, ‘I am much too tall to be made to feel this small.’  Meghan decided to be the change that the House of Windsor needed, ‘Come on H, we are moving to Canada, you are finally going to be emancipated.’  Free at last were they of the toxic brother (William) and his equally toxic wife (Catherine) whom, I might add,  Harry never rejected. 

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Let them finally get off their arses and do something remotely looking like work and more importantly, looking like a couple in love…  hyperemesis gravidarum my arse!  Meghan driven out because singly or combined, the Cambridges were outshone by Meghan, indeed, Meghan and Harry. 

Like Charles with Diana, Princess of Wales before them, a petulant, jealous William colluded with his wife and conspired to demonise that black witch.  They had never in a million years envisioned Meghan, upping and abandoning them and their BS.  Look at William in the above clip; he is winded, embarrassed and unfocussed and hardly ever looks up.  Whatever are they going to do?  Meghan pulled a move that they had never seen coming in a million years.  His culpability in the matter is betrayed by his not once cracking a joke, which is his usual approach on taking to the lectern

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Well, there you are centre stage, as boring as day-old porridge and just as sodden as cardboard left outdoors during monsoon season.  Go on mousy, go on cock-suck that mic and show us how you have found the voice you never had to lose in the first place.  Now Meghan can speak before an audience without having the royal household, directed by the Cambridges, scrub the internet of her speeches, as they did with her eloquent speech to the 2018 British Fashion Awards.  

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Really you two, what exactly have you won?  Now centre stage, the spotlight will be most unforgiving as it ferrets out who you truly are.  Your collusion with royal rota is up, the beast needs new blood to feast on… and you are it.    

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2013-2022 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.  

Finally, The Mouse Has Fucking Roared!

What did I tell you?  I done been sermonising up in here all these long months and then the coalminer’s kinder done let it all hang out.  Getting hot under the collar in the kitchen indeed.  

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Now you know, with that one move, all god’s coloured queens done sprained their wrists, hyper-fanning themselves and blew their just-so fascinators clear off their weaved heads, on seeing the crypt-dwelling, muggled mouse-cum-rat roar back.  Twas bound to happen; sooner or later, every rat will resort to cannibalism.  

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Did you not think it weird that Catherine went and sat her post-partum steely self between Lord Porchie’s minor meat-loving dolt and Camilla – the coolest older royal after The Princess Royal.  As William would have had to get up to bear the rings, it is only natural that Catherine ought to have sat to HRH Prince Charles, Duke of Cornwall’s immediate right, rather than two to his left just beyond his wife, Camilla, HRH Duchess of Cornwall despite what protocol dictates.  

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Catherine is both a warrior soul and a 9 energy body to the core.  What’s more, she is a fifth-level mature soul and as there is drama at the mature soul age, it is most pronounced when one is fifth-level mature as that level is synonymous with the fifth role in essence, the sage.  Drama is the hallmark of sages, fifthness brings you drama.  Finally, the little squeaking mouse had had enough of playing nice, metamorphosed, becoming a rabid rat who readily roared.  

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Jo Elvin, Alexandra Shulman, Janet Street-Porter, Lady Colin Campbell, Piers Morgan & Stephanie Powers.  

Whatever shall those silly, ninny-arsed fools do now as they have spent the past year, trying to make you and I see nacre where there was none, in what is clearly nothing but faux pearls from Target!  No matter how the persons above slander Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex in their bid to suddenly anoint Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge as stylish, having found a voice that she never had to lose in the first place, to being future Queen consort et tout ça; it is all frigging lies, which were shattered with Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge dismissing HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge much as she did on the balcony at Buckingham Palace within mere hours of having been wedded on April 29, 2011. 

Numbers do not lie and 9 energy-bodied women are all shrewd, rudely dismissive and crass when it comes to letting you know just where they stand; and for being human, there is no reason why Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge would act any differently. 

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These blasted clowns acting as though we have all been somnambulant these past 8 years.  I don’t care if you want to rebrand her as being able to turn her piss into wine, she, as her numbers dictate and as she indisputably chose to lay bare during Mary Berry’s Christmas TV special, BBC’s A Berry Royal Christmas – which only came about because palace mandarins decided that since that American, Straight Outta Compton wrote the foreword to the Grenfell cookbook Together then a cooking special for the TV masses it is – is no such thing. 

True to her numbers, Catherine just had to let there be no doubt that she ain’t nothing but a damn river rat in true Edward Gorey fashion.  And there were her revisionist enablers, thinking that this Christmas TV special, BBC’s A Berry Royal Christmas, will really show up the object of their vilifying campaign, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex as so passé.  And boy did they ever show her up… Catherine that is!   

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That’s right Monty, that’ll be two sugars with my Countess Grey.  

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Regardless, Diana, Princess of Wales’ deeply lonely, all scholar souls ever are, emotionally stunted son, HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge, does not deserve to be bullied and disrespected.  As has been painfully obvious, this will ever cause him to roam as every emasculating woman has caused her partner to do.  

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Like Vladimir Horowitz and Wanda Toscanini, who were also task companions, this pair of task companions must also get up to the most vicious nagging and rows imaginable.  You can fool no one, most especially older souls than you!

With Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex’s appearance at court, Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge has got reason to live.  Life is all competition for warriors; hell Catherine would compete with a damn fly but not before first plucking one of its wings off.  That maniacal angst of Catherine’s is why the soul who was Tudor matriarch, Margaret Beaufort, later HRH Prince Edward, Duke of York & Albany and now Meghan, Duchess of Sussex chose to have nothing to do with the fire-breathing, ape-bat shit psycho holding court at Kensington Palace; instead, Meghan et famille quite rightly so decamped at Windsor Castle’s Frogmore Cottage.  

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Look at the two older children; they are growing up in a household where there is clearly massive strain in their parents’ marriage.  There is a lot of discord and rowing afoot and that is readily discernible in the two older children’s faces.  

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Wanda Toscanini & Vladimir Horowitz.

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

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

Vladimir had a Mercury/Lunar body type. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Like Catherine & William, Vladimir & Wanda were also task companions and also the same mix of Scholar and Warrior souls.  Both women were/are fifth-level mature warrior souls.  I knew a classical musician in NYC in the 1980s and he knew the couple and said they were the most passionate, loud, argumentative and frankly abusive towards each other couple he had ever known.  This is not uncommon territory for task companions; by its very nature, the relationship is about spurring the other into action.  Warrior females in a relationship where they feel themselves not in control, will engage in bullying to assume power of some sort or power as they so deem it.  Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge’s uncouth display, in public no less, during the Mary Berry Christmas TV special, BBC’s A Berry Royal Christmas, speaks to the great stress that William endures and that Catherine has exercised in her bid to gain control in a position which she clearly perceives as tenuous at best.  

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Recently, I got taken to task about my observation that TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge refuse to tour predominantly black Commonwealth countries.  They have recently been to Pakistan and have also to date visited India.  Along with that, they have visited Singapore and elsewhere.  The argument was from my dinner partners that, perhaps, the Cambridges do not tour such countries because they are poorer et al.  If only that were true.  Nigeria is the third most populous Commonwealth nation after India and Pakistan and though Nigeria’s GDP is higher than that of Pakistan’s, the argument that they don’t do poorer Commonwealth nations do not hold up, when they have hopscotched over Nigeria and toured less populous Singapore whose GDP is also less than that of Nigeria’s.  Again, I hang tough, their combined numerological 9s, are precisely why the Cambridges have to date chosen not to tour any predominantly black Commonwealth nation.  That certainly does speak volumes about them and in particular William and his enabler in that regard, Catherine.   

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Demonise TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex and their family all they want, whilst portraying the Cambridges as the embodiment of wholesomeness and regal class.  Be that as it may, the Cambridges have been fractious where the Sussexes never have been.  No matter how the print medium race-bait the public into loathing the Sussexes, theirs comparably is a happy marriage and that at the end of the day, is why Catherine, rather than Meghan, seethes at having to be touched by her spouse.  Catherine is a toxic 9 writ large and no amount of sugar-coating ya-ya from the DailyMail and its racist trolls will ever be able to gloss over the froideur Catherine exhibited at Mary Berry Christmas TV special, BBC’s A Berry Royal Christmas, towards HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge.  

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That is no mouse, it is a damn river rat! So you know, two rats will have a million offspring in a mere 18 months, most of which will be cannibalised to keep themselves fed and nourished.  So very wise of the Sussexes to stay clear of that rabid, to say nothing of haunted, toxic and dense-energied lair where the Cambridges hold court, Kensington Palace.  

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©2013-2022 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.  

Charles & Diana: La Deuxième Partie (Like Father, Like Son).

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A few weeks back as I pored through IG (Instagram) that day, I kept noticing that the latest viral storm involved the worlds of dance and the royals.  As the story unfolded, I became increasingly ticked off.  Here was everyone, mostly dancers across the globe, whom I religiously follow, feigning indignation at Lara Spencer’s bullying of HRH Prince George of Cambridge because he studies ballet at the age of six.  

I soon sought out the clip in question and quietly awaited how the usual defenders of the royals would react.  Firstly, I do not believe for a second that Ms Spencer’s intended to bully as its been alleged that she did.  She was presenting a light entertaining piece about the royals, about whom the American audience at large know precious little.  Indeed, had an American, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex not married HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex in May 2018, it is highly improbable that Good Morning America would have run the story about Prince George also taking ballet classes at his school in Battersea.  

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There was no malicious intent on Ms. Spencer’s part; however, she was being sexist and classist in trying to make the royals somewhat relatable to an American audience.  It was an entertainment news item, in an American breakfast show when there is no time for getting too deep into any given subject and certainly not an entertainment story.  Nonetheless, there was she being tarred and feathered with dancers partout, calling for her to be fired and demanding that she issue an apology toute de suite.  

There is a damn good reason why dancers do not speak when onstage and that damn well ought to apply more often when offstage.  Not once did the optics of their outrage at Ms. Spencer, occur to any of these solipsistic bunheads.  Honest to god, here are they up in arms in defence of a royal whilst having remained perfectly mute as when onstage about the racially predatory abuse and bullying of another royal, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex.  Of course, in having chosen to not hold their tongues as previously and consistently they have as the Duchess of Sussex has been abused, more speaks volumes about them than not.  

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For never once having said anything in protest of Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex’s bullying and abuse at the hands of Piers Morgan, Lady Colin Campbell, Amanda Plattel, Janet Street-Porter shows the entrenched apathy the world over at racism towards blacks.  All of the aforementioned have all fallen silent and written not a single article in defence of Prince George being bullied by that uncivilised American, Lara Spencer.  Naturally, so huge was the backlash that Lara Spencer had to swiftly issue an apology.  Again, at no time did any of the DailyMail gang of racially predatory Meghan-hating, race-baiting, click-baiting detractors show their cowardly faces. 

How could they have?  By far, they are the biggest bullies.  Unlike Ms. Spencer, her remarks were a one-off, I do not believe she intended to report on the Cambridge’s children on a weekly basis and in a disparaging manner.  American six-year-olds do not take ballet classes as part of their curriculum; that is why Ms. Spencer was going for a light, easy laugh.  She was showing to the American audience how removed from their reality, the royals are.  

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Each day with Jeffrey Epstein’s all too convenient death – that was definitely not a suicide, the racially predatory ghouls in English print media have remained conspicuously silent.  Truly if Lady Colin Campbell, Piers Morgan et al cared about the monarchy, why are they not up in arms and castigating HRH Prince Andrew, Duke of York of having been a dark and bothersome thorn for the crown?  Where is their outrage?  Where are the multiple daily articles wherein Prince Andrew is taken to task for proving himself not fit to be counted a royal?  

Don’t these idiots realise that in remaining in hiding and mum through the tsunami of Epstein’s resurgence and death, they come off as having been purely racist and malicious in their attacks on the Duchess of Sussex.  The longer they remain silent and cease their attack articles on Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex, reveal how purely malicious, personal and racist their coverage has been.  They have now got zero credibility.  

Naturally, as the braying against Prince Andrew grew louder and there were more daring calls for him to face justice, the loyal defenders of the RF sat back and said nothing.  When finally the Lara Spencer controversy blew over, Piers Morgan re-emerged and went right back to feeding on TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex.  The new attack word is hypocrite; naturally, the Sussexes are hypocrites for flying by private jet.  After the fact, it would emerge that the Sussexes likely travelled to be at Elton John’s French estate, following the suicide of an energetic, charismatic colleague of Prince Harry’s on August 5, 2019.  

In this exquisite clip, we get a prime example of the true hypocrisy; here is Piers Morgan caterwauling as per usual, defending his right to bully and prey on Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex and like every racist boor, he is shrill in denying that it has anything to do with race.  As the future Countess of Sandwich, Julie Montagu, Viscountess Hinchingbrooke and fellow American alludes, the reason for the Sussexes travelling by private jets may be down to serious and valid threats that they may be subjected to, owing to Meghan being black.  Naturally, straight away as he race-baits and gleefully so, Piers states that it has nothing to do race; he refuses to concede that much of the hatred towards the Sussexes could be rooted in racism and that there couldn’t possibly be death threats aplenty against the Sussexes.  

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Julie Montagu, Viscountess Hinchingbrooke.

Rather, the tone deaf racist boor counters by stating that Diana was infinitely more famous than Meghan is; granted but he fails to realise that Diana was white and would have receive not a single death threat for being white.  The fact that Meghan is black and the first black to marry a senior royal are grounds enough for violent racists to be boldly making death threats against the Sussexes.  

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This is to what Julie Montagu was referring, instead, in a defence of his right to maintain his shrill racially predatory attack campaign, Piers Morgan shrilly states more nonsense.  Piers even becomes incandescent with rage at Julie Montagu’s suggestion that Meghan will do things in an American way.  Naturally, Piers protests and, in essence, says that Britons will not be overrun by Americans.  The past month has revealed the real hypocrisy of the English print medium, just as with the Lara Spencer scandal, which they could not criticise as it reflected their own bullying, Piers Morgan et al fell silent with the avalanche of details that have surfaced with Jeffrey Epstein’s death; murder, suicide… you decide.  

The glaring refusal of Piers Morgan and the rest of DM’s gaggle of shrill racists to so much as once mention Prince Andrew, has rather unwittingly cast a very harsh light on that other source of royal scandal, HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge.  Of course, this was never their intention – they aren’t that intellectually sophisticated.  Rather than pounce on the Andrew angle, if they are so keen on hurling mud at royals, they remained mum.  This has only given rise to questions of what exactly has been going on in the Cambridges’ marriage.  There was William shaking arse with his bottom boy, Thomas van Straubenzee in Verbier whilst also playing the field and hooking up on the dance floor with a woman who definitely was not Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge.  

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This is the same Prince William who earlier in 2019 met with the editorial board at the DailyMail,  Like the scarf incident at Christmas 2018, more and more this is not about Wallis Simpson and King Edward VIII; however, it most definitely is matter of history repeating itself within the British royal family by way of HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales’ jealousy and the very real threat that he saw Diana, Princess of Wales posing early in their marriage.  For Charles, Diana was a complete enigma.  Not only did he not love her but how could the public be so obsessed with her?  How is it that he who was born to be king, be eclipsed by someone who was not even a blood princess?  

This dynamic is now repeating a generation later as desperate to rein Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex in, HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge met with the DailyMail’s editorial board.  For William, just like Charles, he is threatened by Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex’s star power.  Meghan shines brighter than both Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge and himself, the future Prince of Wales.  Naturally, all along, HRH Prince Henry was dismissed as being second fiddle; William was deferred to and it was expected by William that Harry would know his role and keep his place.  

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Yet, there she is, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex with more glamour and star power than both Cambridges combined.  It is in the nature of scholar souls to engage in dirty pool and set about to ruin someone by doing so in the background.  History repeats itself in that, like his father before him, William has been blindsided and thrown by the public’s reaction to someone not a blood royal.  It isn’t just that Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex is black, rather, William has been groomed from birth to expect everyone to be less revered than himself in the dynastic hierarchy.  That assumption, as are all assumptions, is untenable.  For all kinds of reasons, Meghan is far more popular than either William or Catherine – to say nothing of both combined.  

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Misha Nonoo-Hess & Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex.  

William for being a scholar soul and with his astrological, numerological and overleaves chosen would never choose a wife who could prove more popular than himself,  Shrewdly persevering, Catherine a warrior’s warrior would never go in for being showy as is an artisan or sage’s wont.  Artisans are simply far too complex for mere scholars to fathom.  The fact that artisans input on five channels where kings, warrior and scholars merely input on a single channel, would lead to unease on the part of a scholar who has been groomed from birth to be deferred to and groomed to be most popular.  That Meghan, has been one of the most shrewd and accomplished women in English history – she is the reincarnated Margaret Beaufort matriarch of the Tudor dynasty – is all the more reason why one cannot expect her to turn up playing wallflower here and now.  

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For Meghan, William is as interesting as a mastered rubric’s cube; he is flat, one-dimensional and bland.  The fact that Meghan’s task companion is a warrior and that she, Meghan, is married to a warrior, HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex, her father-in-law HRH Prince Charles Prince of Wales and Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge, her sister-in-law are also warrior souls, gives her an edge in understanding and knowing just what to expect from the Cambridges.  It is no coincidence that Charles’ second wife would turn out to be a scholar, Camilla, HRH Duchess of Cornwall and as such, someone who would not prove the egotistical challenge that Diana, Princess of Wales proved for being an artisan with star power.  

Indeed, like father like son as William a scholar would marry a warrior soul, Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge who also happens to be his task companion.  Meghan and her forthrightness and singleness of purpose, with her healthy star power has proven a threat for William.  Meghan has also proven a jolt of energy for the Cambridges; they have finally had to get off their arses and stop playing house and do something that is more than simply turning up, grinning, shaking hands then bolting.  This is what the revival of the King’s Cup Regatta as a means of fundraising for some of their charities represents.  Meghan has shown with her ventures, the Together cookbook and Smart Works fashion collection that like the Prince Charles’ Prince’s Trust, she is all about raising money.  She gets it – the monarchy is a business.  

No amount of meetings with the DailyMail‘s editorial board is going to change the fact that Meghan’s star power is rooted in history.  How this has manifested itself here, is her expert command of stagecraft.  She is commanding of an audience in a manner that neither William nor Catherine is.  All this recent rubbish on the part of the DailyMail talking about Catherine has found her voice… all of 8 years on; indeed, it is a voice that she has been forced to suddenly find with little mastery simply because the very real threat and presence of Meghan behoves the Cambridges to do more than breed.  As compared to the Sussexes, the Cambridges are rather bone idle, truth be told.  Just as Charles was threatened by Diana’s greater popularity, so too is William threatened by Meghan’s greater worldliness, star power and commanding stage presence.  

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This is precisely why Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex’s stellar stage command at the 2018 British Fashion Awards has been scrubbed from the internet.  At the end of the day, the very shrewd Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex – which artisan soul is not both shrewd and complex – is confident of one fact: intellect is the most powerful asset to possess when incarnate.  Meghan is better educated than both Cambridges and she is vastly more worldly and articulate and displays greater intellect and emotional intelligence than Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge hands down.  Charles does not call Meghan Tungsten for no reason…. besides just as Charles is rather shrewdly aware, William, though not inconsequential, is nonetheless stupid.  

No matter how William colludes, conspires and sabotages from behind the scenes, it is as futile as trying to sabotage and undo the work that Margaret Beaufort did back there in time… impossible.  For both Charles and William both Diana and Meghan would prove both enigmatic and difficult.  Both men for being warrior and scholar souls respectively input solely on one channel.  Both Diana and Meghan for being artisan souls input on five channels.  We artisans are the most complex creatures, who are not readily understood and are usually dismissed as unstable, too wilful, undisciplined, crazy, lunatic, artsy-fartsy et al.  Where artisans and sages are at home in the arts or looking like the contestants on Rupaul’s Drag Race, warrior and scholars are anything but, unless of course they are a scholar or warrior with sage or artisan task companion and with lots of sage or artisan influences in their casting.  

Where Charles differs from William is that his task companion is a priest which means that he, like all priests, would be given to serving a higher ideal which in Charles’ case has to to do with stewardship of the environment and not just the realm to which he is destined to govern.  Again, I cannot strongly enough state how much scholars are given to being shit-disturbers, fault-finding and given to being stubborn and categorising everyone and everything into its own neat little box/list as deemed by scholar arrogance to be correct.  In William, this is even more pronounced as his being born to be king, has heightened this innate scholar arrogance; furthermore, his attitude of 9 in its negative manifestation leaves him being prejudicial to all that is other and not like oneself.  

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(HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex at the wedding of Michael Hess and Misha Nonoo.  What I love about this photograph is the more than passing resemblance between Henry and Roman Abramovitch.  About a dozen years ago, I had the most lucid dream of both men deep in conversation and I was struck then how much they looked alike; this is the first photo that captures this similitude in the look of their eyes.  I think that they are, perhaps, connected at the level of soul either entity mates or cadre mates.)  

The long and short of it all is that William met with the editorial board of the DailyMail in his campaign to demonise and eliminate the affront that Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex represents to his prejudicial scholarly sensibilities.  Still, he has yet to go tour a predominantly black Commonwealth Nation; unlike his brother, HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex who through Sentebale has kept in touch with his black roots in his immediate past life.  Regardless of how much he and Catherine, run around making speeches all of a sudden, they can never eclipse the cool sophistication of Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex’s commanding stagecraft.  

Apart from being task companions, William and Catherine are a formidable force to reckon with… and it is all in the numbers.  Catherine is born 9.1.82 = 9.1.3 = 4.  William is born 21.6.82 = 3.9.2 = 5.  For any pairing to smoothly, harmoniously work, one must have at least two numbers in common.  The Cambridges have 9 and 3 in common.  I have spoken in the past of how debilitating William’s attitude of 9 leaves him hamstrung by prejudice, which clearly leaves him ill at ease or disfavouring blacks – hence the meeting with the DailyMail’s editorial board.  In Catherine’s case, the 9 is in the energy body.  9s are perfectionists who readily dismiss and banish anyone and everyone who comes near them who by their personal standers do not measure up and are deemed imperfect in some way.  

Again, Warriors (Catherine/Henry & Charles also Philip) are the dominant partner in any relationship.  For that reason, Catherine is rather threatened by Meghan’s forthrightness, American boldness, most of all, she is grossly threatened by Meghan’s commanding stage presence and the fact that Meghan, like every performer before her who is an artisan soul sets the tone and captures one’s attention like no warrior ever can, would prove disquieting for Catherine; in Meghan, Catherine is made readily aware that she is imperfect in some way.  Diana was the quintessential artisan soul with star power, she was also like another artisan of commanding star power in the 20th century, Marilyn Monroe.  Diana’s body type was Lunar/Mercury – she was luminous, empathetic, fluid, changeable, unpredictable.  With Marilyn Monroe, there was also Lunar energy; however, that artisan soul was Venus/Lunar… you could not get more bewitchingly famous than that.  In other words, she was gorgeously voluptuous – as we well know – but could cast a spell on anyone… and did.  

Also, an artisan, Meghan incidentally, is the same soul age as was Marilyn Monroe.  Meghan, however, has a Venus/Solar body type.  No surprise then that the very powerful Tudor matriarch, Margaret Beaufort would reincarnate with a body type that has the most spiritually senior royal, HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales referring to her as Tungsten.  Not only is she winningly appealing but Meghan’s body type of Venus/Solar suggests someone who is inordinately ambitious and also fully in control and is more shrewd than Diana ever was.  Both William and Catherine are deeply intimidated by Meghan.  Catherine’s body type is Saturn/Mercury/Venus.  That saturnine energy only accentuates that 9 energy in her makeup.  She is steely, guarded and like every warrior who ever lived fiercely competitive.  She is the dominant partner in that marriage – I should think that this does cause William a great deal of stress.  William, of course, is a lot like his mum, he is Lunar/Mars/Saturn.  At the end of the day, like Diana, he is not always ‘there’ and is not someone whom one would ever think of as an intellect… spacey is more to the point; this is why he cluelessly sat with his back to the horses on entering the 1902 state landau on his wedding day outside Westminster Abbey.  

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No matter how the Cambridges are threatened by Meghan and engage in a campaign to rein her in and sabotage her star power, as the Kingdom Choir sang so jubilantly, Meghan’s light will ever shine uneclipsed regardless of what prejudicial William and tightwad, faultfinding Catherine think or do.  It is really risible watching them try and rebrand Catherine as a public speaker.  Catherine can never walk onto any stage anywhere and have the audience be wowed and react so beautifully as the heavily artisan and sage-souled audience at the 2018 British Fashion Awards did to her surprise appearance.  Meghan proved her mettle in giving the world the greatest bit of theatre as she walked up the west steps at St. George’s Chapel, Windsor Castle on her wedding day, walking up the aisle like no royal bride ever had; she was declaring loudly and clearly, “I’m back!” as at the core of her being, the soul which previously had been Margaret Beaufort, entered the chapel alone beneath the stain glass windows at the west door with a tribute to her son in that past life, HM King Henry VII, then walked whilst escorted by HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales, across the tomb of HM King Henry VIII whom she mentored and for whom, she Meghan, then Margaret Beaufort was his greatest mentor.  

Meghan with every speech eclipses and exposes the flawed campaign of the Cambridges to try and make her a laughing stock, banished and inconsequential.  For crying out loud, Meghan is an artisan, not a self-restraining warrior nor a dull blithering scholar who was openly dismissed whilst on the balcony on his wedding day by his new wife.  Catherine for 8 years never once thought to start speaking publicly, yet, all of a sudden, there she is, comparably making an arse of herself.  She has been a deeply self-absorbed controlling element in her husband’s life, given to smoking, dieting all in hopes of being praying mantis and boyishly androgynous, the way a good public school-groomed husbands like those cherished proclivities sustained.  

Numerologically, the Cambridges are better suited elsewhere on the Timeline than here.  They are both not remotely adept at living in a world where being media savvy  is mandatory.  Saturnine, smug and colonial in their sensibilities, it is hard to fathom how they have managed to do little to nothing until the arrival of Meghan on the scene to cause them to suddenly become eager to engage and undertake royal engagements as well as raising funds for charities.  Since 2011, they went to Hollywood, wowed no one and have not been invited back since.  

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Truly, all that Catherine in her whimpering speeches can do is address childhood issues rather than commanding the respect and attention of adults as with Meghan at the 2018 British Fashion Awards which have been conveniently scrubbed from the internet as it is puts into relief the commanding force which Meghan represents.  Artisans, like Meghan, Marilyn Monroe, Diana, Princess of Wales and countless others bring the magic by merely being, especially so when on stage… this is an innate gift that neither Catherine nor William possess in the slightest.  

For sporty Catherine to be suddenly thrust out there to be making speeches only further highlights how desperately the Cambridges are threatened by the appearance of Meghan in their midst.  Just listen to this god-awful boldfaced sophistry!  She has not found any voice anywhere. 

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You cannot find what you never had to lose in the first place.  She is a mousy little thing who looks like a chain-smoking, eating disorder mess which would be in keeping with the 9 numerology obsession with perfection.  This You Magazine insert in the Mail on Sunday is the result of the Cambridges meeting with the editorial board of the DailyMail. 

It changes nothing because as earlier in the week proved as TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex demonstrated when presenting four-month old Archie Mountbatten-Windsor to Archbishop emeritus, Desmond Tutu and the eagerly awaiting world, the Cambridges by comparison are like week-old lettuce…  limp.  Just look at that exquisitely shaped African skull on Archie…  it readily conjures images of family gatherings where every black aunt, cousin and mother want to gently, lovingly massage the uniquely large skull with its rear extension, their long melanin-rich fingers massaging love and pride deep into the very DNA of yet another handsome son of Africa. 

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Archie is such a beautiful, well-aware, engaged youngster.  Indeed, in spades, he demonstrated at all of four months that he is indeed an older soul as his mum, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex stated whilst visiting with the Tutus.  Truth be told, Archie is the oldest soul senior royal.  He is the same age as HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales – both 7th level Mature souls; however, Archie is a priest soul and more cardinally cast than warrior soul, Charles.  

One thing that the Sussexes tour of Africa has proven, is that though the campaign waged by the British media, especially so the DailyMail has been damning, it changes nothing.  There hatred does not encompass how the world perceives the Sussexes; they are lovely couple, truly in love and parents to the most awesomely spiritually evolved child, Archie Harrison Mountbatten-Windsor.  

*I should point out, however, that I have not done the overleaves for prince Louis of Cambridge or his sister princess Charlotte of Cambridge.  Thus, of the senior royals channelled at this stage, Archie is the oldest soul, though, he may well not be based on the other senior royals whose overleaves I have not done.  END.  

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©2013-2022 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.  

Won’t Take The A Train

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As I slipped into sleep, on Friday, July 9, 1993, the Moon transited both Pisces and my tenth house – though not the least bit focussed on Merlin prior to sleep – the dream shaman would manifest and weave the most sublime magic yet.  As will become fast evident, the first three dreams that day were about process.  I was during those dreams, divesting myself of the baggage that affects one’s waking consciousness/persona.  These are waking state survival mechanisms which would be disposed of, in each successive dream, so that I could be elevated enough in spirit to have moved on to the truly noble experiences of the later dreams.  

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Whilst yet another stood beside me, I was looking into a full-length mirror.  At the time, I was with Sjaak van der Velde – friend, current lover and Manhattan cabaret singer.  As I stood there, in the near-darkened bathroom getting cleansed, I keenly looked at my face.  On looking down, I noticed that my entire body was nude; it was completely depilated.  This, of course, presented a big challenge because I am so vain – big hair and all.  I was mildly horrified that my gorgeous pencil-thin moustache was no more.

To say the least, as intended, the moustache and big hair do nothing but scream vain solipsism.  As I try warping self to stay with the ageist, lookist gang, vanity ends up making things that much more superficial.  I spent a great deal of time really scrutinising the lack of facial hair.  After assessing things, I finally came to like the naked look of my exposed upper lip.  ‘What the hell,’ I thought.  I began laughing aloud by grinning down my self-consciousness and vanity.  Soon, I grew to like my smile a lot.  It was truly wonderful.

Then who should appear in the mirror to my left, though never next to me in the dreamtime, but Len Morse.  He, too, had recently shaved his moustache in the waking state.  I was surprised to see him.  I guess that there is some soul connection that we share which was clearly being alluded to.  He has been present in a few dreams of late.  He was warmly looking out at me as if to say,  “Oh really now?  It’s nothing to be ashamed of.  Nothing to be self-conscious of…”

Frankly, I rather liked the nudeness of my face and head minus the moustache and big hair.  The whole thing was a true revelation.  I genuinely looked handsome because I wasn’t trying to run from or hide behind anything.  It was truly uplifting.  What was so empowering about the revelation, too, was the fact that the moment at which I became relaxed with myself – unconditionally accepting myself – my eyes awakened more completely.  It was as though they had never shone so brilliantly, indeed, shone so beautifully before – absolutely revolutionary!

All this maya only caused me to hysterically laugh enjoying the absurdity of trying to get caught up and lost in lookism.  ‘Who frigging cares?’  That was the essence of the wisdom being disseminated here by my higher self.  This new perspective was truly a rare and treasured gift.  It was quite the uplifting experience and one not soon forgotten.  

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Next, in the second dream, I was outdoors in the daytime.  I was in this heavily trafficked, overpopulated metropolis.  It did feel as though I was at Seventh Avenue and 23rd Street.  Whilst, crossing 23rd Street, I was on the west side of Seventh Avenue going north in Manhattan.  I wore a knapsack which was much like the one in the waking state.  Close to my chest, my arms were crossed and folded.  They clutched a book that I was currently reading.  As I passed a young, White couple, they made socially aggressive, racist remarks about me.

‘I don’t want this kind of energy, at all, in the dream state,’ I thought impatiently deflecting their ignorance.  When I got to the other side of the road, I felt unresolved about the whole thing.  So, with that, I turned to look after them.  They veered off, on seeing me eyeing them but I knew that they had wanted to cross Seventh Avenue – on the north side of 23rd Street.  They headed off going east, to the right, on the north side of 23rd Street.

Impatiently I purposefully and heavily strode on my heels, back towards them, soon overtaking them.  On catching up to them, I walked alongside.  The woman was closer to me and him closer to the traffic.  He was considerably taller than her.  They were a very waking-state-focussed, hard-edged, racially aggressive, pinched couple.  Big-boned and Yuppified – they were the epitome of North American, aggressive, merchant class greed.  In a rapid-fire, ballistic staccato, I began aggressively repaying their racist bile bit for bit.  I repaid their aggressive verbal abuse bit for bit.

They were stunned by my response.  As with the codified behaviours of the racist paradigms in the waking state, which keep racially preyed on Blacks fearful of defending themselves against such actions, I was not expected to retaliate.  I had no intentions of sublimating any aspect of self, either here or elsewhere, to suffer anyone and their bullshit.  Yet what could they have done?

They simply turned glacial and remained petrified acting as though one were, all of a sudden, not there.  I had no intentions of having them dump this kind of psychic garbage onto me.  I slapped the racial animus back in their direction and was able to divest myself of such negative energies.  Perhaps, though likely not, my response gave them pause for thought.  

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The third dream then found me going down into the belly of the underground.  I proceeded to take, what would prove, an extensive series of train rides.  I had been down in this particular sprawling subway station.  There were no pillars in between the tracks.  The station was not unlike London’s Liverpool Station and though similarly dimensioned, however, it was completely below-ground.  Whilst waiting for the train to arrive, I had gone and stood close to one of the ends of the platform.  Raising my leg, I had placed my right foot on an orange-coloured railing whilst waiting.  Close by were two White women standing and speaking.

Long, flowing, drop-waisted dresses, that were light summer fare, they both wore.  For being close to them, they fell silent and projected that cool steely edge that was informed by their racist perceptions.  This was not the kind of energy that I wanted to be around.  I strongly resented having this hideous grey light, of waking state racially-tinged maya, flooding and destabilising the Chi of the dreamtime.  Since this was not my scene, I chose to tune out their invasive, racially predatory, psychic aggression altogether.  Pretty soon, they came to realise how utterly ridiculous what they were doing was.

Immediately, they stopped their bullshit and resumed being human.  The WST (waking state transference), in which they indulged, towards me evaporated.  The air became noticeably clear… less dense-energied.  Soon thereafter, the train rolled into the station and we boarded together.  Unusually large, most impressively, there was also a dizzying amount of persons on board this train.  It took the longest while, for us to get on board, as throngs flooded out from the train at our station.  Even when finally we boarded, the bloody thing was still overgrown with humanity.

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I eventually arrived at this particular stop where, again, it was densely populated.  Wherever you looked, it was lushly overgrown here with incredibly large arboreal giants.  

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Not surprisingly, in this the fourth dream, it was impressively landscaped here.  There was a dizzying array of flora and most of them were not readily familiar.  I was up on a winding road that rose up a high hilltop.  Along the way, I encountered an old Black woman.  Goodness was she ever ancient.  Hers was a face that was on the plus side of ten millennia.  To match every lifetime-filled millennium that she had outlived, boy did she have a lot of life and personality.  This was clearly her astral body, which I was encountering, whoever this well-travelled, marvellous old soul was.  This sprawling metropolis was distinctly French.

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This place did remind me of being at Montmartre when looking down into Paris.  This metropolis, however, was several times larger than Paris.  So many eons older than Paris, was this metropolis, it even seemed vastly older than the old woman.  Her lovely dark-complected body, reminding me so of some West Indian women’s, she was so readily familiar.  This metropolis was easily twenty millennia older than Paris.  A truly august-souled metropolis this was.

The woman, along the road on the side of the hill, much reminded me of Clarice Jack who lived in The Alley, Sandy Point, St. Kitts.  Of course, Clarice lived next-door to the church that Harella built.  She was a big-boned, large-bosomed, full-figured lively gal.  She was turning about, busying herself, doing some landscaping repairs along the side of the road.  On approaching her, I asked how to get to a concert hall.  I had been en route to some destination which, presently, I could scarcely recall.  

“Oh no, no, no, my dear…  You have to go all de way back down into town.  It’s not at Palais Royale, in fact.  Don’t even think of there.  You have to go and get some other trains, to get you someplace else…”  Her tongue darted back and forth, over her ever-moist lips, as her lively rapid-fire French gave directions. 

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She had pointed, off in the distance, to what seemed like Grand Palais.  It, too, had a companion like Petit Palais in Paris.  Here, however, these stately buildings were easily four times more colossal than their waking state counterparts.  To anything in the waking state, the scale of architecture here was beyond compare.  Gargantuan doesn’t, even remotely, convey the towering scales of the proportions here.  Everything here was grown over.  The metropolis, centred in this fantastic locale, was layered with each rise and fall of the civilisation readily discernible.  In that sense, this metropolis was much like Rome is.

Everywhere, there were visible signs of crumbling architectural masterpieces.  Still, other long-abandoned structures became the outer shell for more recent revivals of themselves.  The latest additions, to an old ruin, could have occurred four millennia later and still have been easily a dozen millennia old – truly ancient.  There were so many different strata of architectural styles layered one atop the other.  This truly was a living museum of architectural giants.  It was impressive, to say the least.  One felt so utterly nouveau, for being of waking state Earth, as none of Earth’s civilisations can architecturally boast any such richness of character.

Great epochs of civilisations grew on top, through, about and around themselves in this impressive astral plane metropolis.  This place was quite beautifully landscaped.  Everywhere there were mound-like hills, like the one that I was on, which were forested areas of lush growth.  They looked like some of the better-gardened neighbourhoods of Naples.

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Next, the fifth dream had me taking my leave of her.  I went down the hill, into the metropolis, where I entered one of the city’s many termini.  This one much reminded of Gare d’Austerlitz in Paris.  Here, too, this terminus was easily seven times more colossal.  I began my marvellous adventure by taking a number of trains.  There would be a few transfers at other, just as massive, termini along the journey.  Here, at all times, I travelled with a silent astral guide who remained just to my rear.  He seemed to be younger and was definitely White.  

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There was a staggering amount of people in transit here.  People here were also very quiet.  The majority of communication was telepathically engaged.  There were so many tracks all of which were being used by trains.  This was clearly a metropolis on a planet whose population easily soared beyond 17 billion (I meant to say 70 billion).  With lots of transfer points converging all at the same terminus, this particular station was a major hub.  This travel that I was doing, the vehicular transports I was using, merely proved secondary to what was really at play here.

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I was going through different planes, travelling through different dimensions, and realities.  I was in transit – for the ease of waking consciousness, much of this has been perceptually transliterated as being modes of travel comparable to waking state paradigms.  The trains were capable of transporting one, to various locales, at protected faster-than-usual speeds.  However, the travel was definitely destined.  We travelled along a set, guided course.  It was, if you like, a willed form of travel.  It was not as though one were aimlessly wandering about a wilderness or city.

For being buried below-ground, it suggested that this was travel that was deeply rooted in the domains of the soul itself.  There was a definite route, a purposeful intent, and a clear objective for undertaking the journey.  Although for much of the time, especially when I was on the terraced hilltop with the old Black woman, I couldn’t quite recall why I was trying to make a definite rendezvous.  All that I knew was that I simply had to get there.  As it were, I had a destined appointment.  For following along certain experientially mapped out routes, one could interdimensionally travel whilst on board these trains.  

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Whilst I was on one of the trains, when in transit, I sensed that I was not alone.  Looking around, in search of someone’s familiar energetic signature, there on this utterly crowded train I found Merlin!  I was so blown away.  So that the dream wouldn’t be aborted, by my whiting out and prematurely awakening, I had to contain myself.  I can’t say here how utterly arresting it was to have seen him.  

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Not since he had walked into the salon, in that dream on Saturday, July 25, 1992, had Merlin’s beauty so moved me.  Merlin here was as real and as focussed as ever he was, the seven years that I had known him, on the other side of the dreamtime’s pandimensionality.  I was so thrilled.  I became overwhelmed with genuine happiness.  I simply couldn’t believe that this was happening.  I was acutely aware that I was dreaming.  Oh my goodness – this was enlightenment and then some.  Seeing him was akin, to having been away and upon my return opening the door, to have Whoopi come rushing towards me – her familiar pigeon-toed sweetness being the most treasured gift in my life at present.

One glimpse and you fall in love all over again.  Seeing him, I felt all the quiet rapture that I felt – on Friday, October 1, 1982 – when he ambled into my life.  On slipping in through the glass-paned door of a Hell’s Kitchen walkup, Merlin began weaving the most sustained, sublimed magic.  Merlin, to look at him, was such an encapsulation of health and inner beauty.  Goodness, I was completely blown away.  Merlin wore a light, gauze-fabricked shirt that was very much so from the Indian Subcontinent.  Caramel-coloured and ancient-looking, it was reminiscent of many of the ones he so favoured – ones which were perpetually sillaged with patchouli’s grounding signature.

The shirt was covered throughout with tiny rosebuds and other petals – exquisite.  This was so Merlin in every refreshing detail.  A long-sleeved shirt that was buttoned at the wrists, he wore, but with a bit of ballooning just aft the wrists.  So thin and loose a fabric was it that it seemed diaphanous.  Merlin was the picture of health, so much so that, his skin actually glowed near-imperceptibly.  The light was the faint glow, which was the subtle undulating glow, of his aura.  

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This was much the effect that one would observe, if photographing someone, through a soft-focussed lens.  Yet it was more than that, there was a definite hum to his aura’s vibration.  There was so much flesh and vitality to his face and the rest of his still-rakish body that I was left overjoyed at the sight of him.  His mane was beautifully coiffed in a long, leonine, gentle fall.  Interestingly, it was not at all grey or greying.  For that matter, Merlin’s hair was not greying as it was at the time of his passing.

Additionally, Merlin’s beard was not white.  He looked like a much healthier version of himself, as he was at age thirty-five, when we met.  It was so fuck-all fabulous to have seen him.  It was great to have experienced him.  Seated there, languorously looking into the forever of his familiar eyes, my spirit simply danced for joy.  I vibrationally zinged at a higher frequency, on seeing him, to have experienced him yet again.  To have drunk of his familiar spirit was that longed for elixir that my wandering soul so quenched.

Merlin silently looked over, validating that he recognised me, with the most intimate of smiles.  A smile it was by which, for too long now, I had not been warmed.  We communed, though our communication was telepathic, at the level of spirit.  Our communication was not only mentally accomplished but it was emotionally complex and thorough.  We immediately connected, more to the point, we did intimately connect.  There was no getting around the fact of this having been why I had felt so compelled to quest, to journey, in search of this concert.  

On finally having a rendez-vous with Merlin, what stellar music of souls this was.  I knew, there and then, why I had been in transit making all these connections and travelling at such great speeds.  I was in an astral plane metropolis, one which clearly served as a resting and inspirational space, for souls in transit – quite wonderful indeed.  There I sat, on the fast-moving train, flying without moving.  How utterly rapturous a living dream postcard this dream was – especially after our last profound encounter, a year ago.  Sure, there had been other dream encounters during that interval.

This, however, was a dream of high order.  This was a dream which existed at the same heights of spirit as that, on Saturday, July 25, 1992.  Merlin’s eyes were so large, clear and focussed.  Merlin here was so serene.  He was transcendent.  It blew my mind just to look at him.  For resonating with him, I felt myself quivering with rapture.  To feel the quiet purr of his spirit so close, and so familiar a spirit, was more than even I could have hoped for during pre-sleep meditations.

There was no getting around the fact that Merlin was now considerably more elevated than, when we last kissed in that dream, on Saturday, July 25, 1992.  Merlin was now more in control.  He had greater mastered his astral body since then.  Back then, he wore a cloak that had a cowl.  Merlin looked every bit the magus that he was.  It was just like the cowled cloak that he had worn in our initial dream encounter, July 1978, four years before finally meeting on the physical plane.

Merlin here was so much more elevated than ever he had been in life or since his passing.  Now, he was casually dressed but still looked every bit the magus.  Indeed, Merlin here was the dream magus ascended.  This dream was so very healing for my spirit.  Then, on Saturday, July 25, 1992, Merlin was tying up loose – as he was experienced in that sublime dream.  In that dream, Merlin thanked me for having served him nobly and in a healing capacity.

Thanks to his life task, Merlin had awakened the magus within me as I served him during his illness.  This shared task of ours enabled me to become more spiritually focussed.  As a result, as mentor to me, Merlin initiated my accelerated spiritual growth.  In this dream, Merlin was simply saying hello.  No postcard, across the seas of time and dimensions, could have been more beautiful a gift received.  I could not believe that I was seeing Merlin.  He did not, after having set out and sent me that one momentous dream on Saturday, July 25, 1992, have to send me yet another momentous dream.  Yet here he was, by express transit no less, sending me a most magus, evolved and uplifting dream postcard.

Thank goodness my mind was fully aligned with spirit and the soul, as validated by my Venus-Uranus conjunction, enabling me to assimilate the potency and depth of this most sublime of gifts from Merlin.  At that moment, when I found Merlin, the train was speedily travelling above-ground.  The glow of his aura was further highlighted by the swells of sunlight, whose crests broke and oceanically flooded into the train, from the sunny outdoors.  The merry sunlight added to the intensity of the encounter’s sensuality.  I was so captivated by Merlin’s sublime beauty that I had not caught the conductor’s announcement.

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A little dark-haired boy then announced that we would have to change trains.  The boy had stepped up to a round circle, in the middle of the aisle, before the doors.  In a vertical shaft of light, there the young, male astral guide stood perfectly still.  He then announced to us the different transfer points – all of which he telepathically did.  

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Next, the sixth dream found all three of us – Merlin, the youthful astral guide and me – seated on a bunk in a rustic, near-dark, high-ceilinged bedroom.  There were marvellous, dark wooden beams, high overhead in the ceiling, which created that familiar astral plane look.  Whilst seated on the edge of the bunk, our legs dangled over the side.  Merlin was on my immediate right as we visited side-by-side.  His energies were so very warm and familiar.  The house was unmistakably large, like everything else in this dimension.  Incidentally, the ceilings here were vaulted.  There was no mistaking that this dream was set on the astral plane.

*The key signature of the astral plane is its phenomenal architecture.  The astral plane seems to serve as incubator and one from which great thinkers and movers, from time to time, come along and manifest their impressions thereof into the waking state.  These great thinkers being architects such as: Antoni Gaudí, Frank Lloyd Wright and others.  In these dreams, set on the astral plane, architecture is marked by the rustic, the aged, the organic – the fully concretised and usually in proportions that are not of this world.  Everything seems much larger and more solid than even in the waking state.

There is nothing ephemeral about the architecture of the astral plane.  The most impressive thing, about architecture on the astral plane, is the staggering amount of details that are worked into these true works of art.  Structured and sound, one always immediately feels secure, is architecture on the astral plane.  END.

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The young, astral guide was on my left, silently holding the large book of photographs, as Merlin guided me through its pages.  One series of photographs was of a guy who was water-skiing.  The guy reminded me, as a matter of fact, of Maddox Pool.  We looked at the photos which were taken, from the perspective of someone, at the rear of the boat to which he was tethered whilst skiing.  

In one of the photos he had taken away his right hand, from the grip, to energetically grin and wave.  The photos in the book were not static.  They were holographic yet, somehow, they never extended beyond the page.  They were three-dimensional but you were not looking at a film.  Instead, you were looking down into a three-dimensional holographic image which was within the borders of each photo.  It was in these shots that the waterskiing young man looked so much like Maddox.

He was dark-haired and the picture of health.  The water was crystalline and eye-scorching blue.  He was about twenty-two to twenty-three years of age – exactly the same age that I was when Merlin and I met in New York City.  Merlin telepathically explained to me, as we looked at the photographs, that this photo was representative of himself after his first bout of pneumocystis with full-blown AIDS.  Merlin told me that this was the nature of the work that he was presently doing.

Astral plane habitués, such as Merlin, after they had done work on themselves could elect to assist persons still incarnate and moving through the illness.  The crisis of AIDS was so impactful, on humanity at this point, that those who were discarnate had to direct a great deal of energy planetside to those incarnates who were moving through the experience.  When persons went from being advanced with HIV, all the way to being sick with full-blown AIDS, then they on the astral plane would work with them after their first bout of major illness.  

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Merlin explained that they were seen to have a resurgence of vitality because of the energy work, being directed to the incarnate full-blown persons, by astral plane habitués in his position.  This is precisely as had been the case with Merlin, in the spring, summer and early autumn of 1988, after his first bout of pneumocystis – all of which abruptly atrophied when he was betrayed by that stupid drunken woman, Morag O’Hoare.

Merlin also intimated that the energy work came not only from persons such as him, between lives on the astral plane, as well as from souls above and beyond the astral plane.  This was energy that they were sharing, with afflicted physical plane habitués, which they could then use to sustain their lives for a year or two or even a decade plus.  Merlin further shared that they could indefinitely live on, to the full course of their lives, if they so chose.

Though they were fully capable of surviving long-term with the virus, which allegedly led to AIDS, people planetside had not yet made the realisation that they did not have to atrophy and die because they had tested positive for the HIV virus or for going full-blown with AIDS.  This ability, of afflicted incarnates, to live on had to do with willpower.  Choice was the issue in this situation.  They must have wanted to remain incarnate.

They must have wanted to live and to accomplish certain tasks.  The nature of the support system, that one surrounded oneself with, was crucial to being able to become long-term survivors.  Persons really did not have to pass on so soon, Merlin intimated, after discovering that they were HIV positive or full-blown with AIDS.  Humanity presently had such stultifying fear of death that afflicted persons ended up, literally, terrifying themselves to death.  It did not help much that there were so many stigmas associated with AIDS.  At present humanity, for the most part, did not yet realise that death was merely but a refocussing of one’s energies.

“Death…” said Merlin “…was no big deal.  Come on, look at me.  I’m here, aren’t I?  How different am I?” he intoned in a quiet whisper rather than telepathically.  ‘Can’t argue that one,’ I thought.

Merlin was as human and as real as, he had ever been every day of our being together, during our glorious seven-year relationship.  Even though I could see him, and indeed touch him, he was so much more evolved and frankly better off for being in that dimension of purified vibration.  This was definitely not the normal domains of the dreamtime.  From the regular confines of the dreamtime, I had travelled – to this conduit space within the astral plane – to be able to experience Merlin from his regions of the astral plane which are exclusively inhabited by the discarnate.  

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We met in a dimension wherein persons, both discarnate and incarnate, could meet and interact.  It was quite solid here and rarefied too.  To be able to have experienced Merlin left me so immensely happy.  Merlin further explained that people tended to die so soon, after having become full-blown with AIDS, because the spectre of dying became a vortex of fears – enervating energies – that literally depleted their reserves of willpower and caused them to die sooner rather than later.

By becoming so obsessed, with fear of death and the stigma of dying of AIDS, those subjects simply became victims of their own fears.  Merlin said that they had to turn that vortex into a white hole rather than an imploding, enervating, gnawing black hole of fear.  Such a vortex proved a vacuum that sucked the very life out of the afflicted and caused them to die what was clearly a premature death.  Once transmuted, this vortex could be used to assist one to go on to live a very productive life.

This energy could simply be used to fuel oneself and serve as a conduit to channel pure, life-sustaining energies from discarnate souls, such as him, on the astral plane.  This would ultimately enable one to stay focussed, in the afflicted life, for considerably longer.  The thing to remember was that the mind did not have to become afflicted with fears because the body had become impaired by disease.  All over the world, Merlin assured me, the afflicted could choose to triumph over fear of imminent death and it was being done with increasing success.

This vortex of transformed fears could, according to Merlin, become a catalyst for undertaking a great deal of spiritual work.  The amount of growth that could be pulled off for becoming thus focussed, Merlin assured me, was no light matter.  As Merlin imparted this wisdom, I was being illumined to this revolutionary approach to life and death which heretofore, I had not before thought of the paradigm in this manner.  It, however, made perfect sense.  

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What was really impressive, about all this, was having Merlin return now as a teacher.  He was so wise and magus.  I felt absolutely proud of him.  He was a guide to me, sharing of the wisdom that he has gained in his trans-dimensional sojourn thus far, as the realised dream magus who had long set out ahead of his much-loved adept and companion magus.  I can’t say enough how very pleased that I was to have seen him.  I was so moved by Merlin.  It was simply profound.

I was so incredibly happy to see Merlin.  The windows to the large hall, in which we visited, were all closed.  This caused the place to be dimly and intimately lit.  Here, it was very womb-like and nurturing.  

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After that intimate visit together, followed by journeying on some more, we arrived at this the seventh dream.  On returning to the large terminus, we had to take yet another series of trains.  We arrived after much high-speed travel at another terminus.  This one was far larger than any before which I had visited.  Here, the terminus was above-ground and wide-open at both ends.  Multiple tracks were everywhere and veered off in all directions.  After we got on board the train, as before he had, the little dark-haired boy who served as astral guide came up and stood in the centre of the aisle.

Here, there were many people with kids and several persons were travelling with a ton of baggage.  They were carting around all this baggage which they really did not need.  This baggage merely served to weigh them down and impeded their forward advancement.  They did not yet realise that they did not need it.  Neither Merlin nor I had any baggage.  Similarly, the young astral guide had no baggage.  Somehow, because of the travelling requirements here, I couldn’t ride in the same car as Merlin.  Instead I rode one car behind him on the same train.

On pulling up into the large station, there was a PA notice that indicated that the train we were on would not go any further.  We would apparently have to transfer at the next station on disembarking.  The announcer said that one would be able to find one’s appropriate ride by following the colour-coded lines on the platform.  When I got off onto the platform, I began running ahead to the front of the platform in search of Merlin.  Not for anything did I want to lose him now.

A couple had impeded my progress as they wobbled along with a ridiculous amount of baggage.  The luggage was so much dream symbolism – inasmuch as there is such a thing.  These persons represented newcomers to the astral plane.  More importantly, they represented persons who had recently died and returned to the astral plane but who also happened to be fairly young-souled.  They were dead yet not already fully aware.  Just as they were spiritually blind, when incarnate, they now progressed.  They were now hobbling about, carting around all this baggage, as if they could truly ‘take it’ with them.  

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With them was all this Maya, the baggage of their perceptions and the worldviews, which had held them hostage whilst incarnate.  Here they were, on the astral plane, arrivés habitués carting around mindsets that were totally redundant.  What I found unique here was that no one interfered with anyone.  No one came to their aid telling them that it was not necessary for them to be carting around all this baggage.  Furthermore, they were repressed such that they appeared these Boteroesque persons – bloated in the style of Fernando Botero sculptures.

Their little merchant class worldviews had had them well-preserved, and puffed up, with pompous self-aggrandising notions of their greatness.  They did look truly South American in that pretentious sense.  They looked not unlike some of the parvenu-looking subjects of Fernando Botero’s paintings and sculptures.  They were truly lost souls both here and when previously incarnate.

I, on the other hand, was nimbly walking whilst bounding down the platform.  I had hoped to reconnect with Merlin whom I knew had also gotten off at the same stop.  Here, too, in this station all the railings were orange and sturdy-looking.  Rushing ahead of the Boteroesque couple, who vibrationally felt as if made of the heaviest metals in the universe, I noticed something truly spectacular.

High up in the walls of this terminus the wall would simply open up, much as a camera lens’s aperture would, then from the gaping hole would stream out a train at full speeds.  The train was, as it were, intersecting dimensions.  This fantastical train was, along with several others that I had noticed, simply splicing through our pocket of the astral plane en route to heaven-only-knows-where.  At the far side of the terminus another aperture-like portal would gapingly open to accommodate the approaching airborne train.

Soon after, the train would be lost into the black void which moments earlier had opened up.  Those trains, like the others, were massive and looked as though the stateliest trains from the late nineteenth-to-early twentieth centuries.  More than that, they barrelled through the air without travelling on any overhead tracks.  What’s more, they progressed as if along well-mapped out routes.

Some were higher than others.  Others intersected our little cul-de-sac of the astral plane, in a diagonal manner, cutting perfectly across the immense width of the terminus.  These trains, just like all the others, seemed so imposing for being as massive and as multi-carriaged as they were.  Despite the fantastical spectre of these trains, the matter of Merlin’s whereabouts was of paramount concern.  On noticing the initial train, I peripherally recalled that there had been a similar such train piercing through the earlier terminus.  However, its outréness had remained peripheral or not readily assimilated.

Just as described over the PA system, there was a series of colour-coded lines on the platform.  These colour-coded lines indicated where one had to venture, in order to make the appropriate connections, back to one’s final destination.  As could be expected, the trains were all very massive.  What’s more, they were distinctively leaden and stylistically looked as if straight out of the 1930s.  They were very art deco trains indeed.  

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One of the trains was silver and black.  It was a tone of black that was truly austere.  The silver was used for most of the detailing.  Its silverwork was so opulent that, by comparison, it made Erté’s deco sensibilities seem bland.  Somehow, I knew that it was the one that I was expected to take.  In all, there were two trains that I was supposed to have transferred to.  This black and silver train was energetically the densest-feeling one of all the trains that I had seen.

This, I think, was the case because it travelled between this locale and the density of the physical plane – the waking state.  Nonetheless, all that I could think of was Merlin.  I did not want to lose contact with him.  As ever, he had done in the waking state, I had initially seen him leaving the train then gone energetically bounding down the platform.  With so many people everywhere, and for having been impeded by the Boteroesque couple, I had lost sight of him.  My mind busily raced as I thought of the horror of possibly having to lose him here.  

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I did not want our encounter to end just like that.  Besides, we were supposed to have gone off somewhere.  I came down off the platform, desperate to find him again, by using a narrow flight of stone stairs.  From there, I crossed the tracks ahead of the austere-looking train that I was supposed to have taken.  No sooner than had I crossed its track that I saw, off in the far end of the terminus, an unusual-looking train.

It was stationed beneath a sunlight-flooded awning.  It was a most unique mode of transportation.  A series of long horizontal slabs, hovering off the ground, they lined one after the other.  They were, basically, the floors of boxcars that had no wheels, no sidings and no roofs to them.  They were, if you like, just a series of hovering rectangular slabs à la magic carpets.  The awning, beneath which it was stationed, gave a sense of how truly massive this hangar-like terminus was.  It was then, too, that I saw Merlin.

I had recognised him by the brown tweed cap that he always wore in the waking state.  To look at his body, he was the sexiest human imaginable.  Merlin still could work his magic on me.  Merlin wore a faded pair of blue bell-bottomed cotton slacks.  A pair of well-worn, doe-skinned shoes was familiarly upturned at the toes.

He was so true to form – realistic.  This was so very Merlin and so like the Merlin, whom I had known so very intimately, but for the fact that he was not smoking a ganja joint.  Also unlike the sublime dream encounter, on Saturday, July 25, 1992, he was not wearing his gold-rimmed round glasses.  Naturally, he did not need those things anymore.  It was so very good to see Merlin.  Here, he was my astral guru – indeed, the transcendent dream magus had returned to impart his magical wisdom.

Merlin was so phenomenally alive and real.  I was moved beyond belief to see him.  So excited was I, to have found him again, that I went rushing up to greet him where he hung out on one of the slabs.  Thrilled and delighted, I let out an excited squeal.  Soon enough, I grew immediately self-conscious of the fact that no one here verbally communicated.  In one graceful balletic leap, I went rushing up onto the platform broadly grinning.  My love for him welled up from the very bosom of my soul.  As soon as I got there, I realised that everyone else was seated in these circular groupings.  

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They sat in lotus position and faced inwards towards each other.  Merlin was part of a circle of men, seven deeply meditative men, all of whom looked just as transcendent and centred as did he.  They seemed to be so deeply engaged, at the level of spirit, as if a part of a coven of magi who were engaged in group energy work.  Their silence was impactful – there was so much being said and done in its weighty stillness.

Merlin’s eyes were so brilliant and clear yet there was a fecund agedness to them.  The clarity came from the intense focus of his energies, where he presently is, in his transition through the discarnate progression.  They were older-souled eyes; there was no way to get around that fact.  I realised, there and then, that I wasn’t supposed to have been there at all.  So pleased was I to be with him, too eager to telepathically communicate, I began chatting aloud.  It was a way to wrestle his full attention as there was no way that I could have competed with the union of spirits and minds that they shared.

They were simply too deeply telepathic,  “Look Merlin, why can’t you come on this train with me?  I don’t want to be here on this one.  When we start moving, it’s only going to aggravate my allergies which are acute right now in the waking state.  It’ll be too much wind, too much exposure to pollen.  It’s just going to affect my allergies too much.  There’ll be too much wind blowing in my face.  Look, I really don’t know if I want to do this.  Why can’t we go on the other one?”

The moment at which I paused, after having posed my questions, Merlin seized control of the dynamic.  Very firmly, he entered my mind and said, “Be still.  Be quiet.  Don’t rush.  Don’t you understand?  I don’t care to go there.  I don’t care what you want… what you desire.  I’m going to stay on this one.  Besides, it’s what I have to do.  I’m going this way…”

When he intoned that last phrase, from the inflection and weight he telepathically used, I realised that there was no way that I could leave this place but on board that austere-looking silver and black deco train.  Merlin implied, by his intonation, that the conventional old train was the one that I had to use to safely ferry me back to the waking state.  Clearly, he couldn’t take that train because it was too mechanical.

It represented the past and the density, when incarnate, of his former physically ensouled state.  He was now in a dimension of existence which was vibrationally infinitely less dense.  Even the mode of transportation, for his dimension, was more advanced.  There was no denying that these levitating slabs were being kept aloft by their focussed, united wills – Merlin and his kindred spirits’.

To have entered their midst, the air and the Chi were intensely purified.  On entering the vibrational sphere of their midst, I instantaneously felt lighter in my body.  Their seating formations only intensified their energies and focussed their thoughts and wills.  It is safe to say that in these formations, they became a unit.  They were a shared consciousness of sorts.  They did though each still possess a will of their own.  This was clearly the case with Merlin who was able, independent of his circle mates, to exert his own will when asking me not to be an intrusive presence.

He was never hostile but he simply asked that I not be so inconsiderate of their need for privacy.  Meanwhile, the six others patiently waited for him.  You cannot imagine how mentally powerful these seven men were – individually and as a shared consciousness.  They patiently waited for me to either calm down or simply take my leave of them.  What was really intriguing, in all of this, was the fact that they did not have a preference whether I should stay or leave.  That choice was exclusively up to me.

It was truly insightful – they simply had no emotional engagement and were totally objective.  This was so much like the Merlin I had always known.  It was so good to see him that I really did not want to leave.  There was no way that I would pass up on this most rare of treasures found.  On calming my nerves, I directly looked Merlin in the eye and said, “Okay, I accept…  I accept….  I accept.  I realise that I was being so selfish.  Do forgive me.  I know how selfish I can get at times.”

Yet there sat Merlin supremely long-suffering and patient.  I would not, nor could I, deny myself the elixir of those eyes.  Impishly, I added, “Okay, please, let me come some of the way with you, at least.  I don’t know.  I don’t care…”  For breaking protocol and wanting to leave this place by going in his direction, I was more or less quieting my own fears.  I would gladly have given up the ghost, as it were, just to go on journeying with him.

As his eyes warmly smiled into me, a discernible smile drifted across his large, lucidly focussed face.  I was thrilled.  He telepathically suggested that I take a seat, which I did, just outside of the circle.  Two of them shifted their positions signalling that I join the circle rather than not.  The moment that I entered the circle of beings, which included Merlin, the procession of levitating greyish slabs began moving.  They had been hovering, just above a groove that sat, between two knolls.  These rolling mounds were covered by the most verdant cropped grass that zinged with a whisper of misty dew.  

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Instantaneously, we were moving at faster-than-sound through to faster-than-light speeds.  It was immensely thrilling an experience for me.  Merlin sat with his back always to the front of the procession of slabs.  In that sense, he was in a powerful position.  We were seated towards the end of the third or fourth platform.  Each platform-like slab contained several clusters of seven asexual-looking men – even Merlin looked asexual.

Even more interesting, along the lines of the Michael Teachings, was that there were six or seven clusters of six to eight individuals in the tight circular formations.  Here everyone was in lotus position.  There were never any doubts in my mind that Merlin and every last one of these discarnate individuals were the ones whose focussed wills were directing the travel of this light trip.  This was so right up Merlin’s alley – unabashed magic.

Each levitating slab measured roughly ten feet across by close to fifty feet at least.  They were linear and, though wafer-thin, had the most softly plush comfortable surface.  They were just as soft as if we were seated on satin throw cushions.  The speeds with which we travelled were phenomenal.  I did not experience any discomfiture for moving at such great speeds.  There was simply a whizzing blur of everything, outside the confines of our progressing procession of levitating slabs.

We travelled some four feet off the ground as we jetted away from the hub terminus.  The winds never affected us, nor did my body experience the increased G-forces, for travelling at such great speeds.  The landscape sped past, even more rapidly than when on board the trains.  Of course, when on board the trains, we were then in an enclosed environment.  Yet here, as there, we were not at all affected by the winds.  As a matter of fact, this proved an infinitely smoother ride than when travelling on the conventional trains.

There weren’t any of the chattering minds, for one, as experienced when on the conventional trains.  So deeply internalised was this place that there was nothing but Zen order.  No wonder Merlin so loved Johann Sebastian Bach’s artistry because it was so wonderfully suited to the ambience of this place.  

*It was as though, this place was the grove to which he gravitated between lives.  It gave him the sense of serenity, of order and of peace, which was so readily discerned to the core of his being.  At such times, Merlin would become lost – grow intimate and private with his very spirit – for listening to Glenn Gould’s mastery of J.S. Bach’s Goldberg Variations.  Merlin’s intellect, at such times, would become expansive.  Each time, his spirit and intellect were sensed, he would be spatially experienced.  Quite simply, for experiencing him at such times, there is no other way to articulate how one would feel.  END.

All around us were wonderful, rolling green plains situated in a vast expansive vista.  Everything was so thrillingly filled with life.  For travelling at such intense speeds, we were left in a heightened state of sensitivity – or at least I definitely was.  Perhaps, this was par for the course with Merlin and his kindred spirits.  I, on the other hand, found this so new and exciting for my dreamer self.  Everything zinged with more abundant negative ions, at concentrations that were more pronounced, than in the waking state.

This dimension was a harmonious mélange of pure thought and pure emotion.  It was so invigorating and completely centring.  Pure emotion, minus the trappings of ego, it gave the sense of Merlin and his kindred spirits’ transcendent nature.  There was an audible drone discerned here, to our splicing progress through space, which seemed as if their combined breaths held in a sustained meditative hum.  Truly serene a spiritually uplifting experience this was.  How transcendent they each were, too.

This sound was so intense and pure that it can best be described as being audible light.  The sensations and emotions I experienced were so thrilling that I couldn’t believe such intensity of joy could be experienced whilst incarnate.  At that moment, the experience was heightened when Merlin and I both directly looked into each other’s eyes.  In that moment of connectivity, mere words could never do justice to what I experienced.  We were truly intimate soul-to-soul.  

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Looking off to his right, impregnating me with this most beauteous gift, Merlin oceanically poured his very soul into me.  This was the most sublime postcard yet, that he had sent across the seas of time, from his journey up ahead.  I couldn’t ever have imagined that any gift could be so profound, beautiful and cherished.  Looking to the left, I had done so as he had telepathically entered my mind, saying a warm and intimately familiar hello.

Slipping into my moist, expanded intellect, I felt the familiar purr of Merlin’s soul as he edged closer and squinged up next to me soul-to-soul.  How many nights had we gotten this close when he was incarnate…  Yet none of that – physical intimacy – could have compared to the exquisite ticklish touch of his soul deep within me.  This was such a massiveness of spirit that I experienced.  I couldn’t believe that I was feeling the intensity of sensations and insights as I was experiencing.  This was such a massive experience that to look at Merlin the giddy ecstasy that I felt caused me to whiteout.  

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This had been fostered, too, by the enriching stimuli that bombarded my totality as the levitating slabs sped on.  The feel of experiencing nature, as we so rapidly sped by, only made the vibrations of everything that much more pronounced.  As I moved without moving, my body quivered throughout.  Looking to my left into the most intimate pair of eyes that I have known thus far in this lifetime, I thrillingly flew whilst seated there in lotus position.  Merlin’s eyes being the pair that has been more intimate than any other…  This moment of Zen bliss caused me to quickly draw on a sharp breath.

As though I were nodding off, my body had bobbed a tad.  With that I lucidly awoke – my body quivered as I remained in bed on my back looking up into and beyond the off-white ceiling.  Merlin alas quite cleverly had hypnotised me, back into wakefulness, with one sensual look.  

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By far, those dreams were among the most truly uplifting dreams of this incarnation.  There is not a year that passes since then that I don’t recall these dreams with the greatest fondness and humility.  So, alas, dream your dreams of wonder – for having been so richly inspired by mine.  Sweet dreams, you!

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2013-2022 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.  

Dreamquest: Past Life As Welsh Warrior-King, Merlin (female) Also Present.

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The dream was the first that day and occurred in the B sleep cycle, on Thursday, June 25, 1992, whilst the Moon transited both Aries and my eleventh house.  As with all past life dreams, this was inordinately lucid, all my senses were piqued.  Of course, there was the sense of being locked in – not being able to change the outcome of events as they unfolded.  

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A marvellous hall at nighttime where I was with a companion progressing through the place.  I don’t quite know who it was that accompanied me.  Then I wandered off and was with myself.  I rather relished having done so.  On the right side of the wall, it was rather dark and dimly lit by candlelight or torch flames.  There were all these books everywhere.  They were of brown-covered, time-faded colours.  They were in the fantasy genre.

Immediately, I was intrigued and got excited when recognising some as the same ones that I had bought before.  Sadly, I had never gotten around to reading them.  Interest peaked in me because I wanted to see what the covers of the books were like.  As a matter of fact, one of the books was opened.  Almost every one of them was opened.

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Somebody had been reading them but hadn’t finished doing so.  Whoever had been reading these books would, as a matter of fact, then turn them upside down on the ledge of the fragile-looking bookcase.  Each night before going to sleep, this was the habit which the reader employed with the books.  I progressed down the length of the shelf leisurely perusing their covers.

There was one there which stood out and immediately appealed to me.  It was brown-covered with a young, handsome man on it.  Another had a man with a dragon in the image.  It was in the fantasy genre and terribly scorpionic in tenure.  Its sensibilities were terribly medieval.  As I kept walking along, I came to this one image on one of the walls.  It was of a very large tapestry.  Immediately on seeing it, I stopped dead in my tracks because it was readily recognisable.

It was something for which every residual resonance harked back to a former lifetime.  It was a stunning tapestry.  It was, as a matter of fact, quite large.  On the bottom of it, there was this writing in red that was very Gothic.  Arcane writing it was.  Though it seemed to be in Latin, I was more so of the impression that it was in arcane Welsh.  There were lots of Ws in the very long words.

I tried my best to read and interpret what it was saying but couldn’t quite make it out.  It did have something to do with a particular event which was depicted as having occurred in the year 1209 or earlier.  The writing was at the base of a stump in the tapestry.  It sat there, a stone outpost that appeared on closer scrutiny, more so like a crypt.  Whilst facing the tapestry, I looked at it and keenly recorded every lush detail of the very real experience.

The head was of this very princely man who was bearded and luminously silver-haired.  He wore a long, flowing, white robe and as one looked at the wall, which was on my right, so too was the tapestry’s actions in that direction.  As he lay there on this large, stone slab, the head of the man was plainly visible.  His head was to the left of the tapestry.  The robe that he wore came and hung over the edge of the stone slab.

The fabric beautifully cascaded over the edge and down to the floor.  It was a wonderful, beautiful, shiny, white robe.  The threads in the tapestry were such that the light striking it, from the room, caught and imbued it with a handsome glow.  There was a woman there in the hallway, where the tapestry hung, who was dressed in medieval garb.  Her arm outstretched, she was looking up with great yearning.  The left arm on her heart, the right stretched up over the head of the prostrate ruler.

Supplicating the gods as it were, she was arched backwards.  She was mourning.  Her mouth torn-open birthed her bloody pain.  She was wailing.  All of this left one feeling such gravity at the sad state of affairs.  Behind her was a large, brawny, warrior-like man.  Basically, her arm was outstretched to block him off.  He carried an upraised sword.  He wore gold chain-mail.  Experiencing this tapestry was very painful.  I just couldn’t bring myself to look at the face of the prostrate ruler.  Immediately, as I looked away, I was instantaneously made aware that I was participating in the action being depicted in the tapestry.

I was caught up in a re-enactment of the tapestry.  Rather, it was a reanimation such that I was reliving the events depicted in the tapestry.  There I was, of all things, lying on the slab.  I was, in fact, the princely leader.  As I reclined there, I immediately became familiar with the body.  Large, mid-aged and overweight, I immediately became fully synchronised with the princely body’s every nuance.  Also, I was instantaneously reminded of that large body which I had ensouled in that dream recall of that past life in Roman times.  In that past life dream, I was murdered at the baths by my very shrewd wife’s centurion guard-cum-starfucker-stud agent.

In between feigning wailing at my loss, the woman was now leaning over me and whispering to me.  Straight away, I realised what was afoot.  I was not yet dead and she knew it too.  We were trying to affect a faux death.  This is why I was covered in all that heavy material which would easily disguise my shallow breathing.  I was supposed to be faking being dead.  Lying there, there was a commotion outside the large, heavy, wooden doors to the damp, empty room in a stone, fortress-like dwelling.  Where it was seemingly at night-time, there was a great deal of light coming through the high-placed windows about the room.

The man outside the door, who had been shouting in a violent display of temper, barged in and commandingly approached the cold slab on which I laid.  I remained catatonic truly overcome with fear.  He was a very large-bodied, brawny, hirsute study of Sagittarian, Martian energies.  There was a dense concentration of warrior-spirited drive in his body.  On his waist he carried his sword and was one impatient, disgruntled soul.  He wore a chainmail suit of dull gold or bronze.  When he walked there was all this noisy clanking from his armour, chainmail and sword.

He was bearded and much younger than I.  He was long-haired, handsome, like a fierce warrior, with jet-black, glossy hair.  His mouth was youthful, full and beautiful.  His was the intensity of unbridled fearlessness and sheer, brutish force.  He was cool and deadly.  On seeing him, I was immediately filled with fear.  My pulse uncontrollably raced.  All I wanted to do was get up and bolt.  However, I could not have.  Approaching, he began talking to the woman in this strange, archaic, Aryan tongue.  Basically, he was refuting the news that I had died.  In essence he was saying, “He isn’t dead.  Are you trying to fool me?”

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He had the most powerful, booming voice whose echo slapped the damp chill out of the room.

“Look at him!  He should have been dead a long time ago!”

I guess that he was my heir and was quite upset and wanted to claim the title that I had which, of course, was his by birth.  Although he was my son or heir, at the very least, I had a mortal and ultimately fatal fear of him.

“Damn you!  You should have died a long time ago.  Why aren’t you dead yet?”

Then he suddenly stopped as it dawned on him that I could be faking it.  He barked a loud breath of impatience and immediately drew his sword.  At that the woman cried out, tossing herself at him, asking,

“What do you think you’re doing?”

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With the most ferocious force, he brought down the sword vengefully attacking my body.  The sword entered my stomach like an intensely hot spear.  Simultaneously, it had struck my left hip as they both stood to the left of me – as indeed, she was standing in the tapestry.  When he smote me the blade came down and hit me on the hip but then he moved it by thrusting it into my stomach.

Turning and twitching, I rigidly nudged my head to the right in pain.  As he triumphantly laughed, the loudest most vulgar laugh erupted in the hall.  Naturally, had I been dead there is no way that I would have moved.

*As I slept here, I had a corresponding cramp in my stomach.  It was of a sharp, stabbing pain.  This correspondingly made me simultaneously turn away to the right in the waking state.  This was a very, very, vivid dream.  END.

My sense of smell was quite piqued and there was no way to get over my being alive in this experience.  It was very damp with a foul odour of agedness in the air.  My stomach was convulsing and there was a taste of blood in my mouth mixed with the loud smell of faeces in the air.  The woman, my companion, cried trying to explain that I had only recently died thus it was a nervous twitch – a nervous reaction if you like.

She was not very convincing to which he shot back, “Ha, well then if he is dead…” he began walking around her forcefully approaching the head of my body, “…he won’t mind having his head removed!”

All that I could see, from beneath my quivering lids, was her reaching up and lunging as she bawled aloud, “Noooo!”  She reached up her hand and I tried to throw open my lids terror-struck.  However, when the sword crashed down into my neck severing my head at the spinal cord, I swiftly felt a loud thud.

At that there was this immediate abortive blank.  It was abrupt and with great finality.  Gone was the woman’s horrified scream in mid-breath.  I could feel the contact of the sword on my spine at the point of decapitation.  This was, in fact, rather traumatic because abruptly and with great force my life was ended.

*At that point, the moment of blank displacement, I was slapped back into my body instantaneously awaking.  Finding myself fully awake, I was in the midst of raising my head off the pillow as I slept on my back.  When I heard my infamous neck injury snap and being aggravated anew, I had not yet sat up in bed.  I collapsed back into the pillow stunned and short of breath.

It was all so overwhelming that all that I could do was just relax.  I dissolved in a silent, teary cry.  It was the only way to address the tense rigidity that my body had become.  As I laid there it was extremely hard to simultaneously cry and breathe.  I had no desire to get up.  I was simply resigned with sheer exhaustion and the weightiness of having re-lived a traumatic end-of-life experience.  This was a past life which undoubtedly was in the early part of this millennium, in Wales.

This obviously was, from every richly detailed nuance of the very intensely lucid, progressional experience, a slice of a past life.  What was really impactful, even more so than the beheading, was the moment at which I saw the tapestry.  It was immediately familiar and infused with a certain validity which couldn’t be denied in any way.  I wanted to run, to not see it, on first contact with it but was incapable of doing anything.

The tapestry depicted the slaying, of the aged leader, as being a pivotal moment in that realm’s history.  I did not get the sense that the man was my son but rather my usurper.  Regardless, I was rather afraid of this man.  This dream was much like so many others that relate to matters of trauma which resonate to the level of soul itself.

I can remember thinking at the time of that dream of Francesca and of the one with Merlin, in which he collapsed a great deal in that life in Spain with the Ludnezes and I protested by saying, “I want out of this dream, now!”

It does go without saying that as Merlin is a scholar soul, the upturned, unread books – which were brown-covered and time-faded – were a residue of his true soul in essence and agedness of soul.  After all, it was Merlin who nightly read several books, one of which he would conclude.  Until he was prepared to return to one of them to conclude the following night, the others were kept upturned or down-turned about the apartment.

In the event that they were to be accidentally closed, there were even times when he would wedge a piece of pretzel in between the pages.  Of course, I was in the habit of going around and closing the books when cleaning house.  Merlin, time and again, expressed displeasure at what he saw as interference.  I would never mischievously close the books that he had kept opened about our home.  Alas, such is wedded bliss.

Every detail in these dreams was so richly realised and resonant.  There was no way that Merlin could not have been instrumental in this past life revisit and reanimation.  I am confident that Merlin was crucial to the invocation of this past life milieu which awaited my arrival.  Of course, thanks to the jarring vividness of the decapitation, I abruptly awoke.

However, I still felt as though I needed to dream on.  I knew that there was more yet to come.  Despite Whoopi having leapt from the bed anticipating being fed, I chose not to get from bed and do anything.  I would much later after this dream learn, from Mathilde Duchenne’s channelling, that Merlin and I are indeed task companions – he a seventh level mature scholar to my seventh mature artisan.  This validation only made the dream of the library, of much loved books, that much more relevant.

Obviously, that dream set in late-twelfth, early-thirteenth century Wales involved both he and I.  I don’t, however, know whether he was the large-bodied woman who pleaded for me not to be killed or whether he was the Sagittarian-Martian energied usurper/heir who came to make sure that the job was done and I was truly dead.  It was all very lucid and like every reincarnational dream one was incapable of affecting change in the outcome of events.  One was, as it were, simply along for the roller-coaster ride.  END.

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As ever, straighten up and fly right, all the while singing, vocalesing and having a merry old time of it… because you are special and I say that you are damn well worth a flying dream.  Thanks for your ongoing support.  

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© 2013-2022 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.

Catherine: A Deeper Shade of Vermeer.

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Girl with a Pearl Earring, Oil on Canvas Johannes Vermeer 1665.

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Camilla, HRH Duchess of Cornwall.  HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales.  Doria Ragland.  HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex, Archie Harrison Mountbatten-Windsor, Earl Dumbarton.  Jane, Baroness Fellowes.  Lady Sarah McCorquodale.  HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge.  Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge.  

As I stated to a dear friend, “Doria is all the Queen they need in that photograph!”  Not for a second do I buy the notion that HM The Queen stayed away because, when it is all said and done, she does not approve of Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex.  Her Majesty also did not attend HRH Prince Louis of Cambridge’s christening last year.  

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It is so immensely satisfying to see HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex matured into fatherhood and his numerological double-sixthness is validated by his open warmth, love and protective care of both his wife and his beautiful baby boy.  

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Archie, a seventh-level mature priest soul; he is infinitely more evolved than either his parents, or the Cambridge’s for that matter.  He is, though, the same soul age as his paternal grandfather, HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales, however, Charles is a seventh-level warrior to exalted role priest, Archie.  This man is going to perform a rather dynamic role within the history of the House of Windsor. 

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Much has been said about Prince William’s demeanour in this portrait.  Without doubt, both the Cambridges attended Archie’s christening with an agendum of their own.  I don’t know if William put his wife up to her power play but I do know this, it was decidedly vile and you can bet your bottom dollar that none of this went unnoticed, nor for that matter will it go unchallenged by Meghan – she who was Margaret Beaufort in a past life.  

So, William threw shade.  Quelle surprise ça.  William does as William does.  Born on the summer solstice of 1982, he has a geniture that is most unique; it comes with an intense stellium.  That is not necessarily a good thing; with so many planets closely concentrated, this gives him a tendency towards short-sightedness and in his position as future Prince of Wales, he takes very seriously his role as future king and acts autocratically at every turn.  He did not invite his aunts to the christenings of any of his three children.  William did not invite, Sarah, Duchess of York to his wedding.  After the birth of his firstborn, he decamped at the Middletons in Bucklebury and avoided his father, the future king.  As with most people with a numerological attitude of 9, which is the hardest number to master, he does things more often than not for spite.  

Of course, he could not be more different to his brother, HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex who is born in the year of the rat, like his father and his paternal great-grandmother, Queen Elizabeth, The Queen Mother.  Rats, I am one, are deeply loyal and will always be inclusive of family to the point of appearing sentimental.  This would be especially pronounced in a rat like Harry who is a warrior soul and such souls are deeply loyal.  So, too, is HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales a warrior soul and also, HRH Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh a mature warrior born in the year of the rooster like Meghan.  Warriors forget nothing and do not readily forgive insults – a pity William in his myopic blissfulness remains unaware of this.  

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Saturday, for Archie’s christening, true to his warrior/rat spirit, Harry had his beloved mum’s sisters present at the christening just as Jane, Baroness Fellowes read scripture at his beautiful, historic wedding to Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex.  Every rat would do exactly the same.  Well there were TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge smugly telegraphing their ennui for all the world to see.  As a warrior soul, I would not have expected such a gutter snipe move on Catherine’s part on Saturday. 

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As this was Harry’s firstborn’s christening and he was so deeply bonded to his mum, Catherine who had never worn those earrings of Diana, Princess of Wales’, to any of her three children’s christening, rather than loaning the earrings to Meghan by way of affording them to Harry so that his lovely wife could wear them as they would mean so much to Harry as his mother had worn them for his christening, instead, there sat Catherine feigning hauteur whilst smugly smiling to those in the know.  Indeed, this was Catherine’s star turn, which was just as vile as HRH Princess Michael of Kent’s infamous blackamoor brooch outing in December, 2017.  

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Positively nothing that these courtiers do is happenstance.  In essence, in wearing those earring of Diana, Princess of Wales’, which she had worn to Harry’s – and William’s for that matter – christening, Catherine was in effect saying to Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex, as much as Harry would like for you to have them, seeing as you are straight outta Compton, there is no guarantee that you’ll return them.  No matter, as long as I wear them, Diana’s spirit will be present.  This was a very cruel and low blow and not the sort of dirty pool that warrior souls engage in.  I am betting that William put his wife up to it; however, as Catherine’s right eye has become increasingly pained and umbraed in the past few years, she is clearly deeply stressed by the pressures of being married to William, who also happens to be her task companion.  Notice the way that Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge wears her hair at Archie’s christening; the high headband, with the hair fully pulled back and the headband ruby-coloured to best set off the pearl earrings, worn by Diana, Princess of Wales at her sons’ christenings.  With the headband, there is no chance of Catherine luscious main covering the pearl earrings, the choice of which are to telegraph much to those courtiers in the know.  

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Catherine’s right eye since HRH Prince George of Cambridge’s christening in 2013, has become pained, saddened and distant.  I also suspect that she may have become anorexic from the stress of being wedded to William who as a scholar soul is void emotional depth and can be expected to be keenly spiteful.  

In this clip for William’s christening, at the five second mark, Diana, Princess of Wales turns to the left to look and speak to Charles who wanted to mop up William’s dribbling and it is then that you see that Diana is wearing the same earring.  It is not lost on me that clearly Diana is being rude to Charles when he offers to wipe away the dribble.  Of course, William was christened on August 4, 1982; it was Charles’ beloved grandmother’s 82 birthday, which is precisely the sort of gift that a rat would present his much loved family member.  Ironically enough, on that day, it was Prince Charles’ future daughter-in-law’s first birthday, the admired and adored Tungsten.  

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At all three christenings for her adorable children, Catherine did not wear those earrings of Diana, Princess of Wales’.  I am sure that if she wanted to, William would have decided against it as there is nothing sentimental about him and scholars by their nature are not given to being sentimental.  Three different earrings for all three children’s christenings.  I think that it would have been especially cruel if Meghan had thought to ask her husband, Prince Harry to request those pearl earrings that Diana wore to his christening, only to have William veto the request then turn around and have his wife parade them at the christening – this of course would play beautifully to those courtiers like the Michaels of Kent et famille; it is precisely the sort of petty spitefulness that would have made Meghan put her foot down and insist that they relocate to Frogmore Cottage and away from the vipers’ nest that Kensington Palace so clearly had become for the Sussexes.  

Of course, wearing the earrings would be seen as further rejection, coming so close on the heels of the disbanding of the Royal Foundation.  Not to worry, as an American and Black American, you can bet your bottom dollar the very shrewdly canny Tungsten will have a rebuttal.  Besides, who is Catherine to Meghan, she is a mousy little thing, who did not walk the aisle at her wedding alone; indeed, how Meghan must sniff and look sideways from beneath raised, bored brows every time Catherine has to go gag on a mic as William pushes her to be more relevant and not be eclipsed by the Compton interloper.  As for William, Meghan is likely little bothered by a petulant, spiteful man-child, who has to be told not to sit with his back to the horses on entering the open landau on his wedding day.  

Just as including his aunts, Harry would have thought to have his wife wear the earrings that his beloved mum wore to his christening.  This is the sort of warrior/rat thoughtfulness that saw Prince Charles salute his beloved grandmother – another rat, though, a second-level mature slave soul – by having his firstborn christened on her 82nd birthday. 

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HM King Henry VIII’s ruthlessness was the result of having been mentored and much loved by his grandmother, Margaret Beaufort – Matriarch of the Tudor Dynasty… kingmaker.  Well, that soul who was then Margaret Beaufort is back and did not return to be anyone’s pushover, as her entrance unaccompanied at her wedding in May, 2018 demonstrated.  A mean-spirited move, it most definitely was on the part of both William and Catherine by having Catherine wear earrings, which I am almost certain, Harry would have requested of them that his mother’s pearl earrings be loaned to his wife as a continuation of that rat/warrior reference and homage to both history and his beloved mum.  Naturally, such a request would have been a perfect opportunity for William to have been callously spiteful as he has proven time and again with others – Sarah, Duchess of York, HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales, his father.  

Naturally, the media did not portray Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge as having been duplicitous by having worn the earrings that Diana, Princess of Wales wore to Harry’s christening.  Why on earth had it never occurred to Catherine to wear those earrings to any of her children’s christenings?  Just imagine if Meghan had done any such thing, it would have garnered an excessive response of outrage on the online tabloid portals with their legions of bigoted trolls.  

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Indeed, lynching Meghan is now big business, just imagine, even that Trenchtown jagabat came yammering that can’t-shake mid-Atlantic accent of hers as she opined on both Meghan and Diana, Princess of Wales.  Running off at the mouth as though she knew Diana, Princess of Wales.  Would that she would just shut  up and crawl into her casket… I want a damn good return on that godawful, and justly pulped, ode to specious slander – a copy of which sits in my library, awaiting her exit.  She no more knew Diana, Princess of Wales than she does or ever will know Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex.  

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At the end of the day, the real masterpiece, worth more than a gaggle of Vermeers, is the product of the love that Harry and Meghan share; it has resulted in the most beautiful baby boy, Archie, the Earl Dumbarton.  

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As ever, thanks for your ongoing support.  Here’s wishing you the most gloriously lucid dreams.  I love you more.  

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