Go In Peace: Energy Transference with Recently Departed Famous Entity Mate.

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*Since having posted this dream blog some years back, I was always fascinated why I was simply summoned to be with the actor, River Phoenix when he passed. I did mention that sense of feeling strong resonance at the time of cadre mates’ passing. This dream was a poignant example of being called into action, to be of service to someone with whom I have a strong and connected soul bond that spans multiple past lives.

This was something that I felt at Natalie Cole’s passing and, of course, she proved to be an entity mate. In the case of River Phoenix, whose overleaves I will include here and which can now be found in the revamped and tidied up Michael Overleaves Appendix page, not only is he also an artisan soul but he happens to be a greater cadence mate of mine. This dream would not have occurred if we did not share this very strong bond; as a result of my cardinal casting, I am often called into action in dreams such as this one when entity and cadre mates pass on.

Read these dreams anew and do enjoy!.

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Whilst the Moon transited both Gemini and my first house, I would be transported to a cul de sac of the astral plane wherein I am not frequently focussed. It was Monday, November 1, 1993. At the time, as now, I did not own a television and hardly looked at it. Also, at the time, I hardly listened to radio or read newspapers et al. I was also much removed from most daily chatter as I had been off sick from work but did go in to participate in the annual Halloween costume competition which the year prior I had won when dressed in full drag and looking hotter than even Tina Turner herself in my high heels. The above photo of yours truly was taken at Halloween 1993, the day prior to this dream.

Thus it was that I would fall into sleep and immediately be summoned to be in service to the higher good. What is really interesting about the experience with the famous actor encountered in these dreams, I rather suspect that he may be a cadre mate from the tenor of the dream encounter. Too, there are a number of famous persons in my cadre and he seemed vibrationally not dissimilar to them.

That being the case, this likely explains why I was called on to be of service at the time. I am said to be rather cardinal in casting, which is clearly reflected in yours truly being inordinately gifted when it comes to fathoming the depth and breadth of the dream realms. Too, as these dreams were clearly focussed on the astral plane, naturally, there was dream flight. More than that, whilst focussed on the astral plane in the dreamtime, one did encounter at least two, possibly three, extra-human species.

As there is flight and levitation in these dreams, I pray that they will richly inspire you. Fly my darlings, fly, don’t even for a second doubt, just melt into a mischievous plié and start flying – cause you can… cause you are magic incarnate!

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A woman and I were together, in this the second dream, above the Arctic Circle. This woman did remind me of the woman, who had earlier been in the previous dream encounter with Niles Ben-Daniel and seemingly his lover. I was not fully certain that this woman was one and the same as, the one posing as Niles Ben-Daniel’s lover, in the prior dream. She had a couple of siblings whom she had asked to find out what time it was.

Here, they kept time quite unusually because there was no tundra about. They, as a result, kept sundials. They grew their grass such that they were able to tell from Sol’s shadows what time of day it was. Their sundial was a natural phenomenon which used the rugged flat landscape for keeping time. Standing there, I faced due north. Sol was still in the sky, but low, and at the two o’clock position. Sol was red and potent; it was almost serene-looking.

Over time, they had planted a hedge of Chinese boxwood, which stood a foot tall. From it were a series of radial-like spokes radiating out from the centre. All told, there were twenty-four spokes; of course, the spokes lined up with each hour of the day. Even in the wintertime, the hedge though submerged maintained an imprint of itself above – in the snowed and iced over terrain. It was quite nude (barren) landscape here. Sol’s shadow was presently pointing directly at the ten o’clock position though it clearly wasn’t. Ten o’clock could also have been four hours past midnight.

I decided that it had to be around four, in the morning, which is why Sol appeared in the sky where it was. This was the time of year when Sol never sets which made it difficult for me, a novice in these parts, to readily get my bearings. Quite a strange phenomenon because my body felt nocturnally phased, yet, there in the sky was Sol as plain as the Moon. She wanted to know what time it was because she was getting ready to go down south to the ‘Southland’.

She also referred to it as, ‘the land of the setting summer Sun,’ which did make sense. She had said all that in her Inuit tongue, yet I had been able to follow perfectly well as though she had been speaking English. More than being with her, rather, I was there as an observer and took in the minutiae of this unique culture. Certainly, we were keenly aware of each other and that we were both gifted telepaths.

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Next, in this the third dream, I was in a crowded interior. It was a waiting lounge in a large depot that was not unlike New York City’s Grand Central Station. A sandy marble, time-yellowed hue, the walls here were the same colour as at Grand Central Station. A high-ceilinged cavernous place it also was. The main hall had several wings that adjoined its considerable length. Here, there was natural light coming in from the bathysphere-like windows that sat way up the walls and close to the ceiling.

In that sense, this was not unlike the grand hall in which I walked with Merlin during which we encountered the exalted magus on September 4, 1988. I was seated on these large wooden benches that were old, comfortable and looked not unlike church pews. Semi-circular in shape, they gave a sense of inclusiveness to them. All around me exclusively were men. This place seemed, if you like, some sort of way station. One guy there was very slight-bodied, young and naïve-looking.

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Looking at him, he wore a navy-blue track suit. He came over to sit next to me, eventually sitting on my right. Patting him on the back, I told him that it was really good to see him. I wished him a safe passage and asked that he go in peace, “Have a safe passage. Go in peace and do have a good journey…”

Of all people, it was the actor, River Phoenix – he recently overdosed on heroin, early on Sunday, October 31, yesterday. This was a very vivid dream. I was quite lucidly awakened. Feeling great compassion for his tragic departure, I thought to be of comfort to him and to uplift his spirit in whatever way possible. There and then, I realised that this was a place where persons who had recently died came whilst in transit to their final destination as returning astral plane habitués.

*This, of course, did not surprise me. Right away, I was reminded of the sense of mammoth dimensions that also exemplified the architecture of the train termini, where I had run into Merlin in that momentous dream on Friday, July 9, 1993. END.

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Seated there, next to him, I exclusively turned my focus on him. I then began doing an enormous amount of energy transference, thereby healing his spirit, before he could move on. Who cares the attachments to this man, in the waking state? I have never followed his career but here, in his astral plane hour of need, we were souls and healing is the most generous gift of love. After having left his life in such a dissociate state, River Phoenix needed to be made more whole.

This is why he had seemed so naïve and as if in a daze. He saw me and purposefully began walking towards me. God only knows what he noticed in me that was different to the others. Until he was about two feet away from me, I for one had not realised that it was him. By that point, he had already been intent on coming to sit with me. He clearly needed my services.

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Phoenix, River 23/8/197031/10/1993

This fragment was a second level mature artisan – third life thereat. River was in the observation mode with a goal of growth. A realist, he was in the intellectual part of emotional centre.

Body type was Lunar/Mercury.

River’s primary chief feature was self-destruction and the secondary stubbornness.

Casting for River is fifth-cast in second cadence; he is a member of greater cadence three – greater cadence mate of Arvin’s. River’s entity is six, cadre one, greater cadre 7, pod 414.

River’s essence twin is an artisan and he has a sage task companion.

River’s primary needs were: exchange, expression and power.

There are 18 past-life associations with Arvin and 16 with Merlin.

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At the level of soul, I could not have cared less who he was; his energy body’s vibration needed a good deal of realignment before he could move on. He chose me and I gladly obliged his wishes. When patting him on the back, I was keenly focussed on sending him a great deal of near-aqueous blue-white light. River Phoenix was saddened. Rather, he seemed to be in a state of shock, though, not horrified or enraged. There was just a degree of resignation as he came to terms with where he was at. When it was all over, in the brief moments that it took to lay my hand on his back, he got up to get going.

He was obliged to take his leave and move on. He seemed here truly dazed. Perhaps, these were residual effects of his having passed in a heightened soporific state. Seated there, I felt completely drained of my very breath itself. I was left feeling so overwhelmingly sad and strangely alone. Another guy had sat down, on the other side of me, whilst I energetically focussed on River Phoenix.

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I can’t, for the life of me, say whether or not the guy had ambled up to join us seated there or if he had simply materialised – on the astral plane – for having just projected himself into our midst. Looking Hispanic, more than anything, this man had yellow-coloured eyes. Absolutely bewitching they were. He wore cream-coloured jeans with matching cream-coloured jacket. There was a lot of black in the clothing. This was in the style of Hip-Hop fashions.

He was a very sensitive man with a Hispanic accent and was slightly older than River Phoenix; he was about 24 or 25 years – at least he looked about that age. His hair was thick, black and curly. By way of conducting focussed energy transference, my function here was to provide counsel. I would simply tap into their vibration and, by way of their chakras, realign their energy. All of them seemed to have passed suddenly, completely unexpectedly. Thus they had a great need to become assimilated to what was clearly an unexpected turn of events.

They needed immediate supervision and companionship, until having become further acclimatised. Meanwhile, the persons around me were all being counselled by others – who were more solid-looking – whose role was like that of mine. I was, like all the others, a guide, companion and energetic facilitator to the arrivée habitués.

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Architecturally, this place was so immensely massive. It was also more ancient by at least 30 millennia than the rise of the Roman Empire. Clearly, there is no way to get around the fact that this was an astral plane experience. There was also no way to get around the fact that the first man, with whom I worked, was the actor, River Phoenix. What was really impactful for me was that River Phoenix, like all the others, had absolutely no emotions. He was in a place of total detachment.

Though a sudden departure from the life being lived, his soul consciousness was totally matter-of-fact about the situation at hand. The past, his recently accidentally concluded incarnation, was concluded and behind him. Period.

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Whilst we were all there, we were caught in some commotion when a Black guy appeared. He wore a blue jean jacket and wore on his face a flesh-toned fabric mask. He looked as though he had been in a burn unit at a hospital, I assumed, after having suffered massive burns to more than 95% of his body. It was the mask used for allowing skin grafts in such instances to take without becoming infected. My sense impression of his situation was that he had been in a violent car crash which turned into an explosive fireball. He had survived and was in hospital, for a while, undergoing massive skin grafting surgeries.

He also wore dark shades. The moment that he appeared, everyone instantaneously freaked out. All that one could see, was his mouth and nose; the image was upsetting, menacing. Right away, we all began fleeing that section of the grand hall. His arrival was simply instantaneous. He had simply manifested in plain view. When he came through, he brought with him a great explosive energy and immense suffering. This is what had upset the Chi in the place; it was quite an impactful energy wave that accompanied his manifestation. On closer inspection, I realised that he had not been a burn victim as he was still brandishing a large semi-automatic weapon.

Clearly, he had been holding up a business and got himself shot to death in the process. Thus, as is, he instantaneously appeared on the astral plane. The energy around his death was+ so immensely violent, as he went berserk, that it proved rather jarring for the rest of us. His body was violently sputtering away, as though, still echoing the massive volley of bullets that were being pumped into him. No doubt, a battery of over-armed police officers were only too happy to waste yet another ‘Black’ male.

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We all immediately started bolting because here was he, suddenly arrived and carrying a weapon, on the astral plane to which all these arrivés were not yet fully acclimatised. There was a group of urbane Gays over to one side who kept to themselves. The Gays went truly berserk, fearful of him, as this man was clearly a zealous homophobe. That too was the other thing about this place; one was able to accurately ‘read’ a person on their arrival.

As I sat there on the pews doing my energy work with River Phoenix, most of the light flooding the hall came from off to the right and rear. From the inner hall, I went bolting along with everyone else and took cover. The armed Black man had manifested across the hall from me. Making my way from what I thought previously was the main hall, I ended up in a grand hall that was easily seven times larger than the atrium in which I had been counselling River Phoenix and then the yellow-eyed Hispanic.

As everyone else had been bolting in that direction, I made a left turn. From the main hall, I was now in another atrium; this one, however, was considerably darker. This one was several storeys high with the same colour schemata as at Grand Central Station. Though there were no discernible floors as such, at each storey there were landings. I would then bolt down to where all the other Gays were ahead of me. In a bid not to be captured by this guy, who had no awareness that he was now dead and on the astral plane, I leapt over the railing and down onto the escalator where the Gays were.

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As they were all still clambering down the steps, this was not the greatest idea on my part; it was a truly chaotic scene. Deciding against pursuing the herd mentality, I willed myself from amongst them. With that I began levitating, above them and shot upwards, flying up into the nave of the towering complex. Goodness, this place was immensely massive. Soon enough, the man came to where we had been and made for the stairs from which I had just taken off. Being sufficiently distracted, I knew that he wouldn’t be able to either hear or see me way above him.

Too, he wouldn’t think to look up and see me. I flew in such a way that I progressed around a corner which took me into another wing of the massive complex. Here, there was a balcony whose wall was such that it had an indentation in the shape of an inverted top hat. Thus, the balcony was as if wrapped inside the hat. Hiding out in the cover of the balcony, I peered out – from time to time – where I saw others on lower balconies who peered up at me.

Others were off to the right in the inverted balcony. They discouraged me from coming because they thought that, somehow, my movement would attract the newcomer with semi-automatic weapon. They were of the impression that he was, in the first place, out to get me. All around, this whole episode was terribly unpleasant. It had all the chaotic madness that must surely exist, at present, in the streets of a war zone like Bosnia or Croatia.

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Deciding against hiding out, I sought to be rid of this place altogether. With that, I began flying upwards towards the very ceiling of the grand hall. The ceiling was as if a force field and not a physical construct. Thus, without incident, I was able to will my way through its parameters. I was truly relieved to have made it out of there. One had the sense of leaving one dimension and moving on to another, whilst seemingly clearing the grand hall’s ceiling, and into the next dream experience.

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Next, in this the fourth dream, I was outside where I immediately encountered some young teenage females. All were sarcastic, bitchy solipsistic twits. They were on an empty city street. Racy-edged, in the extreme, were there. Especially for feeling the enervation that I did for the massive energy transference work that I had undertaken with River Phoenix, I really did not care to be around these people’s energy.

At the time, I was still in flight but had slowed down, hoping possibly to interact with them. Finally, I had no time for them and their bullshit. No need to be around their imploding energy. Without haste, I flew on and went onto a side street. There, I saw a really large building from which there were some persons presently exiting.

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It was as if one were looking outdoors, due west towards Fifth Avenue, in Manhattan. A young couple came from the building and entered a car which looked like a Bentley limousine. A massive stately old car it was and looked every bit as though it had been made from lead. A large structure stood to my left as I watched them drive away towards what seemed to be Fifth Avenue.

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Looking to the structure, I realised that the structure was in fact St. Patrick’s Cathedral which, of course, meant that I was at 51st Street at Fifth Avenue. Naturally, the car made a left turn and went south down Fifth Avenue. Here it was nighttime with lots of snow in the street, the sidewalk, and covering just about everything. The car wanted, once on Fifth Avenue, to go westwards along 50th Street, but couldn’t because that street runs easterly one-way.

There was also too much snow jammed there in the street. So, in the end, the car went down to the south end of Saks Fifth Avenue to try and get onto 49th Street. Here in the dreamtime, contrary to the waking state arrangement, 49th Street flowed easterly. This made me realise that its attempt to go along 50th Street was not bizarre. I guess that they then intended to go easterly along 49th Street, over to Park Avenue then up 57th Street, make a left at that street, to try and get across town that way.

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I figured that that major thoroughfare would not be impassable. I was keen to find out who was inside the car, which was a very regal, stately affair; they were a sophisticated well-bred couple. I was more intrigued by the car because it was mostly glass, with the rear windshield arching up to above their heads, as they sat there exuding their exalted classism. The side panelling on the outside, and where the rear windshield met the roof, was all solid gold. Atop the roof there was a beacon like on a taxi cab, however, it was made of solid gold.

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Really, it was more a coat of arms than anything so crass as a taxi’s beacon; this was a truly luxurious-looking vehicle. As I inspected it, I had been in flight hovering a couple of floors above it. Rising in the air, I began speeding down on the east side of Fifth Avenue over St. Patrick’s Cathedral. When I got over the cathedral, I noticed that – unlike its waking state counterpart – this one had flying buttresses. Though it was very dark out, as though the dead of a Dark Moon night, I noticed that there was activity atop the cathedral. There were things there which I found immediately intriguing.

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Abandoning my pursuit of the Bentley landau, I slowed down, coming closer to observe what was going on atop the cathedral’s roof. There, I saw wonderful fowl; there was a whole array of them which were quite large. One species was white with lots of black specs throughout its body. They were all on different ledges on the flying buttresses. All of them had nests that they were tending.

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One of the nests had 8 large speckled eggs inside. There was, however, no fowl tending to this nest. Flying slowly, within ten feet of the buttresses, I inspected everything with a keen eye. This was so very astral plane in focus. Considering that I had previously been counselling River Phoenix, who had recently passed, it made sense that I should be on the astral plane. In any event, the rooftop was pitch-black and covered in tar. The masonry here was also much blackened with time’s passage. Too, there was a lot of moss covering every available nook and cranny.

I suppose that this replica of St. Patrick’s Cathedral needed to exist, here on the astral plane, to provide some sense of continuity to the dearly departed recent arrivés of the Catholic persuasion. Here on the astral plane, this St. Patrick’s Cathedral was considerably larger than its waking state counterpart. As well, it was millennia older than the Roman Coliseum. The older dead moss had left the structure blackened – along with the centuries of pollution and soot caked on in layers. Naturally, in order to get up to the roof of the nave, I had had to rise higher and beyond the buttresses.

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Once higher in the air, I saw down between these two buttresses a group of Whites. They were dressed in animal skins and were, in the true sense of the word, barbaric-looking. They had not yet fully developed the ability to speak; thus, their speech consisted of a series of barks and grunts. Quite hirsute, they were obsessively fearful. Huddled on the top of the structure, they proved a smelly lot.

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Everything was quite ancient and scorpionic-hued. As well, there was a tribe of black-furred monkeys with some red in them. The Barbarians also wore a skin that had a reddish hue to it which was seemingly a doeskin. Theirs was, as well, a tawny reddish complexion. On noticing me, the monkeys went wild, climbing up to the tops of the buttresses; frantically, they pounced and screamed up at me. Goodness, they had such large vicious-looking teeth; thank goodness they could not fly.

Mildly horrified, I simply levitated higher into the air and stayed clear of their none-too-evolved noise. Exceptionally tiny, they were also very intelligent-looking. Truth be told, they looked much more evolved intellectually than their simian cousins, the Barbarians. Goodness, they were feisty and noisy. Wanting to investigate everything about the queerness of the sight of me, they were truly inquisitive.

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Going higher, I reached to the top of the nave where I noticed a couple lying there. They were lying on their backs. Looking not unlike the sphinx’s, theirs were the most abnormal-looking skulls that were splayed and large. Their clothing was unusual-coloured; however, on closer inspection, it turned out to have been their skin. Basically, their skin was as if a floral-printed fabric. Very brightly coloured, their skin was an interesting sight… to say the least. They lay there, looking not the least bit surprised at the sight of me. They also seemed not inclined to do anything but enjoy themselves in repose.

They seemed so mysterious. Looking down, I alighted to investigate. I spent some time looking down at their feet where their skin was also uniformly distributed. I had wanted to leave but decided to head in the opposite direction; as they lay there, their feet were in my way. I didn’t want to have to upset or interact with them. They seemed alien, in the true sense of the word, but were not in fact to be disturbed. Silently, they lay there and directly looked at me. One had the sense that they could have turned deadly in a femtosecond and gone at me like a cobra on the attack. They had very cool eyes that were powerful, truly scorpionic. Theirs were the kind of eyes that were beguiling but utterly untrustworthy.

*Their eyes much reminded me of that dream encounter with Lars Gamst, set in the British Isles some centuries back, wherein we encountered a litter of oversized cats, which turned out to be not only psychic but also feral. This was back in the summer of 1988 – before recording the dreams on audio-cassettes. END.

Soon enough, I flew away from there because this was much too astrally focussed an experience. I might add, as dreams go, it was one that was very much so real and quite layered. It was simply much too intense; so, with that, I withdrew being energetically focussed therein.

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Hope you enjoyed having taken this groovy little trip with me… Go on, hop to it, start flying. I love you more.

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

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 nighttime, 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?”

conan-sword-photo-by-Ann

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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