Lesson In Older Soul Lovemaking.

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So, on Friday, November 3, 1995, as the gibbous Moon waxed in Pisces – measurably drifting across my tenth house – I would dream this dream which concerned the dynamic between both Merlin and Oleg. 

*For the record, Oleg in a previous incarnation was the English writer, Charlotte Bronte.  END.  

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A house that much reminded me of the one in Crab Hill, Sandy Point, St. Kitts proved the setting for this most potent dream.  There were five of us here; although, one person’s identity now eludes me.  There in the living room, seated on the blue sofa of our Crab Hill home, was Merlin with his back to the north.  Directly behind him was the five-foot oblong mirror; it was hung against the living room’s wall.  On the other side of that wall, in the waking sate, was Harella’s bedroom.

Here in the dreamtime, which was definitely astral plane in focus, the living room was elongated; it was more oblong-shaped, along a north-south axis.  Merlin’s right side was closer to the veranda and the main road with the McHughs across the road.  Across the room from me, with her back to the street and facing due east, was Gita Gurucharan – Oberon Samuelson’s lovely wife and mother to miracle worker extraordinaire, Vijayalakshmi Gurucharan.  Oleg de Brontë was seated directly opposite Merlin.  There was a man, to my immediate left, who sat directly opposite Gita.  Whilst I was closer to Merlin than anyone in the room, I was not however sharing the sofa with him.

Abruptly, Merlin got up and took his leave of us.  He went into Harella’s bedroom.  The others had dropped by to visit.  It was clear, early on, that Merlin simply wasn’t into it.  There was strain to the social dynamic which Merlin put an end to – he rudely took his leave of us.  This was so unlike his former self during his recently-concluded incarnation.  Yet, I fully understood where he was coming from.  Whilst being in the soul state, he was now more so his true self.  This gathering of persons represented the past to him, which at this point, clearly served no interest for him.

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I then got up and stood next to Gita who was on my right.  After Merlin rudely took his leave of us, we had all silently gotten up.  To say the least, it was awkward.  As we faced towards the dining room, our backs were now to the veranda.  Filling the void that Merlin’s departure had created, Gita and I began making conversation.  To say the least, it was a strained, canned affair.  Here, I was keenly aware of how much I am dismissed as a social misfit.  I was aware that these were persons who had long ago decided that I was not the swiftest of souls – I don’t indulge in clever repartee and such plastic aggressiveness when socialising.

The Black man then came over; he was tall and handsome with a gorgeously mesomorphic body.  He stood to my left, directly facing Gita, and began talking.  There were a lot of pauses here; they were trying to get me to shove off by firmly excluding me.  Finally, I dryly said, “Well, I’m going to go and see how my man is doing.”

I then walked between the chairs, on which Oleg and the Black man sat, as though heading for the boys’ bedroom rather than Harella’s to which Merlin had retreated.  I then, however, made an abrupt turn left going instead through the door from the living room to Harella’s bedroom.  On entering the bedroom, I saw that Merlin was lying in the girls’ bedroom next-door.  Merlin seemed as though asleep.  He did look as though ill with full-blown AIDS.  It was not, however, distressing to have seen him thus; I was lucidly awakened here.

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Initially, when out in the living room, Merlin looked robust and even leaned towards a robust, mesomorphic body type.  It was clear though that having to visit with these persons, from the past, had very much so enervated his spirits.  Rather than sit there interminably, enduring what was an unpleasant situation for him, he thankfully had taken refuge when he had.  On drawing closer to him, I gently caressed his face – all the while thinking of how difficult this was for him.  I wanted to share some of my energies with him; I wanted to restore his.  The vibrations from the living room, however, were distracting.

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After excusing myself from Merlin, I returned to the living room.  Immediately, I dramatically shifted personae and became rude.  I told them to sit down, at which point, we all did.  Oleg then got up after awhile; he was holding a long-necked, brown beer bottle.  There were three empty identical ones on the floor and next to his chair.  There was no mistaking the fact that he was drunk.

‘Who the hell gets drunk on the astral plane anyway?’

Oleg wore a woollen jacket that was dark and nondescript.  Incidentally, on my return, the Black man was no longer present.  In his place was a White man with the same physical description; he came over trying to save face.  The unfamiliar man charmingly suggested that it was time that they pushed off.  Oleg had gotten very drunk indeed; he was not at all being belligerent.  It turned out that Oleg had gotten emotionally distraught – about Merlin’s condition; he was upset at the way that things had turned out between them.  The fact that things were unresolved between them, at the end of Merlin’s last life, caused Oleg a great deal of distress.

He did not know how else to deal with it; thus, Oleg got miserably drunk.  I wanted to be of solace to Oleg, however, since my energies were already committed to being with Merlin that option proved a nonstarter.  Clearly, Gita and the other man had been there to try and broker some sort of peace between Oleg and Merlin.  Obviously, Merlin was not up to it.  At one point, I had actually headed to the dining room and called back to Oleg.  My voice rang out as I asked Oleg if he wanted another beer.

This was the point at which the unfamiliar White man had interrupted and declined the offer; instead, he suggested that they take their leave of Merlin and me.  Oleg, of course, was inclined to take another drink.  I did not like my role here – that of keeping Oleg grounded by drink.  Certainly, it did give the impression that I was trying to block any resolution or any communion between both him and Merlin.  Although, to be honest, Oleg had begun drinking after Merlin had left the room.  It was quite embarrassing really.  Oleg could hardly get up – let alone stand on his own.

The man had had to rush to Oleg’s aid.  Like Merlin in the bedroom, Oleg was completely enervated though he had used alcohol to drown his pain.  Oleg was devastated that Merlin was not going to return.  More importantly, Oleg knew that Merlin had positively no intentions of suffering him for a minute.  The man threw his arms about Oleg and braced him up.  More than that, he was fortifying his very spirit.

Again, I took my leave of them in the living room and headed back for Merlin.  However, I did not spend time visiting with Merlin.  On returning to the bedroom, I got a long, black, woollen evening coat.  It was rather expensive and cut close to the body.  Bearing the coat, I returned to the living room where I insisted that Oleg take it to stay warm.  For not realising that he had been drinking to excess, I had felt badly.  He was truly distraught; nothing pained me more than seeing this truly beautiful man’s spirit in disrepair.

Whilst his White friend got him into the coat, I stood in back of a disjointed Oleg and held the evening coat open.  Interestingly enough, Oleg’s handsome, Black friend earlier was the same handsome Black man, with the striking resemblance to Maxwell Bowleson – he had appeared with him in that august-energied dream, on Friday, July 21, 1995.  Eventually, they all took their leave of the house; they were rather low-key when doing so.  When I had returned to the living room, after having visited with Merlin in the girls’ bedroom, Gita had not said anything further.

 

 

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No sooner than had they all left the house that Merlin came out to the living room to join me.  I was surprised to see that he was again looking so healthy.  Directly opposite Merlin, I now sat alone.  Merlin silently sat there.  Whilst consciously sending him loving energies, I held my back erect.  Much to my surprise and amusement, Merlin carried a large, clear plastic bag with about 1.5 pounds, likely more, of marijuana.  Merlin meticulously rolled a large thick joint with all the Zen focus as he had when incarnate.

I sat there being truly blown away at the sight.  I had completely forgotten the sublime, almost Zen, sight of Merlin rolling a joint.  Moments like this were when Merlin really turned up the hues of his magus nature.  It was a groove into which he slipped, in order to conceptualise – to non-linearly think.  These ganja joints were so thick that they looked like short white cigars; they certainly smoked profusely like a cigar does.  I was mildly humoured by Merlin’s realness.  It was grounding.

On looking up, Merlin paused before lighting up and turned up the sensual hues in his large brown – which they were not when incarnate – eyes.  Coolly, Merlin intoned, “I have no intentions of seeing these people…”

He then pursed the fat joint in his rosy lips and lit up.  Casually, Merlin blew on a long even breath that readily perfumed the air with its pungent aroma.  Up to that point, the room was sillaged by that most glorious of scents patchouli – it was Merlin’s favourite fragrance.  As an afterthought, Merlin added that Oleg had intended to come back tomorrow and join him for lunch.  There was supposed to be some woman or other present then.

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Apparently, it was not going to be either Morag O’Hoare or Gita Gurucharan.  I don’t know who she was supposed to be but it was also definitely not Elektra Skanczchowicz – and definitely not Hélène Plotte-Visage.  Merlin took his time and drew on another breath.  He then announced that the luncheon had been arranged by none other than Maxime Gascoigne-de Montigny.  Merlin, however, was not into it.  “Are you sure that you’re going to be up to it?” I asked obviously concerned.

As I looked across the room at Merlin, I spent a great deal of time being spiritually focussed and sent him energy.  What was really interesting in this process was that with his long even breaths, when dragging on the ganja joint, I used his breathing rhythm to become harmonised with his vibration.  The focussed process of sharing my energy with him was very potent – real.  The energy flowed with great ease.  For being intensely lucid, I thought of elevating my vibration’s frequency.  I had hoped to thus cycle off a ton of my energy into Merlin.  I accomplished this by envisioning us both encircled by spheres of intense blue-white light.  Soon, I saw my energy body cycling off a coil of white light.

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This light originated both from the top and bottom of the sphere of light which completely enveloped my seated body.  The light travelled the distance between us, across the room, some seven feet away at most.  It made contact with both poles of his energy body’s identical sphere’s integrity.  Together, we were truly in communion soul-to-soul.  The interesting thing here was that we both continued casually visiting though I knew that Merlin was keenly aware of the energy work that was being accomplished between us.  As he continued his detached Zen-like smoking, I knew that it served as a backdrop to his being receptive of the energy work that I was doing on his behalf.  Our breathing was completely synchronised.

I used each inhalation to draw off the negative vibrations.  It was this energy that had caused him to become completely enervated when seated opposite Oleg whom he clearly had no desire to have encountered.  Merlin then chose to abruptly retire, whilst the others visited, to the girls’ bedroom to crash.  With each exhalation, I sent him intense, white-light energy that was being liquidly drunk by his energy body.  The marvellous thing about this entire experience was how utterly feminine Merlin’s modalities were.  This was in marked contrast to my very masculine, martial, warrior-energied focus.

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It was truly a validation of the creative principle, Merlin being yin to my yang.  Together we were becoming whole.  Together our energies were perfectly harmonised.  As a result, Merlin’s energies were thusly realigned.  Too, for being in this very expansive state, I caught brief glimpses of the outlines of the light energies that were being manifested between us.  During the moments when he would exhale potent puffs of smoke, I observed the manifested spheres of light each time.  The smells of the patchouli and ganja, combined with the ganja’s smoke, created the effect. I was so grounded for being here in this astral plane reanimation of the Crab Hill, Sandy Point, St. Kitts house.  It was a truly sublime shamanic experience.

It was clear that Merlin had no desire to experience unpleasant aspects of the past.  As he sat there, Merlin waited for the air to clear; he waited for the ganja to wane and the strobe of the light spheres to fade out before replying,  “No, no.  It’s okay.  I’ll be okay…”  As Merlin spoke for the first time, he looked healthier than he had looked at any point before during our astral plane dream encounter.  Earlier, he was lying on his stomach with his left cheek on the pillow; his face looked out the door that led to the room from Harella’s bedroom.  There was a cool sheen of sweat then that covered his brow and body; he laid there looking truly wasted.

Even his breathing was loud then.  As I patted his cool brow, I could hear the crackling in his lungs that suggested that he was again suffering from a bout of pneumocystis.  On soothing his spirit, I had brushed the wet strands of his shoulder-length hair from his brow.  It was so very good to have seen Merlin.  The most exquisite pleasure of being in his presence was the great sense of peace that I felt for seeing him whole again.  The simple act of his rolling a joint was, for me, on the order of bliss; he was transcendent.  Of course, as was the case during our relationship in the waking state, he did not offer me a toke of the cigar-like joint.

I do know that I found the second-hand smoke pleasurable.  It was sweet; it did much to relax me, along with the focussed deep breathing that I independently did – that we did in unison and which had been triggered by his breaths when smoking the joint.  Feeling the need to come down from the intense energy work that I had accomplished with Merlin, I got up and walked slowly over to Merlin.  I asked him if he was going to be okay on his own.  He assured me that I had nothing to worry about; he would be fine.  I knew it too.  So with that, I took my leave of him.  In a bid to move back into my regular-dream body, I went out to get some air on the veranda.

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He assured me that I did not need to come back, later on, and join him.  He would be quite okay to handle things on his own, he assured me.  I believed him.  Merlin simply glowed throughout; his cheeks were flushed and fleshy even.  Merlin looked centred and genuinely contented.  I then found some ice cream, beneath one of the living room chairs, which earlier I had been eating.  Naturally, it was not all that great as it had melted down and lost its flavour.

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Yeah groovy people, you know the score, just plié, push off and fly like when you have just had the greatest sex and dance as if this gorgeous planet ain’t nobody’s property but yours.  I love you more.  

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

Poetry Most Rare: A Rose Like No Other.

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As the dreams of Merlin after his passing betray, our relationship endured beyond dimensions.  This enduring love allowed my growth to continue.  This love allowed me to become immensely enriched for having known Merlin.  This dream betrays the continued spiritual growth that I experienced.  This growth was much enhanced for having known and loved Merlin, before meeting him, during our seven-year relationship and after his passing. 

The dream occurred, on Tuesday, September 22, 1992, whilst the Moon transited both Leo and my third house.  At the time of this dream, I was visiting Pandora in Paris.  On this trip to Paris, I would meet the delightful Louka Duplessis.  Clearly, the dream touched on past life experiences in France but, more importantly, it reflected my spiritual maturation during the course of this lifetime.  The dream chronicles my ascension to new plateaux spiritually as mirrored in the dreamtime. 

The dream in question also occurred in the ‘B’ or second sleep phase that day.  Too, it was the second of four dreams that day. 

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I was staying in this old building.  It was a normal six-storeyed, Parisian pied-à-terre.  The windows across the way were naked of any drapes.  The window, from which I looked, allowed me a view into the third storey windows across the street.  There was no fencing between the properties and both buildings were fairly close.  It was an old building and it was situated in the rear of the property.  I was two storeys higher up whilst looking down at this guy.  He was mesomorphic, developed and swarthy.  He was definitely of North African descent.  

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This man was head of the household guard of the limestone mansion.  This mansion was not unlike the one I passed by, last night – that is, in that dream experience, wherein Tina Turner performed her heart out, on the mansion’s veranda.  It was, however, not that palatial home – in that dream, the residence was a bungalow which this certainly wasn’t.  This building though was many storeys tall.  I instinctively knew that I was the owner but, somehow, my life was now in danger.  He, for being part of the household guard, was fiercely loyal.  He saw to it that I was kept securely insulated.  I was kept secured in the abandoned building, in the rear, since no one would be expected to go looking for me there.

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The building that I was in was old and missing all of its window panes.  He sat there, on the third storey, on a red velvet chaise longue.  On his immediate right sat a woman.  Seemingly, she was a daughter of one of the maids.  The household staff here was quite large.  He was lounging back, on the backrest, stroking her long brunette mane.  I could tell from his rhythmic stroking of her head that he was aroused and that she was more than likely giving him a blowjob.  I couldn’t, however, make out his cock from my perspective.  He was, at the very least, exposing himself to her and wanted her to give him head.  She, however, was being very cautious.

Obviously, he was easily made impatient by her inaction.  From his energies, I could tell that he would likely soon overpower her and force her to go down on him.  Frankly, I did not approve of him abusing a woman thus.  However, it was a situation that she had little control over although it was clear that she did not want to do it.  Since it was my house, I wanted to go there and intercede on her behalf.  In any event, I really did not like being held up in this confining space.

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To have been caught up in this sort of situation, it proved truly stifling of my energies.  More than that, I wanted to kick some arse because he was abusing his powers by manipulating his subordinate.  I did not approve of this at all and, more importantly, I also didn’t want anyone in my employ to be abused thus.  So I managed to make my way back down into the palatial digs.

Entering at the ground level, as I progressed, the main foyer was fairly empty.  Here there were lots of large columns that were wooden and in the Gothic style.  The ceiling here was wooden with flying buttresses.  This was a very high-ceilinged affair that was easily two storeys.  The floor was tiled with black-and-white marble with each tile being some two-and-one-half feet square.  It was very beautiful here with a very shiny polish to the floor.  As I walked, I wore riding boots and had a very strong, demonstrative stride.  At times, as I did not want to be heard making my approach, I was being very slight.

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Instinctively, I knew where to be forceful in stride but I also knew where to be otherwise slight.  All of this was about announcing my presence to certain persons therein.  I then began mounting the very dark-wooded, high-glossed, polished staircase to the landings.  I was impressed with just how clean the household staff kept the place.  There was much loving care put into their jobs.  I was warmed by this and knew that it reflected their respect for me.  Clearly, I was a good steward in their lives – one who cared about their well-being.  Each storey of the large staircase had a square landing which looked out to the landings below.  Though I had not taken the time to look up, as it was very brightly illumined, there just may have been a skylight overhead the staircase.  When I did look up, on one of the landings, I saw a woman a couple of storeys up.  She was older and wore a greyish smock.

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Her head she kept tied in a turban with white, heavy-looking fabric.  On seeing me, she rushed back away from the landing.  Straight away, I went stealthily speeding up the stairs without as much as a sound.  When I got to her landing, I slipped into this back room that was one to which I knew she would have retreated.  This was the chambermaids’ quarters.  Very wide-eyed and full of fear she let me know, right off the bat, that she did not know anything.  Clearly, she was trying to cover for the fact that the house guard had been overpowering the woman.  She did not want to get involved.  More to the point, she did not want him avenging himself of her.

The young woman may even have been her daughter yet she was not prepared to risk her security.  Hissing, I interrogated her but she was so overcome with fear that she avoided becoming caught up in the politics of it all.  She understandably felt obliged to do as I said yet she was sexually acculturated, to be subservient to men, such that she simply couldn’t bring herself to defy any man.  Even a corrupt one whom she knew was not my superior, she simply could not cross.  The attacker was a feared and forceful man – sadistic.  Seeing that he was part of the palace’s security, he could easily have her killed and made it look like an accident.  She knew this only too well.

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This very shrewd woman had no misgivings as to just what lengths male ambition would go to assure its self-preservation, most especially, at the expense of the opposite sex.  Indeed, she too had once been a young woman.  She had clearly had to learn some hard lessons about the hearts, rather the lack thereof, of men a long time ago.  She was, if nothing else, shrewdly pragmatic.  He was to be feared.  She was not in the world to provoke or affect change.  I assured her that she would be protected then sent her to her quarters.  I then took my leave of her.  We spoke exclusively in French.

She was clearly multiple-generational peasant stock and from northwestern France which I deduced from her accent.  A very self-deprecating individual and one possessed of pronounced humility.  From there, I went rushing back out onto the stairs.  As I approached she had been tipping off others, in a hushed voice, to the fact that I was returned to the house.  Just as I was beginning to come down the stairs, the North African captain of house’s guard came out.  He stood on the landing, one flight above me, very impatiently asking who the devil I was.

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He demanded to know who this intruder – meaning me – was.  I was frankly humoured by his bravura, so smiled at him, and thought to play along.  Whilst standing there very regally, I thought to call him by his name thereby calling him on his temerity.  Instantaneously, he flashed this unusually large, black weapon which seemed part rifle, part spear.  The top of the spear was all gold-leafed as a bayonet would be speared.  It was not unlike the top of the wrought iron fencing that girdled the property which I would notice afterwards when leaving the property.  Still very casually, I mockingly tossed my hands in the air and begged for his mercy.

“Fine, if you want to treat me as an intruder, go right ahead.  I’m not an intruder…” I said, not liking the flow of this exchange.

When he suddenly began shooting at me, I was certainly surprised.  The shots explosively came, a volley of five rounds, at me.  When they were discharged they came at me with quite an incredible force.  It was as though, at will, I was able to slow down the bullets.  I saw the bullets’ progression in slow-motion.  Each shot appeared as if streaks of red light coasting through the air.  Starting out on target, directly towards me they came.  I managed, my mind totally focussed, to will them to avert making contact with me.  Every one of them ended up veering off to the right.

He barked a grunt of displeasure on seeing that the bullets had not made his intended mark.  He drew the gun again to try once more.  I knew that this man was quite a good marksman yet he never did catch me.  Making like I really was an intruder, after he had finished his second attack, I began bolting down the steps.  I manically scurried, down to the ground floor, all the whilst he kept on firing after me as I fled.  Even with my back turned, I was able to maintain my mental focus and escaped being shot by him.  Still focussed, I continued directing the bullets away from me.  The thing about the bullets was how incredibly powerful they were.  As they sped by, like the high-speed trains here in Europe do, each bullet created the same gravitational drag.

*This led me to the conclusion that when one is struck by sniper fire, it is a very impactful occurrence.  As a matter of fact, the soul itself simply gets suddenly knocked out of being focussed in the body.  It is clearly a jarring experience.  The soul, at such times, is instantaneously slapped back to the astral plane in mere femtoseconds.  END.

On rushing down to the ground floor, I took cover under the canopy of the second storey’s landing.  When the bullets would strike the ground floor’s marble tiles, they zinged and sounded much like swords noisily clashing against stone during battle.  It did cause me to wonder if the weapon’s ammunition were not, as it were, tiny spears.  Rapidly travelling, the tiny spear-like bullets created a fiery streak of light whilst tearing through space.  The friction of the bullets’ speed was what would have ignited space’s explosive oxygen.  The bullets were experienced in exquisite close-up, gnawing away at the fabric of space, as if some fiery eagle lancing through the air to make the kill.

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From under the cover of the landing, I ran across the foyer over to this large secretaire.  The secretaire did not have any gold leaf detailing on it but it was very large and beautifully designed.  Jumping onto it, I went there to be out of range of his gunfire.  He did, however, keep on shooting at me.  Naturally, I continued defending myself by deflecting every shot he directed my way.  Pretty soon the shots were ricocheting.  Some shots did serious damage to the secretaire.  Not wanting to completely destroy it, I leapt off the secretaire.  In a streak of unbridled energy, I went bolting outside through the large heavy doors.  As I made it through the doors, I could hear him coming down the stairs after me.

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By this point, he was being joined by other house guards whom he had called to his aid.  Obviously, he had inspired the other guards to turn against me.  This was truly an upsetting surprise for me.  I ran into the most beautiful garden imaginable.  Not unlike the other garden, before the sprawling bungalow that I had dreamt of the night earlier where Tina Turner sang, was this one.  However, this garden was considerably more extensive.  Like a house afire, I went running down the garden path.  Following the path that led from the front doors, I ran screaming my lungs out.  As I worked off all that angst, it was part fear… it was part celebratory war cry.  

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In one leap, I bolted through the front gates.  Yet again, it proved another very large, high, wrought iron, gold-leafed, spear-tipped fence.  All that I could think of was that I had to get the devil lost and as soon as possible.  Still running, fast as all hell, I had managed through the narrow streets to get myself onto a near-deserted off-street.  This road seemed to border the abandoned building.  It was another building which was in back of the mansion.  Here it was definitely as if Paris but a few centuries earlier.  It was as if the height of Napoleon Bonaparte’s reign because the second empire architecture was not yet a ubiquitous fixture.

These were buildings that had a stone ground floor with the upper ones made of wood.  Few of them, if any, had very little to no second empire signatures.  It was the most minimalist empire detailing and as such it was not very widespread.  The style here predominantly was Roman, rather than not, with some neo-classical signatures.  Some of the roofs, in their prelude to the second empire sensibility, were more so like barn roofs than not – mansard-roofed they were.  Whilst running down the off-street, I happened on a crowd of persons who were walking.  All of them were dressed as if of another age.  This was garb from an earlier time in Europe.  Drab-coloured, heavy fabrics predominated here.

On forging ahead, I managed my way into the thick of them.  They were a group of guys who were walking in the nighttime streets.  It was an indeterminate time of night.  It could easily have been a full Moon or even coming on to dawn.  As it was simultaneously dark, it was hard to discern.  As a result, it was also not too bright.  A strange light it was, which I think was also silvery-sooty, for being so choked with wood-burning fires partout.  There was the sense also that there was heavy cloud cover that dappled the full force of the full Moon.

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As I hid in amongst the throng, I noticed that there were also Black men present.  They seemed to be headed off to go drinking at a bar.  These men were, however, not a rowdy crowd.  Neither were they singing nor, for that matter, were they being obstreperous.  Some of them were telling tall tales and getting us in good spirits.  It was an immediate warm group of energies.  No sooner than had I joined them that the house guard, along with his henchmen, appeared at our rear.  He began yelling at us, in a hostile tone, telling us to stop and give up.  

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We were stunned.  At least, I was surprised that they had managed to find me.  Next, they were indiscriminately shooting at us.  Of course, I was the object of their hunt.  Right away, I began ducking behind some of the larger-bodied guys in the group.  One of the Black men turned on me on realising, that for being an outsider, that they were clearly trying to get me.  He and some of the others in the group, who had their own guns, immediately began to shoot at me.  Again, I began dodging the bullets and was able to run away.  

I acrobatically tumbled, leapt and soared through the air, sometimes rolling on the ground, in hopes of escaping their fury and gunfire.  This time – for fleeing so rapidly – I was able to easily dodge the bullets without having to focus my will on diverting their trajectory.  However, there was one point, when he had shot at me that I had been of the opinion that he had shot me.  He had shot at my legs catching me in both knees.  Self-preservation demanded that I not look down at my knees.  Had I done so, on seeing that I was wounded, I would have been paralysed to take further action.  

All I wanted to do was to secure my escape from this tumultuous place with its volatile emotionality.  For that reason, I kept on going and ran from the narrow-streeted place.  Here in the street confrontation, as they streaked by at great speeds, I did notice that some of the bullets created a blue light.  This occurred as the bullets gnawed into the fabric of space.  Here, too, they were very powerful and created a sense of drag as they noisily zinged past me.  Their sound was like that of some giant beast of prey, noisily rocketing in, before the kill.  

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Along the block, I caught wind of a crack between buildings.  Straight away, I darted through the crevice.  By shifting sideways, I had managed my way into the crevice thus.  From this vantage point, I discovered that there was much fighting going down between both sides.  The fighting unrelentingly kept up without me being directly affected.  Meanwhile, I managed to inch my way further inwards and away from the street.  Here the little crevice-like lane led back into a courtyard area.  Pleased that I had made it to the courtyard, out of harm’s way, I took the time to enjoy the cool damp air of the enclosed space.  

Clearly, no one ever made it into this courtyard.  Winded, I needed to recharge my energies.  Whilst there alone, I noticed that it was suddenly getting considerably brighter out.  Intrigued, I began venturing from the courtyard to investigate the cause of the light change.  Unmistakably, there towered from on-high a shaft of intense blue-white light.  It went from the ground, in the distance, and extended up into the darkened night sky.  This light was off to the left, as I looked on, and across the street from where the street battle was going down.  

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This manifestation was quite intense.  It proved a constant bleed of energy.  Simultaneously, one readily discerned that the flow of energy was moving in both directions.  It was all very intense with a great deal of power to it – a power which you could feel.  The quivering, almost liquid, undulating light gave off a tingling sound.  This sound matched its non-static, shifting appearance.  It was a cool sound like a whistling wintry wind.  This light manifestation was rather intense.  

Soon, I noticed that there was a column of white light which looked decidedly umbilical.  It much reminded me of the umbilical light being which I saw descending from the sky, in that dream of Thursday July 7, 1988.  Back then, in the dreams of July 7, 1988, it appeared as if a cetacean-like creature.  However, it turned out to be a manifestation of some aspect of self, some aspect of the soul, which proved to be Merlin’s soul totem.  Right away, I knew the significance of this dream.  This dream was clearly all about one’s totemic symbology.  Off in the distance, I could hear the tinny sound of persons speaking.  

One particular woman was remarking that this was happening as a result of persons having recently been shot and died.  In other words, this was a manifestation of their ascension to the next plane.  She speculated that this was likely their spirits taking flight away from this age and time.  Frankly, I got the sense that she did not know what she was talking about.  Since I was in hiding, I knew that I couldn’t seek her out to correct her perception of what was truly taking place.  I was really excited and strongly resonated with the nature of the experience.  

Instinctively, I fully understood the whole process – both the imagery and meaning of the whole experience.  Here however, I knew that I couldn’t call out to the light, as I had to the light on July 7, 1988.  For obvious reasons, I stood there resonating with the light.  I was being overwhelmingly energised by the light.  With the greatest yearning, the greatest compassion, I began reaching out to the knowing light force.  The umbilical cord of light next began snaking its way up, the column of blue light, like so many of the columns of smoke that rose up from the chimneys all about.  

However, this was definitely not smoke at all.  It was a nimbus-like, smoke-like, umbilical-like being of light.  It was so very knowing, gentle, familiar and intimate in is sublime, graceful beauty.  It was an umbilical cord of light that snaked up into the bosom of the shaft of blue-white light.  When the cord of light got up into the massive clouded sky it began circling around, like some giant spiral galaxy viewed head on, up above in the night sky.  On reaching the sky, the look of it as it circled was as if it were an illumined sea in the sky.  Here, of course, the major source of light would have been submerged and just beyond the aqueous surface of the sea on high.  

This, too, exactly mirrored what had happened on July 7, 1988.  In both cases, it was as though the sea was now where the sky should have been.  It was revolutionary.  Just as in the earlier experience, four years before, there was no sea visible at the conventional terrestrial site of the sea.  I was just inside the tiny lane, which was off a street, which was higher than anywhere else around.  This gave me a really good view of what was going on in the distance.  To again experience this magical occurrence, I again felt greatly inspired.  This was definitely set a few centuries back in France.  

If not set during late pre-revolutionary Paris, then the tumultuous times of the revolution and early Napoleonic times.  If not Paris, it was definitely one of the larger cities but it was definitely in France.  The light was so pure, so immensely intense indeed, it was breathtakingly beautiful.  What’s more, the light on making contact with the sky simply billowed outwards and became a greater explosion of light.  As it rippled outwards, the giant spiral galaxy of light would then spawn smaller spiralling encircling galaxies of light.  No music ever created or experienced, could ever evoke the beauty of experience that this light did.  It was quite simply looking into the bosom of the soul.  

They soon became circles within circles that were fast-moving independent of each other.  Whilst there were others which moved counterclockwise, some spiralled in a clockwise fashion.  All this movement occurred in the greatest display of slow-motioned grace.  This was power on an order that was mind-altering.  It was as though my mind were being expanded into new uncharted realms of spirit and intellect.  As four years earlier, the parallel experience had left me, I felt just as greatly inspired.  Within each spiralling galaxy of light, there were sparks of light that reflected every colour of the rainbow.  

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In that sense, they were as if circling rainbows of light.  Lights they were that created a form of music with their tingling sound.  Inspired great music of the soul it was too.  Whilst looking into them, I saw colours that have never been experienced on this side of the dreamtime before.  It was so revolutionary to think that there could be colours beyond the known spectrum, yet, there they were.  Even more interesting was the fact that these lights flickered in and out of existence.  Each manifestation caused a resonant quiver at the solar plexus which itself had rippled outwards, in waves of ecstasy, to and from my very soul itself.  

Thus these spirals were pulsating light at what, though seemingly random, was a rather orderly progression.  With every flicker, my entire body was being inundated with the most intense stimulation of light, sound, emotion and awareness.  Most of all, I was being inundated with love.  Standing there, it was as though I were having the most thrilling flying dream experience whilst remaining perfectly motionless.  My skin, as it were, had become peeled away.  This heightened sensitivity allowed my every nerve ending to hungrily drink of the purity and intensity of the experience.  This was so elevated an experience that it can never be adequately articulated by mere words.  

It was so profound and so sublime that it was sheer simplicity.  It would be like trying to describe a rose ad nauseam.  A rose is manifested inspiration for it is creativity at its most sublime.  For that reason, a rose is experiential and is totally beyond the realm of description.  The rose is creative manifestation, as such, only one’s correspondent state of beingness allows one to experience its inspiring beauty.  Beyond that, the rose simply is yet another symbol in the pantheon of acculturated signs.  For every one of those symbols one has an automatic response.  The symbol of the rose or anything, nine of ten times, causes one to never genuinely experience anything.  The experience of the spiralling light, which only mushroomed outwards, grew more and more intense.  

Its vibrational frequency kept on rising and pushing into octaves that previously I could not have fathomed.  With this expansion, the blackened, aqueous night sky only grew more and more intensely and predominantly white-lighted.  It was as though, as it slowly churned into greater actuality, it was hurricane season with some massively powerful storm cloud gathering strength.  Where the umbilical cord of light broke through the surface, of the aqueous light surface on high, it became increasingly intense.  So intense, in fact, that soon there was a break in the continuum of the medium there.  

Now the light became even more intense than already it had been.  The poor container of my relatively tiny body seemed unable to sustain so potent an experience for much longer.  Soon, the light’s intensity waned as it had instantaneously mushroomed outwards forming a perfect circle.  Within this supra-circle were the infinitely mushrooming circles of light wherein each was teeming with an array of pulsating spectra of lights.  This was music on the order of the cosmic.  This was truly music of the soul.  Now the expanded supra-circle began flickering like some giant lightning storm.  

There within its aqueous-looking light confines, the counter rotating circles began exploding in the most symmetrical and geometric shapes imaginable.  Here, there were some geometric entities that are unknown to waking state thought which have as yet been discovered.  In that sense, it was as if one were experiencing pure mathematics.  Even though the whole thing looked like water, however, it was definitely light.  Moreover, with the explosion of geometric shapes, it now looked like crystals that were made of pure light.  They were light crystals which were spherical and simultaneously musical.  They moved in amongst themselves without ever crashing into each other.  This was pure creativity at its highest order.  The whole thing was a very molecular organic process.  

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In the centre, the aqueous-looking lights on high then bled open.  It became as if a giant crystalline rose of light, in an aqueous sky, which kept on breaking open its infinite petals.  By this point, my body was quivering throughout.  Too, as I stood there lucidly dreaming, I silently laughed whilst losing tears.  The whole magical unfoldment was so immensely humbling.  Finally, instead of revealing its seed pistons the petals parted revealing this incredible planetary entity.  It was more brilliant than Luna.  Try – if you will – to fathom the accumulative intensity of Luna since four plus billion years ago, it first shone full, and every full Moon since.  

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However, it was no mere planet.  It was so brilliant that it was not even a star.  It was far more powerful and brighter than any star could ever be.  Even though it was so intense it was not so harsh a light, as a star’s, such that one couldn’t look at it.  This body was easily seven times as large as Luna.  Too, this immense orb was more potently luminous than Luna.  The surface of it was as if aqueous as it constantly shifted and changed form.  More than that, in its collective kaleidoscopic beauty, all this stellar planetary body proved to be was a face.  It was quite simply a glimpse into the face of one’s soul.  

Swept away, I yogically stretched my arms into its very bosom and let out a thrilled cry of joy.  This was an air pocket of inspiration like no other I had ever coasted.  I did just then begin hearing similar cries from persons who were in the buildings in the neighbourhood.  There were no persons in the abandoned buildings, which bled into the tiny courtyard, to my rear where I had been earlier.  There were several voices, all female, all of them naturally speaking French.  They were marvelling at the sight but, frankly, they did not get the picture.  

For them it was an apocalyptic event that no doubt presaged the end of the world or the second coming… paradigms which like the symbology of the rose they had been acculturated to believe – their loss, I realised.  As for me, I was really connecting with the experience.  I totally knew what it was all about.  Again, their lack of awareness only reflected their not having achieved this reflective state of creative beingness which would have truly allowed them to experience the rose of the experience.  

Rather, for them, it was an experience outside of themselves.  Just as in that dream of experiencing a planetary totem, back in July 1983, I instinctively knew what it was.  Here it was to the east and not yet reached its zenith.  This was such an incredible experience.  At this point, my body started resonantly vibrating.  Before I had been trembling, as though grounded by the force of some booming bass which impacted everything in its wake, now though I rattled throughout.  This was such a fuck-all glorious experience.  

As it had also been so long since I had experienced that kind of uplifting connection, with the soul element within, I was very much so moved.  I was humbled.  The whole revelation only lasted briefly… mere seconds.  To have been longer in duration would, finally, have been too overwhelming.  Nonetheless, I had gotten it.  I had made the connection and was greatly inspired for having had the uplifting experience.  The other townsfolk hadn’t gotten the essence of what it was; this finally was a moot point.  Quite simply, this stellar, illumined, aqueous anthropomorphic face did not exist either inside or outside of space, time or dimensional experientiality.  

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It was, quite simply, a glimpse of the soul.  Whose soul, mine or Merlin’s, smiled back at me?  It was not here relevant.  I had matured into the experience for having met and known Merlin.  So to that end, it was the face of both his and my Soul.  This was the most rapturous state of being that I had experienced in a long, long time.  There and then, I knew that my life had matured onto a higher octave for not just having had the experience but for having assimilated it – gotten it.  Just when it seemed that my mind was going to irreparably nova, the crystalline light of spiralling spheres began shifting.  

They ended their contraction and began expanding, collapsing over the magnetic orb, to which the umbilical cord of light had ascended.  Their movement was orderly, graceful and utterly organic.  It was like looking at a fast-action film of a crystalline rose bloom over a massive expanse of time.  This, however, was as if being cinematically experienced in slow-motion and in reverse – very spectacular.  

*God I am so glad that I have never done drugs.  END.  

When the supra-circle had finally collapsed, to cover the self-illumined, face-like, planetary being-like entity beyond the veil of glowing lights, the orb it now hid then novaed in an explosion of intense white light.  What then shot through me can only be described as enlightenment.  Quite simply, my cellular integrity was vibrationally sped up to momentarily become light itself.  When the orb’s light had imploded to nothingness, I was left instantaneously feeling very drained.  Even here in the dreamtime, I was aware of having a numbing headache.  

By the time that I came back, through the crevice-like lane, all the gun fighting had finished.  They were all gone, as a matter of fact.  On looking down, I discovered that there was nothing now wrong with my knees.  Just as I had suspected earlier, I had been wearing boots but they did not cover my knees.  Coming out into the street, I hurried along the sides of the buildings going back to the wonderful, palatial residence.  Going back towards the grounds, this time I saw another building there which was one on the side of the property.  Looking down the block, I saw four or five cars and all of them were red.  

Sure enough, just as I suspected, Magnus Colsen’s car was one of them.  As I came closer, his car was beginning to move but only slightly.  I went and said hello to him.  Inside, there were lots of boxes crammed everywhere as though he was moving.  It would seem that he was moving out of his family home, to get a place of his own, for the first time.  Unusually enough here, he was spectacled – so perhaps he is a Scholar soul.  Whilst we warmly spoke, the lens over his left eye automatically moved upwards in a sweeping arc.  Revealed, his left eye was intensely blue and warm.  They were much bluer than, in the waking state, they actually are.  

Magnus let me know that he had to be on his way and began driving off.  However, he did suggestively add that he would be back later to get some more things.  We parted, saying so long and he took off.  With that I turned around, never returning to the grounds of the palatial residence.  

*This dream was totemic for me.  I knew instinctively that it signalled the mark of me beginning to manifest at my true soul age.  Of course, during the time of my Saturn Return and Merlin’s illness, my transit from young-souled consciousness and egocentrism was affected.  During the time of Merlin’s illness and transition, there were those rather momentous and totemic dreams.  I had a very strong sense of Merlin’s vibration during the experience.  However, I never thought of him as being physically close-by nor had I anticipated seeing him in person.  Now four years later, pushing closer to my true soul age, I was crossing the seas of consciousness.  I was manifesting as a seventh level mature soul.  

We are incarnate for two chief reasons, to empower ourselves and thereby spiritually grow.  Of course, this can only be successfully achieved by choosing to conquer fear through love by choosing to love rather than fear.  This momentous dream had positively nothing whatsoever to do with anything so disempowering as experiencing God or any such tribal bullshit.  I was come face–to-face with my soul state and the energies and power which being part of an entity and itself part of a cadre represent.  There were times that I had an awareness of Joop van der Pelster who, of course, is a cadre mate.  Of the more than one hundred and fifty Michael Overleaves that I have had channelled, through both Mathilde Duchenne and Kritika Bhatt, he has proven to be the oldest-souled at fifth level old.  

I do know that I definitely do feel a sense of limitlessness when in his company.  Truth be told, the sweetest most pleasurable sex that I have ever had was not with Merlin but with Joop van der Pelster.  With Merlin there was passion and intimacy that was unsurpassed.  However only with Joop van der Pelster would one, after lovemaking, feel so exquisitely fulfilled that there was a fatigue that was of the most pleasurable order.  Every time that we have been intimate, afterwards I have felt as though that all I would have to do is simply continue the smile by closing my lids and letting go.  For doing so, I would become instantaneously an astral plane habitué – yet again.  

It is shamanic what Joop van der Pelster affects as a lover.  This is something which is also achieved between us during phone sex.  This is why he remains the only person with whom I ever have phone sex.  It is an aspect of our relationship that has lasted, for the some thirty-five-plus years that we have known each other.  Joop van der Pelster and Merlin never met nor did they ever once speak on the phone.  What Joop doesn’t realise is how incredibly uncannily his voice, when we are having phone sex, is exactly like Merlin’s.  It has always been that way even when Merlin was incarnate and knew of my phone sex relationship with Joop.  

It is as if we get into a groove whereby he channels Merlin and affects, what can only truly be called, long distance intimacy.  It is the most pleasurable form of lovemaking imaginable.  I have lived a richly beauteous life and, when it is concluded, I and a choice few will celebratorily dine on the astral plane.  I suspect that then, we will experience moments of quiet rapture.  What we will be celebrating is having lived life with the greatest panache and the sophistication befitting the brotherhood of the truly sly shamans that we are.  We are, every last one of us, truly magus.  

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These dreams – and these twenty-five volumes of dreams – would not exist had I never met and loved both Joop van der Pelster and Merlin.  They have affected in me the expansion of spirit and consciousness which is reflected in the nature of the dream experiences that I have lived.  Of course, Joop van der Pelster was in a previous life the Flemish painter, Sir Anthony van Dyck.  

Now then, before this afterthought meanders on longer than the dream itself…  

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As ever, for your unflappable support, I fly-without-moving and mean it when I say, I love you more.  

 

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

An Incredible Baby Boy!

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

Henry announces birth

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry May 12 2019

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The higher ideal has to do with unification. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mr. & Mrs. Thomas Kingston

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

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

TRH Prince & Princess Michael of Kent

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

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

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

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

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

TRH Duke & Duchess of Kent

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

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

HM The Queen

HM The Queen at Lady Gabriella Winndsor’s wedding.  

HRH Prince Philip Duke of Edinburgh

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

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

james middleton

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

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

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

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