The Thrill Is Gone… Or Is It Really?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lisa Hanna & Catherine HRH Duchess of Cambridge conversing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Count Basie Orchestra – Corner Pocket.

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

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©2013-2023 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.

Sigmund, Lucian, Carnivorous Lilies & Freudian Overleaves (Redux)

Lucian Freud sleeping nude

*Since these dreams were first published two years ago, I have since had Lucian Freud’s Michael Overleaves channelled.  Naturally, as I have dreamt of him with inordinate frequency, the possible links needed to have been explored.  

As it turns out, Lucian is an entity mate of both Merlin’s and mine.  These were rather good dreams and I am honoured to gladly share them again.  – July 2016.

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reflection_self-portrait

These next five dreams were lucidly lived with every fibre of my ensouled being on Tuesday, August 24, 1993.  At the time, the Moon then transited both Sagittarius and my seventh house – wherein is posited my natal Moon sitting opposite Mars and simultaneously squaring Pluto and retrograde Chiron as it is. 

In any event, the beauty of this dream could never be adequately conveyed by mere words.  Whilst in flight in this dream, I experienced nothing short of rapture.  Dreams are so very empowering. 

To hell with what Freud thought; Freud and his opinions are those of a younger soul than yours truly.  Besides, truth be told, Freud’s relevance in the culture has more to do with the need to messianically self-anoint rather than anything else.  Sheer folly it is for any one human to preposterously claim to know the meaning or the value of another’s dreams. 

There is no such thing as dream symbolism as dreams are lived.  Surely, it is not as though each night on taking to sleep, one ceases to exist and dies.  One does not; one continues one breath after the other until wakefulness on the other side and therefore, all experiences whilst being focussed away from the waking state are about being alive, perhaps, even more so than when awake. 

Dreams are part of one’s spiritual journey; they deftly reflect where one has been on one’s reincarnational journey and, as such, can never be analysed, studied and fathomed by mere professionals who seem more concerned about their career advancement and socio-economic status than knowing anything about dreams themselves for having shared theirs – if at all they actually recall their dreams which I highly suspect not to be the case – materialist boors as most such persons appear. 

I will, though, say this much for Sigmund Freud, the only purpose his having been iconised served is that it made it an easier journey for his grandson, Lucian Freud to have achieved his fame – which, alas, is always more desirable than infamy. 

Indeed, Lucian an icon, Sigmund, however, definitely not the genuine article.  For all the sublime art that Lucian Freud has afforded human civilisation, therein lies the value of Sigmund Freud’s worth… and nothing more. 

I have been places and done much reincarnationally, hence, I use more of my brain for being an older soul.  Likewise, that I have been around the block reincarnationally and am an older soul is reflected by the maturity of my dreams and the absence of fear being focussed at the core of my dream experiences. 

Here’s to your own spiritual journey and may these dreams richly inspire you.  Remember, religion is politics; it has nothing to do with spirituality.  Since religion is not sublime art, great food, company or banging sex, let’s not be charitable.  Religion is bullshit.  Cue the music,

“Straighten up and fly right!  Weee shabadoobe do wee yeah yeah… shabada doo ya… poom poom yeah… bada ba doo ya!” 

Now catch the groove, push off and start flying! 

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In this the first dream, I happened on a large body of water which seemingly was a pond.  This pond was quite beautiful, serene and inspiring.  Placidly nesting on it were the largest lily pads imaginable.

This did vaguely seem like the pond before Pogson’s Hospital in Mount Idle, Sandy Point, St. Kitts.  Yet, here in the dreamtime, it would have been up on the hill before the clinic and across the main road from said hospital.

Large enough, this pond was about 40×60 feet.  Though teeming with an abundance of lilies of several species, the water was extremely black and murky.  There were so many life forms in this water; some of them looked like tadpoles, perhaps, they were incubi.

One species of water plants looked remotely nothing like lilies.  They had two large thick leaves that came together.  Where the stems came together, it left them with a shape that was not unlike that of ginkgo leaves.  They both joined the stem exactly as the ginkgo leaves do.

There was a little aperture around the juncture where the two stems met.  These water plants turned out to have been carnivorous because the apertures would be slightly ajar then when the creatures would come around their mouths, they would quickly move upwards clear of the water and closed in the process about the tiny creatures.  They thusly ate the tiny tadpole-like creatures.

I had arrived at the pond whilst in flight.  Very slowly, after having been more rapidly in flight, I had willed my way through the air.  On seeing the pond way up ahead, I had slowed down considerably and glided in so as to be unobtrusive to the activity there.

I wanted to observe the goings on therein.  My movement was as if some majestic crane that was slowly gliding effortlessly through the air.  A very beautiful feeling of abandonment I experienced at this point.

Were I to have flown any more slowly, I would have possibly fallen from the air.  I was as if a giant leviathan leisurely cruising through a dry yet aqueous medium.

After having hung back from the edge, I inched closer then directly hovered above the centre of the body of water.  Whilst looking down, I would move from one lily pad to the next by directly being over it to watch it feed.

Each lily pad was about one foot in diameter and anywhere from 10-14 inches from stem to tip.  These were quite beautiful plants that were the same hue as a green coconut’s shell or, if you like, green olives.

The blackness of the water had a deceptive quality to it.  The opacity made it very hard to exactly tell what, just below its surface, was going on.  One had the sense that it was an abandoned fountain which would mean that it could not have been very deep.

Yet, there was no water being recycled here nor were there any sculptural signs of it being a fountain.  Though daytime, it was non-too-bright here.  The thought occurred to me that if these were the incubi of mosquitoes, they would shortly be hatching and I would likely be eaten by these hungry hatchlings.

This was one scenario that I was not looking forward to; indeed, it was best to avoid the likely eventuality than to have to regret afterwards.  With that, I began flying again.  This time, I soared higher and faster in the direction of the brilliant light with Sol to my rear.

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Whilst inside a house, in this the second dream, I decided to step outside for some air.  On doing so, this was when I saw Marcel Agnew.  Here, in this dream, it was a wonderful afternoon which was not too warm; the light was bright but not too much so either.

The house was not any with which I was familiar.  I was standing just inside the doorway, to the yard, when I noticed Marcel.  He was making a phone call on a cellular phone.

When he called the party, he had had to leave his phone number as the party was away from the phone and had not answered.  His phone number was either 287 or 278 but the rest of the number was 8874.  Keenly, I had been listening to him say the number whilst simultaneously writing it into my left palm.

Then I made for the interior; there, I intended to commit it to paper.  Whilst speaking on the phone, he had mentioned that he would be coming down that way – to Ottawa.

He would then be heading down to Montréal; it was to that city which, at the time, he had been calling.  He wanted to know if he could get together with the person, on his arrival in the city, in a few days’ time.

Standing there, I was quite smitten by him.  He had never noticed me standing there and I certainly had no intentions of calling him over.  This man can be very rude and dismissive of me.

He has a marked homoerotic streak which he is rather keen on denying; at least, in his relations with me it informs his rejection – which, of course, speaks volumes about him rather than not.  After all being associated with me, could only cause others to question his sexuality.

*Of course, in time, I would happen on Marcel at a bathhouse on Yonge Street.  Naturally, after that chance encounter at the bathhouse, his open animus towards me was dissolved.  Naturally, Marcel feared me running off at the mouth to co-workers which he and I both know I am quite capable of doing.

Then again, what do I care?  Marcel is of little consequence; he is a repressed bore despite that cock of his looking like something one is more accustomed to seeing on a young elephant’s face….  END.

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I was in a doctor’s office, during this the third dream, with a female technician.  The doctor was concerned because I had turned out to be rather anemic.  There was a large black machine on the doctor’s desk which was about the height of a Macintosh Classic computer.

There was a monitor with the computer too; I guess that it was, in fact, a futuristic computer which was black.  The technician was brunette, middle-aged and stout and the one who would be running the tests on me.

All that one had to do was put a finger on a pad.  There was no longer any blood drawing done because of the risk of HIV contamination, as well as Hepatitis and other blood diseases.

What this machine did was sample some bit of skin or a hair on the back of the hand and in that way get a thorough reading of an individual’s DNA.  The information gathered was precisely what was required to make an analysis of every aspect of a patient’s health.

This was quite advanced, indeed, revolutionary medicine.  Placing my right index finger down, I felt a slight-to increasing warmth from the dark glass pad below the finger.  This laser-generated heat caused my skin to heat up and sweat.

The briny bodily fluid, which contained the DNA, they needed to analyse a patient’s thorough health.  In mere seconds, the machine gave a result which was completely impartial.

Since it was machine and not human, there was no emotional considerations here.  This approach was strictly an academic one.  The test results indicated that I was HIV-; therefore, without the technicians having to be overly protective, I could go on with the rest of the treatment.

Jan Hartley, who was present, immediately assumed that the machine’s answer of ‘No’ meant that I was not healthy.  She took it to mean that I was HIV+.  She quickly went on blabbing away as though I were some inanimate object.

In any event, she was arguing that I had to have been HIV+ because she knew what a nasty little Jezebel I was.  She dismissed me as a flighty little idiot who no doubt didn’t use protection.

Of course, she added, I had to have been long ago infected.  She was so convinced; rather, she so wanted me to be infected more than anything else.  Truth be told, she was rather rude and abusive.

The grey-walled room was tiny as a matter of fact.  Three chairs sat on the side of the desk which was about six feet long and L-shaped.  I was on the long arm of the desk in the reception area.

The atmosphere here was rather soothing; one had no way of knowing what time of day it was outdoors.

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Whilst walking along, in this the fourth dream, Doug Addergen came towards me; he wore navy-blue overalls.  There were a couple of other people about.  As though to imply that his cock was large, he suggestively held a white ruler in his hand.

He came together with the guys, this after I had passed them, in the high-ceilinged hallway of an industrial complex.  Here, it was near-dark.  The legs of his pants were rolled up such that you could see his very shiny hairless shins.

He wore short socks (Oxfords) and sneakers.  Going down the hall, Doug had been making a number of suggestive remarks about screwing.  He obviously could tell that I was interested in him; this was why he was behaving the way that he was.  He was flirtatious and a bit of a cock-tease.

He kept on mischievously grinning at me then walked down a hall; the hall was perpendicular to the one that we were on.  When he got down a stretch of it, he looked back at me, flirtatiously raised his brows, grinned his non-too-smart-looking face off.

He was really enjoying stringing me along.  Better yet, I was simply playing him.  Of course, he in his solipsistic daze didn’t even realise to have been the case.  He was such a conceited prick.

I then sat there on a window sill where I noticed that there was all this garbage strewn about the place.  Who should come down the way, in these gorgeous bellbottomed pants, but Ghennifer Voss?  When she saw me, she casually remarked,

“Hi Arvin, how are you?”

Though she was being gracious, I could tell that she was uncomfortable.  This finally was the only way for her to have dealt with an unavoidable situation.

Clearly, she had been mindful of relations back at the Royal Winnipeg Ballet School and how less-than-gracious she had been at times towards me.  Not an issue for me was it.  To put it mildly, those had been frosty times.

In kind, I warmly greeted her whilst she collected garbage from the parked flatbed.  Jumping off the sill, I did so not to go help her but rather walked away.  Then, I sat down at a work desk where I busied myself and forgot all about her.

A fat White Gay then came down and proceeded with this not atypical, snarky idiotic behaviour.  Since I neither cared for him or his attitude, I simply and completely tuned him out – to the point where I could no longer even see him.  Several persons in the meantime, kept on passing by the area.

Later on, I saw Ghennifer in an eatery where she sat at a table with friends.  Going past them, we looked at each other and acknowledged the other with genuinely warm smiles.

There was no other way to have related; there was no great loss about any aspects of how we related in the waking state that was wrong.  Besides which, it had all happened too long ago experientially to have emotionally been of import.

I chose to be my true self and generously extended of myself.

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In this the fifth dream, both Pandora and Isha da Braga were in an unfamiliar house with me.  We were getting moved into the house whilst Maxwell Bowleson was giving us a hand.

Harella da Braga, who was also present, was concerned as to how many items I would actually be moving in.  How many boxes, trunks and large items, I had, needed to be assessed.

Afterwards, there had been a lively discussion between us.  After having just eaten the chicken, which I had prepared, Maxwell was grinning away.

I was non-too-pleased that both he and Pandora had had the meal which I had prepared.  Having cooked the food, I had hoped to at least have had some of it; I really did feel cheated out of things here.

I had been so looking forward to eating that food, later on, after having toiled at the task of getting moved in.  So far as I could see, there was a great deal of politics at play here and none of it I especially liked; the politics here did not bode well in my favour.

After that, Maxwell had asked me to come accompany him down on the elevator.  I had had to help him bring up some more items from the move.  This new apartment was quite beautiful.

The hallway was absolutely beautiful.  The carpeting there, which led to the elevators, was the most plush-feeling, gorgeous tone of red.  This was a very tony affair.

The elevator doors were silver and rapidly hissed open then collapsed shut, just as quickly, after having remained open for a few long seconds.

When we got onto the elevator, as soon as the doors closed, Maxwell looked over at me and sincerely smiled into me.  Reaching forwards, he lingeringly kissed me.  This was so totally unexpected that I hadn’t a clue as to what to do.

As he affectionately rubbed me on the back, the bond between us was very warm.  We got down to the lobby and, as we parted from kissing with the doors hissing open, I came to lucidly awake.

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Art: Leigh on green sofa 1993

Oil on canvas

17.1 x 22.9 cm

© 1993 Lucian Freud.

Provenance:  Private collector.

Exquisite Lucian Freud of Leigh Bowery.

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© 2013-2023 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.

Finding Centre (Redux) A Life at Court.

King_George_IV_when_Prince_Regent_(1762-1830),_by_Henry_Bone

The Sun is the source point for the causal and astral planes.  The Sun’s rays, indeed all stars’ rays, are the conduits along which the soul reincarnationally interpenetrates the planes.

This I learnt whilst in flight, directly above Sol, in the black void of space which was a very massive and heavy dimension onto itself.

A star’s electromagnetic frequencies, vibrating outwards, serve as the facilitating conveyance that enables the soul’s light energies to effortlessly move back and forth between the planes.

During this entire experience, I was so expansive that I felt as though limitless.  I really had no sense of being in a dream body in a projected out-of-body state.

Rather, there was no body, there was just pure intellect.  Absolutely liberating and superb was this dream experience.

Whilst I was on a nighttime sidestreet, I saw Dean Pulliam.  With no one about, he slowly rode on a white bike; he was cruising.

As I walked fast to catch up to him, he saw me and stopped, looked back then turned left onto a paved alley.  With that he rode off in a mad dash avoiding me.

I then got on a white bike myself and saw two 1970s, brown Pontiac Camarros or Firebirds.  They came down the alley towards me cruising along at a leisurely pace.

The first made a sharp left, at the back of a large house, going into an open yard.  The rear car made such an abrupt turn that it skidded and then broke loudly screeching.

They proceeded to the right of the house, in the alley, going towards the front.  Thinking that this was certainly unusual, I stopped to look.

The front car then stopped and out came a dark-haired handsome man.  He was screaming at the driver of the car in the back,

“Why are you following me?”

The other driver was a silent, deadly heavy type.  Getting out, the man said nothing in response whilst emphatically slamming his door shut.

Next, I was in a house at nighttime, as a thorough review and investigation was underway.  They were trying to find out why the devil the man was being pursued.  A very beautiful candle-lit salon it was here.

There were lots of crystal wares with marvellous-looking rich spirits filling them.  Food was exquisitely prepared and presented before the regally dressed guests who themselves were a fairly urbane lot.

The same dark-haired man was the centre of the drama here.  He was being celebrated as this apparently was the eve of his wedding.  Beautifully dressed, he was draped with a blue and gold sash.

Six-foot-plus, he was handsome, in a vaguely regal manner.  He took a handful of spaghetti, from a gold-leafed bowl, ritually tossing it to the kitchen and the chefs there.

Everyone gloriously roared whilst enjoying the drink of this man’s magnetic personality.  He was rather powerful and intimidatingly so to boot.  He was also a tad unpredictable.

*Obviously, this man was a Knight of the Order of Garter.  Perhaps, he was a royal prince whom I knew during my incarnation at the court of King George III.  At the time, I was a male singer at court and my accompanist was then female and Merlin – my task companion; she played the harpsichord.  END.

At that point, he hurriedly took his leave of the party.  Here there were lots of dark woods – exposed wooden beams, panelling and parquetry.  There were lots of details in the woodwork.

I then went to a rear salon of the house when the man’s pursuer showed up.  He banged on the front door demanding to be let inside.  Pandemonium soon broke out as everyone in attendance panicked for their lives.

Rushing from the salon, I made my way to a rear door.  Here the doors were rather large dark wood and easily eight-foot-plus in height.  There were a series of hunting bas reliefs in them.

A stout older man, a cardinal or bishop – some such clerical figurehead, went to the door to try and get rid of the man.  No such luck as the pursuer simply forced his way into the residence and overpowered the fairly frail and old cleric.

Again, not wanting to become ensnared in this scenario in any capacity – especially the detrimental, I bolted.  I did not care to be savaged by this man.  If he did not find the princely bachelor, of whom he was in hot pursuit, I felt that he would simply target me or anyone else.

This man seemed possessed of an equally deadly rage and appeared to be equally, predictably violent.  I then went to hide behind one of the tall oak trees outside; it was fairly dark outside.

Alone, I began willing my vibration to intensify.  In this way, I had hoped to make myself light thereby being rendered invisible.  As the process began, at will, I instantaneously began seeing my aura.

It was a large oval orb that fanned out, a good four-feet-plus, about me.  I then became light, fully invisible, in order to avoid a messy confrontation with this boor of a thug.  However, the pursuer had been able to catch some aspects of my aura as I hid behind the tree; though he had not captured me in the process.

All the colours of the rainbow were visible in my aura.  The white light shone so brilliantly as to have appeared as if platinum.  Being in this state was truly blissful.  It was as if being totally at peace, levitating and yogically centred.  Harmony…

Whilst the Moon transited both Pisces and my tenth house, I rather intensely, lucidly dreamt the preceding dreams.  Sometimes, the only way to escape chaos is by spiritually ascending to a higher octave – if only this were readily possibly in the waking state.

The dreams in question occurred, on Thursday, March 2, 1995.  As such, they are the first and fourth dreams lived during that sleep cycle.  

I would just like to add here that I never believed this to have been King George III.  Of course, after much research I have come to realise that it was the then Prince Regent, George Hanover who would become King George IV.  

To the point of being almost frightening, this man was immensely mercurial-energied.  What’s more as Merlin and I, plus a whole host of entity and cadre mates were present at court at that time, I have had many dreams which are focussed at that time.

Too, I’ve recently done both King Georges’ Overleaves.  Also, it should be noted that a couple of dreams had of that past life involved the first Viscount Nelson who was at court.  At the time, Horatio Nelson was known to both Merlin and I and he was a rather engaging personality whose tales of his travels were rather fascinating.  

I think that it is safe to say that Admiral Nelson’s accounts of Nevis were the trigger for me in that past life at court which eventually led to my choice to reincarnate in Nevis in this lifetime.  Too, at least one sibling, Pericles da Braga was also known to Merlin and I.  He was then a tailor of high-end clothing whom we favoured and he also would have known Admiral Nelson.  

I will say this much about the Prince Regent; he had a wicked wit and his arrestingly cutting observations were much feared.  He was utterly unpredictable.  The Prince Regent also appears in the previously submitted dream:  

https://dreampoetica.com/2015/03/02/skeletons-in-the-reincarnation-closet/

The future King George IV is the witty, sarcastic and dashingly polished man who sat across the room from Merlin (then Francesca) when she was older and at that point, I was also the snobbish male bore and lover of former Merlin (Francesca) who much reminded me of the late Canadian actor, Tom Kneebone – a man whom I truly loathed.  Of course, knowing that I was equally as bigoted a boor as was Tom Kneebone suggests that this is why I found Tom Kneebone such a vile piece of work – I positively could not stand the man.  Of course, I was merely responding to aspect of a past life which I found mirrored here in this incarnation in Tom Kneebone’s vile bigotry.  

In any event, King George III, King George IV, Horatio Nelson and Joseph Haydn’s Overleaves I now know; as court musicians both Merlin and I in that past life lived at court in Regency London/Windsor knew all these persons and they do factor both in the dreams Finding Centre and Skeletons in the Reincarnation Closet.  

Also known at that time was George Frideric Handel whose overleaves appear in the original Michael book by Chelsea Quinn-Yarbro: Messages from Michael.  

One interesting side-note to all this; when a child growing up in the northern shadow of Brimstone Hill Fortress in Sandy Point St. Kitts, in preparation of Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II’s state visit to the newly independent state of St. Kitts, Nevis and Anguilla at just past my 7th birthday, they played Handel’s Zadok the Priest on ZIZ radio station.

As long as I live, I will always remember how startled and out-of-body I felt on hearing this glorious music for the first time in this lifetime.  Of course, I would have heard it performed live at the coronation of King George IV whilst at court in London, England.  I had actually felt dizzy and laughed teary eyed; to me, it was the most gloriously exciting discovery to have made musically.  This music still remains the most glorious sound imaginable.  

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King George III

Hanover, George III 4/6/173829/1/1820

King_George_IV_when_Prince_Regent_(1762-1830),_by_Henry_Bone

Hanover, George IV 12/8/176226/6/1830

Viscount Horatio Nelson

Nelson, Viscount Horatio 29/9/175821/10/1805

joseph-haydn

Haydn, Joseph 31/3/173231/5/1809 Vienna

George Frideric Handel

This is a fourth-level young sage in the observation mode with a goal of dominance, a realist in the emotional part of intellectual centre with a chief feature of impatience. 

This fragment was the composer George Frederick Handel.  

*These Michael Overleaves are found in the Chelsea Quinn-Yarbro book, Messages from Michael.

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Art: King George IV when Prince Regent 

Oil on Canvas

c. 1800s Henry Bone

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© 2013-2023 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.

Merlin Shapeshifts.

Image

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘What are you doing here?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I was completely flabbergasted.

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

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Photo: Chinese model in A-line dress.

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© 2013-2023 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.