When Things Don’t Go to Plan.

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

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

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

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

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

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Franz Hauer 1914  Egon Schiele

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

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Nude Self-Portrait 1916 Egon Schiele. 

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

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Female Bust,1916 Gustav Klimt.  

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

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

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

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Papuan soul canoe.

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

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

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

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

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

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Sublime.  

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

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Beautiful textiles featured in the exhibition,  

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Positively love this Papuan mask.  

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

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

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

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

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What a wonderfully uplifting exhibition!  Bravo!  

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

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

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

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A gourmand’s wet dream.  

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Art whilst shopping… truly civilised.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington.

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

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

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

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

Paradigm shift.

paradim shift

Each time one makes the choice to walk, to become removed from it all, signals a new plateau in one’s spiritual maturation.  This next dream betrays just such a new plateau ascended to.

The Moon was then transiting Pisces and my tenth house.  It was Saturday, March 12, 1994.  The dream in question was the first one that day.  It proved a most illuminating and thus transformative dream…

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I was in a tiny wooden house at night time looking outdoors.  The tiny log cabin was quite cosy and ancient.  Pandora was in the cottage with me.

Lots of Black, wonderfully-spirited playful children were about enjoying themselves.  They were so sweet and refreshingly grounded.  I did so notice that they were exceptionally tiny and looked almost like Pygmy children though not.

Their heads were unusually large with that extended skull in back that’s decidedly African – much like Pharaoh Akhenaten’s was.   They wore pyjamas.  Some of the children were already asleep.

I gathered up the children who were awake and got them readied for bed.  When I was done, I returned to the large window.  I looked outside the window enjoying the platinum moonlight.

Just beyond the lone log cabin, large, soulful moss-covered cedars were everywhere.  In addition, there were thick-leaved trees that looked cactus-like.

Clearly, they were fir trees of some sort.  They were strikingly beautiful.  Too, there were lots of large ferns which looked like they were from pre-historic times.

To the left of my field of vision, as I looked out the window, I noticed the Moon rising.  This was obviously to the east as I faced due south.  When close to the horizon, the Moon was massively oversized.  It was a most beautiful mélange of salmon and pink tonalities.

To have experienced the Moon’s slow hypnotic ascension was the most rapturous adage.  It was as though hearing Richard Strauss‘s Viennese waltz being played considerably slowed down.  It was the most sensually exquisite sensation.

This was not unlike the slow-motioned suspension, when he was on morphine during points in his end-of-life illness, that I witnessed Merlin experiencing.  I was left feeling as though on the edge of where time ceases to exist.

Rapture!  I was experiencing fusion with nature.  I was experiencing love.

I was as if outside of myself and at one with the soul aspect, which the august Moon represented, in this very totemic dream.  With the Moon’s ascent, my senses became oceanic and expansive.  I was psychically blown wide-open and receptive.

As Luna rose in the sky, I could see that in through the trees its size did not really shrink.  As it climbed high in the sky, away from the horizon, it did not seemingly shrink to its usual size.

There was definitely something quite different about this moon.  As it approached the zenith, I increasingly felt more grounded.  I felt, in fact, splayed in place by its massiveness.

I felt no apprehension, however.  The massive Moon’s warm face seemed to be intimately smiling at me.  It had a great deal of presence about it.

Straight away, I was reminded of the Moon’s ensouled quality, as I experienced it in the dreams of early September 1983 whilst living and not very successfully pursuing a dance career in New York City.

There was no mistaking the fact that the Moon, here in this dream, was an ensouled entity with a presence all its own.  Ascending higher still, it lost its fiery tonalities and eventually became a blazingly platinum orb.

It was a beautiful full Moon.  Whilst standing there, I watched transfixed as it began expanding.  On having crossed 45 degrees of arc, it lyrically inched towards the zenith and seemed to wax larger even more.

Instead of seeming to diminish in size, on moving away from the horizon, Luna began growing pregnant.  There was something creatively fecund about Luna with each degree of arc to which it ascended.

The closer to the midnight position it grew, the more pregnant it became.  It was so beautiful to have experienced, yet, I was still surprised at how very large it kept on getting.

Goodness, when it was at 60 degrees of arc, it had grown at least four times as large as the normal full Moon.  I was completely in awe of its beauty.

I was spellbound; my soul itself was lit up by the intense, though soft, silver-white light that drenched the entire area.  Consequently, the log cabin’s interior was being soaked throughout by the intense flooding light.

At about 80 degrees of arc, the massive beauteous Moon came to a stop.  For an infinite pause, Luna hovered in the sky.  Totally enraptured, I reached out my soul itself to dance with this beauteous Moon.

Suddenly, my slow dance was abruptly ended when the Moon novaed.  It was the most incredible, beautiful mind-expanding experience.

This was not a case of the Moon exploding.  It was a spiritual birthing.  It was an unfoldment in which the mind and spirit were harmonised to experience a transformation that was truly transcendent.

This was so unexpected that it was liberating to have experienced it.  The Moon’s quiet seduction had been so complete that, when it novaed so entranced was I at that point, it proved not to have been a traumatic experience.

This was sheer bliss.  Luna, goddess of the night, had novaed.  More importantly, the soul aspect – which the Moon here represented – was directly manifesting to me.

I was reminded of the enlightened face that I saw, when pulling back from Merlin’s head in my cupped-handed embrace, in the lucid vision on July 23, 1988.

I was so lucidly focussed that I experienced the nova in exquisite slow-motion.  As a matter of fact, I think that the Moon’s nova may well have been in slow-motion.  Looking on spellbound, I watched as the fragmented Moon radiated outwards… all 360 degrees.

As a result, pieces of the novaed Moon were directly headed towards Earth.  Resultantly, it seemed that there was one large piece of jettisoned Moon meteor directly headed towards me.

Now everything resumed in normal waking state time.  The intensity of the shift was overwhelming.  Too, the breakneck speeds of the Luna fragments were phenomenal.

The impact of this astrophysical episode was devastating.  The spatial flux created by Luna’s nova was, if you like, tantamount to a localised solar system tsunami.

The fabric of space about Luna, as it were, became suddenly warped.  This resulted in a rippling magnetic wave from the nova’s epicentre.

The jarring intensity only lasted for a moment, however, before that I had experienced the nova in timeless slow-motion.  I was so detached and expansive that I began lucidly experiencing the event, to the point where I was able to isolate each moment of the event, simultaneously viewing it from various perspectives.

Again, to the analogy to the Viennese waltz, it was as though I were able to experience a fugue within each note of the slowed down waltz.  Mind-alteringly intense this was.  This truly was bliss.

This was, for me, absolute fusion with the soul of self – plain and simple.  It was truly a sensory high.

Next, the whole place became totally flooded with pure white light.  Never before had I seen or, more to the point, experienced white light of such an ecstatic intensity.

The light seared through all of nature.  Everything became a sponge which it flooded, soaked and arrested with its aqueous beauty.

Nature became sodden and expansive.  I could feel the arboreal giants about the log cabin respond.  They were as if soaked by a perpetual downpour, for the last few days, as a result of being exposed to the Moon’s novaed light.

Even the log cabin had become x-rayed, as it were, by the light’s intensity.  Too, my body – indeed my entire being – had been infused with the light’s unstoppable power.

That power unmistakably was Love.  To have experienced the light, flooding through my body, was akin to flying at great speeds whilst standing erect.

Whilst standing legs akimbo, all that I could do was hold on to the window frame.  I braced myself against being overwhelmed by this tsunami of love.

As the experience grew in intensity, I was slapped from my inner rapture by the sound of everyone screaming aloud.  All across the globe, humanity was being displaced by the effects of Luna having novaed.

Rushing through the tiny house, I went to look after the tiny kids who were understandably afraid.  As they had been asleep by that point, they were not aware of what was taking place.

Soon Pandora joined me and together, we went about busily gathering up the kids.  Some of the kids had even been sleeping in cupboards, which Pandora had reminded me of, inside the tiny cabin.

She had yelled at me to go get the kids in the cupboards.  When we went to look out the window, I now saw that the one-hundred-foot-plus redwoods were being effortlessly blown over.

It was as though they were miniature trees on a scaled version of the town.  As if it was a movie set that was being filmed, it looked as though the trees were experiencing a great storm of violent magnitude.

Of course, in such a situation, the trees would have been scaled down and miniaturised.  The intensity of the interplanetary tsunami, created by Luna’s nova, began violently snapping the trees.

This was the effect when the magnetic wave had finally reached Earth.  This was a truly cathartic experience.

Throughout the experience, however, I was never fearful.  I simply got caught up in the rapture of the moment and allowed myself to ride the thrilling crest of intense sensations.

The windstorm, that the novaed Moon affected, was beyond anything fathomable in the waking state.  It sounded as if a couple of freight trains were barrelling along, on either side of the log cabin, travelling at speeds in excess of 300 mph.

The fierce windstorms simultaneously occurred across the globe.  They were created as Earth was being momentarily thrown off its axis.

Luna’s nova had created a spatial magnetic wave that shook Earth to its core.  All over the planet, soon enough, there were actual tsunamis.

With Luna’s reduced size, the tides were no longer predictable.  Whilst the planet rotated off its axis, in some cases, the seas became transformed.

As a result, the unstable oceans became giant waterspouts.  In some instances, the displaced oceans were pulled heavenward into outer space.

This created walls of ocean which rose into the air – nothing was secure anymore – total pandemonium and tectonic instability.  The Earth’s gravity had become completely destabilised.

Across the globe, oceans drastically rose.  Still, in some altitudes as though in outer space, one was able to experience weightlessness.

Off in the distance, I could make out a distant ocean, shooting into outer space.  It looked not unlike a giant geyser.  The oceans were becoming as if reversed waterspouts.  Truly fantastical!

Before being pulled back to Earth by gravity, they had risen up only so far.  Even though considerably weakened, there was still some gravity.  The crashing oceans led everywhere to the fiercest rainstorms.

Of course, for being briny rainwater, it meant that there would be widespread damage to most of the rained on vegetation.  There was also massive flooding everywhere.

The interesting thing about the energies here was that one sensed that the lunar effects on humanity, in particular women, were now radically altered.

With Luna’s nova, I became aware that until the transformation women had been subjugated by men.  This was largely affected by the influence of the Moon on them physiologically and psychologically.

Before my eyes, outside the house, I saw women transformed.  They were now as if giants.  They were truly warrior-spirited.

I think that the symbolism, inasmuch as I believe in such a thing as dream symbolism, of this dream was two-fold.

Not only was it about a spiritual awakening; it also gave insights to the imminent climax between male-female sexual tensions.  These transformed women were now as if men; no longer were they to be physically overpowered by men.

Luna transformed allowed women, especially with regards to sexual matters, to no longer be at a physical disadvantage to men.

This does speak to a psychic revolution.  Although, I do believe, the feminist movement with its mercantile edge has gone about this revolution the wrong way.

The current approach has ultimately charged women’s animus to the detriment of women’s health.  There was an almost cannibalistic sensibility to these transformed women in the dreamtime.

One could easily see these Amazons, performing double mastectomies so that they could, take on any foe unhindered.  This is not the psychic revolution that one would hope for.

There is little spiritual uplift, anywhere discernible, with women emerging as the transvestite’s beau idéal.  These were such strong domineering women.

Each of them was in excess of seven feet tall.  They were each mythic and statuesque.  They appeared monstrous, nonetheless, for being so animus-charged.

It was clear, too, that women were no longer regulated by the Luna cycle.  The fragmented Moon had lost much of its tidal effect on Gaia and all its life-forms.

Women were now roaming the Earth as if stark raving mad, to be sure, the ultimate feminist wet dream.  One thing that I picked up on, about these women, was that they had developed large distended clits and labia.

This did, however, cause me on awakening to ponder whether what I had been seeing were not members of a new hybrid human sex.  That is to say, post Luna’s nova, the human race had no defined sex.

Quite simply, there were persons with both sexual organs that were fully functional.  Perhaps, post Luna’s nova, there was one or more gender changes that were naturally occurring during the course of newly hybrid human life.

Beyond all that angst, there was finally a moment of calm.

Everything simply ceased to be in a state of maddening flux.  There had been incredible Earthquake activity across the globe that accompanied all this lunar instability.

To make sure that the kids were alright, I then moved through the tiny log cabin.  I neither saw Pandora again nor, for that matter, the kids.

Once more, I returned to the window to gaze into the sky.  On stepping before the window pane, I let out a sigh of wonderment at the sight of the Moon.

Now, the experience had shifted onto an even higher octave.  By far, this would prove the most beautiful aspect of the dream.

Now, Luna was reduced to a third of its original size.  It was now a much smaller Moon.  Around the novaed Moon, securely hugged in its orbit in a clockwise rotation, was a Luna ring.  A small number of the Luna asteroids were caught in an elliptical orbit but for the most part they were mostly in an equatorial orbit.

The ring was created from the large fragments of Moon rock which had not been lost in outer space.  They had not been large enough to have escaped Luna’s orbital gravity – such as it is.

After the initial pulsation of the nova, the larger rocks fell back towards the novaed Moon.  Some crashed back onto Luna’s surface but others were caught in a ring that orbited the scaled down satellite.

Some undoubtedly had fallen out of Luna’s orbit.  No doubt, some Luna meteors had crashed into Earth.  The Luna meteors only added to the tectonic instability here on Earth.

The majority of the lunar meteors that fell back towards Luna formed an orbital ring.  It was a ring of asteroids that was held in place by Earth’s greater gravity.

The lunar asteroids that formed the ring were the most beautiful sight imaginable.  Luna was, of course, still full.

The uneven, jagged Luna asteroids were now reflecting Sol light.  They created a perpetually sparkling ring of light that was truly kaleidoscopic.

In its expressionism and spiritual evolution, humanity had ascended to a higher octave.  It had been dramatically affected by Luna’s nova.

Humanity’s ascension was adequately reflected by the sight and harmonic vibration of the transformed Luna.  It was truly musical and created greater attunement to one’s spiritual nature.  It was rhapsodic.

To have experienced the ringed Luna was like the most ticklish whisper of hushed strings.  Whilst each jagged Luna asteroid brilliantly glistened, each triggered a musical resonance deep within for having experienced its singular beauty.  Bliss!

Just as bright as the full Moon, the orbital lunar asteroids were a blazing dash of sparkling twinkling colours.  Slowly rotating about Luna, the orbital lunar asteroid ring reflected Sol’s light.

I can’t say enough how beautiful this was.  Still, there was the added element of the ethereal with the twinkling ring of Luna asteroids.  This created a sublime and truly hypnotic effect.

I can’t see how, if this were to happen in the waking state, we as humankind could emerge unaffected.  There is no way that we would not become a better and a more harmonious people.

All this spiritual and physiological evolution thanks to Luna’s new inspiration which, in turn, would greatly enhance humanity’s more evolved qualities.

Quite simply, this was the most glorious stellar sight imaginable.  It was as if there were souls dancing around the transformed Moon.

Luna, it seemed, now served as a nebulous portal that signified our passage into a new humanity.  A new humanity of greater consciousness and harmony this would facilitate.  At least, so I would like to think…

This was so arrestingly beautiful a sight.  This paradigm shift was precisely the kind of revolutionary idea which, in one’s wildest imaginings, could not have been fathomed whilst in the waking state.

Even though it was now diminished in size, one had the distinct impression of the Moon that it had fallen from its orbit.  Than previously it had been, Luna was now in closer proximity to Earth.

I wondered as to what this would mean, for womankind in particular, when Luna was now reduced and ringed with tiny satellites of its own.

I pondered whether or not this had anything to do with human sexual politics, as it were, rather than the maturation of the soul aspect on a personal level.

There was no denying, however, that this was clearly the ushering in of a new age… and high time.  Certainly, all this mercantilist dreck has long served its purposefulness.

I was quite so lucid, standing there before the window pane, observing and pondering so many possible ramifications of all this exciting transformation.

On looking back up at the transformed Luna, I was blown away by this birthing and expansiveness of consciousness – this glorious paradigm shift.

On closing my lids, to better drink in the beauty of the brilliant light’s touch all over my body, I was lucidly drawn awake.

*Luna transformed was as if a much more dense satellite.  Newly reborn, Luna had a halo of light-intense orbiting fragments.

These orbital lunar fragments gave the effect of them being a giant necklace of diamonds that were handsomely setting off the newest and most beauteous face in Sol’s orbit – Luna novaed and transformed.  END.

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Photo: Full Moon digitally enhanced.

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