oil and synthetic resin
68.5 x 91.4 cm
© 1963 Alex Colville
Provenance: Collection of Donnelley Erdman, Aspen Colorado
This marvellous super Moon night, I thought it appropriate to again share Alex Colville’s sublime genius.
http://www.ago.net/alex-colville
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alex_Colville
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© 2013-2026 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.
Crayola on Paper 18 x 24 Inches © 1984-2023 Arvin da Brgha. This was my sketch impression of an out-of-body experience which also involved one of the most beautiful dance dreams imaginable. During the dream, I danced in the light body which at times shifted colour and I was able to simultaneously observe myself from […]
This dream occurred, on Friday, May 1, 1998, whilst I then lived in Montréal. The Moon was in Cancer thereby transiting my second house. It was sheer joy to have encountered Merlin’s playful spirit which was fully engaged as the trickster – the exalted dream shaman.
Once inside the house, I laid low for awhile and then got up to explore. I do know that Pandora da Braga was on an upper level of the dwelling.
A little boy was outside in a stroller. Above all else, there was no way of getting around one fact… this was a supremely intelligent child. White, his hair was sandy-blond.
Naturally, he was regimented into a blue jumpsuit denoting his sex. His legs were fat and there was, of course, the bulkiness of his being diapered.
The back of this boy’s knees were dimpled, fat and very cherubic a body was his. His stroller sat on a paved walkway.
Two or three steps from the house’s landing led to the yard. His back was turned to the yard’s six-foot-high, wooden fence of pale wood that was treated to be weather resistant.
As it had some traces of cyanide in it, the wood had an off-green hue to it. Seated there, his left profile was closer to the house as I looked outside at him.
Whilst I absently worked at something, he inquisitively looked in at me. I held up the bottled water that I had been drinking, extending it out the window, as if to offer him a drink.
He was keenly adept at the art of telepathy but feigned ignorance – as well he ought to have, as someone might have had him dismissed for mad. Goodness knows, it would only take one superstitious adult to then have this young child declared demon-possessed because of his gifts.
Whoever he is, it was quite good to have connected with this august-souled young man. Cocking me a look, he sized me up letting me know that he knew that I was playing games with him that he was not ignorant of.
I was floored by his candour. He was a real cheeky devil who soon managed his way out of his stroller’s harness. Since he was much too young to be walking, knowing that this was the dreamtime, he did the logical thing.
He shapeshifted and suddenly became a cat. Thus, he magically acquired the stealth and agility which his paucity of human age and physical growth denied him. I was blown away for not even I would have thought of such a magus move.
Once transformed, he became a large white cat which came up and quietly snuck into the house. This was the sort of move that could readily have tricked and unhinged a lesser mortal, in this situation, but I was aware that it was him all along.
Turning around, only briefly, I had lost sight of him but caught his drifting tail as he sneaked around a corner. I was not, indeed, going to be hoodwinked.
Roaring aloud, thrilled by the child’s brilliant display of both wit and magus energy, I went chasing after the cat. Like the child that it represented, the cat bolted rushing through the house by going downstairs.
Eventually, it settled on a pile of crates. The crates were off in a far, darkened corner of the basement. Though a large, multiple-roomed house, the basement was not partitioned. It was simply a large open space.
In the form of the water heater, heat and air conditioning systems, the usual signs of normalcy were present. Nothing here could have proven a fire hazard.
Through which the cat could come and go as he pleased, the crates comfortably sat just beneath a tiny basement window. The window proved, in fact, an air duct which was shared with another of the house’s many rooms.
Clever though he was, I was not fooled by his cheeky little act. A large white tom, it had a fat rump on it. A pure snow-white cat it was. Addressing it as the precocious boy that I knew it to be, I called out to the tom.
I told him to be careful, being so high up on those crates, to not hurt himself. To my surprise, he cockily shot back, sounding every bit like Merlin when speaking in his duxypuss voice,
“Oh come on, I’m a puss!”
I roared, blown away by the playfulness. In one sure leap, it leapt through the opening and headed upstairs. Just like that, he was out of sight. He had flashed the tail at me just before taking flight.
I was stunned by his wicked playfulness. This kid had me dismissed as a real pushover. Not missing a beat, I went running upstairs calling out to Pandora as I did.
I told Pandora to keep her eye on that cat – I did not want it to get away. When I came up, Pandora asked what cat I was talking about. There was no cat in the house, she was confident, nor was there one normally.
To my surprise, the little devil had shapeshifted again and returned to his original state by becoming a rather precocious human child. There he was holding the same bottled water that I had previously offered him.
He sat there, hungrily gulping down the water, all the while looking at me as though he had never laid eyes on me before. Indeed, quite the cheeky little imp. The sight of him only made me roar even more.
I couldn’t believe his brilliance. It was such refreshing magic.
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Photo: White domestic short-haired cat & Buster sporting Lion cut.
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© 2013-2026 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.
This dream occurred, on Monday, December 7, 1992, whilst the Moon transited both my twelfth house – appropriately enough – and Taurus. Merlin my mentor had initiated in me the task of coming into my own and becoming the awakened warrior.
Here was I, dream magus, awakened warrior displaying my power – bonding with nature and bonding with the very force itself. Said dream was the first experienced in exquisite lucidity in the ‘B’ or second sleep phase that day.
A yard at late twilight when morning breaks, rather than the indeterminate light that pervades astral plane dreams, was the setting for this dream. It seemed pretty much like the backyard of the Crab Hill, Sandy Point, St. Kitts house.
I was in a tree that looked like a giant bugweed. I stepped out onto one of its branches. Whilst simultaneously in the body and astrally projected, somehow, I could see myself from behind and above.
This dream began as I boldly, in mid-stride, walked towards the large soulful tree. Here, I had incredibly long hair and it was totally white.
The snow-white mane went down to the small of my back. Mine – it was no absurd weave. Full and luscious, it was a massive mane that handsomely flared out.
Here, I met the dream magus within. I held a staff which was very wonderful. It was made of a tanned polished wood. As if something that Bill Reid would bring forth from the depths of his creative genius, it was a very sculptural staff.
Like a totem, the staff had lots of symbols throughout its length. In some of the grooves, there were several large crystals with some of various colours. Like Merlin did, in our first dream encounter of 1978I, I wore a long, white flowing robe that billowed in the wind.
Whilst radiating much of my inner light, I was very regal. This was a moment of stellar beauty; too, the sight of myself empowered blew me away. It was so humbling.
I had a long beard and drooping moustache. It was also white and considerably longer than Merlin’s facial hair ever was. As a matter of fact, it was like the flowing, wispy beards of some Japanese and East Asian holy men.
On going out to the edge of the branch, I stabbed my staff into the tree and let out a war cry. Almost immediately thereafter, a fierce wind picked up. It was gale-forced.
The sky became blackened with mushrooming, heavy grey clouds. The branch, on which I stood, was no more than four feet off the ground. The winds were so fierce that it felt as though I were out to sea.
I regally stayed my ground as though the captain at the bow of a galleon – one being swept by fierce waves.
Whilst anchored on the branch, all I held on to was the staff. With my free hand, I held on to a branch on the left – of course, the branches moved with a life of their own.
The tree was partially submerged in the gut that bordered the back of the Crab Hill, Sandy Point, St. Kitts property. Looking across the gut, I had been facing due north.
The winds were so fierce that I could never see to the other side of the gut. What’s more, it was a much wider gorge than Crab Hill’s. Besides which, I had no time to project that far.
For one thing, the winds were too fierce and for another, the task of staying atop this branch proved far too demanding. This wind was fiercer than anything I had ever experienced.
The saving grace of it all was that it was not, thankfully, a wintry wind. The funny thing about the whole experience was that I had called forth the elements to energise my being.
So in tune with nature was I, I was able to summon the gale-force winds at will. I wished to align with nature’s empowering, life-sustaining energies. I was fiercely enjoying the charge from it screaming aloud and becoming transfixed.
It truly was as if being stationary whilst flying at hyper-speeds in an upright position. Thus there was the dual sense of being not only on the high seas but also as if riding on a magic carpet.
There was one point that, as I screamed into the wind, I immediately then saw my face from above. Whilst simultaneously astral-projected, I was looking down into my face as I looked up into the billowing clouds.
Beyond those clouds, there was some spectacular planet-being; it was much like the one that I thrillingly encountered in the dream earlier this year, on Tuesday, September 22, 1992.
This was quite an exhilarating experience. I felt a massive surge of energy flowing through the staff and into me. The staff was marvellously potent.
The look of the staff was a mélange of the creative geniuses of the artists, Bill Reid, Antoni Gaudí and Erté. A very shamanic, magical totem it was.
My face was so high-foreheaded and timeworn. A face that had spanned several millennia, to date, it certainly was. More than that, there they were my familiar, papaya-seed-succulent brown eyes. Here, they were large, supra-dilated eyes.
Looking down, I noticed that the branch was no more than eight inches across. This had caused me to passingly fear having to lose my balance and falling.
Having the staff I was, however, quite anchored.
I was grounded within the eye of the storm itself. Though there was no lightning, there was a definite sense that a great deal of potent magic was exploding in back of the ominous clouds.
I had a ton of energy. I was a fierce, spiritual warrior-spirited shaman.
*Indeed, the dream magus was awakened. This was the most beautiful experience to have had – to have drunk of my very soul itself. Though an older version of myself in this lifetime, this shamanic dream magus was also a mélange of the two shamans whom I had been in previous lives.
These two shamans were encountered in the dreams of Sunday, April 25, 1993 and the other shaman in the dreams of Sunday, April 10, 1993. There was something about my face, in this dream, which was informed by the look and vibration of both the shamans encountered in these two prior dreams.
The first shaman, a past life of mine, had lived in French Guyana at the colonial fortress and cared for the community. Additionally, he tended to monkeys and sloths.
The other was a West African shaman and also a definite past life of mine. He, of course, took to this cocoon-like mould which was hung in trees when questing. I had seen both their eyes and immediately recognised them as former selves of mine in past lives.
Dreams truly are the poetry of the Soul. END.
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Photo: Angel oak tree.
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© 2013-2026 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.
Dreams are the poetic expression of the soul. 