Poetry Most Rare: A Rose Like No Other.

August 5, 2019November 13, 2022 Arvin da BrghaLeave a comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Won’t Take The A Train

July 20, 2019November 13, 2022 Arvin da BrghaLeave a comment

As I slipped into sleep, on Friday, July 9, 1993, the Moon transited both Pisces and my tenth house – though not the least bit focussed on Merlin prior to sleep – the dream shaman would manifest and weave the most sublime magic yet. As will become fast evident, the first three dreams that day were about process. I was during those dreams, divesting myself of the baggage that affects one’s waking consciousness/persona. These are waking state survival mechanisms which would be disposed of, in each successive dream, so that I could be elevated enough in spirit to have moved on to the truly noble experiences of the later dreams.

Whilst yet another stood beside me, I was looking into a full-length mirror. At the time, I was with Sjaak van der Velde – friend, current lover and Manhattan cabaret singer. As I stood there, in the near-darkened bathroom getting cleansed, I keenly looked at my face. On looking down, I noticed that my entire body was nude; it was completely depilated. This, of course, presented a big challenge because I am so vain – big hair and all. I was mildly horrified that my gorgeous pencil-thin moustache was no more.

To say the least, as intended, the moustache and big hair do nothing but scream vain solipsism. As I try warping self to stay with the ageist, lookist gang, vanity ends up making things that much more superficial. I spent a great deal of time really scrutinising the lack of facial hair. After assessing things, I finally came to like the naked look of my exposed upper lip. ‘What the hell,’ I thought. I began laughing aloud by grinning down my self-consciousness and vanity. Soon, I grew to like my smile a lot. It was truly wonderful.

Then who should appear in the mirror to my left, though never next to me in the dreamtime, but Len Morse. He, too, had recently shaved his moustache in the waking state. I was surprised to see him. I guess that there is some soul connection that we share which was clearly being alluded to. He has been present in a few dreams of late. He was warmly looking out at me as if to say, “Oh really now? It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing to be self-conscious of…”

Frankly, I rather liked the nudeness of my face and head minus the moustache and big hair. The whole thing was a true revelation. I genuinely looked handsome because I wasn’t trying to run from or hide behind anything. It was truly uplifting. What was so empowering about the revelation, too, was the fact that the moment at which I became relaxed with myself – unconditionally accepting myself – my eyes awakened more completely. It was as though they had never shone so brilliantly, indeed, shone so beautifully before – absolutely revolutionary!

All this maya only caused me to hysterically laugh enjoying the absurdity of trying to get caught up and lost in lookism. ‘Who frigging cares?’ That was the essence of the wisdom being disseminated here by my higher self. This new perspective was truly a rare and treasured gift. It was quite the uplifting experience and one not soon forgotten.

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Next, in the second dream, I was outdoors in the daytime. I was in this heavily trafficked, overpopulated metropolis. It did feel as though I was at Seventh Avenue and 23^rd Street. Whilst, crossing 23^rd Street, I was on the west side of Seventh Avenue going north in Manhattan. I wore a knapsack which was much like the one in the waking state. Close to my chest, my arms were crossed and folded. They clutched a book that I was currently reading. As I passed a young, White couple, they made socially aggressive, racist remarks about me.

‘I don’t want this kind of energy, at all, in the dream state,’ I thought impatiently deflecting their ignorance. When I got to the other side of the road, I felt unresolved about the whole thing. So, with that, I turned to look after them. They veered off, on seeing me eyeing them but I knew that they had wanted to cross Seventh Avenue – on the north side of 23^rd Street. They headed off going east, to the right, on the north side of 23^rd Street.

Impatiently I purposefully and heavily strode on my heels, back towards them, soon overtaking them. On catching up to them, I walked alongside. The woman was closer to me and him closer to the traffic. He was considerably taller than her. They were a very waking-state-focussed, hard-edged, racially aggressive, pinched couple. Big-boned and Yuppified – they were the epitome of North American, aggressive, merchant class greed. In a rapid-fire, ballistic staccato, I began aggressively repaying their racist bile bit for bit. I repaid their aggressive verbal abuse bit for bit.

They were stunned by my response. As with the codified behaviours of the racist paradigms in the waking state, which keep racially preyed on Blacks fearful of defending themselves against such actions, I was not expected to retaliate. I had no intentions of sublimating any aspect of self, either here or elsewhere, to suffer anyone and their bullshit. Yet what could they have done?

They simply turned glacial and remained petrified acting as though one were, all of a sudden, not there. I had no intentions of having them dump this kind of psychic garbage onto me. I slapped the racial animus back in their direction and was able to divest myself of such negative energies. Perhaps, though likely not, my response gave them pause for thought.

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The third dream then found me going down into the belly of the underground. I proceeded to take, what would prove, an extensive series of train rides. I had been down in this particular sprawling subway station. There were no pillars in between the tracks. The station was not unlike London’s Liverpool Station and though similarly dimensioned, however, it was completely below-ground. Whilst waiting for the train to arrive, I had gone and stood close to one of the ends of the platform. Raising my leg, I had placed my right foot on an orange-coloured railing whilst waiting. Close by were two White women standing and speaking.

Long, flowing, drop-waisted dresses, that were light summer fare, they both wore. For being close to them, they fell silent and projected that cool steely edge that was informed by their racist perceptions. This was not the kind of energy that I wanted to be around. I strongly resented having this hideous grey light, of waking state racially-tinged maya, flooding and destabilising the Chi of the dreamtime. Since this was not my scene, I chose to tune out their invasive, racially predatory, psychic aggression altogether. Pretty soon, they came to realise how utterly ridiculous what they were doing was.

Immediately, they stopped their bullshit and resumed being human. The WST (waking state transference), in which they indulged, towards me evaporated. The air became noticeably clear… less dense-energied. Soon thereafter, the train rolled into the station and we boarded together. Unusually large, most impressively, there was also a dizzying amount of persons on board this train. It took the longest while, for us to get on board, as throngs flooded out from the train at our station. Even when finally we boarded, the bloody thing was still overgrown with humanity.

I eventually arrived at this particular stop where, again, it was densely populated. Wherever you looked, it was lushly overgrown here with incredibly large arboreal giants.

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Not surprisingly, in this the fourth dream, it was impressively landscaped here. There was a dizzying array of flora and most of them were not readily familiar. I was up on a winding road that rose up a high hilltop. Along the way, I encountered an old Black woman. Goodness was she ever ancient. Hers was a face that was on the plus side of ten millennia. To match every lifetime-filled millennium that she had outlived, boy did she have a lot of life and personality. This was clearly her astral body, which I was encountering, whoever this well-travelled, marvellous old soul was. This sprawling metropolis was distinctly French.

This place did remind me of being at Montmartre when looking down into Paris. This metropolis, however, was several times larger than Paris. So many eons older than Paris, was this metropolis, it even seemed vastly older than the old woman. Her lovely dark-complected body, reminding me so of some West Indian women’s, she was so readily familiar. This metropolis was easily twenty millennia older than Paris. A truly august-souled metropolis this was.

The woman, along the road on the side of the hill, much reminded me of Clarice Jack who lived in The Alley, Sandy Point, St. Kitts. Of course, Clarice lived next-door to the church that Harella built. She was a big-boned, large-bosomed, full-figured lively gal. She was turning about, busying herself, doing some landscaping repairs along the side of the road. On approaching her, I asked how to get to a concert hall. I had been en route to some destination which, presently, I could scarcely recall.

“Oh no, no, no, my dear… You have to go all de way back down into town. It’s not at Palais Royale, in fact. Don’t even think of there. You have to go and get some other trains, to get you someplace else…” Her tongue darted back and forth, over her ever-moist lips, as her lively rapid-fire French gave directions.

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She had pointed, off in the distance, to what seemed like Grand Palais. It, too, had a companion like Petit Palais in Paris. Here, however, these stately buildings were easily four times more colossal than their waking state counterparts. To anything in the waking state, the scale of architecture here was beyond compare. Gargantuan doesn’t, even remotely, convey the towering scales of the proportions here. Everything here was grown over. The metropolis, centred in this fantastic locale, was layered with each rise and fall of the civilisation readily discernible. In that sense, this metropolis was much like Rome is.

Everywhere, there were visible signs of crumbling architectural masterpieces. Still, other long-abandoned structures became the outer shell for more recent revivals of themselves. The latest additions, to an old ruin, could have occurred four millennia later and still have been easily a dozen millennia old – truly ancient. There were so many different strata of architectural styles layered one atop the other. This truly was a living museum of architectural giants. It was impressive, to say the least. One felt so utterly nouveau, for being of waking state Earth, as none of Earth’s civilisations can architecturally boast any such richness of character.

Great epochs of civilisations grew on top, through, about and around themselves in this impressive astral plane metropolis. This place was quite beautifully landscaped. Everywhere there were mound-like hills, like the one that I was on, which were forested areas of lush growth. They looked like some of the better-gardened neighbourhoods of Naples.

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Next, the fifth dream had me taking my leave of her. I went down the hill, into the metropolis, where I entered one of the city’s many termini. This one much reminded of Gare d’Austerlitz in Paris. Here, too, this terminus was easily seven times more colossal. I began my marvellous adventure by taking a number of trains. There would be a few transfers at other, just as massive, termini along the journey. Here, at all times, I travelled with a silent astral guide who remained just to my rear. He seemed to be younger and was definitely White.

There was a staggering amount of people in transit here. People here were also very quiet. The majority of communication was telepathically engaged. There were so many tracks all of which were being used by trains. This was clearly a metropolis on a planet whose population easily soared beyond 17 billion (I meant to say 70 billion). With lots of transfer points converging all at the same terminus, this particular station was a major hub. This travel that I was doing, the vehicular transports I was using, merely proved secondary to what was really at play here.

I was going through different planes, travelling through different dimensions, and realities. I was in transit – for the ease of waking consciousness, much of this has been perceptually transliterated as being modes of travel comparable to waking state paradigms. The trains were capable of transporting one, to various locales, at protected faster-than-usual speeds. However, the travel was definitely destined. We travelled along a set, guided course. It was, if you like, a willed form of travel. It was not as though one were aimlessly wandering about a wilderness or city.

For being buried below-ground, it suggested that this was travel that was deeply rooted in the domains of the soul itself. There was a definite route, a purposeful intent, and a clear objective for undertaking the journey. Although for much of the time, especially when I was on the terraced hilltop with the old Black woman, I couldn’t quite recall why I was trying to make a definite rendezvous. All that I knew was that I simply had to get there. As it were, I had a destined appointment. For following along certain experientially mapped out routes, one could interdimensionally travel whilst on board these trains.

Whilst I was on one of the trains, when in transit, I sensed that I was not alone. Looking around, in search of someone’s familiar energetic signature, there on this utterly crowded train I found Merlin! I was so blown away. So that the dream wouldn’t be aborted, by my whiting out and prematurely awakening, I had to contain myself. I can’t say here how utterly arresting it was to have seen him.

Not since he had walked into the salon, in that dream on Saturday, July 25, 1992, had Merlin’s beauty so moved me. Merlin here was as real and as focussed as ever he was, the seven years that I had known him, on the other side of the dreamtime’s pandimensionality. I was so thrilled. I became overwhelmed with genuine happiness. I simply couldn’t believe that this was happening. I was acutely aware that I was dreaming. Oh my goodness – this was enlightenment and then some. Seeing him was akin, to having been away and upon my return opening the door, to have Whoopi come rushing towards me – her familiar pigeon-toed sweetness being the most treasured gift in my life at present.

One glimpse and you fall in love all over again. Seeing him, I felt all the quiet rapture that I felt – on Friday, October 1, 1982 – when he ambled into my life. On slipping in through the glass-paned door of a Hell’s Kitchen walkup, Merlin began weaving the most sustained, sublimed magic. Merlin, to look at him, was such an encapsulation of health and inner beauty. Goodness, I was completely blown away. Merlin wore a light, gauze-fabricked shirt that was very much so from the Indian Subcontinent. Caramel-coloured and ancient-looking, it was reminiscent of many of the ones he so favoured – ones which were perpetually sillaged with patchouli’s grounding signature.

The shirt was covered throughout with tiny rosebuds and other petals – exquisite. This was so Merlin in every refreshing detail. A long-sleeved shirt that was buttoned at the wrists, he wore, but with a bit of ballooning just aft the wrists. So thin and loose a fabric was it that it seemed diaphanous. Merlin was the picture of health, so much so that, his skin actually glowed near-imperceptibly. The light was the faint glow, which was the subtle undulating glow, of his aura.

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This was much the effect that one would observe, if photographing someone, through a soft-focussed lens. Yet it was more than that, there was a definite hum to his aura’s vibration. There was so much flesh and vitality to his face and the rest of his still-rakish body that I was left overjoyed at the sight of him. His mane was beautifully coiffed in a long, leonine, gentle fall. Interestingly, it was not at all grey or greying. For that matter, Merlin’s hair was not greying as it was at the time of his passing.

Additionally, Merlin’s beard was not white. He looked like a much healthier version of himself, as he was at age thirty-five, when we met. It was so fuck-all fabulous to have seen him. It was great to have experienced him. Seated there, languorously looking into the forever of his familiar eyes, my spirit simply danced for joy. I vibrationally zinged at a higher frequency, on seeing him, to have experienced him yet again. To have drunk of his familiar spirit was that longed for elixir that my wandering soul so quenched.

Merlin silently looked over, validating that he recognised me, with the most intimate of smiles. A smile it was by which, for too long now, I had not been warmed. We communed, though our communication was telepathic, at the level of spirit. Our communication was not only mentally accomplished but it was emotionally complex and thorough. We immediately connected, more to the point, we did intimately connect. There was no getting around the fact of this having been why I had felt so compelled to quest, to journey, in search of this concert.

On finally having a rendez-vous with Merlin, what stellar music of souls this was. I knew, there and then, why I had been in transit making all these connections and travelling at such great speeds. I was in an astral plane metropolis, one which clearly served as a resting and inspirational space, for souls in transit – quite wonderful indeed. There I sat, on the fast-moving train, flying without moving. How utterly rapturous a living dream postcard this dream was – especially after our last profound encounter, a year ago. Sure, there had been other dream encounters during that interval.

This, however, was a dream of high order. This was a dream which existed at the same heights of spirit as that, on Saturday, July 25, 1992. Merlin’s eyes were so large, clear and focussed. Merlin here was so serene. He was transcendent. It blew my mind just to look at him. For resonating with him, I felt myself quivering with rapture. To feel the quiet purr of his spirit so close, and so familiar a spirit, was more than even I could have hoped for during pre-sleep meditations.

There was no getting around the fact that Merlin was now considerably more elevated than, when we last kissed in that dream, on Saturday, July 25, 1992. Merlin was now more in control. He had greater mastered his astral body since then. Back then, he wore a cloak that had a cowl. Merlin looked every bit the magus that he was. It was just like the cowled cloak that he had worn in our initial dream encounter, July 1978, four years before finally meeting on the physical plane.

Merlin here was so much more elevated than ever he had been in life or since his passing. Now, he was casually dressed but still looked every bit the magus. Indeed, Merlin here was the dream magus ascended. This dream was so very healing for my spirit. Then, on Saturday, July 25, 1992, Merlin was tying up loose – as he was experienced in that sublime dream. In that dream, Merlin thanked me for having served him nobly and in a healing capacity.

Thanks to his life task, Merlin had awakened the magus within me as I served him during his illness. This shared task of ours enabled me to become more spiritually focussed. As a result, as mentor to me, Merlin initiated my accelerated spiritual growth. In this dream, Merlin was simply saying hello. No postcard, across the seas of time and dimensions, could have been more beautiful a gift received. I could not believe that I was seeing Merlin. He did not, after having set out and sent me that one momentous dream on Saturday, July 25, 1992, have to send me yet another momentous dream. Yet here he was, by express transit no less, sending me a most magus, evolved and uplifting dream postcard.

Thank goodness my mind was fully aligned with spirit and the soul, as validated by my Venus-Uranus conjunction, enabling me to assimilate the potency and depth of this most sublime of gifts from Merlin. At that moment, when I found Merlin, the train was speedily travelling above-ground. The glow of his aura was further highlighted by the swells of sunlight, whose crests broke and oceanically flooded into the train, from the sunny outdoors. The merry sunlight added to the intensity of the encounter’s sensuality. I was so captivated by Merlin’s sublime beauty that I had not caught the conductor’s announcement.

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A little dark-haired boy then announced that we would have to change trains. The boy had stepped up to a round circle, in the middle of the aisle, before the doors. In a vertical shaft of light, there the young, male astral guide stood perfectly still. He then announced to us the different transfer points – all of which he telepathically did.

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Next, the sixth dream found all three of us – Merlin, the youthful astral guide and me – seated on a bunk in a rustic, near-dark, high-ceilinged bedroom. There were marvellous, dark wooden beams, high overhead in the ceiling, which created that familiar astral plane look. Whilst seated on the edge of the bunk, our legs dangled over the side. Merlin was on my immediate right as we visited side-by-side. His energies were so very warm and familiar. The house was unmistakably large, like everything else in this dimension. Incidentally, the ceilings here were vaulted. There was no mistaking that this dream was set on the astral plane.

*The key signature of the astral plane is its phenomenal architecture. The astral plane seems to serve as incubator and one from which great thinkers and movers, from time to time, come along and manifest their impressions thereof into the waking state. These great thinkers being architects such as: Antoni Gaudí, Frank Lloyd Wright and others. In these dreams, set on the astral plane, architecture is marked by the rustic, the aged, the organic – the fully concretised and usually in proportions that are not of this world. Everything seems much larger and more solid than even in the waking state.

There is nothing ephemeral about the architecture of the astral plane. The most impressive thing, about architecture on the astral plane, is the staggering amount of details that are worked into these true works of art. Structured and sound, one always immediately feels secure, is architecture on the astral plane. END.

The young, astral guide was on my left, silently holding the large book of photographs, as Merlin guided me through its pages. One series of photographs was of a guy who was water-skiing. The guy reminded me, as a matter of fact, of Maddox Pool. We looked at the photos which were taken, from the perspective of someone, at the rear of the boat to which he was tethered whilst skiing.

In one of the photos he had taken away his right hand, from the grip, to energetically grin and wave. The photos in the book were not static. They were holographic yet, somehow, they never extended beyond the page. They were three-dimensional but you were not looking at a film. Instead, you were looking down into a three-dimensional holographic image which was within the borders of each photo. It was in these shots that the waterskiing young man looked so much like Maddox.

He was dark-haired and the picture of health. The water was crystalline and eye-scorching blue. He was about twenty-two to twenty-three years of age – exactly the same age that I was when Merlin and I met in New York City. Merlin telepathically explained to me, as we looked at the photographs, that this photo was representative of himself after his first bout of pneumocystis with full-blown AIDS. Merlin told me that this was the nature of the work that he was presently doing.

Astral plane habitués, such as Merlin, after they had done work on themselves could elect to assist persons still incarnate and moving through the illness. The crisis of AIDS was so impactful, on humanity at this point, that those who were discarnate had to direct a great deal of energy planetside to those incarnates who were moving through the experience. When persons went from being advanced with HIV, all the way to being sick with full-blown AIDS, then they on the astral plane would work with them after their first bout of major illness.

Merlin explained that they were seen to have a resurgence of vitality because of the energy work, being directed to the incarnate full-blown persons, by astral plane habitués in his position. This is precisely as had been the case with Merlin, in the spring, summer and early autumn of 1988, after his first bout of pneumocystis – all of which abruptly atrophied when he was betrayed by that stupid drunken woman, Morag O’Hoare.

Merlin also intimated that the energy work came not only from persons such as him, between lives on the astral plane, as well as from souls above and beyond the astral plane. This was energy that they were sharing, with afflicted physical plane habitués, which they could then use to sustain their lives for a year or two or even a decade plus. Merlin further shared that they could indefinitely live on, to the full course of their lives, if they so chose.

Though they were fully capable of surviving long-term with the virus, which allegedly led to AIDS, people planetside had not yet made the realisation that they did not have to atrophy and die because they had tested positive for the HIV virus or for going full-blown with AIDS. This ability, of afflicted incarnates, to live on had to do with willpower. Choice was the issue in this situation. They must have wanted to remain incarnate.

They must have wanted to live and to accomplish certain tasks. The nature of the support system, that one surrounded oneself with, was crucial to being able to become long-term survivors. Persons really did not have to pass on so soon, Merlin intimated, after discovering that they were HIV positive or full-blown with AIDS. Humanity presently had such stultifying fear of death that afflicted persons ended up, literally, terrifying themselves to death. It did not help much that there were so many stigmas associated with AIDS. At present humanity, for the most part, did not yet realise that death was merely but a refocussing of one’s energies.

“Death…” said Merlin “…was no big deal. Come on, look at me. I’m here, aren’t I? How different am I?” he intoned in a quiet whisper rather than telepathically. ‘Can’t argue that one,’ I thought.

Merlin was as human and as real as, he had ever been every day of our being together, during our glorious seven-year relationship. Even though I could see him, and indeed touch him, he was so much more evolved and frankly better off for being in that dimension of purified vibration. This was definitely not the normal domains of the dreamtime. From the regular confines of the dreamtime, I had travelled – to this conduit space within the astral plane – to be able to experience Merlin from his regions of the astral plane which are exclusively inhabited by the discarnate.

We met in a dimension wherein persons, both discarnate and incarnate, could meet and interact. It was quite solid here and rarefied too. To be able to have experienced Merlin left me so immensely happy. Merlin further explained that people tended to die so soon, after having become full-blown with AIDS, because the spectre of dying became a vortex of fears – enervating energies – that literally depleted their reserves of willpower and caused them to die sooner rather than later.

By becoming so obsessed, with fear of death and the stigma of dying of AIDS, those subjects simply became victims of their own fears. Merlin said that they had to turn that vortex into a white hole rather than an imploding, enervating, gnawing black hole of fear. Such a vortex proved a vacuum that sucked the very life out of the afflicted and caused them to die what was clearly a premature death. Once transmuted, this vortex could be used to assist one to go on to live a very productive life.

This energy could simply be used to fuel oneself and serve as a conduit to channel pure, life-sustaining energies from discarnate souls, such as him, on the astral plane. This would ultimately enable one to stay focussed, in the afflicted life, for considerably longer. The thing to remember was that the mind did not have to become afflicted with fears because the body had become impaired by disease. All over the world, Merlin assured me, the afflicted could choose to triumph over fear of imminent death and it was being done with increasing success.

This vortex of transformed fears could, according to Merlin, become a catalyst for undertaking a great deal of spiritual work. The amount of growth that could be pulled off for becoming thus focussed, Merlin assured me, was no light matter. As Merlin imparted this wisdom, I was being illumined to this revolutionary approach to life and death which heretofore, I had not before thought of the paradigm in this manner. It, however, made perfect sense.

What was really impressive, about all this, was having Merlin return now as a teacher. He was so wise and magus. I felt absolutely proud of him. He was a guide to me, sharing of the wisdom that he has gained in his trans-dimensional sojourn thus far, as the realised dream magus who had long set out ahead of his much-loved adept and companion magus. I can’t say enough how very pleased that I was to have seen him. I was so moved by Merlin. It was simply profound.

I was so incredibly happy to see Merlin. The windows to the large hall, in which we visited, were all closed. This caused the place to be dimly and intimately lit. Here, it was very womb-like and nurturing.

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After that intimate visit together, followed by journeying on some more, we arrived at this the seventh dream. On returning to the large terminus, we had to take yet another series of trains. We arrived after much high-speed travel at another terminus. This one was far larger than any before which I had visited. Here, the terminus was above-ground and wide-open at both ends. Multiple tracks were everywhere and veered off in all directions. After we got on board the train, as before he had, the little dark-haired boy who served as astral guide came up and stood in the centre of the aisle.

Here, there were many people with kids and several persons were travelling with a ton of baggage. They were carting around all this baggage which they really did not need. This baggage merely served to weigh them down and impeded their forward advancement. They did not yet realise that they did not need it. Neither Merlin nor I had any baggage. Similarly, the young astral guide had no baggage. Somehow, because of the travelling requirements here, I couldn’t ride in the same car as Merlin. Instead I rode one car behind him on the same train.

On pulling up into the large station, there was a PA notice that indicated that the train we were on would not go any further. We would apparently have to transfer at the next station on disembarking. The announcer said that one would be able to find one’s appropriate ride by following the colour-coded lines on the platform. When I got off onto the platform, I began running ahead to the front of the platform in search of Merlin. Not for anything did I want to lose him now.

A couple had impeded my progress as they wobbled along with a ridiculous amount of baggage. The luggage was so much dream symbolism – inasmuch as there is such a thing. These persons represented newcomers to the astral plane. More importantly, they represented persons who had recently died and returned to the astral plane but who also happened to be fairly young-souled. They were dead yet not already fully aware. Just as they were spiritually blind, when incarnate, they now progressed. They were now hobbling about, carting around all this baggage, as if they could truly ‘take it’ with them.

With them was all this Maya, the baggage of their perceptions and the worldviews, which had held them hostage whilst incarnate. Here they were, on the astral plane, arrivés habitués carting around mindsets that were totally redundant. What I found unique here was that no one interfered with anyone. No one came to their aid telling them that it was not necessary for them to be carting around all this baggage. Furthermore, they were repressed such that they appeared these Boteroesque persons – bloated in the style of Fernando Botero sculptures.

Their little merchant class worldviews had had them well-preserved, and puffed up, with pompous self-aggrandising notions of their greatness. They did look truly South American in that pretentious sense. They looked not unlike some of the parvenu-looking subjects of Fernando Botero’s paintings and sculptures. They were truly lost souls both here and when previously incarnate.

I, on the other hand, was nimbly walking whilst bounding down the platform. I had hoped to reconnect with Merlin whom I knew had also gotten off at the same stop. Here, too, in this station all the railings were orange and sturdy-looking. Rushing ahead of the Boteroesque couple, who vibrationally felt as if made of the heaviest metals in the universe, I noticed something truly spectacular.

High up in the walls of this terminus the wall would simply open up, much as a camera lens’s aperture would, then from the gaping hole would stream out a train at full speeds. The train was, as it were, intersecting dimensions. This fantastical train was, along with several others that I had noticed, simply splicing through our pocket of the astral plane en route to heaven-only-knows-where. At the far side of the terminus another aperture-like portal would gapingly open to accommodate the approaching airborne train.

Soon after, the train would be lost into the black void which moments earlier had opened up. Those trains, like the others, were massive and looked as though the stateliest trains from the late nineteenth-to-early twentieth centuries. More than that, they barrelled through the air without travelling on any overhead tracks. What’s more, they progressed as if along well-mapped out routes.

Some were higher than others. Others intersected our little cul-de-sac of the astral plane, in a diagonal manner, cutting perfectly across the immense width of the terminus. These trains, just like all the others, seemed so imposing for being as massive and as multi-carriaged as they were. Despite the fantastical spectre of these trains, the matter of Merlin’s whereabouts was of paramount concern. On noticing the initial train, I peripherally recalled that there had been a similar such train piercing through the earlier terminus. However, its outréness had remained peripheral or not readily assimilated.

Just as described over the PA system, there was a series of colour-coded lines on the platform. These colour-coded lines indicated where one had to venture, in order to make the appropriate connections, back to one’s final destination. As could be expected, the trains were all very massive. What’s more, they were distinctively leaden and stylistically looked as if straight out of the 1930s. They were very art deco trains indeed.

One of the trains was silver and black. It was a tone of black that was truly austere. The silver was used for most of the detailing. Its silverwork was so opulent that, by comparison, it made Erté’s deco sensibilities seem bland. Somehow, I knew that it was the one that I was expected to take. In all, there were two trains that I was supposed to have transferred to. This black and silver train was energetically the densest-feeling one of all the trains that I had seen.

This, I think, was the case because it travelled between this locale and the density of the physical plane – the waking state. Nonetheless, all that I could think of was Merlin. I did not want to lose contact with him. As ever, he had done in the waking state, I had initially seen him leaving the train then gone energetically bounding down the platform. With so many people everywhere, and for having been impeded by the Boteroesque couple, I had lost sight of him. My mind busily raced as I thought of the horror of possibly having to lose him here.

I did not want our encounter to end just like that. Besides, we were supposed to have gone off somewhere. I came down off the platform, desperate to find him again, by using a narrow flight of stone stairs. From there, I crossed the tracks ahead of the austere-looking train that I was supposed to have taken. No sooner than had I crossed its track that I saw, off in the far end of the terminus, an unusual-looking train.

It was stationed beneath a sunlight-flooded awning. It was a most unique mode of transportation. A series of long horizontal slabs, hovering off the ground, they lined one after the other. They were, basically, the floors of boxcars that had no wheels, no sidings and no roofs to them. They were, if you like, just a series of hovering rectangular slabs à la magic carpets. The awning, beneath which it was stationed, gave a sense of how truly massive this hangar-like terminus was. It was then, too, that I saw Merlin.

I had recognised him by the brown tweed cap that he always wore in the waking state. To look at his body, he was the sexiest human imaginable. Merlin still could work his magic on me. Merlin wore a faded pair of blue bell-bottomed cotton slacks. A pair of well-worn, doe-skinned shoes was familiarly upturned at the toes.

He was so true to form – realistic. This was so very Merlin and so like the Merlin, whom I had known so very intimately, but for the fact that he was not smoking a ganja joint. Also unlike the sublime dream encounter, on Saturday, July 25, 1992, he was not wearing his gold-rimmed round glasses. Naturally, he did not need those things anymore. It was so very good to see Merlin. Here, he was my astral guru – indeed, the transcendent dream magus had returned to impart his magical wisdom.

Merlin was so phenomenally alive and real. I was moved beyond belief to see him. So excited was I, to have found him again, that I went rushing up to greet him where he hung out on one of the slabs. Thrilled and delighted, I let out an excited squeal. Soon enough, I grew immediately self-conscious of the fact that no one here verbally communicated. In one graceful balletic leap, I went rushing up onto the platform broadly grinning. My love for him welled up from the very bosom of my soul. As soon as I got there, I realised that everyone else was seated in these circular groupings.

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They sat in lotus position and faced inwards towards each other. Merlin was part of a circle of men, seven deeply meditative men, all of whom looked just as transcendent and centred as did he. They seemed to be so deeply engaged, at the level of spirit, as if a part of a coven of magi who were engaged in group energy work. Their silence was impactful – there was so much being said and done in its weighty stillness.

Merlin’s eyes were so brilliant and clear yet there was a fecund agedness to them. The clarity came from the intense focus of his energies, where he presently is, in his transition through the discarnate progression. They were older-souled eyes; there was no way to get around that fact. I realised, there and then, that I wasn’t supposed to have been there at all. So pleased was I to be with him, too eager to telepathically communicate, I began chatting aloud. It was a way to wrestle his full attention as there was no way that I could have competed with the union of spirits and minds that they shared.

They were simply too deeply telepathic, “Look Merlin, why can’t you come on this train with me? I don’t want to be here on this one. When we start moving, it’s only going to aggravate my allergies which are acute right now in the waking state. It’ll be too much wind, too much exposure to pollen. It’s just going to affect my allergies too much. There’ll be too much wind blowing in my face. Look, I really don’t know if I want to do this. Why can’t we go on the other one?”

The moment at which I paused, after having posed my questions, Merlin seized control of the dynamic. Very firmly, he entered my mind and said, “Be still. Be quiet. Don’t rush. Don’t you understand? I don’t care to go there. I don’t care what you want… what you desire. I’m going to stay on this one. Besides, it’s what I have to do. I’m going this way…”

When he intoned that last phrase, from the inflection and weight he telepathically used, I realised that there was no way that I could leave this place but on board that austere-looking silver and black deco train. Merlin implied, by his intonation, that the conventional old train was the one that I had to use to safely ferry me back to the waking state. Clearly, he couldn’t take that train because it was too mechanical.

It represented the past and the density, when incarnate, of his former physically ensouled state. He was now in a dimension of existence which was vibrationally infinitely less dense. Even the mode of transportation, for his dimension, was more advanced. There was no denying that these levitating slabs were being kept aloft by their focussed, united wills – Merlin and his kindred spirits’.

To have entered their midst, the air and the Chi were intensely purified. On entering the vibrational sphere of their midst, I instantaneously felt lighter in my body. Their seating formations only intensified their energies and focussed their thoughts and wills. It is safe to say that in these formations, they became a unit. They were a shared consciousness of sorts. They did though each still possess a will of their own. This was clearly the case with Merlin who was able, independent of his circle mates, to exert his own will when asking me not to be an intrusive presence.

He was never hostile but he simply asked that I not be so inconsiderate of their need for privacy. Meanwhile, the six others patiently waited for him. You cannot imagine how mentally powerful these seven men were – individually and as a shared consciousness. They patiently waited for me to either calm down or simply take my leave of them. What was really intriguing, in all of this, was the fact that they did not have a preference whether I should stay or leave. That choice was exclusively up to me.

It was truly insightful – they simply had no emotional engagement and were totally objective. This was so much like the Merlin I had always known. It was so good to see him that I really did not want to leave. There was no way that I would pass up on this most rare of treasures found. On calming my nerves, I directly looked Merlin in the eye and said, “Okay, I accept… I accept…. I accept. I realise that I was being so selfish. Do forgive me. I know how selfish I can get at times.”

Yet there sat Merlin supremely long-suffering and patient. I would not, nor could I, deny myself the elixir of those eyes. Impishly, I added, “Okay, please, let me come some of the way with you, at least. I don’t know. I don’t care…” For breaking protocol and wanting to leave this place by going in his direction, I was more or less quieting my own fears. I would gladly have given up the ghost, as it were, just to go on journeying with him.

As his eyes warmly smiled into me, a discernible smile drifted across his large, lucidly focussed face. I was thrilled. He telepathically suggested that I take a seat, which I did, just outside of the circle. Two of them shifted their positions signalling that I join the circle rather than not. The moment that I entered the circle of beings, which included Merlin, the procession of levitating greyish slabs began moving. They had been hovering, just above a groove that sat, between two knolls. These rolling mounds were covered by the most verdant cropped grass that zinged with a whisper of misty dew.

Instantaneously, we were moving at faster-than-sound through to faster-than-light speeds. It was immensely thrilling an experience for me. Merlin sat with his back always to the front of the procession of slabs. In that sense, he was in a powerful position. We were seated towards the end of the third or fourth platform. Each platform-like slab contained several clusters of seven asexual-looking men – even Merlin looked asexual.

Even more interesting, along the lines of the Michael Teachings, was that there were six or seven clusters of six to eight individuals in the tight circular formations. Here everyone was in lotus position. There were never any doubts in my mind that Merlin and every last one of these discarnate individuals were the ones whose focussed wills were directing the travel of this light trip. This was so right up Merlin’s alley – unabashed magic.

Each levitating slab measured roughly ten feet across by close to fifty feet at least. They were linear and, though wafer-thin, had the most softly plush comfortable surface. They were just as soft as if we were seated on satin throw cushions. The speeds with which we travelled were phenomenal. I did not experience any discomfiture for moving at such great speeds. There was simply a whizzing blur of everything, outside the confines of our progressing procession of levitating slabs.

We travelled some four feet off the ground as we jetted away from the hub terminus. The winds never affected us, nor did my body experience the increased G-forces, for travelling at such great speeds. The landscape sped past, even more rapidly than when on board the trains. Of course, when on board the trains, we were then in an enclosed environment. Yet here, as there, we were not at all affected by the winds. As a matter of fact, this proved an infinitely smoother ride than when travelling on the conventional trains.

There weren’t any of the chattering minds, for one, as experienced when on the conventional trains. So deeply internalised was this place that there was nothing but Zen order. No wonder Merlin so loved Johann Sebastian Bach’s artistry because it was so wonderfully suited to the ambience of this place.

*It was as though, this place was the grove to which he gravitated between lives. It gave him the sense of serenity, of order and of peace, which was so readily discerned to the core of his being. At such times, Merlin would become lost – grow intimate and private with his very spirit – for listening to Glenn Gould’s mastery of J.S. Bach’s Goldberg Variations. Merlin’s intellect, at such times, would become expansive. Each time, his spirit and intellect were sensed, he would be spatially experienced. Quite simply, for experiencing him at such times, there is no other way to articulate how one would feel. END.

All around us were wonderful, rolling green plains situated in a vast expansive vista. Everything was so thrillingly filled with life. For travelling at such intense speeds, we were left in a heightened state of sensitivity – or at least I definitely was. Perhaps, this was par for the course with Merlin and his kindred spirits. I, on the other hand, found this so new and exciting for my dreamer self. Everything zinged with more abundant negative ions, at concentrations that were more pronounced, than in the waking state.

This dimension was a harmonious mélange of pure thought and pure emotion. It was so invigorating and completely centring. Pure emotion, minus the trappings of ego, it gave the sense of Merlin and his kindred spirits’ transcendent nature. There was an audible drone discerned here, to our splicing progress through space, which seemed as if their combined breaths held in a sustained meditative hum. Truly serene a spiritually uplifting experience this was. How transcendent they each were, too.

This sound was so intense and pure that it can best be described as being audible light. The sensations and emotions I experienced were so thrilling that I couldn’t believe such intensity of joy could be experienced whilst incarnate. At that moment, the experience was heightened when Merlin and I both directly looked into each other’s eyes. In that moment of connectivity, mere words could never do justice to what I experienced. We were truly intimate soul-to-soul.

Looking off to his right, impregnating me with this most beauteous gift, Merlin oceanically poured his very soul into me. This was the most sublime postcard yet, that he had sent across the seas of time, from his journey up ahead. I couldn’t ever have imagined that any gift could be so profound, beautiful and cherished. Looking to the left, I had done so as he had telepathically entered my mind, saying a warm and intimately familiar hello.

Slipping into my moist, expanded intellect, I felt the familiar purr of Merlin’s soul as he edged closer and squinged up next to me soul-to-soul. How many nights had we gotten this close when he was incarnate… Yet none of that – physical intimacy – could have compared to the exquisite ticklish touch of his soul deep within me. This was such a massiveness of spirit that I experienced. I couldn’t believe that I was feeling the intensity of sensations and insights as I was experiencing. This was such a massive experience that to look at Merlin the giddy ecstasy that I felt caused me to whiteout.

This had been fostered, too, by the enriching stimuli that bombarded my totality as the levitating slabs sped on. The feel of experiencing nature, as we so rapidly sped by, only made the vibrations of everything that much more pronounced. As I moved without moving, my body quivered throughout. Looking to my left into the most intimate pair of eyes that I have known thus far in this lifetime, I thrillingly flew whilst seated there in lotus position. Merlin’s eyes being the pair that has been more intimate than any other… This moment of Zen bliss caused me to quickly draw on a sharp breath.

As though I were nodding off, my body had bobbed a tad. With that I lucidly awoke – my body quivered as I remained in bed on my back looking up into and beyond the off-white ceiling. Merlin alas quite cleverly had hypnotised me, back into wakefulness, with one sensual look.

By far, those dreams were among the most truly uplifting dreams of this incarnation. There is not a year that passes since then that I don’t recall these dreams with the greatest fondness and humility. So, alas, dream your dreams of wonder – for having been so richly inspired by mine. Sweet dreams, you!

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Anointed by Merlin; A Dream Like No Other.

July 13, 2019November 13, 2022 Arvin da BrghaLeave a comment

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As the Moon progressed through the early degrees of Gemini, transiting my first house, I would on taking to bed, slip up past the folds of restfulness. There, I would awaken into the most lucid dream experiences had in long ages. It was Saturday, July 25, 1992 – long after Merlin’s passing.

Regardless your combination, there is no greater gift to receive than the love of another to whom one has chosen to completely give of self. There is no greater validation of love’s superiority than to experience love from another, who has transitioned onto the next octave in that soul’s maturation, in a lucidly awakened dream as this shared between Merlin and me.

We have all loved and been loved and may you dear dreamer, by opening yourself up, experience your own moments of rapture as I did in this rhapsodic astral plane encounter with the one, the man, the elfin, the fuck-all fabulous, the ganja-smoking, groovy shaman from Babylon, Merlin!

The mark of a truly great love affair is the fruit it bears… dreams.

Sweet dreams you, I love you more!

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The first dream was set, at nighttime, in Sandy Point, St. Kitts where I had spent my childhood. I was playing in the street, well past midnight, with three local youths. All Rastafarians, too, they were all in their twenties. I was my present age – thirty-one. They were younger. Everything about them was very real. There was a direct focussed tenor to their gaze; they looked into you. I felt very edgy with all this probity.

We had been acrobatically playing, in the street in front of the church, in The Alley, Sandy Point, St. Kitts. Of course, that same church Harella had built twenty-two years prior in the waking state. I tried not to outshine them, with my leaping tumbles, for fear of escalating the tension in the air. There was an edge to our interactions. It was a tension born of my having been so long off-island and their being suspicious, I thought, of my outré sexuality.

Just then, I noticed a light streaking across the star-punctured sky. In a bid to diffuse the tension between us, I drew their attention to it. However, I soon noticed that its progress was unusual. There was also something distinctly different about this light. It caused me to recall similar icons in dreams past – each had presaged rather momentous visions. Like all those before it, this streaking light seemed a silent observant probe. Immediately, I became open to what this comet-like streaking star could later reveal.

I began to explain to the youngest Rastafarian who was an impish, sexually-dynamic beauty – he was not the least bit self-conscious of his missing front teeth – that it was no doubt a very high geostationary satellite that had bombed and was now crashing to Earth. Further, I speculated that it was no doubt an orbiting space shuttle presently reflecting Sol’s intense light. As I spoke, I knew that I did not really believe either explanation but I thought that the ideas were a good way to ameliorate my position in the dynamic. The ruse failed to have done the trick. On returning my attention to the group, I was sent bolting – the leader was menacingly lunging through the air towards me, with a raptor’s ease, in eager flight.

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Soon I also was in flight being chased through the streets of a Sandy Point, St. Kitts which quickly morphed and shifted becoming, more and more populous, like parts of old Havana. I was not certain which city this was but I was definitely still in the Caribbean.

I managed to escape into a house where I very energetically fought off their advance, securing the locks to the front door, thereby shutting them out. I climbed up the narrow and steep flight of stairs, in near-darkness, to the safety of the second storey. Winded and more enraged than stunned, at their behaviour, I took the time to gather my breath. I briefly visited with my aunt Pilar do Aragão† and Pandora – the latter whom Merlin favoured the most of my siblings. They were unaware of the tumult that I had just endured.

I took refuge in the darkened front of the house’s second storey. Next I found myself, in one of those rare dream moments, actually falling asleep whilst lucidly dreaming. I nodded… on recovering, I found that I had come to in an apartment. It was one more opulent than the one in which I had just grown suddenly drowsy. On a red antique chaise longue, in the most beautifully dark, wood-panelled, high-ceilinged digs that I had ever seen, I was now seated. Across the room was an open door that led out to a veranda.

A dark awning provided ample shade and allowed just the cool tropical breezes to laze in satiating the spirit. To have awakened into this new dreamspace had left my awareness more sensitised… more absorbing. The dream became more lucid and any sense of time dissolved. This left every moment infused with a sense of mysticism – magic even. It definitely felt like the West Indies here, perhaps, old-money Haïti or Guadeloupe if not Cuba.

Slowly, I drank in every detail of the stately furnished room. There were, on both walls to my left and right, floor-to-ceiling shelves which were not untidily crammed with old leather-bound volumes – some red, some brown, most were black. Slowly, from where I reclined, I pinpointed my vision to check the titles of some of the books. Thus I was able to see and read them, as intimately, as if I had gotten up and gone to stand before them closely peering. They were mostly ancient volumes. However, the script was not vaguely recognisable like any of the innumerable ones on the other, more familiar side of the dreamtime.

My spirit soared, as I felt fully relaxed, in this most bucolic of dreams. Strangely, though not unusual for the realm of the dreamtime, I felt that for having looked at these laden bookshelves my mind had absorbed the library’s voluminous wealth. Just then there was movement, to my right, across the room. I saw a cat that looked much like Whoopi. It appeared from behind one of three sofas, skulking towards another, situated opposite across the room.

Each sofa, like the chaise longue on which I reclined, had beside it a small round table. Each table was covered in either rich, dark earthy damask or actual rugs in deep though muted red. I was immediately reminded of the round table, across which sat the sibylline woman from Merlin and I, in the dreams of September 4, 1988. I sat up calling her name,

“Whoopi! Whoopi!” at which moment, the cat shimmered and became Julio – our black cat at 20 Amelia Street in Cabbagetown who, like Whitney before him, was killed in a hit-and-run as he ran across Amelia Street on New Year’s Eve, 1987. As I watched the cat disappear behind one of the three sofas, which accompanied my chaise longue, my mouth froze open in amazement. Whilst I assimilated that one and thought to myself that this certainly was a most unusual and lucid dream, there was utter stillness.

The cat’s metamorphosis had discernibly shifted the vibration of the dream. Now time seemed considerably measured as compared to its usual frenetic rhythm. The door in the far right corner then opened… into the room walked Merlin.

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*I can’t here relay the rapture I felt on seeing him but the ecstatic descriptive of dream audio-cassette recording, for that day, comes fairly close. END.

Overwhelmed with emotion, my body quivered throughout. I tried to rouse from my reclining position. My arms outstretched to him, I greeted him squealing with delight. He stood, just in the entrance, raising his brows with the left familiarly arched higher. Staying me with the index and middle fingers of his raised right hand,

“No, don’t get up…” I heard Merlin direct me with the quiet familiarity that our intimacy knew.

This directive I telepathically experienced as though we were squinging up in bed, in the dark, at 20 Amelia Street in Toronto’s Cabbagetown. Our souls tickled, at such times, as we listened to some glorious thunderstorm drowning out the dog days of a too-hot-and-humid, Toronto summer. I obliged, sitting upright on the edge of the plush chaise longue, for the first time placing my feet on the beautifully designed and predominantly red rug. His face warmed towards me in a smile.

At once my mind expanded, simultaneously processing on multiple levels, becoming even more awakened. Rapture… pure rapture – I was enthralled. Here again, Merlin wore all the evolved energies that he had in that first dream encounter – that dream, of course, set in a Pacific west coast rainforest that was not unlike Vancouver Island’s Cathedral Grove in July 1978. A dream, of course, which occurred four years before I would physically meet him in the waking state.

Slowly, he walked the short distance of the room towards me. A breeze coming from the veranda not only cooled the place but it shifted the ambiance and made the place grow dimmer. The dimness highlighted the definite soft yellow glow that girdled his entire form. I sat there thinking,

‘My god, I can actually see your aura Merlin.’

He smiled and I was reminded that everything that I thought was instantly being telepathically shared. I was passive… moreover I was ripened as though I had just experienced an Alfred Brendel recital. I felt so lightheaded that I firmly pressed down both my palms, into the chaise longue’s plush red velvet, bracing myself. Merlin came and stood before me. He was casually dressed in loose, earthen woollen clothing. A cloak he wore stylishly draped about his narrow shoulders with its cowl removed.

As I looked up into his face, besotted by the beauty of his soul’s magic, he slowly arched his left brow in the way he had always affected when he wanted to be intimate. Merlin’s magical expression was exactly as it was, that gibbous-Moon October night, when we met in Babylon – which now for him was truly a lifetime removed. My face liquidly melted away in a smile. I was warmed by the knowledge that I was dreaming and that here before me was a man, Merlin, with whom I had shared such wonderful fortune. He had shared his grace, along with his beauty and his intellect, in the most magical combination with me.

As we made eye contact, still never having said a word, he slowly knelt into the bay of my open legs. Enthralled, my eyes slowly and unflinchingly shifted to look down into his as now he knelt before me. He wore his glasses, his beard cropped close, his hair styled in a leonine full-bodied mane. Moreover, I was moved by just how much this pose reflected the last night we had spent together – November 17, 1989. With an acuity rarely achieved in the waking state, my mind lucidly assimilated this rapturous encounter.

Here before me knelt Merlin. Merlin was the very embodiment of wholesome health, healing my spirit, releasing me from so much of the pain that I had endured. Like that last night of his life, before dying of AIDS, I was overcome with emotion. However, owing to the healing that this moment affected, now I wanted to melt in tears of joy. More than that, the moment’s poignancy rose from how uncannily it mirrored our final encounter.

About his slender long neck, Merlin wore a necklace of thick, copper-coloured coil that looked not the least bit malleable. The coil was half an inch in diameter and set with beautiful large crystals of various colours. The coil moved through each stone’s centre and each stone was deeply etched with golden hieroglyphs. Although Mayan hieroglyphs bore the closest resemblance, the inscriptions resembled none in this planet’s long history.

The effect of the bronze-coloured coil and crystals was grounding. The crystals gave off a low rumbling hum that was felt. It was akin to the definite effect of my pyramid, in the waking state, but easily thrice as intense. There were seven crystals in all. Principally, there was the large, smoky rough-hued quartz set at the bottom of the circular coil.

Its design slowly shifted from within but its glow seemingly originating elsewhere. It was huge and by far the most powerful. One quarter the way around the circle, which was duplicated on the opposite side, there were three crystals. The crystal in the middle was like nothing imaginable in the waking state. It was a coppery-bronzed colour with hints of blue-lapis lazuli dust throughout which actually glistened.

With any slight movement, the dust shifted becoming copper-coloured. When the colour shifted, I experienced a correspondingly subtle shift in the serenity that I felt. The unusual central crystal was flanked by two small and perfectly clear crystals. They were more radiant and powerful than any multiple-carat diamond yet found in the waking state.

It was actually difficult to sustain my focus on their exquisite beauty overlong. They were dynamic and seemingly made of the heaviest element imaginable. I was so pleased to see Merlin. The necklace he wore was like a grounding conductor. Seemingly, in order to manifest from his dimension to this dimensional dreamspace, he needed the energies of the crystals to join me.

He wore an argyle sweater that was not unlike one of the pastel ones I had bought him one Christmas. This one though was an earthy brown which he had, years earlier, interestingly claimed to have preferred. He effortlessly removed the crystal necklace placing it at my feet. The humming abruptly ceased. The crystals’ effect immediately shifted. I actually felt a cool energy, from the crystals, buzz through my entire body travelling from my feet to the crown of my head.

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I watched as he detached the different crystals and made sure to leave the central one on the coil. Somehow, he was able to remove the six crystals from the coil though the coil remained a perfectly whole circle. As he kept placing the crystals, in different circular formations at my feet, he kept looking up at me with the warmest direct stare. Each formation affected a different temporal lobe and corresponding area of my body.

I was experiencing crystals with a potency that never before had I known in the waking state. I felt splayed by the experience. There were times that I felt as though my body and head were being stretched – elastically elongated with an ease nowhere else possible except the astral plane in the dreamtime. I thought then how absolutely incredible this man Merlin was – how truly fortunate I was to have met him, to have known him, to love him.

The lights noticeably further dimmed in the room. Next, the central large crystal grew black changing into the most unusual design. There had been an incredible energetic drain from me – energy which I suppose was collected in the now-transformed crystal which had remained about the coil.

From his left breast pocket, Merlin retrieved a little black pouch. As he looked down at it, I said to him,

“Oh my god Merlin, you are so beautiful…”

I knew that I was dreaming and I was thinking at the time,

‘…I will never be able to meet you, again. I’ll never see you again. You’ll never be that perfect mélange of bloodlines that created the magic that was your every idiosyncrasy.’

He looked up and smiled making me again realise that everything, we said without speaking, was so very clearly, readily known to the other.

As he opened the little black pouch, my lips trembled. I looked at those utterly gentle fingers that, I thought in passing, were now ashes in the earth at Toronto’s Mount Pleasant Cemetery,

‘Oh yes… those fingers, those beautiful delicate fingers.

‘Oh my god, yes…’ I simultaneously thought,

‘…These fingers, I will never see; they’ll never touch me again in the waking state – they’ll never exist again.’

Then, as if to eclipse my melancholy, he gently took my right hand in his. Merlin’s still-sensual hands purposefully began pouring the little, black pouch’s contents into mine. The touch of him was as intimate and as gentle, an evocative memory, as absent waves heard distantly lapping ashore on the beach in Pump Bay during childhood. How, as in the still of the night, my mind would race wondering of what new vistas I was yet to dream – when I was a child in St. Kitts.

All along, I had restrained the desire to touch him for he seemed so much more evolved. Truth be told, I was afraid that to physically reach out to touch him would only dissolve the dream. Naturally, for becoming emotionally overwhelmed, the fear was that I would undoubtedly whiteout. However, his touch was so real and so very familiar that I let out a heavy familiar sigh.

Into my palm spilled a dozen, perhaps more, of the most beautiful tiny crystals that were quite powerful. The touch of them actually made my mind further expand. My head seemed to contort, once again, with an élan that matched the lightning speed with which I assimilated the intense energies from the clutch of crystals into me.

They were more leaden, easily by ten times, than their small size betrayed. They glowed and they were decidedly hypnotic. They emitted a sense of music that was more experienced than heard. In spite of the fact that they glowed, I brushed aside the beauty of them and chose instead the real magic. I took his free hand with mine and began holding it, rubbing it, squeezing it.

Even more intently, I looked overjoyed into his arrestingly soulful eyes. I began groaning, moaning, I was overcome with intense emotion. This was, by far, the most alive and most lucid dream with Merlin since his passing some three years ago. I wanted more… I wanted no moment of this great intimacy to stop.

I asked him to remove his glasses so that I could really look at his eyes. He obliged and when he removed them his eyes weren’t their smoky grey-hazel-faded blue. They were brown, in fact, but they were his eyes and I thought, ‘My god, you’ve got brown eyes,’ to which he slightly blushed.

He wore a beard; it was the usual bushy affair. His lips were so moist, I said, “My darling, kiss me.”

Taking the lead, as I had when we met, I held the bottom of his ticklish beard and reached up his face to mine as I bent down. We kissed each other. It readily became a wonderfully slow and timeless dance high up our entwined greenhouses. My spirits soared to even greater heights. It was the greatest pleasure.

It was quite simply a sensory whiteout. We did not use tongue. We just kissed each other on the mouth. Throughout, until it was no longer possible, our eyes remained perfectly glued to each other’s. I turned my head to the right to kiss him, again. It was a soft lingering kiss; it was a kiss of complete surrender in which was communicated so much.

As though he and I were two leviathan creatures swimming together in a sensual medium of liquid blue light, our intimacy was pure movement. This aqueous light medium was immensely heavy and inhibited our progression to a slow-motioned crawl. Progressing playfully, as though so many nanoseconds were deleted from each time-stretched moment, we effortlessly danced alone. We were together and enraptured in a universe just for two – Merlin and me.

It was such great pleasure that, in its shared intimacy, it reflected the idiosyncrasies that we had known so well. It was a continuation of the dance we familiarly had always intimately known. It was such incredible intimacy that when the kiss was concluded the dream dissolved…

I sighed, on a deep sustained breath, besotted with the beauty of Merlin’s spirit. This was a most rare dream, a most soulful of dreams, with the dream magus. The sound of my breath was so loud that I actually felt the weight of my high-dreamer self as I crashed back into my body from, being astral-projected, high up the astral plane.

I felt fatigued, I felt spent, as is customary with such dream travel. Whilst remaining still, I kept my lids shut. Focussing on my weary breath, I allowed myself to drift upwards again. This time, I melted into true sleep where I could rest and recoup my energies. I awoke, about an hour later, in the nearly dark room of my tiny Queen Street West apartment in Toronto. Rested, I was truly rejuvenated after all that astral projection in the first sleep cycle.

As is customary with reparatory sleep, there were no dreams recalled of the second sleep cycle. I cried… I cried for joy. The realness of Merlin was so intense that after crying, for the first time since his passing, I grew aroused after dream contact. I savoured the beauty of this man, Merlin, my elfin-dream magus.

Pulling the black, satin blindfold back over my eyes, I slipped onto my stomach between the red satin bedding. Tightly holding on to a pillow, my left cheek pressed into it and the bedding drawn up over my head, I withdrew into a sweat lodge where I could continue communing with Merlin’s very soul.

My right knee drawn up, I allowed my rock-hard cock to ride up against the bedding and away from my tummy. Slowly, kneadingly, I ground my winding pelvis into the luxury of the bedding. Ploughing away, beyond its wet folds, I massaged my lusty thoughts deep and high up into the magical greenhouse. Whispering his name, my lips, my abs and body quivered.

From time to time, I managed my way up onto my toes. This allowed the exquisite play of cock and bedding to draw out greater pleasure. My abs ached. Whilst sweat sheened throughout my shivering body, I shuddered as the inside of my thighs violently tremoured. Merlin still knew how to work his magic on me.

Losing myself, my breath collapsed in repeated noisy, exhausted, shuddered grunts and groans. I whispered his name proclaiming my love to that point. In no other way could I have celebrated this truly profound astral plane encounter with Merlin in the dreamtime. As ever, hands-free auto-eroticism resulted in a most profuse and exquisitely pleasurable orgasm.

So richly deserving was I to have lost myself this way – beyond the usual daily auto-erotic ritual. I needed to savour this momentous dream encounter by making a solemn ritual of pleasurable thanksgiving. I had been moved anew by Merlin’s magic.

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As ever, thanks for your ongoing support. Plié, push off and start flying whether awake or dreaming cause this dance called life is the most goddamn beautiful dream. I love you more.

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Cicada Principle.

June 18, 2019November 13, 2022 Arvin da BrghaLeave a comment

So much of what happens in the waking state is smothered by fear-based strictures like tribalism, classism, sexism, racism et al which results in one being preyed on – one’s very life threatened. Sadly too many proceed through their lives impervious of the Maya that effectively leaves them blind to the ties that bind us all together as souls incarnate in the human experience.

Being as awakened when awake as when asleep and dreaming, gives one a greater appreciation of the beauty of life and the beauty of all humanity. This awareness also allows one to see across the illusion of time.

This sensitivity and awareness affords one the ability to perceive and appreciate the gift of persons known and loved along the way – from lifetime to lifetime.

This visionary dream not only spans the rifts of time but it also gets to the heart of the love that binds all souls together. That love that endures regardless the strictures of the waking state and the perceptions of those involved.

The dream was rather magically and lucidly experienced, on Tuesday, January 9, 1996, whilst the Moon transited both Leo and near-conjunct the cusp of my fourth house.

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*Prior to sleep, I meditated with crystals in the pyramid. I then focussed on being able to astral project, during sleep, to specific points on the astral plane where desired experiences could be had.

I opened myself up to, requested of my soul itself, pleasurable experiences with persons whom I have shared multiple past life experiences. Most of all, I was clear that the bonds had to have been predominantly of a positive nature.

Thus, I fell into sleep open to whatever laid ahead.

In the first dream, I was having a phone conversation with both Isis and Isabella. In some way, this involved much discussion about Pandora.

I had been concerned afterwards that I had not upset Pandora for having overly spoken of her. This is an area, her private affairs, which Pandora never treads into with anyone.

There was real pressure here, on both her siblings’ part, to see to it that Pandora went out and got herself a job. Both were furious with Pandora and claimed that she was not putting any effort into finding a job.

Concerned for Pandora, naturally, I thought of how possibly I could help her get grounded. I thought perhaps to phone Maddox Pool and see if he could not get her work in I.A.T.S.E.

However, I really did not think that Pandora would be able to adapt to such a work environment. Besides which, realistically, my connections to the place precluded her being able to get her foot through the door.

Since Owen Hawksmoor knew Pandora and her connection to me, I knew that Vikram Srinivasan would definitely not approve of her getting work there.

The next dream then found me in an incredibly far-off land. This is the only way that one can best describe this place. Here, it was nighttime out. A black capsule, in which one was able to sit, was being prepared.

An additional person could sit on one’s lap though it was basically a single-occupant capsule. It was shaped not unlike the lunar modules, which returned to Earth and landed in the ocean, during the Apollo missions to the Moon at NASA’s heyday in the late 1960s to early 1970s.

However, this capsule was conical. There were exceptionally tall men who wore black clothing that covered them from head to toe. Their faces were kept hidden by black visors. The capsule door was opened and closed by these same men who seemed like sentries.

At this point, when sitting in the closed capsule one would seemingly travel to distant places without moving. Of course, this was the astral projection that I had coveted during pre-sleep meditation whilst in the pyramid. Nonetheless, I became highly suspect of this capsule’s true purpose.

A couple was there with a young child. They wanted the child to sit in the mother’s open legs whilst she was already seated in the male parent’s opened legs. The three members of the family wore thick saffron robes.

For whatever reasons, the little girl tugged free of her mother’s embrace and began running away. Immediately, the sentries were hot on the heels of the child in a bid to apprehend her.

Of course, as it only validated my reservations about the true nature of this machine, this I did not find very reassuring. Opting out of taking a flight aboard the capsule, I shoved off instead and began flying.

I left the large hangar-like structure behind me and flew out into the outdoors. Next, I was beneath the awning of the building; the awning extended from the building for about fifty yards. It was a most massive structure!

The architectural proportions here were inordinately massive. The scale here was on the order that things appeared in that dream of Merlin, on July 9, 1993, which was truly astral… truly colossal.

I thought that I shouldn’t stay too close to the building – any of the sentries could come around the corner and apprehend me for having left the queue to the capsule.

I then held on to the awning’s beams whilst inverted much as though I were a fly on the awning’s underside. I then went to the right, of the far left corner, where persons were way below me who busily walked about on the sidewalk and in the infrequently trafficked street.

No one had noticed me. I did grow concerned, nonetheless, at being spotted from below thereby drawing unwelcome attention to myself. As I crawled along the awning, it gave way inside to the ceiling of a very noisy watering hole.

This bar was jam-packed with high-spirited persons. Not liking the energies here I crawled, still inverted, back into the large complex from which I had fled.

From inside I peered outside, beyond the awning, where I saw a large craft. White and massive, it made the Boeing 747-400 series look like a compact glider. The craft’s nose, however, more resembled that of the Concorde aircraft.

Thinking that the sentries were perhaps on the inside of the craft, I let go of the awning beams. Of course, these beams were the typical dark woods of the astral plane.

With that, I had resumed flying. Whilst still inverted, I flew from just inches below the beams. From time to time, I held on to a beam to get my bearings. At such times, I looked over my shoulder below and behind me.

I then went in through a proper entrance to the building which I used for crossing over to another section of the noisy bar. With that I then did a half-tumble, rolling over, to now face down to the patrons in the bar below.

Slowly and effortlessly, I floated down and alighted. I had not made too much of a spectacle of myself as there was a major disturbance happening in the bar to which everyone was noisily focussed.

A Hispanic man and another, who much reminded me of Diego Lunamas, were being especially rowdy. The bartender decided to maintain order and left his post to show them to the door. He was a large burly man.

The door, through which they had been ushered outside, had a view to the outdoors. The natural pathway from the bar led to a large tropical-looking growth beyond the complex.

Soon after they went outdoors, there was a sudden outbreak of light flashes. Basically, they had had a run-in of sorts or had been apprehended by the sentries who were clearly extra-humans. Soon after they had left the bar, I also headed outside.

In search of the Hispanic with the uncanny resemblance to Diego Lunamas, I had gone flying through the air. I had remained, when airborne, between ten and fifteen feet off the ground. My flight was slow; my flight was languorous. This was clearly astral projection.

The growth here was very thick. Enjoying the purity of their energetic signature, I flew through the trees whilst simultaneously revitalising myself in the process.

This soon gave way to an opening, in the thick growth, beyond which was the most breathtaking vista. These were by far the most beautiful trees imaginable. They were simply colossal.

Each arboreal’s trunk was about fifty feet across whilst they towered up at least a mile. I momentarily hovered whilst my entire body quivered throughout at the powerful vibration that they exuded.

This was a truly humbling experience for me. Right away, I was reminded of the ecstatic epiphany that I experienced on Boxing Day, 1972.

One tree snaked from the ground and rose up into the air. It leaned against the right side of a tree that was incredibly immense. It seemed a mile-high astral plane baobab.

Flying over, I landed on the trunk of one tree. This tree had two leaves that were frond-like but incredibly oversized. Whilst I stood on the trunk, a slight man – he looked Amerindian though likely Balinese or even Fijian – approached me.

*He seemed from an earlier age in human history. Of course, this was likely owing to the fact that he was yet another humanoid, extra-human species. END.

He suggested that I look at where the growth began. The vine-like trunk was some fifty to seventy-five feet in the air; it extended at an incline to a great distance far away. It was a truly fantastical tree.

There were the beginnings of the two frond-like leaves close-by. He told me that he used them to get milk. He said that the milk derived from this rare arboreal genus was used in all manner of applications.

He was a shaman. He was a true, innate dream magus.

I then noticed an indigenous ladder that they used to climb up the tree. Here it was nighttime. The frond-like leaves grew side-by-side and curled over. The leaves looked, as a matter of fact, not unlike umbrellas. It was these trees to which the locals came to harvest the vine-like tree’s milk.

I then began moving down the tree trunk growing concerned as the much-feared extra-humans were expected to return soon. They seemingly appeared at set intervals and their intentions were generally adversarial.

With that, I flew away and returned into the clearing. As I flew back, where there was now a large open area below, I saw a Black man who was an agricultural engineer. He carried a wheelbarrow of earth. He had placed the earth over a trap of some sort which employed a cord system.

They apparently also captured cicadas. When I came off the inclined vine-like tree, I had briefly landed on the ground before taking flight again. To my amazement, I had landed in a patch of a few hundred cicadas.

They were exclusively on a tree which seemed the very centre of the growth. This central tree gave off a definite hum. All the cicadas were on the trunk of the same unique tree that seemed, by its vibrational signature, to be a life-sustaining energetic magnet.

This tree was not a member of the pine family. Rather, it was a tropical tree which made the sitkas in Vancouver’s Stanley Park or the redwoods in northern California look like seedlings.

I remained motionless for the longest while. I was magnetised by the tree’s vibrational hum. It was hypnotic. There was nothing but love radiating from this tree. It was a truly humbling encounter.

The cicadas had swarmed onto its trunk to become harmonised with its vibration. As I flew off and looked back, I realised that the cicadas were being caught by the locals as they had proven themselves a nuisance.

The cicadas were not in the habit of eating the crops but there were so many of them that their noisy song made the locals devise a plan. The locals simply captured and relocated as many of the cicadas as they could.

I realised that this bit of drama, being acted out in the clearing, was also a metaphor for the larger drama back at the cosmopolitan complex.

There the extra-humans were laying traps, by way of the oval-shaped black capsule, for capturing unsuspecting humans. However, there was also another aspect to all this symbology that was not lost on me.

I knew, though many of the cicadas were still alive, that the ones who had left their empty shells behind represented two things. The symbol of the empty cicada shell was that of being astral-projected out of the shell of the sleeping body.

Secondly, the other symbolic reference was that, each discarded cicada shell represented a lifetime already concluded. They were as if totems of past lives. This was validated by the fact that here was I visiting, as it were, a remnant of a former life.

It was a life that was lived in Southeast Asia. A life it was in which my spirituality was closely connected to the strong bondedness that I achieved with the all-encompassing beauty of nature.

This was validated by the ectomorphic loin-clothed Balinese – Southeast Asian – who had come from his little thatched hut to greet me and serve as a guide to me.

He was, if not me, then definitely someone whom I have known in this lifetime but with whom I have shared multiple past lives. I can’t say, however, that this was Merlin in a past life.

He was quite familiar and was more than likely an entity mate of mine. I was similarly reminded of Diego Lunamas in his fey sweet-eyed beauteousness.

I then flew back through the growth where I saw the Hispanic man who had been kicked out of the bar. He was standing outside a thatched hut.

This man was so exceptionally good-looking. He no longer looked like his Hispanic self when at the bar. Then he had had a striking resemblance to Diego Lunamas. Here he seemed now Balinese, possibly Sumatran, though on the outside chance he could have been Filipino.

He held something in his hand that looked like a knife. However, it was not a weapon as such. As he stood there, his back to the hut, he was unaware of the intense light flashes taking place inside his hut.

This to me suggested that the extra-humans were inside the hut. It was possible that this man had alternately just died and had emerged from the hut, his final astral projection, though not yet aware that he had died.

I then moved inside the hut where I was able to get a handle on what was taking place. The door to the hut was a drape of green banana leaves that were regularly replaced.

Lots of bamboo shoots were used to anchor and set the frame of the hut. The slight man had been desperately trying to cut through the door of leaves in a bid to get outside.

Each time that he would cut his way through one drape of leaves, to get through the door, another would manifest beyond the other that already existed there. He could never seem to cut his way free fast enough. It proved a futile attempt to get out.

Each door was made of a different type of leaf and reed but all of them were green. The hut was eight feet square with a conical roof. As a matter of fact, it was more so pyramidal.

I floated close to the ceiling of the hut as he desperately tried to break out. I am not at all sure that most people were able to observe me in any of these giddy dream experiences.

The loin-clothed local did not quite comprehend the nature of the shiny object that he used to try and cut his way free. Soon enough, the hut was burnt-out with a few burnt-out frame beams standing.

The remaining beams were charred with black ashes everywhere. It was obvious that in his bid to escape he had not made it out.

Here, it seemed as though I was experiencing a series of vignettes – vignettes into past lives – all of which were interconnected. A very intense experience of soul journeying these dreams would prove.

Again, I saw the man who much reminded me of Diego Lunamas. I flew out to the tree, with the two frond-like leaves, on which I had been earlier.

I, soon enough, came down off the tree on seeing these green gourds that were cut open down on the ground. From the inside, a thicker version of what looked like coconut milk spilt out.

The milk was being bled into appropriately placed containers. On closer inspection, I realised that the gourds were grown below the surface of the ground. The liquid looked much like cassava root milk.

From there, I flew ahead to another section of the great arboreal growth. Now I came to a clearing which was set in Japan. I intuitively knew that this dream occurred in Japan.

For me, this was readily discernible owing to the strong past-life resonance that I experienced for being in this locale. There I saw a series of cultured rivulets that were part of a water fountain. The fountain was part of an extensive irrigation system.

The cultured rivulets were stone affairs in which flowed green fluid rather than the clear transparency of water. As I had flown over this site, I saw from on high that everything was completely white.

The trees and every aspect of the landscape were completely white. I knew that it was not a snow-covered landscape. Rather, this was the result of some sort of attack from the black-clad and visored extra-humans with the conical, black space capsules.

This I knew meant that they would soon be returning to the area where I was. Closer to hand, I hovered above the Japanese village.

I saw here lots of Japanese women who were performing a ritualised dance. They ritually sang and danced using fans. As they danced, they were a study in grace and reserve.

From there, I decided to fly on in search of the source of the oddly green river. I rose in the air as I flew by following the incline to where the fountain began. This led me in flight into a hilltop complex where the fountain began.

It was a large compound which included a temple, shrine and living quarters. Here there were more women who, though not ritually dancing, carried fans and were just as reserved.

At once, I alighted hurriedly moving through the compound. I was as if possessed. I knew at every turn which corridor to follow. On my arrival, I let out a cry upset at what I had found.

I couldn’t believe what these people had done. They had desecrated this important bit of their culture and heritage.

Of course, this was an astral projection to a past life milieu. Everything was at once familiar. My sense of smell was acute. All the writings I fully understood though they were in Kanji and Sanskrit.

In that past life, my former self had had a hand in establishing the temple and its shrine. Now some time later, however, they were performing these rituals in appeasement of the new overlords.

Of course, the new overlords would have been the extra-humans. I was really upset… I was really hurt. They shook the fans as they danced and this was supposed to have mimicked something about the extra-humans’ culture with which I was not familiar.

To atone, the Japanese humans had set up several altars to the extra-humans. Truth be told, they worshipped the extra-humans as their deities. The reserved women had the same milk-like substance which I had earlier seen being harvested.

Said harvesting area looked to be in Bali more than anywhere else. The harvested milk-like drink was stored in very ornate vessels that were decidedly Japanese and examples of ancient Japanese pottery.

In particular, there was a large dark-wood altar – Butsudan – that captivated me. Inside the Butsudan were several wooden carvings which were in the likeness of the visored extra-humans.

I grabbed one of the carvings, enraged, and began banging it against the other carvings. In short order, I had desecrated the imposition that the extra-humans’ presence represented.

I began furiously yelling at the Japanese locals for having sold out. What really surprised me was just how enraged and powerful a persona I possessed. I was intensely warrior-spirited.

I seemingly was a member of a Samurai sect which meant that there was fierce pride and honour at stake here. This was such a gross betrayal.

“Where was their loyalty to traditions and history?” I rhetorically asked.

As I bashed away at the carvings, I heavily panted. I felt rather passionate, on my return, about the fruits of my past-life labour having been defiled once left behind on my passing in that former lifetime.

I addressed them in Japanese, no less. It was quite something.

*It much reminded me of that dream encounter with ‘Francesca,’ on January 1, 1989. I had then encountered the fiery redheaded Briton who had been a former life of mine.

I was quite the strong-personalitied dramatic woman who was quite sparkling-personalitied and with great presence. END.

In that former Japanese life my body of work was clearly dear to me. I couldn’t conceive of how these people would turn their backs on the efforts made on their behalf.

With that I took leave of them and went rushing into the shrine’s private apartments. I ran up the stairs then stopped and walked along the unusually narrow hallways. The proportions here were decidedly Japanese.

On the walls were engravings that bore inspiring words and poems. All of the art was spiritually focussed. Too, there were lots of long narrow rugs on the wooden floor of the hallways.

An extremely ancient Butsudan sat in the private apartments where once I had lived in that former life. The Butsudan’s two silver latches were complicated to open.

In fact, they were not readily opened based on the way that they appeared. Nonetheless, from memory, I effortlessly opened them on the first try.

The shrine was so immediately familiar. I couldn’t believe that it still stood there. My fingers actually trembled as I made to open the latches. The Butsudan was also covered in wooden engravings.

One set of the latches ran across the midsection of the Butsudan. Still, the other latch system came down vertically at the bottom. So excited was I that I began levitating whilst opening the Butsudan.

I first opened the one at the midsection, then the other, after which I flung open the door excited to once more see the Butsudan’s coveted scroll.

Just inside the door, there was a dark-brown leather flap with engravings on it. Raising the flap finally led the light to be cast in on the most time-yellowed Gohonzon imaginable.

It was truly antique and I couldn’t quite believe what I was seeing. The structure was so very powerful. On realising what it was, I shuddered and began quivering throughout.

Immediately, my connection to Buddhism in this lifetime was being validated. Of course, having seen Diego Lunamas in the environs of prior dreams made perfect sense.

He had also been on the palatial grounds of the temple as I had hovered in the air. On opening the shrine, I alighted and collapsed on the floor in lotus position before the Gohonzon.

I keenly focussed on the Gohonzon though mindful of the fact that the black-clad and visored extra-humans would be returning soon. Here in this most awakened of dreams, I began chanting Daimoku. I cannot stress enough how intensely lucid a dream experience this was.

As I chanted, I became aware of my vibration rapidly intensifying. I remained reverential before the ancient Gohonzon, with hands clasped, yet I found it hard to believe that I was having the experience.

More than that, the flow of energies from the time-yellowed Gohonzon to me was as real and intense as the intense light flooding the tiny private apartments – an apartment where once I had lived in a former life when Japanese.

There was the sillage of sweet sandalwood incense ghosting the air. For some time, I chanted aloud then concluded with a long, slow, piercing utterance of Nam-Myoho-Renge-Kyo.

With that, I shot to my feet and fled from the room going down the hallway and turned to the left. In my haste, I had left the Butsudan opened with the Gohonzon exposed.

However, there was a strong sense that it was to have been left opened. The light and energies from the Gohonzon needed to be obstructed no more.

I then arrived into the large palatial living quarters that were quite open. There was a low mat, a futon actually, to the left of the door on entering the room.

To the right of the door, half of the wall area opened up to a view of the beautifully terraced gardens outdoors. I knew that whoever presently lived there was coming.

I could sense the person’s approach down on the grounds to the right. With that, I floated down to the ground level and effortlessly moved through the pane of glass.

I simply upped my frequency and willed myself to become light-bodied. Thus, I was able to effortlessly move through the thick floor-to-ceiling pane of glass.

I went to the left of the building, slowly moving through the night air, on the terraced grounds of the temple compound. At that point, I noticed that there was a man approaching.

About my neck, I still wore a brown scarf that had covered the Gohonzon. On opening up the large Butsudan, I had removed and placed the scarf about my shoulders.

As I flew with the scarf, I realised that I could be apprehended once spotted with the unique telltale scarf. The man waited for me around some large wooden pylons that served as the opening in the fence.

It was, in fact, a gate system. It led from the private inner courtyard to the outer courtyard where others could gather.

There were several wooden stools on which one could sit and reflect on the beautiful gardens. Architecturally, this place was simply inspiring. It was truly Zen here and was both uplifting and conducive to serenity.

On coming around the pylons, the man turned out to be none other than Kaarlsohn Frieden. From above in the air, I was stunned to have both seen and found him here and excitedly beamed down at him.

He wore only a large top that fell to just below his arse. Floating down, I alighted whilst the brilliance of a full Moon night seemed to magically shift to intense daylight.

The lighting here was truly ethereal. The energies here were wonderful. Here on the grounds of this compound, the energy was very densely negative-ioned.

Way down the hill, whilst in flight, I had noticed several children playing. They were all Japanese. I had landed by a series of stone shrines that had been strategically placed about the gardens. A stone table sat close by that looked several centuries old.

I simply couldn’t believe that I was having a dream encounter with Kaarlsohn. Here was I so lucid and he was so real. Truly, this was an astral plane encounter of the highest order.

On ambling over, I warmly greeted him. I chose not to try and get rid of the scarf. I was, though, concerned whether or not he would be mad with me for being there.

He called me over. Kaarlsohn’s stubby thighs were strong and athletic-looking as though he were in his twenties. Understandably, he did look older than when I knew him.

On the inside of his right thigh, I noticed a large thick vein. As he looked at me warmly smiling, I stood to his left. Kaarlsohn was so warm but, more importantly, I couldn’t get over how real an encounter this was.

As he was only wearing the large unisexed top, and nothing beneath it, I got a good drift of his sex’s strong musk. It was a bit overwhelming but I kept focussed on his clear smiling eyes.

Looking into his eyes, I spoke to him making sure to be simultaneously telepathic – there is greater power of persuasion when thus focussed,

“Oh my god, Kaarlsohn, I’d give anything to be alone with you. To be intimate but not necessarily sexual, mind you.

“I’d do anything to relax and recline with you, sensually. I’d really love to laze about with you… caressing.”

At that point, I placed my arm about his lower back whilst we unflinchingly looked into the other’s eyes. He smiled sweetly blushing. I then caressed his arse and felt its firm roundness beneath the sheer light fabric.

Then Kaarlsohn surprised me by saying, “Well, I like to do that, from time to time…”

He slowly, suggestively arched his brows high up his forehead. It was a gesture that was reminiscent of Merlin when he wanted to be intimate. What was really telling though was Kaarlsohn’s enunciation when he had uttered those words.

By ‘time’ he meant reincarnational time and not time relating to his present incarnation. So that he meant at the level of soul, he did not mind having a same-sexed or bisexual focus ever so often when incarnate.

I looked at him and was blown away by his mischievousness. With that, we both playfully laughed at his teasing winsome handsomeness. Here his voice was not as strong a bass as his voice is in this lifetime.

Beyond all that, the level of love, warmth and intimacy between us was astonishing. It was a rare pleasure to be so genuinely intimate with another soul. This depth of openness and acceptance simply blew me away.

Then as if all that weren’t revolutionary Kaarlsohn initiated sexual play. He fondled me whilst undoing me with the most sensual kisses all over.

By this point, we were now sitting down on the table in lotus position ravenously groping each other. From time to time, he would stop kissing me to directly look into my eyes.

On those occasions, it was as though time itself stood still. My senses were so heightened that I thought I would simply die of joy during the dreamtime.

Kaarlsohn’s eyes were so real and focussed. His eyes’ intensity was only distantly frightening as they were so potent.

Lips passion-reddened, moist and apart revealed his quivering tongue. He quickly breathed in shallow breaths in between groaning. His groans were filled with yearning and called out to me.

Truly aroused, he seductively invited me to come out of myself to join him in ecstasy. His hard, firm hands were tightly wrapped about my throbbing cock slowly kneading and massaging it.

What he was doing was not sexual. Rather, he was performing energy work. With each groan that called out to me, he was inviting me to do the same for him.

So I did in kind. Kneading, gently and just as painstakingly slowly, I massaged his thick, large, foreskinned cock.

There was nothing more potent and shamanic than the energies that passed between us. It was electrifying. It was magus.

I did sense that there were a couple of bruises on his cock which I had passingly noticed. I thought that, perhaps, they were from an outbreak of herpes.

He then said, as my cock grew more tumescent,

“This is a really nice cock, you’ve got…”

As he gently massaged me and pulled back on my foreskin, my cock kept stabbing into the centre of his cupped right palm. As I danced and flew without moving, in spirit, a more sensual solo variation could not have been danced by Evelyn Hart. Indeed, he was as if David Peregrine to my Evelyn Hart – in the sensually exquisite pas de deux, Belong.

At this point, I lucidly became aware of my intentions prior to sleep. I had specifically meditated asking to have memorable experiences, on the astral plane, with those whom I have shared positive past life experiences.

Whilst I looked hypnotised into his large clear eyes – which here were a brownish-green, I recalled having shaped my dreams.

The light here was so intensely brilliant. Much of the light here was being initiated by the love that this man’s very august soul was imparting to me. A truly energising magus dream experience this was.

*What is most phenomenal about this soulfully intimate experience, of all the people I know, Kaarlsohn is the least homoeroticised. He is also the most macho of men.

Too, I had neither spoken to him in ages nor had I recently thought of him. Yet here was this major totemic encounter. It truly proved healing and insightful a dream encounter.

Whilst in the midst of our intimacy, I let out a sigh and suddenly found myself being slapped back into my body. At having had my astral projection aborted, there was weightiness at my solar plexus as I suddenly awoke.

I had been slapped awake by the shrill cries of raccoons outside my opened bedroom window. They were having yet another nasty fight. They had come out of Stanley Park to forage for food.

I had been terrified on hearing the grunting and screeching, whilst in the midst of my potent astral plane encounter with Kaarlsohn. I had assumed that it was the sound of the extra-humans advancing on us.

Now, I realised that these so-called extra-humans were, in fact, astral guides. Rather than being a negative force, the sentries were there to assist with proper astral protection.

I had been projecting the disturbance outside the window onto the visored and unseen astral guides. Raccoons are visored, as it were, with their distinctive black band across their faces at the eyes.

As was the case, the raccoons had been fighting for some time and continued fighting for much of the night. In fact, they fought till daybreak. They prowled the West End in search of food before scurrying back to Stanley Park at twilight.

**What’s really interesting about these astral plane rendez-vous was that both Diego Lunamas and Kaarlsohn Frieden I met during my stay in Winnipeg. With both men, I had enjoyed an ease of communication and instinctively knew that we had had past life contacts.

Diego I had introduced to Nichiren Buddhism. Kaarlsohn had already been practicing when I started. Kaarlsohn proved a good companion with whom to chant Daimoku.

Rarely have I felt this satiated on awakening from the dreamtime. Though understandably aroused as all hell, I cried for joy at the beauty that I had just experienced and chose to remain lying in repose within the pyramid.

The reason for some of the cicadas having been alive was that they represented the ever present “now” of the soul which does not experience time. Initially, the cicadas had all been alive but then some flickered out of existence.

Those cicadas that remained were quite a few. They surely represented the potential of future lifetimes. However, the remaining cicadas that were still alive were not in the majority.

The cicadas initially were all alive because to the soul they were being experienced simultaneously – past lifetimes, future lifetimes and this lifetime.

The sum totality of my lifetimes, as symbolised by the cicadas, was a swarm of creative energy which was magnetised to this great arboreal giant. Of course, the arboreal giant represented the soul to which ultimately all cicadas – in order that they may experience transformation, reincarnational metamorphosis – are anchored.

The tree to which the cicadas were anchored also represented the physical plane. A physical plane into which the lifetimes of the reincarnating soul, as symbolised by the cicadas, had to manifest in order to become self-actualised and fulfilled both spiritually and creatively.

As much as the arboreal giant represented the soul quality on the astral plane, simultaneously, it represented the physical plane into which the soul was reincarnationally focussed.

Since I was on the astral plane whilst dreaming – where time as such does not exist – the cicadas were all-extant. The totemic cicadas represented every lifetime’s dreamer self which is never extinguished.

Thus the dreamer self forms a conduit, like the black teleportation-like capsule, to having connective glimpses into past or even future lifetimes.

I suppose too that, at the start of this lyrical dream adventure, the black conical capsule in which one sat and travelled was a symbolic icon of my pyramid. Of course, when lucidly dreaming these truly marvellous dreams of uplifting adventure, I was sleeping in my pyramid.

This was a truly illuminating dream experience. To have experientially undertaken this astral awakening was very rhapsodic, in each lucid moment, as it swept me along.

A sensory feast this was. A feast on which my very soul was made pleasurably besotted. A truly magus dream odyssey this was and one which validated anew that dreams truly are the poetry of the soul. END.

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As ever live as lucidly awakened when awake as when self-aware in the most fuck-all glorious lucid dreams. I love you more.

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Dreams are the poetic expression of the soul.

Tag: #EssenceContact

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