Oh To Be Black & Jew

January 5, 2023January 18, 2023 Arvin da BrghaLeave a comment

Al Jolson giving possible birth to the notion that Jazz has its roots in Klezmer.

Al Jolson Singing Mammy!

Though someone’s perception of you is no damn business of yours, it does though matter when it is a whole people’s deliberate intention to demonise, vilify and portray a people as goddamn fools.

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At the time of Henry and Meghan’s royal wedding, there was a dearth of Jews commenting on social media about their union. There were no Jewish celebrities opining about how they thought that it was great that an American, an American actress was marrying into the royal family. Nothing. Zilch. Nada. There is more to discern in people’s silence than in exactly when they are silent.

The Woman Is Fucking Nuts. Who Can Possibly Find This Remotely Appealing.

Mic Drop President Barack H. Obama

Sorry Sweetheart, you are an inarticulate, embarrassment. STFU and STFD, Basta!

Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge/Princess of Wales by Paul Emsley National Portrait Gallery London 2012

Now that the Sussexes, Henry & Meghan, have massively succeeded in articulating their truth in the Netflix and Archewell Productions co-production, which to date has had 241 million viewing hours, the dynamic has shifted. The war campaign has now entered a new phase. To date, it has been the toxic Royal Rota hacks and their plants/sympathisers in America who have been flapping their dirty yaps at Meghan’s expense. All the lies that they have hammered away at the low-browed, knuckle-dragging cultist of the island kingdom have been exposed to Americans and the rest of the world.

Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge/Princess of Wales Wearing Jenny Packham in Jamaica, March 2022.

Just look at this 9 energy-bodied, self-toxic boor; she is vile. Most of all, she is the most inarticulate, mumbling, sarcastic, bitchy socially displaced moron imaginable. Let me make it perfectly clear, you think it nothing to abuse Meghan to the nth degree because she, after all, is just a mere goddamn nigger – let’s get real. Well guess what idiots, ever will I be most fuck-all indefatigable in defending Meghan’s honour. All of this for the simple fact that she is a Black woman. There is no greater symbol of structural racism than the British institution of monarchy.

The Crypt Dweller Giving Her First Speech As A Royal & Desperately Trying To Sound A Right Toff

The United Kingdom’s recent half millennium was caught up in the savage pillage of empire from the Orient, across Africa to the Caribbean and North America at the heart of that vast imperial expansion was slavery, cheap dehumanised labour, to get sugar, cotton, spices and all manner of commodities back to the heart of the empire, London. Catherine, to be fair, dresses up nicely but beyond that, she is a hollow, burnt out, inarticulate, mumbling, blasted embarrassment.

Here is the mumbling inarticulate self-toxic, 9 energy body boor, trying to look professional and upping her game in 2021 after Meghan had breezed through and showed this bit of sodden cardboard, who seemed to think that she was being cast for the role of Sleeping Beauty, how it’s done.

Windsor, Diana, Princess of Wales July 1/1961<O>August 31/1997.

Michael: The fragment who was Diana Frances is a second level mature artisan and was in the passion mode with a goal of acceptance, a pragmatist in the moving part of emotional centre.

She had a Lunar/Mercury body type.

Diana’s primary chief feature was stubbornness with a secondary, not of self-destruction but of self-deprecation.

Diana Frances was first-cast in her cadence and her cadence is fifth in the greater cadence. She is a member of entity one, cadre six, greater cadre 48, pod/node 380.

This fragment’s essence twin is a discarnate artisan and her task companion is a discarnate sage, both of whom are staying near her, waiting for her to become oriented to her situation.

Here we had an artisan with drama in her casting but also with a very deep need to serve both the common and the higher good, which she did with grace, charm and a good deal of conviction.

*One of the reasons why Diana, Princess of Wales felt so out of her depth amongst the royal family, is because she is from pod 380, most of the senior royals are all from the 400 series pods. She would have felt just as isolated as Meghan for being Black in a milieu where structural racism is deeply entrenched.

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The fact is, the roles of these persons are deftly validated by their behaviour and the choices that they have made to date. Diana, Princess of Wales was shy and guarded at the start of her reign as the most loved woman on the planet; however, when she found her feet, she was unsurpassed. Diana was an early mature soul artisan. Artisan souls bring a certain magical je ne sais quoi to whatever they are focussed, especially most alluringly so when female. Prime examples of artisan souls with this glamour effect and also persons who can magically articulate the message are: Marilyn Monroe, Martha Graham, Evelyn Hart, Whitney Houston, Ella Fitzgerald, Naomi Campbell, Judith Jamieson, Annette Bening, Billie Holiday and Natalie Cole. All these female performers add great death, delicacy, eloquence and beauty to their art, regardless the medium. The reason why Catherine does not have the charm and charisma that was Diana, Princess of Wales’s is because she is a warrior soul; besides her overleaves do not lend themselves to being soft and alluringly charismatic.

Windsor, Meghan HRH Duchess of Sussex 4/8/1981

Michael: This fragment is a mid-cycle mature artisan in the tradition of the deceased mother fragment who was Diana, Princess of Wales — third life thereat. Meghan is in the observation mode with a goal of acceptance. An idealist, Meghan is in the moving part of emotional centre.

Meghan’s primary chief feature is self-deprecation and the secondary of mild impatience.

Meghan’s body type is Venus/Solar.

The fragment Meghan is fourth-cast in the fifth cadence. Meghan is a member of greater cadence four. Meghan is a member of entity one, cadre six, greater cadre 7, pod 418 — she is an entity mate of both her spouse, HRH Prince Henry Duke of Sussex with whom she shares 20 past lives and also an obvious entity mate of Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II.

Meghan’s essence twin is an artisan and the task companion a warrior.

Meghan’s three primary needs are: expression, acceptance and expansion.

There are 4 past-life associations with Arvin and 6 with Merlin.

Incidentally, this artisan has been a member of the British royal family twice before. Firstly, as Margaret Beaufort, Countess of Richmond and Derby, she was the cousin of King Henry VI and mother of King Henry VII. As such she was the matriarch of the House of Tudor. Her grandson was Henry VIII and her great-granddaughter, Elizabeth I.

This artisan in that lifetime was involved in the sacraments of the church, being included in the newly established college system. She founded Christ College, Cambridge and was instrumental with the founding of St. John’s College as well.

Secondly, she was HRH Prince Edward, Duke of York and Albany and younger brother to George III, whose father the Prince of Wales, HRH Prince Frederick died before ascending the throne after George II. In that lifetime, the artisan (now Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex) was interested in military structure. He, of course, died young of a then unknown illness but which had to do with dysentery.

Incidentally, in the current incarnation, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex has suffered from gastroenteritis, which is related to the last-life health issues – this is the immediate past life and not that in 18^th century when the artisan died aged 28.

*Two artisans, Diana and Meghan possessed of inordinate eloquence, star power and charisma. Both Diana and Meghan had/have a goal of acceptance; this is the great goal and all such persons have great appeal and are much loved. For less spiritually evolved souls, these persons with goal of acceptance can provoke suspicion and fear; they can even experience the opposite of their goal which is rejection and certainly, thanks to race and her unique role within the monarchy’s history, Meghan has proven a source of great fear and phenomenal rejection. She has mightily threatened the fair story and the White tribe’s sense of its superior blood’s purity and Meghan has caused many to feel truly displaced as their Caucasian blood/genetics is being threatened by the African/Black blood/genetics, which means no longer guaranteed blonde and blue-eyed offspring.

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Meghan, Duchess of Sussex Opening Remarks at One Young World Summit, 2022

Most of all, like Diana, Princess of Wales, Meghan, Duchess of Sussex is an artisan soul and also an early mature soul artisan. Regardless of what one projects onto Meghan, she possesses magical qualities, like Diana did, when she takes to a mic. For Catherine, a mic is Kryptonite. Full stop.

This Is The First and Only Royal Foundation Meeting/Interview with Meghan Participating

Meghan performed handsomely as one can expect of an artisan soul with a goal of acceptance and an actor to boot. However, as is obvious from Prince William’s posture and his having had the last word in the interview, he was hawkish and Meghan performed too well. She, as far as William is concerned, upstaged not just his mumbling idiot wife but he himself. How dare she upstage him when he has been groomed from birth to be the star? She was a damn Yank and a show-off, trying to act as though this were the Meghan show. What kind of institution is that which would misogynistically want a woman to merely be an appendage. In the modern age, one has to be on and represent. Charles as with Diana and William as with Catherine have to realise that there are times when it is important based on the chosen charities that the wife has to go off and engage and make speeches to drive both attention and funding to chosen charities. If you have a blithering idiot for a wife who merely goes out and shakes hands but cameras are not allowed inside to see what an embarrassing zombie the damn woman is, then what is the point? There is no value for money there. And you can bet that William would have overbearingly been giving critiques and directives to Meghan as to what she can and cannot say or do. I cannot state enough how difficult persons with 9 mindset are to deal with. They do not listen and they never take anyone’s counsel. They know and no one is good enough to tell them anything. Just imagine that degree of conceit being exalted in someone with tunnelled vision for having a stellium in their birth chart and groomed from the word go to be sovereign.

No matter how persons here and now arse-kiss the current heir to the throne, history, the final arbiter, will dismiss William as one of the most woefully inept sovereigns, who was out of touch and a difficult prick and a half. This photograph perfectly encapsulates who these two 9-energied persons are. He is from another age and time, full of self-import and entitlement and she just another fake, gurning White female who wants the world at her feet whilst not giving a living damn. No other couple on the world stage embodies the myopia of 9 energy than these two. He will not be acceding the throne in the age of HM King Edward VII or for that matter that of HM George V when good old HM Queen Mary maintained the social rigidity of the Victorian Age to the hilt.

The Queen has died and had no assurances that the realm over which she ruled, is going to be in capably fantastic hands of a regal couple who will be able to steward the dynasty through the remainder of the century. Having been to St. Andrews and acquired an art history degree by the time of her fifth wedding anniversary, Catherine should have proven herself an asset to the Crown. All she did was an introduction to an exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery about early photography, in early 2018, seven years into her marriage. At her disposal that archly lazy and socially discriminating boor has done positively nothing to uplift, inspire and proven herself a loved figure. Who gives a rat’s arse how insecure and rigid William is. Putting to good use her academic credentials, she could, by The Queen’s passing, have done three arts related televised shows per year. As arts patron of the Royal Ballet, she could have been ably assisted in hosting a television production, which would then be shown on one the BBC networks. Cameras would follow her around as she films a day at ballet rehearsals then at opening night she is attendant for a ballet like the Nutcracker so that children across the social strata are introduced to a world which could prove both inspirational and possibly lifechanging. That is a show that could then be sold internationally and those funds go to engage working class kids to become and be supported in pursuing careers in the arts. Similarly, another telecast could be mounted for the production of say the Royal Opera’s Marriage of Figaro.

Portrait of HM Queen Victoria With Her Family, Exhibition At Queen’s Gallery November 2018 Royal Collection Trust

Still another production could feature the young and capable academically accredited Catherine, giving a behind the scenes tour of some aspect of the Royal Collection Trust, which would in due course form part of the rotating exhibitions that move from the Queen’s Gallery, to Holyrood House and Windsor Castle. All that exposure garners more revenue as persons would come from across the globe to take in these exhibitions presented by the future Queen Consort, Catherine. Instead, she has supposedly been playing femme au foyer with a large staff of nannies and servants as though anyone is being fooled by the fact that their invisibility could be for no other reason than the couple being heavily engaged in their extramarital affairs.

This has never transpired because Catherine is too damn lazy and more importantly, William is far too snobbish to want to afford the little people access because such initiatives by Catherine would afford the social lepers, as his 9 mindset would see the little people, access to art to which they are not entitled. This same snobbery and bigotry is precisely why Meghan did not stand a chance. Working in tandem, of course, Meghan could have hosted similar telecasts which featured actors in rehearsal before the premier of a theatrical production. All this would usher in a time of great artistic activity, which would have its full manifestation during William’s reign and prove a hallmark of that era. That snobbery is why after the Grenfell Tower fire in June 2017, not far from where I was staying in Chelsea when visiting London that Summer, Meghan for 9 months worked with the ‘little people’ and produced the Together cookbook, for which she would have been resented by William and Catherine as it would be deemed to be showing them up.

Windsor, HM Camilla, Queen Consort 17/7/1947.

Michael: Yes, this scholar is at the mid-level of the mature soul cycle — third life thereat. Camilla is in caution mode with a goal of growth. A pragmatist, Camilla is in the moving part of intellectual centre.

Body type is Lunar/Venus.

Camilla‘s primary chief feature is impatience and the secondary arrogance.

The fragment Camilla is third-cast in sixth cadence; Camilla is a fragment of greater cadence seven. Camilla‘s entity is five, cadre six, greater cadre 7, pod 129.

Camilla’s essence twin is a scholar and the task companion is a warrior.

Camilla’s primary needs are: exchange, freedom and power.

There are 10 past-life associations with Arvin and 6 with Merlin . (July, 2017)

*Camilla is an early mature soul, much as Diana and Meghan were/are. The mature soul cycle is where one makes/incurs a great deal of karma for fucking with others’ lives. This is what Camilla, the Courtesan Queen did in spades and what she has resumed doing with Meghan as she had with Diana, Princess of Wales. There is no greater conceitedly stubborn and interfering soul than a scholar soul. Camilla had a direct hand in Diana’s emotional distress and her eventual divorce which led in time to her being murdered. This has left the Courtesan Queen a very nasty piece of work and this you have seen acted out in her openly rude behaviour towards Blacks and taking lunch with known racists and attackers of Meghan at Mayfair’s Murano.

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Never mind Catherine, the real dynamic in all of this has been, all along both William and the Courtesan Queen. Both Camilla and William are mature Scholar souls. Scholar souls are the only souls which do not pair with another soul on a particular axis as for example: Slaves/Priests on the inspiration axis, Artisans/Sages on the expression axis and lastly Warriors/Kings on the action axis. For this reason, Scholars are very insular and do suffer from delusions and folie de grandeur; more often than not, they are archly prejudiced and like to put everyone and everything in its little box. Everything is anal retentively categorised into their rigid little boxes and they do not waiver on this purely arbitrary prejudicial perspective of theirs – each and every one of them. Also, as a rule, Scholar souls do not favour being Black and do not like Blacks – on the surface they prefer being in milieu and in societies where rather than the arts and creativity, knowledge is favoured.

Windsor, HRH Prince William Prince of Wales 21/6/1982 London, England

Michael: This fragment is sixth-level mature scholar – third life thereat. William is in the observation mode with a goal of acceptance. A pragmatist, he is in the intellectual part of moving centre.

Body type is Lunar/Mars/Saturn.

William’s primary chief feature is stubbornness – death of his mother, Diana, Princess of Wales, was the triggering event and the secondary arrogance.

The fragment William is third-cast in sixth cadence; he is a member of greater cadence seven. William’s entity is four, cadre one, greater cadre 6, pod 208.

William’s essence twin is a scholar and he has a warrior task companion to whom he is married, Catherine, HRH Princess of Wales.

William’s primary needs are: exchange, freedom and security.

There are 6 past-life associations with Arvin and 3 with Merlin.

*Like Diana, Princess of Wales, his mother, and Meghan, William a scholar soul also has a goal of acceptance. However, unlike both women, he is moving centred; this means that he shoots his mouth off before thinking through things. He takes action without realising that he has not got a truly objective, clear overview of the issues in hand. Moreover, William was born with a stellium in his astrological chart which means that he can never clearly see the forest for the trees. His scholarly conceit means that he will act as though for being destined to be sovereign, he has a right to openly discriminate without a care in the world; this is what he engaged in at his brother’s wedding. William has become so corrupted that he is almost exclusively focussed in his opposite goal of rejection, which is what his campaign of opposing Meghan’s very existence is all about.

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HRH Prince William, Prince of Wales & HM Queen Camilla, Queen Consort

As is obvious, Prince William is a sixth mature scholar soul. This is the most difficult level of any cycle, be it young, mature or old soul cycle. There is no peace for such persons and they can and often do create more karma than had been part of the life plan. In the case of William for being a scholar soul, he just had to be a shit-disturbing, conceited bigot and interfere in both his brother’s and his brother’s wife’s lives without a care in the world. I cannot express enough how very dangerous William is. More hired hands, more assassins and bullies are scholar souls than any other soul. There is positively no way that life within the institution was going to be smooth sailing for Meghan. She was too good to be true and most White scholar souls when they are prejudice will favour Whites, of course, and then Jews and Asians but almost never or very rarely Blacks – if the job requires they will go through the motion but they truly do consider Blacks not to be fully equal, fully human. Full stop.

William & With HM King Juan Carlos of Spain – That Bourbon Nose Though

There are two other very important parts of the puzzle to factor here. Not only are William and the Courtesan Queen on their third life at their respective soul ages; however, both scholar souls have the exact casting in cadence, cadence and greater cadence. They are both in the third (warrior/combative/interfering) position in the sixth (priest/megalomaniacal/Napoleonic/god-complex delusionality) cadence. As if all that were not enough, both though not pod mates (Camilla 129 and William 208) are also in greater cadence seven (king/dictatorial/bossy/abusive/vindictive). Of course, this would have left the Courtesan readily obsessed with fucking with Diana, Princess of Wales just as much as it has left William obsessed with fucking with Meghan, using his obediently pegged and bothered sex slave, Jason Knauf. Camilla and William are as though one and the same personality as they are singularly focussed on fucking with a more popular royal. Scholars are readily threatened by sages and artisans because both soul types are on the expression axis and have a ready wit, appeal and theatricality that scholars almost always find threatening as it highlights their own sense of dullness and lack of mass appeal and sexiness. Obviously, there are exceptions to all such basic personality types with regards to the roles; however, when you look at both Diana, Princess of Wales (Lunar/Mercury) and Meghan (Venus/Solar) body types both Camilla and William would respectively be threatened by each hugely more popular royal. Venus/Solar body type means that no matter how the collective consciousness tries to invalidate and demonise Meghan, more than all the current senior royals, she will transcend time and be the most powerful and popular royal from this age. People well into the future will be astonished that anyone had to endure so much bullshit merely for being Black and marrying into the royal family.

William and Catherine socialising whilst on duty. As a rule, Scholars souls are not touchy-feely types; this is why at times, Catherine has to be the one to initiate tenderness between them. Of course, this is totally opposite to the Sussexes who are warrior (Henry) and artisan (Meghan) souls which are very simpatico and when it works is a very dynamic, sizzling relationship with lots of touching and empathetic communion of souls. Whilst Catherine and William are task companions, unbreakable bond, Henry and Meghan are entity mates and would be deeply bonded and simpatico.

HM Queen Camilla, Queen Consort & HRH Prince William, Prince of Wales

The second oldest soul of the senior royals, William is at the difficult six level of the mature cycle. What makes William singularly problematic for the Windsor dynasty, is his chief feature of Stubbornness. The chief feature is the fatal flaw which causes one not to achieve one’s goal and leaves the life in disarray; it is also the most difficult chief feature to overcome. William’s stubbornness means that though he can be as charming as are all persons with a goal of acceptance, he does though almost exclusively come from a place of rejection the opposite of his goal. People in stubbornness are difficult, bullying and under no circumstances do they tolerate change or anything that is different – this cannot be emphatically stated enough! Under no circumstances did Meghan stand a chance with this difficult individual. There is never a single instance where William is photographed being warm and inclusive of Meghan, not whilst on the balcony at trooping the colour or at any other time. There is the infamous Christmas at Sandringham where when Meghan looked back to speak to William, he stopped turned away and began fidgeting with his scarf. It was a snub and was deliberate. Of course, for the White tribe the most powerful word when dealing with Blacks, to whom one owes enormous karma, is NO! Scholar souls are devoid emotionality and as they do not pair with any other soul type, they are loners and innately reticent snobs.

Simply Beautiful Jennifer Hudson Kennedy Center Honors Al Green 2014

Yes, you are Diana! Yes, you are Meghan! Simply beautiful, you are Diana and Meghan, and those who know nothing of beauty, fear you most!

Just as the Courtesan Queen scholar, Camilla made Diana’s life miserable and triggered her emotional and mental abuse, so too has the Pegged Bourbon lovechild caused Meghan emotional and mental anguish by having the Fleet Street abattoirs and the palace leakers, especially that nez brun queer, Jason Knauf, REJECT, demonise and racially lynch Meghan, leaving her the most hated Black woman in history. This notion that Catherine and William have played no role in the Sussexes’ departure is sheer bullshit. They are guilty as sin. Catherine would have hated and been rude and dismissive of Chelsy Davy and Cressida Bonas, especially like Meghan, Chelsy and Cressida are better looking than Catherine. Catherine is ridiculously insecure and her 9 energy body would have her bullying and treating any wife of Henry’s like a dog. Catherine is a displaced commoner, which is all the more reason why she would be power mad; she does too have a primary need for Power which is a mark of megalomania.

You Bring Me Joy, Yolanda Adams Tribute to Anita Baker, BET Awards 2018

Let’s send some love for both Diana, Princess of Wales’s beloved son, Henry and Meghan, Duchess of Sussex for the abuse they have endured at the hands of grudging, interfering, racist scholars. Sing it Yolanda Adams!

Windsor, HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex 15/9/1984 London, England

Michael: This feisty fragment is a fifth-level mature warrior -– fourth life thereat – to his sixth-level mature brother, William. Henry is in the power mode with a goal of growth. A sceptic, he is in the moving part of intellectual centre.

Body type is Mars/Saturn.

Henry’s primary chief feature is arrogance and the secondary stubbornness.

The fragment Henry is first-cast in second cadence; he is a fragment of greater cadence three. Henry’s entity is one, cadre six, greater cadre 7, pod 418 – Henry is an entity mate of his paternal grandmother, HM Queen Elizabeth II.

Henry’s essence twin is a warrior and he has a scholar task companion.

Henry’s primary needs are: freedom, adventure and exchange.

There are 9 past-life associations with Arvin and 5 with Merlin.

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Where Camilla saw Diana as too ‘showy’ and a threat that had to be eliminated – remember, more guns for hire, assassins and saboteurs are scholar souls than not, William also saw his mother and her emotionality as a bit of an embarrassment. Had Diana survived, he would have been just as cool towards her on becoming a parent as he was towards his father, HM King Charles III. Though HM King Charles III is the oldest soul senior royal, seventh mature warrior soul, like all such souls, yours truly included, they do not do drama and have no patience for confusion. Where it all gets interesting, is the other warrior soul in this mix, Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex who as a fifth mature warrior is going to be drama on an operatic scale which is precisely what is unfolding. Do not for a nanosecond think of Henry as a mental case, he is a source of deep fear for the senior royals as he has the shrewdest most Machiavellian overleaves; no matter what, Henry will triumph… know that. As he was Black in his immediate past life, Henry will fight to the last man standing in defence of his wife and children, persons of Black African heritage. Henry’s having been Black in his immediate past life is validated by his connection to Africa, Black Africa and his work with Prince Seeiso of Lesotho, his AIDS charity, Sentebale and deep connection to Botswana and the ease with which he has always been in his skin when in the company of Blacks, unlike William and Catherine who clearly cannot or choose never to mask their racial animus towards Blacks.

Fifth mature lives are all about being expansive and such persons do accomplish a great deal; coupled with that, Henry has a goal of growth. Such people do not stand still, they will be born of humble means and end up living on New York City’s billionaires row in a penthouse. They will be the first to sign up to go into space, the Moon or Mars; they are daring and will always take that leap of faith that others would think horrifying. Furthermore, Henry has an attitude of sceptic, this is the most complex and most powerful manner in which to be focussed intellectually. It is the attitude of the master strategist and as rigorously shrewd as a chest master. Regardless of how Henry is portrayed by the media, he is the most intelligent royal and infinitely more complex and smarter than both his father and brother; HLM Queen Elizabeth II knew this as hers was a goal of dominance and a realist, she saw everything and everyone as they truly were. This is why during the Netflix documentary Henry’s description of what happened at the Sandringham Summit, is precisely what would have happened, William would have been a yelling bully, Charles dithering and lying all over the map and the Queen relishing watching Henry come into his own in a most tense power struggle. Topping it all off, Henry is in power mode, these people are operatic in the scope of the lives they lead and they do accomplish much. They are able to attract into their lives only that which they desire. There is no way that Henry could remain a part of a dynasty, wherein his brother he knows to be both stupid and clueless. Most of all, William is an anti-Black racist and there is no way Henry would be able to either tolerate or support any such Sovereign. This was never about stepping away and abandoning The Queen, it was about telling his brother to go fuck himself – for a sceptic, Henry knows that his brother is an idiot and neither holding his tongue nor kowtowing proved an acceptable proposition to Henry. Also, Catherine and William are in the 200s pod series whilst HLM The Queen, Henry, Meghan, Prince George and Prince Archie are all cadre mates in the 400s pod series. The current Waleses do not get it and Henry was not prepared to stick around and tolerate the abuse or participate in his brother and his wife’s clown show: pegging, love children, philandering, perpetually rowing night and day. Thus far, the Waleses have been adulterous which has likely resulted in a lovechild between them, Damian with Ben Ainslie and a daughter with Rose, Countess Rocksavage. Mature souls prefer mating for life and running stable households, unless of course that mature soul couple are miserable with their partner as is abundantly clear with William and Catherine.

A House Is Not A Home Luther Vandross 19th NAACP Image Awards 1987

And above all else, we own the music, we bring the music. My eldest sister who now permanently lives in Nevis came to town in recent months, for having been in lockdown for way too long; she just wanted to get away. I was last in Nevis in 2000 to introduce my wife to the place who thought it was the most far out trip imaginable; personally, it is way too bright in the Tropics. I who have collected art since my teen years, have preferred working at night time and living with windows heavily draped at all times. With a collection that is more than 90 percent works on paper, I can ill afford to have my art being subjected to sunlight. All windows boarded up, affording me more space to hang art; besides, Sol is too damn bright and furthermore, it belongs the fuck outside. In any event, my sister began talking about family and who had gotten married, died and had babies; she is the encyclopaedic font of the family’s history. So then she began sharing all the chatter about Covid lockdown funeral etiquette, when she mentioned that she attended the funeral at which scary spice, Mel B. (Brown) of the Spice Girl gave the eulogy. That was news because I knew that only few persons were allowed to attend funerals. So Mel B. gave the eulogy for her beloved grandmother who happened to have been a cousin of my mum’s; my sister was invited to represent our family. So who aren’t you related to, my wife asked and off my sister went.

Meghan is Black so naturally out of the woodwork comes all this hate and animus from persons who have no business being in this lane.

Like seriously. Look METHenny what the fuck has this got to do with you and why are you being so goddamn ape batshit crazy? When were Black people jumping up and down and acting like the sky was falling when Al Gore announced his running mate, Joe Lieberman? Go educate your 20 million zombie followers all about the Falasha genocide in Israel. No, you don’t know about that? Why don’t you go back and stay the fuck in your lane, shut the fuck up and stay fucking lost? Honest to fucking g_d!

Then along comes this racist freak, Joanna Weiss. Hey Donkey, what gives? Hate Meghan all you want, it will never change the fact that Catherine is a blasted inarticulate dud. She is lazy and the only thing she is capable of doing, is working with toddlers because she is not expected to make speeches to persons sucking on pacifiers and wearing diapers. This need to make inroads into America, pushing this negative narrative about the Sussexes is transparent. Most of the persons engaging in this hate campaign are disproportionately Jewish. This woman’s article made positively no sense whatsoever; however, it is a known fact that once ‘one’ is being shrill about Blacks, one must be right. If no one can so much as look sideways in your direction why must you persist with always demonising, vilifying, racially preying on Blacks?

Jon Sopel BBC Presenter

Reporter throws back to Sopel in BBC studio on the day that the Sussexes’ firstborn was named; he smugly stated, I’ve a friend whose dog’s name is Archie. Smug born and bred little bigoted boor. Of course, there were no consequences for his vile remarks. What gives?

Constantly yammering away with the shrill hatred, inciting anti-Black racism and does so in the smug conceit that they will never be challenged for being Jewish. Yeah Tom, why don’t you, since you do not exclusively write royal biographies, turn your unbiased eye and tell the story of the Falasha genocide in Israel. That’s right, the forced sterilisation of Black Israeli Jews from Ethiopia who had their numbers reduced by 50% because they were Black and for no other reason. As for Angela Levin, she has seriously insulted the Sussexes in print time and again, whilst claiming to respect the House of Windsor. She has repeatedly referred to Henry & Meghan’s daughter Lilibet Diana as Lilibut. You fucking crass anti-Black racist Jew. Having grown up in the Caribbean with three maids with a very proud mother who fiercely instilled pride and inner fortitude in her six children; looking and sounding every bit my mum when displeased, I have been known to flatly shoot someone a look and brutally demand, Since when the fuck does being Jewish not make you White?

Adrien Brody Winning Best Acting Oscar 2003 Academy Awards

In 2002 Halle Berry became the first Black actress to win the Oscar for best actress. Chances are had 9/11 not occurred six months prior, she likely would not have won. Certainly, she had not been favoured to win. She grudgingly won and broke a Hollywood taboo; Black women are not good enough, beautiful enough, too beautiful to be threatening White actresses by winning a best actress award. To date more than a fifth of the best actress awards have been won by White British actresses; that’s right, an American award being afforded Britons instead of Black American women, or for that matter Latina American actresses to say nothing of other non-White actresses, Asian and Native American among them.

There she was dumbstruck with disbelief, gave a great speech but though that night the doors had been opened, up onto the stage walked Adrien Brody, grabbed her, stuck his tongue down her throat and sexually assaulted a Black woman before a global audience and thereby putting her back in her place and slamming the door, which ought never to have been opened, shut again. Adrien is, of course, Jewish and had any Black actor gone to the stage and done what he did to a White actress, to say nothing of a Jewish actress, their career would have been summarily lynched. Black men were lynched, murdered for looking at White women, accused of sexually assaulting White women, at times when in a different state at the time of the alleged assault, yet the ultimate double standard was being demonstrated. Adrien for being Jewish could do no wrong. At the time, as I watched the show live in Montréal where I then lived, the Jewish men at the party I attended were wildly celebratory and thought that it was a stroke of genius when Adrien did what he did. It was code, Adrien was telling Halle that all she is a damn cheap cinematic whore and should not have risen above her station. The clapping of the three Jewish males at that viewing party was hostile, degrading and lethally racist. There is positively no way that Adrien Brody would have taken to that stage, grabbed and shoved his tongue down Nicole Kidman’s throat thereby sexually assaulting her. That’s what you get for deferring to, fearing and never challenging persons who do not think your humanity of any worth.

Swing Low Sweet Chariot, Judy Garland Everybody Sing, 1938

Never let it be forgotten that this is how, you, perceive Blacks. End of discussion. How many biopics of Blacks displaying their creative genius in Jazz has Hollywood bankrolled? Precisely.

Tree I Planted At Age Seven In Back Garden in St. Kitts

When I was about six years old, at a time when I had multiple boy and girl friends in the neighbourhood, I had a rather rude awakening whose lessons have ever impacted on me. My then boyfriend was months older with the most beautiful smiling eyes and dimpled. We would always kiss when playing hide and seek and engage in intercrural sex, making passionate noises and kissing on the lips whist I’d breathlessly declare, “I love you, I love you, I love you, my darling.” One day, my childhood lover who passed last March, came by with a friend whom I had ever dismissed as an absolute oaf. He was dull, shy and frankly stupid. Could never be part of my little racy theatrical events and sexual romps. Then, my darlings, my dimpled lover had the shy oaf unsheathe the goods. In that moment my baptism as size queen was thorough. At once I fell to my knees and as though calling on past-life memories, the poilued and über thick beast was in my mouth. I was ravenous like a sexually ravaged nun. Before, I knew what next, life’s elixir shot warmly into my mouth. I got up, trembling and wanted this to not end. Oaf that he was, he quickly tidied himself. Imperiously, I dismissed my dimpled lover and callously told him that it was over between us; I had after all found love! I simply refused to speak to the dimpled scorned lover. He courted me, giving me a toy plane which I took but still demanded that he return with my throbbing bit of ecstasy. Days later, the little dimpled charlatan showed up at my house accompanied by his aunt with her embarrassing my mother when she demanded that her damn thieving son, return the toy plane that she had gifted her nephew. I was aghast. Naturally, I could not have blurted out that he was jealous because I had dropped her nephew for newfound, real, big loving.

View Northwest to Sandy Point from Brimstone Hill

Days later, as I made my way across the bridge to the grocers, I had been tormented with vile looks by my abandoned lover’s grandmother who sat on the stoop, smoking her pipe as West Indian women enjoying their senectitude are wont. Fearful of her, I managed to call out as one is expected to of elders, ‘Good afternoon…’ Faster than a bat at sundown, she shot back, “What? Fire your wayward lil arse. You blasted catamite!” I was so stunned and ashamed that I hurried to the grocers which by the time I arrived, I was crying my eyes out. The matriarch, whose granddaughter was a classmate and in time would become high commissioner in London, sternly told me that I was not to fear anyone. “Listen to me, you go back and let her know if she ever talks to you that way again, you’ll tell your mother!” Indeed. On my return instead of walking on the opposite side of the street, I paused and hissed at her, “You ever talk to me like that again, and I will tell me muddah!” She trembled and fell silent and that was that. I never thereafter lost sense of who I am and whose son I was. Fear no one could best describe my mum than anything else. Most of all, I learnt that day that shame merely gets in the way and is an utter waste of time.

And now, we eagerly await voraciously devouring its 400 plus pages and in the next blog, I shall give a most thrilling review of SPARE, Prince Henry’s ennobled defence of his and family’s honour. Go on Henry, justly tell them to fire their wayward arses, you are Diana’s son and wife of the very indomitable Meghan who previously was Margaret Beaufort.

Henry & Meghan, Duke & Duchess of Sussex, June 2022 St. Paul’s Cathedral

Dizzy Gillespie Quintet, Massey Hall May 1953, Toronto Seminal Live Jazz Recording

Dizzy Gillespie – Trumpet

Charles Mingus – Bass

Bud Powell – Piano

Max Roach – Drums

Charlie Parker – Saxophone

__________________________

Fuck you, Jazz is Black culture, the hell with you!

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

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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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Shamanic Dreams Aplenty.

May 31, 2019November 13, 2022 Arvin da BrghaLeave a comment

Two weeks before Merlin’s passing, at a time where my focus in the dreamtime was rather intense, I dreamt the most uplifting of dreams. As it was leading up to Merlin’s transition or ascension, there was a massive opening up of my consciousness. For having served Merlin in such an intimate and compassionate role and thereby healing his spirit, there was much spiritual growth and resultant advancement for me. Merlin used his illness to serve as a mentor to me and thus teaching me so very much in the process. The dreams were dreamt, on Saturday, November 4, 1989. The dreams that day spanned two sleep cycles and proved both intense and illuminating.

I was quite consciously aware that I was dreaming and had slipped into sleep from a very deep, expansive meditative state. On coming to, I was walking along in a street; it was quite sunny out. There was a brown dog that appeared. The dog came over to me, from off to the right, from behind a rock. I felt that it looked ready to attack me. The dog was a very short, smooth-haired creature. Truth be told, it was a beautiful dog. When the dog came over, I declined the gesture of friendliness and did not put out my hand.

I knew then that I could not be sensed to be fearful because then the dog would sense my fears and thus defensively attack. Reassuringly, I spoke aloud and guided myself through the scene by saying, “Be calm and be understanding; just reach out to it.” So I did and extended my hand. However, the dog was a very contained creature. Though its mouth was clenched shut, the dog bore its teeth at me. The dog then opened its mouth to bite at my hand; I countered by forcefully stabbing and ramming my hand into its mouth — much as though I had just stabbed it to the hilt with a massive sword. I then started forcefully twisting my fist against the canines. As I twisted against the canines, I rotated my right hand counter clockwise.

Such that his left cheek was rotating skyward, thus the dog’s head was being uncomfortably twisted about. Clearly, my actions were hurting him. His neck was wringing. I was in control and he could not really do me a great deal of harm. Further, I guided myself with assurances that I was in control of the situation and not the dog. I was sending it focussed energy and telling it to calm down and not to be in attack mode. However, the dog still would not desist and persisted with resisting my directives. All of this, interspecies communication, I telepathically undertook.

I realised then and there that this was getting tedious. Besides, I was not here in the dreamtime to do battle with some mutt. So, still with considerable force, I hurled the dog to the left. As I hurled it, it became transformed and was now a square which seemed to be made of glass or hard plastic. The transformed dog also seemed to be shimmering. Next, it started moving around in the air. After I had thrown the dog away, from off my right fist, it was transformed but remained a separate entity. I then followed it with my mind and sight. The transformed dog-cum-geometric airborne object then moved about at my command.

Initially, it went off to the left where it was going to crash into a wall. Even though this was the former difficult creature, it was now too beautiful. In its transformed state, I could not let it be destroyed. I was also pleased and amazed at what I had affected with my mind. So I drew it away from the wall, from which it had abruptly veered off, and instead moved to the right. I then brought it a little closer and then moved it about some more. Next, I decided that, maybe, I should just let it go down; however, at that point, I thought aloud, “Wait a minute here. I’ve got control here with my mind.

“Now it’s time for me to fly!” Immediately, I abandoned the construct. I gladly left it hovering there in the air. Next, I simply shoved off from where I was and started flying. I said aloud, “Yeah! See, I can do it!” I roared with sweet pleasurable laughter. Next, I began moving, not directly upwards but, out before me in a low gradual rise like an aeroplane at takeoff.

My arms were outstretched, perpendicular to my torso — palms faced down and were winged up and back, a bit, creating the right aerodynamic drag. With that, I started moving at such great fantastic speeds that I immediately came to the end of the road. Before me, the land began falling away. Here before me, I came to a most beautiful, beautiful, beautiful sea. I was above an inlet in flight and the hills were very green and the sand on the shore was beautifully white. The sea was a beautiful blue and it was so tranquil and wonderful. “ Whoa, I’m going to be travelling over the ocean. What happens if I start losing control?”

I then, though, reminded myself not to be fearful. At the same time, I was quite aware of my body, lying here on the bed and the thrilling feeling I was having whilst in flight, resonated throughout my body. “My goodness, I’m projecting my consciousness; this is what you’re doing… you’re flying. You’re advancing with your psyche… here in the dreamtime. Do not focus on the water; it’s a wonderful scenic aid. Go on Arvin, just focus ahead.” Immediately ahead of me, at the great speeds that I was progressing, I saw a light. A beautiful, beautiful, white enveloping light it was.

I then began shoving my way through the light at great, great speeds. Now, I was going at fantastic speeds whilst in flight above the expansive sea. This was so very thrilling and incredible; however, I really did not want to go all the way. As it were, I did not want to come out on the other end of the light — to explore beyond that. In point of fact, I was quite aware of my body lying in bed and I was lying on my left side. I was saying to myself that I was not even in the meditative state that I had actually hoped for. To fortify myself, I had grabbed the large quartz crystal. However, before I had gone to bed, I had really wanted to masturbate.

Thus I realised that I really had to come out of this experience and masturbate, after which go to bed, after meditation as I had intended. So I did get up.

*Not that it was shallow of me to have abandoned a great cosmic experience, to go wank off, but I do think that it was actually good of me to have ceased being astrally projected when I did. However, the need to survive was sustained by being grounded to my sexuality. As I progressed through the light, I knew that the further I got, the more likely it was that I would not want to return. Once I got onto the other side, I felt quite strongly that I would experience something much on the order of Tuesday, December 26 “Boxing Day” 1972^III. I just knew that I could not go all the way. For one thing, Merlin needed me here, to see him through to the end. For another, I had to come back and not go all the way because there was no one at the apartment with me. Should I slip in too deep and imperil my life, in some way, there needed to be someone here with me to safely bring me out.

I was growing more and more relaxed — feeling like I just did not care to any longer be focussed in my body. This was why the thought of sex was so important. My sexual focus had actually allowed me to stay ensouled in the body and not altogether spirit away from my life. However, it was definitely that close. I did experience rapture — on an order of the cosmic. I was probably guided to my sexual centre by the soul and Merlin. Of course, Merlin wanted me not to expire prior to him — as we had agreed. Truly, it would really have been a great cop out, were I to have passed on prior to him.

So for once, as it were, my masturbatory obsession saved the day. I do too believe that the attack dog, whose animus towards me I was able to have skilfully diffused, represented the amount of treachery afoot in the waking state at exactly two weeks prior to Merlin’s passing. END.

I was in an area that looked like a cemetery. There were these little girls who carried these objects that looked like fans. They each had a little stick at the end of which was a handle; really, it did look like a table tennis racquet. At the end of it, the rod was bent down and then went off. The queer rod was shaped like a little crown or a maple leaf. What’s more, it was golden-coloured. They were white girls under the age of twelve. Too, they were both redheaded.

They were holding up the object before them. Incidentally, I had one as well. Somehow, I did not know what it was supposed to do. The trees were large, like silver maples, and there seemed to be some large, centuries-old moss-covered tombstones about. They both held out their arms in one direction. They were behind me and we were facing in opposite directions. They directly pointed the forking golden sticks ahead of themselves. Still directly pointing their golden sticks ahead, they then came over to where I was.

Immediately, when we were in close quarters and they were directing their sticks, one of them struck gold — the stick in her hand started shaking. She let go of it and it fell to the ground but then straightaway up-righted itself. The golden, wooden forking object then started moving towards this energy source. The other girl laughed and went and put hers down. I was amazed on recognising that there really was a definite energetic force present. Likewise, I went and also put down mine. As I did so, it was pointing up under the tree. Straight away, you could see the manifestation of a sphere that was glass-like but it was shimmering.

I could visually make out that there was the outline of a rainbow that encircled the sphere’s rim. Through the eye of this opening, the space simply shimmered. Fantastically, it was absolutely wonderful to watch this manifestation. The shimmering sphere was about four-to-six feet in diameter. There was a gardening hose close-by. As the watering hose rotated in the direction of where the circle was, the aperture became even more outlined when the water from the hose struck the space wormhole. When the water hit and penetrated the shimmering portal, this was when the rainbow was created. Thus, it became even more outlined and visible.

Remarkably, it was a predominantly golden-coloured rainbow. Quite magnificent and quite wonderful a sight it was. Moreover, it was truly powerful. I went running off to the source of the hose — it was being moved because of the water pressure. I picked up the hose but then I put it back down. There was then a guy and a girl and as they put the hose down, I was trying to see if there was going to appear anymore signs of the sphere. However, they had messed up the hose; the hose had gotten knotted which precluded any water from being discharged. Incidentally, it was a black hose.

The girl, who had moved the hose when I had seen the wormhole-like dimensional portal, quite reminded me of Artemis de Bolanos. In the sense that she looked somewhat like Artemis, I was led to believe this. She was also flaky like Artemis. However, it was not Artemis. I promptly took my leave of them and moved on. These girls were rather small and looked like the classic faeries. They were unusually pale. On closer inspection, they had unusually large, dark eyes that were almond-shaped and went upwards at the outer corners.

Their hair was so intensely red that it seemed, in fact, to glow and to be as if iridescent. They also had no eyebrows which only highlighted the wide-open expanse of their foreheads. Where the third eye resides, it was quite unusually expansive in that part of their foreheads. In fact, that part of their face seemed slightly concave, however, only slightly so; in that sense it did resemble the indentation of a radio telescope. Though they seemed like prepubescent girls, they were fully grown. They may well have been several decades old; however, they did not look old. Moreover, they exclusively communicated telepathically. However, there was no getting around the fact that they were EH (extra-human or extra-terrestrial).

One thing about them was most telling — my pronounced ease for being around them.

*Much like natural redheads, in the waking state, these persons’ vibrations were considerably more attuned and intense than others’. One always has the sense that most redheads are ‘broadcasting’ when in their presence, in the waking state, so strong is their psychic abilities. The golden rainbow spheres were portals which were used — as their desired EHVs (extra-human vehicle or UFO) — to move through and forth from their world, in which I incidentally was a visitor, and others. They seemed as though intent on showing me how to call forth an EHV to relocate from their world. I happen to think that though I awoke to masturbate and not go all the way, on returning to sleep, I did return to being focussed in the far-off locale, to which I had ventured in the A sleep cycle. This incidentally is not uncommon. Hence the locals’ desired to show me how to safely get back, through the golden shimmering portals, to my dimension. The trees here were phenomenally huge and had the same intense negative ions as were those experienced in the valley, of the far-off world, had during the dreams of Thursday, February 16, 1989⁽¹⁶⁸⁾. END.

The third dream in this cycle — I have chosen not to include the second dream here — found me with a group. The group was a Rock ‘n Roll band. They had finished a show and were taking off their makeup. They had backup singers with them. One of the female performers went and was washing her hands. Just like the seeming little girls had worn, she was wearing similar garb. Their clothing seemed to be from earlier times as in the Middle Ages to the Nineteen Century. She washed her hands in a common open trough — some of her clothing she had taken off to remove her makeup.

I felt as though I could have started seducing her, if I wanted to, but I chose not to. She had matted, reddish hair that was up in a bun. Her hair was strawberry reddish-blondish like the two girls in the earlier dream. These redheads were of obvious Druidic heritage. Meanwhile, the guys in the band were coming back. They wore makeup that was painted in streaks — more like the way tribal and Amerindian warriors adorned their faces with paints. They were white. None of them seemed interested in fucking the women.

They were then going off, to a club, to hang out. I went off with them. On arriving at the club, I found it quite interesting. There was an advertisement about enlarging your balls. The thing to do was to put your testicles in cow dung. That is clearly ridiculous — you cannot put your balls in cow dung. The ads showed the vat of dung, which was steaming. The dung had to be steaming, affecting the notion of it being steaming warm, as when coming out of a cow.

The balls distended outside the body so that they could be kept sufficiently cooled and not become warmed by one’s internal body heat. Straight away, I knew that that was a bogus remedy for having your balls enlarged. The club had this wonderful entrance. From the ground, the entrance took you down below the surface and into this darkened cavernous area. Once inside, it was quite interesting. People were going in and out. The bouncer/maître d’ had huge balls, his actual testicles, which he held — one in each hand.

*I dream it, I report it. Who knows how this testicular adventure arose for having been auto-erotic on briefly awaking — well, not too briefly. END.

He was juggling them around like a lewd stripper would her ample tits. They were individually wrapped with a green straw-like fibre. Thus the balls could be pulled and stretched. I found it all remarkably funny. His cock comparatively seemed nonexistent next to the humongous balls. He was the usher/maître d’ who let people into the club. The club was called The Hell’s Gate. He would be looking over the women who would come in and decide if any of them were exciting enough.

Naturally, it was a bawdy house of ill refute – a bordello. There was a lot of wholesome fucking going on inside. The joint was jumping. Truly, it was very funny.

In this the fourth dream, I next found myself in the streets at nighttime. This was after the rock band had disbanded. There were people in the street whilst other persons were watching them. Also, there were other cars around. They were large unusual-looking cars. I went in and I joined a guy and started voguing on him. He was very jet-black and had large full lips. We were voguing a kiss and then another.

I would then go down, as if to go down on him, whilst sensually dancing on him. Our movements were very stylish and very beautiful. There were two other couples, on my left, as I faced the guy dancing. We were the best dancers, of course, and the most original. Our dance was strictly erotic. As a matter of fact, our movements came pretty close to fucking. Our dance was more suggestive and engaged than a tango. The magic we weaved, was absolutely wonderful.

Quite a crowd was soon gathered around us. Anyway, I went down into the club, The Hell’s Gate. There was Louise Donlon [Denise Donlon] — the woman who does the NewMusic for MuchMusic — she is gap-toothed. This club was obviously over in Britain, perhaps, Ireland. She was interviewing musicians over there.

*Ms. Donlon is, of course, married to legendary Canadian singer/songwriter, Murray McLauchlan. END.

I was fixing the cuffs of my jeans, rolling them down, to put them inside my penny loafers. These were a tanned, almost teak-coloured, beautiful pair of shoes. As I adjusted them, Denise was interviewing some musicians. People would go off and become lost to sight. This was in a large tent area. They would slip outside after being interviewed. Also present was, Nina Hagen, the German eccentric Punk/Rock/Opera singer with the vulgar-looking mouth. She had extra-long red hair.

She asked Denise if she was still writing and what had she written lately. Nina Hagen said that she had done this song; the song was about the planet and her concern for its fragile ecosystem at present. Denise then started playing a guitar. Nina got really excited and told her that it was good and excellent. She also told Denise that she was happy for her. She seemed almost a bit too hyper-excited. Then she abruptly stepped backwards and disappeared through the folds of the tent’s white-cream, silk-looking, heavy canvas flaps. As Nina disappeared, on the other side, she was heard singing her song and carrying on — like the right eccentric loon that she is.

On leaving the tent, I moved on and went inside the club. A girlish woman — these women were so diminutive that they seemed like girls though not — was being chased; it was part of a contest. Everybody chased her with pretty-coloured balloons. She was trying not to get hit by one. Eventually, she did get hit by one but she went and hid behind something. There were a lot of girlish women there with big bums who were very short. Some of the patrons were in the earthen floor itself with only their torsos sticking out. For having such huge bums, these big-arsed girlish women seemed like they would topple over backwards.

However, their supra-mammaries created a good counterbalance. They reminded me of Galina Yordonova — the former Bulgarian ballerina who ended up coaching Evelyn Hart at the Royal Winnipeg Ballet — with their petite-framed bodies. These women were almost as if pygmies. They were not dwarfs but just tiny people. These persons were clearly of extra-human stock. They had on black lace and they were shaking their boumpsies (bums) and dancing by themselves. They were like go-go dancers who danced in a group, on the spot, on the floor. I was moving around and thinking that it seemed like a very exclusive club.

I had hoped that they did not exclude certain people, based on race or did not play certain music, based on race. At heart centre, I knew that this was not the case at all. I then left the lobby but was still inside, en route out, when I realised that there were a series of funerals going on. At the time, I was with an irascible English aristocrat whom I had to tell, be quiet. The funerals were all happening underground — at least, it seemed very much so to be underground. Rather, if they were above ground, it is possible that they took place in a catacomb or caved sepulchre. Everybody seemed to exist in a caved city. There were little trees, like miniature cypress trees, that divided off the lots.

As I was moving along, I was asking the man to please be quiet. There was obviously a very solemn affair afoot. There were people standing around and they were saying en masse, “For thee, thy name sake…” They were speaking very olde English at the funeral. A little girl knelt down and put down a flower and she was holding a kerchief to her face. She was crying and bawling. I wondered if that is how I was going to behave at Merlin’s funeral. A bit overwhelmed, I then moved on only to encounter another funeral.

This funeral had less people in attendance. This one was also wrapping up. Both were obviously funerals for someone white. There were mostly whites there. People had on cardigans and sweaters because it seemed a bit chilly in the air — like an underground habitat would naturally be.¹³⁸

After having audiocassette-recorded these dreams, I placed a call through to Merlin over at Wellesley Hospital and chatted. As had become habit, he would call to awaken me, I would then call back after having recorded the dreams. As I would be taking him the morning newspapers and other items that he requested, I went about feeding the cats and doing some other chores about the house. Whilst getting ready to be with Merlin, I went poring through our music library for something to play as I showered. Finally, I had found it, it was Itzhak Perlman with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra playing Brahms Violin Concerto in D Major Op. 77; on the Angel label it was a coveted recording of both mine and Merlin’s. Whilst I sat in Merlin’s favourite rocking chair, I sipped on tea made with the leaves of soursop. Months prior when visiting St. Kitts and Nevis, I had managed to stealthily bring back some of the leaves in my luggage. This fruit tree’s leaves induce the greatest serenity and dream lucidity when ingested as a tea.

Of course, it has since been discovered that the soursop is said to be a thousand times more potent than the drugs used in chemotherapy. That aside, I sat perfectly poised, slowly rocking back and forth whilst listening to and being enraptured by Mr. Perlman’s unique brand of shamanic magic. Eventually, as the album played on repeat, I showered and got ready to go in and be with my lover.

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As ever my groovy shamanic kindred spirits dream like it is the most magical thing in the universe… well why not… it is after all. Dance and fly in the dreams like the magical shaman that you are and hiss and piss on any fool’s grave who would have the temerity to have messed with you… cause life is not a dress rehearsal and loving self means protecting self from all ill-evolved dreck. Thanks for your ongoing support and remember, my magical dream memoirs are available where all discriminating bibliophiles get their fix. I love you more.

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Dreams are the poetic expression of the soul.

Tag: #EvelynHart

Oh To Be Black & Jew

Cicada Principle.

Shamanic Dreams Aplenty.