Stellar Galactic Museum of Anthropology.

11.05.202611.05.2026 Arvin da BrghaLeave a comment

In this the first dream, I was having a very heated argument with a group of Christian fundamentalists. This concerned the book of Revelations in the New Testament. My point was that there was no longer any need for them to fixate on the nihilism of that book. There was no need for them to fixate on the actualisation of the Armageddon construct. I was pointing out that much of the suffering in the world was due to the Christian obsession with violence. For this reason, for the last two millennia, their culture has done nothing but produce men of inordinate violence.

Further, I tried to point out that none of these fatalistic visions were ever prophesied by Christ. Rather, they were the result of a fearful culture’s way of trying to come to grips with having murdered Christ. The New Testament was simply the Christian Church’s way of manipulating the life of Christ, after his murder, to suit their ends. For having murdered Christ, they have been karmically fated to being a violent culture. Seeing that it was pointless to be engaged with these blind and lost souls, I chose to move on. To say the least, the energies between us were tense.

*Then, too, it was best that I moved on. The longer that I engaged them, it proved fairly obvious that I would have to up my frequency becoming light and thus invisible to the blind. Truth be told, they would shortly start ridding me of my soul. After all, I clearly was a heretic in full! END.

An area that seemed like a school, this proved the reality of the third dream, where there were kids who wore navy blue tunics. They were in their early teens and were going out to a courtyard. We were coming back from a precipice. Everyone here represented several nationalities. Some Hispanic kids, who were clearly well-off, attended the private school. Looking down at all these people far below, we were out on a balcony. I thought to myself at the time that I simply couldn’t afford to go falling over this balcony. In the meanwhile, I energetically waved down to the group below. I was encouraging them to financially invest in Africa by supporting African industries.

There was nothing in the world that they had to be ashamed of. They ought to be more proud of their African heritage and their African nations. Indeed, they needed desperately to wake up to the realisation of just how much that they actually had. Some ten feet away were two white horizontal iron bars that formed a container from the precipice. Naturally, one was expected to use common sense and not go beyond the two restraining bars. Going to the right of a guy, who did not want to move, I grabbed a hold of the upper bar. I gymnastically snaked my body through both bars and made it onto the safe side of them again.

One girl was approaching her father, to speak with him, as he was surrounded by people. Though daytime, it happened also to be overcast. For being otherwise engaged, her father couldn’t speak to her. To drive away her disappointment, I grabbed her and started dancing which her father appreciated with a warm smile. She had been quite insistent on speaking to him, however, there was no way that he could have then seen her. I was trying to get her to see that her father’s diplomatic affairs meant that there were times, even to her, when he was simply unavailable. At the time, he was in the midst of being interviewed by a television crew.

I was in a darkened room, at night time, in this the fourth dream. Somehow, Isha da Braga and other family members were also present. A man was lying there on a bed and his physique was that of a warrior or even a king soul incarnate. He was a pure white-haired man. It was the natural hair colour not due to his agedness physically. He had been across the bed on which I lay. At the time, I was not the least bit tired. I was supposed to be in repose and there was an implicit order that he not be awakened. There were several talons – fishing flies, however, they were unlike their waking state counterparts.

Apparently intended for me to keep, they were laid out on my pillow. Beyond the head of the bed was the lone door to the room. The look of the door and the room made it seem fairly sepulchral. Meanwhile, another man had entered the room through those doors. He stood in the centre of the room before me. He wore a gossamer-looking outfit which fell to just below his calves. It was as if a futuristic version on the chainmail suit of ages past. Bronze-coloured, it fitted his body pretty much like a wet suit would. There were some metallic-looking strips that crossed the outfit.

Behind him were the largest wings imaginable. These were definitely not some theatrical contraptions, they were his. Adding greater drama to his entrance, they flared out behind him and upwards. To say the least, he was quite the mythic figure. Sadly though, the intensity of the outfit’s glow obscured the look of his face. For that reason, it was hard to say whether he was Amerindian, Indian, Asian, Black or White. On remembering that dream of September 4, 1988, I instinctively sat up. Straight away, I knew that he would approach the bed. I also knew that whilst standing there at the foot of bed, he would perform some all-important ritual.

Meanwhile, Penina da Braga and Isha were telling me not to get up. That was because I wasn’t supposed to disturb the man, who lay there, soundly asleep. Frankly, I did not much care about the archetypal king/warrior-souled man soundly asleep on the bed with me. As I explained to them, I was more concerned with the winged incredibly tall man. I knew that he was there to collect the fishing flies from me. For that reason, I told them that I was afraid that the winged man may take off, thus making it potentially impossible to get them to him.

Their confusion was distracting; so, with that, I finally got from the bed and left the area. As I left the sepulchral room, I realised that I had been someone who had been quite revered in a past life. Apparently, this had been in parts of the West Indies – the Virgin Islands and mainland America. As I walked from the room, I had been told this by a guide. Seemingly, I had been a skilled diplomat which was when I had earlier been out on the balcony. At the time, I had been looking down to the masses and spurring on their spirits. I was respected and much-loved by the locals.

*The immensely powerful, gossamer-suited, winged and exceptionally tall man was not the Eurocentric angel. He was not, for that matter, some mythic archetype. He was an extra-human and it was also clear that regardless his packaging, he was clearly a king soul. There was no getting around that fact. I found that it was quite impactful being in his presence. I also had a strong sense that he was someone with whom I have been familiar, in the dreamtime, throughout my life. This is one of those rare times that he has manifested in the dreamtime. I do believe that this is the first time that his manifestation has been recorded in this audio-cassette medium. END.

In a courtyard area, I found myself in this the fifth dream, on an estate that was close to the sea. A man was being surrounded by five Italian guys who were being problematic. Clearly, these men were thugs and the henchmen of someone with whom he was acquainted. Eventually, his mother had shown up wearing this beautiful floral-printed dress. The dress was a sleeveless design. She was a short study of the babushka archetype. There was no way to get around the fact that this man was Russian. I had had to tell his white-haired mother, to stop being emotionally panicked, to leave the scene. She could, by her distress, have proven detrimental to his survival. Besides, quietly I had told her to go get help by dialling 9-1-1. Except that when she went to the balcony, she started shining some large spotlights.

Seeing the logic of her actions, I told her that whatever she did, she had to always keep them trained on her son. In the meantime, the henchmen kept on closing in on him. The heavies all wore bathing suits. On the order of Charlton Heston, he was a tall majestic-looking man. A very warrior-spirited, mid-aged man was her son. The house was a papaya-toned, West Indian-orange-into-peach tone, to slight-tangerine-red impressive structure. Surrounding the house, in the modern style, was a large stone wall. There were marvellous sculptural openings in the wall. They were lyrically curvaceous and suggested slow aqueous movement. The style architecturally was really quite timeless. Set some twenty feet from the house, the wall was an impressive complement to it and was some ten-to-eleven feet tall. The wall was the same colour as the side of the house.

The earthen yard was a roughhewed affair, with exposed roots everywhere, as top soil had long ago been wind-and-rain swept aside. The wall was in three phases, to accommodate the sloping grade of the property, dropping a couple of feet along the way. The distance between a drop-off in the wall was roughly ten feet. When one got down to the seashore, there was a van circling in the air overhead. This van had the same green tonality of most military helicopters. The look was of that army camouflage gear that is sported the world over. The craft was definitely not a helicopter. A network of vary-sized antennae shot from all sides of the van-like craft that silently hovered in the air. Down on the shore, parked next to the sea, were a couple of tractor-trailers. Their being placed so close to the ocean, I thought was dangerous. Both of them were white with one being silver in the back. Clearly claimed by the ocean, they had been abandoned there to rust away.

I couldn’t believe the environmental negligence of whoever had done this. Not realising that the henchmen had landed on the beach and entered the house, a man had come and parked his car down on the beach. Meanwhile, the girl – who had wanted to talk to her diplomatic father – had learnt that these same people had savagely butchered one of her brothers. They had then disposed of his body at sea. The man being confronted by the murderous henchmen had come down to the sea. He was there to investigate who they were and why they had landed on his beachfront property. A number of people had seen them come ashore and had yelled out after them. The concerned were neighbours of the Russian man. These people then took it on themselves to call the authorities. With that, the murderous henchmen had fled.

By the rising tides, the butchered corpse was slowly beginning to be dragged out to sea. The murderers had fled, behind the house, to the sheer cliff, rock face where there were several abandoned buildings. These men had split up at once, taking off in divergent directions, to escape being caught together. Running helter-skelter, they veered off in separate directions when fleeing apprehension. Taking cover myself, I then went indoors; once inside, I immediately looked around when trying to get my bearings. There, I saw a man lying on the floor who was bent over. Splendidly furnished with an eclectic array of antiques and mementos of a well-travelled life, the interior of this house was busy. The décor here was in the Santa Fe style and warm it was too.

The man was on the lowest of the three levels, of the split-level house, thus leaving him closer to the sea. Theatrical, the house was wide-open and inviting. This layout afforded a commanding view of the wetness of nature’s womb outside. As each of the three levels had its own sitting room area, he was in that level’s sitting room. The seating was always in the centre of the central hall-like room. There were lots of potted plants that towered up in search of the comfortably far-off ceilings. They were all big-leafed and, for the most part, succulents. In this one area, it was absolutely beautiful – where the guy was knocked out and on the floor. Coming closer, I realised that it was my current lover, Gustavo Vadim. He had been badly beaten up by the marauding, interloping murderers.

**Shore Bird on the Tundra, Kenojuak Ashevak**

One of the henchmen, wearing a skimpy little bathing suit, went down before the Russian man’s mother and started masturbating in front of her. As she sat there, on the chair, the henchman air-jacked off though never having taken his hard-on from his tight-fitting spandex. The poor dear was being totally traumatised by his boorish behaviour. Seated there, she really did want to get a load of that throbbing piece of raw tenderloin. I found it quite comical to look at her. I, at the time, was up on a ledge that formed part of the structure’s girders. Just as outside, in the stone walls, the same sculptural schemata were reproduced on the walls inside the house. There in one of these openings I had comfortably sat. Hiding out of view of them, I had been crouching down. To my left, from where I perched birdlike, was the central living space in which were the sitting areas.

A really beautiful organic house; it was not unlike that sublime masterpiece which I explored in the dreams on Thursday, February 16, 1989. As one walked down the length of the house, towards the sea, the partition on which I hid was off to the right. Beyond the central living space, the same sculptural wall was repeated far opposite across the house. Too, that wall had groovy openings in its three-foot-thick frame. Here too, as outside, the same colour schemata prevailed. Here in this part of the house, it was dark as there were not many windows in the structure. There were, interestingly enough, no central skylights in this house. This, I thought, was a design flaw. As they went off to get dressed in casual wear, one of the Italian guys had seen me. I must say that they were an über-poilu bunch.

The fact that they had been able to inflict a great deal of damage on their target, they openly celebrated. One of them had gone and gotten the guy, who reminded me of Gustavo, putting him on the gas range. Turning on the gas, they then struck a match on his genitals and arse. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Both his anterior and posterior sexes were on fire. Rushing to his aid, I snapped at them telling them to layoff persecuting him. Grabbing his body, I pulled him off the range and covered his singeing sexes. I then reached over and put out the glowing blue-flamed gas range. The Italian guy, it turned out, drank a lot of whiskey then he violently spat out the liquor at me. With lightning ease, I caught it in my mouth and rapidly spat it back at him. He had followed the liquor with a spurt of flame which, of course, was meant to set me alight. The stunt had failed as intended. I had no intentions of being burned as he had intended.

The way in which I blew the breath out had amazed me. The sound of my breath was a thunderous quake. The process was empowering and felt as though a wind tunnel had opened up. Out of my body, there blew all this warm air. Though I had feared that he would throw a match at me, setting my breath and self on fire, it never did happen. In the same position, as a frog’s limbs, Gustavo was crumpled on the floor. Crouched forwards, I turned him back, attempting to right his body. Gustavo, however, remained on his knees. His spread arse cut quite the impressive inviting image. Finally, on seeing his face, I could see a semblance of Gustavo’s face. More importantly, this reincarnationally was the amalgamated face of his soul over the ages. The nostrils were more flared than Gustavo’s.

Though not dead, he was as if in a deep comatose state. Nonetheless, he was sexually inviting, expansive and to the point of being submissive. Furious, I shrieked at the henchmen and ordered them to instantly get the fuck out of the house. They were very rebellious though. Getting outside, I rushed after them and made sure that they were taking their leave of the property. When the authorities pulled up, tires screeching, they had gone down into their car. Tearing from their cars, they abandoned them fleeing on foot. Before the house, there was a sheer rock cliff which was some eight feet high. Where the millennia of water runoff had created deep cracks in it, there were deep fissures in the rock face.

This is what had caused the earth, in the yard, to become so eroded leaving a bare rocklike surface. Whilst I hid out down in a dugout, I saw the arrival of backups. They arrived in futuristic, EHV(extra-human vehicle)-like machinery. As if made from malleable chrome alloy, they were silver. In that sense, they appeared as if animated machinery effortlessly floating through the air. Removing myself from the chaos, I went off on an exploratory tour inside a large complex that seemed like a museum. There, I saw several strange-looking persons who seemed not wholly human. I couldn’t though quite fathom what it was about them that made them, as it were, not quite homo sapiens. Finally, nothing on display made precious sense to me. With that, I took my leave of the complex.

The persons there were also openly making fun of Blacks though not necessarily me. Since I did not appreciate this, I took off. I was then in this area with a guy whom I initially thought was Black. He energetically seemed Black. I had been too distracted, by the goings-on outside, to have paid him much attention. There was considerable fighting taking place outside the dugout. The Italian henchmen were caught in a stakeout with persons who were obviously extra-human. They seemed more so like sentinels – automatons, if you like, rather than humanoids. With a large pylon slab in it, the dugout was metallic and less than six feet deep. On the other side of the pylon was a doorway. The guy was always on my right as we hid out. Soon it became apparent that the EH sentinels were aware of our being in hiding. What’s more, they were actually protecting us from being overwhelmed by the Italian henchmen.

When they appeared to do battle with the sentinels, the Italian-looking guys had the most incredibly large guns. A woman in army fatigues had jumped back away from a bullet. With ferocious skill she had grabbed a bullet, ripping through space, from the air then violently tossed it down into the dugout where we were. Eventually, she had managed to shoot one of the sentinels. Soon enough, they received backup from the army fatigue-coloured crafts that had appeared as if out of nowhere. At the time, for the first time, the guy that I was with pointed out the sentinels to me. Not until they had come close enough did I realise that they were as different to us, indeed, as were we to them. They had spindly arachnidan legs. Their bodies were round squat and robotic-looking whilst their heads were small as compared to their rotund bodies.

However, these were not mere machinery, they were unmistakably sentient. They could fight and were rather immune to battle fire. Seemingly, in composition, their bodies were made of material that was fairly close to steel. Long-limbed, their legs were frightfully skinny. Terminating in a spear-like or pin-like sharp point, their arms were sticklike and long. A bipedal race they were whose locomotion was rather nimble. Their legs were in three sections with no discernible feet. They moved as if their extended feet were perpetually en pointe. The henchmen were tossing out these round pellets which seemed some new sort of anti-personnel grenade. The sentinel would quickly grab a hold of the grenades and instantaneously diffuse them. They managed to throw one down at us and, at that point, the guy got up and made to leave the dugout.

I was uncertain whether or not he had been shot. When he was crawling from the dugout, I could tell from the shortness of his legs – as compared to the length of his back – that he was White rather than Black. This man was, in fact, Gustavo and I called after him and asked him not to leave the dugout. Reassuringly, he told me that he would be back. Nonetheless, I did not like being left alone without his grounding company. When he started coming back, his face was now different. He wore a green mask which had a large diamond-shaped, quartz crystal in it. Another person also came from the hall that went down into the earth. Whilst he was walking there, he and the others all looked like cartoon or animated figures. What they were, in fact, were astral entities that we were witnessing. This creature then came out to do battle with the sentinels.

The creature wore all-black flowing garments that independently billowed in the non-extant wind. A plaque on the slab read ‘Minerva’ or some such ancient name. This woman represented yet another mythological archetype. I went, beyond the courtyard, to explore the inside of the structure. There, I saw an exhibit of species of sentient beings. They were, some of them, humanoid. Some were Black but these species were, for the most part, not members of our own homo sapiens species. As it was an anthropological exhibition, at the time, there were several other persons there taking in the exhibit. With some of the other humans about marvelling aloud at the vast array of sentient life forms, it was all very revelatory. They were all alien to anything that one could fathom evolving here on Gaia.

I had not stayed very long in ‘the hall of species’ which is what it was called. In a soothing blue-walled salon, one hall was adorned with beautiful tapestries. The designs here were most unusual. They sprung from vastly different aesthetic sensibilities than those to which the human experience has given expression. One guy who was there, an older man, was talking aloud of the exhibit. He was White and from time to time kept on looking back at me whilst throwing shade. Here was this asinine human, identifying with EHs, when he hadn’t even been able to accomplish the same with his own kind. He was also Gay and, for greater impact, doing an affected lisp.

He was a tour guide. He was speciously trying to show how these alien cultures also had connections to ancient Greece. This monologue of his was so much bullshit and, yet again, another example of racist absurdities. Dismissing him and his ilk, I moved on picking up the pace of my walk. The entire place was a series of stairs that went up, and then down, sometimes even winding but along them the exhibits were visible.

*The sense of the winding stair-interiored museum was not unlike the layout of the Guggenheim Museum on New York City’s Fifth Avenue. END.

As in the waking state, this undoubtedly was not the conventional approach to museum exhibits. The beautiful courtyard was littered with chairs that were of a pinkish-red-toned iron. They faced up towards the courtyard’s piece de resistance which was a lovely stand of the most unusual-looking trees. The sunlight here could best be described as starlight because its intensity suggested that this was not being illumined by Sol. After having seen it earlier, now I was seeing it in greater detail. They were preparing to serve a meal there. At that point, I did not get too involved. The mythic woman/creature Minerva was also there in the museum of alien anthropology. The other species aesthetically were simply fantastical. The chromium stick-limbed sentinels were also represented in the exhibit. I had taken cover in the museum, which was completely underground, to escape becoming caught up in the fighting aboveground.

Under no circumstances did I want to have to get involved in warfare. The man had been spirited away during battle, by one of the hovering vehicles, by the whitish-silver, sentient chrome beings. The craft had circled the property, before touching down in the sea, away from being overrun by the Italian-looking guys on land. The henchmen had no way of making it out to sea to overwhelm the sentinels’ crafts. There were lots of especially tall coconut trees that ringed the estate of the marvellous split-level dwelling. The craft had made it ashore, at which point, then morphed into looking like an abandoned car. In that way, its transformed shell served as clever camouflage. There were several antennae on it as did all the others have antennae. When they had been in the house, they were in constant communication with their crafts.

This was the point at which I made the realisation that the Italian-looking men, in bathing suits, were extra-human got up in human disguise. This is why it had made it so confusing to fully discern what was afoot. As they were way bigger and more space-aged, than anything native to Earth, the guns that the Italian-looking extra-humans used were a dead giveaway. Though they were young-looking, there was something about them that suggested that they did not fit into the ageing process governed by Sol’s unique vibration. Warrior-spirited, they were an adversarial people. Clearly, they were there to capture humans for their own purposes whether for research or something else.

That something else, whilst I was in the museum of EH anthropology, I thought meant capturing human specimens for sale to museums like the one that I toured. Either way, they were sadistic, extremely unpleasant sentient extra-humans to be around. Theirs was a young-souled focus that was not unlike the rapacious exploitations that began 500 years ago on this planet – which prevail to this today.

These dreams occurred on Sunday, April 25, 1993 whilst the Moon transited both Gemini and my first house. Unlike dreams from this date previously shared herein, on February 16, 2013, these dreams, however, were had during the ‘B’ or second sleep cycle that day. They were, to say the least, rather transformative dreams. As per the Minerva mythological woman in this dream, I am beginning to think that she may have been connected to the same mythological female in that dream set on the Moon. Indeed, this dream may also have been set here on Earth’s Moon. I will also go one further and presume that the dream of the inverted Machu Pichuesque, canyonned civilisation may well have been set on Earth’s Moon. Who are we to say that this is not the case? We are a planetary civilisation where ignorance and superstition are the order of the land.

I think that it makes perfect sense for there to be a museum of anthropology on the Moon. Said museum would, of course, bear examples of all the species which from time to time frequent or have frequented the planet. I am sure with each species on display that there would be a history as to its connection to Earth. Were they engaged in deep sea marine studies or mining – aquatic or land-based? Were they engaged in trade, research, exchanges with some levels of Earthly governments? Again, as with the canyonned Machu Pichuesque civilisation, December 29, 1990. There was the sense of the dugout and that dream of October 6, 1997 wherein the 500-plus-storeyed skyscrapers sat inside portal-like canyons. I do believe that all three of these dreams are connected and were centred on the Moon.

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Raye Live 2025 Montreux Jazz Festival

She’s a dynamite Jazz singer in the making!

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Two rats during the course of eighteen months produce one million offspring. You’ve long transcended being a cultural infestation; you are a fucking plague and Karma, that most vicious of cunts, will yet dispense with you!

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Homecoming… EIIR 1926 ]-0-[ 2022

15.11.202129.12.2025 Arvin da Brgha4 Comments

Last night, on the eve of HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales’s 73rd birthday, I dreamt the most spectacularly lucid dream in long decades. In the evening of Saturday, November 13th, 2021 when I don’t even know the lunar phase and have not audio-cassette recorded my dreams since 1997 when then living in Montréal, I simply had to share this dream. I awoke from the dream being saddened that I had to come to so soon.

HM Queen Elizabeth II

Since then, of course, as of today, September 8, 2022, it is obvious HM The Queen, Queen Elizabeth II is on the cusp of passing, so I reissue this here. Similarly, after having published this in November, 2021, I did recall that there were on a high hilltop a mighty army of bagpipes creating a most glorious sound.

At once I was come to in the most lucid dream set on the astral plane. Astral plane dreams are possessed of lighting that is uniquely found there and nowhere else. Vibrationally, it always feels in such dreams as it does between 0400 and 0600 with the intensity of this magical time being closer to 0500. In any event, I was in the midst of a flying dream above what can only be called the boulevard. It was a street wider than any in the waking state. The focal point of the dream, in this astral metropolis of at least 3 billion souls, was the gates to an ancient church, which was set back from the boulevard at the end of a long narrow straight pathway. It was exactly as the Anglican Church in the parish of St. Anne in Sandy Point St. Kitts. It was a church which was millennia old and all along the path to the foreboding wrought iron gates were clergy – all male – of the Anglican faith. As at the Anglican church in Sandy Point on either side of the pathway between the church and the gates were graves with the most ancient tombstones imaginable. There was a lone grave which was open, the earth on either side black and rich. There were clergymen at the grave concluding their business. As I alighted and took my place along the boulevard, HM The Queen walked alone in a green crew neck woollen dress; it was the same colour as a young artichoke, green fig or green guava. She carried no handbag. There were no corgis; about her neck was a single strand pearl necklace which was so ancient that its nacre had become diffused, time-yellowed and on the very cusp of looking like browning rotting teeth. She was reserved and poised and as the rear of the giant Rolls Royce faced the gates of the church and cemetery, she walked around to the right rear door and entered; her hair here was beginning to grey but predominantly brunette. There was no foot person to open the door. She got in and was seemingly in her late forties to early fifties, which is more in keeping with her soul age, that of being an early mature slave soul.

Myself for not being an astral plane habitué, had the ability to fly on the astral plane and, of course, though the habitués themselves could, they of custom chose not to. I was for being an observer referred to by the habitués as a visitor. On exiting the grounds – just as in the Sandy Point, St. Kitts arrangement, there was a crescent in which the massive Rolls Royce sat with its rear facing the open gates to the cemetery and church. The car carrying the arrivée Sovereign was expected and eventually did turn right onto the ridiculously large boulevard where the astral plane throngs along the boulevard’s route were as claustrophobically packed in as it must have been at St. Paul’s Cathedral for the Duke of Wellington’s funeral. Here the atmosphere was electric.

What had initially drawn me to this marvellous place, was the distant sound of several bugles, playing the rouse. I knew instantly what it meant. On my arrival, there were hills all around this sector of the astral plane metropolis; this seemed to a very layered astral plane London where different epochs in the city’s history simultaneously co-existed. On one particular wooded hill were the largest stags imaginable – they looked almost sentient whilst regally standing in small mobs. They had majestically arrived to the top from the other side, stood there for a long while then en masse sat down to onlook. Along the route, there were the most massive black steeds and when they walked and stood along the route, they were buried in the astral landscape such that the underside of their bellies were submerged.

The arrivée astral plane habitué Sovereign was then taken on a celebratory parade. The wood was an exquisitely polished oak that framed the exterior of this astral plane version of the Rolls Royce that seemed to have been from the late 1920s to early 1930s. On pulling out onto the boulevard the slow-moving single vehicle motorcade turned right and went down to the shorter arm of the boulevard. Along the right, as it were, of the boulevard and on either side were the most opulent, massive astral plane replicas of each and every stately home in England. The closest house on the right on leaving the cemetery was Blenheim Palace This astral plane version was easily 30 storeys tall and at least 15 millennia older than its waking state counterpart; I suppose that they were this massive as they served as suites for past Dukes of Marlborough as with Blenheim Palace. Even the stately houses which were demolished at the end of the empire, which saw families that didn’t marry robber baron Americans to stay afloat, were here represented. Longleat House, Althorp House, Highclere Castle, Knole House, Hampton Court Palace, Kensington Palace, Mapperton House, Waddesdon Manor, Wilton House, Castle Howard, Chatsworth House; you name it, they were all here behind wrought iron fencing and they stood side-by-side without massive ground anchoring each. This astral plane Blenheim Palace counterpart had sapphire-blue cupolas at the towers and center; every astral plane counterpart was here replete with sapphire-blue copulas. The walls of each house on the astral plane was made of marble that was time-yellowed, betraying the multiple millennia it had existed on the astral plane. Just as the skyscrapers on New York City’s Avenue of the Americas from 42nd to 57th Streets are tall and easily in excess of 30 storeys, so too was each of these astral plane counterparts for familiar English stately houses.

All along the route, which was teeming with astral plane habitués, there were different sections that towered up for several storeys. Directly opposite the gates to the church and cemetery from which the astral habitué Sovereign Elizabeth II emerged alone, was regally sat Sir Winston Churchill; he was surrounded by all the astral plane habitué Prime Ministers who had served HM The Queen. Here, there was a section reserved for astral plane-focussed English aristocrats; one recognisable such habitué was Gerald Grovesnor, 6th Duke of Westminster. At no point, however, did I ever see the following habitué relatives, HRH Prince Philip Duke of Edinburgh, HM Queen Elizabeth Queen Mother, HRH Princess Margaret, Countess of Snowdon or Diana, Princess of Wales. Constantly, persons were arriving to take their place, even when the parade was begun. This dream was so vivid, so electric, so lucid that the stimuli was so overwhelming that I times, I had to alight to ground myself. Indeed, at times, it proved laborious to try and fly where the amount of stimuli and the outréness of this astral plane milieu proved overwhelming on my ability to stay aloft to project myself whilst astrally projected into this utterly rhapsodic dream. As this dream was set on the astral plane, there were astral plane habitués here who wore the dress of the age in which they lived when incarnate. I readily assumed that these were past-life personae with connections to HM The Queen from past lives.

As I soared in flight into the astral plane air some three storeys above to get my bearings, I saw a phalanx of swashbuckling courtiers, progressing down the boulevard to take their place. They had all the swagger and style of dress as King Charles I in the masterful van Dyck tableau, Charles at the Hunt, which hangs at Musée du Louvre. They walked down the boulevard which housed the stately houses on either side, and well ahead of the habitué Sovereign’s Rolls Royce, which glided along the boulevard as if in bucolic slow-motion.

Still, there was a section of the immensely long boulevard which seemed as if longer than New York City’s Fifth Avenue, which on either side housed waking state visitors who were in attendance. Naomi Campbell, who was recently made Commonwealth ambassador to replace the Duke and Duchess of Sussex on their departure from royal duties, was here present. She was there in an enclosed section where all the waking state guests were kept. Also notable was fellow supermodel Kate Moss. I found it utterly fascinating to hear Ms. Campbell speaking in flawless Jamaican patois as she was gobsmacked by the beauty of this astral plane ritual. Taking a break from the laboriousness of dream flight in this particular dream, I had sought refuge in the glass enclosed stands where incarnate persons were focussed. These stands existed opposite each other across the ridiculously wide boulevard.

Once returned to flight I soon realised the immensity of the life that HM The Queen had lived. Here along the astral plane boulevard, on which I suppose that the Circus Maximus was modelled, were habitués who had lived during HM The Queen’s long life and reign and who had immensely admired her. These spanned the range of human civilisation with not just every racial stratum of Commonwealth member states but all other humans who had so immensely admired this extraordinary human being. Here were astral plane habitués from the 1930s, 1940s, 1950s, 1960s, 1970s, 1980s, 1990s, 2000s, 2010, 2020s. From her earliest years of being the much admired Princess of York to becoming the young Sovereign and onwards, there were adoring astral plane habitué admirers. Absolutely everyone was here represented. It was simply overwhelming to see so many tens of millions of persons focussed in one place and all experiencing rapture at the arrival of someone in whom they had focussed much of their admiration, respect and love. This was a truly remarkable dream.

Pushing of again and exploring more of the unique dreamscape, I flew slowly in the opposite direction of the habitué Sovereign’s parade down the boulevard lorded over by palatial astral plane counterparts to known English stately houses. In one section there were humanoid creatures whose look suggested that these were animals which were long extinct long before animals were documented in earnest. One particular creature was pure white with liver spots markings. This large-headed male was singing whilst perched on a floating dais. Cloaked in a white ermine robe, the three to four thousand pound male creature sang with a range that went from whale song to counter tenor bravura. His voice was simply healing. Light seemed to emanate from beneath his skin and in varying intensities based on his emotions. His performance was so powerful that I had to alight again just to gather my energy reserves as flying does take considerable focussed energy.

Further along the boulevard, as every corner of the Commonwealth was here richly represented and this was a celebration of the life of the arrivée Sovereign, there were African women in colour garb, singing and dancing with jubilation written all over their cul-de-sac of the astral plane. From time to time, feeling the spirit one or more African woman would step into the boulevard and let their spirit jubilantly soar whilst in trance from singing and dancing their souls out.

The further along the boulevard one explored in flight to the left of the cemetery gates and to which the arrivée Sovereign had yet paraded, I explored whilst flying. Eventually, the lone Rolls Royce would come past a section of the boulevard where the astral plane habitués though humanoid, had heads that were akin to those of many gods from the Egyptian pantheon. Still, there were those who closely resembled Kiwi bird-headed humanoids. As astral plane-focussed dreams go, this contingent of totemic beings was not that unusual a sight. When the arrivée Sovereign’s motorcade of one turned to return and tour past the cemetery, I took to the air again and this time soared higher than usual. This enabled me to fly more swiftly than when lower to the electrically charged activity along the boulevard’s route. I returned to the far end of the boulevard to a stately house which sat at the end. Inside this royal residence, there truly was a battle royal underway. At the centre of this feud was Meghan, Duchess of Sussex. Here, her voice was a booming commanding business. She was powerful and was settling scores. When she spoke, the walls of the stately house cracked, glass and art flew off the walls. Eventually one of the stately house’s cupolas cracked and eventually collapsed. It was a noisy, violent business.

The last time that I had dreamt of an astral plane-focussed dream wherein the past was being prosecuted, involved the recently passed Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis and Maria Callas. That, too, was a battle royal where scores were being settled. That dream is as follows:

Prosecuting the Past whilst at the Deathscape.

*As per the urgency of this dream, I rather suspect that HM The Queen may already have passed by the time of the 2021 Remembrance Service at the Cenotaph; however, London’s hotels would have to be cleared of the Veterans and tourists before the death announcement would be made.

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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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Go In Peace: Energy Transference with Recently Departed Famous Entity Mate.

27.08.201930.12.2025 Arvin da Brgha1 Comment

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*Since having posted this dream blog some years back, I was always fascinated why I was simply summoned to be with the actor, River Phoenix when he passed. I did mention that sense of feeling strong resonance at the time of cadre mates’ passing. This dream was a poignant example of being called into action, to be of service to someone with whom I have a strong and connected soul bond that spans multiple past lives.

This was something that I felt at Natalie Cole’s passing and, of course, she proved to be an entity mate. In the case of River Phoenix, whose overleaves I will include here and which can now be found in the revamped and tidied up Michael Overleaves Appendix page, not only is he also an artisan soul but he happens to be a greater cadence mate of mine. This dream would not have occurred if we did not share this very strong bond; as a result of my cardinal casting, I am often called into action in dreams such as this one when entity and cadre mates pass on.

Read these dreams anew and do enjoy!.

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Whilst the Moon transited both Gemini and my first house, I would be transported to a cul de sac of the astral plane wherein I am not frequently focussed. It was Monday, November 1, 1993. At the time, as now, I did not own a television and hardly looked at it. Also, at the time, I hardly listened to radio or read newspapers et al. I was also much removed from most daily chatter as I had been off sick from work but did go in to participate in the annual Halloween costume competition which the year prior I had won when dressed in full drag and looking hotter than even Tina Turner herself in my high heels. The above photo of yours truly was taken at Halloween 1993, the day prior to this dream.

Thus it was that I would fall into sleep and immediately be summoned to be in service to the higher good. What is really interesting about the experience with the famous actor encountered in these dreams, I rather suspect that he may be a cadre mate from the tenor of the dream encounter. Too, there are a number of famous persons in my cadre and he seemed vibrationally not dissimilar to them.

That being the case, this likely explains why I was called on to be of service at the time. I am said to be rather cardinal in casting, which is clearly reflected in yours truly being inordinately gifted when it comes to fathoming the depth and breadth of the dream realms. Too, as these dreams were clearly focussed on the astral plane, naturally, there was dream flight. More than that, whilst focussed on the astral plane in the dreamtime, one did encounter at least two, possibly three, extra-human species.

As there is flight and levitation in these dreams, I pray that they will richly inspire you. Fly my darlings, fly, don’t even for a second doubt, just melt into a mischievous plié and start flying – cause you can… cause you are magic incarnate!

A woman and I were together, in this the second dream, above the Arctic Circle. This woman did remind me of the woman, who had earlier been in the previous dream encounter with Niles Ben-Daniel and seemingly his lover. I was not fully certain that this woman was one and the same as, the one posing as Niles Ben-Daniel’s lover, in the prior dream. She had a couple of siblings whom she had asked to find out what time it was.

Here, they kept time quite unusually because there was no tundra about. They, as a result, kept sundials. They grew their grass such that they were able to tell from Sol’s shadows what time of day it was. Their sundial was a natural phenomenon which used the rugged flat landscape for keeping time. Standing there, I faced due north. Sol was still in the sky, but low, and at the two o’clock position. Sol was red and potent; it was almost serene-looking.

Over time, they had planted a hedge of Chinese boxwood, which stood a foot tall. From it were a series of radial-like spokes radiating out from the centre. All told, there were twenty-four spokes; of course, the spokes lined up with each hour of the day. Even in the wintertime, the hedge though submerged maintained an imprint of itself above – in the snowed and iced over terrain. It was quite nude (barren) landscape here. Sol’s shadow was presently pointing directly at the ten o’clock position though it clearly wasn’t. Ten o’clock could also have been four hours past midnight.

I decided that it had to be around four, in the morning, which is why Sol appeared in the sky where it was. This was the time of year when Sol never sets which made it difficult for me, a novice in these parts, to readily get my bearings. Quite a strange phenomenon because my body felt nocturnally phased, yet, there in the sky was Sol as plain as the Moon. She wanted to know what time it was because she was getting ready to go down south to the ‘Southland’.

She also referred to it as, ‘the land of the setting summer Sun,’ which did make sense. She had said all that in her Inuit tongue, yet I had been able to follow perfectly well as though she had been speaking English. More than being with her, rather, I was there as an observer and took in the minutiae of this unique culture. Certainly, we were keenly aware of each other and that we were both gifted telepaths.

Next, in this the third dream, I was in a crowded interior. It was a waiting lounge in a large depot that was not unlike New York City’s Grand Central Station. A sandy marble, time-yellowed hue, the walls here were the same colour as at Grand Central Station. A high-ceilinged cavernous place it also was. The main hall had several wings that adjoined its considerable length. Here, there was natural light coming in from the bathysphere-like windows that sat way up the walls and close to the ceiling.

In that sense, this was not unlike the grand hall in which I walked with Merlin during which we encountered the exalted magus on September 4, 1988. I was seated on these large wooden benches that were old, comfortable and looked not unlike church pews. Semi-circular in shape, they gave a sense of inclusiveness to them. All around me exclusively were men. This place seemed, if you like, some sort of way station. One guy there was very slight-bodied, young and naïve-looking.

Looking at him, he wore a navy-blue track suit. He came over to sit next to me, eventually sitting on my right. Patting him on the back, I told him that it was really good to see him. I wished him a safe passage and asked that he go in peace, “Have a safe passage. Go in peace and do have a good journey…”

Of all people, it was the actor, River Phoenix – he recently overdosed on heroin, early on Sunday, October 31, yesterday. This was a very vivid dream. I was quite lucidly awakened. Feeling great compassion for his tragic departure, I thought to be of comfort to him and to uplift his spirit in whatever way possible. There and then, I realised that this was a place where persons who had recently died came whilst in transit to their final destination as returning astral plane habitués.

*This, of course, did not surprise me. Right away, I was reminded of the sense of mammoth dimensions that also exemplified the architecture of the train termini, where I had run into Merlin in that momentous dream on Friday, July 9, 1993. END.

Seated there, next to him, I exclusively turned my focus on him. I then began doing an enormous amount of energy transference, thereby healing his spirit, before he could move on. Who cares the attachments to this man, in the waking state? I have never followed his career but here, in his astral plane hour of need, we were souls and healing is the most generous gift of love. After having left his life in such a dissociate state, River Phoenix needed to be made more whole.

This is why he had seemed so naïve and as if in a daze. He saw me and purposefully began walking towards me. God only knows what he noticed in me that was different to the others. Until he was about two feet away from me, I for one had not realised that it was him. By that point, he had already been intent on coming to sit with me. He clearly needed my services.

Phoenix, River 23/8/197031/10/1993

This fragment was a second level mature artisan – third life thereat. River was in the observation mode with a goal of growth. A realist, he was in the intellectual part of emotional centre.

Body type was Lunar/Mercury.

River’s primary chief feature was self-destruction and the secondary stubbornness.

Casting for River is fifth-cast in second cadence; he is a member of greater cadence three – greater cadence mate of Arvin’s. River’s entity is six, cadre one, greater cadre 7, pod 414.

River’s essence twin is an artisan and he has a sage task companion.

River’s primary needs were: exchange, expression and power.

There are 18 past-life associations with Arvin and 16 with Merlin.

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At the level of soul, I could not have cared less who he was; his energy body’s vibration needed a good deal of realignment before he could move on. He chose me and I gladly obliged his wishes. When patting him on the back, I was keenly focussed on sending him a great deal of near-aqueous blue-white light. River Phoenix was saddened. Rather, he seemed to be in a state of shock, though, not horrified or enraged. There was just a degree of resignation as he came to terms with where he was at. When it was all over, in the brief moments that it took to lay my hand on his back, he got up to get going.

He was obliged to take his leave and move on. He seemed here truly dazed. Perhaps, these were residual effects of his having passed in a heightened soporific state. Seated there, I felt completely drained of my very breath itself. I was left feeling so overwhelmingly sad and strangely alone. Another guy had sat down, on the other side of me, whilst I energetically focussed on River Phoenix.

I can’t, for the life of me, say whether or not the guy had ambled up to join us seated there or if he had simply materialised – on the astral plane – for having just projected himself into our midst. Looking Hispanic, more than anything, this man had yellow-coloured eyes. Absolutely bewitching they were. He wore cream-coloured jeans with matching cream-coloured jacket. There was a lot of black in the clothing. This was in the style of Hip-Hop fashions.

He was a very sensitive man with a Hispanic accent and was slightly older than River Phoenix; he was about 24 or 25 years – at least he looked about that age. His hair was thick, black and curly. By way of conducting focussed energy transference, my function here was to provide counsel. I would simply tap into their vibration and, by way of their chakras, realign their energy. All of them seemed to have passed suddenly, completely unexpectedly. Thus they had a great need to become assimilated to what was clearly an unexpected turn of events.

They needed immediate supervision and companionship, until having become further acclimatised. Meanwhile, the persons around me were all being counselled by others – who were more solid-looking – whose role was like that of mine. I was, like all the others, a guide, companion and energetic facilitator to the arrivée habitués.

Architecturally, this place was so immensely massive. It was also more ancient by at least 30 millennia than the rise of the Roman Empire. Clearly, there is no way to get around the fact that this was an astral plane experience. There was also no way to get around the fact that the first man, with whom I worked, was the actor, River Phoenix. What was really impactful for me was that River Phoenix, like all the others, had absolutely no emotions. He was in a place of total detachment.

Though a sudden departure from the life being lived, his soul consciousness was totally matter-of-fact about the situation at hand. The past, his recently accidentally concluded incarnation, was concluded and behind him. Period.

Whilst we were all there, we were caught in some commotion when a Black guy appeared. He wore a blue jean jacket and wore on his face a flesh-toned fabric mask. He looked as though he had been in a burn unit at a hospital, I assumed, after having suffered massive burns to more than 95% of his body. It was the mask used for allowing skin grafts in such instances to take without becoming infected. My sense impression of his situation was that he had been in a violent car crash which turned into an explosive fireball. He had survived and was in hospital, for a while, undergoing massive skin grafting surgeries.

He also wore dark shades. The moment that he appeared, everyone instantaneously freaked out. All that one could see, was his mouth and nose; the image was upsetting, menacing. Right away, we all began fleeing that section of the grand hall. His arrival was simply instantaneous. He had simply manifested in plain view. When he came through, he brought with him a great explosive energy and immense suffering. This is what had upset the Chi in the place; it was quite an impactful energy wave that accompanied his manifestation. On closer inspection, I realised that he had not been a burn victim as he was still brandishing a large semi-automatic weapon.

Clearly, he had been holding up a business and got himself shot to death in the process. Thus, as is, he instantaneously appeared on the astral plane. The energy around his death was+ so immensely violent, as he went berserk, that it proved rather jarring for the rest of us. His body was violently sputtering away, as though, still echoing the massive volley of bullets that were being pumped into him. No doubt, a battery of over-armed police officers were only too happy to waste yet another ‘Black’ male.

We all immediately started bolting because here was he, suddenly arrived and carrying a weapon, on the astral plane to which all these arrivés were not yet fully acclimatised. There was a group of urbane Gays over to one side who kept to themselves. The Gays went truly berserk, fearful of him, as this man was clearly a zealous homophobe. That too was the other thing about this place; one was able to accurately ‘read’ a person on their arrival.

As I sat there on the pews doing my energy work with River Phoenix, most of the light flooding the hall came from off to the right and rear. From the inner hall, I went bolting along with everyone else and took cover. The armed Black man had manifested across the hall from me. Making my way from what I thought previously was the main hall, I ended up in a grand hall that was easily seven times larger than the atrium in which I had been counselling River Phoenix and then the yellow-eyed Hispanic.

As everyone else had been bolting in that direction, I made a left turn. From the main hall, I was now in another atrium; this one, however, was considerably darker. This one was several storeys high with the same colour schemata as at Grand Central Station. Though there were no discernible floors as such, at each storey there were landings. I would then bolt down to where all the other Gays were ahead of me. In a bid not to be captured by this guy, who had no awareness that he was now dead and on the astral plane, I leapt over the railing and down onto the escalator where the Gays were.

As they were all still clambering down the steps, this was not the greatest idea on my part; it was a truly chaotic scene. Deciding against pursuing the herd mentality, I willed myself from amongst them. With that I began levitating, above them and shot upwards, flying up into the nave of the towering complex. Goodness, this place was immensely massive. Soon enough, the man came to where we had been and made for the stairs from which I had just taken off. Being sufficiently distracted, I knew that he wouldn’t be able to either hear or see me way above him.

Too, he wouldn’t think to look up and see me. I flew in such a way that I progressed around a corner which took me into another wing of the massive complex. Here, there was a balcony whose wall was such that it had an indentation in the shape of an inverted top hat. Thus, the balcony was as if wrapped inside the hat. Hiding out in the cover of the balcony, I peered out – from time to time – where I saw others on lower balconies who peered up at me.

Others were off to the right in the inverted balcony. They discouraged me from coming because they thought that, somehow, my movement would attract the newcomer with semi-automatic weapon. They were of the impression that he was, in the first place, out to get me. All around, this whole episode was terribly unpleasant. It had all the chaotic madness that must surely exist, at present, in the streets of a war zone like Bosnia or Croatia.

Deciding against hiding out, I sought to be rid of this place altogether. With that, I began flying upwards towards the very ceiling of the grand hall. The ceiling was as if a force field and not a physical construct. Thus, without incident, I was able to will my way through its parameters. I was truly relieved to have made it out of there. One had the sense of leaving one dimension and moving on to another, whilst seemingly clearing the grand hall’s ceiling, and into the next dream experience.

Next, in this the fourth dream, I was outside where I immediately encountered some young teenage females. All were sarcastic, bitchy solipsistic twits. They were on an empty city street. Racy-edged, in the extreme, were they. Especially for feeling the enervation that I did for the massive energy transference work that I had undertaken with River Phoenix, I really did not care to be around these people’s energy.

At the time, I was still in flight but had slowed down, hoping possibly to interact with them. Finally, I had no time for them and their bullshit. No need to be around their imploding energy. Without haste, I flew on and went onto a side street. There, I saw a really large building from which there were some persons presently exiting.

It was as if one were looking outdoors, due west towards Fifth Avenue, in Manhattan. A young couple came from the building and entered a car which looked like a Bentley limousine. A massive stately old car it was and looked every bit as though it had been made from lead. A large structure stood to my left as I watched them drive away towards what seemed to be Fifth Avenue.

Looking to the structure, I realised that the structure was in fact St. Patrick’s Cathedral which, of course, meant that I was at 51^st Street at Fifth Avenue. Naturally, the car made a left turn and went south down Fifth Avenue. Here it was nighttime with lots of snow in the street, the sidewalk, and covering just about everything. The car wanted, once on Fifth Avenue, to go westwards along 50^th Street, but couldn’t because that street runs easterly one-way.

There was also too much snow jammed there in the street. So, in the end, the car went down to the south end of Saks Fifth Avenue to try and get onto 49^th Street. Here in the dreamtime, contrary to the waking state arrangement, 49^th Street flowed easterly. This made me realise that its attempt to go along 50^th Street was not bizarre. I guess that they then intended to go easterly along 49^th Street, over to Park Avenue then up 57^th Street, make a left at that street, to try and get across town that way.

I figured that that major thoroughfare would not be impassable. I was keen to find out who was inside the car, which was a very regal, stately affair; they were a sophisticated well-bred couple. I was more intrigued by the car because it was mostly glass, with the rear windshield arching up to above their heads, as they sat there exuding their exalted classism. The side panelling on the outside, and where the rear windshield met the roof, was all solid gold. Atop the roof there was a beacon like on a taxi cab, however, it was made of solid gold.

Really, it was more a coat of arms than anything so crass as a taxi’s beacon; this was a truly luxurious-looking vehicle. As I inspected it, I had been in flight hovering a couple of floors above it. Rising in the air, I began speeding down on the east side of Fifth Avenue over St. Patrick’s Cathedral. When I got over the cathedral, I noticed that – unlike its waking state counterpart – this one had flying buttresses. Though it was very dark out, as though the dead of a Dark Moon night, I noticed that there was activity atop the cathedral. There were things there which I found immediately intriguing.

Abandoning my pursuit of the Bentley landau, I slowed down, coming closer to observe what was going on atop the cathedral’s roof. There, I saw wonderful fowl; there was a whole array of them which were quite large. One species was white with lots of black specs throughout its body. They were all on different ledges on the flying buttresses. All of them had nests that they were tending.

One of the nests had 8 large speckled eggs inside. There was, however, no fowl tending to this nest. Flying slowly, within ten feet of the buttresses, I inspected everything with a keen eye. This was so very astral plane in focus. Considering that I had previously been counselling River Phoenix, who had recently passed, it made sense that I should be on the astral plane. In any event, the rooftop was pitch-black and covered in tar. The masonry here was also much blackened with time’s passage. Too, there was a lot of moss covering every available nook and cranny.

I suppose that this replica of St. Patrick’s Cathedral needed to exist, here on the astral plane, to provide some sense of continuity to the dearly departed recent arrivés of the Catholic persuasion. Here on the astral plane, this St. Patrick’s Cathedral was considerably larger than its waking state counterpart. As well, it was millennia older than the Roman Coliseum. The older dead moss had left the structure blackened – along with the centuries of pollution and soot caked on in layers. Naturally, in order to get up to the roof of the nave, I had had to rise higher and beyond the buttresses.

Once higher in the air, I saw down between these two buttresses a group of Whites. They were dressed in animal skins and were, in the true sense of the word, barbaric-looking. They had not yet fully developed the ability to speak; thus, their speech consisted of a series of barks and grunts. Quite hirsute, they were obsessively fearful. Huddled on the top of the structure, they proved a smelly lot.

Everything was quite ancient and scorpionic-hued. As well, there was a tribe of black-furred monkeys with some red in them. The Barbarians also wore a skin that had a reddish hue to it which was seemingly a doeskin. Theirs was, as well, a tawny reddish complexion. On noticing me, the monkeys went wild, climbing up to the tops of the buttresses; frantically, they pounced and screamed up at me. Goodness, they had such large vicious-looking teeth; thank goodness they could not fly.

Mildly horrified, I simply levitated higher into the air and stayed clear of their none-too-evolved noise. Exceptionally tiny, they were also very intelligent-looking. Truth be told, they looked much more evolved intellectually than their simian cousins, the Barbarians. Goodness, they were feisty and noisy. Wanting to investigate everything about the queerness of the sight of me, they were truly inquisitive.

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Going higher, I reached to the top of the nave where I noticed a couple lying there. They were lying on their backs. Looking not unlike the sphinx’s, theirs were the most abnormal-looking skulls that were splayed and large. Their clothing was unusual-coloured; however, on closer inspection, it turned out to have been their skin. Basically, their skin was as if a floral-printed fabric. Very brightly coloured, their skin was an interesting sight… to say the least. They lay there, looking not the least bit surprised at the sight of me. They also seemed not inclined to do anything but enjoy themselves in repose.

They seemed so mysterious. Looking down, I alighted to investigate. I spent some time looking down at their feet where their skin was also uniformly distributed. I had wanted to leave but decided to head in the opposite direction; as they lay there, their feet were in my way. I didn’t want to have to upset or interact with them. They seemed alien, in the true sense of the word, but were not in fact to be disturbed. Silently, they lay there and directly looked at me. One had the sense that they could have turned deadly in a femtosecond and gone at me like a cobra on the attack. They had very cool eyes that were powerful, truly scorpionic. Theirs were the kind of eyes that were beguiling but utterly untrustworthy.

*Their eyes much reminded me of that dream encounter with Lars Gamst, set in the British Isles some centuries back, wherein we encountered a litter of oversized cats, which turned out to be not only psychic but also feral. This was back in the summer of 1988 – before recording the dreams on audio-cassettes. END.

Soon enough, I flew away from there because this was much too astrally focussed an experience. I might add, as dreams go, it was one that was very much so real and quite layered. It was simply much too intense; so, with that, I withdrew being energetically focussed therein.

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Hope you enjoyed having taken this groovy little trip with me… Go on, hop to it, start flying. I love you more.

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Dreams are the poetic expression of the soul.

Tag: #FifthAvenue

Stellar Galactic Museum of Anthropology.

Homecoming… EIIR 1926 ]-0-[ 2022

Go In Peace: Energy Transference with Recently Departed Famous Entity Mate.