Roy Hargrove 16/10/1969 ]-O-[ 2/11/2018

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Hargrove, Roy 16/10/1969<O>2/11/2018

Michael: This fragment was a fifth-level mature scholar – 2nd life thereat.  Roy was in the perseveration mode with a goal of growth.  Roy was a realist who was in the intellectual part of moving centre.

Roy’s primary chief feature was arrogance and his secondary was impatience.

Roy’s body type was Mercury/Lunar.

The fragment Roy is second-cast in the fifth cadence; the fragment is in the first greater cadence.  Roy is a member of entity six, cadre one, greater cadre 7, pod 414 – here we have another entity mate of both Arvin’s and Merlin’s.

Roy’s essence twin is a scholar and the task companion is a sage.

Roy’s three primary needs were: expression, adventure and security.

There are 9 past-life associations between Roy and Arvin and 14 between him and Merlin.

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I have always exquisitely found centre for listening to this recording.  Time seems to drift away and ideas flow with greater ease… indeed, how sweet it is to be richly inspired by an entity mate.  

“I’m in service.  I am here to touch people and make them feel better through music.” – Roy Hargrove.  

Well if that is not validation of being a member of an entity six of a cadre one, I don’t know what it.  

I always good for long days after a concert of his.  A beautiful human being.  

Sweet and blissful dreams be yours dear ennobled entity mate.  

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

In Celebration of Merlin!

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Earlier this week, in celebration of the anniversary today of Merlin’s passing, I attended two performances of the Berliner Philharmoniker at Toronto’s Roy Thomson Hall.  On Tuesday evening, the mixed programme concluded with Gustav Mahler’s Symphony No. 7, E Minor – a truly glorious experience.  Moreover, it was good to have experienced Sir Simon Rattle at the helm of an orchestral performance.  

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The following night, this past Wednesday, November 16, 2016, I returned to Roy Thomson Hall for night two of the Berliner Philharmoniker’s tour of performances.  Always a favourite, the mixed programme concluded with Johannes Brahms’ Symphony No. 2. D Major, Op 73.  In no way was Brahms’ symphony comparable to Mahler’s symphony of the night before, nonetheless, it was a rousing way to have finished off the week of celebration which began at the weekend prior with a quick trip to Montréal. 

spa-ovarium

I went there for two reasons, firstly to fortify my body, spirit and mind at the glorious Spa Ovarium: www.ovariumspa.com – as ever the experience was transcendent.  Previously, I had spent the morning into afternoon at the Musée des Beaux-Arts de Montréal on rue Sherbrooke to take in the Robert Mapplethorpe exhibition.  The show was spectacular. 

musee-d-ba-montreal

Back in early 1983 whilst Merlin was in Toronto working with Jim Henson on Fraggle Rock, I was staying at the Trocadero Loft which Merlin had sublet whilst the dynamic duo who headed Les Ballets Trockadero de Monte Carlo were on tour.  Most evenings, Attila Isaksen would drop by and we would hang out, have great sex, watch TV or crawl about Chelsea and get up to no end of trouble.  Merlin had sublet the loft which sat across the street from the block long grand building at 684 Sixth Avenue between 20th and 21st Streets West.  The floor above was owned by a Gay professional couple who were heavily into S&M.  One evening after we had been out crawling the clubs – Attila who had transitioned from a life as a dancer was now painting and showing in galleries in Soho and elsewhere – we came home with someone that he had picked up. 

paloma-picasso

That someone turned out to have been Robert Mapplethorpe who proved a very intense bottom and a very memorable fuck.  He was intense and as equally ravenous a bottom as was Attila.  Attila was acquainted with him through the art world and picked him up at the bar we were hanging out in a couple of blocks south of my place at the Trockadero loft late one Thursday evening.   We came back to the loft and they smoked ganja, a cigar, did a ton of poppers which I never found remotely appealing, then cigarettes after our wild fuck.  I do though recall Robert’s arse being a rather loose affair.  I might also add as both he and Attila took turns bottoming for me that he was an especially good kisser. 

Robert Mapplethorpe

I quite enjoyed the show and Montréal was a great blast.  Wonderful it was to have been there and seen so many Blacks as here in Toronto Blacks seem to have been eradicated, marginalised, replaced by the White tribe’s buffer races – those who did so nicely for themselves and saw nothing remotely wrong with Apartheid whilst it profited them – who in this town are now the darlings of obsessive Canadians with Black culture as their latest agendum is pushing that most absurd notion, Indo-Jazz.  You know if you are never going to respect Blacks, you certainly can’t be hogging the culture as you so hideously do. 

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This brings me to the matter of the recent American elections; I am so glad that Donald Trump was elected because he will be the shot of adrenalin that Black Americans have so sorely needed.  I would not be the least bit surprised if President Trump does not turn around and have President Obama arrested and imprisoned for being an alien, not an American but of foreign birth and a Muslim to boot. 

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Regardless what happens, the election of President Barack H. Obama has deftly illustrated that we Blacks are not paranoid, not sensitive; racism is real and the White tribal obsession with hating Blacks is at feverish mass extinction levels.  Truly phenomenal it has been to watch these past 8 years evolve.  Amazingly, it is uncanny how some Whites can fabricate lies and for hatefully perpetuating lies as they did with President Obama, these lies soon become accepted as gospel truth. 

Alas, people always get what they deserve and Trump with his wall, I rather suspect, will prove more of a monster than far too many Whites and non-Blacks perceived President Obama to have been.  Racially predatory grudge of Blacks is truly the biggest cancer on human civilisation as it is not exclusively the obsession of Whites.  The entire election boiled down to the perpetuation of the five deadly isms being allow to riotously flower: lookism, ageism, classism, racism and sexism. 

Speaking of racially predatory behaviour, one of the dreams herein involved Damita Soud with whom I worked in the early 90s.  She was the most vile and hideous displacement of the human spirit; frankly, I knew her then because coming off my relationship with Merlin many were the persons like Damita whom I had encountered in the showbiz crowd. 

I do believe that Damita served to have reminded me and to have prompted me to have put persons like this well behind me where they damn well belong.  Also, as it is the anniversary of Merlin’s passing, there was a beautiful dream with a delightful Eurasian boy in London, England whom I assumed was my task companion Merlin reincarnated.  Of course, since this dream which was dreamt in early-August, 1991, Merlin has reincarnated in December, 2006 and is female in Holland. 

Also since that dream, my essence twin, whom I never met during this lifetime, was reborn in the mid-to-late 1990s into Germany is of Japanese/German ethnicity and will likely be a writer in this lifetime.  The Eurasian in the dream was likely an astral plane encounter with my essence twin as my reincarnated essence twin is not only Eurasian but is also male in this lifetime. 

Thanks so much for your continued patronage and ever, I implore you, always remember to push off and start flying because you’ve earned it.  Sweet dreams as ever. 

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Whilst focussed in this the first dream, I got aboard a bus and intuitively knew that I was in London, England.  I headed somewhere of which I am not certain.  Racily, I had jumped onto the bus whilst it was travelling and it was quite fun.  The double-decker London bus was painted violet.  I went to one of the circuses.  Getting there, I got off and began walking behind a teenaged punk rocker.  She had her hairdo done with it sticking out in clumps that were pointy.  She was blonde but it had spots on it like a leopard’s and it was definitely not a wig.

Her hair stuck out like a porcupine’s quills and was very long like about eight inches each.  The spikes of hair conically came in to a fine point.  She wore a black mini, black stockings and black Bull Dog boots.  She had fat, flat non-extant calves.  She wore a cream-coloured merino which had no sleeves.  She was quite long-limbed; both her legs and arms were beautifully proportioned.  I admiringly walked after her as she had a very strong forceful stride.  People were conservatively looking at her; they were being judgmental of her.

I quite enjoyed her energies as I walked after her.  She was a true Demolition Man.  The bus that I was on was getting ready to take off again.  There was one girl who had come out of a building with some long pieces of wood and steel rods.  The building from whence she came clearly was being repaired.  I thought to hustle back to get aboard the bus; as I did so, other people were doing the same thing but through the rear doors.  We were soon enough travelling again.  As we went past, I noticed an Oriental man outside the bus who was asking me how to get somewhere.

He was tall, very handsome and very erudite.  He had two children one on either side of him.  The boy on his left was Oriental but he was mixed; he was Eurasian with freckles and had natural brown hues to his hair.  I assumed that his White parent was the mother from the fairness of his complexion.  Goodness, was this boy incredibly handsome?  I never did see his eyes because I was on the bus as it was passing them on the street.  Afterwards, when I had gotten off the bus, I had seen them again.  However, once again, he had never made eye contact with me.

His lids were deliberately inclined downwards because he knew that I knew who he was and wanted to verify it by seeing his eyes.  I can bet you anything that these would have been Merlin’s, if he had once looked up at mine.  Regardless, his little shy act, I knew those energies; they were more familiar than any energies that I had ever reincarnationally encountered.  The other boy to the man’s right was purely Oriental and older than the reincarnated Merlin.  Goodness, it was so very wonderful to have encountered their energies.  As they walked on a female Londoner had given them directions and had long black hair.  She was a very, very handsome woman with a very spiritually noble quality to her; this woman could even have been the Eurasian son’s mother.  She had directed them to this museum to which they were trying to get.

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london-plane-trees-paris

Antinous Brilman and I were alone, in what proved the third dream, intimate and talking.  We were talking about all these trees that were around us.  For some strange reason, there were all these London Plane trees which were diseased.  They were all dying out as a genus.  I was stunned really and could not think of any disease that they could possibly have.  “They were quite healthy and alive in both Paris and London, when I visited,” that had been a comment that I made.   I could not quite conceive of them going extinct; this, though, certainly seemed to have been the case here in this dream.  At the time, it was quite sunny out and the trees that were healthy were quite nice; those trees zinged with great vitality.

They beautifully reflected the light off their leaves.  Being in their presence was rather nice and uplifting.

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oleta-adams

Here, in the sixth dream, there was a Black woman singing and boy she had a voice on her.  She had a beautiful, beautiful voice; hers was a very soulful voice.  She was an up and coming singer, like Oleta Adams, but it was not Oleta.  She came and stood by a microphone that was from the 1930s; the mic was very Deco.  In particular, the mic is that one that is called a zephyr or a zeppelin – zephyr is correct.  She sang away with her beautiful African head tied up in a turban.  When she sang, she was in a medium that was bluish and slow-moving; in point of fact, the medium was not unlike water.  When she swayed her arms about her, the aqueous medium visibly also swirled about her.

This woman opened her mouth and hit some high notes that were electrifyingly astral.  I shouted, “You go girl.  Go ‘head!  Sing it!” I truly was ecstatic.  What she could do with this otherworldly music quite simply was incredible.  In that sense, it was not unlike a music video; except, it was as if holographic to the extent that one was inside the experience.  In the true sense, it was a virtual reality that I was experienced.

How she appeared was interesting because it was as though simultaneously otherworldly.  I had been singing and there had been these Whites about; naturally, they began throwing shade, “Yeah, yeah, great voice but not the look.”  “Oh shut up and sit down,” these were the sorts of crass remarks that they were making.

*It is always amazing to me how, for being so racially obsessed with Blacks, Whites will feel themselves possessed of some absurd right – which certainly does not exist – to go opening their fucking hideous-spirited mouths and spewing their venomous hatefulness in Blacks’ direction.  END.

I was totally impervious of their bullshit because it was nothing more than small-minded jealousy.  I saw these people who were coming and going.  As well, there were these young Whites who were as if models or model wannabes.  There was a very young-souled approach to their energies.  In any event, there was a party going on across the street and goodness, it was jumping.  There were a ton of people queued to get in.  I was there singing whilst playing a piano when my voice started carrying to the party across the street.  I was technically soaring very high.

Then everyone began clapping in unison.  Antinous was with me and getting ready to go across the street to check out the party.  Though, he had no invitation that did not deter him.  We were going to go crash it but it seemed very much so to be a wedding party.  The party was quite nice and the energies were riotously on.  Here, the atmosphere was great; it was wonderful.  This was the point that the young Black singer had appeared.  She was short and stouter than Oleta Adams.

She was very dark-skinned with very rich teeth.  She had very large teeth that were compacted just like Oleta Adams’.  Perhaps, it was Ms. Adams.  I do not, though, suspect that it was her.  When she sang, she could hold a note whilst adding cadence and timbre to it that was not humanly possible; at least this was only possible on this side of the waking state.  She quite moved me because as she sang, the water appeared and as if created and exuded by her.  Pretty much, it was as though one were seeing her aura as it gushed outwards.  One was being tuned into her vibration; except, this was an aura that was clearly aqueous and simultaneously filled with light.

Her unusual aura was heavy gelatinous water.  As she made the notes go higher, the water kept on changing.  Initially, the aqueous aura started out being light blue but it then shifted to a Kelly green.  Also, as the notes got higher, it became a yellowish-orange whilst transforming into red.  Below her at her feet, the water was still swirling with rich bubbles of varying sizes that rose up and above her head.  She slowly turned around on herself; this was so that she could have affected even greater acoustic depth.  My goodness, it is hard to relate here how incredibly elevated this music was.  I was greatly inspired by it.

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black-cat

I was upstairs in the kitchen, in what proved the eight dream, of an apartment with Damita Soud.  We were preparing a meal and washing some dishes.  In any event, she was talking and I just did not like her energies and did not want to be with her at all.  I then heard Whoopi cry out and I went running to look out the second floor window.  She was on her back and being gnawed in her neck area by another cat that reminded of Damita’s cat Spooky; Spooky, of course, is a little black cat which for being Damita’s would have a name like that.  This so mirrored the kind of unhealthy relationship that knowing this woman has developed into.  This dream interlude so reflected the constant non-too-veiled negativity from Damita towards me; it is an approach that I do not in any way appreciate.  I shrieked out the window at them whilst calling out to Whoopi truly horrified, “Whoopi use your hind legs and beat her up… beat her off you.

“Fight back, fight back!”  I could not get down because, somehow, I had this tether which was an orange-coloured coil.  The coil was wrapped around my waist.  More to the point, this coil was coming away from my umbilical area.  Furthermore, it was so hard to break the bonds to and from this thing.  Such an incredible graphic metaphor this dream’s every symbol.  I was most upset really.  I decided that this just could not go on for very much longer.

Somehow, Whoopi had gotten up and ran away towards an opening in the backyard’s fence; nonetheless, the cat was still on her.  I kept on yelling at Whoopi to fight back.  If only there was something that I could pick up at hand and throw out the window to strike Spooky.  Needless to say, throughout all this Damita remained perfectly mute.  Clearly, the animals, our animas, were engaged thanks to Damita’s decidedly negative focussed will.

*Damita is the perfect White female racial predator.  She is a so hideously perpetually racist; she is perpetually uttering some sotto voce racist remark.  These White racial predators forever  live their every day consumed with racially predatory thoughts on which they do not fail to act, truth be told, towards and on Blacks.  END.

I got this heavy thing but did not want to use it.  Obviously, it was quite likely to end up striking Whoopi in the process.  As it was, she was in enough shock.  Then and there, I decided that the time had long passed for me to put an end to knowing Damita.  Moreover, it personally was too callous a reminder of knowing Elektra Munk-Ejoohoè’s dysfunctional pernicious energies.  This was just not a healthy relationship and I did not want to know this person at all.  Indeed, it was high time that I put an end to knowing her.

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sareed-headscarf

I was in this place, whilst focussed in the ninth dream, where there was an airplane on an airfield.  I reminded me of the Recreations Grounds in Sandy Point, St. Kitts for being focussed in this dream.  The plane was parked in front of the pavilion.  These planes could come in and land on a field as small as the Recreation Grounds without having to do much taxiing.  Much like a Harrier jet, they had the ability to vertically land and take off.  However, this was a passenger jetliner.  Its colour schemata were like that presently of Canadian Airlines international: silver and blue.  However, it could just as easily have been a British airways jetliner.

The bodies of the jets were sleek and black and this airplane was one of the new Boeing 737-300 series.  Then again, it may not have been because I was looking at the single engine on the tail like a DC-10 or a Boeing 727.  Much like a Concorde, the jet was also unusually elevated off the ground.  Unusually, it had large windows like a Greyhound coach bus does; its windows were not the standard singular oval-shaped ones.  So, on looking inside each window, you would see three, sometimes four window seats at a time.  This jet had only two such windows and then you got to the tail of the craft.  There was a door by the tail and one just back of the cockpit.  So, it was a very small plane which had six to eight rows of seats.

There was a small window that did cover two seats in between the two larger windows.  A much wider-bodied plane than a Boeing 757, it also was elevated off the ground much like the Boeing 757.  I could not, though, quite figure out what was going down.  I wondered what exactly could this all mean?  Soon enough, I saw airplanes passing in the sky whilst coming into land.  They descended very slowly, away from the terminal, then on landing slowly taxied up to their designated gate.  There were persons on the plane waiting who had not gotten off because this stop was not their destination.  Some had, of course, gotten off.

I then noticed that there was a large road; this road was close to where the sea is in Sandy Point, St. Kitts.  There were all these beautiful Mercedes-Benzes which were coming into the airport.  One of them was very large, heavy-looking and black and in it rode a woman.  There was so much window space to the car that it seemed more like a rather stately Bentley.  She was East Indian and wore shades and much reminded me of Benazir Bhutto.  She was very proud, sitting very straight-backed and had a strong, prominent nose.  Her head was covered in a fine scarf which, of course, was part of her saree.  A white saree it had horizontal blue stripes.

She was immensely regal-looking.  As she got from the car, I kept looking at her from the area in which I waited; I was being very observant of her actions.  There were tons of East Indians about.  This locale was close to a shoreline.  The persons here were as if the untouchables – the lower caste people.  They were just lying there and many were coupled off.  There was a lone man lying there who was wrapped in his sleeping gear which presently covered his head.  He was close to the plane on the tarmac.

Up approached the woman to the man and bent down to him.  She was very animated greeting him, “Oh I’m so happy to see you.”  They were kissing and she was very genuinely affectionate towards him.  He was a wise old creature.  I could not, though, figure out why she was with such a lower caste person; it just did not make sense.  She was, definitely, the cardinal member of their relationship.  He was very soft-spoken.  The couple next to them began making love because this was their life; they had no home and privacy was not a luxury they even fantasised about.

They were kissing very deeply then he took out his cock and pushed it inside her wet and hungry pussy.  Quite rapidly they made love; it was a very hungry, rushed affair.  They were on their sides and quite tightly embraced.  Then when it was his turn to enter this woman, who was a great deal like Benazir Bhutto and still wore her shades throughout their tryst, he kept on masturbating before entering her.  She was quite hungry for his cock which was very unusually long and soft-looking though hard.  Interestingly enough, his cock had tapered to a pencil-like head.  There were about six or eight couples and all these men had the same classical Dravidian long slender schlong.  All of them on awakening got right down to the business of making love.

He entered her but was not going in all the way.  She was getting impatient with him because of his delaying tactics.  This then triggered what was an obvious recurrent argument between them.  Seems that he had studied to be a doctor but was not practicing.  He did not want to; he wanted only to live next to nature.  He was quite disenfranchised with civilisation.  He said that he had no desire to get caught up in Maya… with materialism.  She fervently argued nonetheless, saying, “But you have to be strong.

“If you are going to be my partner and be in my life, you’ll just have to do better than this.”  They were having this sort of argument.  Basically, he could not participate in the game because he was frankly too old a soul; he just did not find the rat race remotely interesting.  Materialism had no appeal for him.  Though it was clear that the ardent sensualist and lover did so love her, and passionately too, he had no desire to play at the game.  So, at that, I decided to move along and leave them there on the shore.  Here in this place, it was very futuristic.  Even though it seemed in parts the Indian Subcontinent and there was still the abject poverty of the caste system, it was as if set in the late 22nd to early 23rd centuries.

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In early-August, 1991, I awoke from these dreams at my Queen Street East, Beaches apartment and was rather inspired.  After having audiocassette-recorded the dreams with a loudly purring Whoopi next to me in bed, I got about the task of letting her outside to play.  I then got about the business of flowering my life with music to begin in earnest the waking state part of my life.  Thus it was that I began playing Oleta Adams’ 1990 studio album, Circle of One.  Naturally, the choice song that day was her hit single, Get Here, which was an especial favourite of Penina da Braga’s.  Standing in the middle of my living room, I kept my lids shut and swirled my arms about reminiscent of Ms. Adams’ shamanic turn as she weaved her beautiful magic in the dreams just had. 

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Photo Credit: Merlin 1970s in Montréal

Programmes Nov 15 & 16 2016 Berliner Philharmoniker at Roy Thomson Hall

Spa Ovarium at Beaubien & St. Denis in Montréal

Musée des Beaux-Arts de Montréal

Paloma Picasso Gelatin Silver Print 1980 Robert Mapplethorpe

Ken Moody & Robert Sherman 1984 Robert Mapplethorpe

Louise Nevelson Gelatin Silver Print 1990 Robert Mapplethorpe

Gong 96 Acrylic on Canvas 1966 Claude Tousignant

Piccadilly Circus, London, England

London Plane Trees in Paris, France

Oleta Adams – singer

Black cat domesticated short hair

Headscarf and sareed Indian beauty.

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

Nubian-Egyptian Past-Life Dream In Middle Kingdom Egypt – Local Travel Means

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The dream, the first that day, occurred in exquisite lucidity on Sunday, August 11, 1991 whilst the Moon transited both Virgo and my fourth house.  

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Set in another time, this was a most potent dream.  I was very self-aware in this dream.  I was with both Pandora and Isis.  The dream was set in the northeast of Africa… in Egypt.  This was millennia ago.

I never honestly did see the pyramids around – at least those at Giza.  It was also not as densely populated an area of Egypt as let’s say, Lower Egypt and that aspect of the Nile Valley.

We were in a small village, perhaps, in Aleppo.  I really did not know where it was but I do know that we were far west of river Nile itself.  It was broad daylight and intensely hot.

*Clearly, Aleppo is in Syria.  However, at the time of the dream and on awaking I couldn’t quite place the name.  I knew that from the sound of it that the city was one whose name began with an A and was to the west of the River Nile in Upper Egypt.  Alexandria came to mind whilst I recorded the dreams and I knew that that was incorrect as that is a coastal city in Lower Egypt.

Finally, as I wanted to move on with recording the extensive dream recollection, I settled on Aleppo.  However, I do believe that the correct city would have been Abydos in Upper Egypt.  Too, much of the dream occurred at the far-western outskirts of said city.  END.

My sense of smell was most acute and allowed me to distinguish the array of odours about the busy village.  This was, clearly, a dream connecting me to a past life experience.

Again, we were in the bazaar section of the town.  It seemed like the busy market day – whichever day of the week that would have been back then.

Most people were dressed in long, yellowed-white, flowing cotton robes.  The Sun was incredibly hot; amazingly, here the Sun was more brilliant than it is during this time epoch.

There was a large, wicker seat that was very strong and sturdy – it was like a sofa that one would lounge on in the shade of a veranda.  I went and sat in it.  It had an awninged hood over it, such that the sofa was high-backed and enclosed, to protect one from the sunlight and unrelenting heat.

The awninged wicker seat was covered in heavy dark rugs.  They were the finest quality rugs that were, for the most part, dark browns and cranberry reds with lots of black in them.  There was little or no white used.

The awning was made of incredibly thick fabric which perpetually kept the shaded areas cool.  There were rather plush cushions to sit on which one could adjust to affect the desired backrest.

Whilst sitting on the right side of the covered seat, I was joined by Pandora to my immediate left and Isis to the far left.  A man was giving us instructions.  He was very loyal and displayed the kind of deference that suggested that I, at least, was someone very important.

The mid-aged dark-complected man of mixed race – Black and Arabic – was to the right before me and directed my attention to a large black rug, in the corner of the awninged wicker seat, which was to my immediate right.

It was so thick a rug that it almost looked like a briefcase – which was just as well because it certainly would have been out of place here.  Nonetheless, the rug was structurally hard like a briefcase.

It seemed, in fact, like a little Louis Vuitton travelling case that one carried make-up or jewellery in.  I couldn’t quite fathom what it was for or what was inside it.

Yet when he obligingly directed my attention to it, self-deprecatingly smiling, the object’s purpose began vaguely becoming familiar.  It was as though I had been unconscious and had just come to so was vaguely getting my memory back.  However, I still did not quite know what was what.

There were the usual sounds of animals around.  Finally, he told us of the object’s purpose.  He spoke in a distinctly African tongue, however, I perfectly understood him as if he were speaking in English.  My sisters, as well, were aware of what he was saying.  Pandora was fully acculturated to this civilisation.

She was actually more advanced in her knowledge, of the intricacies of this culture, than I was.  It was like when being in Paris, in the waking state with her, and her having a real grasp of the culture and the language.  More to the point, it is all in the subtleties of human nonverbal communication which I have noticed that she does have a special gift for.

To the right was a tether that connected it to the black-fabricked case that seemed like a miniature steam trunk.  Though initially it looked like it, the tether was a long cable that was not rope.  In places the tether was hollow.

There was a network of strings that went up the length of it that were attached in clusters though sometimes individually attached.  All in all, they really did resemble umbilical cords.

He opened the black fabric; I immediately held my breath at the loud stench of what unmistakably was camel piss.  It was quite pungent.  However, it proved to be the skin of some inner organ of a camel.

It had the rank male stench of a billy goat but louder.  The object was very large and spherical.  It was taut like an animal hide that had been stretched before being made into a drum.

The instrument had been designed to stay taut but it could also expand.  Yet, it could never fully contract and collapse.  For this reason, it had to be kept in the special black fabric.

There in its little incubator, if you like, it was able to organically breathe.  When the instrument got exposed to the light – whether sunlight, moonlight or candlelight – it would operate.

The exposure to the light organically began the process whereby the instrument would breathe and expand.  The hot air, trapped inside the instrument, would instantaneously get hotter when exposed to the light because it was a membrane that was thin like intestines.

It, somehow, was a mélange of intestines and hides to allow it best to breathe and expand.  It was a patchwork of both and there were large discernible stitches, in places, throughout the surface of the sphere.  In fact, it was not unlike a bellows system in that sense.

It would actually begin breathing like a perfectly living lung system.  This was revolutionary engineering and it was all very familiar.  I knew the intricacies of its design and makeup, if you like, the moment at which the loyal large-toothed aide had gestured to it and pried the fabric inviting me to start up the engines.

It was off-white, sooty, sandy ostrich-eggshell in colour.  There was something about it that made me passingly think that just such egg shells – ostrich, if not part of the schemata, certainly were instrumental in the inspiration that led to the system’s design.  It was a stained colour.

Also, there was a sense that there was some particular chemical mix taking place – either inside the sphere or below the seat of the sofa that led to the sphere – which gave the sense of combustion.  In this case, the process was ignited by the exposure to the sunlight.

The awninged wicker seat began slowly lifting off the ground to which the man shook his head encouragingly smiling.  I let out an excited squeal at the prospect of flight; also, I delighted in being refamiliarised with this technology.

People in the bazaar looked at us to see who we were but they were not stunned as though this were some extra-human (extraterrestrial) bit of technology that they had never before witnessed.

The covered wicker seat slowly rising was no more so cause for alarm than getting into a car, at a busy market and slowly beginning to drive, would be to anyone today.  It was commonplace.  It was no new invention.

They looked, however, because persons who owned these things were usually rich and the rich are always being gawked at.

Floating upwards, it beautifully levitated as if by will.  The man’s face fell away warmly smiling up at us whilst, to the right, the sphere kept on expanding and emitting a noticeable heat.  This made such utterly perfect sense.

*Exactly why would the people who built pyramids not have such a technology?  Since it was all made with hides, fabrics, innards and woods, they would all easily disintegrate and leave no archaeological evidence that they ever existed.

Like a dream, technologically and historically, this levitating transport system was – with the passage of time – utterly ephemeral.  Not having any physical evidence, to validate on awakening that one did in fact dream, does not however mean that one did not dream.

That someone should also not recall their dreams, on awakening, does not therefore make dreams any less valid or not possible for those of us for whom dreams are very valid and clearly validated.  END.

We rose up off the ground, to between three and four feet, with our feet dangling off the awninged, wicker seat.  Instinctively, I peripherally noticed that Pandora had gathered one of the throw rugs to her rear, placing it on her lap, to cover her exposed legs dangling over the awninged wicker seat’s edge.

I was blown away by the sheer magic of the experience.  I squealed aloud,

“Yes!  Of course…”

It had all come back to me.  Pandora sweetly laughed and put her hand on mine, affectionately patting it, saying with her gesture,

“…yes, of course.  Don’t you remember this?”

I was being refamiliarised with the past – a past life lived in Africa, in Egypt.

Everybody here, interestingly enough, was Black regardless of what Eurocentrism will never concede.  After all, I have yet to have a past life dream in pre-Columbian Europe, in which the place was populated by the Chinese.

The Mongol hordes did not succeed in their expansionist campaign thus there are never dreams of a mostly Eurasian or Chinese stock, in eighteenth century France, when I have been there in time-accurate past life dreams.

I suppose that were the Mongol hordes to have ravaged Europe, finally, the rest of the world would have been overtaken by them as later Europeans would do.  Thus propelled by their fears, of being vanquished by an advancing, Eastern warrior civilisation, this led to the European conquest of the so-called New World.

So had the Mongol hordes made it into Africa, then today with all the heavy kohl depictions of the Egyptian artefacts, then the Sinocentric reinvention of the past would have the Egyptians as having been Chinese or at least Asian.  How could they not have been with all that almond-contoured heavy kohl on the eyes?

The man certainly was of Arabic extraction but the predominant race here was Black.  The common people here had thick, leathery-looking black skin that was unmistakably Nubian – that blue-blackened tonality and with that soft plush-leather texture.

This dream of a past incarnation was set, further back in time, long before the influx of the Aryan peoples into dynastic Egypt.  Long, too, before the influx of Middle Eastern peoples was this dream of a past life.  I should think that definitely it was set before the middle of the Old Kingdom Period.

However, frankly, I really don’t think that I had been incarnating at so early a date.  It is possible that I may have incarnated in the latter part of the intrigue-filled, New Kingdom Period.  Even then, I would have been a relative newcomer reincarnationally.

It definitely was neither in the epicentre nor was it in Lower Egypt.  It was not as cosmopolitan an area, as say immediately west of the Nile and to the South, definitely.  It hadn’t yet become the desertified area that it would become in later years – millennia.

Interestingly, desertification had not matured to the extent that we now know.

Later, as we ascended high enough making it out above the sandy plains, I could see the pyramids but there were date trees and palm trees.  The living quarters were very old and well lived-in.

We began moving forward whilst slowly negotiating the crowded bazaar.  There were people in a very narrow alleyway that was off the main site of the bazaar.  Pandora, who was so much more savvy at all this, called out to the unsuspecting locals getting them to move.

The locals turned around, giggled and gave us right-of-way.  The alleyway was a series of landings that were stone-stepped which, in fact, were quite worn from centuries of use.  This was a very ancient city.  Everything was very white or sand-coloured – limestone.

There was a noticeable veneer of fine sand, on most of the buildings, deposited by windstorms.  This fine veneer of sand made the upper parts of the buildings glisten in the sunlight.

High up the sinuses, there was a ripe smell of dryness from the desert.  There was a sense of the many spice aromas.  Of course, there was a perpetual haze of smoke from the methane fumes of guano-fuelled fires going everywhere.

This was a town of about two thousand people.  There was a lot of smoke in this part of town perhaps because we were in the bazaar.  However, I should think that there must have been a high incidence of respiratory illnesses from all that thick stifling smoke.

Not too familiarised, I wasn’t properly working the pulley system.  So at one point, as we came to the cobblestone steps though the transport levitated we had to use our feet to get purchase and push down and clear the steps.

Pandora, true to her no-nonsense heart, smacked me on the back of the hand and leaned across to the controls saying,

“No, no.  Use this.  You’re supposed to be using this one.”

I was not properly working the pulley system; I had totally forgotten about it and so had stopped using it.  Following her directives, I pulled on certain strings and the transport readily levitated higher.

Each string, attached to the main cabling tether, was connected to a small duct on the sphere.  Pulling on a particular string caused the corresponding duct to open and it, in turn, was related to a particular lever beneath the sofa that allowed it to dip, turn, rise or go forward – all the possible combinations of movement desirable.

This system of transportation was developed because they did not believe in the abuse of animals, such as camels, oxen, asses, et cetera, as beasts of burden.  After all, this was a culture whose religion at its core was animist – intrinsically African.

Besides, it should be obvious that this degree of engineering ingenuity would have existed then because they did build the pyramids.

It also makes it very feasible to speculate that modes of levitation, such as this used in the passenger transportation, were used and probably developed to ferry building materials on-high during the mammoth engineering endeavour of erecting the pyramids.

This was so very simple an engineering feat that it made such utter sense.  After all, engineering breakthroughs don’t happen because one is posited in a deemed modern age.

At all times, there will be mature to old souls incarnating on the planet.  At any given time, it will be the ingenious ideas of such visionary souls to come up with whatever engineering marvel is needed at that time.  These engineering breakthroughs can then be applied in the culture to make things that much more practical, functional and operationally efficient.

Thus an old soul like Leonardo da Vinciº appeared when he did, and not now, because it was about his personal, spiritual, evolutionary perspective.  Indeed, it is not the group perspective that produces the visionary breakthroughs.

As for Leonardo da Vinci, he was naturally a sceptic which is the one attitude that leads to all originality of thought, breakthroughs and inventions… it is the attitude of the visionary.

So that it’s not about social evolution, along a progressional linear timeline, rather older souls stepping to the fore in their time to invent and eventualise those visionary breakthroughs.

This is why Pharaoh Ramses IIº was the great architect and visionary that he was.  It was not because he represented the ultimate expression of Egyptian civilisation’s evolution, rather, he was an older soul who had the vision.

Being well-placed at birth, to affect the massive cultural and architectural changes and advances required, served Pharaoh Ramses II for being an older soul and visionary.

Why should we be considered the apex in engineering achievement, indeed?  Mercantilism has little, after all, to do with efficiency or serving a higher good.

So as long as existing cartels continue abusing resources, why should this be considered the apex of engineering achievement when visionary ideas rarely see the light of day because of the threat they pose to most such large monopolies – petroleum being a prime example.

In effect, these early Egyptians were harnessing the existing energies for making life more viable – from an engineering viewpoint – with regard to having large centres of population.

How could it not have been solar energy?  The light that the spheres needed to be exposed to, to begin operating, were: the Sun, the Moon and fire – at whose zenith the Egyptian pantheon was ruled by Ra, the Sun.

Indeed, it was technology that pragmatically applied higher principles in everyday life.  In a latter day translation, this use of Ra\Sun\Light was the Judeo-Christian notion of God in man, God in nature.

The sphere, the link of Ra to man, was being applied in everyday life and thereby elevated the quality of their lives.  It is inevitable that such large centres of population would produce bursts of engineering innovations to address and release some of the tensions of population density.

One other reason for this transport being used, and why camels and mules would not have been used owing to Egyptian cosmology being both African and animist, is readily validated in the surviving hieroglyphics which do not show Egyptians indulging in riding camels or mules et al.

Animals were much too revered and respected, for their spiritual totemic importance, for them to have been ridden – abused.  Hence, there was the need for a practical invention like the sofa-like, awninged, wicker seat transport.

The strings allowed you to release excess hot air from the sphere, so that one could descend or drop to a lower altitude.  It was a way of manoeuvring that allowed you to get to the desired speed, height or locale.

The central tether was umbilical but multisided and thus you could actually steer the transport by the degree of rotation employed.  It was a five-sided cable that when turned in a clockwise direction, in my right hand, the awninged, wicker seat transport turned to the left.

Pandora had given one of her wan looks – at my finally beginning, as it were, to see the light.  When we came out, into this square away from the bazaar, we had to then go through a narrow street.

Getting to the entrance of the narrow alley-like street, I had manoeuvred the levitating, awninged, wicker seat transport into the air so that we comfortably passed easily feet above the locals’ heads.

Nobody here was surprised or upset at the sight of us because it was such a commonplace occurrence.  The levitating, awninged, wicker seat transports were, long ago, incorporated into the weave of what was deemed natural.

What proved really interesting was, on getting out into the square area, I realised that there were more people in the same transports.  Some were in motion much faster than we were.  Others still, were at much higher altitudes than us.  Too, there were some who were down on the ground of the square.

The thick black fabric, which covered the sphere, allowed it to sweat creating a lubricating body of moisture.  Once the awninged, wicker seat transports were in motion, causing the sphere to become heated up, the excess moisture would come out and trickle down one or two of the strings.

This water was actually quite purified and was therefore fit for consumption.  Thus it was possible for one to go for long distances, over the desert area, and to also be assured of a source of fresh drinking water.

Further, it could simply be allowed to drain out and trickle to fall from the airborne awninged, wicker seat transports whilst away from peopled areas.  This excess water could also, of course, be used to feed animals if desired.

This was a very, very advanced engineering feat.  For me, it was a very, very advanced dream.  Certainly, it was an archaeological dream – serving as it did, to cast light on aspects of human history which were more advanced that one has been led to believe possible.

This was a mode of transportation which was quite viable, ecological and purely practical.  Naturally, for a civilisation based on Sun worship by way of Ra, why wouldn’t all the engineering advances of that age be based on solar technology?

Sure enough, there were massive paddies of camel dung in another pouch to the rear right corner of the sofa.  These were obviously used to burn the slow-burning fires that were used at nighttime to create the fire, and as such light, to fuel the sphere’s apparatus.

The flame’s light would actually be drawn up through the tether system and into the sphere to give the necessary light ballast to its engine system.  The flame’s light simultaneously provided illumination for occupants whilst in the awninged, wicker seat transport at nighttime.

Indeed, could this not be the fabled magic carpet of ancient times from that region of the world?

When we got through the arroyo of the tall-buildinged alleyway, where there were lots of people out and about with awnings to cool the place from the unrelenting Sun, there was lots of bartering going down.

The people were so lively and African; lots of laughter and spirited arguing over the barter of goods.  Of course, there was the ubiquitous sound of music that was distinctly African in its drum-based, syncopated percussiveness.

This was a trading town, not a major centre but a point between destinations, where one stayed the night and a marketplace was set up.  It was obvious that, in that lifetime, I had not had much interaction or awareness of this level of society due to my elevated station in life.

Pandora on the other hand, who was quite adept in the culture, had been to outposts like this before; she was my guide really.  Isis was there as not much more than an initiate to all this splendour.

In fact, Isis’s total silence in this dream would suggest that she was merely a tourist to this time frame because it was long before she had ever first begun incarnating.  She was, in that sense, a dream tourist.

I was not a dream tourist although I am convinced that the time, at which this dream was set, was perhaps one-and-one-half possibly two millennia before I had first begun incarnating.  So although I had had incarnations in the late era, of the Middle Kingdom period, I could be said to be a dream tourist of sorts.

If this dream did, however, occur after the influx of non-Black peoples into the Nile Valley then this outpost town was clearly in the southern border regions of Upper Egypt.  In that region there was little, if any, immigration of non-Blacks occurring.  Thus, it is possible that this technology did exist during the late era of the Middle Kingdom period.

It may have been used mostly by desert peoples at that point in time.  This transport, perhaps, may have been so commonplace at that point in time that it was not incorporated in the depictions of life.

When we went out onto the square, the winds were noticeably stronger whilst we were exposed to the great expanse of land and sands.  There was a great updraught that immediately took us aloft even higher.

I became concerned and began pulling at the strings in a bid to have us descend.  Pandora was able to stay my fears by smacking me on the hand and telling me to relax.  It was perfectly okay she assured me.

I can’t relay enough how very intense and involved a dream this was.  The smell of the desert was more intense, once we were airborne and had left the stew of methane fumes, spices, animals and people.  Additionally, there was no longer the stench of human feces marginally piquing the sinuses.

I was able to feel the sunlight on my skin.  I remember how much cooler, too, the air was the higher we rose.  Even though the awninged, wicker seat transport was open in the front, the design of its seat caused one to slump back into the seat.

Too, the awninged wicker seat naturally tilted a little backwards on liftoff such that you never felt like you were sitting on the edge of a great height.  There was no sense of vertigo.

Besides which, in spite of the fact that there was no barrier across the front of the seat, the heavy rugs placed on the lap that covered the legs did have a restraining effect.

*This dream was, in essence, a splice of a life lived very long ago… millennia ago, in fact.  I was being refamiliarised.  Whilst dreaming, I realised that my cautiousness had to do with my lucidly alert, dreamer self, attached to my waking personality, who had to be illumined as to the intricacies of what was common knowledge to a life of mine which was lived very long ago.

I was, in this dream, in the dream body which relates to my waking state experience in this life.  Uncharacteristically, I was not in the dream body of who I was in that life lived at that time.

This dream was more displacing than that dream had, on January 1, 1989, in which I entered my former body in a past life in England.  In that dream I was female, a fiery redhead with quite the temper – impatient.

Experiencing that time in the body of that past incarnation, lived in England, meant that there was less to become refamiliarised with as in this dream.  In the English past-life dream, I was merely my present consciousness having to experience her totality.

Although it was more work to pull off on some levels, it was still easier than in this Egyptian dream, I was a dream tourist to the time.

For not experiencing that epoch in Egypt simultaneously from my dreamer self/waking self’s present perspective and that time’s life’s body, I was less savvy and acculturated to the time as was Pandora.  END.

As I sat there in the awninged wicker seat, I thought then that the same person who represented a past incarnation of my soul’s could have had a dream in which they visited me here in my time frame.  Like me in theirs, they would be wowed by the transportation technologies existing in this time frame.

As I was having of his/her time, I thought of how fantastical it would seem to my former self experiencing my world in just such a dream.  They would be with me in a car and, for all intents and purposes, this technological marvel would be powered by psychic energy.

After all, there would be no discernible sphere or a sense of the combustion necessary to propel the vehicle.  I was blown away to think of how excited one would be to have to describe, on awakening to contemporaries, the revolutionary advances in transportation in this fantastical time when visited in the dreamtime.

I was certain that the car would be seen as a mode of transport that was solely powered by will.  After all, one did not have to do much – one was free to converse, be at ease.

It would, I am sure, seem just as magical and just as unfamiliar as was the awninged, wicker seat transport initially for me.

A truly wonderful dream experience this was.

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Photo: Pyramids at Giza.

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