Left Toronto Tuesday evening and on arrival Wednesday morning hopped onto the Piccadilly line into Bloomsbury and missed the traffic on the highway into London. Booked all day Tuesday so on arrival on Wednesday January 14, I got straight to my room, showered, grabbed breakfast returned to my room, took a cold shower and sorted wardrobe. Off I went on the number 14 bus along Great Russell Street and hopped off at Burlington House to attend exhibition number one!
Kerry James Marshall at The Royal Academy of Arts
What a dazzlingly brilliant Wednesday morning and infinitely more temperate than frigid Toronto of course. Membership to the RAA meant a quick ride up the glass lift to take in the most wonderful exhibition. A nice quick visit to London to savour all the art and culture my soul craves is just right. I can be away long enough to enjoy myself and not too long that my spouse back at home in Toronto on oxygen gets a break from me as sole caregiver and enough time without feeling alone overlong.
Kerry James Marshall I
This was one of the most gloriously stunning exhibitions that I have attended in London. Quite remarkable.
Kerry James Marshall II
Kerry James Marshall III
What I truly loved about this art exhibition of African American Kerry James Marshall is the artist’s attack, which is unapologetic about blackness. Marshall seems intent on stabbing the middle finger at the gross colorism within Black culture and in particular within Black America. The jaundiced self-loathing colorism of Blacks immediately breeding to ‘improve’ the race on becoming wealthy and successful with others who have proven our most ardent enemy, is unmistakably alluded to in Marshall’s works. The allure and deception of light-skinned offspring as though somehow they in their outréness make anti-Black racism go away or somehow they will escape their Blackness, the artist addresses head on with his choice of portraying Blacks splendidly, unmistakably richly melanated. The arch obsession with being biracial, mixed race and anything but Black speak to the intense anti-Black animus that stifles colorism. Blackness, or is it massa, is a shame that must be eradicated. Humans, truth be told, are seven parts decidedly absurd.
Akram Khan’s Giselle curtain call
One of the greatest discoveries on this short trip to London was a matinee performance of Akram Khan’s Giselle at the London Coliseum. A trip that was supposed to have been in November, 2025 but pushed back owing to considerable work on an art project, I finally decided to drop everything and rush to London to take in the Kerry James Marshall exhibition at the Royal Academy of Arts before it closed on January 18, 2026. Scouring the theatre calendar, I decided to pop into a Friday performance of this modern interpretation of Giselle as I had not been to an English National Ballet performance in ages. I chose not to research Akram Khan’s ballet and as is my wont, wanted to go into it without preparation. I was, if I’m honest, resigned to it possibly being yet another boring modern dance performance as so much of modern ballet is tedious at best as comparably was the case the following evening on taking in the Royal Ballet’s Woolf Works.
Royal Opera House
Boy was I in for a most rapturous awakening. Never before had I seen so revolutionary a work in the age old idiom. Here was a totally new and refreshing aesthetic. Ballet, thanks to Akram Khan’s visionary genius, was reinvented with daring style and spectacularly innovative movement – those hurried contracted rushes across the stage, and a set that was as if sentient and beautifully choreographed into the ballet. There were even elements of contact with extraterrestrial life alluded to as the set swung backwards to reveal seemingly extraterrestrial creatures as if disembarking from their alighted interstellar craft. Most of all, the music was a most soul stirring fusion of Dravidian sensibilities and spirituality. Moreover, the music was so powerful, though not oppressive, that it transcended the stage and pierced through to one’s cellular integrity. I have not been so richly inspired by sheer genius and vision, in the theatre, in long ages. What a towering work of genius!
While it has been a most hellish January winter in long ages, along came the Dior Spring Summer 2026 Haute Couture collection. Here was nature, art and architecture deftly realised as fashion most rare. The second dress, a white affair with bow at the hem, was nothing more than a gloriously inverted calla lily about to burst into bloom. All of blooming nature was architecturally reimagined and sculpted into truly great works of sartorial art. This show was true rapture. All hail Jonathan W. Anderson, creative director at Christian Dior, for being the most elegantly refined of spirit creative genius.
This glorious exhibition at Tate Britain was like becoming awake in the most gloriously sequential lucid dream where each masterful tableaux filled salon was a walk through past life memories. Truly rhapsodic.
Not since the Francis Bacon exhibition at The National Portrait Gallery in 2024 was I so thoroughly besotted by art. Astounding.
Mitsubishi Japanese Galleries The British Museum
Valentino Garavani 11.5.1932 Year of the Monkey 19.1.2026. Sweet and blissful dream staggering titan…
Valentino Specula Mundi
Valentino creative director Alessandro Michele presented one of the most phenomenally ravaging haute couture collections in long years. Masterful tailoring, ingeniously theatrical and wonderfully spirited. Pure genius and an inspired tribute to the recently dearly beloved creative genius, Valentino Garavani. Bravi!
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!
My five-day trip to the most glorious jewel, London, was bittersweet. I got a call from Vanessa saying that Clive’s cancer had proven stage four with little time left him. There was but one choice, nothing to do but hurry off the phone, book a flight tout de suite to London. Back in late October 1982, after having met Merlin, my friend Clive, studying in the city, I set up on a blind date with Vanessa. She broke off the date at the last minute to rush home to Bermuda and attend her grandmother’s funeral. Undaunted, on her return, I insisted that they get together. By this time, Merlin was returned to New York and holding up at the actor, Patricia Neal’s UWS airy apartment. Merlin had met Clive and Vanessa separately and thought to have them to dinner; naturally, he cooked his favourite dish, chicken paprikash, which he had been taught by Stratford Festival Theatre’s artistic director, John Hirsch.
Manhattan rooftop water tanks
As we dined, with the shadows of water towers beyond the large living room windows, it was fairly obvious that my attempt at matchmaking had proven successful. From time to time, Merlin winked at me and squeezed my knee beneath the table as Clive and Vanessa on their first date had handsomely struck it off. As the blind date was going so well, Merlin suggested that they were welcome to stay and continue visiting whilst we headed off down to midtown Manhattan to take in the midnight showing of Gandhi at the Ziegfeld cinema. Merlin suggested that they could leave the apartment’s keys with the concierge and we would collect them on our return; it was obvious that they were getting along well and needed more time together, minus us as well. Clive and Vanessa laughed a lot and it was clear that they were smitten with each other.
Pushing five in the morning, we returned and thought it odd that the suite’s keys had not been turned in. We got off the elevator and on making our way down to the hall, there was the familiar shower of both persons laughing and giggling. Merlin knocked, not loudly, and we were greeted at the door by the smitten couple, each with cake frosting on their nose. They had been up talking and decided that, as it was well past midnight and therefore her birthday, they would bake a cake! Lots of laughter and warmth, whilst the cake set, Merlin decided to make a hearty breakfast of pancakes with Canadian maple syrup! Since that day, Vanessa and Clive have never been separated once; they even slipped into Toronto to visit me a couple of weeks after Merlin’s passing.
The bust of a man
Pen and Ink
c. 1545
Baccio Bandinelli
Hopped off the Piccadilly line, I crossed Green Park, on day one, to alight at The King’s Gallery, Buckingham Palace. The red-interiored salons were familiar, warm and grounding. I was bothered by the fact that the exhibition of Renaissance Drawings among which were works by unsurpassed genius, Leonardo da Vinci, was masterfully curated and hung. Each piece was expertly placed such that you could never evade the glare of intrusive lighting and the works of art hung on the opposite wall. I laughed aloud to a couple of women staffers, then eventually on making to the next salon, a lone silver-haired beauty engaged me. She wanted to know where I was from; naturally, my Canadian accent as articulated with the women registered with her. She lived, it turned out in Mississauga as her husband had worked at the corporate headquarters of the elegantly designed Mies van der Rohe TD Bank (Toronto Dominion Bank) for a couple of decades. She insisted that I make the trek to St. George’s Chapel, Windsor Castle before leaving; I assured her that the journey was foremost in my plans, having shared that there were 4 governors-general in my extended family to date. She was a gracious human of whom I dreamt two nights later and her aura unsurprisingly was most pronounced.
Reclining Figure
Plaster and string
1951 Henry Moore
Henry Moore & Francis Bacon, Tate Britain
From the King’s Gallery, I briskly made my way to Victoria Station, alighting at Pimlico where after being moved by Chris Ofili’s tribute to the Grenfell Tower tragedy, I scuffed at the Turner Prize fare, which would have been more convincing if there were also homeless persons encamped. The Francis Bacon & Henry Moore exhibition was soul-stirring. By now my feet were beginning to seriously ache as I had forgotten to pack walking shoes. Stepping into the unseasonably crisp sunny air, I hopped aboard the Uber boat and swiftly cruised down the river Thames to the Tate Modern. I was not especially inspired for having visited and for the first time, after so many visits, successfully strode across the millennium bridge where I ended up at St. Paul’s Cathedral. As always, I paid homage to Henry Moore’s plaque. From there, I returned to my hotel in Russell Square. My feet were blistered and ridiculously ached.
Moore, Henry 30/7/1898<O>31/8/1986
Michael: This fragment was a first-level old artisan – third life thereat. Henry was in observation mode with a goal of dominance. A realist, he was in the moving part of intellectual centre.
Henry’s body type was Saturn/Venus.
Henry’s primary chief feature was stubbornness and the secondary of arrogance.
The fragment Henry is fourth-cast in the second cadence; he is a member of greater cadence one. Henry’s entity is six, cadre one, greater cadre 7, pod 414 – he is an entity mate.
Henry’s essence twin is an artisan and the task companion a warrior.
Henry’s three primary needs were: expression, freedom and security.
There are 8 past-life associations with Arvin and 6 with Merlin. ______________________________________________
Though I had about 1.5 hours to showtime, in light of the election results in America and because I simply cannot bring myself to make compromises when it comes to Jazz, I chose not to attend the oppressive brutalism of the Southbank Centre and endure Jamie Cullum apeing Black culture. Fuck that! Besides, I realised on arriving at the hotel that the ticket was for a standing room spot; not with with blistered feet was I going to time-waste. When Whites said fuck you, we are not voting for a Black woman, all bets are off that I’ve got time to suffer stubborn racially predatory boors. Whites were enticed by the spectre of Trump’s Bible, which omits amendments 11 through 17, most importantly, the 13th amendment which promises mass incarceration if not enslavement for American Blacks. Thus, I spent a couple of hours talking to Vanessa, Clive and my spouse whilst icing my sorely battered feet.
Fortnum & Mason, Piccadilly
Rested and with lots of buzz from London’s vibe, I decided at 2215 to head to Leicester Square. Got off the tube into the thick of the Friday night throngs, making my way past the Hippodrome Casino. Outside beneath the marquee was a group of statuesque, beautiful Black women in their mid to late twenties, walking past, I said to the tallest with her back to the street, “You’ve the most beautiful hair!” “Oh thank you!” She had the largest afro of the group and wore the most gorgeous, large silver hoop earrings. As I gingerly walked along, they could be heard howling and remarking at the fact that in the middle of the chill late evening air, I was fanning myself – thanks in part to the side effects of one of the medications which regulates my health well into my seventh decade. I then slipped into the Knatchbulls’ formerly owned Curzon cinema in hopes of seeing Gladiator II; however, it was sold out and I would not likely be able to see it until after midnight. Next stop, the Vue cinemas to attempt seeing Wicked; still no luck. Never mind. I then gingerly ambled to Piccadilly Circus and enjoyed the groovy beauty of Fortnum & Mason then headed back to my Russell Square hotel.
Royal Academy of Art
Next morning, bright and early, I got to Russell Square tube station only to be horrified by the note that read that the Piccadilly line would be closed both Saturday & Sunday; perhaps, I ought to have ventured out to Windsor the day of my arrival. Undaunted, I elected to head by bus to Piccadilly circus and made my way to Lilywhites where I purchased a pair of sneakers and chucked the pair of too tight and heavy, foot-blistering nuisance in the bin. Spent little time at RAA; the Michelangelo was underwhelming and too crowded for my ubiquitously masked comfort – my spouse is 24/7 on oxygen; I can ill afford to become exposed to respiratory contagion.
Iris
Oil on Canvas
1890 Vincent van Gogh
Provenance: National Gallery of Canada
Next stop, Trafalgar Square and the rapturously overwhelming Vincent van Gogh exhibition at The National Gallery. Breathtaking beauty that is each canvas was marred by the fact that there are simply far too many persons currently incarnate. Sixty-one phenomenal works of art by the modern Dutch genius, which must have a market value of at least 2B£. Obviously, it is all about the biggest bang for one’s buck but the heat radiating off the masses moving from salon to salon was at times overwhelming. There could have been a system whereby 50 persons max per salon to allow everyone a good appreciation of each piece. As ever, the tallest persons always have a knack for planting their obstructive frame before a painting and taking their sweet damn time before moving on.
Sketch for a Portrait of Lisa (Sainsbury)
Oil on Canvas
1955 Francis Bacon
This exhibition, next-door at The National Portrait Gallery, because it left me so pronouncedly aware of George Hawken being ‘around’ that it, plus the sheer staggering beauty of Francis Bacon’s genius moved me to tears. This portrait of Lisa Sainsbury, the way her eyes mimic Akhenaten’s end up remarkably resembling singer, Thom Yorke’s delicate beauty; even the colours betray the haunting melancholia of Yorke’s soulfulness. By the time that I left The National Portrait Gallery, I was listening to Radiohead’s 1997 debut album, OK Computer. The movement and emotional brilliance of clarity in each Bacon canvas is humbling in its beauty. This, by far, was the most ravishing drink for the spirit. Also the very posh Milanese couple and family members were grounding to be around; they sung the language, which I studied for two years in high school.
Bacon, Francis 28/10/1909<O>28/4/1992
Michael: This fragment was a fifth-level mature artisan — fourth life thereat. Francis was in perseveration mode with a goal of rejection. A sceptic, Francis was in the moving part of intellectual centre.
Francis’ body type was Saturn/Lunar.
Francis’ primary chief feature was impatience and the secondary arrogance.
The fragment Francis is fifth-cast in the fourth cadence; Francis is a member of greater cadence five. Francis’ entity is five, cadre one, greater cadre 7, pod 414.
Francis’ essence twin is an artisan, who is extant, an interior decorator and female; his task companion a sage.
Francis’ primary needs were: expression, freedom and expansion.
There are 12 past-life associations with Arvin and 5 with Merlin. (February, 2018) _________________________________________
Portrait of D. H. Kahnweiler II
Crayon transfer Lithograph
1957 Pablo Picasso
British Museum
Day two of the Piccadilly line being down, and out into the grey-skied chill air, I ventured from the hotel, cutting across Russell Square and proved the first in line on Great Russell Street for the British Museum. Soon, Juan and I were chatting; he is in his eighth decade, enjoying retirement after a career spent at the Prado; he never said what he did. He clearly loved art and came every few months to London where the best exhibitions were to be had. Paris was long passé, Juan declared with a dismissive clipped laugh. After the not very dramatic Picasso print exhibition, I took off for The Japanese Galleries where, as ever, I found centre whilst visiting London. As agreed, we met up in the café, close to the two beautiful totem poles that lord over that sector of the sprawling institution.
Picasso, Pablo 25/10/1881<O>8/4/1973
Michael: This fragment was a seventh-level young warrior — third life thereat. Pablo was in aggression mode with a goal of dominance. A sceptic, Pablo was in the moving part of intellectual centre.
Pablo’s body type was Venus/Saturn.
Pablo’s primary chief feature was exalted arrogance and the secondary greed fixated on accomplishments.
The fragment Pablo is second-cast in the second cadence; Pablo is a member of greater cadence four. Pablo‘s entity is six, cadre one, greater cadre 6, pod 404.
Pablo’s essence twin is a warrior and his task companion a scholar who was known to him.
Pablo’s primary needs were: expression, freedom and security.
There are 3 past-life associations with Arvin and 1 with Merlin. (January, 2018) __________________________
The Japanese Galleries, The British Museum
Returned to the hotel, I quickly fell into sleep’s welcome embrace. As is habit, I dreamt rather lucid dreams, especially so for being in London. Among those eight dreams in 3.5 hours was a rather lucidly awakened encounter with Prince William and his wife; she was cool, tense and disinterested. I had a distinct impression that her mood was more so to do with their state of affairs than myself or anyone else for that matter. The three of us were the only persons. Catherine who had been stooped to the moist, wet ground was planting clippings. She declined to look when William called after her announcing, “Look who’s here.” When she finally stood up, being clipped, dismissive and took leave of more so him than me, William placed his left palm on the small of my back, caressed me with his left thumb; throughout the dream, I could very intensely smell him. He was calm, centred and without the trappings of his waking persona – numerology, chief features and centre. William is an older soul – sixth mature, who like every one in acceptance was gracious and civil – his father, King Charles III is also in acceptance. I awoke and ventured by taxi to an evening with Vanessa, Clive and two of their four sons. It was a very emotional evening and none of the past 42 years of rich memories, family life and subsequent generations would have unfolded had I not acted on spirit and dreams which assured me that I had to set up Clive and Vanessa on a blind date, a lifetime ago.
St. George’s Chapel, Windsor Castle
Moments after having spent a good two minutes in reflection, head bowed, facing due north, I quickly took this photo looking eastward. I was not the first to have arrived in the line at Windsor castle on day four, but as everyone ventured towards the castle’s staterooms, I turned westward and briskly walked towards St. George’s Chapel. There was an American family who’d never been before. On entering, they turned right, as I turned left towards the great west doors, en route to pay homage. After a few words with the crimson-garbed cleric, I bowed and meditated. Suddenly, the first dream had of the recently passed Elizabeth II lucidly mushroomed in my mind. The dream reanimated about me as I watched myself walk towards the transitioning astral plane habituée and placed a garment about her, keeping her warm, honouring her richly ennobled life.
King George VI Memorial Chapel (DailyMail)
I came to as the American family, having erroneously wandered off to the Albert Memorial Chapel approached. I took leave, allowing them to visit with the large black Belgian marble slab with bronze inlays that marks where Queen Elizabeth II, Elizabeth, her mother, George VI, her father, Margaret Rose, her sister and Philip, her husband are together entombed. Simple, elegant… poignant.
Freedom. George Michael 1990
Naomi
Well before noon and I was returned to London where I alighted in South Kensington. Small, intimate and the two films that accompany the exhibition leave no doubt in one’s mind that Naomi is a Queen. If weight considerations were not a concern, I would have purchased a few coffee table books from the exhibition. I listened to George Michael’s Freedom for the rest of the afternoon until taking a nap. This tiny exhibition infuses the Victoria & Albert Museum with intense beauty and style.
Campbell, Naomi 22/5/1970 London, England.
Michael: This fragment is a second-level mature artisan – third life thereat. Naomi is in caution mode with a goal of rejection. A realist, she is in the moving part of emotional centre.
Naomi’s body type is Saturn/Mercury.
Naomi’s primary chief feature is arrogance and the secondary stubbornness.
The fragment Naomi is fifth-cast in the sixth cadence; she is a member of greater cadence four. George’s entity is two, cadre four, greater cadre 7, pod 414.
Naomi’s essence twin is an artisan and her task companion is a sage.
Naomi’s primary needs are: exchange, expression and freedom.
There are 6 past-life associations with Arvin and 4 with Merlin. ____________________________________________
Andy Warhol & Jean-Michel Basquiat. Michael Halsband 1985
Next stop, I was off downstairs at the Victoria & Albert Museum to be thoroughly consumed by the staggering creative legacy of pieces from Elton John & David Furnish’s art collection. Truly arresting and brilliantly impressive, Fragile Beauty is a masterful exhibition. In light of Quincy Jones’s recent passing, the constrictor enrobed Nastassja Kinski photographed by Richard Avedon proved even more captivating. Why have I yet to get the hype over The Beatles? George Harrison and his vibe, I fully get. Hey Jude will ever be a touchstone, but them as a ‘thing’ remains for me utterly elusive. Billie Holiday captured in song proved more captivating than I anticipated. Some shots brought back memories of living in New York City in the early 1980s. Always found Keith Haring’s pheromones off-putting; he moved in the same art circles as dancer turned designer and lover, Attila Isaksen. Smiled at the memory of Attila and I, watching through a skylight Robert Mapplethorpe engaging in S&M at a loft in Chelsea. Our one sexual encounter was intense; I felt overwhelmed by the inordinate looseness of the man. On two occasions he had been leaving the S&M loft upstairs as I came bounding up the stairs to the second storey loft below his friends’. The third time this occurred, he rushed into the loft after me and our tryst was a noisy, feverish business; it was obvious that he was taken by my explosive kinetic energy. The exhibition’s photograph of Mapplethorpe reveals a possessed ghost of the dazzling persona I had encountered in late 1982; clearly, at the time of the photograph, he was being consumed by AIDS. By far, the best photograph of Malcolm X is part of the Elton John & David Furnish collection.
Trial proof of Self-Portrait: Reflection. Lucian Freud 1996
There could be no doubt why the pilgrimage was undertaken. This Lucian Freud exhibition of prints, though, not disappointing, was not the soul-stirring rapture that was the Francis Bacon exhibition at The National Portrait Gallery. I had been hoping to see Kai, Bella and other more notable works. The whippet Hugo was, without doubt, the highlight of the exhibition… at least for me. Feet sore though manageably so, I was returned to Russell Square and a dream-filled nap with one very memorable flying dream.
Freud, Lucian 8/12/1922 Berlin<O>20/7/2011 London
Michael: This fragment was a fifth level mature priest – third life thereat. Lucian was in observation mode with a goal of dominance. Lucian was a sceptic who was in the moving part of intellectual centre.
Lucian’s primary chief feature was stubbornness and his secondary chief feature was that of impatience.
Lucian had a Saturn/Mars body type.
Lucian’s casting is in the fourth position of the fourth cadence in the sixth greater cadence. He is a member of entity six, cadre one, greater cadre 7, pod 414 – Lucian is an entity mate of both Arvin and Merlin’s.
Essence twin for Lucian is a priest and his task companion is a slave.
The three primary needs for Lucian were: exchange, freedom and power.
There are 17 past-life associations with Arvin and 14 with Merlin. __________________________________________
The Tales of Hoffmann. Royal Opera House
Ah the magic of theatre. Naturally, as the house lights go down, Merlin always falls into my mind. I loved the fantastic elements of the Offenbach opera; so very rich, pandimensional and dream-like. A good seat was mine and adding to the experience was, the man in his early 30s sat next to me. He was possessed of that yearning so common to us the tribe of men. A Briton, he seductively danced as he had since boyhood with his chums. I sat comfortably engrossed in the opera, but was ever mindful of his arm and leg gently, with increasing tension, caressing against mine. By act three, he was sat arms folded his index and middle finger gently caressing my arm. Neither of us had moved from our seats during the second intermission; the date, copine, épouse whomever did leave whilst I sat deeply engrossed in my phone. Rhythmically, his thigh muscle flexing, thus he kept up the dance’s intensity. Though he proved arousing distraction, I was still disturbed after having visited with Vanessa and Clive, the latter clearly not much longer focussed in this world.
The Farnese Hercules. Royal Academy of Art
Last full day in the city where in the 18th century I enjoyed a life (male) at court as a musician. Always indeed, it is good to go home. I was returned to the Royal Academy of Art to finish off my tour of the place. There were, three days prior, too many kids screaming their lungs out. Satisfied, I then crossed Piccadilly and indulged in putting together an F&M hamper of goodies just in time for the holidays. Returned home, I read and rested up for the night ahead.
Tosca, Royal Opera House, Covent Garden
Round two and back for more! Returned was I for a glorious night of Puccini as the most beautiful production of Tosca unfolded. Gloriously improved seating; good to feel the orchestra fully washing over me. This performance was riveting and its staging and design were stellar. During my return from the first intermission, I looked up to where I was sat the night prior. My yearning seat companion leaned forward in his seat to peer down at me. The dance ever endures. The sets were marvellous.
Royal Opera House, Covent Garden
The second intermission and I went outside to make a phone call. Whilst admiring the monstrous Rolls across the street and whose grill is visible in the right corner of the preceding photograph, a concert goer approached and declared that he was alone. Did I smoke? No. Would I like some company afterwards; I had almost forgotten how cocky I used to be when young. My phone buzzed; there was my cue. Silently, I returned across the street and pleasurably relaxed into my seat for Tosca’s final act. Midway through the curtain call, I made a dash for the exit and hung out just inside the stage door for about half an hour then made it to the Covent Garden tube station… alone. Yes, my darling, à la prochaine, London!
Jones, Quincy 14/3/1933 <O> 3.11.2024
Michael: This fragment was a fifth-level mature artisan – third life thereat. Quincy was in the power mode with a goal of dominance. A sceptic, Quincy was in the moving part of intellectual centre.
Quincy’s primary chief feature was arrogance and the secondary stubbornness.
Quincy’s body type was Venus/Mars.
The fragment Quincy is second-cast in the first cadence. Quincy is a member of greater cadence four. Quincy is a member of entity one, cadre one, greater cadre 4, pod 129.
Quincy’s essence twin is an artisan and the task companion is a sage.
Quincy’s four primary needs were: expression, adventure, power and communion.
There are 6 past-life associations with Arvin and 11 with Merlin. _______________________________________________
Dreams are the poetic expression of the soul. 