Indeed, What of Edward & Sohpie?

Yes, indeed, as she is Sovereign and could not care less about optics, why did HM The Queen favour Edward & Sophie rather than the toxic twosome, TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge? Let’s compare their numerology to other royals.

HRH Prince Edward Earl of Wessex

10/3/1964 Dragon 1.4.6 = 11

Edward’s got master numbers. Like Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, Edward is possessed of master numbers 11. Such persons do not for a nanosecond tolerate anything that goes against their spirit. They simply walk. Meghan, collected Prince Harry and moved continents rather than be in line of fire of the very toxic (9) Cambridges and I might add, as it now appears, the future Queen Consort, Camilla, HRH Duchess of Cornwall. Edward, of course, did not complete his military trainer; he simply put his foot down and walked away – it was not for him and he was not doing it. That’s what master numbers of 11 persons do… as I am quite intimately aware, moi – 2.8.1960 Rat 2.1.8 = 11.

Sophie, HRH Countess of Wessex.

20.1.1965 Dragon 2.3.6 = 11

Well, will you look at that! If there is a couple who are coasting through royal life, unaffected by major stress, it would be this couple. Both Edward & Sophie have master numbers of 11. The rest of their numbers are also rather simpatico. She would have made a great actor or artist; they perfectly understand each other, get along quite harmoniously and have a really good laugh at everyone and everything without being malicious. Just look at the way the Wessexes laugh with HM The Queen as she has just rudely dismissed TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge. I might also add that I do not know the Michael Overleaves for either the Earl or Countess of Wessex.

They know all the secrets but know to keep their damn mouths shut; this would be reason enough why HM The Queen favoured them in the preceding video clip whilst telling off and dismissing the Cambridges and their kiss-ass disingenuousness.

Lord Ivar Mountbatten

9.3.1963 Rabbit 9.3.4 = 7

This weekend I looked at all 3 episodes of “Keeping Up With The Aristocrats” and rightly called it – two persons definitely possessed of 9 in their numerology, Lord Ivar Mountbatten and Princess Olga Romanoff. Not surprising that Ivar would be close friends with Prince Edward and his wife. Both men for one are gap-toothed, which means that in their immediate past life would have been Black. For another, their numerology are rather simpatico and they share the same extended family. Clearly, in their immediate past life, both Edward and Ivar were great friends, comrades, family – you always seek out the ones with whom you enjoyed great relations.

Ivar and his dignified husband, James Coyle

So wonderful when any two souls find each other in this vast universe; and what a beautiful union theirs is. Keenly observant of their inter-dynamics, I remarked to my equally keen numerologist sister, Isha, that without doubt both Ivar and Princess Olga are possessed of 9 in their numerology. As with Princess Olga, though being socially aggressive, Ivar will do that high-brow laugh that is nine parts playful border collie, biting at the ears of other dogs simply because it can, simply because that is a distinction of aristocratic classism. With Olga, it is more bilious and, of course, she is friends with that vile, arriviste Colin Campbell themself.

Princess Olga Andreevna Romanoff

8.4.1950 Tiger 8.3.9 = 2

What I love about this photograph of Princess Olga, is how deftly it betrays her unenviable dilemma – quite simply, she is burdened by the baggage of her heritage. Hey, all is choice; she chose to be reborn into that milieu. True to her energy body of 8, she has swanned through life rather arrogantly, expecting to be spirited off by a wealthy, and possibly titled, suitor. Ha! I loved episode 3 of “Keeping Up With The Aristocrats” where Olga is set up with the Guggenheim, visiting from the Carolinas. Olga is guarded, aloof and engages that utterly disdainfully snobbish toff laughter. You just know that she doesn’t give a damn; he is not only not man enough but he is also Jewish, which you can bet does not tick off any box of hers – she does have a lifepath of 9. She would no more marry him than she would an eligible Black prince from Africa. That 9 means that from birth, Olga has been groomed or at least her lifelong been focussed on being a blasted snob – and just look where it has not gotten her. 9s are self-toxic and Olga is no exception. Hers is not an enviable hand, indeed. She also keeps company with that third-tier arriviste snob Colin Campbell.

Olga and Colin.

Colin Campbell

7.8.1949 Ox 8.7.3 = 9

Naturally Colin and Olga would find favour in each other, both are lugubriously hanging on to some semblance of royalty that is tenuous at best. Naturally, their 9 is what fuels this pitiable myopia; this, of course, would make them the most virulent snobs going. Certainly, to put it charitably, they are entertainment of a sort. Only persons possessed of 9 would pass a life, being so obsessed with time-wasting pursuits.

Alexandra Sitwell

24.3.1958 Dog 6.9.5 = 2

Yes, she has got a 9 but it is in the easily disguised second position – that of the mind. Alexandra’s 9 is mooted by an energy body of 6 – compassionate and loyal and 2 in the fourth position which leaves her remarkably creative and gracious. All about gracious living and no appetite for drama. She does not have to be a snobbish boor when she is possessed of inordinate charm and grace. I would really love to have included here the masterful portrait by Nicky Phillips of the Sitwell women: Alexandra, Penelope, her nonagenarian mum and daughter, Rosie.

Emma Thynn, Marchioness of Bath

26.3.1986 Tiger 8.2.8 = 9

Here is another masterful Nicky Phillips portrait this one of another English aristocrat. Emma, too, has a 9 in her numerological makeup; however, with two 8s, she would not be singing the blues, like Princess Olga and Lord & Lady Gerald Fitzalan-Howard of “Keeping Up With The Aristocrats,” when it comes to running a successful home. Emma is one very tough, enterprising capable customer; there is no way that she was not born to rule and Longleat House is not exactly a dump.

Lord & Lady Gerald (Emma) Fitzalan Howard

As neither’s birth stats are readily available on the Internet, I would rather not make assumptions. That aside, they are an endearing couple of humans and Emma’s Kim Kardashian remark is reason enough to favour her. With more than a passing resemblance to Merlin, I am willing to bet that Lord Gerald is a late-mature to possibly early old-souled scholar. Most definitely, he is your older soul scholar; vibrationally, the resemblance to Merlin is rather uncanny especially as he wore a Panama hat – it would be truly jarring for me if he wore a Panama hat and errantly dragged on a marijuana joint, the resemblance is that strong.

Just off the tail-end of Black History Month, most of which I spent listening to Jazz 24/7 at full blast whilst daily doing a BHM tribute on my Insta-thingy, I had intended to add some Jazz to this post and I do believe that going forward, I shall do same for all posts. Why? Because Jazz does not have its frigging roots in Klezmer! This some damn fool had the frig-all temerity to declare several years back on JazzFM and boy did I get fuck-all vituperative when calling the station and screaming how dare they insult Black culture… as well I would. For another, gosh but I love being Black and it is amazing to me that when Jazz is 24/7 being played in my home that some Jazz recording has never been featured in each blog. Of course, when this blog began, it was all about dreams and mostly dreams of Merlin after his passing, which will have been 33 years ago this November; the blog has evolved as it has but last January, I dreamt of Merlin so I shall explore that dream in coming blogs… Be well, be swell and I trust that these dreams of mine have immensely enriched your journey…

https://www.instagram.com/arvin_da_brgha/

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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©2013-2022 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.

Homecoming…

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.

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:

*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.

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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©2013-2022 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.