Ensouled Proboscis Simian Humans.

20.02.201310.10.2024 Arvin da Brgha3 Comments

These utterly stunning dream experiences occurred on Thursday, February 16, 1989, whilst the Moon transited both Cancer and my second house.

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I was on a street and just beyond the other side of the street was the edge of a cliff; it looked down into a distant valley. It was very sunny out. I was seated in front of a house.

On my right was a man who had come home from work in a car. He looked very Italian except that he seemed to be very hirsute – as though he had quite dark skin.

However, on closer inspection, he turned out to be rather hirsute. A little later on, he came outside again. His neighbours were looking at him, kind of strangely, like they weren’t already accustomed to looking or reacting to him in a strange manner.

He sat down next to me outside, on the neighbouring bench to my right, both of us with back to the neighbours. He turned and looked at me and his face was rather ape-like.

It was the colour black and his hair was quite different. This man had a long widow’s peak and his face was literally the colour black. It was quite ape-like. He said nothing. More than that, he seemed rather friendly and nice.

Along that street, there were kids when a car had pulled up. They were very teenage kids – all boys. A boy came out further along and returned to join one of his companions.

Then it turned out that his companion was in a car that was black and seemed to move, as it were, on air-cushioned rubber wheels. This black car of his was rather aerodynamic.

After his friend took off, he then – this is the little blond timid guy – went over towards the cliff. Directly in front of the hirsute ape-like man, who was seated to my right, the blond guy went into the bushes.

The young guy turned out to have been his brother – that guy who looked like a twin of his or resembled a brother. They hung out together and then he went moving on.

As he passed me, going from right to left, a friend of his was coming down the road. The road had a curve in it and went steeply up a hill. The hill, in fact, looked like the hill at Toronto’s Prospect Cemetery on the south side of Kitchener Street.

His friend came down and he was wearing a helmet because he had been on some sort of vehicle. He removed the helmet, carrying it in his right hand, as they greeted each other.

Strangely, they greeted by grabbing each other around the hips and rubbed their crotches together, joked and laughed. In essence, they engaged in clothed frottage.

I thought it interesting that two males would engage in open sexual play, however, this seemed the natural standard way of greeting in this culture. Clearly, this was a sign that this was not exactly Kansas.

I had the distinct impression that the twin blonds had gone into the gorge to do drugs. As they were blissing out, only the crown of their golden mops was visible.

They were using the very intense lushness of the rolling hills, in the valley way below, as a stimulant. Everything here was so pronouncedly healthy, even the star that shined seemed more intense and pure than Sol.

I carefully looked at some of the trees and realised that they were bonsai, furry, mossy centuries-old plants that seemed to hum at a frequency higher than their arboreal counterparts on Earth.

I was able to zoom into the plants in the valley way below and experience them in intimate close-up. Of course, this I accomplished whilst remaining seated on the bench where to my right on another sat the über-poilu, intensely warm, handsome ape-like man.

The helmet was the same black, light, metal-plastic alloy material as the car. It seemed to have the ability to absorb the intense sunlight, which was not scorching, and cool the interior.

The blond who greeted his Italian-looking helmeted friend – they were all, incidentally, the same hirsute ape-like stock as the jet-black man seated to my right – had patted the car as he moved around its rear into the road to meet his dark-haired friend.

He had patted the car much like one would a trusted horse. At that, the car had hissed and lurched to the road from its hovering stationary position a foot off the ground.

Later on, in the second dream, I was still on the same street. There were all these little kids. They were on skateboards. They came down about four, five, six, of them – little guys.

One of them was Black. He was quite light-skinned. They were from a high social class. They were very friendly and nice and I warmly interacted with them.

However, they were quite reserved and it wasn’t as though they weren’t friendly. As I was a stranger, for that reason, they kept me at bay.

On the lower part of the street, where I was with them, it was clearly a cemetery. As far as cemeteries go, it was quite different an arrangement. It had quite large tombstones in it – monuments.

There was one woman there in black who was seemingly Italian. She was carrying on; she was grieving by this one monument. It had on it a very interesting design and some of the graves were fresh.

I explained to them, the little boys, that this was where one went. However, then one came back from there and was able to live a life again like they were now living.

I explained to them in those terms, however, I did not force them to look at funerals. People’s focus on funerals as the end and fear of death was the trap, I explained to them.

In this the third dream, I was under these hugely tall trees and was working at the time. Clearly, I had been working for someone like Pete Wilkens or someone like him.

I had left a shovel around. The shovel had been left about and from a long, long time ago. This was on the grounds of a park-like setting where there were lots of skeletons about.

The skeletons were covered with a whole bunch of ants. It was strange because it seemed as though the bones were the remnants of lunch and had just been eaten.

They seemed like the skeletons for fish except that the head bone of the fish – skull – was quite flat. The head had three sides to it and the skeleton was again a narrow filament that had two identical spines that trailed the unusual-looking skull.

The skeletons were quite white and were flexible like the white cartilage of a chicken breast. There was a bunch of ants all over them.

I might also add that these flexible, double-spined, fish-like skeletons were covered with ants that were quite feathery and lumpy. These ants were almost like miniature tarantulas because they were so bulky, dark, rich and, in a way, nice to look at.

There was a shovel sitting about and I realised that I had left it there, when I worked last time which was some time ago, last season. However, nobody had actually moved it because it meant that it was my responsibility to have moved it.

So I ended up moving a couple of rakes – they were, in fact, more like pole saws. When trying to clear the space, I took them from one area to the next.

I must say that I was quite struck by the face of that particular man that I did see, whilst he sat on the neighbouring bench to my right, in the initial dream. Even here in another dream entirely, I kept seeing him in my mind’s eye.

The fourth dream found me going back to an apartment where Merlin and I were living together. There were ants all about the apartment.

I told him,

“You have to get out and go away for a while so I can clean away the ants.”

I then went about disinfecting the place and got rid of the ants. I was even disinfecting beneath the floorboards… everywhere.

Owing to his being full-blown with AIDS, I did not want Merlin being exposed to the harmful chemicals in the disinfectants. That, certainly, could have resulted in horrific consequences on his vastly compromised immune system.

With the fifth dream, I was in a large department store. There, I saw Isis da Braga who was there to buy a scarf. At the time, I was with two males; it was a Gay situation.

Owen Hawksmoor was talking to someone who had a very large nose. The man to whom Owen spoke was Black. He seemed like we vaguely knew each other. He seemed, in fact, like Don Baxter.

However, the face on this man was black and had hues of red in it. Not the colour black but as Black people look. More than that, such that it looked like the nose of an animal’s would like an aardvark or some such, the nose on this man was more like a snout.

He wore white; both he and Owen did. There was some function, that one had to go to, for which Owen had complimentary tickets.

These two people, whom Owen and I had encountered, were saying that they did not know where their complimentary tickets were. I said that I knew I had mine. Anyway, Owen left them and went back up a flight of steps.

It was quite light out, up the staircase, as though there was a skylight hung high overhead. Owen moved on and I went in search of Isis who had passed by. She was quite embarrassed, in fact, at seeing me with my arm about some Gay person.

She went in and picked up a scarf and the scarf was worth 52$, I think, because she was putting down the balance of the money – the other half – 26$. She was there shopping.

It was a black scarf and it had beautiful… the borders were red and green designs. It really was quite nice. I came and leaned on the counter and said hello to my sister.

She was reserved, cool and detached. She turned to me and was beautifully made up and looked very young with beautiful, flawless, flawless skin.

She spoke about the fact that she did not go shopping with me anymore. She insisted that my accusation that she did not go shopping with me anymore because I was with men was not true.

She was wearing a beautiful mustard-coloured jacket and a scarf about her neck. Indeed, she was quite well-off.

*The thing about these unusually droopy noses is that they looked as though this was a race of extra-humans (extraterrestrials) which had evolved from simian mammals who were descended from proboscis monkey stock rather than not. It is a race of primates native to Borneo and the faces of those simians are rather human.

This is how this man and others in this dream would appear. However, it was more than that look. END.

In the sixth dream, I was in an office that was like an indoor greenhouse. If you like, it was a mausoleum rather than greenhouse. It was sky-lit and there were a lot of caskets about. Some of them had flowers and some of them did not.

When you came in, you went down some stairs and into a more open area. There you saw a burial crypt. It was an indoor burial crypt. There was a man about as well as a grand piano.

Whenever the employees of the place came in, there was a woman standing about and she would excitedly say,

“We have to go out, we have to go out.”

I was with those little children, from the earlier dream, who were skateboarding and whom I had instructed earlier about the whole idea of reincarnation. These children were mostly White. We were also being hustled out of the place.

The woman then said,

“What is he doing? There is not another service. Why is he trying to start up that piano?”

The man at the piano was large and bent over and he looked somewhat out of place being there. Before we could be ushered out of the place, I managed to run up and put some flowers – some yellow flowers, on one of the brown caskets that was there.

*He was inordinately tall and hence drooped over a lot. Whilst seated at the grand piano, his towering height made it look as though an adult seated at a dollhouse piano. Too, he was inordinately pale… END.

As we were going out, the procession was coming in and people were being hustled in. It was quite a fast procession. I stuck around and tried to see the place and see why there was so much hustling.

There and then, it turned out that I saw the casket. It was very flat and plain and I thought,

‘Well why is it being hustled out? If it’s a funeral why would the relations be so ecstatic?’

However, it turned out that because the burial box was so flat I thought it was going to be cremated. It turned out, however, that it was for the office. There was going to be a surprise party.

It was actually a cake. It was covered up in wonderful, colourful wrapping paper. There was going to be a celebration and those were all the workers from the company. The atmosphere was quite nice and friendly.

In this the seventh dream, I was in a very, very large and busy restaurant where I ordered myself a bowl of soup. I was going to go upstairs to the bathroom but I had my bowl of soup in my hand.

It was very Gothic-styled. It seemed, in fact, like the inside of a château. It was in the Gothic style except that the walls were rose granite – rose-coloured granite. It was, however, rather smooth-surfaced.

I then accidentally spilled my bowl of soup. The waitress who had come to my aid was dark-haired – short, dark hair. She looked like a dancer who danced with the Winnipeg Contemporary Dancers when I was living in Winnipeg – the one who was Lebanese and had had a back injury.

Anyway, this waitress went off and I was waiting there being quite embarrassed. I was trying to rush to the toilet. I asked someone where the toilet was and they said,

“No, no, not upstairs.”

It turned out that the washrooms were, in fact, to the rear. So off I went to the bathroom and I was quite embarrassed.

I tidied up myself and I came back out and my white cotton pants – nice, beautiful trousers; they were baggy but they came in tight and folded in a pleat at the end at the hem – were quite stained by the soup.

It was a dark sort of pea soup. A dark brownish fare, like a lentil soup, it was. However, it was not like a lentil soup because it was red.

I was trying to ask this man to move, in order to get by him, en route to the washrooms. There was a couple behind a man and they were very lovey-dovey.

The man had to ask them to get up to let me get to the bathroom. He did not want to get up or anything like that but he finally realised he had to get up. So he basically moved and he was quite unusually blond.

Everybody in this place was very unusual-looking. They had extraordinary features about them. They were excessively good-looking but they had an outstanding feature that made them seem Thothesque.

Again, noses here were very long, droopy and bent over. Their noses were almost beaklike in that sense. That was the extraordinary thing about that jet-black skinned man, in the initial dream, as well as this blond man who had the same feature.

These persons were all exceptionally tall. They were each on the other side of seven-plus feet. Also, they were so über-poilu, it made it look like they were either jet-black when Black or yellow-white for being blond.

Finally, he did move and when I was leaving, I looked at him. He was looking down at me because I was out of sorts, out of place, being there. Standing before him, he really did tower over me.

Clearly, these persons were EHs – extra-humans or ETs.

Another person had come by and tidied me up. He busily got me back to where I was seated. Then he had mumbled something like,

“Why don’t you get out of here real fast?”

So I went out into the vestibule and I was waiting and waiting for the waitress to come by because I wanted to pay her for my bowl of soup. I think it was going to be $3 or something like that.

Isis just said,

“Why don’t we just get out of here?”

We were waiting out front and it was busy so I finally got out. However, I was arguing and said,

“That’s not the point of it.”

I strongly felt that I should be paying my way. So I thought to just go back and put down my money on a table somewhere – I would feel better.

However, I did finally leave, after having been more or less harassed by Isis without having paid. She was asking,

“If you can save the money, why not save it?” that was her attitude.

When we were leaving there was a tall, enormously tall, man. He was White. Again, he had the same beaklike nose and there was something about his face that I found immediately sexual. His face was intensely sexualised.

I was going to indulge and not leave because I so wanted to explore this man. However, Isis hustled me out of there.

Dream eight found me in the streets. I was walking with a baby – a little Black baby who was light-skinned. I carried the baby on my shoulders.

It was rather nice. This time, out on the street, it was dark out and it was nighttime. This place we went to, that was quite busy, was bustling with lots of wonderful, wonderful people.

It was very cosmopolitan here. A brief dream it was too.

I next found myself in a ninth dream experience that had a great deal of uproar and tumult to it. There were figures in black who were part of some sort of religious sect. These persons were just alarmingly fanatical.

They were terrorists and they wore black. They had some sort of insignia on their bodies. As a matter of fact, they were looking for me.

There was no mistaking that fact.

I was in what would be Catherine Angelica Montpelier’s yard. I was trying to hide out there. There were, somehow, attempts to get me out.

Then there was this truck which the people who were like security guards used. I was told where to find them and where they weren’t.

So I went into this yard and it seemed like part of Catherine Angelica Montpelier’s property and the neighbourhood in Crab Hill, Sandy Point, St. Kitts. However, it was differently set up here.

There was an Indian-looking girl – Amerindian-looking and not Dravidian. She, too, had a beaklike nose and I tried to explain to her,

“Well look, you know I’m being pursued…”

“Oh yes!” further, she made reference to the fact, “Oh yes, you’re the one who killed Bob… or somebody.”

Up on the roof was like Bob’s brother, whoever Bob was, but it wasn’t a name that I recognised. His name was Bob, however; it was Patrice Wellesley, of all people, who was keeping a lookout.

He was supposed to notify the guard-like people. I intuitively knew that on the far side of the wall, of the place where I was hiding out, was a guy and a girl. She had very long black hair and was quite militant. They were looking out for me and talking.

I was telling the Amerindian-looking girl with the Thothesque nose, who was talking to me and dropping pieces of information, to just shut up and calm down,

“You don’t need to say everything and carry on and on.”

However, she still kept on blabbing away.

I then managed to go around the side of the house. She was with her sister and they were playing some sort of game. So I thought to actually go around, to the front of the house, to ask her who her sister was.

I then went around to the front of the house and there was her sister who seemed like Diana Nottingham – with whom I modelled at OCAD and did that pose with her at OCAD that Olaf Nordstrom had painted.

Anyway, she was quite wonderfully made up in whiteface. As though she were a Kabuki actor/actress, she wore white pancake makeup. She was, in fact, an actress. She was waiting to go on and perform a role of hers.

It was quite interesting because she was, in fact, filling me in on what was going on,

“In point of fact Arvin, you know, basically someone died because in self-defence in a rumble with them… it was just a lazy man about town, an idler and a drifter.”

He apparently ended up dying because, during some sort of attack on me, as I was defending myself he was accidentally killed. As a result, I was on the run and there was a plot – the militant group was out to get me.

She told me that what I could do was go behind the Methodist Church in Crab Hill, Sandy Point, St. Kitts. The place, however, was set out as if a mélange of Crab Hill, Sandy Point, St. Kitts and elsewhere.

So she told me to go across the railroad tracks. On coming around, I would be able to come home free to my home in Crab Hill. However, she pointed out that all along the route there were the same guards – militant fanatics.

However, I just had to play it safe. She confidently assured me that they could be headed off. I was grateful for her advice and took her directives to heart.

Well, low and behold, the girl – the militant sibling – came around the yard and caught me. When she caught me, I fled in escape. I went and hid behind the wall.

I am not referring to Diana or one of the two sisters who had been around the backyard but there were two other sisters. These other two sisters were part of the militant group that was on the hunt for me.

The girl pulled out a weapon and it had a little blade on it. It was quite deadly and I kept hiding myself trying to extricate myself out of the place. I did so by holding up one of the sisters, in front of me, as a hostage.

Someone got spliced in the left hand. I don’t recall that it was me or if it was me, I simply did not feel any pain when attacked. The vicious-looking wound had self-healed right away. I had focussed my light energies on the wound and caused it to instantaneously self-heal.

Anyway, I was able to push the sister onto them. I then made my way around to the back of the house. By this time, the brother was coming around the house from the other direction.

When I say I went around to the back of the house, it was where I had originally encountered the two militant sisters. By that point, she had already called for help from the guardsman. He was somewhat ecstatic as he came around. However, this was my chance to flee.

So I climbed over the fence and immediately there was a lot of plastic on and all over everything. When I climbed over the wall it was, clearly, what in the waking state would be the very back end of the Methodist Church estate.

It was covered with a heavy plastic and there was a lot of wood. There was scaffolding everywhere. I climbed along the wood and the sister – the white-faced, actor of the two sisters – had told me that I could get immunity by saying that I was coming to work on the grounds or some such.

Next, I crawled along the scaffolding and looked to my left. However, this being a dream, it had semblances to being Sandy Point but it wasn’t really Sandy Point either.

I realised that there were apartments, tiny apartments, which were glass-enclosed. They were all quite in disarray. People lived there but nobody seemed to be home.

Here I was trying to make my escape and if anybody had seen me, of course, I would be squealed on. Then I finally jumped down, out of the ceiling-like area, because there were crates and boxes and a straw-stuffed bed under me directly below the window.

I came down to an open area and there I saw a much darker version of Artemis da Braga my niece. She was sitting wrapped with a telephone cord about her as she played with the phone.

I greeted her but I did not want to get her excited because I wanted to flee the area.

Next, in dream ten, I came out of this beautiful house and came out into a wonderful backyard. Immediately, whilst there, I saw another of those vans. There had also been a van in the earlier dream that showed how these people, the militant people, worked.

They had a van and it had another little van on the inside when it opened up claw-like. It appeared that the top and the bottom, the back rather, could open up. Inside it revealed another vehicle that was covered in a brownish greasy goop.

The most interesting feature of this entire affair was that, although they looked human enough, the militiamen were not human. They were extra-human. So too was the machine which, from its goopy fluids, was sentient.

It was an EH species which they were using to capture and feed one to. It seemed that the machine-like EHs were, in fact, in control of the militia-type EHs rather than the reverse.

It seemed more creature than a vehicle and, somehow, this was what I was supposed to be put in when captured. These two Black men, who were guarding the house and who let me know that they were guarding the house, were saying,

“Aha! Now we’ve caught you.”

You know, I thought about it and there was just no way that I was going to let them capture me.

‘I’ve got to get away,’ I thought.

At the time, one of them was taking a pee – both these men were Black. They were quite casual about having caught me. They apparently were going to get their supervisor who would take care of me.

The supervisor came and he looked like the guy from Trinidad who had worked as a chef at the Underground Railroad Restaurant when, long ago, I worked there. He did, at least, seem like that man.

This man, who was their supervisor, was also Black. He had the semblance, the air about him, of that chef but he did not so much look a great deal like him. He was rotund and fairly light-complected.

He lived in the house. Rather, he did not live in the house but he was staying in the house as a caretaker. I thought,

‘I’m not going to be captured. I’m not going to be caught. I can disguise myself.’

I immediately started accelerating my energies and, as a result, I was able to transform myself. As I upped my frequency, I heard an increase in the universal hum.

I looked down at the backs of both my outstretched hands, keenly observing the intense sunlight react to my skin in a glowing sizzling manner, until my aura intensified and became visible about my body.

My aura’s light grew brighter as my skin actually glowed with increasing intensity. It continued until the skin, throughout my entire body, was indistinguishable from the rest of the intense morning sunlight.

When they went down the hill and came back with the guy, I was standing there right in front of the house. It was this particular, large wooden house.

It wasn’t large, for being a bungalow, but the door was large. This house was definitely not part of the landscape in Sandy Point, St. Kitts. As I looked on, the guards came bearing the portly gentleman.

I was aware from the way he – the supervisor, Zen sage – was talking that he was aware that I was there. Perhaps, he could see me but the other two – the militant guardsmen – couldn’t see me.

I realised what I had done: I had made myself light so that I blended in with the landscape and couldn’t be seen. I had rendered myself invisible!

I then decided that I could further transform myself. Next, I made myself into this little white piece of what seemed like string. However, it was more like nylon. It was like shiny waxed dental floss.

Such that half way there was a loop in it, it was tied in a knot. It was doubled on itself so that it was, I would guess, three to five inches long at the most.

I obviously was astrally projected to another world where, rather lucidly, I was dreaming and interacting with extra-humans. The dental floss-like string was the cord of light which keeps one’s astral body connected, to the waking state body, when astral-projected during sleep.

Immediately, the caretaker guy took the cord – the wax-like cord – which was my transformed-dreamer self in his hand. It was my astral body’s cord which was left rendered visible whilst I remained invisible.

He began giving the two guardsmen a walk-through of the house in which only he should have been. It was a house that was no longer lived in. It was wooden all about and very organic.

It was a house that allowed for natural light to pour in. There was a skylight. The house was low in the sense that it was dug in. The house was built such that it was somewhat half-buried below the surface.

In that way, it was kept cool because it was partly below-ground. All about, on either side, as you walked in every part of this beautiful, sprawling bungalow were every manner of cactus.

These were cacti that were shaped like trees that had leaves. Absolutely stunning and incredible, they enlivened the house throughout.

He gave me a tour of the place with the two guardsmen, who could not see me, in tow. As he walked them back to the front door he said,

“So you see, he really couldn’t be here. You go off and look for him.”

He tossed me or what was my representation – the wax-looking string or my astral body’s umbilical-like cord of light – from his right hand sending it through a doorway of the house. He then went about his business and showed them to the door and got rid of them.

At this point, I rematerialised back to my regular dreamer self in this dream and I was able to let on to him that I knew that he knew of my being invisible. So I called him, on another phone in the house, and I remained absolutely silent.

I then telepathically shared my thoughts with him. I inferred that I knew that he was aware that I was present in the house though invisible to most. Of course, he knew that I was there but he was just not going to acknowledge my being friendly with him.

The fact is that he knew that I was in trouble. He was just trying, out of the goodness of his heart, to help me out. However, he wasn’t going to befriend me or anything like that.

So anyway, on my own I began exploring this beautiful, beautiful labyrinth-like bungalow. The walls of it were wooden. It was a reddish wood like redwoods normally look. It had a shiny hue to it because it was polished.

I was talking about it to someone, later on in the dream, and it was in fact the same guy – the caretaker – who had accompanied me at one point. I said it seemed like it was built by Frank Lloyd Wright and he said,

“No. Not really…”

It seemed like it but it was a different style altogether; however, it was more or less like Frank Lloyd Wright. Seriously though, it was a totally different style.

So I went about exploring the place. I went in this one room that was clearly a bedroom. I opened the door and went in – it was a glass door. I went in and on the left were shelves.

There were tiny, tiny, little cacti in pots and some of them were large and some of them were blooming. They were heliotropically craning over to one side.

This place had been abandoned for quite some time. However, all the cacti in the place had managed to grow quite large. They were big, bulbous, beautiful and wonderfully lifelike.

The spread to the bed was turned and discarded. It had been left just as when last used by the owner. There was a bulldog; it was not a live one but a statue of a bulldog.

This person had a great deal of style and was quite successful. I realised that the owner, the former occupant, was Black. I saw the face and I can’t say that I can recall the face but, somehow, I got the impression that the face was a face of mine if you like.

It was interesting because when I saw the face that is basically the information that I got from looking at the face in the photo. There was a tiny time-faded photograph of a face. It was of a Black man.

This was the sense that I got from it, that it was me, in fact.

There were beautiful trousers about. As well, there was a large armoire with tons and tons of beautiful, silk robes that I had worn in that life.

They were worn around the house by the former occupant. There were, on the bed, some clothes. Too, there was a table beside the bed.

Everything in this bungalow was very organic: the bed was very organic, the desk was and even the fixtures were very organic. As well, the cloth was very organic – by organic, I mean that it wasn’t inanimate.

It was organic because it was lifelike. More than that, it was organic because it was breathing. That’s why it had lived so long because it was quite some time since last occupied by the owner.

However, it was very much so still alive. The sheet and bedding, on the bed, were woollen and greyish-coloured.

The only reason why I had entered the room, in the first place, was I wanted to roam – to see if there were any signs of underwear… there was. There was tons of underwear on the shelves behind me.

I wanted to check and sniff his underwear, to see if he had masturbated.

Anyway, when I got into the room, that little adventure had totally evaporated. For having seen the photograph, if you like I was quite interested in exploring the place and getting to refamiliarise myself with the place.

The bedroom was just absolutely beautiful. Off to the left, rather behind the shelves and straight ahead, was the closet and the bed was to the right of the door.

Down this long hallway that was sky-lit were the tables and tables of clothing. There was a door past the shelves, on the left, and it looked into more and more clothes.

I then came out of there and I went about exploring all over. This time, I went to explore all the cacti in the place. There were tons and tons of them.

Shortly thereafter, I was joined by Carl Leroiderien, Merlin and someone else who seemed like Mario of Paris – Mario D’Agostino, however, it wasn’t him.

I had a sense of Maxime Gascoigne-de Montigny being about and Carl Leroiderien had seemed like a custodian of the place. Carl was a caretaker or curator of the sprawling bungalow which now seemed like an historic site.

When he was excitedly walking everyone through the place, to show them the place, he was referring to the owner. I was there but, again, none of these people had any awareness that I was there – not even Merlin.

He was sort of filling them in on who the owner was. From what I could see, Carl was doing a good job of it.

There were cacti that were tall. There were also red ones. There was one cactus that was tall and it had needles on it. It had large, large leaves and two or three leaves like those of a royal palm’s.

Most of it was like a palm tree but it was like a breadfruit leaf or some sort of leaf like a maple leaf – albeit an extra large maple leaf. It was, however, cactus.

Everywhere there were plants on either side of the skylight hallways. The bungalow was a series of long halls that were all connected and veered off in different directions.

However, it was a house that had basically become a living garden such that it was organic. The cacti truly were the lungs of the house. The air was really nice and it was cool.

The humans were able to live with the cacti because it was a totally self-sustainable dwelling. As the light came in heliotropically sustaining the various cacti species, it added breath, depth and dimension to the space thereby making it equally organic.

Too, because it was partially submerged belowground, there was a lot of moisture from underground that kept these plants alive. The cacti were quite happy and they had grown so beautifully.

It was as if they were bonsai cacti. It was quite incredible how they were all over the place throughout the house.

Then I went down some steps to another open area of the bungalow. Again, there were more cacti. We moved off and came to an area where Carl said,

“Oh let’s go downstairs, I can show you the basement. You can see all these wonderful things.”

When you looked out the skylight area, it was of the street, the pathway into what would seem Crab Hill, Sandy Point, St. Kitts. So I immediately was afraid to be seen yet I was assured by Carl as he stilled my nerves telepathically saying,

‘Oh, it’s okay… it’s okay.’

I was concerned about the people, who lived across the street, reporting me to the militia-types. There was bamboo, organic bamboo if you like, that was made into a fence.

It seemed like the backyard of what was the neighbour’s house and they weren’t there. I was told it was quite safe that it was okay. The neighbours weren’t there to squeal on me.

Before you went down the steps, into this other area, there were all these beautiful, beautiful organic works that are quite common in the Orient. For example there were many objets d’art.

These were objets d’art which were beautiful temples and totems. They were all made from the ivory of elephants’ tusks. It was all beautifully detailed and in miniature – all the miniature designs were made of ivory.

That was the sort of stuff. This particular objet d’art was large. It was square-shaped so that it wasn’t like an elephant’s tusk. More like an obelisk, if you like, it was.

They were more so little temples. They were shrines and Greek temples if you like. What was truly fascinating was how incredibly detailed they were though scaled down versions of the real architectural gems.

We moved on and now we came to an area that had nothing but wares. There were lots of baskets everywhere because this was where the ornaments were kept. They were all stored therein.

Carl was the caretaker of these things. He was quite familiar with every item and, again, there were bamboo basket-like wares and objets d’art.

I was told that this was, in fact, like a wine cooler. It was so delicately and intricately made. Also, the item was collapsible. It could open. The objet d’art was like a valise and it could open up.

Merlin went and opened it and was prying into it. It had two African skulls or heads on it and it was quite beautifully detailed as a matter of fact.

We then moved on and came into the downstairs area. This place was like a cellar. Somehow, copious rays of sunlight made it to this part of the sprawling, multi-levelled bungalow.

Even though we were further underground yet, somehow, the sunlight came in. However, I soon realised that it wasn’t sunlight. It was just this light that was white and somewhat diffuse.

It was quite soft and nice to the touch. Among the many stored wares, there was something that had a white bamboo-like coil. This thing had a piece of string attached to it with two yellow sticks or shoots like chopsticks.

You could insert it and it was, in fact, quite sexual. The Mario D’Agostino character immediately grabbed it up. Whilst simulating sexual play, he was playing around with it.

He was making noises filled with sexual innuendo and then said,

“Umm, get undressed and put it on your cock because that’s what it’s made for.”

Oh he was so happy to perform and went off to try on the item.

*Here now, some further comments set in the dream in the beautiful house. Here, the atmosphere in this house was one of serenity and it was a reflection of that particular life that one had led whence the proprietor was Black.

Tall and very erudite, he seemed a man of the world. He was well-travelled. He loved beautiful music and he had a collection of things in his bedroom that were totems from his travels.

He was obviously tall because there were lots of khaki and white summer pants which all gave a sense of his height. When I had first entered into the room, there was also a rack that I had bumped into.

I hadn’t noticed it because it was suspended from the ceiling. It was racked with leather suspenders and an enormous collection of belts: broad belts, narrow belts, as well, skinny belts.

There were all kinds of beautiful belts. They were very expensive and they were also very organic and ancient. They weren’t brand new any of them.

It was all a reflection of the person’s spirit. You never met the person but you knew the person through the house. It was beautiful and wonderfully planned out.

The sprawling, organic bungalow was so multidimensional; it went off in all these directions and avenues because that was who this person was in that lifetime. In a box to call home, he was not contained or restrained.

The organic house constantly veered off. It had many apartments and veered off and had many cul de sacs. There were areas where he could go and be removed from all the other areas yet be surrounded by plants.

At all times, he was surrounded by life itself and it was healthy… quite nice.

Whilst at the restaurant having the lentil-looking soup, the reason for the extra-tall, obvious extra-human being impatient with me was more subtle than one may assume. With their sophisticated proboscis, it is safe to assume that smell was the most developed of this extra-human race’s senses rather than sight as is the case for we humans.

Likely, there was something very off-putting to my pheromone makeup which left the seated extra-human uncomfortable. I don’t think that it was a matter of my race, Black, but my species, Earthly human, which made the über-poilu, blond extra-human uncomfortable.

As I was in his home world, he naturally felt put upon of having the unfavourable aspects of my pheromones anywhere near him. At the end of the day, he was an incarnate ensouled fragment who is one of seven soul types and with the same selection of overleaves as any Earthly human. Any Earthly human would have similarly responded to having someone of outré pheromone and species in their midst.

A very serene dream it remarkably was. END.

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Photo: Proboscis simian mammalian.

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On Board the Schooner.

20.02.201310.10.2024 Arvin da BrghaLeave a comment

The dream occurred, on Monday, December 2, 1991, whilst the Moon was in Scorpio transiting my sixth house. Every now and again, long after his passing, there would be dreams such as this one which would revisit the gravity of Merlin’s end-of-life illness.

These dreams are uplifting in their beauty, realism and inspiration. Deeply breathe in and drink of this poetic turn.

<O>

I was standing by this shore looking out to sea. There were some orcas that had come close into shore. It was, in fact, an unusually murky sea. The waters looked even cloudier because the cetaceans had been chopping up the sea a great deal with their mammoth bodies.

Out to sea on these rocks, there were some wonderful, little sea lions basking. There was clearly a coral reef in that section of the water. Where the killer whales were, of course, there was no reef.

Suddenly, one of the orcas bolted like a submarine-launched torpedo. With lightning speeds, in such shallow waters, it made for a young adult sea lion.

It was overcast here. Goodness, before I knew what was happening, it had ferociously ripped into this animal and was manically feeding on it.

Basically, the pod had come in to feed but this one orca had become frustrated. The tide was rapidly changing and they knew that they would have to head out to sea. Based on the tidal activity, the pod knew that they had arrived a bit too late to make a successful kill.

I had been looking at this bunch of guys who were working as marine biologists. They were there to usher the orcas back out to sea so that they wouldn’t beach. This would be most queer if they did because orcas almost never do beach.

The human professionals had to do so very cautiously and at a safe distance because, at any moment, the orcas could have attacked. Finally, they managed to guide the orcas out to sea where they then took off.

After that, I entered the sea as did some other bathers. There were about eight of us and we swam out to sea because moored out to sea was a wonderful, large white yacht.

The stern of it was facing directly to shore. Another vessel was also out to sea; it was a brown schooner and a bit off to the left. As we swam I did the crawl; it made my progression so timelessly beautiful.

The water was not too choppy and the further out one got the murkier it did, in fact, get – and just as well. I started gaining, whilst a girl swam to my right and rear. She was pointing out that I was soon going to get ahead of the guy in the lead who was outfitted with snorkelling gear.

He kept on looking down into the water. Taking his time, every now and again, he lazily used his fins. This guy wore a partial wetsuit that ended in shorts at just above mid-thigh.

The marine biologists were, of course, wearing full wetsuits. Their wetsuits were no doubt, though black, outfitted with that mesh to prevent them from being severely injured if attacked.

I effortlessly swam and, in point of fact, I was almost as if a fish in my complete union with the water. More than that, I progressed through the water by sheer will.

As a result, I was as if an aquatic creature in its medium and one not hampered in its progress. Of course, normally I would have been much slower for being human but things were different here in the dreamtime.

It was, in fact, quite beautiful. My head was always above the surface. When I got close to the stern of the white yacht, it was populated by a bunch of young-souled, aggressively smiling people who were on a leisure trip. The stern of this yacht was unusually wide with a white awning overhanging it.

When I got to the side of the brown schooner – a beautifully polished, medium-tanned wood, I then propelled my way out of the water and dove up into the air.

At the zenith, which I had gotten to by powerfully kicking my legs in a cissons-like motion taking me clear of the water, I was now above the considerably raised deck of the schooner to my left.

Stationary in the air, for a second, I then arched my head forward bringing my body forwards. Pulling down my head, I brought it into my pointed feet with legs fully extended. At that, I kicked opened my legs and was now stationary in the air whilst perfectly upside down. My head was craning back so that I could see the water way below.

I began diving downwards but this was more so flight than merely crashing down at normal speeds. Majestically, I gracefully spliced into the water. It was a rather effortless entry. Beautiful! It was quite nice.

I then came up for air. All the young souls, on the white yacht, were excitedly paying tribute to how skilled I was. They had been thoroughly impressed – not that I had done this for anyone’s benefit.

I had distinctly been aware that I was dreaming. It felt so freeing to will my body through the water that the next logical progression was to have become even freer in another medium – air.

The water, in fact, was covered here with seaweed as though it were close to the full Moon. Characteristically, it is during this stormy lunar phase that much kelp gets uprooted, harvested and make it ashore. This always creates quite a mess of things.

I then got up onto the brown schooner with the others and we hung out. The guys on board were going to be taking our picture. I was hunched down in the front row and was sunnily smiling enjoying having my picture taken – which is certainly rare for me.

However, I thought that because I was feeling in such good spirits I would show-off and leap off the edge of the schooner and into the water. I did not, however do so. In fact, I was glad that I hadn’t because when I got down into the water, I realised that the water was quite shallow on that side of the schooner.

The vessel had, in fact, been docked at this reef but was in no danger of grounding, for being moored there. It was a very thick, massive, coral reef which was on the port side of the schooner.

I went and walked around on top of the coral reef; the sea came to just above ankle level. So had I dived in, I would have suffered a great deal of head and neck injuries; it wouldn’t have been pleasant at all.

Then I came off the reef by walking on it out to sea. I then jumped off the reef’s edge and down into the deep water. I was swimming around towards the bow to see the other side of the schooner.

It was then that I had a pang of fear thinking,

‘My god, Arvin, what if there are sharks just below the water here, having hidden out under the edge of the reef? I could be attacked from below.’

The water was so murky. The profusion of kelp obstructed a good view of things. However, then I thought that that was being silly of me because that was being fear-focussed.

It was the certified way in which to bring on negative experiences. So I promptly decided to heal myself of such images and to move away from such fear-based vortices.

Then, on swimming around to the starboard side of the schooner, the kelp was so thick that one could easily walk on it. I got up and walked leisurely atop the kelp. It was delightful an experience. I moved towards a door that was opened in the hull – just inches above the water.

On getting inside the hull, I visited with a couple of people. We were talking and having a good time. I can’t now, however, say that I recall the gist of what we were discussing.

<O>

I do know though that at one point whilst on board, I had encountered Merlin. I was so blown away to have seen him. He was off by himself. He was alone and very introspective. He was very weak. Immediately, I came to his side and visited with him.

I felt a swell of compassion towards him. It was devastating to see him in this state because he was very frail and just as he was a week before his passing. It was so wholly unexpected.

Merlin was so drained, for being ill, that he couldn’t even communicate. However, it was okay, for me. All I needed was the drink of his company and the touch of those soulful – though here weary – truly magus eyes to parch my questing soul.

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Photo: Schooner.

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Paradigm shift.

17.02.201310.10.2024 Arvin da BrghaLeave a comment

Each time one makes the choice to walk, to become removed from it all, signals a new plateau in one’s spiritual maturation. This next dream betrays just such a new plateau ascended to.

The Moon was then transiting Pisces and my tenth house. It was Saturday, March 12, 1994. The dream in question was the first one that day. It proved a most illuminating and thus transformative dream…

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I was in a tiny wooden house at night time looking outdoors. The tiny log cabin was quite cosy and ancient. Pandora was in the cottage with me.

Lots of Black, wonderfully-spirited playful children were about enjoying themselves. They were so sweet and refreshingly grounded. I did so notice that they were exceptionally tiny and looked almost like Pygmy children though not.

Their heads were unusually large with that extended skull in back that’s decidedly African – much like Pharaoh Akhenaten’s was. They wore pyjamas. Some of the children were already asleep.

I gathered up the children who were awake and got them readied for bed. When I was done, I returned to the large window. I looked outside the window enjoying the platinum moonlight.

Just beyond the lone log cabin, large, soulful moss-covered cedars were everywhere. In addition, there were thick-leaved trees that looked cactus-like.

Clearly, they were fir trees of some sort. They were strikingly beautiful. Too, there were lots of large ferns which looked like they were from pre-historic times.

To the left of my field of vision, as I looked out the window, I noticed the Moon rising. This was obviously to the east as I faced due south. When close to the horizon, the Moon was massively oversized. It was a most beautiful mélange of salmon and pink tonalities.

To have experienced the Moon’s slow hypnotic ascension was the most rapturous adage. It was as though hearing Richard Strauss‘s Viennese waltz being played considerably slowed down. It was the most sensually exquisite sensation.

This was not unlike the slow-motioned suspension, when he was on morphine during points in his end-of-life illness, that I witnessed Merlin experiencing. I was left feeling as though on the edge of where time ceases to exist.

Rapture! I was experiencing fusion with nature. I was experiencing love.

I was as if outside of myself and at one with the soul aspect, which the august Moon represented, in this very totemic dream. With the Moon’s ascent, my senses became oceanic and expansive. I was psychically blown wide-open and receptive.

As Luna rose in the sky, I could see that in through the trees its size did not really shrink. As it climbed high in the sky, away from the horizon, it did not seemingly shrink to its usual size.

There was definitely something quite different about this moon. As it approached the zenith, I increasingly felt more grounded. I felt, in fact, splayed in place by its massiveness.

I felt no apprehension, however. The massive Moon’s warm face seemed to be intimately smiling at me. It had a great deal of presence about it.

Straight away, I was reminded of the Moon’s ensouled quality, as I experienced it in the dreams of early September 1983 whilst living and not very successfully pursuing a dance career in New York City.

There was no mistaking the fact that the Moon, here in this dream, was an ensouled entity with a presence all its own. Ascending higher still, it lost its fiery tonalities and eventually became a blazingly platinum orb.

It was a beautiful full Moon. Whilst standing there, I watched transfixed as it began expanding. On having crossed 45 degrees of arc, it lyrically inched towards the zenith and seemed to wax larger even more.

Instead of seeming to diminish in size, on moving away from the horizon, Luna began growing pregnant. There was something creatively fecund about Luna with each degree of arc to which it ascended.

The closer to the midnight position it grew, the more pregnant it became. It was so beautiful to have experienced, yet, I was still surprised at how very large it kept on getting.

Goodness, when it was at 60 degrees of arc, it had grown at least four times as large as the normal full Moon. I was completely in awe of its beauty.

I was spellbound; my soul itself was lit up by the intense, though soft, silver-white light that drenched the entire area. Consequently, the log cabin’s interior was being soaked throughout by the intense flooding light.

At about 80 degrees of arc, the massive beauteous Moon came to a stop. For an infinite pause, Luna hovered in the sky. Totally enraptured, I reached out my soul itself to dance with this beauteous Moon.

Suddenly, my slow dance was abruptly ended when the Moon novaed. It was the most incredible, beautiful mind-expanding experience.

This was not a case of the Moon exploding. It was a spiritual birthing. It was an unfoldment in which the mind and spirit were harmonised to experience a transformation that was truly transcendent.

This was so unexpected that it was liberating to have experienced it. The Moon’s quiet seduction had been so complete that, when it novaed so entranced was I at that point, it proved not to have been a traumatic experience.

This was sheer bliss. Luna, goddess of the night, had novaed. More importantly, the soul aspect – which the Moon here represented – was directly manifesting to me.

I was reminded of the enlightened face that I saw, when pulling back from Merlin’s head in my cupped-handed embrace, in the lucid vision on July 23, 1988.

I was so lucidly focussed that I experienced the nova in exquisite slow-motion. As a matter of fact, I think that the Moon’s nova may well have been in slow-motion. Looking on spellbound, I watched as the fragmented Moon radiated outwards… all 360 degrees.

As a result, pieces of the novaed Moon were directly headed towards Earth. Resultantly, it seemed that there was one large piece of jettisoned Moon meteor directly headed towards me.

Now everything resumed in normal waking state time. The intensity of the shift was overwhelming. Too, the breakneck speeds of the Luna fragments were phenomenal.

The impact of this astrophysical episode was devastating. The spatial flux created by Luna’s nova was, if you like, tantamount to a localised solar system tsunami.

The fabric of space about Luna, as it were, became suddenly warped. This resulted in a rippling magnetic wave from the nova’s epicentre.

The jarring intensity only lasted for a moment, however, before that I had experienced the nova in timeless slow-motion. I was so detached and expansive that I began lucidly experiencing the event, to the point where I was able to isolate each moment of the event, simultaneously viewing it from various perspectives.

Again, to the analogy to the Viennese waltz, it was as though I were able to experience a fugue within each note of the slowed down waltz. Mind-alteringly intense this was. This truly was bliss.

This was, for me, absolute fusion with the soul of self – plain and simple. It was truly a sensory high.

Next, the whole place became totally flooded with pure white light. Never before had I seen or, more to the point, experienced white light of such an ecstatic intensity.

The light seared through all of nature. Everything became a sponge which it flooded, soaked and arrested with its aqueous beauty.

Nature became sodden and expansive. I could feel the arboreal giants about the log cabin respond. They were as if soaked by a perpetual downpour, for the last few days, as a result of being exposed to the Moon’s novaed light.

Even the log cabin had become x-rayed, as it were, by the light’s intensity. Too, my body – indeed my entire being – had been infused with the light’s unstoppable power.

That power unmistakably was Love. To have experienced the light, flooding through my body, was akin to flying at great speeds whilst standing erect.

Whilst standing legs akimbo, all that I could do was hold on to the window frame. I braced myself against being overwhelmed by this tsunami of love.

As the experience grew in intensity, I was slapped from my inner rapture by the sound of everyone screaming aloud. All across the globe, humanity was being displaced by the effects of Luna having novaed.

Rushing through the tiny house, I went to look after the tiny kids who were understandably afraid. As they had been asleep by that point, they were not aware of what was taking place.

Soon Pandora joined me and together, we went about busily gathering up the kids. Some of the kids had even been sleeping in cupboards, which Pandora had reminded me of, inside the tiny cabin.

She had yelled at me to go get the kids in the cupboards. When we went to look out the window, I now saw that the one-hundred-foot-plus redwoods were being effortlessly blown over.

It was as though they were miniature trees on a scaled version of the town. As if it was a movie set that was being filmed, it looked as though the trees were experiencing a great storm of violent magnitude.

Of course, in such a situation, the trees would have been scaled down and miniaturised. The intensity of the interplanetary tsunami, created by Luna’s nova, began violently snapping the trees.

This was the effect when the magnetic wave had finally reached Earth. This was a truly cathartic experience.

Throughout the experience, however, I was never fearful. I simply got caught up in the rapture of the moment and allowed myself to ride the thrilling crest of intense sensations.

The windstorm, that the novaed Moon affected, was beyond anything fathomable in the waking state. It sounded as if a couple of freight trains were barrelling along, on either side of the log cabin, travelling at speeds in excess of 300 mph.

The fierce windstorms simultaneously occurred across the globe. They were created as Earth was being momentarily thrown off its axis.

Luna’s nova had created a spatial magnetic wave that shook Earth to its core. All over the planet, soon enough, there were actual tsunamis.

With Luna’s reduced size, the tides were no longer predictable. Whilst the planet rotated off its axis, in some cases, the seas became transformed.

As a result, the unstable oceans became giant waterspouts. In some instances, the displaced oceans were pulled heavenward into outer space.

This created walls of ocean which rose into the air – nothing was secure anymore – total pandemonium and tectonic instability. The Earth’s gravity had become completely destabilised.

Across the globe, oceans drastically rose. Still, in some altitudes as though in outer space, one was able to experience weightlessness.

Off in the distance, I could make out a distant ocean, shooting into outer space. It looked not unlike a giant geyser. The oceans were becoming as if reversed waterspouts. Truly fantastical!

Before being pulled back to Earth by gravity, they had risen up only so far. Even though considerably weakened, there was still some gravity. The crashing oceans led everywhere to the fiercest rainstorms.

Of course, for being briny rainwater, it meant that there would be widespread damage to most of the rained on vegetation. There was also massive flooding everywhere.

The interesting thing about the energies here was that one sensed that the lunar effects on humanity, in particular women, were now radically altered.

With Luna’s nova, I became aware that until the transformation women had been subjugated by men. This was largely affected by the influence of the Moon on them physiologically and psychologically.

Before my eyes, outside the house, I saw women transformed. They were now as if giants. They were truly warrior-spirited.

I think that the symbolism, inasmuch as I believe in such a thing as dream symbolism, of this dream was two-fold.

Not only was it about a spiritual awakening; it also gave insights to the imminent climax between male-female sexual tensions. These transformed women were now as if men; no longer were they to be physically overpowered by men.

Luna transformed allowed women, especially with regards to sexual matters, to no longer be at a physical disadvantage to men.

This does speak to a psychic revolution. Although, I do believe, the feminist movement with its mercantile edge has gone about this revolution the wrong way.

The current approach has ultimately charged women’s animus to the detriment of women’s health. There was an almost cannibalistic sensibility to these transformed women in the dreamtime.

One could easily see these Amazons, performing double mastectomies so that they could, take on any foe unhindered. This is not the psychic revolution that one would hope for.

There is little spiritual uplift, anywhere discernible, with women emerging as the transvestite’s beau idéal. These were such strong domineering women.

Each of them was in excess of seven feet tall. They were each mythic and statuesque. They appeared monstrous, nonetheless, for being so animus-charged.

It was clear, too, that women were no longer regulated by the Luna cycle. The fragmented Moon had lost much of its tidal effect on Gaia and all its life-forms.

Women were now roaming the Earth as if stark raving mad, to be sure, the ultimate feminist wet dream. One thing that I picked up on, about these women, was that they had developed large distended clits and labia.

This did, however, cause me on awakening to ponder whether what I had been seeing were not members of a new hybrid human sex. That is to say, post Luna’s nova, the human race had no defined sex.

Quite simply, there were persons with both sexual organs that were fully functional. Perhaps, post Luna’s nova, there was one or more gender changes that were naturally occurring during the course of newly hybrid human life.

Beyond all that angst, there was finally a moment of calm.

Everything simply ceased to be in a state of maddening flux. There had been incredible Earthquake activity across the globe that accompanied all this lunar instability.

To make sure that the kids were alright, I then moved through the tiny log cabin. I neither saw Pandora again nor, for that matter, the kids.

Once more, I returned to the window to gaze into the sky. On stepping before the window pane, I let out a sigh of wonderment at the sight of the Moon.

Now, the experience had shifted onto an even higher octave. By far, this would prove the most beautiful aspect of the dream.

Now, Luna was reduced to a third of its original size. It was now a much smaller Moon. Around the novaed Moon, securely hugged in its orbit in a clockwise rotation, was a Luna ring. A small number of the Luna asteroids were caught in an elliptical orbit but for the most part they were mostly in an equatorial orbit.

The ring was created from the large fragments of Moon rock which had not been lost in outer space. They had not been large enough to have escaped Luna’s orbital gravity – such as it is.

After the initial pulsation of the nova, the larger rocks fell back towards the novaed Moon. Some crashed back onto Luna’s surface but others were caught in a ring that orbited the scaled down satellite.

Some undoubtedly had fallen out of Luna’s orbit. No doubt, some Luna meteors had crashed into Earth. The Luna meteors only added to the tectonic instability here on Earth.

The majority of the lunar meteors that fell back towards Luna formed an orbital ring. It was a ring of asteroids that was held in place by Earth’s greater gravity.

The lunar asteroids that formed the ring were the most beautiful sight imaginable. Luna was, of course, still full.

The uneven, jagged Luna asteroids were now reflecting Sol light. They created a perpetually sparkling ring of light that was truly kaleidoscopic.

In its expressionism and spiritual evolution, humanity had ascended to a higher octave. It had been dramatically affected by Luna’s nova.

Humanity’s ascension was adequately reflected by the sight and harmonic vibration of the transformed Luna. It was truly musical and created greater attunement to one’s spiritual nature. It was rhapsodic.

To have experienced the ringed Luna was like the most ticklish whisper of hushed strings. Whilst each jagged Luna asteroid brilliantly glistened, each triggered a musical resonance deep within for having experienced its singular beauty. Bliss!

Just as bright as the full Moon, the orbital lunar asteroids were a blazing dash of sparkling twinkling colours. Slowly rotating about Luna, the orbital lunar asteroid ring reflected Sol’s light.

I can’t say enough how beautiful this was. Still, there was the added element of the ethereal with the twinkling ring of Luna asteroids. This created a sublime and truly hypnotic effect.

I can’t see how, if this were to happen in the waking state, we as humankind could emerge unaffected. There is no way that we would not become a better and a more harmonious people.

All this spiritual and physiological evolution thanks to Luna’s new inspiration which, in turn, would greatly enhance humanity’s more evolved qualities.

Quite simply, this was the most glorious stellar sight imaginable. It was as if there were souls dancing around the transformed Moon.

Luna, it seemed, now served as a nebulous portal that signified our passage into a new humanity. A new humanity of greater consciousness and harmony this would facilitate. At least, so I would like to think…

This was so arrestingly beautiful a sight. This paradigm shift was precisely the kind of revolutionary idea which, in one’s wildest imaginings, could not have been fathomed whilst in the waking state.

Even though it was now diminished in size, one had the distinct impression of the Moon that it had fallen from its orbit. Than previously it had been, Luna was now in closer proximity to Earth.

I wondered as to what this would mean, for womankind in particular, when Luna was now reduced and ringed with tiny satellites of its own.

I pondered whether or not this had anything to do with human sexual politics, as it were, rather than the maturation of the soul aspect on a personal level.

There was no denying, however, that this was clearly the ushering in of a new age… and high time. Certainly, all this mercantilist dreck has long served its purposefulness.

I was quite so lucid, standing there before the window pane, observing and pondering so many possible ramifications of all this exciting transformation.

On looking back up at the transformed Luna, I was blown away by this birthing and expansiveness of consciousness – this glorious paradigm shift.

On closing my lids, to better drink in the beauty of the brilliant light’s touch all over my body, I was lucidly drawn awake.

*Luna transformed was as if a much more dense satellite. Newly reborn, Luna had a halo of light-intense orbiting fragments.

These orbital lunar fragments gave the effect of them being a giant necklace of diamonds that were handsomely setting off the newest and most beauteous face in Sol’s orbit – Luna novaed and transformed. END.

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Photo: Full Moon digitally enhanced.

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Come On, Bipeds Don’t Fly!

17.02.201308.01.2025 Arvin da BrghaLeave a comment

I was walking north in Toronto, on a side street, just east of Logan Avenue. It was one of the streets that dead-ends, in this case, just before meeting Mortimer Avenue.

More appropriately, this was heading north along Chester Avenue, about where Playter Crescent would be if it actually crossed Jackman Avenue to continue eastward to Chestnut Avenue and beyond.

There were two gardeners, by a maroon-coloured van of theirs, working in the groovy sunny daylight.

I was feeling so good to be there and in their august company that I pushed off and began effortlessly flying. I passed these really lovely houses on the right side of the quiet side street.

One of the houses had a beautiful white Labrador dog that stood guard on the front lawn. The Labrador had white rings encircling the most intensely blue-irised eyes.

Smiling at me, it greeted me with a lovely affectionate bark. By jumping into the air, it was admirably trying to mimic my flight. It had kept on tilting its head from one side to the next.

You could just hear its doggone mind thinking that there was something mighty queer about what I was doing. You could just sense its awestruck mind thinking,

‘Hey, like wait a minute now. Bipeds don’t fly! What is this?’

What a riotous hoot! It was such a gloriously cute, little creature. Dear god I began laughing, while in flight which I can assure you is rather rare, for this was such a touching and beautiful sight.

It began running along the lawns and sidewalk while trying to keep up with me. Its little head was cocked on the side, ears pinned back, its little face thrilled as all hell to be party to this psychedelic trip.

Can you not imagine its canine buddies dismissing it, as weaving more tall tales, on relating this one? I was so riotously laughing that I became concerned that I would prematurely awaken.

This was so genuinely hysterical. Well, canine buddies be damned, it was so pleased for me. Bless its dear gentle-souled heart.

The handsome Labrador began a sweet clipped bark, cheering me on, protesting my cleverness while marvelling at just how I was able to pull it off. Who cares about contact with EHs – extra-humans – trans-species contact has existed for millennia here, with all manner of marvellous creatures, truth be told.

This moment, between the young Labrador and me, was truly rapturous. Well, I don’t know about pigs but this episode suggested that dogs have yet to learn to fly.

I have no idea what kind of dream my inspiring turn has led to for this adorable creature but the honour is all mine – serving as muse to this adorable blue-eyed dog.

Flying on up ahead, the road became exclusively lined with giant, old maple trees that were full of moss. I was flying westwards – along Browning Avenue – because all the giant old maples, on the left of the street, were covered with moss on the side that faced the street and was close to me. The sunlight was above and a bit behind me.

On approaching, in flight, one of the trees to the south – on the right side of the street – had the most incredible trunk-like branch. This road, incidentally, was a paved affair. This branch was so thick that it crossed the street going north-westerly. On the other side, it attached to a less colossal maple.

Over Time both branches had become grafted with the knob, where they had joined, proving a huge bulbous affair. As I flew under the branch, coming down a little to the street to accommodate the massive trunk, I looked up and back at its incredible beauty.

Surprised was I to see, way back behind me, my pointed feet. It was as if my astral body was 10-12 feet long when in flight.

My motion here definitely was that of flying as opposed to feeling as though one were swimming through the air. On such occasions, as the latter, it is then a laborious proposition and never a fun experience as now. Clearly, this was an experience of being astrally projected. I was rather impressed at how statuesque my astral body was.

A thoroughly soul-stirring adage this dream proved. Truly, this was a dance with one’s very soul. No greater intimacy could possibly be had.⁵

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Dreams, quite simply, are the poetry of the soul. The preceding idyllic turn was the fourth dream of the second or B sleep session, on Monday, May 23, 1994, while the Moon transited both Scorpio and my sixth house and I was then happily habituated in Vancouver’s West End.

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Photo: White Labrador Retriever.

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Hey, not so fast Corky!

17.02.201310.10.2024 Arvin da BrghaLeave a comment

Exactly one year later, after those momentous dreams wherein Merlin imparted me his sword of empowerment, I would have dreams of uplifting grandeur. These ones, however, were of a vastly different thematic nature.

These dreams involved travels in consciousness which took me to another world. This dream further validates how lucky were Merlin and I to have found each other in this world. Indeed, how lucky are all lovers to find each other anywhere in the vast expanse of the cosmos.

The dream occurred, on Monday, September 9, 1989, while the Moon then transcended both Libra and my fifth house.

I get onto an airplane that I thought was a Boeing 737 – it seemed narrow-bodied like one. It had two seats on either side of the aisle which was, unusually so, very wide.

The aisle was lower than the platforms on which the seats sat. The windows of this craft were quite large.

There was a White woman down the aisle who was going on and on about having lost her luggage. On closer inspection, she seemed more High-Yellow than White.

She also had the same unusually long torso as the man of a couple of dreams back. There was a flight attendant wearing white and he was obviously impatient with her.

When I looked out the window, I thought that I was looking towards the front of the aircraft. Then the flight attendant said to everyone who was standing, me included,

“Will you please take your seats, the aircraft is moving.”

I hurried to take my seat but noticed that the seats were facing in the opposite direction to what I had assumed was the front of the craft.

I was close to the front, at a window seat, with Pandora also at a window seat in the row behind me. There was a window for every seat.

There was a large space by the large open area, which had no seats in it, up ahead. The entire spacecraft’s interior was silver-grey. There was a bath cabin-like area and the lines inside this craft were very smooth and round… seamless.

Everything blended, everything melded into each other. There were large doors that led to the area ahead of what I thought was the cockpit. However, it was an unusually large door which sat at the end of the wide aisle.

Then I thought to myself,

‘But why isn’t the plane moving?’

However, when I looked outside, I saw that the landscape had low trees like at most airports. I also noticed that the wing was rather low, in fact, way down the fuselage.

Closer inspection revealed that the craft had three wings in all. They were not very long wings, though very wide, preventing you from looking down to the ground below when aloft. Your only view was distant and above.

I looked off and saw the tarmac where there was an aircraft. It was moving so slowly that I thought that it was coming to a halt before throttling up and then barrelling down the runway to take off.

However, this was the speed at which the aircraft was moving owing to the perspective of the flight that we were on. We were going south – I intuitively knew as much.

I assumed that since I was with Pandora that we were going back to Paris to investigate her lost luggage. Perhaps, I thought, we were going south down to St. Croix… just taking a trip. It was rather an unusual craft.

I did then look out of the aircraft after the male attendant, now wearing a blue jacket, had had a spat with the High-Yellow argumentative woman – she still hadn’t yet taken a seat.

The window had arched up to the ceiling of the craft thus I could hardly see where the male attendant had gone to. Obstructing a direct view of the entire cabin, the walls of the craft were round.

He also had an extra-long torso and wore greyish, off-white pants. Come to think of it, he was not audibly speaking – it was all telepathic such that telepathy was the in-flight PA system mode.

I thought it unusual that, here we were, the plane was ascending with clouds drifting past yet at no point had there been any sensation of motion. Nonetheless, the land was tilted way below dropping back rapidly with these heavy-looking wintry clouds cutting past us.

I thought that this was most unusual. There was also no flight attendant giving us instructions. Then I thought,

‘My god I’m not even wearing my seatbelts.’

I then quickly buckled up, the cream-coloured seatbelts, further settling into the large black seat. Next, a female flight instructor came and instructed everyone on how to use the seatbelts as these were very complicated ones.

It had two sets of buckles which you had to put in at the top. When you did so, it seemed like it was locked but it wasn’t.

You had to press down really hard, three times, before it would finally snap into place. The number of presses actually was part of its locking code.

I did as she was doing and, sure enough, it snapped into place. On the underside of the buckle there was another lock system. It was that one which you had to rotate clockwise and at that point you were then locked in.

This safety belt system also, I noticed, had straps that went between the legs. I was concerned because I thought that if we were to impact I wouldn’t fare very well – my seatbelt was quite loose.

Too, it was then when I noticed that the seatbelt just did not go around the waist – it also went and strapped into the seat between the legs so that you couldn’t get up during flight.

As she was talking, I also noticed that the underside of the belt was cream with red horizontal stripes. She was describing things and that’s when I clued in again that, like the male attendant, she was also not speaking aloud.

What she was saying was being telepathically shared… most unusual. Truth be told, this was most unusual.

Next, when again I did look out the window, I saw that down to my right were all these stars. Against the very unusual blackness of space outside, the stars were visible yet it wasn’t nighttime when we took off.

In a sea of reddish-pink light that turned to purple, millions and millions of stars there were. In certain places, this light was mauve rather than pink or purple.

It had a shadow to it and it turned out to look exactly like the horse head nebula, Barnard 33, in the star system we refer to as the Orion constellation. You could clearly distinguish the neck and the head of a horse.

It was then that it occurred to me that that was what the Orion nebula looked like. I was passing over a nebula!

I took my Chinese-motif-covered, dream diary book, from the waking state, and placed it up towards the window. I was looking up into the sky, thinking that maybe I would see the Moon there, seeing that we had now cleared the clouds. It had all of a sudden gotten very dark out.

Here again, I saw different star constellations than those with which one is normally familiar. I knew, then and there, that this was not a Boeing 737.

At that, I looked back to the woman whose look suggested that she knew then that I had realised what was going on.

In one cluster of the cloud-like nebula, in the northeastern sector of it, there was a large, large cluster of stars that were encircled. They were circled such that they seemed, en masse, to be like a ringed planet.

This unique ‘world of stars’ was silhouetted against the deep, rich blackness of deep space. It was like a ringed planet but was really a cluster of stars – a galaxy. Then I thought excitedly,

‘Whoa what’s going on here?’

Here we were and I was thinking that we were travelling so slowly such that I had even grown fearful for the aircraft. I was thinking that we were moving much too slowly and that we would never make it on time. I had even been saying as much to Pandora.

However, when I looked out the aircraft again, we were still rising. Now we were passing over a wintry intersection. You could even hear the cars outside as they drove through the intersection.

We were very unusually low and I thought,

‘This plane is not rising fast enough. I’m not hearing engines. What’s going on?’

Then as we were going, we were still rising but were now coming into a developed area that was like a housing project. It had townhouses that were unusually high-ceilinged.

I thought that we were going to have to go upwards or we were not going to make it. I got somewhat frantic. However, the craft soon landed without incident.

There was a guy outside the craft who was clearly a local. He was White and exceptionally blond. He looked distinctly Polish.

He had an unusually long torso and short legs – not just short comparable to his extra-long torso but even squat as compared to the legs of a normal six-foot tall human male.

He approached us and said that he could take us where we were headed. He insisted that he could do it real fast, as it were, faster than this old thing.

Of course, he was referring by ‘old thing’ to our craft that had just crossed deep space at light speeds. I realised, at that point, that what had happened was that I had left Earth and had travelled into interstellar space.

So when I was seeing that intersection with snow on the ground and cars, and so on, it was not Earth but another planet altogether. Then there overhead passed a plane.

It was like the one that we had just travelled interstellar space in, with the three wings, except that it wasn’t a plane. It was like the fuselage of a plane that had been sliced in half, sealed, covered and made into a little shuttle vehicle.

The craft moved quite slowly and silently through the sky. It was the same greyish colour as the one that I had arrived in. I thought,

‘Indeed, we’re really not in Kansas anymore…’

I remember at that point that Isadore da Braga and Angelica Ponce-da Braga, his wife, had gone to Montréal. I thought that, by now, they would definitely have gotten there before we would.

We were waiting because this was a stopover. It really wasn’t our destination. The guy was being really insistent saying to Pandora,

“Come on, I can get you there in no time at all. In fact, you can get there in time.”

From the way he enunciated time, I knew that he meant that he had the capacity to fold space and time. In that way, he could get us to our destination on time.

He was confident that he could do so and even faster than if we had gone there directly by conventional Earthly means. I interjected by politely declining. I let him know that we would rather wait… it was quite okay,

“Please, just leave us alone. We’re really not interested. Pandora just wants her luggage.”

I turned to her and added,

“Let’s just hurry up and get out of this place.”

We were walking down this ramp where the plane-cum-EHV (extra-human vehicle), that we had arrived on, was obviously inside the terminal that he had motioned to. The flight attendants were in the terminal and were waiting for us to be refuelled before moving on.

The local guy then came around again. This time, however, he launched into a verbal attack,

“You’re stupid. You’re not coming with me and you’re insulting me. Come on, you have to go with me.”

He then directly went across, away from me, as though if I were to approach he would attack. However, he was moving as though in slow-motion. Looking at him I thought,

“Oh god he’s going to come up and try to kick me.”

I could actually see it being played out – that is, the probability of this. Seeing the scenario being played out, at one point, I was going to kick him in the balls or something.

Though when he went to do it, since he was moving in slow-motion, I quite quickly – not being native to his local physio-molecular astrophysics – moved out of the way. As a result, he landed hard on the ground.

It was too bad for him that I was, for being extra-human on his world, possessed of super-swift ambulatory skills that outmatched his. I then went and grabbed him.

With that, I spun his body around on itself – his body was able to fully spin around on itself because of the extra vertebrae spine. Sure enough, he became corkscrewed.

I took his head and started banging it into the ground. Soon, his face got bloody. His unusually turned up, little retroussé nose got bloody.

*Though I find the retroussé look most unappealing, on this EH it was truly hideous. It was not a nose like Earthly humans’ when retrousséd.

Though his eyes were not fear-based, however, the look of the archly retrousséd nose gave an almost frightful and even austere look to him and his EH kind. They were not necessarily violent an extra-human species either.

There was no way of knowing, for another thing, whether for looking like a twenty-something Earthly human that he was not a centuries-old, extra-human local. END.

I thought then, ‘My goodness, here I am in alien territory and I have committed a crime. This may be an offence worthy of being sentenced to death.’

I knew that I had overstepped some diplomatic lines. Immediately, we had to re-board the spacefaring craft and get out of there.

I grabbed Pandora and we began heading towards the spacecraft, at which point, holding her hand I willed myself awake – my intentions were to spirit us both out of there.

*The slowness and sweetness of moving in this spacefaring craft was incredible. Being in interstellar space and seeing Orion’s horse head nebula was captivating.

The colours were very beautiful. As these colours represented the explosion and birth of multiple billions of stars, they were intense beyond imagination.

You really had a sense of the liquid blackness of space – the cold starkness of it. It was quite nice. It was like moving through a very slow-moving, liquid dimensional sea.

I would like to add that when I awoke, more than two hours after I had fallen asleep, I still laid on my back. All the crystals were still in place as they were when I fell asleep.

This is most unusual, for two hours of sleep.

Also, when I awoke, I was aware of my body being there… still and motionless. I then had the sensation of starting to breathe again.

The sensation of breathing was one of discovery. It was an exciting event.

To feel my body expanding and contracting with each breath inhaled and exhaled, it proved an excitingly interesting discover. On awakening, it was quite simply one of the most thrilling moments of my life.

I had been so under, so deeply submerged up past the moist wet folds of sleep’s embrace, that my body had simply shut down to a shallow breath every now and again.

I had been cetaceous, in that sense, during the course of the two hours of sleep and deep spacefaring dreams. While dreaming, ever so often as it were, I would surface for a breath.

Before I fell asleep, I was also meditating. I had called on the white light. I then saw a large sea of clear crystals that were of different sizes.

They were all pointing upwards from this valley. Beneath the crystals was a pool of pure white light… it glowed. I gravitated towards it.

This happened after I called on the pure white light to come and protect me. I have never had that experience before. It was rather nice.

I found the extra-human on his home world, somehow, just a bit too eager to have us come off on some diversionary excursion with him. It had not been part of our itinerary.

Besides, who knows if his species or a fellow species were into enslaving Earthly humans? Perhaps, they were even into eating Earthly humans or capturing them.

Who knows, perhaps, they kept Earthly humans for zoological studies? For all you know, he merely wanted to simply sell us off to the local trafficker in Earthly human cargo.

No thanks, ‘Corky’ as in corkscrew-spined one. END.

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Photo: Orion nebula.

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The Cicada Principle.

16.02.201310.10.2024 Arvin da BrghaLeave a comment

So much of what happens in the waking state is smothered by fear-based strictures like tribalism, classism, sexism, racism et al which results in one being preyed on – one’s very life threatened. Sadly too many proceed through their lives impervious of the Maya that effectively leaves them blind to the ties that bind us all together as souls incarnate in the human experience.

Being as awakened when awake as when asleep and dreaming, gives one a greater appreciation of the beauty of life and the beauty of all humanity. This awareness also allows one to see across the illusion of time.

This sensitivity and awareness affords one the ability to perceive and appreciate the gift of persons known and loved along the way – from lifetime to lifetime.

This visionary dream not only spans the rifts of time but it also gets to the heart of the love that binds all souls together. That love that endures regardless the strictures of the waking state and the perceptions of those involved.

The dream was rather magically and lucidly experienced, on Tuesday, January 9, 1996, whilst the Moon transited both Leo and near-conjunct the cusp of my fourth house.

*Prior to sleep, I meditated with crystals in the pyramid. I then focussed on being able to astral project, during sleep, to specific points on the astral plane where desired experiences could be had.

I opened myself up to, requested of my soul itself, pleasurable experiences with persons whom I have shared multiple past life experiences. Most of all, I was clear that the bonds had to have been predominantly of a positive nature.

Thus, I fell into sleep open to whatever laid ahead. END.

In the first dream, I was having a phone conversation with both Isis and Isabella. In some way, this involved much discussion about Pandora.

I had been concerned afterwards that I had not upset Pandora for having overly spoken of her. This is an area, her private affairs, which Pandora never treads into with anyone.

There was real pressure here, on both her siblings’ part, to see to it that Pandora went out and got herself a job. Both were furious with Pandora and claimed that she was not putting any effort into finding a job.

Concerned for Pandora, naturally, I thought of how possibly I could help her get grounded. I thought perhaps to phone Maddox Pool and see if he could not get her work in I.A.T.S.E.

However, I really did not think that Pandora would be able to adapt to such a work environment. Besides which, realistically, my connections to the place precluded her being able to get her foot through the door.

Since Owen Hawksmoor knew Pandora and her connection to me, I knew that Vikram Srinivasan would definitely not approve of her getting work there.

The next dream then found me in an incredibly far-off land. This is the only way that one can best describe this place. Here, it was nighttime out. A black capsule, in which one was able to sit, was being prepared.

An additional person could sit on one’s lap though it was basically a single-occupant capsule. It was shaped not unlike the lunar modules, which returned to Earth and landed in the ocean, during the Apollo missions to the Moon at NASA’s heyday in the late 1960s to early 1970s.

However, this capsule was conical. There were exceptionally tall men who wore black clothing that covered them from head to toe. Their faces were kept hidden by black visors. The capsule door was opened and closed by these same men who seemed like sentries.

At this point, when sitting in the closed capsule one would seemingly travel to distant places without moving. Of course, this was the astral projection that I had coveted during pre-sleep meditation whilst in the pyramid. Nonetheless, I became highly suspect of this capsule’s true purpose.

A couple was there with a young child. They wanted the child to sit in the mother’s open legs whilst she was already seated in the male parent’s opened legs. The three members of the family wore thick saffron robes.

For whatever reasons, the little girl tugged free of her mother’s embrace and began running away. Immediately, the sentries were hot on the heels of the child in a bid to apprehend her.

Of course, as it only validated my reservations about the true nature of this machine, this I did not find very reassuring. Opting out of taking a flight aboard the capsule, I shoved off instead and began flying.

I left the large hangar-like structure behind me and flew out into the outdoors. Next, I was beneath the awning of the building; the awning extended from the building for about fifty yards. It was a most massive structure!

The architectural proportions here were inordinately massive. The scale here was on the order that things appeared in that dream of Merlin, on July 9, 1993, which was truly astral… truly colossal.

I thought that I shouldn’t stay too close to the building – any of the sentries could come around the corner and apprehend me for having left the queue to the capsule.

I then held on to the awning’s beams whilst inverted much as though I were a fly on the awning’s underside. I then went to the right, of the far left corner, where persons were way below me who busily walked about on the sidewalk and in the infrequently trafficked street.

No one had noticed me. I did grow concerned, nonetheless, at being spotted from below thereby drawing unwelcome attention to myself. As I crawled along the awning, it gave way inside to the ceiling of a very noisy watering hole.

This bar was jam-packed with high-spirited persons. Not liking the energies here I crawled, still inverted, back into the large complex from which I had fled.

From inside I peered outside, beyond the awning, where I saw a large craft. White and massive, it made the Boeing 747-400 series look like a compact glider. The craft’s nose, however, more resembled that of the Concorde aircraft.

Thinking that the sentries were perhaps on the inside of the craft, I let go of the awning beams. Of course, these beams were the typical dark woods of the astral plane.

With that, I had resumed flying. Whilst still inverted, I flew from just inches below the beams. From time to time, I held on to a beam to get my bearings. At such times, I looked over my shoulder below and behind me.

I then went in through a proper entrance to the building which I used for crossing over to another section of the noisy bar. With that I then did a half-tumble, rolling over, to now face down to the patrons in the bar below.

Slowly and effortlessly, I floated down and alighted. I had not made too much of a spectacle of myself as there was a major disturbance happening in the bar to which everyone was noisily focussed.

A Hispanic man and another, who much reminded me of Diego Lunamas, were being especially rowdy. The bartender decided to maintain order and left his post to show them to the door. He was a large burly man.

The door, through which they had been ushered outside, had a view to the outdoors. The natural pathway from the bar led to a large tropical-looking growth beyond the complex.

Soon after they went outdoors, there was a sudden outbreak of light flashes. Basically, they had had a run-in of sorts or had been apprehended by the sentries who were clearly extra-humans. Soon after they had left the bar, I also headed outside.

In search of the Hispanic with the uncanny resemblance to Diego Lunamas, I had gone flying through the air. I had remained, when airborne, between ten and fifteen feet off the ground. My flight was slow; my flight was languorous. This was clearly astral projection.

The growth here was very thick. Enjoying the purity of their energetic signature, I flew through the trees whilst simultaneously revitalising myself in the process.

This soon gave way to an opening, in the thick growth, beyond which was the most breathtaking vista. These were by far the most beautiful trees imaginable. They were simply colossal.

Each arboreal’s trunk was about fifty feet across whilst they towered up at least a mile. I momentarily hovered whilst my entire body quivered throughout at the powerful vibration that they exuded.

This was a truly humbling experience for me. Right away, I was reminded of the ecstatic epiphany that I experienced on Boxing Day, 1972.

One tree snaked from the ground and rose up into the air. It leaned against the right side of a tree that was incredibly immense. It seemed a mile-high astral plane baobab.

Flying over, I landed on the trunk of one tree. This tree had two leaves that were frond-like but incredibly oversized. Whilst I stood on the trunk, a slight man – he looked Amerindian though likely Balinese or even Fijian – approached me.

*He seemed from an earlier age in human history. Of course, this was likely owing to the fact that he was yet another humanoid, extra-human species. END.

He suggested that I look at where the growth began. The vine-like trunk was some fifty to seventy-five feet in the air; it extended at an incline to a great distance far away. It was a truly fantastical tree.

There were the beginnings of the two frond-like leaves close-by. He told me that he used them to get milk. He said that the milk derived from this rare arboreal genus was used in all manner of applications.

He was a shaman. He was a true, innate dream magus.

I then noticed an indigenous ladder that they used to climb up the tree. Here it was nighttime. The frond-like leaves grew side-by-side and curled over. The leaves looked, as a matter of fact, not unlike umbrellas. It was these trees to which the locals came to harvest the vine-like tree’s milk.

I then began moving down the tree trunk growing concerned as the much-feared extra-humans were expected to return soon. They seemingly appeared at set intervals and their intentions were generally adversarial.

With that, I flew away and returned into the clearing. As I flew back, where there was now a large open area below, I saw a Black man who was an agricultural engineer. He carried a wheelbarrow of earth. He had placed the earth over a trap of some sort which employed a cord system.

They apparently also captured cicadas. When I came off the inclined vine-like tree, I had briefly landed on the ground before taking flight again. To my amazement, I had landed in a patch of a few hundred cicadas.

They were exclusively on a tree which seemed the very centre of the growth. This central tree gave off a definite hum. All the cicadas were on the trunk of the same unique tree that seemed, by its vibrational signature, to be a life-sustaining energetic magnet.

This tree was not a member of the pine family. Rather, it was a tropical tree which made the sitkas in Vancouver’s Stanley Park or the redwoods in northern California look like seedlings.

I remained motionless for the longest while. I was magnetised by the tree’s vibrational hum. It was hypnotic. There was nothing but love radiating from this tree. It was a truly humbling encounter.

The cicadas had swarmed onto its trunk to become harmonised with its vibration. As I flew off and looked back, I realised that the cicadas were being caught by the locals as they had proven themselves a nuisance.

The cicadas were not in the habit of eating the crops but there were so many of them that their noisy song made the locals devise a plan. The locals simply captured and relocated as many of the cicadas as they could.

I realised that this bit of drama, being acted out in the clearing, was also a metaphor for the larger drama back at the cosmopolitan complex.

There the extra-humans were laying traps, by way of the oval-shaped black capsule, for capturing unsuspecting humans. However, there was also another aspect to all this symbology that was not lost on me.

I knew, though many of the cicadas were still alive, that the ones who had left their empty shells behind represented two things. The symbol of the empty cicada shell was that of being astral-projected out of the shell of the sleeping body.

Secondly, the other symbolic reference was that, each discarded cicada shell represented a lifetime already concluded. They were as if totems of past lives. This was validated by the fact that here was I visiting, as it were, a remnant of a former life.

It was a life that was lived in Southeast Asia. A life it was in which my spirituality was closely connected to the strong bondedness that I achieved with the all-encompassing beauty of nature.

This was validated by the ectomorphic loin-clothed Balinese – Southeast Asian – who had come from his little thatched hut to greet me and serve as a guide to me.

He was, if not me, then definitely someone whom I have known in this lifetime but with whom I have shared multiple past lives. I can’t say, however, that this was Merlin in a past life.

He was quite familiar and was more than likely an entity mate of mine. I was similarly reminded of Diego Lunamas in his fey sweet-eyed beauteousness.

I then flew back through the growth where I saw the Hispanic man who had been kicked out of the bar. He was standing outside a thatched hut.

This man was so exceptionally good-looking. He no longer looked like his Hispanic self when at the bar. Then he had had a striking resemblance to Diego Lunamas. Here he seemed now Balinese, possibly Sumatran, though on the outside chance he could have been Filipino.

He held something in his hand that looked like a knife. However, it was not a weapon as such. As he stood there, his back to the hut, he was unaware of the intense light flashes taking place inside his hut.

This to me suggested that the extra-humans were inside the hut. It was possible that this man had alternately just died and had emerged from the hut, his final astral projection, though not yet aware that he had died.

I then moved inside the hut where I was able to get a handle on what was taking place. The door to the hut was a drape of green banana leaves that were regularly replaced.

Lots of bamboo shoots were used to anchor and set the frame of the hut. The slight man had been desperately trying to cut through the door of leaves in a bid to get outside.

Each time that he would cut his way through one drape of leaves, to get through the door, another would manifest beyond the other that already existed there. He could never seem to cut his way free fast enough. It proved a futile attempt to get out.

Each door was made of a different type of leaf and reed but all of them were green. The hut was eight feet square with a conical roof. As a matter of fact, it was more so pyramidal.

I floated close to the ceiling of the hut as he desperately tried to break out. I am not at all sure that most people were able to observe me in any of these giddy dream experiences.

The loin-clothed local did not quite comprehend the nature of the shiny object that he used to try and cut his way free. Soon enough, the hut was burnt-out with a few burnt-out frame beams standing.

The remaining beams were charred with black ashes everywhere. It was obvious that in his bid to escape he had not made it out.

Here, it seemed as though I was experiencing a series of vignettes – vignettes into past lives – all of which were interconnected. A very intense experience of soul journeying these dreams would prove.

Again, I saw the man who much reminded me of Diego Lunamas. I flew out to the tree, with the two frond-like leaves, on which I had been earlier.

I, soon enough, came down off the tree on seeing these green gourds that were cut open down on the ground. From the inside, a thicker version of what looked like coconut milk spilt out.

The milk was being bled into appropriately placed containers. On closer inspection, I realised that the gourds were grown below the surface of the ground. The liquid looked much like cassava root milk.

From there, I flew ahead to another section of the great arboreal growth. Now I came to a clearing which was set in Japan. I intuitively knew that this dream occurred in Japan.

For me, this was readily discernible owing to the strong past-life resonance that I experienced for being in this locale. There I saw a series of cultured rivulets that were part of a water fountain. The fountain was part of an extensive irrigation system.

The cultured rivulets were stone affairs in which flowed green fluid rather than the clear transparency of water. As I had flown over this site, I saw from on high that everything was completely white.

The trees and every aspect of the landscape were completely white. I knew that it was not a snow-covered landscape. Rather, this was the result of some sort of attack from the black-clad and visored extra-humans with the conical, black space capsules.

This I knew meant that they would soon be returning to the area where I was. Closer to hand, I hovered above the Japanese village.

I saw here lots of Japanese women who were performing a ritualised dance. They ritually sang and danced using fans. As they danced, they were a study in grace and reserve.

From there, I decided to fly on in search of the source of the oddly green river. I rose in the air as I flew by following the incline to where the fountain began. This led me in flight into a hilltop complex where the fountain began.

It was a large compound which included a temple, shrine and living quarters. Here there were more women who, though not ritually dancing, carried fans and were just as reserved.

At once, I alighted hurriedly moving through the compound. I was as if possessed. I knew at every turn which corridor to follow. On my arrival, I let out a cry upset at what I had found.

I couldn’t believe what these people had done. They had desecrated this important bit of their culture and heritage.

Of course, this was an astral projection to a past life milieu. Everything was at once familiar. My sense of smell was acute. All the writings I fully understood though they were in Kanji and Sanskrit.

In that past life, my former self had had a hand in establishing the temple and its shrine. Now some time later, however, they were performing these rituals in appeasement of the new overlords.

Of course, the new overlords would have been the extra-humans. I was really upset… I was really hurt. They shook the fans as they danced and this was supposed to have mimicked something about the extra-humans’ culture with which I was not familiar.

To atone, the Japanese humans had set up several altars to the extra-humans. Truth be told, they worshipped the extra-humans as their deities. The reserved women had the same milk-like substance which I had earlier seen being harvested.

Said harvesting area looked to be in Bali more than anywhere else. The harvested milk-like drink was stored in very ornate vessels that were decidedly Japanese and examples of ancient Japanese pottery.

In particular, there was a large dark-wood altar – Butsudan – that captivated me. Inside the Butsudan were several wooden carvings which were in the likeness of the visored extra-humans.

I grabbed one of the carvings, enraged, and began banging it against the other carvings. In short order, I had desecrated the imposition that the extra-humans’ presence represented.

I began furiously yelling at the Japanese locals for having sold-out. What really surprised me was just how enraged and powerful a persona I possessed. I was intensely warrior-spirited.

I seemingly was a member of a Samurai sect which meant that there was fierce pride and honour at stake here. This was such a gross betrayal.

“Where was their loyalty to traditions and history?” I rhetorically asked.

As I bashed away at the carvings, I heavily panted. I felt rather passionate, on my return, about the fruits of my past-life labour having been defiled once left behind on my passing in that former lifetime.

I addressed them in Japanese, no less. It was quite something.

*It much reminded me of that dream encounter with ‘Francesca,’ on January 1, 1989. I had then encountered the fiery redheaded Briton who had been a former life of mine.

I was quite the strong-personalitied dramatic woman who was quite sparkling-personalitied and with great presence. END.

In that former Japanese life my body of work was clearly dear to me. I couldn’t conceive of how these people would turn their backs on the efforts made on their behalf.

With that I took leave of them and went rushing into the shrine’s private apartments. I ran up the stairs then stopped and walked along the unusually narrow hallways. The proportions here were decidedly Japanese.

On the walls were engravings that bore inspiring words and poems. All of the art was spiritually focussed. Too, there were lots of long narrow rugs on the wooden floor of the hallways.

An extremely ancient Butsudan sat in the private apartments where once I had lived in that former life. The Butsudan’s two silver latches were complicated to open.

In fact, they were not readily opened based on the way that they appeared. Nonetheless, from memory, I effortlessly opened them on the first try.

The shrine was so immediately familiar. I couldn’t believe that it still stood there. My fingers actually trembled as I made to open the latches. The Butsudan was also covered in wooden engravings.

One set of the latches ran across the midsection of the Butsudan. Still, the other latch system came down vertically at the bottom. So excited was I that I began levitating whilst opening the Butsudan.

I first opened the one at the midsection, then the other, after which I flung open the door excited to once more see the Butsudan’s coveted scroll.

Just inside the door, there was a dark-brown leather flap with engravings on it. Raising the flap finally led the light to be cast in on the most time-yellowed Gohonzon imaginable.

It was truly antique and I couldn’t quite believe what I was seeing. The structure was so very powerful. On realising what it was, I shuddered and began quivering throughout.

Immediately, my connection to Buddhism in this lifetime was being validated. Of course, having seen Diego Lunamas in the environs of prior dreams made perfect sense.

He had also been on the palatial grounds of the temple as I had hovered in the air. On opening the shrine, I alighted and collapsed on the floor in lotus position before the Gohonzon.

I keenly focussed on the Gohonzon though mindful of the fact that the black-clad and visored extra-humans would be returning soon. Here in this most awakened of dreams, I began chanting Daimoku. I cannot stress enough how intensely lucid a dream experience this was.

As I chanted, I became aware of my vibration rapidly intensifying. I remained reverential before the ancient Gohonzon, with hands clasped, yet I found it hard to believe that I was having the experience.

More than that, the flow of energies from the time-yellowed Gohonzon to me was as real and intense as the intense light flooding the tiny private apartments – an apartment where once I had lived in a former life when Japanese.

There was the sillage of sweet sandalwood incense ghosting the air. For some time, I chanted aloud then concluded with a long, slow, piercing utterance of Nam-Myoho-Renge-Kyo.

With that, I shot to my feet and fled from the room going down the hallway and turned to the left. In my haste, I had left the Butsudan opened with the Gohonzon exposed.

However, there was a strong sense that it was to have been left opened. The light and energies from the Gohonzon needed to be obstructed no more.

I then arrived into the large palatial living quarters that were quite open. There was a low mat, a futon actually, to the left of the door on entering the room.

To the right of the door, half of the wall area opened up to a view of the beautifully terraced gardens outdoors. I knew that whoever presently lived there was coming.

I could sense the person’s approach down on the grounds to the right. With that, I floated down to the ground level and effortlessly moved through the pane of glass.

I simply upped my frequency and willed myself to become light-bodied. Thus, I was able to effortlessly move through the thick floor-to-ceiling pane of glass.

I went to the left of the building, slowly moving through the night air, on the terraced grounds of the temple compound. At that point, I noticed that there was a man approaching.

About my neck, I still wore a brown scarf that had covered the Gohonzon. On opening up the large Butsudan, I had removed and placed the scarf about my shoulders.

As I flew with the scarf, I realised that I could be apprehended once spotted with the unique telltale scarf. The man waited for me around some large wooden pylons that served as the opening in the fence.

It was, in fact, a gate system. It led from the private inner courtyard to the outer courtyard where others could gather.

There were several wooden stools on which one could sit and reflect on the beautiful gardens. Architecturally, this place was simply inspiring. It was truly Zen here and was both uplifting and conducive to serenity.

On coming around the pylons, the man turned out to be none other than Kaarlsohn Frieden. From above in the air, I was stunned to have both seen and found him here and excitedly beamed down at him.

He wore only a large top that fell to just below his arse. Floating down, I alighted whilst the brilliance of a full Moon night seemed to magically shift to intense daylight.

The lighting here was truly ethereal. The energies here were wonderful. Here on the grounds of this compound, the energy was very densely negative-ioned.

Way down the hill, whilst in flight, I had noticed several children playing. They were all Japanese. I had landed by a series of stone shrines that had been strategically placed about the gardens. A stone table sat close by that looked several centuries old.

I simply couldn’t believe that I was having a dream encounter with Kaarlsohn. Here was I so lucid and he was so real. Truly, this was an astral plane encounter of the highest order.

On ambling over, I warmly greeted him. I chose not to try and get rid of the scarf. I was, though, concerned whether or not he would be mad with me for being there.

He called me over. Kaarlsohn’s stubby thighs were strong and athletic-looking as though he were in his twenties. Understandably, he did look older than when I knew him.

On the inside of his right thigh, I noticed a large thick vein. As he looked at me warmly smiling, I stood to his left. Kaarlsohn was so warm but, more importantly, I couldn’t get over how real an encounter this was.

As he was only wearing the large unisexed top, and nothing beneath it, I got a good drift of his sex’s strong musk. It was a bit overwhelming but I kept focussed on his clear smiling eyes.

Looking into his eyes, I spoke to him making sure to be simultaneously telepathic – there is greater power of persuasion when thus focussed,

“Oh my god, Kaarlsohn, I’d give anything to be alone with you. To be intimate but not necessarily sexual, mind you.

“I’d do anything to relax and recline with you, sensually. I’d really love to laze about with you… caressing.”

At that point, I placed my arm about his lower back whilst we unflinchingly looked into the other’s eyes. He smiled sweetly blushing. I then caressed his arse and felt its firm roundness beneath the sheer light fabric.

Then Kaarlsohn surprised me by saying, “Well, I like to do that, from time to time…”

He slowly, suggestively arched his brows high up his forehead. It was a gesture that was reminiscent of Merlin when he wanted to be intimate. What was really telling though was Kaarlsohn’s enunciation when he had uttered those words.

By ‘time’ he meant reincarnational time and not time relating to his present incarnation. So that he meant at the level of soul, he did not mind having a same-sexed or bisexual focus ever so often when incarnate.

I looked at him and was blown away by his mischievousness. With that, we both playfully laughed at his teasing winsome handsomeness. Here his voice was not as strong a bass as his voice is in this lifetime.

Beyond all that, the level of love, warmth and intimacy between us was astonishing. It was a rare pleasure to be so genuinely intimate with another soul. This depth of openness and acceptance simply blew me away.

Then as if all that weren’t revolutionary Kaarlsohn initiated sexual play. He fondled me whilst undoing me with the most sensual kisses all over.

By this point, we were now sitting down on the table in lotus position ravenously groping each other. From time to time, he would stop kissing me to directly look into my eyes.

On those occasions, it was as though time itself stood still. My senses were so heightened that I thought I would simply die of joy during the dreamtime.

Kaarlsohn’s eyes were so real and focussed. His eyes’ intensity was only distantly frightening as they were so potent.

Lips passion-reddened, moist and apart revealed his quivering tongue. He quickly breathed in shallow breaths in between groaning. His groans were filled with yearning and called out to me.

Truly aroused, he seductively invited me to come out of myself to join him in ecstasy. His hard, firm hands were tightly wrapped about my throbbing cock slowly kneading and massaging it.

What he was doing was not sexual. Rather, he was performing energy work. With each groan that called out to me, he was inviting me to do the same for him.

So I did in kind. Kneading, gently and just as painstakingly slowly, I massaged his thick, large, foreskinned cock.

There was nothing more potent and shamanic than the energies that passed between us. It was electrifying. It was magus.

I did sense that there were a couple of bruises on his cock which I had passingly noticed. I thought that, perhaps, they were from an outbreak of herpes.

He then said, as my cock grew more tumescent,

“This is a really nice cock, you’ve got…”

As he gently massaged me and pulled back on my foreskin, my cock kept stabbing into the centre of his cupped right palm. As I danced and flew without moving, in spirit, a more sensual solo variation could not have been danced by Evelyn Hart. Indeed, he was as if David Peregrine to my Evelyn Hart – in the sensually exquisite pas de deux, Belong.

At this point, I lucidly became aware of my intentions prior to sleep. I had specifically meditated asking to have memorable experiences, on the astral plane, with those whom I have shared positive past life experiences.

Whilst I looked hypnotised into his large clear eyes – which here were a brownish-green, I recalled having shaped my dreams.

The light here was so intensely brilliant. Much of the light here was being initiated by the love that this man’s very august soul was imparting to me. A truly energising magus dream experience this was.

*What is most phenomenal about this soulfully intimate experience, of all the people I know, Kaarlsohn is the least homoeroticised. He is also the most macho of men.

Too, I had neither spoken to him in ages nor had I recently thought of him. Yet here was this major totemic encounter. It truly proved healing and insightful a dream encounter.

Whilst in the midst of our intimacy, I let out a sigh and suddenly found myself being slapped back into my body. At having had my astral projection aborted, there was weightiness at my solar plexus as I suddenly awoke.

I had been slapped awake by the shrill cries of raccoons outside my opened bedroom window. They were having yet another nasty fight. They had come out of Stanley Park to forage for food.

I had been terrified on hearing the grunting and screeching, whilst in the midst of my potent astral plane encounter with Kaarlsohn. I had assumed that it was the sound of the extra-humans advancing on us.

Now, I realised that these so-called extra-humans were, in fact, astral guides. Rather than being a negative force, the sentries were there to assist with proper astral protection.

I had been projecting the disturbance outside the window onto the visored and unseen astral guides. Raccoons are visored, as it were, with their distinctive black band across their faces at the eyes.

As was the case, the raccoons had been fighting for some time and continued fighting for much of the night. In fact, they fought till daybreak. They prowled the West End in search of food before scurrying back to Stanley Park at twilight.

**What’s really interesting about these astral plane rendez-vous was that both Diego Lunamas and Kaarlsohn Frieden I met during my stay in Winnipeg. With both men, I had enjoyed an ease of communication and instinctively knew that we had had past life contacts.

Diego I had introduced to Nichiren Buddhism. Kaarlsohn had already been practicing when I started. Kaarlsohn proved a good companion with whom to chant Daimoku.

Rarely have I felt this satiated on awakening from the dreamtime. Though understandably aroused as all hell, I cried for joy at the beauty that I had just experienced and chose to remain lying in repose within the pyramid.

The reason for some of the cicadas having been alive was that they represented the ever present “now” of the soul which does not experience time. Initially, the cicadas had all been alive but then some flickered out of existence.

Those cicadas that remained were quite a few. They surely represented the potential of future lifetimes. However, the remaining cicadas that were still alive were not in the majority.

The cicadas initially were all alive because to the soul they were being experienced simultaneously – past lifetimes, future lifetimes and this lifetime.

The sum totality of my lifetimes, as symbolised by the cicadas, was a swarm of creative energy which was magnetised to this great arboreal giant. Of course, the arboreal giant represented the soul to which ultimately all cicadas – in order that they may experience transformation, reincarnational metamorphosis – are anchored.

The tree to which the cicadas were anchored also represented the physical plane. A physical plane into which the lifetimes of the reincarnating soul, as symbolised by the cicadas, had to manifest in order to become self-actualised and fulfilled both spiritually and creatively.

As much as the arboreal giant represented the soul quality on the astral plane, simultaneously, it represented the physical plane into which the soul was reincarnationally focussed.

Since I was on the astral plane whilst dreaming – where time as such does not exist – the cicadas were all-extant. The totemic cicadas represented every lifetime’s dreamer self which is never extinguished.

Thus the dreamer self forms a conduit, like the black teleportation-like capsule, to having connective glimpses into past or even future lifetimes.

I suppose too that, at the start of this lyrical dream adventure, the black conical capsule in which one sat and travelled was a symbolic icon of my pyramid. Of course, when lucidly dreaming these truly marvellous dreams of uplifting adventure, I was sleeping in my pyramid.

This was a truly illuminating dream experience. To have experientially undertaken this astral awakening was very rhapsodic, in each lucid moment, as it swept me along.

A sensory feast this was. A feast on which my very soul was made pleasurably besotted. A truly magus dream odyssey this was and one which validated anew that dreams truly are the poetry of the soul. END.

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Photo: Traditional Japanese garden.

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Dropping In On An Old Favourite of Many Lives Ago.

16.02.201310.10.2024 Arvin da Brgha2 Comments

Whilst the Moon transited both Gemini and my first house, during the fourth and fifth dreams, I would experience the most rhapsodic sojourns to a past life. It was lucidly experienced, on Sunday, April 25, 1993. Rather than a past life of Merlin’s, it was a past life of mine.

It should be noted that these dreams occurred in the ‘A’ or first sleep cycle that day. There obviously was a ‘B’ or second sleep cycle of dreams that day and they are subsequently shared herein.

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On my arrival to this strange locale, the fourth dream was begun. I intuitively knew that this was the scene of a past life experience. Initially, I thought that I was in Sandy Point, St. Kitts as I had assumed that I was up at Brimstone Hill Fort.

It proved not to be. I experienced it as it was way back when. This structure had lots of canons and guns set up. The artillery was, of course, fully functional.

The place was very sloped; it seemed to have definitely been on an island and preferably in the Caribbean. The hill was very steep leaving part of the fort steeply graded.

It was intensely sunny out. On looking down at the landscape below, I realised that this was not Sandy Point, St. Kitts at any time in history. One section of the complex was a burial field for soldiers who had died during combat at the fort.

A large rose tree and some other trees had, over time, grown tall. One tree presently was in bloom with a large red flower. Its beauty was captivating. Subsequently, this tree grabbed my attention for a long while.

Whilst looking down at the splendour of the grounds, I thought that there was nothing in the world that I would rather do than to work the grounds of a cemetery like this.

For one, it was an historical site worthy of much care. In addition, it was very ancient – almost old-souled in nature.

‘There could be no job more rewarding and uplifting than this,’ I thought at the time.

Whilst on the grounds of the cemetery, I looked up to a higher level of the fort complex. Beyond it was the most spectacular vista imaginable; it was a mighty, lush, forested peak.

The fort was definitely itself on a hill. However, the fort was not situated on a mountainous area. In that sense, it was much like Brimstone Hill Fort which does sit on a peak. Just as the arrangement with Brimstone Hill Fort, this peak was to the east.

As a matter of fact, this was quite the imposing peak. Every available square inch of it sported the most densely planted, lush tropical trees. These arboreal giants imposingly towered into the tropical sky.

From where I stood, a long procession of brown legal-sized envelopes littered the ground. They proceeded high up into the slope. With me at the time was Milton Bloomfield except that he did not seem his usual self.

Though he looked as he presently does, I had the sense that there was an amalgam of him and a former aspect of self as he looked in a past life. Perhaps, the resonances to a former life that bled through reflected a time in the past when we knew each other.

No doubt that would have been a past life which directly related to the one that I was presently revisiting. I suggested that we go for a hike as I know that he likes outdoor activities and events.

We could get some backpacks and head out on a trek and go all the way to the top. I pointed out to him, where there was much activity, a region to the right on the peak.

I suggested that we go there because it would be nice to go and study the colony of wild monkeys at play there. He said that he could get into it. He then joked, with a screwed up look on his face, just as long as I had no ulterior motives.

He snickered and I returned a deadpan blank expression to his denial. There was no need for him to think like that. I wanted to be with him – his spirit. He was great company to be around… nothing more.

Whilst he went off, to possibly get ready for the trek or take off altogether, I began looking down into the town below. In a sense, I suppose that Sandy Point could have looked this way back in the seventeenth through eighteenth centuries.

For the most part, the buildings were no more than two storeys; just as in Old Sandy Point, many of them were chimneyed. This, however, distinctively was a Caribbean place if not in St. Kitts.

It could not have been Brimstone Hill Fort, however, as it was a very long sprawling fort. Much of the fort here was built on the side of a steeply graded slope.

To the west was the sea; nonetheless, I never did look out to sea. Strangely enough, from these altitudes, it was fairly cool out. For the life of me, I could not quite figure out what churches these were.

They were off to the south and away from what would have been Sandy Point – if these were, in fact, the structures of Brimstone Hill Fort. Certainly, in the case of the latter, there were no established sixteenth and seventeenth century stone dwellings to the immediate south of Brimstone Hill.

There was a round château-like structure which was being built way down the slope. Here, there were several Blacks working on the construction site. The whitewashed walls were exceptionally thick as one would expect to find in a European palace.

Rather than where I was, this was being built as part of the fort but close to the base of the slope. The architecture was distinctly French and the roof was a steeple-like affair.

The round lines were reminiscent of Château de Chenonceau. The roof was partially constructed and was black in colour. There were easily, in excess of, seven hundred persons labouring away at the construction site.

A very driven group of workers they were. The design of this structure was familiar to me. An intensely close-cropped town, it was down at the base of the fort.

From the distinctive look of the architecture, I decided that this was probably on one of the French islands here in the Caribbean. The mountainous terrain had me wondering if this were not, in fact, Haïti rather than Guadeloupe or Martinique.

Finally, I decided that I couldn’t resist the attraction so headed down to explore the town. Moving down the slope, I came to a clearing. There I discovered that, within the walls of the fort itself, there were a great many structures.

Apart from the town below, it was a complex administrative entity onto itself. Everywhere, the fort was constructed using massive black stone. The walls of the fort, as well as the many buildings on its grounds, were all made of the same stone.

This complex was quite well-fortified plus, on the grounds of which, they grew every possible foodstuff that they needed. There were orchards. Also, there were areas where livestock were reared on the grounds. This was in addition to the vast holdings beyond the walls and on the outskirts of the town.

The streets, inside and outside the fort, were narrow cobblestone affairs in that decidedly European fashion. When I got to the clearing, I happened on these two people who were aides to a very ancient man.

He wore a suit. This man was clearly a shaman and of Amerindian descent rather than African. Instantaneously, I identified with him and recognised that he was me. This was a past life of mine that I had returned to visit.

Not only was he long-lived but he was deeply occult. He was an accomplished master. His task involved laying his hands on the injured soldiers.

Even though these people were there to overrun his civilisation, he chose to ignore the politics of the situation. Since his people were already overtaken, he chose to go into service of the Europeans.

It was not so much that he had sold out. However, he had to fulfill himself with regards to the community at large. Stranger still, was the fact that he was being allowed to practice his shamanism.

Obviously, this was a very unconventional approach to healing/medicine. It was remarkable that within a European Catholic institution he was welcome into their midst.

This man really couldn’t have cared less that his own traditions had been annihilated by this foreign culture. They were human, as was he, and were in need.

Gladly, he used his powers to serve humanity in this capacity. He was a man with a strong warrior-like face that was generously flared-nostriled. Much as Pablo Picasso’s was, his was an intensely martial-energied face.

He was strong, warrior-energied and intensely, sexually magnetic. The shaman wore a bodysuit that was made of thick fabric. It was to protect him from being stung by insects and hurt by dangerous plants, when beyond the walls of the fort, moving through the wooded areas.

I think that part of his life he spent as a bit of a reclusive ‘wild man’, up in the mountains, beyond the heights of the fort. At this age, he walked with a long staff. He was a wrinkled, dear old soul.

When he got up to leave, I stood there being blown away by the sight of him. In any event, in that lifetime, I was a much-revered elder in the community.

This man held a position in the community which was totally unique and unrivalled. This past life of mine was one in which I was a spiritual leader within the community.

A short, hobbit of a man, he was incredibly dark-skinned. Though not a tall man, he was robust. There was nothing frail about him. He had a great constitution in that lifetime.

In his youth, it was plain to see that this man had wandered far and wide. He had worn his years well on that body of his. As he got up and walked away, I was so blown away to have seen what I looked like in this particular past life, I sat down and started laughing for joy.

To say the least, the great pride that I felt in self was uplifting.

The canons all had balls piled up in pyramid formations besides them. Everything was very current and clearly in use.

Some of the canons were rather tiny and had to be placed on stands to best reach up to their perches. One of them was green as though made of long-ago oxidised copper. There was clearly no war at the time.

Throughout this entire experience, I was always removed from everyone and generally hovering in the air. Clearly, I had astral-projected to this place. The only person who could have seen me was Milton Bloomfield.

I did though have the distinct impression that the old man had asked to get going because he had sensed me. I think that he thought that my presence meant his imminent passing which was obviously not the case.

Also, there were very few persons here at the time and the ones whom I did see were not the least bit familiar to me. Perhaps, in a former life, I was buried at that cemetery because it certainly was a place of great solace whilst I visited it.

It felt like a coming home of sorts.

There were no upright markers for the gravesites. Instead, there were long slabs that outlined each burial plot. It was a very Catholic-looking affair with most of the graves long-ago sealed.

Next, this being the fifth dream, I was in a house and thought about the mindset of the Europeans whom I encountered. They were discussing the fact that their children kept domesticated monkeys from the mountains as children of their own.

Their attitude towards these animals was not only proprietary but there was an element of racism involved, too. They saw the domesticated monkeys as their own special breed of ‘Negroes’ that were not wild and potentially dangerous.

*How utterly evolved! END.

They had gotten attached to the animals because the old Amerindian shaman also cared for animals. Part of his reason for going off into the mountains was so that he could care for the animals. He took it upon himself to heal and nurse back to health, any unhealthy infant monkeys from the colony that had been abandoned to die by their mothers.

He had a deep loving rapport with these animals which the transplanted Europeans admired. Naturally, their children desired having some of the cared for animals for themselves as pets. Since he couldn’t exactly deny them the request either, he gladly indulged them.

For one, it was his nature to be caring and of service to all life. For another, he was in no position to deny the demands of persons who ultimately did not see him as an equal.

Two of the monkeys, which he had nurtured back to health, were now the favourite playthings of this particular family’s children. What struck me about these two creatures was the fact that they looked more like two-toed sloths rather than monkeys.

These creatures were so old-souled-looking with their slow-moving demeanour. Their black-within-black soulful eyes were placed low on their sloped foreheads.

Interestingly, I was concerned at how small their heads were. To me it suggested that their brains were too small, without the requisite capabilities, for ensoulment to have occurred. Even in comparison to the rest of their bodies, their heads were exceptionally small.

Their arms, on the other hand, were entirely another matter. Ridiculously long, they were also phenomenally strong. Clearly, this was somewhere in Central to South America as the sloths are native to that part of the world.

*I would rather not corrupt the experience by attempting to describe the details of the encounter. Since it is not good work to fabricate, especially with regards to the dream material, I would like to leave it at that.

I would also like to add here that a most magnetic electrical storm greatly inspired me before going to sleep. I had gathered a couple of blankets and gone onto the balcony, 16 storeys up, facing due west.

There I looked at a gathering storm system. With crystals in hand, I began taking long even breaths when the lightning show started. It was so intense. There was a microburst and Whoopi leapt onto my lap, high as a kite, looking at the storm transfixed.

I had never felt so connected with nature in long ages. Directly pointing the crystals into the aperture of the break in the clouds, I took seven long, deep breaths whilst chanting ‘Om’. At the end of the sixth breath, the skies broke open and the most powerful downpour started.

This was such a moving experience that, with Whoopi trembling and purring away next to me on the chair – she had leapt from my lap during one of the thunder claps but returned on my invitation – I began uncontrollably weeping. It was so immensely beautiful.

So I thought then about my life and what a greatly enriching experience it has been. Thought, too, of how marvellous it has been to have met and known Merlin and everyone else along the way who has added so much learning to my journey.

Naturally, I thought a great deal of Gustavo Vadim and me. At the end of it all, I felt truly weary and looked forward to nothing more glorious than slipping into the dreamtime.

These dream experiences were inspired by the expansiveness of spirit that I experienced during the storm. For having blissed out, on the energies of that incredible electrical storm, I was able to move into the lusciousness of the greenhouse and connect with the magus within.

For feeling oneness with nature, during the electrical storm, it affected resonance to the deeply spiritual life of the Amerindian shaman. For being inspired during the storm, I readily astral-projected on slipping into sleep.

Like an eagle, I spanned spiral arms of time and was able to drink of the noble spirit of self in a former life. The gift for having taken the time to commune with nature, during the storm, had me travel across time. There I would just as marvellously bliss out when re-experiencing aspects of that past life as an Amerindian shaman.

However, I found it really strange to have encountered this distinctively French architecture. I am convinced that the life was lived in what was clearly not the Caribbean but Central or South America which was only ever Spanish.

After all, there were never sloths in the Caribbean. For that matter, was that particular Amerindian look ever native to the Caribs or Arawaks. Perhaps, there was some person who favoured the French school of architecture and had his or her designs executed.

Certainly, there could be signs of French architecture in several of the Caribbean islands but hardly in the Americas – Central and South.

However, all of this leaves one to assume that perhaps it was in French Guyana. Exceptionally, it is the only French-speaking country with French architectural influences in either Central or South America where sloths are exclusively to be found. END.

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Photo: Big Head

c. 1905 Edward S. Curtis

Provenance: Library of Congress. U. S. A.

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Past-Life Dream Set In Intrigue-Filled Dynastic Egypt.

14.02.201310.10.2024 Arvin da BrghaLeave a comment

This dream, set in dynastic Egypt, deftly betrays what a powerfully focussed and strong woman Harella was. The dream was first that day.

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I was seated on a wonderful divan in a beautifully opulent place. Instinctively, I knew that this was in Egypt. It was during the height of pharaonic Egypt.

There were two stout women here with me who were light-skinned. Hard to tell whether they were Mitanni or light-skinned Blacks. They were cooks and were fussing over me asking me to eat up.

I ate from a plate which had these different shoots on it. One of them was papyrus shoots, some bamboo shoots and a wild Nile delta mushroom. It was strictly vegetarian fare.

As well, there was a purplish tuber like baby eggplants. I ate with a fork which was very heavy-looking. Clearly, I did possess some rank at birth. I would point out the items I wanted to eat next and would then have it fed to me by either woman.

At one point, I was told by one of the women,

“Yes, you even remember what your favourites were last time.”

At this point, into the room walked a tall Black woman of Ethiopian features and complexion but who was not too dark. Definitely, she was from the Upper Nile region.

I can’t quite do justice here as to how supremely regal this woman was. She was quite simply the most regal and powerful creature imaginable.

The two eyes that this woman wore were large, brown and soulful. You felt her soul itself looking out and into you.

I did not think of her as having been Merlin in a past life. However, it is quite possible that this woman’s soul I knew quite recently as Merlin during its last incarnation.

When she entered the room, the women looked at each other and one of them said in a sotto voce,

“Ah yes, she’s brought him with her.”

There was a Black man, who was a little darker-complected, there with her. Seemingly a relation or priest, perhaps, he might even have been a eunuch.

He remained in an outer room. She was quite simply the Queen, the Pharaoh’s wife.

On entering, she began walking around us and speaking. She was very stylised in her movements. She wore a tunic of gold thread and strips of gold filigree.

In places, her dress looked metallic. In its sparse, linear, understated opulence, it seemed not unlike something that Cynthia McFadden would design.

The dress throughout was festooned with the designs, all in gold, of open papyrus leaves. They were very tiny and sat inside of little squares.

In one square there would be a papyrus applied, such that it would be very iridescent, whilst on the next square it was very dull with a matte finish look to it. The resulting effect was one of row after row, square after square, of papyruses.

Each square was exactly half an inch square. The detail on this dress was absolutely golden. It was supported by half-inch-wide straps which, of course, had the same square papyrus design.

Next to her flawless complexion, she was simply statuesque. Her neck was easily six to ten inches longer than the infamously long neck of Ann Cokossi, Princess of Togo – the regal lady’s neck was longer than Iman’s. Iman was clearly descended from the same stock.

It was not Iman. She did have long hair that was finely braided in the fashion of a Maasai male’s. The hair was swept up off her face and into a very intricate arrangement.

There were several beads throughout her stylised hair and some of them were cowrie beads. There were other shells and some precious stones as well.

Her makeup was exquisitely applied and clearly was a several-hour affair. The eyes, of course, were the most detailed.

I really did not get a sense of it being the famous Nefertiti Akhenaten. However, the man that she was with was undesirable and totally untrustworthy.

I got the sense that it was someone related to me, as in myself, in a past life. He never did enter the room.

Whilst speaking with the woman who sat there on the chair feeding me, the queen kept on slowly gliding about the room. This woman was like the Queen Mother or, perhaps, the dowager.

Whilst she spoke, I was beginning to become refamiliarised with the palace intrigue.

Throughout the salon, where we sat, there were a whole series of spies. Soon enough, I could discern the holes throughout the walls so that the spies could get a good command of what was going down.

There was a great deal of subterfuge here. There was a whole caste of spies. There were spies who were in the service of the priesthood. Spies of the Queen’s and still there were spies of the Pharaoh’s.

Still there were spies of the harem among which were a subclass and more powerful caste of spies for the eunuchs. In addition, all the different levels of the royals had their own battery of spies.

All about the room, every one of those holes had a designated spy who reported back to his dynastic figurehead in the hierarchy.

This was a very brief dream, I must add here. However, it was very lucid, real and totally lived-in a dream.

I had a sense of being there in time. It was not just an observer dream. I was really in the body of that royal child who could have been no more than six years old.

This occurred at nighttime and it was somewhat damp in the room though simultaneously briny from the arid desert air. The whole language was about intonation and innuendo.

As a matter of fact, the whole language was so ritualised and stylised that it was more slow and subtle than is movement in the Noh theatre of Japan. This was all about gestures and the myriad gestures that could be implied from the relations of one gesture juxtapose to another.

It took me awhile to get the knack of it. However, I became totally lucid as to what was going down.

It all came back to me. Indeed, even at the age of six, I was already quite proficient in the nuances of this very complex court language.

As she spoke, the Queen’s arms and other parts of her body would be perpetually in motion. It was danced – this language. The whole language was codified and layered beyond anything wildly imaginable in this day and age of superficiality.

This was deception on the order of high art. What was spoken was mere camouflage. The spoken word was not even an nth of the layered language.

Along with it, what her body was doing and the subtlety of movements indicated what was really implied by what was said. More to the point, it was what was not implied by what was not said.

By comparison, the most sophisticated Parisienne would be considered a primitive communicator.

This was all very complex court politics, indeed. Then, at one point, the Queen went and stood thereby freezing her movement and this is what one had to try and discern.

This was because the every placement of every limb and muscle, on her body, carried great impact by way of what was being communicated. This was very much so an African tongue being spoken here.

At times, it was slow whilst at other times dizzyingly sped up and rapid fire.

*It seemed more closely to resemble Jazz vocalesing à la Betty Carter sophistication though, truth be told, even Betty Carter’s skills were primitive by comparison. I can’t impress enough how truly complex was this language and mode of communicating. END.

Yet I got the complete picture of what she was communicating. The Queen was speaking of the child – my six-year-old former self. I feigned ignorance at the time though it was obvious that I was the subject of discussion.

This had to do with the care of the child.

“How was the child coming along?” she had inquired.

I could very well have been her child. It was obviously the custom for royal children to be separated, from their mothers at birth, the higher placed they were at birth.

I was here in this dream, of a past life experience, in the care of two women who were as if wet-nurses/governesses to me.

At another point, the Queen had produced this papyrus fan from beneath the delicate folds of the heavy-looking dress.

It was a plain fan made of papyrus. However, it was covered in hieroglyphs. This was also a very ancient fan which she had inherited.

The fan was being strategically used, as part of the deceptive code, to foil the spies all about the room. When coming closer to us, the Queen had smiled a very bland smile in my direction.

This was, of course, so that nothing whatsoever could be read into it by any of the spying factions. The Queen slowly leaned in to look at the food that I ate.

Inspecting it, she offered the gesture of showing her trust in the cooks by taking a piece of shoot from the plate to eat.

This was all theatre for as she had slipped the food to her mouth she waved the fan over her mouth whilst saying, in rapid-fire sotto voce, a couple of very strategic sentences. It was absolutely sublime.

It was directed at the dowager Queen Mother who, for being more practised in the art, feigned utter ignorance of anything so paranoid as subterfuge. It was priceless!

This was clearly the height of late young soul to early mature soul intrigue. Though she could never have been overheard in saying what she had, the fan was placed to prevent the visiting Queen being lip-read.

These spies, after all, were very expert. I do recall one man having been seated across from me earlier. He was a spy and basically he was visiting to learn the every minutia of my mouth mechanics during speech.

It was all very subtle, though very archly shrewd and deadly, the way in which he came to do his job and record my mouth’s every idiosyncrasy during speech.

The queen had performed, in that one gesture, such a winning sleight of hand. She was letting the Queen Mother know that she trusted her by actually tasting the food that she was feeding the child – me, in that past life.

It seemed, after all, to be an impromptu visit which means that the food could well have been laced with poison for unsuspecting me. I suppose that if it were necessary, I could have been eliminated by the dowager Queen Mother or the Queen herself.

When she had directly stood in the centre of the room, earlier, the Queen had picked up her right foot off the floor. She had very subtly managed not to have shifted her weight or allowed for any movement whatsoever in her upper body.

The Queen then began doing what seemed a predecessor of the frappé and began horizontally waving her foot from the ankle. The movement betrayed a gesture akin to ‘no’. This, of course, did not in the least betray everything that was going on elsewhere in her body.

As there were so many items of furniture about the room, it was obvious that from where the holes were placed in the walls that one could not make out the codified foot movements.

This was so mind-bogglingly delicious. The foot being incorporated, in the language, was a most clever invention.

The moment at which she picked up her foot, it was as though I had sat up awake in bed. It was that vividly recalled from past life experience.

‘Yes!’ I thought to myself and laughed a small breath which the dowager Queen Mother, to my side, immediately stifled with a sharp intake of breath.

One clearly did not laugh in the Queen’s presence. The subtleties of the language here, in this point in dynastic Egypt, were phenomenally stratospheric.

This was communication taken to heights unheard of since, in any court life, on this planet.

There were times as she slowly moved about the room that the Queen had ritually placed the fan to her beguiling face, to fan herself, whilst letting out little phrases for us to hear.

On one occasion, her back was to us and her arm in back made a series of quick gestures that were not unlike sign language. Meanwhile, the fan was to her face giving us a double stream of code to simultaneously decipher.

To the point of being frightening, the Queen was very deceptive. It was hard to ever see her eyes. The Queen used language such that the eyes could never have been seen.

More could be read from her eyes adding to what she was saying. For this reason, she almost exclusively kept her lids such that it kept her gaze cast out and down to the floor.

Her head, of course, was never lowered and the rapid eye movements which she employed were also very strategic. When she spoke, one was never to make eye contact with her.

It would imply too much simply because we were being spied on. This was indeed a very restrictive existence.

There we were, in a fish bowl of sorts, being spied on by sharks who completely surrounded us waiting their turn to hungrily make prey of us. Since she was the Queen, one could never look at her eyes.

However, I was possessed of more than my six-year-old self making me a very probing and curious soul. The Queen picked up on this and was acutely made uncomfortable by it.

It was as though there was now some new development in my maturation which spelt trouble. Naturally, you just knew that there was any number of long discussions to come as to what to do with this ‘one’ meaning my poor, possessed self.

It was as though, for having stepped into my former self’s six-year-old body, I could have spelt his very untimely and not accidental death. Regardless, this woman and I were deeply connected.

I could sense from her a real familial, maternal even, bond. The Queen was very much so in tune with me. There was an element of this communication which was low-level telepathic.

Indeed, there were times when she had thusly engaged me. It was chiefly done for putting me at ease. It was also how she had to stay bonded to me for having had me taken from her, of custom, at birth.

What was really interesting here was that the concept of reincarnation was definitely fully accepted and religiously incorporated in the schemata of dynastic life. The dowager Queen Mother and governess, too, were both convinced that I was someone in the royal family who had reincarnated.

My choice of food favourites were validation enough for them. I was very much so favoured by the Queen. She was warm towards me.

However, she never physically expressed this. There was always, however, a very strong psychic fusion between us with most of the energies coming from her to me.

She was connected to me – this much was unmistakable. I never did see the eunuch who had accompanied her, however, he was very powerful an influence in their lives.

For this reason, more so than the placement of the spies, the Queen never once was demonstrative of her feelings towards me. She did let up on reaching towards the plate of food.

One had the sense, of the eunuch who had accompanied her, that he was the one person who had connections to all the spying factions within the inner royal circle. He waited outside in the antechamber and his presence was more closely being paid attention to, than even the Queen’s, at times.

There had also been musicians about the room playing music. This was simply to drown out the conversation being heard by the battery of spies.

The musicians were placed along all four walls to really drown out the conversation. This then precluded conversation from making it to the periphery of the room and the spies just beyond its walls.

This was a very palatial suite. It was dimly lit and sparsely decorated yet in the finest style. A very comfortable and socially elevated milieu it was. A most elevated dream experience.

*As it is the forty-fifth anniversary of Merlin’s birth, I had asked prior to sleep in a lengthy meditation, to become opened up to experiencing aspects of a past life experience between Merlin and me.

I asked only that it be of a positive nature and that it be in no way an unpleasant experience. The last thing that I wanted was to have some dream which mirrored the less pleasant aspects of Merlin’s end-of-life experience.

Voilà, there it was – a most vivid, awakened dream experience. I have no idea which person here could have been Merlin.

I fully identified with the six-year-old and, indeed, I was experiencing the dream inside his body and, at times, from a detached perspective. Then, too, I did identify with the much-feared eunuch outside the door.

So I don’t know if he was me or, perhaps, even Merlin. The very loving energies of the Queen Mother could more easily have been Merlin, in a past life, than the Queen herself.

**The musicians about the room, against the far walls, were all distinctly Nubian. They were exquisitely beautiful and the quirk that they each had was that they were, for obvious reasons, each of them both blind and deaf.

This, of course, did not detract from their stellar musicianship; at times they did sing. However, for being both blind and deaf they could not be expected to be picking up on any of the codified language and body signals that formed this most layered of spied-on, palace intrigues in dynastic Egypt.

I should think, too, that this was at the heights of the Middle Kingdom before the advent of Akhenaten’s ascension. This sort of intrigue, and frankly rut, is precisely what he was likely sick of and seeking to escape when initiating his monotheistic religion.

Of course, with so much centuries-old intrigue, clearly he would have been seen as the ultimate obstruction – a heretic who had to be annihilated at all costs and things righted in his demise. This, of course, is precisely what did take place.

Again, despite the vogue since the nineteenth century to make a truly African civilisation anything but, everyone one and everything here was distinctly African: the music, the looks, the sense of fashion, styles and hair styles.

The Queen’s eyes were not only phenomenally powerful but her head had that distinctly African/Black high-foreheaded look. The Queen’s neck was almost giraffe-like.

She made Iman look no-necked by comparison. END.

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Photo: Supermodel Iman.

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Dreams are the poetic expression of the soul.

Tag: Longreads