Dolphin House Pets and Glimmers of El Greco’s Muse (Redux)

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On the cusp of the Art Gallery of Ontario’s Georgia O’Keeffe Exhibition opening this month, I am repost this blog.  Do please enjoy.  

Whilst the Moon transited both Libra and my fifth house, these next dreams occurred on October 1, 1989.  Too, it was the seventh anniversary of that magical, and a bit cool, Friday evening in Hell’s Kitchen when Merlin and I would meet… yet again. 

Of course, at the time, he was rather ill with full-blown AIDS and horribly suffering from Candida.  However, as I have known more than 200 persons to have passed of AIDS, Merlin’s AIDS-related illnesses were mild manifestations of what can eventualise with AIDS.  I have always been grateful for that. 

These dreams – one a touchstone dream with Olaf Gamst’s old-souled son as he was during a life when he was an assistant, muse and lover of El Greco’s, the other a dream set remotely in the past on this planet or possibly on another world where the indigenous folks were decidedly extra-human though Sol III human-looking enough – were welcome inspiration. 

Too, the dreams were dreamt during the second sleep cycle that day.  Back then, I took naps as often as I could afford.  Merlin fainted several times each day and the sheer gravity of what we moved through was exhausting at times.  As he would have it, no one knew that Merlin fainted multiple times daily. 

At the time of these dreams, I had taken to the pyramid to meditate with crystals and eventually ended up privately crying at the share stark finality of what imminently loomed on the horizon.  Thus, sleep was a welcome refocussing of my energies – if only briefly.  Of course, sleep and its elixir, dreams, ever kept me focussed, inspired and aware of the macroscopic. 

 

In this the first dream, I see Eleanor Bissell – my Canadian-History and English teacher at Harbord Collegiate Institute; she was doing some gardening in a blue dress that was floral-printed.  This garden had tall old trees in it.  There were hydrangea plants – large ones at that.

I went over and I greeted her and said, “Hello, Mrs. Bissell.”

I told her who I was and she had on her glasses and her breath was short.  She was just the same as when I knew her in the waking state.

 

This dream, the second, was set in another time and another place.  I was captured by this man in a castle-like dwelling.  A very Moorish setting, like in Spain, it was; it was not Moorish architecture like in Northern Africa but it was more so in southern Spain.  Perhaps, it was Andalusia or thereabouts.

It was brown stone which had been burnt by the Sun for years and years, tens of millennia, as a matter of fact.  I got captured and I was taken back into a room with a man; he was saying to me, “Of course you’re mine.  You’re 63%!”

This percentile was supposed to signify, if you like, being bad or evil.

He was describing things to me because he was the epitome of what one would consider evil.  I was saying, “No I’m not.”

I was saying that I didn’t want to be there and wanted to be let out.

The thing is, it was not me; rather, I was the son and he was a bronzed person; he was very swarthy but not Black.  I was his offspring; I was, in fact, his son.  Then some people came in and they were all there and I asked if I could get out with them.  They, however, said no that I couldn’t because they were alright.

They said that they were all 50% and that I was not.  I supposedly had to be 50% and therefore, as I was his son, I had to stay there with him.  I was really upset and somehow I managed to be stealthily taken away during the night, after the father left, by a woman.

She wore long flowing garb and she was again very Mediterranean or Middle Eastern-looking.  She had long limbs and café au lait complexion.  She told me how it all went that I was her son, by the same man, and that she was one of his many lovers.

However, he was never supposed to have a child by her; as a result, when she became pregnant because he so loved her, he broke with tradition and he had her put up in this particular part of the castle.

It was really fortified and very abandoned-looking but she held out there.  Nobody ever came to this part of the castle and it was very terraced and had a lot of inner walls in it.

The walls here were of a slight sandy colour and we were alone at nighttime.  As we were talking, there was battle going on behind us over in another part of the castle; the battle occurred in another part of the fortified town that supported the castle.

There were a lot of cries because there was battle going on.  You could hear a lot of horses neighing and cantering, as in the Crusades, if you like.  I don’t, however, recall having heard any gunfire.

She was telling me not to worry because he would never harm me.  Said she, I was quite well protected.  He did love me in spite of his cruelty and there was no way that he could hurt me because she was fiercely protective of me.

If he had done anything to me, she would be forced to expose him and he knew and feared that eventuality.  She told me to just go on outside and play.  So, I went out into the yard and it was a wonderful elaborate garden – very organic.

It had this pool and there inside were dolphins.  I went in to play with them.  It was a muddied pool but very large like a manmade lake.  They were playing with me as I frolicked in the water with them.

One of them had its fluke pressing down on my bum from above me.  Whilst sandwiched between them under the surface the other used it nose to push up against my breastbone and solar plexus; thus, they propelled me through the water at great exhilarating speeds.

It was a beautiful sense of motion because, of course, they travelled quite fast and they always stayed clear of going out too far.  There was a point at which they had jokingly made a fast turn and I hadn’t caught up.

So I went to stand up and it turned out that it was a very large pool and a rather deep, deep pool.  I panicked when I broke surface and they assisted me back to the shallow area.

When I came back indoors both the father and mother were there now – the swarthy humans, that is.  I said to them that there was something here in the pool a big opening, you could feel it.

I also sensed it from the dolphins as being something in the pool that they themselves feared.  The father figure was laughing and told me not to worry about that because he knew, of course, what it was.  The mother had remained quite silent and looked at me, all the time, because she was slightly to his left and behind him as he spoke.

All three of us were next in a room in the castle and, somehow, the dolphins were here as well.  There was a break in the floor, a wide open hole, and they came up and were swimming and churning up the same muddied-looking dark water.

A man then entered who looked like and was, in fact, the American actor who starred in the film, Paris, Texas.  I think that the actor’s name is, Harry Dean Stanton, but I am not certain of that; he is a scrawny, hard-faced, thin-lipped man.

He came in and had a gun and said, “I want to get paid.  I’m doing work in this building and I’m not getting paid.  I’m tired of being held up here.  Deliver!  Or else I’m going to take you out and shoot you.”

It was an interesting-looking silver gun.  I was standing up on a cabinet and he went to shoot me but I knew that he wouldn’t shoot me.  He had, in fact, turned the pistol so that the two shots rang off to my right.

What surprisingly came out, when he fired the shots, was water; however, it had light in it.  It was like lasered water and it shot out in a large chunky jet and went almost instantaneously to the wall and crashed there.

He shot rounds of it and both parents remained absolutely icy cool; they paid him very little mind.  Later on, the mother telepathically told me not to worry because he couldn’t harm me; too, she telepathically shared that I was not to move and give in to fear.  I was not to show any signs of panic.

*This was clearly a civilisation which was set here on Earth long millennia before the current ape-central, fear-ruled madness we now know.  This was a time long ago in human history when there was contact between both humans and cetaceans.  Telepathy was de rigueur; too, psychic abilities were more evolved then.

Perhaps, this was an Atlantean society or some other civilisation which predated the Atlantean.  The persons were seemingly of Mediterranean extraction and it was, however, definitely not Egyptian.

I would guess that it was post-Egyptian – the latter having occurred easily more than 60 thousand years ago; although, Europeans in their racist elitism – never having had anything to rival pyramids in Europe – reworked the agedness of Egyptian civilisation to their ends.

**I am now left to believe that this was in some way an Extra-Human civilisation where the humans closely resembled Earthly humans.  They were, however, swarthier and were archly telepathic.

Too, their foreheads were also considerably higher and had a slight concave look at the top.  Dolphins, it seems, were kept as indoor pets – just as cats and dogs are for humans.  Hence, there was the watering hole, which led to a vast underground network, where the animals could come and go from the fortified castle to the ocean, however far off.  END.

 

Almost instantaneously, in this the third dream, I was in another scene; it was one in which I was playing and my companion was Lars Gamst.  We were drawing, in fact, we were painting.

Lars said to the same actor, Harry Dean Stanton, who was now with me in this new dream – both the parents, incidentally, were no longer about.  Lars wanted the actor to assist him by editing.

The guy misunderstood him and didn’t know what was what.  What Lars was doing was covering the painting with a black wax and, later, he was then going to strip it off.  So he needed the actor to go and get the chemicals and equipment to go and strip off the wax.

He was somewhat impatient that the guy was so stupid and didn’t understand; Lars had had to spell out what he wanted.  I was trying to explain to the guy what to do and what Lars meant, as well as, the process involved.

When he did go away to get the things, I came over and approached Lars and assisted him in the painting of the work that he was doing.

*A rather insightful dream this one and the energies with Lars were, as ever, pleasant and sublime.  I find this a rather telling dream too because, in later years, on having Lars’s Michael Overleaves charted, I would learn that not only is he an old soul – first level old slave and entity mate to his equally old-souled father (Olaf Gamst) and sixth cast artisan like myself but he was the favoured muse of Doménicos (El Greco) Theotokópoulos and his chief assistant.

Naturally, for Lars to be so immersed creatively in a painterly fashion – in the dreamtime – was truly about revisiting a skill and time in the past which brought him great fulfillment both spiritually and creatively.  This was so clearly an astral plane encounter between us.

Being in Lars’s presence was quite expansive; you could actually feel his soul being deeply creative.  So fully dilated were his pupils, Lars’s eyes were almost pure black.  He was terribly eccentric and clearly there was much bleed-through from his having been greatly inspired in that lifetime by El Greco.  He worked feverishly with great attack.

He quite appreciated the fact that I was not a dolt and could be of able assistance to him.  This was such an astral plane encounter that it was as real and connected as that time we rode the subway together and the connectedness we shared blew my mind.

Incidentally, in that sixteenth century lifetime, Lars was much younger than the great artist and they did have a passionate relationship.  I have a distinct impression that there was a bleed through of what Lars looked like, in that lifetime, as his features were not as they are now; he was more Latin and darker, strong-nosed.

It was an aquiline nose.  Too, he was robust-energied and had massive hands like those of a sculptor’s.  Terribly expressive and passionate, too, were his hands.  END.

 

I was on the phone whilst speaking with Owen Hawksmoor, in this the fourth dream, and I could see about his apartment as we spoke.  I was calling him because I wanted to get laid and I was really raunchy and stir-crazy but he was not up to it.  I start calling him on it and I told him, “Oh yeah, why don’t you get up and go to the bathroom?  And drop your teeth in the glass of water, on your way, before you come back?”

In a very sarcastic manner, I had laced into him to which he responded by being coolly dismissive of me by broadly laughing at my desperation.

Somehow, Pandora da Braga was part of this dream and she had an awareness of my play for Owen and my resultant rejection.

 

*Featured art:  Santiago el mayor by El Greco.  At the time of the dream, Lars appeared as he did in a past life; his was a strong aquiline nose in the dream.  This look features prominently in many of El Greco’s works.  In that past life, Lars was a favoured muse, assistant and lover of El Greco’s who was in a recent incarnation the sublime American artist, Georgia O’Keeffe. 

As Lars is a slave soul, the look of St. Francis and also the look of Christ carrying the cross are those of a slave soul; at least that’s my impression.  Since, Christ was a seventh level king soul on his last life, the El Greco Christ of the aquiline nose is decidedly not a king soul and more so a slave with priestly airs.  Perhaps, this is how Lars looked then. 

What I also love about this particular El Greco painting is that the green draping proves an evocative prelude of things to come, as it were, with regards Georgia O’Keeffe’s sublimely sexualised flower paintings. 

For that matter, I love how Georgia O’Keeffe’s sensual masterpiece, Jack in the pulpit No. IV is a reanimation of El Greco’s Christ on the cross which is in the National Museum of Western Art, Tokyo, Japan

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Art:  Santiago el Mayor

Oil on Canvas

97 x 77 cm

1610 El Greco

Provenance: Museo del Greco

Christ on the Cross

Oil on Canvas

95.5 x 61 cm

1600 El Greco

Provenance: National Museum of Western Art, Tokyo, Japan

Jack in the Pulpit IV

Oil on Canvas

40 x 30 Inches

1930 Georgia O’Keeffe

Provenance: National Gallery of Art, Washington D. C.

Grey Lines with Black, Blue and Yellow

Oil on Canvas

48 x 30 Inches

© 1923 Georgia O’Keeffe

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© 2013-2020 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.

Revisit West Indian colonial past-life, flight and lovemaking (Redux).

Florence Welch Annie Leibovitz Vogue

*As ever, thanks for your continued patronage; it does mean a great deal to me.  Sweet dreams as ever and the very best to you!  

On the cusp of my birthday, I share these nine dreams had near 21 years ago.  They were beautiful dreams and, of course, there were flying dreams amongst them. 

With wonder, and at times regrettably with trepidation, I lucidly slipped fecund, open and oceanic in sleep’s warm wet folds and into astral consciousness aligning with soul.  There, on Sunday, October 17, 1993, I would whilst the Moon transited both Scorpio and my sixth house live these nine dreams. 

They were beautiful dancerly movements in spirit which culminated with the most sensual of pas de deux whilst lovemaking with the most beautiful woman.  Sweet dreams be yours. 

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In this the first dream, a female TV reporter was speaking about who was the most hard, as in well-hung, in TV.  Peter Mansbridge was cited as such.  She looked like Wendy Mesley but wasn’t.  As this was said, it proved quite the revelation.

Thought about it and realised that it could indeed be true; after all, he is rather beefy, mesomorphic and broad-shouldered a man.  I could, in fact, see him having a large-headed, thick dick.

Soon, they announced on television that starting in two days’ time, Peter Mansbridge would be hosting a new follow-up program after ABC television’s Nightline which was normally hosted by Ted Koppel.

As I didn’t know whether this meant that he had gone to work in the U.S. or if Ted Koppel had died, I found it all very strange.  As he was about to leave Toronto, for work down in New York City, there was then a send-off party of television executives for Peter Mansbridge.

Myself, I was just outside the main ballroom where the guests were standing and sitting about holding drinks and noisily laughing aloud.  On the inside, there was lots of dark wooden panelling similar to a private club like at 21 McGill Street.

The place was dimly lit and for being dark-wooded, this only made it appear even more soft-lighted inside.  I would then go jogging with Peter Mansbridge in a very rich neighbourhood.  Off to our left and down the road a bit, were these large, beautiful rolling plains.

The street would eventually veer off in two directions.  Here it was at nighttime and the night sky was rather beautiful.  Soon, I would decline jogging for very much longer because of the rigours on the heart from jogging.

He was not however fazed by my dropping out.  As we no longer jogged but walked along, I would see the Moon appear from back of these heavy-looking clouds.  There it sailed atop a stand of palm trees off in the distance.

The Moon was high in the eight house, as it were, in the west moving towards the horizon.  Found it strange to find that it was a full Moon.  After all, it was not supposed to be a full Moon at present in the waking state.

Nonetheless, it was such a larger-than-usual awesome sight that I was greatly moved by its impressive beauty.

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Next, in the second dream, I found myself in the environs of a wooden schoolhouse.  The structure was unpainted thus exposing a clear-wooded exterior.  Can’t recall having gone inside but I know that I had been there to do some work.

I had also been playing in the yard and enjoying myself.  In addition, I had gotten paid for the work that I did there.  I was always in the backyard.  Meanwhile, there was some discovery taking place.

There was a large scaffolding that was very tall and multilevelled.  Lots of steel pylons in different sections were placed on the planks; they awaited to be used in the renovation and construction underway.  The scaffold was only on the back of the schoolhouse.

All around were these incredibly large trees; one of them was definitely a breadfruit tree.  Meanwhile, after having made my way up onto the scaffolding, I became suddenly afraid of the heights.  This was because I had seen that there were these persons who had had to jump from the level that I was on.

Here everyone was very mercurial-bodied – slight and wiry.  One had had to jump some five feet down and across the way by more than two feet.  This was something that they had been doing over time; naturally, they had become quite familiar with the whole process.

Their technique involved throwing their body forwards then with the legs out in second position.  The legs were at a twenty-five degree angle; this would enable you to land properly in plié.  On leaping down, there was very little to hold on to; besides, there was also very little foot space on landing on any of the levels.

For whatever reasons, I became suddenly fearful as to whether or not I could actually sustain myself at these heights.  Furthermore, I questioned whether I could successfully cross from one level to the next.  Instead of leaping across, I clambered back down the scaffolding.

From there, I made my way into the building which proved on entering to be an incredibly large recreation room.  The room had a lot of clear and blue plastic covering the floors.  A very high-ceilinged place it was.  One section, to one side of the complex, was very damp.

Entering the complex at the back, I would soon get to the main corridor which ran from left to right.  On the opposite side of the corridor, to the back where I had made my entrance, were several strange-looking compartments.

They were made of three walls of white tiles with large blue plastic which fell down from the ceiling to cover each compartment.  On entering, one had to stand on a large marble slab where it was very damp.

Incidentally, the whole thing looked like the opening of a car wash.  One had to step down to enter the small three-sided compartment.  In back of you as you entered, the length of the room remained opened up.

Unlike anything that I had ever experienced before, this place was incredibly humid.  In that sense, the place was not unlike a steam room.  As I saw some persons leaning against the blue plastics, I went to lean against them as well.

There were two other persons, to the left, leaning against the tubing which accompanied the plastics.  Made little sense to me what they were up to but they did look decidedly lethargic and out of it.

Truth be told, it was almost as if they were asleep or even anesthetised.  An unusual gestalt considering that this was the realms of the dreamtime, I thought.  Figuring that the old adage, ‘When in Rome do as the Romans…’, I went off and tried to put myself in the state that they were in.

However, the plastic snapped, broke and caused me to almost fall face first into the tiled wall ahead of me.  Steadying myself, I decided to not pursue this riddle of a queer experience further and thus took my leave.

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Going out onto the veranda, in this the third dream, I saw Augustus Akins off in the distance.  He was with someone on the landing as well.  Standing there, I was amazed at just how much they had both grown.

Going over to them, I said to Augustus how surprised I was that he had grown so much.  One of them wore a jean jacket which was opened up to reveal a lovely, dark-skinned complexion.

Don’t have any idea who the other fellow was but he was not a relation of Augustus’s.  I was truly amazed that Augustus had grown so tall and looked so self-possessed and aristocratic.

Returning inside to the room where earlier I had been, I thought about both men as they had been leaning against these upright trunks that were out on the veranda.

I had the distinct impression that they were not saying anything to me because they had the distinct impression that my being enthralled with them would lead me back into the room.

Right away, I intuited that this was all a mere trap which was designed to lure me there at which point they could then come in and capture me.  Straight away, I took my leave of them.

The room, though made out to be as if a bedroom, turned out to have been – though dimly lit – a prison cell.  With that, I went rushing from this room in the schoolhouse by way of another door.

This posited me into another room where beyond which was yet another room.  Coming out, I saw that the innards of the room were now dissolved.  Indeed, the whole thing had been a holographic projection.

All that was left was a large Plexiglas cage of a room.  The people who were left in the room, whom I had not initially noticed as being there, were the same comatose-looking persons as those at the plastic tubing.

Instantaneously, for being encased in the trap, they were gassed as the place filled up with a misty gas.  Pretty soon, they were asphyxiated.  The whole thing was very macabre as their screams were drowned out by the airtight-sealed thick Plexiglas encasing, as it were, in which they were entombed.

Truly gruesome a sight was it.  To think that people could be annihilated just like that was truly horrific a spectre.  Next door, in the room that I had rushed into, there was a guard; he was a tall, quiet dignified-looking man.

He decided not to kill the others.  Nothing interested me more than getting the devil out of there toute de suite.  From there, I went rushing down the staircase close by; I made it out into the grounds of the wonderfully treed schoolhouse.

Making it up to the wide road, I intuitively knew that I was being chased.  Obviously, they would do everything in their power to try and capture me.  I do recall seeing Duane Searles down; he was two landings from me as I had fled from the room.

Duane was keeping tabs on the fact that these persons were trying to entrap others.  Duane was also keenly aware that one of the persons that they were attempting to entrap, by way of intimidation or scandal, was me.

I knew that his sense of justice was such that he intended to take them to task – to deal with them.  He was waiting below for the perpetrators of this barbaric crime.  Without a doubt, it was obvious that he had every intention of apprehending them.

These people were up to no good whatsoever.  They knew that they could pull their little vindictive stunts and get away with it because no one had ever threatened their unfair behaviour.

Pretty soon, the relatives of the gassed persons showed up and were intent on avenging their family’s death by gassing.  They pulled guns and soon the senior members of the families were caught cursing and pistol-whipping each other.

They were so despondent that they began attacking anyone in sight.  For that reason, I sought to keep a low profile and went about sneaking from one place to the next whilst trying to stay out of harm’s way.

As they made for each other, I made it outdoors where it was nighttime.  Of all people, Gabriela Denmann was there.  Augustus said at the time that he hated her guts; this whilst I was waiting for a bus to show up.

I thought it weird that he should have said such a thing.  Down the road from off to the left, down an incline, was what proved a truly mobile automaton.  The transport was not operated by humans and could carry a few persons at a time.  If you like, it was a taxi.

Driving past, it was empty and did not stop for us.  Somehow, I had assumed that it would have sensed us and therefore would have stopped.  All that I wanted was to get myself out of this freakish place.  The vibrations in this place were way too negative.

When the family relations who were in hot pursuit of me began coming from the building, I decided to flee from the bus stop.  I made it out to the woods, which were dense, and to the right when looking at the schoolhouse.

The Moon was brightly shining.  Drinking in the light, I simply flew away.  I had not even had to think of willing myself to fly, it had simply happened.  I simply couldn’t afford to be in the line of their gunfire.  Nor did I want to be seeing any bloodshed.

The trees were all very lushly tropical with lots of palm trees among them.  Flying to the right of the paved road, I was also not above the treetops.  Rather, I hung in amongst their crowns and snaked my way in and out of the network of branches as I flew by.

Here, it was effortless to have flown through the trees.  There were even times when I would simply fly through the branches unobstructed by their being there.  As though they were made of a different molecular structure, as their waking state counterparts, thus they did not prove impassable.

I was, of course, simply shifting my vibration so as to allow me to become momentarily one with their vibration and thereby allow me to pass through them unencumbered.

On one occasion, I moved through the most beautiful mango tree; this had filled me with pleasurable memories of the mango tree that I had planted during childhood in St. Kitts.  The memory-filled experience was truly grounding.

As I flew on, I caught sight of the full Moon which was up ahead against the blackened sky.  The Moon here was very yellow-tangerine-coloured.  There were hues too of eggshell-white to it.

This was the most glorious soulful sight imaginable.  If already I had not been in flight, by now, I would have done so.  The Moon was now close to the horizon which made it take on those orange-going-fast-into-harvest-reds tones.

What was truly bizarre, though, was the fact that Penina da Braga began pleading with Harella da Braga to let her have some stocks.  Harella refused saying that Penina was way too irresponsible and had no one to blame for her financial woes.

At that point, as I listened to their banter, the Moon began shifting shape and became truly like a Salvador Dali creation.  As it got closer to the horizon, the Moon appeared to be melting away and became as if a limp piece of paper that was flying in the air.

As would a piece of paper, falling to the ground, the transformed Moon appeared to be flying back and forth in a rocking manner.  A truly displacing state of affairs this would prove.  If intended, it thankfully did not though have a hypnotic effect.

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Next, in this the fourth dream, I was flying in this large salon and just below the ceiling.  The walls were the same colour as the setting Moon had been just recently in the prior dream; at least, before it began shapeshifting and causing me to understandably feel some degree of displacement.

Yellow-orange, it was a beautiful tranquil tone of paint.  Exceptionally high-ceilinged, the ceiling was white.  Though not stucco, it had relief on it; patterns were set in the very thick layer of stonework.  The workmanship in the ceiling was quite beautiful.

Flying on, I could see that up ahead was a door which stood a bit to the left.  I knew that this door was one through which I could fly into the next room.  That room appeared fairly dark.  As I flew, I kept on rising higher in the room.

My progression here, unlike in the prior dream, was truly slow and leviathan.  As I progressed with my back to the ceiling, my head was held at seventy degrees to my toes.  Not quite fully upright, I was though still up vertically rather than progressing horizontally.

A truly beautiful feeling it was.  At the time, I wondered to myself why not simply fly through the ceiling which really seemed to be a dense layer of clouds.  The look was reminiscent of wintry clouds through which one passes, on descending, to land in a plane.

Though there were definite patterns in it, like the aforementioned wintry clouds, the ceiling had a cottony look to it.  For being so close to the ceiling, I couldn’t get a good overview of their design and so was kept ignorant of what exactly the overall look was.  Courageously, I decided to fly through the ceiling.

With that, down to the third eye chakra, my head slowly began penetrating the ceiling.  Here again, I was actively willing my molecular integrity to shift; thus I could vibrationally become one with the ceiling’s frequency and thereby pass through it unhindered.

There was no escaping the fact that the ceiling was a solid entity.  The ceiling was, in fact, quite dense a medium.  I felt as though my head were a diamond-bladed saw cutting through a dense slab of granite.  My focus here was quite intense…

At the point of penetrating to the third eye, I became cautious wondering as to what exactly I would end up seeing once on the other side of the ceiling.

Should I be so bold as to hazard the transition to the other side?  What, indeed, if I didn’t quite like what I encountered there?  Would I be trapped for being there and grow fearful in a potentially hostile situation?  How would I know to get back out of there, once caught in a vortex of fear, if the adventure were to prove hostile in anyway?

With that, my thoughts became so dense, I was simply dropped back down from the ceiling.  My focus had become diverted by negative thoughts; thus, this prevented me from being able to complete my vibrational shift.  The whole thing, to say the least, was interesting.

So again, I collected my energies and attempted to move through the density of the ceiling again.  Alas this time, I did not pull it off.  Sensing that I was only going to strike my head against the ceiling, I righted myself into a more horizontal position and flew off.

I was still fairly high up from the floor.  Somewhat disappointed that I had not broken through to the other side, I flew on making for the door that led to the darkened room.

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Can’t say that I had flown through the door into the darkened room but next, in this the fifth dream, I found myself outside whilst still in flight.  I was going along this wonderful wide road which had these colossal tropical trees that completely overhung the wide boulevard.

There were flamboyas and banyan trees, even Ficus Benjamina trees that were truly stellar in stature and beauty.  All had immensely thick trunks on them.  Arboreal masters all they were.  I was being energised and my thoughts cleansed for being in the sphere of their pure loving energies.

As I flew along, there was an embankment to the left which was three feet from the road.  The trees were next to the road with houses up on the embankments.  The houses were set way back from the edge of the embankments and on large lots that were truly estate-like.  Here too, it was also nighttime.

This was a very astral-planed experience – all these dreams.  Rather than above their crowns, I flew within the crowns of the massive trees.  I had been directly flying above the centre of the wide road; yet, the sprawling branches had splayed out enmeshing me in their friendly embrace with one another.

In this way, as I would have preferred, I could remain unobserved from the ground.  My flight here was measured, deliberately slowed down, so as to allow me to drink of the beauty of these arboreal giants’ energies.

Stopping on one of the branches, I rested reclining in the same horizontal position as when in flight.  At that point, an old Black man came out whilst I had been looking ahead of me at a Black woman.

As if she was a witch, she wore nothing but black garments.  Soon, she was joined by a woman who came from my rear.  The latter was White; both of them very stout women, though, they were not in the manner of the subjects of a Fernando Botero creation.

She wore a silver outfit which was again a long gown; again, it was the same design as the Black woman’s.  They were clearly familiar with one another.  Both had these twigs in their hands that were unusually crooked.

They were shaped as if a frozen, now fossilised, bolt of lightning.  On meeting, they embraced each other and laughed a very full-breathed earthy laugh – think Whoopi Goldberg here of the nature of their laughter.  They were so real and raucous.

Talking, they began dancing around and doing these gestures and movements that were all quite ritualised and seemingly of an occult nature.  Whilst they danced, the old Black man had appeared from off to my left and up on the embankment.

Neither women had been up on the embankment; they met on the road and stayed there.  The man was dressed in a pair of easy slacks, a short-sleeved loose shirt and a hat.  He was a very West Indian-looking chap and he looked every bit the Nevisian.

A real countryman as the old folks in St. Kitts-Nevis would say.  Ancient beyond belief, he was genuinely the real article.  He was an old soul and immediately reminded me of Jacques Blanc.  His demeanour was so gloriously at peace.

He had a sweet easy smile that made him look the most gloriously vulnerable.  I found it was hard to believe that any human being could be born into the waking state and progress to such an old age and remain uncorrupted as that smile of his indicated.

The greatest of energies were his.  On seeing them, he soon grew fearful of them.  He became concerned – assuming, I suppose, that they were witches and could do him much harm.

Things only got worse because he had actually seen me before, as I flew down the street, in amongst the treetops.  Looking up off to his right, as he walked past, he noticed me again.

On seeing me, he became startled so I began flying away; I did not care to disturb this mellow soul.  Though I must say, I did so think it strange that he should find my being in flight an oddity – especially for being here in the dreamtime.

Slowly, I began flying away towards and above the two women up ahead who still remained below on the street.  Seeing me in flight only made him upset because this, to his way of thinking, only validated his fears that this was something sinister.

Clearly, I had to fast rethink my assessment of this one being an old soul.  Basically, things were rapidly changing about him and for someone so ancient it was all a bit too displacing for him to absorb.  He was, sadly enough, left disturbed and fearful.

I was convinced that I was not sporting two or more heads here!

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After having flown ahead of the two women who seemed to be female archetypes of the magi, in this the sixth dream, I arrived at my next dream experience where here it was daytime out.

To the left of the same road, along which I had been flying, I saw an estate just prior to a fort on a high hill.  At this juncture, there were no longer any tall, majestic tropical trees looming over the same road.

Though I was fairly certain that it wasn’t, the fort reminded me much of Brimstone Hill in St. Kitts.  The estate was not unlike one of the ones, from the days of slavery, from which plantations were operated.

Going up past the embankment from the road, I went into the grounds of the estate.  The main house was a conical-roofed château, not unlike the château at Vallière, but it was not particularly French.

The building had such smooth gorgeous curves to its lines; an architectural gem, to be sure, it was.  Though slightly Bavarian in look, it was however very much so a French château.  However, the roof was made of stone and green and not painted blue in the French tradition like at Vallière or Chenonceau.

Centuries old, it was green because of a dense growth of moss covering the copper roofing.  Low lying, it was nonetheless a very heavy-looking imposing building.

Walking up from the main road, I had alighted by this point, there were some steps that took you up to the next level beyond the embankment.  There, one encountered another road and this one not as wide; this road was the one along which I went and it took one into the grounds of the estate.

Facing out to the right, the house was to the left.  Beyond that, there was a low fence and after which was a large road.  There were uniformed Black men who stood about talking whilst guarding the house.  They wore fur-covered hats which were like those of the British honour guardsmen’s.

I knew that this was the residence of the Lieutenant-Governor, the monarch’s representative.  Their uniforms were a grey-brown colour and rather beautiful material which was styled in a splendid design.

Colourful, they were rather original.  The scene here was distinctively tropical and sunny as all hell.  There was movement about the grounds as the score of gardeners and labourers worked the land.

The lowness of the structure did remind me of those low thatched-roofed houses in England which were current during Elizabethan times.  This, however, was extremely large.

Then, I noticed an old White male who was speaking to the others and giving them directions.  He seemed, perhaps, the lord of the manner.  On closer inspection, and without moving, I was able to zoom his face in to a tight close-up at will.

Seeing his right profile, in amongst his long, white flowing hair, he was liver-spotted and had a large broad-nostrilled nose.  There and then, I realised that he was a mix of all the races of this planet.

This was obviously a composite of all the lives that he had lived to date being borne out in his facial structure.  He was however predominantly Black and, at that, an exceptionally fair-skinned Black man.

Definitely, it was not a case of his being a White male with a deep permanent tan after having lived in the tropics for decades.  With that, I took to the air again and flew over the low level stone wall which was white stonewash; this was exactly the same schemata as the house’s walls.

In order to clear the wall, I had had to fly off to the right and went away from the mansion and the estate’s driveway.  I saw there another road along which came William Herbert, the Kittisian politician, in a Hummer jeep.

He looked older as he does at present.  He drove alone in the vehicle.  His spirits were boisterous; a grin on his ruggedly handsome face as dust flew when he made a hard left turn.  With that, he disappeared up a winding road which went up into the fort.

The road was about fifty feet away from the end of the road, which bleeds into the main road, along which I had initially flown up to the estate.  Going along the road, I kept aloft and surveyed the strange but eerily beautiful terrain.  Here, I was flying uncharacteristically low to the ground.

Eventually, I alighted yet again and joined the local teenagers who were all very West Indian-sensibilitied.  They were thankfully not the least bit fazed by my flying.

Here, there were a few old-souled-looking sprawling trees.  There were banyans and flamboyas here too.  This was such an august-spirited place whose energies were truly intense.

Meanwhile, persons were looking on at me. The children here were so august-souled with eyes that were so dynamically grounded, potent and lived in; their eyes were truly ensouled.  A very astral plane experience this was.

I would then leave with Fitzrene Wellington-Banks, Pia Banks-Abella’s mother, in an open vehicle.  I had wanted to go further up the road but the kids being in the middle of the street were as if a telepathic directive to me to not advance any further.

One had the sense that their opinion was that to have ventured any further would be on the order of prying.  So very good it was to see Fitzrene Wellington-Banks who was so incredibly solid and grounded.  Her manner was open, friendly and thoroughly genuine.

So utterly refreshing a state of affairs to be relating to persons without there being any façade or maya.  Fitzrene made very intent, direct and lingering eye contact.  I could actually feel her soul each time that she looked at me.  Truly, it was breathtakingly intimate and arrestingly sublime a beautiful experience.

As we were coming on to the village, we were stopped by road work that seemed not to have been construction-related.  Perhaps, there had been an accident or some such; I couldn’t though quite figure out what was up.  The disturbance was considerably up ahead of us at the time which left us slowed to a crawl.

To the right of the road, as we inched by, I noticed two low-lying, yellow clinic buildings; they were much like the ones at Sandy Point, St. Kitts next to Fitzrene’s apartments at Lara Wellington’s compound.  These clinics, however, had wide ramps in front of them which enabled wheelchair access.

The yellow was a dark rich tone and were not unlike the yellows of the Salvador Dali-like Moon and the walls of the salon through whose ceiling I had attempted to pass.

At that, we saw William Herbert’s very stout son leave the fort; he was in the vehicle that his father had recently been driving.  This young man was energetic, sexually dynamic and light-complected.  His hair was thick, black and curly.

His stoutness reminded me of the local, White Kittisian playboy, Ian Kelsick who was so fond of red motorcycles and who it would seem does have nine lives. A lot of Martial energies here infused this man’s body.

Now, I was returned to the other village from which I had come; earlier, of course, I had been up the tree looking on at the two women enjoying themselves.  Though considerably further along by now, I was on the same side of the road as the château-like mansion.

Beyond the clinics, William Herbert’s daughter was working and wore a light green smock.  Young, she was unbelievably pretty.  She worked with a blond who was very tiny and slight a man.

They were putting sulfur on the globs of blood which had trailed from the street to the clinic.  Apparently, a woman had gone into labour, her water having broken, and left a bit of a mess en route to the clinic.

The blond guy wore a very pointy helmet that looked very Thai.  He looked strange for being covered, as was she, with a lot of loose sulfurous dust.  Next to his blondness, it made him look most strange.

His lashes were already incredibly blond.  This gave him a decidedly extra-human quality.  This man did so have a cool, murderous edge to him.  What with the fine dust of sulfur covering his skin, he didn’t seem human in the slightest.

He had an abundance of Saturn close to his ascendant.  He couldn’t have been any more than 15 or 16 years of age, yet, he was already a right proper stern man of great fixity.

This man’s energies were truly unsettling.  They were bristly for me and reminded me much of the blondness of those kids with whom I would have a very traumatic experience, in St. Croix, U. S. Virgin Islands, in the summer of 1969.

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Next, in this the seventh dream, I saw the performer, Tony Orlando onstage looking very stout to the point of being unhealthy.  At the time, he was introduced by fellow performer and the very sexy, Lionel Richie – a man whom Merlin found so devastatingly sexy.

Tony Orlando wore a wonderful white suit standing way upstage whilst waiting to do a duet with Lionel Richie.  There was a cheesy-looking, shimmering green-looking, festive curtain in back of the performer.

Lionel Richie came onstage from upstage left.  Tony Orlando gingerly bantered whilst waiting for the star to come on.  Lionel Richie came on looking very haggard, fatigued and indeed very grim-looking.

One was made to feel terribly uneasy to look at him.  Lionel was very ill, looking very ill, as though in the later stages of AIDS.  I was acutely uncomfortable.

This was made even more obvious when he stood next to the very plump Tony Orlando who was all shellacked, pulled back and looking as though he had been oozed into his skin; he was all body fat which gave him that smooth flawless-skinned look.

This was simply bad theatre and you just know I had no time for the macabre.  With that, I got to my feet and took my leave of the experience altogether.

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I got home, in this the eighth dream, to find Isha da Braga cleaning up the apartment.  She was being very confrontational fast getting on my every which nerve.

Meanwhile, I went to the fridge to get something on which to snack.  There, I saw lots of soups and meals that I had made that were stored; they were for consumption later in the week.

Isha was so disputatious and her energies so unevolved that I said to myself that I no longer wanted to be around this woman and her bullshit.  I didn’t in the least want to be there.

So with that, I went outside to call Pandora da Braga about whom I have been concerned of

________________________

I rode an elevator up to a twentieth storey apartment, in this the ninth dream, where I was joined by a giggly, young flight attendant.  He wore blue and hailed from the West Indies.

I had been there because I was quite attracted to this woman and wanted to get it on with her.  We then went off to the balcony where I fondled her.

Soon, she laid down on her right side whilst curled up in a near-foetal position.  She shivered growing moist and would eventually cum several times.  As she came, she called out my name and left me very much so excited.

Due to her position, I was able to crouch down and slip into her wet warm pussy and made it all mine.  I loved the strong sweet smell of her.  Excitedly, I began fucking her at which point the dream became lucid and phenomenally real.

I could even hear my heart cantering away as I intensely hammered away at her.  She wore a light blue fabric which I had shoved up over her shoulders – to get a good look at her gorgeous body.

The passion was strong; the silken slipperiness of her so real that, as she came calling out my name, I exploded uncontrollably cumming simultaneously with her.

This was so intense and real that I found myself fully awake and sporting a very moist hard-on.

*To say the least, on awakening, after having audio-cassette-recorded the dreams, I got about the business of auto-erotically celebrating being a phenomenally alive and beautiful incarnate soul.  She was a stunning redhead who proved very alive and passionate.  END.

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Photo: Singer, Florence Welch

© 2014 Annie Leibovitz for American Vogue.

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© 2013-2020 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.

Dreamquest to Probable Future Life.

A masked ball

These rather lucid astral-projected dreams occurred whilst Merlin was still then incarnate in summer of 1989. 

I have come to realise that many of the dreams that have to do with being astral-projected to past or future lives often occur when the Moon transits cancer.  For whatever reasons, this seems to be a strong likelihood in my experience. 

I really don’t think that it matters much over which house my Cancer rules.  Rather, it seems more telling that ruler of Cancer, the Moon, is in my case found in the seventh house. 

Too, it should be noted that though much of my second house is dominated by Cancerian energies, Gemini sits on the second house cusp with the cusp of my third house being 20º of Cancer. 

Truth be told, they were rather insightful dreams to have experienced.  As such, these dreams occurred on Sunday, June 4, 1989 whilst Merlin was then incarnate. 

Too, at the time, the Moon magically transited both Gemini and my first house wherein my Mars sits nicely conjunct the ascendant.  This placement of Mars – along with its grand mutable square associations to Luna, Pluto and Chiron, tends to have me attract persons of less evolved spirituality who are ever ready to project their base emotions my way. 

Of course, it goes without saying that I am always unwavering in deflecting that dense energy with lightning shamanic speed.  Keep your dreck away from my aura! 

More than that, the dreams were audiocassette-recorded on audio tapes nine through ten and are to be found in the as-yet published Volume II of the dream opus.  Sweet dreams as ever and as has been recently observed – nothing says wretched existence like bipedal canines who fixate on their quadripedal kin. 

One can only hope that most of these otiose overbred castoff humans do not eventually breed.  What do they know of either art or dreams the lot?  

*I am reposting these dreams as subsequent to having shared them in July 2015, I have since had the Michael Overleaves charted for two of the persons featured in these dreams.  To that end, at each dream’s conclusion the Michael Overleaves for the applicable person will be shared.  As ever, I am most grateful for your ongoing and burgeoning support.  Sweet dreams and don’t forget to indulge your shamanic skills: shapeshifting, manifesting one’s aura, rendering oneself invisible, walking through walls and, of course, pushing off and starting to fly!    

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A Brimstone Hill Sandy Point Panorama

In this the first dream, I saw Nicole McHugh.  She was cooking with a White man in a kitchen.

He was standing around and was quite friendly so offered to help out, that sort of thing, out of the goodness of his heart.  She had these large trays of food.

She was cooking a great deal of food for a great many people.  The flame was an open blue-white one and, somehow, he put his hand over the flame to pull out a tray – yet it did not burn him at all.

He did not react to it.  I thought that he must have been cooking for quite some time, and been accustomed to these flames, to have had the flames not burn him at all.

He did go off and he had a glass of water – some of which he drank.  I went over and I thought of saying to her and did, “Would you like a spritzer or something?”

She did, in fact, say, “Yeah, that would be nice.”  She had sweat on her brow because she had been working very hard.

I then went outside to look in my locker because I did, in fact, have a locker there.  In an earlier scene, I had put some stuff in said locker.

There were some washing machines – tiny, tiny washing machines.  This place resembled a dormitory in the basement area of a co-op or building where people lived.

I was somewhat upset because my locker had, somehow, been displaced and replaced by washing machines.  They were tiny, little brownish washing machines.

I had opened the lockers just to see if maybe my lunch was inside them where, in fact, it should have been – inside the fridge.  There was, however, nothing inside the lockers.

There were one or two other lockers at the end but mine was more or less in the left of centre.  There, in place of my locker, was where the washing machines now were.

Nothing was removed except the one locker.  I did open it and it wasn’t mine.

Inside were the contents of somebody who reminded me of that Black guy who worked part time at Nature’s Own.  Tall, handsome; his mother had nicely positioned him into the company.

I then went off to get the stuff when I saw a man who seemed to be Bert Jacques but it wasn’t him.  He was walking a little girl who was one of Madella Jacques, rather, Maryse Jacques’s daughter.

She was a sweet little girl who was wearing a blue dress.  She was quite light-skinned and sunny.

He was walking her outside and coming across the bridge past our yard in Crab Hill, Sandy Point, St. Kitts.  I was in the yard and where the orange tree was under the genip tree, in the waking state, I was putting monies into a slot.

I remember taking money out of my pocket to put in – 50¢, I had had two quarters.  I noticed that there was a token as I took the money from my right pocket.

When I saw the token mixed with the money I thought, ‘Oh I must be aware not to do this.’  I then got the dime and I was trying to put it into the slot but it was having problems going in.

As a result, I moved away the metal part of the slot.  Interestingly enough, you could then see the tree.

I then put in the coin but you still did not hear it fall inside with the rest of the money.  I then peeped up because the slot was higher than my field of view – higher than eye level.

As a result, I had had to poke the money in; it was a dime.  However, it was sort of flat on its side; it was standing up so that the face of the coin was looking out at you.

I was poking it in to help it to fall in.  At this point, whilst I was on the veranda of the house, I was aware that Nicole McHugh was coming down the lane.

I had been looking into the garden where the curtain trees were on the south side of the property.  Here in the dreamtime, however, the curtain trees were gone.

In their place were three or four little baby curtain trees coming up.  The rest of the land was dug up and it hadn’t been watered.

The soil was drying out and so I said to myself that I would have to water it.  I thought I would have to go inside and get some seeds or plant some wonderful little flowers that were going to bloom.

Until the curtain trees grew up, I figured that they would add beauty to the place.  So on remembering, I said to Nicole, “Oh yes, let me get you the spritzer.”

So I went and I got her the spritzer.  She came and was then going in the house.

A lady then came out of their house and there was some sort of consternation.  As it turned out, a White woman had a little terrier-like dog.

The dog had a black collar and the same fur as a Calico cat.  This had been Nicole’s cat which the dog had obviously bitten up or eaten it up or whatever.

So there was quite a great deal of consternation.  Nicole was standing up outside a wooden half-dilapidated house.

On the far right side, there was a cement staircase much like the arrangement at The Boys’ School in The Alley, Sandy Point, St. Kitts.  That part of the house, the cement part, was also crumbling.

Vida McHugh was there with Nicole and someone else – a little girl.  The girl who had had the terrier was being rude.

She was cursing and saying, “Watch yourself wid me.”  She had wanted to get in the door, from out on the landing, but the McHughs were in the way.

So she cursed and carried on.  Eventually, she ended up rushing her way into the house.

Then I immediately was on the inside of the house where I watched this drama unfold.  The events were as if an Opera and I said to myself, ‘My goodness this is Opera.’

Truly, this was much as if Opera.  Then persons were coming in and there was movement – people coming down and pointing their feet.

They had on wooden toe shoes.  As the movement progressed, there was advancement then retreat.

There were different forces of people.  Like a ballet really, it was all being done in silence.

They had on long period costumes.  The dramatisation was interesting.

Next, there was a sense of seeing the same woman, and everybody else, being extremely studious.  The one woman was in a large area that had stained bronzed, clay-coloured, sand-coloured glass.

She was in the pews with the man who had been helping Nicole earlier.  This was set in a large area and she was studiously reading the Bible.

She did take the Bible to be the literal word of god.  Everybody else was more or less of that bent – I thought that it was so sad.

At this point, I was struck by the fact that this was where the Christ was going to be reborn.  London, England, in fact, was where this was going on.

At this particular point, Diego Lunamas was about because there had been lines of people who were in the balletic part of the opera.  Diego had been one of them.

At the time, he was sitting down on a set and it was lit by blue light.  He was being grilled by this asinine White guy who was talking about, “Well if you believe in oversoul 7, then you also believe in overbigtoe 7, and what about oversole 8, and overhead 7?”

He was making fun of the philosophical concepts by way of the anatomy because oversoul could have been spelt, as though ‘sole,’ as in the sole of your foot.  He was really stupid.

Diego was saying, “I’m not familiar with what you’re talking about.”  On Diego’s behalf I interjected saying, “Through my experience, I’ve read the Seth Material which I find far more well put together an idea construct.”

At this point Seth did, in fact, come through and began channelling.  His voice was booming and it shook the entire place to the beams.

This was happening outside in the street between the McHughs’ and our houses in Crab Hill, Sandy Point.  A stage had been set up in the street – a bluish-white lit stage.

I thought about Diego and the guy who, was in front of him, wore a blue-white costume.  The booming voice was coming from behind the McHughs’ house.

Everybody was absolutely scared because here were these god-fearing, fear-obsessed people.  Totally dismissing them, this was a booming voice which claimed to be Seth; the channelled voice then began calling them fools.

They were very fearful.  I thought that it was absolutely great.

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Nijinsky performing the Danse Siamoise from 'Les Orientales' by Foquine (1880-1942) performed in Paris, 1910 (sepia photo)
CHT163698 Nijinsky performing the Danse Siamoise from ‘Les Orientales’ by Foquine (1880-1942) performed in Paris, 1910 (sepia photo) by French Photographer.

In the second dream, I was in a wooden dance studio.  The floor was wet because, in place of resin, they used water.

I had a sense that it was in the past, however, I seemed to be my present self.  Even so, there were aspects of me that were different.

I remember the way that I postured and used my face; I knew that I had very Caucasian features.  I could see the tip of my nose and yet I felt like I do now.

*I was not so much Caucasian-featured, if there’s actually such a thing – frankly there isn’t.  I was, though my present self, actually Caucasian.

I was present in the exact same body and I was my usual-personaed self.  However, the body was no longer Black but White.

The packaging had changed but nothing else had.  END.

Ahead of me was a guy in black trousers – nylon stretch trousers.  He was, in fact, the reincarnation of Vaslav Nijinsky and again male.

Again, he had very mercurial energies and he was a mover.  He had exceptionally large thighs.

He could phenomenally jump and leap about.  He was just incredible.

When at the barre, I was directly behind him and then just behind me was Pandora.  Although, truth be told, it wasn’t Pandora herself but an aspect of Pandora’s.

I never really had made eye contact with Pandora.  I remember after we had finished the barre, Nijinsky went and laid down on his stomach – in the frog position to work on his turnout.

The girls then went and they were feeling his muscle tone because it was quite unusual-looking.  His feet were so pliant and flexible as well as his calf muscles.

He had eventually turned over because Dannie Cyrta, who was one of the instructors at the head of the class, was saying, “Guys, just leave him alone.”

When we were then doing the grands battements, I remember being really elongated and holding my port de bras.  You had to do it turned out, doing grand battements, turned out to the front.

You had to do it out, towards the centre of the room.  Also, then in second position, you were facing directly ahead of you.  When doing grand battement en arrière, you did it out again.

The arm positions were up and in second position.  When you did grand battements en arrière, you would put your arms up again as though you were peeping under your arm – when you were in arabesque doing the grands battements.

I remember before I was doing the exercise, whilst I was doing the current exercise, I was thinking of how I would do the position and how I had to use my port de bras.  So I remember standing there in développé and you had to do these grands battements in plié and, somehow, I was in plié and I was holding my back up in port de bras.

My back was absolutely perfect; my port de bras and torso were perfectly open and I wasn’t sticking out my chest.  I was thinking, ‘This is so improved.’

I remember my neck being quite elongated, with head held high, as a result.  I was wearing a navy blue woollen set of tights and white dance slippers.

My feet were beautifully pointed.  There was a sense of looking up.

Interestingly, my whole sense of self – attitude and posture was all about looking down my nose.  This was when I realised that there was something about me that was Caucasian – physiologically.

*There was a half-mirror across the room and I was never at the front – the girls, of course, of custom were.  That was when I looked and found myself, I was indeed Caucasian more Tartar than not – dark-haired.

I had a strong sense, for looking at myself in close-up without moving, that my eyes were smoky-green-coloured.  My nose though aquiline was flared in the Tartar style and my teeth were gap-toothed.

This is not uncommon a feature when someone is currently Caucasian but was Black in their immediate past life – in fact, I was told by Sarah J. Chambers that it is always the case without exception as she was instructed by the Michaels.

Case in point, Madonna Ciccone, the Pop icon, who in her immediate past life was Black American entertainer, Bessie Smith – she has the same gruff raunchy persona.  Prior to that, though not immediately before that life, her soul was then incarnate as Italian composer, Claudio Monteverdi.

Vis-à-vis Madonna, her life is a completion of the agendum she set out to accomplish, in her immediate past life.  She thought that it sucked being Black and a woman in showbiz.

However, her immediate past life did give her an understanding of the way the world works.  So she decided to take the world by the balls, a ‘give-me-what’s-mine’ approach, as it were, this time around.

Madonna, as per her immediate past life has the same talent, same drive, “Now give me what’s rightfully mine!” Power to her!  END.

Dannie Cyrta was, unusually so, very nice to me.  She was saying, “Yes, yes Arvin.  This is perfect and is much improved.

“Everybody look at Arvin because this is the way it should be.  This is as close to perfect, as you can get, in the way your torso ought to be.”

*Imagine that – the Mormon princess, Dannie Cyrta, being remotely civil towards me.  She even feigned to pretend that I was not a strongly projecting phantom as she treated me back at the Royal Winnipeg Ballet’s School.  END.

I remember the Nijinsky-like character, coming off the barre to look at me.  The other people who were behind me were peeping around to look at me.

I felt very open and joyous.  Mine was a really good, good feeling.

When we were doing the exercise and I was holding my torso, Dannie Cyrta and the rest of the people were discussing and saying, “This time he’s really ready to go out and perform and he’ll be okay.”

I felt that way too and I knew that I was going to be okay when I went out and performed.  My body was quite together.

I was prepared within myself to face an audience.  I felt really good for being in the studio.

*Dannie Cyrta’s energies were extremely unusual and contrary to what they were during Winnipeg days.  I felt there was a good feeling in this class.

What was really sad, though, was that Dannie’s behaviour had much to do with the fact that I was not Black but Caucasian.  In that sense, she truly was ‘the blind’ because she still did not realise that it was me.

To her, it was someone named Arvin but more importantly it was someone who was White.  More than that, Vaslav Nijinsky is a mature sage entity mate of Merlin’s and mine.  END.

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A green-eyed tartar

In this the fifth dream, I saw a beautiful hairless White boy who seemed Tartan.  He was dark and handsome.

He also seemed to be a mélange of White, East Indian, Oriental and Black.  He could well have been one or any of all those ethnicities because he actually had a bronze or even Hispanic look.

He had a bronzed hue to him.  He was not however, for being so hued, extra-human.

Such that he seemed somewhat High-Yellow, he had taut smooth skin.  He was extremely good-looking.

He seemed like a male prostitute or a gigolo.  He was half-naked and teasingly aroused.

I was quite attracted to him.  I made a play for him.

He seemed to be in the lane up by ‘Aunt’ Edith Dean, outside by Beryl Babbin’s wall, in Crab Hill, Sandy Point, St. Kitts.  I made a play for him but he dismissively brushed me off.

He then moved off and went along his way.  I felt quite rejected and naked really.

Afterwards, I was thinking that perhaps I should not have made a play for this person.  Nonetheless, I had and I was not fulfilled in my desires.

My aspirations were not met but that was okay.

*What’s really interesting, too, is that he was basically a younger version of the Tartar, green-eyed, ‘Arvin’.  So, in essence, though in the body during the dance class, I would see myself at a younger age.

At that time, however, I was outside of my younger-future-self’s body.  I was resoundingly rejected by him – that is precisely what I would have done at that age.

Later on, of course, I was taking class with the reincarnated, Vaslav Nijinsky.  A class it was which was being taught by Dannie Cyrta.

I shudder to think that in my next life, I will be a male prostitute, gigolo.  Then again, it would not have been the first life passed in the much-maligned profession of providing succor to the sexually-repressed and the sexually-obsessed.

Long after this dream, I have since learnt that my essence twin is now reincarnated.  He is male and was born during the second decade of the new millennium.

He is born to German, Japanese parents and lives in Germany.  Our overleaves are quite similar though he is a realist.

They are, in fact, rather writerly overleaves.  Too, one or both of his parents are artists; I believe that the mother has been a dancer and the father a portrait painter.

Perhaps, I was picking up on him in this dream.  If not, it may well be me in a near-future incarnation.

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Photo: Costumed performers in period piece

Sandy Point, St. Kitts seen from Brimstone Hill Fortress.

Vaslav Nijinsky in costume for Siamese dance from Les Orientales.

Green-eyed Tartar young man.

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©2013-2020 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.

Past-life dream set in intrigue-filled Dynastic Egypt.(Redux – Happy Mother’s Day!)

Harella da Braga, my mother, and I never enjoyed good relations.  However, I have never borne her a grudge for the failure in our relations.  I am reposting this dream because it speaks to who my mother was.  Harella was a woman of great strength, inner beauty and she was, without a doubt, nine parts intellect and you can’t get any better than that in my books.  

One of my favourite memories of my mother, Harella, was of her dancing: lips pursed, head held high, lids collapsed and flying-without-moving to this Diana Ross and the Supremes gem.  I felt her beauty of spirit as she danced and weaved her magic about our Crab Hill, Sandy Point, St. Kitts living room.  She had been very sick and bedridden in August, 1974 and on her recovery, there was something different about her; it was as though she was intent on doing all the things she had never done before.  Definitely, dancing to a ‘worldly’ song like, Someday We’ll Be Together, counted among her newfound departure from the norm.

Harella was a fantastic cook whose sauces were always rich, soulful and gloriously sweet like that sexy wobble she affected when in high heels going to church.  There was no bigger showoff than Harella come Sunday in her faux fur hats and matching leather handbags and high heels; no one sexier strolled the streets of Sandy Point on Sundays because no one was more confident than her that she looked damn good… and did.  

What I love about this Nina Simone gem is how beautifully it captures the essence of my relationship with my mother, Harella.  As the house in which we lived was said to be haunted by jumbies (ghosts) I slept in bed with this enigmatic woman who was not the least bit fond of me each night well into the tumescent-craze dawn of pubescence.  Chiefly, I relished sleeping with her because I was ever fascinated by the fact that my mother could come to the dinner table hours after having awakened and casually start recalling her dreams in lucid detail.  In the cover of dark West Indian nights, being enveloped by my mother, Harella’s, warm rich voice as she reanimated the magic of her dreams, was being mentored into finding my own bounty of dreams.  I just knew that regardless of the fact that she was not especially fond of me, somehow, for sleeping with her, I would grow into a dream shaman in my own right.  

Thank you, Harella, for having so richly gifted me with this immense love of yours.  

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Image

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

 

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.

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Photo: Supermodel Iman.

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© 2013-2020 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.

Merlin.

 

Merlin.

July 21, 1947 <O> November 18, 1989

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I could never have imagined surviving Merlin by 25 years.  More than that, I could never have fathomed how immensely enriched I would grow for having known and loved Merlin.  Certainly, I would never have imagined that our relationship would continue, merely otherly focussed, beyond his passing.  However, as many dreams herein have attested that we most definitely did and have.

I offer the links to three dreams had after Merlin’s passing – all of which are to be found in the ‘Dreams of Merlin’ category.  The first dream occurred as Merlin passed, the other two dreams three and four years after his passing.  Do enjoy and I trust that for your own loved ones, these dreams will inspire you to remain open and focussed on being attuned and ever in love with loved ones when they transition to merely being at a different vibration as astral plane habitués.

Incidentally, Merlin was reincarnated on December 2, 2006 as a first level old scholar in an old soul northern European country’s capital city.  Merlin’s soul has chosen in this lifetime to be female and yes, I have dreamt of this beautiful-eyed young woman.  Love ever endures.

These dreams, without a doubt, attest to Merlin and I having shared a most remarkable love affair.  All is choice.  Sweet dreams and love you and your loved ones even more!

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Photo: Merlin 1977 in Montréal.

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© 2013-2020 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.

Maleficent.

Official movie poster. © 2014 Disney films and other associated copyrights. Today, Tuesday June 3, 2014, I went off to the cinemas in Dundas Square and saw this movie. Wasn’t expecting much but the few people who know me, and know how integral dreams are to my every incarnate moment, thought it incumbent on themselves […]