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.

Warm Memories.

Cody Hooper Private Collection commission 2014

Acrylic on Panel

48 x 48 inches

© 2014 Cody Hooper

Provenance: Private Cellection commission – Here’s a quote that the artist Cody shared about the collector.

“A new 44×44 commission created for a collector who was actually connected with Georgia O’Keeffe through Barney Ebsworth. So cool to hear her story of being surrounded by the likes of “Chop Suey” (Edward Hopper), George Ault, Warhol and Georgia. I was honored to create this for her current collection and happy to hear about how much she enjoys my work!”

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Cody-Hooper-American-Abstract-Artist/155759097853149?ref=br_rs

http://www.codyhooperart.com/

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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.

Horowitz: Live in Vienna (1987)

A Good Photo Vladimir_Horowitz

A week prior to his passing, Merlin was allowed out of Wellesley Hospital to wind down his ennobled incarnation.  That first evening, Friday, November 10, 1989, we sat in our 20 Amelia Street living room and listened to Vladimir Horowitz as he had requested.

Earlier that week, on Sunday, November 5, 1989, Vladimir Horowitz had passed.  Enveloped in our waxing love, our souls were embalmed by Horowitz’s stellar artistry.

Shaman.  Genius.  Guru.  For both Merlin and me, there was no greater combo of these qualities than embodied in Vladimir Horowitz.

The following day, actor, Joe Morton would fly in from Los Angeles for 24 hours to say farewell to Merlin.  Though Merlin had not eaten in long weeks, his Candida precluded being able to ingest solids, he pulled up a chair and joined Joe and me as we dined on Chinese take-out.

This one act of Joe’s allowed Merlin to heal from the rejection of having been abandonned by his god-fugly Toronto so-called friends and leave this world void the bile of having been rejected – they chose to act as they did because, at the end of the day, a dog can always be counted on to lick itself and eat its vomit.

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http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vladimir_Horowitz

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A good Vladimir and Wanda

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Photo: Vladimir Horowitz.  Vladimir Horowitz and Wanda Toscanini.

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

The Sacred Lake Fish.

Norval_Morrisseau_The_Sacred_Lake_Fish_932_399

Acrylic on Kraft paper

23.5 x 36.0 inches

© 1973 Norval Morrisseau

Provenance:  The Pollock Gallery, Toronto.

http://genuinemorrisseau.blogspot.ca/2014/10/2014-retrospective-kinsman-robinson.html

http://kinsmanrobinson.com/dynamic/artist.asp?ArtistID=11

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Norval_Morrisseau

In preparation of this year’s retrospective at the Kinsman-Robinson Gallery, I share one of my favourite Norval Morrisseau paintings.

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

Happy 90th anniversary James Baldwin.

James Baldwin Art

Watercolour

© 2013 James Gayles

http://www.jamesgayles.com/

Born in the year of the Rat and on the same day (August 2) as me, James also happens to be an entity mate.  Though I never met him, Merlin did.  As we drove from actor, Joe Morton’s Upper West Side tiny apartment from his annual Halloween pumpkin kill in 1982 – we were en route to Times Square and Frederick Jones’s where we would first meet, had also met Joe Morton for the first time that night – Merlin spoke lovingly of James Baldwin whom he had met the year prior through a Black American writer friend of Frederick’s whom I never met as he had died in a car crash in July 1982.  James ever will remain one of my favourite writers.  Of course, it goes without saying that whilst he was alive, I dreamt often of James thanks to our being entity mates.

Happy birthday entity mate.  

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

Owl’s Bouquet.

Stonecut, Stencil 24.5 x 30.25 Inches Edition of 50 © 2007 Kenojuak Ashevak Happy Birthday Canada! For me, it doesn’t get any more Canadian than Kenojuak. Her overleaves to follow: Ashevak, Kenojuak 3/10/27 + 8/1/13 Baffin Island This creative fragment is a fourth level old artisan. Kenojuak is in the perseverance mode with a goal […]

Scream.

Scream © 1995 Michael J. Jackson © 1995 MJJ Productions Inc. One of my favourite MJ videos/songs; it perfectly reflects what it is like being focussed in the waking state and being Black and having every little bigoted shitwit projecting their racially predatory shrapnel onto you… Alas, such moments for moi are ever only fleeting […]

Pieter Brueghel – The Younger.

Etching printed in black ink on cream-coloured antique laid paper 24.3 x 15.6 cm c. 1700s Sir Anthony van Dyck Provenance: Permanent Collection Frick Collection, New York City. ______________________________________________________________________________ ______________________________________________________________________________ ©2013-2020 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.