Tag: Michael Teachings

Into the Blue.

Arvin da BrghaLeave a comment

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There are dreams that transcend the merely mundane and, as such, they properly throw into perspective what is and what is not important.  In the long run, this dream makes all the Maya in the waking state but a silly distraction.

In the larger scheme of things, all the things that we become focussed on overlong are truly irrelevant.  What we don’t see and what is not readily discernible are infinitely more important than not.

This dream of intense astral plane focus occurred on Saturday, August 10, 1991.  At the time of the dream, which was the third and final one that day, the Moon transited both Leo and my third house.

Dreams such as this one definitely are a departure from the norm.  They do betray the very real fact that there is more beyond the veil than we are prepared to acknowledge.  

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I was, in this the third and final dream, in the lobby of a wonderful modern skyscraper.  It was not especially large a skyscraper.  In fact, it reminded me a great deal of that skyscraper at the south-eastern corner of Queen and Yonge Streets.

The copper-toned, glass tower that’s thirty storeys, if that much, is the one in question.  I was in the lobby waiting for the elevator.  Some persons had gotten onto the elevator but I was still waiting.

There was then some sort of an emergency and the police showed up, as did the Fire department and the Ambulance service.  Whilst these professionals tried to figure out where the problem was, this then meant that we had to be waiting around.

Somewhere in the building, there was something untoward going down.  We, the innocent bystanders, were briefed and told that we couldn’t leave the building.  There were lots of people gathering outside.

Assuming that it was just a regular fire alarm, set off as a prank, we also saw no reason to go out of the building.  However, I then realised that the fire alarm system was not going off.

It was quite interesting because people began running.  There was something wrong, so I assumed that there was someone on a rampage with a gun in the building.

Immediately, getting my wits about me, I decided that I had to take care of myself.  Whilst investigating, I began moving around the place.  Too, I noticed that people were being zapped, it was most bizarre.  I witnessed two or three people who for no particular reason were just zapped.

Basically, there would be a flash of blue light from an elevator.  The elevator door would open, filled with a bright light, whilst from the lighted elevator the blue light would shoot out.  It was laser-like and readily zapped persons in the vicinity.

Immediately, people grew fearful on seeing this.  Right away, there was pandemonium in the place.  I was with the crowd of people and knew that it was not wise to follow the herd.  With that, I went around the central column that housed the skyscraper’s elevator shafts.

In this way, I fled seeking to protect myself.  I had noticed that the people were being zapped by way of the security system.  The oscillating, silver security cameras, which were up in the corners of the building, had a wide firing range as they turned.

In fact, it was not a blue light that was flashing; instead, it was done by microwave.  So you couldn’t see this.  Nonetheless, I was told this by James Tramble’s trusty voice.

It was, just then, pointing down at the ground in my direction.  I decided that I knew what I had to do.  At that, I levitated and went up to the ceiling of the lobby.

Knowing that the cameras did not tilt upwards, they would therefore not be able to direct their deadly microwave beams at me.  However, someone came around the way.

He was part of the whole operation of indiscriminately killing innocent human beings.  I did not even need James’s guidance here; you just knew that he wasn’t human – he was extra-human.

He wore a red shirt.  The man just looked like an automaton.  There was something about him that was not with-it.  He may even have been White, however, their humanity was all disguise.

Regardless the race, he was not one of us.  In spite of human racialism, in a jam like this, we were all frigging one – human.  This droid clearly was not, human, one of us.

His task was to capture persons who could possibly get away, that is, from the reach of the microwave emitters.  He was to facilitate the success of the whole operation.

I levitated above him but he saw me.  He stood there for a moment, as if doing some serious computations, after which he made a gesture.  He was alone but I soon realised that these people had the capacity to hypnotise their subjects by looking at them.

I thought then that I was not going to be captured or annihilated by these people one bit.  At that, on effortlessly going up through the ceiling, I began to flee from the scene by further levitating.

Sure enough, without incident, I was able to penetrate the ceiling.  Next, the building’s hidden infrastructure of pipes, beams and cabling, dropped by as I cleared the floor en route to the next storeys.

Without incident, I rose upwards clearing the floor.  On looking down at my feet, I continued levitating until my feet were fully free of the stone floor.

I was now on a narrow stairwell.  As the building craned upwards, it was a staircase that had a single banister that kept going around and around.

There were little landings, all the way up, as you circled upwards with three landings between each floor.  It was quite beautiful, in fact.  I was frantically running up and saw that he was coming after me.

On seeing him enter the stairwell, I was certain that he was following me.  In my bid to outdistance him, I was about four storeys ahead of him.

I thought that no matter what, I had to get to the top of this building.  Luckily, it was not 60 to 80 storeys tall.  Somehow, I would just have to escape.

Yet every time I would go around a corner, I had stopped on realising that it was more than likely a form of entrapment.  It was fairly obvious that the security system was headquartered at the top of the building.

Thus it made little sense to be rushing up there.  Something was definitely off about his approach.  I soon realised that you couldn’t really see him running around the stairwell.

He was always in the same spot on the landing.  As I ran around like some mad hamster on a treadmill, he was now one floor below me.

It was then that I realised that just as I had earlier come through the ceiling from the lobby, to the next storey above, so too was the automaton levitating and penetrating the structure of the stairwell.

He was confident in his hunt to capture me.  Clearly, I was not getting anywhere with this approach.  Victory was clearly his.  As I had, the lobby and second storey, he was smartly moving between the landings.

Instead, he levitated upstairs by passing through the concrete of the stairwell.  Had he levitated in the open well of the stairwell, I would have seen him and caught on to what he was up to.

No heap of metal him.  I thought,

‘Enough of this fear-based irrational behaviour, I am simply going to leap out a window and make this a flying dream.’

This seemed like a sure way of ridding myself of this nuisance.  I got to the window and, when looking out, I was surprised at how high up I actually was.

You could see a body of water which was unusually blue.  As though a dense fog that strangely hung very low to the ground, there was a great deal of cloud cover.

I was certainly high up enough to be above much of this cloud cover.  However, when I went to leap out the window, he went out the window wearing his red top.

Such that he was looking directly up at me, he was on his back and floated out the window.  I thought,

‘Well good for you, now you’ve gone and levitated.’

This was clearly a trap, as well, because I ran up one floor and as I did went south.  I was running to another window to get away from him.

I knew that if I were to have leapt from the window before, he would have been there to either zap me or catch my fall.  I had planned to simply jump directly down to the ground.

Since it was a dream and I knew that I was dreaming, I would simply have broken my fall at will when a couple of storeys off the ground.  At that point, I could then turn it into a flying dream.

However, now the automaton dork made me have to abandon that little plan of escape.  So then I thought of what I would do, I would simply go through the window anyway.  Then it dawned on me,

‘What if he is simply one of an army of these automatons who look alike?  My god he could be everywhere.’

Rushing up to the next floor, as I looked out the window, I saw that he had floated up at will to the floor that I had just left.  I knew then, without a doubt, that it was a damn trap.

I was becoming more than a little bit pissed off.  I had no intentions of being entrapped or captured.  My resolve was steely, I would not be captured.  Period!

Since the other one had gone out the window and I hadn’t seen where he had gone, I thought that I just had to take my chances.  At that, I pushed off and went flying through the window.

I instantaneously began having the most wonderful flying dream.  It was so bright out that it seemed like the sunlight was streaked with platinum.

I was progressing towards the body of water as I flew, as if on my stomach, travelling headfirst.  I could see that there was an unusual cloud formation covering the water.

It wasn’t much but there was a great halo.  There was a fine light-intense mist that the cloud had been producing.  It was as if, somehow, there had been a storm that had brought the clouds sweeping down to the water.

Now, as it were, the clouds were beginning to gather.  This was definitely an astral plane dream.  Emitting a light all their own, the clouds were very thin but very, very white and seemingly iridescent.

The clouds caught the light in such a way that it caused them to glimmer tendrils of light away from the amassing clouds.  The clouds were slowly drawing together into a singular, massive formation.

They were hiding something and I couldn’t see what it was.  As I was travelling, I noticed that there were these little globes of blue light.  They were very, very intense spheres of blue light.

Around them, they had rings like Saturn does.  I thought then,

‘Obviously these are extra-humans (EHs), and this armada of little shuttle-like crafts of blue light must be how they were ferrying, the previously captured, persons back to the mothership or probe.’

At that, I decided,

‘This is too interesting a dream to be fearful any longer.  Let’s get investigative here.’

At that point, I decided to follow through and see where these little crafts were headed.  Of course, they were making for the strange, massive cloud formation.  I knew that I had to fly ahead and see what the cloud formation was hiding.

I began following one and it was definitely gravitating towards something up ahead.  On closer inspection, I realised too that they were much too small to hold any human being.

Why they wanted to be ferrying back foetuses was beyond me?  Surely, I was not carrying a foetus.  Therefore, they had to have not been ferrying back foetuses in the tiny crafts of spherical, ringed blue light.

As if the equator of the sphere was tilted on its axis at a slight angle, the wings were tilted just a little bit above the horizon.  I followed the sphere of blue light and I seemed to be caught in its drag.

I was being swept along at even greater speeds than, to that point, I had been willing myself in flight.  It was then that we cleared the land way below and began cruising, at great speeds, over the immensely blue water.

On flying above it at easily more than forty storeys, it was so thrilling to experience resonance with the body of water.  I began dropping back, not going very fast, keeping my distance behind the sphere on which I had focussed.

However, I was still being swept along in its rapid wake.  As we came closer, I realised that the cloud was so colossal that it was taller than the skyscraper that I had just been running through in terrorised flight.

As I got closer to it, I noticed that it was less so a cloud.  Too, I was able to discern that there was some force within the cloud that was also extremely bright and emitting light.

Getting closer still, I realised that the spheres of blue light were actually reflecting the starlight of whatever Star system I was in.  It was broad daylight but this immense cloud formation blocked it from my view.

The Sun was directly ahead, just above the horizon, and beyond the cloud mass.  The numerous spheres of reflecting blue light were moving back to this large cloud formation.

When they got close to the cloud, they began going towards it at an angle.  They then began circling, too, they began rising up in the air a bit.

So too, I began tilting my left shoulder and began going up to the right through the air.  Still, I was travelling in the wake of the one that I had psychically latched on to – earlier near the start of my flight.

Next, I got into the outer layers of the cloud formation and it was very thin and wafer-like.  This allowed me to progress unobstructed.  I got much higher still and then noticed that up higher there was a break in the clouds.

The look was reminiscent of when one got close to the eye of a hurricane that was forming.  Going up, I encountered the most mind-expansive vista imaginable.

There in the water and simultaneously hovering just above it was the most intensely bright and incredibly large, pure blue sphere.  It was perfectly shaped and it was like a globe of liquid light that was blue merging to a soft green.

It was so light-intense.  This incredible globe of light was such a powerhouse, such a life-force onto itself.  Slowly, I spilled over the edge of the protective cloud cover and began levitating downwards towards it.

Every dream of high moment that I had ever had, clearly, had prepared me for experiencing this sphere’s incredible pure love.  I progressed headfirst downwards and into the side of it.

Interestingly, the spherical balls of light were making their way into it.  I realised that it was not at all a hard shell.  It seemed expansive, liquid… inviting.

I thought that I could definitely dive into its liquid-light shell.  Goodness, it was so serenely tranquil and beautiful.  I sobered myself with the reminder that I had come too far and there was nothing but fear itself to fear.

So at that, I chose a region of the equatorial area and projected myself at will into it.  I immediately was jettisoned, at light speeds, into it.  At once, inside the thin liquid shell, there was an even greater sense here of bright blue light.

I was now posited inside this room.  Here there were several of the persons whom I had earlier seen being zapped in the lobby.

‘You just had to go walking into a trap!’ I wearily admonished myself.

For seeing these persons present, however, I felt no pangs of fear at the obvious ramifications.  These were mostly older people but earlier they had all been stunned in the lobby.

A handful of younger persons were also present.  They were all there looking rather disoriented, slowed down and looking like they had just been zapped by lightning.

They seemed as if the experience had sent them on a wild ride around a half dozen galaxies at faster-than-light speeds.  A truly enervating experience they seemed to have endured.

These people were, in the true sense of the word, spooked.  They were all slowed down and could hardly intelligibly speak.

The first thing that I noticed about the room was that it had grey walls and not a single door.  There was no way out of this.

There were windows, however, whose drapes were very surrealist.  They were red drapes that were like the red that the automaton wore.  Though the windows were open, they weren’t really worth the bother because there wasn’t anything for you to go look out and see.

With bars that were warped, twisted and broken, the windows were arrogantly left wide-open.  The drapes were also warped and twisted, as if frozen in mid-motion, creating a surreal effect.

There were a few cots around.  Everybody who was there was assigned to a cot.  These persons seemed impaled and as though paralysed.  There were such utterly warped expressions of frozen pain on their faces.

It was as though the moment at which they had each been zapped, the look on their faces had become frozen.  Yet their frozen expressions were simultaneously elasticised and allowed them to sleepily drool to themselves.

Naturally, they carped on about the plight that they were in.  Mostly, they were communicatively trying to get through to me because I was not warped face.

It obviously seemed to be a mothership.  Yet, it was more than a spaceship.  I thought to myself,

‘Well here I am having an astral plane experience, isn’t that wonderful.’

Hollywood be damned, I was not about to grow fearful of monster EHs wanting to abduct and torture me.  I couldn’t quite figure if I had travelled into another dimension, by way of the astral plane, or had simply encountered an EH civilisation by way of the astral plane.

Regardless, it was so very wonderful.  Here were all these people who were doubly stunned at their predicament but I kept on saying,

“Come on people.  Get up, get up, get up!”

I seemed the only person unaffected by this warping paralysis.  Since they were not going to budge, because they couldn’t, I chose to join them eventually lying down on one of the free cots.

“Let’s just relax.  After all, we just have to wait and see what happens next.  We’re not in control here.  So let’s just wait this out.”

There was an East Indian guy also present whom I wanted to seduce.  I was besottedly enjoying the drink of his Dravidian-thin body.

Suddenly, there was an oval opening that appeared in one of the walls.  When it occurred, we were all lying with our heads towards that wall.

On my left, as I lay on the cot, there was a window.  On the right, there was a large opening in the wall.  It was as though an elevator had arrived and seamlessly opened in the wall.

It had deposited more people.  Looking just as stunned as the others, they stood there frozen.

The lissome East Indian guy then stood up and decided that he was going to go and put away his clothes.  I was impatient with his denial and snapped at him,

“Stop being so finicky and fussy, come and lay down.  Don’t be ashamed of your body.”

He was wearing a towel and trying to cower and run away.

“Come back and lie down.” I added.

We waited and waited for another round of arrivals.  Little children were the next round of arrivés.  They interestingly were all fresh-faced and seemingly not as stunned, if at all, as the adults.

The people, when I had first arrived – especially the older ones, looked transient like street people.  It was not that they were street people.  Rather, they were left so drained and stunned that they seemed very downtrodden like people who live in the streets.

Concerned about her metamorphosis, this one woman who was there started becoming frantic,

“Look what’s happening to me.  There are these bands on my arms!”

Indeed, this was true.  There was just below the elbow an indentation, as though an invisible band was about her arm, like some sort of shackle.  We all, for being made aware, confirmed that it was on all our arms.

She had noticed it because it was causing her some discomfiture.  It was a burning sensation that she said was painful.  She was crying and beginning to get hysterical,

“Now, now.  Just relax, stop freaking out.”

She then got up and walked over to this one cot next to hers.  She then pounced onto the man on the cot.  He was an older man as was she.  She began talking getting her voice to sound more normal.  I immediately realised that she was channelling.

As she spoke in a really archaic fashion, her body was in this weird surreal pose like a Victor Brauner subject’s.  The use of language was very ancient.  Sounding almost manly, she spoke to the man,

“Tonight I want you to bury your seed deep into me.  And be the father that bears fruit to bring forth my child; my seed; to nurture my seed.

“And turn my soil…”

I listened and thought,

‘Indeed, she’s definitely being mind-controlled by whoever has been doing the zapping and capturing.

‘Right!  At your age and well above your childbearing years, well above your seventies, you want to be impregnated.  Indeed.’

Then strangely enough, she slipped out of character and on becoming herself would embarrassingly restrain herself profusely apologising,

“My goodness, what’s happening to me?  Please.  No, no, no.  That’s not what I meant to say.  What’s happening to me?”

She, as well as the others who were being channelled in this fashion – all of them women – realised that they were being used beyond their will.  They did not want to participate or at least have it get out of hand.

So they were trying to rein it in.  However, my reaction was that they should go with the flow… at least so that I could see where this was leading.

She was then straddling the man’s hips as he lay on his back looking truly mortified.  Grinding her hips into him, she looked truly possessed by some male-energied, satyric force.

She was very carnally focussed.  On closer inspection, I realised that she was cloven-hoofed.

‘Boy this is quite the astral plane experience… indeed.’ I thought.

Here on the astral plane, these women were so keen on having a sexual experience.  Each and every one of us, they were obviously going to end up screwing to the hounds.

As the experience progressed and was getting around to me, as they took turns with everyone, I awoke.  Sadly, the phone rang as I had forgotten to turn it off on taking to bed.

*I was, to say the least, most upset because this was such an intense and involved dream.  I spoke to the woman but I was slowly coming out of the dream.

Although, I must admit that I did not feel displaced, bloated and all the usual telltale signs that I had been astral plane-engaged.  However, I did sneeze a great deal.  This, truth be told, is customary after such dream activity.

I suspect that had I gone the whole nine yards with this dream experience, the outcome for me would have been different.  I am convinced that had I consummated with the possessed women, I would have awakened feeling immensely drained.

**Later on, during the course of the day whilst meditating, I reflected on this dream.  Suddenly, a thought of Merlin fell into my mind rather lucidly.

I thought of how he used to first read then listen to the audio-cassette later in the day and comment.  Rather intently, I heard Merlin say,

“This lamb is always getting its little magic hooves into no end of trouble!”

With that I collapsed from lotus position into the plush comfort of the pyramid’s cushioned interior laughing for joy.

***Recently, I spoke to a friend who’s been following this dream blog.  He wanted to know, with regards the dream blog – Time-Travelling Georgian/Regency Dandy, if I’ve ever given thought to what might have happened had I not chosen to awaken when I had. 

I don’t believe that I would have passed as he wondered.  However, as I stated to my friend, I believe that had I acquiesced and allowed myself to have been captured by the mind-controlling extra-human sentries that I would have awakened without the slightest recall of having had the astral plane ‘dream’ encounter. 

One only has to look at Hubble space telescope images to realise that to fall for the millennia-regurgitated fare, of our being alone in the universe, has long passed its usefulness.  Why would this ignorance be perpetuated but to keep us ever unaware of what is truly afoot – not just out there but even right here on Earth? 

I hope that you continue enjoying these dream experiences of mine.  More than that, I trust that they will inspire you to become more awakened and focussed when asleep.  For starters, it is a great way of keeping the brain healthy.  Conversely, it enhances one’s ability to see beyond the waking state’s Maya-saturated veil.  END. 

As ever, sweet dreams and don’t forget to push off and start flying! 

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Photo: Giant blue spherical glass sculpture & Neptune captured by James Webb Telescope.

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© 2013-2025 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.

Here’s A Gift for You, My Darling.

Arvin da BrghaLeave a comment

A New York Times

This dream took place, on Wednesday, December 1, 1993, as the Moon transited Cancer and my second house.  It was the fourth dream that day.  

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Whilst I was in a restaurant eating, next door and upstairs, a very noisy aerobics class was underway.  Merlin and I were together seated, alone at a deuce, by the café’s large storefront windows. 

To protest all the noise that was coming from the class upstairs, he got up and went next-door.  I had been with Merlin, admiringly looking on, as he tucked into his food. 

Whilst it struck my right, the light flooding in through the window struck his left profile.  He had also been admiringly looking at me as we both ate. 

It was so warm between us.  Very lucidly, I could see his left eye being wonderfully illumined by the intense sunlight. 

Immediately outside the door to the café, where we sat at a deuce, was a large awning such that the light striking our faces was being reflected up off the street.  The light was so gloriously soft and soul-caressing that it made Merlin look as if ethereal. 

I suppose it is an apt descriptive of where he is in his discarnate, between-lives state as an astral plane habitué.  He was not wearing a hat.  

Merlin was beautifully coiffed with a handsome healthy moustache and a full beard.  His hair was so clean.  The lighting left him looking as if porcelain-skinned. 

Goodness, this was such a clean and wholesome image of Merlin.  What was really coming through, however, was the purity of his soul itself. 

When he returned, he had a book with him as well as the Sunday New York Times.  Before coming back, as he passed outside before the window, he warmly smiled in at me. 

Then Merlin did the most magical of things… he extended me the paper.  Whereas I thought that he was simply showing me that he had gotten the newspaper, a copy of the coveted Sunday New York Times, he simply pushed the paper through the thick pane of glass. 

Until then, the pane of glass was a very real and solid barrier to the outside.  Whilst moving through the seemingly immalleable medium, it slowly did so as if in slow-motion through a stilled, aquatic medium. 

*Merlin, the shaman, was weaving his magic yet again.  This was such a sublime moment.  Here, he was exerting that formidable will of his and impressing me with his magic. 

How could I not have fallen in love… all over again?  I sat there being totally blown away.  I knew too that Merlin’s reason for doing this was how very much he simply loved being with me. 

As we had been sitting there together, he had warmed me throughout with the same familiar quiet glow that he exhibited each time – in the waking state – that we had taken a meal together.  Now here was he repaying me with this gentle loving caress. 

I immediately realised that he had used the excuse of going to complain about the noise, from the aerobics class upstairs and next door, to weave his magic.  He had stopped off to get himself a book but also to present me with the one gift that I loved having, on Sundays, when we lived together. 

To really impress how much he truly valued our love, Merlin weaved his magic by shoving the paper through the fabric of space – matter, dimensions.  It was much like that sword which made its way through into my solar plexus in the dreams, of Sunday, September 4, 1988VIII. 

This is how Merlin chose to impress on my memory, how very real and very important, his being there with me was.  Merlin loved me and from time to time, just as he had promised prior to passing, he chose to send me some soul-warming postcards from the voyage up ahead on which he had set out before me. 

Merlin was intent on getting through to me and how handsomely he succeeded in doing so.  How utterly sublime this moment was. 

It was such a wickedly clever and sly bit of magic.  All that I could do was dissolve in soulful laughter, accepting and solidifying my love for him, whilst gladly taking the paper from him – gladly accepting the gift of his love for me. 

Of course, Merlin knew that I would not be taken aback by his shoving the Sunday New York Times through the thick pane of glass.  After all, many were the dreams that I had shared with him when incarnate of myself effortlessly moving through walls, panes of glass et al. 

Naturally, this ability of mine is readily validated in the dreams of both Thursday, September 12, 1996(29) and Saturday, August 10, 1991(23).  In said dreams, I was able to effortlessly move through walls and panes of glass thereby betraying my own magus abilities.  

He was one magus betraying his confidence and knowledge of my own magus nature.  It was a most beautiful way of validating our being kindred spirits.  END. 

I sat there eating, becoming more lucidly awakened, realising the impactfulness of what Merlin had just done.  Seated there, alone, I waited for him to come back through the doors and join me. 

By now I had stopped eating, whilst presently he returned and sat down slyly glancing across at me.  Merlin wore that same self-deprecating, though precocious, grin that had won us all over his lifelong in the waking state. 

Joining me anew, he directly looked into me, he did nothing but smile.  It was the most serene smile.  It was the conspiratorial smile of the magus, the transcended… Merlin. 

Merlin and I share a connection that is born at the level of soul.  This much is true, we know each other.  He looked at me, as if to say,

“I really know who you are, kiddo….” 

Alas, that truly was a very warming, beautiful and marvellous thing.  He was contented because whatever he has since learnt, for being in the discarnate state that he is in, has validated what he has always privately declared that he has suspected about me. 

It was a great intimacy that we shared. 

We sat there making love and dancing soul-to-soul.  Merlin and I knew that no time and no one could eclipse a love so real.  Ours was love born of the soul and the love of two trusty, companionable old friends. 

*Strangely enough, with the passing of this dream, I did not awaken as is customary.120 

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Photo:  The New York Times.

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© 2013-2025 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.

Anointed By the Exalted Mentor, Merlin!

Arvin da Brgha2 Comments

As the Moon progressed through the early degrees of Gemini, transiting my first house, I would on taking to bed slip up past the folds of restfulness.  There I would awaken into the most lucid dream experiences had in long ages.

It was Saturday, July 25, 1992 – long after Merlin’s passing.  

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The first dream was set, at night time, in Sandy Point, St. Kitts where I had spent my childhood.  I was playing in the street, well past midnight, with three local youths.

All Rastafarians, too, they were all in their twenties.  I was my present age – thirty-one.  They were younger.

Everything about them was very real.  There was a direct focussed tenor to their gaze; they looked into you.  I felt very edgy with all this probity.

We had been acrobatically playing, in the street in front of the church, in The Alley, Sandy Point, St. Kitts.  Of course, that same church Harella had built twenty-two years prior in the waking state.

I tried not to outshine them, with my leaping tumbles, for fear of escalating the tension in the air.  There was an edge to our interactions.  It was a tension born of my having been so long off-island and their being suspicious, I thought, of my outré sexuality.

Just then, I noticed a light streaking across the star-punctured sky.  In a bid to diffuse the tension between us, I drew their attention to it.  However, I soon noticed that its progress was unusual.

There was also something distinctly different about this light.  It caused me to recall similar icons in dreams past – each had presaged rather momentous visions.

Like all those before it, this streaking light seemed a silent observant probe.  Immediately, I became open to what this comet-like streaking star could later reveal.

I began to explain to the youngest Rastafarian who was an impish, sexually-dynamic beauty – he was not the least bit self-conscious of his missing front teeth – that it was no doubt a very high geostationary satellite that had bombed and was now crashing to Earth.

Further, I speculated that it was no doubt an orbiting space shuttle presently reflecting Sol’s intense light.  As I spoke, I knew that I did not really believe either explanation but I thought that the ideas were a good way to ameliorate my position in the dynamic.

The ruse failed to have done the trick.  On returning my attention to the group, I was sent bolting – the leader was menacingly lunging through the air towards me, with a raptor’s ease, in eager flight.

Soon I also was in flight being chased through the streets of a Sandy Point, St. Kitts which quickly morphed and shifted becoming, more and more populous, like parts of old Havana.  I was not certain which city this was but I was definitely still in the Caribbean.

I managed to escape into a house where I very energetically fought off their advance, securing the locks to the front door, thereby shutting them out.  I climbed up the narrow and steep flight of stairs, in near-darkness, to the safety of the second storey.

Winded and more enraged than stunned, at their behaviour, I took the time to gather my breath.  I briefly visited with my aunt Pilar do Aragão† and Pandora – the latter whom Merlin favoured the most of my siblings.

They were unaware of the tumult that I had just endured.

I took refuge in the darkened front of the house’s second storey.  Next I found myself, in one of those rare dream moments, actually falling asleep whilst lucidly dreaming.

I nodded… on recovering, I found that I had come to in an apartment.  It was one more opulent than the one in which I had just grown suddenly drowsy.

On a red antique chaise longue, in the most beautifully dark, wood-panelled, high-ceilinged digs that I had ever seen, I was now seated.  Across the room was an open door that led out to a veranda.

A dark awning provided ample shade and allowed just the cool tropical breezes to laze in satiating the spirit.  To have awakened into this new dreamspace had left my awareness more sensitised… more absorbing.

The dream became more lucid and any sense of time dissolved.  This left every moment infused with a sense of mysticism – magic even.  It definitely felt like the West Indies here, perhaps, old-money Haïti or Guadeloupe if not Cuba.

Slowly, I drank in every detail of the stately furnished room.  There were, on both walls to my left and right, floor-to-ceiling shelves which were not untidily crammed with old leather-bound volumes – some red, some brown, most were black.

Slowly, from where I reclined, I pinpointed my vision to check the titles of some of the books.  Thus I was able to see and read them, as intimately, as if I had gotten up and gone to stand before them closely peering.

They were mostly ancient volumes.  However, the script was not vaguely recognisable like any of the innumerable ones on the other, more familiar side of the dreamtime.

My spirit soared, as I felt fully relaxed, in this most bucolic of dreams.  Strangely, though not unusual for the realm of the dreamtime, I felt that for having looked at these laden bookshelves my mind had absorbed the library’s voluminous wealth.

Just then there was movement, to my right, across the room.  I saw a cat that looked much like Whoopi.  It appeared from behind one of three sofas, skulking towards another, situated opposite across the room.

Each sofa, like the chaise longue on which I reclined, had beside it a small round table.  Each table was covered in either rich, dark earthy damask or actual rugs in deep though muted red.  I was immediately reminded of the round table, across which sat the sibylline woman from Merlin and I, in the dreams of September 4, 1988.

I sat up calling her name,

“Whoopi!  Whoopi!” at which moment, the cat shimmered and became Julio – our black cat at 20 Amelia Street in Cabbagetown who, like Whitney before him, was killed in a hit-and-run as he ran across Amelia Street on New Year’s Eve, 1987.

As I watched the cat disappear behind one of the three sofas, which accompanied my chaise longue, my mouth froze open in amazement.  Whilst I assimilated that one and thought to myself that this certainly was a most unusual and lucid dream, there was utter stillness.

The cat’s metamorphosis had discernibly shifted the vibration of the dream.  Now time seemed considerably measured as compared to its usual frenetic rhythm.

The door in the far right corner then opened… into the room walked Merlin.

*I can’t here relay the rapture I felt on seeing him but the ecstatic descriptive of dream audio-cassette recording, for that day, comes fairly close.  END.

Overwhelmed with emotion, my body quivered throughout.  I tried to rouse from my reclining position.  My arms outstretched to him, I greeted him squealing with delight.

He stood, just in the entrance, raising his brows with the left familiarly arched higher.  Staying me with the index and middle fingers of his raised right hand,

“No, don’t get up…” I heard Merlin direct me with the quiet familiarity that our intimacy knew.

This directive I telepathically experienced as though we were squinging up in bed, in the dark, at 20 Amelia Street in Toronto’s Cabbagetown.  Our souls tickled, at such times, as we listened to some glorious thunderstorm drowning out the dog days of a too-hot-and-humid, Toronto summer.

I obliged, sitting upright on the edge of the plush chaise longue, for the first time placing my feet on the beautifully designed and predominantly red rug.  His face warmed towards me in a smile.

At once my mind expanded, simultaneously processing on multiple levels, becoming even more awakened.  Rapture… pure rapture – I was enthralled.

Here again, Merlin wore all the evolved energies that he had in that first dream encounter – that dream, of course, set in a Pacific west coast rainforest that was not unlike Vancouver Island’s Cathedral Grove in July 1978.  A dream, of course, which occurred four years before I would physically meet him in the waking state.

Slowly, he walked the short distance of the room towards me.  A breeze coming from the veranda not only cooled the place but it shifted the ambiance and made the place grow dimmer.

The dimness highlighted the definite soft yellow glow that girdled his entire form.  I sat there thinking,

‘My god, I can actually see your aura Merlin.’

He smiled and I was reminded that everything that I thought was instantly being telepathically shared.

I was passive… moreover I was ripened as though I had just experienced an Alfred Brendel recital.  I felt so lightheaded that I firmly pressed down both my palms, into the chaise longue’s plush red velvet, bracing myself.

Merlin came and stood before me.  He was casually dressed in loose, earthen woollen clothing.  A cloak he wore stylishly draped about his narrow shoulders with its cowl removed.

As I looked up into his face, besotted by the beauty of his soul’s magic, he slowly arched his left brow in the way he had always affected when he wanted to be intimate.  Merlin’s magical expression was exactly as it was, that gibbous-Moon October night, when we met in Babylon – which now for him was truly a lifetime removed.

My face liquidly melted away in a smile.  I was warmed by the knowledge that I was dreaming and that here before me was a man, Merlin, with whom I had shared such wonderful fortune. He had shared his grace, along with his beauty and his intellect, in the most magical combination with me.

As we made eye contact, still never having said a word, he slowly knelt into the bay of my open legs.  Enthralled, my eyes slowly and unflinchingly shifted to look down into his as now he knelt before me.

He wore his glasses, his beard cropped close, his hair styled in a leonine full-bodied mane.

Moreover, I was moved by just how much this pose reflected the last night we had spent together – November 17, 1989.  With an acuity rarely achieved in the waking state, my mind lucidly assimilated this rapturous encounter.

Here before me knelt Merlin.  Merlin was the very embodiment of wholesome health, healing my spirit, releasing me from so much of the pain that I had endured.

Like that last night of his life, before dying of AIDS, I was overcome with emotion.  However, owing to the healing that this moment affected, now I wanted to melt in tears of joy.

More than that, the moment’s poignancy rose from how uncannily it mirrored our final encounter.

About his slender long neck, Merlin wore a necklace of thick, copper-coloured coil that looked not the least bit malleable.  The coil was half an inch in diameter and set with beautiful large crystals of various colours.

The coil moved through each stone’s centre and each stone was deeply etched with golden hieroglyphs.  Although Mayan hieroglyphs bore the closest resemblance, the inscriptions resembled none in this planet’s long history.

The effect of the bronze-coloured coil and crystals was grounding.  The crystals gave off a low rumbling hum that was felt.  It was akin to the definite effect of my pyramid, in the waking state, but easily thrice as intense.

There were seven crystals in all.  Principally, there was the large, smoky rough-hued quartz set at the bottom of the circular coil.

Its design slowly shifted from within but its glow seemingly originating elsewhere.  It was huge and by far the most powerful.

One quarter the way around the circle, which was duplicated on the opposite side, there were three crystals.  The crystal in the middle was like nothing imaginable in the waking state.  It was a coppery-bronzed colour with hints of blue-lapis lazuli dust throughout which actually glistened.

With any slight movement, the dust shifted becoming copper-coloured.  When the colour shifted, I experienced a correspondingly subtle shift in the serenity that I felt.

The unusual central crystal was flanked by two small and perfectly clear crystals.  They were more radiant and powerful than any multiple-carat diamond yet found in the waking state.

It was actually difficult to sustain my focus on their exquisite beauty overlong.  They were dynamic and seemingly made of the heaviest element imaginable.

I was so pleased to see Merlin.  The necklace he wore was like a grounding conductor.  Seemingly, in order to manifest from his dimension to this dimensional dreamspace, he needed the energies of the crystals to join me.

He wore an argyle sweater that was not unlike one of the pastel ones I had bought him one Christmas.  This one though was an earthy brown which he had, years earlier, interestingly claimed to have preferred.

He effortlessly removed the crystal necklace placing it at my feet.  The humming abruptly ceased.  The crystals’ effect immediately shifted.  I actually felt a cool energy, from the crystals, buzz through my entire body travelling from my feet to the crown of my head.

I watched as he detached the different crystals and made sure to leave the central one on the coil.  Somehow, he was able to remove the six crystals from the coil though the coil remained a perfectly whole circle.

As he kept placing the crystals, in different circular formations at my feet, he kept looking up at me with the warmest direct stare.  Each formation affected a different temporal lobe and corresponding area of my body.

I was experiencing crystals with a potency that never before had I known in the waking state.  I felt splayed by the experience.

There were times that I felt as though my body and head were being stretched – elastically elongated with an ease nowhere else possible except the astral plane in the dreamtime.

I thought then how absolutely incredible this man Merlin was – how truly fortunate I was to have met him, to have known him, to love him.

The lights noticeably further dimmed in the room.  Next, the central large crystal grew black changing into the most unusual design.  There had been an incredible energetic drain from me – energy which I suppose was collected in the now-transformed crystal which had remained about the coil.

From his left breast pocket, Merlin retrieved a little black pouch.  As he looked down at it, I said to him,

“Oh my god Merlin, you are so beautiful…”

I knew that I was dreaming and I was thinking at the time,

‘…I will never be able to meet you, again.  I’ll never see you again.  You’ll never be that perfect mélange of bloodlines that created the magic that was your every idiosyncrasy.’

He looked up and smiled making me again realise that everything, we said without speaking, was so very clearly, readily known to the other.

As he opened the little black pouch, my lips trembled.  I looked at those utterly gentle fingers that, I thought in passing, were now ashes in the earth at Toronto’s Mount Pleasant Cemetery,

‘Oh yes… those fingers, those beautiful delicate fingers.

‘Oh my god, yes…’ I simultaneously thought,

‘…These fingers, I will never see; they’ll never touch me again in the waking state – they’ll never exist again.’

Then, as if to eclipse my melancholy, he gently took my right hand in his.  Merlin’s still-sensual hands purposefully began pouring the little, black pouch’s contents into mine.

The touch of him was as intimate and as gentle, an evocative memory, as absent waves heard distantly lapping ashore on the beach in Pump Bay during childhood.  How, as in the still of the night, my mind would race wondering of what new vistas I was yet to dream – when I was a child in St. Kitts.

All along, I had restrained the desire to touch him for he seemed so much more evolved.  Truth be told, I was afraid that to physically reach out to touch him would only dissolve the dream.

Naturally, for becoming emotionally overwhelmed, the fear was that I would undoubtedly whiteout.  However, his touch was so real and so very familiar that I let out a heavy familiar sigh.

Into my palm spilled a dozen, perhaps more, of the most beautiful tiny crystals that were quite powerful.  The touch of them actually made my mind further expand.

My head seemed to contort, once again, with an élan that matched the lightning speed with which I assimilated the intense energies from the clutch of crystals into me.

They were more leaden, easily by ten times, than their small size betrayed.  They glowed and they were decidedly hypnotic.  They emitted a sense of music that was more experienced than heard.

In spite of the fact that they glowed, I brushed aside the beauty of them and chose instead the real magic.  I took his free hand with mine and began holding it, rubbing it, squeezing it.

Even more intently, I looked overjoyed into his arrestingly soulful eyes.  I began groaning, moaning, I was overcome with intense emotion.

This was, by far, the most alive and most lucid dream with Merlin since his passing some three years ago.  I wanted more… I wanted no moment of this great intimacy to stop.

I asked him to remove his glasses so that I could really look at his eyes.  He obliged and when he removed them his eyes weren’t their smoky grey-hazel-faded blue.

They were brown, in fact, but they were his eyes and I thought,

‘My god, you’ve got brown eyes,’ to which he slightly blushed.

He wore a beard; it was the usual bushy affair.  His lips were so moist, I said,

“My darling, kiss me.”

Taking the lead, as I had when we met, I held the bottom of his ticklish beard and reached up his face to mine as I bent down.  We kissed each other.

It readily became a wonderfully slow and timeless dance high up our entwined greenhouses.  My spirits soared to even greater heights.  It was the greatest pleasure.

It was quite simply a sensory whiteout.  We did not use tongue.  We just kissed each other on the mouth.  Throughout, until it was no longer possible, our eyes remained perfectly glued to each other’s.

I turned my head to the right to kiss him, again.  It was a soft lingering kiss; it was a kiss of complete surrender in which was communicated so much.

As though he and I were two leviathan creatures swimming together in a sensual medium of liquid blue light, our intimacy was pure movement.  This aqueous light medium was immensely heavy and inhibited our progression to a slow-motioned crawl.

Progressing playfully, as though so many nanoseconds were deleted from each time-stretched moment, we effortlessly danced alone.  We were together and enraptured in a universe just for two – Merlin and me.

It was such great pleasure that, in its shared intimacy, it reflected the idiosyncrasies that we had known so well.  It was a continuation of the dance we familiarly had always intimately known.

It was such incredible intimacy that when the kiss was concluded the dream dissolved…

I sighed, on a deep sustained breath, besotted with the beauty of Merlin’s spirit.  This was a most rare dream, a most soulful of dreams, with the dream magus.

The sound of my breath was so loud that I actually felt the weight of my high-dreamer self as I crashed back into my body from, being astral-projected, high up the astral plane.

I felt fatigued, I felt spent, as is customary with such dream travel.  Whilst remaining still, I kept my lids shut.

Focussing on my weary breath, I allowed myself to drift upwards again.  This time, I melted into true sleep where I could rest and recoup my energies.

I awoke, about an hour later, in the nearly dark room of my tiny Queen Street West apartment in Toronto.  Rested, I was truly rejuvenated after all that astral projection in the first sleep cycle.

As is customary with reparatory sleep, there were no dreams recalled of the second sleep cycle.  I cried…  I cried for joy.

The realness of Merlin was so intense that after crying, for the first time since his passing, I grew aroused after dream contact.  I savoured the beauty of this man, Merlin, my elfin-dream magus.

Pulling the black, satin blindfold back over my eyes, I slipped onto my stomach between the red satin bedding.  Tightly holding on to a pillow, my left cheek pressed into it and the bedding drawn up over my head, I withdrew into a sweat lodge where I could continue communing with Merlin’s very soul.

My right knee drawn up, I allowed my rock-hard cock to ride up against the bedding and away from my tummy.  Slowly, kneadingly, I ground my winding pelvis into the luxury of the bedding.

Ploughing away, beyond its wet folds, I massaged my lusty thoughts deep and high up into the magical greenhouse.  Whispering his name, my lips, my abs and body quivered.

From time to time, I managed my way up onto my toes.  This allowed the exquisite play of cock and bedding to draw out greater pleasure.

My abs ached.  Whilst sweat sheened throughout my shivering body, I shuddered as the inside of my thighs violently tremoured.  Merlin still knew how to work his magic on me.

Losing myself, my breath collapsed in repeated noisy, exhausted, shuddered grunts and groans.  I whispered his name proclaiming my love to that point.

In no other way could I have celebrated this truly profound astral plane encounter with Merlin in the dreamtime.  As ever, hands-free auto-eroticism resulted in a most profuse and exquisitely pleasurable orgasm.

So richly deserving was I to have lost myself this way – beyond the usual daily auto-erotic ritual.  I needed to savour this momentous dream encounter by making a solemn ritual of pleasurable thanksgiving.

I had been moved anew by Merlin’s magic.

*Regardless your combination, there is no greater gift to receive than the love of another whom one has chosen to completely give of self.  There is no greater validation of love’s superiority than to experience love from another, who has transitioned onto the next octave in that soul’s maturation, in a lucidly awakened dream as this shared between Merlin and me. 

We have all loved and been loved and may you dear dreamer, by opening yourself up, experience your own moments of rapture as I did in this rhapsodic astral plane encounter with the one, the man, the elfin, the fuck-all fabulous, the ganja-smoking, groovy shaman from Babylon, Merlin! 

The mark of a truly great love affair is the fruit it bears… dreams. 

Sweet dreams you, I love you more!  END.

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Photo: Merlin & Arvin Niagara-on-the-Lake, autumn ’87, photo by actor, Wayne Robson.

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© 2013-2025 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.

Tantric Transference With Famous Actor (*Adult Content).

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Astral-projected, this next dream would prove a most lucidly awakened, lyrical adage.  It was a most beautiful drink for the soul.  

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The dream was an encounter with a famous person, on whom I was neither especially focussed – in the waking state – nor about whom I was impressed favourably or otherwise.

These dreams simply unfold and I do not pass judgment either on self or the dreams as they progress.

The dream occurred, on Sunday, June 21, 1992, whilst the Moon on the summer solstice transited both Pisces and my tenth house wherein is posited Chiron retrograde.  It was a most potent dream – shamanic even.

A house sat on a yard that was very West Indian-looking.  It was all dark exposed earth and raw.  As though it had lost all its topsoil, the soil was very hard.  There were lots of these marvellous tropical trees about.

From the front, the garden and house reminded me much of Esmeralda da Braga’s house in Brown Hill, Nevis.  The front garden was filled with an abundant array of cacti most of which were gloriously in bloom.

They were all very tiny plants.  As it was such an arid place, the plants could thrive quite beautifully.  Since it hardly ever rained here, the cacti garden made more sense.  I noticed that there was a hose about the garden.

Then too, I saw that some of the hens-and-chicks cacti were, for lack of water, brown and shrivelling up.  I was saddened by the sight.  I impulsively ran over to try and take care of them.  I knew that they desperately needed the nurturing touch of my caring heart.

The door to the house was opened and afforded one a look inside.  There I saw a woman lying in bed asleep with her head closer to the window.  I could only make out from the crown of her head to the chest.

In the second room, back from the front of the house, she was asleep.  Her head faced to the front of the house.  The house itself was set up exactly like Esmeralda da Braga’s house in Brown Hill, Nevis is.

If it were set in Nevis, then I was on the side of the street and house that is closer to the gut which is also where the garden was.  That means that when facing the house, I was on the right corner of the house looking through a window.  It was a glass-louvred window.

The woman laid there on her back as though she were asleep or, perhaps, even dead.  She was quite dark-skinned and wore a floral-printed dress with some dark tones in it.  As this person was so dark-complected, I thought that it could not have been Esmeralda da Braga.

I carried on with taking care of the garden.  Then after awhile, I came out and went into this wonderful canopied area which was up on a different level on the street.  It was part of the property but in a different section.

It was as though the street in Nevis did not exist because obviously it was not set in Nevis, finally.  I came into the covered area which appeared to be a house.  There I saw a man who was lying on his stomach and seemingly asleep.

His face was down into the pillow thereby only affording me a partial look at this left profile.  He was White but he had such pale skin that he seemed a luminescent tone of actual white.

In addition, his skin was excessively wrinkled.  Goodness, did this man look ancient?  It was as though he were easily several millennia old.  Such a wonderful, soft wise-looking face he had.

As I had entered the space there was a number of these large canvas drapes that were drawn up. It was bright out.  Incidentally, I had never gotten around to picking up the hose and watering the parched cacti because I had come inside to curiously explore.

As I had stepped up the few stone steps, to enter the canopied pavilion, I had noticed that his eyes were opened – at least the left one was.  On hearing my approach, he had closed it and pretended to be asleep.

He laid there wearing a robe that was pastel-coloured with lots of beautiful floral designs in it.  Beneath the beautiful robe, he wore a pair of pyjamas.  Whilst I was there in the room, looking about, he affected a disoriented awakening.

All that I could think of was that on awakening, like most men, he would probably be aroused.  Indeed, he was aroused and seemed not very well-hung.  Nonetheless, I thought that it would be interesting to get it on with a millennia-old individual.

He went off to go pee but when he got from the bed and began walking he resuscitated and started getting younger and younger with each deep laborious breath.  It was, as a matter of fact, quite yogic.

In time, the millennia-old metamorphosed man proved to be the actor Kyng Soale.  Noticing me, he smiled a genuinely friendly, ruggedly handsome closed-lipped smile.  It was a warm greeting.

Instantaneously, the dream became very awakened.

He took a few steps then looked after himself at me and smiled again.  This time his teeth did validate that it was, indeed, the actor Kyng Soale.  He was possessed of the most striking eyes – very magnetic.

This dream experience was very real – an astral plane experience, it definitely was.  I was amazed that he proved to be such an old soul.  Off he went, through the space, to take a pee.  He went through these drapes that were very Oriental in style.

There was lots of gold threading and deep crimson reds.  It seemed to be either in Indonesia, Bali more specifically, or elsewhere.  Very lush and tropical a place this proved.

On the outside chance, it might well have been set on a private island in the Philippines.  Definitely, it did not feel as if set in Tahiti, Fiji or Réunion.

As he went off to pee, I got up from the comfortable, cushioned, dark rattan armchair into which I had earlier slumped.  I had sat there to look at him sleep.  It was a raised house, on stone stilts, much as in the Caribbean.  In addition, it did have a veranda.

On closer inspection, the architectural style was unmistakably Balinese.  The windows here, all wooden, opened out from the bottom.  This was a very richly detail-specific dream.

*On awakening, I am inclined to think that perhaps Kyng Soale is presently vacationing on some secluded Balinese estate recharging his batteries.  END.

This was, I must convey, a very intense dream experience.  There were aspects of his energetics that rather reminded me of Carl Leroiderien’s who, of course, is a mature king soul.

That ruggedness that transcends their handsomeness which reflects aspects of the true mettle of their soul type – that of being a king soul.  This was also a very definite and real experience.  There was astral projection involved in us having encountered each other.

As he entered the room, to go pee in the lavatory, I began walking very slowly and felinely towards him.  We never did utter a single word towards each other.

I walked up on him and inspected him as he peed.  He held his erection upwards, in the air, after he had finished peeing.  He was foreskinned and it was not especially thick a cock but it did have a handsomely large, though not excessively so, head.

I came around to him and held his hand.  At that I turned him around.  We looked into each other’s eyes very soulfully, long and hard.  This was the greatest intimacy imaginable.  We slowly danced soul-to-soul, at which point, he smiled and was clearly pleasured.

I then opened the robe, drawing open the string of his pyjamas letting them drop a bit.  Holding his cock in my hand, I slowly stooped whilst throughout maintaining seductive eye contact.

Looking at it, his cock was now very red.  At that I drew back the foreskin, after he had surrendered it to my hands, and began very slowly to go down on him returning my fixed gaze into his soulful eyes.

Now his cock had looked very different to when I had seen it, from afar, initially.  At the feel of my warm mouth pleasurably caressing him, he let out a long satiated groan.  The taste of him was very real.

I could taste the precum, mixed with the last drops of his loud-smelling pee, in my ravenously hungry mouth.  He encouragingly began grinding his hips letting me pleasure him.  His lids closed shut on losing himself to my sensual touch.

When staying himself, he then began running his fingers through my hair which was out and not gathered in a bun as per usual.  Slowly, very intensely, his strong warrior-like hands began massaging my scalp.  It proved to be the most energising experience.

It was as though he were realigning my chakras’ vibrations.  Indeed, it was very occult – magus – what he was doing whilst I serviced him.

*Of course, this is such a dead giveaway of what this man and I were doing.  It was not about sex anymore than it was about energy transference.  He was a king soul and part of the function, of his role in essence, is to heal and fortify the spirit of other and all souls.

He knew innately that I was attuned and aware of his role in essence.  I was not some stalking fan who was homoerotically obsessed with him.  Truth be told, I have never before been auto-erotically focussed on this man in the waking state.

What we were doing was spiritual work – sex was merely a way of best facilitating that work.  For both of us being in the roles to each other, he was fulfilled and so was I.

There was nothing homoeroticised about the encounter.  It was tantric sex which is all about being spiritually focussed and engaging in energy transference.  END.

“Oh god, yes man…” the actor groaned from time to time.

I, on the other hand, was deliberately soulful about what I was doing for him.  It was not mere cocksucking that I engaged in.

It was as though I used his phallus, to give his entire body and energetics a cleansing massage, much the way that one can affect the same thing in reflexology by way of the feet.

Soon, I had to get up or at least chose to do so because there was a darker-complected-than-not Oriental woman about the house.  She had been approaching us.

Kyng Soale said softly in the most soulfully sonorous voice,

“Come on, let’s go inside.”

Returning indoors from the back veranda, which was canopied and private, we took to the bed where earlier he had been lying.  The bed was close to the window which is how I had initially seen his face, when it was in its natural soul state, which reincarnationally reflected his maturation.

Casually, he dropped all his clothing on the floor and got into bed on his back.  When he settled into the comfortable bed, he drew his legs up giving me a good look at his exposed arse and anus.

The skin around the anus was very plush, swollen and relaxed, suggesting that he loved being anally serviced.  In fact, he laid there in a very passive pose with his face the most relaxed one can imagine of anyone whilst making love.

He had reddish pubic hair.  On raising the brows and smiling at me, he extended his hard-bodied hand to me.  It was more a command than invitation.

I climbed into bed and immediately, on lying in amongst his open arms, it was like when being intimately entangled with Olaf Nordstrom.  This man similarly proved to be possessed of the most exquisitely pronounced feminine principle.  Very sublime, slow and soulful was his vibration.

Whilst looking intently into each other’s eyes, we began kneadingly rubbing our achingly hard cocks slowly against each other’s when frottaging.  This was the first time that I had really been so close to his eyes and they were the most intensely blue with a submerged veneer of greens.

Quite magnetic eyes, too, they were.

Immediately, I thought to myself that he was a king soul.  Very incredibly intense was the fusion between us.  Even if I wanted to, there was no way that I could awaken from this dream.  He vibrationally held me in his presence.

This was not the usual dream experience wherein for getting too physicalised one prematurely awakened.  He had command of the situation and I was his and for as long as he desired.

As it progressed, the whole experience was navigated by his formidable will.  We began smiling at each other.  He then drew my head down and began fucking my mouth with his rough, intensely masculine tongue.

Again, those hands began giving me that deep scalp massage that was, more than not, all about energy work.  This was very much so alive and awakened.

*Interestingly, I have never paid this actor’s looks or career a passing curiosity.  As a matter of fact, the only time that I have seen his work is when Merlin and I went off to see an actress that he liked who appeared in film with him.  At the time, in the first place, it is something that Merlin wanted to do.

Here in the dream, when he had transformed to being youthful, he was a man in his mid-forties which he is not – I don’t think, in the waking state.  I think this is suggesting that he may, in fact, be a king soul and one who is mid to late mature-souled.

Very intense and forceful yet passive, when needed, was he.  He was also on the verge of being silver-haired.

Whilst he peed I had been hypnotised by the sound of his piss hitting the hardened earth, outside the veranda’s window, through which he had been peeing.  END.

As we were writhing and I had penetrated him, there was a noticeable barometric shift whilst I hammered away at him.  As though one were in the midst of monsoon season just after a massive deluge, there was now a heavy humidity in the air.

Whilst we were carnally lost in each other, the Oriental woman had also returned to the house.  She had been calling and looking for him.  In one forceful move he got to his feet taking me with him.

Here too, he was considerably taller than in the waking state he appears to be.  Very martial-bodied, Wotanesque almost was he.  It was as though this mesomorphic, astrally projected body of his was born to wear metallic armour and do battle.

A fierce protector, rather than conqueror, he was.  As I had prematurely slipped from his exquisitely plush anus, there was a sudden energetic surge.

He had pronounced sensory capabilities in the every nerve of his anus.  It would seem that it was so plush because part of the energetic work that he did was all about playing cosmic mother/nurturer/healer, by way of his anus, to transmute the energies of multitudes.

This is why he seemed so much a king soul.  It was as though myself, and countless others, astral-projected to have an audience with him in which he did serious energy work.  Very shamanic indeed was this man and this encounter.

Taking me by the hand, he rushed in through the large compound by another exit into a pavilion.  Here he now wore this incredibly wonderful, elaborate, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful ceremonial robe.

It was very much so in the Oriental style and it looked millennia old.  The robe that he wore was worked with lots of gold threading.  Greens and yellows – very bright and uplifting colours covered the fabric.

Here he was walking in this very large, exposed-beamed wooden hall which was a couple of storeys high to the ceiling.  He was quite simply regal in the true sense of the word because this was only something that one could experience from the level of soul itself.  It could never be affected.

I, for one, was very upset.  Not at the interruption of our lovemaking, rather, the woman was truly livid with us.  She was as if some dragon lady who was truly out to consume us with her fiery fury.

She had shot an arrow from a gold-leafed bow which was held horizontally and shot as if a handgun.  When she shot at us, he affected this stature that instantaneously had him become puffed up into true archetypal warrior stature.

It was nicely affected by the robe’s draping but it was clearly animated by more than the mere fabric.  The robe began to billow now with his, yet again, transformed stature.

He had also grown taller and was now close to just less than seven feet tall.  The arrow became stuck in the robe but it was clear that he had never once been injured by it.

After that, we took flight from the hall.  Hurriedly, we parted with me saying a grateful goodbye.

We paused to knowingly look at each other with eyes directly focussed on each other’s soul.  We warmly smiled.  A very intense and vivid experience this proved.

I knew that he knew that upon awakening, in that look, I would remember the dream experience which was no mere dream.  At that, I took my leave of him by going through a door to my rear.

*I awoke from this and immediately went into the pyramid, where I recorded the dreams on audio-cassette, whilst allowing my energetics to become fully harmonised for having just had the astral plane encounter with Kyng Soale.

This man is clearly a king soul; I would be very surprised if he were not.  Furthermore, as I regard sex as the height of human spirituality, dream sex is always about energy work and high shamanism.

This was not exactly some random stomp through a bathhouse on the astral plane which, of course, can be terribly intense and engrossing.   This is because most such persons encountered during such astral plane sexual rendez-vous tend to be persons who had recently passed of AIDS.

It has been my experience that such persons are just hell-bent on getting some action.  After having been caught wasting away for long months of AIDS, this tends to be the case.

After having recorded the dreams, I grabbed my crystals.  Rather than lube up and indulge in auto-eroticism, I then laid back and meditated for about an hour with beeswax candle and incense going.

Thankfully, the phone was turned off.  Who needs people and their waking state solipsism after such phenomenal astral plane sojourns?  END.

**For obvious reasons, the actor’s name was changed to protect his identity.  I do not know this actor.  Furthermore, I have no idea whether this individual, beyond their public persona, has a same-sexed focus to their physical relations; therefore, it is best to protect that individual’s identity by simply changing his name to that of ‘Kyng Soale’ – this is clearly a way of referring to him as being a King Soul vis-à-vis the Michael Teachings as he definitely was experienced in this dream.  Too, the dream occurred on the summer solstice and it is not the first time that I have encountered a king soul on the astral plane on the summer solstice.  END.  

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Photo: Kimono.

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© 2013-2025 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.

Nubian-Egyptian Past-Life Dream In Middle Kingdom Egypt – Local Travel Means

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The dream, the first that day, occurred in exquisite lucidity on Sunday, August 11, 1991 whilst the Moon transited both Virgo and my fourth house.  

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Set in another time, this was a most potent dream.  I was very self-aware in this dream.  I was with both Pandora and Isis.  The dream was set in the northeast of Africa… in Egypt.  This was millennia ago.

I never honestly did see the pyramids around – at least those at Giza.  It was also not as densely populated an area of Egypt as let’s say, Lower Egypt and that aspect of the Nile Valley.

We were in a small village, perhaps, in Aleppo.  I really did not know where it was but I do know that we were far west of river Nile itself.  It was broad daylight and intensely hot.

*Clearly, Aleppo is in Syria.  However, at the time of the dream and on awaking I couldn’t quite place the name.  I knew that from the sound of it that the city was one whose name began with an A and was to the west of the River Nile in Upper Egypt.  Alexandria came to mind whilst I recorded the dreams and I knew that that was incorrect as that is a coastal city in Lower Egypt.

Finally, as I wanted to move on with recording the extensive dream recollection, I settled on Aleppo.  However, I do believe that the correct city would have been Abydos in Upper Egypt.  Too, much of the dream occurred at the far-western outskirts of said city.  END.

My sense of smell was most acute and allowed me to distinguish the array of odours about the busy village.  This was, clearly, a dream connecting me to a past life experience.

Again, we were in the bazaar section of the town.  It seemed like the busy market day – whichever day of the week that would have been back then.

Most people were dressed in long, yellowed-white, flowing cotton robes.  The Sun was incredibly hot; amazingly, here the Sun was more brilliant than it is during this time epoch.

There was a large, wicker seat that was very strong and sturdy – it was like a sofa that one would lounge on in the shade of a veranda.  I went and sat in it.  It had an awninged hood over it, such that the sofa was high-backed and enclosed, to protect one from the sunlight and unrelenting heat.

The awninged wicker seat was covered in heavy dark rugs.  They were the finest quality rugs that were, for the most part, dark browns and cranberry reds with lots of black in them.  There was little or no white used.

The awning was made of incredibly thick fabric which perpetually kept the shaded areas cool.  There were rather plush cushions to sit on which one could adjust to affect the desired backrest.

Whilst sitting on the right side of the covered seat, I was joined by Pandora to my immediate left and Isis to the far left.  A man was giving us instructions.  He was very loyal and displayed the kind of deference that suggested that I, at least, was someone very important.

The mid-aged dark-complected man of mixed race – Black and Arabic – was to the right before me and directed my attention to a large black rug, in the corner of the awninged wicker seat, which was to my immediate right.

It was so thick a rug that it almost looked like a briefcase – which was just as well because it certainly would have been out of place here.  Nonetheless, the rug was structurally hard like a briefcase.

It seemed, in fact, like a little Louis Vuitton travelling case that one carried make-up or jewellery in.  I couldn’t quite fathom what it was for or what was inside it.

Yet when he obligingly directed my attention to it, self-deprecatingly smiling, the object’s purpose began vaguely becoming familiar.  It was as though I had been unconscious and had just come to so was vaguely getting my memory back.  However, I still did not quite know what was what.

There were the usual sounds of animals around.  Finally, he told us of the object’s purpose.  He spoke in a distinctly African tongue, however, I perfectly understood him as if he were speaking in English.  My sisters, as well, were aware of what he was saying.  Pandora was fully acculturated to this civilisation.

She was actually more advanced in her knowledge, of the intricacies of this culture, than I was.  It was like when being in Paris, in the waking state with her, and her having a real grasp of the culture and the language.  More to the point, it is all in the subtleties of human nonverbal communication which I have noticed that she does have a special gift for.

To the right was a tether that connected it to the black-fabricked case that seemed like a miniature steam trunk.  Though initially it looked like it, the tether was a long cable that was not rope.  In places the tether was hollow.

There was a network of strings that went up the length of it that were attached in clusters though sometimes individually attached.  All in all, they really did resemble umbilical cords.

He opened the black fabric; I immediately held my breath at the loud stench of what unmistakably was camel piss.  It was quite pungent.  However, it proved to be the skin of some inner organ of a camel.

It had the rank male stench of a billy goat but louder.  The object was very large and spherical.  It was taut like an animal hide that had been stretched before being made into a drum.

The instrument had been designed to stay taut but it could also expand.  Yet, it could never fully contract and collapse.  For this reason, it had to be kept in the special black fabric.

There in its little incubator, if you like, it was able to organically breathe.  When the instrument got exposed to the light – whether sunlight, moonlight or candlelight – it would operate.

The exposure to the light organically began the process whereby the instrument would breathe and expand.  The hot air, trapped inside the instrument, would instantaneously get hotter when exposed to the light because it was a membrane that was thin like intestines.

It, somehow, was a mélange of intestines and hides to allow it best to breathe and expand.  It was a patchwork of both and there were large discernible stitches, in places, throughout the surface of the sphere.  In fact, it was not unlike a bellows system in that sense.

It would actually begin breathing like a perfectly living lung system.  This was revolutionary engineering and it was all very familiar.  I knew the intricacies of its design and makeup, if you like, the moment at which the loyal large-toothed aide had gestured to it and pried the fabric inviting me to start up the engines.

It was off-white, sooty, sandy ostrich-eggshell in colour.  There was something about it that made me passingly think that just such egg shells – ostrich, if not part of the schemata, certainly were instrumental in the inspiration that led to the system’s design.  It was a stained colour.

Also, there was a sense that there was some particular chemical mix taking place – either inside the sphere or below the seat of the sofa that led to the sphere – which gave the sense of combustion.  In this case, the process was ignited by the exposure to the sunlight.

The awninged wicker seat began slowly lifting off the ground to which the man shook his head encouragingly smiling.  I let out an excited squeal at the prospect of flight; also, I delighted in being refamiliarised with this technology.

People in the bazaar looked at us to see who we were but they were not stunned as though this were some extra-human (extraterrestrial) bit of technology that they had never before witnessed.

The covered wicker seat slowly rising was no more so cause for alarm than getting into a car, at a busy market and slowly beginning to drive, would be to anyone today.  It was commonplace.  It was no new invention.

They looked, however, because persons who owned these things were usually rich and the rich are always being gawked at.

Floating upwards, it beautifully levitated as if by will.  The man’s face fell away warmly smiling up at us whilst, to the right, the sphere kept on expanding and emitting a noticeable heat.  This made such utterly perfect sense.

*Exactly why would the people who built pyramids not have such a technology?  Since it was all made with hides, fabrics, innards and woods, they would all easily disintegrate and leave no archaeological evidence that they ever existed.

Like a dream, technologically and historically, this levitating transport system was – with the passage of time – utterly ephemeral.  Not having any physical evidence, to validate on awakening that one did in fact dream, does not however mean that one did not dream.

That someone should also not recall their dreams, on awakening, does not therefore make dreams any less valid or not possible for those of us for whom dreams are very valid and clearly validated.  END.

We rose up off the ground, to between three and four feet, with our feet dangling off the awninged, wicker seat.  Instinctively, I peripherally noticed that Pandora had gathered one of the throw rugs to her rear, placing it on her lap, to cover her exposed legs dangling over the awninged wicker seat’s edge.

I was blown away by the sheer magic of the experience.  I squealed aloud,

“Yes!  Of course…”

It had all come back to me.  Pandora sweetly laughed and put her hand on mine, affectionately patting it, saying with her gesture,

“…yes, of course.  Don’t you remember this?”

I was being refamiliarised with the past – a past life lived in Africa, in Egypt.

Everybody here, interestingly enough, was Black regardless of what Eurocentrism will never concede.  After all, I have yet to have a past life dream in pre-Columbian Europe, in which the place was populated by the Chinese.

The Mongol hordes did not succeed in their expansionist campaign thus there are never dreams of a mostly Eurasian or Chinese stock, in eighteenth century France, when I have been there in time-accurate past life dreams.

I suppose that were the Mongol hordes to have ravaged Europe, finally, the rest of the world would have been overtaken by them as later Europeans would do.  Thus propelled by their fears, of being vanquished by an advancing, Eastern warrior civilisation, this led to the European conquest of the so-called New World.

So had the Mongol hordes made it into Africa, then today with all the heavy kohl depictions of the Egyptian artefacts, then the Sinocentric reinvention of the past would have the Egyptians as having been Chinese or at least Asian.  How could they not have been with all that almond-contoured heavy kohl on the eyes?

The man certainly was of Arabic extraction but the predominant race here was Black.  The common people here had thick, leathery-looking black skin that was unmistakably Nubian – that blue-blackened tonality and with that soft plush-leather texture.

This dream of a past incarnation was set, further back in time, long before the influx of the Aryan peoples into dynastic Egypt.  Long, too, before the influx of Middle Eastern peoples was this dream of a past life.  I should think that definitely it was set before the middle of the Old Kingdom Period.

However, frankly, I really don’t think that I had been incarnating at so early a date.  It is possible that I may have incarnated in the latter part of the intrigue-filled, New Kingdom Period.  Even then, I would have been a relative newcomer reincarnationally.

It definitely was neither in the epicentre nor was it in Lower Egypt.  It was not as cosmopolitan an area, as say immediately west of the Nile and to the South, definitely.  It hadn’t yet become the desertified area that it would become in later years – millennia.

Interestingly, desertification had not matured to the extent that we now know.

Later, as we ascended high enough making it out above the sandy plains, I could see the pyramids but there were date trees and palm trees.  The living quarters were very old and well lived-in.

We began moving forward whilst slowly negotiating the crowded bazaar.  There were people in a very narrow alleyway that was off the main site of the bazaar.  Pandora, who was so much more savvy at all this, called out to the unsuspecting locals getting them to move.

The locals turned around, giggled and gave us right-of-way.  The alleyway was a series of landings that were stone-stepped which, in fact, were quite worn from centuries of use.  This was a very ancient city.  Everything was very white or sand-coloured – limestone.

There was a noticeable veneer of fine sand, on most of the buildings, deposited by windstorms.  This fine veneer of sand made the upper parts of the buildings glisten in the sunlight.

High up the sinuses, there was a ripe smell of dryness from the desert.  There was a sense of the many spice aromas.  Of course, there was a perpetual haze of smoke from the methane fumes of guano-fuelled fires going everywhere.

This was a town of about two thousand people.  There was a lot of smoke in this part of town perhaps because we were in the bazaar.  However, I should think that there must have been a high incidence of respiratory illnesses from all that thick stifling smoke.

Not too familiarised, I wasn’t properly working the pulley system.  So at one point, as we came to the cobblestone steps though the transport levitated we had to use our feet to get purchase and push down and clear the steps.

Pandora, true to her no-nonsense heart, smacked me on the back of the hand and leaned across to the controls saying,

“No, no.  Use this.  You’re supposed to be using this one.”

I was not properly working the pulley system; I had totally forgotten about it and so had stopped using it.  Following her directives, I pulled on certain strings and the transport readily levitated higher.

Each string, attached to the main cabling tether, was connected to a small duct on the sphere.  Pulling on a particular string caused the corresponding duct to open and it, in turn, was related to a particular lever beneath the sofa that allowed it to dip, turn, rise or go forward – all the possible combinations of movement desirable.

This system of transportation was developed because they did not believe in the abuse of animals, such as camels, oxen, asses, et cetera, as beasts of burden.  After all, this was a culture whose religion at its core was animist – intrinsically African.

Besides, it should be obvious that this degree of engineering ingenuity would have existed then because they did build the pyramids.

It also makes it very feasible to speculate that modes of levitation, such as this used in the passenger transportation, were used and probably developed to ferry building materials on-high during the mammoth engineering endeavour of erecting the pyramids.

This was so very simple an engineering feat that it made such utter sense.  After all, engineering breakthroughs don’t happen because one is posited in a deemed modern age.

At all times, there will be mature to old souls incarnating on the planet.  At any given time, it will be the ingenious ideas of such visionary souls to come up with whatever engineering marvel is needed at that time.  These engineering breakthroughs can then be applied in the culture to make things that much more practical, functional and operationally efficient.

Thus an old soul like Leonardo da Vinciº appeared when he did, and not now, because it was about his personal, spiritual, evolutionary perspective.  Indeed, it is not the group perspective that produces the visionary breakthroughs.

As for Leonardo da Vinci, he was naturally a sceptic which is the one attitude that leads to all originality of thought, breakthroughs and inventions… it is the attitude of the visionary.

So that it’s not about social evolution, along a progressional linear timeline, rather older souls stepping to the fore in their time to invent and eventualise those visionary breakthroughs.

This is why Pharaoh Ramses IIº was the great architect and visionary that he was.  It was not because he represented the ultimate expression of Egyptian civilisation’s evolution, rather, he was an older soul who had the vision.

Being well-placed at birth, to affect the massive cultural and architectural changes and advances required, served Pharaoh Ramses II for being an older soul and visionary.

Why should we be considered the apex in engineering achievement, indeed?  Mercantilism has little, after all, to do with efficiency or serving a higher good.

So as long as existing cartels continue abusing resources, why should this be considered the apex of engineering achievement when visionary ideas rarely see the light of day because of the threat they pose to most such large monopolies – petroleum being a prime example.

In effect, these early Egyptians were harnessing the existing energies for making life more viable – from an engineering viewpoint – with regard to having large centres of population.

How could it not have been solar energy?  The light that the spheres needed to be exposed to, to begin operating, were: the Sun, the Moon and fire – at whose zenith the Egyptian pantheon was ruled by Ra, the Sun.

Indeed, it was technology that pragmatically applied higher principles in everyday life.  In a latter day translation, this use of Ra\Sun\Light was the Judeo-Christian notion of God in man, God in nature.

The sphere, the link of Ra to man, was being applied in everyday life and thereby elevated the quality of their lives.  It is inevitable that such large centres of population would produce bursts of engineering innovations to address and release some of the tensions of population density.

One other reason for this transport being used, and why camels and mules would not have been used owing to Egyptian cosmology being both African and animist, is readily validated in the surviving hieroglyphics which do not show Egyptians indulging in riding camels or mules et al.

Animals were much too revered and respected, for their spiritual totemic importance, for them to have been ridden – abused.  Hence, there was the need for a practical invention like the sofa-like, awninged, wicker seat transport.

The strings allowed you to release excess hot air from the sphere, so that one could descend or drop to a lower altitude.  It was a way of manoeuvring that allowed you to get to the desired speed, height or locale.

The central tether was umbilical but multisided and thus you could actually steer the transport by the degree of rotation employed.  It was a five-sided cable that when turned in a clockwise direction, in my right hand, the awninged, wicker seat transport turned to the left.

Pandora had given one of her wan looks – at my finally beginning, as it were, to see the light.  When we came out, into this square away from the bazaar, we had to then go through a narrow street.

Getting to the entrance of the narrow alley-like street, I had manoeuvred the levitating, awninged, wicker seat transport into the air so that we comfortably passed easily feet above the locals’ heads.

Nobody here was surprised or upset at the sight of us because it was such a commonplace occurrence.  The levitating, awninged, wicker seat transports were, long ago, incorporated into the weave of what was deemed natural.

What proved really interesting was, on getting out into the square area, I realised that there were more people in the same transports.  Some were in motion much faster than we were.  Others still, were at much higher altitudes than us.  Too, there were some who were down on the ground of the square.

The thick black fabric, which covered the sphere, allowed it to sweat creating a lubricating body of moisture.  Once the awninged, wicker seat transports were in motion, causing the sphere to become heated up, the excess moisture would come out and trickle down one or two of the strings.

This water was actually quite purified and was therefore fit for consumption.  Thus it was possible for one to go for long distances, over the desert area, and to also be assured of a source of fresh drinking water.

Further, it could simply be allowed to drain out and trickle to fall from the airborne awninged, wicker seat transports whilst away from peopled areas.  This excess water could also, of course, be used to feed animals if desired.

This was a very, very advanced engineering feat.  For me, it was a very, very advanced dream.  Certainly, it was an archaeological dream – serving as it did, to cast light on aspects of human history which were more advanced that one has been led to believe possible.

This was a mode of transportation which was quite viable, ecological and purely practical.  Naturally, for a civilisation based on Sun worship by way of Ra, why wouldn’t all the engineering advances of that age be based on solar technology?

Sure enough, there were massive paddies of camel dung in another pouch to the rear right corner of the sofa.  These were obviously used to burn the slow-burning fires that were used at nighttime to create the fire, and as such light, to fuel the sphere’s apparatus.

The flame’s light would actually be drawn up through the tether system and into the sphere to give the necessary light ballast to its engine system.  The flame’s light simultaneously provided illumination for occupants whilst in the awninged, wicker seat transport at nighttime.

Indeed, could this not be the fabled magic carpet of ancient times from that region of the world?

When we got through the arroyo of the tall-buildinged alleyway, where there were lots of people out and about with awnings to cool the place from the unrelenting Sun, there was lots of bartering going down.

The people were so lively and African; lots of laughter and spirited arguing over the barter of goods.  Of course, there was the ubiquitous sound of music that was distinctly African in its drum-based, syncopated percussiveness.

This was a trading town, not a major centre but a point between destinations, where one stayed the night and a marketplace was set up.  It was obvious that, in that lifetime, I had not had much interaction or awareness of this level of society due to my elevated station in life.

Pandora on the other hand, who was quite adept in the culture, had been to outposts like this before; she was my guide really.  Isis was there as not much more than an initiate to all this splendour.

In fact, Isis’s total silence in this dream would suggest that she was merely a tourist to this time frame because it was long before she had ever first begun incarnating.  She was, in that sense, a dream tourist.

I was not a dream tourist although I am convinced that the time, at which this dream was set, was perhaps one-and-one-half possibly two millennia before I had first begun incarnating.  So although I had had incarnations in the late era, of the Middle Kingdom period, I could be said to be a dream tourist of sorts.

If this dream did, however, occur after the influx of non-Black peoples into the Nile Valley then this outpost town was clearly in the southern border regions of Upper Egypt.  In that region there was little, if any, immigration of non-Blacks occurring.  Thus, it is possible that this technology did exist during the late era of the Middle Kingdom period.

It may have been used mostly by desert peoples at that point in time.  This transport, perhaps, may have been so commonplace at that point in time that it was not incorporated in the depictions of life.

When we went out onto the square, the winds were noticeably stronger whilst we were exposed to the great expanse of land and sands.  There was a great updraught that immediately took us aloft even higher.

I became concerned and began pulling at the strings in a bid to have us descend.  Pandora was able to stay my fears by smacking me on the hand and telling me to relax.  It was perfectly okay she assured me.

I can’t relay enough how very intense and involved a dream this was.  The smell of the desert was more intense, once we were airborne and had left the stew of methane fumes, spices, animals and people.  Additionally, there was no longer the stench of human feces marginally piquing the sinuses.

I was able to feel the sunlight on my skin.  I remember how much cooler, too, the air was the higher we rose.  Even though the awninged, wicker seat transport was open in the front, the design of its seat caused one to slump back into the seat.

Too, the awninged wicker seat naturally tilted a little backwards on liftoff such that you never felt like you were sitting on the edge of a great height.  There was no sense of vertigo.

Besides which, in spite of the fact that there was no barrier across the front of the seat, the heavy rugs placed on the lap that covered the legs did have a restraining effect.

*This dream was, in essence, a splice of a life lived very long ago… millennia ago, in fact.  I was being refamiliarised.  Whilst dreaming, I realised that my cautiousness had to do with my lucidly alert, dreamer self, attached to my waking personality, who had to be illumined as to the intricacies of what was common knowledge to a life of mine which was lived very long ago.

I was, in this dream, in the dream body which relates to my waking state experience in this life.  Uncharacteristically, I was not in the dream body of who I was in that life lived at that time.

This dream was more displacing than that dream had, on January 1, 1989, in which I entered my former body in a past life in England.  In that dream I was female, a fiery redhead with quite the temper – impatient.

Experiencing that time in the body of that past incarnation, lived in England, meant that there was less to become refamiliarised with as in this dream.  In the English past-life dream, I was merely my present consciousness having to experience her totality.

Although it was more work to pull off on some levels, it was still easier than in this Egyptian dream, I was a dream tourist to the time.

For not experiencing that epoch in Egypt simultaneously from my dreamer self/waking self’s present perspective and that time’s life’s body, I was less savvy and acculturated to the time as was Pandora.  END.

As I sat there in the awninged wicker seat, I thought then that the same person who represented a past incarnation of my soul’s could have had a dream in which they visited me here in my time frame.  Like me in theirs, they would be wowed by the transportation technologies existing in this time frame.

As I was having of his/her time, I thought of how fantastical it would seem to my former self experiencing my world in just such a dream.  They would be with me in a car and, for all intents and purposes, this technological marvel would be powered by psychic energy.

After all, there would be no discernible sphere or a sense of the combustion necessary to propel the vehicle.  I was blown away to think of how excited one would be to have to describe, on awakening to contemporaries, the revolutionary advances in transportation in this fantastical time when visited in the dreamtime.

I was certain that the car would be seen as a mode of transport that was solely powered by will.  After all, one did not have to do much – one was free to converse, be at ease.

It would, I am sure, seem just as magical and just as unfamiliar as was the awninged, wicker seat transport initially for me.

A truly wonderful dream experience this was.

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Photo: Pyramids at Giza.

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© 2013-2025 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.

Magus Maharaja Holds Court.

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As the stately Moon drifted on its transit through Aries and thus my eleventh house, I would – whilst I serenely slept – experience the most exquisite glimpse into Merlin’s spirit.  It was one of the most lucidly engaged dreams had in long ages.

Of course, it was Monday, April 11, 1994.  This was a dream encounter with Merlin not soon forgotten.  It was, in fact, the second dream that day.  

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Next, I was ushered inside this large beautiful hall that was columned by the princely Maharaja.  Here it was a cream-coloured, slightly tan marble structure.

From outdoors, wonderful streams of dappled sunlight flooded the interior.  Whilst moving through the gracious palace, I passed a dozen or more beautiful saried ladies.

All of them were tall and beautifully dark – in that gorgeous Dravidian manner.  However, these were more mythic archetypes than aristocrats, courtesans.

Their saris were saffron-coloured, some with hues of peach, all of them beautifully flowing fine fabrics.  In what were the finest silks imaginable, somehow, there seemed to be actual light woven into the fabrics.

There was a lot of gold jewellery here, as a matter of fact, everywhere on their person.  They did, though, seem none-too-thrilled at my presence.

At a low table, which was beautifully set, we were next seated on silken cushions.  Lots of fine wares: gold and brass, were among them.

The light flooding into the place caused everything to become imbued, in the true sense of the word, with a glowing hue which was ethereal.  Everything here seemed to zing at a higher frequency, for being infused with this magical starlight, which merrily flooded into the palatial salon.

The Maharaja, who had been our host, was immediately familiar as well as warm and good to be around.  He had the most handsome, soulful smiling eyes.  He sat directly across from me and we were not seated at the heads of the long table.

To my left was a very beguiling, genuinely yellow-eyed beauty.  She was nubile and immensely arousing.  I wanted to fuck this woman from the moment that I laid eyes on her.

She was, in fact, the hostess who sat across the table from the Maharaja – she was clearly his Maharani.  Seated on the opposite side of the table the Maharaja seemed totally transcendent.

Indeed, this man was so elevated that he needn’t have eaten of the food – so long was he removed from being in the body.  His was an august, truth be told, fixed gaze that was the most hypnotic.

Sitting there, he directly looked across and into me.  He paid attention to no one else.  I could feel the warm caress of his mind’s touch as he became telepathically harmonised with me.

He knew exactly everything that was going on in my mind.  He was a most utterly beguiling man.  His were the energies of a truly evolved individual.  He had a large robust, though softening, body which was rather Zen-energied.

Too, the ease with which he had slipped into my mind bespoke a great intimacy which we have shared over several lifetimes.  Whilst he sat opposite me, grounding me, on his side of the table were all the other mythic-looking saried women along with some truly princely-looking gentlemen.

The one feature of all these persons was the beautifully haunting silence in which they sat here whilst we took a meal in their presence.  Seeing the Maharaja reminded me of Merlin.

Observing the maharaja was akin to when looking across the magic carpet-like platforms, as we sat in lotus position in a circle, during the final dream on Friday, July 9, 1993.  There was no getting around the fact that the maharaja bore a connection to Merlin.

Meanwhile, the Maharani was graciously lowering her beauteous head just-so.  At the time, she was eating and had done so in order to whisper instructions to me.

She discretely shared the finer points of dining etiquette when in their rarefied milieu.  This meal involved a great deal of ritualised behaviour throughout.

I was astounded by the array of gold being used here: the goblets, jugs and plates.  This proved to be one of the most lavish multi-coursed meals that I had ever partaken of.

Lots of beautiful blooms dreamily floated, perfuming the air, in gold bowls of water.  Some were purple, others yellow, whilst some pink blooms; they sat in bowls which were placed along the centre of the table’s considerable length.

This was terribly refined beyond the extraordinary.  Naturally, there was no flatware which, had there been, would doubtless have been made of the same yellow-white gold.  Whenever the Maharani had spoken to me, she had lowered her head and smiled exposing those beautiful compacted teeth.

Beguilingly, from behind her smile’s alluring façade, she had given clipped directives.  She was never impatient with me, either.  The food was spiced ever so delicately, seeming more so like Chinese – Szechuan or even Japanese cuisine – rather than East Indian.

Either way, this fare had a bite to it that was truly sublime.  I had taken a bite of some deep-fried fish which had proven mind-expansive.

The subtlety of the seasonings, and the degree to which each spice had been cooked into the fish, was truly phenomenal.  She discreetly told me not to get ahead with myself thereby, ending up eating the wrong dishes or at least, eating something before it was meant to be eaten.

There were lots of chutneys being used here.  Goodness it is simply not possible to convey, in this medium, how utterly refined the seasonings and the overall ambiance of this meal was.

Rarely does one get to be in such refined company.  Truly, these were highly evolved persons.  Nonetheless, their wealth was not a mercantile state of affairs.

Rather they were wealthy, surrounded by all this exquisite refinement, as it accurately reflected their state of soul evolvement.  Truly refined were they.

There was nothing classist or elitist about this august company in which I found myself.  To avert embarrassment for me, she had reached forward for something from a dish and thereby cut me off in the process.

As she foiled my none-too-couth display, she had rapidly told me not to take another piece of the fish.  It had not been meant to be eaten just then during the meal’s many courses.

What could I have cared?  This was the most glorious of experiences.  Indeed, this meal and refined company were truly music for the soul.

I had been so ravenous.  I so wanted to have another piece of fish for so good was it.  Seemingly, one was expected to take but one bite of each dish.

This was about showing control, about being able to then move on to the next dish, even though one was dying for more of the last dish.  Control, discipline and grace – these were the hallmarks of this ritual dining experience.

Distantly, the strains of strings came wafting through the air and were laced with the sweet fragrance of jasmine, oleander and sandalwood incense.  All along the length of the table, plumes of incense hypnotically danced into the air.

There were times, when it was hard to make out the eyes of my host which were so immediate and so familiar.  His were eyes which had an uncanny resemblance to those of Merlin’s.

Flames also burnt at the centre of the table heating up and cooking some of the dishes.  In one instance, a large flame suddenly rose up between the Maharaja and me.

As if I had not known or noticed the resemblance before now, for the first time, the magical flames caused a phantom of Merlin’s face to dance through the fiery veil.  I was astonished yet not surprised.

All that I had been feeling was, in one flicker of the suddenly rising flame, being validated.  The flame had served to sear away layers and dimensions, as if so many lifetimes were being wiped clean, to reveal the residue of the individual Merlin whom I had most intimately known.

Though revelatory, the flames also served as the barriers – dimensional barriers – which now separated us.  Though Merlin, he was now more than Merlin had ever been.

Lifetimes and dimensions impassably stood between us.  Nonetheless, there was a knowing and connectivity there which could never have been extinguished.

There was something primal, magical even, about the flames.  The ever gracious Maharaja had not quivered one iota, though they had suddenly shot up into the air, when the rising plume of fire had roared to life between us.

There he sat radiant and more focussed and intense as though, somehow, he had magically affected the flame’s uproar.  His cool betrayed that of only one other human being that I have ever known – Merlin’s.

Suddenly, he was illumined.  Perhaps, there had been a light breeze wafting a silken curtain, just off the colonnade or even the movement of piece of polished gold on the table.

Whatever it was, the light struck him just-so.  For the first time, without the flame’s effect, there was no mistaking the fact that here across from me sat the soul of the man who had recently been Merlin.

The shaft of light had fallen in back of him, off to the right and rear, bouncing off so many surfaces.  The effect that it had, from where I sat, was that of creating what seemed like a halo, an icon, about the head of a princely maharishi.

Unmistakably, there was an aura of mysticism about him which clearly had been hinted at before.  Seated there, my lips quivered, as I experienced sheer ecstasy for seeing the beauty of this being’s spirit.

There was no way of getting around it… this was an utterly beautiful dream.  Whilst sitting there, I felt much as I had in that dream wherein Merlin and I flew together into the intense blue-white light, in an upright position and laughing our heads off.

Of course, that amazing flying dream between Merlin and me did occur on Friday, August 10, 1994.  It was, by far, one of the most beautiful dreams.

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Photo: c. 1860 Maharaja Duleep Singh.

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© 2013-2025  Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.  

Older Souls Commune.

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So, on Friday, November 3, 1995, as the gibbous Moon waxed in Pisces – measurably drifting across my tenth house – I would dream this dream which concerned the dynamic between both Merlin and Oleg.

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A house that much reminded me of the one in Crab Hill, Sandy Point, St. Kitts proved the setting for this most potent dream.  There were five of us here; although, one person’s identity now eludes me.

There in the living room, seated on the blue sofa of our Crab Hill home, was Merlin with his back to the north.  Directly behind him was the five-foot oblong mirror; it was hung against the living room’s wall.  On the other side of that wall, in the waking sate, was Harella’s bedroom.

Here in the dreamtime, which was definitely astral plane in focus, the living room was elongated; it was more oblong-shaped, along a north-south axis.  Merlin’s right side was closer to the veranda and the main road with the McHughs across the road.

Across the room from me, with her back to the street and facing due east, was Gita Gurucharan – Oberon Samuelson’s lovely wife and mother to miracle worker extraordinaire, Vijayalakshmi Gurucharan.  Oleg de Brontë was seated directly opposite Merlin.

There was a man, to my immediate left, who sat directly opposite Gita.  Whilst I was closer to Merlin than anyone in the room, I was not however sharing the sofa with him.

Abruptly, Merlin got up and took his leave of us.  He went into Harella’s bedroom.

The others had dropped by to visit.  It was clear, early on, that Merlin simply wasn’t into it.  There was strain to the social dynamic which Merlin put an end to – he rudely took his leave of us.  This was so unlike his former self during his recently-concluded incarnation.

Yet, I fully understood where he was coming from.  Whilst being in the soul state, he was now more so his true self.  This gathering of persons represented the past to him, which at this point, clearly served no interest for him.

I then got up and stood next to Gita who was on my right.  After Merlin rudely took his leave of us, we had all silently gotten up.  To say the least, it was awkward.  As we faced towards the dining room, our backs were now to the veranda.

Filling the void that Merlin’s departure had created, Gita and I began making conversation.  To say the least, it was a strained, canned affair.

Here, I was keenly aware of how much I am dismissed as a social misfit.  I was aware that these were persons who had long ago decided that I was not the swiftest of souls – I don’t indulge in clever repartee and such plastic aggressiveness when socialising.

The Black man then came over; he was tall and handsome with a gorgeously mesomorphic body.  He stood to my left, directly facing Gita, and began talking.  There were a lot of pauses here; they were trying to get me to shove off by firmly excluding me.

Finally, I dryly said,

“Well, I’m going to go and see how my man is doing.”

I then walked between the chairs, on which Oleg and the Black man sat, as though heading for the boys’ bedroom rather than Harella’s to which Merlin had retreated.  I then, however, made an abrupt turn left going instead through the door from the living room to Harella’s bedroom.

On entering the bedroom, I saw that Merlin was lying in the girls’ bedroom next-door.  Merlin seemed as though asleep.  He did look as though ill with full-blown AIDS.  It was not, however, distressing to have seen him thus; I was lucidly awakened here.

Initially, when out in the living room, Merlin looked robust and even leaned towards a robust, mesomorphic body type.  It was clear though that having to visit with these persons, from the past, had very much so enervated his spirits.

Rather than sit there interminably, enduring what was an unpleasant situation for him, he thankfully had taken refuge when he had.  On drawing closer to him, I gently caressed his face – all the while thinking of how difficult this was for him.

I wanted to share some of my energies with him; I wanted to restore his.  The vibrations from the living room, however, were distracting.

After excusing myself from Merlin, I returned to the living room.  Immediately, I dramatically shifted personae and became rude.  I told them to sit down, at which point, we all did.

Oleg then got up after awhile; he was holding a long-necked, brown beer bottle.  There were three empty identical ones on the floor and next to his chair.  There was no mistaking the fact that he was drunk.

‘Who the hell gets drunk on the astral plane anyway?’

Oleg wore a woollen jacket that was dark and nondescript.  Incidentally, on my return, the Black man was no longer present.  In his place was a White man with the same physical description; he came over trying to save face.

The unfamiliar man charmingly suggested that it was time that they pushed off.  Oleg had gotten very drunk indeed; he was not at all being belligerent.

It turned out that Oleg had gotten emotionally distraught – about Merlin’s condition; he was upset at the way that things had turned out between them.  The fact that things were unresolved between them, at the end of Merlin’s last life, caused Oleg a great deal of distress.

He did not know how else to deal with it; thus, Oleg got miserably drunk.  I wanted to be of solace to Oleg, however, since my energies were already committed to being with Merlin that option proved a nonstarter.

Clearly, Gita and the other man had been there to try and broker some sort of peace between Oleg and Merlin.  Obviously, Merlin was not up to it.

At one point, I had actually headed to the dining room and called back to Oleg.  My voice rang out as I asked Oleg if he wanted another beer.

This was the point at which the unfamiliar White man had interrupted and declined the offer; instead, he suggested that they take their leave of Merlin and me.

Oleg, of course, was inclined to take another drink.  I did not like my role here – that of keeping Oleg grounded by drink.  Certainly, it did give the impression that I was trying to block any resolution or any communion between both him and Merlin.

Although, to be honest, Oleg had begun drinking after Merlin had left the room.  It was quite embarrassing really.  Oleg could hardly get up – let alone stand on his own.

The man had had to rush to Oleg’s aid.  Like Merlin in the bedroom, Oleg was completely enervated though he had used alcohol to drown his pain.

Oleg was devastated that Merlin was not going to return.  More importantly, Oleg knew that Merlin had positively no intentions of suffering him for a minute.

The man threw his arms about Oleg and braced him up.  More than that, he was fortifying his very spirit.

Again, I took my leave of them in the living room and headed back for Merlin.  However, I did not spend time visiting with Merlin.

On returning to the bedroom, I got a long, black, woollen evening coat.  It was rather expensive and cut close to the body.  Bearing the coat, I returned to the living room where I insisted that Oleg take it to stay warm.

For not realising that he had been drinking to excess, I had felt badly.  He was truly distraught; nothing pained me more than seeing this truly beautiful man’s spirit in disrepair.

Whilst his White friend got him into the coat, I stood in back of a disjointed Oleg and held the evening coat open.

Interestingly enough, Oleg’s handsome, Black friend earlier was the same handsome Black man, with the striking resemblance to Maxwell Bowleson – he had appeared with him in that august-energied dream, on Friday, July 21, 1995.

Eventually, they all took their leave of the house; they were rather low-key when doing so.  When I had returned to the living room, after having visited with Merlin in the girls’ bedroom, Gita had not said anything further.

No sooner than had they all left the house that Merlin came out to the living room to join me.  I was surprised to see that he was again looking so healthy.

Directly opposite Merlin, I now sat alone.  Merlin silently sat there.  Whilst consciously sending him loving energies, I held my back erect.

Much to my surprise and amusement, Merlin carried a large, clear plastic bag with about 1.5 pounds, likely more, of marijuana.  Merlin meticulously rolled a large thick joint with all the Zen focus as he had when incarnate.

I sat there being truly blown away at the sight.  I had completely forgotten the sublime, almost Zen, sight of Merlin rolling a joint.

Moments like this were when Merlin really turned up the hues of his magus nature.  It was a groove into which he slipped, in order to conceptualise – to non-linearly think.

These ganja joints were so thick that they looked like short white cigars; they certainly smoked profusely like a cigar does.  I was mildly humoured by Merlin’s realness.  It was grounding.

On looking up, Merlin paused before lighting up and turned up the sensual hues in his large brown – which they were not when incarnate – eyes.

Coolly, Merlin intoned,

“I have no intentions of seeing these people…”

He then pursed the fat joint in his rosy lips and lit up.  Casually, Merlin blew on a long even breath that readily perfumed the air with its pungent aroma.

Up to that point, the room was sillaged by that most glorious of scents patchouli – it was Merlin’s favourite fragrance.

As an afterthought, Merlin added that Oleg had intended to come back tomorrow and join him for lunch.  There was supposed to be some woman or other present then.

Apparently, it was not going to be either Morag O’Hoare or Gita Gurucharan.  I don’t know who she was supposed to be but it was also definitely not Elektra Skanczchowicz – and definitely not Hélène Plotte-Visage.

Merlin took his time and drew on another breath.  He then announced that the luncheon had been arranged by none other than Maxime Gascoigne-de Montigny.  Merlin, however, was not into it.

“Are you sure that you’re going to be up to it?” I asked obviously concerned.

As I looked across the room at Merlin, I spent a great deal of time being spiritually focussed and sent him energy.  What was really interesting in this process was that with his long even breaths, when dragging on the ganja joint, I used his breathing rhythm to become harmonised with his vibration.

The focussed process of sharing my energy with him was very potent – real.  The energy flowed with great ease.  For being intensely lucid, I thought of elevating my vibration’s frequency.  I had hoped to thus cycle off a ton of my energy into Merlin.

I accomplished this by envisioning us both encircled by spheres of intense blue-white light.  Soon, I saw my energy body cycling off a coil of white light.

This light originated both from the top and bottom of the sphere of light which completely enveloped my seated body.  The light travelled the distance between us, across the room, some seven feet away at most.

It made contact with both poles of his energy body’s identical sphere’s integrity.  Together, we were truly in communion soul-to-soul.  The interesting thing here was that we both continued casually visiting though I knew that Merlin was keenly aware of the energy work that was being accomplished between us.

As he continued his detached Zen-like smoking, I knew that it served as a backdrop to his being receptive of the energy work that I was doing on his behalf.  Our breathing was completely synchronised.

I used each inhalation to draw off the negative vibrations.  It was this energy that had caused him to become completely enervated when seated opposite Oleg whom he clearly had no desire to have encountered.  Merlin then chose to abruptly retire, whilst the others visited, to the girls’ bedroom to crash.

With each exhalation, I sent him intense, white-light energy that was being liquidly drunk by his energy body.

The marvellous thing about this entire experience was how utterly feminine Merlin’s modalities were.  This was in marked contrast to my very masculine, martial, warrior-energied focus.

It was truly a validation of the creative principle, Merlin being yin to my yang.  Together we were becoming whole.  Together our energies were perfectly harmonised.  As a result, Merlin’s energies were thusly realigned.

Too, for being in this very expansive state, I caught brief glimpses of the outlines of the light energies that were being manifested between us.  During the moments when he would exhale potent puffs of smoke, I observed the manifested spheres of light each time.

The smells of the patchouli and ganja, combined with the ganja’s smoke, created the effect. I was so grounded for being here in this astral plane reanimation of the Crab Hill, Sandy Point, St. Kitts house.  It was a truly sublime magus experience.

It was clear that Merlin had no desire to experience unpleasant aspects of the past.  As he sat there, Merlin waited for the air to clear; he waited for the ganja to wane and the strobe of the light spheres to fade out before replying,

“No, no.  It’s okay.  I’ll be okay…”

As Merlin spoke for the first time, he looked healthier than he had looked at any point before during our astral plane dream encounter.

Earlier, he was lying on his stomach with his left cheek on the pillow; his face looked out the door that led to the room from Harella’s bedroom.  There was a cool sheen of sweat then that covered his brow and body; he laid there looking truly wasted.  

Even his breathing was loud then.  As I patted his cool brow, I could hear the crackling in his lungs that suggested that he was again suffering from a bout of pneumocystis.  On soothing his spirit, I had brushed the wet strands of his shoulder-length hair from his brow.  

It was so very good to have seen Merlin.  The most exquisite pleasure of being in his presence was the great sense of peace that I felt for seeing him whole again.

The simple act of his rolling a joint was, for me, on the order of bliss; he was transcendent.  Of course, as was the case during our relationship in the waking state, he did not offer me a toke of the cigar-like joint.

I do know that I found the second-hand smoke pleasurable.  It was sweet; it did much to relax me, along with the focussed deep breathing that I independently did – that we did in unison and which had been triggered by his breaths when smoking the joint.

Feeling the need to come down from the intense energy work that I had accomplished with Merlin, I got up and walked slowly over to Merlin.  I asked him if he was going to be okay on his own.

He assured me that I had nothing to worry about; he would be fine.  I knew it too.  So with that, I took my leave of him.  In a bid to move back into my regular-dream body, I went out to get some air on the veranda.

He assured me that I did not need to come back, later on, and join him.  He would be quite okay to handle things on his own, he assured me.  I believed him.

Merlin simply glowed throughout; his cheeks were flushed and fleshy even.  Merlin looked centred and genuinely contented.

I then found some ice cream, beneath one of the living room chairs, which earlier I had been eating.  Naturally, it was not all that great as it had melted down and lost its flavour.

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Photo: Colliding galaxies.

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© 2013-2025 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.  

On Board the Schooner.

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

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

<O>

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

<O>

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

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

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

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Photo: Schooner.

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© 2013-2025 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.

The Dreamer Awakens.

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This dream occurred, on Monday, December 7, 1992, whilst the Moon transited both my twelfth house – appropriately enough – and Taurus.  Merlin my mentor had initiated in me the task of coming into my own and becoming the awakened warrior.

Here was I, dream magus, awakened warrior displaying my power – bonding with nature and bonding with the very force itself.  Said dream was the first experienced in exquisite lucidity in the ‘B’ or second sleep phase that day.

A yard at late twilight when morning breaks, rather than the indeterminate light that pervades astral plane dreams, was the setting for this dream.  It seemed pretty much like the backyard of the Crab Hill, Sandy Point, St. Kitts house.

I was in a tree that looked like a giant bugweed.  I stepped out onto one of its branches.  Whilst simultaneously in the body and astrally projected, somehow, I could see myself from behind and above.

This dream began as I boldly, in mid-stride, walked towards the large soulful tree.  Here, I had incredibly long hair and it was totally white.

The snow-white mane went down to the small of my back.  Mine – it was no absurd weave.  Full and luscious, it was a massive mane that handsomely flared out.

Here, I met the dream magus within.  I held a staff which was very wonderful.  It was made of a tanned polished wood.  As if something that Bill Reid would bring forth from the depths of his creative genius, it was a very sculptural staff.

Like a totem, the staff had lots of symbols throughout its length.  In some of the grooves, there were several large crystals with some of various colours.  Like Merlin did, in our first dream encounter of 1978I, I wore a long, white flowing robe that billowed in the wind.

Whilst radiating much of my inner light, I was very regal.  This was a moment of stellar beauty; too, the sight of myself empowered blew me away.  It was so humbling.

I had a long beard and drooping moustache.  It was also white and considerably longer than Merlin’s facial hair ever was. As a matter of fact, it was like the flowing, wispy beards of some Japanese and East Asian holy men.

On going out to the edge of the branch, I stabbed my staff into the tree and let out a war cry.  Almost immediately thereafter, a fierce wind picked up.  It was gale-forced.

The sky became blackened with mushrooming, heavy grey clouds.  The branch, on which I stood, was no more than four feet off the ground.  The winds were so fierce that it felt as though I were out to sea.

I regally stayed my ground as though the captain at the bow of a galleon – one being swept by fierce waves.

Whilst anchored on the branch, all I held on to was the staff.  With my free hand, I held on to a branch on the left – of course, the branches moved with a life of their own.

The tree was partially submerged in the gut that bordered the back of the Crab Hill, Sandy Point, St. Kitts property.  Looking across the gut, I had been facing due north.

The winds were so fierce that I could never see to the other side of the gut.  What’s more, it was a much wider gorge than Crab Hill’s.  Besides which, I had no time to project that far.

For one thing, the winds were too fierce and for another, the task of staying atop this branch proved far too demanding.  This wind was fiercer than anything I had ever experienced.

The saving grace of it all was that it was not, thankfully, a wintry wind.  The funny thing about the whole experience was that I had called forth the elements to energise my being.

So in tune with nature was I, I was able to summon the gale-force winds at will.  I wished to align with nature’s empowering, life-sustaining energies.  I was fiercely enjoying the charge from it screaming aloud and becoming transfixed.

It truly was as if being stationary whilst flying at hyper-speeds in an upright position.  Thus there was the dual sense of being not only on the high seas but also as if riding on a magic carpet.

There was one point that, as I screamed into the wind, I immediately then saw my face from above.  Whilst simultaneously astral-projected, I was looking down into my face as I looked up into the billowing clouds.

Beyond those clouds, there was some spectacular planet-being; it was much like the one that I thrillingly encountered in the dream earlier this year, on Tuesday, September 22, 1992.

This was quite an exhilarating experience.  I felt a massive surge of energy flowing through the staff and into me.  The staff was marvellously potent.

The look of the staff was a mélange of the creative geniuses of the artists, Bill Reid, Antoni Gaudí and Erté.  A very shamanic, magical totem it was.

My face was so high-foreheaded and timeworn.  A face that had spanned several millennia, to date, it certainly was.  More than that, there they were my familiar, papaya-seed-succulent brown eyes.  Here, they were large, supra-dilated eyes.

Looking down, I noticed that the branch was no more than eight inches across.  This had caused me to passingly fear having to lose my balance and falling.

Having the staff I was, however, quite anchored.

I was grounded within the eye of the storm itself.  Though there was no lightning, there was a definite sense that a great deal of potent magic was exploding in back of the ominous clouds.

I had a ton of energy.  I was a fierce, spiritual warrior-spirited shaman.

*Indeed, the dream magus was awakened.  This was the most beautiful experience to have had – to have drunk of my very soul itself.  Though an older version of myself in this lifetime, this shamanic dream magus was also a mélange of the two shamans whom I had been in previous lives.

These two shamans were encountered in the dreams of Sunday, April 25, 1993 and the other shaman in the dreams of Sunday, April 10, 1993.  There was something about my face, in this dream, which was informed by the look and vibration of both the shamans encountered in these two prior dreams.

The first shaman, a past life of mine, had lived in French Guyana at the colonial fortress and cared for the community.  Additionally, he tended to monkeys and sloths.

The other was a West African shaman and also a definite past life of mine.  He, of course, took to this cocoon-like mould which was hung in trees when questing.  I had seen both their eyes and immediately recognised them as former selves of mine in past lives.

Dreams truly are the poetry of the Soul.  END. 

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Photo: Angel oak tree.

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© 2013-2025 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.