Go In Peace: Energy Transference with Recently Departed Famous Entity Mate.

27.08.201909.12.2024 Arvin da Brgha1 Comment

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*Since having posted this dream blog some years back, I was always fascinated why I was simply summoned to be with the actor, River Phoenix when he passed. I did mention that sense of feeling strong resonance at the time of cadre mates’ passing. This dream was a poignant example of being called into action, to be of service to someone with whom I have a strong and connected soul bond that spans multiple past lives.

This was something that I felt at Natalie Cole’s passing and, of course, she proved to be an entity mate. In the case of River Phoenix, whose overleaves I will include here and which can now be found in the revamped and tidied up Michael Overleaves Appendix page, not only is he also an artisan soul but he happens to be a greater cadence mate of mine. This dream would not have occurred if we did not share this very strong bond; as a result of my cardinal casting, I am often called into action in dreams such as this one when entity and cadre mates pass on.

Read these dreams anew and do enjoy!.

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Whilst the Moon transited both Gemini and my first house, I would be transported to a cul de sac of the astral plane wherein I am not frequently focussed. It was Monday, November 1, 1993. At the time, as now, I did not own a television and hardly looked at it. Also, at the time, I hardly listened to radio or read newspapers et al. I was also much removed from most daily chatter as I had been off sick from work but did go in to participate in the annual Halloween costume competition which the year prior I had won when dressed in full drag and looking hotter than even Tina Turner herself in my high heels. The above photo of yours truly was taken at Halloween 1993, the day prior to this dream.

Thus it was that I would fall into sleep and immediately be summoned to be in service to the higher good. What is really interesting about the experience with the famous actor encountered in these dreams, I rather suspect that he may be a cadre mate from the tenor of the dream encounter. Too, there are a number of famous persons in my cadre and he seemed vibrationally not dissimilar to them.

That being the case, this likely explains why I was called on to be of service at the time. I am said to be rather cardinal in casting, which is clearly reflected in yours truly being inordinately gifted when it comes to fathoming the depth and breadth of the dream realms. Too, as these dreams were clearly focussed on the astral plane, naturally, there was dream flight. More than that, whilst focussed on the astral plane in the dreamtime, one did encounter at least two, possibly three, extra-human species.

As there is flight and levitation in these dreams, I pray that they will richly inspire you. Fly my darlings, fly, don’t even for a second doubt, just melt into a mischievous plié and start flying – cause you can… cause you are magic incarnate!

A woman and I were together, in this the second dream, above the Arctic Circle. This woman did remind me of the woman, who had earlier been in the previous dream encounter with Niles Ben-Daniel and seemingly his lover. I was not fully certain that this woman was one and the same as, the one posing as Niles Ben-Daniel’s lover, in the prior dream. She had a couple of siblings whom she had asked to find out what time it was.

Here, they kept time quite unusually because there was no tundra about. They, as a result, kept sundials. They grew their grass such that they were able to tell from Sol’s shadows what time of day it was. Their sundial was a natural phenomenon which used the rugged flat landscape for keeping time. Standing there, I faced due north. Sol was still in the sky, but low, and at the two o’clock position. Sol was red and potent; it was almost serene-looking.

Over time, they had planted a hedge of Chinese boxwood, which stood a foot tall. From it were a series of radial-like spokes radiating out from the centre. All told, there were twenty-four spokes; of course, the spokes lined up with each hour of the day. Even in the wintertime, the hedge though submerged maintained an imprint of itself above – in the snowed and iced over terrain. It was quite nude (barren) landscape here. Sol’s shadow was presently pointing directly at the ten o’clock position though it clearly wasn’t. Ten o’clock could also have been four hours past midnight.

I decided that it had to be around four, in the morning, which is why Sol appeared in the sky where it was. This was the time of year when Sol never sets which made it difficult for me, a novice in these parts, to readily get my bearings. Quite a strange phenomenon because my body felt nocturnally phased, yet, there in the sky was Sol as plain as the Moon. She wanted to know what time it was because she was getting ready to go down south to the ‘Southland’.

She also referred to it as, ‘the land of the setting summer Sun,’ which did make sense. She had said all that in her Inuit tongue, yet I had been able to follow perfectly well as though she had been speaking English. More than being with her, rather, I was there as an observer and took in the minutiae of this unique culture. Certainly, we were keenly aware of each other and that we were both gifted telepaths.

Next, in this the third dream, I was in a crowded interior. It was a waiting lounge in a large depot that was not unlike New York City’s Grand Central Station. A sandy marble, time-yellowed hue, the walls here were the same colour as at Grand Central Station. A high-ceilinged cavernous place it also was. The main hall had several wings that adjoined its considerable length. Here, there was natural light coming in from the bathysphere-like windows that sat way up the walls and close to the ceiling.

In that sense, this was not unlike the grand hall in which I walked with Merlin during which we encountered the exalted magus on September 4, 1988. I was seated on these large wooden benches that were old, comfortable and looked not unlike church pews. Semi-circular in shape, they gave a sense of inclusiveness to them. All around me exclusively were men. This place seemed, if you like, some sort of way station. One guy there was very slight-bodied, young and naïve-looking.

Looking at him, he wore a navy-blue track suit. He came over to sit next to me, eventually sitting on my right. Patting him on the back, I told him that it was really good to see him. I wished him a safe passage and asked that he go in peace, “Have a safe passage. Go in peace and do have a good journey…”

Of all people, it was the actor, River Phoenix – he recently overdosed on heroin, early on Sunday, October 31, yesterday. This was a very vivid dream. I was quite lucidly awakened. Feeling great compassion for his tragic departure, I thought to be of comfort to him and to uplift his spirit in whatever way possible. There and then, I realised that this was a place where persons who had recently died came whilst in transit to their final destination as returning astral plane habitués.

*This, of course, did not surprise me. Right away, I was reminded of the sense of mammoth dimensions that also exemplified the architecture of the train termini, where I had run into Merlin in that momentous dream on Friday, July 9, 1993. END.

Seated there, next to him, I exclusively turned my focus on him. I then began doing an enormous amount of energy transference, thereby healing his spirit, before he could move on. Who cares the attachments to this man, in the waking state? I have never followed his career but here, in his astral plane hour of need, we were souls and healing is the most generous gift of love. After having left his life in such a dissociate state, River Phoenix needed to be made more whole.

This is why he had seemed so naïve and as if in a daze. He saw me and purposefully began walking towards me. God only knows what he noticed in me that was different to the others. Until he was about two feet away from me, I for one had not realised that it was him. By that point, he had already been intent on coming to sit with me. He clearly needed my services.

Phoenix, River 23/8/197031/10/1993

This fragment was a second level mature artisan – third life thereat. River was in the observation mode with a goal of growth. A realist, he was in the intellectual part of emotional centre.

Body type was Lunar/Mercury.

River’s primary chief feature was self-destruction and the secondary stubbornness.

Casting for River is fifth-cast in second cadence; he is a member of greater cadence three – greater cadence mate of Arvin’s. River’s entity is six, cadre one, greater cadre 7, pod 414.

River’s essence twin is an artisan and he has a sage task companion.

River’s primary needs were: exchange, expression and power.

There are 18 past-life associations with Arvin and 16 with Merlin.

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At the level of soul, I could not have cared less who he was; his energy body’s vibration needed a good deal of realignment before he could move on. He chose me and I gladly obliged his wishes. When patting him on the back, I was keenly focussed on sending him a great deal of near-aqueous blue-white light. River Phoenix was saddened. Rather, he seemed to be in a state of shock, though, not horrified or enraged. There was just a degree of resignation as he came to terms with where he was at. When it was all over, in the brief moments that it took to lay my hand on his back, he got up to get going.

He was obliged to take his leave and move on. He seemed here truly dazed. Perhaps, these were residual effects of his having passed in a heightened soporific state. Seated there, I felt completely drained of my very breath itself. I was left feeling so overwhelmingly sad and strangely alone. Another guy had sat down, on the other side of me, whilst I energetically focussed on River Phoenix.

I can’t, for the life of me, say whether or not the guy had ambled up to join us seated there or if he had simply materialised – on the astral plane – for having just projected himself into our midst. Looking Hispanic, more than anything, this man had yellow-coloured eyes. Absolutely bewitching they were. He wore cream-coloured jeans with matching cream-coloured jacket. There was a lot of black in the clothing. This was in the style of Hip-Hop fashions.

He was a very sensitive man with a Hispanic accent and was slightly older than River Phoenix; he was about 24 or 25 years – at least he looked about that age. His hair was thick, black and curly. By way of conducting focussed energy transference, my function here was to provide counsel. I would simply tap into their vibration and, by way of their chakras, realign their energy. All of them seemed to have passed suddenly, completely unexpectedly. Thus they had a great need to become assimilated to what was clearly an unexpected turn of events.

They needed immediate supervision and companionship, until having become further acclimatised. Meanwhile, the persons around me were all being counselled by others – who were more solid-looking – whose role was like that of mine. I was, like all the others, a guide, companion and energetic facilitator to the arrivée habitués.

Architecturally, this place was so immensely massive. It was also more ancient by at least 30 millennia than the rise of the Roman Empire. Clearly, there is no way to get around the fact that this was an astral plane experience. There was also no way to get around the fact that the first man, with whom I worked, was the actor, River Phoenix. What was really impactful for me was that River Phoenix, like all the others, had absolutely no emotions. He was in a place of total detachment.

Though a sudden departure from the life being lived, his soul consciousness was totally matter-of-fact about the situation at hand. The past, his recently accidentally concluded incarnation, was concluded and behind him. Period.

Whilst we were all there, we were caught in some commotion when a Black guy appeared. He wore a blue jean jacket and wore on his face a flesh-toned fabric mask. He looked as though he had been in a burn unit at a hospital, I assumed, after having suffered massive burns to more than 95% of his body. It was the mask used for allowing skin grafts in such instances to take without becoming infected. My sense impression of his situation was that he had been in a violent car crash which turned into an explosive fireball. He had survived and was in hospital, for a while, undergoing massive skin grafting surgeries.

He also wore dark shades. The moment that he appeared, everyone instantaneously freaked out. All that one could see, was his mouth and nose; the image was upsetting, menacing. Right away, we all began fleeing that section of the grand hall. His arrival was simply instantaneous. He had simply manifested in plain view. When he came through, he brought with him a great explosive energy and immense suffering. This is what had upset the Chi in the place; it was quite an impactful energy wave that accompanied his manifestation. On closer inspection, I realised that he had not been a burn victim as he was still brandishing a large semi-automatic weapon.

Clearly, he had been holding up a business and got himself shot to death in the process. Thus, as is, he instantaneously appeared on the astral plane. The energy around his death was+ so immensely violent, as he went berserk, that it proved rather jarring for the rest of us. His body was violently sputtering away, as though, still echoing the massive volley of bullets that were being pumped into him. No doubt, a battery of over-armed police officers were only too happy to waste yet another ‘Black’ male.

We all immediately started bolting because here was he, suddenly arrived and carrying a weapon, on the astral plane to which all these arrivés were not yet fully acclimatised. There was a group of urbane Gays over to one side who kept to themselves. The Gays went truly berserk, fearful of him, as this man was clearly a zealous homophobe. That too was the other thing about this place; one was able to accurately ‘read’ a person on their arrival.

As I sat there on the pews doing my energy work with River Phoenix, most of the light flooding the hall came from off to the right and rear. From the inner hall, I went bolting along with everyone else and took cover. The armed Black man had manifested across the hall from me. Making my way from what I thought previously was the main hall, I ended up in a grand hall that was easily seven times larger than the atrium in which I had been counselling River Phoenix and then the yellow-eyed Hispanic.

As everyone else had been bolting in that direction, I made a left turn. From the main hall, I was now in another atrium; this one, however, was considerably darker. This one was several storeys high with the same colour schemata as at Grand Central Station. Though there were no discernible floors as such, at each storey there were landings. I would then bolt down to where all the other Gays were ahead of me. In a bid not to be captured by this guy, who had no awareness that he was now dead and on the astral plane, I leapt over the railing and down onto the escalator where the Gays were.

As they were all still clambering down the steps, this was not the greatest idea on my part; it was a truly chaotic scene. Deciding against pursuing the herd mentality, I willed myself from amongst them. With that I began levitating, above them and shot upwards, flying up into the nave of the towering complex. Goodness, this place was immensely massive. Soon enough, the man came to where we had been and made for the stairs from which I had just taken off. Being sufficiently distracted, I knew that he wouldn’t be able to either hear or see me way above him.

Too, he wouldn’t think to look up and see me. I flew in such a way that I progressed around a corner which took me into another wing of the massive complex. Here, there was a balcony whose wall was such that it had an indentation in the shape of an inverted top hat. Thus, the balcony was as if wrapped inside the hat. Hiding out in the cover of the balcony, I peered out – from time to time – where I saw others on lower balconies who peered up at me.

Others were off to the right in the inverted balcony. They discouraged me from coming because they thought that, somehow, my movement would attract the newcomer with semi-automatic weapon. They were of the impression that he was, in the first place, out to get me. All around, this whole episode was terribly unpleasant. It had all the chaotic madness that must surely exist, at present, in the streets of a war zone like Bosnia or Croatia.

Deciding against hiding out, I sought to be rid of this place altogether. With that, I began flying upwards towards the very ceiling of the grand hall. The ceiling was as if a force field and not a physical construct. Thus, without incident, I was able to will my way through its parameters. I was truly relieved to have made it out of there. One had the sense of leaving one dimension and moving on to another, whilst seemingly clearing the grand hall’s ceiling, and into the next dream experience.

Next, in this the fourth dream, I was outside where I immediately encountered some young teenage females. All were sarcastic, bitchy solipsistic twits. They were on an empty city street. Racy-edged, in the extreme, were they. Especially for feeling the enervation that I did for the massive energy transference work that I had undertaken with River Phoenix, I really did not care to be around these people’s energy.

At the time, I was still in flight but had slowed down, hoping possibly to interact with them. Finally, I had no time for them and their bullshit. No need to be around their imploding energy. Without haste, I flew on and went onto a side street. There, I saw a really large building from which there were some persons presently exiting.

It was as if one were looking outdoors, due west towards Fifth Avenue, in Manhattan. A young couple came from the building and entered a car which looked like a Bentley limousine. A massive stately old car it was and looked every bit as though it had been made from lead. A large structure stood to my left as I watched them drive away towards what seemed to be Fifth Avenue.

Looking to the structure, I realised that the structure was in fact St. Patrick’s Cathedral which, of course, meant that I was at 51^st Street at Fifth Avenue. Naturally, the car made a left turn and went south down Fifth Avenue. Here it was nighttime with lots of snow in the street, the sidewalk, and covering just about everything. The car wanted, once on Fifth Avenue, to go westwards along 50^th Street, but couldn’t because that street runs easterly one-way.

There was also too much snow jammed there in the street. So, in the end, the car went down to the south end of Saks Fifth Avenue to try and get onto 49^th Street. Here in the dreamtime, contrary to the waking state arrangement, 49^th Street flowed easterly. This made me realise that its attempt to go along 50^th Street was not bizarre. I guess that they then intended to go easterly along 49^th Street, over to Park Avenue then up 57^th Street, make a left at that street, to try and get across town that way.

I figured that that major thoroughfare would not be impassable. I was keen to find out who was inside the car, which was a very regal, stately affair; they were a sophisticated well-bred couple. I was more intrigued by the car because it was mostly glass, with the rear windshield arching up to above their heads, as they sat there exuding their exalted classism. The side panelling on the outside, and where the rear windshield met the roof, was all solid gold. Atop the roof there was a beacon like on a taxi cab, however, it was made of solid gold.

Really, it was more a coat of arms than anything so crass as a taxi’s beacon; this was a truly luxurious-looking vehicle. As I inspected it, I had been in flight hovering a couple of floors above it. Rising in the air, I began speeding down on the east side of Fifth Avenue over St. Patrick’s Cathedral. When I got over the cathedral, I noticed that – unlike its waking state counterpart – this one had flying buttresses. Though it was very dark out, as though the dead of a Dark Moon night, I noticed that there was activity atop the cathedral. There were things there which I found immediately intriguing.

Abandoning my pursuit of the Bentley landau, I slowed down, coming closer to observe what was going on atop the cathedral’s roof. There, I saw wonderful fowl; there was a whole array of them which were quite large. One species was white with lots of black specs throughout its body. They were all on different ledges on the flying buttresses. All of them had nests that they were tending.

One of the nests had 8 large speckled eggs inside. There was, however, no fowl tending to this nest. Flying slowly, within ten feet of the buttresses, I inspected everything with a keen eye. This was so very astral plane in focus. Considering that I had previously been counselling River Phoenix, who had recently passed, it made sense that I should be on the astral plane. In any event, the rooftop was pitch-black and covered in tar. The masonry here was also much blackened with time’s passage. Too, there was a lot of moss covering every available nook and cranny.

I suppose that this replica of St. Patrick’s Cathedral needed to exist, here on the astral plane, to provide some sense of continuity to the dearly departed recent arrivés of the Catholic persuasion. Here on the astral plane, this St. Patrick’s Cathedral was considerably larger than its waking state counterpart. As well, it was millennia older than the Roman Coliseum. The older dead moss had left the structure blackened – along with the centuries of pollution and soot caked on in layers. Naturally, in order to get up to the roof of the nave, I had had to rise higher and beyond the buttresses.

Once higher in the air, I saw down between these two buttresses a group of Whites. They were dressed in animal skins and were, in the true sense of the word, barbaric-looking. They had not yet fully developed the ability to speak; thus, their speech consisted of a series of barks and grunts. Quite hirsute, they were obsessively fearful. Huddled on the top of the structure, they proved a smelly lot.

Everything was quite ancient and scorpionic-hued. As well, there was a tribe of black-furred monkeys with some red in them. The Barbarians also wore a skin that had a reddish hue to it which was seemingly a doeskin. Theirs was, as well, a tawny reddish complexion. On noticing me, the monkeys went wild, climbing up to the tops of the buttresses; frantically, they pounced and screamed up at me. Goodness, they had such large vicious-looking teeth; thank goodness they could not fly.

Mildly horrified, I simply levitated higher into the air and stayed clear of their none-too-evolved noise. Exceptionally tiny, they were also very intelligent-looking. Truth be told, they looked much more evolved intellectually than their simian cousins, the Barbarians. Goodness, they were feisty and noisy. Wanting to investigate everything about the queerness of the sight of me, they were truly inquisitive.

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Going higher, I reached to the top of the nave where I noticed a couple lying there. They were lying on their backs. Looking not unlike the sphinx’s, theirs were the most abnormal-looking skulls that were splayed and large. Their clothing was unusual-coloured; however, on closer inspection, it turned out to have been their skin. Basically, their skin was as if a floral-printed fabric. Very brightly coloured, their skin was an interesting sight… to say the least. They lay there, looking not the least bit surprised at the sight of me. They also seemed not inclined to do anything but enjoy themselves in repose.

They seemed so mysterious. Looking down, I alighted to investigate. I spent some time looking down at their feet where their skin was also uniformly distributed. I had wanted to leave but decided to head in the opposite direction; as they lay there, their feet were in my way. I didn’t want to have to upset or interact with them. They seemed alien, in the true sense of the word, but were not in fact to be disturbed. Silently, they lay there and directly looked at me. One had the sense that they could have turned deadly in a femtosecond and gone at me like a cobra on the attack. They had very cool eyes that were powerful, truly scorpionic. Theirs were the kind of eyes that were beguiling but utterly untrustworthy.

*Their eyes much reminded me of that dream encounter with Lars Gamst, set in the British Isles some centuries back, wherein we encountered a litter of oversized cats, which turned out to be not only psychic but also feral. This was back in the summer of 1988 – before recording the dreams on audio-cassettes. END.

Soon enough, I flew away from there because this was much too astrally focussed an experience. I might add, as dreams go, it was one that was very much so real and quite layered. It was simply much too intense; so, with that, I withdrew being energetically focussed therein.

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Hope you enjoyed having taken this groovy little trip with me… Go on, hop to it, start flying. I love you more.

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Pilgrimage to Windsor… That Dress!

07.12.201809.12.2024 Arvin da Brgha1 Comment

Aerial view: Windsor Castle, Berkshire.

In the mad dash to board the train from King’s Cross/St. Pancras Station to Paddington Station, I boarded the wrong train and ended up losing almost of hour of valuable time. Nonetheless to Windsor with me, indeed.

The ride to Windsor was lovely and it was still well before before 1000 when I got into town. So nice to know that a flash of the London Pass gets one into the Castle, plus to see the exhibition of TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex’s wedding finery plus the outfits worn by pageboy, HRH Prince George of Cambridge and the always ‘on’ HRH Princess Charlotte of Cambridge.

Next, through the hurdle of being scoured by the most thorough security detail; and with good reason too.

The mélange of Chinese, Japanese and Korean dialects made for an interesting symphony of sounds as I made my way past security and onto castle grounds.

I am reminded of Vancouver Island by the hearty vegetation down below.

Nothing is more refreshing than the smell of moss in cooler weather. The air is so fresh here in Berkshire.

The view from the Middle Ward down to St. George’s Chapel; but that’ll come after touring the castle’s state apartments.

The glorious view north across the River Thames to Eton College Chapel… Nothing beats being out on the terrace and looking out to the landscape below.

The view along the terrace towards the entrance to the castle.

Once inside, of course, photography is not allowed. This, understandably, is for security reasons; it is after all the Sovereign’s main residence. Formidable, an entrance indeed. Touring the state apartments, the progression’s starting point was different to previous visits.

Without doubt, I knew that the wedding outfits worn by TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex would not be on display in the castle’s Green Drawing Room; there is only one door into said room for the public and the other at the opposite end, leads directly into the Sovereign’s private apartments.

Furthermore, that single door is too narrow to accommodate persons going and coming into the Green Drawing Room, if they were to enter and exit by said door.

Similarly, I knew that the exhibition, A Royal Wedding: The Duke and Duchess of Sussex could not have been held in St. George’s Hall above. There is simply too much natural light which floods the space; this could actually prove more harm than good – even though it would be best to see the dress in natural light. Moreover, I did not expect that it would be held there as the space is too large and, frankly, with the amount of racially charged animus towards this marriage, it would likely not draw as large a crowd to warrant being staged there. Truth be told, there were no Caucasians viewing the exhibit when I moved through it, than there were East Asian and blacks combined.

I will never forget my confusion on first experiencing The Waterloo Chamber in this lifetime. I just felt as though, perhaps, my sense that I had been to Windsor Castle in prior lives or a lifetime was off. Of course, I would learn that this marvellous salon was installed during HM King George IV’s reign, at which time, I had reincarnated into Barbados, after having been a countertenor at the court of HM King George III and during the early years of his son’s Regency.

Then again, those high-placed windows in the Waterloo Chamber would preclude its assignation as the setting for the exhibition, A Royal Wedding: The Duke and Duchess of Sussex.

Though noted for its stunning portraits of both HM Queen Elizabeth, The Queen Mother and HM King George VI, this room much like St. George’s Hall has too much light exposure.

On entering the long narrow hallway with large windows that look out onto the terrace, the River Thames and the north shore beyond, one happens on a wall of linen panels which cover the floor to ceiling cabinets with priceless china from the Royal Collection.

Imagine all these iconic moments from the wedding of TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex on hanging linen panels of more than 8 or more feet tall. The effect is warm, enveloping and their size deftly impress on one, the uneclipsed love between these two star-crossed lovers.

Next, into the grandeur of the Grand Reception Room one slips and with the heavy red curtains drawn, the effect is even more stunning. The large chandeliers are softly dimmed and handsomely display the bridal garments of the wedding party.

The embroidery on HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex’s uniform, to the Queen Mary Diamond Bandeau tiara when seen in intimate detail proved more breathtaking than I had anticipated. Goodness, even the shoes worn by Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex were exquisite.

What I found most interesting about the dress was its sheer simplicity. The dress serves as a foil for the intricacy of the five metre veil entwined with the fifty-three flowers of the Commonwealth nations, along with the state flower for Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex’s home state of California. Not until in the presence of the dress did its simplicity make sense; the dress is masterfully constructed such that its simplicity reminds one that only the expert craftsmanship of a couturier could have designed and manufactured the dress.

Yet, there was more to the simplicity of this Clare Waight Keller dress for Givenchy and it was not until moving around it a second time that it struck me; the simplicity of the dress speaks to the recent past of Ms. Markle’s African heritage. Its simplicity speaks of the history of a people which was erased, wiped out by the terror of having been robbed and enslaved.

Yet like the simplicity which belies the masterful craftsmanship of the couturiers who created this stunning dress, there is also greatness to a people though reviled, socio-economically oppressed, criminalised, marginalised and made to feel inferior… the same people whose greatness shrines through in Jazz, for one. Remarkably, the simplicity of the dress, is like the sheer eloquence with which HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales sincerely both acknowledged and apologised for the past, which his society and family had contributed to in the immense suffering of Africans; this he did this past autumn when touring West Africa on behalf of HM The Queen.

This was not only not a heavily attended exhibition but, at the time that I moved through it, there was not a single Caucasian viewing the wedding garments. Though many would like to have you believe that there is no basis in race why they dislike Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex, that is just a damn lie. Naturally, neither medicine nor academia acknowledges the existence of the racial predator as ‘No’ is the most powerful word when dealing with blacks. Indeed, not until going to St. George’s Chapel after the tour of the castle was concluded, did one see Caucasians in numbers that reflect their proportions in the society. Indeed, unlike previously, one was being fixed with looks that were charged with racial animus.

Though she is now the most reviled black woman on the planet, truth is that the soul who is now Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex was Margaret Beaufort, Tudor Matriarch: key figure in the War of the Roses, cousin of HM King Henry VI, mother of HM King Henry VII, mentor, counsel and favourite of her grandson, HM King Henry VIII who was much impressed by her focussed untrammelled ambition, great-grandmother of HM Queen Elizabeth I.

Without her drive and singleness of purpose, England may still be a Catholic nation and its language may well be French. Nonetheless, such is the rabid, irrational tribalism that is racism; her true nature cannot be perceived by the blind who can never see either the links to the past or the bigger picture.

In the end, I was much inspired for having made this pilgrimage to see this dress, which in its simplicity symbolised hope, atonement and the love of two entity mates who have known each other in twenty prior lifetimes. The simplicity of this dress proved an epiphany.

Statue of HM King Charles II without whose drive, there would have been no Restoration.

View of the round tower on exiting the State Apartments and at the edge of the Quadrangle.

Details of St. George’s Chapel.

Details… and more details.

Even more interesting details…

Sadly, photography is not allowed inside the chapel.

Despite the general seething that being black elicited from most persons here – thanks to HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex having married the black woman, I rather enjoyed revisiting the spiritual home of the Knights of the Garter. There is a certain warmth and intimacy to the quire’s dark woods that I favour.

And like that, another day of adventure was completed.

As the train sped back to London, I spotted this queer, though, appealing architectural gem.

As ever, thanks so much for your ongoing support and always remember to become awake when asleep into the magical realm of dreams.

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Ensouled Proboscis Simian Humans.

20.02.201310.10.2024 Arvin da Brgha3 Comments

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I told him,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The woman then said,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, no, not upstairs.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Isis just said,

“Why don’t we just get out of here?”

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

“That’s not the point of it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was no mistaking that fact.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

However, she still kept on blabbing away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aha! Now we’ve caught you.”

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

‘I’ve got to get away,’ I thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. Not really…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Oh, it’s okay… it’s okay.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A very serene dream it remarkably was. END.

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Photo: Proboscis simian mammalian.

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Paradigm shift.

17.02.201310.10.2024 Arvin da BrghaLeave a comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Photo: Full Moon digitally enhanced.

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Come On, Bipeds Don’t Fly!

17.02.201308.01.2025 Arvin da BrghaLeave a comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Photo: White Labrador Retriever.

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Dreams are the poetic expression of the soul.

Tag: Moss

Go In Peace: Energy Transference with Recently Departed Famous Entity Mate.

Pilgrimage to Windsor… That Dress!

Paradigm shift.

Come On, Bipeds Don’t Fly!