Here’s to Life! A celebration of the 70th anniversary of Merlin’s birth.

On this the eve of the July 21, 2017, 70th anniversary of Merlin’s birth, I am still over the moon and greatly inspired for having travelled to London, England, Paris and Versailles France and Amsterdam, the Netherlands in June.  I wanted to take in the pomp and pageantry of trooping the colour, revisit the National Gallery in Trafalgar Square, the British Museum, the National Portrait Gallery, Tate Britain, Tate Modern… and did!  I really loved my visit to the new wing of the Tate Modern and the beautiful panoramic views that it affords of the north bank across River Thames.

Staying in the beautiful SW10, I had a great place to stay and had a marvellous time.  Great it was to revisit Westminster Abbey, feeling the sense of history and the grandeur of the abbey.  Every moment of being in London was sheer magic.  This city, more than any other, readily evokes a sense of home –- somehow, in its magical agedness, there vibrationally is something perfectly harmonised about London with aspects of the West Indies into which I chose to reincarnate and where my sense of ‘home’ is grounded.

The LGBT exhibition at Tate Britain was a bit underwhelming; however, I enjoyed being exposed to the many female artists and their Lesbian-themed art, which heretofore I was not cognisant of.  Naturally, the male perspective has always been prominent in homoerotic art.  Without doubt, the best exhibition was at the Queen’s Gallery at Buckingham Palace and the Crown’s exhibition of aspects of the Canaletto collection.  Naturally, I did have to return to the National Gallery to take in my favourite Sir Anthony van Dycks in their collection; among them, that ode to sage essence grandeur, King Charles I’s Equestrian Portrait of Charles I.  The Rotunda at Ranelagh remains my favourite and most moving Canaletto; of course, it did prominently feature at the end of a flying dream, during early pubescence, that had me dreamquest to a past life in London, England.

That past-life was shared with Merlin when we were musicians at court in late 18th century London.  During that lifetime, we knew 1st Duke of Brontë, Vice-Admiral Horatio Nelson.  Apparently, Viscount Nelson was a great raconteur and it was likely his tales of his love of Nevis which proved the seed that eventually led to my choice at the level of soul to have reincarnated into Nevis –- which incidentally Canadians are wont to mispronounce as Knévis…  Sorry, the third world natives are not wrong; besides no one in London would ever think to say, Knévis.  The correct pronunciation is Kneevis… Knévis is no more correct than is Kanarda the correct pronunciation of Canada.  Enough about the risible ignorance of elitist petit bourgeois Canadians and their need to forever condescend.

So, there was I arrived in London with umbrella, pea coat, raincoat and it was all hotter-than-hell climes for the two weeks!  After trooping the colour, I decided to escape the heat of London and decamp à Paris… what was I thinking; goodness, it was at least 5 degrees hotter there!  Alas, Paris has become an armed camp -– I suppose this is what Paris during the Nazi occupation in WWII was like.  Either way, I could not wait to hightail it out of there.  Firstly, though, I had to head off to Versailles where previously I had not been.  Goodness, what grandeur -– the scales are truly phenomenal.  If I had ever had a dream set on the grounds of Versailles, it is highly likely that I would have awakened and assumed that I had just dreamquested to a marvellous world where the architectural scales surpass anything witnessed here on Earth.

In all that heat, I was told it was just a stroll away from the entry gates of Versailles to Grand Trianon to take in the Pierre Le Grand exhibition celebrating the 300th anniversary of Peter the Great’s trip to Paris.  Finally, after 50 minutes in my brand-new Crockett & Jones wellingtons, I arrived to what was not an especially impressive show.  However, the last piece — a beautiful bust of the Tsar — made my sweaty and blistered foot ordeal worthwhile.

After having been quite underwhelmed by Paris –- save of course my visit to Père Lachaise cemetery where I left pine cone tributes to Marcel Proust, Chopin, Oscar Wilde and Honoré de Balzac –- it was off to Amsterdam.  Finally, I had escaped hellish climes!  Amsterdam proved the most gloriously idyllic experience.  With a cool welcome breeze off the North Sea, the temps were in the low 20s and, of course, everywhere just about everyone rode a bike.  As I made the pilgrimage to the Rijksmuseum to be richly inspired, I was warmed as passing cyclists called out to me in my white panama hat that I purchased at Chateau de Versailles to beat the heat, “Hello!”  “Hi there!”  “Hi ya!”  This excursion to Amsterdam was truly soul-warming.  Nothing was more glorious than entering that salon and seeing Night Watch and the Meager Company.

Whilst browsing, I thought of George Hawken and wondered if ever he had made it to Amsterdam.  Just like that, on coming around the corner, the first painting I noticed in the salon which contains Jan Vermeer’s The Milkmaid, was an exquisite, stunning still-life of white asparagus.  The one legume that George considered the perfect signature to a fine meal -– cooked by himself -– was asparagus.  His most memorable meals ever featured asparagus coated in the most sublime sauces made from scratch.  I was truly warmed on seeing the still-life seconds after nostalgically thinking of him.  Yet another moment of synchronicity.

On preparing for the video to celebrate the 70th anniversary of Merlin’s birth, I decided last week to head off the costumer, Malabar on McCaul Street where George lived in the late 80s to early 90s.  Inspired by the first dream of Merlin had 39 years ago in July 1978, I decided to get a cowl as a tribute to the cowl Merlin wore in the inaugural dream encounter with him, four years before having met on Friday, October 1, 1982 in New York City.  So, there was I at Mount Pleasant Cemetery last Saturday, July 15, 2017 in my cowl and the panama hat purchased at Versailles to escape the heat.  I thought it fitting as Merlin always loved wearing panama hats.

My trusty friend, J.J. who happens to be an artisan entity mate whom I have known in 20 past lives –- which is a high incidence of contact -– was the director.  Initially, I had hoped to throw a white party on the lawn to the southwest of the chapel at Mount Pleasant Cemetery and have a drone film the event where a gathering of friends would raise a glass to Merlin on the anniversary of his ennobled birth.  Merlin always threw a white party each year for his birthday at his parents stunning backyard in north Toronto’s Servington Crescent.

The plan was not approved by the cemetery and thus, one had to improvise.  I got my panama hat and my cowl and together, we proceeded with a dozen long-stem white roses to visit Merlin’s resting place.  I had a pretty good idea what I was after.  With the matching white cowl, I wanted to evoke the magic of meeting Merlin in that initial dream which is shared in volume one of the dream memoirs which is already published: Merlin and Arvin: A Shamanic Dream Odyssey.

Get your copy!  Thanks as ever for your support!

In the hardcover edition of human civilisation’s first dream memoirs, the initial dream encounter with Merlin is shared.  The dream begins on page 110 in the hardcover edition.  I wanted the same sense of wonderment and magic that I felt for having met Merlin in that first dream four years prior to having met reflected in the video.  In that dream, Merlin’s appearance was preceded by a white totemic creature which seemed, in its astral plane outréness, to be part Russian wolfhound, part alpaca, part dog.

So, moving to the lawn, having descended the steps of the chapel, I began walking across the open lawn towards the statuesque lion festooned mausoleum with the five remaining white long-stem white roses.  Seven roses, of course, were left at Merlin’s grave -– one rose for each of our seven glorious years together.  As I stepped onto the lawn, it seemed magical… timeless even.  Slowly, confidently as I approached the filmmaker at the other end of the lawn, I thought of Merlin and that initial dream.

Just then, I very distinctly thought of Merlin greeting me by purring, “Hello Lambs.”  As if right on cue, from off stage left, an adult deer came from behind the bushes and tombstones that line the far edges of the open lawn.  Never before had I seen a deer at Mount Pleasant Cemetery.  Indeed, the good burghers of Forest Hill who clearly regularly jogged in the park-like setting stopped and were overheard remarking that they had never seen a deer in the cemetery before.  All that I could do was tear up and continue walking as the deer then bolted and ran from stage left to right as I continued my stride uninterrupted –- unfazed by the appearance of an adult deer on the grounds of the cemetery.  What is more astounding, is that J.J. at the time was filming my walk; at the last minute, I decided against a run-through as I was concerned about the natural light possibly changing if we were to rehearse the shot.

Unbeknownst to me, the deer after having made it to stage right, then returned to the centre of the lawn and stood there perfectly still whilst observing my progression across the lawn.  J.J. who was astounded by the occurrence remarked that he had just witnessed a miracle.   There is no doubt in my mind as I tried to recapture the magic of that initial dream encounter that there was a subtle validation of that dream from the magical shaman himself on the other side by having had Merlin’s spirit step in as director emeritus and had the deer enter the shot as validation and a token of his appreciation of the love that we shared and my steadfast loyalty to him.  After crossing the lawn and turning to watch the deer stand there, looking down the lawn at me, I felt such utter peacefulness and abandonment of spirit — just as when alone and intimate in the dark with Merlin.

Yes, I believe in magic as did Merlin and as though an appreciation of having stridently done everything to fulfil his mandate to me, Merlin’s astral body conjure up the same magic here and now as he had in July 1978 –- four years before slipping inside a Hell’s Kitchen walk-up and readily winning me over with his sexy elfin charm, magic and sex that proved the most grounding shamanic passion… every time.

All the music chosen for this 13-minute video is music that Merlin loved whilst incarnate and to which he returned time and again -– whether at Joe Morton’s tiny Upper West Side apartment in autumn of 1983, Toronto’s 20 Amelia Street in tony Cabbagetown.  From Glenn Gould’s mastery of Johann Sebastian Bach’s Goldberg Variations, to Elton John, Stevie Wonder, Gladys Knight and Dionne Warwick singing That’s What Friends Are For –- in that segment of the video, I included friends whom Merlin valued: Kareem Benezra, myself, Wayne Robson and his oldest and most loyal friend, the ever-gracious, Maxime Gascoigne-de Montigny.

Of course, for Stevie Wonder’s Isn’t She Lovely, I exclusively included photos of Merlin and his very handsome and gracious father, David Ben-Daniel.  Whereas I favoured Sir Paul McCartney’s Hey Jude, Merlin ever loved George Harrison and especially My Sweet Lord.  Of course, one Saturday, whilst staying at actor, Joe Morton’s Manhattan apartment, when Merlin and I secretly committed to being together, we slow-danced to Supertramp and Roger Hodgson’s unmatched magical vocals on Supertramp’s Breakfast In America.

Additionally, Jeffrey Osborne’s On the Wings of Love which was one of Merlin’s favourite ballads is also included.  Merlin loved Black male soul singers: Otis Redding, Marvin Gaye, Jeffrey Osborne –- most especially –- George Benson, Al Green, Teddy Pendergrass, Donny Hathaway, Barry White.  Most of all, I am especially proud of the video that J.J. and I have created; I think that it masterfully captures the depth of my love and fealty to the most fabulously magical shaman encountered on this incarnation’s spiritual odyssey.

Naturally, before having left for Mount Pleasant Cemetery, I had flooded my apartment with the music that appears in the video.  Perhaps, unwittingly by so doing, I was evoking Merlin’s spirit which later joined us when he played ultimate director and pulled off the most magical bit of stage direction –- an adult deer in the middle of a cemetery in the heart of mid-town Toronto.  Lastly, I played the sublimely soulful Shirley Horn’s interpretation of, Here’s to Life!  Whilst raising a glass of coconut water, I had forgotten to pick up some champagne the evening prior and it was too early in the morning to find champagne anywhere –- the lighting was way too good.  Besides who knows if that magical deer would have been anywhere about.

Here’s to life… most of all, here’s to Merlin… here’s to dream shamans everywhere!

Merlin & Arvin 1987

In coming weeks, there will also be other tokens of this celebration of Merlin and his mandate to me:

“Please my darling, I want you to write about our lives together.  I promise you, however possible, I am going to send you dreams to include in the story of our love… our lives together.”

Of course, there is my Instagram account:  Instagram Arvin da Brgha

The YouTube channel is:  Arvin da Brgha YouTube

Do please be patient and stay tuned as there will be a site where one can purchase merchandise that’ll greatly assist with the costs of having overleaves channelled that will yet appear in the five volumes of human civilisation’s first dream memoirs to come.  Also, there will be a podcast link.

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For now, here’s to life, here’s to you and thanks so much for your ongoing support all these years!

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©2013-2022 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.  

Diana’s Resolve… Extra-Human Tall Whites Arrive.

Diana-Princess-of-Wales-Nelson Shanks 1994 oil on canvas

One of the last dreams I would have, before moving to Montréal from Vancouver, would be a most ominous dream of Diana, Princess of Wales.  At the time, my life was in flux as I hurriedly packed up my art collection and made preparations to fly out of Vancouver to Montréal. 

As Pandora da Braga had lived in Paris for ten years, after having worked in the Prime Minister’s Office – Prime Minister, John Turner – studying then working as a journalist in the city of lights, I would make wonderful friends of my own in Paris. 

Naturally, they all implored me to move to Montréal because they could then visit me and not have to worry about not speaking English.  Of course, if you can’t live in Paris, Montréal will make a damn good substitute – the locals’ hideous xenophobia notwithstanding. 

To say the least, I was only too happy to take flight from Vancouver which had proven a racially suffocating hellhole once too many for my legendary impatience… to say nothing of pride and integrity.  Since I am not in the world to suffer the racial predator overlong, it was time to move on when I chose to.  Knowing when to take leave is key to survival in any situation. 

The astral plane dream encounter with Diana, Princess of Wales was inordinately lucid and possessed of a clarity that spoke to its prophetic potency.  Of course, on awaking from the dream, I had completely misread the message of the dynamic being played out.  At the time of the dream and on awaking, I had assumed the subject of ominous prophecy to be Prince William rather than Diana, Princess of Wales herself. 

The dream proved rather sobering.  The evening when the news broke of Diana, Princess of Wales’s death, I stood in my Montréal living room and screamed horrified because in that moment I had finally gotten whom the subject the prophetic dream was; it was Diana, Princess of Wales. 

There was the same density and foreboding in this dream as in all dreams which presage death.  There was no mistaking the ambiance of the dream; death palpably hung in the air. 

At the time, it was Sunday, July 27, 1997 and whilst the Moon then transited both Taurus and my twelfth house, I did nothing more than pack and run off to Stanley Park after dark to get one more last session of hot sex in the midst of five-hundred-year-old moss-furred Sitkas. 

Oh what delicious fun times!  Nothing beats having sex in the middle of nature; it is so primal, so spiritual, so shamanic and elemental. 

The dream was a beautiful farewell from Diana, Princess of Wales.  I am sure that she would be immensely proud of how Prince William has fared since she bade him fare well in that dream. 

Sweet dreams as ever. 

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Pandora da Braga and I visited with Diana, Princess of Wales, at night-time, in this the first dream.  I spoke to her of her great insights to world politics.

As well, I told her of how much she had learnt in this lifetime – the great insights garnered from her experiential awareness of human suffering and the human condition.

This woman was incredibly powerful in this astral plane encounter.

You had a sense of her very soul itself being present in her body.  As this was an astral plane encounter, one was not experiencing Diana, Princess of Wales the glamour puss, the manipulative or, for that matter, the fucked-up basket case.

You saw the power behind the incarnate persona and understood why she was born to be Diana, Princess of Wales.  All that emotional baggage ultimately was mere façade.  This was a very steely tough customer.

Her eyes were always very direct and clear; they were not soft and dewy or doing the virgin bride Diana Spencer routine.  She wore a powder blue suit and was in supreme control.

She then went to a near dark bedroom to check on Prince William, the future Duke of Cambridge.  The heir apparent was lying in bed, foetally curled up whilst soundly asleep.

He looked so tiny and so frail and vulnerable that one had to wonder if he were an asthmatic or suffered from seizures.  Even though asleep, Prince William seemed emotionally needy.

I was much reminded of Clarice Seberg-da Braga in this woman’s resolute steeliness.  I stood a few feet away whilst Diana, Princess of Wales stood leaning over the side of the bed next to her sleeping firstborn, Prince William.

The energies here were those of a retirement home or an orphanage.  The vibration here was both dense and very sad; it was a most sombre ambiance here.  I even passingly wondered if Prince William were in danger of dying.

When I spoke to her, she had said nothing and seemed remote, removed and otherly focussed.  However, she was undividedly listening to me.  Her focus was intense, with a singleness of purpose that was so unlike her incarnate persona, it was hard to believe that she could have become so legendarily emotionally fucked-up.

For being in this woman’s presence, one realised that this individual has seen a lot.  By far, much more than mere mortals see in the course of three or four lifetimes has she.

Her energies surprised me as they were massive.  One had to exactly wonder who she has been in past lives.  I had a sense of her that she was an early mature soul.

Prince William Wedding

*This would indeed prove a rather prophetic dream.  I remember been so upset at this dream that on awaking, I went and looked up Prince William, Duke of Cambridge’s astrological chart to see if there were any indicators that he could possibly die early in life or imminently.

So ravishing was Diana, Princess of Wales that it never occurred to me at the time of the dream or on awaking, to have looked at her chart to see if there were any signs of her possibly dying imminently.  Of course, there in her chart was a very ominously looming Pluto square transit which went exact the day she died.

I might also add that it is an afflicted Pluto which is conjunct her natal Mars.  Think what you want but there is no way that Diana, Princess of Wales was not assassinated.

She was, in the dream, clearly resigned to her fate.  She was obviously aware of her role in the historical drama being played out and she, finally, fulfilled her role with great aplomb.  END.

**Of course, at the time when living in Vancouver, where the dream was dreamt, I had attended a dinner party at friends’ Sentinel Hill bungalow where a gay South African of British aristocratic heritage spoke at length about Charles and Diana and their ‘child’.  Said he, Harry was not the child born out of wedlock – the second born was a real Windsor prince.  The real bastard had been her firstborn which meant a lot, especially since the Bourbon father was Catholic – little else was then divulged.  This was in late 1995 – with Nelson Mandela coming to power, he like many whites fled South Africa with a sizeable colony settling in the lower mainland – when Charles and Diana clearly were headed for divorce.  That dinner party was the second time that I had heard this rumour about Diana’s sons. 

A couple of years earlier, after I broke off relations with Manhattan cabaret singer Frans Bloem as a dinner guest of his proved a vile racist Jew, who vehemently denied that blacks had any connection, let alone claim, to Jazz.  I promptly decamped for the rest of my vacation from Frans’ West Village apartment to Chelsea with an old dancer friend, whose lover had died of AIDS and left him fabulously well-off.  One evening, we went to a dinner party on the Upper West Side where the view across Central Park was to the condo where Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis would die short months later.  Present at the lovely dinner of a wealthy Mexican, whose home was truly grand, was a Spanish aristocrat; he spoke at great length of Diana and Charles – it was the time of their recent separation.  The minor Bourbon royal was keen to let it be known that Juan Carlos, the King, was William’s father and not Charles.  This he said with great pride and who knows, added he, maybe one day the Church of Rome would reclaim Westminster Abbey and Britain become annexed to Spain.  END.  

william and catherine

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Then, in this the second dream, I entered a film which advanced back in time.  I was taken back to the beginning of my reincarnational cycle here on Earth.  That is to say that for my soul’s experience here on Earth, it was the beginning of time.

There were lots of heavy-looking satellites here.  As a result, the celestial lights are strange as compared to contemporary times.  There was a sense of purple intensely coming through from the light spectrum.

Too, blue came through strongly here rather than the intense ‘white’ with which we are so accustomed.  A very interesting phenomenon this was.

This was a very rocky terrain as I stood looking down to a spectacular vista below.  Next, there was a mass influx of people who came from another planet.

There had been a mass exodus to Earth.  The arrivée extra-human’s spaceships were not all that sophisticated comparable to today’s space shuttles.  When they disembarked, they were an unusually tall race of Whites.

They averaged over seven feet each, on the short side, pushing nine feet; even the women were in excess of seven feet tall.  They were a shabbily dressed group.  Too, they looked truly shell-shocked; it was as though they had had to take flight in a hurry.

Seemingly, there had been a massive apocalyptic crisis which had precipitated their sudden departure.  As a result, they had ventured here to take up residence on Earth.  They seemed as if refugees from a war zone.

They were, the whole group of them,  quite a mess.  Immediately, they set about on a campaign to subjugate the planet and make it theirs.  Theirs was a focus that was driven of their having been from elsewhere.

This was hostile territory that had to be tamed and made to order; the new planet, Earth, had to support their agenda and nothing more.  This was the beginning of a reign of terror which clearly endures to this age.

They had a series of rulers, who came with the mass exodus, all of whom were male.  They were a militaristic culture.  They were the quintessential warrior warlords; brutish and sadistic to the core were they.  They had no qualms about killing.

They couldn’t have cared less, after all, about the people whom they were killing; after all, they were all merely humans and not of their extra-human race.

They were brutish specimens, the hunter-warrior extra-humans, with thick full beards.  These were a people who had known nothing but a long history of warfare.  They were bred to be killers.  Truth be told, they were deadly and at war with life itself.

Alas, it was a sad but true fact and one that was rather insightful as to the real deal behind history of this planet.  As life on Earth ultimately proved a non-viable long range proposition, they elected to adapt to Earth by breeding with select humans.

The group which proved, in the long term to be most viable for their genetic stock to endure and prosper would become today’s Caucasians.  As a result, the hybridised Earthly humans became as if at war with themselves.  Incidentally, all the racial groups were hybridised; however, what would become Caucasians were deemed most desirable.

I have always thought it very interesting that the all-dominant White tribe is home to Europe, the only continent on the planet where the inhabitants never constructed pyramids.  They, pyramids, are in Africa, the Americas and Asia but not to be found in Europe.

These people were truly Hitlerian in their savagery.  I could see how easy it was for the true Earthlings to have been subjected by these people.

The locals were a peaceful people who lived close to and in accord with nature – that included the pre-hybridised Caucasians.  Then along came this exodus of Tall White extra-humans who proceeded to subject both them and nature.

This seemed to have, perhaps, been in New Zealand but it was obvious from what I learnt here that the invading Whites had touched down in several locales on the planet.

Theirs was an agendum whose task demanded timely action over a given breath of time.  They were intent on suppressing the Earthlings, all over the planet.  When their extra-human stock began dying out, they then elected to hybridise the native humans of Earth.

Obviously, at the end of this campaign, they would then choose to settle in Europe.  What was really telling in all of this was the fact that all of life in the Universe is cyclical.

To that end, we see history being repeated in modern times with the campaign begun by Christopher Columbus.  There is nothing ennobling or uplifting about this European exodus which, as per the panorama I witnessed, mirrored the campaign of the Tall White extra-humans on their arrival to Earth.  Though less savage, the strong Tall White extra-human genetic markers in Caucasians has affected their outlook on being focussed here on Earth.

As a result, the hybridised Caucasians humans’ raison d’être has been about warfare, rape and separatism.  Notice, too, that until the rise of Judaism, there were no patriarchal religions on this planet.  Religions weren’t of any use, prior to the arrival of the Tall White extra-humans, as all the people of Earth were living in accord with nature.

Too, the rise of Judaism marked the ascent of the notion of a single god and, most of all, one which was vengeful, warring and decidedly patriarchal.  Like the orthodoxy of Judaism, it was anathema to the arriving extra-human Tall Whites to mix or cohabit with the true Earthlings – at least until their long term survival proved impossible.

That aside, the extra-human Tall Whites went about suppressing the planet.  They did so in a reign of terror that was truly horrific.  They murdered and savaged the Earthlings with ferocity that one would a species which was not one’s own.

The Earthlings were being killed as though they were an infestation of vermin who had to be culled and controlled.  This they did in their campaign to make the planet viable for their extra-human Tall White stock.

So very telling as this is precisely the repeated/mirrored history which we are living today.  A history, indeed, in which the White Tribe has spread over the planet in the last half millennium, displacing the local Earthlings in their path.  Sadly, so dominant is the Tall White extra-human genetic makeup in hybridised Caucasians, it has been as though their fellow humans were not also human.

This has being most actively pursued in Africa at present which thanks to racism makes it permissible.  Truly horrific a spectacle this proved.  Devastating were the campaign’s results, to say the least, on the locals then as now.

*I must note here, though, that the original Tall Whites were little related to today’s Whites.  Not only were they close to nine feet tall, if not more, they were pasty to grey-white in colour.

In the true sense of the word, they were Tall Whites rather than Caucasians.  END.

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When planning to go to a movie, in this the third dream, I had asked Ian Banks Jr. if he would accompany me.  Flatly, he replied no.

The look on his face was truly hostile as if to ask if I were out of my mind to have asked him.  I was very stunned, in fact, by his reaction.

In any event, I readily recovered and went off looking for a seat in the theatre.  I ended up close to a White couple with three small kids.

The children were talkative but there was nothing objectionable in their behaviour.  I actually quite liked being near them with their refreshing playfulness and spontaneity.

As the house lights went down and everyone grew quietly anticipatory, I seamlessly refocussed from the dreamtime to the waking state.

*On awaking, I felt exhausted from the travel involved in moving back in time to seeing and experiencing the arrival of the Tall White extra-humans.  I took the time to remain in the pyramid, after having recorded the dreams, to meditate with crystals and thereby restore my energies.  END.

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Photo/Art: HRH Diana, Princess of Wales

Oil on Canvas

64 x 40 Inches

© 1994 Nelson Shanks.

Provenance: Collection of Charles, Ninth Earl of Spencer.

© 2011 HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge.

© 2014 HRH Duke and Duchess of Cambridge.

http://www.spencerofalthorp.com/

http://www.nelsonshanks.com/

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© 2013-2022 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.