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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Art:  Santiago el Mayor

Oil on Canvas

97 x 77 cm

1610 El Greco

Provenance: Museo del Greco

Christ on the Cross

Oil on Canvas

95.5 x 61 cm

1600 El Greco

Provenance: National Museum of Western Art, Tokyo, Japan

Jack in the Pulpit IV

Oil on Canvas

40 x 30 Inches

1930 Georgia O’Keeffe

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

Grey Lines with Black, Blue and Yellow

Oil on Canvas

48 x 30 Inches

© 1923 Georgia O’Keeffe

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

Redux: HRH Prince George, Duke of Kent.

(c) Peter Elwes (son); Supplied by The Public Catalogue Foundation

Oil on Canvas

99 x 85 cm

© 1932 Simon Elwes

Provenance:  Library and Museum of Freemasonry, London, England

Without doubt, the most fascinating member of the House of Windsor in the 20th Century.

And now for a little All Hallow’s Eve yarn-spinning:

Forget about HM King Edward VIII and HRH Diana, Princess of Wales; although, what with his interrupted life at 39, and Diana’s at 36, it may well be that HRH Prince George, Duke of Kent was reincarnated as Diana, Princess of Wales.  An interrupted lifetime is always followed by another shortened lifetime – a tying up of loose-ends incarnation.

Certainly, there is matching charismatic charm that HRH Diana, Princess of Wales (2nd level mature artisan soul) bears to HRH Prince George, Duke of Kent.  Why was HRH Prince George, Duke of Kent when he violently died in a plane crash in Scotland handcuffed to a briefcase full of Krona?

HRH Diana, Princess of Wales died violently involved with a lover of foreign nationality/currency.  Alas, this Hallow’s Eve, it would do good to remember that both HRH Prince George, Duke of Kent and HRH Diana, Princess of Wales’s deaths betray some degree of foul play.

If, indeed, this is actually true, it would mark that soul having been a member of the House of Windsor in consecutive lifetimes without ever becoming monarch, though, in both cases, was well within line to have become monarch.

Sweet and blissful dreams to the astral bodies – which survives reincarnations and endures across time; thus making it possible to have access to past-life arcana – of them both… and all of us who have ever lived for that matter.

Queer isn’t it – and there are no coincidences – Diana’s stepmother, Raine Spencer was – according to her mother, novelist, Barbara Cartland her lovechild with HRH Prince George, Duke of Kent, who was also said to have parented Michael Canfield, first husband of Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis’ (young soul sage) sister, Lee Radziwill.  Truth be told, the Raine/HRH Diana, Princess of Wales connection is most intriguing.

Of course, outdoing both HM King Edward VIII and HRH Diana, Princess of Wales, HRH Prince George, Duke of Kent was the lover of Noël Coward.  Now that… was a rich life in full and definitely he was possessed of a goal of Growth.

I have always loved this portrait; look at the power and elegance in his hands.  I also happen to think that he is the most handsome male to have been born to the House of Windsor in the 20th Century – his grandson, James Ogilvy running a close second!

I wish that someone had penned a really juicy biography of this truly fascinating man…  Was he a spy?  Was he put to death and why the briefcase full of Krona?  Intriguing!

Perhaps, someday, Lady Colin Campbell – whose Empress Bianca I paid a handsome fortune to acquire at the time that it was pulped – will use her skilled pen to paint a rich portrait of HRH Prince George, Duke of Kent.  

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Since having penned this blog. so much has transpired and I certainly don’t hold the same opinions of most persons associated with this blog.  For one, Lady Colin Campbell’s pen is not skilled and as there is no such thing as a royal expert, she is a damn fraud.  I might also add that there isn’t a minor royal who would consider this testicled freak fit to wipe clean their toilet bowl with her tongue, let alone discuss anything with her.  

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20/12/1902 (Tiger) HRH Prince George, Duke of Kent 2.5.8 = 6 

Prince George, Duke of Kent was, of course, a classic example of 2 & 5 present in the makeup of a senior royal.  2’s fluidity resulted in George’s ongoing love affair with Noel Coward and that 5 also brought with it excess, indulgence and infamy.  George had a drug problem and his flagrant homosexuality was a source of embarrassment for the BRF and as that 8 is third-placed, just like that he went flying into a mountain… murdered and lost his fortune.  Interestingly enough, this Prince George also has three numbers in common with the current Prince George.  Clearly, for his homoerotic affairs and drug problems, HRH Prince George, Duke of Kent was bumped off – he was too high profile a royal to be stumbling drunk from pubs and being caught romping with some random hung stud in the woods.  

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22/7/2013 (Snake) HRH Prince George of Cambridge 4.2.8 = 5

As ever, life is like a flying dream, if you look down, you’re fucked.  Enjoy the ride and fear no one!  

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

Cornelius Satchleven.

vandyck3682

Engraving (Original)

25.1 x 17.5 cm

c. 1641 Sir Anthony van Dyck

What I especially love about this van Dyck engraving – one of my favourites – is that the subject, Cornelius, is so august-souled.  His look is so kaleidoscopic thereby betraying his reincarnational history.  To look at the subject, he could be Tatar, Nepalese, even Inuit… all the lives that he’s lived to date are magically alluded to.   Masterful.  Stunning.  I love it.

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

Scream.

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

Here’s A Gift for You, My Darling.

A New York Times

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I really know who you are, kiddo….” 

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

It was a great intimacy that we shared. 

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

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

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Photo:  The New York Times.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes!  Of course…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A truly wonderful dream experience this was.

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Photo: Pyramids at Giza.

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

Slaying the Dragons.

A Dragon Red

The dream in question occurred, on Sunday, June 13, 1993, whilst the Moon transited both Aries and my eleventh house.  The dream deals with having the courage to, ever vigilantly, slay the dragon – the racial predator.  

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Whilst walking along, I happened on a short line of people waiting for something.  In the very back of the line was Johnson Swift – my astrologer.  Looking none-too-stylish, he was decked out in chintzy polyester clothing.

Moving up on him, whilst studying his right profile, I energetically called out his name saying hello.

“Oh hi, how are you?” he was very distancing… as well he can be.

I excitedly told him how pleased that I was to have seen him because, as a result of our rendez-vous, my trip to Washington D.C. went quite well.  I told him that I was just wrapping up my trip after having dashed up to Manhattan.

I also told him that I decided not to let any of this stuff, my breakup with Gustavo Vadim, get to me.

“I did do the bigger thing by removing myself from it.  Instead of staying there, I went off to New York where I ended up having a really good time.

“So anyway, now I’m about to head back to Washington D.C. to catch my flight back to Toronto.

“I’m really, really glad that I saw you.  It quite helped…”

“Well, good… good.  It’s quite good to hear.”

Seeing that he was intent on ignoring me, I abruptly took my leave of him.  We had been outside on a narrow road that seemed set somewhere in an Old World country.

*In the waking state, I had changed my original flight itinerary from Washington D.C. to Toronto, instead to from LaGuardia to Toronto after heading for Babylon from Washington D.C.  After leaving Gustavo and all that dross behind, I had no desire to return to Washington D.C. anytime soon.  END.

The second dream had me arriving in an open area where I noticed lots of Black persons around.  Men and women, for the most part, they did seem to be African-Americans.

They did have guns which they used in the rapid exchange of gunfire.  I never did personally feel in danger since none of this violence had been directed my way.

I knew that I did, nonetheless, have to protect myself.  After having decided that this was not a place where I would want to be, either in the waking state or here in the dreamtime, I desperately made my way from there.

Soon enough, these extremely large doglike creatures came on the scene.  They were dark-brown-to-black in colour.  Two of them, however, were red.

They were as if astral plane projections of souls who wanted to shift their appearances so as to appear noticeable yet unrecognisable.  There was simply no way to get around the fact that these were intelligent creatures of reason.

One of the creatures leapt from where it was, unprovoked, and launched into a harrowing attack of a group of kids.  The children had been playing by themselves nearby, however, they were not disturbing anyone either.

Infuriated, I leapt onto the creature without a moment’s hesitation and proceeded to beat and kick it.  I ripped at it trying to pry it off the children in coming to their defence.

I was quite the warrior-spirited taskmaster when coming to the aid of the vulnerable children.  I was not to be messed with; mine was a real maternal instinct.

My response was much as one would expect of a mother in defence of her newborn.  With a longer neck than normally any dog’s neck would be, the creature seemed to be a dragon.

It was most bizarre and aggressive.  A ferocious, deadly creature it was.  At the time, the child being mauled was White – his race ultimately was a non sequitur.  We were both human; I had been a child once and just as vulnerable.

The child – humankind – had done nothing to provoke this attack and for that I would kill this beast using sheer force of will.  These beautiful children, who had been recently loved and now reincarnated to make their way in the world, needed me.

No one deserved to have their futures interfered with like this and for that I was a frightening foe.  Whilst struggling with the groaning creature, I noticed another across the way.  Whilst seated there, it was being very manipulative.

I intuitively knew that much of what transpired between the creature and me, with whom I struggled, was being directed by the other dragon-like creature across the piazza.  Grabbing a sharpened pair of shears that were nearby, I hurled it through the air at the one engaged in mind games.

My will fiercely focussed on the pair of shears, I directed it through the air with increasing speeds.  Before the red dragon-like creature could even react, the shears as intended had stabbed it in the chest which like the rest of the body was covered in an inch-long fur.

My rage still directed on the creature, I caused the shears to rip down its chest.  Instantaneously, it began gushing blood everywhere.  The creature acted as any stunned creature of reason would: it suddenly became terrified at the realisation that it was going to die.

Terrified, it began protesting, its waning breath struggling in the throes of death.

Some of the Black persons, who were all armed, came over at this point.  Much to my surprise, they were genuinely upset.  They were so enraged that they started heading for me because I had attacked the creatures with which they were clearly aligned.

Whilst still struggling with the creature beneath me, I gutturally shuddered and swept my arm at them sending them a massive wave of impenetrable energy.

The invisible wave of light energies swept over them and stunned them in their tracks.  After momentary paralysis, they came to and cowered and thereafter took noisy flight from the open square.

In one last violent move, I impatiently grabbed the creature beneath me by its neck.  With a vexed shudder, I sent the predator beneath my enraged body hurling through the air.

It crumpled to the ground.  It was close to where the other, whose chest I had magically ripped open with the shears directed across the way, which now lay quite dead.

Looking down at the child, a dark-haired boy, I sent him a ton of energies knowing that he would be alright.  He did just then, looking pretty much like a ragdoll, simply spring to life as a result of my transference to him of loving, healing, light energies.

Drained and infuriated, I turned and walked away.  I simply did not want to be a part of a dream which had such dark and violent magus energies about it.  I don’t like energies like these.

This was no way to be focussing my magus energies.  Resolved about my role in the matter, I kept on walking away never looking back.

*The one consolation was in knowing that the children would be protected from harm.  Indeed, those who had fiercely loved them and lost them in their former lives had their prayers of their loved one’s safety in the beyond protected.

Of course, this was a future which included their current lifetimes and therefore the immediate future lifetime for their loved ones left behind  END.

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Photo:  Phantasm Books Phantasmbooks.wordpress.com

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

Magus Maharaja Holds Court.

Image

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Photo: c. 1860 Maharaja Duleep Singh.

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