#BestDespinaEver!

08.02.201909.12.2024 Arvin da BrghaLeave a comment

Opening nights are always such fun… Tuesday night past, I was reminded of all the opening nights that I would attend with a slightly neurotic Merlin as some show or other that he had directed was being presented to the world… As ever, it was great to see my plus one, Lucian Mann-Chomedy as the ideal partner for these occasions. Always reserved, pleasant and just the right amount of chatter and wit.

Whilst Lucian enjoyed the pre-show lecture in the Four Seasons Centre Amphitheatre, I slipped next door into the warmth of the Sheraton Centre Hotel and warmed myself on a glass of sherry whilst finishing off 2018’s Scotiabank Giller Prize winner on my KOBO.

What an utterly stunning tour de force. It was a moment to reflect, this Black History Month on just where we blacks are in the scheme of things. God only knows, it has been bruising to watch Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex become the print media’s most reviled and hunted fugitive from justice of that most vile creature, the racial predator.

I was still smarting at the events of a week earlier during the winter season’s first major snowstorm. I had been recalling to friends how strange it now was, compared to my first winter in Canada. December 1, 1974 and it snowed that day more than 8 inches. Back then it generally was guaranteed to snow once if not twice weekly. Now at end of January, 2019 and we were finally having our first major snow. This was not like snow from years past… Now it was a dirty, sooty-looking hard mess that lingered, largely in part because the city has contracted out its snow removal services.

As there are no windows in my apartment – Sol’s too damn bright by far and besides, boarded up windows afford me more art-hanging space – I got down in the early afternoon that Monday with my bike, only to be met by falling snow and several accumulated inches. Back up I went, retired the trusty chrome steed and returned and hopped into a snazzy Audi A6 Uber ride with a Macedonian whose spirit was as smooth and elegant as matchingly was his car. The mood set the tone for my day. As I am known to work 16-hr days, I called another Uber at the end of gig one whilst hoping to get to gig 2 in good time. The snow was still coming down; it was also bitterly cold and windy.

When finally, Uber #2 arrived, cold and dark with icy pellets mixed in with the snow, the driver rolled down his passenger side window and declared, “Sorry Buddy but I am going to have to cancel this ride…” Already running late, with my wheeled suitcase at the ready, he edged along as I tried to open the door and raised his voice, his eyes almost feral-looking beneath his turbanned, narrow skull. “I said I am cancelling you. One: I never take people like you in my car. Two: you have a shitty rating… Sorry, not sorry. Fuck you Buddy.” With that, he stepped on the gas and I had to swiftly haul me and suitcase out of the way as the rear of his red older model car whose interior did have that blasted malodorous melange of curry, dirty armpit, dirty arse, smegma and whatever the fuck else that passes for immigrants of choice these days. Finally, after having struggled out onto a still-not-ploughed Bay Street, I managed to hail the fourth cab whose West African driver insisted that I call Uber and report him… Days later, I was afforded assurances that the racist Dravidian was no longer part of Uber’s fleet. Similarly, when calling a Beck Taxi with a fairly generic name as Arvin, on coming downstairs the Indo-Canadian drivers on several occasions as though staying on script would feign obsequiousness and state that they were deeply sorry but owing to a family emergency, they were having to take the cab out of service. No sooner than having refused me a ride, they would then be observed heading out to Wellesley, turning on their unoccupied light and picking up a fare off the road. As if the blasted motherfuck, the likes of your overbred arse invented Jazz.

Each and every time that one experiences racial animus, is preyed on racially, it always harks back to that first winter in Toronto. My best mate from two summers earlier, when I would come to Canada to visit with my dad during school break, had been sick. After Sunday church service at Knox Presbyterian at Harbord and Spadina before returning to our beautiful home at 122 Mortimer Avenue, I would visit – my dad and I – with Tommy who was holding up at Toronto Sick Kids Hospital on University Avenue. My father explained that Tommy was sick with the winter flu, which sometimes could last for months and well beyond winter. I was a scrawny little fourteen-year-old who looked like most ten-year-old Canadian kids as I crawled the halls at Harbord Collegiate where among my mostly Italian-Canadian chums was future lawyer, Rocco Galati. As Tommy, who was a couple of years older than me, had gladly shared books with me the two summers prior that I would take to Knox summer camp and read then have a good stroke off, lusting after my inamorato, Tommy, I readily agreed to do his newspaper route for him until he came home. My first Saturday, the cart was overflowing with the thick Toronto Star newspaper and there was a good foot of snow everywhere. It was hellish but for Tommy, I was game to go the distance – who knows what hot frottage, docking and more was in the offing for having done his route for him! When I got to the northeast corner of Floyd and Bater Avenues that first Saturday to collect the funds, the door opened to a woman whose response to me was the most hideous display of the displaced madness that is white bigotry. Screaming at the top of her lungs, the woman in her upper seventies, vituperatively cursed my black bugger arse off and laid down the law. Never again, “you dirty little nigger” was I to set foot on her verandah.., I was to put the paper between her screen and front doors, knock then return to the top of her steps and wait for her to pay the bill. That first Saturday, she ripped the paper from my hand, flung the money at me. She was terrifying, in her faded blue A-line dress, black spectacles that had those upturned pointed edges at the sides; she wore faux pearls. Most of all, she wore the most hideously terrifying eyes. I remember how much they looked like eyes of a rooster, especially so for being such puffy eyes. Like the evolved, winged and feathered reptilians that roosters are, her eyes truly did look not the least bit human. She was so consumed with racial animus that it was truly frightening. By the time I made it home, I found myself regurgitating. Thereafter, every Saturday, I would take my spot at the top of the steps and consistently she would hurl out pennies mostly at me rather than the verandah where that first winter I had to suffer the indignity of picking through inches of snow on the verandah, steps and lawn to collect my money. Naturally, without fail she called most Saturdays to the Toronto Star, complaining of either not having received her paper on time or that it was missing altogether. This would mean having to buy her a replacement at the corner store, take it and only to be fed on by the hideous-of-spirit racial predator. Like a true cockhound many an indignity I suffered in hopes of my spectacled, full-lipped and scholarly inamorato, Tommy hooking up with me for having been so loyal to him. The summer prior, I had ventured to the public pool on Broadview at Riverdale Park with him and a couple of others and thrilled beyond belief was I to spy his large pendulous balls and that hammer-headed girthsome salami that pummelled his bikinis. Indeed, for Tommy I would suffer much indignity. There was a low-rise apartment building at 1111 Broadview where on the ground floor, there was another predator, this one equally septuagenarian who lived alone, smoked incessantly and always answered the door in various stages of undress, mostly ever only wearing a soiled merino. He was always a generous tipper; a whole 2$ bill in 1974/75 was serious cash. Naturally, in the pre-Ciaslis epoch old anorexic, drunken paunched predator would sometimes tug on the old bulbous semi-flaccid/semi-tumescent, though, pendulous but perfectly useless appendage, trying to lure me in. Sitting there in all that squalor and acting as though he was sugar daddy material… indeed. He was always keen on trying to grab me when giving me the “tip” and I was ever sly and crafty enough to get away from him each time. He, too, lead me to regurgitate, which I had not done since age nine and suffering my first racial attack. Of course, to this day, neither academia nor medicine will concede that there is any such a thing as the racial predator and the effects it has on those preyed on – mostly blacks – and the psyche/mental illness of those who prey on others chiefly non-blacks in varying degrees of severity based on otherness.

Finally, the house lights went down and I was met by the whimsical vista of the COC’s production of W. A. Mozart’s glorious opera, Cosi Fan Tutte. Previously, I had caught productions of this Mozart gem in Chicago, Montréal and New York City. I was not expecting much at this rate. The Frida Kahlo connection was a bit of a stretch but the butterflies fast won me over.

From the moment that she stepped onto stage, my spirit soared aloft higher than Mozart’s glorious music to that point had spirited me. Never before had there been so captivating a Despina. My eyes teared up and I was ever on the cusp of explosive giggles. Then what made me truly come undone was the moment Tracy Dahl took to the stage as the notary… by now, I was losing tears and beginning to emit choked snorted chuckles. Each Saturday back in 1974/75 when doing Tommy’s newspaper route, I would end off taking the Saturday Star to Giovanna an octogenarian Italian, who was plump, charming and more adorable than any mere mortal ought to be. Soon, we were fast lovers and she loved fussing over me, baking me each Saturday nice, warm, oven-fresh biscotti washed down with a glass of ice-cold “gingah raleh”… her thick Italian accent was part of her charm. Hers was a large black and white cat, simply known as pussy gatto, who always sat nesting on the armchair. Each week, Giovanna sat transfixed as I read her the newspaper; her vision was to that point fairly deteriorated. As a way of better forging our bond and because most of my mates at Harbord were Italian, for three years, I studied Italian and that really impressed Giovanna, who was simply known as “Mama Mia.”

As the opera progressed, Ms. Dahl as the notary, dashed and took cover beneath the table at which point, I buried my face in the program with explosive laughter. Straight away, I was reminded of each Saturday when the ever silent pussy gatto would bolt from the armchair and take cover beneath the sofa where I sat as Giovanna began an explosion of long-winded farts. Even the singer’s voice sounded much like Giovanna’s as she sang the role of notary. Remarkably, it was as though she was channelling Giovanna. In that moment, I was healed of the bile, which the recent Uber incident had caused to surface, bile that dated as far back as 1974.

In the end, Tommy’s parents sold their house and it was not until a couple years later that I discovered from the neighbour next-door that Tommy, who had never returned to their Mortimer and Logan home, had died of Leukaemia. Indeed, the winter flu was my dad’s way of protecting me from the callousness of having to lose a friend so early in life.

Apart from the catharsis that Tracy Dahl’s performance personally effected, I don’t think that it would be biased of me to state that hers was the runaway performance in the COC’s fantastic, and fast-paced I might add, production of Cosi Fan Tutte.

_________________________

As ever, mischievously push down and melt with laughter in celebration of the joy that is life and start having yourselves a most glorious of flying dreams. Thanks for your ongoing support of this happening astral joint on this side of the astral plane. I love you more.

_______________________________________________________________________

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

22.02.201310.10.2024 Arvin da Brgha1 Comment

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.

_____________________________________

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 II^º 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.

_________________________

Photo: Pyramids at Giza.

_______________________________________________________________________

Ensouled Proboscis Simian Humans.

20.02.201310.10.2024 Arvin da Brgha3 Comments

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

_____________________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I told him,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The woman then said,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, no, not upstairs.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Isis just said,

“Why don’t we just get out of here?”

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

“That’s not the point of it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was no mistaking that fact.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

However, she still kept on blabbing away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aha! Now we’ve caught you.”

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

‘I’ve got to get away,’ I thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. Not really…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Oh, it’s okay… it’s okay.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A very serene dream it remarkably was. END.

______________________________

Photo: Proboscis simian mammalian.

____________________________________________________________________________

Paradigm shift.

17.02.201310.10.2024 Arvin da BrghaLeave a comment

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

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

____________________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

____________________

Photo: Full Moon digitally enhanced.

___________________________________________________________________

Dreams are the poetic expression of the soul.

Tag: Sol

#BestDespinaEver!

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

Paradigm shift.