That aside, here then I share a glimpse into the future with a vision of a lifetime up ahead.  It was a visionary dream and I found myself the trusted confidant and lover of a most beautiful public figure.

The dream in question occurred during the second or B sleep cycle that day.  It proved the third dream that dream quest, however, in the prior sleep cycle that day there were some ten dreams.

At the time, Sunday, October 4, 1992, the Moon was in Capricorn transiting my eighth house.  Therein is posited my natal retrograde Saturn.

Of course, this is a house innately ruled by Pluto whose powers afford one the ability to plummet the depths of the soul’s wealth of experiences across time.

In this case, the time in question proved to be into the future.  

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This was a most incredible experience.  I still have no idea in what time it took place.  However, a great religious event was taking place.

One of those massive cultural events that would transcend history this proved, rippling through time, enshrined in religious iconography.  This was set either in the very distant past of this planet’s history or, perhaps, somewhere distantly in the future.

This was a rite that was clearly Hindu in nascence.  Basically, they were performing human sacrifice.  It was most graphic and intense.

There was a great cenotaph made of natural white stone.  This was clearly a memorial to Mahatma Gandhi thereby making it a future time-framed dream.

For the human sacrifice, persons would be placed on a bier.  This was simply one of three ways that an adherent, of this future manifestation of the Hindu religion, was put to death if they were deemed to have sinned.

They could be stoned to death by the wronged community.  Secondly, they could simply be executed by firing squad – clearly this was sometime in the future.  Thirdly, before the community by burning alive – immolation, they would publicly perform ritual suicide.

This – the latter – was just such an occurrence.  I was right there, up front, witnessing one of these public ritual suicides.  This was basically a way for the priesthood to indulge in human sacrifice.

For having been falsely accused for having created karma, in some way or other, it was thus all too easy to have someone put to death.  This process of being tried and found guilty was, of course, totally arbitrary.  Inevitably mob rule, as influenced by the priesthood, had the ultimate power.

Myself, I was quite appalled to have witnessed such barbaric acts of communal sadism.  I was basically seeing what culturally had been done to Mahatma Gandhi – how he had been iconised – because he was most definitely sacrificed.

He was sacrificed, he was made a martyr when assassinated to serve the needs of the priesthood – politicians – who could not suffer the threat that he represented.

*This was a very upsetting and vivid experience and, like most such karmically resonant touchstones, there was no way to get out of it.  Basically, one was being shown how this whole thing had evolved.  END.

Mahatma Gandhi was now being held as the penultimate icon of this future sect of the Hindu faith.  For adherents to violently die was an honour and a coveted way to die.

Since Gandhi had been assassinated, in this future manifestation of Hinduism which seemed also to have been infused with radical, Islamic elements, a violent death by way of suicide was de rigueur.

You could die by way of being sacrificed but, like Mahatma Gandhi, you would be shot.  You would be shot, of course, by initiates of the priesthood which was considered quite the honour.  It was, as a matter of fact, all terribly gruesome.

In this new religious rite, there was a whole progression to being sacrificed.  After one had been executed, by the initiates, one’s violently killed body was then placed on the memorial altar to Mahatma Gandhi.

On the cenotaph, the great martyr’s name was inscribed in large, golden letters.  This then was clearly some 200-plus years after the death of Mahatma Gandhi.

An age, indeed, in which a nationalistic Hindu fervour would sweep through India leaving in its wake a new society.  It would be a religious culture in which there would be semblances to Adolf Hitler’s 1930s Germany in an India easily ten generations into the future.

This seemed very fanatical a place.  There was also much need to keep India thoroughly pure.  Moreover, India was become a Hindu state with no tolerance for either Islam or even Sikhism.

What struck me as peculiar, about it all, was the fact that it was definitely Hindu in essence.  I would, though, have much sooner associated this degree of zealotry coming from the early dawn of the warrior-spirited Sikh community.

However, there was no mistaking that this was definitely a Hindu cultural experience.  Definitely, it was set in India and one which captured the very soul of the community – the present time of 200 years hence.

*Perhaps it all means that I will reincarnate into India, an East Indian, in a future lifetime.  Naturally, I have had several past lives in India to date.

As an older soul, I would gladly welcome yet another life in India knowing full well that like all older souls, I would have positively no use, patience or tolerance for religiosity of any kind.

I think that this militant sect of the noble Hindu faith had arisen because with massive population explosion and an increase of Islamic terror within India, there was inevitable pushback which led to this politicised sect of Hinduism.  The result would be an India that would be kept a purely Hindu state with, perhaps, Sikhism still present but definitely not Islam within its borders.  END.

After the body had been riddled with bullets, they then began pulling it down.  The site was up on a plateau where it was presently dark out.  This was in a mountainous area and it was cool out.

As it was fast-approaching dawn, it was seen as the auspicious time for the ritual to have taken place.  Since the priesthood’s fixation with human sacrifice had grown, on the order of the Spanish Inquisition, the rite in progress was often practiced.

The body was then taken down and cremated.  During the cremation process, devotees were encouraged to go up and pull off pieces of the body.  They would then prostrate themselves making penance to the god Mahatma – Mahatma Gandhi – to seek his mercy and beneficence.

Before the still glowing remains of the cremating body, they would focus whilst praying to Deva Mahatma.  It was also considered more potent, if one showed true devotion, by taking some of the hot coals and energetically rubbing them in the palms.

It was seen as identifying with the ecstatic pain that the Mahatma had endured during his assassination.  I think it will be very interesting to see if, in the future, some sect of Hinduism will be this zealous and hold Mahatma Gandhi as its martyred figurehead.

I, for one, think that this would be so many steps backwards.  Do we really need to see humanity descending into this sort of nihilistic, diversionary, perpetuation of human suffering?

This group Neptunian – escapist – endeavour disguised as something as noble and high an ideal as spirituality, is not though spirituality.  As ever, all things religious are political entities.

There was this one guy there who was supposed to have been, somehow, the reincarnation of Mahatma Gandhi.  Or perhaps, he had been chosen as the astrological heir of the great evolved energies which were Mahatma Gandhi’s.

I was, somehow for being there, expected to go and make love with the chosen one – the heir to Mahatma Gandhi’s birthright.  So, off I went to fulfill my role.

*Alas, yet again, I serve as lover, confidant, companion, advisor and healer of the spirit.  END.

I knew, of course, that this could not have been Merlin in a future lifetime.  Since Merlin was alive during Mahatma Gandhi’s life, there is no way that this supposed reincarnated soul of Gandhi’s could have been Merlin.

Nor for that matter, evolved though he was, would I be so preposterous as to suggest that Merlin was Mahatma Gandhi reincarnated.  Even if Merlin were born after Mahatma Gandhi’s assassination, which he was not, I still would not ever make such an assumption.

This man was very dark-skinned and young.  He turned out to be the most beautiful man imaginable.  His were the most wonderful, large eyes imaginable.  He definitely had a Pisces rising.

Lying on top of him, we were kissing and making love.  We spent a great deal of time in conversation.  He was debating whether or not he felt that he could go on.  Basically, he was not prepared to willingly accept his chosen position in the sect’s iconography.

He said that he felt quite uncomfortable about it all.  I agreed with him and pointed out that it was obviously his karma.  Furthermore, there was no way that he could get out of his duty.

We agreed that there did not seem any way for him to escape this fate of his.  We had at least been humorous about it all.

Somehow though, in the larger context of things, it seemed likely that he would impact history on the order of Christ.  He did feel quite locked into this life.  In that sense, he was rather resigned to it – playing his role.

This man’s eyes were the most old-souled portals imaginable.  The one feature that he did have was that his eyes actually had light emanating from behind them.

Not only did his eyes have this unusual capacity but, next to his richly-melanined, brownish-black skin, they actually were purple.

They were even more so violet-coloured than Elizabeth Taylor’s.  Though hers may be violet, his were a deep royal purple.  Well!  These were unusually large eyes, too, the whites of which were spectacularly white.

These purple eyes seemed to be glowing from within.  To look into those eyes was, quite simply, a cosmic experience of the highest order.  Quite simply his eyes were bewitching.

Additionally, all he ever did was look right into you.  The eyes were the most important of the sensory organs.  For that reason, he did nothing except directly, unflinchingly, gently look into one’s eyes.

This was not like when speaking to a Westerner who looks everywhere but into your eyes.  Such persons look at you and direct their transparently bigoted perceptions one’s way.

This man cared nothing about lookism.  There was absolutely no Maya to him.  He simply represented centredness of being.  He was quite simply a soul in residence and nothing else.

There was no personality, no bullshit and, definitely, no ego.  He was a mind-altering experience onto himself.  Truly a force of the Cosmos was he.

*That was the beauty of this man, unlike the countless gurus of India, he was not a personality.  They are all spiritual celebrities.

They are, for the vast majority though not all, nothing more than charlatans rather adept at deception and masquerading as older souls.  Of course, these charlatans are keen to take advantage of the Western world’s need to romanticise India.  END.

Whilst we spoke, I kept on kissing his mouth, as we made love.  Though he was a robust wiry man, he was immensely passive and all-accepting.

I had a soul, I was a soul incarnate, and this was his reason for making love with me.  He was dancing with my soul.

This was a most intense and vivid experience.  This was simply Zen.

Obviously, I have taken the liberty of using the photo of an historical royal to betray the exquisite beauty of the avatar encountered in this dream.  Perhaps, it was merely about astral projecting into a probable future – one in which the effects of population explosion and sectarian tensions would manifest in a militant sects arising.  Either way, it was trip and a half being in commune with the purple-eyed one.

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Photo: Bollywood actor, Hrithit Roshan.

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