More Insights to Elizabeth Departed…

Queen Elizabeth II 21.04.1926 _<>_ 08.09.2022

Windsor, Elizabeth 21/4/1926<O>08/9/2022

Michael: This fragment was a third-level mature slave –- second life thereat.  Elizabeth was in the perseveration mode with a goal of dominance.  A realist, she was in the moving part of intellectual centre. 

Body type was Venus/Lunar. 

Elizabeth’s primary chief feature was stubbornness and the secondary self-deprecation. 

The fragment Elizabeth is fourth-cast in fifth cadence; she is a fragment of greater cadence six.  Elizabeth’s entity is one, cadre six, greater cadre 7, pod 418. 

Elizabeth’s essence twin is a slave and the task companion is a priest. 

Elizabeth’s three primary needs were: security, adventure and exchange. 

There are 6 past-life associations with Arvin and 4 with Merlin.

*Elizabeth is an entity mate of both Prince Harry (5th mature Warrior soul), his wife, Meghan, Duchess of Sussex (mid-cycle mature Artisan soul); these three souls have a bond that is both unshakable and unfathomable to the unaware eye.

Queen Elizabeth II, April 2021

During the early hours of September 10, whilst her body remained at Balmoral Castle, I had a lucid dream encounter with the departed Queen. Clearly, it was set on the astral plane and might even have been set at Balmoral or Holyrood House. The dream was immensely lucid and brief. She was sat in a tiny enclosed area where the walls were at least ten feet high, old stone that were time-blackened and moss-saturated in the cracks. I came to in the dream in mid-stride and realised who it was as I slowly progressed from the interior to the enclosed tiny courtyard that was no more than ten square feet. Sat, she wore a dark, pine green shawl loosely about her drooped shoulders with a predominantly white, flower-enlivened scarf well back from the crown of her head. Her lips were parted and her compacted bottom teeth were visible. Her arms gathered about her, she noticeably shivered and immediately said that it was cold. I did not find it remotely cool and it was, though beautifully lit here, not daytime out. looking off to the right, I saw a large woollen, light blue blanket; I stepped away from her and picked it up, still having said nothing.

Queen Elizabeth II

As I approached anew, I noticed that as she sat on a stone seat in the middle of the tiny courtyard, all around her a thick viscous fluid bled away from her body. It was bronze-coloured and the same thickness as motor oil. The bonze-coloured liquid seemed almost as if possessed of a dull light but a light it was, which was undeniable. Approaching her right side as she sat facing me, I reached around the blanket and was mindful to infuse the blanket with the same intense energy as when laying my hand on actor, River Phoenix’s back during our encounter within 48 hours of his passing in 1993. Frail, shrunken and withered, Elizabeth the departed Queen’s teeth could be heard as she increasingly shivered. Placed fully about her shoulders, I began stepping back away from her and she looked truly grateful. Looking at her aged blue eyes, they slowly began transforming. The Queen’s pupils began expanding, until there was neither blue nor white left to her eyes. Her hair, too, changed colour, becoming brunette with few silver hairs. Readily, I employed a tried and convenient technique. I blinked as she looked directly to me and with that, I effortlessly, lucidly awoke in the blink of the eyes.

https://dreampoetica.com/2021/11/15/homecoming/

Again, here is the dream of Queen Elizabeth’s homecoming on the astral plane. It was had on the eve of HM King Charles III’s November 14, 2021 73rd birthday. It has been my experience that when I have such awakened dreams of persons’ homecoming on the astral plane that person will pass within the year, as has proven the case for Queen Elizabeth II. I am pleased that I took the time to share that dream last November on this blog; I instinctively knew that she would pass within the year. Why pray tell would I dream of her, apart from the fact that she was the most famous human on the planet; we share 6 past-life associations which is considerable since we aren’t even from the same pod. The reason she appeared to be in her mid-to-late 40s when her metamorphosis began to the astral body is that Queen Elizabeth was a third mature slave soul.

Name Entity Cadre Greater Cadre Pod Soul Soul Age

Queen Elizabeth II 1 6 7 418 Slave Third Mature

Meghan Duchess of Sussex 1 6 7 418 Artisan *Mid-Cycle Mature

Prince Harry Duke of Sussex 1 6 7 418 Warrior Fifth Mature

Ennio Morricone 2 6 7 418 Artisan Seventh Mature

Lilibet-Diana 2 6 7 418 Sage Third Mature

Frederik Pohl 2 6 7 418 Sage Second Old

Doria Ragland 3 6 7 418 Slave Fifth Mature

Lionel Richie 4 6 7 418 Sage Fifth Mature

Yukio Mishima 5 6 7 418 Warrior Second Mature

Archie M-Windsor 5 6 7 418 Priest Seventh Mature

Prince George of Wales 5 6 7 418 King Fourth Mature

*All mid-cycle mature lives are extremely difficult, both Meghan, Duchess of Sussex and Marilyn Monroe are classic examples on the world stage of such lives. Mid-cycle only ever occurs at the mature soul age cycle and it always falls between third and fourth mature soul age. As it is difficult, this cycle lasts on average 2-3 lives, though, it can span up to 4 lives. This is where the soul truly divests itself of young soul-focussed consciousness. There is no going back after this cycle and it cannot be made clear enough that these are difficult lives that are lived at mid-cycle mature. Incidentally, like Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, HM Queen Camilla is also mid-cycle mature but a scholar soul. This is why HM Queen Camilla always seems a bit uneasy, at times neurotic, in public but true to her scholar disposition, she is ever going to be associated with literacy and instrumental with the Man Booker Prize.

Front Row L-R: Prince George (fourth mature king), HM King Charles III (seventh mature warrior), HM Queen Camilla (mid-cycle mature scholar), Princess Charlotte (?). Back Row L-R: Catherine, HRH Princess of Wales (fifth mature warrior), Prince Louis (?), HRH Prince William, Prince of Wales (sixth mature warrior), HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex (fifth mature warrior), Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex (mid-cycle mature artisan).

Catherine, HRH Princess of Wales <10> and HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex <9> are both warriors and they are both fifth mature warriors; there is positively no way that these two would not get along; one of the reasons why Catherine, HRH Princess of Wales majored in art history is that more of the brain is used at fifth mature and onwards – it is where the realms of dreams and creativity become pronounced. Each soul level is uniquely focussed in the life lessons undertaken. Someone who is seventh mature, like HM King Charles III <?>, is vastly more old-souled than HRH Prince William, Prince of Wales <6> who is sixth mature; the difference is as vast as if Charles were late mature, which he is, and William were late young – though obviously not. Conversely, William is vastly more mature-souled than both Henry and Catherine who are fifth mature. In the above photograph here is how the Windsors stack up with regards the agedness of soul. HM King Charles III is seventh mature and thus the oldest soul of the lot, though, to be fair as neither HRH Princess Charlotte of Wales <?> and HRH Prince Louis of Wales <?> overleaves are known by me, we work with the others in the photograph. HM King Charles III is older-souled than HRH Prince William, Prince of Wales, who in turn is older-souled than both Catherine, HRH Princess of Wales and HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex. Those two fifth mature warriors are in turn, older-souled than HRH Prince George of Wales <4> who is a fourth mature king soul. Prince George in turn is older-souled than both HM Queen Camilla <10> and Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex <4>, who are not only both mid-cycle mature, they are also both on their third life at that level. Third-level lives attract a lot of animus by nature. Incidentally, HRH Prince George of Wales is an entity mate of the Sussexes’ firstborn, Archie. Archie is a seventh mature priest soul <6> on his second life. I cannot state enough how immensely radiant of inner beauty Archie is and he will always have an uplifting effect when he walks into a room. It is a testament to the Sussexes’ love that Archie’s soul chose to be their firstborn. Regardless of anything else, for being entity mates, Prince George will also relish Archie’s counsel and find true guidance when they commune; entity mates are truly family. Priest souls are rather rare only less rare than king souls and they leave a strong impression.

*<10> as in the case of Catherine, HRH Princess of Wales, such numbers in arrow-shaped brackets represent number of past-life associations shared between that person and me. HM King Charles III is in pod 404; I requested his overleaves when learning that he was an entity mate of artist Robert Bateman (seventh mature king soul) with whom George Hawken (first old artisan soul) had collaborated and often spoke highly of. Though I have high enough past-life history with HM Queen Camilla <10>, I have never once dreamt of her – it is important to note that each time I sleep, I recall anywhere from 6 to more than a dozen dreams in detail-rich lucidity. Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh (fourth mature warrior soul) <14> is a member of pod 408; dreams encounters with this man were always engaging, unpretentious and usually telepathic. Incidentally, dream encounters with Catherine, HRH Princess of Wales are also usually telepathic and three days after The Queen’s state funeral I dreamt of her – see below.

Catherine, HRH Princess of Wales

She was in a courtyard being focussed, competitive; she wore a extra thick black bodysuit that was like a scuba diver’s suit. Catherine carried a white, slightly scooped paddle and played alone with a heavy, smaller version of a medicine ball. As this was a dream, whilst she played, we telepathically communicated with me always to her left rear. She would strike the black ball quite forcefully, wherever it struck the wall, the ball would become stuck to the hard blackened wall; this gave the sense that both wall and ball were magnetised. Then without warning, the ball would be ejected with great force; the ball seemed as though a perfectly round ten-pound kettlebell. Catherine never missed the ball and she was having to duck and weave as though a tennis player, who is close to the net and therefore having to stretch, leap and quickly recover. It was always impossible to anticipate where the ball would go, it could return directly to her, actually curve away or go diagonally to the side as when a tennis player goes for an ace to the side of the court. Catherine, however, was throughout intensely focussed and would not miss a ball, thereby betraying her warrior soul steeliness. I guess at some point in the future, this game will be invented, in the meantime, the Princess of Wales was using it as it engaged and worked every muscle group in the body, which is why she wore the extra thick and tight body suit. Throughout, the suit contained ribbing that looked and behaved like the ventral grooves of rorqual whales; when the grooves expanded the rubberised-looking suit revealed white folds. When any muscle group expanded, the suit’s grooves would expand but just as readily contract back into place; this enabled the Princess of Wales to be always keenly aware of what muscles were being used or ought to have been better used – truly intelligent design. Catherine, HRH Princess of Wales here was just as powerful an athlete as Serena Williams. Catherine wore thick black gloves and equally bulky footwear that looked like shortened Wellington boots. Similarly, she wore wraparound protective eyewear that resembled a diving mask. Here, in this rather lucid dream, Catherine, Princess of Wales wore her hair gathered back from her face in a ponytail and her hair was just a bit longer than shoulder length.

Here is a list of famous priest souls and you can see that theirs is a radiance of spirit and leadership that is unsurpassed; they are all about uplifting one’s spirit: Mahatma Gandhi (seventh old), Nelson Mandela (sixth mature), Jessye Norman (first old), Barack Obama (seventh young), Yehudi Menuhin (second old), Lucian Freud (fifth mature), James Baldwin (fourth mature), Malcolm X (sixth mature), Louis Farrakhan (fifth young), Hermann Hesse (second old), Nina Simone (sixth mature), William F. Buckley (sixth young), John Lennon (second mature), Gustave Flaubert (fifth old), Gord Downie (sixth mature), Camille Paglia (second mature), Leonard Cohen (fifth mature), Marvin Gaye (sixth mature), Martin Luther King Jr. (sixth mature) – you shall know them by their voice! Obama is a young priest but his message was about hope a very uplifting priestly worldview. Priests have the most radiant and most intense eyes and they tend to be almond-shaped, regardless the ethnicity. Priests are not always all good, Hitler was a young priest because when a priest is bad, they is no soul more extreme.

*Not only are they both priest souls but Canadian musician, Gord Downie and Martin Luther King Jr. are entity mates.

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What I did not mention in the last blog was the importance of Queen Elizabeth II’s soul type and soul age. Slave souls make up roughly 25 percent of all souls and as such are the most populous soul types of the seven, which are: slave, artisans, warriors, scholars, sages, priests and kings. Slaves are the salt of the earth types; in my experience and from the hundreds of Michael overleaves that I have had channelled, Slaves souls are to be avoided at all costs. For me, a seventh level mature artisan on third life cast in 6th (priest) position in third (warrior) cadence, third (warrior) greater cadence, entity six (priest) cadre one (slave), greater cadre seven (king) pod 414, I simply do not, as a sceptic and with a chief feature of impatience, have time for slave souls and their manipulative, small-mindedness; it is also my third (warrior) life at seventh mature, which means I am more warrior than most and will be brusque about having persons honour my boundaries, especially so when I have master numbers of 11. All the ‘drama’ and brutalising “hazing” as Christina Oxenberg refers to this trial-by-fire of wives of Windsor who marry in, rather than being blood princesses, originated and was triggered by HM Queen Elizabeth II. She was a slave soul but she was also in dominance with a mode of perseverance and with a chief feature of stubbornness. The Queen, for women who married into the royal family, was exasperatingly difficult. It would have taken herculean patience to deal with her, if one were a family member and definitely if female and wedded into the Windsor dynasty. Most of all, all persons with a primary chief feature of stubbornness are shit-disturbers and they love interfering and pitting others against each other.

Entity Mates: Harry (warrior), Meghan (artisan) & Queen Elizabeth (slave), all mature souls

Of course, no one can say that Harry is fabricating when he has repeatedly stated that he shared a close bond with his grandmother, The Queen. Entity mates are family at the level of soul. Cadre mates are cousins. Greater cadre mates are like second, third cousins and in-laws, and pod mates are like the extended family scattered across the globe. The bond is less intense for pod mates as it is with the warmth and solidity of entity mates but it still exists. For instance, if the Sussexes were to attended a Lionel Richie concert, they would come away, feeling uplifted and warm. The reason incidentally why Harry & Meghan are always criticised for holding hands in public, is not only are they solidly bonded entity mates but this is their 21st lives together; they have reincarnationally been every possible relationship to date. There is no way that they would not handhold. It is part of the way that they engage the intense telekinesis between them and keep it active; they are basically melding their auras and forming a fortified, stronger forcefield around themselves. Though entity mates with high past-live contact, Harry and Meghan are, however, not task companions. If anyone of the persons listed above from cadre six, greater cadre seven, pod 418 were to read a Frederik Pohl novel, they would bond with the written word on a deeper level than say someone from pod 129.

Queen Elizabeth Queen Mother – Second mature Slave soul.

Speaking of pod 129 and in keeping with the previous blog where the Victorian misogynist persona was explored, let’s look at Queen Elizabeth, Queen Mother’s overleaves. She, too, was a slave soul like her mother, which afforded both – along with Queen Mary whose overleaves I do not know – the focussed attack for maintaining the Victorian misogynist persona. Pod 129 is a trawler’s bountiful net, straining at the seams with famous persons. I will list all the famous persons from entities one through seven of cadre one, greater cadre four, pod 129, into which Queen Elizabeth Queen Mother’s soul was cast.

Bowes-Lyon, Elizabeth 4/8/1900<O>30/3/2002 (4.3.4 = 11, same numerology as Meghan)

Michael: This fragment was second-level mature slave – fourth life thereat.  Elizabeth was in the observation mode with a goal of dominance.  A sceptic, she was in the intellectual part of moving centre. 

Body type was Venus/Lunar. 

Elizabeth’s primary chief feature was pronounced stubbornness and the secondary self-deprecation. 

The fragment Elizabeth is seventh-cast in fourth cadence; she is a member of greater cadence three.  Elizabeth’s entity is two, cadre one, greater cadre 4, pod 129. 

Elizabeth’s essence twin is a slave and she has a priest task companion. 

Elizabeth’s primary needs were: security, exchange and communion. 

There are 4 past-life associations with Arvin and 9 with Merlin. 

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Name                                      Entity    Cadre *G. C. Pod     Soul                Soul Age

Mikhail Baryshnikov              1             1          4       129      Artisan           Seventh Mature

Robert Mapplethorpe           1             1          4        129      Artisan           Fifth Mature

Amedeo Modigliani              1              1          4        129      Artisan           Second Old

Marilyn Monroe                    1              1          4        129      Artisan         *Mid-Cycle Mature

Judith Jamison                      1              1          4        129      Artisan           First Old

Gerald Clayton                      1              1          4         129      Artisan           Seventh Mature

Art Tatum                              1              1          4         129      Artisan           First Old

Charlie Parker                        1              1          4         129      Artisan           Fifth Mature

John Travolta                         1              1          4         129      Artisan           Sixth Young

George Lucas                         1              1          4         129      Artisan           Fifth Mature

Steven Spielberg                    1             1          4          129      Artisan           Fourth Mature

Stevie Wonder                        1             1          4         129       Artisan           Sixth Mature

Barbra Streisand                     1             1          4          129      Warrior          Fifth Mature

Karen Kain                               1             1          4          129      Warrior          First Old

George Harrison                     1             1          4          129      Scholar           Seventh Mature

Dave Brubeck                          1             1          4          129      Scholar           Fifth Mature

Benjamin Britten                     1             1          4          129      Scholar           Fifth Mature

*Georgia O’Keeffe                   1             1          4          129      Scholar           Seventh Mature

Kelly Preston                           1             1          4          129      Sage                (John’s *TC)

Queen Elizabeth QM              2            1           4          129     Slave               Second Mature

Jessica Tandy                           2            1          4          129       Slave              Second Old

Joni Mitchell                            2            1          4          129      Artisan           Fifth Mature

Jon Faddis                                2            1          4          129      Scholar          Sixth Mature

Whoopi Goldberg                    2            1          4          129      Sage               Second Old

Frank Sinatra                            2            1          4          129      Sage               Seventh Young

Count Basie                              2            1          4          129      Sage                Sixth Mature

Fernando Bujones                    2            1          4          129      Sage                Sixth Mature

Samuel R. Delany Jr.                 3            1          4          129      Sage                Third Old

Mighty Sparrow                        4            1          4          129      Artisan            Fifth Mature 

Whitney Houston                     4             1          4          129      Artisan           Sixth Young

Lorne Greene                            4             1          4          129      Sage                Seventh Young

Tom Cruise                                4             1          4          129      Sage                Fifth Young

Dexter Gordon                          4             1          4          129      Sage                Sixth Mature

Robert De Niro Jr.                     4             1          4          129      Sage                Sixth Mature

Gord Downie                             4             1          4          129      Priest              Sixth Mature

Martin Luther King Jr.               4              1          4          129      Priest              Sixth Mature

Shirley MacLaine                       5              1          4          129      Sage               Fifth Mature

Wynton Marsalis                       5              1          4          129      Sage               Seventh Young

Kamala Harris                            6              1          4          129      Warrior          Third Mature

Yo Yo Ma                                    6              1          4          129      Sage               Second Old

Nina Simone                              7              1          4          129      Priest              Sixth Mature

Yehudi Menuhin                        7              1          4          129      Priest              Second Old

*In a prior life, Georgia O’Keeffe was Spanish painter, El Greco. Also, a member of entity one is American scholar, Carl Sagan; I am not conversant with his role or soul age.  Incidentally, it takes roughly five to seven thousand years to go from your first life on this planet as an ensouled human being as a first infant soul to seven old soul.  Your soul type never changes and anyone claiming to have been alive in Atlantis has simply got an active imagination or have done too much drugs.  Christ was a seventh old king on his last life; he is never coming back.  Why?  No one is responsible for anyone’s choices.  The most famous seventh level old soul on their last life, recently experienced by human civilisation, was the scholar soul, Stephen Hawking; his soul will never again reincarnate.  He did not need a hot or a fully functional body as he was chiefly focussed on dispensing all the knowledge that he had acquired over the course of lives lived, which is why his was such a brilliant mind.

*G.C. – Greater Cadre.

Task Companions: William, Sixth Mature Scholar. Catherine, Fifth Mature Warrior

*TC = Task companion. The task companion is a soul to which you are uniquely bonded. That soul is always in your entity and they are always never the same soul type as oneself. Merlin and I are task companions, he a seventh mature scholar soul and I, a seventh mature artisan with very strongly cardinal warrior casting – and I am also on my third (warrior) life at seventh level mature, which gives a very brassy “do not piss me the fuck off” bluntness.

Merlin & I Niagara-on-the-Lake, at Shaw Festival with actors, Wayne Robson & Lynn Woodman, 1987

Not only are Merlin and I task companions but that seven-year relationship in fin-de-siècle New York City and Toronto was the forty-third time that our souls had gotten together whilst incarnate. Also, Merlin reincarnated in 2006 in Amsterdam. Female, reincarnated Merlin is the last of three children with two older brothers. Female Merlin was reborn in 02.12.2006 year of the Dog. Numerologically, 2.5.4 = 11. As you can see, reincarnated Merlin now has two numbers in common with myself 2 & 11. My life was study for his soul whilst between lives and that energy body of two affords him an abundance of creativity and the master numbers of 11, indicate her (reincarnated Merlin) need to be a singularly focussed lone wolf of sorts. Born August 02, 1960, my numbers are 2.1.8 = 11.  I would suspect that TRH Prince & Princess of Wales have had at least 30 past lives together. John Travolta is an artisan soul and his departed wife, Kelly Preston his sage task companion. Similarly, for task companions TRH Prince & Princess of Wales, Catherine is a fifth mature warrior and William a sixth mature scholar. Warriors like king souls are always the dominant partner in any relationship; William will also yield to her in a heated row – and yes, task companions will row anywhere any frigging time. Catherine is balls tougher than William any given Wednesday. Also, Wanda Toscanini and Vladimir Horowitz, like Catherine and William, are warrior and scholar task companions respectively. Task companions are always close in soul age; for this reason it is safe to assume that sage soul, Kelly Preston was a young soul sage to her task companion, John Travolta being sixth level young. You will never have one task companion a young soul and the other an old soul. Classic example of the task companion focus, is the Prince & Princess of Wales; the nature of the bond is to undertake a shared task. In this case, the Prince & Princess of Wales are focussed on stewardship of the environment, maintaining and perpetuating the Windsor dynasty.

Duke & Duchess of Sussex

Here are how past-life contacts affect one during the course of a lifetime. Take the Duke & Duchess of Sussex. Meghan who had previously been Margaret Beaufort, matriarch of the Tudor dynasty, my soul has had 4 past-life associations with her soul. As this is a relatively low past-life contact rate, for this reason, I have never once dreamt of her; further, she is well-fortified as well she should. Meghan, Duchess of Sussex is, after all, the most hated Black woman in human history. In the case of her husband, Prince Harry, as we have shared 9 past-life associations, I dream of from time to time.  It is not uncommon to have astral plane dream encounters with persons with whom you have shared past lives; however, with 1-5 past life associations, it would be rare that you would dream of such a person. 6-10 past life associations and there will be dream contact but not with any appreciable consistency. 11-15 such persons you will see in the dream time with fair regularity; they would be like someone in one’s part of town whom you see fairly regularly, though, you never directly interact or if so rarely and not intentionally do so. 16-20 and these are regular dream companions with whom you are likely to have healthy sexual contact (in dreams) and who are likely to be cadre if not entity mates. 21-25 flying dreams and other spiritually elevated experiences with commonality is the norm here. Apart from sex, they may be entity mates with whom you will continue the relationship, if known, after they pass on. 26-30, definitely entity mates with whom you will dine, fly, physicalise and also explore past-life experiences. Anything above 31, you are likely to spend time with them when they pass on, to assist with their orientation to the shift in experience/focus.

River Phoenix

The rules are not rigidly applied for instance within 48 hours of his death by overdose, I had a rather lucid astral plane dream encounter with River Phoenix. He is an artisan in my greater cadence and for being an entity mate with 18 past-life associations – though we did not meet in this incarnation – I was called into action to be of service to facilitate much needed energy alignment with his sudden transition. The link to that dream with River Phoenix is in the link that follows.  

https://dreampoetica.com/2019/08/27/go-in-peace-energy-transference-with-recently-departed-famous-entity-mate/

As with the above dream because River Phoenix was newly refocussed on the astral plane, I was there and for not being an astral plane habitué, had the ability to fly.  Also, in that dream from 1993, I ran into extra-human (extra-terrestrial/alien) persons who though likely perfectly disguised in the waking state, appeared in the dream time in their natural state.  

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Thembi, Pharoah Sanders 1971

Pharoah Sanders 13.10.1940 _>O<_ 24.09.2022

Sweet and blissful dreams shamanic kindred spirit. I love you more….

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

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©2013-2023 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.

See You Soon… 30 Years On, Merlin’s Magical Departure.

Almost instantaneously, as the Moon transited Leo in my third house, my lungs besottedly drank the warm and dank, dark air.  Thus I effortlessly drowned into sleep.  Whilst wintry winds howled outside the window, this cold early Saturday morning – November 18, 1989 – my lucid focus seamlessly shifted into the dreamtime. 

I readily knew that I was dreaming. 

thumbnail_IMG_20190808_010603_147

Here, just as moments earlier whilst awake and meditating, Merlin was uppermost in my thoughts.  I could sense his presence.  The shift from one dimension to the other was seamless.  Lucidly self-aware, I was immediately come to in a dream that was set in the bedroom where I slept.

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I was in bed with the artist Olaf Nordstrom – a source of loving support at present in the waking state.  I was lying in bed, leaning on his bony chest, as he sat up in bed.  It was obvious from his body language that he did not want to be in bed with me.  I felt a still and quiet vibration to this dream.  The moment was truly serene and peaceful.  This was not a sexual or post-sexual interlude.  We were both reflective.  It was obvious that we were on the cusp of something momentous.  It was the sort of vibration that signalled that something extraordinary was about to unfold.

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Olaf behaved as if he was uncomfortable being there – it was a grave moment.  He wanted to be there, however, to merely lend his support.  It was obvious that he was wary of my clinging.  Clinging, however, was not my intention.  The moment together was brief – just a preparation for things to come.  With that we parted.  It was time to get up and participate in the events of whatever was to unfold.

This dream was possessed of inordinate lucidity; its every detail and nuance my faculties absorbed with acuity beyond the norm.

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In the second dream, this cold Saturday morning, I found myself in the familiar territory of the Cabbagetown streets where we lived.  I went into a store which does not exist in the waking state.  It sat just south of the Pet Menagerie store, on the east side of Parliament Street, between Amelia and Winchester Streets.

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It was a tailor’s shop that carried rather high-end fabrics.  I was there to pick out some fabric because I had a definite idea of what I wanted to wear to Merlin’s funeral.  I knew that the only way, to get the look that I wanted, was to make the outfit myself.  The kindly, gracious salesman was trying to get me interested in a rather conservative plaid fabric but it simply was not to my liking.  My aversion was not because it was plaid; rather, the tone was too sombre.

He was not insistent but let me know that it was appropriate.  However, I would have none of it; I simply did not like the fabric or the colours.  I simply was not going to have it.  Unable to make up my mind and not wanting to make a decision about fabric, as there were so many ramifications to what it all meant, I left the store stepping into the light of day.  It had been a very dimly lit, nicely wood-panelled, stately shop.

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Once outside, I became acutely aware of Merlin.  I was now returned to the yard of Cabbagetown’s 20 Amelia Street, where we lived, and Merlin was present with me.  Thoughts of Merlin, on leaving the store, had me immediately posited in the front yard of 20 Amelia Street where I happily joined him.  We were watering the lawn even though it was wintertime.  Next door at 18 Amelia Street, where at this point Club Monaco designer Alfred Sung no longer lived, there were lots of potted plants hanging from the lone, purple-leaved, sugar maple tree.

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Merlin was telling me to water the plants.  He then began telling me, rather matter-of-factly, that I had to start taking care of the apartment – I had to make it a home again.  Merlin asked me to start preparing things.  He meant that this was not the time for procrastination.  Of course, moments earlier in the prior dream, I had been procrastinating when down on Parliament Street to pick out fabrics to wear to his funeral.  By avoiding the matter altogether, I had chosen instead to forego the purchase.  As Merlin spoke to me, I became so aware of him that I completely became self-aware – both in the dream and in my sleep whilst in bed at 20 Amelia Street.

I was standing there very intently looking at Merlin.  He, too, was very intently looking at me.  Whilst we were unflinchingly looking into each other, I thought aloud with quiet resignation, ‘Merlin has died.’

I knew, too, that Merlin had heard my thoughts in the dream.

At that moment my sister Pandora da Braga, with whom Merlin enjoyed the best relations of anyone else in my life, suddenly became a presence in the dream.  She never fully became physically manifested but her energies became overwhelmingly strong.  Her energies were just to my rear as she played a loving and supportive role.

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Suddenly, introspectively, I recalled a dream which I had had earlier in the week.  With everything moving so quickly, in the waking state – with little time to collect my thoughts, let alone overlong time to record any dreams- it had slipped by unrecalled on awakening.  However, now it was not merely being recalled, it was being relived in its entirety.  I stood there and as I recalled the dream, rather seamlessly, I actually entered the dream which was being reanimated as it was being holographically recalled.

Within the reanimated dream being recalled and relived, I was again on the lawn at 20 Amelia Street in the warmth of the Sun’s rays.  Just as in today’s dream, I was on the front lawn facing due north and the house with 18 Amelia Street on the left to the west.  As Merlin and I were visiting in the outer dream of today, I had turned my body.  Being in the same physical position had triggered the recall and reanimation of the dream from the past week.

To my left, I saw an incredibly ancient-looking, wise being who progressed across the lawn.  The slowness of his progression was so measured that one’s experience of time, in the reanimated and recalled dream, progressed outside of time itself.  It was simply magical to experience the progression of the very ancient and mystical being.  The millennia-ancient figure progressed across the lawn, of 18 Amelia Street, heading towards our home at 20 Amelia Street.  The being was male and small in stature; he was hobbit-like.  His head was large, disproportionately large, compared to his tiny, frail-bodied frame.

He could not have been more than four feet tall.  His head was absolutely massive.  His forehead arched up and was high like an African’s.  Too, his head was elongated in the back, reminiscent of Pharaoh Akhenaten’s skull.  More striking than the majesty with which the august being progressed outdoors, towards our home at 20 Amelia Street, was the look of his face.

It was simply magical.  From beneath the translucent skin, soft yellow-white light escaped revealing his very visible aura.  Nothing but pure love, along with the same nonjudgmental look that ever peered back from Merlin’s eyes to mine, radiated from this being.  The love radiating from the being towards me was awesome, immense – intense.  The great being’s progress was purposeful.  He was on a mission; he was unstoppable.  The process had begun.

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I was struck by the uncanny resemblance, which the face of this being bore, to the planet-being in the skies of Sandy Point, St. Kitts in a momentous dream during September 1983.  It was a dream whose potency and beauty would lay unfathomable for years to come.  The being progressed as though levitating mere millimetres above the rather zingy, extra-green grass of the lawns at both 18 and 20 Amelia Street.  Though he did not pause as he progressed, the radiant being did turn and look at me.  As though he was familiar with me, he acknowledged me by slightly nodding.  However, he continued on towards our home.

He moved past me as I stood there, still and silent, drinking in the majesty of the experience.  At soul-centre we were familiar to each other.  I knew him.  He knew me.  I stood, alone and awestruck, in the front yard being refamiliarised by the vibration of his beauty as the effect of his potent powers spatially affected the dream.  As he moved past, I was reminded of the film The Dark Crystal, by Jim Henson – with whom Merlin had worked, directing two episodes of the Fraggle Rock television series in its inaugural season.  This movie would for several months, after we saw it together in New York City, be our favourite film.

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Thereafter for several weeks, whenever we looked at each other – even when not being intimate, we had hummed at each other as the rival beings in the film did when communicating.  The being here was much like the good beings in the Jim Henson film The Dark Crystal.  The being progressed up the few stone steps, to the wooden veranda at 20 Amelia Street, and began making his way inside the house.  As I watched him ascend, from the lawn to the veranda, it was clear to me that he was levitating.  Though it was a dream and I too could have levitated and flown, he though had a power which surpassed mine.

This august-souled, mystical being clearly originated from a dimension which vibrationally and spiritually was of a higher plane than the astral, where the dream occurred, and the physical in which I am incarnate.  Indeed, the same physical plane from which Merlin was rapidly taking his leave – it was that discernible.  The moment the mystical being entered our home, being lost to view, I came to from the inner holographic dream which was a recall and reanimation of a dream that I had experienced within the last week.  As I came to, I was about to go indoors to see what had become of the being that had clearly entered our home.

It was then, having returned to being fully focussed in the outer ‘shell’ dream of today November 18, 1989, that I saw Merlin anew.  He was standing at the front door looking out at me.  I stood there, in the front yard, transfixed whilst the bright daylight bathed my body throughout.  The look on Merlin’s face was purely transcendent.  He was perfectly still and perfectly radiant.  Merlin stood in the midst of a nimbus of dazzling, blue-white light.  As he lovingly glowed out at me, this splendid light only intensified.

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Merlin was transformed and as his face lovingly lit up, at me, the light grew to more completely envelop his body.  Whilst lovingly glowing at me with the warmest, most familiar knowing smile, Merlin slowly brought his right hand up with the palm facing me and more completely smiled.  The radiance of his smile soon became lost in the glow of his aura’s light.  The nimbus, enveloping his transformed body, radiated even more intensely at that point.

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I was blown away.  Arrested, I readily knew what I was experiencing; I could feel it.  I knew that across dimensions, in the waking state, Merlin had just died.

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However, as is my wont, I protested.  I dropped the hose which was still bleeding its nurturing water onto the frozen, wintry lawn at my feet.  I stood – paralysed.  Determinedly, I then bolted for Merlin.  I headed up to the veranda as my lover, as my mentor, as my friend stood transcendent in the doorway to what had been the most beautiful sense of home ever experienced.  “Merlin!” shrieking in protest, I yelled out his name.

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(Detail of oil on canvas by my sister Pandora of Toronto’s Mount Pleasant Cemetery where Merlin is buried.)

Suddenly, the thunder of my protesting breath abruptly drew me from sleep.  I sat upright in bed, my arms outstretched and beyond, after having crashed back into my body and no longer astral-projected.  From the foot of the bed both cats – Zora and Whoopi – knowingly, silently looked up.  I was arrested by the frozen horror-struck face staring at me from the mirrored closet doors across the room. 

In the near-darkness of the bedroom, a few rays of early morning light made it past the blood-red, velvet drapes heavily hung at the windows.  Those rays starkly cast light on how horribly desolate my life now was.  Merlin was gone.  His spirit had taken leave from this world.  It was that discernible as my world, my very universe, had experienced a massive vibrational shift. 

I had been abruptly displaced from the astral plane.  I had been lucidly dreaming a dream within a dream.  I was being told so long as Merlin, transitioned from incarnate to astral plane habitué, bade farewell to our magically glorious union on the physical plane.  I was heartened by the peace and knowingness in his transcendent face because I knew that it was a, “See you soon…” parting, for now. 

I knew that there would be dreams aplenty up ahead.  Just as he had pledged, he would magically weave in his indelible promise to me, before departing from the physical plane.  There was such a cold silence, a stinging finality to the moment, as I sat there in bed.  After having looked back at myself, silently waiting, I placed a call to the eighth storey nursing station at Wellesley Hospital. 

I was immediately aware that the tone of the nurses, with whom I was by now long-familiar, had changed.  In very little time, it was official… Merlin had indeed passed.  Truth be told, it was not a surprise; I could sense it on awaking.  He simply was not there.  As always, I had reached out to sense him on awaking – his energies – just blocks away at Wellesley Hospital.  Now, there was nothing. 

Then, as if needing further proof, I thought about Merlin calling each morning.  He would do so, to lovingly say hello and thereby, to lovingly wake me up.  Merlin would then lovingly ask for a call-back, after I had audio-recorded the dreams.  Merlin had, thus far, not called.  Once again, I saw the stillness of my reflection across the room.  I knew then, really knew…  Merlin was gone.  

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As ever, thanks for your ongoing support but if you really want to make me levitate then do buy my books!

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© 2013-2023 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.

The Fawn… It Definitely Was A Miracle.

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On this the eve of what would have proven Merlin’s 72nd birthday, I share these rather totemic dreams.  This November 18, 2019 marks the 30th anniversary of Merlin’s passing of full-blown AIDS, on a cold November Saturday morning when icy snowflakes aimlessly drifted across the city streets.  Whilst at dinner recently, a dear friend asked if I am never saddened at the loss of Merlin and if I ever do miss him. Of course, as I write this blog, I am warmed by the fact that on December 2, 2006 – almost 13 years ago, Merlin was reincarnated in a canalled northern European city.  Merlin is now female and the third of three children – two older brothers. 

What’s more, Merlin reborn has eyes that would now be even more phenomenal than when last I gazed besotted and rhapsodic into those large, soulful hazel eyes.  Whereas Merlin was on his sixth life as a seventh level mature scholar soul, now reincarnated and female that soul is now living its first incarnation as a first level old scholar. These next dreams were dreamt in May, 1989 when Merlin was then still incarnate and at that point, he daily listened to the audiocassette recording of my dreams.  This he did because they fascinated him; more than that, he did so because ever the director, he was keen to give insight and direction. 

“Come on, Arvin, you have to be more descriptive.  I have no idea if the car was blue, green, for that matter a convertible and was it a tan or white leather interior?” 

Certainly, it can never be underestimated the pivotal role that Merlin played in the depth and thoroughness of the audiocassette recorded dreams.  He was ever a loving but tough taskmaster and happy am I to have had his loving input and direction. After having listened to the recorded dream being now shared herein, Merlin came to dinner at our 20 Amelia Street home and declared, “Well, let’s not get too caught up in trying to interpret and figure out the symbolism of those dreams.”  After, he winked, we softly kissed; his lips as ever warm and full as internally an unrelenting disease determinedly consumed his body… but never alas his spirit. 

These were potent, lucid astral plane dreams.  To say that they were totemic would be understating fact.  The dreams were a glimpse beyond the veil as Merlin shamanically wound down another incarnation and got ready to put to rest another life. Ever focussed on my spiritual maturation, I am immensely proud to have survived so long after Merlin’s passing.  Had anyone wagered that I would be still in the game 30 years later, I would have said, “You are reading the wrong tea leaves.”  

Well, here I am still shaking arse and the Rathore to the core.  These totemic dreams were dreamt on Monday, May 22, 1989, audiocassette recorded on tape IX of the 250 audiocassette recording of my dreams and yet to be found in Volume one the 25 Volume dream opus. Too, at the time, the Moon then transited both Sagittarius and my seventh house – wherein my natal Moon is posited.  Truly few are they who are brave enough to drink from the chalice that is life. 

Your support and choice to be focussed herein are both humbling and a source of inordinate pride.  I am immensely grateful. Sweet dreams and as ever do remember, death is just a shift in focus; one is merely focussed at a different frequency.  Besides, as one rather beguiling astral plane habituée put it, “Trust me, death is not wasted on the living.”  

Dreams serve as the most expedient conduit for sustaining the bonds and communion of souls between persons who are no longer focussed in the physical plane but refocussed on the astral plane between lives as astral plane habitués whilst resting, reviewing and weaving the tapestry of future incarnations.  So, drink and live in the moment.  Take a deep breath, open your eyes within – don’t be afraid – and there within the silken folds of self is the massive beauty which is spirit.. go on explore and discover the true you.  I love you more. 

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Montpelier Plantation Nevis

The first dream found me posited on a hilltop looking down into a valley which then rose up into a lower hill.  From the vantage of the mountains in Sandy Point, St. Kitts or Nevis, the view was of being down towards the ocean.  Topographically, it seemed more like St. Kitts – however, this was definitely set in Nevis.  I looked out and what did I see but a house on this hill; it was a very huge and lovely house.

Down from the sky, before the house on the rolling plains, fell a column of white light that shimmered.  The manifesting light had the power of a tornado and it was a force that moved… it undulated.  Truth be told, this was a liquefied white light – not unlike a waterspout.  As compared to the left and right sides of the shaft, it was as though the centre of the light was faded.  The centre of the column of light seemed invisible but it wasn’t.  As a matter of fact, it was sort of greyish-coloured.  

*A very fleeting dream this was but it was one that was potent.  The sky overhead was ominously dark as though the cloud cover was simply to mask something else.  There was no getting around the fact that the light was used as some sort of transport or conveyance.  The light was being used for the relay of energies between the house’s occupants, if there were any, and whatever was beyond the clouds.

The dream seemed to have abruptly collapsed because I had happened on the scene.  There was no one else about.  Too, it was the only house on the landscape.  I felt as though I had been ejected, from the dream, for having been there and witnessed what I wasn’t supposed to have been privy to.  The dream collapsed around me; I was deprived any further knowledge of what was going on.  In light of the dream that would follow, it became fairly obvious that the light column was channelling.

Eventually, the astra-human soul quality of Merlin’s would quite potently manifest.  Of course, just as in the dream of Thursday, July 7, 1988VI, again, there was a lone house on the landscape.  As will become evident, in later moments of the dreams, Merlin’s soul quality would manifest.  END.

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Satiro de Aaron Sims

The next dream immediately found me in bed with Merlin.  He got up and he looked very old.  Looking very tired and old, he turned around to me then went out into the hallway.  He turned around and asked me, “When are you going to start moving on because I’d like to die by the end of this year?  When are you going to go back to school?  I’m really tired of this; I’m tired of this illness… I just want to move on.”

He was terribly impatient.  Indeed, Merlin here was very forceful.  That was when he began shapeshifting; Merlin underwent a metamorphosis before my eyes.  He became, as he spoke, more impatient.  I watched spellbound as his physiology morphed into the very astral-looking faun – though elfin-looking, he was taller than his known humanoid self; Merlin became the archetypal Chiron.  I started crying sounding real childlike and said, “No… no!  Please, please don’t!”

His face then became part of the pink walls, thus his transformed face was flesh-toned.  Here his face looked faunlike; his eyes were on the sides.  He had the face of a faun and I only ever saw the right eye.  The eye was black-within-black.  The eye looked down at me because the head – which was the only thing visible when mounted – was up on the wall.  Shapeshifted, Merlin’s was a very hard-looking eye.

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Merlin’s eye rapaciously looked right into the soul.  An ancient eye it was.  I caressed the softness of the fur-like skin and pleaded with him and said, “Please, I can’t live without you.  I couldn’t go on.  Please don’t lose your strength and get ill,” I pleaded with the shapeshifted Merlin and cried.  I was aware of being here in bed asleep whilst dreaming and that my body was going through the motions of crying and being pained.  Merlin did not hear me, although, I thought that as I slept that I was talking aloud in my sleep.

*This was an intensely upsetting dream because it dramatised how Merlin wished to be allowed to move on.  He no longer cared to be focussed in the life.  Though it was obvious that he could have soldiered on for months more, he simply lost the desire to go on being focussed.  Clearly, this was owing to the bilious discord created by Tytanikka and Oleg’s betrayal.

Though he never physiologically resembled the classic centaur, Merlin’s face not only further morphed becoming like a fawn’s, more accurately, his head and face did have the eventual shape of a young bison’s – very Taurean, strong and potent.

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On preparing for the video to celebrate the 70th anniversary of Merlin’s birth back in 2017, I decided then to head off to the costumer, Malabar on McCaul Street where artist and lover George Hawken lived in the late 80s to early 90s.  Inspired by the first dream of Merlin had 41 years ago in July 1978, I decided to get a cowl as a tribute to the cowl Merlin wore in the inaugural dream encounter with him, four years before having met on Friday, October 1, 1982 in New York City.  So, there was I at Mount Pleasant Cemetery on Saturday, July 15, 2017 in my cowl and the panama hat purchased at Versailles to escape the heat.  I thought it fitting as Merlin always loved wearing panama hats.

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

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

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Get your copy!  Thanks as ever for your support!

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

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

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

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

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Yes, I believe in magic as did Merlin and as though an appreciation of having stridently done everything to fulfil his mandate to me, Merlin’s astral body conjure up the same magic here and now as he had in July 1978 –- four years before slipping inside a Hell’s Kitchen walk-up and readily winning me over with his sexy elfin charm, magic and sex that proved the most grounding shamanic passion… every time.  Standing there, I was reminded, too, of that dream in 1989 before Merlin passed wherein he shape-shifted and became a fawn-like creature who morphed and became one with the wall in our Cabbagetown home.  

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

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

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

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

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

Merlin &amp; Arvin 1987

Merlin’s mandate to me ever remains:

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

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

The YouTube channel is:  Arvin da Brgha YouTube

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

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©2013-2023 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.

Yoko, Meghan & Cécile.

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One thing that the marriage of the TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex has revealed, is just how hideously racist Britons are. Naturally, as all bigots especially the most invidious racially predatory will have you know, ‘It has nothing to do with race!’ The DailyMail has made an industry of acting as a de facto wing of the EDL in its campaign of destroying the marriage of the Sussexes.

Every single day its gaggle of writers launch another volley of hate to feed their hate-filled multitude of devotees whom they simply abuse in their quest for more advertising revenue. Last week, their legions of bigots were gleeful when not only was the Duchess of Sussex not at Royal Ascot but neither was her husband. Naturally, the rumour was that Her Majesty The Queen had banned the Sussexes from attending Royal Ascot. Of course, last year when Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge was on maternity leave, she did not attend Royal Ascot. Furthermore, not once did her husband attend Royal Ascot. That is the tradition.

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Naturally, when these photographs of this year’s Royal Ascot emerged, the plethora of bigoted DailyMail trolls were celebratory of how happy and wholesome everyone looked. Of course, they were commenting on the homogeneity of the group; their was even talk that the RF looked so much happier without the American in their midst.

The following day, it was announced that the Royal Foundation was disbanding. This not only gave cause for wild celebration by the DailyMail trolls but in hindsight, it was speculated that the group looked as happy as they did at Royal Ascot because at that point, the dissolution of the Royal Foundation would have been known to all. This was seen as more proof that HM The Queen did not want Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex around Indeed, clearly, the Sussexes were headed for divorce and it was only a matter of time before there would be an announcement to that effect.

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By no means was tabloid culture then what it is today; however, there was no getting around the fact that there was unrelenting animus that was decidedly racist towards Yoko Ono because she was non-white. Of course, at the time as now and is always the case, there was strident denial that there was prejudice involved in the animus towards Yoko Ono. Heaven only knows that Linda Eastman was not a Briton, yet she was not reviled and hated for being an outsider as was Yoko Ono.

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So intense was the racial animus towards Yoko Ono that John Lennon had to relocate to New York City to seek peace away from being unrelentingly reviled by Britons, who were nothing more than unmasked Klansfolk; though there were three other wives, Yoko Ono was solely to blame for the demise of the Beatles. Indeed, Britons have John Lennon’s blood on their hands for having racially preyed on this man and his wife to the point where he had to flee and take refuge in a land where guns rule. Paul, Ringo nor George had to flee England because Britons did not approve of their choice of a wife.

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Neither Linda Eastman nor Montréalaise Autumn Kelly were subjected to the same animus as Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex for being outsiders marrying much-loved Britons. True, every woman marrying into the BRF experiences blow-back. Sarah Ferguson, Camilla Parker-Bowles, Catherine Middleton and on and on. Truth be told, neither Linda nor Autumn were subjected to similar animus as Yoko or Meghan simply for being Caucasian and therefore, deemed acceptable.

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Britons may well succeed with running TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex out of town as they did John Lennon and Yoko Ono but know this, Tungsten has got powerful players in her corner. For starters, if the Sussexes were exiled, Oprah et al have the power to have her appointed as honorary chairperson of the Academy Awards – some such title of an American-British film society – not the American wing of BAFTA – which would see Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex each year present the award for Best Film at the Academy Awards.

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More to the point, when are Americans going to stop kowtowing to Britons because of the latter’s archly over-compensatory inferiority complex, of all things, masquerading as posh, sophisticated, superior and aristocratic. Why should an American actor, after having graduated with distinction from Julliard sit by and watch yet another English actor waltz in and claim the American award for best actor in a film which was not even an American production; this has repeatedly happened in the past. And so like Britons it is; they are the only island dwellers in the English-speaking world who never lose their god-awful accent regardless how long they sojourn abroad. Whether five years or fifty, you can also count on the expat English to maintain their posher-than-though English accent. Some may be readily charmed/fooled by all that posh posturing but it is so much obvious BS.

Glenn Close did not win the Best Actress BAFTA in 2019 that honour went to Briton, Olivia Colman in The Favourite. Ever possessed of this obsequious need to suck up, the Academy and its members voted Olivia Colman Best Actress at an American Awards show when the production was not an American production and Glenn Close was not going to win the Best Actress BAFTA and did not. One thing is clear from her acceptance speech, Olivia Colman is a one-hit wonder and will never win an Oscar again, just as Matthew McConaughey never will; after all, his Best Actor award was by default – so great was the need to deny Chiwetel Ejiofor an Oscar for his masterful performance in 12 Years A Slave.

When Britons prove themselves such ugly racist boors as with Yoko Ono and now Meghan Markle, why indulge, suffer or tolerate these people overlong? Throwing Oscars at them because they talk as though they’ve got a horse’s hoof stuck up their arse, there is nothing much to celebrate when one’s claim to fame is having subjugated 2/3s the world way back when and having enslaved and or brutalised those persons.

Of course, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex chose not to move next-door to the Cambridges at Kensington Palace. For one, there is every reason to believe that the Cambridges’ marriage currently is nine parts façade and with a numerology attitude of 9, HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge, apart from not being the sharpest tool in the box, is also conceited, stubborn, bigoted and intolerant and also is in tight with those pompous-arsed minor royals the Michaels of Kent et famille who with their racist perspective were none-too-shy about showing their true colours, blackamoor and all with Meghan suddenly in their midst and to whom they would have to curtsy.

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A den of racial predators is no environment in which to bring up black children and that would also include those generational members of Kensington Palace staff, who would think nothing of being openly racist towards Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex and her children, For Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex the minor royal Micheals of Kent are no different to Samantha Grant and Thomas Markle Jr. She endured the racially predatory bullying in childhood, which is precisely why she has absolutely nothing to do with them and with damn good reason. Trust you me, there is not a single black person on this planet who would suffer any such environment. It is not human, not civilised and a goddamn waste of time.

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Carping on about how much better Cressida Bonas would have been as a wife to HRH Prince Henry of Wales, is a moot point. Who knows, perhaps, Harry was being forced into the relationship so that his older brother could have access to Cressida’s older sister, Isabella Anstruther-Gough-Calthorpe. Is it any wonder why Sam Branson keeps his wife as far away from the isle of England as possible. Of course, had Harry married Cressida, this newfound media love for Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge would not have eventualised. She would be portrayed, even more so, by the DailyMail as workshy and they would even up the practise of only printing photographs of her when her face is at rest, which is a decidedly hard affair. For being blonde, blue-eyed and with an artisan’s fey beauty, Cressida, had Prince Harry married her in May 2018, would currently be eclipsing Catherine, who is now being seen as a fashion icon. No matter how DailyMail repackage and champion Catherine, she is a relative dud when publicly speaking as Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex has time and again proven. The Duchess of Sussex’s commanding performance at the 2018 British Fashion Awards at Royal Albert Hall truly was a study is grace, poise, elegance and commanding stage presence. You’ve either got it or, as in Catherine’s case, you don’t. Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex is quite confidently aware that a mic is Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge’s kryptonite.

The DailyMail and its gang of racist boors can vent and gloat all they want but if HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex were to have married a conservative Muslim and converted, for fear of ending up with their fetid skull on the small of their back, every one of their cowardly racist boors would know to keep their damn mouths shut. Of one thing they are certain, fucking with blacks will earn you no serious repercussions. The DailyMail‘s hacks have proven that England is the isle of the original hooded klansfolk; they are just a little bit more evolved to the point where their hoods have become invisible but no less ugly are they. In the end, who could give a fuck; the boors of the isle of England most certainly did not invent Jazz and speaking of which…

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After having pored through this year’s TD Toronto Jazz Festival lineup, I knew that there was only one show that I cared to attend. The Diana Ross show at the Sony Centre though tempting, however, the centre is just too cavernous a space. Jazz needs the warmth and intimacy of a smaller venue. Besides, I knew damn well that coming the day after the Pride parade, there would be queens aplenty in the audience. Most of them would be expecting the usual Diana Ross show; however, this was going to be a Jazz show.

As ever, I did not attend Pride parade, never have. Back in 1986, Merlin and I hauled arse to a dinner party in the Annex where an artistic director associate of his, held court. Frankly, neither men liked each other but for professional reasons one endured much. Among the group of 8 souls was a redhead interior decorator from New York City who was the most vile dirty-arsed bigot conceivable. Naturally, with yours truly present, he just had to wax overlong about what a scourge on human civilisation blacks the world over were.

Merlin stealthily reached across my plate and removed my steak knife from the plate and placed it to his left as I sat on his right. Finally, when we got home by cab as Merlin sought to shift my mood by playing some Miles Davis, I went and retrieved a pair of scissors and demonstrated to him on returning to the living room, “That’s it, I am cancelling my membership in Gay society. God only knows it is not as if these blasted, motherfucking lisping, bottom-feeding people invented Jazz.” For me what really settled it, was the redhead boor’s decree, “Sorry dear but there is no black in the rainbow.”

Of course, a couple of years back the Black Lives Matter delegation, which had been invited to march in the Gay Pride parade, were booed, heckled and pelted with unopened water bottles. That very day on my way home, I was also attached and it was much fuelled by the general anger at having had the Black Lives Matter contingent in the parade. To this day, the pride community are still mad at the Police and had banned them from participating in the parade, all because they allowed the Black Lives Matter group into the parade. Even though the group had been invited, they were treated by spectators as though they did something as irresponsible as simply showed up and high-jacked the parade.

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The above photograph was the look for the opening act, one of those regrettable experiences, which alas the Canada Council foists on one, god only knows why. Banal and as sexually intriguing as a live webcam set up on a couple of koala bears in repose, some things just have to be endured to get one through to the real deal. As my date, an ageing Jewish actor/writer with the most wicked sense of humour is always great company, we sat in the back row, all to ourselves, in fits of delicious giggles – we were poring through online photographs of Céline Dion parading in haute couture in Paris in the lead up to Paris Fashion Week; when asked what I thought of her whacky, over-the-top, beyond desperate behaviour, I flatly put in, “it ought damn well to be kept leashed and staked out back.”

Next, it was my turn to come undone when no sooner than having slipped in the breath mint that he whispered, “those are the new mint-flavoured super laxatives, I was telling you about.” How soul-gnawing is emulative institutional Jazz whose practitioners know nothing either of blacks or black culture? Hell, even after the bass solo, there was no applause from the house.

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Finally, like a lover with the most foul breath but whose girthsome jousting simply won’t be denied – then the malodorous rogue leaves and you shudder in disgust and return to breathing like a human rather than a goddamn humpback whale – the opening act vacated the stage and when the stagehands were done, only the grand piano was left. Out then walked Cécile McLorin Salvant with a puckish accompanist and it was readily obvious that there is an indelible soul connection between the two, which speaks to intimacy most rare and also more than a dozen past-life connections. Even Cécile’s body had changed, she looked more lived in, she was getting good loving and it showed.

Before proceeding, let me just state that this was the most phenomenal and best Jazz concert that I have ever attended. From Hoagy Carmichael, to Barbara Streisand, to Bessie Smith, every song was her own and every song was a master class in musicianship and phrasing. Then two things happened that blew me even further away; firstly, she sang, Midnight Sun. This is a song that for me as long as I live, will always evoke the most pleasurable memories of living at John Hirsch and Brian Trottier’s Moore Park Home at 187 Hudson Drive in the summer of 1990 after Merlin had passed and I reinvented self and took the time to travel. Until this concert, no one had ever done a better version of Midnight Sun than Sarah Vaughan, whose version daily played at that lovely Moore Park home.

Secondly, Cécile paused and asked if anyone in the audience was French, to which there was a boisterous response and then she asked to sing a song in French. By the time she was done, I was reduced to tears, even my usual jaded friend was blown away. At the conclusion the house went wild and I was reminded of those years living in Montréal and attending all those summer festivals across the province.

Let’s see Canadian, Diana Krall sing en Français in this supposed bilingual country and I am not talking any of that tawdry attempt at French musicianship as with the likes of Emilie-Claire Barlow et al. Unlike those frauds who suffocated the blackness out of Jazz in the 90s and beyond, Cécile is the real McCoy. The primary musical instrument in human civilisation is the voice and when it comes to Jazz, not only is it a language that is the extension of the griot tradition, nothing sounds like, feels like, moves you like the instrument that is the black voice; there simply aren’t any comparisons. This is the voice, the instrument, when on walking through your door can revivify and empower you like no other instrument can and most especially so after having experienced racial animus for the 14th millionth and fifty-seventh time in this lifetime.

During the course of the show, her accompanist did something that I had never before witnessed, Sullivan Fortner got from the piano stool to reach inside and pluck on the strings, making for all intents the most beautiful mbira imaginable. Sullivan proved himself the perfect accompanist to Cécile and it was clear by the end of the concert that these two lovely, magical and gifted souls have thankfully found each other and how we are better for them being in the world. The love and harmony they share, was as rich and smooth as the warmest honey satiating the palate. Even the encores were concerts onto themselves. If there is anything that can be said to be good, to have come from Roy Hargrove’s passing, is that it created the opportunity for both Sullivan and Cécile to form a most productive collaboration.

As we left Koerner Hall, both of us giddy with joy for having been richly inspired, there was a guy outside the theatre, hawking the program for Jazz FM. Brusquely, I declined taking one, I soon explained that I had no desire to be associated with the Jazz radio when they went and hired someone whom Merlin dismissed back in his early on-air days as VJ at MuchMusic as a smug bigoted asshole. Indeed, an ageing leopard does not his spots lose. Just for writing a few hit songs and having made a few million dollars changes nothing. As Merlin always said, “a man changes clothes and nothing else.”

Though last year, there were three good concerts during the Jazz Festival; this year, one only needed to have attended one concert and boy am I richly inspired for having done so. On parting, we both agreed that it really was an awesome concert; more than that, we admitted that it was high time that we saw Rocketman before it goes to video.

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