Author: quantumdreamer

.

Chinese Wedding – Unheeded Advice – Dream Snippet – 07-11-2025

~ quantumdreamer ~ Leave a comment

Here is this morning’s short dream.

The dream opens at a formal wedding scene between a powerful male dignitary and a younger woman. In a sacerdotal role I am officiating at the wedding. I am doing the wedding service. The wedding is both political and lust based on behalf of the male. The scene is very “Chinese”.  Both protagonists are Chinese looking and the guests are extensive in number and expensive in dress. I am wearing an ornate priestly tunic with a small very neat black hat. My black hair is in a neat long plaited pony-tail / pig tail down my back. I can feel though not see some facial hair. It is around two thousand years ago. We are on a raised dais / stage. There is pomp and circumstance.

I am officiating at the wedding under some duress. This is because the wedding is going ahead against all my advice. I have consulted the oracles, the I Ching and the council. The wedding is decidedly inauspicious and all the pointers both rational and non rational have advised strongly against it. I have made my advice clear to the powerful man on several occasions and in serval different ways. He has insisted on going ahead with the wedding. I recognise the feel of this man as someone whom I know in this life. The I Ching has been very explicit that under no circumstance should it go ahead.

In the dream I can see disaster after disaster occurring because of the wedding. His family breaks up and there are wars. These are all caused by the decision to go against my advice. He blames me forgetting that I told him explicitly not to go ahead. He is very angry with me for his arrogant mistake.

As I am coming to, the “Chinese” theme makes sense of my interest in I Ching.

The dream ends and I wonder if this a missing piece of the reincarnation puzzle.

Unusual – Golden Calligraphy – Protector – Dream 05-11-2025

~ quantumdreamer ~ Leave a comment

Here is this morning’s dream. It is deemed unusual not for content by for the realism and quality of the indoor decors. They are very life like and top-end.

The dream opens in an upper floor kitchen of a multi-story building. It is white luminous and a mixture of natural and electrical lighting. I am sat at a white sided kitchen island with a wooden top. The finish on the wood has a light reddish mostly brown hue. It has the quality of fine cabinet Walnut but isn’t that. It is a “redwood” of sorts. I am on a tall stool sat to the island. In front of me on the wood is a paper napkin whose quality is like finest linen. It has the feel of magician’s white gloves. As I watch an iridescent golden script, a calligraphy, appears. It is in no language I recognise. Yet I can understand the script phonetically to be “estaf” or “eraph”. I joke that it is Gloria Estefan and the Miamai Sound Machine. I hear in the dream an Estefan song followed by “Despacito” on solo Spanish guitar. I realise that the script is in fact Angelic script and that the “s” is silent phonetically therein. Thus the word is seraph of seraphim. I place the now silky-linen cloth in to my left hand shirt pocket after having inhaled it while lovingly holding it in both hands. It is close to my heart.

I am joined by the wife and one of her friends. The women is not one of her known friends. We are sitting in the kitchen which leads out onto an elevated decking balcony. The garden furniture is lovely as is the rest of the kitchen. They are drinking white wine from ultra-thin expensive wine glasses. I go out to smoke on the balcony and then join them back in the kitchen. I show the friend my cloth with the Angelic writing on.

The scene changes and the woman is joined on the balcony by her sister who lives nearby. They are discussing television programmes. I am now in a deep white bath on a raised pedestal in a state of the art bathroom. The bath has a sealing door for disabled access. The wife and her friend are sat in a window seat in the bathroom which has polished wooden flooring, sanded ultra smooth. I get out of the bath with a semi caused by the warm water and go to reach a nearby white towel. I am dripping wet. The friend is at first embarrassed. I say not to worry I am very happy being totally naked I have nothing to hide. This is natural. I take a towel and dry myself off.

The owners of the building are arriving at the  external staircase to the white “mansion” side. They are coming through the door. They are a couple and two young males, late adolescent. I have been tutoring the boys. We should not be here. I go down to meet them and say that I know we should not be here. We are leaving. I understand that they may no longer want me to teach the lads and that my contract is ended. If however on reflection they change their mind they have my number. They do not seem able to speak out of surprise. We file past them out of the building and into the street. My effusiveness has diffused the situation.

The scene changes and I am in the attic / penthouse of a multistorey city building, maybe half a dozen floors high. The feel is European and the roof is made of grey metal sheeting, maybe lead. It is an original feature hundreds of years old. I am with a number of people and thinking about jumping from the building to the one on the opposite side of the street. There are a number of people there. I say that it is safe for me because I have my protector(s). I gesture out of the window to a man-like being hunched up like a bird sitting perched on the guttering. He has black slicked back hair and olive skin. He is juggling with many balls slightly smaller than a cricket ball. They are multi-coloured. There are blue, yellow, red and golden balls. Each ball is a little like a snooker one in weight. They have an iridescence. He throws balls across the gap between the building and they bounce back. He catches them. We look down and see people and cars in the street below. It is a European capital.

The scene changes and I am in right hand drive VW minibus / camper ban. It is being driven by a large English woman with long hair. She is a bit jolly hockey sticks librarian. We are winding around near single files streets in a village perched high. I joke it is Highgate. I say to take it easy the locals are accustomed to the streets she not. We are looking for a parking place outside the white mansion from before. There are none. I suggest we drive past. We do and then have to make a U turn. She pulls up in  a cliff top viewing point. There is no safety rail. The “car park” goes off the cliff. She parks and I pull the hand brake up an extra notch for safety.  She is very nervous. Below us we can see the city panorama amidst green covered peaks and with little white fluffy clouds. We are thousands of metres up and the city is below us. It looks a bit like Rio de Janeiro from the air. I suggest we get out the van and walk back to the building.

The dream ends and I note it as a change in dreaming, it is unusual.

Time to Recalibrate Your Detectors…

~ quantumdreamer ~ Leave a comment

When people change it can be difficult for others to a) note the change b) accept the change and c) assimilate that change in to new ways of perception, assimilation and interaction. People often interpret others though a largely historical lens and previous shared social context. They struggle to see the changed spots on a leopard, even if that leopard is now a zebra. Dogma suggests that it is impossible. It cannot be so.

A while back I ran into someone whom I knew from one context. I had the feeling that she had not yet noticed I was different. I knew that she was a highly intelligent nuclear physicist who had worked at the nuclear physics facility in Dubna. I suggested that she recalibrate her detectors in respect of how she was perceiving and hence interacting with me. She listened and got the notion. I too started from a more flexible view of her. As a consequence we managed to communicate fairly well with each other. It took a little while to “find” each other.

People can have very fixated views of others, fixated opinions and hard wired biases. The better we think we know someone the more rigid are our views of how they are and might still be.

For a long time I was an evangelical vegan. This lasted for not far off a decade. Eating a beef steak in front of someone you have lectured, evangelised to and otherwise bored shitless is a true game changer and a re-arranger of perception. Often some radical enactments of drama are impossible. I have joked that were I to tip up wearing Buddhist monastic robes unexpected and visit an erstwhile acquaintance it could be a bit of a mind fuck for them. Although I could perhaps buy some garb on line I would not wear them as I have not been ordained in this life.

There are some things that are very hard for people to accept. This is because to do so would require and perhaps initiate a radical change in the narrative which they have held. It could re-arrange the sense they make of the world and the story or legend they have told themselves.

How might a science professor interact with a high lama tulku incarnation? What is the correct protocol? What is the correct ordering of cheese?

Between ~12 and 12:35 this afternoon, French time, I experienced a phenomenon of visual disturbance in which the perceptual field, mostly left eye, started to warp and acquire an unusual brightness. I usually associate changes like this with something big and impactful happening in the web of life. Something of import, somewhere, was going on. I was standing on our small indoors scaffold painting the ceiling. It is best to take great care whilst these phenomena occur, especially if one is up high. I was near my limit of standing, getting close to two hours painting. Tiredness leads to accident and with osteoporosis a fall is unwise. I am not as steady as I once was. I can only stand for around two hours at a time now before the fatigue and pain overwhelm. It saves us money if I paint and we want the room finished before I have my total hip replacement fitted. For me there are maybe one or two more sessions of painting before I stop. The nurse was adamant that I should do no DIY in the week leading up to the operation. A scratch or cut could increase the infection risk on my right leg.

My mobility is not good. People might remember me differently and to see me hobble could change perception a little. How and in what other ways they might recalibrate their detectors might be moot. If you only knew me in one context it might be difficult to accept me as a pikey retired person.

I’ll speculate that very many people are in no way as open minded as they imagine themselves to be. They can be very set in their ways, their perceptions and try to shoe-horn observables to fit prior narratives.  

In general people do not believe that their detectors need recalibration even when experimental evidence suggests that they might. Only something major might prompt the start of the recalibration. Some will need a huge discrepancy to even accept as a hypothesis that their detectors need a tweak, a recalibration. Even though said detectors might be out of warranty.

Fake or True – Our Times

~ quantumdreamer ~ Leave a comment

As  a creature of the past I find a number of modern things uncomfortable. These include near endless email requests to give a one out of five rating for some thing or other. If you want my feedback it is simple, please stop sending me fucking endless requests for star ratings. Also interminable prompts for updates. Why don’t you get it right the first time?

Of late I have seen, primarily on UK based tv, women with slug like lips caused perhaps by injection and with obviously fake plastic eyelashes glued on. It is so sad, so unnecessary and so fake. I am in many ways glad that I am not in the business of “courting” as a twenty year old. Were I back in the university business I might find it hard to restrain my opinions. I would get cancelled, sharpish.

–

–

The world is beset with drones, both battlefield and the voices of politicians. I really do not like the tone of Trump’s voice. It drones on and on. Everything is prone to cloning and it is difficult to discern reality or novelty. I’ll speculate that genuine novelty is unacceptable because it is not fake enough.

People stalk each other in social media, on-line and may conclude on the basis of what they read. There is no reliable way of knowing {for example} if this blog is a piece of creative writing, a dream project I once thought of during a mushroom trip.  How many creative dreams can I knock up?  I could be talking out of my arse. I could be having a laugh. I have a good imagination, so I am told.

Short of in real life interaction an element of doubt might exist. People like to be sure, definitive. But these days reliable truths may be scarce on the ground. According to my understanding of internet dating people have quasi-fictional profiles. And so it is with so many things, they have to be spun, dressed up and public relations ready. Something simple and real might lack the gloss and therefore become incredible, difficult to believe because it differs from the AI inspired clone-think. One must have a glossy blurb, a profile, a BS paragraph or two. One must be all bigged-up and shiny like iron pyrites. 

Our times might fail to recognise truth or reality even if it smacked us around the face with a large wet pollack. If it does not look enough like the tosh which pervades, it is therefore unacceptable.

The fakeness of our time has opened up an entire new stream of karma. If you are stupid enough to indulge in unnecessary plastic surgery you are starting a long, multi-lifetime, karmic problem for yourself. Such an opinion would not be widely accepted nor popular. This does not however prevent it from being accurate.

This fake show-and-tell way of being is very detrimental to the pursuit of liberation and perhaps more generally to mental health and state of mind. There is a tale about lemmings following each other over the edge of a cliff.

“I do not want to miss out on being a self-harming plastic lunatic, I must get some plastic tits, a Prince Albert and a full tattoo sleeve. I will self-identify as an androgenous elven-dwarf half breed hermaphrodite from Andromeda. ”

“This will solve all my problems you can call me Jemimah-Geronimo-4XQ!!”

As I mentioned I consider myself a creature of the past…18 million years ago I came here from the planetary system around Sirius.

People can make all sorts of claims; they can make shit up about others. It is very difficult to know what is fake and what might have a residual grain of truth…

Today the UK newspapers are full about a very first world problem. Some geezer on a train started stabbing. What about the 60,000 plus deaths in Gaza? What about the starvation in Darfur?

Surely it is not too hard to disarm a single assailant with a knife in a confined space? I would fancy my chances even crippled as I am.

See I have just maid a claim that may never be tested in real life. People do that all the time…it is a good job that Trump is taking in the vast tracts of white South African post-apartheid refugees…thank God for that…..

Our times are beset with a whole new set of problems and difficulties which humanity may struggle to traverse and survive…

Prodigal Son – Rastafari – Dream 10-01-22

~ quantumdreamer ~ Leave a comment

One from the vaults…

Here is one of my three dreaming segments from last night…

I am sat with others in a circle on small individual chairs. The feeling is like some kind of group discussion / therapy. We are discussing the prodigal son. Fi gets up and says that the parable is all about profligacy and sin. She maintains that the son in question is wasteful and does not respect material things. I say that the prodigal son sees the lack of value amongst the material things after his many incarnations. He develops humility and is no longer drawn to the earthly. Hence, he returns to the father, the source. Nevertheless, normal humanity sees only the materiality and deeply resents the prodigal for wasting that to which they are attached.

A little while later I am walking through the centre and bump into a Rastafarian who is younger than me and has bright shiny eyes. He asks if I am the dude who defended the prodigal son? Yes. He asks if I know the true meaning of Melchizedek. Yes. I explain to him that for quite a while I was drawn to Rastafarian mysticism. He asks me to lend him a cd. I go over to my pile. We are now somehow in Brixton. I explain to him that I used to live here a long while ago. I shuffle through my CDs and find Prodigal Son by Steel Pulse. Jah Rastafari.

I move around the centre and am broadly accepted by everyone there. Word has gotten around about me. I try to leave the centre and follow a winding spiral staircase which goes through various flats. I arrive at a back door. I open it and step outside. Now I am being chased by a young black guy. I stop and say, “hit me if you wish. I meant no harm.” He considers this for a moment and then says, “nah, just don’t do it again.” He walks off.

In the dream I know that this is advising me that although the familiar is tempting going back to old haunts does not really work.

Dream ends.

The Bodhisattva’s Renunciation

~ quantumdreamer ~ Leave a comment

IT was night. The prince found no rest on his soft pillow; he arose and went out into the garden. “Alas!” he cried “all the world is full of darkness and ignorance; there is no one who knows how to cure the ills of existence.” And he groaned with pain.

Siddhattha sat down beneath the great jambu-tree and gave himself to thought, pondering on life and death and the evils of decay. Concentrating his mind he became free from confusion. All low desires vanished from his heart and perfect tranquility came over him.

In this state of ecstasy he saw with his mental eye all the misery and sorrow of the world; he saw the pains of pleasure and the inevitable certainty of death that hovers over every being; yet men are not awakened to the truth. And a deep compassion seized his heart.

While the prince was pondering on the problem of evil, he beheld with his mind’s eye under the jambu tree a lofty figure endowed with majesty, calm and dignified. “Whence comest thou, and who mayst thou be asked the prince.

In reply the vision said: “I am a samana. Troubled at the thought of old age, disease, and death I have left my home to seek the path of salvation. All things hasten to decay; only the truth abideth forever. Everything changes, and there is no permanency; yet the words of the Buddhas are immutable. I long for the happiness that does not decay; the treasure that will never perish; the life that knows of no beginning and no end. Therefore, I have destroyed all worldly thought. I have retired into an unfrequented dell to live in solitude; and, begging for food, I devote myself to the one thing needful.

Siddhattha asked: “Can peace be gained in this world of unrest? I am struck with the emptiness of pleasure and have become disgusted with lust. All oppresses me, and existence itself seems intolerable.”

The samana replied: “Where heat is, there is also a possibility of cold; creatures subject to pain possess the faculty of pleasure; the origin of evil indicates that good can be developed. For these things are correlatives. Thus where there is much suffering, there will be much bliss, if thou but open thine eyes to behold it. Just as a man who has fallen into a heap of filth ought to seek the great pond of water covered with lotuses, which is near by: even so seek thou for the great deathless lake of Nirvana to wash off the defilement of wrong. If the lake is not sought, it is not the fault of the lake. Even so when there is a blessed road leading the man held fast by wrong to the salvation of Nirvana, if the road is not walked upon, it is not the fault of the road, but of the person. And when a man who is oppressed with sickness, there being a physician who can heal him, does not avail himself of the physician’s help, that is not the fault of the physician. Even so when a man oppressed by the malady of wrong-doing does not seek the spiritual guide of enlightenment, that is no fault of the evil-destroying guide.”

The prince listened to the noble words of his visitor and said: “Thou bringest good tidings, for now I know that my purpose will be accomplished. My father advises me to enjoy life and to undertake worldly duties, such as will bring honor to me and to our house. He tells me that I am too young still, that my pulse beats too full to lead a religious life.”

The venerable figure shook his head and replied: “Thou shouldst know that for seeking a religious life no time can be inopportune.”

A thrill of joy passed through Siddhattha’s heart. “Now is the time to seek religion,” he said; “now is the time to sever all ties that would prevent me from attaining perfect enlightenment; now is the time to wander into homelessness and, leading a mendicant’s life, to find the path of deliverance.”

The celestial messenger heard the resolution of Siddhattha with approval. “Now, indeed he added, is the time to seek religion. Go, Siddhattha, and accomplish thy purpose. For thou art Bodhisatta, the Buddha-elect; thou art destined to enlighten the world. Thou art the Tathagata, the great master, for thou wilt fulfill all righteousness and be Dharmaraja, the king of truth. Thou art Bhagavat, the Blessed One, for thou art called upon to become the savior and redeemer of the world. Fulfill thou the perfection of truth. Though the thunderbolt descend upon thy head, yield thou never to the allurements that beguile men from the path of truth. As the sun at all seasons pursues his own course, nor ever goes on another, even so if thou forsake not the straight path of righteousness, thou shalt become a Buddha. Persevere in thy quest and thou shalt find what thou seekest. Pursue thy aim unswervingly and thou shalt gain the prize. Struggle earnestly and thou shalt conquer. The benediction of all deities, of all saints of all that seek light is upon thee, and heavenly wisdom guides thy steps. Thou shalt be the Buddha, our Master, and our Lord; thou shalt enlighten the world and save mankind from perdition.

Having thus spoken, the vision vanished, and Siddhattha’s heart was filled with peace. He said to himself: “I have awakened to the truth and I am resolved to accomplish my purpose. I will sever all the ties that bind me to the world, and I will go out from my home to seek the way of salvation. The Buddhas are beings whose words cannot fail: there is no departure from truth in their speech. For as the fall of a stone thrown into the air, as the death of a mortal, as the sunrise at dawn, as the lion’s roar when he leaves his lair, as the delivery of a woman with child, as all these things are sure and certain-even so the word of the Buddhas is sure and cannot fail. Verily I shall become a Buddha.”

The prince returned to the bedroom of his wife to take a last farewell glance at those whom he dearly loved above all the treasures of the earth. He longed to take the infant once more into his arms and kiss him with a parting kiss. But the child lay in the arms of his mother, and the prince could not lift him without awakening both. There Siddhattha stood gazing at his beautiful wife and his beloved son, and his heart grieved. The pain of parting overcame him powerfully. Although his mind was determined, so that nothing, be it good or evil, could shake his resolution, the tears flowed freely from his eyes, and it was beyond his power to check their stream. But the prince tore himself away with a manly heart, suppressing his feelings but not extinguishing his memory.

The Bodhisattva mounted his noble steed Kanthaka, and when he left the palace, Mara stood in the gate and stopped him: “Depart not, O my Lord,” exclaimed Mara. “In seven days from now the wheel of empire will appear, and will make thee sovereign over the four continents and the two thousand adjacent islands. Therefore, stay, my Lord.”

The Bodhisattva replied: “Well do I know that the wheel of empire will appear to me; but it is not sovereignty that I desire. I will become a Buddha and make all the world shout for joy.”

Thus Siddhattha, the prince, renounced power and worldly pleasures, gave up his kingdom, severed all ties, and went into homelessness. He rode out into the silent night, accompanied only by his faithful charioteer Channa. Darkness lay upon the earth, but the stars shone brightly in the heavens.

Excerpted from:

BUDDHA, THE GOSPEL

By Paul Carus

Chicago, The Open Court Publishing Company,

[1894]

At Sacred Texts

Click here

Groups Souls – Dalai Lama – Cloying Awareness – Exquisite Sculpture – Dream 01-11-2025

~ quantumdreamer ~ Leave a comment

Here are last night’s dreaming snippets. Sometimes when I need a “cheer me up” the dreaming provides.

The dream opens at a sea-side town-village. It is like Tenby or Tobermory with pastel coloured brightly painted houses.

–

–

I am with my group of souls or beings. The place could also be Denmark or Scandinavia. It is impeccably tidy and ordered. The light is light and bright without blinding. We are young in age, children and dressed in colourful togas. We often incarnate together en masse. We have known each other for aeons. This is the group to which I belong. We are beings made out of light each of their own colour witnessed by toga and not skin. There is a sense of primordial innocence to us. We are going in and out of each other’s houses enjoying the fluffy clouds which surround us.

I awake for a loo break a little after 4 AM.

As I drift off I have a strong mental image of H.H. Dalai Lama who fills the entire perceptual field. I sense he is deep in contemplation and sit there in that state with him silently for a length of time about 15 earth minutes. It seems much longer. We are happy and serene in contemplation together. A part of that visual remains as I type now.

I fade out and into sleep.

Sat at a pavement café in central London is a man of roughly my own age whom I had acquaintance of. He has bought me a glass of Coke with ice lemon and a straw. He is sat at a table there. He gestures for me to sit down with him. I cannot. I say that I have nothing personally to resolve with him, nothing to solve. I cannot be near his cloying preserving awareness. It is heavy and seeks to enfold and keep things the same. His awareness is like a cloying quagmire, it is old, ancient, dark and borderline evil. He gestures for me to sit again. I walk past. I have nothing to solve.

I walk off into a part of London I do not recognize. It is early morning, a little after dawn and the restaurateurs and bar owners are clearing up and setting up. It is warm maybe summer. The doors are open. I walk into one pub and put the Coke down on the bar counter. The owner is polishing the bar and tables and is happy to take the Coke. I admire the stained glass windows and period doors. I walk through into the next door pub which he also owns and out of the door back into the street.

I now come upon an Italian style restaurant which has a large ornate orangery-greenhouse attached. The manageress is there in her black and whites with a low apron on. She is organising tables in the orangery. The windows of the building are leaded in, like cathedral windows. The clear uncoloured glass is warped by the flow of age. The lead is painted crimson red. The overall effect is magnificent with interesting patterns of light refracted on the floor. I say to her that the light is truly wonderful. She concurs. She has a clipped English upper class accent. She say that it a pity that “he” the owner keeps rejigging the tables  because she likes the feel of Sicilian palace which it currently has. There are plentiful succulent plants. She is chuffed that I like “her” orangery so very much. It is her labour of love which she does not need to do. She suggests that I should visit the garden out back.

I follow her advice and enter a light walled garden with water features and wall alcoves with plants. In the centre is an exquisite sculpture / water feature. She says that it is OK for me and me alone to climb it. The stairway to the feature is made out of carved open books. The books are carved out of what looks like pewter, there is relief of binding and pages. They are joined together by a single metal rod/rail. Each book is by way of a step. In some the page writing is etched in relief. They are a testament to learning and library. The languages of the books are diverse. The staircase mounts a large globe of the Earth which has all the continents and oceans cut to scale. The globe is several times my size. I climb the “ladder”. Out of the North Pole a drinking fountain flows. Its flow is lightly pulsing and the water trickles downs wetting every side of the world. The water is collected in a fish pond in which the globe sits. The ladder passes over the pond. In the pond are ornamental koi carp. The manageress encourages me up and to taste the water. I do and the water is cool and refreshing nectar like in quality. Some of it runs down onto my white linen shirt. The morning light illuminates the garden and orangery.

The dream ends.