Category: Alchemy

Mystic Lake Dream – 27-02-2026

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I am my mother’s savage daughter
The one who runs barefoot
Cursing sharp stones
I am my mother’s savage daughter
I will not cut my hair
I will not lower my voice

My mother’s child is a savage
She looks for her omens in the colors of stones
In the faces of cats, in the falling of feathers
In the dancing of fire
In the curve of old bones

Karen Kahan / Wyndreth Berginsdottir

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Here is last night’s dreaming it was in some parts accompanied by this song during the dreaming. There is a sense of something broadly shamanic incoming. I was reminded of Snowdon’s Glaslyn and Oeschinensee in the Berner Oberland.

The dream opens in a brightly lit indoor setting. It is like a pharmacy / clinic. Two young nurses, one female and one male, are struggling to calm down and contain a large older man with unruly blonde hair. He is panicking about his test results and upcoming injections. He will not listen to them. The woman turns to me and asks me to explain. I am of a similar age to the man. She explains to him that I am a trained scientist. I start to explain to him and slowly he calms. I show him a test tube in which the red blood cells from his blood have been sedimented out to the bottom. This means that for now he has not been infected which is why he needs to be vaccinated, something the nurse will gladly do for him. He is surprised that his blood liquid is light yellow murky over the small layer of sedimented red blood cells.

The scene changes and I am climbing a mountain track with a leather coracle on my back. I round the bend and go over the last lip into the corrie / cwm where there is a mountain lake of sublime beauty. It has been scoured out by glaciers of days gone by. I place the coracle and oar down on the rocky shore and marvel at the azure blue. I am home. I am back at the source of the river. I marvel at the rocky slopes plunging into the icy waters. I hear an all-encompassing silence. I will in time row out onto the lake because I have an appointment there.

The scene changes and I am in something of an ersatz physics laboratory. An experiment using lasers in being prepared for the school children. The technicians are struggling to get the experiment to work. They call for help and Ian M tips up and together we start to align the outdated clunky optics on a heavy metal rail. They are confident because of our laser expertise the experiment will work.

The scene changes and I am back lakeside. A magnificent mist has come in cloaking the lake and making the atmosphere heightened and mystical. At any time one might imagine the lady of the lake rising with Excalibur in her hand. The mist enshrouds and welcomes. I get into the coracle and row slowly out into the centre of the lake and the centre of the mist. I have a meeting and I have something to retrieve, to find again. I stroke my beard with my left hand. I am enlivened and energised. My palms are tingling with “electricity”. I have come for something and am reminded of the role of all the lakes in this life and beyond.

I am now outside a funeral parlour. There is a mass funeral taking place. Where members of two families are being sent off together following a huge violent brawl at a wedding. The two sides have been at war for generations. Yet they have decided to join together to remember their dead. Coffin after coffin is walked from the hearses into the crematorium. A newspaper photographer is there and goes to take a picture. I stop him and seize his camera. Such a thing would inflame and ignite.

Back out on the lake the mist clears and I can see far in the crisp pristine mountain air. I look down into the hyper-transparent water of the lake and several metres down I can see the rocky bottom with a few arctic fish like char. I remove my heavy fur jacket / long coat. It is bearskin. I am wearing a shirt fastened at the top with a shoelace like fastening. I stand in the coracle and am ready to plunge into the icy depths.

The scene changes to the carriage of a bus which is brightly lit and modern. The bus is only partially full. I am at the back of the bus and there are a few young people there. They are taking the piss out of me because I am not sitting down even though they are seats. I am holding on to a tube train style ceiling handle. They are all chatting and playing on their electronic devices.

The bus is coming to a stop. I have fallen asleep standing up much to the surprise of everyone except me. The bus has morphed into an airplane and we are taxying to the terminal. The doors open and because I am standing I am the first one to leave the plane.

The dreaming ends and as I awake I make a mental note to search my dream archive for dreams with lakes in and in writing I am reminded of the morning when I threw my katana souvenir into a lake in Hertfordshire.

Dragon’s Eyes –  Y Ddraig Goch

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Eyes closed,

In his homeland,

On the spare bed,

He exhaled.

–

Sunk into the depths of his being,

Waiting.

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The darkness breaks

And…..

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Old,

Very old,

He saw it.

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He saw it,

Waiting.

—

Quickening of breath,

Huh, huh, huh,

It began to form.

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Summoning the dragon to guide him.

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Those eyes….

They watched him.

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 Patience and waiting.

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He touched its power,

Felt it absorb him,

His him probed with an awareness.

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Alien and ancient.

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Terror, blind terror.

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Lithe and poised

Those eyes….

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Wise beyond wisdom

Since the first days of man

And beyond.

–

 Amused and laughing,

In smoke.

 –

He held it and the fire in his heart

Began to burn.

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The crows outside called

Their battlefield cry,

Hungering for food

 –

Taken on the caw to another time.

——-

 Heathered hillside,

In the mist of lore

The dragon breath cloaks

Shimmering in be-coming.

–

 Hessian cloth upon his skin

Staff in his hand,

Rain in his beard

And silence in the world.

 –

Weary

Proud

Beaten

Defiant

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Behind him,

They marched,

From their deaths to their deaths,

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They reached the place

And settled on the rocks.

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Less faces than before

Heads hung on Castle gates.

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And those eyes.

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Why must they stand and die?

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Doubts, oh the doubts

They plagued him

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It hangs all on the next few seconds.

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 The dragon’s dice have been rolled

His fate is sealed.

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What was it that the wizard said?

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 “Re-member, re-member.

Focus on the feelings for that is what you store.

The memory will guide you back

Learn the lessons well….

 For next time”

 –

He reached into his pack and took it out.

He tied the flag to his staff.

Silently and into the circle he walked.

 –

He planted his staff and unfurled the flag.

 –

Y Ddraig Goch.

—

Look to the Dragon’s eyes my friends

And see there your courage, your faith and your hope.

Let it conjure in you.

Feel its ancient force.

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Written in the hillsides and the valleys of your lives,

Washed through your rivers,

Permeating your being-ness with the dragon’s fire.

–

Pure magic.

If we believe, though we are few, we can call the dragon to our aid.

 –

We are an ancient race and we have been here long.

We have sung our songs and shared our poems.

We have laughed and we have cried.

We have learned.

–

 This is now our last battle.

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This from a series of dreams and visions I had around 2002-3…

Mandala – Kālacakra and Tarot

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Mandala can be thought of as models or re-presentations of a reality. They are a way of arranging and making partial sense of observed phenomenon. They can be a short-form to a much wider corpus of thought forms and images. Having been a scientist I have used models to convey scientific knowledge to students. I have often wondered if the traditional setting of image collections of mandala is culture specific.

If one was bilingual one might see more commonality than difference.

The Kālacakra mandala is famous in Tibetan buddhism.

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The kabbalists have the tree of life-

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And the Jewels of Awareness or Tarot can be arranged according to a compass of N E S W.

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These have a very mandala-like flavour.

The Triangular Book of St. Germain

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The Triangular Book of St. Germain or The Triangular Manuscript is an untitled 18th-century French text written in code, and attributed to the famous Count of St. Germain. It takes its name from its physical shape: the binding and sheets of vellum that comprise the manuscript are in the shape of an equilateral triangle. The text, once deciphered, details a magical operation through which a person can perform feats of magic, notably the discovery of treasure and extension of life.

History

The two known copies of the Triangular Manuscript exist as Hogart Manuscript 209 and 210 (MS 209 and MS 210). Both currently reside in the Getty Research Institute’s collections, each with its own history.

MS 209, dated 1775, was made for Antoine Louis Moret, a French freemason who immigrated to the United States in 18th century. At one point it resided in the library of Jules C. G. Favre (1809-1880), a French politician. Pliny E. Chase (1820-1886), an American mathematician with an interest in cryptography, makes mention of it in a lecture to the American Philosophical Society on October 3, 1873, stating that the manuscript was “purchased in Amsterdam, about seventy years ago,” i.e. around 1803. It is unclear if he owned the manuscript, examined it, or had simply heard of its existence. French bibliographer, poet, and Rosicrucian Stanislaus de Guaita (1860-1898) had it in his library for some time. From there it passed on to a certain Madame Barbe of Paris, and then to Frank Hollings, a 20th century London writer and antiquary. After 1934, Hollings sold it to Manly P. Hall.

Much less is known about the other manuscript, MS 210. Dated 1750, older of the two copies, it was once in the library of Lionel Hauser, a member of the Theosophical Society in Paris. In 1934, Manly P. Hall purchased it for 40 guineas at an auction of Hauser’s library at Sotheby’s.

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The Count of St. Germain (French: Comte de Saint Germain; 1691 or 1712 – 27 February 1784) whose real name and origins remain unknown, was a European adventurer who had interests and achievements in science, alchemy, philosophy, and the arts. He rose to prominence in the European high society of the mid-18th century due to his works and interests. He associated himself with some of the top contemporary figures, including Casanova, Voltaire and Mozart.

The count used a variety of names and titles, including the Marquess of Montferrat (Fr. Marquis de Montferrat), Count Bellamarre (Fr. Comte Bellamarre), Knight Schoening (Fr. Chevalier Schoening), Count Weldon, Count Soltikoff (Fr. Comte Soltikoff), Manuel Doria, Graf Tzarogy, and Prince Ragoczy (De. Prinz Ragoczy). He appears to have begun to be known under the title of the Count of St Germain during the early 1740s.

He is said to have made far-fetched claims (such as being 500 years old), leading Voltaire to dub him “the Wonderman”, and that “he is a man who does not die, and who knows everything”. Prince Charles of Hesse-Kassel, called him “one of the greatest philosophers who ever lived”.

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In 1892, Helena Blavatsky characterized the Count of St. Germain as “the greatest Oriental Adept Europe has seen during the last centuries.” She said that he was one of her Masters of Wisdom and hinted that he had given her secret documents. The Theosophical Society after Blavatsky’s death considered him to be a Mahatma, Master of the Ancient Wisdom, or Adept.

According to the Theosophical Society, the Seven Rays are seven metaphysical principles that govern both individual souls and the unfolding of each 2,158-year-long Astrological Age. Since, according to Theosophy, the upcoming Age of Aquarius will be governed by the Seventh (Violet) Ray (the Ray of Ceremonial Order), Saint Germain is sometimes called “The Hierarch of the Age of Aquarius”.

Annie Besant said that she met the Count in 1896.   C. W. Leadbeater claimed to have met him in Rome. According to Leadbeater, the count had brown eyes, olive colored skin, and a pointed beard, adding “the splendour of his Presence impels men to make obeisance”. Elsewhere, he described the count as wearing “a suit of golden chain-mail which once belonged to a Roman Emperor; over it is thrown a magnificent cloak of crimson, with on its clasp a seven-pointed star in diamond and amethyst, and sometimes he wears a glorious robe of violet.”

Excerpted from Wikipedia

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The extracts below are from the internet archive of the manuscript from the Manly Palmer Hall collection held at Getty Research Institute

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Vampire DNA at Imperial College and Hip Replacement Update

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I started watching “A Discovery of Witches” whilst in hospital after my total hip replacement. The other night we started series three. The main protagonists “academics” from Oxford University, also a vampire and a witch, had just gotten back from time walking to Elizabethan London in search of an alchemical text. They want to understand the vampire “blood rage” so obviously they go to Imperial College London to do some research. The TV programme had footage of the main entrance on Exhibition Road and drone views of the South Kensington Campus. The wife and I looked at each other.

There is no getting away from the place. It is everywhere like a rash. Like an antibiotic resistant STI it keeps popping up. Since the COVID days it is often in the news.

The story looks at the so-called vampire DNA of the de Clermont blood line and has quite a lot of London footage so-far including mews shots etc.. I do not look back at my interaction with that institution with fond memories. I am sometimes embarrassed to have been associated. And now it is in a bloody TV programme too!! FFS.

I am now four weeks into the time after hip replacement. I can walk around the house unaided, no crutches. Yesterday we walked the hills of Lannion centre and today my muscles ache. The actual joint pain in the hip is markedly reduced from before. There is enhanced flexibility and it seems that the functionality will continue to improve. There remains some problems with early morning-late nocturnal pain in the sacroiliac joints and where the sacral spine joins the lumbar spine. This kicks in around 5 AM. I am down to only one co-codamol a night taken around 2 AM. If I get up and move around, do some back stretches, I can sleep on a bit. I am sleeping through the night. We go to bed about midnight and I am up 6 – 6:30 AM at the moment.

It is not ideal though is tolerable. I could easily take some more dope – some more codeine. But I don’t think that is a good idea. When I am able to lie on my right hip, the operated one, I may be able to sleep better. The pain goes away within minutes of getting up and moving around. The incentive is not to lounge around like a hippie in bed.

The problem is I am not looking forward to going to bed. I am not looking forward to waking up in the morning. A non-ideal situation. Not sure what to do. I may try some back stretches later today. The pain may not go and I might have to resort to my previous medication which worked before the operation. Too early to tell.

There could be an enhanced vigilance at play. The last time I went to sleep, I woke up with an eight inch scar and a lump of Titanium…that is what happens if you doze off..

Luckily I know that many things do indeed pass. The hip progress seems OK. The sleeping and pre-dawn pains could be better.

On the whole the now is a whole lot better than the before….

Oxbridge College – Short Dream – 16-12-2025

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Here is this morning’s dream had just before 6 AM. I am no longer getting up to watch TV during the night. The sleep is still not profound. I wake several times. After about 3 AM I do not feel tired. But can sleep. After about 6 the lower back pain tends to make me want to get up and move around.

The dream opens on a green field which slopes slightly down to a river. It is like Christchurch Meadow. There can be seen a weeping willow near the river. The dream is certain that this is Oxford. I am walking with two male “fellows” who are a bit younger than me along a path. They are professors. One has dark hair the other more blonde.

The scene changes and we are in some unspecified Oxford college taking the tour. They are showing me a refectory, a library and the kind of rooms that a college fellow has. They say that it has access to university libraries including the Bodleian. It dawns on me that in a round about way they are offering me a position at the college.

I ask them on what criteria they could do such a thing commenting that in no way do I match up to the normal criteria about how these things are offered. They say that because of the private way the college is funded there are many weird and wonderful endowments that could be invoked and used. I do not think they are being serious and it is some kind of cobbled together ersatz. I further comment that I am not able to teach anything vaguely on any university curriculum. They seem unfazed by this.

They want to show me the college farm. We take a short ride out into the country and the dark haired one proudly displays their new eco-farm in which they grow heritage vegetables. He shows me his tutor group in action and shows me a spreadsheet of names arranged in a “portrait” orientation excel spreadsheet. I rearrange the spreadsheet into “landscape”. The names are all very English. One name stands out, Scanlon.

We go back to the college and I am invited to a soirée that evening at which many of the fellows and members of the college will be. The master will also be there. I thank them for the invitation but decline. I explain that I am not fond of such things and generally have difficulty hacking them.

I am near perplexed in the dream as to why they might cobble together some kind of position. It smacks of some political fix; somebody has had a “bright” idea. They have not thought this through.

The dream ends

Wayback even though I was not a top “A” grade student my school wanted me to take the Oxford entrance exams, because the teacher thought I would be better at the slightly off the wall questions. We visited Christchurch. The extra lessons however were interfering with rugby training at lunchtimes so I stopped going. I did not sit the exams.

Chaotic Mess – Rare Slow Soul Magic – Dream 12-12-2025

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Sleep last night came in two segments 12 – 2:30 and after an hour of TV, 4 to 7. In “A Discovery of Witches” season two last night Diana masters the ninth knot, the spell of endings and beginnings, the knot of completion(s). Implicit is inherent in this is also the tenth knot. Diana a weaver and time walker prepares to travel back to modern day.

The first part is in the early sleep and shallow. I am with the ex-wife. She wants to show me what is going on in the village. She insists that I go to see what has become of the village pubs. She is curious and very nosey. She wants all the gossip. Reluctantly I go with her and one of the pubs is under new management. He is trying to make a go of it. The pub is in a state of mess and undergoing renovation. A part of it is open for business. We go in and he asks what I want. I ask for a pint of Guiness and it takes long while to pour and settle. The ex-wife has a half of bitter and proceeds to go around chatting at/with everyone else in the pub. I ask the landlord about his plans.

We move off to the next pub. This is more lively and all the village folk some from out of town and some born are ostentatiously getting pissed  up. The air is of forced jollity, almost an anxious jollity. This pub is better lit. The locals all stare at me. Once again the ex-wife works the room talking to everyone and gossiping about life in the village and in general. I do not see the point of it in the dream. The pub is a mess and someone needs to do a glasses round and wipe down tables. There is a hint of Christmas party and the TV in the pub is blaring away in the background. It is harsh to the senses.

I awake for some poor TV, a pill and two lion bars.

Back now in the dream I am upstairs in a retreat centre type house. It is redbrick and old. On the other side of a single track road is a chest height red-brick and flint wall behind which is a substantial weir and mill race. The river is powerful and the water deep and of a green hue due to the weeds. I know the building I am in is aligned to the old water mill. It is a part of the complex. The feel is very similar  to Llangollen. The smell is similar too; we are near mountains. I am lying on the bed with the window open. The net curtains are blowing lightly in the breeze and I can hear the deep bass rumble of the water on the weir.

I hear a key in the door downstairs and in walks Paul and Emma. (Walker). They walk through into the kitchen and I can hear the keys being thrown into a small ceramic pot / ashtray. The pot is glazed agate green. I can hear Paul complaining to Emma about me. He complains how things can be messy after I have been and that although the mess is not mine it is in response to me that the chaos and mess ensues.  He is not happy about me being there and wants me to go. His unwelcome is widely held among many people. I do not do what they deem I ought to.

I come down stairs and Paul intuits that I have heard what he has been saying. He asks if I have heard.  I affirm. He says that there is no point pretending then. I say that I am not in the least bit upset. I have something to show him. In the kitchen are plates and cutlery unwashed. He looks at them with scorn. We all go out into a walled garden and to a stand-up wooden table in a “beer-garden” private to the property and which overlooks the weir.

I say to Paul that I possess a special rare type of magic. This he doubts as otherwise I would have used the magic to clean up. I say that this magic is not of a material kind, the kind for tricks and show. I say that my magic is a special kind of magic known by some as Soul magic. This magic is of a very slow effect. It is a slow Soul magic. He is sceptical.

I hold up my left hand and a brown hen’s egg appears in it. This catches his attention. It cracks and the top comes off. It is now like a soft boiled egg ready for eating in “dippy eggs”. I say to him that my magic, the deeper magic, pertains only to the Soul. It is not mundane. In the dream he understands that the egg is a metaphor for the Souls. I say that yes I can and do work directly with the Soul(s).

The dreaming view looks down at the soft yolky egg from above and then zooms out to a side view. A small amount of yolk has run down from the egg along my fingers and onto my white inner wrist. I say that even Soul magic is of two kinds, the magic of the Souls evolving through lifetimes and that of the spark within. True magic is about the creation and enveloping of the spark within a Soular casing, the egg of lives. The ultimate magic is about liberation in which the ovoid shell, the eggy casing of the Soul is rent and evaporates only to leave the spark within and thence throughout. Soul magic is about encapsulation and liberation. It is beyond the sight of most and not to the everyday taste.

As they watch the egg starts to dissolve shimmering into space with a shimmering of tiny golden insubstantial flecks. Leaving a tiny bright yellow-orange radiant spark or flame. Which is suspended above my fingers. Paul and Emma are temporarily transfixed. They come to with a jolt and all they can see is my upstretched left hand with fingers touching from where the egg once was. They can see a small trickle of bright yellow yolk against the white inner skin of my wrist.

The dream zooms out and looks directly into the depths of the water going over the mill race weir. I know that those prone to the chaos of the West struggle to see the beautiful order and patterns of time.

I come to and feel the stiffness in my hips and lower back…