Category: Magic and Witchcraft Themed

Volcano Islands – DNA – Nirmāṇakāya- Warrior Girl Dream 23-08-2025

~ quantumdreamer ~ Leave a comment

Here are last night’s dreaming sequence. It is a little “bitty” and is in three parts.

The dream starts on a mediterranean-like island. I am walking along a trail with the wife. We are carrying rucksacks; it is sunny but not hot. We are on a cliff side path far below is an azure-blue sea. Ahead of us is a port town from which we aim to take a ferry to our next destination. In the middle distance we can see a rocky island with fertile splashes of green farming land. It is less cliffy but dominated by a peak which I know is a supposed extinct volcano. We start to have a drone’s eye view over the island. Small volcanic vents open up around the island venting first smoke and then the occasional pyrotechnic of red hot lava. The central volcano starts to smoke and vent too. We can hear the rumble of pre-eruption. It is pretty clear that the island is unsafe and that we will have to alter our plans. If the volcano blows the island will cease. We cannot go to that island yet.

I say that we need to find a hotel for the night. We walk into town as night falls and the nightlife starts up. There are bars and clubs. It is Greek. We find a large hotel on a central plaza. The wife thinks it too expensive but I know they like to fill all the rooms. I go to reception where the hotel manager / owner is. He is an oily man with yet black hair. I ask him for a room it is £50 per night. This he says is because the pool is out of order. I accept and ask what time breakfast is. The hotel is in need of TLC.

The dream fades.

I am now in a medical centre come hospital on another island which feels like Jersey but may not be it. I am in a waiting room with many others. My name is called and I am taken into a consulting room by a woman of similar age to me in a dark navy-blue nurse practitioner uniform. She does blood pressure measurements and listens to my chest. I gesture to her where I have had my chest hair shaved for a recent ECG. For some reason we both find this funny. She takes down some historical details. Then she gets an envelop out of her desk drawer. She proceeds to take a lock of my hair which is much longer than it is this morning. She places this in the envelope. She then proceeds to trim all my finger nails with scissors. Collecting the nails and placing them too in the envelope. I say that I hope she is not going to use these for voodoo or witchcraft on me because everyone knows that these are key ingredients. She says no, the samples are for DNA tests, the government wants to test my DNA to check if I am normal or not. I say to her that I have had a normal birth and not a different Nirmāṇakāya manifestation vehicle. It was not thought created. I came out of a womb. The DNA results should come back as entirely human.

Outside the hospital I go down a hill to where the ambulance entrance is. I see the nurse posting the envelope into a bright red old-school UK mail box. I wave at her, she waves back.

The dream fades.

I am now in a large metropolitan building which has been subdivided into a number of flats. The building has a common room area with a watercooler and seating. I am standing there when a tall man comes in. He is holding is mouth. He says that he has broken a tooth. I know he is Hungarian because we have been out for a few beers. I say that I can drive him to a dentist and explain how things work in England. I ask him to show me his EU health card. He does. I say show this at the dental clinic and they will reduce the amount you have to pay. We are joined by a young woman who has recently moved into the block. She is around mid-twenties and has jet black pig-tailed hair and is heavily made up. I know that she considers herself trendy.

I take the Hungarian to the dentist in my car and drop him off in reception I give him the number of my mobile ‘phone in case there is difficulty. Neither of us foresees any. He will have to wait for hours. I go back to the block of flats where I am some kind of custodian.

The young woman is still there in the communal rooms. She wants to go into town and asks me to accompany her. There is a mild sexual frisson from her part towards me which is completely unexpected by me. She takes my arm in hers and we walk out into the night. I am quasi-paternal.

It is very urban and under the yellow street lights she starts to tell me how she is trying to change. She has a lot of piercings and several large tattoos. She is of mixed race a real melting pot of nationalities but speaks pukka English, posh. She says that she is a warrior girl, that she is striving to be a warrior girl. In a London accent I ask if she means warrior gall or warrior gell, innit. This makes her laugh. My accent is unexpected.

I say to her that being a warrior is harder than she might imagine and that whatever her preconceptions are, they are wrong. I say to her that is a  good thing to aspire to be a “warrior gall”. This makes her happy and she tries to skip. I cannot. I look at her and we both laugh.

The dream fades.

Granny Was a Gwrach…

~ quantumdreamer ~ Leave a comment

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Gwrach y Rhibyn

The legend of the cyhyraeth is sometimes conflated with tales of the Gwrach-y-Rhibyn or Hag of the Mist, a monstrous Welsh spirit in the shape of a hideously ugly woman – a Welsh saying, to describe a woman without good looks, goes, “Y mae mor salw â Gwrach y Rhibyn” (she is as ugly as the Gwrach y Rhibyn) – with a harpy-like appearance: unkempt hair and wizened, withered arms with leathery wings, long black teeth and pale corpse-like features. She approaches the window of the person about to die by night and calls their name, or travels invisibly beside them and utters her cry when they approach a stream or crossroads, and is sometimes depicted as washing her hands there. Most often the Gwrach y Rhibyn will wail and shriek “Fy ngŵr, fy ngŵr!” (My husband! My husband!) or “Fy mhlentyn, fy mhlentyn bach!” (My child! My little child!), though sometimes she will assume a male’s voice and cry “Fy ngwraig! Fy ngwraig!” (My wife! My wife!).

If it is death that is coming, the name of the one doomed to die is supposed to be heard in her “shrill tenor”. Often invisible, she can sometimes be seen at a crossroad or a stream when the mist rises.

Some speculation has been asserted that this apparition may have once been a water deity, or an aspect of the Welsh goddess Dôn. She is the wife of Afagddu, the despised son of Ceridwen and Tegid Foel, in some retellings of the Taliesin myth.

From Wikipedia

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If I were to show you the autocorrelation traces of two femtosecond laser pulses on an expensive oscilloscope in a dark laser lab it us unlikely that you would be thinking of the witch, the hag of the mist, Gwrach-y-Rhibyn. The two things do not correlate for most.

A part of my maternal family hails from Snowdonia, the foot of Snowdon,  in North Wales and the family legend has it that at least one of my maternal relatives, a granny of sorts, was a Gwrach, a witch, perhaps a seeress. In that context then there is a chance that I inherited the bloodline and hence the “gift” so to speak. As such it was entirely natural {and perhaps inevitable} that I would be interested in shamanism and shamanic ritual.

Of course in terms of someone able to write Fortan programs to calculate Franck Condon factors for anharmonic oscillator molecular vibronic photon excitations that seems far-fetched.

Contextually the vice versa might apply. Why would a shaman piss about with fancy lasers and science?

In Brittany there remains an interest in {and perhaps practice of} witchcraft. This is no way freaks me out. It is possible the practises here were sourced in the Welsh diaspora arriving. They are of similar roots.

I’ll speculate that a blog post like this would not enhance my promotion prospects were I still institutionalised in science academia.

I have always loved the mist and the fog. I nearly died on The Old Man of Coniston once. I was alone and following crows up a trail in the snow deep into the fog, alone on the mountain. It was exciting. Luckily before I got completely lost in the otherworld, I turned back. I have had much similar fun on Kinder Scout in dense fog. There is something womb-like and enveloping.

Of a still and misty night, when the full moon is partially veiled and you heard a voice at your window calling your name, what would you do.

Could you take secure refuge in the omniscience of your infallible reason?

Or would your blood run cold?

Air Israel – Kabbala – Golden Orbs – Keter – Dream 08-03-2025

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This dream is from around 6 AM this morning. I have been waking because of pain in my lower spine and sacroiliac joints. I have been taking ~4 AM paracetamol to mitigate this.

The dream starts at an airport. The weather is warm and dry. On the tarmac with two boarding staircases is a jet air craft. In an angular script is written in large blue letters Air Israel. I am queuing with others to board the plane. There are people of all ages but the background is of wealth and the majority of them are Jewish. There are a few Hassidim with beaten up small leather carry-ons. There is a hub-bub of conversation. I climb the stairs and am welcomed by the cabin crew. Because of my appearance and colouring there is implicit an initial understanding that I am Jewish too. I take my seat on the aisle next to a couple with a toddler. The man is older than the woman and they are of American origin.

The flight takes off and I go to the galley to get food. The interior of the plane is now like the ground floor of a hotel with seminar tooms and a plenary. At the galley they are serving a very meat heavy dish with soup and dumplings, it is garlic rich. I move on to the self-service area. There is a selection of salads. I select one with lettuce and green lentils. I sit at a table and am soon joined by several young people who are in high spirits, they are anticipating their holidays, their stay on a kibbutz in the wilderness away from their parents.

Soon everyone moves to the plenary. A middle aged woman is on stage and she is throwing out pieces of puzzles. The idea is to use these pieces to construct a kabbalistic tree of life, Otz Chim. Everyone has flip chart paper, pens, scissors, card, string, glue and blue tac. The exercise is to keep people occupied on the flight. I catch some of the resources which the woman is throwing.

I start to build my tree of life. I start to make a three dimensional model between four vertical pillars. These pillars are about 2 cm in diameter and like Greco-Roman architecture pillars with striations top to bottom. They are gilded in a silver-gold mix. I build my tree of life in a quasi-helical fashion and not plan form. Each of the sephirah in my model is constructed out of a golden orb which I pull out of my pocket. The orbs are table tennis ball size and are decorated with an equatorial golden overlay motif. They are suspended in free space with no path structure. I pull out the last orb, Keter, and place it on top of the tree. Within the columns there is still top room for the veils of unmanifest. Keter is unusual in that it has to it a visor, like on a motorcycle helmet.

The woman on the stage suggests that we all switch tables and compare our handiwork. I join the table of a matriarch and her two late teen sons. I know that they are soon off to university. The woman looks at my tree and says that it in not bad for a goy. I open the visor on Keter and the model is filled with a radiant light, it comes to life. I say to her that the secret is Malkuth. She says don’t you mean Keter. I say yes, I deliberately mixed them up.

One of the sons comes over to me and takes out some tracing paper he is very keen to measure the dimensions of my design. He asks why there are no words on the paths and the sephirah like on everybody else’s designs. He says they could be in English or Hebrew. I say to him that if you need to use words then you have not understood nor attained the sephiroth. Words are by way of spells and are distractions from the path(s). The young man is excited and wants to learn from / with me.

In the dream I wonder if, because of the pain in my lower spine, Malkuth, I am under some form of psychic or occult attack. I make a resolution to look into it and if needed call up a Vajrapāṇi for protection.

The dream ends.

The Glamour of Secret Knowledge

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In the film “Bullet Proof Monk” a bunch of Nazis go to what looks like Tibet in order to gain a magical scroll which will grant them secret knowledge and near super-powers. The ageing guardian of the scroll is shot in the raid and the burden of keeping it safe and secret passes to a younger monk. There is a magical transference of sorts.

In real life an SS sponsored mission did go to Tibet in 1938-9 and the lead, a Dr Schaefer, was interrogated at the end of the war by USFET Military Intelligence

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Tibet Explorer & Scientist With SS-Sponsored Scientific Institutes
(Including Answers to USFET Special Interrogation Brief No. 104)

United States Forces – European Theater
Military Intelligence Service Center
APO 757 Final Interrogation Report (OI-FIR) No. 32 Feb. 12, 1946.

Schaefer was a member of Das Ahnenerbe, the organization founded by Himmler in 1935 to investigate a variety of scientific and pseudo-scientific problems raised in Germany following the Nazi ascension to power. He belonged also to the Freundeskreis, which included many high SS leaders and German industrialists. Through the success of his last Tibetan expedition of 1938-1939, which was sponsored mainly by Nazi organizations, Schaefer became an outstanding representative of National Socialist science and of considerable propaganda value for the SS. After his return to Germany from this expedition, he was welcomed personally by Himmler. Subsequently he headed the following three scientific organizations: the Sven Hedin Institute, the Instruction and Research Foundation for Horse-Breeding, and the Instruction and Research Institute for Plant Genetics, all of which were connected with Ahnenerbe.

Now he claims that he used the SS solely to obtain the means for his scientific work. He is very helpful in all matters which do not involve himself, and his statements seem to be reliable. The information contained in this report has been confirmed by Miss Friedlieb of Homburg and Mrs. Lehmann of Frankfurt Ginbach, Schaefer’s former secretaries, who were interrogated at their homes.

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Schaefer was able to correspond with Reting Rinpoche the regent of Tibet and the Nechung Oracle who was relatively new to the post Ta Lama Lobsang Namgyal. The oracle had been involved with the finding the 14th Dalai Lama in ~1937.

All of whom are characters in the film Kundun.

The photo of the oracle on Wikipedia is Schaefer’s. So, he must have been very welcome if he was allowed to get close enough to photograph. See the text caption.

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It is reported that he took back to Germany a copy of all 108 volumes of the Tibetan canon, the Kangyur.

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Out of a fact often comes extrapolation.

There are many stories about Hitler and his interest in the occult and esotericism. In my experience Germanic efficiency is efficient and organised. It is likely that Hitler and his nasty pals, if they were interested, would have kept records, archives.

People who lust after power also lust after short cuts. It is pretty obvious that Hitler did not bat on the same team as Jesus. It is not a stretch to deem him evil, a nasty piece of work.

So, what happened to Hitler’s occult archives, did they find their way to Moscow, were they shipped to Argentina or Brazil, or did they go to US or UK intelligence services?

The problem is that a scroll or a document cannot grant its owner, whether rightful or not, powers. The guide book, the grimoire needs practice and skill. To wield “magic shit” the person needs discipline, training and practise. There is probably no “ta-dah” moment when some talisman or other grants powers. Life is not like that. Even dark power must be earned. There is no fairy god mother.

The idea of secret knowledge, the holy grail, is salacious to humans. This is because people are lazy. It is very glamorous and makes for entertaining movies. The more secret something is the more exciting it is, for some. Knowledge from the past unearthed by Harrison Ford or Angelina Jolie is unlikely to change the balance of power geo-politically. Magic from the days of Atlantis is best kept buried beneath the waves which it called forth.

It stands to reason that there will be some surveillance of things like the occult. The USA even had a programme looking into “Remote Viewing”. On the off chance that telepathy, telekinesis and things like remote viewing work it would make sense to keep an eye on them. Even if that eye is sceptical.

What are the crazy mystical Russians doing?

Why did China invade Tibet the home of the so-called Masters of Wisdom?

China has a long occult history.

What exactly are in the vast Tibetan libraries?

It is said that knowledge is neutral. It can be used for good or evil dependent upon the user.

If people were not interested in “secret knowledge” Harry Potter would have been a flop.

Secrecy is exciting for some; it hints at power over others. But secrecy leads to darkness and in the darkness strange things grow…

Humans struggle to resist temptation…

Brocade Book – Occult – Dream 8-9-16

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Here is last night’s dream

I am in some kind of mansion or Chateau. The rooms are dimly lit by candles and gaslight. The furniture is period. The walls are dressed in curtain like hangings stretching floor to ceiling. The colour is a boudoir red / purple. There is a sense of fading Victorian even tsarist grandeur. In the distance I can hear a social function, a party. There are harpsichords playing, laughter and chatter. I wander around the room; it is well-kept but overly opulent and not to my liking. I walk past a table, with ornate carved legs and I trail my hand along the tabletop.

Next, I am in an ultra-modern museum which has a Germanic or Swiss feel. It is somehow on top of a mountain and very high up. The museum is minimalist. There are only a very few glass cabinets. They contain artefacts in gold and other metals. Each has a slip of paper in the cabinet with a date and a small explanation. Many of the artefacts are oriental, Buddhist and relate way back. They are very precious, and security is high. I come upon a case; it appears to be empty. In the case is a slip of white paper saying Dr A.G.Taylor and a list of the universities that he worked at. There is no date. I get excited and go to find the curator. I say to her that this is me…can I have look at what is in the exhibit? She puts on her white gloves and with a golden key attached to her neck chain she opens the drawer below the exhibit case. She pulls out a book, a much valued manuscript. It is kept out of sight to preserve it. It is about standard book size. The book has a cover, even a cage, of the finest golden filigree brocade, exquisitely carved and put together. It is in raised almost moving relief. The cover of the book is white and although not glossy it somehow shines. The whole thing shines and glows. It is radiant. She makes me put on white gloves and hands it to me. I marvel at the book and open it. Both she and I know that it is I who wrote this book.

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The scene changes to another room deep in the vaults of the museum. It is where all the treasures are kept. The floor is of white marble and the room has two levels split by a small half staircase. At the staircase are wall length curtains held back by a fancy golden coloured tie. The curtains are of luxuriant red with a yellow gold coloured backing. I wander through the room looking at the artefacts. Many are to do with magic of both light and dark varieties. I instinctively know which is which and what they are for. As I wander through the room, I get the sensation of something, some being, watching me. I know that it is not benign. So, I “swell up” and fill myself with energy. I open my hands so as to distribute {if needed} and say out loud. “I know you are there, show yourself!!” It is an occult command of very high order. The curtains at the stair flutter in the breeze and I know that whatever it was, it has gone.

The dream ends. I know that it is highly significant. I pause to recollect and store it. I go back to sleep.

On typing today the word Grimoire popped into mind.

Trap – Butterfly Feet – Dream – 09 – 01 -2012

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I am in a foyer of a terminus which if full of coffee shop type outlets. People are climbing up the outside of staircases. These are young athletic women. I try my hand at chasing them. I am faster than them. We get to the other side and one of them sits on a table fingering herself in front of me. I ignore this gesture. The women try to surround me and cajole me. They try to take my rucksack. It is a trap and I break free.

I am now dumped in a makeshift prison cell with another man. There are four other men naked in there and they are all covered with sores. Their faces are misshapen, they are very large and hairless. One of them is threatening me. We shall see how long he lasts in here. I am unafraid because I know that I am stronger than he is. The attendants come in and introduce a creature which will work on my sores. It starts nibbling my sores and will join them up. I am advised to keep my eyes shut. There is discomfort but not pain.

I am now attending a series of parties which are somehow in a swish part of London. They are in an upstairs flat. Everyone is very trendy and my party piece is to show them my feet. At first my feet look normal. Soon though on each foot two pairs of butterfly wings unfold. Each pair is mis-matched in colour. There is a sense that each pair is a male and female pair. The butterfly wings are incredibly intricate and beautiful. They flap gracefully. If I do this enough, I can levitate. I know in the dream that the wings came from the healing of my sores.

The hosts for the party, a male and female goth come back and say that the next party stars at 11. They are dressed in purple and black with goth hair. They go down stairs and will return soon.

I am now walking along a rocky boulder strewn shore. The going is tough so I take my shoes off for greater purchase. I move into the outskirts of a “castle”. Some creatures start to come at me. I then start to unfurl my butterflies. They are even more beautiful than before and have grown in size and splendour. Seeing these the creatures steer a wide path around me and head for the sea.

I am now upstairs in the castle with the wife. We are walking around the ornamental colonnades. It is deserted. We notice a pack of randomly sized dogs outside the castle. One black one starts to circle the colonnades in the opposite direction to us. It comes closer to investigate. It is more interested in me. It comes over to the railings which separate us and I show it my hand for it to sniff. It then bites my hand trying to sink its teeth into me. I know it to be a female dog who because of its posh heritage thinks herself better than me. I am able to counteract the pressure of her jaws by flexing my hand. I say to her that she does not know what she is biting and had better think about it. I continue to flex my hand which forces her to open her jaws. She falls to the floor in a submissive posture.

Dream ends

Mercury is a major god in Roman religion and mythology, being one of the 12 Dii Consentes within the ancient Roman pantheon. He is the god of financial gain, commerce, eloquence, messages, communication (including divination), travellers, boundaries, luck, trickery, and thieves; he also serves as the guide of souls to the underworld and the “messenger of the gods”.

In Roman mythology, he was the son of Maia, one of the seven daughters of the Titan Atlas, and Jupiter. In his earliest forms, he appears to have been related to the Etruscan deity Turms; both gods share characteristics with the Greek god Hermes. He is often depicted holding the caduceus in his left hand. Similar to his Greek equivalent Hermes, he was awarded a magic wand by Apollo, which later turned into the caduceus, the staff with intertwined snakes.

From Wikipedia

University – Three Witches – Tuareg – Caravan paths Dream 04-10-2008

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The dream starts with me wandering around the hidden passages of an English university. It is very ornate and there are lots of rooms there. I am with people I do not know. We stumble upon an ornate room with a chaise-longue in it. We enter for a while.

Next, I notice an ascending staircase which I climb. I peak through the doorway and there are hags there, witches. I see three but there may be more. I hurry back downstairs. They do not appear to have seen me. They are in session of sorts. I tell the others and they want to see. I advise against it.

We are now outside and in the courtyard of the university. We take a seat on some garden furniture. I comment that I did not know we were allowed in this part of the garden. Someone say yes, this is where the professor came and spent the rest of his life.  He turned up and tuned into BBC 3 and stayed here. In the dream I doubt this.

Then there is a big celebration going on. One of the daughters of the three witches is getting married. She is marrying a warlock from a far distant land. He has gotten here by magical means. The celebration continues. I know that I am welcome among them. They are like kin.

The scene changes and I am on a trek in the mountains of Morocco. The scenery is black and dusty. The caravan is being led by a Tuareg dressed in black. We climb peak after peak then we come down to a more fertile and rocky landscape. We are crossing rivers. I am wearing my black leather shoes. I comment that they are not the best footwear. I shout back to the others to watch their step.

We are reaching a summit and there is a small chasm to jump across and a way that goes through a house. The house is decorated with tourist paraphernalia. I try to take the root through the house. There are two youngish women there. They have been waiting for me. “I am honoured, the honoured”, they say. Try as I may, I cannot get out of the house. Then I find a way.

As I walk around the village, I find some expats taking tea and gin on a veranda. I say that I need to jump the chasm but I am afraid. Will they help me? One of them apparently a vicar swells up and offers to help. He says that he can get me across but I must trust him completely. We approach the chasm. I jump it. It was nothing I had only thought it to be big. I thank him and say I didn’t need his help at all.

I am now a long way from the caravan. I set out to catch them up. The scene changes back to black and dusty.

The paths are now very busy with travellers going in both directions. I am overtaking many on my path. A blue turbaned Tuareg comes in the opposite direction. He recognises me and reaches out to touch me. “I have touched the venerable”, he says.

I continue on and now the path divides. The left hand path goes off further into the mountains. The path to the right follows a lowland route. I take the path to the left unsure as to which one my caravan has taken. As I progress along the path goes deeper into the mountains. The travellers start to thin out and soon I am walking the path alone. I must do this for a while.

I get scared and try to head down hill to cut across and back to the other path. I come upon a wall. Behind it are two Arabs one getting water and the other taking a piss. They have not noticed me. I wander on through a small village set in olive trees. There is a sense of glade to it. There is prosperity here. Down at the bottom of the glade I note a herd of kangaroos. I think this odd.

I leave the glade and continue down hill to reach the other path. We are back in the black scenery. I notice that I am still wearing my black leather shoes. The pace down hill is very fast and there is a sense that I must slow down so that I can see where I am going. I reach an opening and there is an apparent path at the edge of a dry river, a wadi.

Dream ends

Chameleon – Fire – Keys -Butterfly – Cousins Dream 11-12-2024

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This dream was between 4:55 AM and 6:30 AM it is followed by a less dreamy attempt to rejoin the dream.

The dream is set outdoors on some kind of patio. In front of me is a raised fire pit. It is made out of fired clay and is light terracotta in colour. The pit is a kind of hand-made grate with a quasi-oval ring of clay supported on pillars of clay about a foot tall. The idea is that there is great air circulation into the fire pit.

On the floor next to the pit is a large chameleon lizard. It is sandy-brown and about the size of my foot. I pick the lizard up lovingly with my hand and it comes willingly. I place the lizard in one side of the fire pit and it lies snug against the wall altering its colour slightly to blend in.

On the other side of the pit, I make a fire with pieces of wood. The fire blazes too quickly. I add more larger pieces of wood. The fire stabilizes and burns more quietly. The chameleon is unharmed.

In the fire pit I notice an old style wrap around key fob in brown leather. I cannot see if there are any keys in the fob or not. I pick the fob out of the pit and put it in my pocket. It feels heavy.

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I continue to look at the fire and tend it.

My eyes are drawn to my right hand. I can see a black suit jacket sleeve with several buttons. Inside the sleeve is a buttoned white dress shirt. Both are incredibly crisp and well ironed. Out of the gap between shirt and jacket I extract, by encouragement with my left hand, a large hand sized pale yellow butterfly. The wings are in two segments so that you can see four segments. Its appearance is like a magic trick and there are flecks of gold in the yellow. It flies out of the sleeve and circles me several times

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The butterfly flies off.

In one corner of the patio, I see two young women. One of them is light brown with a black Muslim head scarf. She is dressed in black. The other one is wearing white and is of European extraction.

The brown one asks me if I recognise them. She is flirty and cheeky.

No.

She says that they are my cousins and that she knows me. She says that I should have recognised them from Wales. We are related through Cristiaan’s wife from South Africa. She has a mild Afrikaans accent.

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I wake and the wife tells me it is 6:30 AM when she gets back into bed.

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I intend to rejoin the dream. I enter a sports hall wearing my bright red WRU t-shirt. As I do so the man running the gym says that Wales are not doing so well at rugby. I agree. I go into the bathroom to piss. I am in a cubicle and note that it opens out from the male changing room into the female one. I change cubicles. When I am finished, I wash my hands ritually.

Outside in the corridor I am seized by several men who have their hands on my arms. They are trying to pull me away and drag me with them. I use Ki to prevent them from shifting me. D is watching and he can see from my mudra-like hand positions that they have no chance of getting me to budge no matter how much effort they expend.

The scene changes and I am outside around a campfire with some middle aged women. They have asked me to cook my famous chicken and fish casserole for them. Despite this request they keep interfering with the way in which I am preparing the casserole. They keep trying to tell me what to do. I pick up a large slice of bacon which I tear with my bare hands to add flavour to the oil. They look shocked that I have used my bare hands. I explain that I washed them thoroughly earlier.

Dream ends.