Category: South – Unknown

South Coast – Westerly Dreamer – New Books – Dream 18-12-2025

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Here is last night’s dream had before 5:26 AM The overall sleep was again goodish.

I am on an old style British train, in a carriage with facing bench seats. The seats are made of that slightly itchy hard wearing material. I am with Simon. We are heading past Gatwick towards Worthing. He is telling me that there are lots of good properties for sale on the South coast. They have come down in price and a bargain can be had. He says that all along the coast they are up for sale. He strongly recommends buying one there. The mood is light hearted. We are going to the seaside.

We alight and are then in the town centre of an unspecified South coast town. Simon leads me to the coast. Off the coast I can see a number of small islands with white chalky cliffs and grassy tops. Each island is seemingly floating in the sea. They are distinct and I know they have their own eco-system. I can see sheep on the cliff tops on some. Simon says the islands float by and that the scenery is constantly changing. They are like the islands floating in air in the Avatar movies. I say that I did not know things like this were off the South coast of England.

We go back in towards town and stop at a small open square with white low rise regency housing. It is a couple of streets back from the front. We are approached by Christine and Elizabeth, both of whom are female dreamers. Christine seems to know Simon. We greet each other. Elizabeth takes me to one side in an overly earnest manner. Simon and Christine walk off together.

Elizabeth says that I must come to stay with her as we have somethings to work on. But first she must clear the coast with her landlord as visitors, especially male, are not allowed. She looks young. I say OK I will find somewhere to wait.

I find a bench and stretch myself out on it naked under a duvet. My clothes are on the ground nearby. I fall asleep. It is in the middle of town. I am woken by Elizabeth shaking my shoulder. I check where my clothes are and dress under the blanket. I have a half a bottle of white wine which I knock back. I wipe my face and am ready to go.

Elizabeth leads me off and downstairs to her basement studio flat in a very large white regency building. The flat is small and cramped but definitely that of a female, from decor and smell. She shows me her single bed and a bed roll she has made up on the floor. I will sleep on the floor. It must be obvious to everyone that she is not sleeping with me, having sex. I comment that I am pretty much past all that.

We lie down and make ready for sleep. As we are nodding off the walls between the flat and that of the next door neighbour fade. In bed there are two women. They have bright “trendy” hair with tattoos and piercings. The hair is vividly dyed. They are in a lesbian relationship. Elizabeth is very conservative in comparison. I ask her if she is a lesbian too, suggesting she dabbled as a younger woman. No. She says that the lesbian relationship here relates to feminine dreaming and that the two women are dreamers like her. I know she is a Westerly dreamer and her mother Christine, a Southerly one. The lesbian theme and the lack of walls is a commentary of the connectedness of feminine dreaming. People are very sceptical about me and Elizabeth. They gather round to criticise. Under the bed is a book we are working on together. To fend off the criticism I sit up on my bed roll and show a hard covered book. It is open at the frontispiece with copyright notice, ISBN and title. As I flick though the pages there are black and white images and text which literally appears as I change page. The gang of gathered critics look on slightly awe struck as the text and images of the new book appear right before their eyes. This is a new book which I may write.

The dream ends.

Reset – Peaceful Warrior – Healing Dream 27-11-2025

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Here is this morning’s dream had after a bit of OxyNormORO morphine to help with pain. From around 5 AM. Prior to the dream I have been contemplating on what the post-operative reset might be like. What was going on before the operation is distant and what may lay ahead is unclear. I am half anticipating a complete reset / rescale.

The dream starts with me wandering around Brixton London where I used to live. I bump into Ben G whom I have not seen for more than 25 years. He is dressed in a suit and looks stressed out and busy. I suggest that we go into the pub {Prince of Wales} opposite the Ritzy cinema. {I did in fact bang into him around here many years ago}. We go in and start having a chat. He starts to thank me for the help and caring I gave in the past. He says that some of the things I said to him have stood him in good stead during times of trouble. I say that I have a good idea of the book that will help him now. It is “The Peaceful Warrior” by Dan Milman. * I say that I will meet him for coffee later in the week near where he works in the city and bring the book for him. He is pleased to have re-made acquaintance as am I.

The scene changes and I am heading up Brixton hill to a multiple occupancy building like my old flat. I open the front door and the scene is chaotic with multiple people coming and going there. There are two women reminiscent of people from Science outreach, Melanie and Jody. As usual they are “all over the shop”. They want to show me how they have renovated the building. We go into various flats and I politely say “um, yes that is nice”. We go back into my flat and they want to make an appointment to meet later on. I say that I cannot that I am ill, I think it might be pneumonia. They don’t hear nor understand how ill I am. I shoo them off with a promise to call.

I go back into my “flat” it is largely not unpacked. Stuff is in boxes. In the garden out back there is a pond / open water swimming pool. I meet Russell Crowe there and we are sat chatting in the water. He says that he is struggling with his alcohol problems. I say that I have not drunk in near a year and that is was a never a problem for me in the usual way. For me it was all about boredom. He does not believe me. We sit there for a while enjoying the summer sunset.

I go back to my flat and start to look for the telephone number for the GP. I can’t find my address book. I am pretty sure that the Brixton Hill practice will have a number on line. I am reminded of Dr “Depardieu” who helped me in the mid-90s.  I find the number and call for an appointment. I am resolved to take some time out just for myself and let everybody else deal with their own worries.

The dream ends

* In “The Peaceful Warrior” which was a gateway book for me, Dan an arrogant Berkley gymnast bumps into a spiritual mentor “Socrates” who tries to get him to be real and to “take out the trash”. Dan being a bit of a bellend ends up crashing his motor cycle and badly fracturing his leg. Dan goes through an intensive recovery which tests his mettle and ends up competing at the highest level. Dan has to overcome his self-importance and impatience.

Land Title – Medical Exam – Fox Island – Bern Dream 19-11-2025

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Here is this morning’s dream.

The dream opens with me sat in an office, part real estate part solicitor. I am sat the other side of the desk to the person whose office it is. He is checking with me if I made inquiries into land titles. He has a mild Aussie accent. I say that yes I made an online inquiry into land to which my father once held title at the Queensland registry office a while back. He says that they are sorry that the search took so long but they are following up on two properties one in the Cairns area and one in Brisbane. He asks to see some identification documents which I show him. He says that he will get back to me soon. He thinks that the Cairns property might still belong to our family.

The scene changes and I am in an ultra modern hospital facility sat in a technical chair. I am with a young male doctor and a young female doctor. They are both wearing lab coats. Together with them is a technician. We are speaking in a mixture of French and English moving between according to our availability of vocabulary. We are in France. They are testing the function of my right lung only. I am being asked to exhale only from that lung and to cough only from that lung. I do this and they are very surprised at the result the lung is functioning way better than they thought. I am coughing up a clear white sputum which they suck with vacuum into a jar. I explain that I have not been coughing much because of the opium painkiller I am taking. They say it is time to take a break for lunch and that they will continue with the left lung later. In the meantime they ask if I will do an ecological survey of the island upon which the hospital finds itself. The hospital is on a hillock reached by a causeway well into a lake. It is a bit like a castle in construction.

I step out of the hospital and into the wooded hillock. They are particularly interested in the fox population. Because I am so quiet I do not disturb the foxes. I come upon one after the other who have demarcated their terrain, their patch, with droppings. I know that they have done this to prevent conflict. I count foxes noting their state of health and big fluffy tails. They are all well. I go down the hillside towards the water and am joined by the ninth fox who trots along by me. He is escorting me off the island and into the water. As I near the water we are charged by a manky tatty old billy goat. I grab him by the horns and lead him into the lake. He continues to try to butt me. But I swim out with the goat by his horns until he is out of his depth. The fox watches on. The goats swims back to land. I swim around the island to where the causeway joins the hospital and there is a small quay and entrance door into the hospital. I am cold from the water and knock the door. A health assistant helps me up and in. She offers me a towel. I come into the building and pick up a brown chocolatey drink from the vending machine. She directs me back to the clinic.

I arrive back and sit in the chair where I am joined by the doctors. They try my drink and like it. I explain that I got it from the vending machine at lake level. I comment that the fox population looks well and healthy. They are now going to start on my left lung. They want to know where to forward the results to. I say that I will be in Switzerland and we can find a Francophone hospital for them to forward my results to. I suggest Fribourg because that is just over the language frontier. There is a CHU (centre hospitalier universitaire) there. I ask them to put Bern into Google maps so that we can look for other French speaking hospitals. I see the large CHU at Bern on the map and say that they will speak French English and German there so there is probably no need to find a specifically French hospital. The young female doctor concurs. She is happy to send her write up to Bern which I can see from the map is quite close to where I live in the city. She says that she had a friend in Geneva and visited Bern a number of times.

The dream ends and I think, “well, the medical theme is not surprising given what is scheduled.”

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

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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.

Behind Closed Doors – Nile Perch – Brockwell Park Dream Snippets 29-10-2025

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Here are last night’s dream snippets some of them are at 90 mph…

The first part of the sequence begins in London. There are various meetings going on after hours and behind closed doors in which I am somehow the subject / object of the meeting. I am somehow seen as the “problem”. There is one among male UK academics roughly of my generation. I had acquaintance of these. There is one involving people who could be seen as the generation before me and a current university VC. Of these I had passing acquaintance of one female and longer of another male, they are near end of life. The VC is only a bit older than me. There is one meeting which is part virtual with people in the USA. I have never personally met the protagonists. This has a political / intelligence flavour. There is one meeting which is distinctly Tibetan and not London based. The scenes flash by at “90 mph”. In the dream I want to say that they have done nothing which is strictly speaking illegal nor overly dodgy in the view of current normal practices and behaviour. Therefore from my point of view there is nothing to discuss, nor do they have anything which needs attention. They do not need to do anything at all.

The scene now changes to Africa. We are at a camp site near an inland lake or reservoir. We are packing up to catch the plane home. In my pocket I have a small fishing lure, a spinner, a spinning spoon around a “pole” with a tri-pronged hook. It has a small purple feather. Before we leave I would like to try to catch a “bream” or Nile perch. The man I am with draws off some line from a rod reel combination. The line is very thick and strong. I need to tie the lure on with a leader. I try time and again to attach a leader to the line. Each time I do so and give a good tug the leader comes away from the main line. I think, “clearly I am not supposed to do this”. I give up my efforts and help load the safari Land Rovers to leave.

The scene changes to Brockwell Park in Brixton a place where I frequented a lot. It has a lot of stored memories and previously emotive things for me. It was very much a part of my former London life. I am with the wife and some kind of assistant / facilitator. His job is to look after me and my wants. I show him the ponds and explain that the local schools do biology lessons therefrom. I then show him one of the large old style Brixton converted “mansions”. I say that I want to explore to see if there is any draw. To see if it reminds me of my old flat. We break in through the ground floor back door and head out of the front door. The hallway is spacious and there is no damage we easily unlock the doors. I want to head up hill to show him where I used to live. As we go uphill I see a huge building project. A whole terrace has been demolished for a park side new build. It does not look good. Further up the hill another terrace has been removed by the diggers. They have yet to uproot the very old very large trees. They will need to dig deep to make good foundations. I cannot find the building in which my old flat was. I nip into one of the new build shells and hide from the builders to take a piss in a tiny pink WC. I finish and as I leave one of the builders shouts “oi”. I say that I used to live here and was bursting for a leak. He waves me on.

As I come to I note there is no point searching for the past because it no longer exists. I note that as we were non binary about France or England the future may lie elsewhere. I also note that the reason we love this house is the garden and nature, which I may rekindle after my operation(s). I am not seeing clearly.

The dreaming sequence ends…

Random – Buffalo Shaman – P&L Dream 28-10-2025

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Here is this morning’s dream had between 4 and 7:30. I am going to open a new dream theme “random” and apply it to dreams which seemingly have little to do with me although I may feature therein.

My anticipation is that the dreaming will fade going towards surgery. It will then lay relatively dormant. This anticipation could be wrong.

The dream opens in a large room, part of a town hall and near a registry office. Sat around the room on large “leather” bound sofas are a collection of jet black men. They are all very smartly if non-standardly dressed. They look a little like characters out of a 1930s movie by their vintage clothing choice. There is some jollity and mirth. They are all Nigerian and gathered for a Nigerian wedding. They are big blokes and I think that they would make a good pack of rugby forwards.

I am to marry an Irish woman Aishleen to one of them. She is in the next room waiting in a white wedding dress.

I look down to the inside of my right wrist. There is  a white, made of bone, emblem there. It is a skull of a buffalo with bead decorations on the horns. The emblem is mostly two dimensional and is attached to me, tattoo like as opposed to affixed. One of the Nigerians says that I am the Buffalo shaman and that I must practice the rite. I gather the men together holding hands in a circle. We sing and chant a little.

They notice in one corner of the room a brilliant white laboratory style mouse. I must sacrifice it. To do this I take a book from the bookshelf and use it to squash the mouse. They cheer me on to do this. I squash the mouse and it flattens then disappears. It is OK now for the marriage to go ahead.

The scene changes and I am walking around South London near a park. The road is on top of a slope behind some metal railings and the park is in the valley below. It is in Streatham. I follow the road and go into a club house of sorts there is a meeting. The local “council” are discussing closing public toilets as a cost saver. I say that this is stupid as the cost saving is tiny. The lead for the meeting says that the finances are dire. I asks him to show me. He comes back with a summary statement. I say that no, I want the entire profit and loss, P&L accounts to peruse. Give me all the detail. That is the best thing I can do for them to do a thorough look as an objective outsider. I say that I think they are losing the plot.

He comes back with a full accounts setting and a younger woman clerk. She is dark haired, ample and around 40. I recognise her. He says that she will help me. She asks me if I remember where I met her all those years ago. She says that it was a 4 AM in the morning walking along Turners Road when I was accustomed to doing my late night walks. She says that we went back to hers for some more drinks. For some reason non sexual we are close.

As I wake up I think “random”…

The dream ends.

Charity Food in Africa Dream – 19-10-2025

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Here is last night’s dream which appears to be a change in subject, moving swiftly on, dream.

The dream starts with me meeting a group of people. They are around a dozen in number and of mixed ages and ethnicities. I have been assigned the task of training them to function as a team and facilitating that process before they can be being posted to Africa implicit is somewhere like Sudan that is a mess. They have already received some training but do not know how to cater for themselves nor the kind of challenge they may face. They are idealistic in orientation and lack a gritty down-to-earth reality. They imagine things to be easier and better than they are. They are a bit goodwill fluffy.

I gather them together as a group and explain for the next few weeks we will be working at honing them into an effective and well-functioning unit, taking them past a group of rag-tag individuals. I explain that life in certain parts of Africa is very different to the UK and Europe. Supply chains cannot be relied on. There are shortages of food, other items, water and electricity. There can be large gaps in supply and that the need to be able to improvise is tantamount. I ask If any of them have any dietary foibles. There are a couple of vegetarians and one man who says that he eats only kosher food. I say to him they he needs to put aside his religious superstitions about how food is prepared and that the vegetarians need to get real. Where they are going ANY food is food and dietary foibles will be seen as insulting to the hungry and to the starving. They must get these quirks out of their system. Furthermore, they must make sure that they eat and remain well because if they become malnourished and weak they will be of no use to those they seek to help.

They are in high spirits. From this moment on the group will be catering for itself. There are no longer canteen meals. In front of me is a large cardboard box containing food items. I explain that these are their rations for the next few days and that they need to plan how to use them and use them well because no other supplies are forthcoming. They start to look what is in the box. There are potatoes, rice, vegetables, pulses and a number of whole ungutted chickens. They start to pull these out and to inspect them. I say they need to figure out some kind of catering roster and menus. They discuss without conclusion. There is a lot of faffing about.

There is a large black man there and he and I say that we will get them started with a dish for tonight. But after we have put it on the stove it is down to them to watch it, finish it and serve it. We knock up a stew using some of the potatoes and vegetables with a chicken. The stew is in a large saucepan in the large catering kitchen of the facility. We hand it over to others knowing full well that they are distracted and pissing about. The dinner will burn and they will go hungry. This will be their first lesson.

Meanwhile someone finds a fishing rod on top of a supply Land Rover and is convinced that he will fish for our suppers. I suggest to him that in the semi-desert there are not many well stocked rivers or fishponds.

Two young near children arrive on horseback. The big guy and I lead them into the stable and help them to remove the tack. We place it on wooden “fences” enclosing the horse stalls. We check if we have done it right. We have.

We go back to the canteen, and the food is burned. There are many recriminations. I say to them that they need to get their shit together or sending them off into Africa will be a complete disaster.

I then look at an Excel spreadsheet of their names. Two of the people on the list are travelling incognito. One is down as an unnamed Jehovah’s Witness, and another is without any name or affiliation. It is understood that he is from a high value background and could become a kidnap risk if his background became known. K is on the list and has turned up. I warn them not to be stupid and to try stirring things.

I turn to everyone and say that the start has been very poor indeed. If this continues, I will be unable to let them go because that would be a waste of the charity’s money. They are a bit of a shit show and not up to scratch.

The dream ends and I note that the dream is a change of subject and moving on from that covered in more recent dreams.

South Kensington Bank – KGB – Dream 08-10-2025

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Here is this morning’s dream. Where this came from I do not know.

The dream opens in a small plush bank very near South Kensington tube station. It is a private bank and the sense is it is for the well and ultra-well heeled. It has a distinctly Russian flavour and a faint whiff of oligarch. I am talking with a cash teller about some different kinds of account. She is slick and very professional. Her English is crisp-perfect and she is immaculate. I feel at home and safe. As usual the posh circumstance does not faze me. She gives me some literature to look at. As I go to leave a man in his thirties who works at the bank starts to engage me in conversation. He looks physically fit and his stance is “fighting” balanced. He continues to probe about me and my business.

I ask him , “KGB?”

He pauses to think and then says, “Yes, well not quite, something similar, more modern.” As he says this he allows a faint Russian accent to show. We smile in good spirits and I leave the bank.

I know that I will recognise him if I ever see him again.

I return some time later with a tall woman with dark hair. She is expensively dressed and partially eastern European. We go into the bank and I help arrange various financial currency instruments to be cashed, if needed, in global locations when she is on her travels. There is a sense that sanctions against Russia have made this more tricky. We leave the bank and are followed by thick set big man well over six feet. He has a very expensive lather jacket and close cropped blond hair. He has a ruddy face and I know that he is fond of a good piss up.

We head off down towards the tube station. He is behind us. As we are going down the stairs we are met by another Russian coming up the stairs. He stands in front of the woman and sort of ushers her back upstairs like a sheep. I draw a telescopic police baton and open it. The man on the stairs pauses. She looks at me and by gesture says for me to desist. These men are known to her. They work for her “father”. We all go upstairs to a large car / limousine waiting on the road. She is ushered in to the back seat. I go to join her but the leather jacket man says no. I am not to worry they and she will be in contact with me soon. All sense of tension has evaporated.

I head off to the tube station collapsing the telescopic baton as I do. As I go down the steps into the station I make a note in the dream to avoid London like the plague and to stay well away from South Kensington in particular.

The dream ends.

As I come to I am reminded of when I walked into a commercial posh bank in Kensington ~25 years ago. I was dressed as per usual in black Levis’ and a polo shirt. I said that I wanted to open an account. They were pretty sceptical. I said that we had just raised  £5 million start-up funds. They ushered me into a posh office for a coffee and metaphorical BJ. In an instant their tone had changed.

On waking I have an intuition that should anyone intervene personally with me it is most likely to be the Russians.

Flying – Shot At – Antique Rifle Dream – 02-10-2025

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Here is this morning’s dream. It is the first flying dream that I have had in a very long time. Previously a long while ago I was able to direct the flying as one might in a lucid dreaming scenario. I quickly realised that this, although pleasant, was not dreaming proper.

The dream opens on a grassy hillside looking out over verdant countryside. The hill is a part of a range of hills rising out of a very flat farming countryside, a patchwork of fields. It is UK or Northern Europe. The sun is low in the sky, East. It is not long after dawn and there is a dew on the grass. I am enjoying the morning sun on my face. It is morning and I am very much alive because of it. I feel the breeze blowing towards the South along the range of hills.

I lean into the breeze and allow it to lift me. I am soaring on the breeze like wearing a wing suit though much lighter in feel and slower of velocity. I can soar like a raptor, a condor on the thermals at the edge of the range of hills. I am dressed in my normal combats and a Berghaus fleece. My hair has grown. I bank towards the East.

There is a brief interlude in which I look down on Sicily from an altitude of space. I can see the geographic contours of the island as per a map.

I am now back on the wind flying around a hundred metres or so above the hillside. I notice stones and bullets starting to whizz by me. Someone is taking pot shots. I land behind a small rocky outcrop. Down on the flat land behind a dry stone wall I can see two old Land Rovers in khaki. There are men with slingshots and modern black semi-automatic rifles shooting at me.

I find my antique rifle which has a wooden body, the wood is a burnished chestnut colour, it is bolt action and has a small magazine. It has a telescopic sight. It is a hunting or sniper rifle. I hold the trigger grip in my right hand and bring my left eye to the sight. I can clearly see the men behind the wall. I fire a shot and notice it is slightly off where I am aiming. I adjust the sight and remember that the bullets are low calibre, there is not much of a recoil. I use my right hand to operate the bolt action. I then get various members of the party with their heads  in the sight. I know that I could easily kill them. Instead I aim a shot at the top of the stone wall. It strikes between two of the men. They recoil and duck. I repeat the action between two more of the men. The men are now all down behind the wall. They run for the cars and drive off. As they do this I shoot one of the cargo rails on top of the rear Land Rover. I can hear the metal on metal from where I am. I place the rifle on the floor and launch back into flight.

This time I soar higher and can see the cars winding down the country roads. I am enjoying myself considerably in the morning sunshine. On a hillside in the middle distance I can see my wife sat meditating. In front of her drying in the sun are a t-shirt and her combat style sweat pants. I fly over to look at her. She is wearing a full shawl. She is not yet ready to fully take flight. By mid-afternoon she will be ready. I will come back for her then. I head off towards the sea. I know some ocean cliffs there where I can be with the seabirds for a while.

The dream ends.

The Cormorant Totem – Morvran – Morfran – Bilidowcar

~ quantumdreamer ~ Leave a comment

“Cormorant is a contraction probably derived from Latin corvus marinus, “sea raven”; in the early 19th century, the similarly derived spelling “corvorant” was sometimes used. Cormoran is the Cornish name of the sea giant in the tale of Jack the Giant Killer. Indeed, “sea raven” or analogous terms were the usual terms for cormorants in Germanic languages until after the Middle Ages. The French explorer André Thévet commented in 1558: “the beak [is] similar to that of a cormorant or other corvid”, which demonstrates that the erroneous belief that the birds were related to ravens lasted at least to the 16th century.”

Of late we have had a cormorant on the bank of the pond between it and the river. Today there were two, they looked to be a breeding pair. At the same time heron the larger has been in the water. The heron is more nervous than the cormorants who must be Breton morvran. Having a pair in the garden is a first for us. I can get within twenty metres when they are on land. They just watch me. The heron would have flown off if I get that close. Cormorants fly better than herons and take off is quicker.

I should look to the cormorant totem.

Cormorants are diving birds at home in water and air. They dive deep into the watery depths. They co-parent. They shit good fertilizer. The Chinese train them to fish for them. They are at the smart end of the bird family.

Depending on whom you read this totem is about diving deep into the unknown confident that you will find morsels there. It is about looking deeper for solutions and answers. Looking deeper to fathom more profound meaning. It also about balancing air and water.

I am a little bit puzzled because it is tricky for me to imagine something which is far into the unknown for me. Perhaps I am blasé. I have had some experiences that many might consider strange, weird etc…

At first pass whatever it is that might be unknown seems likely to be proximal unknown as opposed to distal unknown. That is the sort of unknown which lies well within the normal remit of human folly and various sociopolitical interaction. There may be unexpected but that can differ from completely unknown.

Personally I have no pressing things which need to be solved. I am not in need of answers or explanations.

Upcoming on the cards is, for now, still my hip operation. This could bring up something unknown from the depths and need hidden reserves from me. I am due another prostate specific antigen test and a whole heap of preoperative blood tests. I expect that my iron levels will have increased a bit more in line with the general rustiness of my body.

An obvious unknown or rather a forgotten might be living without pain in my right hip.

The thing about the unknown is that it is by definition unknown. The deep unknown lies close in perceptual “space” to the unknowable. That would be an interesting turn up for the books. I am game.

Something which is just another unfamiliar variant of human folly is the more likely.

We shall see…