Category: South – Unknown

Tower – Blue Throne – Biskelion – Ratatouille Dream – 30-03-2026

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Here is this morning’s dream. It is a kind of dream which I have not had for a while.

I am in an open topped sports car with Chris a dreaming Scholar. I am driving. It is right hand drive. The car is almost classic American in scale and is large. We are driving around a light coloured stone town / village on a windy hilly road, in a warm Southern Mediterranean setting on an Island. Think Crete Sicily or Malta. We wind up hill and into a ruins complex where once there were fortifications, a castle even. We come upon an isolated erect stone tower in the ruins it is cylindrical and tens of metres tall. It is 10-15 metres in diameter. There is an open arch come doorway at the foot of the tower. We park up and Chris and I go to look inside the tower.

Suspended above our heads in free space is a large blue chair come throne. It is large enough for two normal backsides. It has pins holding the blue fabric upholstery in place all along the edges of the seat. It has curved carved feet “Louis XIV” and some similar detail on the back. It is a thing of cost and of beauty. It is just sat there suspended in a soft down coming light. It is some kind of throne in a tower which we are looking at.

 Our perspective rotates and we can wee the throne from all angles below and at the same height as the throne.

The scene changes and I can see in full visual field what can be described as a two pronged triskelion. It has two “propeller blades” each with a dog leg. It is a biskelion. The shaft of the “blade” is black the dog leg metallic silver grey. It has to it an inherent sense of rotation, clockwise.

The scene changes and I am alfresco at a stove come worktop under a rough twig roof on a patio of sort. Below downhill I can see the sea. On my tiled workplace I have a chef’s “mis en place” of chopped onions, courgettes, yellow peppers and garlic. There are plump lush dark red Mediterranean plum tomatoes. I slice these into large “paysan” lumps. I have a wide brimmed, well used by its colour, frying pan on the stove. I add a splash of virgin olive oil and allow it to heat and swirl. I can see a small terracotta dish with pine nuts in and another with capers. I am going to be making a tomato rich ratatouille like dish with a pesto twist. There are also some shelled green pistachio nuts.

The dream ends.

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My Disappearance – Navalny –  Big Cheese – Cairo – South Kensington Dream – 28-03-2026

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Here is this morning’s dream again with little or no obvious connection to real life here yesterday which we spent wallpapering.

The dream opens in England in and around London. Some kind of missive has gone out, been circulated, concerning my whereabouts. I have gone missing, disappeared and cannot be contacted. Nobody seems to know where I am nor how to get in touch. Tim, Tom and Susan are involved in the search all of whom are “important”. Tim and Sue have made inquiries concerning me but are unsatisfied with the answers. “He just disappeared” does not explain. Other people from the academic clan are involved in the investigation and some of them were known to me. Those involved are mostly of a similar age to me, like Paula, my peer group. Though there are others. The inquiry is largely London based. Although not huge there are questions to be answered that just won’t go away. There is a pendant question of “where did Alan disappear to and why?” There is very mild press and media interest brewing. They, the inquirers, don’t like loose ends. There is a time pressure to solve.

The scene changes and I am in a brightly lit wood / forest with Alexeï Navalny. It is a crisp winter morning and the cold makes dragon’s breath of our breathing. We are sat at a small very basic table on two old-school school chairs. On the table is an open bottle of vodka and two small glass tumblers each of which is partially filled. There is a small plate of gherkins and a large cheese in a round wood circular box like a Camembert. Navalny lifts the lid off the box and places the wax paper wrapped cheese onto a wooden cutting board. He gets a hunting knife out of an ankle scabbard and proceeds to cut the cheese into wedges. He pauses and we take a sip of our vodkas. He is discussing how cheeses can cause problems for other people. All his problems have come from upsetting big cheeses. When you think about it, it is nearly always people who are cheeses that cause problems for others. The reason we are in the wilderness, in exile, is cheese. Navalny reaches down into his knapsack and pulls out a rough-hewn rye bread. He says that he likes vodka, cheese and bread.

The scene changes and I pull up in my car into a very smart posh area of Cairo. The cars in the car park are all expensive and I am driving a black one. I get out and know that this is the posh, upmarket financial centre of Cairo. As yet it is not busy. I go into an upmarket “private” bank usually for high net worth individuals. It is well swish. I go to reception and am ushered off into a side room where I have a meeting with an expensively dressed woman who is wearing a hijab of fine expensive material. She is very classy. She has attached between her subtle noise piercing and ear a fine golden chain. She speaks very good accent free English. She wants to know why I want to open a bank account with them in Cairo. I say that my other bank and utilities have given my information out to others without asking my permission. They have done so at the request of others without checking with me first. This includes my bank in Paris. I am looking for a more personal and reliable service, based on trust. We shift into speaking French. She guides me though the application form which she fills in with a beautiful fountain pen. She says that the bank is very pleased to have me as a customer and that I will always be welcome in Cairo. Outside in the main marble hall of the bank customers are coming in.

The scene changes and I am in a kitchen of a British house. It is my parents’ house only it looks nothing like . The place is a bit of a mess, a shit tip. On the counter top is a Gaggia style coffee espresso machine. I make myself a coffee and one for the wife. She is with me but  I cannot see her. We drink the coffee.

The scene now changes to South Kensington. In a kind of arcade is a coffee shop come café. It is very urban, chic and trendy. Sat around the table are those ~ a decade younger than me. They are gossiping about me. There are Jason Laura and Camilla. They too have been wondering about my disappearance. There has been a lot of gossip and tittle tattle. It is a hot topic.

I walk in with the wife and sit down at the far end of a long table from them They looked surprised. I explain that they have been making a huge to-do about not a lot. I have not disappeared they have just not been aware of where I have been. For instance, we have not long come from South Wales where we have been drinking coffee at my parents’ house. I say that they have turned the whole thing into a massive spy-whodunnit-drama. They are embarrassed. It is well out of proportion.

The dream ends.

Bhagavān Institute – Found  – Wembley – Radio – Card – Dream – 22-03-2026

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Here is this morning’s dream

The dream opens in a kind of school assembly hall with a stage and parquet flooring. The stage has theatre stye floor to ceiling curtains. In the main body of the hall are several people milling around. It is a kind of “spiritual” gathering. Marshalling them is a young man who is tall with a white granddad collarless shirt buttoned at the neck. He has long shiny jet black hair and is of a slightly tanned complexion. Each person is sharing their story of how they came to be upon a spiritual journey. I am talking with a young man about his start and it was via martial arts. I explain to him that I first started Zen meditation is karate class sat in seiza.

The man with the hair says, “what shall we call this gathering and that which is to follow?”

I say the Bagvaan {phonetically} Institute. In the dream I know that the spelling has an H also and is Bhag-van. I know that it is a term used in some Buddhist texts.

He thinks that the term refers to us and the society / institutions to follow. I know in the dream that Bhagavān refers to me. The reason that people will come is for me. He does not yet understand that it is I who will organise and bring life.

In the audience / gathering is a younger woman perhaps early forties. She is expensively dressed with dark hair and her bare stocking feet look incongruous against her business suit. She comes over to me and says, “I am so pleased to have finally found you.” She starts to tear up. I reach out to hug her. She withdraws. I explain that I wish to protect her because that is what we elephants do. She lets me hug her and she sobs into my shoulder. The sobs are considerable. She calms. She reminds me of an Australian Southerly Stalker I once knew.

The scene changes and we are in her car driving into North London. The gathering has been in the home counties. We have given another member of the gathering, a man, a lift and will drop him off at a tube station, Wembley Central. On the radio there is a talk programme in which I am mentioned in connection with the growing Bhagavān Institute(s) popping up all over. This is followed by a song in which Bhagavān is the theme.

We get to the tube station and I go in with the man to ensure he knows how to use the ticket machines. He is not British. I show him how to use the machine by putting some coins in and pressing a button. Out of the ticket hole a series of introduction / business cards starts to rapidly pile up like cards in a casino card dispenser shoe. They come out of the machine to make a deck of business cards with my name on and Bhagavān Institute address details. The song from the car is playing over the tube station loudspeaker address system.

The dream ends.

  • I am unsure as to whether to publish the dream or to keep it back. In the end I decide to publish it to go with the flow and see what might happen. I am aware of possible consequences. Where did that come from? Out of the blue.

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Bhagavān, nominative singular of the adjective Bhagavat, literally means “fortunate”, “blessed” (from the noun bhaga, meaning “fortune”, “wealth”), and hence “illustrious”, “divine”, “venerable”, “holy”, etc. Bhagavān is related to the root Bhaj (भज्, “to revere”, “adore”), and implies someone “glorious”, “illustrious”, “revered”, “venerable”, “divine”, “holy” (an epithet applied to gods, holy or respectable personages). The root Bhaj also means “share with”, “partake of”, “aportion”.

The Vishnu Purana defines Bhagavān as follows,

He who understands the creation and dissolution, the appearance and disappearance of beings, the wisdom and ignorance, should be called Bhagavān.

— Vishnu Purana, VI.5.78

Catamaran – Laugharne – Brown Dog – Kangaroo – Closed Door Dream 20-03-2026

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Here is last night’s dream it seems to point at a change in the direction of the wind.

The dream opens abord a small catamaran sailing vessel equipped with an outboard motor. The main hull would accommodate maybe four people sleeping. It is well looked after, all ship shape and Bristol fashion. The tarpaulins out to the rider sub-hulls are deep blue and stretched taught. We are moving under motor into a small marina where there are leisure craft of varying size and expense. It is a bright sunny day  and we are pulling in under the guidance of one of the port team who has come abord to pilot. She is dressed in smart “sailing” fashion and has long chestnut brown hair which is shiny.  She is young. As we approach the pontoon I jump off and tie off. The pilot leaves us and waves. The wife disembarks. We are working our way along the South Wales coast to Carmarthen and Laugharne. We have now been cleared to use the port by the harbour captain. We make our way along the pontoons towards the town. We are met by a chocolate brown athletic labrador retriever, thinner than your normal labrador and very enthusiastic. I know she is called Holly.

The scene changes and we are again entering the same port. The weather is less sunny. As we disembark and go towards town we see Holly waiting for us. She has been in the water and is dripping wet. Something has happened to Holly she does not look quite so well and vibrant. She is nevertheless enthusiastic in her greeting. I must get something out of the water. I throw in a fishing hand line and pull out a metre long thin eel like fish. It is very unusual like a Chinese dragon with long whiskers and a beard. It is not a dragon; it is a fish. I hold it up in my right hand and it curls itself around my arm. It is like a loosely coiled spring. Crossing between pontoons I can see a small “red” kangaroo. It is hopping on one leg the left one and holding the other one over its shoulder with its arms. I can see multiple surgery stiches along the inside length of the leg and up into the groin. The kangaroo seems completely unbothered by carrying its leg. We proceed into town. We know that this port is only a stepping stone as we are heading towards Carmarthen and Laugharne, maybe even further into Pembrokeshire.

The scene changes and we are in a car approaching a city centre car park. As we get nearer the way is partially blocked by a very large old style Range Rover. It won’t let us into the the lane for the main car park entrance. I note a smaller lane for the car park ground floor. I squeeze the right hand drive UK car past the Range Rover. When we approach the barrier I get out and press a red “stop-like” button which protrudes. An attendant comes out and gives me a key on the end of a yellow stretchy coiled lanyard. The lanyard has the consistency of electric cable but is stretchy and spring-like. The lanyard is about 50 cm long. I go to the control panel for then barrier and open it with the key. I put the key in my pocket. The barrier rises and we enter the car park. The barrier closes behind us. The Range Rover driver watches mildly pissed off.

We get out of the car and try to leave the car park via the ground floor Ladies toilets. Outside the cubicles there are two men, they are security services types. I go to try the door where I know the door to be. The door is locked shut and has been wall-papered over. I cannot find the handle nor the lock. I know that the door is there behind the wall paper which the security men have covered it with. They find it very funny that I cannot open the door. I look to the side of the door to the normal toilet entrance door which appears also to be locked. I see the vague outline of a door in the wall and press upon it with my fingers and the secret door swings open directly into a main corridor of a swish shopping mall. We go through the door and it closes behind us.

In the dream I think that closed doors always simplify things.

The dream ends…

South Korea – Quantum Perimeter – Dream 13-03-2026

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Here is this morning’s dream the subject matter of which is out of the blue.

The dream opens on a bright sunny morning in a campus like estate with mid-rise modern buildings. It is “Singapore” clean and tidy. Many young people are milling around. They are smartly dressed and of mostly of East Asian appearance. The place is alive and buzzing. There is a sense of hurry and of purpose. From the signage and the writing thereupon I can tell that we are in South Korea at a hybrid university – business – technology campus of which Samsung is a major part. The logo is present but not dominant. The young people are well dressed and there is a sense of going to work. I have been invited there.

I notice that there is a lack of coffee shops and other outlets at ground level in the architect designed garden spaces. In the distance I can see a small kiosk come shop attached to the corner of one of the low rise buildings. I make my way there. For some reason I want to buy some cigarettes {I have not smoked in quite a while}. Looking through the window I cannot at first see any Marlboro Gold. I go inside the shop and ask if they have any Marlboro Gold. The man serving is an Asian man of a similar age to me. He is balding and has slightly unruly hair. He says in accent less {to me} English that he thinks he has some somewhere. I check my wallet and only have a limited amount of local currency. He finds some Marlboro Gold and brings them over to the counter. He gets the card payment machine and I make a payment using my dark blue French bank card. He then hands me the change, which is in the form of five gold coins, two of these are about four centimetres in diameter and three of these are about six centimetres. They fall on the counter in the form of the Olympic rings logo. The hue of the golden coins is slightly reddish like Welsh gold. This he says is the change and he hands me a packet of Marlboro Gold which contains fifty cigarettes. He says that these are all he has left, packets of fifty, and that they are especially for me. The coins morph into chocolate biscuits enclosed in a golden foil wrapper. I am able to eat the gold / golden covered biscuits if I want. I note again that there are five of them. I take out a velvet old school drawstring pouch-purse and pop the coins in. I pull the drawstring to and slip the bag in my pocket. I pick up the cigarettes and leave. There is a tremendous sense of confraternity with the man in the shop. We have known each other and do recognise each other. We bid farewell.

I am now upstairs at some trade delegation put on by the Korean government – university – incubator committee. It is top-notch with servers in traditional Korean costume. The buffet to one side is gourmet and presented with a marked attention to detail. There are a lot of “suits” there and the organisers are encouraging networking and deal making. I start having a conversation with a local big cheese and his wife. I am commenting that I find the spoken Korean language quite easy on the ear. It has a nice sound to it. In the dream I realise that I am actually talking Korean which the woman in particular finds very funny. She hides her mouth with her hand to chuckle. We return to English speaking. She wants to know if my wife is OK with the idea of moving to South Korea. I say that we have not discussed it yet but that the Korean woman can meet with her if she would like. There is a sense that they work to ensure the whole family is on board.

The scene changes and I am walking along a corridor in a low rise research institute. It has ceiling to floor glass windows and looks out onto the campus. The corridor leads to a  café come hang-out space. I am walking and talking with a man in a white coat who is some kind of prof / scientist. We are in the “Quantum Perimeter Institute” which is a specially funded new initiative here in South Korea. I know that in the basement there are a number of very high specification laser laboratories. To the side of the building is a purpose built refrigeration / cryogenic plant. It is high specification and can handle huge loads. We are talking about a theoretician, a recently recruited quantum specialist. The professor is suggesting that I work with him. I can add the experimental know how to his ideas.

In the dream I know that I am at the Quantum Perimeter Institute because of my left field and unorthodox thinking about some of the esoteric implications adjunct to quantum science.

We continue to walk down the corridor towards the smell of coffee.

The dream ends.

Beth Evans – Female Civil Disobedience – Aussie Sausage Dream 21-02-2026

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Here is last night’s dreaming sequence. As a background I was thinking about wrapping up my foray into online family tree search this morning.

Around four AM this morning after I had gone back to sleep and taken some ibuprofen for my back. I was deeply asleep. Out of nowhere and with a clear insistence the name “Beth Evans” came to the fore of consciousness. It was specifically Beth and specifically Evans. The clarity was marked. I noted it and resolved to remember. In the dream I wondered if it referred to the Evans branch of the family of my maternal grandmother.

After a while of permanence, it drifts off.

The scene now changes to a large female led civil protest in a US city. There are women of all ages but they are mostly 30-40. They are of all ethnicities and they carry placards. They are protesting against the “macho” policing of immigration and the gun boat jack boot coercive “diplomacy” overseas where threat of violence is used. Bullying. The woman have had enough. They chant that it is small cock diplomacy. The women everywhere have had enough of this toxic “masculinity” of the right wing nationalists. Which is fear based. They are disobeying orders not to march. Parts of the protest movement are found popping up over the world.

In Australia the protesters wave sausages alongside their placards. The sausages are meant to indicate penises. It is known in the press as “the Aussie sausage protest”. The trend catches on and female protesters start to wave sausages at all their anti-jack-boot – enforcement protests.

In France there are protests against the right wing anti-immigration movement too. The women also wave sausages. I meet some women coming away from a protest in the local town. They are carrying sausages. I jokily ask if they are Aussie. They are and have emigrated here. They have been lending a hand and a sausage to the local protesters, their sisters.

Later there is a gathering with long tables and I am sat near these Aussie women. There is a gingham table cloth and food. I chat to them and explain that I am an “honorary” Aussie of a sort because of my time at the Isa.

The dream ends and I resolve to look into Beth Evans later today.

Tremendous Mess – Shenanigans – Disbelief Dream 20-02-2026

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Here is last night’s dream. It follows on from yesterday. I have been unable to recall all the detail partially because I am not interested or inclined so to do. It is boring that this mess theme keeps coming back. I have made a note.

I am in a large old style house which has been converted into flats. I am in a flat which has a passing similarity to the one I had in Brixton. James is there with me in the kitchen and we are talking about his huge mess. There is a ring on the doorbell and Ashley is there with Camilla, they have been on a date despite the fact that Ashley is still married. They want to come in. It is raining very heavily outside. Everyone except me is highly emotional, charged.

I want to know why they have been on a date and it has to do with mess, the tremendous mess they caused concerning me. I say that I am not interested. I want to know why they thought they needed to tell me.

It gets a bit sketchy here. Then.

Ashley starts moving around the flat demonstrating that everything I have is second hand and does not really work well. He tries the gas cooker and the lighting function takes ages to work. He says that I am poor and that he cannot understand why that should be the case because I founded a technology company and raised a lot of money. It should not be like this. It does not make sense to him it is not fair in his eyes. I say that it is what it is.

I note that Camilla is in fact quite drunk. She has been in shenanigans with Ashley somehow. People have been inquiring about my past and that is why James has also cropped up. I know that they have both driven to my flat in their respective Mercedes cars. I tell Ashley that he must drive her home and I come back in with the steering wheel from Camilla’s car with the Mercedes logo on which I have removed. He argues. So I head butt him and he falls to the ground. I say that he needs to be real and to take responsibility.

He gets up and continues to find fault with my poor circumstance. He is being derogatory and negative. In the end they go off in his car. They then return and Ashley makes a dramatic entrance through the French windows. He makes an entrance through the net curtains against the heavy rain backdrop. He says that he has been talking with Susan S. who is also a party to this tremendous and far reaching mess. I can sense Susan through him. I can see her.

I say that it is late and that he had better take Camilla home and then drop James off at his flat which is just off the South circular. I say that I am bored with all the drama and that not everything has to make sense…

As I awake I think. “oh shit, not yet another dream with somebody else’s mess in!!”

Malta German – Cat – South African Problem – Rand Account – Dream 19-02-2026

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Here are last night’s dreams. They are thematically divergent from the recent flow.

The wife and I are in Malta. We are wandering around a built up area with alleys off the main street it is possibly Valetta. We are looking for somewhere to have lunch. Down a side alley I see a chalked up slate easel menu board. We go to investigate. There is a Germanic old-school style café with pastries in the window, a bar and a few tables. The patron is a tall man with a white low apron and is sporting a full moustache. We look at the menu and go in. I go up to the counter and start to try to order in German. I am looking for a sausage in a long roll. There are several kinds. The man is very happy that I am trying German. In a mixture of mostly German and some English I complete my order, the wife orders in English. Soon the host comes over to our table with our food. Again we try German. It gets easier but I still cannot remember the German for sausage. The host is very happy with me and effusive.

I come to and I too am very happy, inordinately, that I was able to remember German in the dream. The word wurst comes to me and it makes me laugh. It is weird to be so happy about remembering German.

I drift back off and am in a veranda of sorts it is like a pod off the side of a house, with many facets, more sides than a hexagon. I don’t know whose veranda it is. Outside the garden runs down to a small river or brook. The veranda is in a bit of disrepair. The glass panels do not fit well. Outside on the window ledges is a cat. It is trying to get in to the veranda. As it moves to a gap in the window panes I readjust the panes so it cannot get it. This becomes something of a game between me and the cat. There will always be a gap because of the state of repair. We play this game for a long time.

I come to and wonder if the dream is pointing at some practical tasks that keep cropping up.

I drift off and am now in an office which is quite serious. I am looking at some paper work about extensive legal problems someone is having in South Africa. That person James cannot do anything about these problems whereas I might. The documentation is extensive and it is about a debt that he and others ran up. There are also share certificates and summons from courts. It is a huge mess and the paper trail is very extensive. There is a lawyer there who asks if I would like to help out. It looks like a minefield but I have the power to assist. I may be able to pay the fines to at least deal with the court summons. James is unaware of the dire situation he is in and the consequences thereof. He is not taking it seriously.

The scene changes and I am at an outside event with barbecues and an entertainment stage. Cars are parked around pub garden tables. It feels UK. There are people using the brai to cook. I have a sudden urge for an ice cream from one of the vans. I order one and go to pay. I cannot find my wallet. The man said I may have dropped it last night when I was drunk. I look on the floor in front of the van and find several wallets and several torches which I put on the ice cream van counter. One of them is my normal wallet. It is soaking wet. I open it and it is jammed full of pristine South African rand, mostly of high denomination. I peel off a few notes and hand the man a R80 note. Which he takes. He asks me about what I am going to do with all my dormant South African bank accounts. Many or which are full and could be filled from other South African sources. I say that I was planning on closing them down. He is now speaking in an Afrikaans accent and suggests that I let them fill up for a while and then decide what to do. If the account wants to fill with money where is the harm in that. I say to him that money and by extension power are not currently how I live. They seem distant. He laughs and say that despite this I still have a wallet crammed full of pristine soaking wet rand!!

The dream ends.

Gateway to the Nagual’s World – South the place of Dreaming

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In my case, don Juan wanted an omen before he taught me the ritual. That omen came when don Juan and I were driving through a border town in Arizona and a policeman stopped me. The policeman thought I was an illegal alien. Only after I had shown him my passport, which he suspected of being a forgery, and other documents, did he let me go. Don Juan had been in the front seat next to me all the time, and the policeman had not given him a second glance. He had focused solely on me. Don Juan thought the incident was the omen he was waiting for.

His interpretation of it was that it would be very dangerous for me to call attention to myself, and he concluded that my world had to be one of utter simplicity and candor – elaborate ritual and pomp were out of character for me. He conceded, however, that a minimal observance of ritualistic patterns was in order when I made my acquaintance with his warriors. I had to begin by approaching them from the south, because that is the direction that power follows in its ceaseless flux. Life force flows to us from the south, and leaves us flowing toward the north. He said that the only opening to a Nagual’s world was through the south, and that the gate was made by two female warriors, who would have to greet me and would let me go through if they so decided.

He took me to a town in central Mexico, to a house in the countryside. As we approached it on foot from a southerly direction, I saw two massive Indian women standing four feet apart, facing each other. They were about thirty or forty feet away from the main door of the house, in an area where the dirt was hard-packed. The two women were extraordinarily muscular and stern. Both had long, jet-black hair held together in a single thick braid. They looked like sisters. They were about the same height and weight – I figured that they must have been around five feet four, and weighed 150 pounds. One of them was extremely dark, almost black, the other much lighter. They were dressed like typical Indian women from central Mexico – long, full dresses and shawls, homemade sandals.

Don Juan made me stop three feet from them. He turned to the woman on our left and made me face her. He said that her name was Cecilia and that she was a dreamer. He then turned abruptly, without giving me time to say anything, and made me face the darker woman, to our right. He said that her name was Delia and that she was a stalker. The women nodded at me. They did not smile or move to shake hands with me, or make any gesture of welcome. Don Juan walked between them as if they were two columns marking a gate. He took a couple of steps and turned as if waiting for the women to invite me to go through. The women stared at me calmly for a moment. Then Cecilia asked me to come in, as if I were at the threshold of an actual door.

Don Juan led the way to the house. At the front door we found a man. He was very slender. At first sight he looked extremely young, but on closer examination he appeared to be in his late fifties. He gave me the impression of being an old child: small, wiry, with penetrating dark eyes. He was like an elfish apparition, a shadow. Don Juan introduced him to me as Emilito, and said that he was his courier and all-around helper, who would welcome me on his behalf.

It seemed to me that Emilito was indeed the most appropriate being to welcome anyone. His smile was radiant; his small teeth were perfectly even. He shook hands with me, or rather he crossed his forearms and clasped both my hands. He seemed to be exuding enjoyment; anyone would have sworn that he was ecstatic in meeting me. His voice was very soft and his eyes sparkled.

We walked into a large room. There was another woman there. Don Juan said that her name was Teresa and that she was Cecilia’s and Delia’s courier. She was perhaps in her early thirties, and she definitely looked like Cecilia’s daughter. She was very quiet but very friendly. We followed don Juan to the back of the house, where there was a roofed porch.

It was a warm day. We sat there around a table, and after a frugal dinner we talked until after midnight. Emilito was the host. He charmed and delighted everyone with his exotic stories. The women opened up. They were a great audience for him. To hear the women’s laughter was an exquisite pleasure. They were tremendously muscular, bold, and physical. At one point, when Emilito said that Cecilia and Delia were like two mothers to him, and Teresa like a daughter, they picked him up and tossed him in the air like a child.

Of the two women, Delia seemed the more rational, down- to-earth. Cecilia was perhaps more aloof, but appeared to have greater inner strength. She gave me the impression of being more intolerant, or more impatient; she seemed to get annoyed with some of Emilito’s stories. Nonetheless, she was definitely on the edge of her chair when he would tell what he called his “tales of eternity.” He would preface every story with the phrase, ‘Do you, dear friends, know that. . . ?’

The story that impressed me most was about some creatures that he said existed in the universe, who were the closest thing to human beings without being human; creatures who were obsessed with movement and capable of detecting the slightest fluctuation inside themselves or around them. These creatures were so sensitive to motion that it was a curse to them. It gave them such pain that their ultimate ambition was to find quietude. Emilito would intersperse his tales of eternity with the most outrageous dirty jokes. Because of his incredible gifts as a raconteur, I understood every one of his stories as a metaphor, a parable, with which he was teaching us something.

 Don Juan said that Emilito was merely reporting about things he had witnessed in his journeys through eternity. The role of a courier was to travel ahead of the Nagual, like a scout in a military operation. Emilito went to the limits of the second attention, and whatever he witnessed he passed on to the others.

—————–

From “The Eagle’s Gift” by Carlos Castaneda, Part Three.

  • The gate to our property is in the South. Currently there is a beat up Citroen there…

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

~ quantumdreamer ~ Leave a comment

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.