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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How Are Things Shaping Up?

It will be three weeks tomorrow after the operation.

I can walk unaided a bit now. My energy levels are still a tad low. I have lost about 5kg. I am still not sleeping properly and the dreaming is not back. Tomorrow or the next day the hospital bed goes back. The residual evidence will be crutches and a filling bio-hazard sharps box. I can’t sleep on my operated side yet and wake up to lower back pain. I am off the sleeping tablets and my opiate intake is very low, only light nocturnal. I am due to go to the workplace of the physiotherapist by car early next week instead of having home visits. I will be driving.

The days are long and the relatively sleepless nights longer. I may be back in the garden and on the DIY again soon. I anticipate ongoing interrupted sleep. I do not yet see an obvious end to this.

It is pretty clear that the hip functionality will continue to improve. Many things are already easier than before. There is a novelty factor. I’ll speculate that the movement will become limited by my other arthritic left hip in due course. I will be able to do more than one kilometre walks on the beach relatively soon. I should be significantly more physically able than before.

The rather weird dreaming about arcane scripts perhaps can be explained by my watching of “A Discovery of Witches”. The Tibetan thread is fizzling out. To me it is no big deal. I am accustomed to things like this. Nothing usually happens as a result. There is no inclination to follow up on the physical plane. Like so many times before dream content fades into the nebulousness from whence it came.

The feeling is that whatever it was that may or may not have been going on before is simply fizzling out. In my mind I am envisaging more of the same cook-garden-DIY vibe and not a lot else. It seems that this is the future scope moving forward into next year.  I do not anticipate anything non mundane, nothing overly unusual. Though we did have a ‘phone call from a withheld number yesterday.

I can apply for permission from the French authorities to stay soon. I have the documents ready and should the application progress I will have an interview at the prefecture in the big town sometime early next year.

I am due to see the surgeon in January and he may pencil in phase 2.

It is all shaping up to be much of the same…though more physically able and with much lower waking pain levels.

Not Going to America Then…

Because of the hip operation and ongoing recovery I have a fair bit of time on my hands. The media report that Trump has started a consultation process about the possible need for additional information on the ESTA system. {see below}.

There will of course be an added administrative burden.

I can be seen as critical about US policy and the goings on in Palestine.

Were I to consider going to the USA there is a very good chance that any application would be rejected as I am not sufficiently “fond” of things.

If the consultation approves the suggestions it will make any attempt to gain entry very unattractive. Not sure what that will do for the world cup and Olympics.

The data will fulfil a profiling requirement. Good luck to anyone who reads my blogs from the last five years. I am currently not living in a designated “shithole” country. This level of data is compatible with mid-level security vetting. It is a bit OTT.

The obvious conclusion is that I will not be going to the USA ever again…the mat outside the front door does not say “welcome”.

“Oh tidings of comfort and joy
Comfort and joy
Oh tidings of comfort and joy”

What a great Christmas message from DC…

———————————

Agency Information Collection Activities; Revision; Arrival and Departure Record (Form I-94) and Electronic System for Travel Authorization (ESTA)

3. Mandatory Social Media:

In order to comply with the January 2025 Executive Order 14161 (Protecting the United States From Foreign Terrorists and Other National Security and Public Safety Threats), CBP is adding social media as a mandatory data element for an ESTA application. The data element will require ESTA applicants to provide their social media from the last 5 years.

4. High Value Data Elements:

To comply with the January 2025 E.O. (14161), and the April 4, 2025, Memorandum Updating All Forms to Collect Baseline Biographic Data, CBP will add several “high value data fields” to the ESTA application, when feasible. This is in addition to the information already collected in the ESTA application.

The high value data fields include:

a. Telephone numbers used in the last five years;

b. Email addresses used in the last ten years;

c. IP addresses and metadata from electronically submitted photos;

d. Family member names (parents, spouse, siblings, children);

e. Family number telephone numbers used in the last five years;

f. Family member dates of birth;

g. Family member places of birth;

h. Family member residencies;

i. Biometrics—face, fingerprint, DNA, and iris;

j. Business telephone numbers used in the last five years;

k. Business email addresses used in the last ten years.

CBP invites the public to comment on both the previously approved emergency changes and the newly proposed changes.

Provenance Lineage and Branding

If for example you had a couple of season’s playing premiership football at Manchester City recently, it would be a good thing to put on your CV. There would be an automatic few brownie points added mentally. Your power by affiliation to a “top” team gives kudos. People would not imagine you, a priori, a shite player. Likewise if you studied at a pukka university and did research in the group of a Nobel Prize winner, people might imagine you clever, good and perhaps competent. The CV then gives some notion of provenance. Where did you learn your trade and who taught it you? The quality of teaching may be far higher at a lower kudos university but human mind likes bragging rights. An Imperial College graduate commands top whack salary and employment in the UK. In France because of the lack of Harry Potter affiliation it is not such a big deal.

Put simply this is a form of reputational prejudice. Affiliation to brand can be paid for and claimed. Reputation, though often relied upon, is no guarantee.

I personally have interacted with an academic lineage and a martial arts lineage. Studying at a groovy place with high reputation did not make me any better. In terms of the martial arts lineage it did convey a connection with a real and lethal martial tradition. It is/was not in the ring kick boxing nor caged MMA. When the sensei says, en passant, that it was not unusual in the 1960s and 1970s for people to still die during training, or that they had undertaken a 100 man kumite, it is a different ballgame. In many senses here, the fewer words, the less show and less overt marketing the more “real” the tradition. Action speaks louder than words and need not be advertised and sold. For a westerner to be given the keys to a “Ryu” hundreds of years old, is a high honour and a mark of respect. I know that I only saw maybe 5% of what that sensei was capable of even though I was close to dan grade. I have by experience respect of the profound depth of what a direct transmission lineage might hold; I did not see it fully but I sure as hell sensed it. There was a lineage of marked lethality over and above regular combat skills. Perhaps of limited and specialised use these days.

Within a genuine lineage there can be found knowledge and skill beyond the ordinary and mundane. The preservation of this can become an obsession and not all elements are “time of man” appropriate.  The arcane knowledge is highly specialised and perhaps incredible, unbelievable to modern “scientific man”. If you have been choked out and revived on the judo mat and had an injury healed by Mr Miyagi “hands on” you may have a little more respect and less of a tendency to scoff. We do not regularly have the time for complex and extensive Vajrayana rituals in our 21st century day to day. This does not mean they have no value. They do. Though the number of skilled practitioners of such things will wane. Everything needs some kind of modernisation. Sparsity of ritual can in fact enhance the intent and power thereof.

Because of the Western obsession with advertising PR and branding, those who might be called “spiritual” practitioners have been persuaded that they need jazzy web sites and recounting of lineage back to the founding fathers. Go Daddy may even have a “guru” template to get you started. In this respect claimed Zen lineages are core to the initial marketing effort. Everyone seeking a connection back to the twirling of a flower on vulture peak. Much like the kings of England sought a bloodline back to claim their divine right to the throne. Lineage is good marketing and appeals to some would be punters / clients / devotees.

However interacting with a true lineage carries with it something extra, not bargained for. If you are susceptible and open, the thought forms and aged collected intent of the lineage has an added “dimension”. The thought forms, built by mind after mind, transmitted between minds, have a power far in excess of the face value. If you are a knob or a bellend, you will be unable to receive and/or assimilate. To put it in another way, somehow the lineage itself discerns who is a worthy recipient.

It is unfortunate sign of our times that unless the advertising or PR aligns with expectation we do not “buy” or trust. We have become prejudiced to a certain form of inane packaging. There is often a ginger and a brown person in the advert. Sometimes this is saccharin woke. Not all advice is good advice. People are forever chasing a buck and may try to persuade you otherwise.

Being of a certain age I have come up with a new service. I will offer end of life insurance to pay for it {no medical questions}, a no fuss cremation plan, the construction and positioning of a bench in a country location with your name plaque, and a vetted agent to take your ashes on a SAGA Norwegian fjord cruise there to scatter them on a wind of your choosing.

I think that there is mileage in this…the trouble is I have nor provenance or lineage for so doing. I am pretty sure that I could come up with a catchy brand and use a template design web site which I can pay to have SEO optimised.

“Blowing in the Wind” our bespoke end of life package for the discerning over 60s…

Through Female Eyes – Ancient Hebrew – Operating Theatre – Horses Dream 09-12-2025

Last night’s dream. For me it is very unusual in that I am seeing a fair part of the dream through the eyes of a woman. The dream is in two parts, before and after a TV/snack break around 4:30 AM.

The dream starts with the visual field filled with a “word-cloud” of letters in black ink on a white background. The background looks a bit like a piece of cloth or parchment, frayed a little. But it is entirely mental, a mind projection. The letters are Latin-roman and the letter-word-cloud is in English, by way of a codex or very loose cypher or key.

I am aware that this is not my body and that I am female in it. I can feel long female plaited hair and the overarching perfume is female. The body is in good nick and pain free. The mind is academic and is problem solving. It is asleep and dreaming. The difference in smell is marked.

The word-cloud changes to a slightly more yellowed background. Here the text has some similarities to modern Hebrew only is in a much less brutal type face. The text is handwritten with an italic nib and there are a lot of dots and “commas” where a superscript might be. These are diacritical marks. The word cloud comes in several different batches and I know these to be segments of text. The text feels archaic and in the dream I wonder if she is reading Aramaic. She is familiar with the text I am not. It is old.

{On waking a quick Google search suggests that the text is archaic or ancient Hebrew. The level of confidence for this designation is around 70-80% by eye.} I get up for a “midnight snack” and to watch some shit TV to help me go back to sleep instead of tossing and turning.

Back in bed I drift off. I am at first looking up from an operating table at people in light  blue medical gowns standing around me. There is an adjustable medical light. The men and women in theatre are masked and busy. One of the surgeons has a binocular headpiece with microscope objectives. He is examining a tool closely. It is modern day.

I am now above the operating table looking down. I can see that it is not the operating theatre I was in. I have a clear pre-operative recollection of that. I am seeing through the eyes of the woman again. She is having abdominal surgery of some kind. The sense is that the theatre is top whack high-end private medicine and it feels East coast USA money, lots of money. I am watching the procedure with a critical eye implying that the woman has some medical training.

I am now sat with the woman in a holiday “rental” near the sea and above some green grassed cliffs looking down on deserted beaches. I am making her breakfast. We are getting ready to leave. We are tidying up. Someone from the landlord comes and says that we need not do that. But I say that it is impeccable to leave a place more tidy than when found.

Before we go we go for a ride on the cliff tops. We are sharing a truly huge thorough bread dark brown horse with her in front, and me behind. We pause on a raised hillock. In the paddock below there are horses at gallop. They are very high quality. There is a man on one horse and a woman on another. They are a couple. He has the air of command. There are a several free horses being exercised and some horses with grooms following up the rear. The man pulls up and stops. He raises his hand and the free horses lie down and roll in the grass. He raises his hand again and they get up. This is his demonstration of power. They all gallop off. He waves at the woman with me who is possibly his daughter. He winks at her and then gallops off. There is some craic between them to which I am not party. They are “aristocratic” or quasi. It starts to rain and we head back to the lodge.

The dream ends.

“Spiritual” Journeys

I have used inverted commas quotation mark here because I struggle a little with how words have in a sense become tainted by multiple usage and being bandied about as PR. Spiritual as a word has had its impact and meaning downgraded to the point of near meaninglessness.

I am going to attempt to put into words something which I have hesitated to do. It is close to impossible. This cannot be undertaken without emphasising just how important a few years of my childhood were in my development, in this life. One constellation in particular left its mark deep in my psyche.

It was by its light during an English language common entrance exam that I foresaw events near two and a half decades later. It was the harbinger and the key of a volte face in life. I left the harbour alone in my coracle adrift upon the Southern ocean lit by its solace. I left Cape Town after being burned on table mountain.

Later I had another foreboding which was also to find consummation over a similar time delay. Each of these were pivotal. That foreboding prevented me making a UCAS university choice against the advice of my school teachers.

When I was young and in an English boarding school as an expat child I got to read the lessons and the prayers in church. While the others sat with parents. It was like a duck to water that I took to the lectern and the prayer “chair” deep in the nave. There I found St Francis of Assisi.

« Seigneur, faites de moi un instrument de votre paix.
Là où il y a de la haine, que je mette l’amour. »

« C’est en pardonnant qu’on est pardonné,
c’est en mourant qu’on ressuscite à l’éternelle vie. »

This man was in tune with the Mahayana bodhisattva ideal. His words touched.

Unfortunately those with the skill of a chameleon can adopt any mask, any direction, any character they choose. Believe me I learned how to blend. And in blending one loses authentic essence.

At the end of my schooling I took general studies courses in Buddhism, cooking and Rastafarianism. Ever Jah, ever loving, ever faithful. Rastafari. I read all that I could on witchcraft and alchemy. I made “friends” with the librarian in our town.

The Buddhism was presented in an intellectual descriptive manner in which the various fetters were enumerated for debate. Although I understood, the manner was for me boring and definitional. I sensed beyond that which was being professed. It was during intense meditation sat in seiza at karate that I learned that I had in fact been meditating all of my childhood. I used to sit and observe. I used to wait. I was touched directly by the dreamtime out in the shimmering bush of western Queensland. The aboriginal pointing stick had cleaved something open.

And then when I went to university I mostly forgot. By the time I was doing my Ph.D. research I figured that I had found something I was good at. So maybe this was the future. I enjoyed “pissing about with lasers”. I was to an extent, life and soul of the party. It was only in the early nineties that I started to withdraw, as if driven by a deeper current, out into the hills, the mountains and the countryside. It set up a kind of imbalance. On the one hand was a “normal” life and career. On the other there was silence and quiet. My reading was more intellectual philosophy, science and philosophy of science. I noted that despite mundane academic achievement many of “the greats” struggled with non-salary paying bigger questions.

I was offered a choice. Fort Collins Colorado or Bern Switzerland. One of those would have brought me quicker into contact with things “spiritual” than the other. The Swiss francs were certain, so I saw the Berner Oberland and learned painfully of “qualität”. Something which I tried thenceforth to express.

In the mid nineties at the place of my prior foreboding I was brought to my knees. Despite writing excellent research proposals I was stymied and unfunded. A grudge held by a “competing” senior academic could kill a proposal with a mere word. I had a breakdown. The answer to life the universe and everything could no longer be found in the laws of quantum mechanics and thermodynamics. It seemed there was more. It was around then that my ambition faded and the picture of a life academic dimmed. I began to search in earnest. I opened myself up wide. Again I largely forgot and tried to rebuild a life after breakdown. For some unknown reason money for research and start-up came more easily. I was “successful” for a while.

In the very early part of this century I was tested by power. I had a taste of it and did not abuse. Like Galadriel I refused the ring and was no longer sorely tempted thereby. It was around this time that a series of what might be called micro-renunciations began. In which step-wise I renounced or was forced to renounce the accoutrements of normal life. Each one was more difficult and profound than the last. Slowly life was stripped of all that made it busy and hectic. Until in the middle of 2006 I renounced all and walked off into the metaphorical “wilderness”. Dramatic as that sounds, at face value it looked simple, at core it cleaved and parted, severed and up-ended.

I did not become a wandering mendicant with charnel grounds for abode nor skull cup for beverage. Though adrift I most certainly was. I had already learned as a child, the nature of impermanence. Strangely without accoutrement life did not cease, the world did not implode, nor did it stop.

When you are thrust  from an Outlook calendar ruled life, with hours dissected into segments, with meetings set for you, with each action seemingly accountable, into nothing. The meaning of time changes in an unalterable and irrevocable way. It is no longer a spreadsheet thing. The boxes, the rice paper walls of the day, dissolve.

At end of 2008 I left the map so to speak. I began a series of meditations which went beyond. There was nothing, despite my research skill, which I could find written. These “meditations” continued in the UK in houses close to civilisation yet separate in the English countryside. I can say that the rigor of these was high and they continued for many years. In around 2010-11 I began having Buddhist dreams.

In the early part of the century whilst still teaching physical chemistry I had a series of waking visions in which I had “om mane padme hum” tattooed on my forearms in Sanskrit and with me in monastic robes. These visions were sufficiently powerful to be present whilst I was lecturing Chemical Reaction Kinetics to undergraduates in South Kensington. It was around then that I got to express my compassion for others, to care for them.

Overlaid on a “Toltec” background was a distinctly Buddhist vibe.

All the while I had a seemingly normal life as a married man doing for quite a while “A” level science private tutoring. The outer world and the inner world differed and markedly so.

To me as a member of the elephant dreaming class there is no problem with the scholastic wisdom teachings of Siddartha and the more dramatic Toltec corpus. The latter is a guide, when viewed with clarity, to the navigation of glamour and illusion. There is probably only one truth expressed via many different approaches. The Tower of Babel has a lot to answer for…

This is probably enough for today…