Ian – P&L – Didn’t Ask – Avocat – Big Mistake – Dream 25-09-2025

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Here is this morning’s dream. It is perhaps the most out-of-the-blue I have had considering the subject matter. It was from between 6:15 and 8 AM. I had thought that the present “cluster” of dreams was over and that I would not go back to sleep.

I am sat in a lounge like living area of my house. Which differs from the current real world one. Ian my flatmate from the early eighties is with me. He has come for refuge from the hurly burly, the stresses and strains. We are chatting and I pour him a  glass of wine. He says that “they” are probably going to close his university department, meaning the “senior” management. It has been an uphill battle and student recruitment is down.

I offer to look at the P&L accounts for his department to see if there is anything he has missed. I explain to him that I was a company director. He hands them over and I do a thorough look. Two of the three sub-courses are loss making. I don’t see an obvious way to turn it around into profit, but losses can be reduced. I see an alternate revenue stream. Which we discuss. We have a brief siesta.

To get some fresh air we go out into the garden. It starts by looking like here. Then we get on a quad bike to explore more widely. He sits pillion and we race about having some fun. We come to an area of the garden. There is a paved path going from the main road across the/my property to a fenced off industrial quasi-governmental compound with low rise multi-storey buildings. There is a security fence with gate and pass code entry. This morning the path was not there. They have built it while we were asleep.

When the wife comes back from the supermarket she too will be unimpressed.

I drive up along the path to the security gate. Ian and I dismount. I press the buzzer on the gate and a workman in dark blue overalls appears. I ask why they thought it was a good idea to build the path across my land without permission or legal right of way. He does not understand English. So I repeat in French and say that I am about to call my avocat-attorney on the ‘phone. He needs to get me someone senior to talk to.

He goes and come back with a young man in his thirties-forties. He is wearing jacket and jeans. I ask him why he thought it was a good idea and otherwise OK to build on my land without asking and why they infringed property trespass. I will sue for trespass. He is placatory and acts as it does not matter, bof. I am unimpressed to understate.

I proceed in French to demand that he gets the company head because I will be taking the lot of them to court. I will hold each one personally responsible. I start to increase the intensity levels considerably.

He scuttles off and returns with a man around my age who is tall with receding hair. The man dismisses what I am saying. I say to him I have only one question for them. In English now.

“Why did they think it was fine to not ask me, to build without my permission, why?

He says that he has read about how tired I am and that they did not think that I would mind and that in any case there is not a lot I can do against a corporation like theirs.

I reiterate, “why did you think it was a good idea not to ask me?”

He says that they did not want to bother me and they thought that I would like this. I can have an honorarium for everyone who uses the path.

I switch back into French. I explain to him that a couple of decades ago I raised five million in start up funds and that the type of person who does this is not ordinary. That it is and was a very stupid thing to underestimate someone like me. I say that he is probably right that in the end they will “win” and I will loose money. I say that in the meantime I will make life incredibly difficult for them and that karmically speaking to behave in the manner towards me is utter stupidity. They do not understand quite how stupid.

As I say this I am swelling in intensity. The man who is used to being obeyed and having people fawn is finding the encounter very difficult. He does not know what to say or how to respond. His implicit threat has not worked. He looks nonplussed.

He says,  “but we thought you would not mind and that we did not need to ask you. We thought we were right…”

I say that they have made a grave and serious mistake.

The dream ends.

Note – I am capable of an interpersonal intensity which very few have experienced. I hold  back.

Different is Scary – Have you Forgotten Your Meds?

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Clearly along with Senior Service cigarettes and the odd whisky and ginger, my mum must have had too much N-(4-hydroxyphenyl)acetamide when she was pregnant with me. The Flintstones in the White House have so decreed. What does Wilma make of all this?

Last night we watched a film “The Accountant” in which Ben Affleck played a neurodivergent maths whizz who was a trained martial artist and special forces trained assassin sniper. He is a big bloke. His dad told him,

“Different is scary! Sooner or later different is scary and they don’t like it. Fight. Don’t be a victim.”

Or words to that effect. He encouraged his son to fight back when bullied.

I have experimental evidence gained from a FFT EEG; a fast Fourier transform {FFT} frontal lobe electroencephalograph that my brain waves differ from family and friends. The experiments were not exhaustive, they were indicative. The fact that I downloaded and worked through the patent for the device is unusual for others, not for me. I wanted to understand the instrument and its limitations. I know more about FFT than many because I did my undergraduate third year research project using a state of the art Bruker FFT infrared spectrometer on 77K solid state Platinum and Palladium mixed valence compounds. I looked into Fourier transformation. It had a tenth of a wavenumber resolution and could measure tiny site splitting in crystal lattices. We were particularly interested in very low frequency vibrations along the pseudo one dimensional longitudinal crystal axes.

On this basis it is safe to suggest that I could be classed as neurodivergent, without specifying in which manner.

As a further piece of evidence I cite the dream data catalogued here. It diverges significantly from normal.

Using the tag line from the film, some people might find me scary others just odd. I can say that when viewed from a neurotypical perspective I have trouble making and sustaining friendships. I do not engage in the highly transactional itchy back game and quasi-sycophantic behaviours often deemed necessary for career progression. I am not a toady or an arse licking nematode.

If an increasing number of people are being “diagnosed” on the spectrum is that indicative of an increase in the number of people who have passed the qualifying workshops to make such a diagnosis or is it a real thing? Is humanity evolving? Will neurotypicals become an artefact and extinct? The dinosaurs will die out from measles and COVID soon enough…

Of course if you are scared of people like me it is easy to prescribe chemical cosh medication to make the anomalous more compliant. The “monged” argue less. You could suggest that the entire reason I have such an active dreaming is that I have simply forgotten to take my medication like a good boy.

“Have you forgotten to take your meds again?

Just take a few of these and everything will be alright…

You will be normal and somnambulant like the rest of us.

Look here is a big new mobile ‘phone.

Pretty, shiny, precious….

There, there, don’t fret…”

Hashish – Angel – Roses – Little People Dream 23-09-2025

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Here is this morning’s dream. A series of snippets. This is the first Angel in a dream for me.

The scene opens in a living room. There are several young men sat on sofas and chairs around a large messy coffee table. There are a few empty beer cans and an empty pizza box. They are trying to be ‘hood and cool. There a rolling papers and an ashtray. One of them with a grey tracksuit on is unwrapping a small foil parcel which contains some dark black soft oily hashish. He says that it is 3/8 of an ounce and that he knows how to get more. They think they are a bit gangster like and are in a turf war skirmish with another group of adolescents. I am watching the scene from above. They are egging each other on with bravado.

A youth brings in a woman who looks like Brenda Blethyn in her role as the mother of Christie Brown in “My Left Foot”. She looks frumpy and decidedly normal. The youth says he found her lurking outside. They are thinking about bullying or intimidating her.

I arrive / appear and stand next to “Brenda”. I say to them that she is an Angel. A particular sort of Angel who despises conflict and is highly trained in diffusing situations and helping people from erring into darkness. They look unconvinced. I say that the strength of this kind of Angel is their apparent  innocuousness. I say that under no circumstances, no conceivable circumstances, should they cross an Angel like her. She can switch from mild suddenly and that they would not like the results one little bit. Angels are powerful beings. Brenda smiles silently at me and we look at the youth quietly waiting to see what they will do. We are comfortable with each other, familiar even.

The scene changes and we are outside in the formal gardens of a large grand French chateau. The wife and I are tending a plot in the rose garden. The previous gardener has done a poor scrappy job. We have weeded and pruned, fertilized and tidied. I finish edging the bed into the immaculate lawn. We head off down a gravel path and meet a man working of a rambling rose bed elevated from the path. He says that these “arbustiers” need a highly specialised care. He has been caring for this bed among others for decades. He has a checked shirt on and is tanned. He is wearing a cream Panama hat and is very English. He says that the owner only employs British people to look after roses as they are better at it than the French.

The scene changes and we are outside our current house. The nurse arrives and comes in to check our medication. I say to her that we are very organised, there is no need. She checks anyway. She is in a hurry and highly stressed. We follow her out. Her husband is waiting in the car with her children. The windows are steamed up with condensation. I suggest that she lets the children out to stretch their legs. This she does. The man also gets out. The wife is with me. We all stand around and chat. A small girl around five with brown hair in a bob wanders off. The nurse is worried. I say not to worry. She heads towards a flower bed at the end of the garden and I follow her. I shout back that she can see the little people, the fées and pixies, the Korrigans who live there. I say that she will be safe with me because I too can see them. They know me well. We are friends.

The dream ends.

Rain Forest – Dreamtime – Barramundi Dream 21-09-2025

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Here is this morning’s “nice” dream. I thought at last a dream with no politics or intrigue in.

The dream opens with a small convoy of three or four Land Rovers leaving a bitumen road and heading off down a dirt track. The cars have cargo rails on top and are laden for expedition. I am driving the rear car. We head down a track into an increasingly dense rain forest. The wet dust becomes more muddy. We reach a car-park staging post and must yomp to the residence huts. We load up with as much as we can carry. Leaving more stuff for future retrieval. We have enough to set up for the night and a few days. But we will be here for weeks so there will be more trips needed.

The footpath is pretty good but needs clearing on occasion. We approach a small compound which looks like a scout hut / ex-military training facility. It is arranged around a quadrangle. It is sometimes used for team building purposes. Because we are relatively few in number we will bed down in the main hut which has bunks for us all. There are several floor to ceiling curtain divides to make rooms. The last users have not tidied up after themselves. I put my pack down in the end “room” and a very young Pierot takes the bunk next to mine. The party is all young, twenties and thirties. They are students on an archaeological dig from university. The woman in charge is a slight small white woman of mid-thirties with freckles and light brown hair. It is her dig. They all want to go and see the dig site before dark. I stay at base making it ship shape and Bristol fashion as is my want. I make the beds and check the mosquito nets. I reattach the curtains. I put two pots of stew on to cook, one veggie one meat. I check the supplies.

They all come back excited from the dig site and Pierot wants to take a group photo which he does. In the creek below we can see serval canoes filled with Australian army “diggers” they have exited on the river out of a cave system and are proceeding downstream on a training exercise. Because of the state of the world the military is on alert. In a cliff on the other side of the creek I can see a command and control post cut out of the cliff. There are a couple of officer types in there.

The gang gather for food and I take the woman lead to one side. Her hair has gotten frizzy from the intense humidity of the place. I tell her that I used to do team training events like for UK GRAD. I organised these. I say that I am happy to organise the logistics of the stay. It is for her to say what she wants. She is very happy for me to do this. I am much older than everyone else. In one sense I am my current biological age and in an other many thousands of years old. It is because I am there that the aboriginal elders have allowed access to the dreamtime site which they are going to explore. This is because I am dreamtime too. Night falls suddenly, we eat and retire.

The next morning we all head down the trail to the dig site under the rainforest canopy. The sounds of the jungle are magnificent. We reach a descent through red-brown mud arches made out of dirt which look like we are going through an earth ribcage. The pillars on either side are a bit reminiscent of huge termite mounds.  I am completely at home here. The feeling is mysterious, dank and damp.  There is a kind of portent to the structure. The “rib cage” extends for a hundred metres or so downhill. The path is wet underfoot and we must be careful. As we near the bottom two of the young females are to one side of the path. They are a young white woman in a white t-shirt, khaki shorts with open shirt and a brown woman similarly dressed with a red t-shirt. She has jet black hair and is mixed race. They are both damp from humidity and sweat. They are young and hormonal. I pause by them in shorts and shirtless. I am lightly sweaty among my chest hair and on my biceps. They both look at me in a quasi-erotic lusty way. There is a kind of a spell. They are still prone to these feelings. I hold their gaze for  a while and the spell is broken. I know them to be from the “South”. I pass and they fall in following me further down towards the site.

The path veers down and flattens out. We are now next to a large plunge pool for the creek. The creek flows to the right of the pool which has depth and reeds. The water is crystal clear. Above the creek at the edge of the rain forest I can see kangaroos. Theses are unusual in the terrain. I gesture with finger to lips for silence and point at the kangaroos. I explain that they are a very rare type of wallaby found only here in the tropical northern part of Queensland. The wallabies have come to observe who is approaching the site and what they are doing. The wallabies are “chatting” amongst themselves.

The party continues on to a clearing near the river bank within a quasi-ring of eucalyptus which was a meeting place. There are burn sites there and the site extends in all directions. Here the rain forest is sparse because of the human use over the many years.

I look into the plunge pool and throw out a line. I pull in a big clump of weeds. I know that there are fish there especially near the margin of the creek flow. I should need to fish at the edge of the deep away from the weeds and near the flow. I know that Barramundi the fish is there. He is there with his family. Barramundi will let us have sustenance to add to our pot. But only I must fish for Barramundi in this spot. I see Barramundi the dreamtime. I see Barramundi  the river fish. I know Barramundi and he knows me.

I will feed the party and care for them over the weeks ahead.

The dream ends and I am happy that I have had an uncomplicated dream.

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Are Prophecies Powerful?

~ quantumdreamer ~ Leave a comment

Insofar as they have a huge hold on the wish-life of human consciousness, yes. They also add spice to the narratives in fiction and cinema. Who has not heard of the four horsemen of the apocalypse? The prophet Higgs foretold a boson which now bears his name, billions of dollars later. The newspaper red tops like to quote the utterings of a blind eastern European woman. We may need to excise and inspect the entrails of an ox. The tea leaves foretold a dark handsome stranger though they did not mention his HIV status.

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People can look to prophetic fulfilment and imagine that they are acting in accord with a pre-ordained destiny if they strive to manifest what they think a prophecy means. How they try to manifest  prophecy may suit their preferences and biases. They may refer to their holy books and say, “God ordained that this was our land”. This as if a human authored text is binding in a court of international law. Proof of authorship my Lord? We can get into arguments as to whose God is bigger, harder, more omniscient and more important. Whose God has shares in Lockheed Martin. Many people have died according to human interpretation as to what God is alleged to have said, wished and desired. One could say that it comes down to whose imaginary friend is the more potent. One may seek to precipitate Armageddon because it was written. One has no idea as to which prophecies people are trying to enact or are perhaps beholden to.

The notion of prophecy and things foretold runs through human history, human imagination and human religion. Were it not for the dreams of the pharaoh and Joseph, the Egyptians would have starved. Foretelling is an attractive notion. People hold prophecies in their religious texts as gospel, literally. There is something otherworldly about prophecy and even the ardent sceptic senses something, a hint of it, wafting on the breeze. Prophecy around the campfire and by candlelight enraptures more, a sophisticated ritual oracle becomes near definitive. The shaman says and so it will be. People may resist the prophecy only for it to manifest verbatim in a totally unlikely and perhaps infeasible way. To doubt prophecy is to spit arrogantly in the eyes of the Fates, to defy the will of Olympus.

Humans may not be as scientific and rational as they profess. Some things run primordial in our veins.

Of course the most powerful prophecies are the secret ones, hidden, far from the eyes of the profane. These secret prophecies are only for the adepts, the in-crowd and the big cheeses. They are written in arcane runic script by the Bards for eyes of their Kings. They are etched in stone and jewel. And these prophecies are often about power and things of global import. They speak to the fate of the planet, of kingdoms and of mankind. The prophecies of climate change are discounted because they lack the shaman’s hocus pocus. They have spectacles and beards, simulations and error bars. They are cold and graphical. Time will tell on the incoming disasters wrought by human folly, the belief that there is always tomorrow. If true the foretold will come around no matter what the nay-sayers wish. It was written and prophesised thus and in peer reviewed journals.

A flavour of the enticing nature of prophecy can be found in The Secret Doctrine.

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Yet this secrecy and this profound mystery are indeed disheartening, since they alone – the Initiates of India and Tibet – could thoroughly dissipate the thick mists hanging over the history of Occultism, and force its claims to be recognized. The Delphic injunction “Know Thyself”, seems for few in this age. But the fault ought not be laid at the door of the Adepts, who have done all that could be done, and have gone as far as Their rules permitted, to open the eyes of the world. Only while the European shrinks from public obloquy and the ridicule unsparingly thrown on Occultsists, the Asiatic is being discouraged by his own Pandits. These profess to labour under the gloomy impression that no Bija Vidyǎ, no Arhatship (Adeptship), is possible during the Kali Yuga ( the “Black Age”) we are now passing through. Even the Buddhists are taught that the Lord Buddha is alleged to have prophesised that the power would die out in “one millennium after His death”.  But this is an entire mistake. In the Digha Nikǎya the Buddha says:

Hear, Subhadra; The world will never be without Rahats, if the ascetics in my congregations well and truly keep my precepts.

A similar contradiction of the view brought forward by the Brahmans is made my Krishna in the Bhagavd Gita, and there is further actual appearance of many Saddhus and miracle-workers in the past, and even in the present age. The same holds good for China and Tibet. Among the commandments of Tsong-Kha-pa there is one that enjoins the Rahats (Arhats) to make an attempt to enlighten the world, including the “white barbarians”, every century, at a certain specified period of the cycle. Up to the present day none of these attempts have been very successful. Failure has followed failure. Have we to explain the fact by the light of a certain prophecy? It is said that up to the time when Pban-chhen-rin-po-chhe (The Great Jewel of Wisdom) condescends to be reborn in the land of the P’helings (Westerners) and appearing as Spiritual Conqueror (Chom-den-da), destroys the errors and ignorance of the ages, it will be of little use to try to uproot the misconceptions of P’heling Pa (Europe): her sons will listen to no one. Another prophecy declares that the Secret Doctrine shall remain in all its purity in Bhod-yul (Tibet), only to the day that is kept free from foreign invasion. The very visits of Western natives, however friendly, would be baneful to the Tibetan populations. This is the true key to Tibetan exclusiveness.

Page 396, The Secret Doctrine, Volume V, Adyar Edition, (1950), H.P.Blavatsky,

The Theosophical Publishing House, London UK.

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Written long ago she writes of Tsongkhapa and the Panchen Lama. The succession in Tibet now of political import after the invasion decades after her writing. Now there are “two” Panchen Lamas and an ageing Dalai Lama.

The problem with prophecy is that political narrative can be adapted to fit and thereby claim provenance. Human resourcefulness remains. The desire to spin and use propaganda is strong and a prophetic belief in supremacy can fuel war and destruction. The crusader set sail to the {un} Holy Land to claim some turf in the name of his God. Imagined Divine right fertilises the soil with blood, bone and sinew. The cleavage of body by sword and munition seems justified in the minds and perhaps hearts of the brutal, punitive and primitive.

Not a lot changes. Humans do the same thing over and over. They may even cite the supposed glory of victorious precedent. It is not very evolved.

The impact of prophecy on human doings and history is profound. So yes, prophecy is powerful. It is also very weird in the magical sense of the word weird. Prophecy is a harbinger of portent. It is a messenger of sorts. Of course all good prophecies need to be vague and to an extent open to interpretation.

These ones always comes true.

It’s not quite a Jaguar

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I’ve been driving in my car

It’s not quite a Jaguar

I bought it in Primrose Hill

From a bloke from Brazil

It was made in fifty-nine

In a factory by the Tyne

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It’s a bit old but it’s mine

I mend it in my spare time

Just last week I changed the oil

The rocker valves and the coil

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Last week it went ’round the clock

I also had a little knock

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Madness

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I have had my ultrasound and ECG “stress” test and I am now crock for the rest of the day. I managed to get my heart rate up to 86% of the theoretical maximum for my age pushing a bike load of 130 Watts. I could not sustain it for long.

The ST segment did not show further depression below the isoelectric line suggesting that the blood supply to my left ventricle is not yet compromised. The doctor had no explanation for why the ST segment was depressed. He did not seem worried and so there is no show stopper for the fitting of a bionic hip.

I have not had my heart rate up like that during exercise for a long time. I am probably unfit but I will guess that I am not as unfit as other 100kg men made in ‘64 of my height. Especially those from Newcastle.

They still think I am a fat bastard though.

I have an exercise burn in my quadriceps which is a bit of a novelty. They have shaved my chest a bit for the electrodes…

The Peugeot 207 also clocked earlier this week it now has ~100,040 miles….

Not quite ready for the scrap heap yet…its seems.