My Rosary – Dream Vision – 26-08-2025

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Here is a dream / vision from the early hours last night.

“I am in a room, white wash loose sealed but only partial illuminated by small brass (?) oil lamps. I look down at my arms and they are brown and less hairy than I am used to. I am holding a beaded “rosary” and passing the beads between my fingers.  These are roughly the size of the top of my middle finger. There are not spherical, a sort of rounded cylinder pea shaped. They are made of a stone like “wooden” brown material which is at first cool to the touch. As I run the beads through my fingers I come to an amber bead which is much smoother. I note it. I continue. On the opposite side of the rosary chain / circle is another amber bead. This one is slightly larger.  I hold it up to the light. I can see an entire mosquito-like insect preserved in the amber. It is a thing of marvel. The rosary has two amber beads amongst all the dark brown ones. I am hearing “om mane padme hum”  as I run the beads sequentially through  my fingers.”

The Future of the Dragon Dream 26-08-2025

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Here is this morning’s dream had between 5 and 7 AM. It was sufficiently realistic that I just opened my email expectantly.

The dream opens with me sat on a sofa with a coffee on a glass coffee table in front. The furniture is ratan in build and the room tropical themed. There are batik hangings and a golden Thai style top-knot haired Buddha figurine. The walls are white washed and stone and there is a feel of castle and perhaps Scotland. I am somehow at home in these settings. I go over to a large dark wooden desk with a green “club” leather chair. I boot up the computer. In an email account I rarely use I scan the list of emails. One email stands out from the bunch. It has the subject line, “The Future of the Dragon”. I do not know the sender’s address.

I pause for a moment and then open the email sceptical of spam / phishing. The email opens without problem and it is addressed to me. The person would like to meet up to discuss the future of the dragon. I look to the bottom of the mail for a signature. The address is arranged in the form of a Thai Wat temple and originated from a dojo in the Malay-Singapore-Thai region with a Singapore head office. It has ‘phone numbers, email address and an Instagram account. The protagonist is called Cheng. I am unsure how to respond or when to respond. I look at the Instagram account and see a picture of a young Asian male in his mid-twenties. He is pictured in karate-gi with his pals. There are other pictures of him in the dojo, in nature and it all looks fine and above board. I note his appearance. He has at least a part Chinese to him. I resolve to wait a little before replying.

Next, I am driving South down Regents Street in London, near Hamleys. I am in my white Jeep style SUV. It is around Christmas time because the lights are on. Coming in the opposite direction, North, there is a stream of traffic which comes to a halt in front of me. A young man gets out and walks past me to see what is going on. It is Cheng. I call out his name. He stops and turns looking surprised. I say that he emailed me and that I recognised him from the photos. I say to remind him, “The future of the dragon.” It suddenly clicks. I gesture for him to get into my car which he does. I do a U-turn and gesture for his friends to follow me in their open top Jeep-Moke.

We drive off into one of the large semi-circles of grand housing next to a park. There is a pub nearby. I say that we should talk. He has suddenly gone all shy. I ask him if a beer would help. Yes, perhaps. We make  our way to the pub and are soon joined by his friends which include his tiny sister. Chris turns up and I suggest that he gets us all a drink which he does.

I ask Cheng as an icebreaker about the style of karate he was training in and offer him my shoulder to punch. I ask was it non-contact and play punch him in the head or was it full contact. He says that is was a little heard of martial art specific to region but that is not what the dragon is about. He knows that I know this. I see through my contact with him a small wizened Asian man who is tiny and dressed in a Chinese “Tai Chi” outfit. He is Malay, Burmese or Singaporean. I understand him to be a master and that Cheng is by way of his contact. I have never met the master before but he is somehow familiar. I can feel him now as I type. I can recognise him.

Cheng’s sister calls her mother back home and explains that he has found me.

The dream ends.

Power and the Intimate Privacy of Death

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It is warm and sunny outside, so perhaps it is safer to write on these things. Although physical plane death may be public there is a private intimate part not shared by the consciousness of the living and those not in the transition. Ostensibly death may be quick brought on by an IDF bullet or a heart attack. It could be a slow drawn out process mediated by an ailing brain or a bleed. One could have a physically easy or a physically painful death. I have had both. These days death under morphine is not uncommon. Many full of bravado are nevertheless fear-full of that tap on the shoulder. It re-presents the time when the croupier of life spins the roulette wheel after shouting,

 « Mesdames et messieurs, faites vos jeux ! »

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For logically we all know we are placing our bets on what may or may not happen when we die. The ball rolls and stops and we find out if we have won or lost.

History tells of many a shit-scared monarch buying papal indulgences on his death bed in an attempt to bribe God.

I’ll state here that I am not the kind of being who tries to use or take advantage of others. It is not my basic orientation. I am more likely to facilitate, to try help. We all have faults and mine is less nasty. I have to the detriment of others allowed myself to be used. I have robbed them in a sense of the battles which they may have faced. Because I have faced things for them. This in a way, although perhaps altruistic, is disempowering.

I have met a number of people losing their battle with power over the years. Caught up in the process they were and would be unable to see or accept that this is the case. Weirdly the power-flame attracts many a moth on the make, only for a singeing of wings. The lust for a share in apparent power is perhaps the most blinding thing which can happen to a being. They see only with blinkered eye the power, and not the consequence both on others and on them. Most people guess they can handle power. Most people are wrong, for it is power which handles them and changes them. Many in the throes of their battle with power present themselves as some beacon of light when they are anything but. Power deludes those hungry for it and their supporters. Power likes to justify.

I’ll make a little aside here. If there is significant influx of first ray “will-to-power” energy the number of people losing their battle with power will rise and a dark, dark, cloud will result. The first ray is very difficult to handle and cope with. Any crack, any latent cruelty, any lust for power over, will be activated.

The individual mentioned in my dream taught me a lot, for which I am thankful. Primarily he showed behaviours which I did not like and did not want to adopt for myself. It was an exemplar of what I did not want to become. At the same time I was interacting with others a tad obsessed with power and in some cases position.  I have never wanted to be lord and master with minions, slaves and serfs. Others like to lord it over; some like to be lorded over. I was not infected by his mood and intent.

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Power in its knowledge aspect is inconspicuous and not ostentatious. It is gathered and stored, rarely is it exercised. Depending on predilection one may gather like a squirrel. Personally I have always been interested in learning.

That time in the very first part of this century I was engaged in what hindsight suggests was my battle with power. Clearly the scale was rather local, but I was presented with many temptations, the trappings of power. Luckily, I was largely able to resist those temptations, those traps and did not become an “A” grade arse. Other people I knew may have been less resilient and perhaps fell to the traps, the whims of power.

The thing is that power and evil have a kind of symbiotic relationship. Power is the lure; the bait of evil who can tie an appropriate fly for whatever fish it seeks. Evil ever the strategist and craftsman can, when and if needed, be subtle.

In modern days the notion of evil has become quasi-taboo which is testament to the guile and skill of evil.

I do not pretend to know the mind of the dark adepts and those drawn to them. The more evolved of them, aware of much, must make a calculation pertaining to death. That calculation at one level must offset the difficulty of transition with the perceived reward of a life of power. Only they would be able to comment if they have struck a good deal, made a good bargain.

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I personally, this afternoon, in the middle of the day, am ready. In a sense I have already embraced my death.

There is a chance that you and I will meet gain at the hour of your death. You can decide for yourself if that is some morbid shit I made up, or not…

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“Don’t know where
Don’t know when
But I know we’ll meet again some sunny day”

—

Terry – Evil Entity – Vajrapāṇi  Dream – 25-08-2025

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Here is last night’s dream and my subsequent initial response to it. It was from before 3 AM.

The dream starts with me outside a car rental forecourt in southern England. Terry appears there on the opposite side of the road. He is, as he was wont, emanating aggression and anger in my direction. He saw me as the one he had to destroy. He is mouthing a foul invective about me and at me. He trying to catch the ears of anyone who will listen, any passersby. He is trying to talk me down and big himself up, as he did in real life. He imagines that he was responsible for the inventions and even claims this. He is full of anger, resentment and is not having a pleasant time of it. He is experiencing and emanating a dark cloying malevolence.

I cross the road and stand very calmy in front of him an arm’s length away. He continues to emit vitriolic anger, hard-done by vibes, fear and  clinging anger. They wash over me and he is disconcerted that I remain unaffected.

In the dream I know that I am witnessing an aspect of the evil which was in him. I know that this is a part of his death dance. The restless and unsatisfied, the angry and the bilious as he is slowly taken out of life kicking, sulking and most of all blaming, blaming, blaming. He blames me, others and the entire world because things did not go entirely how he wanted according to his whim. His death is very uncomfortable. As he passes out from this world, I see an evil entity leave and reluctantly let go of the dying form. It is a shimmer of dark malevolent tendrils, evil, now looking for a host.

I see next a young man of in-between “gender” in a hotel room. He has blonde hair and an androgenous look. He is psychiatrically unwell and contemplating suicide. I see the tendrils enter the man and he briefly wakes up coughing and spluttering as the entity tries to enter. I assist him in waking and forbidding the entity. The man is writhing around in struggle with difficulty gasping breath. I command him to wake up which he does and immediately reaches over to turn on the hotel room lights. He is dripping in sweat and very disoriented.

I awake and note that I too am disoriented.

I instinctively start Guru Rinpoche and Vajrapāṇi tantric practice for protection. I chant silently and invoke and create a full-blown Vajrapāṇi visualisation of considerable size which has persisted in consciousness afterwards and is still resident as I type. I make other tantric adjustments before falling off to sleep.

Maybe it is time for me to fully verbalize events from back then.

Does This Matter?

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As a part of my personal end of year review, I like to review. One of the questions is, “does this matter?” “Is what I am doing here of any significance whatsoever?”

The only objective criteria I have for readership is supplied by WordPress stats. It tells me that there are around 400,000 words here spread among 575 posts over the last year or so. There have been a total of ~900 visitors. These come from France {Normandy and Paris region}, UK, USA. Spain. Germany, Canada and India. {In decreasing order of number of visitors.} The views are from diverse towns which might be real or arise from a floating IP used by many ISPs. That works out at about 450 words per visitor. The average post gets a few {literally} views.

Clearly my significance as a global influencer knows no bounds!!

On the basis of this it does not matter what I write because “nobody” is listening. Whatever idea or notion I come up with will sink without a trace in the petabyte torrents of this raging internet thingy. There is no point in me developing any of my ideas, just get them out of my head and move swiftly on. I can sit here dreaming away and the world at large goes about its business unperturbed.

We live in a surveillance society. There is an outside chance that some of my key words might pop up in an intelligence search. But I am not connected to any group. I am pacifist and hermit like. I am not a civil disorder problem. I don’t agree with Trump or Netanyahu. They are powerful men and face disagreement from others way more important than me. I doubt the NSA and MI6 are quaking in their bunkers.

To an extent I have drawn what meaning I can from the dream catalogue herein. I know how I interpret them and in what context. I have a number of theories about what they mean individually and collectively. I have clarity of sorts. One that does not need to be verbalised. I understand the wider potential implications. My understanding points at large tracts of unresolved karma burdening others. I cannot foresee them addressing this.

If I want to change things, then one do-able is to wipe the blog. I will still catalogue incoming dreams (privately) but I will create a space which might be filled with something, else. Sometimes a tiny change can be causative.

The growing trend is that each blog I write gets fewer and fewer views. Which says something.

I reckon that a hip replacement blog with what passes for my sense of humour would have a much larger readership…This could propel me into internet stardom. I could become a legend on my disability enabled throne hand crafted by Armitage Shanks.

Maybe I’ll sleep on it…

Quasi-Post Apocalyptic Recycling Centre Dream 24-08-2025

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This dream from between 4 and 7 AM this morning. It continues the theme of very diverse subject dreams and seems also out-of-the-blue.

The dream opens is a very brightly lit portacabin type building. The light is stark and there is a hum of fluorescent lighting that is getting old and resonating. The room is minimally furnished and it is an office, a site office. In the centre of the room is Sarah C much as she was three decades ago only slightly aged. She is wearing blue jeans and a cream-white jersey. She is very pleased to see me. She is stressed and under pressure, the load is heavy for her. She feels overwhelmed and downtrodden.

She walks over to me and wants me to put my hand down the front of her jeans. These are ill-fitting and too loose. Like everyone else she is undernourished. I put my hand down the front of her jeans and cannot discern any genitalia; she is like a plastic doll though warm to the touch. I withdraw my hand. She wants me to work with her, to have a relationship with her and to help her with the business. There is a knowing that she might grow genitalia in the future if the relationship works out more. There is a knowing that human reproductivity has failed. She knows that I can help her. It is her business and she is for now in charge and trying to do her best.

I return the next morning just before dawn on a winter morning. I am dressed in heavy clothes and I continue to examine the yard. There is no law and order. Government has broken down. There is a distinct post-apocalyptic sense. I look through the yard, it is a recycling centre. Sarah and her team have collected various objects according to type and are busy trying to arrange proper recycling of them. There are stacks of computers and keyboards, piles of furniture, piles of clothes, light bulbs,  metal drums, car parts and bottles. There are larger items of metal. I go into the portacabin and there is a tall woman there with unkept hair and fingerless gloves. She is a part of the collective. She has a Scandinavian accent to her English and asks me to sign a “contract” which I do. We both know that there in no longer anyone to enforce the contract but go through the civilities anyway. I will work with them. She takes me on a tour of the yard as the sun struggles to pierce the gloom. She shows me the white plastic five gallon volume drums for liquids. These are very valuable and bring a good price. I comment that there are no plastic supermarket bags anymore, thank God. We both chuckle. In a part of the yard there are piles of car batteries, gravel, sand and bark chips. There is a stock of shredded vegetable matter of high wood content. This is to be made into fuel briquettes. I am due to start work there in a few days’ time.

The next morning the site is attacked by several men with flat bed “pikey” trucks. The employees are threatened and some of the scrap metal is stolen. The team are very upset and scared, the men have threatened physical violence. I am to arrive early the next day.

The next morning I am there. We have not yet manged to fix that large metal security gate damaged in the attack the day before. Two trucks with men turn up and make their way into the compound. They start trying to gather more scrap metal. I go over to one pair of men and tell them to stop. They get right in my face and threaten me to get out of the way. I do not flinch and stare back into the face of one of them They threaten to beat me up. I say that this would not be a good idea, they are welcome to try and that I would not recommend it. I say that it is time for them all to leave. The intent in me starts to swell.  The men sensing a growing malevolence in me get back into their trucks and leave.

Everyone breathes a sigh of relief.

The dream ends.

Can Artificial Intelligence (AI) Dream ? – Turing Test

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Last night as I was drifting off to sleep a question popped into mind, “can AI dream?”. It was followed up by another question, “Can AI be taught to dream?” “And if so, would AI be fully lucid when it was dreaming?”. “Would AI know the difference between awake and slumber?”

“Or would it simply dream of electric sheep?”

I thought to myself that I had better nip this line of thought in the bud otherwise I would be awake for a long time. I thought that I have hundreds of dreams in word format and they could be used to teach an AI “entity” to dream like me. I don’t know how AI training works but a true test of human-like intelligence would be a capacity to dream without the pseudo-rational control of “wakefulness”.

That kind of intelligence would exhibit an intuition something which geniuses often cite as important. AI in order to mimic humans needs to have fantasy including sexual fantasy. Already I have heard of AI hallucinations.

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Can machines think? Can AI dream?

This question is along the lines of a Turing Test. How could we measure, prove or disprove in the dreaming ability of AI?

Dreaming would be a ground-breaking game-changing faculty of artificial intelligence…

I could ask an AI bot to dream and see what happened…

It is safe to think this now, in the middle of the day.

Dreaming if AI can dream is safe at 13:15 on a summer’s day…