Here is last night’s dream.

The dream starts with a view of me in a large bathtub. The bathtub is built-in and I can see the back of my head with arms and shoulders out of the water supporting me. The lighting is partial. It is night time and reminiscent of the death scene for Jim Morrison in the Doors film. There is an eerie silence. I can hear the breathing of the person through whom I am seeing the scene. I can feel his emotions. He is excited but livid and vengeful. He is bilious and hateful and wants very badly to kill me. He is dark and imbued with darkness. I know his “vibration” and the cloying energy he emanates. He sneaks closer. Using a handgun with silencer he fires five shots into the back of my head. I hear the sounds of a gun fitted with a suppressor. The head does not explode but jolts with each shot. He moves round to the front. Where I can see my face, through his eyes. He fires two more shots directly into my Ajna centre. I hear the sounds. The gun arm now lowers in his right hand. He is partially spent.

The scene changes to Père-Lachaise cemetery and to Jim Morrison’s grave bedecked in graffiti.

The scene changes to an isolated black room in which there is a stand alone white enamel old-school bath tub. It has a weak overhead light and is alone in the vast room. There is nothing else. I am completely naked in the bath tub and it has warm clear water. From inside the tub I can hear footsteps approaching. Someone is trying and failing to be quiet. The steps echo. They approach from behind and I can now hear their breath which also smells faintly of red wine. I feel the impact in the back of the head as they shoot me five times from close range with a silenced hand gun.

The person now comes round to the front of the bath and points the handgun at my forehead. I see the muzzle discharge flash as he fires twice into my Ajna centre. He is not looking into my eyes as he does this. When he is finished. I catch his eyes and hold them in my gaze. I stare deep into the recesses of his Soul. He is transfixed by my gaze. Slowly I get out of the water standing up stark naked and dripping wet. I hold his gaze and he cannot break it. I go over to a newly appeared towel rack and select a large white towel which I wrap around my waist. I leave the room. The assassin is left standing rooted to the spot looking dumbfounded at an empty bath.

The scene changes and I am in a busy university like environment with lots of young people going about their business. I am on a raised level with cafeterias and function rooms. In one there is an exhibition of art and performance art. I have put up a poster display about dreams and dreaming. A young gay Japanese man comes to my poster and we get chatting. He is a well-known avantgarde artist and is a part of the organising / judging committee for the event. He offers me a coffee and we go to get one. He is fascinated about dreams and would like to tell me his. We go back.

A woman with entourage is doing the rounds. She is leading the judging. She says that my effort is not flamboyant enough. I explain  to her that flamboyance is often an indicator of triviality and superficiality a mark of showing off from a personality level. There is glamour and show. I say that in dreaming for certain individuals the Soul speaks directly and can only he heard by the ready. I say that the whisper of the Soul in not for the crass. She seems offended yet partially drawn in, bewitched even. She wants to hear her own Soul it would be good for her art. She asks me to tell her more.

We leave the building which is now the V&A museum out onto Exhibition Road. I explain  to her as we walk  that there is a subset of dreams called Soul dreams which are dramatizations of the Soul directly. These dreams are our Soular essence our true core of being. It is wise to accept and embrace such dreams.

The dream ends and I go for a loo break it is 6AM…