Tag: dream yoga

Toadies – Zuckerberg – AI-Bot -UK – Pianist – Dream 31-08-2025

~ quantumdreamer ~ Leave a comment

Here are last night’s dream segments. The first is USA based, the second UK. There was also a middle segment which I cannot recall.

The dream starts at some massive technology show / event with booths and plenaries. It is in the extended San Francisco Bay conurbation. The event is symptomatic of the location. I am with the “team” of Mark Zuckerberg. I have been summoned because he wants to talk to me about some of my ideas. For now I am simply among the swathe of toadies and sycophants who are following him through the event. The crowd parts as the swathe moves through the event. The young toadies, all “bright young things” are on the one hand obeying his request about me and, on the other, making sure that he does not get to talk with me. They are hype-merchants. They are almost aggressive to me because I am a fossil, a dinosaur, ancient history. They think that it “I” am a fad and that “Mark” will move past.

He stops at a big booth in which there are AI-Bots. These are roughly the size of a small human fist and work on a magnetic levitation principle.  They are a form of swarm survey bot sent out to analyse in groups. The method by which the bots are held together looks unusual because it is a field rather than a direct physical connection which holds some of the components together. He talks with the founders. The swathe moves on.

I stay behind and examine one of the bots. I am locked into the exhibition hall overnight. The next day Zuckerberg revisits. On a table covered with a white linen table cloth I have opened up, reverse engineered,  one for the bots for him to see. There are some superconducting core elements at the hearts of the bot. The toadies are not happy with me. They emanate this discontent.

I wake up and go back to sleep. There is an extensive part of dream maintaining to nature, trees and gardening.

The next scene opens up with me attending an event at a UK village/town hall community centre. The event is sizeable around several hundred people. As we enter, I can see a large grand piano. I am perhaps to play for them. I am sat at a table with others and have to endure a meal and soporific speeches about local politics. Yawn.

I go to the bathroom. To avoid the dessert I go to sit at the piano. It has shrunken into an electric keyboard. I know that the state of the piano-keyboard is symbolic of the minds of the participants. I start to test the keys out with no current on to check the feel.

The event continues. There is a short hiatus in the speeches and I can have a brief play for my warm up. The keyboard has shrunken even further so that it resembles a toy. I start to test the keys and the noise coming out is significant. The entire keyboard goes into a state of loud resonance. One of the organisers comes over and picks up the keyboard to stop the resonance. When it has calmed down. He replaces it. The time has come for me to play the keyboard. I cannot do this without the keyboard going into a freak-out overload resonance. It is clear that I am not meant to play for the audience because they, their minds, cannot hack it.

The dream ends

Seven Shots – Père-Lachaise – Soul Talking – Dream 29-08-2025

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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…

Diplomatic Close Protection – Canal Boat – Base – Dream 28-08-2025

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Here is this morning’s dream from around 6AM.

The dream opens in a canal boat rental office in, specifically, Altrincham. I am with my wife and two young women, late twenties early thirties. They are both armed with automatic pistols in Velcro holsters at waist level on the back. The weapons are Glock like. One of the women is right handed and the other left handed from the way the guns are situated for draw. They are wearing discrete Kevlar body armour  and have “security” communications earpieces. They are dressed in dark trousers and quasi-military shirts. They feel special forces like. One I know to be a lesbian and she is the senior. They work in diplomatic close protection and I am their charge. They are clearly physically fit and agile. They are alert. The idea being for us to hire a canal boat and head via the network to North Yorkshire because I will be off radar and there is little traffic now off season.

There are two women working in the canal boat office. They are wearing earphone microphone headpieces. The one I am talking with has frizzy poorly coloured bleach blonde hair. She is a bit giggly, flirty and fawning because she has seen me on the TV and recognises me from the news. I explain that we need a good comfortable canal boat for several weeks with satellite Wi-Fi. She shows us a catalogue and one of the protection agents selects a top model and says they will cover the bill. The women is told to remain quiet about what happened. She hands me the keys.

We make our way down to canal boat dock and are joined by the wife’s brother. He is taking it all in his stride and asks to drive the longboat. We set off with him at the wheel.

Nearby a residence / base has been set up and hired. It is a modern country property with two outdoor walled terraces which have awnings and heating. There is no line of sight to these terraces. The property also has a helipad. They are setting up the outdoor terrace for meetings / debriefs. I can see that there is a subtle security perimeter being put in place. The drive to the house from a country road is roughly half a kilometre. This property will be semi-permanent after the canal foray. People can visit me there unobtrusively.

Back in the canal boat we negotiate a shallow section. I can see in the reeds partially stranded a large predator salmon like fish {query Zander on writing}. I see this and think that I will be able to do canal fishing. We pull up to a mooring near a country pub. The wife’s brother goes over to a black SUV parked near a five bar wooden country gate to pick up fishing rods from extra “security” who have been shadowing the five of us. He rejoins the boat. The wife and I are in the galley and I am starting to prepare food for all of us.

The boat reaches a series of mounting locks. I joke to my brother in law that we had better look at the manual because the lock gates loom massive. We need to learn how to fill the lower portion of the lock.

The dream ends.

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.

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.

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.