Tag: dream yoga

South Africa – Richard W – Imperial College Colleagues Dream 29-06-2025

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Here is last night’s dream.

The dream starts in the South African bundu or bush. I am driving along a rough dusty unmade road. The road goes up and own and has a yellow-orange bull dust. I am in an open sided Jeep like vehicle of a classical pedigree age. It is four wheel drive and contrasts with an antiseptic modern SUV. I am dressed in faded olive green park ranger type clothes with shorts. I have a pistol in a holster on my right hip, suitable for my left handedness. It is tremendous fun driving along the road / path. We are near a fairly fast flowing deep river like at the Augrabies falls which I visited two decades ago. I can hear a waterfall.

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The sound of the water is loud. The wind is in my hair and I can smell and taste the dry bush all around me.

The scene changes and I am now in the UK. I am in a busy Tesco supermarket. People are queuing. Outside the air is dank and wet. There is a constant hum of urban traffic. In one of the checkout queues I see Richard W whom I know from school and UCL chemistry. He is miles away up in his head. I tap him on the shoulder. At first, he does not recognise me. Then when he does, he is totally surprised to see me. I motion to behind the checkouts and will wait for him there.

When he has checked out, he comes over to see me. Although he looks a lot younger than he would be now, I can see that life is getting him down and he lacks energy. I turn him around and stand behind him. I open up a battery compartment in his back by sliding off a plastic over. I take out the two AA style batteries which are there and replace them with two fresh ones from my pocket. These batteries are similar in colour and design to Duracell. I replace the plastic cover and Richard reboots.

There is a short break for a loo visit.

I return to the dream back into a dank drab UK urban environment. You can hear the noise the cars make on the wet road. I enter a large building which I do not know with some kind of large atrium. It is Imperial College and Chemistry related. The hallway / atrium is being renovated. I bump into various ex-colleagues {sequentially} who were at Imperial two decades ago, all of them now professors. There are more than half a dozen of them both men and women. They are slightly sheepish about meeting me, there is an air of awkwardness or embarrassment. They are unsure as to how to greet me and if to greet or acknowledge me at all. Two males with whom I worked are very noticeable by their absence. The absence speaks volumes. There is a weird feeling that the former colleagues are surprised to see me even though there is a sense for them that I never left.

I walk into some kind of a hallway. There are poster boards up with academic conference style poster presentations on a blue “felt” background. These are all chemistry related. I can see molecules and graphs. Walking past I think some things do not change despite modern technology. A poster is a poster. In the dream I do not know why I am there in that building with them. It seems anomalous to me if not to them.

The dream ends.

Sanitized Anodyne Clone-World Dream 25-06-2025

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Here is this morning’s dream from around 5 AM.

The dream opens in a vast underground complex under a dome like roof. It is overly bright, lightened in a stark LED high temperature way. There are no plants. I can see two gatherings of people. These are of the “currents” and the “futures”. There is no luxury only a sense of sanitized, anodyne, air-brushed even. There is no fecundity.

The “currents” are older than the “futures”. They are more organised. They comprise solely white caucasians both male and female. They belong to three groups and are dressed accordingly. They are wearing V-necked medical scrubs type garments with white long sleeved t-shirts underneath. The white sleeves protrude from under the short sleeved gown arms. The dress is either mid-dark pastel blue, fuchsia pastel Rhodamine pink or a shade of deep pastel yellow. They all have fresh haircuts. The men are clean shaven and the women all sport pony tails. They are late twenties early thirties and relatively physically without flaws. People each belong to one “caste”. The sense of quasi-androgynous infertility pervades, though the genders are clear. There is some ceremony test or ritual about to take place, for the “futures” to progress.

I find myself in the group of “futures” who are all slightly younger and similarly adorned. Someone gets up on a stage to initiate proceedings. They will be subjected to a test in pairs. There is a simulation, a business game, which they have to participate in. This has been outside of their schooling to date and is a rite of passage into the “currents”. There is an air of anxiety about the test. They are all young relatively beautiful, flaw free and expectant.

I am paired with a young woman with dark hair dressed in Rhodamine pink. I am many thousands of years older than anyone else in the simulation. I cannot see my form but I know that I am very physically handicapped compared to others. The woman is a little disgruntled to be saddled with me. I explain to her that I know the game, the simulation, inside out, because I helped to write it and am aware ahead of time of all the pressure points. We can use intelligence. The game starts and we go to a “market” store to collect materials. It is run by some “currents”. The others are all running around to other stores. We collect the critical materials first and head off to our prep station.

As we leave the store there are some know-it-all “futures” hurrying about. I am in their way and cannot move quickly enough to get out of it. They gesture threateningly towards me to get out of their trajectory. I remain unmoved. A young man runs at me with intent. He hits into me and bounces off with enhanced momentum. I am unmoved and unhurt. He is sprawled on the floor and bruised. He is complaining of his aches. He is perplexed that a cripple like me is so fixed and heavy and immovable. Over the thousands of years I have met many like him. I know his type. I have the weight of time accrued and accumulated. That time is near primordial in essence.

His female partner helps him get up and dust himself off. She looks at him with disdain and at me with a curiosity and unfamiliarity. She has not met anything like me, before.

The dream ends.

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Note: We have begun watching the TV series “humans” in which a family has a new female synth or android in their house, a very human like “robot”. Some of the synths are exhibiting non machine intelligence or in other words life.

Myeloid Bone Biopsy – Charlie Chaplin Cars – Elephant – Blood Tests Dream 22-06-2025

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Here are last night’s dreaming segments.

The dream starts in a hospital operating theatre. There are people dressed in blue medical scrubs and with face masks and gloves on. On the screen is an X-ray like image of my right hip joint. They are using the apparatus to guide the placement of a long needle like structure into the ball of my femur and what remains of the gap between. I am awake and partially sat up. I am watching the procedure. A nurse is assisting the man doing the procedure others are monitoring vital signs.

He is saying to me that he is taking a tissue and bone sample for a Myeloid biopsy. The word is specific. They are going inside the bone to take this biopsy. It is important that they do this. This Myeloid sample will be sent off to the labs so that they can get a better understanding of what is going on. The scene is in colour and I can sense the cool air-conditioning in the “operating theatre”.

The scene changes and I am now in a black and white film in an urban setting. I am being chased by people driving black old school Charlie Chapin style cars. It is all very slapstick and the film being projected has a few flaws. The chase is semi frantic on the part of the pursuers. It is keystone cops and farcical. There is much skidding around corners. Although they are pursuing me, I am not interested. I am waiting for the results of my Myeloid biopsy. They will not leave me alone even though I am unwell. They are foolish.

The scene changes and, back in colour, I am at the edge of a field. Along the edge of the field is a fence. The other side of the field is a wood / jungle. The field has just been harvested. In the distance the gap between the wood and the field increases. I can see a small baby elephant. It is standing next to some saplings which are waist height to me. As I move towards him he moves, unhurried, off into the jungle. I arrive and there are two short rows of these saplings with green leaves. They are in a line and each row has several plants. I understand that these saplings are medicinal.

I am now on a Caribbean island; there is a sense of windward. The care home / hospital buts up against a white sandy bay and has a promenade. It is tropical. On one side to the left is the ocean and on the other a well-kept dark green lawn. There are water sprinklers going on the lawn. There are coconut palms. I am a little late for my appointment. I enter the building and there are two women dressed in starchy crisp 1950s style nurses uniforms with little hats. They woman on reception welcomes me very warmly. I am a regular and they like me, care for me. One tall nurse who is white welcomes me in a strong Jamaican patois. I respond in a like dialect only mine is play. She says that even though it is her lunch hour she will see me her “favourite” patient. She is teasing me playfully. She takes blood from the vein in my left elbow joint and from the artery on my right hand. She injects the arterial blood into a gas chromatograph. She says that even though I am something of a pin cushion these days she can always find a blood vessel. There is a sense that these blood tests are a very regular occurrence.

The dream ends.

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Notes:

Myeloid tissue, in the bone marrow sense of the word myeloid (myelo- + -oid), is tissue of bone marrow, of bone marrow cell lineage, or resembling bone marrow, and myelogenous tissue (myelo- + -genous) is any tissue of, or arising from, bone marrow; in these senses the terms are usually used synonymously, as for example with chronic myeloid/myelogenous leukemia.

Hegseth – Metreweli – Dream Snippet 19-06-2025

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This snippet follows on from a feeling of having at edge of consciousness.

Yesterday afternoon late I had a strong sensation of Peter Hegseth at the periphery of consciousness, there was an awareness of him meeting Trump. And then subsequently just him.

This from late last night.

The snippet starts with some kind of “zoom” like call between the USA and London. For whatever reason Hegseth is talking with Ms. Metreweli the head of MI6 in waiting. I know her face from the news. Even more bizarrely I am somehow linked to this conversation. This conversation goes on for a while. They are developing their working relationship and understanding.

The snippet ends. I am surprised that these should spring into the dreaming.

On waking this morning, I look up the name of the new head of MI6 and read a wiki page about Hegseth.

I look up my uncle’s MBE citation and see it was signed my Major General J M Kirkman who was head of Military Intelligence Berlin in 1950. The implication being that my uncle was MI too.

The feeling this morning is that something weirdly masonic is in the air.

Quantum Telepathy – High Technology – Telekinesis Dream 12-06-2025

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We watched the Korean language film Mission: Cross last night. Here is last night’s dream.

The dream starts in a highly secretive high technology laboratory. There are optical tables, optics, lasers and racks of electronics. Around the lab are semiconductor production and testing facilities. The complex is largely underground and the lab is equipped with seismometers. The room has no windows and is lit artificially.

I can see a young light skinned Asian man with jet black hair. He is of Chinese or Korean origin, not Japanese. The sense is that we are in Korea, or Singapore of China. He is casually dressed in jeans and a white polo shirt. He is attached to some electrodes at his temples. In the room wearing white cleanroom lab coats are a mixture of men and women, similarly Asian and in their thirties and forties. The concentration is intense. They are speaking an oriental language I do not understand. I can see through his eyes. They are exhorting him, particularly one man who is in charge. He is getting in the face of the young man telling him to move the experimental subject with his mind. He is not wearing a lab coat.

The young man is getting annoyed and tells him to back off. I hear the Asian words and only understand them in English directly from his mind. We somehow know each other from before. There is a printed circuit board with short wire connectors which plug in via a gold pin contact. There are pins at each end. The young man, at amazing speed, telekinetically detaches the wire and fires it at the backside of his tormentor. One end of the wire passes through the trousers and into the buttocks. One can see a red wire embedded in the man by gold pin, dangling about a foot in length with another gold pin contact shining in the light. The man winces in pain and surprise. The man backs off.

The young man and I know that the best way to gather statistically reliable data for “tele” properties is to use the interaction of telepathy on quantum entangled states of good coherence time. These could be optically prepared entangled ion trap states in a quantum-ion “memory” or with entangled photon pairs.  These could be free space or in fibre high fidelity photon pairs. Because entanglement is information rather than matter such an interaction would be telepathic and not telekinetic. By enhancing the decoherence rate of prepared state with telepathic effort it should be possible to prove that the effort has caused an outcome. This would be the first part of quantum telepathy which should enable further studies after the scepticisms have been overcome by some initial data. He and I both know that this is the best way. Decoherence is easier than entanglement.

The dream ends.

Hip Pin Removal – Jersey Incentives – Russian Passport Dream – 07-06-2025

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Here is last night’s dream.

The dream starts in a medical consultation on the island of Jersey. I am with the wife in a consultation room and a male doctor is looking at the x-rays of my left hip on an old fashioned backlit viewer. He is discussing that it is bad practice to leave a Titanium implant in long after the joint has recovered. It will make operating on my hip more difficult. He shows the extra bits of bone he will have to chip away.

The scene now changes to some kind of real estate / lawyers / Jersey corporation offices. We are consulting about moving to Jersey and the locals are offering an incentive for us so to do. They are explaining the ins and outs of buying property in Jersey, the law concerning company set ups and tax advantages. They mention local investment incentives and what kind of residency permits we might need in order to buy property. They say that it is best to be very thorough at the start.

The scene changes and I am on transport to Russia. It is not a train or a plane but somehow somewhere in between. A man in Russian army uniform with a big wide brimmed army hat is walking along the aisles checking passports. He gets to my row and ushers me to stand up in the aisle. He asks to see my passport. I give him by current blue-black one. In it is a special small visa document. He asks me the recent history of my passport applications. I say that I applied in Farnham and then in France. He looks at the passport and says that it is in order. He looks at the visa and reads it. He says, “Doctor Taylor we will be very pleased to welcome you to our motherland Russia!” He clicks his heels together, salutes and hands my passport back. I thank him and sit back down in my seat.

The dream ends.

Gateway to the Nagual’s World – South the place of Dreaming

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In my case, don Juan wanted an omen before he taught me the ritual. That omen came when don Juan and I were driving through a border town in Arizona and a policeman stopped me. The policeman thought I was an illegal alien. Only after I had shown him my passport, which he suspected of being a forgery, and other documents, did he let me go. Don Juan had been in the front seat next to me all the time, and the policeman had not given him a second glance. He had focused solely on me. Don Juan thought the incident was the omen he was waiting for.

His interpretation of it was that it would be very dangerous for me to call attention to myself, and he concluded that my world had to be one of utter simplicity and candor – elaborate ritual and pomp were out of character for me. He conceded, however, that a minimal observance of ritualistic patterns was in order when I made my acquaintance with his warriors. I had to begin by approaching them from the south, because that is the direction that power follows in its ceaseless flux. Life force flows to us from the south, and leaves us flowing toward the north. He said that the only opening to a Nagual’s world was through the south, and that the gate was made by two female warriors, who would have to greet me and would let me go through if they so decided.

He took me to a town in central Mexico, to a house in the countryside. As we approached it on foot from a southerly direction, I saw two massive Indian women standing four feet apart, facing each other. They were about thirty or forty feet away from the main door of the house, in an area where the dirt was hard-packed. The two women were extraordinarily muscular and stern. Both had long, jet-black hair held together in a single thick braid. They looked like sisters. They were about the same height and weight – I figured that they must have been around five feet four, and weighed 150 pounds. One of them was extremely dark, almost black, the other much lighter. They were dressed like typical Indian women from central Mexico – long, full dresses and shawls, homemade sandals.

Don Juan made me stop three feet from them. He turned to the woman on our left and made me face her. He said that her name was Cecilia and that she was a dreamer. He then turned abruptly, without giving me time to say anything, and made me face the darker woman, to our right. He said that her name was Delia and that she was a stalker. The women nodded at me. They did not smile or move to shake hands with me, or make any gesture of welcome. Don Juan walked between them as if they were two columns marking a gate. He took a couple of steps and turned as if waiting for the women to invite me to go through. The women stared at me calmly for a moment. Then Cecilia asked me to come in, as if I were at the threshold of an actual door.

Don Juan led the way to the house. At the front door we found a man. He was very slender. At first sight he looked extremely young, but on closer examination he appeared to be in his late fifties. He gave me the impression of being an old child: small, wiry, with penetrating dark eyes. He was like an elfish apparition, a shadow. Don Juan introduced him to me as Emilito, and said that he was his courier and all-around helper, who would welcome me on his behalf.

It seemed to me that Emilito was indeed the most appropriate being to welcome anyone. His smile was radiant; his small teeth were perfectly even. He shook hands with me, or rather he crossed his forearms and clasped both my hands. He seemed to be exuding enjoyment; anyone would have sworn that he was ecstatic in meeting me. His voice was very soft and his eyes sparkled.

We walked into a large room. There was another woman there. Don Juan said that her name was Teresa and that she was Cecilia’s and Delia’s courier. She was perhaps in her early thirties, and she definitely looked like Cecilia’s daughter. She was very quiet but very friendly. We followed don Juan to the back of the house, where there was a roofed porch.

It was a warm day. We sat there around a table, and after a frugal dinner we talked until after midnight. Emilito was the host. He charmed and delighted everyone with his exotic stories. The women opened up. They were a great audience for him. To hear the women’s laughter was an exquisite pleasure. They were tremendously muscular, bold, and physical. At one point, when Emilito said that Cecilia and Delia were like two mothers to him, and Teresa like a daughter, they picked him up and tossed him in the air like a child.

Of the two women, Delia seemed the more rational, down- to-earth. Cecilia was perhaps more aloof, but appeared to have greater inner strength. She gave me the impression of being more intolerant, or more impatient; she seemed to get annoyed with some of Emilito’s stories. Nonetheless, she was definitely on the edge of her chair when he would tell what he called his “tales of eternity.” He would preface every story with the phrase, ‘Do you, dear friends, know that. . . ?’

The story that impressed me most was about some creatures that he said existed in the universe, who were the closest thing to human beings without being human; creatures who were obsessed with movement and capable of detecting the slightest fluctuation inside themselves or around them. These creatures were so sensitive to motion that it was a curse to them. It gave them such pain that their ultimate ambition was to find quietude. Emilito would intersperse his tales of eternity with the most outrageous dirty jokes. Because of his incredible gifts as a raconteur, I understood every one of his stories as a metaphor, a parable, with which he was teaching us something.

 Don Juan said that Emilito was merely reporting about things he had witnessed in his journeys through eternity. The role of a courier was to travel ahead of the Nagual, like a scout in a military operation. Emilito went to the limits of the second attention, and whatever he witnessed he passed on to the others.

From “The Eagle’s Gift” by Carlos Castaneda, Part Three.

Can Dreams Be Prescient – Death 05-06-2025

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This morning, I had a dream in which someone I knew and last spoke to over twenty years ago was dead. The sense was that this death was/is in and around now. They had recently died or are currently in the act of dying. The feeling was that they will visit, after death, relatively soon.

I searched the internet with their name and the key word obituary. If they have died, or when they die, there will be some kind of obituary published. I found none, today.

A long time ago, unless I am kidding myself, I went through a period when my dreams seemed to be uncannily prescient. I dreamed things and they happened within a few days of the dream. I can not 100% rule out that I saw what I wanted to see. But my feeling is that they were indeed prescient.

I have dreamed post-death visitations from a number of people. Some came true, some are yet to happen. I dreamed in detail the death of someone who had a large impact on my life and they died on the other side of the world roughly concurrent with my dreams. There were other signs. I have had other dreams of death which were proved roughly contemporary.

Today I have a date marker, which may or may not be valid.

For some reason I am getting the words “inorganic beings” on and off of late. This refers not to the inorganic beings of Castaneda but UK chemists of that persuasion.

I keep coming back to the notion of how people use the end of their life being important. In those last few years work can be done on outstanding karmic due, work required by karma. It can be the crowning glory or the ultimate failure of a life. A time of rich harvest or a time of badly increasing debt.

Interestingly the theme of the USA increasing its debt, what it owes, is current. The USA is living on the borrowed. Borrow now pay later…

White Coats – DNA – Gene Testing – Lab Instrument Dream – 03 -06 -2025

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Here is last night’s dream.

It opens in an ethereal very white laboratory setting in which there are no walls. There are people milling about in white laboratory coats. Most of these are young. Some have pencils and pens in the coat pocket. There is a prevalence of spectacles. I am sat at a large white desk upon which are computer terminals linked into the DNA sequencer machines. I am with two younger women both wearing white lab coats, neither of which are done up. They have name-identity-security cards on deep blue lanyards around their necks. One is blond the other dark haired. They are younger than me and “official”. I am dressed in civvies, black jeans and a black cashmere jumper. My hair has a fresh buzz-cut.

The dark haired woman asks me how the genetic testing was authorised. I explain that my haemoglobin levels are high and that I have a large excess of ferritin in my blood. She nods and gestures for me to open the files on the computer in front of me. These files contain my full DNA results and parts where the study has zoomed into specific genes of concern regarding my blood and health. Before we get to the results there is a screen showing who has accessed these files. There is a list of health professionals in normal black type. Then in a box ringed in bright red and backlit is one saying D. Someone who I once was acquainted with. The files access log says that he has accessed these files illegally and without proper authorisation on a number of occasions. He has been illegally monitoring my test results. The woman asks me if I know who it is. Yes. Somehow, he has contrived illegal access. He has been snooping on my genetic testing and passing them on. It is illegal, he has been unlawful.

The scene changes to an ultramodern biochemistry laboratory on an upper floor. There are wet benches, fume hoods and instrumentation suites. Everybody apart from me is decked out in white lab coats. They are all younger than me and exude and air of quite professionalism going about their business. I enter a glass doored laboratory instrumentation suite. At the “welcome” desk there is a young man and a young woman. He asks how he might help. I explain that I need to run a sample. He shows me into to their latest machine. It is a hybrid mass spectrometer-NMR- separation machine. They are convinced that I know little to nothing about science instruments and mass spectrometry in particular. I say that before I run my sample, I need to assess the signal to noise ratio of the instrument. I inspect it.

When I am ready, I inject my sample using a micro-litre syringe into the septum at the spectrometer inlet. The results will be available in a few hours. Everyone thinks that I am a pleb, who knows nothing. The next day I return and ask to run the sample again. I have left it on the bench to oxidise overnight and that will give me an added insight into the chemical composition. The man is a bit reluctant but lets me run the sample again.

The dream ends.