Tag: dream yoga

Aussie Photos – Ndola Zambia Job Interview Dream 23-02-2026

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Here is this morning’s dream. It is very out-of-the-blue and in terms of compare and contrast, differs markedly.

The dream opens with me wearing a photographer’s utility vest sleeveless jacket in khaki. It has multiple pockets and around my neck is a posh camera with a very large lighter coloured telephoto lens. It is pretty heavy. I am to review thousands of photos of Australia and specifically of wetlands in Queensland and Northern Territory. After I have done this I have an assignment in the Gulf of Carpentaria. The assignment is for photographing mangroves. It will be way outback and bush.

Next I am at an unspecified airport with the wife. I have an upcoming job interview at Ndola university in the Copperbelt of Zambia. I have an open old style return air ticket replete with carbon paper. I am asking the wife if she wants to come along. We need to figure out if the cost is worth it given that I may not get the job. We decide that it will be worth the hundreds of pounds because she can then input into the decision about taking the job and relocating to Zambia. I have been before she not. So we buy her an open ticket too.

Because it is all a bit rushed and last minute she is not sitting with me on the plane. L, a southerly dreamer, is somehow “around” on the plane with us. I need to have my landing documentation filled out so I go to the cockpit to speak with the captain. He is very happy to fill out my form for me. It is getting time for take-off so I leave him to do his pre-flight checks and return to my seat.

Because it is all rushed I have not made a hotel reservation in Ndola nor have I booked a hire car. I wonder what kind of “sheds” they have for hire and what state the main highway North is in. I remember it was not all that great when I was last there over forty years ago. It could prove to be a long drive.

The plane takes off and what seems like a short while later we are beginning our descent into Lusaka. I recognise it. I see a church and a river. {It is not like actual Lusaka.} We are going to land on the highway and will have to walk into the terminal building. The plane taxies. We  disembark and I note the particular pungent fecund smell of Africa.  As we enter the terminal building there is a staircase going down with a lush brown carpet on. I slide down the carpet on my bum playfully. We are in Africa so I know it will be futile to try to organise and schedule things. It will only result in frustration when that does not work. I must relax and flow, glide, with the chaos.

We go though passport control and my passport has loads of stamps in it. I have travelled widely. {In reality it is pristine new.} We get to immigration and are being cleared by a very smartly dressed black woman. She has an ornate hair-do and long decorative fingernails. She speaks excellent English with a slight Zambian accent. I am happy to be here with some familiar things such as the accent. She objects to my paperwork which the captain has done. There is no exit date. She suggests that we make one up and put it on the form. I show her the invitation to interview at Ndola university. She says to take my/our time to explore. We know we have money in the bank and that given the exchange rate we can wing-it. We make up a date and she writes it in red biro on our immigration clearance forms. Neither of us are happy with this ad-lib way of doing things. Out of the corner of my eye I see an Avis / Hertz car rental booth. The woman says that the guy there has family in all the hotels and will fix us up with a reservation in Ndola. In my mind I think that I have not yet  done full preparation for the interview, which is due tomorrow afternoon, nor have I had a confirmation email. The woman sensing this suggests that the interview time is mobile and that they will want to do hospitality things which could be very extensive. They like to welcome people to Zambia. I explain I lived here as a child. She says that the welcome home will therefore be very important. They always like to welcome people back the most. She intimates that in a sense I already have the job lined up.

The wife and I look at each other realising we are now in Africa time and African ways. I know this dream is South of the equator.

The dream ends.

Water Spirit – Misogi – Clean Water Venture Dream 22-02-2026

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Here is last night dreaming which is in two related parts.

The first part opens on the shores of an alpine lake high up in the Japanese mountains. The lake is shaped like a glacial corrie or cwm and is of a pristine light turquoise blue colour. The water is hyper transparent and crystal cold. The air is crisp. To the rear of the lake is a snow covered peak. The scenery is magnificent with Japanese acers and maples. The water from the lake leaves by a small stream over a waterfall cascade which drops twenty-thirty metres over rock to a small plunge pool. The sound of the small waterfall is melody. The ambience of the environment is close to perfection. The view down from the mountains is far reaching out to the sea.

It is ago something like a thousand years ago. I am on the shore dressed as a Buddhist priest. It is definitely me and I am Japanese. In the dream I know this to be my prior life. The smell is also characteristic of Japan. With me on the shore is a spirit warlord and a small retinue of spirit warriors. There is a Japanese woman who is of high noble family and she has her retinue of ladies in waiting and an armed guard. They are dressed in great finery. The Japanese woman is part water spirit, the nature spirit of the high lake and part woman. Because of this and her relationship with the Imperial family in Shintō she is considered the goddess of the pure waters and an embodiment of misogi or purification. The water is already pure but must also always be blessed. The spirit warlord is angry and the woman must choose to either join him back in the spirit world entirely or relinquish her spirit part and remain human. In a sense I am adjudicating.

The woman does not take kindly to the angry demands of the spirit warlord. She walks over to me and places my hand firmly on her genitals on top of her clothes. She then slips it though her clothes and I can feel her flesh. Forcefully holding my hand there she rubs herself against it until she orgasms. At which point she shudders and relinquishes her water spirit aspect. She has become human.

The warlord watching says, “so you have chosen!!” He heads off into the pristine forest with his retinue of warriors. I reclaim my hand and the woman is surrounded by her ladies in waiting who comfort her. After she recovers she asks me to do a ritual of purification, of misogi, using the waters of the lake. Although it is Shintō I know the ritual well. I have a bamboo bucket and a small bamboo ladle. Which I prepare for the ritual with water from the stream.

I wake up for a visit and a 3 AM ibuprofen.

I am now in a busy city {London} office building. It is just East of The Strand and I am due to meet some financiers / venture capitalists. They have been funding a high end water business. The idea is to create ultra niche very expensive bottled water which is ritually purified and attracts a premium price. I have been asked to look into their investment. I am with a woman in a business suit who is in a rush. She is a bit “doff your cap” to the investors and anxious. She ushers me into a room in which there a number of “suits” sat around a boardroom style expensive table. They tell me that there is a prototype purification set up and pilot line that they want me to inspect. It takes impure near sewage water and makes it top end. They know I am a chemist-scientist-technologist with an entrepreneurial background.

The scene changes and I am in a laboratory. There is a huge blown glass apparatus with many coils of glass tubing. There are two sand-clay filtration stages and a long flow tube with an ultraviolet laser photolyzing chemicals and killing residual bacteria. The throughput is small and this is what is worrying the finance people. I look at the rig and it seems fine to me. It is obvious however that if they start with such impure water the throughput must be very slow. Purification is a process that takes time and effort. If they want top-end water they must start with a source which is already very good, premium and which only needs a bacteriological cleanse.

I am due to present my findings to the committee. As I walk through the building I am told that it is shutting up for the weekend. That I need to close off the lab and give my keys to the people on the third floor. The financiers have pretty much decided that they are going to pull the plug on the investment. I know that they have totally missed the point. All they can see is high throughput. They cannot see the value of purified water blessed by the likes of me. That brand which we might call misogi can attract premium price.

I go through the emptying building and I cannot find the office where I am supposed to deposit the keys. The occupants have rushed off for their hedonistic weekend jollies of excess. I walk past the front security desk and leave the keys with the uniformed man on the desk. I exit via the revolving door onto a busy central London street.

The dreaming ends.

Beth Evans – Female Civil Disobedience – Aussie Sausage Dream 21-02-2026

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Here is last night’s dreaming sequence. As a background I was thinking about wrapping up my foray into online family tree search this morning.

Around four AM this morning after I had gone back to sleep and taken some ibuprofen for my back. I was deeply asleep. Out of nowhere and with a clear insistence the name “Beth Evans” came to the fore of consciousness. It was specifically Beth and specifically Evans. The clarity was marked. I noted it and resolved to remember. In the dream I wondered if it referred to the Evans branch of the family of my maternal grandmother.

After a while of permanence, it drifts off.

The scene now changes to a large female led civil protest in a US city. There are women of all ages but they are mostly 30-40. They are of all ethnicities and they carry placards. They are protesting against the “macho” policing of immigration and the gun boat jack boot coercive “diplomacy” overseas where threat of violence is used. Bullying. The woman have had enough. They chant that it is small cock diplomacy. The women everywhere have had enough of this toxic “masculinity” of the right wing nationalists. Which is fear based. They are disobeying orders not to march. Parts of the protest movement are found popping up over the world.

In Australia the protesters wave sausages alongside their placards. The sausages are meant to indicate penises. It is known in the press as “the Aussie sausage protest”. The trend catches on and female protesters start to wave sausages at all their anti-jack-boot – enforcement protests.

In France there are protests against the right wing anti-immigration movement too. The women also wave sausages. I meet some women coming away from a protest in the local town. They are carrying sausages. I jokily ask if they are Aussie. They are and have emigrated here. They have been lending a hand and a sausage to the local protesters, their sisters.

Later there is a gathering with long tables and I am sat near these Aussie women. There is a gingham table cloth and food. I chat to them and explain that I am an “honorary” Aussie of a sort because of my time at the Isa.

The dream ends and I resolve to look into Beth Evans later today.

Tremendous Mess – Shenanigans – Disbelief Dream 20-02-2026

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Here is last night’s dream. It follows on from yesterday. I have been unable to recall all the detail partially because I am not interested or inclined so to do. It is boring that this mess theme keeps coming back. I have made a note.

I am in a large old style house which has been converted into flats. I am in a flat which has a passing similarity to the one I had in Brixton. James is there with me in the kitchen and we are talking about his huge mess. There is a ring on the doorbell and Ashley is there with Camilla, they have been on a date despite the fact that Ashley is still married. They want to come in. It is raining very heavily outside. Everyone except me is highly emotional, charged.

I want to know why they have been on a date and it has to do with mess, the tremendous mess they caused concerning me. I say that I am not interested. I want to know why they thought they needed to tell me.

It gets a bit sketchy here. Then.

Ashley starts moving around the flat demonstrating that everything I have is second hand and does not really work well. He tries the gas cooker and the lighting function takes ages to work. He says that I am poor and that he cannot understand why that should be the case because I founded a technology company and raised a lot of money. It should not be like this. It does not make sense to him it is not fair in his eyes. I say that it is what it is.

I note that Camilla is in fact quite drunk. She has been in shenanigans with Ashley somehow. People have been inquiring about my past and that is why James has also cropped up. I know that they have both driven to my flat in their respective Mercedes cars. I tell Ashley that he must drive her home and I come back in with the steering wheel from Camilla’s car with the Mercedes logo on which I have removed. He argues. So I head butt him and he falls to the ground. I say that he needs to be real and to take responsibility.

He gets up and continues to find fault with my poor circumstance. He is being derogatory and negative. In the end they go off in his car. They then return and Ashley makes a dramatic entrance through the French windows. He makes an entrance through the net curtains against the heavy rain backdrop. He says that he has been talking with Susan S. who is also a party to this tremendous and far reaching mess. I can sense Susan through him. I can see her.

I say that it is late and that he had better take Camilla home and then drop James off at his flat which is just off the South circular. I say that I am bored with all the drama and that not everything has to make sense…

As I awake I think. “oh shit, not yet another dream with somebody else’s mess in!!”

Dragon’s Eyes –  Y Ddraig Goch

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———–

Eyes closed,

In his homeland,

On the spare bed,

He exhaled.

–

Sunk into the depths of his being,

Waiting.

–

The darkness breaks

And…..

 –

Old,

Very old,

He saw it.

 –

He saw it,

Waiting.

—

Quickening of breath,

Huh, huh, huh,

It began to form.

–

Summoning the dragon to guide him.

–

Those eyes….

They watched him.

–

 Patience and waiting.

 –

He touched its power,

Felt it absorb him,

His him probed with an awareness.

 –

Alien and ancient.

– 

Terror, blind terror.

– 

Lithe and poised

Those eyes….

 –

Wise beyond wisdom

Since the first days of man

And beyond.

–

 Amused and laughing,

In smoke.

 –

He held it and the fire in his heart

Began to burn.

 –

The crows outside called

Their battlefield cry,

Hungering for food

 –

Taken on the caw to another time.

——-

 Heathered hillside,

In the mist of lore

The dragon breath cloaks

Shimmering in be-coming.

–

 Hessian cloth upon his skin

Staff in his hand,

Rain in his beard

And silence in the world.

 –

Weary

Proud

Beaten

Defiant

– 

Behind him,

They marched,

From their deaths to their deaths,

– 

They reached the place

And settled on the rocks.

– 

Less faces than before

Heads hung on Castle gates.

– 

And those eyes.

– 

Why must they stand and die?

– 

Doubts, oh the doubts

They plagued him

– 

It hangs all on the next few seconds.

–

 The dragon’s dice have been rolled

His fate is sealed.

 –

What was it that the wizard said?

–

 “Re-member, re-member.

Focus on the feelings for that is what you store.

The memory will guide you back

Learn the lessons well….

 For next time”

 –

He reached into his pack and took it out.

He tied the flag to his staff.

Silently and into the circle he walked.

 –

He planted his staff and unfurled the flag.

 –

Y Ddraig Goch.

—

Look to the Dragon’s eyes my friends

And see there your courage, your faith and your hope.

Let it conjure in you.

Feel its ancient force.

–

Written in the hillsides and the valleys of your lives,

Washed through your rivers,

Permeating your being-ness with the dragon’s fire.

–

Pure magic.

If we believe, though we are few, we can call the dragon to our aid.

 –

We are an ancient race and we have been here long.

We have sung our songs and shared our poems.

We have laughed and we have cried.

We have learned.

–

 This is now our last battle.

———-

This from a series of dreams and visions I had around 2002-3…

Food Mixer – Pilate – Carrier Pigeon Dream – 18-02-2026

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Here is this morning’s short dream.  Here Pilate is a term for unwillingness to take responsibility and only going through the motions

The scene opens with the wife and I visiting a large upmarket store. I am carrying a swish food processor / mixer which we have recently bought. It is not working properly and does not do a good job of blending food. We go to the appropriate department and explain that we would like it fixed, or an alternative model or a refund. It is not our fault that this mixer is not working.

The person behind the desk takes it off us and takes some contact details. He is being officious in French and I can see that he is a reluctant “job’s worth” character.  Instead of wanting to help and please the customer he exudes “put upon” and “do I have to” almost sulking. Moreover he is arrogant towards us because we are “English”. I explain to him that I am very unhappy with the mixer and that they need to sort this out, quick-time. He gets increasingly surly and promises that someone will get in touch with us. From his manner I can tell that this is unlikely. He just wants us away from his desk, out of sight and out of mind. I will not hold my breath.

We go downstairs in the shop and find a cafeteria. We join the line, order and pay for coffees and sit at a table. Suddenly the ‘phone rings and it is someone in the electronic goods department saying that they have “fixed” the mixer. We finish our coffees and head back.

Several people are there around what was our mixer base but with a smaller volume mixing jug. They claim it now works. In a mixture of French and English I explain that the reason that we bought the bigger jug was for the larger volume. We already have a stick mixer for small volumes.

They are upset because they have not instantaneously solved the problem. One of the young Frenchmen puts a blender jug, which I know to be ours, on the mixer base. He claims that it is one from the stores. He loads it with some food including sweet corn. He turns it on and it appears to work. I know it is just rotating the mixture and only part liquifying it. He says, “look it is working”. I say to him that he had better pour the results out into a bowl. This he does. It contains some liquid and mostly unmixed food including sweet corn kernels. I say to him that the mixer does not work. He is adamant that it does. I asks him if the contents look well mixed. He says no. I ask him if he thinks the mixer works. He says yes a bit. We are at an impasse. He just wants us out of his shop and is unable to offer any way forward. We stand there in an awkward silence in which he gets increasingly uncomfortable. His colleagues have disappeared. They do not want to solve the problem they want rid of us. They want to wash their hands of it.

The scene fades. I am left with the strong visual image of a carrier pigeon with a small white message tube tied with two thin white cords to its left leg. The pigeon is in good condition and athletic looking. It is a messenger pigeon.

The dream ends.

Atlantean Artefacts – Karate -Scorpion Sting – Quantisation – Dream Snippets 15-02-2026

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Here are last night’s dreams / snippets. I’ll hazard a guess that the juxtaposition is unique to me.

The dream opens is a large ornate voluminous room of a museum. The place is gilded and golden shiny in hue. It is a bit chavvy. The place is however filled with a luminous light golden radiance which not everyone can see. I understand the rooms to be filled with artefacts from the recently uncovered Atlantis. The interpretations of the archaeologists are all wrong because they never lived there. I am wandering around with a man who feels like a much younger version of Théun and with Adrian. They are showing me around. They are trying to impress me. We are having fun and marvelling.  We have the run of the place tonight. Amongst the collection are a number of geodes of startling beauty, some meteorites and some special meteorite-geodes. I know these were used to facilitate communication across distances. There are other things which are unknown to modern day but which seem familiar to me. The whole orientation of that society cannot be understood in terms of 21st century reasoning. I am aware that there are other Atlantean artefacts held in secret elsewhere in the world. There is a good chance that I can remember what their purpose and use was.  

The scene now changes to a modern office environment. Terry is there. He is trying to get me to do his bidding. I think that his ideas are foolish particularly with respect to Japan. He is getting increasingly agitated with me. He says, “I will show you”. He proceeds to attack me with a very rigid straight line / right angles form of power Karate. It is very easy to block, avoid and get out of the way. By my using a more fluid circular approach he is unable to land any punches or kicks in any meaningful way. This only increases his frustration and anger at me. He is positively seething. I think him a rigid arse, a dinosaur stuck in his mind and narrative.

The scene changes and I am out in the bright sunlit desert with people who are younger than me. They are lanky men, a few of them, all taller than me. Suddenly one of them with brown wavy hair and a slight  American accent yelps out in pain. He feels familiar to me. I can see he has a large scorpion attached to the arch of his right bare foot via the embedded sting. He is screaming in pain and thrashing about in panic. I go over to him and ask him to calm down. I sit him on a rock. Taking the large hand sized scorpion in my hand I try to pull the sting out of the tender arch of his foot. It will not budge. I conclude that the sting must have a fish hook like barb under the skin. It would ruin his foot to force it. I gesture to one of the others to get a plastic Tupperware like container. I pinch the tail of the sting between the thumb and forefingers of both hands holding the part near the sole unmoving I twist the scorpion so that the tail fractures and snaps. I hold in my hand the large scorpion and can see the residual sting head in the foot. I put the scorpion in the Tupperware and help the younger man hobble toward the 4X4 utility half truck vehicle. We are going to drive to the town to see the doctor replete with the scorpion for species identification purposes. The scorpion does not seem to be phased and is sitting calmly in the Tupperware. The younger man has calmed down as we sit him in the back of the ute.

The scene changes to a seminar room in a think tank in London. It is American tech. IT  funded and we are kicking ideas around. There are a lot of bright younger men and a few similar women. The meeting is being chaired by a young Bill Gates look alike figure with appropriate “Marks and Spencer” style jumper.

We are taking about the quantisation of optical transitions in molecules. I explain to him that I have never seen quantisation as being so rigid and step like, as it is deemed. I explain that I have seen these transitions as being a form of hyper resonance. These levels, these states are very favoured, highly resonant. But you can drive a resonance when slightly off the energy if the applied field is large enough or the theoretical linewidth bell shaped. People think only of rigid quantisation whereas a new formulation might be had with a fuzzy resonance type of approach. “Bill” says that he knows people who use ultrafast lasers to map out both ground and excited state potentials and that they have found a discomfort with the rigid quantisation approach too. He says that is what happens when you do inordinately difficult laser experiments. He is looking at a large A4 black and white map printout. He is trying to figure out where the funding has gone for this think tank and tries to locate it on the map. I suggest that he might look at Ireland. He says no. I look at the map again and can see Regent’s park and the beautiful posh stone terraces to the East of the park. I say that the map must be of central London.

The dream ends….

Vajrapani – Who Do You Think You Are – Dream – 13-02-2026

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Last night we watched an episode of the TV programme “Who do you think you are?” in which diamond geezer and EastEnders TV actor Danny Dyer found out that he was related back via Thomas Cromwell to King Edward the Third. In a sense the second part of this is related to recapping a part of this life. During the day I downloaded and scan-read numerous Tantra texts from the 84000 Reading Room web site. It is not uncommon for me to do some meditation visualisations at the transition from fully awake to “asleep”. I started with what I call geometric Vajrapani as I drifted off.

As I ready for sleep I invoke and visualize a blue Vajrapani in a readiness pose, not full wrathful. I am invoking his protection. I start by visualizing him in each of the four cardinal compass points to our property. Starting in the East, then South, then West and finally North. There is a calm familiarity with the practice.

I notice the transition from “awake” to “asleep”.

Now without any physical house and garden refence points I see Vajrapani first close and then far. He is stocky, muscular and well powered. He is of a physical age of a well maintained 40 year old athlete. He is definitely lithe and athletic.

I then see him at each of the four cardinal point of a two dimensional compass circle. He then appears also at the minor cardinals such as SW. Until I am at the centre of a circle in which there are eight Vajrapani. The ones at the true cardinals are slightly larger.

The scene changes to three dimensional in which there are two extra global circles one North-South and the other East-West. These are at right angles to the initial plane. Where these circles intersect, vertically above me and vertically below me an additional Vajrapani appears. So that there two more true cardinal Vajrapani. The quasi cardinal points fill in with smaller Vajrapani giving and extra eight smaller Vajrapani and a total now of eighteen. The feeling is of a three axes gyroscope.

–

–

There is a sense of being cradled.

The scene now changes and I am sat with Vajrapani as a younger man with long jet black hair still blue hued. He is dressed informally in a light off the shoulder white toga like robe. We are under a weeping willow like tree by the banks of a small gently flowing river. We are sat facing each other on the grass. He is very relaxed, beaming with an inner light, and it is as if we are having a picnic on the grass together though we are not eating. We are conversing without words mind to mind and are well en rapport with each other. In the dream our relationship is fraternal friendly. We know that my secondary predilection is for the light of the East.  Between us is a shared knowledge of the Nagas. For a very pleasant while we sit enjoying the shade of the tree, the grassy lawn, the sound of the river, and the sparkling light of the sun reflecting therefrom. He is now always “available”.

I awake for a loo visit it is around 3:15 AM. I have an upset stomach which is telling me that I need to now cut something out of my post operative diet. I go downstairs and watch a bit of You Tube. I somehow know that it is near dawn in Northern India and Bhutan.

I go back to bed and to sleep.

I am now with the wife in the dining hall of Wycliffe College prep school. We are sat at high table with the headmaster. He is talking with us. I explain to him that it is good to revisit and that I was last here around 57 or 58. I do the maths and realised it must be 1977-8.

The scene changes and we are walking up then hill to Tiley field which used to be the athletics track. It was here that I used to run 800 and 1500 metres barefoot, sometimes for the school. I enjoyed the grass under my feet. There are a few younger people there and the use of the field has changed. The scene changes to an indoor swimming pool I am there with some teenagers from the upper school. Then we are back in the dining room.

I explain that because of my date of birth I was able to stay down and enter the scholarship class where I won the science exhibition to the school proper. I wonder if there are any records or photos of my time there. I know that there is at least one whole school photo in which I am.

The headmaster talks about how the alumni are helping to fund a school project. He gestures and someone brings an old style land line ‘phone in an olive green plastic. The ‘phone is bulky and wired in. He places it on the dinner table in front of me and gestures for me to pick it up. I know that it will have the alumni and fund raising office at the other end.

The ‘phone then looms large on the table and I wonder if the dream is telling me to make contact with my old school. Maybe they can throw some light on things. I remember that when I was there I was in trouble and had difficulty settling in. Perhaps something interesting happened about which there are records?

The wife and I look at each other knowing that the headmaster is simply doing his job as a fundraiser but also that there may be something important which he is missing by a mile.

The dreaming ends and I come to. My initial thought was that it was a nice change to have nice dreams.

Medical – Mistaken Identity – Language Choice Dream 12-02-2026

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Here is the second of last night’s dreaming snippets.

The dream starts in a waiting room of a seemingly English medical practice. I am sat there next to a rack of magazines and a large window sill upon which is a green indoor plant. In walk two nurses, dressed in old fashioned white nurse uniform with little white cardboard “hats” pinned into their hair. They are chatting loudly and are white corpulent of build. One of them is older than the other. They are not strangers to food. The older nurse comes up to me and asks me, “what drives people (you) to strong drink?”

I have never been  much of a spirits sort of person. So I wonder why she is asking me about strong drink. I think. I then say that it is most likely peer influence that pushes one towards strong drink, that or partners. The two nurses look at each other and exchange conspiratory looks. They move through the waiting room and into another room, giggling slightly.

In walks a man who says a loud hello to the receptionist and comes into the waiting room. He is a doctor but somehow is dressed like a catholic priest with black shirt and white dog collar. He is about my age, ruddy of complexion and with unkempt fair hair and balding pate. He claims me as a long lost friend of his. I have never seen him before. He continues to claim me as a friend recounting some exploits we are supposed to have done together. The man is clearly mistaken and possibly intoxicated. I say to him that he is mistaken. He says no he is certain that he remembers me and knows who I am. I say no he is mistaken. He will not accept this. I then say that he is wrong and has mistaken me in French. He is now usure because of the change of language. He gets up and follows the nurses into the room.

I am called into a doctor’s office. The wife comes with me and we sit across the desk from a dark haired query Hispanic woman of around 50 years. Under her white lab coat she has a bright red floral design dress. She has a stethoscope around her neck. She proceeds to ask me what ails me in English. I reply and she looks non-plussed. This goes on for some while. I say to her,

« Nous pouvons parler en français »

At which she relaxes and the consultation continues in French with ease. She writes me a prescription for my normal medication. As we are about to leave she pulls out a packet of cigarettes and takes one for herself. She sparks up. She offers me a cigarette and I decline saying that I don’t smoke. I think it odd that the doctor is smoking in her office.

We then go to a pharmacy in an arcade. It is very busy and the green pharmacy sign outside is bright. There is a queue in the pharmacy. There is a young man and a young woman in lab coats. They see the name on my prescription and try to speak to me in English. They are trying to show off to some of the other customers. The transaction is very slow. So I switch to French  and then everything progresses well and quickly.

The dream ends.