Tag: dream

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

~ quantumdreamer ~ Leave a comment

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.

Burning House – Pots of Honey – nagal’s Courier – Tim – Dream 06-06-2025

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Here is last night’s dream.

The dream opens in a large, several storey, mansion like house. The house is in London and it is full of people milling around. There is a sense of there being former colleagues there, though I cannot identify any individuals. There is a mild chaos and a mild sense of consternation heading towards panic. There is much ado.

Somewhere in the building a fire has started. There is a growing warmth, heat and smoke. People are even more directionless and flapping about. I notice a pair of double fire doors with Fire Exit written upon them on a green panel. I press the bar to open the doors and start to shout and usher people outside to safety. For some reason they have lost the plot and it is my calm that helps them make good the exit.

I can see that the fire is not yet very serious but is in the process of worsening. I am cool calm and collected. I go back inside the building. I can see two fair sized terracotta amphorae. I put one hand in the neck of each of these and lift them up from within. I calmly carry the amphorae out of the building to the fire assembly point. I set them down on the ground and pull out my hands which have been immersed in the amphorae. A rich light golden honey flows off my arms and hands and back into the necks of the amphorae. For a long time, honey flows off my forearms and hands into the amphorae. I know that there is nectar in the honey and that both my hands are fully immersed and coated with that nectar-honey. I enjoy the sensation of flowing honey.

The scene changes and I am walking out of an urban car park at night. I am being tailed by some young men in jeans and with hoodies. They are following me for quite some distance. There are a few of them but two main protagonists. I am unconcerned. I stop and turn. I ask them why they are following me. They say that they have noted that I have something in the back right hand pocket of my jeans. They asks what it is. I say that it is a “special” USB flash drive with a plan, a business plan for Alexandros who is the nagal’s courier, my nagal’s courier. They say that they want me to give it to them. I say that it is encrypted and that only Alexandros and I can read it. They say that they still want it. I explain that it will be for them a Pandora’s box and any attempt at reading it will unleash things they do not want unleashed. They insist. I hand them the USB drive which is in a small black velvet bag with a drawstring closure.

The scene changes and I am in some big faculty like meeting where {big} cheeses are sat around tables in a boardroom style layout. There are more than a dozen people there all smartly dressed. They are aged fifties and early sixties. The meeting is being chaired and convocated by Tim Jones. He has been given this job as being less partial and personally implicated than others. They are to discuss with me what my business plans are, what it is that I want. There is a sense of UK university with some politico-input. I say to Tim that it is more than a little rich that they are finally asking me what I want. How come it is now. He does not know what to make of the situation and is resentful that he has been drawn into it. With no success I try to explain to him and those present that I want nothing, I have no demands. The ball is not in my court – so to speak. I remind Tim that I was pivotal in examining many of his Ph.D. students and was used by him then discarded. Those gathered around the table do not know what to make of it as they are expecting some kind of plan from me, where there is none.

The dream ends.

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.

Former Imperial Colleagues – Big Japan Trip Dream – 01-06-2025

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Here is last night’s dream. Out of the blue. I have not spoken with any of the people in it for ~ twenty years!!

The dream starts in a small seminar room. It has a London, Imperial College feel. The décor is bland with diffuse bright overhead lighting. There are multipurpose tables at which are set two people, each. The tables are arranged in a U-shape and I am at a table by myself at the focus of the U-shape.

Sat around the tables are various ex-colleagues from Imperial College. They are all professors and some are now “big-cheeses”. They are all from the age cohort slightly younger than me. My direct age equivalent ex-colleagues are noticeable by their absence. The “job” has been handed to the younger incumbents. They are mostly male, with a few women. I had no “problem” with any of them historically. They have the brief to find a solution and make amends. Something has been cobbled together, some suggestions. This they have just presented to me. I cannot recall what.

I say to them that I am in no way interested in what they have just suggested. That they have the wrong idea about where I am coming from and what I might want. Which is close to nothing. That they are looking at things solely from their perspective. I am not like them and do not share their motivations.

There is a faint ripple of unease. I say that I am leaving and walk slowly, relaxed, out of the door, which is behind me.

The scene changes to a London airport terminal. I have been booked along with others for a big high profile visit to Japan which includes some technology and some cultural things. I am not keen from the get-go. I notice that my chest is wheezy and take a Ventolin inhaler. It remains a bit wheezy. I decide that it would be mad for me to travel to Japan for a long high profile visit. I know that the tour organiser will be at the airport well before all the others might arrive. Implicit is some of my age equivalent academic peer group. I make my way there.

I approach the woman who is young and smartly dressed with dark hair. I explain that she had better cancel my flight and all the other things associated with the trips in order to get as much as a refund as possible. She is unconvinced. I wheeze for her. She says that for the insurance she will need a medical opinion. A doctor is summoned and they concur that is it is unwise for me to travel. She cancels my ticket. She asks me to try to buy a ticket to find out what the going rate is. I go to the British Airways desk and inquire. The price is multiple thousands of pounds because it is cherry blossom season. I go back to the woman with this information. She is in a video call with a Japanese restaurant chain cancelling my meal plan for the week, which amount to tens of thousands of Yen. She cancels my suite at the hotel in central Tokyo. I say that I made a private reservation at Langham’s restaurant where I have been before and ask her to cancel this. She does.

There is some time before all the others get there. She tells me to buy a ticket to London which I do. I do not know where the airport is now. I sit down at a computer terminal and start doing a Japanese language quiz. One of her colleagues comes over to me and is surprised that I am doing so well on the Japanese. I explain to him that I have been many times before and spent time with a man and his family in Sendai. He suggests that the man was gay. I say not because I have been around quite a few gay men and understand them well. He is upset that I am not going on their carefully organised trip. I say that I am too unwell to travel and that in general my health is very poor. People do not understand how bad it is.

The dream ends.

Lifting up – Drone Overview – Colours – Dream 31-05-2025

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Here is this morning’s short dream which replayed a number of times.

The dream starts in a normal city setting in which people are going about their business in a semi-frantic manner. They are rushing about. They are sat at home watching TV, playing computer games and glued to their devices. There is much toing and froing. The colours of life are not vibrant and there is enmity. People are convinced that they are right and living THE life. Like a speeded up Koyaanisqatsi film time lapse, life whizzes by.

I am sat on a small grassy hill nearby. In my hand I have a flying drone controller with which I initially pilot a drone over their life. I turn on the camera and cast the images to their devices. I lift the drone which is white with four silent propellers up out of the scenery to show them the beauty outside of their world. I take control of the drone with my mind and project a world with less enmity and stress. It is relaxed green and pastoral. I show them what they are missing. The colours are bright and vivacious.

The scene starts to replay. As I start to lift the drone out of their normality they set dogs on the drone. The dogs jump and try to catch the drone in their mouths. They are egged on by their owners. Who do not want to see. They, the owners, have high animosity towards me because I am trying to show them another, higher, wider perspective on their lives. No matter how hard the dogs try they cannot catch the drone and I continue to cast “higher” to their devices. I am not in any way thanked for my efforts.

The dream ends after several repeats.