Tag: dream

The Shit Hits the Fan Dream 17-20-2025

~ quantumdreamer ~ Leave a comment

I could not think of a better title for this. This dream was hectic swirling and as such some of the detail {believe it or not} is scant of recall. Yet the feeling of something breaking through from the dreaming and under some kind of “pressure” so to do is strong. The feeling is of “out of my hands” and “beyond my control”. In the dream I am unconcerned by the “nascent” chaos, I am calm in the storm.

The dream opens on a large rural property in France. It is our property but not the current one. In the corner of the property by the gate and the house I note first a ship container like builders’ office. There are JCBs and assorted land moving machines. A canteen. There are piles of building materials like gravel and hardcore. There are bricks and beams. They do not have my permission to be there.

I go over to the cabin and demand to see the site manager. I ask him what the fuck he is doing there, what the fuck are they doing? He says that we thought you would like it. We are doing it for you.

I explain to him that he could not be more thoroughly mistaken. It is not what I want. It is not what I desire. They do not have my permission and that to try to imagine what I want is sheer fucking idiocy. I say that unless they start packing up soon, I will come back with my shotgun. Under no circumstance is their imagined plan a good idea nor what I want. It is a fucking mess.

I go off to the house and come back with an SLR camera and start taking photos of people and kit, collecting evidence. The site “manager” is on the ‘phone to his boss who subsequently turns up. He says that we thought you would like it and that the plans are too late to stop. I say to him that stop they will, or I will make an inordinate hoo-hah and a scene the likes of which they have never seen before. I am already transmitting images to the press and the mayor’s office. They send JCBs etc. to threaten the mayor’s office but I have forewarned the press and the local community who are waiting for them. The whole situation is escalating beyond their control. I have leaked the financial accounts from the building group and its parent company and searches into their propriety are under way. I say that I warned them not to do things without asking me thinking that it is “what I would want”. Thinking that they know what I would want. Thinking that I would accept it and be pleased. I say to them that they have no fucking idea and that this mess is just the beginning. The mess, the shit has started hitting the fan big time.

{Implicit is again and the language use is as recalled from the dream}.

The scene changes and I am arriving at a Cotswold stone library with stained glass arched church like windows. Outside the library are a several reporters with cameras and microphones. They have heard that I am coming and are waiting to ambush me. I walk through the crowd, and several people push microphones in front of me. I say that I will organise a more civilised conference and not a scrum. I’ll set up in the town hall so please to be patient.

Later in the town market hall there is a press conference. It turns out the reporters have been investigating every aspect of my life from my schooling, where I went to university and which universities I have taught at. They have been doing a deep dive investigation into my life. The implications for the institutions have been big. I don’t care overmuch because I have nothing to hide. The search has also been security service themed. They too have been doing a deep dive look. The institutions are in “trouble” from a PR perspective because they have been trying to clamp down and keep secret / quiet which has only encouraged a wider and deeper interest. “What are they trying to hide?” being a journalistic motivator. British academia in particular is under scrutiny. The journalists start by asking me about mundane aspects of my current life. The whole thing is chaotic and out of control. I am completely unfazed, the snowball effect has started.

The scene changes to a European possibly Swiss university. It becomes clear that this is in fact Bern. My former supervisor is putting on a laser and light festival for the town at Christmas. I warn him via his secretary about the ongoing investigation. He is unperturbed and asks if I would like to help him with the light show. I say it is a good idea; I would like to but probably best for the event if I stay away.

As I am coming to, I am slightly tired because of the hectic nature of the dream and unsurprised at the theme of other people thinking that they know what is best for me and what it is that I want. When as is always they case they have no fucking idea. The feeling is that something has now been started which must simply unfold. Chaos may be on the wind.

I wake up thinking along the lines of same shit different day.

Shadow Dreaming Protocol Dream 15-10-2025

~ quantumdreamer ~ Leave a comment

Here is this morning’s dream. The first had in the Cotswolds. The first segment was before 3 AM the second after yet before 6.

The dream opens in a vast underground complex. It is somehow “top secret”. I am walking along with a British person who is “liaison”. He is younger than me and skilled at handling people. He is smooth and a little smarmy. We can see large vehicles driving off a main cavernous space which houses the project off to one side. The personnel are American military who are wearing light khaki-brown dress as opposed to battle fatigue army issue. There are some driving in open Jeep style vehicles.

He leads me off into a side tunnel which is much quieter, and we walk for quite a while. He says and I understand that this is the Dreaming project. Known as the Shadow Dreaming Protocol. It is an offset of military intelligence psi-ops. The project is currently well funded. He says that for the purposes of today’s meeting and ongoing I will have the assumed rank of colonel. This will enable me in the context of the project. We will be meeting our American counterparts in due course but first I must get cleared into the facility.

 I go for a loo break and some more painkiller.

Back in the dream. I am in an office which is well lit. It is in the UK. I am with a tall English woman with short hair and “horsey” mildly lesbian vibes. She is used to being obeyed and has an air of command about her. She knows of the Shadow Dreaming Protocol and wants me to get involved with the British arm. In the dream I have known for a long time that I will meet her. She says that I should think things over about how I will be involved, there is no “if” merely a how and in what way.

I leave the office and am now sat in front of a computer. I have received an email out-of-the-blue from Ian. In the email are links to two videos. I open them up and in the first one he is driving a small red antique Massey Fergusson tractor down a country street. In the second he is on an Eden Parc sit on mower with collecting bag. He is whizzing around. I think to myself to contact him back and say that I can’t match the tractor but can match the Eden Parc.

In the email there is attached correspondence between him and his uncle. I remember that Ian’s family circumstance was complex, and he did not know his father. His long-lost uncle has gotten in touch. The email chain below has some Russian Cyrillic and English Roman text. It too shares some of the theme of dreaming something which Ian has always been proficient in though unspoken about. I think to myself that it would be intrusive to email him back.

As I am coming to, I have a strong visual image of the woman from before together with Boris Johnson {of all people}.

I realise I will not yet go back to sleep so get up and type this.

South Kensington Bank – KGB – Dream 08-10-2025

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Here is this morning’s dream. Where this came from I do not know.

The dream opens in a small plush bank very near South Kensington tube station. It is a private bank and the sense is it is for the well and ultra-well heeled. It has a distinctly Russian flavour and a faint whiff of oligarch. I am talking with a cash teller about some different kinds of account. She is slick and very professional. Her English is crisp-perfect and she is immaculate. I feel at home and safe. As usual the posh circumstance does not faze me. She gives me some literature to look at. As I go to leave a man in his thirties who works at the bank starts to engage me in conversation. He looks physically fit and his stance is “fighting” balanced. He continues to probe about me and my business.

I ask him , “KGB?”

He pauses to think and then says, “Yes, well not quite, something similar, more modern.” As he says this he allows a faint Russian accent to show. We smile in good spirits and I leave the bank.

I know that I will recognise him if I ever see him again.

I return some time later with a tall woman with dark hair. She is expensively dressed and partially eastern European. We go into the bank and I help arrange various financial currency instruments to be cashed, if needed, in global locations when she is on her travels. There is a sense that sanctions against Russia have made this more tricky. We leave the bank and are followed by thick set big man well over six feet. He has a very expensive lather jacket and close cropped blond hair. He has a ruddy face and I know that he is fond of a good piss up.

We head off down towards the tube station. He is behind us. As we are going down the stairs we are met by another Russian coming up the stairs. He stands in front of the woman and sort of ushers her back upstairs like a sheep. I draw a telescopic police baton and open it. The man on the stairs pauses. She looks at me and by gesture says for me to desist. These men are known to her. They work for her “father”. We all go upstairs to a large car / limousine waiting on the road. She is ushered in to the back seat. I go to join her but the leather jacket man says no. I am not to worry they and she will be in contact with me soon. All sense of tension has evaporated.

I head off to the tube station collapsing the telescopic baton as I do. As I go down the steps into the station I make a note in the dream to avoid London like the plague and to stay well away from South Kensington in particular.

The dream ends.

As I come to I am reminded of when I walked into a commercial posh bank in Kensington ~25 years ago. I was dressed as per usual in black Levis’ and a polo shirt. I said that I wanted to open an account. They were pretty sceptical. I said that we had just raised  £5 million start-up funds. They ushered me into a posh office for a coffee and metaphorical BJ. In an instant their tone had changed.

On waking I have an intuition that should anyone intervene personally with me it is most likely to be the Russians.

Alms Bowl Mentality – pārasaṃgate – nagal Woman dream 07-10-2025

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It is full moon.

Yesterday I was very upset close to the point of outrage that someone could cancel an appointment I made, without asking me. And that the imaging centre would accept someone else cancelling an appointment I made without checking first with me. The fact that I received an electronic confirmation of appointment on Friday afternoon and then to arrive on Monday morning to be told there is no appointment is beyond the pale. It is piss poor and shoddy. Outrageous even. Very un-impeccable. I struggled to park it before trying to sleep.

Last night I had an intuition about how to phrase my orientation to life and it was “alms bowl mentality”. In that I am generally happy with what life and the universe offers me. I am not acquisitional or greedy. I am not about self-advancement nor gaining apparent kudos from others in a socio-political sense. This means that I lack the social ambition for “success” in academia and the common world. I am not hard wired nor bought in to the metrics. I do not seek power or position.

I have a look to see what is in my alms bowl and that usually suffices. In a way it makes sense with my prior putative reincarnations.

I nodded off.

I awoke at around 3:15 AM and struggled to go back to sleep because my mind was filled with the ridiculousness of what happened during the day. I struggled to believe that it could actually happen. I realised that I am somehow having to try to transmute this before the next alleged appointment if indeed it is to take place. I know myself well enough to suspect that I might manifest at my most monosyllabic and ultra logical picky if I do not transmute. People will know something is off. I could easily turn into viva-prof questioning mode.

Because I was having trouble parking the notion I decide to practice a full “phowa” consciousness withdrawing and death meditation. To keep my hand in should it be needed if things continue to go wrong. This is a rehearsal for withdrawing the life thread from the physical vehicle. So I began with silent chanting:

gate gate pāragate pārasaṃgate bodhi svāhā

This is the going beyond mantram. Pretty soon I was deep in meditation. I was able to construct the thought forms relatively easy and built the consciousness and images I associate with inter alia Amitabha and Ganesh. I know the Ganesh is the destination for me.

The meditation energised me.

After a while I noted the visual field beginning to fill with my dreaming colour. I relaxed into the dreaming colour to see what it might have to offer.

The dream starts in a mansion / training facility conference centre nearby a single track railway. It is in the country but proximal to civilisation. The course is winding up. I have been the key facilitator. The course has been held such that each break out room corresponded to one of the four directions in the rule of the four pronged nagal. Needless to say the personnel in each room are flavoured by the direction and dressed accordingly. I take a young man down to the station in a motor cycle with side car. He and I have known each other long and he must go off ahead.

Back in the centre the course is winding up. The East room is tidy. In the plenary are gathered several of the participants. I do not understand why I am seeing the rule of the four, it is a quirk. The general feel is upbeat.

In the corner of the plenary on a wooden easel is a framed portrait of a woman. The frame is wide and ornate and the picture is at an angle. The woman in the picture is slightly younger than me, corpulent and is painted as an ~18th century portrait. Her name is written on a plaque. I recall and remember the name.

Sat quietly in the corner of the room is a woman who matches the portrait. She is in an unremarkable pastel yellow dress with light brown hair and untanned complexion. I walk over to her and say that I suppose that we should talk. I hold out my right hand to take her left hand in mine. We are both a bit apprehensive. I can see that she has a wedding and engagement ring on her hand. She is married. Her hand is tiny and older than her face. The moment I take her hand in mine I can feel her heart and am aware that she can feel mine. She says that the feeling is nearly too much. I agree.

I can feel my heart opening very wide and ultra-vulnerable. It still feels like that now as I type. I know that she is nagal woman. In that instant I can no longer recall the features of the other attendees. All I can see is her. I know that were we to meet in real life the recognition would be strong.

I am a little blown away at the unexpected nature of this. In the dream I am reminded of something I said to the wife following her incurable Myeloma diagnosis, “It is the warrior’s path anything can happen!!”

It seems in the dream that there might now be an “after” following an operation.

I wake up and it is around 6 AM.

Gorillas – Plane Concept – Davos –  Cairo – Freedom Dream 05-10-2025

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Here is last night’s dream sequence mostly had before 5:15 AM. I almost did not want to go back to sleep in case there was more incoming to remember.

The dream starts with me crossing a wooden style over a fence into a green meadow come fallow field. The field slopes gently up to the left and gives way into a wooded copse. I have no shirt on my top. I start to run along the length of the field. I can feel the impact in my pelvis but cannot see my legs. I am unaware if I am clothed or not below the waist. I have not run for a very long time and am unaccustomed. I am enjoying it. The sun is out. The air is crisp. I am moving fairly well. I get to the style at the other end of the field about 400 metres away. I stop and turn back.

I start to run back. To my surprise both my legs seem to be working well. As I get near the corner of the field with the style I can see two groups of gorillas. Nearest me are three adolescent juveniles who are playing with each other. Nearer the style there is a huge silverback, his mate and two infant gorillas. I note that there are seven gorillas in total. I wonder if I will disturb them and cause the silverback to attack. As I get closer I decide not to try for the style but to head up the hill. I look to my chest and joke to myself that perhaps they will think me one of them. I start to head on a different trajectory uphill and without staring directly at the silverback. From time to time we catch eyes. He is content and chilled chewing on a piece of grass.

As I head up the hill I notice some human houses with fences to the field. I can see in the wooden slat fence a gate with a padlock able bolt lock in grey metal. I slow down and slide the bolt back which opens the wooden gate onto a path / unmade road. I step through onto the path and close the gate behind me. I am met by a middle aged Germanic house frau with blonde hair fixed in pleated curls to her head. She gestures me to follow her into her house and thence into a garage come hangar. I now have  a white long sleeve shirt on. I know that I am in an alpine village and that the elevation is around 1500m or more. I can tell this from the flowers in the meadow. She is very insistent on showing me into the hangar.

On the concrete there is a large model wooden plane with a brilliant red paint job {think red arrows}. It has a wingspan of over one metre. The propellor on the front is damaged. She asks me to fix it. I look up the model number on a lap top and download a technical drawing of the spare parts. I order these. The parts cannot be delivered on time. We agree that there needs to be a faux or ersatz propellor for the show. She calls a relative, a male, who fashions a propeller out of hide leather. This will be good enough for the first show. However the village is buzzing because an offshoot for the Davos World Economic Forum is due to visit the village. It will be good for the local economy ongoing.

She says that I should fit my own novel prototype propellers in time for this visit. I have developed a new kind of prop-drive unit which they would like to see. I agree and start fashioning the propeller design out of some metal lying to one side of the workshop / hangar. I check that the design will fit and can be driven by the onboard motor of the model plane. This will be ready for the Davos offshoot and they are particularly interested to see what it is that I, specifically, have designed.

The scene changes and it is just after dusk. The air is warm and scented and I am in the back seat of a taxi come limousine. I am arriving at the drop off “roundabout” in front of the Hilton Intercontinental in Cairo. I am a specially invited speaker at some kind of conference there. The driver gets out and opens the door for me. I go in and head to reception.

The scene now changes to some kind of communal market / fête. People are milling about it is in a town centre. Some kind of market town like Marlborough. I have been interviewing people with a microphone and a small production crew. I have been giving them the verbal prompt “freedom” and asking them to make a short response as to what springs first to mind. We have edited the first batch of clips and are projecting them onto what looks like a cricket white side sight screen. There is sound.

The first clip is of me saying “freedom”. The people / audience pause and watch.

The subsequent clips are of people responding to camera and microphone.

“Freedom from war.”

“Freedom from oppression.”

“Freedom from hate.”

“Freedom to love.”

“Freedom to think.”

“Freedom to breathe.”

“Freedom simply to be.”

Once the clips have been shown the people carry on about their business.

I am with three generations of a family they are a Somali / Eritrean grandmother skinny in a headscarf, she has that distinctive look, her anglicised more corpulent daughter dressed smartly and Western and a young girl. The daughter ushers me into the back of a limousine / van where we will edit more of the responses. I initially sit in the front left hand passenger seat. I cannot easily help the edit. It tanks it down with rain. I get out of the car into a deep puddle wetting my legs near up to the knee. This causes hilarity particularly for the young girl. I climb into the back and am handed the lap top. We are very happy that we have gotten enough “freedom” clips for now.

I awake for a loo break. I am in two minds whether or not to get up because if there are more dreams I may not be able to remember and recollect them all. That is already a lot to recall.

I drift back off and am in some kind of a social club / bar. I am in the entrance vestibule taking off my jacket when deeper in the bar I see Anita. She sees me and come running over to give me a hug. She is small. She says that she is very glad to see me because she wanted to tell me that she is leaving for Geneva. She has a job there. I say that this is fantastic. I have a series of commitments starting first in Fribourg and working my way south towards Geneva. Ending with a gig there. I have an “appointment” or job at a school near Geneva if I want one.

The dreaming gets more bitty but has me returning later to the bar to pick up my keys and things. I am completely naked and vulnerable but the barman has kept my things to one side and is very happy to return them to me.

The dream ends and I am determined not to go back to sleep.

Flying – Shot At – Antique Rifle Dream – 02-10-2025

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Here is this morning’s dream. It is the first flying dream that I have had in a very long time. Previously a long while ago I was able to direct the flying as one might in a lucid dreaming scenario. I quickly realised that this, although pleasant, was not dreaming proper.

The dream opens on a grassy hillside looking out over verdant countryside. The hill is a part of a range of hills rising out of a very flat farming countryside, a patchwork of fields. It is UK or Northern Europe. The sun is low in the sky, East. It is not long after dawn and there is a dew on the grass. I am enjoying the morning sun on my face. It is morning and I am very much alive because of it. I feel the breeze blowing towards the South along the range of hills.

I lean into the breeze and allow it to lift me. I am soaring on the breeze like wearing a wing suit though much lighter in feel and slower of velocity. I can soar like a raptor, a condor on the thermals at the edge of the range of hills. I am dressed in my normal combats and a Berghaus fleece. My hair has grown. I bank towards the East.

There is a brief interlude in which I look down on Sicily from an altitude of space. I can see the geographic contours of the island as per a map.

I am now back on the wind flying around a hundred metres or so above the hillside. I notice stones and bullets starting to whizz by me. Someone is taking pot shots. I land behind a small rocky outcrop. Down on the flat land behind a dry stone wall I can see two old Land Rovers in khaki. There are men with slingshots and modern black semi-automatic rifles shooting at me.

I find my antique rifle which has a wooden body, the wood is a burnished chestnut colour, it is bolt action and has a small magazine. It has a telescopic sight. It is a hunting or sniper rifle. I hold the trigger grip in my right hand and bring my left eye to the sight. I can clearly see the men behind the wall. I fire a shot and notice it is slightly off where I am aiming. I adjust the sight and remember that the bullets are low calibre, there is not much of a recoil. I use my right hand to operate the bolt action. I then get various members of the party with their heads  in the sight. I know that I could easily kill them. Instead I aim a shot at the top of the stone wall. It strikes between two of the men. They recoil and duck. I repeat the action between two more of the men. The men are now all down behind the wall. They run for the cars and drive off. As they do this I shoot one of the cargo rails on top of the rear Land Rover. I can hear the metal on metal from where I am. I place the rifle on the floor and launch back into flight.

This time I soar higher and can see the cars winding down the country roads. I am enjoying myself considerably in the morning sunshine. On a hillside in the middle distance I can see my wife sat meditating. In front of her drying in the sun are a t-shirt and her combat style sweat pants. I fly over to look at her. She is wearing a full shawl. She is not yet ready to fully take flight. By mid-afternoon she will be ready. I will come back for her then. I head off towards the sea. I know some ocean cliffs there where I can be with the seabirds for a while.

The dream ends.

Special Forces Kidnap Dream – 28-09-2025

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Here is this morning’s dream had between 4 and 7 AM. Another totally out-of-the-blue dream.

The dream starts in a very crowded place, some kind of event in the UK. It has the feel of a posh horse race. Some are overdressed. Everyone is looking in one direction. I am there with the wife who is standing next to me. There is noise and a feeling of crowd group mentality. The wife is standing to my left.

There is a very large man standing behind me and a big one to my right. He grabs my right bicep very firmly and the man behind me moves closer.  The one holding my bicep says to me in an Eastern Europe accent {query Russian} not to move. With his free right hand he shows me an automatic pistol in his military style belt. Under his bomber style jacket he is also wearing a black Kevlar style bullet proof anti-stab vest. His grip is very firm and he says that I have to go with them and quietly. The wife sees what is happening and I tell her to remain calm. We move off from the crowd and towards a waiting transit van which is dark in colour and windowless in the back. The other man is also armed.  They have short blonde military style haircuts and feel special forces or secret service. They have blueish eyes. I understand that they are the “muscle” or “goons”. All the while we are walking to the van the first man has a strong grip on my arm. I relax completely and do not resist. I can tell from the motion feedback in his arm that this surprises him. I am very calm and very focussed.

They put me in the van and drive off. Some considerable time later we are in an empty underground carpark which can hold maybe half a dozen cars. I can hear the metal shutter roll doors closing as they pull me out of the back of the van. I am wearing metal handcuffs. The driver of the van remains seated. I am now outside the van facing my two captors. From their movements they are lithe and physically fit. The bigger man must be 130-140 kg and well over six feet tall. In my mind I think second row forward. The smaller mans says that I have been inordinately difficult to find. That they have been looking for me for a while and that I am going to be questioned. They are going to interrogate me at “the” facility. The smaller man says that they are going to get into my mind one way or another, they always do. I think to myself, “good luck.”

The bigger of the two men stands in front of me and makes me put my handcuffed hands out. He then interlocks his fingers with mine. His right hand to my left and his left to my right. We stand facing each other  with hands interlocked. He towers over me. I shift my weight and get under his hands picking him up into the air. It is mildly painful for him. I have to put him down. He lets go and smiles. He jokes that the first round goes to me. Which both he and his companion find very funny. I am completely aware of the high level of brutality which may follow but know that will not bring them the answers, the truths which they might seek. I start to think how I might play on their superstitions and fear of the darkness and evils. I start to conjure in my mind the blue fire dragons which I will unleash when ready.

They lead me up to a shared living space. There are other prisoners there and a rudimentary kitchen. There is an Indian man and his wife. There is a Chinese looking man. In the kitchen I can see that the cutlery is plastic. They lead me off into a concrete floored room with a high ceiling and a single old-fashioned school chair. There is no toilet or heating. The room is sparse. The floor is sloping. They lock the door behind me. I go and piss in the corner of the room where the slope causes a small puddle of urine to form. I know that I am being observed on CCTV. I go back to the chair and sit down. I start to meditate and build the pool of blue electric fire out of which I can send dragons to watch their families, to observe and report back.

The dream ends.

Quantum Modalities – Ai Tosh – Three Cats Dreaming 27-09-2025

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Here is last night’s dreaming. The first part came from a sleep which lasted through to ~6 AM. Given the current state of my body this length is nigh on unheard of!

The dream starts with me pulling up by car at some huge generic modern science park with start-ups and conference facilities. There is much new building work evident. I park outside the conference centre and go in. The front desk directs me to the workshop on “Quantum Modalities”. It is in a suite of purpose built smaller conference rooms.

I arrive at the reception where there is a man and two female administrators. They are handing out badges on lanyards and marking attendance. The man is mid-thirties, the women slightly younger. They are professional and slick. The man takes me by the arm and leads me to a session. He explains that it is by way of think tank for kicking around ideas and concepts. No limits. He says that there are several teams, focus groups. He leads me to one team sat around a table arranged in a square, with a gap in the middle, like a square polo mint. The people are mostly men and all forty or younger. They are smart, well paid, vocal and energetic. My age and demeanour is in very marked contrast. The man introduces me to the group lead who is an Italian with excellent English. He is from the European grouping. He looks at my lanyard and welcomes me. He asks my background and I say that it is lasers and diverse types of optical spectroscopy. The others largely ignore me. I am not one of the “gang”.

A discussion starts about which modalities can be ruled out for optical quantum computing. These include infrared and solid state absorption due to decoherence. I say that my best bet is on background free ion detected stimulated Raman. They nod and slightly ignore my suggestion. I am after all the dinosaur. It is clear to me that they are fixated on the traditional notion of computing based around a microprocessor core and conventional binary type computation. Their thinking is generic and almost clone like in its similarity. They can only envision a static computer. I can see a visual image of a shiny microprocessor lit from above. It holds their minds. They go on largely talking among themselves. I get up and leave. Nobody notices.

In the main auditorium there is a talk on the future of AI. On stage is a smart young woman late thirties in a skirt suit with blue shirt. She is CEO grade. She has a headset with earphones and a microphone on, TED like. She has an accent from the USA bay area conurbation. She is speaking jargon buzzword tosh and not actually saying anything other than buzzword mantra. I know that the reason AI is popular is because the end of Silicon miniaturisation is nigh. They are reaching the atomic limits of processing. The industry is bricking it because they do not know what comes after Silicon. I find the talk yawn-some so I get up and leave.

I go to the bathroom and am very surprised that the large numbers on our “nanna” clock say 6 AM.

Back in bed I have to make a deliberate effort not to think about quantum modalities because I want to go back to sleep. I keep coming back to the idea that the “processor” cannot be a static thing. And that a totally genuinely radical re-think is needed to implement and optimise how to use quantum efficacy. They are currently at a conceptual dead end, blocked.

I manage to drift off.

The next segment has me arriving at another meeting this time held at a British governmental lab facility. It smacks of the tea and cake, white bread sandwiches canteen. It is an adjoint facility to a secure defence establishment like AWE. It is outside the fence. Nevertheless there are security {military police?} there. I go into reception. I am very early for the afternoon meeting I have been invited to. I am not on the lists that the reception has yet. I say that I am there for the afternoon meeting. He ushers me to a table where I can set up my laptop. I do this and get bored.

I go outside onto a grassy space with a slight slope. Lying on the upsloping ground I boot up the lap top. I am joined by the three cats, Bibi, Gandalf and Felix. Felix {now presumed dead} looks young and clean. The cats sit around the lap top and we are serene enjoying the outdoors in the autumn sun.

A young man and woman are nearby and they say hi. They are going back to London. I offer to give them a lift. I cannot be bothered to wait for the afternoon session. We head back towards the car. Bibi darts across the road stopping traffic. She is unhurt. Gandalf has climbed on my shoulders and Felix lies in the gutter playfully. The so-called wild cat offers me his belly to tickle which I do. I then pick him up and place him on my right shoulder so that I have a cat on each shoulder. Together with the couple we cross the road on a zebra crossing. We are joined by Bibi on foot. We make a slightly odd sight

We are nearing the site canteen and it is very busy. People are chatting on their way to lunch. Bellies are rumbling. There is a hub-bub. I try to remain inconspicuous looking to avoid anyone I might know. There is nobody. We make it to the car park and we all get into the car, three cats, me and the young couple.

The dreaming ends.

Hashish – Angel – Roses – Little People Dream 23-09-2025

~ quantumdreamer ~ Leave a comment

Here is this morning’s dream. A series of snippets. This is the first Angel in a dream for me.

The scene opens in a living room. There are several young men sat on sofas and chairs around a large messy coffee table. There are a few empty beer cans and an empty pizza box. They are trying to be ‘hood and cool. There a rolling papers and an ashtray. One of them with a grey tracksuit on is unwrapping a small foil parcel which contains some dark black soft oily hashish. He says that it is 3/8 of an ounce and that he knows how to get more. They think they are a bit gangster like and are in a turf war skirmish with another group of adolescents. I am watching the scene from above. They are egging each other on with bravado.

A youth brings in a woman who looks like Brenda Blethyn in her role as the mother of Christie Brown in “My Left Foot”. She looks frumpy and decidedly normal. The youth says he found her lurking outside. They are thinking about bullying or intimidating her.

I arrive / appear and stand next to “Brenda”. I say to them that she is an Angel. A particular sort of Angel who despises conflict and is highly trained in diffusing situations and helping people from erring into darkness. They look unconvinced. I say that the strength of this kind of Angel is their apparent  innocuousness. I say that under no circumstances, no conceivable circumstances, should they cross an Angel like her. She can switch from mild suddenly and that they would not like the results one little bit. Angels are powerful beings. Brenda smiles silently at me and we look at the youth quietly waiting to see what they will do. We are comfortable with each other, familiar even.

The scene changes and we are outside in the formal gardens of a large grand French chateau. The wife and I are tending a plot in the rose garden. The previous gardener has done a poor scrappy job. We have weeded and pruned, fertilized and tidied. I finish edging the bed into the immaculate lawn. We head off down a gravel path and meet a man working of a rambling rose bed elevated from the path. He says that these “arbustiers” need a highly specialised care. He has been caring for this bed among others for decades. He has a checked shirt on and is tanned. He is wearing a cream Panama hat and is very English. He says that the owner only employs British people to look after roses as they are better at it than the French.

The scene changes and we are outside our current house. The nurse arrives and comes in to check our medication. I say to her that we are very organised, there is no need. She checks anyway. She is in a hurry and highly stressed. We follow her out. Her husband is waiting in the car with her children. The windows are steamed up with condensation. I suggest that she lets the children out to stretch their legs. This she does. The man also gets out. The wife is with me. We all stand around and chat. A small girl around five with brown hair in a bob wanders off. The nurse is worried. I say not to worry. She heads towards a flower bed at the end of the garden and I follow her. I shout back that she can see the little people, the fées and pixies, the Korrigans who live there. I say that she will be safe with me because I too can see them. They know me well. We are friends.

The dream ends.