I have had a total of nine dreams with “eggs” in found by a word search of my dreams folder. Eggs are a dreaming symbol for something nascent about to be born, something encapsulated and perhaps hidden. They are about potential.

I have omitted two from the list below because in these the “meaning” of egg was more to do with food.

There are four dreams from 2025!! One from 2023 and one from 2022.

I have partially excerpted a seemingly significant dream from 2008. Which kicked off a line of inquiry unexpected to me.

When taken together they seem more impact full. The “California” and “Nevada” dreams are from a different source, level or theme.

Were one of a mystical persuasion these 2025 dreams could be deemed highly significant…

—————————–

Chaotic Mess – Rare Slow Soul Magic – Dream 12-12-2025

Sleep last night came in two segments 12 – 2:30 and after an hour of TV, 4 to 7. In “A Discovery of Witches” season two last night Diana masters the ninth knot, the spell of endings and beginnings, the knot of completion(s). Implicit is inherent in this is also the tenth knot. Diana a weaver and time walker prepares to travel back to modern day.

The first part is in the early sleep and shallow. I am with the ex-wife. She wants to show me what is going on in the village. She insists that I go to see what has become of the village pubs. She is curious and very nosey. She wants all the gossip. Reluctantly I go with her and one of the pubs is under new management. He is trying to make a go of it. The pub is in a state of mess and undergoing renovation. A part of it is open for business. We go in and he asks what I want. I ask for a pint of Guiness and it takes long while to pour and settle. The ex-wife has a half of bitter and proceeds to go around chatting at/with everyone else in the pub. I ask the landlord about his plans.

We move off to the next pub. This is more lively and all the village folk some from out of town and some born are ostentatiously getting pissed  up. The air is of forced jollity, almost an anxious jollity. This pub is better lit. The locals all stare at me. Once again the ex-wife works the room talking to everyone and gossiping about life in the village and in general. I do not see the point of it in the dream. The pub is a mess and someone needs to do a glasses round and wipe down tables. There is a hint of Christmas party and the TV in the pub is blaring away in the background. It is harsh to the senses.

I awake for some poor TV, a pill and two lion bars.

Back now in the dream I am upstairs in a retreat centre type house. It is redbrick and old. On the other side of a single track road is a chest height red-brick and flint wall behind which is a substantial weir and mill race. The river is powerful and the water deep and of a green hue due to the weeds. I know the building I am in is aligned to the old water mill. It is a part of the complex. The feel is very similar  to Llangollen. The smell is similar too; we are near mountains. I am lying on the bed with the window open. The net curtains are blowing lightly in the breeze and I can hear the deep bass rumble of the water on the weir.

I hear a key in the door downstairs and in walks Paul and Emma. (Walker). They walk through into the kitchen and I can hear the keys being thrown into a small ceramic pot / ashtray. The pot is glazed agate green. I can hear Paul complaining to Emma about me. He complains how things can be messy after I have been and that although the mess is not mine it is in response to me that the chaos and mess ensues.  He is not happy about me being there and wants me to go. His unwelcome is widely held among many people. I do not do what they deem I ought to.

I come down stairs and Paul intuits that I have heard what he has been saying. He asks if I have heard.  I affirm. He says that there is no point pretending then. I say that I am not in the least bit upset. I have something to show him. In the kitchen are plates and cutlery unwashed. He looks at them with scorn. We all go out into a walled garden and to a stand-up wooden table in a “beer-garden” private to the property and which overlooks the weir.

I say to Paul that I possess a special rare type of magic. This he doubts as otherwise I would have used the magic to clean up. I say that this magic is not of a material kind, the kind for tricks and show. I say that my magic is a special kind of magic known by some as Soul magic. This magic is of a very slow effect. It is a slow Soul magic. He is sceptical.

I hold up my left hand and a brown hen’s egg appears in it. This catches his attention. It cracks and the top comes off. It is now like a soft boiled egg ready for eating in “dippy eggs”. I say to him that my magic, the deeper magic, pertains only to the Soul. It is not mundane. In the dream he understands that the egg is a metaphor for the Souls. I say that yes I can and do work directly with the Soul(s).

The dreaming view looks down at the soft yolky egg from above and then zooms out to a side view. A small amount of yolk has run down from the egg along my fingers and onto my white inner wrist. I say that even Soul magic is of two kinds, the magic of the Souls evolving through lifetimes and that of the spark within. True magic is about the creation and enveloping of the spark within a Soular casing, the egg of lives. The ultimate magic is about liberation in which the ovoid shell, the eggy casing of the Soul is rent and evaporates only to leave the spark within and thence throughout. Soul magic is about encapsulation and liberation. It is beyond the sight of most and not to the everyday taste.

As they watch the egg starts to dissolve shimmering into space with a shimmering of tiny golden insubstantial flecks. Leaving a tiny bright yellow-orange radiant spark or flame. Which is suspended above my fingers. Paul and Emma are temporarily transfixed. They come to with a jolt and all they can see is my upstretched left hand with fingers touching from where the egg once was. They can see a small trickle of bright yellow yolk against the white inner skin of my wrist.

The dream zooms out and looks directly into the depths of the water going over the mill race weir. I know that those prone to the chaos of the West struggle to see the beautiful order and patterns of time.

I come to and feel the stiffness in my hips and lower back..

Luxuriously Lost – Dreaming Colour – Vajra Bell – Huge Serpent – Dream 03-09-2025

Here is last night’s dreaming sequence, which on waking seemed very significant..

The dream starts with me arriving at a brand spanking new London Underground station which I exit onto the street in front. The tube station on a standard tube sign is called “DOCTO BEN”. In the plaza outside are a number of food outlets, a news agents and a Timpson’s key place. The buildings are modern and white, a reproduction of period buildings suitable to the area which I know to be due West of the South Kensington campus. The reproduction has been done very well. Although I know roughly where I am, I am lost. I do not recognise any of the streets nor the street names which are on plaques in keeping with the area. In the dream I rationalise that it must be an Elizabeth line, new tube station.

I decide that I need to get a green district line tube home and venture northwards towards the park to look for one. I estimate I may find one there. I am unhurried and thoroughly enjoying my time being luxuriously lost with no fear therefrom. I head north. I cross a main road onto the outskirts of the park and cross the road which I know heads over the Serpentine. I wait for the little green man on the traffic lights. I start to cross. As I am crossing my mind, its visual eye, is filled with the phrase “OXO BEST”. I know this and the previous word are numerology.

The dream changes and I am upstairs in bed. Somehow the cat has gotten onto the upstairs landing and is playing with marbles. I get up to investigate she is chasing a green cat’s eye marble back and forth along the hall. I imagine the door to the upstairs to be open so that she can go back for food and toilet. I close the bedroom door so that she cannot get in.

I wake up and recall the words. I go to the loo and make a note of the words on a cardboard box in the kitchen. It is a little after six AM.

I get back to bed thinking that my dreaming is perhaps over for the night and will generally calm down now after my birthday. I don’t think that I will go back to sleep.

Slowly my visual field fills with my dreaming colour, forming, swirling and forming in its indigo-blue Rorschach blot like way. The colours form among “clouds”. The dreaming colour fills the dream landscape. I note that this is highly unusual, spontaneous dreaming colour. I allow myself to relax fully into it and let the landscape fill and the colour absorb me.

I am in my old university office and the telephone rings. It is a young woman asking if she can get a train to Memphis Tennessee from where she is. I say that I will come down to see her. I ‘phone through to the trainline and a ticket costs £1540. I meet her outside. She is with a friend. I tell her the price and suggest that she would be better off getting a hire car. She has a small day-sack on her back. She is not best pleased. I say that it is an easy drive. She says “ok, then. I will drive” and flounces off. She is a Ph.D. student due to present at conference.

The scene changes and I am sat on a faded red armchair isolated with no room reference point. I can feel the wind whoosh by my hair and the world is whizzing past as if I am travelling through space. I am reminded of the Maxwell tape adds.

—–

——

I feel absolutely rooted to the chair and the world, the universe even, whizzes past. I cannot see myself but can feel the chair and its arms under my hands. The motion is fierce.

The wind dies down and I can now see myself from the front of the chair. I am sat on the chair wearing a full bright yellow Gelug ceremonial crescent hat. I am in Tibetan style monk’s robes and have a mala on my left wrist. I look like I do now only my hair is freshly buzz-cut. I seem energized. In front of me on a very ceremonial table in its pouch is my Vajra-bell. I know that the chair is in fact a ceremonial throne, my throne. With my mind the pouch around the Vajra-bell disappears. The bell swells in size and takes on a golden radiant hue. The quality of it is vastly enhanced and intricate. The bell starts to radiate light in all directions until it becomes almost blindingly bright. But I know that this light is not normal photons. It is Vajra-tantra. I sit bathed for what seems like a very long time, the light feeling much like the gale-wind from before only vibrant.

The scene changes and I am sat at my old desk from when I lived in Brixton. On the table is an open propped up Microsoft Surface tablet. It is large and expensive. It is not mine. I can’t remember what I did the night before so I press play on the tablet. A video starts to play.

In it I can see a few men, eastern European, query Russian. They are standing in a near circle. One of them has his flies undone and what looks to be a semi-erect penis protruding. On close inspection it is the head of a snake. One of his comrades pulls gently on the snake head and guides it to the floor. Slowly a huge snake reminiscent of a fat Burmese python eases its way out of the trousers. The snake is several metres long and more than  ~30 cm thick. It is massive and powerful. It has a racing-green lush colouration and glistens with a self-moistening sheen. I am now fully in the scene and the snake comes towards me, it welcomes me and I temporarily incorporate it. I become one with it.

The scene changes to the far arctic north. I am outside a base with wire mesh fence. I dig a deep square shaped hole deeper that my height. The sides of the hole are perfectly cut squared because I am digging into permafrost. Into the hole I place my Vajra-bell along with several near-spherical objects which have an egg like purpose. They are ancient and sort of sacred. I am the keeper. I then exude the snake into the hole for protection. It nestles down. I go off and cut several chunks of ice slab. These are ~one metre by one metre by thirty centimetres, they are heavy hundreds of kilos. But I manipulate them by hand and mind into the hole as a stopper. I am about to cover with dirt when Max walks by. I ask him if he would like to take a look before I close it. He is unsure but agrees.

The dream ends.

Dreaming Courses Dream – 14-08-2025

Here is this morning’s dream had between 4 and 6 AM. Again another one seemingly out of the blue.

The dream starts in a faculty office. Behind a large desk is a woman in her 40/50s. She is powerful and dressed in an expensive skirt and jacket suit with a royal blue shirt. She exudes wealth and she is very accustomed to getting her own way, obeyed even. She tells me that the faculty have agreed to my proposals for a course on dreaming and that I may go ahead with these courses on an experimental basis. She needs to be kept in the loop of developments. She thinks that I am fearful and subordinate to her. When I simply very relaxed and fluid. I know that she has other agendas which she is trying to forward and that there are politics going on behind the scene. She hands me a book of mounted photos like a book of material swatches used in fashion or decorating design. The book of “swatches” has covers and I cannot see the contents. She intimates that she wants these included in the courses.

 Her office leads out onto a full or partial quadrangle with a covered ambulatory or walk way. It has a light reddish-brown brick. There are cobbles in the quad. It feels a little like Greenwich but also has a sense of Berkley CAL. There is a history and the word meridian is to mind. On the side wall of the ambulatory there is a small wooden display case with a lockable glass front. In this cabinet I will display course synopsis for the passing footfall of students.

I go into an open room with whitewashed walls and a dark red stone or painted concrete floor. I am met there by a younger woman who has been assigned as to help me and, to keep an eye on me. She asks me why I think that there are no definitive books on dream content. I say that by their very nature dreams are nebulous and not well suited to reductionist quasi-logical methods. Dreaming is dreaming and it has to be approached via dreaming and not structure. Sense-making can hinder dreaming significantly.

I open the book of swatches to show to her. Inside it are photos of some kind of Tibetan centre, out in the country. There are images of coloured prayer flags blowing in the wind. One of small stupa only a few metres high. There are western white participants and a very few Tibetans dressed monastically. I know the word Drukpa is associated. It is clear that a part of the agenda from the powerful woman relates to Tibetan dream practices. There is more agenda.

The young woman has a notion that in dreaming cultures there is always a myth and a mythos. That these grow up around the dreams and the reporting thereof. As a part or her research she would like to see if we can seed a myth and a mythos into those participating in the dreaming. Rather than that being an ancient hagiography she wants to seed an artificial mythos and see where it goes. She ushers me over to the back of the room where there is a museum style display case with a sloping horizontal glass covered display. Under this are full depth “admiralty” drawers containing specimens. She pulls out one draw and there packed in cotton wool nests are several rock specimens. She select a grey and black speckled “agate” egg. The black is dark like obsidian

–

–

She says that this will or could be the dream egg around which we start to create a dream mythos or myth. She is excited and I say that I am happy to explore this avenue but that it needs fleshed out. We can use the egg for the birth of the course, metaphorically.

The power woman, the principle, from before knocks and enters the room.  She is wearing high heels which have been tricky on the cobbles. I show her two pages of A4 text which will serve as a flier for the course. This text will go into the cabinet. She asks what the syllabus will be and I say that the syllabus will be decided to a large extent by the attendees and mostly by dreams. She looks sceptical.

I usher her over to a tarpaulin. On which are several plants in black plastic pots tied to short bamboo supports. I say that these are going to go into the green house and that these will comment upon and be a part of the course. I ask if she would like to help us plant them. Yes. We load half the plants onto a flatbed trolley and head out of the quad-building to the university allotment where our greenhouse is. Together we all plant the plants. The principle comments that she found it very enjoyable and that it is the first time for a very long while that she has had dirt under her nails.

We go back to the quad room. The principle asks about a web presence or page. At her prompt I know that I have to send someone a link to the dream yoga blog as it currently stands. I will do this after I have written up and posted this dream.

The dream ends and I note with some surprise on my way back from the bathroom that its exactly 6:00 AM.

Mermaid’s Purse – Viviparous – Generational Language Difficulties Dreams – 28-03-2025

Here are last night’s dreams although not obvious they are somehow linked.

The dream starts with me looking down onto a white work surface. On it are two mermaid’s purse like egg sacks. They are shaped like ravioli, crimped and in quasi-translucent pink-yellow. They are very definitely alive and pulsing with a heartbeat. I cannot see the contents but I know they also contain parcels of knowledge. I have made them entirely hermaphroditically and must incubate them to fruition.

In turn I place one under the skin in my left arm pit and then my right armpit. There is a short umbilicus which protrudes into the arm pit. Otherwise, they appeared sealed into my body. The purse in my right armpit is more advanced and larger. It is this one which will hatch first. I know in the dream that I am now viviparous. The purses breathe through the umbilici. I must bear these and bring them to birth.

I wake for a visit.

The second part of the dreaming is set in a “trendy” clothes shop in London, somewhere like Kensington High Street. It is up market and youth. I have no idea how I got there. I am carrying an old pair of black Levi 501 jeans which have a few small holes between the legs in the crotch area. I need new jeans.

A young woman assistant comes to serve me. I explain that I need new jeans and show her my old ones. She leads me over to a display of jeans. The jeans all have stylised holes, rips and repairs in them.  I joke that I need not get some new jeans because mine are already ripped. She tolerates me. We look through the jeans and find some blue “baggies” which actually fit me. All the sizes are for skinny people. She takes the jeans with me to the cash desk.

When we arrive a young manicured and perfumed man is there. He asks me if I need anything else. I say because the holes in my jeans are where they are I might need some boxers. We all go to the underpants section. The array of colours is not to my liking, all colourful in autumnal shades and lovat. He leads me to the top of the range shelves and pulls out a pair of pants which have a “sock” or “willy warmer” for the penis. They look ridiculous. He is very self-important and praises them. I say that I do not like the penis pocket. It is stupid. He says that they are “punk”. I suggest to him that punk might have different generational meanings and that he has no idea what punk means. Real punk does not exist in his precious world. I say that it would be much more punk to wear no pants and risk my tackle falling out of or otherwise showing though the holes in my Levis. The young woman is both appalled and mildly aroused by what they both deem my gross comments. The man flounces off.

I go back to the till with the woman to buy the jeans.

I leave the shop and go into a boxing kit store. There one can buy normal black pants and ones with room for a plastic bollock guard. There is a sense of sanity there.

I know that the dream means my cultural refences are not transferable to the young of today and that I will have difficulties communicating with them. To them I am a crass ignorant dinosaur.

The dream ends.

————-

Sensei – Golden Egg – Seven Horsemen Dream 27– 10 -2008

This dream was had in Vienna on honeymoon. I got out of bed and went down to reception to write it down so as to not turn on the lights in the hotel room.

There is sense of training ground. We are all outside waiting for the sensei. However, the sensei is me. Alexandros myself and others are there. Suddenly there is a strike of lightning and A is hit by lightning. He is a nagal’s courier. He is lit up and energised. Only now it is not him it is me who is lit up and energised. This scene lasts for a long time with multiple lightning strikes.

I walk across the bridge fully charged.

The scene replays several times and is vivid even as I recall it today. {Jan 2025}

I go to a gym / factory area. There is something inside my anus. I reach inside and pull out a glossy shiny golden egg. This is very painful. I store this egg somewhere and keep it secret.

—————————————————————-

California Dreaming Snow Radiation Eggs 08-08-23.

Here is last night’s dreaming sequence. It seemed very important to me.

It is night and I am in a large American automobile with another man. We are driving along a road and up ahead we can see the flashing lights of a police road block. It is snowing heavily despite the low altitude. The weather has changed. We are heading from the central California towards the coast. As we approach a California Highway Patrol officer ushers us to one side with his torch. I pull the car over and wind the window down. He asks me where we are headed. I say towards the central California coast {implied Los Angeles conurbation}.

He says, “I am sorry sir but you can’t go there the radiation levels are still way too high because of the radiation incident. You can head to Southern or Northern California there are marshalling camps there and they are welcoming all comers, for now.”

I thank him and head South towards Southern California.

I come to and know that the dream refers to a nuclear attack. I briefly consider if we should get some 5 kilo bags of rice, flour, sugar, yeast, and a rudimental non-fancy barbecue today. I decide to try to go back into the dream.

I doze back off and am in a large seminar room with people sat around in a circle. It is in the USA somewhere. They are smartly dressed and professional. Arnold Schwarzenegger, as he currently looks, is speaking. I am sat next to him and helping him. He asks the audience a question.

“There are seven ingredients which we can use to solve this problem, make this meal to help feed us. What will you do? What will you say?”

He holds up a single egg and looks at it. This represents the first ingredient. He allows it to fall and it smashes on the floor. He then goes around the circle asking them if they have anything to say. One by one they have nothing to say.

He picks up another egg. Holds it up and similarly drops it. Again, it smashes on the floor. We can see two broken eggshells and raw eggs on the seminar room carpet.

The audience sits largely silent. He goes around the audience again. They avoid eye contact and have nothing to say.

He picks up another egg, representing the 3^rd of seven ingredients. I am getting agitated. He drops the egg and it smashes.

He turns to me and asks, “Alan what do you think is going on?”

I say that they are being very complacent and waiting for someone else to make a move. It is a shame. They do not realise that the clock is ticking and that they are fast running out of options.

Again, Arnold goes around the circle asking for responses. None are forthcoming though a few are starting to fidget.

He picks up a fourth egg and throws it hard onto the floor.

He goes around the circle one more time and as he gets about halfway a young woman jumps up.

She entreats the others. “Come on!! We must at least do something, before it is too late.!!”

I come too and think that four broken eggs stand for the terrible inertia, things which might have become something have been wasted.

I then try to drift back off.

I am in a communal room where people are preparing breakfast. It is misty outside and European of feel. They are all listening partially to an old fashioned radio with a tuning dial and aerial. It is playing some insipid pop music. I go over to it and tune it to a news channel. There is nothing on the news yet. I say that I will go and type up my dream. I turn it back to the prior station. I say that it is very important that they listen carefully to my dream when I come back.

Dream ends.

—————————-

Nevada Students – Catching Eggs Dream 10-01-22

This is the second of last night’s dreams.

I arrive at a faculty building. I have been escorted there by a faculty liaison officer. She ushers me into a room in which there are around half a dozen graduate students. They are dressed in alternative / indie clothes and a few of them have died hair and piercings. I assume that they are arts students.

The faculty liaison officer tells them to show me around and generally be helpful. They introduce themselves as do I, on a first names basis. They are very friendly with only mild US accents. I ask them what they do and it tuns out that they are all scientists and use lasers in one way or another. They are from various departments. I decide not to ask them if they know Prof. A..

They show me around campus and towards the biotechnology building in which two of them work.

Before we get there, we sit down on some park benches on the grass. Two of the students sit to my left on one bench. There are a few benches around what appears to be a tree, at first sight. The students hold out their hands, palms up. I look to my right and then back to my left because I hear a sound. One of the students has a broken hen’s egg in his left hand. The tree is now a tree from which multiple brown hen’s eggs are suspended. From time to time an egg falls either on the ground or towards a hand. The trick is to catch an egg in the hand without it breaking. From the broken eggs on the floor, I can see many have failed. The students are enthralled by this activity and no longer notice I am there. In the dream I know that I would have no problem catching an egg without breaking it.

The number of people passing us increases. It is the end of the day, and they are heading to the car park which is behind us. I conclude that the main part of campus is where they are coming from. I get up and head off in that direction to explore. I make a mental bet with myself that I can find the centre I am looking for without looking at any signs.

Dream ends.

—-