Kabwe – Tuskers – Dream Follow Up

I have not long watched a shaky video on YouTube of someone going into the Tuskers Hotel in Kabwe Zambia. It was weird given that I have not seen the place since well before 1978. But I recognised the restaurant immediately. We went there with a buddy of my father from Mount Isa. A woman moistend her nipple and stuck it in the sugar bowl thence to feed her child. My father’s friend was {apparently} a closetted homosexual and very shocked.

Here is a satellite image of a part of my old world from Google maps. You can open the image in another tab.

To the top left you can see a pink flag, Kabwe Safari Lodge. We lived two houses to the left on the opposite side of the street. You can still the vegetable garden which Tembo, the gardener made. Tembo is swahili for elephant.

Bottom left is the golf course where during the school holidays back from school in the UK I played golf most mornings.

It was there that I had Rock Shandies. I have had a few of late. I have just ordered some Angostura Bitters on line.

To the upper mid right you can see a grey flag with a cross in, Sacred Heart cathedral. To the right of that is the convent scool I attended for a few months in mid 1974.

Bottom right is a pink flag Tuskers which was, I think, the Hotel Intercontinental once.

In the middle right is a violet flag, the big tree national monument. A baobab under which people met and held markets. They used to do haircuts there too. I had my hair cut there prior to the photo on the quantum dreamer picture taken at the Lusaka high commission just before my tenth birthday.

Tuskers is only a few blocks from my old house about one kilometre away.

Zambia – Father – Royal Family – Golden Orb – Dreams – Dream 05-02-2025

This dream came as a series of sleep-wake cycles.

The dream opens in Kabwe Zambia. I have come to reclaim the body of my father who is lying in the “mines” medical facility. He is on a morgue trolley under a blanket. I have to sign a chit for his release so that he can be repatriated. Once I have done this, I can take him away in a wheelchair. I do this and wheel him around town for a last look, during this he appears to be conscious and interacting with the environment. Kabwe is much more metropolitan and modern than I remember. I take him back to the facility so that he can be shipped.

I have a sudden realization that I must get to Lusaka, so I go to the now modern train station. The train leaves at 40 minutes past the hour. I have just missed one. I go into a coffee shop / bar to try to arrange a hotel for when I arrive in Lusaka. Unusually for me I get out a smartphone and look for hotels. I find one. I ask the owner of the bar if she has heard of it. She a white woman with a slight Afrikaans, Cape Town, accent says yes. It is her sister who runs “Tuskers” an elephant themed hotel / restaurant near the train station in Lusaka. It is a sister hotel. I say that I like elephants.  She arranges a booking and offers me curry from the buffet in her bar.

I awake.

A Google search reveals that there is a Tuskers Hotel at Butungwa Street PO Box 80942, Kabwe 60100 Zambia. It is near the Big Tree Monument, and I have been in that hotel as a child when it had another name.

I drift off.

I catch the train to Lusaka. It is modern and there are loads of young people on their devices. I arrive at my hotel and get installed. Prince William the Prince of Wales is there, and he wants me to accompany him on his tour of schools in the area and then to go with him to the Okavango Delta. He has very fond memories of his time in Africa before he had too much responsibility and it all got so complex. William is hyper enthusiastic and gets a great reception at the schools. He asks my opinion on each establishment after we have visited. He brings excitement into their lives. It is uplifting.

I wake up

I drift back off.

I am now in the UK if feels west country maybe Gloucestershire. We are walking along a private path / road on an estate. It is tree lined, and autumnal. William is introducing me to Catherine and George. George is a little intense and kicking leaves. I say that I used to have the nickname George when I was a teenager. He then relaxes slightly. William explains that George has many questions which he would like to ask me. I say that I am happy to try to answer. Back in a drawing room of sorts George goes off and comes back with something in his hands.

He shows me an aspherical golden orb. It is about the size of a large potato and it is like an elongated, squashed sphere. There is an inlay in a darker coloured gold wrapping it in a cross bottom and top and all around the long “circumference”. It is clearly hollow and there is something inside. He asks me to take a look at it and hands it to me to inspect. I know that there are other artefacts in the series and that he is not telling me any background information.

I say that we need to think carefully about how we approach this. He nods.

I awake

I drift off

William, Catherine and I are now once again outside on the path. William tells me that Catherine is still fragile after her ordeal and that her mood fluctuates.  He says that she would like to talk with me about her dreams which have been plentiful. They are linked to George, and she senses they are of the same puzzle. I say to them that I would be very happy to talk about dreaming and dreams, subjects close to my heart. Catherine smiles and sighs in relief. William says that he is very happy for me to do this, in private, but I must undertake to keep him updated on a regular and thorough basis. This is because there are many things pertaining to royalty about which I am unaware. He is more concerned about Catherine than George, because of the blood, implied royal in George.

The dream ends and I think WTF.

Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson Dreams 03-02-2025

Here is last night’s sequence of dreams. I made no attempt to rejoin the dreams on waking but this is kind of what happened. I awoke multiple times and can think of no obvious reason, this side of the channel, why BoJo should pop up.

The first part starts on a beach which has sand dunes behind it. There are a number of people on the beach and the weather is clement though not hot and sunny. I hear some vehicles pull up and some shouting. Men darkly clothed and armed with Kalashnikov assault rifles are charging the beach firing. I shout to everyone to get into the sea and swim as far out as they can. Bullets are ripping into the water as we get further out to sea. I can see dead on the beach and blood in the sea.

There is a strong tide forcing us up the length of the beach. I encounter Boris who has been swimming there. We are being forced towards a rocky part at the end of the beach. There is no way around the headland, and we are forced to land one the beach. I say to Boris that he must resist the temptation to say who he is and to try not to give the terrorists a piece of his mind. There is an off chance that they won’t recognise him, and we should save that for later should we need it.

I wake up

The next section starts in an underground cave. We are clearly in a hostage situation. The cave is equipped with computers, cameras and much media kit. The terrorists are partially masked and clearly highly organised. The hostages me included are now dressed. Boris and I are at the back of one cave with two young boys. I have suggested to Boris that he keeps a low profile and minimise the risk of being recognised. The terrorists have installed a huge TV, and we can see that there is a media circus on the dunes. There are multiple religious groups amongst the hostages, and we are international.

Boris starts to chat with the young boys. One of them says that he can see daylight coming into the tunnel. Boris suggests that he quietly investigates. Which he does. There is a gap. Something kicks off in the main terrorist room. Sending the boys first we attempt to leave the tunnel. Boris manages to bash his head and although a little dazed we make it out into the sunlight.

I awake.

I am now walking with Boris towards a semi-ruined church. I know that inside there are Buddhists keeping vigil for those held in the hostage taking. Unusually these Buddhists are wearing grey robes and are mostly Western. I knock on the church door and am welcomed in by a Buddhist “priest”. I explain what has happened and who Boris is. The man sits Boris down and tends to a slight wound on his head with some cotton wool and water. The atmosphere in the church is calm and tranquil.

The priest asks Boris for a number to call for people to come and get him. Boris takes the ‘phone and calls for help.

I awake.

I am now sitting in a room with Boris and Carrie. I explain to Boris that, he is like me, a Wood Dragon by birth and that we are contemporaries. I say that if he really wanted to be world king, he should have stuck with Alexander which is more regal than Boris. I ask him if there are any umlauts in the spelling of his name because I may do his numerology.

I say that he is a lot fitter than me. He says that downstairs in a bottle is some fat which he has had sucked out of his body and that accounts for it. I know he is joking. I explain that although we both can see bigger pictures, he as an ENTP is very different from me as an INFJ.

I awake again and wonder what the bloody hell has Johnson been doing to be in and out of my dreams all night.

Bridge – Posh House – Special Needs -Cooking – Dead Drop – Filing Cabinet Dream 02-02-2025

The first part of the dream was had between 6 and 6:31 AM this morning. I then went back into the dream.

The dream opens with me driving down a bitumen private country road on an estate towards a bridge over a fair sized river, tens of metres across. There has been recent flooding. I drive onto the bridge and see that the far side of it has been eroded. Nevertheless, I can drive off the bridge and continue on. I am less sure about the return journey. I pull up on to a large, gravelled parking area in front of a large house / mansion. It is quintessentially English and similar to that of one of my prior tutees. The sense is that I have come here on a similar purpose of teaching.

I knock and enter and am welcomed by a man of similar age to me dressed in tweeds. He ushers me in and inquires about the journey. I mention the bridge. He says that the lads are working on a lash up. He shows me into a lounge like area and we are joined by his wife a younger woman with dark hair. It is obvious that they are both upper class, she in particular. Their accents are clipped.

We make our way out. At the side of hallway there is a white computer screen upon which are cartoons portraying the weather of the day in some detail. I comment that it is a nice simple touch. They look at each other in a light hearted conspiratorial manner.

We go to inspect the bridge. I can see that it will be difficult to get my car back on the bridge. In the dream I know that it will be easy for me to pick it up by hand and place it onto the bridge, even though it is a normal sized normal car.

The lads are sailing a barge downstream towards the bridge. It has a military style pontoon bridge on it. They anchor and secure the pontoon in place. I get onto the pontoon with them and lift a car which is already on the pontoon off onto dry land. I can and do drive my car over the pontoon and park up the other side.

I am now sat at table with the woman and her two sons We are in the orangery and the youngest son is serving us a curry from a deep sided old style metal mass catering serving tray. It has handles which are lose and held to the tray with rivets. The meal is good. He asks if I need some more spices to thicken the sauce. He offers me a small plate upon which are turmeric, cumin and garam masala. I say that the curry is just fine as it is, lovely. The mother is delighted. She is wearing blue jeans and an expensive pink jumper.  I say that I like things simple. They all look at each other. I say, “you lot as a family have got something weird going on about simple.” They all smile.

The older brother is doing very well in school but the younger one is seen as a bit odd. He has some special needs. I say to them that when I was a little older than the younger lad, I used to do a lot of the cooking for the family. The younger teenager says that he does too. There is a peculiar instant sense of bonding between us.

I wake up and go to the loo. The wife says that I have been kicking about.

I try to return to the dream.

I am back at table in the orangery. The woman is sat where she was previously but her jeans are unzipped to reveal light pastel blue underwear. I am not sure what this means. What has transpired, what she wants. It then dawns on me that she is indicating that both the boys came out of her.

The younger boy then takes me by the hand and leads me out of the orangery and into a walled garden. The walls are made of very red bricks and the garden is where chef grows his herbs and vegetables. The younger lad is a friend of the chef.

He takes me behind a small green house and eases a stone out of the wall. It is like a cold war dead drop. In the cavity there is a white piece of paper which at first looks to have nothing on it. The lad puts the brick back and unfolds the paper upon which is a map of sorts sketched by hand.

The lad leads me from the walled garden into the basement kitchen and thence to a basement room. He turns on the fluorescent light overhead. The stark lighting reveals a number of filing cabinets. He shows me one in olive-khaki green. The drawers have handwritten labels which have yellowed with age. The writing has been done with a fountain pen is a sloped script which I know to be that of a female. There is a locking bar down the face of the cabinet. At the bottom the padlock has been removed by the lad. He shows me it. Implicit is that the key is in his trouser pocket. There is a sense that this archive dates back to the second world war and that nobody knows what to do with it nor can they decipher it. It has been in the safe keeping of his family.

The dream ends.

Dream Graphs and a New Resident

I have been continuing with looking into my dreams. I was of the habit of only typing up dreams which I deemed significant. There were many others dealing with the detritus of relationships, a part of a phase.

The first graph is UK based.

In 2007 I ceremonially burned all my journals 1999-2007.

In 2009 and 2010 I was very intensely meditating and going through what might be euphemisticallly called “changes”.

In 2015 I had stage three colon cancer, which was operated on in the summer.

End of 2018 we bought the house in Brittany partially to get away from all the endless Brexit bollocks in the UK media. We moved here in January 2019.

I have already had 15 dreams in January 2025 !!

This fire slamander has been in our Vide Sanitaire for the last week or so. Looks like we have a new resident!

He arrived not longer after I had the dream with the fire dragon in. 😉

School – Mess – Misunderstanding – Barefoot – NZ Farm Dream 29-01-2025

This dream was from around 5 AM this morning.

The dream opens in a conference / sports facility which is shared by a female and a male fee-paying private schools. The schools are top end, and the facility is top notch but shared. There is both history and luxury. My team and I are clearing up after a successful course for teenagers from disturbed backgrounds. The course has gone well but our efforts to tidy are hindered by the incredible mess left by the previous users. Trays from the canteen are left partially washed, clogging up the sinks, the bins are full. Most of it is not our mess, but we need to clean it up to hand over to the next users. We struggle to get things sorted. The wife’s open heeled brown shoes have been left in different places. I get them together. It is late afternoon, and the new delegates are arriving. At last, the place is ship shaped, and Bristol fashioned.

The incoming users are a high-level international conference with many big cheeses from academia, government and business. We are just making our way to the school sleeping accommodation. Prof. T and several of his colleagues are entering the atrium as we leave. He comes over to me and congratulates me for being invited to this high-level conference. I explain to him that I have not been invited and nor am I participating. Those are not circles I walk in and I probably never will. He is surprised. I say that I have just done a course for a couple of dozen semi-delinquent teenagers. He does not get it. It does not fit his picture.

We head off to the accommodation blocks and fall tired onto the bed to sleep. It is a long drive back.  During the night I need a piss. There is for us, no ensuite. I will have to use the toilet block down the corridor. I wrap a towel around my waist and go to piss in a big metal urinal.

The scene changes and I am walking around a very muddy farm. I am wearing my combats and a white sports vest. I explore the farm enjoying the mud on my bare feet and through my toes. I know that the farm is a part of the school and conference complex. It provides fresh produce. I know that the whole thing is set in New Zealand.

As I turn the corner I am met by a Kiwi farmer. He asks what I am doing. I explain that I have just done a course at the school. He says that it is a bit strange to see me walking bare foot in all the mud and that it must hurt. I say that because I partially grew up in Oz and Southern Africa that it is normal for me. He turns to a mate and says that all bloody Aussies are nuts.

The dream ends.

Is Time Quantised Dream 28-01-2025

Here is last night’s dream. It is not the sort of dream you want to have if you are trying to go back to sleep. It gets you thinking that although energy and matter (particles) can be quantized, time is not, whereas dimension can give rise to quantisation. Our cosmological conception is very reliant on our notion of “universal” constants. We rely on atomic clocks to define time and the speed of light to define dimension.

The dream starts with me sat in an armchair nearly opposite Théun. There is a low-level table, and we are looking in the same direction but not at each other. On the table are tallish glasses with a straw and some kind of spirit and mixer drink. There is a bowl of pistachios.

The gist of conversation is to do with seeing. I ask him when he looks forward at the possibilities in the web of life does he see and thereby know which ones are more likely. He says that he does and that the further into left sided awareness he goes the more obvious the trajectory is. He comments that seeing is only ever a snapshot of possibility. I ask when he looks backwards in time how does it differ. He says that the before-time is confined whereas the aftertime is more expansive. He says that seeing backwards offers a different interpretation and collection of events as they were once perceived.

I say that back when I used to do this his description is similar to what I used to observe with one difference I tended never to select any likelihood from the possibilities. I comment that our whole world view is largely dependent on a currently expansive universe due to the so-called big bang. Time’s arrow is expanding dimension and space.

I say that there could be some granularity or quantisation to time. There could be vector like behaviour. Two back vectors make perception go to before-time. Two forward vectors take perception to aftertime or future. Whereas one back and one forward are now and that is in a sense eternal.

I say that I stopped trying to see, because that seemed a bit like an attempt to control, cheating even.  If we quantise time and space, will that remove the quantisation from matter and energy?

In the dream I say that the ways of the old although useful and familiar, may have to cede to newer lighter ways.

The dream ends and I am caught up thinking about it. I decide to park it and try to go back to sleep. I can always type up the dream and re-visit in the morning.

Buddhist Monastery – Dual Airport – Flight Lieutenant – Dream 27-01-2025

This dream from between 2 and 4 AM.

The dream starts in the refectory area of a Buddhist monastery. I am wearing one of my white collarless shirts which is slightly open in the front. My hair is fresh from a recent buzz cut and I am clean shaven. Everyone is sat on the floor on a cushion with a Tali style platter of Indian food in front of them. We all have roti and a small bowl of rice.

The land around the monastery is very mountainous. There is little vegetation and a glacial melt stream / river. There are rocks strewn widely. It is dry.

The monks are wearing largely maroon colour robes and I know them to be of a Tibetan inspired Vajrayana lineage. I am sat in front of the room facing in. The monks are all asking me questions. The atmosphere is cheerful and light.

Sat next to me is a young woman dressed in a lay robe. She has very short black hair and is of an Indian colouring. Her English is impeccable and I know that she is also a Flight Lieutenant in the Indian Air Force. There is a sense of latent royalty or nobility to her. She is very respectful.

The monks keep asking me questions, they do not want me to go.

Eventually I plead my goodbyes and together with the officer head off in an open top jeep to the airport. The airport has a civilian and a military entrance. We go in via the military one, she gets a salute. The airport has a dual purpose.

We pull up next to a Cessna two seater propeller driven plane. I am to fly us out with her as a co-pilot. The night has started to fall and there is an incoming mist. I say to the woman that I am not confident that I could fly out of there. She agrees that I do not have the experience and that it would be dangerous.

She offers to drive me back to the monastery and I accept. I am welcomed and know that because the weather is closing in, I might be here for a few more days. The monks are happy with this.

The dream ends.

As I come to, I am reminded of Leh airport in Ladakh which on a quick Google search is due a second runway to enhance its military capabilities. The civilian airport is called Leh Kushok Bakula Rinpoche Airport. The online images of which are mostly consistent with the dream

Cats – Dogs – Alien Pods – Caduceus Dream 26 -01-2025

This dream was from between 2 and 5 AM this morning.

The dream opens in Imperial College, South Kensington Campus. I am walking from Chemistry to the Sherfield building. On the first floor I pass a meeting area / café where people are sat around table having “important” meetings. I see a white sofa with vinyl / fake leather cushions. I pick up a white seat cushion and take it with me to a carpeted chill out area. There are many young people sat there on the thick pile carpet.

At the back of the room near the wall is a big sofa. I go and park my cushion there. On the sofa is sat a young black man with his black cat who has luxuriant fur and is wearing glasses. The cat greets me and nuzzles. The man has two other cats with him, making a total of three. He asks if I have cats. Yes, we have one.

I turn my back and he morphs into a large black and brown coon hound {image checked on Google} with him on the sofa is Rhodesian Ridgeback. The coon hound comes over to me, still seated and makes a fuss of me slobbering slightly. The cats have disappeared.

I get up and leave the building wearing no shoes only black woollen socks. I start to wark around South Kensington. In the sky I can see strange disturbances where pods materialise out of thin air and start to descend to slowly to earth, I know they are not of this planet.

I decide to go back into Sherfield to get my boots and lap top. In the dream I know that I might need them in the days to come. I put on my ankle length boots which have a three golden buckles to the outer side of each foot. The boots are pointy and made of high quality leather. My lap top is in a black carry case with a shoulder strap.

I continue my exploration of that part of London. I note multiple more pods arrive. As they materialise there is a temporary rip in space-time. There is no sound associated nor do I hear any landing.

I am now in a covered area open to the air. I am giving a talk to a small number of people al fresco. I am running a small video camera which is recording. It is capturing multiple materialisation events. Someone says that perhaps I should offer this to the BBC.

There is much consternation about the events happening and warnings are issued by the government. I find a small antique red covered book and am reading it. A man comes over and inspects. He says that it is a shame it is in disrepair. I offer it to him and he accepts as if it is a treasure. He will restore it.

The alien pods have started to cause people to float as if relatively gravity free. This means that I can fly without it causing comment. So, I start bouncing far off the ground for joy. I can see that R is heading a bit too swiftly back to earth so using telekinesis I slow his descent.

I decide that I need to go home and search for a tube station. I have been wandering and come across a Central Line station. The announcer warns that due to fuel shortages they are running a much reduced service. I know that I need to change to the Victoria Line to get home to South London, Brixton. I have not used the tube in decades.  A young woman takes pity on me and helps me find the appropriate station and to use the last ever coin operated ticket machine. The fare is three euros. I take three bright green euro coins out of my pocket in turn and pay for my ticket. Which arrives like an old-school paper bus ticket.

The young woman is going my way. I note that she is skinny and only wearing a white t-shirt. She is cold. I offer her my jacket, which she tries on. It is way too big. I suggest that she sits on my lap and that we both wear the jacket with two arms per sleeve. This will warm her up for the onward journey when we part ways. The tube arrive and heads East to the junction with the Victoria Line. The woman is sat on my lap and we share the jacket until I get off.

I arrive in Brixton. It is pitch black with reduced street lighting and the early hours of the morning. The market from Electric Avenue has spilled out onto the high street because there are no cars running. There is a kind of party atmosphere.

I walk through the market and climb the stairs to my apartment. I enter and close the white door. As a precaution I also slip across the white painted locking bolt. I sit down at the table and boot up my lap top.

I hear a knock at the door. I go closer. A voice says open up the door. I say who is it? It repeats just open the door. The voice is female.

Cautiously I open the door and standing there is a young woman holding an A4 sized porcelain upon which is painted a golden Caduceus superimposed on three intersecting circles such that the point where the snakes head meets the staff is at the centre of the three circles.  She hands me the porcelain and says, “this is yours”. I take the porcelain and it feels light and familiar in my hands. I can also feel it within me.

The dream ends.



The Problem with Introverts…

I’ll kick this off with a joke I used to use on my MBTI courses which I gave.

An Introvert Joke

It’s a rainy day. The reception teacher is getting the kids ready to go home. She struggles for 5 minutes with one child’s boots, tugging them on and getting them laced up.

Just as she’s finished, the I child says, “those aren’t my boots”. The teacher sighs and spends another few minutes undoing them and taking them off.

Just as she’s finished, the child adds, “They’re my brother’s. My mum said I had to wear them today.”

In the MBTI context I have an INFJ preference. I score very high for introversion and judging but my intuition {N} score is close to the maximum available. That intuition is introverted so largely unseen. That means I have a highly organised orientation which is strictly timed with big picture thinking. If people are late and chaotic I can get unsettled / peeved. People see my warm caring feeling F side but I can easily flip to the more logical T side.

For years I acted out ENTJ because I thought that was what blokes were meant to be.

Over the years many people have expressed an opinion about what I am like, who I am, what I am capable off, what my predilections are. They may have expected some kind of response. Rarely did they get one. I am not keen on arguing the toss. It is a stupid waste of time. Some people learn by testing their ideas out in conversation and may expect a push back. Why should I do their work for them? As an introvert I very rarely offer up information or opinion. If I do it will be in a tiny stepwise manner. If things are joined up in my inner world, I have no need to express it. Viewed from one angle few if any get to see what might be called “me”. One could be mysterious and say that I am like an iceberg with hidden depths and not a lettuce like Liz.

I have noted that if you don’t agree or disagree with what someone says they imagine it to be correct, perhaps more correct than it actually is. I could be wrong in this but my intuition can be very reliable. It is not my problem if they have the wrong end of the stick.

People who are fond of bullshitting whether mutual or otherwise, can feel uncomfortable because I don’t play the BS / hype / exaggerate / big up game. Women are less prone to this discomfort than men. Who seem to need ritual sniffing and metaphorical at urinal wall pissing contests. In any case I now have an enlarged prostate. I can be very deadpan and uninterested. There is no uncomfortable silence for me.

It is funny in doctor’s waiting rooms. I do not arse about on my ‘phone, I do not read the magazines and never break the silence in an attempt to have a chat. Someone often breaks. They try to engage. Here I can apologize and explain that I do not speak French well. This nearly always restores the silence. Many are uncomfortable without noise.

In one particular framework my predilection is for dreaming and not (s)talking and I am “in” the place of power and dreaming, the South. I have met a number of people who give courses on dreaming and lucid dreaming in particular. Each of these has been by predilection a (s)talker. Which roughly maps with extroversion. They like techniques like waking in the middle of the night, working with apps and finding their hands to prove that they are in a lucid dream. They interrupt the dream to direct it. In one sense they have talked at an experienced dreamer. They were used to being seen as the expert.

It is possible that they could have learned vast amounts about dreaming from me. But the biggest hindrance to dreaming is talking. They will never know what might have been because I felt no need to big myself up or compare dreaming cock size. I did not need to name drop and show how “in” I was with the dreaming community.

The problem with introverts is that if you talk at them. They will stay schtum and say little or nothing. If you ask, they might just respond, depending on wind direction and the phase of the moon.

It is even worse in my case because I have no need to play the itchy back game because I am no longer in that world. There is currently no need for me to join in…