Mystic Lake Dream – 27-02-2026

———

I am my mother’s savage daughter
The one who runs barefoot
Cursing sharp stones
I am my mother’s savage daughter
I will not cut my hair
I will not lower my voice

My mother’s child is a savage
She looks for her omens in the colors of stones
In the faces of cats, in the falling of feathers
In the dancing of fire
In the curve of old bones

Karen Kahan / Wyndreth Berginsdottir

———–

Here is last night’s dreaming it was in some parts accompanied by this song during the dreaming. There is a sense of something broadly shamanic incoming. I was reminded of Snowdon’s Glaslyn and Oeschinensee in the Berner Oberland.

The dream opens in a brightly lit indoor setting. It is like a pharmacy / clinic. Two young nurses, one female and one male, are struggling to calm down and contain a large older man with unruly blonde hair. He is panicking about his test results and upcoming injections. He will not listen to them. The woman turns to me and asks me to explain. I am of a similar age to the man. She explains to him that I am a trained scientist. I start to explain to him and slowly he calms. I show him a test tube in which the red blood cells from his blood have been sedimented out to the bottom. This means that for now he has not been infected which is why he needs to be vaccinated, something the nurse will gladly do for him. He is surprised that his blood liquid is light yellow murky over the small layer of sedimented red blood cells.

The scene changes and I am climbing a mountain track with a leather coracle on my back. I round the bend and go over the last lip into the corrie / cwm where there is a mountain lake of sublime beauty. It has been scoured out by glaciers of days gone by. I place the coracle and oar down on the rocky shore and marvel at the azure blue. I am home. I am back at the source of the river. I marvel at the rocky slopes plunging into the icy waters. I hear an all-encompassing silence. I will in time row out onto the lake because I have an appointment there.

The scene changes and I am in something of an ersatz physics laboratory. An experiment using lasers in being prepared for the school children. The technicians are struggling to get the experiment to work. They call for help and Ian M tips up and together we start to align the outdated clunky optics on a heavy metal rail. They are confident because of our laser expertise the experiment will work.

The scene changes and I am back lakeside. A magnificent mist has come in cloaking the lake and making the atmosphere heightened and mystical. At any time one might imagine the lady of the lake rising with Excalibur in her hand. The mist enshrouds and welcomes. I get into the coracle and row slowly out into the centre of the lake and the centre of the mist. I have a meeting and I have something to retrieve, to find again. I stroke my beard with my left hand. I am enlivened and energised. My palms are tingling with “electricity”. I have come for something and am reminded of the role of all the lakes in this life and beyond.

I am now outside a funeral parlour. There is a mass funeral taking place. Where members of two families are being sent off together following a huge violent brawl at a wedding. The two sides have been at war for generations. Yet they have decided to join together to remember their dead. Coffin after coffin is walked from the hearses into the crematorium. A newspaper photographer is there and goes to take a picture. I stop him and seize his camera. Such a thing would inflame and ignite.

Back out on the lake the mist clears and I can see far in the crisp pristine mountain air. I look down into the hyper-transparent water of the lake and several metres down I can see the rocky bottom with a few arctic fish like char. I remove my heavy fur jacket / long coat. It is bearskin. I am wearing a shirt fastened at the top with a shoelace like fastening. I stand in the coracle and am ready to plunge into the icy depths.

The scene changes to the carriage of a bus which is brightly lit and modern. The bus is only partially full. I am at the back of the bus and there are a few young people there. They are taking the piss out of me because I am not sitting down even though they are seats. I am holding on to a tube train style ceiling handle. They are all chatting and playing on their electronic devices.

The bus is coming to a stop. I have fallen asleep standing up much to the surprise of everyone except me. The bus has morphed into an airplane and we are taxying to the terminal. The doors open and because I am standing I am the first one to leave the plane.

The dreaming ends and as I awake I make a mental note to search my dream archive for dreams with lakes in and in writing I am reminded of the morning when I threw my katana souvenir into a lake in Hertfordshire.

“Post Mortem” Dream and Going Through the Motions – 25-02-2026

This morning I had a dreaming segment in which a now emeritus British academic came to inquire of me and my ideas concerning some cobbled together science project or other. She is/was a big cheese in UK science and is the sort of person who would get an obituary written. She asked multiple probing questions but avoided the subject as to why I decided to jack it all in way back.  She was trying to ascertain if I had a scientific mind and was sane. The “interview” took place both at current time and twenty five years ago. She also interviewed my ex-wife in the earlier time frame. From the dream it was clear that our lives {ex-wife} were already divergent back then. The big cheese seemed to find that I was not actually insane and that my scientific thinking was OK. She was going to report back to some committee or other. Some review some post mortem as to what happened way back then.

Commentary

It is very typical in both scientific and political arenas to hold a “placatory review” in which an inquiry is launched and a report made, a white paper written. The aim of these charades is to calm things down and appease by giving the impression of actually doing something. Rarely does anything ever happen after these. The recommendations are noted and consigned to some cobweb filled archive waiting for for Lara Croft to find them several centuries hence. It is extremely rare for any such inquiry to err from the status quo. But it gives the impression of listening, caring and taking action. In fact these are just going through the motions, there is no intention or appetite to change anything.

The dream points at the fact that I have made several decisions which were largely unanticipated by others and about which sense making has been difficult for them. Most of these were handled very poorly because of a lack of interpersonal skills held by others. They were very “Basil Fawlty”.  

“Don’t mention the war!!”

There is no point in holding a post mortem if there is no intention to do anything nor learn from events. It just gives a vague warm feeling of responding albeit long after the horse has bolted. It is by way of post hoc stable door closing. There is an illusion of doing something.

The Nature of Consciousness – Roger Penrose Dream 24-02-2026

Here is this morning’s dream had between 4 and 7 AM.

The dream opens with me conversing mind-to-mind or telepathically with another being. We are looking down at a gathering of Tibetan Buddhists, lamas. They are dressed in robes and at the edge of the gathering, very much at arm’s length is Charlie, a nagal’s courier.

I say-think, “unfortunately Charlie is not very bright, not very intelligent. He is not intelligent enough to realise that he lacks intelligence and therefore assumes that he knows correctly a lot more than he does. It is a common problem that people are not sufficiently intelligent to understand their own lack of a well-honed intellect. As a consequence there is adamant assertion without open critical thinking.”

“Yes this is true people assume they know and understand more than they do and can be dogmatic.” Is the reply.

I then look again at the gang or committee of lamas.

“The difficulty with the Tibetans is that they have a vested interest in being the world experts in meditation and consciousness. It is a part of their brand. They may indeed have studied Buddhist texts and the Tibetan canon and may be expert thereupon but their thinking is developed only in one area. They have not a diverse nor modern intellect. They are arrogant and not open to external thinking, they want to incorporate things into their perspective solely. It is not a two way street. They may be intelligent but they do not have a far reaching wide knowledge based intellect incorporating science. In short they are a closed shop and stuck in their ways. They are not approachable in any meaningful way because they must be, in their eyes, the experts. They do not understand that they are insular.”

I go on.

“There is a limit to so-called pure consciousness. It needs grounded and generalised via an expansive and inclusive intellect. The latter word inclusive being of great importance. There is nothing you can do when people do not have the intelligence to understand that their intelligence is limited and closed off. You cannot explain to someone something about which they lack the intelligence to understand or encompass. It is by definition almost, an impossible thing.”

“Yes. Sometimes you can only go so far.”

“There are jhanas, states of consciousness and expansive awareness, past what most of these have ever perceived. There is no way that you can convince an expert.”

The scene changes and I am in a medical / dental consultation in Edinburgh. I am with a man who is slightly older than me, his post doc researcher and a couple of younger graduate students. He is a psychologist – neuroscientist and wearing a white lab coat. He has grey wispy hair and spectacles. His postdoc is Hispanic. She has long very dark hair and is wearing blue jeans and a hoody, hood down. They are making some measurements on my brain using electrodes. I am sat in what looks like a dentist chair.

I am explaining to him that the problem with neuroscientists trying to understand consciousness is that they lack the training in meditative technique. They have no understanding personally of the states  they are trying to measure. They are measuring like blind men who have never been there. It is like making a map of a land which they have never set foot upon. The intellectual understanding of consciousness is limited therefore to rational supposition. Only a truly great intellect could “hold” and understand these states without direct personal experience of being “there”. A mind would have to be very versatile and expansive yet well controlled and quiet.

I say that maybe I should talk with Roger Penrose about the nature of consciousness.  He perhaps might understand and get the gist. If one verbalizes a state of consciousness well one can “take” another mind “there” at least partially. One can build a “picture” which might be partially shared and imagined.

The guy is initially interested.

I ask him that given he is a psych-neuro would he like to collaborate with me and Roger Penrose on a book? He no longer has to worry about his career as he is essentially emeritus.

He  thanks me for the invitation but he does not believe that I can add anything beyond what “they” the neuroscientists already know. He declines. He thinks that I am waffling.

I think that he does not know that he does not know. His intellect will not understand how limited his understanding is nor where his knowledge ends...

I awake; the dream ends.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The dream ends.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The dreaming ends.

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

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

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

After a while of permanence, it drifts off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It gets a bit sketchy here. Then.

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

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

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

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

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

Dragon’s Eyes –  Y Ddraig Goch

———–

Eyes closed,

In his homeland,

On the spare bed,

He exhaled.

Sunk into the depths of his being,

Waiting.

The darkness breaks

And…..

 –

Old,

Very old,

He saw it.

 –

He saw it,

Waiting.

Quickening of breath,

Huh, huh, huh,

It began to form.

Summoning the dragon to guide him.

Those eyes….

They watched him.

 Patience and waiting.

 

He touched its power,

Felt it absorb him,

His him probed with an awareness.

 –

Alien and ancient.

– 

Terror, blind terror.

– 

Lithe and poised

Those eyes….

 –

Wise beyond wisdom

Since the first days of man

And beyond.

 Amused and laughing,

In smoke.

 –

He held it and the fire in his heart

Began to burn.

 –

The crows outside called

Their battlefield cry,

Hungering for food

 –

Taken on the caw to another time.

——-

 Heathered hillside,

In the mist of lore

The dragon breath cloaks

Shimmering in be-coming.

 Hessian cloth upon his skin

Staff in his hand,

Rain in his beard

And silence in the world.

 –

Weary

Proud

Beaten

Defiant

– 

Behind him,

They marched,

From their deaths to their deaths,

– 

They reached the place

And settled on the rocks.

– 

Less faces than before

Heads hung on Castle gates.

– 

And those eyes.

– 

Why must they stand and die?

– 

Doubts, oh the doubts

They plagued him

– 

It hangs all on the next few seconds.

 The dragon’s dice have been rolled

His fate is sealed.

 –

What was it that the wizard said?

 “Re-member, re-member.

Focus on the feelings for that is what you store.

The memory will guide you back

Learn the lessons well….

 For next time”

 –

He reached into his pack and took it out.

He tied the flag to his staff.

Silently and into the circle he walked.

 –

He planted his staff and unfurled the flag.

 –

Y Ddraig Goch.

Look to the Dragon’s eyes my friends

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

Let it conjure in you.

Feel its ancient force.

Written in the hillsides and the valleys of your lives,

Washed through your rivers,

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

Pure magic.

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

 –

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

We have sung our songs and shared our poems.

We have laughed and we have cried.

We have learned.

 This is now our last battle.

———-

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

Myrddin’s Treasures – Merlin’s Treasures


The warrior hunts for power, and one of the finest ways of hunting power is dreaming.

Dreams are not just dreams; dreams are based upon reality – a reality that exists beyond your thoughts.

Toltec Dreaming Aphorisms – Théun Mares


Myrddin’s Treasures.—Local tradition is content with leaving the story of the interval between Vortigern’s departure, and that of Myrddin’s, to pass into oblivion, but describes the manner of his leaving his famous stronghold in the following interesting way.

Myrddin remained in Dinas Emrys for some time, until he was joined by Aurelius Ambrosius, who induced him to go away with him. When they were about to set out, Myrddin placed all his treasures in a large golden vessel, hid the vessel and his golden chair in a cave in the city, and then rolled on the mouth of the cave a huge stone. He then covered the whole over with earth and green turf, so that no one could possibly come across it. It was his intention that this wealth should become the possession of some one in particular, belonging to a future generation. Tradition adds that the heir will be a golden-haired and blue-eyed stripling, and that when he draws nigh to Dinas Emrys, a bell will ring to invite him into the cave, which will open out, of its own accord, as soon as his foot touches it.

———–

Young Hopeful and Dinas Bell.—The story of the strange dreams of the old bachelor had raised great hopes within the breasts of his relatives, that one of their kin would be the destined heir of the ” great treasures.” One of his sisters had a son, who was a tall, fine-looking young man, and the very image of his uncle. When a child he used to frequently hear of his uncle’s strange dreams, and his boyish breast swelled with pride at the thought of his being one of the family of the “great treasures.” When the child grew up to be a young man, and people continually told him that he was almost exactly like his uncle, he used to wish every night that he would get the same dream, and see the same vision, as his uncle. He was far from being timid ; indeed, he seemed as if he had inherited his uncle’s share of courage in addition to his own. But with all his wishing, the dream never came.

One night, however, when passing the Dinas about midnight— the hour appointed for the rightful heir to enter into his inheritance,—when right opposite the middle of the hill, he thought he heard a bell ringing. He stopped, and he heard the bell ringing again. He became all ears, and, as he listened, he thought he could hear a voice calling, “Come here.” Then the bell rang the third time, and, leaping over the wall, he went in the direction of the sound. Now the bell began to ring in real earnest, and to move on before him. He followed after the sound through the trees, in the dark, as far as Beudy Bedd Owen, then through the hazel copse to the top of the hill, and in a field called ” Y Rofft,” the ringing ceased. He then paused to listen for a few minutes, and the bell began to ring and move on again. Once more he followed after it, and at last he seemed to be drawing nearer and nearer to the sound—a fact which greatly strengthened his faith that he was at last being led to the treasures. The ringing ceased right under the ridge which is immediately behind Hafod y Forth, and he had no doubt but that the cave was quite near. He made straight for the ridge ; but when he came up to the dark object in front of him, a black hand-fed calf gave a leap and darted by him, furiously rattling an old bell which hung by the cord around its neck. As he had never seen a calf carrying a bell, he immediately concluded that he had seen a ghost and ran home as fast as his feet could carry him. He related his experience to his family, who, when they understood what the midnight bell-ringer was, made endless fun of his folly.

The treasures are still hidden in the secret cave, and a jealous spirit keeps a continual watch on behalf of the rightful heir. Knowing this, can any one wonder at people trembling in passing Dinas Emrys by night, or at their feeling a cold perspiration trickling down their foreheads as what in the daytime would be a wood-pigeon whirls by them, or an owl gives forth a mournful cry—each of which at night-time is a ghost, the guardian spirit of the treasures of Dinas Emrys ?


  • Gold is the dreaming symbol for spirit or nagal.