Tag: #dreamyoga

Prodigal Son – Rastafari – Dream 10-01-22

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One from the vaults…

Here is one of my three dreaming segments from last night…

I am sat with others in a circle on small individual chairs. The feeling is like some kind of group discussion / therapy. We are discussing the prodigal son. Fi gets up and says that the parable is all about profligacy and sin. She maintains that the son in question is wasteful and does not respect material things. I say that the prodigal son sees the lack of value amongst the material things after his many incarnations. He develops humility and is no longer drawn to the earthly. Hence, he returns to the father, the source. Nevertheless, normal humanity sees only the materiality and deeply resents the prodigal for wasting that to which they are attached.

A little while later I am walking through the centre and bump into a Rastafarian who is younger than me and has bright shiny eyes. He asks if I am the dude who defended the prodigal son? Yes. He asks if I know the true meaning of Melchizedek. Yes. I explain to him that for quite a while I was drawn to Rastafarian mysticism. He asks me to lend him a cd. I go over to my pile. We are now somehow in Brixton. I explain to him that I used to live here a long while ago. I shuffle through my CDs and find Prodigal Son by Steel Pulse. Jah Rastafari.

I move around the centre and am broadly accepted by everyone there. Word has gotten around about me. I try to leave the centre and follow a winding spiral staircase which goes through various flats. I arrive at a back door. I open it and step outside. Now I am being chased by a young black guy. I stop and say, “hit me if you wish. I meant no harm.” He considers this for a moment and then says, “nah, just don’t do it again.” He walks off.

In the dream I know that this is advising me that although the familiar is tempting going back to old haunts does not really work.

Dream ends.

Groups Souls – Dalai Lama – Cloying Awareness – Exquisite Sculpture – Dream 01-11-2025

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Here are last night’s dreaming snippets. Sometimes when I need a “cheer me up” the dreaming provides.

The dream opens at a sea-side town-village. It is like Tenby or Tobermory with pastel coloured brightly painted houses.

–

–

I am with my group of souls or beings. The place could also be Denmark or Scandinavia. It is impeccably tidy and ordered. The light is light and bright without blinding. We are young in age, children and dressed in colourful togas. We often incarnate together en masse. We have known each other for aeons. This is the group to which I belong. We are beings made out of light each of their own colour witnessed by toga and not skin. There is a sense of primordial innocence to us. We are going in and out of each other’s houses enjoying the fluffy clouds which surround us.

I awake for a loo break a little after 4 AM.

As I drift off I have a strong mental image of H.H. Dalai Lama who fills the entire perceptual field. I sense he is deep in contemplation and sit there in that state with him silently for a length of time about 15 earth minutes. It seems much longer. We are happy and serene in contemplation together. A part of that visual remains as I type now.

I fade out and into sleep.

Sat at a pavement café in central London is a man of roughly my own age whom I had acquaintance of. He has bought me a glass of Coke with ice lemon and a straw. He is sat at a table there. He gestures for me to sit down with him. I cannot. I say that I have nothing personally to resolve with him, nothing to solve. I cannot be near his cloying preserving awareness. It is heavy and seeks to enfold and keep things the same. His awareness is like a cloying quagmire, it is old, ancient, dark and borderline evil. He gestures for me to sit again. I walk past. I have nothing to solve.

I walk off into a part of London I do not recognize. It is early morning, a little after dawn and the restaurateurs and bar owners are clearing up and setting up. It is warm maybe summer. The doors are open. I walk into one pub and put the Coke down on the bar counter. The owner is polishing the bar and tables and is happy to take the Coke. I admire the stained glass windows and period doors. I walk through into the next door pub which he also owns and out of the door back into the street.

I now come upon an Italian style restaurant which has a large ornate orangery-greenhouse attached. The manageress is there in her black and whites with a low apron on. She is organising tables in the orangery. The windows of the building are leaded in, like cathedral windows. The clear uncoloured glass is warped by the flow of age. The lead is painted crimson red. The overall effect is magnificent with interesting patterns of light refracted on the floor. I say to her that the light is truly wonderful. She concurs. She has a clipped English upper class accent. She say that it a pity that “he” the owner keeps rejigging the tables  because she likes the feel of Sicilian palace which it currently has. There are plentiful succulent plants. She is chuffed that I like “her” orangery so very much. It is her labour of love which she does not need to do. She suggests that I should visit the garden out back.

I follow her advice and enter a light walled garden with water features and wall alcoves with plants. In the centre is an exquisite sculpture / water feature. She says that it is OK for me and me alone to climb it. The stairway to the feature is made out of carved open books. The books are carved out of what looks like pewter, there is relief of binding and pages. They are joined together by a single metal rod/rail. Each book is by way of a step. In some the page writing is etched in relief. They are a testament to learning and library. The languages of the books are diverse. The staircase mounts a large globe of the Earth which has all the continents and oceans cut to scale. The globe is several times my size. I climb the “ladder”. Out of the North Pole a drinking fountain flows. Its flow is lightly pulsing and the water trickles downs wetting every side of the world. The water is collected in a fish pond in which the globe sits. The ladder passes over the pond. In the pond are ornamental koi carp. The manageress encourages me up and to taste the water. I do and the water is cool and refreshing nectar like in quality. Some of it runs down onto my white linen shirt. The morning light illuminates the garden and orangery.

The dream ends.

Travelling Light  – Group Chat – Shenanigans – Dream 30-10-25

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Here is this morning’s dream. As I was typing the title I looked at the date in the bottom right hand corner of my screen and noted a numerological internal consistency.

The dream starts at some kind of motorway service station in the UK. It is like an old style Tebay but now there is a pub attached. I have parked my car which looks like an old-school 911. It looks beat up but can go fast. {Think Big Chill}. I have with me only my day sack. I have lost weight and am moving freely. I am travelling light and fluid.

I go into the services bar and there I meet A6. He is sat drinking a tall beer with two friends roughly the same age as him. I say hi and join them at a high bar table with stools. They are joshing about. A6  is planning a party back in London, to which he invites me even though we are hundreds of miles away. He asks if I can lend him a few thousand pounds, five or six. I think this odd because I know that he is now loaded and has been on a good salary in America. His mates now have comedy false noses on and are taking selfies. A6 gives me a large modern looking clock-watch which he says that I can have as collateral for the loan. He says that it is his father’s watch and that it means a lot to him. I am unsure as to if he is taking the piss in a Pulp Fiction sense. He and his mates get up and leave. I say that I will get back to him.

On a table nearby is the ex-wife. I am surprised to see her and not overly pleased. I go over to see what it is that she wants and is after. I explain that A6 is after some money. She says that I should not give it to him. This is because she wants it. In the dream I am mightily surprised that anyone could imagine that I have any money, money to spare. She is pressing that she should benefit from the money. I find the situation cloying and leave.

I go back to my car and drive off. I am heading towards London. I getting a little tired. So I pull into a service station just outside the M25. I queue up and get a coffee waiting in line at an old-style cafeteria. With my coffee in a paper cup I go outside onto a pub garden lawn. There is a pub style table there and a fairly glamorous woman is sat there smoking. I ask if I may join her. She says yes. I note that unusually she is smoking using a cigarette holder, femme fatale. We have a brief chat and she suggests to me that all may not be as it seems. This concurs with my gut feel. I spark up a cigarette and drink my coffee.

I get back in my car and drive further into another service station with a pub attached. I go inside and sit at a table for coffee. I am joined by a tall Asian man in a suit. He looks city finance. I show him the watch and explain that someone I know is asking for a loan imagining that I have come into money. He says that the watch may be worth something but that is about time and not money. He suggests that I have a look at my ‘phone to see if there are any messages from A6.

I boot up my ‘phone which I almost never use. Up pops a quasi-secret group chat which unencrypts so that I can read it. I have accidentally been included. It is an application which I am unfamiliar with. The screen fills with message after message to and fro, in a bright green small font. Encapsualted within the text are brief video snippets and images. I am the subject of the group chat and its contents are all about me. I remember when I last interacted with A6 it occurred to me that given the modus of people I was once acquainted with that these interactions were being more widely reported. Indeed A6 may even have been put up to it, encouraged. I know that this is a part of a much wider information gather and I am not pleased even though I know it typical. I think that they are fucking things up. There is nothing I can do about it. I know in the dream that it is a very bad idea for them to do this.

I am to carry on my journey. I need to go to the bathroom. In the back of the pub there are three toilets whose signage I do not understand. I eventually work out that there are one female, one male and one tranny. I go for a piss and while I am at the urinal one of the pub staff comes in. I say that the loos need a clean. He is offended and rude to me.

I  know that I left the last place early. I go back to my car. I check the day sack in the boot. In the back pocket I find my caduceus and the keys to my old house in New Mills #30.  Even though I no longer own the house I still have keys to it and can go back to unlock it at any time. I know that together with yesterday’s dream there is a reminder that things are not always  as they seem. I note the jewel of awareness and that this could be the card in play.

The dream ends.

As I am typing this the Ian Dury song “Clever Trevor” springs to mind. And I think here we go again…

Behind Closed Doors – Nile Perch – Brockwell Park Dream Snippets 29-10-2025

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Here are last night’s dream snippets some of them are at 90 mph…

The first part of the sequence begins in London. There are various meetings going on after hours and behind closed doors in which I am somehow the subject / object of the meeting. I am somehow seen as the “problem”. There is one among male UK academics roughly of my generation. I had acquaintance of these. There is one involving people who could be seen as the generation before me and a current university VC. Of these I had passing acquaintance of one female and longer of another male, they are near end of life. The VC is only a bit older than me. There is one meeting which is part virtual with people in the USA. I have never personally met the protagonists. This has a political / intelligence flavour. There is one meeting which is distinctly Tibetan and not London based. The scenes flash by at “90 mph”. In the dream I want to say that they have done nothing which is strictly speaking illegal nor overly dodgy in the view of current normal practices and behaviour. Therefore from my point of view there is nothing to discuss, nor do they have anything which needs attention. They do not need to do anything at all.

The scene now changes to Africa. We are at a camp site near an inland lake or reservoir. We are packing up to catch the plane home. In my pocket I have a small fishing lure, a spinner, a spinning spoon around a “pole” with a tri-pronged hook. It has a small purple feather. Before we leave I would like to try to catch a “bream” or Nile perch. The man I am with draws off some line from a rod reel combination. The line is very thick and strong. I need to tie the lure on with a leader. I try time and again to attach a leader to the line. Each time I do so and give a good tug the leader comes away from the main line. I think, “clearly I am not supposed to do this”. I give up my efforts and help load the safari Land Rovers to leave.

The scene changes to Brockwell Park in Brixton a place where I frequented a lot. It has a lot of stored memories and previously emotive things for me. It was very much a part of my former London life. I am with the wife and some kind of assistant / facilitator. His job is to look after me and my wants. I show him the ponds and explain that the local schools do biology lessons therefrom. I then show him one of the large old style Brixton converted “mansions”. I say that I want to explore to see if there is any draw. To see if it reminds me of my old flat. We break in through the ground floor back door and head out of the front door. The hallway is spacious and there is no damage we easily unlock the doors. I want to head up hill to show him where I used to live. As we go uphill I see a huge building project. A whole terrace has been demolished for a park side new build. It does not look good. Further up the hill another terrace has been removed by the diggers. They have yet to uproot the very old very large trees. They will need to dig deep to make good foundations. I cannot find the building in which my old flat was. I nip into one of the new build shells and hide from the builders to take a piss in a tiny pink WC. I finish and as I leave one of the builders shouts “oi”. I say that I used to live here and was bursting for a leak. He waves me on.

As I come to I note there is no point searching for the past because it no longer exists. I note that as we were non binary about France or England the future may lie elsewhere. I also note that the reason we love this house is the garden and nature, which I may rekindle after my operation(s). I am not seeing clearly.

The dreaming sequence ends…

Random – Buffalo Shaman – P&L Dream 28-10-2025

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Here is this morning’s dream had between 4 and 7:30. I am going to open a new dream theme “random” and apply it to dreams which seemingly have little to do with me although I may feature therein.

My anticipation is that the dreaming will fade going towards surgery. It will then lay relatively dormant. This anticipation could be wrong.

The dream opens in a large room, part of a town hall and near a registry office. Sat around the room on large “leather” bound sofas are a collection of jet black men. They are all very smartly if non-standardly dressed. They look a little like characters out of a 1930s movie by their vintage clothing choice. There is some jollity and mirth. They are all Nigerian and gathered for a Nigerian wedding. They are big blokes and I think that they would make a good pack of rugby forwards.

I am to marry an Irish woman Aishleen to one of them. She is in the next room waiting in a white wedding dress.

I look down to the inside of my right wrist. There is  a white, made of bone, emblem there. It is a skull of a buffalo with bead decorations on the horns. The emblem is mostly two dimensional and is attached to me, tattoo like as opposed to affixed. One of the Nigerians says that I am the Buffalo shaman and that I must practice the rite. I gather the men together holding hands in a circle. We sing and chant a little.

They notice in one corner of the room a brilliant white laboratory style mouse. I must sacrifice it. To do this I take a book from the bookshelf and use it to squash the mouse. They cheer me on to do this. I squash the mouse and it flattens then disappears. It is OK now for the marriage to go ahead.

The scene changes and I am walking around South London near a park. The road is on top of a slope behind some metal railings and the park is in the valley below. It is in Streatham. I follow the road and go into a club house of sorts there is a meeting. The local “council” are discussing closing public toilets as a cost saver. I say that this is stupid as the cost saving is tiny. The lead for the meeting says that the finances are dire. I asks him to show me. He comes back with a summary statement. I say that no, I want the entire profit and loss, P&L accounts to peruse. Give me all the detail. That is the best thing I can do for them to do a thorough look as an objective outsider. I say that I think they are losing the plot.

He comes back with a full accounts setting and a younger woman clerk. She is dark haired, ample and around 40. I recognise her. He says that she will help me. She asks me if I remember where I met her all those years ago. She says that it was a 4 AM in the morning walking along Turners Road when I was accustomed to doing my late night walks. She says that we went back to hers for some more drinks. For some reason non sexual we are close.

As I wake up I think “random”…

The dream ends.

Retired General – Subjective – Boris Johnson Dream 24-10-2025

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This dream had between 06:20 and 08:45 this morning. This out of the blue and then again perhaps not.

The dream opens in some kind of exhibition or fayre. It has a new age vibe to it and is in a large hall with high ceilings. It has an orangery feel, light and spacious. It feels close to Westminster central London, Thames. I have a small exhibit table upon which I am laying out some information. One of the posters has a background colour and design which exactly matches the table. The words therefore appear written on the table.

Along the mezzanine gallery, where I am, I spot a man a little older than me. He is wearing a windowpane light brown lined posh country hunting shirt and dark brown corduroy trousers. He is slightly balding and has allowed his hair to grow slightly. He has a mild ruddy complexion and looks completely out of place. On his table he has some maps. I know that he is military or ex-military. I go over to inquire as to why he is at this event.

As I approach it is clear that he has some prior knowledge about me, perhaps has been briefed. I ask him what he is interested in. He says subjective contact. I have a knowing that he is/was a general {perhaps major-general}.  I say that I have had subjective contact and that I am perhaps less flaky than others who might make such a claim. He imagines that I am an accidental receiver. He does not understand. He asks how I got into these things. I explain that Peter had a hand. He says without prompting that he knows Peter from the commandos and that Peter had a hand in his interest too. I ask him if he is fully retired. He says that generals never fully retire and that they continue to help out where they can. I say that he has deniability because he is no longer directly affiliated. He nods. I add that at any time he could be denied and any claimed association disproved. He is not official. He nods. I suggest that he has been sent here specifically to talk with me. He neither nods nor does not. There is a kind of acknowledgment. He is on a loose one from military intelligence (MI).

The scene changes and I am now sat in the audience of a talk at the event with Boris Johnson. We are enjoying each other’s company and he is being his public jocular buffoonery self. As suspected he is fun to talk with. But I can feel a hard driven purposeful edge behind the guise of his clowning. He too can talk freely because he is no longer implicitly associated with government. I tease him that his father paid for his accent and that now he is bored he could always become an evangelical preacher something his has the gift for. He then mimics Ian Paisley in a manner that has us both and Carrie in stitches. He has a gift for comedy.

The whole thing is frightfully, frightfully English.

On waking I think that it is odd that MI is again in my dreams. I am not surprised that there might be an interest.

The dream ends.

nagal’s courier – massive shit tip – dream 23-10-2025

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Here is last night’s dream had after 5 AM.

The dream starts with the wife and I paying a visit to C whom I know to be a nagal’s courier by predilection. He greets us at the door to his house and invites us in. It is in the UK possibly London. The house is a complete mess, a massive shit tip. The place is in disarray with stuff scattered all over the floor. The kitchen is dirty and very messy. There are plates and saucepans unwashed. C himself is looking shabby and a bit fucked up. He does not look well.

I sit him down and start to clean off a metallic roasting dish. I scrub it in the sink until it is clean and shiny. I then place in it from my satchel a whole oven ready chicken. I add some roasting vegetables and turn the oven on. C says that he would like me to do two chickens if they will fit. That way he will have something to eat after we leave. I start cleaning up the sink and find in there another roasting dish which I chip the debris off and scrub clean. In the fridge wrapped in plastic is another chicken. There is nothing else. I check the use by date and it is ok. I place both roasting dishes in the oven to cook. I take a third chicken out of my satchel. It is plastic wrapped and in date. I put it in the fridge for later.

While the food is cooking I go to the bathroom. It is a mess. There is a “Karcher” style high pressure hose there and I start to pressure wash the mud and “shit” off the walls, the sink and the bath. There is a walk in shower and I wash the debris down the plughole. Slowly the bathroom appears.

I go back to the kitchen. I ask C how come he let thing get into such a state, such a complete shit tip? He shrugs his shoulders sheepishly. I know in the dream that this is because he made a big mistake concerning how he interacted and treated me. I say to him that soon there will be some food and that he needs to take better care of himself.

As I am coming to, I think “not another mess, shit tip dream pertaining to mess made by others!”.

The dream ends.

Diverse Intellectuals – Seer Time – Philosophical Dead Ends – Dream 22-10-2025

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Here is last night’s dream had between 4 and 6:30 AM. I should note that I am on nocturnal low dose oral opium for the hip pain and have been for several weeks.

It starts in an urban setting on a terrace outside some kind of clubhouse or bar. I am with a man who is younger than me maybe forties. We are having a beer at a pub style table. I understand him to be an intellectual, a university professor of some sort. He is animated and has set me up with various meetings around campus. His accent has a very faint American lilt. He has crazy unkempt grey hair with partial male pattern baldness. From his random hair I guess he is Jewish of extraction. He has a satchel with papers. We are discussing models of the universe and I comment that nobody has data before the big bang and that I prefer a cyclical universe model. I am pretty sure that this is not the first universe and that this is consistent with the Vedas. He says there is no need to invoke prior universe. He says that he has lined me up with a busy day and that we should meet up later. He is a bit like the mad hatter running late. He means well and is jocular and friendly.

He leads me off to a mid-multi rise building which is an office block he wants me to meet someone there. She is a psychology-philosophy cross over academic. We get to her office which is clean and immaculate. More top end business than nutty professor. He leaves me with her. She is tall of Germanic demeanour with mustard brown immaculately pressed slacks and an expensive green silk shirt. She is interested in evidence for the psychology of the soul. It is a non-publishable sideline interest of hers. I explain some of my views. She says that she would like to have more discussions with me later that evening. She takes my left hand and places it between her legs on her pubis. I can feel her genitalia. I withdraw my hand. I ask if that is on offer later and she says that maybe it is. She does not understand that I am no longer fussed about sex. She is completely relaxed and unfazed, sex to her is no big deal, a kind of work out. She is pretty formidable and focussed clearly on what she wants.

The scene changes and I am introduced to a small more geeky-nerd come woman with dark hair. She is a professor in game theory and logistics. She and I start to talk about games of logistical journeys. On top of an empty upturned beer barrel she has a simulation of a game for a delivery. She shows me. I explain to her that I have not the faintest idea what game theory is. She moves onto to poker. She says that she can mentally calculate the odds of each hand from current position of play. I say that such a thing would bore me and take away the fun. I say that were I to play I would do so intuitively. Her eyes light up. She is fascinated by the statistics of intuition and is convinced that it is a real phenomenon. She suggests that we have a few hands of draw poker later.

She leads me off to a laboratory building in which I meet a tallish man dressed in a M&S style navy jumper and blue chinos. He is clearly some kind of physicist. We start talking a bit about ultrafast and he maintains that time is a very important thing. I say that time is subjective and nowhere near as objective as he imagines it to be. From the point of view of a seer, time can be expanded or compressed. Perception and time are a part of the same phenomenon. I explain that highly skilled martial artists and sports people can slow the time so that it is perceived differently from others. That is why a 100 mph tennis ball is easier for them to hit. From a seer’s perspective time is like a tram line along which one can place perception at will and this includes far into the past. The physics of time around the putative big bang was very much more nonlinear than it is imagined today.

The physicist takes me to a different part of the building. We are in an atrium outside a lift when the doors open and out flounces a tall man with and expensive long leather jacket and longish hair. With him is a younger acolyte whom I know to be his student and homosexual lover. The man in leather is a well-known published  philosopher. I think to myself that he is a right knob, a bell-end and pretentious. The physicist is also not a fan. I am led off into an office with sofa and armchairs. Alone with philosopher and acolyte we start to discuss. He drops names like a machine gun. I say that in my opinion philosophy as a discipline is at a dead end, stuck. This is because one has always to compare back to previous lines of thought and endlessly refence the development of thought over millennia. Who cares what people thought before modern science? Philosophy is therefore stuck in a bad time warp. He thinks me an uneducated uncivilised heathen and I think him a bell end.

The dream ends.

Dreaming Back to Earth – 21-10-2025

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After the hectic dreaming of our time in Cirencester we are back here. Last night I had two short dreams which pertain to the day to day.

In the first one I was conversing with an officious nurse / sister in French about my hospital stay and ongoing treatment. There is a particular type of woman here who can react badly when their dominion is in any way challenged. It is a reminder perhaps to remember that sometimes discretion can be the better part of valour. A lot of people here are very passive to “the system” like sheep. I doubt my piss-taking sense of humour will wash. I am thinking how I might need to manage myself for the upcoming dice and slice.

The second dream had me going for two successive haircuts. Hair is the dreaming symbol for social self-perception.

Our route march from/to the landing gate in Gatwick airport and the sheer bedlam cacophony of the security checkpoint standing in line reminded me that I am not able bodied. Next time I may need to get special disabled provision, to be wheeled around. Certainly a day sack rucksack is a bad idea. A wheely bag exerts less gravitational force on the bone on bone hip joints.

It is pretty clear that I am no longer practised in the art of human interaction. I am eccentric and used to not being around people. I dress scruffily and at little expense. To those who pay attention to these things I will look poor and unfunded, shabby even. My clothing not from a clone-chain designer, there are no branded icons. I am at first look, out of place. I am not embedded in the fatuous feedback form star rating Pavlova. The take home message is to be ultra bland so as not to sore thumb it. Say as little as possible. Keep my gob shut.

My self-perception has changed a little.

It looks to me to be settle in for winter. Do what you can before the scalpel and drill. There are a couple of chores left on the list. There is nothing external which needs my attention. The world is not my circus.

Maybe when the spring time comes after perhaps a second bionic hip, there might be something external for me to do.

All that highfalutin stuff has blown away like leaves in the Autumn. Not my problem, nothing for me to worry about.

Which means that we have at least one green waste tip trip on the cards. I feel several sessions with the leaf blower ahead.

This week I get to see if Moley McMoleface has been trapped. There is a bit more DIY and there are the pipes to the cesspit to check and if needed clear.

Then it is medical admin time…