Yesterday I was very upset close to the point of outrage that someone could cancel an appointment I made, without asking me. And that the imaging centre would accept someone else cancelling an appointment I made without checking first with me. The fact that I received an electronic confirmation of appointment on Friday afternoon and then to arrive on Monday morning to be told there is no appointment is beyond the pale. It is piss poor and shoddy. Outrageous even. Very un-impeccable. I struggled to park it before trying to sleep.
Last night I had an intuition about how to phrase my orientation to life and it was “alms bowl mentality”. In that I am generally happy with what life and the universe offers me. I am not acquisitional or greedy. I am not about self-advancement nor gaining apparent kudos from others in a socio-political sense. This means that I lack the social ambition for “success” in academia and the common world. I am not hard wired nor bought in to the metrics. I do not seek power or position.
I have a look to see what is in my alms bowl and that usually suffices. In a way it makes sense with my prior putative reincarnations.
I nodded off.
I awoke at around 3:15 AM and struggled to go back to sleep because my mind was filled with the ridiculousness of what happened during the day. I struggled to believe that it could actually happen. I realised that I am somehow having to try to transmute this before the next alleged appointment if indeed it is to take place. I know myself well enough to suspect that I might manifest at my most monosyllabic and ultra logical picky if I do not transmute. People will know something is off. I could easily turn into viva-prof questioning mode.
Because I was having trouble parking the notion I decide to practice a full “phowa” consciousness withdrawing and death meditation. To keep my hand in should it be needed if things continue to go wrong. This is a rehearsal for withdrawing the life thread from the physical vehicle. So I began with silent chanting:
gate gate pāragate pārasaṃgate bodhi svāhā
This is the going beyond mantram. Pretty soon I was deep in meditation. I was able to construct the thought forms relatively easy and built the consciousness and images I associate with inter alia Amitabha and Ganesh. I know the Ganesh is the destination for me.
The meditation energised me.
After a while I noted the visual field beginning to fill with my dreaming colour. I relaxed into the dreaming colour to see what it might have to offer.
The dream starts in a mansion / training facility conference centre nearby a single track railway. It is in the country but proximal to civilisation. The course is winding up. I have been the key facilitator. The course has been held such that each break out room corresponded to one of the four directions in the rule of the four pronged nagal. Needless to say the personnel in each room are flavoured by the direction and dressed accordingly. I take a young man down to the station in a motor cycle with side car. He and I have known each other long and he must go off ahead.
Back in the centre the course is winding up. The East room is tidy. In the plenary are gathered several of the participants. I do not understand why I am seeing the rule of the four, it is a quirk. The general feel is upbeat.
In the corner of the plenary on a wooden easel is a framed portrait of a woman. The frame is wide and ornate and the picture is at an angle. The woman in the picture is slightly younger than me, corpulent and is painted as an ~18th century portrait. Her name is written on a plaque. I recall and remember the name.
Sat quietly in the corner of the room is a woman who matches the portrait. She is in an unremarkable pastel yellow dress with light brown hair and untanned complexion. I walk over to her and say that I suppose that we should talk. I hold out my right hand to take her left hand in mine. We are both a bit apprehensive. I can see that she has a wedding and engagement ring on her hand. She is married. Her hand is tiny and older than her face. The moment I take her hand in mine I can feel her heart and am aware that she can feel mine. She says that the feeling is nearly too much. I agree.
I can feel my heart opening very wide and ultra-vulnerable. It still feels like that now as I type. I know that she is nagal woman. In that instant I can no longer recall the features of the other attendees. All I can see is her. I know that were we to meet in real life the recognition would be strong.
I am a little blown away at the unexpected nature of this. In the dream I am reminded of something I said to the wife following her incurable Myeloma diagnosis, “It is the warrior’s path anything can happen!!”
It seems in the dream that there might now be an “after” following an operation.
I am with Charlie whom I know to be an extrovert highly talkative nagal’s courier. We are in a courtyard with white stone walls some draped in rude pink bougainvillea. We are sat at a two seater small white bistro style table in the sun. He is talking animatedly and says that there are some people he would like me to meet. We are in a leafy rich suburb of Pretoria South Africa. He says again that are some people he would like me to meet, now.
The first is just around the corner. He leads me off to a small shopping / administrative area. There is a 1960s style polygon shaped building with a large, covered porch and outdoor seating. It is a community library and an outreach of the university. We enter and there are all sorts of posters in the vestibule advertising events. Behind the librarian’s desk is a medium height medium build white woman. She has an immaculate grey straight haired bob and is dressed in a well pressed blouse and trousers. There are small black butterflies as a motif on her white blouse. Around her neck on a lanyard are spectacles. Charlie introduces me and she speaks in a Germanic Dutch English accent. It is different from Afrikaans and highly educated. She says that she likes the East. I already know this, she is an Easterly Stalker who works at the university library most of the time. In her spare time, she is highly athletic and a free climber. She is lithe.
Charlie then leads me off South into a township near Cape Town. We go to a government run drop in centre / nursery. It is next to a pop-up health centre for adults with HIV. We go into the centre and I can immediately hear the booming tones of a large woman, who is telling someone off in a well humoured manner. She is laughing. As we approach, I can see a large buxom and overweight black woman with corn-row dreadlocks. She has a gold ring piercing in her left nostril and left ear. She is about six feet tall and, in all respects, larger than life. Around her are numerous toddlers and small children. It is chaotic yet somehow together. She hugs Charlie fiercely and squashes him to her bosom. When she sees me, she suddenly becomes coy and suspicious. She inspects me and breaks into a radiant ear to ear grin. There is no need for a hug because we can feel each other’s hearts. She is a Southerly Stalker.
Charlie then takes me to Western Cape to an isolated penitentiary inland from the coast. It is surrounded by razor wire and heavily guarded. We pull up to the guard house in our car. He stays in the car as only I am allowed in. The guards have been expecting me. They open the gate and let me in. I walk in unaccompanied. There are no more guards. I open the first gate and then a door. Inside in a dark room of considerable size there is an electric fence surrounding an enclosure. On it are danger high-voltage signs. I can see a man inside the enclosure. He is wearing a wide brimmed hat and a long dark brown bushwhacker’s coat. I can pass through the electric fence without any problems, with ease. I know that it does not constrain him either. We are at home in the darkness of the room. We stand brooding together in the darkness. He is a Man Behind the Scenes and I know him to be seventh ray. I can see his eyes but not his face in the darkness. We know each other very well, across lifetimes.
I am somehow going around town spraying foam on people I walk with others, and this is for their protection.
I go into a shop. It is old and wooden there. A Ghurkha dressed in a kilt is there, he is talking with the shopkeeper. I tell him that my dad used to work with the 7th army, specifically he was assigned to the Seventh Ghurkha Regiment.
I note the golden medal he is wearing. On it are a golden Caduceus and an image of a swastika. {the correct non-Nazi way round}. He had not seen the swastika before and is a little upset. I explain that I have a golden caduceus too. It is not with me today as it is being examined by another of his kind who is also looking at my Father’s will.
In real life my physical plane father did indeed work with Ghurkhas in the Malayan Emergency and as I have just found out 7th Gurkha Rifles was there at the same time. He was given a Kukri by the Ghurkhas as a gift of honour. I remember it well. He was Second Lieutenant acting Captain in REME during his national service. Because they believed in fate, he said that they had absolutely no fear and did crazy stuff full of courage. I did not know of the number of Ghurkha regiments until 10 minutes ago.
{This added text written in 2023}
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Trigonal Pyramids –Tricorn Hat – Splitting Dream 27-03-2011
I am returning from a flight and arrive at the airport. There is a sense of extensive travel. There is an image of Rob. He is splitting in two, he has two heads. In my hand I hold the “reflexis” cube. In which I see this. This cube is an “impossible” geometric object made up of two trigonal pyramids to make a cube, the top surface of which is highly reflective.
I am sharing a flat with Rob. A man comes to fix his stereo. He is giving attention to his valve amps. He says to me with a wink that my type of amplifier is better. I comment that I only had to change the valves once. Rob’s amp has an element of show whilst mine is more practical. The valves on my amp are glowing.
Later I am going for a meeting and arrive at Oxford Street. I notice Rob heading to UCL. He does not see me nor recognise me. I am wearing sunglasses. I try to talk with him. All roads lead to UCL.
Then in another world Rob has willed himself into the court. He is in every room at the same time. He is dressed as a jester with a three-pointed tricorn hat. In one room he is multi-coloured in and other room he is black and white to match the black and white tiled floor. It is only since he has been split that he can do this. They are waiting for me.
Outside as I approach there is a cat watching some hedgehogs and rabbits play on the lawn. The cat pounces on a hedgehog and gets a “thorn” in its paw. I help it and get the thorn out; I say to it that it is being silly. It then watches the rabbits and pounces on one. It has a small one in its mouth which it is going to eat. I note this and move off into the court.
The dream the repeats itself several times, especially the bit about the splitting, the “reflexis” cube and the image of the jester like figure in a tricorn hat.
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Triskélion La Maison Dieu Dream- 4-11- 2011
I am flying over landscape after landscape watching towers made of rough-hewn stone being struck by lightning. One after the other they are ruptured and destroyed. They are of all shapes and sizes, some tall and thin others, stout and medieval. The scenes continue to unfold against the backdrop of a dark stormy sky. It seems to go on for ages.
I am aware that this is Liberation Through the Power of Intent in Action. In the dream I call up the card La Maison Dieu to view and I start to write poetry on the subject of it. It is important that people understand La Maison Dieu.
The scene changes and I am now floating like Jason Borne on the sea. I am in a space with no walls. In front of me is a three legged “wheel”, shaped like a Triskelion or three-armed swastika. It is very definitely a “wheel”, and I am looking at the central part. I cannot see any circular part yet there is a strong feeling that it is somehow there.
The parts of the “spokes” closest to the “axle” are red in colour. The parts further away are made of gold. There is no axle, simply a hole where the axle might be. The hole is circular. I am willingly tied to the Triskelion. The wheel starts to rotate in space and I with it. As the rotation speeds up, I start to merge with the Triskelion. I become it and it me. Now I can not be seen only the red and gold Triskelion spinning at a tremendous pace. This starts to move off through Space and Time. I have become the cog in the wheel.
Here is as excerpt from a much longer dream a so-called four pager.
There is a steep incline / cliff. I climb over the fence with my laptop and start to descend the cliff. The cliff starts to give way and I surf with it to the bottom. I am now in a dry riverbed. There is only a small amount of water. I follow the river under the motorway to a place where two rivers join. The is a black forest style house there. I go into the house. There is a fire burning on the hearth.
There is a small wooden chair. It has a solid back with two cut out shapes. I sit on the chair. It is someone else’s chair. I get up and sit on another chair. I put the other person’s chair up on a bed so that I can get a better look at it. As I do so I bang heads with whoever is on the chair. Slowly a cat materializes on the chair, and we start to have a conversation. There are a series of puzzles for me to solve in the house.
Out of the ceiling a construction comprising wooden squares suspended by string materializes forming a tunnel. I am to go up this tunnel. I start but because of the breadth of my shoulders I get temporarily stuck. At this point I can see a seminar where people are looking at a screen and there is an overhead projector projecting transparencies on the wall. People are sat around the table trying to understand the codes in the transparencies. I make my way to the back of the room and ask if the projector is in focus. The guy projecting adjusts the focus in and out. Those watching can’t solve the first riddle. I note that the first clue suddenly resolves into:
” SYNTHESIS”
We move on and a piece of Battenburg cake comprising four squares of yellow and pink appears.
It cuts itself into three equal sections roughly centred at the middle. I know that I am like the cake cut into three equal sections. This is my configuration.
I continue on, cognizant of the theme “needing to solve puzzles.“
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Dream ends.
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18 Flames – 17 Flames – Mossad Dream 31-1-21
Here is the first of last night’s dream which were had either side of a piece of very squally and stormy weather.
The dream is set in a hospital which is similar in feel to the one locally where I was admitted previously. I am sat up in a chair fully clothed and there is high technology medical apparatus around me. In the room are two young men in army fatigues and with weapons. They each have a western style assault rifle and a handgun in a holster. One of them has a circular close-fitting hat on and he has ginger coloured hair and freckles, the other is darker of complexion.
Suddenly out of the hat small blue flames, several inches in length start to burn in a circle round the man’s head. I count them and there are eighteen in total. I know in the dream that this man is my nagal’s courier and he is reflecting for me the eighteen blue flames of my courage.
I turn to the other man, and he has blue flames arranged in a circle too. I count these and they are seventeen in number. In the dream I am surprised because he feels like a southerly stalker and should by rights be a woman. It strikes me as odd. So, I think that he must be my courier to the Scholar representing the other part of my predilection.
I take note of the numbers 18 and 17, the jewels courage and discrimination or discernment.
Into the room comes a male doctor and two female nurses. They are all wearing white coats. They are going to take samples from me. I ask if I can have some local anaesthetic, some lidocaine. They say that it is better that I do not. The man does something and then I am moved away to another room.
The nurses do not get a chance to take their samples.
I am now in a large room with a single large table in it. The nurses are with me. I say that they can take their samples now. I take off my shirt and lie on the large table. They take out their instruments and cut several pieces of flesh from my right side. I have raised my arm for them to do this and do not flinch. They put the samples into sample bottles which then then put into the pockets of their white coats. They leave the room. I sit up on the table and put my shirt back on, there is no blood.
The ginger haired man from before comes in. He is now wearing a security earpiece wire. He says that he is from Mossad and here to protect me. He is now also wearing a Kevlar chest shield and has a helmet in one hand and assault rifle in another. He says that there are seventeen of his colleagues, also from Mossad, around the perimeter to protect me and keep me safe. I have been brought here for my own protection and together with the seventeen colleagues he makes eighteen all of whom are to keep me safe and secure.
Dream ends.
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Nagal’s Courier Dream 2-2-22
This is the first very vivid dream that I have had in a long while and on a morning with a whole heap of 2s.
I am at a small fishing port walking along the harbour wall. In the near distance I see a dark-haired man leaning against a parked Ducati motorbike. He is wearing leathers. I know this man to be A, a dreaming nagal’s courier. I approach him and say hi. He is very sceptical and not-trusting.
I explain that I need to make him aware of some things because there has been a lot of misinformation floating around. I say that when I stopped interacting closely with Théun my dreaming colour changed from indigo-purple to indigo-blue. The shade deepened and became much more vivid. I am certain that it meant that I was a second ray being an Elephant and not a Wolf. I ask him a metaphorical question, “How is your dreaming colour now?”
I explain that there is plenty of “evidence” from dreams and omens that I am a nagal being and not a Man of Action as Théun had suggested. I had been trying this hypothesis on, as is my want. The dreams both mine and the wife’s suggest that I am doubly severed and therefore a three pronged nagal being. Indeed, I had a traumatic experience entirely consistent with the second severing. My secondary predilection is for the East and thus I am a philosophical nagal and radically different in approach to Théun. A second ray dreaming philosophical nagal is an altogether different beast.
I say that in my opinion there was a whole bunch of stupid shit going on back in the day. I say that I have said what I needed to say.
The dream ends.
This dream follows on from an earlier one in which I was verbalising the rule of the four-pronged nagal for a bunch of students.
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Himalaya Foothills Dream 19-06-23.
Before the dream started, I had a very persistent thought form in which I thought “humanity is no longer Darwinian”. This seed thought pointed to the fact that the process of natural selection has been inhibited by modern life. There is no longer exclusively a survival of the fittest. Lifeforms which would have died out survive and the evolution of the human species is stunted. People in the west do not currently have to fight to live, they can eke and survive.
The dream starts with me looking down at my bare feet they are on a concrete floor painted a very deep shade of red and I am wearing loose weave ethnic trousers, of a magenta shade. I can feel the cool floor under my feet. I am indoors and the refuge from the heat is welcome. I am sitting in a wicker chair on a white cushion.
I stand up and leave my residence to go to the hotel / hostel which is downhill from me. I am in a small town on the side of deep ravine in the Himalayan foothills. I have been here for quite some time. I am at home. There are people milling about in the street. They are brown skinned with jet black hair and of slim stature. A couple of the children wave at me, they follow me down the street. There is a sense of accustomed play.
I get to the hotel and go up to the communal dining area. There people are making themselves a meal. It is all very ad hoc. I recognise some of them from London 20 odd years ago. Amongst them is Alexandros {nagal’s courier}. He is tall and has suffered badly from middle age spread. I motion to him and we go out into the small private garden. I ask him why he is here. He says that when I left ages ago, I told him that he should be sensible and keep safe. He has come with the others for me. We go back inside and there is an air of expectancy in the dining room. I leave.
I make my way back up the hill and try to cross a drain into a shaded porch area of an emporium serving tea. I struggle and nearly trip. A young Nepalese man (Gurkha?) grabs my arm and says, “you need to be more careful sahib.” I am a little surprise by his tone. He sits me down. It is clear that I am struggling to move and in some considerable physical pain. He says that we need to build up reserves because we are going to have to walk through the mountain pass at 3400 metres. It is a long way but we think that you can make it. The pass is to the North of the town in the dream. He says that he and his brother will be there with me all the way and that it is their job to guide and protect me. They have been assigned.
I step out onto what passes for the town square chiselled into the mountain side. I can smell the mountain air, rich and pungent from the plants on the mountainside. I can see the Himalaya massif resplendent in the morning light. It looks magnificent and formidable. Around the square a couple of light brown skinny dogs are playing in the shade of a tree.
To the side of the square is a small open stone wall. There are stones on top of short pillars. I go to sit on the wall and the Nepalese man comes and sits next to me. Down in the valley on a road winding up to the town there are several people and loaded pack donkeys. They are making their way; they are European and are assisted by locals. I recognise some of the Europeans. I ask the guide, “why are they coming here?” He says that “of course they have come to see you sahib. There will be others too.”
Dream ends.
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Rule of the Four Pronged nagal – Numerology Dream 17-08-23
Just because there was not enough weirdness already here is this morning’s dream.
The dream opens with a quintessential English village fete set in a green and sloping park. The park has trees around the circumference and is lushly grassed. There are stalls selling produce, a Tombola stand, a Pimm’s tent, bric-a-brac and an inflatable play area for the children. There is a small crowd of English people at the event. The atmosphere is summer and nice. Everyone is relaxed and there is a nice hubbub.
At the corner of one stand, I notice a talk young man with dark hair who resembles A whom I know to be a nagal’s courier. I go over to him to say hello. I say that I need to tell him about the rule of the four pronged nagal. He already knows that he is a nagal’s courier. He says that only nagals should narrate the rule. He doubts that I am nagal. His jewel is 20, honour.
I walk to the side of the fete near the trees. I hold his attention with my eyes. I run down the slope and take off flying down the slope and then back up to close to hum. He says, “that was stupid, everyone could see you!” I motion to the crowd they are going about their business as usual. I say that the display was only for him and his eyes. He says, “OK. I’ll buy it you are nagal.”
We head off into a European piazza, Italianate in character. There is much buzz. We head off into a taverna which is busy. There sat on a table is a middle aged balding ginger man. He is entertaining his table with stories. He does not look entirely well. I say to the nagal’s courier that he is a Man of Action. He replies that I should go and tell him. I say that it must be action. I take the courier down into the basement of the taverna and find the electricity distribution box. There are many fuses and interrupters. I flip the switches. The tavern and the basement are plunged into darkness. There is unease upstairs. I hear the Man of Action strike his Zippo lighter. He says, “don’t worry it was probably a fuse. I will go and investigate.” He comes down in the basement and sees us. He turns the electricity back on. We all leave the taverna together. His jewel is 6, choosing between the old and the new.
Now it is nighttime and we go into a basement nightclub. It is dark and smoky. It has seen better days and is seedy. On the stage is a cabaret. We sit at a table and order some drinks. On the table next to us an older man is being entertained by a hostess who is pouring him drinks and flattering him. She is a tiny black woman with an amazing architectural hairdo. She is wearing a skimpy red dress which reveals her athletic shoulders. From the way she moves to the bar she is lithe and a dancer. She is sat very close to me. I suggest to her without words that she must come with us. She looks over. We get up and leave the club, she follows. She says that she must get some things. So, we follow her into a catacomb where she lives. We go into a gothic chamber and she fills a holdall with clothes. I say to her that she is “bat-shit crazy” because there are bats flying about. She yes, literally. Her jewel is 5 need for freedom and change. She is as Westerly stalker.
We are now above ground in daylight. We go to a suburb near the sea, where there are three storied wooden houses of a classical Boston marine style. The place is ultra-tidy and serene. I select one house and go up the stairs. I pull the bell rope and a man in navy-blue shorts and a white polo answers the door. His short hair is immaculately cut and the creases in his polo are razor sharp. One the back of his polo is the number 2. He says, “hi we have been expecting you. Do come in.” He ushers us into a bright well lit kitchen with a blue and white nautical theme.
“I’ll just call my brother, my twin, we always do everything as a pair!”
His brother comes down and joins us in the kitchen. They are identically dressed. They stand with their backs to a white porcelain sink and ask us in unison, what would we like for breakfast. Their jewel is 2. They are couriers to the female East. I note in the dream that a pair of twos is a double whammy omen. Two is the need for humility and understanding or a hint of destiny. Given the context I favour the latter.
The flow of the dream goes South-North-West-East which I understand to be the flow of power, which is in the act of manifesting, that is one the verge of coming into manifestation. It is on the cusp of the dream.
Dream ends.
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Berne – nagal’s Insignia Dream – 27-04-24
I slept until 5:22 AM. This dream came upon going back to sleep.
I find myself in a seminar room sat in a partial circle of chairs without tables. Someone is giving a spectroscopy seminar on the screen. It is about some work being done at a German university. When the seminar is over, I go over to Sam and comment that it was a very nice piece of work to which he concurs. I know I am in Berne, Switzerland.
There is a short pause and the seminar reconvenes. I am wearing a blue-grey jacket much like the one I used to have. To this I pin my nagal’s insignia. I take it out of my pocket and pin it to my right lapel.
It is getting late. I have nowhere to stay. But I am pretty sure than I can get a hotel room on my credit card. I leave the seminar room and walk off into the Berne night.
I wake up noting that it is very unusual to have a dream with the insignia in. And wonder if it means that I need to be more proximal to one of the planetary centres, namely Geneva. I note that I have also spent time in London, Tokyo and fleetingly New York. I decide to try to return to the dream. Geneva is the francophone centre.
I am now in some shared house with a “Rayburn” style of heater. The pipes are all transparent made of glass. We are changing the thermostat setting and this causes the water levels in the pipes to change. I comment that it is a good idea to have these pipes transparent because one can see what is going on.
I then move into an office building. I meet the secretary which Sam had. I think about asking her if she likes dreams. I change my mind and say to her that I have something to tell her and Sam in private, namely the dream.
I move into an office full of Ph.D. students. I ask them where the post doc office is. They point me. I go in and it is full of people a few of whom are known to me. I ask where I am supposed to sit. Alan F sheepishly points me to a chair/desk in the corner. I sit down.
I say that because of the number of post docs Sam must be doing well.
One of the women, a senior post doc, asks in an American accent, “what the fuck are you doing here?”
To which I reply that I am slightly surprised too.
She says that everyone gossiped and ridiculed me after I left last time. I reply that I know because Wolfgang told me and that he was not happy with the behaviours of people towards me because I had been nice to him.
Sat around the table each of us have a grey carton.
“Today we are having oysters, huitres”, says one of the post docs.
“Not for me thanks I don’t like them”, I reply.
“Why?”
“They feel like catarrh from a bad head cold, a viral infection.”
“Can we get you anything else?”
“Just a glass of water please.”
“Won’t you feel left out?”
“No. Since the last time I was here I have done extensive meditation and am quite Zen abut most things.”
In front of me is a lab book and a fountain pen.
The pen is their “gift” to me.
I go to take the lid off the pen and try to use it. It is booby trapped and I get ink all over my hand and my mouth. I dip a tissue in the water and wash my hands with it.
“It looks like I will need to use a pencil instead of a fountain pen to write.”
There is a titter in the office.
I turn to use a computer and reflected on the screen I can see them reloading the pen.
I tell them that I am seeing them do this and that I am not a fool. I walk over to the main culprit. I place my left thumb firmly into the nerve point between his right thumb and forefinger and squeeze his hand. He drops the pen and grimaces in pain.
I explain that I am now 100kg because I have been working a garden.
They joke that British gardens are small.
I say that I have been living in France with a garden of more than an acre.
I say, « je peux parler Français ».
I do this is a very poor accent.
I go back to my accommodation. I note that I still have not written my dream and that this mocking “welcome” is a generic thing.
The next morning, I put on my grey camouflage trousers and vest. I attach the insignia to a piece of smooth string and pop it around my neck. It rests just under the top on the singlet in my chest hair.
I go into town towards the office. The woman and two other postdocs are at a cross roads.
We exchange, “morning”.
They are about to mock me for dressing as a soldier. I lift the insignia out of my vest to show them, knowing that in so doing I am making a powerful occult statement which they do not understand.