Tag: Mess

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

~ quantumdreamer ~ Leave a comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~ quantumdreamer ~ Leave a comment

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.

The Shit Hits the Fan Dream 17-20-2025

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I could not think of a better title for this. This dream was hectic swirling and as such some of the detail {believe it or not} is scant of recall. Yet the feeling of something breaking through from the dreaming and under some kind of “pressure” so to do is strong. The feeling is of “out of my hands” and “beyond my control”. In the dream I am unconcerned by the “nascent” chaos, I am calm in the storm.

The dream opens on a large rural property in France. It is our property but not the current one. In the corner of the property by the gate and the house I note first a ship container like builders’ office. There are JCBs and assorted land moving machines. A canteen. There are piles of building materials like gravel and hardcore. There are bricks and beams. They do not have my permission to be there.

I go over to the cabin and demand to see the site manager. I ask him what the fuck he is doing there, what the fuck are they doing? He says that we thought you would like it. We are doing it for you.

I explain to him that he could not be more thoroughly mistaken. It is not what I want. It is not what I desire. They do not have my permission and that to try to imagine what I want is sheer fucking idiocy. I say that unless they start packing up soon, I will come back with my shotgun. Under no circumstance is their imagined plan a good idea nor what I want. It is a fucking mess.

I go off to the house and come back with an SLR camera and start taking photos of people and kit, collecting evidence. The site “manager” is on the ‘phone to his boss who subsequently turns up. He says that we thought you would like it and that the plans are too late to stop. I say to him that stop they will, or I will make an inordinate hoo-hah and a scene the likes of which they have never seen before. I am already transmitting images to the press and the mayor’s office. They send JCBs etc. to threaten the mayor’s office but I have forewarned the press and the local community who are waiting for them. The whole situation is escalating beyond their control. I have leaked the financial accounts from the building group and its parent company and searches into their propriety are under way. I say that I warned them not to do things without asking me thinking that it is “what I would want”. Thinking that they know what I would want. Thinking that I would accept it and be pleased. I say to them that they have no fucking idea and that this mess is just the beginning. The mess, the shit has started hitting the fan big time.

{Implicit is again and the language use is as recalled from the dream}.

The scene changes and I am arriving at a Cotswold stone library with stained glass arched church like windows. Outside the library are a several reporters with cameras and microphones. They have heard that I am coming and are waiting to ambush me. I walk through the crowd, and several people push microphones in front of me. I say that I will organise a more civilised conference and not a scrum. I’ll set up in the town hall so please to be patient.

Later in the town market hall there is a press conference. It turns out the reporters have been investigating every aspect of my life from my schooling, where I went to university and which universities I have taught at. They have been doing a deep dive investigation into my life. The implications for the institutions have been big. I don’t care overmuch because I have nothing to hide. The search has also been security service themed. They too have been doing a deep dive look. The institutions are in “trouble” from a PR perspective because they have been trying to clamp down and keep secret / quiet which has only encouraged a wider and deeper interest. “What are they trying to hide?” being a journalistic motivator. British academia in particular is under scrutiny. The journalists start by asking me about mundane aspects of my current life. The whole thing is chaotic and out of control. I am completely unfazed, the snowball effect has started.

The scene changes to a European possibly Swiss university. It becomes clear that this is in fact Bern. My former supervisor is putting on a laser and light festival for the town at Christmas. I warn him via his secretary about the ongoing investigation. He is unperturbed and asks if I would like to help him with the light show. I say it is a good idea; I would like to but probably best for the event if I stay away.

As I am coming to, I am slightly tired because of the hectic nature of the dream and unsurprised at the theme of other people thinking that they know what is best for me and what it is that I want. When as is always they case they have no fucking idea. The feeling is that something has now been started which must simply unfold. Chaos may be on the wind.

I wake up thinking along the lines of same shit different day.

Chaotic Mess Dream etc. 05-09-2025

~ quantumdreamer ~ Leave a comment

Last night we watched “The Thursday Murder Club” which was enjoyable. I suspect that if I am in some kind of nanna community setting {soon?} I might well get involved in any protest. Somehow I might end up on some kind of committee.

Last night I had a series of dreaming snippets that went at rollercoaster speed. They were on a recurrent theme of MESS, massive messes made by others which somehow how pertain to me. They are not my messes to solve. Multiple people once acquainted to me are involved, they created these messes because of their behaviour to me. They have not treated me well and done stuff behind my back which cannot be undone. They have showed me a lack of respect. They have bad mouthed me in one way or another.

The snippets were so fast that I did not make significant effort to recall them.

–

–

Somehow I do not the fit the mould of behaviour I am supposed to. I am not as they imagine someone with my background {reincarnations included} to be.  People invariably judge a book by its cover.

The thing is “spiritual” and karmic messes cannot be solved via traditional wheeler-dealer-itchy-back-toady-cash-position-bribery games. Sorry does never unpick karmic debts. But people might imagine that the normal playbook always applies. They are mistaken.

In the Tibetan tradition it is customary to approach a high lama for blessings and to have them place a white silk-like khata scarf over your head. This is considered auspicious and the offering, in both directions, must be made with respect, compassion and purity of motive.

In our what-is-in-it-for-me day and age, purity of motive is as rare as a rare thing on the 29th of February.

The dream was so chaotic and disordered, with people imagining that they could blag it, wing it and generally go through the motions and “get away with it”.

People try to use the same strategies and behaviour that gets them into messes as a way to extract themselves from said mess. This is not a sane or wise approach. But you cannot advise the omniscient in any meaningful way.

They know best after all…

They are insistent on repeating their folly over and over.
 

Covercule 18 – COVID 19 -“they”- British Expats Dream 15-08-2025

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–

De baard maakt geen wijsgeer; anders was er de bok goed aan.

–

Here is this morning’s dream sequence.

The dream starts with me talking with a young medical practitioner. She is an advanced nurse but not a fully qualified doctor. She is wearing very dark blue scrubs and has an identity lanyard around her neck. We are sat at a hospital dining facility come café. I am talking with her about my philosopher’s chin. I have a habit when pensive of sometimes gripping my chin with lightly with my right hand and stroking the left side of my chin with the right index finger. I say that nearly every night just before I go to sleep it itches where the finger goes a little and I give it a brief scratch. It is a part of going off to sleep of a night.

She says that there is no need for concern. I was already unconcerned. She says that it is my covercule 18. The phonetics of the word covercule are explicit. That covers my 18. The philosopher’s chin.

She says that ever since COVID 19 humans have become split. There are those who believe and trust the medical profession and those who prefer half-baked conspiracy theories and internet remedies. “They” are more consulted and believed than is warranted. I say that given my chemistry background I tend to trust vaccination and think of the medical profession not as deity but qualified, trained yet human professionals. I note that not everything they say is evidence based, some is still anecdotal. She agrees that medics are not infallible. I say that I have the courage 18 of my own convictions and am not readily swayed by the advice of “they”.

The scene changes to a small town square in France. We have been considering a move back to the UK and have been chatting about this with some British expats. They point us towards a car parked on the square in which are two women. The window is wound down. I approach and speak with the woman driving. She says that if we are going to rent or buy a property in the UK there is some anti-squatter documentation that we need to fill in. We need to engage the services of a security company called ON. The documents are back at their place.

The wife and I go to their home. The relationship between the women is unclear, query lesbian. We go in and one of them retrieves a document from the office. I am sat at the kitchen table now without a shirt. In the sink are a pile of dishes from the night before. The wife and I exchange glances. One of the woman goes to find a pen. There is other debris in the house. It is a bit of a shit tip yet these women are claiming to be experts. Their house is not at all in order. I have my cheque book out and have started to fill out the form. The woman says that I need to write a cheque for £100 to the security company. Everybody knows “they” say that it is a good idea. I am unconvinced. I motion to the wife and we leave. The women are not happy and entreat us not to miss out. I doubt the wisdom of “they”. They live in a shit tip.

The scene changes and now still in France I go for a walk along the canal. It is early autumn and the canal-side plants are grown green near waist high. It is difficult to see the gravel path. I step off the tarmac road onto the path. I walk along the canal. In the distance I can see a young French man fishing with a roach pole. He has two light brown mongrel dogs of medium size with him. I see by the canal a discarded round warning road sign, which I pick up. As I approach the youth, he makes a playful dog yapping and barking noise to suggest that the dogs will do this. He and I lock eye to eye in mirth. Sure enough as I approach the dogs bark and yap around my legs. I steer them with the road sign using it as a shield. Once passed the dogs return to the fisherman.

I find a path off the towpath up and around the small road bridge over the canal. Aside the bridge is an old toll cottage. I knock on the door and it is answered by a middle aged, fat balding British man in shorts. Over the stable half door I pass him the once discarded road sign which he adds to his collection. He thanks me for helping him stay useful and for adding to his collection.

The dream ends.

—————————————————————————-

* Because of where I spent a fair part of my childhood I was exposed to expat {British} communities. I saw the shenanigans and how some struggled with living far from home in a quasi-incestuous partially suffocating community. I am therefore naturally sceptical about expat “wisdom”…

X-rays – Whales – Water – West Wales – Catherine – Lens – Gig – Tibet Dream 02-05-2025

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For the first time in over three months, I slept through to 4:30 AM. I was very surprised when I checked the clock on going to the bathroom. Here is a sequence of dreams / snippets.

The dream starts with me walking in multiple magnolia-coloured corridors carrying A4 x-ray images of my hips and knees. I am going back and forth and talking with various elements of the medical profession. There is something in these films which they have never seen before, implied something inside me, unique.

I am now in an ultra-modern house high on a hillside overlooking a sound, an inlet, from the coast. The feeling is of a damp pacific northwest America, as per the early Twilight films. There is forest and rain, Vancouver or Seattle. There is water in the air. There is a huge floor to ceiling glass window looking out to the sound below, there are droplets on the glass. I am close almost pressed to the window. It is my invalid home, for recovery.  Far below in the sound I can see whales swimming in a V formation. They are the same black and white non-orca whales from the dream before. My relationship is totemic. As they swim up the fjord inland there is one lead and two on each side of the V. I count thirteen whales in total. It is as if I am swimming behind the lead whale protected by the pod.

I am now at the waterside of the sound. Despite the northerly latitude I enter the water to swim. I can see my dive partner from Sharm El-Sheikh. She is young and attractive as she was then. She is dressed in a green bikini and somehow mostly above water. I swim towards her fully immersed in the cold water completely at home.

The scene changes and I am with my wife and Ashley. We are sitting on the front seat of a right-hand drive minibus. It is one of those continuous bench seats. It is getting towards night and dusky. Ashley is driving, she is in the middle, and I am on the left. In front of the steering wheel behind the dashboard there is a huge mess in front of Ashley, which contrasts to the space in front of us. Now dark we drive down a lane. It is deep in rural West Wales, not too far from the sea. The roads are windy. Ashley pulls up in front of a property and asks, “is this it?”

“Yes”.

He gets out and goes to open the door with a key. It unlocks but the door does not open. I get out and look at the very sophisticated modern locking mechanism. He does not know what is the other side of the door in this rather nondescript building, I do. I pull a key out of my right trousers pocket. It is at the end of a chain attached to one of the belt hooks. The key is golden and slightly shimmering.  I go to the door and with ease undo the mortice. The door starts to open, and a radiant light spills out of the doorway, through the small gap between door and lintel. In contrast to Ashley neither the wife nor I are surprised.

The next part of the dream starts with a strong visual image of Catherine Middleton. She is a bit thin and wearing only a long T-shirt. She wants me to look at her body which I do. I can see her small breasts and the scar from her operation on her abdomen. She feels frail yet determined. In the dream she wants me to have sex with her, which I know is not sex but cooperation. She wants to talk with me about George in particular. Something is bothering her, and she can’t let it go. She needs an explanation different from those she has already had. I comment that I would be happy to try to help.

The setting now changes to the English West Country, Devon, Somerset or Cornwall. Inland, I am due to run a large course at a conference facility. It is due to start in the afternoon, and the preparations are ok. There are people handling the arrivals. I have a team assembled.

Driving the minibus from before I pull up in a layby by a series of beachy coves. I get out and put my belongings in a black plastic workman’s bucket with a handle and head down to the beach with the bucket. I put the bucket on the beach. I enter the water and swim like I used to be able. I swim along shore and in and out of the little coves. I note that there is a strong current running along the shore in the direction of where I started. I decide to part body-surf the current back. Others are doing this too. When I get back to the beach my bucket is gone. It has my ‘phone and documents in. Sat on the decking of a beachfront bar at an outside table is a couple of American men. They are being loud. I can see the bucket with them. I go up to them and say that I need the contents of the bucket. They joke a little, but I insist it is very important because I have a gig to do soon. I look in the bucket and find what I am looking for. It is a small ~1cm diameter bi-convex lens in what looks like a slightly leaden glass. I hold it up to my eye between my left index finger and thumb. “This I what I was looking for!” They look non-plussed. I need to hurry back for the course I am due to give.

 I move on and am back in the van. I am calling to check something for the course. The call goes through to a public pay phone, US style attached to a telegraph pole outside of the modern pacific house from earlier. I can see the ‘phone ringing from where I am sat. The pay phone is quite fancy. Nobody answers. I try again and somebody answers the phone, but it is now not the pacific phone.

I am saying hello etc. There is no response. The phone start to crackle and a female voice asks me if I am who I am using my name and the prefix dr. I say yes. She says that she is Mrs. Andersen and is due on my course. She apologizes that she will not be able to make it. I ask why. She says that she is in the middle of Tibet. She is making a journey from East to West and that it is taking longer than expected. I say to her that it is fine and a very good explanation as to why she will not be attending. We both laugh a little. Life is strange.

The dream ends.

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

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This dream was from around 5 AM this morning.

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

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

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

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

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

The dream ends.

St Germain – Imperial – Baby – Macron Dream 04-04-24.

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Here is last night’s sequence following on from days of poor internet connectivity and the end of the Human immobilier house sale mandate.

A little after midnight I am awoken to a swirling orange-yellow-red visual vortex of tremendous brightness and clarity. Something is stirring the web of life and significantly so. I relax into they visual field certain that it is benign for me and in no way threatening.

I drift off to sleep and see a vison of Rákóczi, Count Saint Germain floating in space. He presents as two alternating figures. One of darker hair than the other. He is familiar and the visual representation is much as it has always been. It is clear that he is up to something and that this pertains somehow to me. We share a mind space for a length of time and it is evident that he will be “around” for a while over the near few days.

I wake up.

I doze off.

I am talking with a young dark haired woman who has somehow just been created by Saint Germain.  She is heavily built and wearing blue jeans she speaks English with a feint European accent.  She wants to talk about science. She is going to be attending the centre for biological education in London, at Imperial College. I tell her that I am familiar with it.

The scene changes and I can see I. He is concerned about the goings on and on the steps outside the old Chemistry department going in.

I am now “there” with the dark haired woman and L. I explain to the dark haired woman that my erstwhile business partner and the best man at my first wedding was the son of a Nobel Laureate. L had no idea about the latter and looks surprised. I am given a broken semiconductor circuit board in which there are four different components shaped like diamonds placed face to face. They are falling out of the board and they ask me to look at it.

The scene changes and I can see reports of a research grant and associated accounts. They are full of discrepancies and subject to a formal investigation. It is D who is under investigation for fraud. I see an image of him concerned about the investigation.

The scene shifts back and the circuit board is literally falling apart. I start to look at the components under a microscope and can see that it has been poorly manufactured. Rushed. I then see floating in space a fake cut diamond made of glass that has several bubble like imperfections. It is flawed, imperfect and not for real.

I wake.

I drift off.

I can see on a large white sheeted bed a young baby in a white nappy. It is without hair and blue eyed. It is lying on its back and whimpering slightly. I am wearing white loose fitting trousers, no shirt, or socks. I lay on the bed and cradle the baby in the crook of my right arm. It presses itself against my chest and I kiss it gently on the forehead.

I wake.

The wife goes to the loo; she snuggles sup saying that I am hot. I kiss her gently on the forehead.

She rolls over and I drift off.

There is a very persistent vison of Emmanuel Macron which lasts quite a while. I understand that Macron is somehow linked to the baby.

I wake.

I build a new electric blue protection dome because it won’t be penetrated by visitors for a while.

I drift off.

I am now with a skinny young woman. We are in a room which is a complete and utter mess. She is talking very fast at me. I grab her by her hips and throw her onto a sofa. I have had enough and she shuts up.

I am outside with a couple of men we are trying to shift a blue portable toilet from the second floor of a barn. I push it a little and it falls backward off the risen floor and smashes on the ground. Job done. We can clear it up with a tractor later.

I am back in the room and the woman is acting all “poor me”. It is a complete shit tip. There is mess and leaves everywhere. The carpet is threadbare.

“You wouldn’t hurt me, would you? Besides I am pregnant.” She says.

“K, even if you are pregnant which I deem unlikely. It is not my child and, in all likelihood, you are being, manipulative. This is your mess, you made it. Not me.!”

In the dream the woman is of a similar stature to K but it does not resemble her. The feel is similar.

Dreaming sequence ends…

Inquiry – Inquest – Pow-wow Dream 10-11-2024

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Last night after watching some rugby highlights on YouTube, MasterChef, a bit of the France V Japan game and Strictly Come Dancing we went to bed.

I awoke around 3 AM and then had a relatively short dream in which I was the subject of an inquiry some kind of inquest into what happened and then a knowing and observation that there was/is some kind of ongoing meeting or pow-wow about the findings. Metaphorically the jungle drums are rolling. I had images of several of the people in this inquiry some of whom were known to me ~ two decades ago. There were others who are “famous” or in the public eye.

The contrast between this “dream” and our nighttime entertainment is marked. In no way was I ruminating about this nor have I much. But the dream has brought it to my attention {again}. It is not the first time that I have had dreams about people making inquiries about me.

Nobody {with one exception} has any current knowledge about what I am like, how I behave or how I think. There is nobody I could ask, realistically, to be a referee. Literally nobody has any current knowledge about my abilities and orientation.

If a gang of people gather together to talk about someone when that person is not present is that

  1. Sensible planning and considered responsible behaviour?
  2. A form of conspiracy bordering on bullying?
  3. Rude?
  4. A comforting but relatively pointless exercise? {Look we are doing something about it we are holding an inquiry. We can publish the findings and the matter will be sealed.}

I have pointed out {previously and elsewhere} that I have never appointed nor will I ever appoint a spokesperson or Porte-parole. Anybody claiming to speak on my behalf is therefore a charlatan.

If anyone wants to know what I am thinking, what I want, how I am feeling etc., the answer is obvious. Don’t speculate, guess, suppose or otherwise chew things over.

Ask.