13th Dalai Lama Mystery – Tutor – Dream 02-03-2026

Here is this morning’s dream, not entirely surprising given what I was researching yesterday.

The dream opens with me outside a market which in the dream I know to be Portobello Road. It looks more like Smithfield or the covered market in Rennes. The buildings are painted a light pastel olive green. I am to look for antiques and in particular a photograph of me personally with the 13th Dalai Lama at least one of which exists. I have a strong sense of the year 1890 which repeats and the sense is that I was alive in 1890.

I am then in some kind of mental rapport with the 13th and his image comes to my mind and fills the visual field. He is visually as he might be on a sepia photograph. He asks me if I remember the two photographs he gave me. One of them has him an adolescent teenager and the other as a man in a “raj” style English hat. He has written on them “to xxx” in a white “ink” on the front which I cannot see the content of. It is my name. There is some message to me on the back. They are by way of fond mementos. He repeats “the two photos I gave you”. There is a fondness and a closeness in our interaction.

He then reminds me that quite recently I acted as a tutor for a Younghusband whom I tried to teach AS level physics. He reminds me of the school he went to and thinks it funny that I was a tutor to a Younghusband…It is a kind of a shared joke.

He says that there are messages for me to find and a mystery to solve.

The dream ends.

On writing I note the numerology of 1890 and think maybe I might look at the Younghusband family tree.


“The British expedition to Tibet, also known as the Younghusband expedition, began in December 1903 and lasted until September 1904. The expedition was effectively a temporary invasion by British Indian Armed Forces under the auspices of the Tibet Frontier Commission, whose purported mission was to establish diplomatic relations and resolve the dispute over the border between Tibet and Sikkim.”


Socks on – no crutches…

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It’s a Mystery

Somewhere in the distance

Hidden from view

Suspended in the atmosphere

Waiting to come through

Toyah

Written by: KEITH HALE

Lyrics © BMG Rights Management, Downtown Music Publishing, Kassner Associated Publishers Ltd

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This morning a little after 7 AM I did something that I have not been able to do for many months, I put both my socks on, all by myself. The socks are so-called diabetic socks which means that the elastic is not overly tight. The socks are designed to limit need for amputation and are loose. But I managed it with little or no drama.

Yesterday afternoon less than two weeks after surgery I was walking up and down our living room without any crutches whatsoever. I probably did some 40 metres without any crutch. Now I have to be careful to not learn an accentuated limp.

Not bad for two weeks…everyone seems mildly surprised at just how quickly progress is being made. If you would have asked me to bet on it, walking in two weeks, I would not have made a significant wager.

Long may it continue.

Last night I had a dream with a couple of people from my undergraduate chemistry cohort in. The dream also referred to a very specific date and cross referenced another dream also with a specific date. Why I have eighteenth century dates in dreams has no obvious explanation. It is a bit of a mystery perhaps related to the time-walker thread…

During the night the smoke detector started to beep. I can say that taking a smoke detector off from high on the wall when perched on a spiral staircase and unplugging the battery whilst recovering from hip surgery mildly trolleyed due to codeine is not ideal. New battery now fitted and smoke detector is back in place.

Anyway the guys from the hunt are here and hopefully they will deal with the wild boar situation…

The Three Threads



Out there in the wider world, people are busy with their business. Maybe focussed on whatever it is that may be “important” to them or so they deem. There is very little genuinely spare time, largely because that internal dialogue is rampant. Many have some kind of agenda which they seek to enact, be that as simple as going to the football and having a skin full, or not.

I have been coming around to the idea that fate has little left in store for me in terms of my interactions in a wider world for the end-game of this lifetime. I am pretty much done.

The {my} world turns inwards and is governed largely by biological health and physical pain. I have managed to get a French rheumatology appointment for September which is contemporary with my next scheduled GP doctor appointment. I have a UK rheumatology appointment next week but they cannot prescribe for French pharmacies. I will probably self-medicate unless things get genuinely unbearable. Any hip operation looks at least a year off.

We have started looking at houses suitable for handicapped living and this is the so-called nanna-thread. The one that looks the most real, the most likely. If we end up in some nanna-accommodation with shared communal facilities, there is a chance that even if I don’t want to, I will end up in some way as spokesperson / organiser for the grey hordes. The nanna thread has UK options in Llanelli with the Scarlets or near Gloucester with the Cherry and Whites.

That is about as far as thinking has gone.

In the background my unpublished dreams provide detail of just how disingenuous and unpleasant various people, allegedly “close” to me in the past, have been towards me. Those dreams have gone beyond what I already knew to be true. I am not surprised, rather thematically bored. I could not be arsed, to recall them, to write them down. Boring.

The Buddhist-thread with Tibetan spices, seems likely to have no physical plane future. I can’t see any trajectory which might make it more substantial or solid. It seems to me “just one of those things”. A possibility in the web of life, unable to manifest, due to the reality of life circumstances. Practicality aborts dream, if you want to be dramatic.

It may be simply a ghost, an echo, that I need to let fade, to work through my system and to let go of. There is no vicinal or proximal context.

My little dream-world does not impinge exterior. There is no data.

Of late there has been a tiny hint of something I might do were we to have a UK small-garden property. It is the merest hint of a thread. The conceptual difficulty I have is that it pertains to the “leadership” red herring. Someone gaslighted me into this notion, when in reality I have always been more about teaching, possibility and not manifestation. I cannot lead in a socio-political sense because I cannot be bothered with fake niceties and bartering politics.

For some bizarre reason some expect me to do, when I would much rather research, think and speculate. I enjoy planning and envisioning; I don’t fuss if these get binned or forgotten.

The only thread that I can start to picture is the first. I could see the bathroom of the house we saw yesterday adapted for grip bars in the shower. I questioned whether the tiled stud-wall could support a fraction of my ~100kg. I would need a second look.

For now, these are the three threads in order or increasing tenuousness.