Prodigal Son – Rastafari – Dream 10-01-22

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.

Earth Dawn – Arabic – Hidden Doorway – Rasta Seer Dream 15-09-23

At 06:45 I had a bathroom break and went to bed unsure if I would get back to sleep. I thought to myself lie here and see what dreams might come.

 I drift off and from space I see a planet isolated in space. It is blue and green and white. I know that this planet is the earth. Around it I can see a bright white disc of light, a corona. This layer, atmosphere of light, gradually thickens until it is around 10% of the planetary diameter. The layer implodes and then explodes into a four pointed star of white light. The earth cannot be seen only the light. The points of the star are sharp and about five planetary diameters long at maximum length. They are at the four cardinal directions, emanating from the North and South poles with an East-West perpendicular. After reaching maximum extension they disappear leaving the planet isolated in space without its white light corona.

I know in the dream that I must meditate on this and re-run the vision of the formation of the four pointed star. The dream coincides with sunrise here in France. I have the sensation that something dramatic has happened for the planet. I consciously rebuild the image several times over.

The image fades.

The next dream starts on a large ferry boat. I am sat in the library of the boat. The boat has been purchased for educational purchases but few of the people are using it thus. They are in the bar and the games room. The captain announces that he encourages people to explore the boat and to see what other facilities there are. Some people come to sit at the same table as me. They try to take a couple of my books. I say that I have already loaned them from the librarian. I show them the front of the books where there is a slip of paper with loans on. The loan slips have my name handwritten in blue-black ink and a date stamp which is current for me. The books are texts of physics and chemistry together with ancient occult treatises. These latter manuscripts are very valuable and rare. I have been studying them a long time. The people are surprised at the contrast. I explain that it is natural to me.

The dream shifts to a country estate. We are letting a landowner onto the property. She is wearing a waxed “home counties” style shooting jacket and has a shotgun split in the crook of her left arm. She warns that they have let the dogs off the leash. There are two yappy black dogs and a border collie. I give the collie my fist and he holds it in his mouth we are playing a pulling game of sorts. The woman remarks that I now have a friend and that she, the collie, is rarely like that with any human outside their immediate family.

We carry on around the property and to the place where it adjoins the sea. The woman and the daughter say that this cove is their favourite bit. I point South. I say that I prefer the view of the massif across the strait. There above the azure blue sea I can see a fortress in the bright Mediterranean sun. We are making our way along a cliff side path. I don’t like having people behind me on the path and I come to a tricky bit on the path. I say that I am going to have to sit down because I am getting vertigo. I am stuck. I say that they can take the higher path on the cliff face and I will meet them on the other side.

I sit down. I then edge along the path and around the corner of a rock. Hewn into the cliff face is kind of terrace. On that terrace is a small single slat wooden bench. There is a wooden door painted in a dark pastel blue. I can see the grains of the wood and the rushes on the seat put there for comfort. The door is of antiquity. There is a metal ring about the size of my fist at waist height to right hand side of the door. I shout out, “look there is a hidden door!”

A voice answers in Arabic that this is the door of El Shab Abdul bin Shamir or something like that. I cannot recall the exact name but it sounds like this and ends in bin —mir. The woman and two young people, men, are coming in the opposite direction along the path. She is speaking Arabic saying that this is the place he {Abdul} came to meditate and it opens into his garden. In the dream I can understand Arabic because of my crusader-priest life.

They round the corner and sit with me on the terrace. There is a suitable rock of a metre or so on the terrace. As she sits her long hair in corn row dreadlocks falls around her shoulders and reaches to the ground. One of her companions plays with her hair and says that she is Rasta. I smile because I knew some Rastafarians. She is half caste and resembles a young Whoopi Goldberg. She has dazzling blue eyes and I know her to be a seeress of some considerable prowess.

She switches to English and we discuss that from time to time she sees the long dead owner of the garden. I say, “his spirit?” “Yes” she replies. “He is a most unusual being.” “I too come here for solace from time to time.”

Unlike for the others there is no need for she and I to open the physical door. We are suddenly on the other side in a small yet exquisite ornamental garden reminiscent of the Alhambra with water fountains and immaculate planting. We are strolling along and I have the profound sense of having met this woman before. The familiarity if strong.

The scene changes and I am outside a European castle gate. The country is verdant. We are stood by a weir which controls the flow of water through the castle and to the castle fishponds. These ponds are used to provision the castle folk. Every spring they open the sluices for a while to allow the fish from the river into the ponds and to refresh the water. It is the time of the salmon run. People are dressed mediaeval style. There is much excitement because there is plenty to eat after a harsh and boring winter menu. The keeper of the sluice ceremonially starts to open them. The flow is slow at first. Small fish are swimming up the weir. To one side I notice a large silver male salmon leaping up the weir. It has transformed into its breeding shape.  I shout. Everyone looks. There is much joy because the annual salmon run has begun.

I wake up and feel slightly overwhelmed. It is 8:15 AM. What is only a short time in earth time has seemed like an eternity in dream time.

* I have “memories” of verdant Europe, France and a more scorched Mediteranean. The sense of time is around 800 years ago, plus or minus.