Tag: Seer

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

~ quantumdreamer ~ Leave a comment

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.

Rapport and Communication

~ quantumdreamer ~ Leave a comment

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The single biggest problem in communication is the illusion that it has taken place.

George Bernard Shaw

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The above succinct quotation is a lot more apt than many are willing to acknowledge. It is widely applicable. It takes a lot of effort, willingness and practice to enhance communication so that one can be “en rapport” with another. One has to be on similar wavelengths and not too divergent in intellect. There must be some shared commonality of allegory and metaphor, usually some overlap of life experiences. There needs to be some kind of tie, perhaps emotional or deeper. The sharing of space and time with another helps, sharing trauma or profound experience can enhance a shared experiential which enables communication. One can communicate well with someone who one “hates” because that intensity adds focus to communication. This intensity can aid or degrade communication. There are a lot of assumptions and biases present in most attempts to communicate.

Above all one needs to listen attentively and try to communicate, to convey. My experience suggests that many are unskilled in listening. To tune in to another requires one to be passive like a radio receiver. One needs to find the wavelength of transmission on the dial.

If there is poor rapport using conventional methods such as talking it is not surprising that unconventional methods such as telepathy are not well experimentally proven. I like the analogy of an electronic instrument. If the noise in the instrument is high its ability to detect true signal is reduced. The “minds” of most are a cacophony of internal dialogue unable to pick up signal. If the mind is distracted and unfocussed the spoken word fails to register with any longevity in the consciousness. {Oh look a butterfly, my ‘phone has just pinged with a text, what is for tea?}

I’ll speculate that profound inter-human rapport is on the wane.

In the media when a psychic is consulted to solve a complicated murder case, perhaps find a body, they are given a piece of clothing, a photograph. This enables the psychic-seer to tune into to the missing person or object. Logically the rapport gained from a scarf or a photograph cannot be as strong as that gained from a genuine relationship with that individual. Perhaps by taking time to immerse into the life, the bedroom, the friends of the missing person a non-proximal rapport can be gained. But it would not be the same as if they worked together for a decade and shared life’s highs and lows. There may be some more predisposed to such a skill. We have the notion of empath on one hand and trained skilled psychological profiler on the other hand. One uses a subjective rapport and the other builds from a quasi-objective evidence base.

The notion of rapport is of course subjective and perhaps elusive. Rapport must vary in a temporal sense. For example I am markedly different in outlook now than I was two decades ago. Any rapport people had with me from back then has probably passed its expiry date. I can still put on my Worzel-Gummidge science head if needed. It is at the back of the barn behind the haystack.

Because we may lack a genuine rapport we can easily assume that we understand people and their motivation much better than we actually do…

Rapport has cultural elements too. This has been clear here in France. I have had conversations where I know we are not on the same page, in the same book or even the same library. I have noted the case. The other person has not. There is no way that you can convince the adamant that they have gotten the wrong end of the stick, even when you know they have.

Communication is way trickier that we imagine.

In Buddhism the notion of mind to mind transfer is active in the hagiography and key in the Zen lineages. Things are passed on non-verbally. This strays into the parapsychological notion of telepathy. In such instances the follower and teacher have shared considerable time, they have had grumbling bellies when the alms bowls were sparsely filled. They have meditated together. Their way of life has been shared, their philosophies have converged, their wavelengths have become similar and synchronised. Under such circumstances the likelihood of mind-to-mind transfer must be enhanced. They did not go home to their wives nor watch Strictly of a Saturday night. They are not worried about losing their jobs nor distracted by the next vagaries issuing out of Trump’s jumbled mind.

Rapport then is an unquantifiable but when shared is a common subjective experience. Communication is less difficult and mutual understanding more easily reached.  A convergence of being enables rapport.

I liken this mental rapport to the phenomenon of quantum entanglement. Two photons created as an entangled photon pair have their wavefunctions coupled, they are en rapport with each other. When one photon is “asked” about its state of polarisation and answers. The other photon telepathically knows what its state is too, despite any geometric distance between them.

Rapport can be thought of as a form of entanglement, a loss of harsh individuality, where a shared outlook is held, however briefly. During full rapport communication is “instantaneous”. The separate I, me, is melded into an us. In full rapport we might think as one.

The wavefunction contains everything we might want to know about a photon {or pair}. The mind contains everything we might want to know about the non-biological part of a being. Two minds fully en rapport share. Of course mental rapport is unlikely to be total though it could be significantly partial. A shared mental rapport might enable a telepathic transfer, being to being. Physical plane distance need not hinder.

If one studies an individual for an extended period one might get to know them and have a measure of predictivity concerning their thoughts and behaviour. This could be an ersatz rapport when you think you know but don’t really. The grey area between advised intuition and genuine telepathic rapport is probably experimentally inseparable. A stalker thinks they know the victim, a spook understands the target. To generate an accurate rapport with someone personally unfamiliar is not facile. We may imagine we know. We may be overly optimistic as to extent.

What we wish for and what is actual, can differ.

Hmnn…

Granny Was a Gwrach…

~ quantumdreamer ~ Leave a comment

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Gwrach y Rhibyn

The legend of the cyhyraeth is sometimes conflated with tales of the Gwrach-y-Rhibyn or Hag of the Mist, a monstrous Welsh spirit in the shape of a hideously ugly woman – a Welsh saying, to describe a woman without good looks, goes, “Y mae mor salw â Gwrach y Rhibyn” (she is as ugly as the Gwrach y Rhibyn) – with a harpy-like appearance: unkempt hair and wizened, withered arms with leathery wings, long black teeth and pale corpse-like features. She approaches the window of the person about to die by night and calls their name, or travels invisibly beside them and utters her cry when they approach a stream or crossroads, and is sometimes depicted as washing her hands there. Most often the Gwrach y Rhibyn will wail and shriek “Fy ngŵr, fy ngŵr!” (My husband! My husband!) or “Fy mhlentyn, fy mhlentyn bach!” (My child! My little child!), though sometimes she will assume a male’s voice and cry “Fy ngwraig! Fy ngwraig!” (My wife! My wife!).

If it is death that is coming, the name of the one doomed to die is supposed to be heard in her “shrill tenor”. Often invisible, she can sometimes be seen at a crossroad or a stream when the mist rises.

Some speculation has been asserted that this apparition may have once been a water deity, or an aspect of the Welsh goddess Dôn. She is the wife of Afagddu, the despised son of Ceridwen and Tegid Foel, in some retellings of the Taliesin myth.

From Wikipedia

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If I were to show you the autocorrelation traces of two femtosecond laser pulses on an expensive oscilloscope in a dark laser lab it us unlikely that you would be thinking of the witch, the hag of the mist, Gwrach-y-Rhibyn. The two things do not correlate for most.

A part of my maternal family hails from Snowdonia, the foot of Snowdon,  in North Wales and the family legend has it that at least one of my maternal relatives, a granny of sorts, was a Gwrach, a witch, perhaps a seeress. In that context then there is a chance that I inherited the bloodline and hence the “gift” so to speak. As such it was entirely natural {and perhaps inevitable} that I would be interested in shamanism and shamanic ritual.

Of course in terms of someone able to write Fortan programs to calculate Franck Condon factors for anharmonic oscillator molecular vibronic photon excitations that seems far-fetched.

Contextually the vice versa might apply. Why would a shaman piss about with fancy lasers and science?

In Brittany there remains an interest in {and perhaps practice of} witchcraft. This is no way freaks me out. It is possible the practises here were sourced in the Welsh diaspora arriving. They are of similar roots.

I’ll speculate that a blog post like this would not enhance my promotion prospects were I still institutionalised in science academia.

I have always loved the mist and the fog. I nearly died on The Old Man of Coniston once. I was alone and following crows up a trail in the snow deep into the fog, alone on the mountain. It was exciting. Luckily before I got completely lost in the otherworld, I turned back. I have had much similar fun on Kinder Scout in dense fog. There is something womb-like and enveloping.

Of a still and misty night, when the full moon is partially veiled and you heard a voice at your window calling your name, what would you do.

Could you take secure refuge in the omniscience of your infallible reason?

Or would your blood run cold?

Coincidence is Logical – Except When it Isn’t

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There is a certain type of person who prefers to ascribe coincidence, or random happenstance to events rather than accept any unproven {hypothetical} causal links. It would take a multiplicity of “coincidental” occurrence before they would deem significant corelation of happenstance sufficient to justify either causal linkage or even causality itself.

If the statistics to the contrary started to build up, they would resist dropping the logical conclusion of coincidence for quite a while.

Because of this they would never believe in karma. Even were it to slap them around the chops with a large wet pollack.

Say for discursive example you were covertly reading this blog and perhaps making some cunning plans which in some way pertained to me. You then noted that I posted “We’re only making plans for Nigel” here. The first port of call would be that this was entirely coincidental. You might start a tad, nevertheless. It is logically impossible for someone in another country to know that you were discussing or chatting about them. The occult ability of “seeing” belongs only to fictional characters like “Wednesday Addams”. At a stretch you might go so far as to think I had made some lucky intuitional guess which by fluke of timing matched circumstance. No way would you, as a rational scientist, accept that seeing is possible and that I am capable thereof.

People therefore write off many things because their confirmation bias says that they cannot or should not be possible. Anecdotal evidence of not boarding a plane because of  bad vibe and it subsequently crashing and burning, remains anecdotal and conversational perhaps to be found on “The Daily Mail”. The life of those prone to ascribing things near always to coincidence is a bit boring and chances are that they miss a great deal. They should steer well clear of roulette, statistics says so.

There are however many things for which coincidence and random happenstance are poor explanations. But logic is very limited and as it is currently formulated fails to encompass many things without far-fetched hypotheses like dark energy and dark matter.

“Show me a can of dark matter!!”

There is a part of society which believes in karma and synchronicity. Were you forever looking for these things then chances are you will find them. You could argue that belief in synchronicity is a self-fulfilling prophecy because of confirmation bias. Similarly if you were fond of the notion of seeing, ANY thing, any event, no matter how small could provide you with proof of efficacy. You could comb the opus of Nostradamus or the Revelation of Saint John and find clear {and incontrovertible} evidence of fulfilment of prophecy. It might not occur to you that you are kidding yourself.

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So where is reality?

Is it that coincidence is logical except when it isn’t?

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The Book of Revelation, also known as the Book of the Apocalypse or the Apocalypse of John, is the final book of the New Testament, and therefore the final book of the Christian Bible. Written in Greek, its title is derived from the first word of the text, apocalypse (Koine Greek: ἀποκάλυψις, romanized: apokálypsis), which means “revelation” or “unveiling”. The Book of Revelation is the only apocalyptic book in the New Testament canon and occupies a central place in Christian eschatology.

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Cancer Diagnoses – Dead People – Seeing – David Bowie Dream 29-04-2025

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Here is this morning’s dream.

The flavour of this dream in entirely UK and specifically England. I am in a small featureless room with D whom I used to know. He is taciturn and concerned. There is a heavy leaden vibe. I know that in the last few days he has received an advanced cancer diagnosis and he has yet come to terms with it. It is in a sense tearing him up and bringing up inner conflicts long avoided. We are in his parents’ house. I leave the room and go for a loud and long “dad piss” in the toilet next door. On the way out I bump into D’s long dead father. He tells me that D is in in denial and would like to express himself but is having trouble pissing, metaphorically speaking.

I go back into the room and already I can see that a part of D is in the in-between and that his time before passing over is not all that long. I say to him in the dream that I am not surprised to see him there given what has occurred in dreaming recently. I know that his Soul is being subjugated by his stubborn personality. There is a part of him which seeks to speak to me and it is not his personality. The inner conflict is making him grey and dank. There is nothing I can do. I know that post death I will get a visit. By then it will be late.

The scene changes to some kind of work’s social event. I am talking with two early middle aged English women, who are expensively dressed. One has a grey bob and the other has longer dyed orange hair. They are both “crystal feeler” new age types and speak posh and clipped. There is some kind of new age book launch going on. The woman with the longer hair asks me if I can “see”. I say to her that I certainly could in the past but that I have not done this for a long time because it tends to freak out any person being seen. They are both excited.

The grey bob asks me if I could “see” her. I warn her that if I Iook she may not like what I see and that she might not like the experience. Intrigued she asks me to go ahead. I stand close to her around one foot away and look into her eyes and more diffusely with unfocused eyes. I see first her form and then her thoughts. Beyond that I can see her Soul. I say to her that she finds me attractive. She comments that such a comment is no big deal nor seeing. I can tell that she is sexually aroused and defiant, refusing to believe that she is being seen. I ask her if she would like a tissue to wipe the moisture from her vulva which I know she has emitted. She turns bright red and moves away aware that she has been fully transparent to me. I know that it is this sensation of transparency which makes people anxious and antagonistic.

The scene changes and we are upstairs in a plush London hotel not too far away from Covent Garden. There is some kind of training or healing event going on with facilitators and a finger buffet. The guests are all very well-heeled except me. There are a few Richmond type women who have “beautiful” homes. There is one woman in peach who is talking to the facilitator stood up in plenary. She says that she is fearful because she has just had a cancer diagnosis and does not know what to do with the rest of her life. I walk over to her and hug her in my arms. She starts to cry.

Later an older woman is talking to the facilitator. She too has a recent diagnosis. I hug her also. She is the mother of the younger woman. In contrast she has accepted her fate and is worried that her daughter is not being real. She asks me how come I am calm. I explain that in our house we have a lot of experience of cancer diagnoses. She asks me if I can help her daughter.

The next to speak is David Bowie. He is taller than in “real” life and dressed in an immaculate pastel blue suit with bleach dyed blond hair. He looks as he did forty plus year ago. He too is diagnosed and I similarly hug him. He towers over me. We both know he is dead. It is our shared joke. I suggest that we all go to a nightclub to dance. Everyone thinks this is a good idea.

Bowie and I are in a bright red low long American style convertible with white walled tyres. He is driving the right hand drive car. The cream leather upholstery is immaculate. He does a handbrake turn into a parking spot on a cobbled square. We get out and head toward the night club. Outside on the pavement are many Bowie statutes representing his various on-stage incarnations. He is very laconic and holds back.

The others all go into the night club. I then marshal them back out onto the square where Bowie is doing a medley of his hits. We start to conga with Bowie at the head and the daughter from before behind him. Behind her the mother and then me. The bouncers from the night club join in. The sense is of a warm summer dawn around 5 AM.

The dream ends.

Is The Concept of Evil Taboo?

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I’ll speculate that the use of the word evil in its sense as an antonym to good has waned. To talk about evil is less common than it once was and that as a concept it is nearly taboo. Human brutality does not require any demonic influence it is bad enough without outside influence. The days when the churches could ensure bums on seat with the spectre of evil are passing.

In this sense it could be argued that evil has won, it is off the agenda and out of the consciousness. By subtlety and subterfuge evil has been redacted. The media when it broaches the subject uses the extremes of CGI to create outlandish portrayals. Whereas evil does not need to cause pustules and scars in those it possesses. They can wear neat uniforms, appear highly organised healthy and yet send millions to die in gas chambers harvesting their dental gold in the process. Evil wears, most often, a human face not a fictional demonic one.

We watched “The Pope’s Exorcist” last night. The film was heavily influenced by Catholicism and the iconography thereof, it even suggested that the Spanish Inquisition was the work of the Devil. Torturing people in God’s name does not resonate with the teaching of Jesus. It is not the work of a lamb. It suggested that evil and the devil, the demons, Satan, cause delusional and abhorrent behaviour in humans.

How simple to pass the buck and avoid responsibility.

I can watch films about exorcism without fear or empathy for the possessed and their family. I do not need to look through my fingers. Yet I can still be surprised by a sudden well scripted twist. I may jump a little but I am not scared nor shitting my pants metaphorically. I was not raised, indoctrinated, in Catholicism therefore its imagery and points of reference do not bind me like they may others. I am reasonably sure that I could attend an exorcism in whatever tradition without being scared witless, nor being overly sceptical.

I am not worried by the concept of devil or demon, yet I accept fully the notion evil as a concept and a force, a driver in the lives of some /many.

The weird thing is those influenced by and enacting evil are the most likely to deny that they are so doing. They are blinded. They have justified their evil thoroughly by the use of rationalisations and even precedent. Precedents are not always exemplar of good, beauty and humanity at its best.

I accept exorcism as a concept in that a being can be helped to drive out the evil influence which it harbours and gives succour to. Evil influence flows into a being, by the path of least resistance. Once it has gotten a foot in the door so to speak and is invited in by the tempted person over the threshold, the thin end of the wedge is driven home and the floodgate of influence can open.

Soon life before the “wise” guidance of evil is forgotten. The sense of cahoots grows. Evil knows well how to fertilise so that its tendrils root and grow. The light from before wanes and there is nothing to compare with any longer.  The contrast between light and dark fades to grey.  It becomes ever easier to succumb and justify each dodgy act. Malicious pleasure starts to seed and germinate. The temptation of power over in whatever flavour grows strong and less satiable.

To the eye of a seer the evil influence can be discerned. In cases of medium to strong influence one can see a dark black ink like tendril above the head of the strongly influenced being. It looks like a drop of ink in water. The darker the ink the stronger the influence. At this stage the evil is not well incorporated and is readily dispersed. Once there is no gap between the tendril and the form, the evil influence is already partially rooted. In some the influence is profound and it is aback the eyes where the seer sees. They have in their beingness an unpleasant vibe, somewhat cloying and suffocating. It is difficult to spend long in such presences without feeling drained.

If someone you know drains you by the simple fact of proximity, then chances are they are influenced by evil. Evil likes to feed.

I can think of more than a handful of people with whom I have had an acquaintance, who could benefit from a prolonged and profound exorcism. But of course, evil would keep them well away from anyone who might lessen its influence.

It is a strange occult fact that evil is always attracted to good. And that good needs encounter with evil in order to learn. Good tends to give the benefit of the doubt which is its Achillies heal and this is something evil learns in the evil 101 class.

It is an interesting metric to watch exorcism films. Where does your empathy lie? What frightens you about the devil taking your soul to toast in the inferno for eternity?

If you are impeccably pure of heart and deed, no such fear would arise.

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

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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!”

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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.

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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.