Tag: Table

My Disappearance – Navalny –  Big Cheese – Cairo – South Kensington Dream – 28-03-2026

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Here is this morning’s dream again with little or no obvious connection to real life here yesterday which we spent wallpapering.

The dream opens in England in and around London. Some kind of missive has gone out, been circulated, concerning my whereabouts. I have gone missing, disappeared and cannot be contacted. Nobody seems to know where I am nor how to get in touch. Tim, Tom and Susan are involved in the search all of whom are “important”. Tim and Sue have made inquiries concerning me but are unsatisfied with the answers. “He just disappeared” does not explain. Other people from the academic clan are involved in the investigation and some of them were known to me. Those involved are mostly of a similar age to me, like Paula, my peer group. Though there are others. The inquiry is largely London based. Although not huge there are questions to be answered that just won’t go away. There is a pendant question of “where did Alan disappear to and why?” There is very mild press and media interest brewing. They, the inquirers, don’t like loose ends. There is a time pressure to solve.

The scene changes and I am in a brightly lit wood / forest with Alexeï Navalny. It is a crisp winter morning and the cold makes dragon’s breath of our breathing. We are sat at a small very basic table on two old-school school chairs. On the table is an open bottle of vodka and two small glass tumblers each of which is partially filled. There is a small plate of gherkins and a large cheese in a round wood circular box like a Camembert. Navalny lifts the lid off the box and places the wax paper wrapped cheese onto a wooden cutting board. He gets a hunting knife out of an ankle scabbard and proceeds to cut the cheese into wedges. He pauses and we take a sip of our vodkas. He is discussing how cheeses can cause problems for other people. All his problems have come from upsetting big cheeses. When you think about it, it is nearly always people who are cheeses that cause problems for others. The reason we are in the wilderness, in exile, is cheese. Navalny reaches down into his knapsack and pulls out a rough-hewn rye bread. He says that he likes vodka, cheese and bread.

The scene changes and I pull up in my car into a very smart posh area of Cairo. The cars in the car park are all expensive and I am driving a black one. I get out and know that this is the posh, upmarket financial centre of Cairo. As yet it is not busy. I go into an upmarket “private” bank usually for high net worth individuals. It is well swish. I go to reception and am ushered off into a side room where I have a meeting with an expensively dressed woman who is wearing a hijab of fine expensive material. She is very classy. She has attached between her subtle noise piercing and ear a fine golden chain. She speaks very good accent free English. She wants to know why I want to open a bank account with them in Cairo. I say that my other bank and utilities have given my information out to others without asking my permission. They have done so at the request of others without checking with me first. This includes my bank in Paris. I am looking for a more personal and reliable service, based on trust. We shift into speaking French. She guides me though the application form which she fills in with a beautiful fountain pen. She says that the bank is very pleased to have me as a customer and that I will always be welcome in Cairo. Outside in the main marble hall of the bank customers are coming in.

The scene changes and I am in a kitchen of a British house. It is my parents’ house only it looks nothing like . The place is a bit of a mess, a shit tip. On the counter top is a Gaggia style coffee espresso machine. I make myself a coffee and one for the wife. She is with me but  I cannot see her. We drink the coffee.

The scene now changes to South Kensington. In a kind of arcade is a coffee shop come café. It is very urban, chic and trendy. Sat around the table are those ~ a decade younger than me. They are gossiping about me. There are Jason Laura and Camilla. They too have been wondering about my disappearance. There has been a lot of gossip and tittle tattle. It is a hot topic.

I walk in with the wife and sit down at the far end of a long table from them They looked surprised. I explain that they have been making a huge to-do about not a lot. I have not disappeared they have just not been aware of where I have been. For instance, we have not long come from South Wales where we have been drinking coffee at my parents’ house. I say that they have turned the whole thing into a massive spy-whodunnit-drama. They are embarrassed. It is well out of proportion.

The dream ends.

Beth Evans – Female Civil Disobedience – Aussie Sausage Dream 21-02-2026

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Here is last night’s dreaming sequence. As a background I was thinking about wrapping up my foray into online family tree search this morning.

Around four AM this morning after I had gone back to sleep and taken some ibuprofen for my back. I was deeply asleep. Out of nowhere and with a clear insistence the name “Beth Evans” came to the fore of consciousness. It was specifically Beth and specifically Evans. The clarity was marked. I noted it and resolved to remember. In the dream I wondered if it referred to the Evans branch of the family of my maternal grandmother.

After a while of permanence, it drifts off.

The scene now changes to a large female led civil protest in a US city. There are women of all ages but they are mostly 30-40. They are of all ethnicities and they carry placards. They are protesting against the “macho” policing of immigration and the gun boat jack boot coercive “diplomacy” overseas where threat of violence is used. Bullying. The woman have had enough. They chant that it is small cock diplomacy. The women everywhere have had enough of this toxic “masculinity” of the right wing nationalists. Which is fear based. They are disobeying orders not to march. Parts of the protest movement are found popping up over the world.

In Australia the protesters wave sausages alongside their placards. The sausages are meant to indicate penises. It is known in the press as “the Aussie sausage protest”. The trend catches on and female protesters start to wave sausages at all their anti-jack-boot – enforcement protests.

In France there are protests against the right wing anti-immigration movement too. The women also wave sausages. I meet some women coming away from a protest in the local town. They are carrying sausages. I jokily ask if they are Aussie. They are and have emigrated here. They have been lending a hand and a sausage to the local protesters, their sisters.

Later there is a gathering with long tables and I am sat near these Aussie women. There is a gingham table cloth and food. I chat to them and explain that I am an “honorary” Aussie of a sort because of my time at the Isa.

The dream ends and I resolve to look into Beth Evans later today.

Groups Souls – Dalai Lama – Cloying Awareness – Exquisite Sculpture – Dream 01-11-2025

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Here are last night’s dreaming snippets. Sometimes when I need a “cheer me up” the dreaming provides.

The dream opens at a sea-side town-village. It is like Tenby or Tobermory with pastel coloured brightly painted houses.

–

–

I am with my group of souls or beings. The place could also be Denmark or Scandinavia. It is impeccably tidy and ordered. The light is light and bright without blinding. We are young in age, children and dressed in colourful togas. We often incarnate together en masse. We have known each other for aeons. This is the group to which I belong. We are beings made out of light each of their own colour witnessed by toga and not skin. There is a sense of primordial innocence to us. We are going in and out of each other’s houses enjoying the fluffy clouds which surround us.

I awake for a loo break a little after 4 AM.

As I drift off I have a strong mental image of H.H. Dalai Lama who fills the entire perceptual field. I sense he is deep in contemplation and sit there in that state with him silently for a length of time about 15 earth minutes. It seems much longer. We are happy and serene in contemplation together. A part of that visual remains as I type now.

I fade out and into sleep.

Sat at a pavement café in central London is a man of roughly my own age whom I had acquaintance of. He has bought me a glass of Coke with ice lemon and a straw. He is sat at a table there. He gestures for me to sit down with him. I cannot. I say that I have nothing personally to resolve with him, nothing to solve. I cannot be near his cloying preserving awareness. It is heavy and seeks to enfold and keep things the same. His awareness is like a cloying quagmire, it is old, ancient, dark and borderline evil. He gestures for me to sit again. I walk past. I have nothing to solve.

I walk off into a part of London I do not recognize. It is early morning, a little after dawn and the restaurateurs and bar owners are clearing up and setting up. It is warm maybe summer. The doors are open. I walk into one pub and put the Coke down on the bar counter. The owner is polishing the bar and tables and is happy to take the Coke. I admire the stained glass windows and period doors. I walk through into the next door pub which he also owns and out of the door back into the street.

I now come upon an Italian style restaurant which has a large ornate orangery-greenhouse attached. The manageress is there in her black and whites with a low apron on. She is organising tables in the orangery. The windows of the building are leaded in, like cathedral windows. The clear uncoloured glass is warped by the flow of age. The lead is painted crimson red. The overall effect is magnificent with interesting patterns of light refracted on the floor. I say to her that the light is truly wonderful. She concurs. She has a clipped English upper class accent. She say that it a pity that “he” the owner keeps rejigging the tables  because she likes the feel of Sicilian palace which it currently has. There are plentiful succulent plants. She is chuffed that I like “her” orangery so very much. It is her labour of love which she does not need to do. She suggests that I should visit the garden out back.

I follow her advice and enter a light walled garden with water features and wall alcoves with plants. In the centre is an exquisite sculpture / water feature. She says that it is OK for me and me alone to climb it. The stairway to the feature is made out of carved open books. The books are carved out of what looks like pewter, there is relief of binding and pages. They are joined together by a single metal rod/rail. Each book is by way of a step. In some the page writing is etched in relief. They are a testament to learning and library. The languages of the books are diverse. The staircase mounts a large globe of the Earth which has all the continents and oceans cut to scale. The globe is several times my size. I climb the “ladder”. Out of the North Pole a drinking fountain flows. Its flow is lightly pulsing and the water trickles downs wetting every side of the world. The water is collected in a fish pond in which the globe sits. The ladder passes over the pond. In the pond are ornamental koi carp. The manageress encourages me up and to taste the water. I do and the water is cool and refreshing nectar like in quality. Some of it runs down onto my white linen shirt. The morning light illuminates the garden and orangery.

The dream ends.

Retired General – Subjective – Boris Johnson Dream 24-10-2025

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This dream had between 06:20 and 08:45 this morning. This out of the blue and then again perhaps not.

The dream opens in some kind of exhibition or fayre. It has a new age vibe to it and is in a large hall with high ceilings. It has an orangery feel, light and spacious. It feels close to Westminster central London, Thames. I have a small exhibit table upon which I am laying out some information. One of the posters has a background colour and design which exactly matches the table. The words therefore appear written on the table.

Along the mezzanine gallery, where I am, I spot a man a little older than me. He is wearing a windowpane light brown lined posh country hunting shirt and dark brown corduroy trousers. He is slightly balding and has allowed his hair to grow slightly. He has a mild ruddy complexion and looks completely out of place. On his table he has some maps. I know that he is military or ex-military. I go over to inquire as to why he is at this event.

As I approach it is clear that he has some prior knowledge about me, perhaps has been briefed. I ask him what he is interested in. He says subjective contact. I have a knowing that he is/was a general {perhaps major-general}.  I say that I have had subjective contact and that I am perhaps less flaky than others who might make such a claim. He imagines that I am an accidental receiver. He does not understand. He asks how I got into these things. I explain that Peter had a hand. He says without prompting that he knows Peter from the commandos and that Peter had a hand in his interest too. I ask him if he is fully retired. He says that generals never fully retire and that they continue to help out where they can. I say that he has deniability because he is no longer directly affiliated. He nods. I add that at any time he could be denied and any claimed association disproved. He is not official. He nods. I suggest that he has been sent here specifically to talk with me. He neither nods nor does not. There is a kind of acknowledgment. He is on a loose one from military intelligence (MI).

The scene changes and I am now sat in the audience of a talk at the event with Boris Johnson. We are enjoying each other’s company and he is being his public jocular buffoonery self. As suspected he is fun to talk with. But I can feel a hard driven purposeful edge behind the guise of his clowning. He too can talk freely because he is no longer implicitly associated with government. I tease him that his father paid for his accent and that now he is bored he could always become an evangelical preacher something his has the gift for. He then mimics Ian Paisley in a manner that has us both and Carrie in stitches. He has a gift for comedy.

The whole thing is frightfully, frightfully English.

On waking I think that it is odd that MI is again in my dreams. I am not surprised that there might be an interest.

The dream ends.

Toadies – Zuckerberg – AI-Bot -UK – Pianist – Dream 31-08-2025

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Here are last night’s dream segments. The first is USA based, the second UK. There was also a middle segment which I cannot recall.

The dream starts at some massive technology show / event with booths and plenaries. It is in the extended San Francisco Bay conurbation. The event is symptomatic of the location. I am with the “team” of Mark Zuckerberg. I have been summoned because he wants to talk to me about some of my ideas. For now I am simply among the swathe of toadies and sycophants who are following him through the event. The crowd parts as the swathe moves through the event. The young toadies, all “bright young things” are on the one hand obeying his request about me and, on the other, making sure that he does not get to talk with me. They are hype-merchants. They are almost aggressive to me because I am a fossil, a dinosaur, ancient history. They think that it “I” am a fad and that “Mark” will move past.

He stops at a big booth in which there are AI-Bots. These are roughly the size of a small human fist and work on a magnetic levitation principle.  They are a form of swarm survey bot sent out to analyse in groups. The method by which the bots are held together looks unusual because it is a field rather than a direct physical connection which holds some of the components together. He talks with the founders. The swathe moves on.

I stay behind and examine one of the bots. I am locked into the exhibition hall overnight. The next day Zuckerberg revisits. On a table covered with a white linen table cloth I have opened up, reverse engineered,  one for the bots for him to see. There are some superconducting core elements at the hearts of the bot. The toadies are not happy with me. They emanate this discontent.

I wake up and go back to sleep. There is an extensive part of dream maintaining to nature, trees and gardening.

The next scene opens up with me attending an event at a UK village/town hall community centre. The event is sizeable around several hundred people. As we enter, I can see a large grand piano. I am perhaps to play for them. I am sat at a table with others and have to endure a meal and soporific speeches about local politics. Yawn.

I go to the bathroom. To avoid the dessert I go to sit at the piano. It has shrunken into an electric keyboard. I know that the state of the piano-keyboard is symbolic of the minds of the participants. I start to test the keys out with no current on to check the feel.

The event continues. There is a short hiatus in the speeches and I can have a brief play for my warm up. The keyboard has shrunken even further so that it resembles a toy. I start to test the keys and the noise coming out is significant. The entire keyboard goes into a state of loud resonance. One of the organisers comes over and picks up the keyboard to stop the resonance. When it has calmed down. He replaces it. The time has come for me to play the keyboard. I cannot do this without the keyboard going into a freak-out overload resonance. It is clear that I am not meant to play for the audience because they, their minds, cannot hack it.

The dream ends

Casino – Cheating – Chips – Push Back Dream –24-02-2025

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The dream from after 4 AM this morning. It was a very wet and windy night, the sound of the rain on the shutters woke me from time to time. I have never been in a real physical plane casino.

The dream starts in a well-lit and busy casino. There is carpet on the floors and I am wandering through. I walk past the fruit machines and there is a sense of USA. The sense is not strong but there is a garishness. The noise level is high and the air is stale.

I walk past a table where people are playing poker. There is an unknown man in a cream / beige suit with a cowboy hat on. I can see his hand of five cards. All of which are red. In his hand there are two ace of diamonds. I note that this cannot be so. I know that he is cheating. As I watch he changes one of the other cards from diamonds to hearts. One of the aces also changes to hearts. I see him hide the ace of diamonds up his sleeve.

I continue my tour around the casino taking in the noise and the gaudy.

On my tour I come back to the same table. The same man is again there. Once again, I note his hand full of five red cards two of which are ace of diamonds. He again mutates an ace of diamonds to an ace of hearts. I understand that he is going for an ace flush in hearts. He will change the other diamond. He is trying to defraud the casino. I resolve to warn the house.

I go to the customer services area and a man with a tablet computer comes to talk with me. I tell him what I have seen. He says that they will look into it, implicit on CCTV and get back to me. He suggests that I walk around the casino.

I do this and, on a whim, I play a fruit machine which tells me in a voice that the difference is between Metron and Metatron. {See Google search below}. The fruit machine wins and the pay out tray fills with a multiple of chips of different colours. There is a side tray which fills with light blue square chips and small parcels with luxury towels and washing material in a clear plastic wash bag. Next to me is a middle aged dark haired Mexican woman and her bambino. She asks me for one of the towel kits I give her two. She threatens slightly in case I refuse but is very happy when I gift. I also give her a handful of chips.

I stuff the chips into my trouser pockets and the side munitions pockets of my combat trousers. I go back to the customer service area.

I am met there by a more senior man. He ushers me to sit down and asks if I have won. I say yes and put the chips onto the table. As I do this, they change into ones which are not of the casino. He stacks them and counts them. He is mildly threatening, unimpressed.

He says that they have looked into my comments on the poker game and found nothing. Moreover, they are unhappy with me using the wrong chips. I know that I have not done anything wrong and that it is he who has morphed the chips. He writes me a prescription to go see an optician. Its says that I am forbidden to work until I have seen the optician and gotten a new prescription. In the dream I know that this is a push back from the casino and that they have started to threaten me.

I take the prescription and walk out, resolving never to go there again.

The dream ends

——————–

Metron is a fictional antihero appearing in American comic books published by DC Comics. A member of the New Gods, he is an amoral and neutral collector of knowledge. He is commonly seen in the Mobius Chair, which can travel across time and space.

Metron has been adapted into various works featuring the New Gods. He is voiced by Daniel Dae Kim in Justice League Unlimited and Phil LaMarr in Young Justice.

Metatron (Mishnaic Hebrew: מֶטָטְרוֹן‎ Meṭāṭrōn), or Matatron (מַטַּטְרוֹן‎, Maṭṭaṭrōn), is an angel in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. Metatron is mentioned three times in the Talmud, in a few brief passages in the Aggadah, the Targum, and in mystical Kabbalistic texts within Rabbinic literature. The figure forms one of the traces for the presence of dualist proclivities in the otherwise monotheistic visions of both the Tanakh and later Christian doctrine. In Rabbinic literature, he is sometimes portrayed as serving as the celestial scribe. The name Metatron is not mentioned in the Torah or the Bible, and how the name originated is a matter of debate. In Islamic tradition, he is also known as Mīṭaṭrūn (Arabic: ميططرون), the angel of the veil.

In Jewish apocrypha, early Kabbalah, and rabbinic literature, Metatron is the name that Enoch received after his transformation into an angel.

Both from Wikipedia

Intricate Pasta – Boris Johnson’s Puzzle – Butterflies Dream 20-02-2025

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Here is this morning’s dream

The dream opens with Boris Johnson sitting at a large rustic wooden kitchen table in an ample farmhouse style kitchen with Aga and range. On the table is a pasta making machine. On two wire racks, one elevated and the other just above table level are two circular pieces of pasta. They are around 30cm in diameter and dried. The pasta is whole meal. The pasta is shaped into a kind of intricate relief design in which there are very fine, filagree designs. There is more air than pasta. I know that the designs are very brittle. Carrie is there but not to the fore.

I am sat at the table with Boris. The pasta machine starts up and a third pasta circle comes out in normal flour pasta. It slides onto the metal tray of the pasta machine. Both Boris and I know that the pasta is Boris’ puzzle to solve and that now it is three dimensional. He wants to get started and solve the puzzle. I remind him that the pasta is delicate and that the third piece has not yet set. Under no circumstances should he rush.

I look at his watch, it says 5:35. I know that he has an upcoming meeting. He looks at the watch and says that he must dash. Carrie pipes in and says yes, otherwise they will be late. Implicit is that Boris’ timekeeping is not great. They depart.

Sometime later I am walking in the / my garden. Boris and Carrie are eating a packed lunch with a thermos of tea in a sunny clearing. Boris is unburdened and light, somehow younger. The atmosphere is relaxed. They are the other side of a partial fence to me. On my side there are a multitude of butterflies, all different colours, yellows and purples, reds and blues. All the butterflies are large the size of my hand or bigger. They are partially shaded. Boris asks if the direct sunlight is good for the butterflies. I say that they are happy. At dusk they yield to the moths who come out in force.

I walk to a covered bridge made out of metal. The ceiling of the bridge is around ten feet high, and it is spacious. It starts near where Boris is having the picnic. A very large purple, indigo and red butterfly flies towards me and gives my face, which it envelops a hug with its wings. It is the size of my head. I can see its eyes and antennae. We start to talk in a very high-pitched butterfly language, with the butterfly now flying very close to my face. We are looking at each other as we speak.

Boris is astounded. I explain to him that I can talk to butterflies and moths. If he wants, we can help him with his puzzle.

The dream ends.

Brocade Book – Occult – Dream 8-9-16

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Here is last night’s dream

I am in some kind of mansion or Chateau. The rooms are dimly lit by candles and gaslight. The furniture is period. The walls are dressed in curtain like hangings stretching floor to ceiling. The colour is a boudoir red / purple. There is a sense of fading Victorian even tsarist grandeur. In the distance I can hear a social function, a party. There are harpsichords playing, laughter and chatter. I wander around the room; it is well-kept but overly opulent and not to my liking. I walk past a table, with ornate carved legs and I trail my hand along the tabletop.

Next, I am in an ultra-modern museum which has a Germanic or Swiss feel. It is somehow on top of a mountain and very high up. The museum is minimalist. There are only a very few glass cabinets. They contain artefacts in gold and other metals. Each has a slip of paper in the cabinet with a date and a small explanation. Many of the artefacts are oriental, Buddhist and relate way back. They are very precious, and security is high. I come upon a case; it appears to be empty. In the case is a slip of white paper saying Dr A.G.Taylor and a list of the universities that he worked at. There is no date. I get excited and go to find the curator. I say to her that this is me…can I have look at what is in the exhibit? She puts on her white gloves and with a golden key attached to her neck chain she opens the drawer below the exhibit case. She pulls out a book, a much valued manuscript. It is kept out of sight to preserve it. It is about standard book size. The book has a cover, even a cage, of the finest golden filigree brocade, exquisitely carved and put together. It is in raised almost moving relief. The cover of the book is white and although not glossy it somehow shines. The whole thing shines and glows. It is radiant. She makes me put on white gloves and hands it to me. I marvel at the book and open it. Both she and I know that it is I who wrote this book.

–

–

The scene changes to another room deep in the vaults of the museum. It is where all the treasures are kept. The floor is of white marble and the room has two levels split by a small half staircase. At the staircase are wall length curtains held back by a fancy golden coloured tie. The curtains are of luxuriant red with a yellow gold coloured backing. I wander through the room looking at the artefacts. Many are to do with magic of both light and dark varieties. I instinctively know which is which and what they are for. As I wander through the room, I get the sensation of something, some being, watching me. I know that it is not benign. So, I “swell up” and fill myself with energy. I open my hands so as to distribute {if needed} and say out loud. “I know you are there, show yourself!!” It is an occult command of very high order. The curtains at the stair flutter in the breeze and I know that whatever it was, it has gone.

The dream ends. I know that it is highly significant. I pause to recollect and store it. I go back to sleep.

On typing today the word Grimoire popped into mind.

Helm Stack Map – Boris Johnson – Interview Dream 17-01-2025

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Here is last night’s dream had between 12 and 2.

The dream starts with a view of a map of Cornwall. On the map I can see a rock stack between Land’s End and the Scilly Isles. The rock stack is called Helm Stack. It is very specific. {On checking there is a Helm Crag in the lake district}.

The scene changes to an ornate room with an antique table and chairs. It feels like Whitehall or St James’s, a bit gentlemen’s club. I am sat one side of the table. On the other side is Boris Johnson and two emeritus professors whom I have not met. They are interviewing me in a manner similar to the appointment of junior faculty. Their tone is condescending.

Johnson is his usually ebullient yet dogmatic self. He is trying to chivvy me along to answer. His manner is having exactly the opposite effect.

They are asking me questions based on their socio-political world. They are based entirely on the form side of life and events which may have taken place therein. I answer accurately using as few words as possible. This does not help them. They are asking all the wrong questions yet are insistent in carrying on. They think they are right. I know in the dream that there is no way that they will accept or understand that the way of approach is entirely wrong.

Dream ends

* Table is the dreaming symbol for need to resolve problems.

Famous Scientist – Maps Dream 28-07-2024

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Here is this morning’s dream.

The dream starts inside a university building. I am walking past a desk with my name on it. For some reason nobody has claimed that desk though I know that I have not used it in a very long time. I go past a locker which also has my name on it. For some reason I am the only person who knows that I am not still there, nor have I been in a very long time.

I find myself next to a stack of large filing cabinets. The top drawer is open in one. A tall man {J?} is talking with me.

He asks me what I think makes a famous scientist.

I ask him for an example of a famous scientist.

He says, Andrew.

I say that in my opinion there is a difference between a famous scientist and a good one. I say that a good scientist does thorough studies like Physical Review B, whereas a famous scientist is forever seeking headlines.

He says that I will never be a famous scientist.

I say that I never was a famous scientist, nor will I ever be. I already know that. At best it is now only a hobby of mine.

I leave and head through the exit hall of the Imperial College chemistry department.

I pause and head back towards what once was the library. Its function is restored.

I go in and there is a student sitting at a large communal table. He is looking at a map. I take a souvenir map of London off the shelf.

I can see that one of the chairs is broken, as is one of the cabinets.

I start to open up the map on the communal table. I explain to him that the map is free. I can see a massive new development in East London which is labelled University College Hospital. I am struggling to find our present location on the map. The librarian comes over. I explain that I used to cycle around London and that I am looking for my route.

She says that I probably came in on the A roads from the South.

I reorient the map and can see an area labeled SW4. The map only shows SW4.

I note in the dream that this belongs to a class of dreams called map dreams.

The dream ends.

*Numerologically SW4 is 1 + 5 +4 = 10 = 1 Impeccability reducing to fluidity. Impeccability is the jewel of the Southerly Dreamer.

*SW4 London is Clapham and Stockwell and ends close to where I once lived in Brixton.