Flood Tempest Dream 21-03-23

This dream coincides with the vernal equinox, it comes after the IPCC climate change report is made public and after I tried to download same.

The dream starts with us inside a building made of concrete. From the room we are in I can hear a gale blowing outside and rain lashing the building. It is night. The tempest comes in waves, there is loud followed by quiet and lull. The tempest is severe and as dawn approaches its force starts to wane a little.

Just after dawn, I leave the room and go out onto a terrasse. I look down at the river below it is a torrent and in flood. It runs past the outbuildings of the house which we are in. This is not our house. The river is brown and raging. From time to time I can see a tree being swept along in it. I call to the wife to come see. She joins me on the terrasse.  

As we watch the river in flood its level continues to increase. It sweeps away a shed like out building and a veranda which is a part of the house we are in. It leaves a “cliff” of several metres height where the foundations once were. The river is truly raging. We know that where we are standing is safe. We look across to the other side of the river and the trees there are largely flattened and the field in which there was once crops is very badly wind damaged and flattened. We see debris of other buildings in the river. We go inside to look for breakfast. The ‘phone lines are dead and the electricity supply is intermittent.

After breakfast we head uphill along the lanes to explore. The lanes have evidence of gravel having been washed down. We round the corner and look at where the forest once was. 90% of the trees have been flattened by the wind. There is a scene of devastation. There has been a fire there possibly caused by lightning strike. We move on and into the village. People are cleaning up after the flood. The river still rages at the bottom of the hill.  

We are joined by L and the three of us move off together back towards our house. There are now three dreamers. We show L the devastation of the river and the remains of the buildings, pointing out where the river has washed the foundations away. She finds it difficult to believe. Together we sense that this is a beginning and not and end. We go inside.

Alexandros, a dreaming nagal’s courier, arrives at the door. He and I go down to the port to look at the damage there. The road is strewn with debris but we can navigate it. When we get to the port, into which the river flows, there is disarray. Many of the boats have been wrecked. Others have been washed out to sea. The blue fishing nets and buoys are scattered. The harbour wall is intact. On the port quay the fishermen are assessing the damage. They are witing for the tide to go fully out and the river to subside before they venture out. The wind has died down and there is a sense of aftermath. There is a sense that this dream is a taste of things to come.

Dream ends.

Coal Mining Dream 18-03-23

Something has changed with my dreaming since the beginning of the year. This may be because I am on the wagon, but I doubt it. I have picked up a subtle shift these last few months, something has come to a head and passed. I do not know what.

This dream has the historical context of a matrilinear involvement in mining since the mid-1800s. The men of my family worked, first in the copper mines of Beddgelert at Sygun, then the slate mines at Blaenau Ffestiniog and then coal in the Rhondda. I joke that I am physically suited to shifting large weights in enclosed surroundings, playing front row rugby or Judo. My arse is close to the floor. You could say that mining is in my DNA.


In the dream I am talking with a man above ground in a kind of depot. He is wearing a flat cap and is some kind of foreman. He is dirty and covered in coal dust. I am clean and dressed in modern clothes. I am asking him for a job. He doubts that I have the stamina or the inclination to work at the coal face deep underground. He thinks that the men will not accept me and that I may have to have a fist fight or two to establish my place. I explain to him that I come from a line of miners so there is possibly some potential there.

He takes me over to a schematic on a wall in a portacabin. In the schematic the various seams of the mine are portrayed. He says that the seams on levels 1-3 have all been worked out. The men are working levels 4 and 5. He says that 5 is a rich seam but that it twists and turns. Five is very deep and there are occasional problems with gas.

To get me started he takes me over to the rail trucks coming out of the pit. There are some with pure coal and others in which coal is still mixed with bedrock. He suggests that I work separating the coal from the bedrock. I start and the pieces of rock are heavy. I pick them up with my gloved hands and break the coal from the rocks. I chuck the coal on one pile and the rock on another. The foreman is pleased with my work and suggests that I come back the next day.

When I return, he kits me out with a Davy lamp and a pickaxe. I join the other men in the lift going down. We stop at level 4 and most of the men get out. The rest of us continue down the shaft to level 5. There is a handful of us and the foreman. We are by way of an exploratory party. I start to work on a part of the seam which turns out to be wide and very rich. I am easily separating large chunks of best quality anthracite. One of the other workers wants to take over my position. The foreman says that we should fight for it. The man runs at me and knocks me to the ground. We brawl. I get him into a choke hold and he passes out.

I have earned the right to work at this section of face and the respect of the other miners. I work my guts out and load the small rail wagon near me.

At the end of the shift we go up the shaft in the lift and the foreman says that I have done well but will be extremely full of aches tomorrow. He says that usually it is the third day which is the killer. The first day is easy, the second day very painful. The third day is very hard and difficult. By the time the full shift comes on the third day, the body is close to crisis, it struggles with all the aches and pains to complete the third shift. Day four is less difficult. Usually after the weekend the second week is no problem. If I can make it to the second week, then I will be fine to work there.

Dream ends.

When I am coming to, I wonder if this is some kind of a racial memory which I am tapping into in the dream.   

Out of the Blue – Superconductivity

On Wednesday, the 8th of March, for no apparent reason, my thoughts turned to a friend of mine from way back. Yesterday I was reading a French newspaper on-line and it had an article about room temperature superconductivity in Nitrogen doped Lutetium hydride. I followed the link to a Nature article and that friend was published anew, on March the 8th, together with a colleague, with a new article claiming, “Tc of 294 K at 10 kbar, that is, superconductivity at room temperature and near-ambient pressures.”

In 2020 I had had discussions with this friend prior to his first claim of room temperature superconductivity published in October 2020. I knew before publication that this article was on its way. We talked a little about patents, start-ups, and he formed a start-up company with his colleague.

Last night I had extensive dreams of me being in the US of A meeting with this friend and various others, including a poker player, to discuss these new discoveries. My guess is the IP of the new discovery is vested in the start-up.

In this dream I helped organise and shape whatever it was that was arising.

Strange especially since the material presents as a blue crystal.

It is quite another world, ultra-high technology, and rural Brittany.

In few moments I will make a satay marinade for chicken and this afternoon I will continue to decorate this room.

Unexploded Karmic Bombs Dream 28-02-23.

Here is the most vivid segment of last night’s dream.


I know that the dream is set in England, it is in London, the home counties and Cambridgeshire. In the dream the lighting of the gardens is pink-yellow and of the in between. I cannot be sure if it is dawn or dusk, nor if the light has been altered by Saharan sand in the air.

In the dream I am indoors looking out onto successive back gardens which vary in size and composition. I am moving between gardens and viewpoints.  In London, I see in a number of different gardens, small bombs fall from the sky, one or two per garden. They land tail fin up and I know that these bombs are karmic bombs, which will detonate one day {soon}. The karma will then be irrevocably released.

The same pattern is repeated for several gardens which I know to be in the home counties close to London. The bombs are of varying sizes, some big and others quite small. The scene moves on to a bigger garden which I know to be in Cambridgeshire. Here again bombs fall from the sky and implant in the earth. They are of varying size and one of them, which is ticking, is quite large.

I know in the dream that people do not believe in karmic bombs and as a consequence they will not take any action to address karma which they think may not manifest. People think that they have gotten away with it. I know in the dream that this attitude is a very grave mistake. There are more karmic bombs to fall from the sky.

Dream ends…

Person Visiting After Death Dream 16-02-23.

This is a strange dream and if it is in synch. in time with physical plane events, it should be experimentally verifiable by checking the press.

I am in a wood panelled room and an acquaintance JH is sat on a lounge chair which is reclined. She is dressed in green and very much younger than she was when I had dealings with her. She is mildly flirty saying that I have caused her problems by not doing what I was supposed to do. She is convinced that she is right, in the right and has acted accordingly.

Later I am lying in my bed and her disembodied presence as a dead person comes into the room and surveys us in bed. She has no body and her presence is large, it fills the room. She is visible only as a ghostly outline. It is most definitely JH but now more like how I knew her as a commanding, powerful older woman. She is being shown how we live and a little of my true nature. She struggles to accept things, being convinced she is still right.

I show her other scenes from my life. I run her the movie of various events. I show her my notebooks and a view of me meditating in my chair at Squirrel lodge. I show her my contact with various esoteric things. I show her my kindness and convince her that her perception of me as an enemy is ill-founded.

Slowly a measure of remorse enters into JH. She is no longer utterly convinced that she is/was right. In the in-between she is shown other worlds beyond the mundane university life which she led.

I say to her that it is not uncommon for people to visit me after death to do an inventory before passing and that in nearly all cases they have mis-perceived me and what I am about. Many are shown the damage which they have caused.

I explain to her that she will incarnate in such a way as to have to overcome her arrogance and certainty. She failed in this respect, in this lifetime.

She starts to fade. Then she comes back. I explain to her that she has used too much force and wile in this lifetime and will need to make amends next.

Slowly she fades.

As she is fading, I make a mental note to check for her obituary over the next few days.

Dream ends.  

Divergence of Fate – The Brazil Connection

I had forgotten a bit which happened before the last dream.

I am standing in a self-service restaurant around a smörgåsbord talking with a young woman. She asks me if I have been learning Dutch or Afrikaans.

I say, “no, have you noted a Southern lilt to my voice?”

“Yes, at first I thought it was South African now it sounds a bit more Aussie.”

“How do you know?”

“I am a Kiwi.”

I explain to her that I lived as a child in Australia and Zambia, both Southern Hemisphere.

In 1977-78 the war for the founding of Zimbabwe was getting hotter. This had knock on effects like air raids of guerrilla camps, marauding “soldiers” and shortages in the shops in Kabwe, Zambia.

There my father was working on a German built rotary lead kiln to extract lead from the lead rich tailings, waste which was abundant. Later Kabwe was acknowledged as one of the most polluted  places on earth. My mother was getting anxious and my father was looking further afield for jobs. He was offered one in Windhoek, one in South Africa and one in Brazil. As an ex-army officer in REME during the Malayan insurgency he would be required to serve in the military reserves. When I reached 18, I would have to do national service. The first two were vetoed.

Dad was interested in the job, possibly in Santa Amaro City near the Subaé river. I would have gone to international school either in Rio or Brasília. It was by the same German kiln manufacturer. He was keen, my mother less so. If they would have paid him in Deutschmarks and not cruzeiro novo, we probably would have moved there. Instead, we came back to blighty…

A possible fate diverged on a simple decision. My life would have been very different had I gone to international school in Brazil as opposed to a grammar school in North Kent.

I would have been very Southern hemisphere in my adolescence and education….

Stolen / Mistaken Identity Dream 31-1-23.

This dream was in part hyper-realistic and took place between 4:40 and 7:20 AM this morning.

The dream starts with me trying to pay for something in a shop. I open my wallet and look through my cards there. I have my carte vitale, carte de séjour and French driver’s licence. There are no bank or credit cards. There are a few business cards and an old one for Blockbuster video. I am very surprised by this. I look in a different part of my wallet and find a bank card. The salesperson tries it in the machine and it is refused. I realise that it is an out of date card and that all my others have somehow gone missing. Someone has stolen them along with my identity. I must find a branch of HSBC so as to put a block on the cards.

I exit the shop and find myself on the South bank of the Thames near Waterloo station and the Festival Hall. I do not understand why I am there in crowded London.  I bump into C and explain to her what has happened. We must figure out who has stolen my cards and therefore my identity. In a maternal fashion she kisses me on the forehead and we go off into an arcade to search for a branch of HSBC.  We stop in a small shop and she buys me a small, sealed carafe of white wine which she says I will need for later. We go into a café which is serving wholefood and drinks. Waiting table is DMcG. I haven’t seen her in ages and she is looking young and stress free. Her ginger hair is long as it was forty years ago. She is no longer wearing a business suit and is in hippie attire with a flowing skirt. She is braless under her shirt and very hippie, patchouli of smell. On seeing me she comes over and gives me a great big hug. She is very pleased to see me and we chat briefly about what has happened. She says that she now works at this shop five days a week on the lunchtime service and that she would be very glad to see me again.

There is no HSBC bank to be found. C checks if I have my mobile ‘phone. I do. I explain that there is no danger of anyone having cloned my banking app. because I do not use one. She checks that I have her new number in the ‘phone. I do. She thinks that it is very likely that whoever stole my cards and identity has mixed me up with someone else. Because why would someone behave as if they were me and copy my history? It is not all that interesting especially now. She says that she has a meeting and will meet me back at #111 later. She rushes off before I have the chance to explain I no longer live there. She thinks that it was while I was at #111 that someone stole my identity and reminds me of the two/three burglaries in the flats below.

I now find myself in Battersea. It is a very rough part and there are quasi-derelict houses and people hanging out in doorways. I know that they are selling drugs and that this is a dangerous place. I make my way through the wasteland and onto a high street. I am still looking for an HSBC. I know that with my identity card, carte de séjour, I stand a better chance face to face in fixing the problem. Otherwise, I need good internet access and my pass-codes. I think I remember them but would like to check them with the numbers I have written on a piece of paper in the top right hand drawer of my desk.

Out of the corner of my eye I notice that three men are now following me. One is in charge with a Panama hat and the other two are his goons, lackeys. They are younger, Hispanic and are wearing leather jackets. I decide to see if they are following me so I duck down an alleyway and into an arcade. Sure enough they follow me. I walk into a clothing store and out the back door into an alley that leads to a canal. They follow me and sensing that I am trying to evade them they give chase. One of them tries to grab my wrist and I perform an Aikido move, kote-gaesh, which sends him flying. I run along the canal. There is a canal boat approaching a tunnel. I jump from the bank onto the canal boat and just mange to hold on. My feet drop into the water. I pull myself up onto the boat and it disappears into a tunnel. I can see my pursuers are very frustrated.

The boat leaves the tunnel and I get off on to the bank. I exit the canal tow track and know that I am in South London a little bit West of Clapham. I know that if I walk South and then head East. I will reach Clapham and then Brixton. I will be able to go to #111 and see if I can find my old passcodes which are in the drawer of my desk.

I arrive at an estate management office, which manages all the now rental property in my old street. There is a tall young man with light ginger hair sat behind a desk. I enter the office and explain my predicament to him. He asks who I am, what is my name. I tell him. He says that he has had three South American men recently asking about me. He says that they were asking for Alan from “Rezilia” {Brasília?} in Brazil. He thinks that they thought that I was this man. I explain that I have never been to Brazil and that it must be a case of mistaken identity.

I explain that there is an outside chance that my passcodes are still in the drawer of my desk and would it be possible for me to have a look. He says that he will have to ask the tenants.

It becomes clear in the dream that someone has assumed aspects of my behaviour and cloned parts of my personality way back when I used to live at #111 {around 2003-2006}. They have copied me as I was then. Someone has been pretending to be me for quite a while.

The young man takes me to look at #111. Someone has done a truly excellent refurbishment job and it has an ornate wooden façade with moving giant carvings. He says that we cannot go in until the tenants return.

We go back to his office and he suggests that we use the good internet access there to log onto HSBC in order to block the cards. I say that they will need a pin to use them. He says that there are some places that still use the old fashioned method. I get out my modern tablet and ask him as a “youth” to start to log on. First, he checks my contacts list which is intact and holds C’s number for later. He runs his eyes down the list and there are none with a Brazil dialling code.

I ask him again about the people who came asking after me. The description fits those who were chasing me. I know that some kind of partial identity theft happened whilst I was at #111 and that someone has copied me, “stolen” a part of my life even.

The alarm goes off and the dream ends.

#111 is the number and the name by which I refer to my old flat in Upper Tulse Hill, Brixton.

Johnny Two Worlds

He was never the same

When he came back

Those eyes

Had seen too much

Those ears

Had heard too much

He often joked

About the crack

In him

Quiet as a mouse

He scurries down the corridors

Polite and friendly to all

Johnny is warm

And he laughs a lot

On the turn of a penny

He is at the front again

Running down the chattering nests

Of Kalashnikov rain

All battle plans

And lights, camera, action

And then he is far away

Lost in the tranquil dreams

Of another land

Of rustic charm and mystic dew

Of soft and yielding maids

And battleaxe dragons

When he isn’t looking

The passion plays

And he speaks in ways

That no-one forgets

Yet each time he does this

They all know

And look again

And then pretend

They haven’t heard

For somehow it is impolite

To stray from the weather

Johnny knows that

People seek him

So he hides

He told me it was gravity

And it was better to hide

Than to say no

Because he rarely takes

People are somehow

Ill at ease

They want him to give

Yet know there is no balance

Johnny said it was the crack

That made him a little mad

And that, lights were best


Under the carpet

Johnny two worlds

Is a practical man

He gets stuff done

Johnny two worlds

Is as reliable as bread





And Johnny two worlds

Walks the thunder

And the wonder



He was never the same

When he came back

Those eyes

Had seen too much

Those ears

Had heard too much

Microsatellite Propulsion Entrepreneurship Dream 22-1-23

Last night we watched “Don’t look Up” a film about an asteroid of significant size smashing into Earth and the unwillingness of a US president to take it seriously, she was more concerned with politics and power, a metaphor perhaps for climate change. Taking any real action is unprofitable and unpopular. This dream is out of the blue and not in line with other recent dreams.

The dream starts in a small office with a white board. I am there with two young men. We are going over the drawings of a microsatellite and a small launch system with a bespoke and novel propulsion unit. The fuel for the rocket is completely new and in no way resembles current thinking. It runs on a novel source of energy. The microsatellite is roughly a cubic foot and has onboard communications superior to its larger cousins and an ultra-high efficiency solar power collection unit.

I am checking with one of the young men that he has included all three polar co-ordinates and velocities for each of the planets and the sun in the solar system in his calculations for the satellite orbit, that way the need for positional adjustment post launch will be minimised. He is confident that the simulations are accurate. We know that the previous methods of launch have all taken the phallic “big is beautiful” approach. Our small bespoke rocket does not need a fancy launch pad and can be launched from the back of a large purpose built truck from anywhere in the world, including high altitude which lessens the fuel requirement. The first few kilometres of atmosphere are the most expensive in terms of fuel budget, because of friction and gravitational proximity.

We gather our documents and slide pack together and fly off to London.

We arrive in a large building reminiscent of those around Regent’s Park. We are met at the front desk and are ushered to the open plan meeting facility which we have hired. It is in one corner of the very large foyer of the building. The floor has a red patterned carpet and there are ornate chandeliers. We have a very large wooden table with numerous chairs. I leave one of the young men to set up and take the other one off to show him a room which he remembers from before. “This is where it all started”, he says. I take him around a corner to another room, which we both remember.

As we are walking through the corridor, we meet a woman who was previously our secretary and her entourage. I thank her for coming along. She is very pleased to see me and gives me a massive maternal hug. We escort her back to the table and she makes herself comfortable. Other people start arriving. Many of them are venture capital investors. Some are known to me and are a bit sheepish. I make everybody welcome. Across the foyer I see another businesswoman sat at a table with colleagues. She catches my eye and ushers me over. She makes way and I sit next to her. She too is pleased to see me. She asks, “Where have you been? What have you been doing? We have all wondered what happened to you?” I have no satisfactory answer but invite her and her team to come and listen to what we have to say. They join us at our table.

Slowly more and more people arrive. There is quite a buzz. The young man has set up a holographic projection unit on a dais near the table.  We are good to go. In three dimensions and in blue our logo for MicroSat can be seen.

Dream ends…