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…

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.

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…

More Attack Dreams and Mole Sign

Last night I had a dream in which I was taking my dan grading in Aikido. The grading was for Ki Aikido. I could not remember all of the moves so I used some from Tomiki Aikido which I was exposed to at Mike Finn’s Dojo late ‘90s.

I passed the grading, nevertheless. In the same dream I was then exposed to wave after wave of physical and verbal attacks from people I once knew. In the dream I repelled these attacks by counters and immobilisations. I repelled them with ease.

The previous night I had a similar dream in which two people, both well known to me, were being very dishonest and manipulative. The male was very aggressive towards me and I had to restrain him again and again with locks and immobilisations. He was very angry and for some reason resentful towards me. He was livid.

Weird why are so may people seemingly so very pissed off with me?

Anyway, after a months or so without mole sign. We have a new invader. It is sticking to the high ground for now. It is too wet to set traps. The weekend is forecast to be cold and dry, so a mole-hunting I will go…

Threefold Ginormous Mess Dream 17-01-23

It is impossible to recall all of this because it went on for a very long time both before and after a short waking break. Here is the gist.

The dream starts in a very upmarket high specification domestic kitchen. I am tasked with cooking a meal therein. However, the kitchen is an absolute “bomb site”. All the surfaces are covered with plates, condiments, and debris. I remonstrate to the owner that they need to clear this mess up if they want me to cook. The mess is huge and it is of their making. The owner does not accept that the mess is a) bad and b) of their own making. I start to try to cook on the range. I have a clean pan and am able to gather some ingredients together in the sink. It is very difficult to work with all the heavily cluttered surfaces. I know in the dream that this is a metaphor for a huge mess in the web of life made by others. It is not my responsibility to clean up this mess but until it is cleared I cannot “cook” or do anything meaningful.

I am now in a laboratory setting. The laboratory is beyond chaotic. There are glassware and books everywhere. There are lab electronics, computers and displays. The optical table is littered with unmounted optics. The place is very unkempt. Again, I know that the mess is not of my making. The algorithm for convergence, a variational quantum method, is failing to converge. With each day it is more and more divergent. I know that we could use Møller-Plesset perturbation theory with a large basis set. A larger basis set is perhaps the answer. This might help the problem to converge. But the lab owners fail to accept that the mess is of their origin, so there is no chance that they will listen to my advice.

I am now in a house in South London. I am trying to figure out a way to solve the mess. A black woman is looking into my house. On the floor are rubble, empty cans and strips of pharmaceuticals. This is not the ideal place for me to work. The havoc in my house has not been caused by me. The terrible mess has been made by others. In the background I can hear, “They should not have killed Biko, Biko never trouble no one.” The black woman sighs and turns away.

Dream ends.

Magic Fayre Dream 8-1-23

This is an extensive dreaming sequence whereby I woke up and then went back to sleep, re-entering the same dream.

I arrive at a middle size country mansion constructed in red bricks. There is a temporary car park roped of at a distance to the mansion and signage saying “Magic Fayre” pointing along the drive towards the mansion. The gardens are immaculate and it is a fine summer’s day. Many of the people are dressed for an English country garden party. I walk along to the entrance and wait in line.

When it is my turn to enter the gentleman on the door gives me a red plastic circular token with the number 16 printed upon it in raised yellow lettering. He says that I am getting a kind of VIP pass. All the other guests have pale yellow tokens with numbers starting at 200.

I go in and there are various exhibition style booths. At the first one there are two young women. Their stand is called “Modern Witchcraft”. On the stand there are examples of handicrafts and immaculate calligraphy. The two women are dressed in very smart stylish outfits without a trace of goth. They tell me that they are white witches and want to bring witchcraft into the 21st century. They are tired of the skanky image of witches and want to smarten it up. They say that the lost of art of spell calligraphy needs to be reborn and brought up to an impeccable level. I comment that I fully support what they are doing, the image needs to change. They beam with joy.

On the next stand there is a woman with long dark hair selling exotic candles of all shapes and sizes. Several of them are alight and the aroma is spiced and not unpleasant and manufactured like that of Yankee candles. It seems the woman has manged to make candles smell like exotic incense. I take the thumb and forefinger of my right hand and extinguish one candle between them. I am left with a light blue drop of oily liquid on my thumb. The drop is perfectly shaped. The woman claps her hands and says, “bravo”. She asks me to manually pleasure her which I do quietly beneath her table. She is wearing brown bikini bottoms which I push to one side.

I decide that I need to go back outside. There are a few people sat on the large stones which demarcate the drive. I find an empty one and take out an herbal marijuana joint which I spark up. A1 a man arrives and looks surprised to see me doing this. We chat briefly. The organiser of the event wearing a trilby and a beige suit comes over. He says that smoking weed is not allowed. I apologise. He says that I owe him a “sitting” in the basement if I can hack it. I agree to try.

I go back int the building and arrive at some demonstration area. There is a large head in a glass tank. The head is very much alive and the fluid which surrounds it is pulsating. He asks me to sit down on a chair at a distance from him and we tune into each other a little. Then he sends various articles towards me using telekinesis. The idea is that I must catch the objects with my hands. I manage to catch about 80% of the things he sends at me. The ones that I drop are all made of plastic. He notes this and thinks it funny that I cannot feel the plastic, whereas glass, metal and wood are easy for me to “pick up”. He is really happy and a sparkle appears in his one eye which is facing me.

He says to me in a booming telepathic voice, “you need to work with groups.”

I move on to the stairs and down into the basement. There is a well lit library there with light wooden shelving and several librarians. I know this library to be a library of white magic. I ask one of the librarians where to go for my “sitting”. She motions me to an armoured door in the corner of the room, in which there is a small glass window. She asks me to please close the door behind me until the “sitting” is over.

I go over to the door open it and walk through. I get my bearings and I am in a whitewashed medieval style cellar. I go back to the door close it and sit cross legged in the middle of the room. It very dark and quiet. The only light comes from the small window in the door. I start to meditate and close my eyes sinking into the darkness. Slowly a glowing rod of light appears. It is about 30cm long and less than 1cm wide. It is slowly alternating from white through pink to red and through pink back to white. I know that I cannot pick it up with my hands. So, I elevate it and bring it within my Anja centre. I absorb it and understand that I now have to radiate it out into the room. I do this for a fair time radiating a pinkish light into the otherwise dark cellar. I am aware that the librarians can see the pulsing glow. When I leave the room, the librarians are smiling I have fulfilled my task.

I come to

Next, I am outside the mansion again it is later towards the end of the afternoon. I am outside with A2 also a man.  We are standing near a rucksack on the floor. He says that he is changing his ways and is going to participate in a practise called Yeshe*-lam. I ask his if him if he knows what Yeshe means. He admits that he does not. I keep quiet. For some reason he is trying to impress me.

We go into the Magic Fayre. Several of the sands are closing up. At the back there is a table with three men in business suits going over some paperwork. I go over to ask them what they are doing. One of them says that they work for Samsung who have sponsored the event. I see that he has some accounts and joke that he should hide them from A2 who is an accountant. He plays as if to hide them. He asks me what I thought of the event. I say that it was well run, meticulously organised and very good. He comments that he is pleased that their investment has worked.

He says that he is going to work with lama Yeshe. I ask him how long he has been working with Tibetan Buddhism and the Bardo teachings. He comments intermittently. He takes one third of the year sabbatical to do this. He cannot work full on for Samsung and do Bardo at the same time, they do not mix well.

We go back outside to the ruck sack. Out of the corner of my eye I see two giant figures, one a mediaeval king {with crown} and the other some kind of knight they are over five metres tall and the same height as a big water tower. The king is fighting with the knight and is trying to kill him with a sword. They fall over knocking the tower to the ground. I motion to A2 to come with me into a stone built folly. Which he does.

Soon a number of larger figures come into the property. They start to fire arrows at us but I can deflect them with my mind.

I come to.

Next, I am outside my flat in North London. I know it is a bit of a mess. I open the door and on the floor in the corner of the room is sat an Indian “guru” in saffron robes and with long flowing grey hair. He smiles. I apologise for the mess. He says that it is of no import.

A2 turns up and says that he is hungry. I say that I have no food but that there a plenty of restaurants, nearby. I reel off the types of restaurant and we decide to go to a fish restaurant nearby. I say to the “guru” we will be back soon.

After we have eaten, I leave A2 at the restaurant and head back to the flat. When I open the door there is another “Indian” man sat on the floor meditating he is dressed in a 1950’s style suit with a black Muslim cap. He feels serene.

I come to.

I do drift back off but I can’t recall accurately what happens.


*Yeshe (Tibetan: ཡེ་ཤེས་, Wylie: ye-shes, ZYPY: Yêxê) is a Tibetan term meaning wisdom and is analogous to jnana in Sanskrit.

Himalayan Monastery – Security Forces Dream 5-1-23

This is the first of a whole dreaming sequence that was too extensive to remember in its entirety.

The dream starts off with me talking to P. She is having to explain to security why she has no idea as to my whereabouts.

The scene shifts and I am in a kind of shared guest accommodation in a Himalayan Buddhist monastery. There are a few younger dharma bums there. Some of the people in the room are wearing monk’s robes. I have partial robes on.

A young white man gets us to do stretching exercises. He is an accepted novice. He then goes around the room projecting Ki at us. The idea is that we should let the Ki move us backward. He comes to me. The first time he projects Ki at me I allow it to move me backwards. The next time I project Ki back and it is he who moves backwards. I explain that way back I did some martial arts. He says I bet that they are not as good as those at this monastery. I agree.

They have decided that they want me to help with the technical running of the establishment. Particularly with the laser lighting. A young man shows me a small circuit board which has stopped working. I examine it and one of the chips has come loose from its housing. I place this carefully back and the circuit board is now functional. The young man brings me three flashlamps wired together. They come from the O lasers which they have. Together we hold the lamps and they light up, the static electricity raises the hairs on our arms.

I take a walk to the edge of the compound where there is a fence. I climb over the fence. A young man asks me if I would like sex. I reply that no I am not homosexual. He says never mind. Apparently when some of the younger monks leave the compound they do so in search of gratification. The scenery around is Himalayan and absolutely stunning. I climb back over the fence.

As I am making my way to the main temple building, I notice two military helicopters circling. They are headed to the helipad on the flat part of the mountainside just outside the main compound. One of them lands and the other takes up a covering position with its machine guns. Out of the first helicopter a collection of people in non-standard military uniform gets out. They are armed but their weapons are not drawn. They fan out in a very professional looking manner. One of them a black woman who has the presence of an officer walks forward.

The Abbot fully robed and with a ceremonial hat moves forward to check what they want. The woman says that they want to check on some of the guests. The Abbots says that this is Ok. She calls out the name Isobel and a German woman moves towards them. They start to question her.

In the dream I know that I am next. So, I make my way towards them. When the woman calls out my name I am already there. She hands me over to a senior civilian man of middle age who speaks with a Bostonian accent. He takes me to one side and asks me to recount my history as an adult.  I do this explaining that The Royal Institution is very niche and has the highest Nobel prize per capita density. I talk about UCL, Imperial, UMIST and Bern. When I get to the laser spin out, he goes bingo. Somehow it is me that they have come here for. He is struggling to comprehend how come I am here up at this monastery in the Himalayas. It does not make sense to him.

Dream ends

On waking I know that this dream is directly related to the filing of my patent yesterday and that from time to time P is subject to deep security clearance audit.