Isabella – Manipulation – Attack Dreams 31-11-21

Here are last nights dreams they are separated by an interlude of being awake.

The first dream is set in London, somewhere close to the centre. In the room next door to me there is a panel of science academics sat around the table. They are going over applicants for a job as a University Physics lecturer. There are more than seven of the academics. The room in which they are seated is grand as is the table and chairs. They are a mix of men and women the men are wearing suits and the women are smartly dressed. It is all very English. They are all my age or older.

They call me in from the next room and say that they want to offer me the job. This surprises me somewhat because I have not applied for it. They say that the salary is £30,000. That sounds very low to me for a university in London. In the dream I note that 30 is the dreaming symbol for manipulation. They say the reason that the salary is small is that the job comes with an apartment as part of the salary. Where is the apartment? It is in central London near Down street which I know to be near Downing Street. I ask is there any previous coursework. They hand me a folder of lecture notes which I skim through, and it does not look too tricky. I think that I can do this job.

They say that they will get the previous incumbent to show me the flat in central London. I am introduced to Isabella who is a talk dark haired Mediterranean women about twenty years younger than me. Her hair is long, and she has a flowing black skirt and dangly silver earrings. She leads me off to Down street. When we get there the normal passenger lift is broken so we have to go around the back to use the big goods lift.  We get in and she hands me a large old-style key of steel. Which I put in my left trousers pocket. She says that she lost the job because they did not like her blog content. I say that she should perhaps read my blog.

She and I stand facing one door. I turn and look into her eyes. They morph into swirling spiral flames for a second. She is unsure if I have noted this. Several other people mostly young men get into the lift. One of the men, a muscular eastern European, puts his hand on my shoulder. I brush this off. The lift doors close and we start to move upwards. Halfway to the flat the Eastern European man stops the lift and opens the double doors. He then proceeds to jump out of the lift onto the car park several floors below. After him three waves of young men also jump out of the lift. Some land safely, others pick up minor injuries and a couple die. Isabella and I look down at the carnage, close the door and proceed to the flat.

I know it is late and that my flatmates in North London won’t be able to get in because I have the key to that flat as well. I take the key out and open the door. I step into an ornate hallway. The man from the lift is there and he says that I owe him money to get out of the contract. He reckons that I owe him £100. I say that I do not. He says that he will not let me go until I pay him or join him. He pulls out a knife and asks if I have ever played stabby stabby. No. He then tries to attack me and stab me with the knife which he is holding in his right hand. He is a lot younger and fitter than me. I catch the top of his hand and apply kote gaesh. Which sends him swirling through the air and leaves me with the knife in my right hand. I go over to the window and through the knife out.

He continues to attack me bare handed. I wrestle him to the floor despite the fact that he is fitter and stronger than me. Using my favourite Judo choke hold I choke him out and he becomes unconscious.

I awake briefly, exchange a few words with the wife and fall back to sleep.

The wife and I are staying at a cliff side villa near an azure blue sea. At the end of the garden is a path out to a ledge in the cliff side. It is just wide enough to sunbathe on parallel to the cliff. The wife and I venture out onto this cliff. I sit down and she lies down. I have a small fishing rod and cast out a bait into the azure blue sea some 20-30 metre below. I can see that some fish are interested in my bait. Some have a nibble; another fish pops its head out of the water and looks me directly in the eye. Soon the bait is gone. I go back into the villa and the wife moves to where I was seated. In the refrigerator I find some snacks which are yet to be cooked. They comprise some beef mince and some cheese in a sort of meat ball. I bait my hook and leave the baited hook and fishing line on the grass in the garden. I go back inside for a glass of milk. When I come out some wasps or bees are on the bait and are dragging the fishing rod around the garden. I call the wife to see this phenomenon. She comes off the cliff edge and watches too. She is alarmed by this.

We move away from the wasps, and she finds a part of a dream catcher on the floor. She picks this up and reunites it with the other part which is hanging from a eucalyptus tree. We explore the garden and find a small statuette of a witch with “traditional” pointy hat. It is about one foot tall. I pick it up and suddenly it morphs into a full-sized woman dressed entirely in black with a full black flowing skirt. I know this witch to be Isabella. She is trying to embrace me so that she can do some evil to me. She follows me around the garden, appearing to fly. She has a series of hat pins in her hat. I snatch one of these hat pins and as she flies at me one more time, I make it grow in size. I then impale her directly through her heart so that she is fixed by the pin to a tree in the garden. I know that she is done for and resolve to do some protection “work” on waking,

Dream ends.

* Yesterday the plumber alerted us to some Asiatic Wasps close to the house.

Granny Was a Gwrach {Witch}

As I mentioned earlier, I am reading a book about The Dreamtime. What strikes me most about the book is the absence of much reference to women. The Clever Men, the Men of High Degree are responsible for the sacred traditions, the healing and the dancing. In the West, the holders of the old traditions are more often portrayed as women, sometimes witches. Though there are male druids. Until recently the priesthood was exclusively male.

Here in Brittany one can see witch signs carved into fireplaces to stop nasty witches coming down the chimney. Witches got a bad press from the power obsessed clergy. Midwives are called sage-femme here, which is nice. I suspect that many of the so-called witches were mid-wives and portrayers of herbal medicine. So, there must be good, or white witches as well as those paid to put hexes on.

When I saw the Doors film and the scene where Jim sees the Shaman it struck some kind of chord in me. I can remeber the moment in a cinema in Bern. It started a line of inquiry.

When I first looked into Shamanism, I read Shamanism by Mircea Eliade. It is a long and seemingly well researched tome. It seems that most cultures have some kind of tradition. It is probably due another read, I might get the French version.

Family legend has it that at least one woman in the part of my family which emanates from Beddgelert was a witch. But does that mean healer or part magical? I have read various things which suggests that “the gift” is passed on down bloodline generations. It might skip one and then resurface.

With this loose hypothesis such a gift might manifest in someone trained in the Natural Sciences to Ph.D. degree level.

Certainly around 1995 when I had by breakdown and was forced to change my orientation to the world, I needed to change. Up until that point I soap boxed that the world and everything in it could be explained by Science, with a capitol S. I was a bit of a dickhead.

Things in deepest darkest North Wales were kept out of sight of the oppressive English and the old traditions perhaps lingered long there.

Since I have been here, I have noticed the number of cars in which there are dreamcatchers attached to the mirror. The number density is a lot higher than Surrey for sure. There are some true Bretons here who are markedly not French. They are proper country folk and would not look out of place in Snowdonia.

If one has “the gift” one should be sensitive to power spots or hot spots. For example, Avebury and Stonehenge. Avebury is more powerful than Stonehenge because less people have gone there. Glaslyn on the sides of Snowdon is one power spot. We have one here locally it is called Menez Bre.

Until a few days ago We had not been up there. But when we did it was pretty obvious it is a power spot.

You may not believe this, but many cathedrals are built on power spots. Winchester is the hottest one amongst those that I have visited.

Can I provide six sigma evidence for this? No.

People with this gift can recognise others with it too…

There is a menhir locally and there are massive stone temples to the West of here.

Why is it that the old ways are always driven to the West?

I have a feeling that I have some kind of upcoming appointment on Menez Bre.

Hmnn…


Lay down

Your sweet and weary head

Night is falling

You have come to journey’s end

Sleep now

And dream of the ones who came before

They are calling

From across the distant shore

Why do you weep?

What are these tears upon your face?

Soon you will see

All of your fears will pass away

Safe in my arms

You’re only sleeping


What can you see

On the horizon?

Why do the white gulls call?

Across the sea


A pale moon rises

The ships have come to carry you home

And all will turn

To silver glass

A light on the water

All souls pass

Hope fades

Into the world of night

Through shadows falling

Out of memory and time

Don’t say we have come now to the end

White shores are calling

You and I will meet again

And you’ll be here in my arms

Just sleeping

The Shaman’s Breakdown

I’ll preface by saying, if family legend is correct, I am a direct descendant of a gwrach or witch. And one from deepest darkest Snowdonia to boot. Sometimes “the gift” skips generations and resurfaces in the most unlikely of beings, maybe even a chemical physics dude and laser jock. 😉

Around 1995 I had a major depressive episode with inherent suicidal ideation. Initially I was on the green and whites. Later when these did not work the consultant psychiatrist put me on monoamine oxidase inhibitors and tricyclics.

There was major risk because of potential dietary interaction. The doctor felt able to take that risk because I was a practising vegan at the time. I even flew to Japan whilst on the latter combination and only had a mild hypertensive episode once at a business dinner in a fancy restaurant. This kind of treatment is usually for inpatients.

It was pretty clear to me that something had to change and change fast.  So, I began to look at alternate ways of living and ways of viewing the world. It is common knowledge amongst the shamanic community that many shamans have to have a kick up the butt in order to start practising. This is either a breakdown, a vision or a major life-threatening illness.

My first encounter with the word shaman was in the books of Carlos Castaneda. However, I had met two wise men before. These were our gardener and our houseboy when we lived in Zambia.  The houseboy was 53 and the gardener, Tembo (elephant) was in his seventies. They let me (10-13) sit with them sometimes, even when others came to ask their advice. They had a divination game involving throwing some stones over a grid of shallow holes dug in the ground. I was OK, my sister not.

During my illness a copy of the I Ching fell off a bookshelf in a bookshop in Tring and landed right at my feet. Ok, I am meant to look at I Ching. I found a course on Native American Indian Shamanism and began. As a part of this we did Runic Shamanism and Remote Viewing. I carved an entire set of runes from slate and wore each one, in turn, as a necklace. I got better.

One could argue it was the meds or it could be that I was at last looking into something I was “meant” to.

Here in Brittany, you can find shamans, clairvoyants and tarot readers in the yellow pages. They even had a thing in the local newspaper when someone opened up a cartomancy or Tarot business in the local town! It is a bit odd, to my eyes, for a catholic country. In the local town there is one shop which sells catholic icons and crosses as well as books on shamanism, Angels, and divining pendants. As usual there are contradictions.

So why am I being pointed again at Shamanism?

I’ll ask the I Ching.

There could be a business opportunity…