Last night in my dream I was talking to my dead cat. Being astrologist is not an easy task. People think that you are Jack-of all-mystical trades. Sometimes I was asked if I can materialize things, fly or talk to dead. Though I can’t do those things, it’s not entirely impossible as a sceptic might think. I know that this dream is not exactly “a dream”, a fruit of my imagination. My cat told me lots of things which definitely made some sense. My mother told me she once had a dream in which her pony she used to ride when she was a kid warned her about fire, which happened in a week time. So how it could be possible?
There is such a thing as brain frequencies which are usually measured in cps (cycle per second). Most generally those masters who are capable of creating objects and situations with their thoughts have brain frequencies up as high as 20,000 cycles per second, whereas the average person runs 40 cycles per second. More about this you can find from the excellent book “The holographic Universe” I came across recently.
So, with the new age occurring and dimensional barriers breaking down there will be a lot of communication between folks of the same brain frequency levels across many dimensions, that is not meant to be construed as “talking to the dead” as some overzealous Christians would like to imply.
What I think is: if there’s anything dead in our current world it is the worlds established religions. About everything else is alive, pulsing and can be tuned-in. Life is everlasting presence.
Maria Cohen
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Unknown beauty, sleeping, calmly breathing
Next to me
Turn around and there is nothing apart from imagination
Breathing, sleeping calmly, unknown beauty
Soft his fingertips on my upper lip
On my upper lip soft his fingertips
Walking down the imaginative landscapes, getting caught in the armpit, exempt from doubts, just climbing the bewildered mountains, following the satin path and drowning eagerly into the sea of sensuality and delight.
Just like this during the daylight. 2 o’clock in the afternoon while outside this passionate filled place, people are walking up and down, filled handbags.
A glance of the eye spies her lipstick, a packet of chewing gum against the bad breath and her cigarettes. The box still showing marks from a night out. 078821410 call me.
Buzzing headaches and the usual lack of memory. Call Jim, John or Keith. Or was it Jade she went to school with during her 1st year in Blackpool Junior School? Mhh…never mind move on to the picturesque colours of yellow, green and red- peppers from Holland and juicy tomatoes, next to the red and ocker painted apples and the leak withered at the ends starting to become yellow.
Quickly rushing through the crowded market street and following the movement of people, listening to their conversations on events of the week passed. Yes Kate came over for the weekend from Birmingham together with her estranged husband. It is so lovely when the kids come back to the former home they left for a slice of apple pie and a cup of tea once every 2 years. At least they write a card when they can’t make it. The other usual ones for Easter, Christmas and the birthday. If they do not forget you can expect one for Mothers Day as well- how lovely.
Meanwhile somebody else is catching the smell of grilled chicken and the sound of Bob in the ear…emancipate yourself from mental slavery. Cheers another pint downed, drowned the boredom, simmering down on a Saturday afternoon waiting for the evening and dawn to come.
Hours later my thoughts are carried away, out of this room through the cold window glass into cascading clouds, roaming above these endless roads people walked, passing the streams of imaginations people thought into the ocean of the dark, sliding, slipping away
Just the wind whirling up my hair, soft strokes my skin whit its cold touch but feeling warm inside when coming home. And crawling back underneath the blanket that is even warmer. A light smell of vanilla and perspiration. Moving a bit closer to feel your heated body and wolve into these strong arms. Vanish and disappear just for a fraction of an hour. Sensing that it is spring and everything starts to blossom.
Fran
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The forbidden in waking life
Taboos, prohibitions, and etiquette
Constructs, boundaries, limitations, and distance
All melt away as the world fades
Come close, for distance is illusory
Draw near, let timelessness prevail
Hold me, no one knows but us
Touch me, a reality perceived but not shared
Still, a man can dream.
Jacob Haqq-Misra
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Посмотрел на днях некий документальный фильм, исследующий феномен “вещих снов”. Фильм так себе, из пустого в порожнее, файл удалил сразу но подумал, …каково а? Долго ждать себя не заставил. Той же ночью вижу сон, сон как сон, ничего особенного(не то что тот, про Бангкокские плантации органов для сверхлюдей). Этот обычный, какие то люди, улицы, пейзажи, я хожу то там то сям с фотоаппаратом в поисках достойного кадра. Вдруг нахожу что то очень интересное, думаю скорее сфотографировать, достаю из сумки камеру, включаю, выстраиваю кадр, резкость, все дела и …………………хрен там был, батарея села. Просыпаюсь с лёгким чувством облома, ну да ладно, делаю какие то дела, книжки, кино, музыка, работа… Дело к вечеру, глядь в окно, а там красотища, индустриальный закат, красный февраль, всё горит яркими бликами солнца. По такому случаю и фотик достать не лень, думаю скорее сфотографировать, достаю из сумки камеру, включаю, выстраиваю кадр, резкость, все дела и …………………хрен там был, батарея села. …каково а? Мелочь, а приятно.
Ivan
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