This glimpse into the dark, deep arroyo called the future was a dream of stark, exacting lucidly. The dream occurred, on Sunday, March 19, 1995, while the Moon transited both Scorpio and forming a conjunction to my natal Neptune in the sixth house.
I was completely detached from the cadaver. I hadn’t the slightest emotional response on seeing the shell, of what there will eventually be at the completion, of my august life.
This dream, its every nuance, was set on the astral plane to which I was lucidly astral-projected, raptor-like, while surveilling the future. It was sobering to have experienced this unfoldment.
I awoke from this dream and took to my living room. There, I flooded my lovely West End, Vancouver home with the sounds of Anita Baker singing her soul out! Silently, I poured myself a bath afterwards and listened to Madonna’s My Baby’s Got A Secret.
Several months earlier, I had been in Babylon when the video premiered. It brought back so many memories.
I was in town to stay and continue my love affair with Sjaak van der Velde. It fast became evident, however, that with my being now resident in Vancouver a relationship was no longer possible between Sjaak and me.
However, while staying with Sjaak, I would be introduced to his roommate, the superior portraitist whose realism would in time be celebrated with a prestigious award in London. Jan Voss was a most mellow and evolved of souls.
It was an honour to care for him while he lay sick, with a passing flu bug, in his room.
This first dream was at a theatre-in-the-round setting. Here I was in the company of astral beings, as a very large, jovial, counterpart dreamer Arvin’s corpse was brought in. Borne to centre stage, it was placed on a central slab of stone.
Silently, I walked around the corpse with the others. Next, a coroner prepared to open the body. As I walked down the stone steps, to the stage, the head was to the left towards stage right.
The cadaver was then cut open from the fifth chakra down to the first. The torso and stomach was a deep, layered chamber of organs though placidly still.
One of the tunicked coroners put his hand, deep into the area of the solar plexus, beneath the spleen and liver. I was amazed at the amount of white tubular, venal circuitry that was now void of the sanguined darkness. All the connecting veins were now white.
I got to the archway at the top of the steps where I saw Ian Banks Jr.. I tried to get a camera from him to record the autopsy. Meanwhile, my scalp was shaved and left to look rather unusually white.
I asked of the coroners, why there was this deep, furrowed frown on my cadaver’s brows. I wondered if I had died of great pain but they were rather evasive here.
They then assured me that I was not drugged in a poisonous, painful exit. Nor for that matter had I suffered a violent end. The aged look of my face was what had mostly been of concern.
Ian Banks Jr. did not want to give me the large camera, as a result, I impatiently tugged it away from him. I then began taking a series of photographs of my corpse during autopsy.
Quite the dream this was. Older, I was completely silver-haired or at least my cadaver was.
©2013 Arvin da Braga