One More Precognitive Dream

Precognitive dream: A dream that exhibits knowledge about the future which the dreamer could not have obtained via normal channels.


A few months back I had a dream of someone I care about in which they were facing some marital issues. We live in different continents and I haven’t seen or thought of them any time recently. So being so random I sensed that it could be one of my precognitive dreams.

As I often do after those dreams, I reached out to ask about them. To my sight surprise, they said that all was fine, yet in an indifferent, perhaps also slightly defensive way. Shortly after, I told them how I remember seeing them in the dream going through a moment of detachment as well as freedom, which was the initial reason why I asked. Still, they denied having any problems — despite having always felt that they were never particularly happy in their relationship.

Somehow I could not get over that dream as I felt that it is one of those genuine ones I’m writing about in the book. I believe some of you remember how I dreamed of the passing of my aunt and my Cocker Spaniel plus of getting into an accident before they actually happen.

Dealing with High Awareness and Empathic Accuracy is a much more detailed piece examining how some of us seem to be able to see beyond the veil and how “High awareness can be a double-edged sword if you don’t know how to channel it.”



A month or two later, I was speaking to a common friend when I mentioned said dream. They paused for a second, before telling me that our friend’s marriage was indeed going through troubled times. Aha. Since I’m getting better at trusting this kind of prophetic visions, in a strange, inexplicable way I sort of knew all along that there is probably some kind of truth behind that last one.

More months passed when I was once again with the common friend and the topic of my book — and dreams — came up. They then told me that our friend whom I had dreamed of had a divorce. Oh. Should I say ‘Surprise!’?

When I wondered out loud about the reason why when I first asked if everything was fine I was told yes, they said that our recently-divorced friend apparently thought that someone had told me about the ongoing problems they were then having with their spouse. This implies that I knew all along and have invented that dream story just to, I don’t know, mess with them?

Moral the story: If I dream of you and I let you know, there is no reason why not to be honest. In any case, this type of dreams almost always involve those who are — or once were — somewhat close to me.


What is intriguing is that by the end of the book I still do not have clear explanations about how cognitive dreams work among other mind-over-matter phenomena discussed therein. What I do know for sure is that they exist and if you learn how to listen closely, they could make great allies. I equally know with certainly that I am not the only one who gets them, which in one way is a relief.

Dreams are the Pearly Gates of the subconscious. Pay attention and follow them confidently to where they lead you, for they are also the language in which our souls communicate with the YOUniverse.

On a parallel note, I will leave you with an eye-opening Banned Ted Talk by physicist Russell Targ about psychic abilities. Targ spent several decades exploring the humans psyche while working with the CIA and NASA, chiefly in the US government “Remote Viewing (RV)” program.

For me, “Banned” talks are always the most captivating. It makes you ponder why certain type of knowledge is censored and deliberately kept away from the masses. Enjoy.

ALSO VIEW:


Dreaming of the Accident Before it Happened

Dealing with High Awareness and Empathic Accuracy

The LSD Experiments of the 1950s and 60s [Videos & Documentaries]

What Being Conscious Means

A Dieu Caramella

Out-of-Body Experience and Ego Death on a “Heroic Dose” of Mushrooms

Placebo Effect & The LSD Prank

Surviving the Madness of Sakarana — Hyoscyamus muticus

 

Dreaming That The Buddha Was Not Fat

The essential reason why many moons ago I initially started writing an article about dreams is because I would get messages about things to come. Like repeatedly dreaming of losing my Cocker Spaniel Caramella months before finding out she was sick and had to be put down. Also Dreaming of the Accident Before it Happened is another one of those visions. Spooky, yes, but precognitive dreams are nothing new to humanity. By the time the piece developed to become an exposé then a “research paper”, I had learned how to better remember and record these fascinating subconscious adventures and insights. A year or so later some friends and I came to agree that the writings had become a book and the work on it was carried on.

The information is usually received during these semi-consciousness states right at the moment of waking up — known as Hypnopompic. But on rare occasions the transference may occur while drifting into sleep — known as Hypnagogic.

What was different about this particular hypnopompic dream is that it was simply a sentence or statement I awoke to one morning. It was the sound of an Orphic and somewhat familiar intuitive voice saying: “Buddha was not fat”. What? I knew there was something to the story and the curiosity led me to instantly look it up.

Indeed, the fat jolly Buddha is the not the Buddhism Buddha, but a different figure altogether. A bit of research showed that there is a widespread confusion, especially in the West, about two different figures: Siddhartha Gautama — The Buddha — who lived 2,600 years ago in India on one side and the Laughing Buddha — Budai or Pu-Tai or Hotei — who lived 1500 years ago in China on the other. 


Writing about said dream herein, I was reminded by fun childhood memory from the summer of 1988 when this 10/11-year-old boy went with his maternal grandmother to visit his aunt in Los Angeles. After a few weeks there, we flew to Honolulu, Hawaii for five days. We were staying at the Sheraton Waikiki and, as I remember, all I wanted to do was to play Street-fighter arcade games.

Naturally, being tourists, and being with them older people, meant that we visited lots of shops and stores. This is where something began to repetitively happen. As my grandma, aunt, and uncle went about to check the merchandise, many of the Asian-looking sellers would come closer to me, hold one of my earlobes and start rubbing it gently as they smile and say “Ahhh, Good Luck. Good luck” with their distinctive English accent.


You know how you see a cute child and stroke their hair with your hand? Well in Hawaii, it was always my ears. 

As we all came to reckon, my full, meaty earlobe was indeed a sign of good luck as it was a reminder of the Buddha.

For the ancient Indians, I later learned, having large ears denoted that one is all-hearing and was attribute of a “Great Man”. 

The Chinese believe it to be a sign of vitality and independence; that such people have the courage to do whatever they want in life. That is why we find that in most statues, sculptures, and paintings the Buddha is depicted with peculiarly long, dangling earlobes. 

This however wasn’t the first time people notice or touch my earlobes, it was actually a known feature of mine within the family. In some later years, girls would jokingly tell me that if I were a girl, I would probably have many earrings.


On a much more hilarious note from the same Hawaii trip, here is a story about getting caught with nude playing cards by my aunt, which fittingly became part of the Early Memories Never Worded series.

My earlobes and I having fun during that U.S trip in 1989. This was an L.A
wedding related to the friends of my aunt when I had to rent a tuxedo.

Historically speaking, the ‘Buddhism’ Buddha, Siddhartha Gautama, was born (likely in the fifth or sixth century BCE) a Hindu prince in Lumbini and raised in Kapilvastu — both located in today’s Nepal. The culture and tradition then and there was for men to display their wealth and prosperity on their ears. It is believed that he must have adorned large, heavy ear jewellery made of precious metals and stones, which may have resulted in stretching his ears.

After renouncing his royal hedonistic life The Buddha travelled throughout India, following yogis and gurus who taught asceticism. This included extreme exercise and self denial, which is how they quiet the urges of the body in order to master the mind into submission. He eventually surpassed all his teachers while starving himself for six years through deep meditations.

During that time he became almost like a skeleton, before renouncing extreme asceticism as well. He then sat down under a peepal (Bodhi) tree at Bodh Gaya and achieved Enlightenment. It is when he discovered the Buddhist Middle Way — a path of moderation away from the extremes of self-indulgence and self-mortification — which he began teaching. It is something more people ought to remember whenever feeling inclined to reach any extremism.  

As such, being fat doesn’t even make sense. The dangling ears are one thing but being overweight is a totally different thing that contradicts all what is known about the Buddha.



So who was fat?

Along with the statue shown in the featured photo (right), this is another
Laughing Buddha I grew up seeing everyday at home.
Thank you Mother for snapping those shots.

The chubby happy Buddha with the large belly, as well as the even bigger earlobes, known as the “Laughing (Oriental) Buddha” we often come across in various places around the world is different from Siddhartha Gautama. In China, this jolly figure is known as Pu-Tai or Budai; and in Japan as Hotei.



Nicknamed The Laughing Buddha, Budai is based on an eccentric Chinese Buddhist monk and Zen master who lived over a thousand years ago. He was a generous and jovial man who did not speak much. However, he remains exclusive to Chinese Buddhism in addition to Shinto culture. 

In Chinese folklore, Budai was later upgraded to a deity. And again, being fat represents wealth, prosperity, and good luck.

While “Buddha” means “The Awakened One” or “The Enlightened One”, “Budai” humbly translates into “Cloth Sack” — reference to the one he would wear, from which he pulled rice plants among other foods and also candy for children. 


Next time you’re in a Chinese restaurant and find a statue or an illustration of The Laughing Buddha, remember that he’s not The Buddha, the founder of the Buddhist philosophy. Don’t forget to touch his earlobes for good luck though. Or I can let you touch mine if you can show you have good intentions.

Lastly, here is a collage made up of four different sculptures I came across and photographed during my U.S tour — originally made for a post titled Desiring Not To Desire Is Still Desire.
 While the top left was captured at the Art Institute of Chicago, the other three bronze ones at the Denver Art Museum.

Using my own photos for articles on here or even for Facebook posts turned out to be a highly convenient way to avoid copyright issues. I only came close twice in those past 15 years of publication and ever since decided to be mindful. They likewise seem to add more uniqueness and authenticity to the writings... or so both Buddhas would have concurred. 

*(Top L.) Buddha Seated in Meditation — Dhyanamudra India, Tamil Nadu,
Nagapattinam Chola period, c. 12th Century Granite
*(Top R.): Seated Buddha — Cambodia, Khmer Empire, 1000s
*(Bottom L.): Seated Buddha — Myanmar [Burma] 1876
*(Bottom R.): Seated Buddha — Thailand, Lanna kingdom 1400s

ALSO VIEW:


Dreaming of the Accident Before it Happened

To Forgive Is Not To Reconcile

What Nomad Lions Can Teach Us About Growing Through Life

The Significance of Letting Go

Who Are We? 

On Love and Attachment 

 

The Parable Of The Cow: You Are Not Your Thoughts 

 


The Parable



 of the Nugget of Truth

Theory of Mind: Thinking About Thinking and the Benefits of Observing the Observer 

 
Why We Should Not Fear Death 

Things I Got Rid Of To Become Happier

My Journey Towards Self-Transcendence

 

Dance With Your Demons
 
The Benefits of Laughter — With Some Witty Jokes to Prove it

The Benefits of Laughter Two, Too, To — With More Witty Jokes to Prove it

The Archaic Origin of the Swastika Symbol [with Photos]

The Millennium Eve I Spent Alone at the Mosque 

The Ashram Sweeper Who Blocked Me on Facebook  

The Story of Eric Clapton and Majnun Layla

The Intertwining of Genius and Insanity

Out-of-Body Experience and Ego Death on a “Heroic Dose” of Mushrooms 

The Archaic Origin of the Swastika Symbol [with Photos]

OLS Reflections — The Spiritual Edition

Unfollow The Crowd 

Change Is The Only Constant

A Dieu Caramella

Dreaming of the Accident Before it Happened

I was kind of reluctant to write about this but now it seems there is not much choice. I believe some of you know that I seem to get messages in my dreams about things to come, which is the main reason why I am writing a book about the topic.



From repeatedly dreaming about losing Caramella, my late Cocker Spaniel, many times before I found out she was sick and had to be put down. To waking up in the middle of the night wide-eyed and uneasy to find out that my aunt is in the hospital in Egypt, thousands of miles away, before she passed a few hours later; to dreaming of the cat of a Facebook friend of mine right after he passed and you can read about it Here.

Another more recent happening was dreaming of someone dear to me doing a certain drug. My feelings about it, however, were positive ones, which was a tad odd since they have had an addiction problem for years. But in said dream it seemed the substance of interest was far from heroin, but rather, it was a healthier drug, one might say.

As soon as I woke up I called my friend to share. First, there was a brief pause; then they found it hard to put what they had in mind into words. Simply because just last night, possibly while at the very same time I was dreaming, they were mid an Ayahuasca ceremony, which they had essentially gone through to help heal their addiction. They remained clean ever since.

So, obviously something is going on. More weird things are left for the book.


About a month ago, I saw myself being in an accident involving a car. I really ‘felt’ it. And knowing about those visions coming true sometimes, I was somewhat concerned about what might happen, even a little distressed, one could say. I brushed it off by trying to convince myself that I cannot fear my own visions. Because, that would be insane.



A couple of weeks later, I was on the bike coming back from Santa Monica to Venice. As I was crossing the street at an intersection, two cars hit each other but it was nothing big. The tail light of one of the cars fell to the ground, so I left my bike, ran and picked it up. During that time, the driver, a 60-something-year old man, was already out of his Mercedes and talking to the driver of the other car that hit him. I asked if he was alright and helped him put the light in the trunk. And that was that.

As I was back on my way, I naturally thought of the dream. I thought that that was it. However, an intuitive feeling deep inside was telling me that it wasn’t it. The reason of this gut feeling, I believe, is that in my vision I was much more involved in the accident. As I said, I could sense the chaos and the commotion. But again, I brushed it off ― trying to convince myself that this accident I witnessed must have been it.

Today morning, I was riding my bike on the pavement minding my own business. A car came out of the intersection where there is a Stop sign. The driver only looked left as he slowed down by the sign since this is where the cars are coming from on Venice Boulevard. Then he kept going trying to make a right turn. I was already right in front of him and saw it all in slow motion. He hit me and I flew and hit the ground.

I got up slowly, checked my bones and head, and realised I was alive, not broken and breathing. That was a relief and I stayed calm throughout it all. I was dripping some blood from my face, hands, and legs, but nothing too crazy. The driver had already parked his car and came down to check on me. I asked him for tissues, he got me some and a bottle of water and I cleaned up my wounds for a good ten minutes.

At some point, the 40-year-old man realised that something was wrong with my bike. He hit the front wheel and it’s bent so it’s very hard to move it. Hm, that was another bummer, I’m two miles away from home. 


“You were pretty fast,” he decided to tell me.

“Uh, you didn’t look to your right at all,” I responded with some kind of grimace on my smashed face.



I think he tried to say something again to defend himself, but I automatically shut him off again, politely.



Then, I let him go and went on my way. I tried biking back but it was hard to move with that bent tire. So I walked to the local bike repair shop next to the house and found out that a new front wheel need to be bought for $45. Bla.



As I was telling the bike guy the story, he told me that as a biker I have every right to call the cops on the guy and make him pay for the damages. Well, too late now. Money wasn’t really the first thing I thought of after getting up.



However, knowing that my phone was just stolen from me two days ago at the Drum Circle, I really felt kind of gullible. Though I snapped out of it as the would haves and the should haves never really help. I’m grateful that it could have been much worse, learned a lesson, and moving on.




Once the bike was fixed I finally went home to shower and clean my wounds. A couple of hours went by and the pain was starting to be annoying. I consider myself a tough guy who deals, but the cuts were too many and there was aching in other parts of the body, probably from the fall. I also know the pain will worsen the next few days. Having been clean for years now, I don’t even happen to carry pain killers around. Bret, my bungalow mate, is away, so I can’t even ask him for any.



My buddy called me to check up on me. He had his fair share with Emergency Rooms here in the U.S, so I asked him. He suggested I go and they will handle me. I Googled and found that the closest is at the Marina Del Rey Hospital and is two miles away ― 13 minutes by bike. I wanted to double check there is nothing in Venice so I asked some homeless people in the street. The men suggested I call 911 to ask them and I did that. They first asked if I needed paramedics, to which I replied no and asked them my question. They confirmed that the closest is indeed in Marina as Google has shown.



I biked to there despite the pain in my left knee and finally got to the ER where I filled some applications. They asked if I have S.S number or insurance, I said no.



I think because of my bloody face and hand, a minute later they called my name and I went in with some nurse. She asked a few questions about what had happened and took me to this small compartment with a bed and gave me a gown to wear. She told me that they’ll do a X-Ray on my head. Hm. OK. What a treat.



I remember being dehydrated and asking the nurse for the some water but she said after the X-Ray.



I was left on this bed for about 20 minutes then they came to relocate me to somewhere else. Moving me around on that wheeled bed really felt like a childhood flashback. Since the last time I was in such setting ― checking in in a hospital, the rolling bed, the gown ― I was 8-years old in South of France when I broke my arm in two separate places and had to keep six nails for a year. This is when it hit me: It’s been 30 long years of no hospitals, not bad at all. Six Nails for My Double-Fractured Arm in Sainte-Maxime is the full story.

Anyways, I was left again by the Emergency Room entrance for maybe two and a half hours.

Being there, I saw a few drug related cases coming in. Nothing catastrophic though. It was actually slightly entertaining for me. One guy came in on a bed with two firefighters and was nodding and repeatedly about to fall from one side of the bed. His eyes were rolling. One of the firefighters explained to the doctor that someone called them after finding him lying on the lawn somewhere. I looked at them and said with a smile: “Some kind of opiates”. They smiled back, nodding in agreement.


Another time, one of the doctor came and told me: “Thank you for being patient.”

“Well, I am a patient after all” was my instant reply. Ba-Dum Tsss.

He paused for a second then burst out laughing. So did two nurses and another patient who were present in the room.


Only much later, the lady doctor came and asked me again the same questions. She checked my rib cage and back and concluded that I don’t need an X-Ray. I was already bored from waiting and felt fine in my head, so I agreed. They finally put some lotions on my wounds and gave me a 5 mg Oxycodone and one Ibuprofen. Another half hour, they came with the prescriptions and the papers. Finally. You can read about what happened the next few days in Opiated Then Hatin’ It.

The featured photo was taken right after, this one was a couple of days later
when I was fully swollen

As I was coming out from the discharge area, I got the surprise of my life. The lady told me that I have to pay $400! What?

“I’ll be paying for the meds, right?” I asked to make sure there is no confusion.

“Yes, that’s something else at the pharmacy.”

“Then what is this? They put me some creams inside and that was it. I didn’t even have an X-Ray. I waited for four hours and that’s all what happened,” I went on.

“Yes, this is how it is at the Emergency Room and blabala. You can pay later when we send the bill to your home, but it will be more than $400.”

“Uh. But why no one told me as I came in? If I knew about all this money, I would have left. I usually handle things myself, it just that I thought I’ll come here to clean my wounds and get some medicines. That’s all. Actually, I don’t have this kind of money and I have to pay the rent in two days, so, really.” I proceeded.

“We cannot tell you that, we have to check-in everyone. Well, you can apply for I don’t know what temporary insurance, and if you’re eligible you don’t have to pay. But there are no guarantees. They’ll call you tomorrow.”

Okaaay. Now even more, I think the driver must have covered these expenses.


Oh well, back to dreaming about that accident ― my first in six years since I have been mainly biking. Until now, I haven’t told many people about this; simply, because It’s starting to feel ‘freaky’, for lack of a better word. But I am writing a book, which goes beyond just precognitive dreams.

So who’s sending these messages, if anyone? Could such dreams be omens for good fortune or disaster sent from beyond as many ancient civilisations believed? How can we break the code of time? What does it mean to be able to forsee the future? Can one use this gift to their favour?

Even though I came closer, but almost two years into my investigation and the above questions remain unanswered.

ALSO VIEW:

Dreaming That The Buddha Was Not Fat

Six Nails for My Double-Fractured Arm in Sainte-Maxime

One More Precognitive Dream

Opiated Then Hatin’ It

What Being Conscious Means

Dzzzzz — Waking and Alarms

Experts believe that before going to bed, 93% of people count how many hours of sleep they're going to get. Not exactly sure about the accuracy of that number but I did this myself for so many years, it was an obsession. I would keep delaying my alarm for seven extra minutes, then in the middle of the night I would add another three and stuff like that. It was berserk in a neurotic way.

Waking up to the disturbing sound of an alarm seems so unnatural. Studies have shown that when it comes to remembering our dreams, alarms make it way harder. The whole key to remembering dreams is to wake up slowly, to take a few minutes in doing so. With alarms this may seem like an impossibility because of that sudden rush and panic you get. Of course we all know what could 'I'll take a few extra minutes' lead to, especially when tired, which you usually are if that's how you wake up everyday...or five or six times a week.

However, people, especially with age, could find themselves waking up at around the same hour every day. When you keep waking at, say, 8 am for years the body clock adapts to the pattern and it becomes your own alarm; you get into a routine, a rhythm. My father is one example, he's been starting his day pretty much at the same time for the last few decades or so. And looking at those last four years of my life, I think I could also be following through, minus the occasional wild all-nighters that leave me looking like a Picasso the next morning.


Well, time is still an illusion, it's man-made. Sorry couldn't help it   :}

Venice Sunset

 

“Time is a created thing. To say 'I don't have time,' is like saying, 'I don't want to.” 

― Lao Tzu