Sunday 11th January 1998.  (3.30am)*.

Sue and I are living in a block of units.  Our neighbours are a German couple and the husband I think maybe Scottish.  He is leaving, he is going to die.  How this pans out before me is a most beautiful and majestic vision.  Sue and I are looking out a window at a most stunning sunset.  Up in the sky, in the distance we see a caravan of elephants descending a rocky pass.  This elephant train with their keepers and baby elephants are descending to collect the dead waiting below in the shadows of the twilight.

Though I cannot pick out individuals I know that he is with them.  Some people mount the elephants, others walk beside as they begin being led up the rocky ledge of the pass.  Strange, in the evening colors of the sky, the rocks of the mountain pass also look like clouds, so surreal.  I do not know the husband of the German woman but I know she is going to be upset.

The trail does a reverse turn to the right for the final ascent, I can now hear bagpipes playing.  This lament and vision are both very moving.  The caravan approaches a grotto that leads into a cave, from this emanates a clear white light.  Sue and I remove the fly screen from the window so we can get a last look.  Before entering the light they descend briefly into shadow and for an instant I see them clearly as they pass into the light.

As they disappear one by one into the light I notice a sign above the cave entrance similar to a cinema billboard, it reads ‘Mark 3’ [1].  I awaken, peaceful and fully conscious, in awe of what I have seen.

Tuesday 28th April 1998.

I am somewhere down south for the day, driving around in a light blue panel van I owned in my early twenties.  I have my mobile phone with me.  Where I am actually resembles the area around the small fishing township of Seabird north of Perth.  I am driving around the scrub tracks in the sand dunes, “it would be good to live here”.

I should get going home and will stop at the pub in the township on the way.  Someone is sending me SMS (text) messages on my phone as a joke.  I think it is my friend David L as some of the text is about his former place of employment.  Not much happens in this fishing township.  I park the van outside the pub and go inside for a drink.  Only a couple of the old locals are in here.  To my left sitting at the bar is a man with long dark wavy hair and a beard.  A new jukebox is being wheeled in through the front door.  The place is run down with a 60’s décor.  There is a couple of young women in their twenties across the bar who look like they spend a lot of time here.

They leave just before me and as I start the engine of the car I am surprised to see one of their heads pop over from the back.  She has been asleep in there and I am both surprised and pissed off.  The girl asks if I will drop her and her friend at another bar around the corner.  It starts to rain and I remember how badly this car used to handle in the wet when I had it.  This as I go sliding through a stop sign.

I say I will go into the bar with them for one drink before going.  On entering I am revolted to see a freshly severed pigs head on the floor near the bar.  Sitting on steel prongs on top of the wall-mounted television are more pigs heads in various stages of decay.  I think I am going to be sick.  Running into the mens toilets I am shocked to find it is an eatery.  People in booths and at tables dining on the roasted pig.

I decide to leave and before I go an old man offers to show me around the beachfront.  About one hundred metres from the shore is what he tells me is a Salvation Army Hostel.  It looks like a square mud hut with a number of rooms.  Palm throngs lie flat across the top as a roof.  On a pontoon type ferry we glide out towards the structure, but it veers away heading north up the coast.  This is not where I want to go.

King penguins are swimming and diving in the waves making their way ashore, jumping off I make my way back.  Finding my car I notice that the tailgate is up and the mattress and blanket is on the ground between two cars.  The woman is again asleep on the mattress while the other woman and a male companion are admiring my car.  They leave and the first woman who is now wearing what I can only describe as an orange jumpsuit made of PVC or something similar approaches me.  We embrace and kiss.  I wake up.

Wednesday 6th May 1998*.

The first part of this dream is not clear.  I am in the bungalow I lived in as a teenager.  The floor though is split-level like the room in my friend Brian C’s house that he is renovating.  A palm tree grows out through the floor and cut through the roof.  Rain has been entering through the hole in the roof rusting my upturned pushbike that has been lying beneath it.

Now I am at university in a lecture hall talking to Brian on my mobile phone.  I leave walking down the hall and realise that I have left my phone behind and have picked up a voltage meter by mistake.  Realising this I return to get it and walk into a computer lab mistaking it for a lecture theatre, joking with the guy in there about my mistake in direction.

Leaving I notice one of my teeth is loose in my mouth, and then another.  Surprised I spit them out in my hand.  Now they are all coming loose![2]  I fall to my hands and knees spitting teeth and bile onto the wooden floor.  A lecturer comes in the door asking what is going on.  “Tell him, tell him”, I yell distressed and a student holds a handful of teeth up to show him.  I wake up 5.30am.

Now I am in India with my family.  My eldest son is returning from rollerblading.  Moslems are protesting against some sort of discrimination and exploitation out the front of a five star hotel protected by a steel fence.  A red plastic chair is thrown from a hotel balcony to incite the crowd.  As rioting breaks out we are given refuge by a poor Hindu family living in a cramped upstairs room.

Saturday 9th May 1998*.

I am wandering around the hill area of Velma Grove in East Ringwood, not where far from where I grew up.  “How am I going to get back to Perth?”  Walking down the road it turns to the right, I am looking at house prices.  The dream location resembles nothing like the physical one.  From here I look out over a densely built city, so expansive it covers the contours of the land to the horizon.

I see the house of a boy I remember as friend when I was six.  A young man goes into the house next door talking about getting something to eat, pizza is mentioned.  Continuing on I come to a small cement brick housing unit.  The yard fenced by a low cyclone fence, not unlike Housing Commission units built in the 1960’s.

All the carpet and furnishings are in the yard.  A man and a woman are cleaning the place.  My wife’s sister has been living there and left rubbish scattered everywhere after leaving.  It looks like a disaster.  Nearby on a workbench is a letter from my wife’s brother T.  The contents of the letter are something to the effect about his new little hero or prince and contains a photo of my youngest son.  He is looking to his right and his face is circled in red.

As I stand there a tooth comes loose in my mouth.  More and more they come loose, so quickly I cannot spit them out fast enough[3].  Picking them up in my hands I think, ”how am I going to get back to Perth to a dentist to get this fixed.  I wake up 1.30am.

Thursday 14th May 1998.

I am in Hong Kong, this is my first day at work with the Public Service.  Strange that I should have to go to HK to work.  I arrive at the office 45 minutes early.  I figure that I might as well go and have a look around before starting as I have always wanted to visit HK.

I am with two other people and the dream becomes a pursuit.  I am both a reluctant and willing participant.  According to one of my companions we are after a man wanted for a crime I cannot recall.  At least I have my mobile phone in case I get lost.

The chase begins, it is more like a Chinese action movie as everything moves so fast.  Some of the fine detail is lost here.  We are running through a hotel where a wedding reception is being held.  The bride is furious at the chaos we are causing, one of my companion’s falls to the floor and is being kicked by the woman.  An unattractive and badly dressed short woman takes a liking to me.  I don’t have time for this and run off.

Bursting into a McDonald’s I am surprised at the strange range of burgers available and get stuck in the line being given a inventory of the peculiar named and different burger combinations available.  Prices I remember range from $1.25 to $10.00 plus with ten rashes of bacon on it!  I think to myself, “to bad I don’t like McDonald’s, as I would not mind trying one of these burgers”.  Here I lose my companions.

Exiting out onto the street I look around not knowing where to go.  I enter another building, a trap door opens and I find myself sliding down a circular steel chute.  Just ahead on me is a live animal encased in the clear plastic pod.  I do not know what it is but it resembles a Wombat or Tasmanian Devil.  Sliding at great speed through the tunnel I am terrified for a second when just in front of me a large steel blade appears from the wall slicing the pod and animal in half in a split second.  Inexplicably the pod and animal are still intact.

My fall from the chute ends on the floor of a sorting room.  Here in a small room with old wooden shelves against the wall a Chinese man is sorting through a floor literally covered with these animals.  So many that my way to the door is blocked.  The man is furious I am there and we begin to fight as I try to escape.  I wrestle with him, bashing the back of his head against the corner of the shelf.  Do I have a gun I could use?  He now has an electric drill but somehow it ends up in his leg.

Escaping onto the street I have no idea where I am.  The road here is rises steeply to the left.  Opposite are Chinese business traders.  Reminiscent of the colonial built waterfront shops of Singapore.  Above to my left is a freeway suspension bridge and to the bottom of the hill dock lands.  Great, First day at work and I will probably get the sack.

Constantly during the dream I have been checking the aerial on my phone as it is half broken (which it is really) and will be useless if it breaks completely.

Thursday 19th May 1998.

I have been out with a high school friend Russell P and we are walking along Maroondah Highway across the hill towards Croydon.  It does not look like how I remember it.  To my left are unusual stone brown sandstone formations.  Boulders strangely stacked up or leaning one against the other.  Russell remarks to me of a sense impression he has of two boulders that a shaped like breast.

I know that around these parts are a lot of Hindu Temples buried in the ground.  Looking down I find the arm of a statue made from a grey granite.  Digging down I find lying in the dirt, totally neglected is a statue of Kala Bhairava[4].  Continuing to dig around it I pull up a club, a trishul and a spear[5].  A boy comes down the street from the other direction.  I am a bit concerned about someone seeing me take this statue, but they have been vandalised and neglected.  At least I can restore it.

A man like a travelling circus performer comes along.  He is doing a song and dance show on the other side of the highway but I wish he would just go away.  Digging again and more people come along.  Young people in a Kombi Van asking me some questions.  Someone says something to me about religion.  I remark, “don’t give that crap, I have a degree in Religious Studies”.

I finally uncover the statue and find that someone has ground off the face from the head and a bronze plate has been screwed on where the face would have been. I pull the statue from the mud, along with a base plate and the rear section of the statue.  I am lying in the dirt looking at the traffic going past trying to guard what I am doing.

Saturday 23rd May 1998.

I am at a holiday bungalow somewhere.  Overhead fly a series of World War Two allied aircraft.  A P51 Mustang, two Boomerangs and either an Avenger or a Corsair.  I am amazed to see these old aircraft flying.  The Corsair/Avenger crashes to the ground bursting into flames.  Trying to put the flames out, the pilot has been burnt to death.  Of his body, his face has been burnt off though his hair remains untouched.  It is my duty to collect the bones, which are a stony brown and place them within the bungalow.

The second dream here is less specific.  Again I am with my high school friend Russell P and I think also Phillip S is there.  We are in either Uruguay or Paraguay on a backpacking tour.  It is cold and mountainous.  I do not like the cold and regret going there.  It isn’t a pleasant place and the government is repressive.  There are stories of torture and I have a brief vision of a man pinned against a wall with a needle on a steel thread that find their way through his skin holding him to the wall.  Somehow he is going to be released.

Now I am on a bicycle in the same area travelling around.  We meet a friend, Andrew and his wife.  They are living in a run down house, explaining to me how hard it is too make a living.  Asking how much a cramped run down property cost, they tell me $100.00.

Now I have gotten out of a car, but have lost my two friends.  I hope I can find them so I can get out of here as I am heading down a hill to the beachfront.  I see a fat Greek or Italian woman playing with children.  I am riding on a narrow path on a pushbike asking people how far it is to the most southern tip of South America.

Somehow I or someone else has ended up in the same place as the man pinned to the wall with steel needles and threads.  However he is no longer there, he has been released.  Another man I am with is grabbed by some sort of metal forks that enter his throat, coming out the back of his neck pulling him against the wall.  Steel needles and threads go through his skin, winding around him to pin him to the wall.  Now this could be me but I am not too sure if it is.  Multitudes of steel threaded needles come flying out from a wall through my skin, my head penetrating all through my body.  They weave their way around my body pulling tighter.  Is it me?  They drag me not to the wall but lift to suspend me in mid air.  The other man also has a threaded needle the size of a large nail going through his forehead and into the wall behind.

Tuesday 2nd June 1998.

I first part of this dream I am not too sure of.  I am standing at the top of the street where I grew up, outside the primary school on the corner of Everard and Holland Road.  I am with a then school friend David C.  Down Everard Road comes a very over length tray truck.  It is driving so erratically that the tail swings out smashing into power poles on either side of the road.  The driver returns deliberately smashing into other power poles around the intersection.

David and I stand there horrified as the driver takes off giving us a mean look, coming to a stop at a nearby house.  We jump the school fence and run across the top and bottom oval, the driver screaming at us to come back.  I know that he is deliberately doing this damage so that the developers can come in.  Running as fast as we can, the man is chasing us.  He is getting closer and I am getting puffed out.

Getting to the bottom fence we decide to split up.  David going right down King Street to his home and I down Holland Road to mine.  I do not want to lead this man to my house as I do not want him to return.  Still chasing me I jump the small white fence out the front of the neighbours house.  Standing at the bottom there is the driver and another man, both have longish blonde hair and in their twenties.  I don’t know if I am about to get a beating.  The owner of the house comes out standing on the patio above us.  He intimidates them to leave me alone and them to leave his property.

Thursday 4th June 1998.

I arrive home.  I am living in a caravan with Sue, we have been broken into, stereo, CD’s gone.  We thought we had sealed the caravan properly.  We had previously dropped off a woman with a child.  ‘When you walk through the trees, it was not obvious to see, but there it was’, the van.  Unlocking the door the whole place has been trashed.  Everything of value has been taken.

Wednesday 17th June 1998.

I am somewhere that resembles Melbourne.  I am with my father staying at what I think is a Youth Hostel in the city.  I am looking to buy a new aerial for my mobile phone, as it is broken.  Underneath the rubber tip is the tiny brass phallic shaped head.  In a square tray on the ground is a choice of aerials.

I see an attractive blonde haired woman there[6].  She is in the company of three men, one I think is a companion.  The other two I do not know their motivation or purpose.  They have long black hair and beards.  I talk to her for a while and then she walks off to a small room or compartment, only with the two men I think.

Fiddling with the broken aerial I manage to pull of the broken one and replace it with the new aerial.  I go to search for the girl, as I fear for her safety, that she has been bound or even sexually assaulted.  I find her crying, very distressed but glad to be away from these men.  “Tell him, tell him who we are”, she yells at the men.  Instantly I am aware of who they are.

“I know who you are”, I say, “you are all pagans[7]”.  This is all right.  She sits on my knee comforted by the thought that not only have I saved here but have recognised her for what she is.  This woman I have developed a rapport with.

Friday 31st June 1998.

I am in the old Oxford Hotel in Leederville.  I have been having a few drinks but it is time to go.  A couple of women come in and are talking.  There are other people there also.  I think that my sunglasses have been stolen as I only find a broken pair on the floor, looking around, one of the girls finds them.

As I am talking to one of the girls and old man comes in, sitting down opposite me next to one of the girls.  I have my motorcycle and are preparing to leave.  I think, perhaps I am at another pub, strange I feel I have visited this pub in dreams previous[8].  Sitting there with the man I notice he is dressed in black and has an asian appearance.  I take him to be either a Zen or Vietnamese monk.  I put my hand together in a traditional honorific greeting.

He is continuing to tell his life story to the girl next to me.  I realise all of a sudden that he is not an Asian man but an old western man.  He tells me his name but it evades me now.  A…Alister?  Something like that with a Polish or European last name.  He is an amazing and interesting man, all the things he has done in his life.  He has with him photographs of everywhere he has been and everything he has done.

He shows me the pictures black and whites from the Second World War.  Two of them stand out.  Buried beneath the ice somewhere are B25 bombers.  He tells me the story of how they dug down and found them buried under the ice.  The second photo is in the jungle somewhere, images of maimed and wounded people left by the Japanese.  A particularly horrific image is of bamboo enclosure about twice the height of a man.  What has happened is that men have been lied down within the enclosure and stacked one on top of another.  Left there to die with arms and legs protruding.  At the bottom are rotting corpse and at the top those who have died only recently.  In another photo a soldier lies dead who has been disembowelled.

Contrasting this are brightly colored photos of Hollywood taken during the 1930’s and 40’s.  I am taken by the bright colors in these photos.  One that stands out is of a canary yellow building that looks like an auditorium, with bright red girders and trim on the exterior.

The man says that he must be going and as he prepares to go I see a man with a push car, similar to what the crippled use.  The man has changed into a brown suit, white shirt and tie.  I am quite startled by the change in his appearance.  He is quite dapper and matter of fact about his life.  But he does have things to do and so must be going.  Somewhere in here I also see an open dish of water.

Monday 8th July 1998. 3.30am.

I am at an unknown beach.  As a monument to something an old submarine is up on the sand as a remembrance of something past.  Going over to it I find that the inside the bulkhead is being sealed up.  Inside, in a room behind the steel door that is to be welded shut I am told is a young girl.  I become upset and horrified, it is wrong to do this and demanding that they cannot do it.  No, this is not right.

I plead and plead for them for them to unseal the inner bulkhead.  This they do and I step into a small steel chamber where I find the young girl.  She is no more than four or five with short black hair.  She is lying in a room filled with assorted pillows, quilts and blankets.  She does not appear to be fully aware or conscious of what is happening to her.  I comfort her, spreading out the blankets as a bed so that she may at least be comfortable.

Without speaking she crawls into the bed.  I once more comfort her before kissing her goodnight (goodbye?) then leaving.  The inner bulkhead is sealed and the remaining area is too be filled with sand.  I leave and not too far away there are people crying.  I see a distraught and upset woman.  She is around thirty with long blonde hair, I take her to be the child’s mother.

Turning again to face the sub I am further horrified to see the outer bulkhead is also being welded shut.  They are going to leave her there!  Such a harrowing and distressing scene.  I did not think that they would really leave her in there and if so only overnight.  This is wrong, this is wrong, why are they doing this?  I awake 3.30am.

·        Postscript: what is the purpose of the unconscious using such wretched and distressing imagery?  I feel neither fear nor horror within this imagery itself but by design it is an affront by the unconscious.  An assault on ‘I’.  Given that its contents are both profound and dramatic I must conclude that there a meaning behind it.  For what purpose does it serve?  This imagery leaves me to postulate that within or beyond the unconscious there is separate ‘will to being’ that is neither ego, id or I.

Monday 24th August 1998.

I am with a group of people in the city of Calcutta.  Some of them I know from uni, one I recognise is a woman that is sits opposite me where I am working at the moment..  We are in Sudder St but the building I am in is a run down version of the office block where I work.  In real life this woman that sits opposite me and I have an antagonistic working relation relationship.  There is always a degree of tension lying beneath the social conventions and exchanges within the work environment.

She has been asked to go and start another job, as an illustrator of children’s books.  In this story Hitler does not die but retires to Ireland as a farmer.  A picture shows him dressed in green, Robin Hood style leaning on a hoe.  I think to myself, “I have trouble with this historical revisionism” and then “I never knew that she could draw”.

Standing outside in the muddy streets, there is an overpass.  I see that someone has been run over earlier on.  A Muslim on the overpass throws himself off into the traffic below[9].  Lying there I wonder if anyone is going to take any notice of him.  A small crowd begins to mill around and I see him carried away on a stretcher.

A procession of people comes past.  They could be lepers, but they aren’t protesting against something[10].  What catches my attention is a girl with white skin and a young child.  On closer inspection I see that her face is white but her arms are brown.  I wonder if she is just wearing a lot of make-up?

Now sitting out the front of a building I say to a couple of guys, one I think that I was in India with last year that we should get out and explore the place.  We will go down to the Hoogly River and then up to Chowringee.  Walking down through the muddy and slippery alleyways we walk past a pair of human legs that are the color red!  Joined only by sinew at the groin they lie rotting on the pavement

Coming to the banks of the river I am surprised to see how clean the water is from the last time in 1984.  I can see reeds growing in the sandy bottom.  At the edge in the shallows are men sitting on small trestles doing washing, there are quite a lot of people around here.

Just before walking down here a young girl comes downstairs from a market or business upstairs.  I take her to be Indian.  She is wearing the shortest green sparkling dress and short dark hair, very lovely.  She briskly walks off into the distance to talk to someone else.  Comes back, goes upstairs, comes back down and puts on a pair of glasses and walks away.  Another girl also wearing a short skirt is there.  I think to myself, “I don’t know how they get away walking around dressed like that in a city like this.

Walking up to Chowringee through the alleyways we again pass the rotting red legs and I begin to dry retch.  Further along are the left overs of another corpse.  The skull lying in some sludge still has some flesh attached.  I am retching pretty badly by this time.  Walking back onto the crowded main thoroughfare of Chowringee I wake up.

Monday 24thAugust 1998 (Midnight).

I am in the white escort van I had when I was 18.  I am at the small fishing township of Seabird north of Perth.  I appear to be travelling around Australia but do not know which way to go.  I think I must be a bit drunk. To drive or not to drive that is the question.  Sitting at the beach car park I can see some men arguing in a building nearby.

I go to get in the car and as I close the door, in the darkness (it is night) I am aware of a presence in the rear of the van.  Reaching around I am surprised to find it is a large black crow.  I push it out of the door and turning back I find another, then another.  Approximately five crows hiding in the darkness behind me.  They squeak and squawk as I push them out of the door.

Thursday 3rd September 1998.

I am in New York City.  I have received a grant or have been financed to go and study there.  I am doing or participating in some sort of research.  I am waiting for a lift.  I am staying with a family I think, I have a name but again I cannot quite remember it.  Sitting in a bar I go outside the front to wait.

Outside are a group of four or five men immaculately groomed.  All dressed in grey suits and over six foot tall.  They are pushing around a group of people, cajoling and hurting them.  I yell at them, “hey you stop that”.  They pause for a minute to turn to me.  I am with my wife and I say, “oh, oh, I think we should get out of here”.  We move quickly to our old green Cortina that we used to have.

One man with short peroxide blonde hair approaches me.  It appears he is going to push or grab me and I duck, throwing him over my shoulder to the ground.  He lands on his neck and shoulders, sits up and says to me, “hey, you could have broken my neck”.  I say to Sue emphatically, “get in car and drive, get in the car and drive”.

I jump into the passenger seat but she does not seem to be worried at all about our predicament.  As we drive off she has even forgotten to close the drivers side door.  I cannot believe her attitude to this.  I guess those three months of Kung Fu lessons did not go to waste.

Somehow I end up in the families house I am meant to be staying with.  I am in their son’s room watching some movie on TV.  It appears to be Halloween as they are dressed up.  The father comes in the room.  I think I must have run into him as I was fleeing the men and was bought back here.

I explain the father who I am and why I am here and it turns out this is the family I am meant to be staying with.  As the conversation proceeds he says to me reticently, “Oh this is me alright, but I do not know who you are.  You can though stay here for a few nights”.  Another man enters the room, not too dissimilar to the man I threw.  However this one is wearing a suite of olive green and is asking me also about what has happened.  I mention the men and the one that I threw.  He could be now thinking about it the man I threw.

When I mention about the five tall grey men he start laughing nervously.  “Ho ho, now you’re in trouble, do you know who they are?”  Strange, he knows who they are but wont tell me.  He also knows who I am but does not know why I am there.  The father does not know who I am, but I know that I am supposed to be there.  The other man says to me, “they’re going to find you, there is no escaping the grey men”.  I wake up confused.  The name Mitch Canneston or something similar lying at the back of my mind.

Monday 14th September 1998.

I am somewhere in (Northern?) Tasmania.  I am with a group of people living in three small tents.  We are on some sort of research expedition lasting either three months or three years.  Where we are is on a grassy plain between a sharply rising mountain in one direction and in the other a lake.  I can see reeds surrounding the lake.  The other way is to the steep rock face of the mountain.  Outcrops of trees and plants grow in the crevices of the black/brown stone.  This mountain can be climbed.  From a great height, a narrow rivulet becomes a waterfall crashing to a stone slab below[11].

Tuesday 15th September 1998.  1.45am.

I am at a cricket game somewhere in inner Perth.  I think I have rode by bicycle there.  The ground is an old one.  The old wooden stand painted in an off white with green towers.  It is known that a comet or meteor is going to impact on the earth today.  People just seem to be going about their business.  I must be a functionary at this game.  As it starts to rain fairly heavily a man I am with tells me to go and get the yellow raincoats and hats out of the car.  I feel silly wearing one of these, they were definitely not designed with fashion in mind.

There is an explosion in the sky and as I look overhead I see the most majestic sight.  A giant fireball thundering across the sky.  Such is the size of this awesome object that I can see burning debris trailing off it turning the sky black.  I would say it is the size of a twenty-cent piece held at arms length.

As it disappears over the horizon I fear it will come down on the east coast.  It appears so low that I thought it would come down within one hundred miles of Perth.  Someone tells me it is supposed to come down in the Himalayan region of India and it is the size of a ten-story building.

Wednesday 14th October 1998.

I am walking along Maroondah Hwy in Ringwood, heading towards town.  As I look over to my right instead of suburbia is a large valley filled with houses that extends for some distance and up to quite a height.  I am on my way to somewhere else and coming to the top of the hill I see the most marvellous sight.  Descending from a great height is a waterfall crashing down on to rocks below, then running off into a river.  The fall would be around a 200 feet in height.  It is quite beautiful and distracts me from my destination.  I make it down a hill path at some speed, like I am on a skateboard or something similar.

At the bottom I go past the waterfall there is a steep cliff face that is the end of the ravine, the river runs from the bottom of the waterfall here.  To my left now is a Shell Service Station and inside is a bar.  I go in an a number of people are drinking.  There is nothing here for me so I leave.  Outside a lot of Indian people are milling around in this part of town.  Now outside I am near the ravine wall.

Carved into the yellow-red stone are stairs that lead up into a cave.  I watch an Indian woman ascend the stairs, curious I follow her.  They are very steep and narrow stairs with no rails.  Climbing up further and further I come to a heavy wooden door with a lock, it is painted the same color as the stone.  Initially difficult to see as I wonder where the woman could have gone to, before noticing the door.  First I push the door and then I pull the door thinking it must be locked, but then I releases.  The stairs continue to ascend in the darkness.  On and on I climb appearing suddenly on an open plateau at the top of the cliff.

There is a group of people here and the ground is covered in green grass.  The land descends into a small V shaped valley.  This area is no more than fifty square metres.  Here, in this place, white and black people have come to watch the eagles feed.  The adult bird is feeding its young prey that it has caught.  There is also a glass barrier surrounding the birds.  Children can push their faces against the glass within inches of the feeding birds.  All the adults sit on the grass to watch.

I turn to one side and a bit further up the hill is another eagle, very large and dead on the ground.  Two other eagles come to feed on the corpse, tearing of pieces of flesh.  I continue to wander and I see the river leading to the waterfall extends back across stone flatlands and into hill far in the distance.  One day I will have to return here and follow the river to its source.  I cannot understand how down below is filled with houses and yet up here is open space.

There are other animals here, dogs I think but cannot be sure.  They are about to be fed.  Hundreds of tiny frill neck lizards descend on the scene and are consumed by these animals.  As I go to leave I notice a row of very small caves that were once used by ascetics, however they have now been boarded up.

Leaving I descend to the bottom of the cliff where I see and Indian woman cooking parathas.  She is dressed in western clothes as opposed to ones in traditional dress at the top of the cliff.  Other people to come around.  It is getting late, I should be heading to my original destination.

Friday 18th October 1998.

I am in the small township of Mundijong just south of Perth.  This Mundijong is not like the actual.  This one is located on the highway and there are buildings on either side of the main road.  Large trucks rumble through the town every few minutes.  I am walking around the small side streets.  Sue is somewhere as well and I have been to one or two pubs in the town.  As in wander I see an aboriginal woman walking along and we seem to be heading in the same direction.  As I get closer to her be strike up a conversation.  I find her incredibly interesting and attractive also.  I ask her her name, it is Ruby.  As I talk to this woman I feel in the back of my mouth is one large loose tooth.  Walking along it comes out in my hand.  Looking at it I can see the root still attached to the tooth.  Just before parting company I remark on how pretty she is, too which she shyly laughs.  I ask if she would like to have a drink with me later on, telling here which hotel I will be in.

Walking back up to the main road I see another hotel and for some reason Sue and I may have to stay overnight.  Looking over to my right is a Big W Variety Store and out the front are all sorts of plants and farming supplies, this being a rural area.  I go to another hotel, an old two storey building.  I ask the woman there at the desk who is either hard of hearing or cannot understand me what the price of a room is overnight.  I hear $5.00 but she really means $25.00.  For some reason I have all of these chairs with me that I got out of the car and I am informed that I cannot keep them there.

I find Sue and as I speak to her I can feel more teeth coming loose in my mouth.  I cup my hands and spit the teeth into them.  I stop and as I again begin to speak but more teeth come loose and I spit them out.  This time though I am not as distressed as I know my teeth have all come out in previous dreams.

Sunday December 6th 1998.

The beginning of this dream is a bit foggy, but it seems everyone is losing there partners, mainly through relationship breakdowns.  I is strange though the choice of women that men are now being ‘assigned’.  One man I know but whose name I cannot recall is with a black woman of Ethiopian appearance.  I have also lost Sue for reasons that are unclear, but it not an issue to be on my own at this time.

I take my two sons to India.  I want them to experience Varanasi.  Riding in a rickshaw down to the Ghats we stop in the market for the short walk to the stairs leading down to the river.  Another man in a rickshaw stops behind us.  He is also returning but is shocked at what is happening on the edge of the river at Dasadwamedh Ghat.  A colorful poster on a wall advertises what is happening.  Elephants are being slaughtered down there, this is not what I brought my sons to see.

At the waters edge I see that men have hacked off the trunk from a live elephant, it staggers around blood streaming out.  Its jawbone hangs agape and exposed.  Other men hack up the carcasses of the animals and distribute the meat.  I decide to take my sons away from this place.  In a boat we row upstream to where Aurangzeb’s Mosque is on the hill at Panchaganga Ghat.  Crocodiles follow close to the boat.  Could they be garwals?  We make our way back into the bazaars of the old city. My son wants to by things here but I must teach him to choose carefully and not to accept the first price given.

Friday December 11th 1998.

I cannot remember all the details of this dream but it is both interesting and disturbing.  A hole has been drilled in my stomach just above the navel.  A bit less than a centimetre its circumference is both sharp and well defined.  This I show to my sister?  Two large black worms are fed into my belly through the hole.  Slightly disturbed I only begin to get distressed as a succession of very long and thin white worms emerge from the hole, driven from my insides.