A Dream for Elon Musk (Part 1, revised 2021)

A Dream for Elon Musk (Part 1, revised 2021)

Part 1, revised

By 

Tony Hawkins

1. August 1966.    

King’s Cross Station. Steam trains loudly hissing. A voice whispers in my ear. 

‘My cold ears listen to the spirit of the mist wind who whispers of the mist and the sea.’ 

Two weeks later, back in London, I write that sentence. No idea what the next will be. Suddenly I’m on a ship running guns to rebels in a distant future post apocalypse world. The mist opens revealing a mountain sized, triple peaked blue building called Megadan built by long departed aliens, the Tolem. At its foot is a huge stone avalanche chute protecting a town called Meganta, which the wider world knows as Abertown, meaning socially aberrant descendants of mutated survivors of nuclear war. 

After that glimpse we go into a flashback of a young woman, the destined leader of this warrior civilisation, who had lost her mind over her brother’s death and had gone on a suicidal mission of vengeance to provoke a final war with the feared and hated global administration, known as Eugenics. Not all of this came in a flash, but the setting of Megadan, the Avalanche Chute and Abertown certainly did. The narrator, a man from Venus – this was before we knew Venus was HOT – was in deeply destinied love with the girl and now she was dead he had no reason to live other than his own suicidal revenge. I was setting the story up to be an endless, Iliad-like battle. If Homer could do it so could I. I was not shy in these matters.

Tipi – named after Tippi Hedren of Hitchcock’s The Birds – later called Elona Taeon for the gravitas – was driving a truck full of explosives – a homage to the Wages of Fear – through the uninhabitable Black Mountains, to blow up a dam and release a sea of mud upon a strategic garrison town. As her journey progresses she becomes increasingly reluctant because of the children who will die. Nature intervenes. Rockfalls and snowstorms and one evening, bogged down by snow, she goes for a walk. Suddenly she is dancing and I have no idea why. I draw her into me. Her head is above mine and rising away. A thin golden thread is about to pop out of my head and be forever gone. I grab the very end with imaginary pincers and pull it down. A bronze shield slots into my head and I understand everything. Quickly I wrote 500 words on Total Love, which totally supports everything. She decides that means it’s ok to blow the dam. I am appalled. For four days we struggled and finally I stopped writing. After six weeks and 136,000 words, both she, the character, and I, the writer had ground to a halt because of the children.

At this time I lived without radio, television or newspapers. I simply wrote. Finally I gave up and went to the pub. As I opened the door the television seemed to blare the word ‘Aberfan’. A coal tip, described as triple peaked, had slid and buried the school at Aberfan in Wales killing all the children present. I noted twelve striking points of similarity with my story including triple peaked Megadan and the Avalanche Chute protecting Abertown. The Black Mountains in Wales are near Aberfan. I’d walked in them and though they were nothing like my wild, rugged desert mountains, they naturally floated on the edge of my mind as I wrote this.

I panicked and took the manuscript to the first publisher in the telephone book. Nothing came of it but the woman who took possession became a good friend.

The resumed main story bore a startling resemblance to the Arab-Isreali Six Day War of 1967. Photographs of lines of vehicles abandoned in the desert resembled my next round of imaginings. A dry canal bed rather than water-filled Suez. It was the last time I chose to write stories glorifying war. A hard choice for a simple future-cannon-fodder male of those times passively awaiting nuclear Armageddon.

That the following is a direct copy of an old manuscript is indicated by the double spaces between sentences, which has not been the fashion for decades. Of course it could easily be faked but you will have to learn to trust me. This will be easier when I’ve told you enough that is provably true. The stakes are far far too high for me to have any interest in deception. Somewhere trust must enter the landscape, a point of balance between dimensional realities which matures people enough to carry the race into the future.

 

It is 1968.  I am sitting on the bed writing rapidly in a notebook.  I wrote far more than the following quote.  I must have been sitting for hours on the bed scrawling away.  I can’t understand why I’m not using the typewriter.  It is possible I had just woken from a dream and the ideas are running too hot to stop even for a moment.  It is a later part of the story which had been halted by Aberfan and the 6-day war. The ruler of a future Earth, Clarkson Enderby, lives in Memphis at the top of a white tower which he can never leave.  He rules Earth through a great machine, which talks to him and gives him information.  It is also his jailor.  If he tried to leave, the machine would kill him.  Clarkson realises he is in love with the Enemy (Tipi’s mother) the matriarchal leader of a wild and annoying tribe in the West.  The machine is actually getting around to arguing that he should leave, that he and the Enemy should get together.  It is ‘unthinkable’ that this should happen. 

I feel it is worth quoting what the Machine actually said in 1968. It is not science but nor was it common thought at the time. It is storytelling. It becomes science where it touches something alive in the inner totality. 

Curiously, in the latest cosmological theories, the Gravitational Force of Repulsion is seen as eventually tearing the universe apart.  As far as I know this idea had no meaning whatever in 1968.  

‘The Gravitational Force of Repulsion means that matter turns to pure energy – an inconceivable state of energy.  In order to make an experiment you must contain a certain quantity of matter in a condition that isolates it from all other matter.  The only possible way to do this is to isolate it through time and the only way to transcend the time dimension is through the living mind of man.  If you can isolate a piece of matter in time through the medium of the mind of man you can conduct the experiment.  But where do you isolate it?  All the universe exists at every point of time to which you can isolate it, therefore there must be a condition which we will call Absolute Time in which state all matter is destroyed and Absolute Time, by its very name, is everything from the Beginning to the Ending, therefore all matter exists in a state of perpetual destruction, therefore does it even exist?  Particularly considering the Enemy told me she has already conducted the experiment, which means somewhere the universe has ended.  The trick lies in the Containment Field, which is the infinite mind of Man.  The process works two ways.  Mind takes matter and makes it infinite, vestiges of which can be seen as what you do with thought.  Conversely the infinite can be taken and contained as matter through the medium of mind.  But men, as they have been until now, have nothing like the full use of mind, they are rather like creations of mind themselves and until the Enemy’s communication of a few days ago I thought Man was a very lowly creature in the absolute scale of things.  I now have to change my opinion.  Man’s only fault, it seems, is his unawareness of the truth about himself.  I am now satisfied that there exists on this planet a being capable of the creation and destruction of matter.  Therefore there is only one conclusion, Man is the creator of the universe.’

Just as I wrote that a singing blue sphere appeared above my head – this is real now, not imagined.  Inside were two singing blue beings.  There was a column of light pouring down on me and the sphere began to settle down around me like a balloon or parachute.   I felt as if it would swallow me up and take me away.  I sat very still willing it to stay up, to not descend, and after about half a minute it rose and disappeared.  It was the most extraordinary thing that had ever happened to me and it remarkably emphasised the statement, “Man is creator of the universe.”   After my brutal early Catholic indoctrination this, even at the age of 26, was not a thought I was at all comfortable with, was even unthinkable.  However, I had just thought it, and with such an astonishing result.

2. The Face of God, September 1968.

I was remembering a dream when it came alive. I was walking back into it.

At each stage I asked “What is here?” “And what is here?”

Eventually I came to a black, empty space. To my question the voice replied “Spiders.”

“Spiders?” I said.

“Spiders,” said a quizzical voice from the darkness. A powerful woman approached, gripped my elbow and said firmly in my ear. 

“In fact, I can imitate you a life, if you want it.” 

The space lightened. filled with greenish, coppery clouds containing something awesome and alone, like the ultimate mountain summit. I felt it must be God. I didn’t want to see God lonely.

The clouds cleared and there appeared the back of a male titan of immense height with skin like polished gold. 

‘I’ thought, “Moses saw God’s back parts, I wonder if I can see his face.”

I rose around the image. It turned, becoming fleshy, huge bellied, like a vastly pregnant woman. His eyes were black sockets. Cheeks were two bodies of black, hairy spiders. The nose was like a tiny white plant-root in the shape of a raised elephant’s trunk. His large, spikily uncombed head seemed simple-minded whilst possessing huge, sleeping intelligence. A little woman appeared behind him at the level of his head but only a quarter of his height. She had loose, finely wrinkled skin, and her face, very round, had shadowy features, as though mouth and eyes were covered with strips of tape. She appeared, did a little hopping step and vanished.’

This was September of 68. I’d written a Moon related piece that summer which ended  “I shall be two billion years old next July 20th.”

In December ‘68 men orbited the Moon and took the famous photograph of the half Earth rising.

In the Spring of 1969 I was sitting in my kitchen writing. The newly risen full Moon was staring in the window. I joined it in stillness, watching, imagining the three astronauts in their tiny craft. Suddenly I saw the face of the Moon as the face of the little woman. The man four times her size must be the Earth, his huge belly the sunlit side we’d seen for the first time, photographed from Apollo. The huge golden one—the sun or the stars, the cosmos itself. This fits with the metallic appearance of what Jung called the Cosmic Christ, which I first read in 1972.

‘I awoke and saw . . . the figure of Christ on the Cross . . . his body was of greenish gold.”

On 20th July men landed on the Moon. As he stepped off the LEM Armstrong said. 

“‘t’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.”

Striving to be exact I’d written of the little woman nine months earlier.

‘Small but ponderous, like a giantess, taking one jolly little leaping step forward.’ 

The spacesuits resembled her wrinkled skin and globed head. Her movement matched the ponderous, floaty astronaut walk and ‘Buzz’ Aldrin’s jolly leaping. The little woman’s disappearance after one leaping step suggested the Moon landing as a step into nothing. From so far in the future the image feels horribly prescient.

Looking back from 2019 I now see the opening of the Aberfan story as a completely related face of God. The whispered message in my right ear, the clearing clouds revealing Megadan, the Avalanche Chute and Abertown. And what is the bronze shield girl’s head of Total Love other than a live inner experience?

&

In 2008 I joined the International Association for the Study of Dreams. 

On 15th July 2009 I posted a dream to Jean Campbell’s group.

3.

“I am going to sing a song at a national venue like the Albert Hall. From accepting that I would sing I gradually become aware that I couldn’t. We are in the basement of a great public building, an awkward sort of place and I couldn’t see most of the people I would be singing to. They are around corners, under the stairs, behind walls. One man walked between the places, around the corner, from the little area under the stairs where stood the raised chair on which I’d sing. He comes out into the open beyond the now bare concrete stairs, always carrying his guitar, looking charismatic and manly, walking towards me. A tweed suit lends him the appearance of a wild Sherlock Holmes. If he wasn’t already he became Dave Russell, a poet singer I knew from as long ago as the late Sixties. I began to say I couldn’t sing the song, he must. As I woke I knew my singing would be pathetic, I didn’t know the words and I couldn’t play the guitar. That was a definite relief but sad too. Throughout the dream I had been carrying a guitar just like Dave.” 

I last knew Dave Russell in 1968/9.

A week later, on or around Apollo’s 40th anniversary, Janet of the IASD group came from Spain for a few days to visit relatives and we took the opportunity to meet. We visited the Freud Museum, walked across Hampstead Heath, lunched at Highgate and caught the Northern Line for King’s Cross. 

We were entering the rush hour with a constant stream of people onto the escalators. As we ascended to the Mainline Station the back of the man in front of me looked uncannily familiar. At the top I stepped in front of him and before I could speak he said “Dave Russell.” Janet had come up on the other side of him and witnessed this. He gave me his email. Despite the occasional try by me we have not met again, a period which is now 50 years. The odds against a dream targeting one second in fifty years are astronomically gigantic. Over a billion seconds, three billion passengers. If one person had stepped between us, if I had been a gentleman and let Janet go in front, I would never have seen him. 

(And if you reduce the time frame to a week, 600,000 seconds and two million passengers, there is something perverse in considering this fully explained in a four dimensional statistical framework when modern science has been speculating in multiple dimensions for over a hundred years.) 

This is one of hundreds of synchronistic dreams I’ve had but few are ever witnessed. Now, in IASD, I’ve met numerous people with similar experiences. The result is a world view in which the paranormal is a new normal. From dream precognition; synchronicities, particularly involving creative work, and group dreaming including the Social Dreaming Matrix run by the Tavistock Institute** I have come to the conclusion that the mind hidden from consciousness and which communicates to us through dreaming has a nature which bypasses the logical processing which we call intelligence. It already knows.

In my experience precognition is an integral part of the dream’s intelligent matrix. In this dream my conscious self had no song to sing to you until real Dave brought it to me. 

** This is no longer true. Since 2019 and the untimely death of Nuala Flynn, the Social Dreaming Matrix has escaped the Tavistock’s tight control and I had some small hand in this. It might have died with Nuala. Others were willing to let it go. For a brief time I was the connecting thread for the London group. Then came the Pandemic and Zoom.

4.

The night before the election of Donald Trump, 8th November 2016, I had the following dream.

OFF TO THE SPACE STATION (O2TSS)

“I was just off for a six month tour in the space station. I haven’t packed any clothes and we’re going now. I ask my local UK astronautical community can I borrow some, even anybody’s, old underpants would be better than just the pair I’m wearing. Nobody in my immediate astronautical group is responding, so I go into another large room where are support staff. I ask but nobody responds here either but here I am aware that we will be going to somewhere like Southampton for training. I can go to the shops. I’m impressed that I will be buying all new clothes and can afford to. I’m back in the other room talking to a large Russian looking cosmonaut in a spacesuit, helmetless. He’s sitting beside a much smaller, identically clad and coloured woman. I say are we really going for six months? He affirms but he also says three and a half years. He has a faraway look in his eye.”

The rest of Part 1 is what I wrote in 2019 prior to events in 2020. It shows I have no more idea what is going to happen than anyone else. It is a gamble that anything will happen related to this dream.

“In this dream I see my individual story connecting with the old loincloths of religion and the all new clothes of natural truth. And the emperor is there somewhere and the naked God of 1968. Again we have an astronautical connection between a big man and a little woman both of them round like planets in their spacesuits. Later I considered Donald Trump whose shocking victory was perhaps suggested by his larger size. Their hair was the reddy-yellow colour of his hair and Mars. Three and a half years is a likely round trip to Mars. I wondered about a joint Russian-US venture Trump, the showman, might favour? Three years later nothing like this has happened. What no one knew at the time was of Russian interference in the election, a story which came to dominate the global conversation.

Three and a half years from his election takes us to Spring of 2020. Regarding possible precognition, you are all now potential witnesses. The event might be something in the presidency of Trump or a return to the Moon or something else. In my experience a precognition is never a simple prediction of temporal fact but is embedded like a jewelled motif in the higher dimensional totality of the cosmic crown.

We are in crisis. There is danger of extinction through uncontrollable technologies and corruption. Profit driven corporations develop artificial super intelligence. Google’s transition from a useful search engine to corporate marketplace indicates the tendency towards mindless oblivion.

If Nature has innate super intelligence, as indicated by these dreams, then it must be indispensable to life. 

My experience suggests that dreams exist on a continuum similar to the electromagnetic spectrum, part of which we experience as colour. So we are naturally tuned to dreams as information, personal, collective and cosmic. One way of developing beneficial super AI could be through its application to the study of dreams. If natural and artificial intelligence both function at a quantum level, then it may be the most natural thing for the universal intelligence to become apparent to us through a type of quantum machine.

Something had the wisdom to know the innermost truth of the Moon landings and the Russian involvement in the US election. Dave Russell allows me to sing my song to IASD, one group who might do something about it. In the God dream it is the woman who, from a place of dark power, creates the god. This is probably one of the clues to a lasting civilisation, where female power is recognised and shines like the sun instead of adapting to the darkness of a mutant patriarchy. 

A symbiosis between the feminine and a super intelligent Dream Machine would wholly respect life. It wouldn’t encourage inhuman goals over living people. It would reveal all as unique spirits and so encourage that within us. Far from being a disaster the super intelligent machine could be the real beginning of properly humane civilisation. It is a huge challenge with the biggest obstacle being the power obsessed and corrupted mind which is going to create it. It built the HubbleTelescope and the Large Hadron Collider to investigate the material universe. If it could build a similar machine to investigate our living inner world we would find a universe far more extraordinary and rewarding. 

For scientists who can’t cope with the soft science they will be building for in engineering our future, consider this proposal as imaginative lubricant like Harry Potter and remember, Harry Potter was conceived on a train heading for that most improbable temple of magic, Kings Cross Station. Once notorious for drugs and prostitution, the area is being spectacularly regenerated. Pretty new offices for Google and the Guardian and Observer newspapers, St Martins huge art college and the new British Library nearby not to mention hovering Hogwarts. I find it an inspiring place to walk around now. Future magic is whispering.*** 

***(In the 2/3 years since I wrote this, post lockdowns, late 2021, The gloss had gone off the acquired rosy view our civilisation had gained for me in the 21st century. The Internet now seemed more a curse than a blessing.)

The time has come for science to lower its guard and listen to what our deep mind is saying. It may be nonsense to begin with. It doesn’t matter. Imagine the excitement of any mixedly metaphorical sentence from inner/outer space. One small step for man. My cold ears listen. I can imitate you a life. Perhaps it’s how they always come, refracting the rules. Inner space is infinitely more alive and interesting and useful to us and also infinitely more intelligent. The time has come to make the exploration of dreams a global priority. And it will happen. If such a higher dimensional field exists it would be a prime mover behind its own discovery. We must learn to listen to the whole human being and recognise the wisdom of its dreaming.

A last thought. Perhaps the hard part of science is the particle and the soft part the wave. In which case the difference is only our one-eyed point of view, that science has been a step forward on a journey of linear progress rather than a step in a complex, curvilinear dance. Come back Neil Armstrong. Show us that move again.

The rest of this presentation differs from the first part in that key elements of its extraordinary claims were witnessed by a scientific community (IASD) and the record of it is with them. 


Tony Hawkins


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