Rolduc Presentation June 2019

Rolduc Presentation June 2019

The Song of Songs at the Improbable Temple of Magic

Which I later wanted to call

Dreams are Personal, Collective and Universal

Tony Hawkins


The paranormal in dreams and creativity as evidence of natural super intelligence and its possible relationship to the development of benign artificial super intelligence.

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 mutant survivors of nuclear war.

After that glimpse we go into a flashback of a young woman, the narrator’s girlfriend he believes to be dead, driving a truck load of explosives 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 that 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 blared the word ‘Aberfan’. A triple peaked coal tip had slid and buried the school at Aberfan killing all the children. I noted twelve striking points of similarity with my story including triple peaked Megadan and the Avalanche Chute protecting Abertown.

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 lesson which the world is still far from learning.


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.

‘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 IASD. On 15th July 2009 I posted a dream.


“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 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 were ascending 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 I would never have seen him.

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.



The night before the election of Donald Trump I had this dream.

“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, with pale red hair. He’s sitting beside a much smaller woman, identically clad and with similar coloured hair. 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.”

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 dream too. 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 has come 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 just as a telescope extends the natural seeing of an eye.

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, the one group in the world 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 skulking in dark corners 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 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.

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.

Tony Hawkins

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