Dwight S. Huggins
This is Volume I of XXV Volumes of Dreams. Dreamt over the course of a decade, and recorded on audio-cassettes. Starting in 1989, the dream tapes ended in 1998. Each volume is the transcribed contents of ten audio-cassettes; each serving, as a chapter, which were mostly 90 minutes.
These dream volumes, do validate the dreams shared in the revolutionary memoir, Dream Magus Of Babylon, which explores the spiritual journey of Task Companions; Stephen S. Katz and I, which lasted 7 years and beyond, transcending his passing in 1989. A fascinating read, it explores a life in the theatre in both New York City and Canada, involves a nasty betrayal, great anecdotes, with dreams of the departed woven into the magical, inspiring tale that’s full of laughter and kick-ass sex!
Dwight S. Huggins was born in Nevis, August 2nd 1960 the last of six children. Dwight has lived in St. Kitts, America and Canada, enjoys Jazz and collecting First Nations art, and considers the height of living to be as awakened when asleep as when awake.
Fr 10/2/89 Ar: Dream one. I have a dream that’s set in a strange place reminding me of home in the West Indies. I’m on a white verandahed house and there is a funeral happening around back. Adelaide is about and this house as I entered it, turned out to be an apartment of Michael Jackson’s.
Anyway, the walls had mirrors on them that moved and looked at you, but also the ceiling. The walls were filled with graffiti-like drawings they weren’t graffiti. They were more like the crayon drawings of Toulouse LeTrec, quite interesting; greens and predominantly yellows and reds, quite nice and beautiful.
People were standing around and then I realized that all around the house and the ground were, as people walk there was this constant; there was a noise being made because in point of fact the ground all around was a beautiful array of what seemed to be metallic, but which also glowed and flickered light were.
They seemed like little mushrooms or little tacks and they were gold and red and black and especially silver and they were, they were quite organic and just in whatever formation and they were quite nice and beautiful. To step on them created the sound; not unlike walking in tap shoes.
*I’d like to add here some more insights to this dream with Michael Jackson. When I returned to the house after the funeral procession, I walked around the main floor alone marvelling at his art collection. They were all small oil masters that were in the most large, ornate gold leaf frames.
I was startled to turn around and find him standing there silently looking at me. He was most intense and scared really at me having made it inside past the elaborate security of the metallic turf. He kept at a distance when asking just how I’d made it inside. I laughed appealingly telling him that since this was a dream I simply flew in, to not set off the security.
He was so elfin, large eyed and gentle souled that all I wanted to do was to hug him. But he firmly kept his distance asking me to let him enjoy this quiet cul de sac, where he could escape the colossus of his waking state life and be creatively inspired.
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