Prescience About A Gold Mining Family

Once in a while, amidst the array of personal life references and random encounters, I dream about such topics of a political or social nature. Government overthrow, hunger and poverty in a population, control, political unrest, nuclear power. When these topics are so real I can recall names I've never heard of, see places and situations and cultural aspects I was unfamiliar with before experiencing them in this state, I am compelled to record them. They hold a sense of prevalence I cannot ignore. If only to curb the feeling of helplessness I get when I wake from these realistic scenes and people, I translate them to words here. The issues are too specific, the people are in real danger. As much as I want to pretend it's not real, I know what I saw will be proven to me again and again in the coming weeks and reinforce the powerlessness within this power.

Let me start by saying that I know little to nothing about Soviet Russia. The few things I do know is what was said to the children of Fatima, and what my apocalyptic phone game based in Russia includes (mostly vocabulary and places I can't pronounce). And of course, what is currently happening with our president, something I have stayed blissfully ignorant of. Be a beacon. That has been my motto. Radiate love, and organize the forces for a better response and outcome than violence to the matters at hand.

Night/Morning of December 2nd/3rd 2017...



The lucid state of my dream begins when I enter a US Embassy in Soviet Russia. In the dream backstory, I am part of a touring group of young adults curious about government. I awoke early and casually decided to sit in on a conference at the Embassy. The conference is slow to start. No particular topic is on schedule for discussion. Today will involve general updates and check-ins by positions present. I am a guest, observing in the back row in front of the main door. The layout seems more crammed than I expected. The participants to these meetings are less organized today than I am comfortable seeing. But I watch curiously. A woman is here with her handicapped older daughter who at one point is very loud and distracting. Many hold mugs of coffee and tea to ease the tiredness from their eyes. In a raised box with a transparent glass is a few higher officials overseeing the rows of chairs. They also seem slow to start and get organized, but hold a firmer authority than the lower positions.

Members in the audience seats take turn informing the committee of their progress on certain tasks, and giving updates on their general divisions. Nothing new or particularly important stands out to me. The entire meeting is rather casual. It's not that these people don't take their jobs seriously, progress is just slow. And they are distracted by other living requirements, being in a foreign country.

One by one in succession, each of the members address someone in the back, right row, a student who was curious of their educational backgrounds, divulge their interests, specialties, education, and how it related to acquiring the job they're in now or not. Some of their education or scientific accomplishments are impressive, some are not. Some had interests that didn't relate at all but somehow factored in to their successful earning of their position. They were humble mostly, pleased to enlighten the youth on how educational background may or may not be a factor in finding what you want to do. It also helped demonstrate the diversity of those present.

My friend, Deborah, arrives late, still sleepy. A member in front of us seems to tease her about her tardiness. I try to put it in perspective, and ask she leave the issue alone. Commotion behind us makes me stand. The ex-president, Bush, has arrived with a detail to oversee the meeting. He's casual; walks into a walled section of risers to observe from. I think to myself, how sad my fellow mates at the hotel will be to have decided to sleep in today and miss this. I also take note of how far away I stood from him, no more than ten feet, being as how I was in the back row. I don't attempt to vie for attention or anything. I sit back down and let the proceedings commence.

A pair perform a rather sad skit in spanish and english for the group. Their goal was to discuss some issue about fair rights, but the message is lost in their poor execution.

I become aware that I have been here too long and need to return to my kids before they wake and find mommy gone. The odd thing is, I know in my waking life I only have one kid, and linger on the clear memory of the fact in this state of experience I have two. A new little boy barely out of infancy. I get up to leave. The woman that was bothering us is surprised to learn I have two children at my apparent age. I feel that was only significant in proving my group is older than students. We were there for a different purpose, though I can't define what that was other than traveling curiosity.

I exit the chamber onto a long field of grass. It's overcast, or generally gloomy. As I reach the sidewalk I become aware of a parade of Soviet Army heading toward the Embassy. I'm concerned about this. The entourage is more of a welcome, but there are groups of armed soldiers. Each marching group of 15 or so is equipped with a different set of specialized armor and weapons. It seems to be more of a demonstration than an attack, but the tone is not kind. I hide in the corner of a concrete barrier along the sidewalk facing away from the approach. I'm nervous this will result in a conflict.

A Soviet photographer hunkers down with me, also afraid of what's transpiring. His fear reinforces my own. If a local is afraid of this display, I sure as hell will be too. I ask him if they know my ex-president is there. He feels it to be likely. There aren't many vehicles in the entourage, but some sort of transport is. A missile perhaps. I ask the photographer his name. Astir or Ashtir he replies. I tell him I have to get back to my group, but that I will contact him. With some urgency and insistence I say this to him to instill my belief that he and I will need to exchange information at some point in the future.

I rush down the sidewalk just as a group of soldiers with bazookas turn the corner. Never had I been so afraid of that word. What was often something of some amusement to the childish games of warfare, became stark real and uncomfortable to behold. Bazookas hold power of destruction for a wider area than bullets.

I notice my friends in a car screech to a swerving halt in the road beside the march. When a break in the line meets the sidewalk end, I rush through to meet my friends. They're returning asap to the hotel, not oblivious to the potential for this entourage's arrival to cause a dispute at the Embassy. Problem is, they don't have room in the car for me. I put my bedding and items in the trunk and say I'll follow on foot. They push off and I attempt to follow. Except this intersection is unlike anything I've seen. There are no sidewalks. The streets extend right up to the side of the buildings. Traffic moves wildly to some unknown rules. Metal trip lines embedded in the asphalt to trigger traffic lights are everywhere on the ground, making it a confusing mess. A small car almost hits me. There are no crossing lines for pedestrians. No signs. I race down the street to get clear of the chaos.

I lose sight of my friends, and become lost. Around sunset, I decide I need to find somewhere to stay and gain my bearings. I climb off a barrier into a puddle in an industrial district. Set in the base of an old factory is a makeshift abode that houses a family of five. There is warm light coming out of the ajar door, and familiar voices. I enter and find one of my friends talking with the family. A youth is sitting a wooden table near the door. He is turning on an electronic pad unlike any of the smart pads you see in the first world. It has a thick blue frame and the display is operated like an old MS DOS prompt. At first I consider if it's a toy, but it's capabilities are clearly for an adult, it just is a simplified version of what's available in current technology. This is what this class society is able to acquire. This home is simple, and their furnishings are simple. Lots of blankets make up their sleeping and living areas. There's a small patio space that overlooks the empty industry lot of overgrown grasses where a thin irrigation creek might run some hundred yards in the distance. Abandoned factories surround the land on this side.

I tell the family of my run in with the parade of soldiers. The older generation is particularly bothered by the bazookas, as I was. I didn't understand why they were all armed. Why were they carrying artillery? What would they do to the Embassy? I get the sense that this family belongs to a kind of underground rebellion unhappy with their government's abuse of power and the state of things for the people. But they represent an undeclared, unorganized opinion of working class citizens. I believe they saw me as a like-mind, and so were willing to take me in and share their thoughts.

I explain that I am lost and need to get back to the Embassy. They offer me a map, but I don't recognize any of the vast borders, or names, nor do I know where I am in relation to anything. With the help of the young brother and father, they point me to where a US Embassy is.

Despite their meager living situation, I recognize they are a little better off than some. They at least have light (candles), and clothing, the means to acquire food, and a permanent place of residence. Others are starving, in temporary housing, and living in severe poverty. How is this family able to provide for themselves, I wonder. What do they do? I ask the boy his name. Delania (or DeLainolya, DeLanila). The name is familiar. Where have I seen that name? I search a directory (book) and find it listed: Mussogova (?) DeLanilya. A business that hosts a small mining operation. "This is a family business?" I ask.
"Yes." The boy replies. "My grandfather's. We find gold."
Though its a small operation, I get the strong sense of peril awaiting this family. A peril they are unaware of. Why am I so convinced they are in danger, that someone wants what they have? But what DO they have? They live simply. They are middle-lower class, barely getting by. They keep to themselves.

***

I awoke from this dream knowing it to be significant, knowing it to be true, and knowing it to be present. I described what I saw to my life partner, Jim, as I often do about dreams that disturb me or have to do with issues I know little about. Jim is full of knowledge about the world, and sure enough, can speak on a the two most prominent issues I was confused about.

The parade is a tactic to demonstrate one's power. Putin has marched a nuclear warhead through the streets to prove such a point. Being unaware of such things, and unsettled by the fact I could download and experience that demonstration, I began to cry.

He also informed me that corrupt officials there have been known to threaten business owners for their loyalty, particularly mining operations, or any production of essential goods. If they refused, the owners would mysteriously disappear, or become ill from radiation poisoning. "Putin is an ex member of the KGB." He says.
"What am I supposed to do with this, though?" I ask rhetorically, somewhat rebellious to my dream.
"Do some research. Find those names, if you can."
"For what? To warn them?"
"Whatever prescience your episodes like this tend to have, maybe looking into this will help you find something that proves what you saw. Maybe it'll inform you of something else."

So, I researched. 

In an article titled "Russia's gold miners feel the chill," by the Financial Times a chief executive at one of the largest gold mining companies in the world explains despite the value increase in gold, international investors are looking at other countries with more stable social structures in place. Due to Russia's political move in Crimea after the Olympic games, and the state of the economy, investors aren't to keen on investing in a production outlet that seems to lack good long-term projections. Tarnished reputation, failing neighbors in the industry, and a perception of lower standards than western companies has put Russian gold miners at a disadvantage. Though some companies are fighting to prove their equal worth in the global market, they have farther to go than competing countries in the industry.

My attempts to find the specific company: Musogssuss Delania is coming up empty, either because I don't have the proper spelling (which I know I don't), or because they aren't listed online.

I've learned the US Embassy is in Moscow, which shares nothing in common with the map I saw, and my relative sense of direction in the dream. I found a map of Russian provinces or states, I wasn't sure what to call them. Based on these maps, I believe I was in the northern part of Omst Oblast (11a) into Tymen Oblast (10).

Map of Russian Subjects, Republics, Oblasts, and Okrugs. Borders seem fluid map to map

There is a US Consulate in Sverdlovskaya Oblast next door. I remember the shape of Khanty-Mansi Autonomous Okrug being above me, and my relative location being farther west of the Consulate than I estimated I was. I didn't realize how off track I was until they showed me the map in the dream. They pointed to where we were and where the Consulate was. Based on border lines, orientation of map, actual location of the Consulate, and my direction of travel, I believe I was actually closer to the towns of Kungur and Perm, which is way farther west than I remember being in respect to the Okrug.

Screenshot of Google Maps marking US Consulate and key markers.
https://ru.usembassy.gov/embassy-consulates/

No roads were shown in the map I saw, only borders. And I had veered into a different territory. Unfortunately, the boundary lines are very confusing in Russian maps. If I'm going by Google's version of boundary lines, I felt closer to Tyumen. Remote viewing is not an exact science because it depends on memory and translation, both of which are fallible. Though remote viewing has significant proof of its application and relative accuracy for having no prior knowledge of something, it is still subject to error. My goal here was simply to verify if I could at all locate myself in the vast lands of Russia. To my incredible surprise, I was able to use various clues to get a general location. Scale is the problem. Relative distances is the problem. I still believe I was much farther east than shown, but I can't argue with the location of the Consulate and all the other factors that fit. If I estimated by scale of borders and distances alone, I would have swore I was in northern Omsk territory.

Moving on. Where was the gold mining operation of that small family? Target! Sverdlovsk Oblast where the Consulate is, is known for gold mining because the Ural mountain slopes begin in the southwestern portion of the territory. "It is mostly here that the bulk of Russian industry was concentrated in the 18th and 19th centuries." (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sverdlovsk_Oblast)

"The Middle Urals is mostly hilly country with no discernible peaks; the mean elevation is closer to 300 to 500 metres (980 to 1,640 ft) above sea level." This is significant because the family was located on flat lands. I wondered where their mining operation was when I couldn't see mountains. I feel confident I have found the right region. Now, can I find the right family operation?

"'On the whole, there are more than 50 gold mining enterprises in the region; the mining was carried out on 53 licenses, among of which there were 6 ore deposits, 10 integrated and 37 placer. In 2015, the gold mining companies produced 7.8 tons of gold, 290 kg of platinum and more than 47 tons of silver. For this indicator, the region ranked the 10th place in Russia' - said Alexei Kuznetsov," Minister of Natural Resources and Ecology of the Sverdlovsk region (http://rusmininfo.com/news/24-02-2016/2015-almost-8-tons-gold-produced-sverdlovsk-region; bolded portion for emphasis).

There are 100 languages spoken in Russia, but Russian is the national language. This family's operation may be small enough to not make it into any major listings or articles. I'll have to search more obscure archives. I know it is a generational business, passed down through the family. It must be identified somewhere, either by mining license or claim.

To be continued...