May 17, 2017
They say that sometimes a dream is a manifestation of your worst fears – your brain subconsciously simulating and preparing the worst case scenarios as a sort of mental training ring for your life. Other times, a dream is a wish your heart makes (Cinderella). Some people have big dreams… dreams bigger than themselves… dreams that one day, people will look past race and skin color, and hate each other for deeper, personal, more genuine reasons. Or love each other… some people dream about that too (Martin Luther King). Some people have wet dreams (me sometimes). Some dreams are strictly nationalistic. It’s called the American dream because you have to be asleep to believe it (George Carlin). Some say dream big or go home. No, you can’t dream of a big home. Don’t be a smart-ass. Well why not? Most dreams happen at home… in your bed, which is a part of your home. You start dreaming at home because you want to leave home. Your home is spacious and comfy… a prison of comfort. You’re caged behind a gilded wall of familiarity, attacked into submission by iPhones, sex, booze, pizza and ice cream… enablers of the antithesis of dreams… contentment. So big dreams and home are not mutually exclusive ideas. When you’re at the bottom, you dream to be at the top. When you’re at the top, you look down into the abyss and remember the pain it once brought, and the only way your body discovers to release the pain is to look up, ever higher into the clouds and stars and dreams up in the sky.
Anyway, I had a scary dream this morning which I still remember. The world was torn in a raging war. The streets and homes echoed with the thunder of cannons and the rat-a-tat of soldiers’ guns. I was saving all the people in a hospital, getting them to safety. I was directing them into passenger planes whereby they could escape to some rich home. Nell was one of those in danger. I went to talk to her and help her, but she said no and went to stand near some other people. She repeatedly ignored me on my subsequent attempts to speak to her. I felt horrible, trapped in a nightmare.
Is this my worst fear, still creeping into my subconscious mind? I’m terrified of the pain of wanting someone’s attention and giving them everything, yet being ignored. I haven’t let her affect me much recently, but it wouldn’t surprise me at this point if there was still something there. Is this something my heart desires? To reach out to her in reality? No…
She’s my prison of comfort. An old habit. One that I’ve conquered, but occasionally knocks on the door again, proposing a cup of tea. Something so scarring must inspire so much greatness. A glance back into the abyss is enough of a reminder of the pain that spurs you on to dream and to soar into fulfilling that dream.
I’ve been going to open mics around town. And meeting some young musicians to jam with. But it’s like Eric said, it’s a youthful thing to jam and communicate with everyone, like sowing your oats. But eventually you want to make something that will last. I’m going to focus more on my writing, and finish my album. My goal is to make it as easy as possible for people to connect with me. Music is a bridge to each other’s hearts and minds that we’ve long since burned and left behind. I want to go back and rebuild that bridge. Why not? Life has no meaning. So there’s no reason not to give it all the beautiful meanings of the universe… love… connection… and understanding.