I had a dream last week that I was singing at a coffee house. I have readers and WordPress friends who are real honest-to-goodness musicians, so to them, this dream would be no more than a yawn. But to me–I love music but am Woefully Unmusical–it felt like learning to swim. Freedom, accomplishment. A new form of mobility.
In my dream, it was Open Mike Night and somehow someone Forced me onstage. (Even in my dreamworld, it is well known that there was no way I would go voluntarily.) So I sang a song that I wrote Years and Years and Eons ago. Yes, I used to write songs–lyrics–like I write poetry now; I think in poetry sometimes and I used to think in songs. Since I am so woefully unmusical and unable to write the music that I imagined, I used to sing my songs into a tape recorder (Yes I was a mere child, you are deducing correctly).
Up on that dream stage, I sang one of my ancient tunes, a cappella.
Since in dreams anything can and does happen, it may not surprise you that the audience members Loved my little tune. There was a moment of silence (they were stunned, as was I) and then they rose to their feet in adulation with raucous applause.
Then I awoke.
It would have been nice to dream of my continued rise to fame and my stardom, but instead I awoke thinking: I should get a guitar. I should learn to play the guitar. Huh? Where did that come from? I didn’t even have a guitar in my dream. I can only think that on some level I knew just how off-key atrocious I must have sounded, particularly without any accompaniment.
But it does sound fun to write lyrics, like poetry, and to write music in my mind again.
How much stead do you put in dreams? Ever follow any?
Just wondering. Lala la la.
I am painting a castle in my mind
so that you may visit and come to stay
in a serene and happy place
far, far, away.
The stone is smoothe on the castle walls,
Refreshingly cool yet holding warmth
Of sunshine, on the moors:
Romantic and intriguing,
Gothic windows, Renaissance doors.
Gleaming wood, and chandeliers dance,
Rooms vast, with elegance,
And from your window the view I paint
Shall be your soul’s delight:
Light on the trees, silver water a-shimmer,
Hills and vales and verdure.
The sound of wrens, so sweet so pure,
and the laughter of friends…
I shall give you a tour.
I shall serve you berries, garden fresh
And flowers upon flowers shall greet you:
Delicate and tender roses in bloom,
Wildflowers, lilies, lavender, verbena.
Your feather bed shall be layered in silks
And in the morning for breakfast I will meet you.
You will soak in a tub of pristine marble,
Sunlit through gossamer sheers,
Your cares shall flee, your worries too,
No maladies, no hauntings, no fears.
Your humour and compassion will be left to you,
And all your talents fine,
And we shall talk, and walk on slate sidewalks
As in Paris, in two straight lines.
We shall swim in calm pools, and run and play
And climb a tree or two,
Because we are young, our hearts still sing,
Our lives so full,
Our tales we bring
To conversation and music on the veranda,
And if you care to rock your restless soul
In the ballroom, or under the stars,
The sky like ink, the moon so full,
Favorite bands, and healthy bars.
Drink up, elixirs I make for you
Of promise, of hope, and imagination.
And when you dance, happy and free,
My castle walls as mirrors will be
So that your happiness
Will shine back upon you.
And when you leave, tired but content,
In your heart you will rejoice,
Because you will see
How special you are,
And above all, you will know
No matter what, no matter where
Life is good
Because a friend wishes it so,
And to my castle
You may always go.