Archive for January, 2011


Sunday, January 23rd, 2011

Last night, I entered into a deep coma of a sleep and ended up on the corner of Christopher Street and the Westside Highway. Some street merchant was manually towing a stack of cans from the marketplace. The wagon had one wheel on one end and two handles on the top end. Someone bumped into him and everything came crashing down.

I ran ahead trying to avoid the impending disaster. Then, it occurred to me I’d be safe if I dived into the Hudson and so I gathered a few breaths and in I went. I started swimming and was able to manage quite well. Ironically, I could see quite well under water despite what people say about the Hudson. It was dark in these waters. I came up for air and imagined that I had oxygen on my back and a motor for paddling.

Then, someone gave me permission to fly and I preferred that. It was at that moment that I emerged from the river and flew high in the night sky. It was a clear night and I could see all the stars about. I think I flew about 2000 feet above the ground, when I felt myself sinking into another level of consciousness.

I emerged through a narrow tunnel and found myself in a mansion. I was in the drawing room with its high ceilings; total darkness kept at bay by a small gas lamp. I sat in a big chair and like a Disney park ride; the chair started moving fast like a roller coaster. The house somehow managed to stretch itself along the way so the distance seemed an impossible trek.

Drifting deeper and deeper into sub-consciousness, I emerged in a modern village. There was a chapel up ahead, lots of people of all colors walking about peacefully and in harmony. They were going to a concert and I could hear the mass choir sing from a distance through the doors. There was a glimmer of light reflecting outside, a cue that something magical was happening inside.

The music was heavenly, nothing like I’ve ever heard before. It was a performance given by two choirs that had merged to form a mass choir. Although I had never heard the piece before, it seemed somehow familiar to me because I had written it. Even though I wasn’t performing this night, I could not help but take over, conducting from my seat, like a secondary driver taking control of the wheel.

The music was straight out of the Renaissance. Can you imagine if the Three Musketeers had boom boxes, and what they’d be listening to? There were oboes, cellos, flutes and lutes. There were bells, bells and more bells. It was something straight out of a fairy tale. It reminded me of courtly music you’d hear if you were in some European castle.

And when I woke up this morning, I managed to retain a fragment of the music from the dream. I whipped out my digital recorder and started singing all the parts that I had remembered. I call them seeds. These seeds are inspirational and motivate me just enough to create something new. However, I want so bad to cheat, to undergo hypnosis so I can remember every note, ever measure of music, every nuance. That wouldn’t be work I suppose. Inspiration is the impetus; it’s the byte size chunks of information that tease you to labor the rest during consciousness. After the dream, the rest is up to you.