Friday, July 23, 2010

Ireland

Last night I dreamt I had gone off to Ireland by myself to visit with some new friends (and fellow Urban Voodoo Machine fans).  We spent the night visiting and getting to know each other and enjoying each others' company.  I fell asleep on their sofa and enjoyed a very restful night's sleep.  The next day, Mags and I went for a walk through the country side, along a river.  I'd decided I wanted to walk to Bristol in England (in my dream, it wasn't that far) to meet other friends there.  The weather was clear and warm with blue skies and sunshine.  I thought that it would be nice to have some rain - it is Ireland, after all.  No sooner did I think this than the sky opened up and it began to rain heavily on us.  We kept walking, enjoying the sudden rainstorm.  Then it was time for me to be home.
I found myself at a soccer stadium, eating popcorn and waiting to get in to watch the game.  I was alternately surrounded by former friends and strangers.  There was an air of expected excitement in everybody around me, but all I felt was a desire to be home with my family and to be back in the Ireland rain.

Sunday, July 18, 2010

Paulo Coelho and Melpomene

Last night (rather, the night before last) I dreamt of being in Paulo Coelho's house.  He and I were visiting and discussing many things.  He invited me to walk out into his garden with him - he wanted to show me something.  As we walked through his yard, he told me to be careful where I walked.  On either side of the winding path were neat little piles - as if someone had carefully upended a bucket as one would release a jell-o/pudding mold - of dog poop.  He told me that while these piles we passed may look like pretty little markers, I should remember of what they are made and avoid stepping in them.  We reached his garden shed at the back of his yard.  He opened the door to the shed and handed me a photo of young lady - dark haired and very beautiful.  I recognized her immediately as Melpomene, and whispered her name.  He was pleased that I recognized her.  He had mentioned her several times in his books, I said,  and I remembered that he had once mentioned making love to her a very long time ago and that he had called her his first love.  Yes, he said, she was.  And he gave the photo to me as a gift to remember.

Friday, July 9, 2010

Orchestra Shell

Last night I dreamt that I was riding with my husband along a highway when I glanced out the window and saw a clamshell shaped orchestra stage facing the road.  There was no immediate space for an audience, but there were huge speakers pointed out toward the surrounding area and under each interstate bridge so that the sound from the performance carried over a great distance.  As I noticed the concert shell, I saw a group of female musicians filing onstage - I knew about half of them and was pleasantly surprised.  I told my husband what I saw and we starting talking about possibilities with it for our band.  So, we turned around and went to check it out.
By the time we got there, the band had quit playing and left the stage.  It turns out the stage was connected to a large reception hall on the back.  There was a reflecting pool in the front of the stage, and a small amphitheater area for audience seating that was low to the stage and couldn't be seen from the surrounding areas.  My husband found the person to talk to about the stage as a venue for our band as well as about locating the tuba and accordion players we are looking for.  I started visiting with a couple of little girls - one in particular wearing a large, poofy, ornate costume hat decorated with feathers and ribbons and braids.  "It's called a 'bouffant,'" she said.  "It's French."
"It's very pretty," I replied.
We laughed and danced, then I fingered the long, blond braids that trailed from the back of the hat and asked her, "Where did you get all this hair?"
"Well," she began, "Grandma had a beard."
I laughed so hard I had tears streaming down my face.
She looked at me very seriously and asked me, "How long have you been a kid?"
"About 44 years," I told her.
An old lady sitting next to me took a microphone and announced, "People of Sandy City, it is time for you to go to sleep now.  Turn out your lights." And she began to sing a lullaby in her warbly mezzo-soprano voice.
My husband and I left the venue and resumed our journey.  What had seemed like an appealing place to share our music had shown itself to be a means of mass mind control and we wanted no part of that.