Sunday, November 15, 2015

Music and Dreams. . .

For as long as I can remember, I have had a long, strange, and at times baffling relationship with music and dreams.

And I am quite serious.  And also:  I know.

They're two completely, different (!), separate things.
For most people. . .

Except for me. . . they. . .  Well, they just AREN'T.

I've always had exceptionally vivid dreams (and, if I am being fair, a rather vivid imagination, as well), starting from when I was a wee one and was just starting to dream, all the way up to the current day.

There are still several different events that occurred in my childhood that, to this DAY, I am still not 100%-completely-number-1-absolutely SURE that they were something that actually happened. . . or something I just dreamed.

Example?  When I was about 4 or 5 years old, I was hanging with my Mawmaw*

**(FABULOUS LADY -- pictured on the right)

. . . I can actually HEAR her right now, saying:  "LORD, DANIELLE!!  WHY did you put up such an AWFUL picture of ME?!" *  (*As she grinned her secret grin, seeing that it was, in fact, a perfectly lovely picture, and we both knew it.)  Ahh.  Miss them both.  =)

Anyhoo, I was hanging out with my Mawmaw (as I was wont to do), running errands with her, "going to town," and just generally having a delightful time.  =)
And it was during one of these errands that we stopped by the place where she did her ceramics.  (She made and painted simply beautiful ceramics.  I have some she made, and they are most dear and prized possessions.)
She only had to run in for a second, drop something off or pick up something that was ready, and so she left me in the car, with the car running.
I remember this like it was yesterday.  I remember sitting in her car, and munching on some strawberry candies that she had given me (God bless her), and thinking to myself that she was taking a REALLY long time.
And so I decided I'd take the car for a spin.  
Just around the block.  No big deal.  My Mawmaw trusted me, otherwise she wouldn't have left the keys in the car.

Easy peasy.  

So I took her car for a spin around the block, driver's side window down, waving at all the people on the sidewalks or in their yards that were smiling and waving and just generally expressing thumbs up and great pride at my young mastery of driving.
Then I drove the car back to the house where Mawmaw was getting her ceramics, parked it, got another strawberry candy (just for good measure), and lazed in the seat in the sunshine until she finally came back.
. . . .

Only thing is, and it's just a trifle of a thing, really. . . is that that never happened.  There's no WAY that ever happened.
And yet I remember it.  Quite clearly.

Thankfully (for me), the episodes of not knowing whether events were real or dreamed departed with my childhood.  Whew!  =)
(I was a fairly logical child, and I was ever so pleased to discover that, by the age of 5 1/2 or 6, these perplexing events had ceased entirely.)

I think . . . I think perhaps I might've been a strange child. . .


Speaking of. . . and just because it happened to merge well with the subject at hand. . . here are a few of my artistic works in progress, on dealing with the matter of dreams, and embracing your personal strangeness.  (Something I strongly suggest.)

(This one I did as a kind of homage to the strange other-ness found in the landscape of dreams.  And because Aerosmith.)

(This one is hard to read, because I'm waiting for it to dry before I finish the lettering.  It WILL read:  "Go be your own strange".)

(And this one just because it's true and I love it.  =) )

But back to the dreams and music.

My husband is doubtful (to say the VERY least), about my dreams, because. . . because he doesn't really dream.  Only every once in a while, and, from what I've heard about them. . . they tend to be pretty standard fare.



I was in my 20's.  And I was in one of the worst places emotionally that I have ever been in my life.  I was struggling with some major-major life problems, and I didn't feel like I could tell anybody, and I didn't want to burden them anyway, and so I was trying to handle it all on my own.

And I was doing a pretty shitty job of it.

And then one night, I had this dream:

I was standing in a desert, with a tiny, almost dried-up stream flowing by my feet.  When I looked up, I found I was not alone.

Gandalf was standing there with me.

(Not the Gandalf from the movies.  Those hadn't been made yet.  This was the Gandalf in my residual memory, formed from reading the books.)

So we stood there in companionable silence for a while. Just Gandalf and I.  =)

And then he looked at me, straight in the eyes.  And from under his large grey hat, I saw the kindest, most compassionate and caring look that I ever seen from any eyes ever.  . . . And almost sad.

Then he suddenly grabbed me by the throat, and lifted me up off the ground.

Still that kind look in his eye, as I was panicking and struggling and trying desperately to breathe.

I thought:  "I'm gonna die.  There's no one around to help me, and I'm going to die by Gandalf's hand.  I can't get FREE!!"

And though, in the dream, I just THOUGHT those words, he spoke and answered me.

"You never asked for help."

(Really, Gandalf?  Dial down the sass.)

As soon as he said that, I instantly woke up.

To the sound of my own voice saying: 


. . . .

Now, OBVIOUSLY, I would be a great fool to ignore a message such as that.

And, as I am NOT a great fool. . . I took Dream Gandalf's advice.

I asked for help.

I made changes.

Things got a lot worse.

. . . And then they got a LOT better.  =)

. . . . In another dream, at another difficult time in my life. . . I was visited by The Beatles.  (Again, I am not making this up.)

They were very polite, some seeming only mildly interested in being there, and John did most of the talking.

(Which I find that I rather prefer, anyway.)

We talked at length, though I can't tell you anything of the conversation, because it has been lost to the sands of memory.  But what I DO know is the last thing John Lennon said to me before I woke up was:

"So where's your music been lately?"

And he walked away, whistling 'We Can Work It Out.'

. . . I sang that song for at least a month.  It saw me through some tough times.

It centered me, focused me, and reminded me that I am, in fact, nothing short of a freaking warrior.

So I trust my dreams.

Not all of them, naturally. . . my teeth falling out just means anxiety, my husband cheating means that he's been an asshole, my children being chased by zombies just means that I am as prepared as it is humanly possible to be for the Zombie Apocalypse.


But some of them. . . yes, I do take seriously.

I listen to them.

Most of the time. . . I really do learn from them.


---So I woke up at 4:30 this morning with a line from Blue's Traveler's 'Hook' planted firmly in the forefront of my consciousness, and I have no idea why.


So muffins for boys have been baked, and consumed.  

Coffee and Cartoon Time is nearing its end.

I've got a lot of painting, and boy-herding, and lots of fun projects planned for today.

(Gonna really kick ass on being productive.  Back permitting, and if coffee supplies hold.)

Or. . . .

I might not get anything done.

Because seriously. . . 


". . . What made The Pan refuse to groo-ooow
        Was that the heart brings you baaack."

#ISthatWhatMadeThePanRefuseToGrow ??

Also woke up with THIS song in my head,

. . . and haven't figured out if there's any meaning in it at all.

Aside from being an arrangement of really killer sounds that make me feel happy.

happy Sunday peeps.

And 'ah thank ya kindly fah ya time.