At some point last night, I had a series of dreams.
In the first, I was in some sort of college gathering space, a banquet of sorts, with circular tables all around. On each table there were center pieces of flowers and grasses, but also writing and projects displayed. I noticed on one table that a poem I had written was displayed in glass or something, and another was a 4 square comic strip of a poem and drawings I had done. I vaguely recalled submitting them for an assignment, and was surprised to see them there. As the night led on, at some point I was asked to read the poem. I found myself looking for a microphone, which was hard to find, and took like 15 minutes, and in my time of searching for the tool, I hadn't reminded myself of the poem. Something I had scribbled for an assignment a week or two prior and had forgotten. I pulled the original out of my pocket. Not the polished version on the table. It was folded over and ruffled. The lines of the poem had crease marks over them. I couldn't find my place, or the tone, or the words. I woke up, and reminded myself that in dreams its hard *maybe impossible? to read.
I went back to sleep, this time I was being asked to perform it, not just read it. I was on an elevated grander stage, an audience before me. There was an orchestra pit. I found the words of the poem were actually a song. I had written out the music and the lyrics. I began to sing it and felt very proud of what I'd accomplished as the music added depth. The poem felt more like a musical, there were parts, and after my first verse, I laid down on the stage, the music continue to play, and another performer took her part and sang the rest of the piece. As the music and the words reverberated through my body. I felt really proud of what I had contributed. I could relax, because my part was over, but I was recognized as sharing something important and meaningful for others.
The song ended, and the audience gave a standing ovation. I felt relaxed and scanned the audience of smiling and clapping folks. In the middle, there was a man who did not appear happy. Something gave me a note that he wanted to talk to me. I approached him as people were leaving the theater. He said something about my wedding, and that he was surprised I could perform so quickly after -implying that it had been the previous night. I said he was mistaken, he had mistaken me for someone else. He pulled out a newspaper clipping that had my name on it, and seemed to imply it was all the proof he needed. There seemed to be some anger and disbelief on his part, I responded confused and gentle, I was in a good place and didn't need to be brought down. I told him, friend, that's not me, but I don't want to fight, and I wished him well. He went away unconvinced, still tight. I returned to the stage and my people, still feeling accomplished.
There may have been another part. But I found this series of dreams to be really interested. The idea that I might create something, almost accidentally that matters to others. That I might be inspired and share my gifts and be recognized, and actually proud and comfortable with my success. The idea that I won't be able to convince everyone, that some would disapprove and I'd not be able to control their beliefs.
It's like a complete story in three parts.
I wish I remembered the words and music, but I don't. I know it was somewhat political. I know that it felt a little like Les Miserables. I know that when I rested on the stage and listened to someone else sing and play my music, I genuinely felt surprised and proud of what I'd allowed to flow through me, that I was a conduit for some muse larger than myself, but I was grateful.
