Music has always had a great impact on my life. I didn’t even realize that until now, as I am getting a tad older. Music is so profound, in every way, in every aspect of my life, even as mundane as it is.
So, to further prove my above statement, I will let you in on another bizarre quirk in my strange little brain– many of my dreams have songs in them. Not all of them, of course, but often there will be a song playing or I’m singing something or even playing an instrument. In reality, I sing only as a hobby. I am not a performer, but I love to sing. I am not a great singer, but I can carry a tune. I don’t play anything, but I used to take piano lessons and I recall being very frustrated because I could never quite read music or grasp the concept of chords. In short, I never really got much past “Chopsticks”.
After my Musical Epiphany of ’16, (which involved too much rum and listening to The Very Best of Buddy Holly and The Crickets one evening) music seems to be more important in my life than ever before. And this is reflected in the few hours that I actually sleep, when it comes out in my dreams.
This morning I had a brief dream that I was singing “Imagine” by John Lennon. Not the whole song, but just the last few lines. And when I sang the part at the end where it says “and the World will live as One…” I was crying. I was sitting on a couch and tears were streaming down my face.
As I began to wake up, (at 8AM and it’s a holiday weekend, what a waste!) I thought about why I was singing that particular song and why I was crying. I suppose it’s because of the state of the World today. It seems that it’s getting further and further away from John Lennon’s lovely sentiment in the song. And that troubles me.
Another dream I had around this time last year, is less profound, but it’s kind of funny. I dreamed I was riding through a plaza on a kid’s Big Wheel near my home and there was a Beatles Tribute Band playing (we have things like that in Santa Rosa in the summertime) I was pedaling the Big Wheel very fast, through the concert area. The band started to sing “Words of Love” and as I pedaled past, I shouted at them: “That’s not The Beatles, that’s Buddy Holly!” Then I rode off into a park and I don’t know what happened next.
Then, of course, there was that dream I had where I was dressed as a 50’s teen, complete with ponytail and scarf… and my ex-boyfriend was dressed in a letter jacket with his hair slicked back. I was kissing him goodbye while Tom Petty’s “Free Fallin'” played clearly in the background.
But I guess it doesn’t matter anymore.
So, I suppose if I’m going to have vivid dreams, I might as well have a soundtrack. I’m just glad Freud’s not around to analyze it.