Dream Songs

~ It’s 6.20 am as I write this, having just got out of bed.

I’ve been watching a young male singer perform a song which, while it sounded familiar, and while it felt like I’d seen and heard the singer and the song before, I now realise is impossible.

It’s impossible because I watch very little television at the best of times, and even when I do watch TV, I watch virtually no Video Hits type of programs, no MTV, no Pay Per View music programs, nothing. Occasionally, I catch half an hour of Rage, the late night ABC TV program that screens Friday and Saturday nights, but that happens very rarely.

I don’t even get to live gigs as often as I would like to. The last live concert I attended was the great Leonard Cohen at his recent performance in Adelaide – and the singer I’ve just been watching definitely isn’t him.

So where did the singer and the song come from? And why did I just lie there enjoying what seemed to be a well written, well performed song? Why did I not jump out of bed and write the song down while I had the chance?

Even as I type this, I can still see the young singer, standing before a microphone. Still hear the beat and rhythm of the melody. Still feel the passion and honesty of the performer.

Look at him now, as he leans into the wall and pours out his heart to the object of his desires.

But it’s too late. All I am left with are echoes of the song in my head.

I can, and will try and catch those echoes before they fade completely away, but the moment has passed, and I know from experience that all I will be left with is a pale shadow of what I have seen and heard.

Because what I have been watching and enjoying is a ‘Dream Song’. One of those perfectly formed, ephemeral creations that come to me in my dreams. Generally in the early morning hours, somewhere between sleep and waking.

I thought I had trained myself to watch out for these dream songs. To recognise them, so that I would be ready to write them down, complete and unchanged, even while still half asleep.

But this one got away from me. I was enjoying the performance and the song too much. I allowed myself to get lost in the singer and the song.

That’s it. I’m going back to bed.

I want to see if I am able to ‘follow that dream’ back to its home, and grab it before it is lost forever. To steal it back to my bedroom where so many songs have been born and nurtured. So many melodies shaped and pressed; massaged and manipulated; caressed and yes, even discarded.

Then again, maybe I should just buy myself a Dream Catcher.

Image 'Visualising Another Place' courtesy of the artist Sarah-Jane Cook...

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Letter to America

Thank you, America.

Thank you for taking a day off work last November, and sacrificing a days wages to stand in line for hours at a time so you could vote for the change America needed so much. And thank you for showing us that when it matters, really matters, you are colour blind. That in spite of the colour of his skin, you were still prepared to take a chance on a young African-American man whose middle name is Hussein, and whose surname, Obama, is remarkably similar to that of the most wanted terrorist in the world. And still you elect him as your President.

So thank you, America.

Thank you for giving us a reason to believe again. To believe when many thought there was nothing left to believe in. When many said there was nothing worth believing in. Thank you for showing us you are paying attention. That you do care. That you do recognised talent, intelligence, vision, and leadership, and that you can embrace it when you need it most.

Thank you again, America.

Thank you for having the “audacity of hope,” when many thought you were beyond hope. And thank you for allowing us to hope again, too. Because many of us had lost hope. Given up hope. Or thought you had reached a stage in your development where to expect more from you was truly hopeless.

Thank you, America.

Thank you for caring again. For caring about your people, your country, your political system, your place in the world, and for daring to make a change so radically different from all those that have gone before, that you really did take us all by surprise.

So thank you, America.

Thank you, for allowing us to dream again.

No – thank you, for daring us to dream again. For showing us Martin Luther King’s ‘dream’ was not an illusion; nor was it a delusion; but a vision of the future built on love, hope, faith, and a belief that one day, America would once again be the light on the hill that drew to it, the faithful from all over the world.

So make us proud, America. Make us proud. You have given your citizens a reason to hold their heads up again. To hold their heads up, push their shoulders back, and to walk tall again. And you have given your friends a reason to do the same.

Thank you, America.

Thank you.

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