The past two nights, I’ve had cool, vivid and important dreams. Two nights ago, I was in an awesome dream where I was on the set of Lord of the Rings shooting a scene with Viggo Mortensen through long treks of snow, and another snippet where I was being directed by Peter Jackson, Fran Walsh and Phillipa Boyens all at once! It all felt really real, but fantastical at the same time. AWESOME!
Then last night I dreamed about some kind of cosmic-style class with what felt like a spirit mentor. He was in a human form, and though I don’t recall what he looked like, or even if I really saw him in the dream, he was masculine, seemed slender and nimble, helpful and kind, and…fluid. I’m not sure how to describe it, other than he sort of moved like water, or felt like water. I know that sounds weird, but I can’t think of any other way to describe it. There were lots of other people in this classroom, and at first, everyone was facing the walls. This seemed as if it were an exercise in not making superficial judgments or assumptions based on visual stimulation. (Hmm, maybe a signal I need to close my eyes and listen to my insides, eh?!) Then everyone turned to face each other, and I was surprised that there were many plain old people there, just like me, from all walks of life. There were two people that stood out to me: one man who had sandy-brown hair that was neat and tidy, like Sam Malone on Cheers, and the other was a woman, probably in her 50’s with salt & pepper hair who was wearing a gorgeous sweater woven in swirls of rich pinks and had a gentle demeanor. The mentor then had us all get up and do a kind of exercise that felt like some kind of ice-breaker where there were two videos playing against opposite walls, and we had to react and respond to the first video, then run across to the other one and do the same, and then return to the line and do it again. The videos seemed situational, but I can not recall the content specifically. I remember the last thing that I heard was the mentor speaking my name. As I wrote this out in my dream journal this morning, I had some residual feelings that Joey Ramone and my old therapist were in the dream at some point.
A bit about Joey: I’ve been an adoring Ramones fan since forever. Joey Ramone, the lead singer, is one of my all-time heroes. He was an awkward Jewish kid from Queens who was sickly, had OCD (before anyone had even coined the term) and was an absolute punk, in the truest sense of the word. Nothing about Joey conformed to anything in normal society. And his status was won because of that, not in spite of it. I loved that this wacky looking, super-lanky, big-hairy, leather-clad kid that was so antithetical to what most would consider “rock god” material, could get up and have the most brilliant, beautiful voice and rock the shit out of some classic bubblegum (and not-so-bubblegum) punk rock music like no one else. I’ve had some very significant Joey dreams (and Ramones dreams), that have held considerable symbolism for me in my life. In my dreams, Joey has come to me as a wise teacher (and the Ramones, collectively, as adventurers that steal me away for important, symbolic journeys)…and I always got the feeling it was more than “Joey Ramone”; it was a visual representation of a familiar and important figure to me that can guide me. It’s funny though, that he also came to me three days after the mortal Joey died on Easter 2001, and I remember having this long, intense conversation with him, and then he said something about death, he said, “It’s funny, (my name), I can see all of my fans, I can feel all of their love with me” and then he said he had to hurry off so he could visit each and every one. I smiled at that. I read for days the incredible outpouring of sorrow over his death on the internet message boards, and how so many fans (as I did) felt his death as poignantly as if he were a member of their families. His music was his life and soul’s purpose on this plane. What he brought to me was brotherhood in being inadequate, clumsy and awkward and totally unsure, of being an outcast and an unhip, uncouth punk.
We all loved ya, Joey.