Yesterday evening I passed out very early, and slept through almost the whole night, with the only surviving remnant of those slumbers being a few notes of sweeping, romantic music, played on an orchestra of violins. I can’t write music and I can’t play violin (or any instrument) so I doubt I could do anything more than hum or sing them to someone, but suffice it to say these few seconds of song would go well with a white horse galloping over green meadows, as absurd as that sounds, with maybe some kind of sad, pensive man, sitting alone somewhere, thinking about a difficult decision he just made, possibly the wrong one.
It’s said that when the gods choose a shaman, here in Korea, that shaman’s life is totally ruined until they take up the call and abandon everything for the difficult practice of being a medium with the spirit world. Businesses collapse and lives go sour. After that sleep and with this music surging through my brain I have to say I feel pretty good, but it’s been months since I’ve so much as played a chord from my guitar, and I think this dream of pure music (not my first, though it is the first I can readily remember (before I could remember the fact that I had dreamt of music without actually remembering that music)) is a message that I must get the instrument stringed and take it up again. Similarly my father, a lifelong musician who plays guitar now in several bands, took up music (he told me) after having a rather Jungian dream of a golden flute.