A Flash of Jazz - Dreamer, Wake Up


 

He told me that magick was real. Not the kind that you would see in some cheesy Las Vegas show, but the kind that comes from far-off places, in languages not known to humanity. He wanted me to believe in the impossible, and honestly, I just couldn't. I had been raised to believe in what I could see and touch with my two rough hands. I had grown up in a family that despised imagination and creativity. Books were forbidden to me, as they would lead to me wanting to think for myself. And so, in my 40 plus years of living to date, I never opened a book, never visited an art museum, and never daydreamed about anything. I woke up, ate my breakfast, did my work with barely any communication with others, returned home to a bland meal, and fell asleep because I had nothing better to do. One day, while walking to the post office, I saw a man seated on a limb of a tree. I stopped and stared at him with dull eyes, then looked around to see if anyone else had seen him. They aren't awake yet, he said to me. I looked again and noticed that everyone around me had their eyes closed as they trudged along. I returned my gaze to the man and realized that his clothing looked out of date. Bright colours, all mismatched, and yet they seemed to flow like a river older than Time. Who are you, I asked him and noticed that my voice sounded like a frog croaking. Why do you need to know my name, the man replied with a grin, when you need to know so much more? He then appeared before me and removed his tall and crooked hat from his head. Seeing as how you need such things, then man added as he set his hat on his head once more, I go by the name of Bartholemew. At least for today. I gave him my name, Jane, and he bowed low. Jane, Jane, who is so plain, he sang as he took my hand and led me away from the post office. Where are we going, I asked him as I watched my mail slip from my fingers and land on the sidewalk. I'm helping you wake up, he replied and then I closed my eyes. 


I saw colours and the names for each. Indigo. Vermillion. Viridian. Yellow. Violet. I saw black trails of smoke fall from his fingers and land on my shoes. I watched multicoloured clouds formed by dreamers float by us. I saw an oak tree grow within seconds, only to turn into a raging ball of fire and disappear. He showed me everything and I felt nothing. No. . . . I felt something, yet I had no words for it. I wanted to scream my name into the Four Winds, telling them that I didn't know. How could I know? What did I know? He wanted me to believe in true magick, and I just couldn't. Looking back, I realize that it was pure fear. Pure, fetid, overpowering fear. I walked through that wall of fog and came out of it as another person. How much time had passed, I didn't know. Was I still on Earth? Was I still walking around with my eyes closed? 


He wants me to see this, everything, everywhere, every now. I can smile now. I can dream now. 


My name is Jane and I am now a Dreamer. 


Inspired Jazz Album - Mathias Eick: Skala (ECM Records) 

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