The Never-Ending Dream

[The High Heat]

I had a dream last night. Or maybe I've been put on by The Legend of Bob Dylan. Who knows? With Dylan there's no truth in the details, but here they are:

 

In a small auditorium Bob Dylan was holding concert. The show began early, so I headed inside, only to find myself walking onstage towards Dylan from behind as he opened the show with prayer. I felt fortunate to not have been taken down by security, though none were around. I took my seat in the second row off to the right, taking in an awesome show that blended the troubadour's '70's rocking versions blended with his modern, raspy, worn down vocals. Dylan stood like a beacon, dressed in dazzling black and sporting his cowboy hat, strumming a sleek white and red guitar, all the while backed by young, hard-hitting musicians that were more akin to his former associates, The Band. The songs were either entirely new renditions of Dylan classics or secrets he'd been keeping for a long time. Normally stoic, Dylan stayed up front, keeping tabs on who was paying attention vs. who was simply there. He acknowledged individuals with nods and by warbling lines of verses directly to them. Near the end of the show, Dylan took time to engage the crowd, allowing questions that he never really answered. A man asked Bob if he could buy him a beer. Dylan said, "Sure," picked up a book off a ledge and continued, rasping, "but I don't drink." He leaned over and handed me the book and swirled his hand upwards from me as he strolled back to center stage, encouraging me to pass it around. I held in my hands a beat up dictionary, cover ripped away, pages book-marked or dog-eared, with particular words highlighted throughout. If there was significance in this gesture or these words, that was for us to figure out. I can't even remember the words I took in, as I passed the book back because the music had begun again. Now Dylan was performing a song alien to my ears. It was the best thing I'd ever heard, so good that I knew I'd never hear it that way again. He was fronted now with a gospel quartet, a black family wearing winter coats, mittens, and toboggans, as if they'd been auditioned at a bus stop and escorted to the venue to perform on the spot. Rather than providing simple back-up echoes, they dropped in verses of a gospel song within the walls of a Dylan myth. I awakened soon after, but I'm suspicious that somewhere close-by, there is a musical utopia featuring Bob Dylan, gospel singing, a relentless band, and no limits of time and imagination.

 

Somehow I don't think it was just dream. Perhaps it was Heaven for my subconscious. I do certainly hope so.

[Atticus]

Not all black people ride the bus you know.

[froggie]

your alarm might go off soon... it sounds great though!. the gospel tour part pt2!