#dreamsofkaren

The impossible task of keeping my future self up to date with my current self by ways of writing down and posting todays/yesterdays events has seemed to slip away from my stronghold and dissipated with the winter chill. Yes, spring has so much as whacked me on the side of the head, reminding me that there is life past the glove laden mush and muck.   My slowness, or infrequent inspirations to write down my lives living events is out of respect (TRULY) for those with whom I live.  Babies, yes. Lovers, sure. Animals, maybe, but the TRUEST of all is the respect of the moments holiness. The magic of the present, the 21st centuries IMPOSSIBILITY (AH, but I beg to differ). I receive, from time to time, small hints, prodding to inspire me to “stay more connected” with those / anyone that may give a rat’s behind for what it is I am currently aiming to achieve and or do, lest I get “left in the age of cyberdom”. 

And it ain’t out of care for those that have supported me in my journey both musical and non that I don’t often “ENGAGE ONLINE” oh oh oh, on the contrary it is out of care that I continue to set a flame the arrow upon which I surf and maintain a sense of erratic balance.

One month ago I was in the throes of the MTN’s magical spell, microphoning and capturing sounds for a good friend who resides in New York City, the intent was to finish a record. It was late afternoon and we had hit what I might sometimes call a “block”, we weren’t sure what the song was asking for, despite our best efforts it seemed that we were destined to finish said song on another occasion. We sat on the couch and began discussing musical influences from our Childhood. He began to mention the heavy influence that Bruce Springsteen had on their New Jersey home, THE BOSS was the heaviest of hitters when describing the permeating effects of music in the home on children and their future selfs (at least for Anthony it was this). I took the conversation captive and started describing how seemingly obsessed my mother was, while growing up in Lincoln, with the brother sister duo, The Carpenters.  It seemed as though there wasn’t hardly a memory of my mother whilst being raised that didn’t carry some sort of side-note, inside which was a Carpenters song, it was in our walls, prayers, dreams.

We both decided that the night would be best spent listening to Bruce Springsteen and Karen Carpenter sing their songs from the turntable and sat listening to the emotive quality of both The Boss and Karen. That night after climbing under the covers I laid their, in bed, thinking of Karen, Richard (Carpenter) and the little that I knew about both their lives and her (Karen) death.

Sometime between the moment my eyes closed and the sun peaked over the eastern mountain range I had three separate run-ins with Karen throughout my dream cycle.  Now, as I type this out, re-running it in my head, I DO UNDERSTAND the assumptions that OFTEN accompany such things like “dream visitations” or “visions”, I truly do, and even with that being known inside of me I feel the need (with out really knowing why) to share the dream.

From my recollection of that night Karen first appeared sitting, in the rain, across from the Central Park hotel, that I am assuming I was coming from when happening upon her.  She didn’t look at me as I walked by, I don’t recall feeling any type of wonder in regards to the appearance of such a power in my dream (though I suppose in my dream, I didn’t know I was dreaming), and continued on.  Something of (I am sure) very little importance happened that I can’t remember but then I was back in the park and again, for the second time I happened upon Karen Carpenter as a street performer clown, she waved at me, I stood, mesmerized, her eyes didn’t leave mine until she turned and disappeared, leaving a bearded man with yellow teeth barking out street names. This time I do remember feeling a bit (albeit in my dream) strange that Karen had shown up yet again inside of this sequence. I left the street performer and walked to the other side of the park, and again, there she was, almost floating above what I would call a small congregation of people. I could see from afar that she was saying something and I walked toward her, I could hear her then, she was singing. She was swaying and singing. The audience was mesmerized, seated, reverent. As I joined the congregation I saw around me people laughing, some crying, some staring, it was all so absurd. I sat by an elderly woman and listened to Karen Carpenter sing a verse and chorus of “Rainy Days and Mondays”. As she ended the song the crowd went wild with applause, hooting / hollering / “Karen, we love you” some woman shouted and then she (THE KAREN CARPENTER) started coming around to the audience with a mid- sized wicker basket.  She motioned to each member of the congregation to take something from the basket. The first guy she approached reached into the basket and pulled out a snake, apparently unphased by the quick movements of the slithery serpent he sat down and stared at the snake. There was a handful of other people grabbing items from the basket, but the one (apart from the item I took) that I remember from the dream was the guy who grabbed the snake. The girl next to me tapped me on the shoulder and whispered in my ear “ Go ahead, its your turn”. I reached into the basket and pulled out a small leather bound book, I didn’t dare open it in front of Karen for whatever reason, and as she moved on with her basket to the remaining people that had gathered, I opened up to the first page of the book and it read:

Songs of Karen Carpenter

(My childhood)

The next page had a listing of so many of the song from my childhood musical memory;

-Rainy Days and Mondays

-Superstar

-Goodbye To Love

-Top of the World

-We’ve Only Just Begun

-Close to You

And the list went on.

I didn’t quite know what to think of it when I woke up to start my day. I couldn’t seem to shake the foggy storyline of what had gone on in my brain during the night. The day passed, as they all do, with such speed and it was time to sleep. During that day after the first dream I had obsessively researched Karen Carpenter, her life, her death, her songs, all of it feeling emotionally overwhelming. I went to sleep and again had a repeating of the same dream that I had had the night before only this time Karen was slightly hovered over the congregation when she passed around the basket, but again the man at the beginning received the snake and I, like the dream previous received the leather bound book.

After the same dream happened for the third time I felt a bit strange and without sounding silly, slightly off put. I have not ever been a person to “look into” or be “moved to take action” in regards to dreams. My feeling had always been that dreams were just strange regurgitations of our days sub conscious, and had rarely experienced recurring dreams. This dream felt different, it felt…telling..or communicative. Am I saying that Karen Carpenter is talking to me from the grave? No. But I am not NOT saying that either.

I was perplexed, slightly off put and surprisingly anxious about what I was supposed to be doing about the dreams I was having, that is, if I was to do be doing ANYTHING AT ALL.

After Anthony left I started learning how to play some of Karen’s favorite songs.

I didn’t really know what else to do.

Enspirited by the UNKNOWN of the world(s)