I've dreamed the mark of a master

I've had a lucid dream 

an interpretation

of a real experience

but the dream was more lucid than the real

a posthoc realization

the gentle progression of the day

eclipsed by an afterthought

Like looking in the mirror

and finding you're the reflection

It was this.

In my dream, my mind replayed a guitar player,

mirroring an impromptu gig in an Erice Marsala cellar.

It was not the song I remembered.

Now I cannot play even a Ramones song,

but here replaying in my mind

was a song I've never heard.

I was conscious it was a dream,

a manufactured total experience,

and yet I could recognize a skill in the player

far exceeding my own.

So effortlessly forthcoming,

precision without tension, 

speed without hesitation.

An extension of the body,

the song an old friend,

yet entirely new to me.

I was conscious it was a dream,

a manufactured total experience,

and yet I could recognize a skill in the player

far exceeding my own.

I can imagine an expert,

without being one myself 

So effortlessly forthcoming,

precision without tension, 

speed without hesitation.

An extension of the body,

the song an old friend,

beauty from imperfection

and apparent happenstance.

The mark of a master.

To play music,

we have to choose an instrument.

-- (c) 2015 DBW, all rights reserved.