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This bit of writing sums up how I feel about music and love. Part of the book…my favorite bit. Yes, it was inspired by a dream.

All of my blog posts have the names of songs by the way. Wonderful songs that play in my head as I start my day.

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I was facing the end of one life, my sister at my side sobbing as she gently wiped my face for the last time. My sister tried to keep me at her side, reminding me of the small and big joys we shared. I wanted to stay, tried to remain for her; yet felt myself drawn… away from her side, my body, until I sat on a bench alone in a park. I waited there until I was guided to a room, a chamber, and felt a hand on my shoulder.

– Come

The moment I entered the room I was encircled, bands of colour wove into each other and vibrated – luminescent with life.

– What is this?

He guided my hand towards the bands of colour that enveloped me and in that moment I remembered. I was seeing Music. A Tuscan sun infused chord of light, spilt sunlight in every dimension and arched onwards, outwards, through folds of all my lives…

– Close your eyes. Listen.

And then I heard it….my voice woven around, between, underneath the thick band of colour. My voice was the source of everything I saw. All the frequencies that anchored my body to the earth and those I loved  : songs I wrote, sung, thought of, the heavy panting of our love making, the bubbling voices of my children, sister, my godchildren, his sonorous laughter, deep brown sorrow, hope, tenderness; every emotion that infused my music. He placed my hand on his heart and gently whispered…

– This is how your music always made me feel.

Even now I can recall with vividness that dream, his love and the stillness it brought into my life. A stillness that allowed me to sing – freely in that life. I woke from that dream and knew in that instant that I would leave my first husband Claud, and search for Music and that man whose face I did not see; the man who gifted me with stillness. Little did I know  the toll it would take, but more of that when you are ready, or perhaps when I am ready to part with those stories hmm?

Many years later, a professional musician, I would recall that dream as I stepped on stage. I envisioned every sound, every nuance finding its way to my audience. I would elongate my notes, my words and offer them pearlescent green waves caught in the afternoon sun, to luxuriate in. Or hurl rolling thunder, my notes staccato and sharp, rising and falling unexpectantly, crackling electric blue, to awaken, arouse.

But Music written for my Darling-Love radiated light, note by note.I sent him music bathed in cerulean that raked his grey hair on nights when he could find no peace. Galaxies of admiral blue swarmed around his fingers, his temples, as he cradled his whiskey. In the early mornings music the colour of a dandelion breeze, strangely wonderful; ice cream in the hands of a three year old when the sun burnt the brightest. And when he sat down to read his paper, or sipped his tea, wisps of seafoam green relieved his weary shoulders.

Music written for my Darling-Love, swayed with an intoxicating delirium that spoke of love and love alone.

I shared this dream with my Mother.

– My child, we come from a long line of dreamers…

I hope, faraway child that you dream. And not dismiss them as most do. Inside those dreams are colours and music and stories of such richness and depth.

Remember them as best you can and find whatever truth resides there. So, as I end of this first letter, I will leave you with this: May you be blessed above all not with music, but with a mother who knows the curvature of your dreams, the arc of your desires, and stands beside you, prayers in hand. And if Grace finds you, may you be that Mother…

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