There is this recurring dream: I am an actor, doing a play, I can't find my script, I have not rehearsed my lines, I have no idea what I am supposed to be doing on stage, there is a full theater, a packed and enthusiastic audience, ready to see a play; I am in the play, but I have no idea what it is about, I can't find my script, I can't even find my pants, and I have no idea how to get to the theatre. I wander in a maze of hallways and dead-ends frantically trying to get to a theatre and an audience that is completely out of reach.
That is a worried dream.
Last night was a not-worried dream. I was in a recording session. It was enormous. An an enormous room and an enormous ensemble. A band, an orchestra, a contingent of sexy girl-group backup singers. I was playing guitar. A famous record producer, a grizzled vet, was producing the session. And two folks offered me guitars to play during the session.
Every take went well. And these guitars that were offered to me were magnificent; bizarre, strange and beautiful. I conjured up amazing guitar music. Every note, every take was killer. Not one note misplaced. Perfect. Now that was a nice, not-worried, dream!
