From What Dreams May Come to What Dreams May Inspire

  Among my favorite romantic movies is WHAT DREAMS MAY COME. Last night I watched this 1998 stunning film once again, with it's powerful visuals and fantasies about what happens to us after we die. It is a beautiful fantasy of what heaven may look like--perhaps a fantastic vision of how we may wish heaven will be like and a darker, plausible vision of Hell for those who believe in Hell. As a side comment, it's so poignant that in a film that touches on the theme of suicide, star Robin Williams' character is the rock and salvation for someone whose soul is condemned by such an act. In the end, it was Williams who most needed the very words his character spoke to his soul mate.

What prompted this post is that I had one of my very vivid dreams last night. "What Dreams May Come," indeed. My epic dream was not a dream of heaven, but about a romance in Paris. Those highly vivid dreams with a defined story are rare in my life--such as a dream about Three Mile Island exactly as it happened six months before the actual accident (another story); a dream about enemy soldiers in an Asian country, exactly as it happened (an upcoming novel); or a dream about walking on the moon inside a domed settlement, looking up at Earth and the sun shining through the transparent dome, feeling the gritty, gray soil under my feet, and breathing cool, oxygenated atmosphere. The latter dream has yet to happen.

This time the dream was down to Earth, in Paris. I was someone else--a war amputee with a prosthetic leg and magic shoes that could transport me around the city, even walking on water (that happened in the movie). The woman was a complete stranger--a waitress who works at an outdoor cafe along the Seine River, although I have a very clear idea of what she looks like. Keep in mind that this woman was probably fabricated in my mind and I've yet to visit Paris, although my wife and I plan to visit Paris this year or next. A non-writer may wonder and raise an eyebrow. What am I doing dreaming about another woman? But a writer thinks differently and this writer's wife is secure enough in my love for her. She encourages my writing. She is the muse for my dreams.

Moving right ahead with the freedom to dream, I ask myself, could this be the idea for a story? The real question is, if you dream about a stranger, is there a stranger somewhere in the world who dreamed about you? Is there a waitress in Paris who dreamed about me around the same time? While the reality is, even if this was possible or true, it is as if I dreamed about being someone completely different, like an actor in a movie. I am not that person and fictional characters should not be confused with real life. For a writer, however, all things are possible and a new idea is born.

For my friends who are writers, producers, or actors, my apologies, but I don't trust you with the details of my dream. In God I trust--all others get your own ideas. But, this is one of those moments when a rare dream is the fuel for a fresh idea.

Seattle's Football Deflated, Tom Brady a Super Hero, Katy Perry Great

Great Super Bowl this year. I didn't have a pony in the race since the Steelers were knocked out, so no danger of throwing myself out the basement window if my team lost. But, oh, what a finish with both an immaculate reception and interception (alluding to the Franco Harris and the Steelers miracle of the early 70s). Mind boggling for Seattle fans when you consider all the hours, weeks, and months of grid iron battles, making it back to the Super Bowl, and after brilliant moments in the game, and on the verge of winning the game, it took about 2 seconds to snatch defeat from from the jaws victory at the goal line. I would have been okay with either team winning, but it appears Seattle was the one that had its football deflated. I admire Tom Brady, so I'll toast the Patriots with the rest of New England. Katy Perry, Lenny Kravitz, and company, BTW, put on a great half time show, despite the sound limits. My new sound bar makes it sound like you're at the game to enjoy the echoes and unintelligible lyrics, but since we know the songs already, the performance was. . . well, let's just say, "I saw the girl and I liked it."