Dream of:12 August 1987 (2) "Another Man's Dead"
the sources of poems
imagination and dreams
may be similar
I was in the front room on the ground floor of the Dallas Zen Center. I had previously been living in an Apartment on the second story, but another fellow (in his mid 30s) was now living in that apartment instead of me. That fellow, along with three or four women, was now here in the front room on the ground floor of the Zen Center with me. The man and the women were engaged in an activity – maybe story-telling or dream-telling, or maybe hypnosis. Whatever the activity was, I was interested and wanted to join.
As soon as I sat in, however, the activity stopped and the fellow brought out little musical instruments which simply looked like sticks and gongs. One gong-like device on the floor seemed to consist merely of a slab of metal held by wire. The device intrigued me and I wondered how it would sound if struck. I was given a stick.
Five or six of us were present, two men and the rest women. When the others slowly began humming and taping their sticks on their drums or gongs, I quietly hummed along a little.
The woman to my left was sitting raised up on something so that she was above me. She gradually began singing a song which seemed as if it might have been improvised as she sang. The song was absolutely beautiful and the woman's voice was rich. I was thoroughly charmed by her singing; the experience of listening to her was thrilling.
The song seemed to consist of perhaps eight lines and told a little story. I could hardly embrace just how moving the song was. I would have liked to sing a song myself, but I was unsure what to sing. Nevertheless, I quickly composed a four-line song in my mind, the first line of which was, "Which way will you go now, my darling young son," and the last line of which was, "Another man's dead out along the line."I was too shy to actually sing the song out loud. It vaguely seemed as if I might have borrowed some of the lines from songs by Bob Dylan. The humming soon began again and I felt carried along with it. The humming reminded me of how my friend Eloise LaGrone (whom I first met at the Dallas Zen Center in 1987) and I had recently sung together. I thought Eloise would fit in so well here. The humming continued and turned into different notes which grew louder and louder. When the crescendo reached a climatic peak, I let myself go as I felt the tremendous beauty of the music flowing from me and mixing with the invogorating music of the others.
Suddenly everyone stopped - the silence was quite pronounced after such music. I recalled that Will Johnson (another member of the Zen Center) was moving into another apartment next door inside the Zen Center and I wondered if he could hear the music and whether he would be inclined to join in.
One woman sitting on the couch rose - apparently she intended to leave. She walked through the room and since the other fellow did not move, I rose to show her out. I accompanied her to the door and mumbled something about the door's probably not being locked. I was vaguely attracted to the woman, but I did not say much to her.
When I opened the door, I could see that the outside door to the apartment into which Will was moving was open. After I stepped inside his apartment, Will walked from the front room to meet me inside the door. He mentioned that he had just put some bamboo mats onto the floor in the front room; I could see them there. Some mattresses were also piled in the kitchen. He said he was moving a few of his things in right now, although he was not yet moving in himself.
I stepped back into my second story Apartment, looked out the rear window and saw down below that the woman who had left had already boarded her car and that she was pulling out. Several other cars were also down there pulling out. It looked as if a couple of the cars belonged to people next door.
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