Don’t Die With the Music Still In You

Two years ago, I had one of those dreams I’d call life-changing.

Recently, that dream came scorching back into my mind with vivid clarity and deliberate intent.

I remember when I had the dream, how powerful it was, and how I utilized it — but it seems my subconscious wasn’t done with its message; I have more to learn from it.

This was the dream:

I’m an inmate (again) at Otisville federal prison. I was awaiting the death penalty. Specifically, death by electric chair.

I was at peace with this; I had accepted my mortality.

I went, quite casually, I might add, to my appointment with the chair. Only to be turned away. Apparently, my execution was pushed back, and I was asked to come back in a couple of hours (you’ve got to love dreams.)

I decided to fill the time by continuing work on my book.

It’s then that an overwhelming sadness came over me, a sense of loss and regret. Tears began to pour out of my eyes as emptiness consumed me.

One of my friends, not an inmate, but a friend from the outside, approached me and asked why I was crying.

I began pointing to my, at the time, unfinished memoir and said,