I dreamed of Van

This is all a true story.

So I went to see Van Morrison last night in Bristol. To understand my excitement, you should know that I've considered stopping music-listening of any other sort than Van the Man.

I was hanging around the stage door, like I've done the other two times I saw him in concert. He hates fans, he never talks to them. Oh, but it makes him all the more mysterious and endearing.

In the blink of a squeaky tire, a glossy black car pulled up, and one foot at a time, majesty stepped forward. He sauntered toward me. Me.

Hello, is your name CJ?

How did you know?

I've been writing a song for you, would you like to take a walk with me to a little oyster bar, where we can have a dozen raw ones on the half shell and I can play it for you while we sip earl gray tea, and then I'll feed you tapioca pudding or beets?

Why Van! How did you know I love those things?

Say, CJ, is it all right if I read to you from Anne of Green Gables, then we can have an in-depth discussion about Haiti? I've been practicing my Kreyol.

Van!

It's not over yet, I plan on killing any crickets that might hop around you, then I'll take you to the Blue Ridge Mountains for a short hike and blackberry picking adventure. Would you like that? Or would you prefer to ride white horses "Into the Mystic" ?

That night I had a silly dream: I arrived to Van's concert just as it was starting, saw an amazing show, sang, cried a little bit when he played "In the Garden" and danced when he played Gloria. Then I stayed with a sweet couple from Bristol. We had a tasty meal of cheese and veggies, explored a bridge and stepped onto a boat modeled after one from the late 1400s. Then I took the train home.





Silly dreams.

And the Healing Has Begun