I was sitting near the back of the packed auditorium, when a young man in an aisle seat just a few rows in front of me was handed a guitar.\u00a0 He stood up and started to sing and play this song:<\/p>\n
Work away today, work away tomorrow.<\/em> Give just a little bit more<\/em> He was one of The Moody Blues — I couldn’t recall his name but his voice was as beautiful and stirring as ever.\u00a0 During the chorus, the audience (and I) swayed in our seats to its distinctive joyous canter — the feeling was magic and mesmerizing.<\/p>\n When the song ended, the singer walked back to me and said that I was sitting in his seat!\u00a0 I was surprised, but I thought quickly, and told him he could have his seat back if he sang another song.\u00a0 He said all right, and he turned back to the audience and began playing and singing again.<\/p>\n It was soon evident that the second song didn’t have the same magic as the first, and the thought entered my mind that maybe I should have given him back his seat.<\/p>\n \u2022 \u2022\u00a0\u2022\u00a0\u2022<\/p>\n That’s when I woke up.\u00a0 It was about 2:30 am.\u00a0 I felt wonderful, and I immediately wanted to hear the song again, conscious this time.\u00a0 This is the first link I saw<\/a> when I opened my laptop and searched for moody blues<\/em> you know it’s true<\/em>… (I’ll wait while you watch.)<\/p>\n I had never seen The Moody Blues in concert (or in videos for that matter), but this October 2008 performance of Never Comes the Day<\/em>, by Justin Hayward at the Royal Albert Hall in London, was incredibly similar in sight, sound and feel to what I had just “witnessed” in my dream.<\/p>\n So now I have two questions.\u00a0 First, why did my brain play that<\/em> song last night?\u00a0 I bet I haven’t heard the song in 10 years, if not 20, and it has been many months since I recall thinking anything at all about The Moody Blues.<\/p>\n That said, I did hear Lucky Man<\/em> by Emerson, Lake and Palmer (1970) in a sports bar on Monday, and then Conquistador<\/em> by Procol Harum (1972) in a waiting room on Tuesday.\u00a0 Maybe these songs served as synaptic triggers for Never Comes the Day<\/em> (1969).<\/p>\n But my second and more pressing question is — why can’t all dreams be like this?<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" I was sitting near the back of the packed auditorium, when a young man in an aisle seat just a few rows in front of me was handed a guitar.\u00a0 He stood up and started to sing and play this … Continue reading
\n Never comes the day for my love and me.<\/em>
\n I feel her gently sighing as the evening slips away.<\/em>
\n If only you knew what’s inside of me now<\/em>
\n You wouldn’t want to know me somehow,<\/em>
\n But y<\/em>ou will love me tonight,<\/em>
\n We alone will be alright,<\/em>
\n In the end.<\/em><\/p>\n
\n Take a little bit less<\/em>
\n From each other tonight<\/em>
\n Admit what you’re feeling<\/em>
\n And see what’s in front of you,<\/em>
\n It’s never out of your sight.<\/em>
\n You know it’s true,<\/em>
\n We all know that it’s true.<\/em><\/p>\n