The Batmobile Should’ve Been a Mustang

Posted by TheZimp on Feb 6, 2009 in Blog | 2 comments

Last night I had a dream. It was by far the most awesome dream I ever had. It combined Batmobiles and God (at least I thought it was God) on a giant electric guitar with that feeling you get when you’re a kid and you wake up to Saturday morning cartoons. How is that not EPIC WIN?

Here’s what I remember. For some reason, I was in a used car parking lot and I was buying a car. I was talking to this salesman who was trying to get me interested in some packages for my car (you know the deal). Then he said,

“You know Mr.Imperioli, what if I interest you in this.”

Suddenly this mustang comes roaring out of nowhere. It’s black and red and it has this jet engine exhaust coming out the back that’s belting out flames. It was a cross between the new Mustangs and the old Batmobile from the 1950s television show. It was by far the most awesome car ever to exist in a dream.

“Wow, the Batmobile should’ve been a Mustang,” I said, gaping at this mechanized version of sex.

I then suddenly turned back to this car salesman to find he wasn’t selling me a car at all but a sweet ass guitar. His looks changed too. He had a beard, a leather jacket, and resembled Kris Kristofferson to a remarkable degree. He was kind of like the cool rocker uncle everyone has that smelled a little like pot. Kris Kristofferson handed me the guitar like he was handing me a newborn baby. I took it in my hands and suddenly it felt like I could play the guitar (I can’t). I strummed and juggled through the frets with my fingers. I felt like God would feel if he’d hold a guitar.

I looked up at Kris Kristofferson and behind him I can see we weren’t on a street anymore but in nature. I can see miles of forest and mountains. I can see cliffs and waterfalls. It was majestic. It was beautiful.

Suddenly Kris Kristofferson is standing on the side of this massive mountain. He’s patting the rock petruding from the mountain. Patting it as if to see if it was solid, almost as if he built the mountain. I felt stuck in place, in awe of the ethereal sense this man exuded. He was someone who knew something, something big. He wasn’t just a guitar salesman anymore.

He turned to look at me,

“Listen boy. If you want that there guitar, there’s only one rule.”

I nodded. My mouth felt incapable of talking.

“When you’re out there, making art. Writing your next Paradise City or Knocking on Heaven’s door. I ask you to do what I do.”

I stared eagerly.

“I get up from where I was laying and I make sure to give thanks. I say thank you nature. I say thank you blades of grass. Thank you stalks of wheat. Thank you wind, clouds, sun, sky. Thank you rock. Thank you bugs, birds, foxes, and squirrels. Thank you.”

My hands slide over the guitar I’m holding. There’s no coating to the guitar, no finish, it’s made out of pure wood. I can almost feel the trees it’s made from calling my name.

“Thank them,” Kris Kristofferson continued, “Thank them, cause they inspire you and they’ll thank you for letting them speak through you.”

I watched this man give thanks to his surroundings and I can feel how humbled he was by what was around him. He had a deep love for this environment, a love that felt was reciprocated through the trees, plants, flowers, animals and every living thing around us.

I was slightly saddened by this. Had I neglected being grateful for when I channel the infinite. It dawned on me that be human, you must be humble. I strummed the guitar. I strummed it and with every strum I felt the love and gratitude for every person, creature, and plant that crossed my path in my life. I felt the essence of reality being like waves lapping on a beach. Pushing and pulling. Everything designed to flow with perfect harmony. A butterfly’s flap of the wings causing hurricanes on the other side of the world. Everything is perfect all the time and this guitar I hold in my hands symbolizes my tool. And with this tool I’ll sing, until I die, that everything is perfect… all…. the… time.

Needless to say. It was a kick ass dream and while some might argue that dreams are nothing but your nerve endings firing off random images. I refuse to believe that. Dreams are a window into the subconscious.

Besides, dreams are our only chance to manifest batmobile mustangs and large majestic cliffs so why would we be so shallow and write them off as being something that just happens.