Is it possible for a child to dream an entire life's worth of experiences and then wake up educated, knowing songs, history, math rule, delicious recipes, etc? Perhaps that's how
child prodigies acquire their skills, though it's nice to believe they brought those gifts over from their former lives.
Some believe birthmarks are scars from previous lives. I have a gnarly purple, blue and black mark on my left leg just above the heel. I always referred to it as my Achilles heel, as if all of me but from where I was hung were dipped in protective divine syrup and my life blessed because of it. The purple marking, being the exact shade of my birth color, is there to remind me of the impermanence of life.
Funny, I tried to have the birthmark removed last year. It required 41 stitches in three different layers of skin to banish the quarter sized blemish. It wasn't vanity. I was told by a doctor how Muppet creator Jim Henson had a similar skin discoloration and that one day it had become infected allowing viruses to poison his bloodstream resulting in his sudden and untimely death. I stopped worrying about this condition after my birthmark came back a few months later. I figure it's meant to be there. I now tell doctors and massage therapist who shriek at their findings, "It's
the source of my power."
Last night I dreamed an entire 9 hours of rest in only 3 hours. I dreamed the alarm went off and the tour manager was there looming over my bunk telling me I had 15 minutes until we had to go do another TV show. I twisted and turned in my coffin-like sleep chamber anticipating the rise while trying to crack my back. I was impressed with my ability to soundly sleep the lengthy drive from Switzerland to Italy. But then I peeked out of the window of the cocoon and was surprised to see it was still dark out; odd for what should be 10am. I checked my timepiece and found it to be just shy of 5am. Oh yea. It's Jetlag Friday! How foolish of me to forget.
I took the rare AM opportunity by the nut-sack and got up regardless of the light. Two nights prior my Production manager, E.T. (like the alien, but actually looks more like Rod Stewart, who is also an alien) got me hooked on Smack. Kellogg's Honey Smacks that is. The box with the slap-happy frog on it. I felt like a mischievous kid on a Saturday morning in front of his cartoons, refilling the bowl until I had soaked up every last drop of the sugary fix. (Please don't tell my Raw Food Guru. Since then I have detoxified and spent hours on the treadmill kneading my love handles.
Honest.)
Ciao for now. Italia beckons.
-mraz
Milan