September 25 through October 1, 2011
Okay, Baby, I’m all yours! I have felt you calling me since yesterday … and I’ve gotten a feeling from you that we are going to get that Tour of Foreverland in this conversation. I can’t wait. But there’s been a strong sense that this is going to be a bit different than previous conversations.
Yes, it’s going to be very different for several reasons. First, I feel that you all need a distraction … something to take your mind off current events … something that will help you feel my love for you in the midst of your hardship. Because I understand your love for me, I don’t want you to be hanging on every word of the news reports to find out what’s going on these next few weeks. I don’t want your stomachs churning or your anger rising or your tendency towards defense of me and vengeance against Conrad Murray escalating. I want you to have a place to retreat where you can immerse yourself in my words … know that I return your love multiplied by hundred … know that I’m okay … know that they can’t hurt me anymore … and be refreshed for the next round of revelations.
I mean, past events have proven to you that you can’t believe what the media is telling you, anyway. I’d like to think that the media will present a fair and unbiased view, but, in case it doesn’t … we all need an option. Why hang around and wait for the lies? My life has shown you that the media has no scruples and abides by no common rules of decency or fairness. I know you are aware of it. Allowing those reports to enter your mind too much can bring the energy of love crashing down and the energy of anger and vengeance and defense going off the charts. So, a distraction … and one that, I think you’ll find, will help you keep the energy of love topped off and at fever pitch. I want you all to relax … here with me … in Foreverland.
Second, I’ve always wanted to do this … and never really gotten the chance … except with Prince and Paris and Blanket. I’m going to tell you all a little story … through you … that explains Neverland Valley Ranch and how it has morphed into Foreverland. God bless you for allowing me this opportunity. Always wanted to be a storyteller, this is my chance.
Michael, My Dear One, you can’t be serious! You don’t think you’re a storyteller? You are the most brilliant storyteller this culture has ever known. Brothers Grimm got nothin’ on you! Every song you sang or film you made told a story. And we all love every single one!
Aww, God bless you! But you can’t fit much of a story into a five minute song. A short film is a little better; you can say more with it with skillful editing, but it’s still not much of a story. Now, quit distracting me! I want you all to close your eyes … sit back and relax … take a couple of deep breaths … and hear my voice … it’s story time! You ready?
Yup … ready!
Okay … here we go!
Once upon a time, there was a little boy who stood looking out his bedroom window at the houses up and down the street he lived on. It was Christmas Time and all the other houses had lots of multi-colored lights strung along the roof lines and wreaths decorating the doorways. Some had great big, life-sized plastic statues of Santa Claus or candy canes that were lit from within so that they shone onto the sidewalks and street. The little boy stared out his window late at night when all his brothers were sleeping in the bunk beds in his tiny room and watched the bulbs blink on and off. He thought it was the most magical sight he had ever seen and wished with all his might that his tiny little four-room house was part of the magic. But his parents didn’t believe in celebrating Christmas, for religious reasons that the little boy didn’t understand regardless of how many times it was explained to him by his mother.
“Someday,” the little boy repeated to himself, “someday, I’m going to decorate every inch that I can find with light … little twinkling lights that will flash on and off like fireflies and chase each other through the branches of every tree I see. The sidewalks and paths will be brightly lit, too, and all the buildings will shine with a glow that will never dim.”
The little boy felt that he spent a lot of his time looking out at the world from an isolated place. He and his brothers practiced a lot which didn’t leave much time for playing with the other children who attended their school. The little boy ached for a feeling of connection with other children, but they always seemed to be just on the other side of his window.
Late at night, when the rest of the world was asleep, this little boy had long conversations with imaginary friends who lived among the stars. Long past his bedtime, voices no louder than the merest breath of a whisper told him that he was special … that he had a very special job to do. They told him that they loved him and that he was not alone no matter how alone he felt … that they were always nearby … that they cherished him … and that he should never be afraid. He told them, “Someday, I am going to be loved by so many people that it will be hard to count them. I’ll run out of zeros! People from everywhere in the world will want to be near me. And in their love for me, they will love each other enough to see past their differences and pains. They’ll hold hands and sway and laugh and dance and their hearts will be glad.”
The voices believed him and, of course, the little boy believed them because what little boy wouldn’t believe voices that spoke to him from the stars above his tiny little four-room house when everyone else was asleep? From the sound and timbre of their voices, he pictured beautiful creatures with long, flowing robes and magnificent wings that rose from their shoulder blades and reached taller than their heads all the way to the floor and reflected all the colors of the multi-colored bulbs that decorated the houses on his street at Christmas Time. He found comfort in their words … and in their presence.
Soon, practices turned to performances and, as the little boy grew, his singing and dancing grew with him. Crowds of people clapped and stomped their feet when he sang. He didn’t understand everything that was happening. He didn’t always understand all the words and feelings he was singing. He was so young. All he knew was that he loved to sing and he loved to dance.
More importantly, he loved to watch his audiences’ joy in his performances. His off-stage life began to fade into the background as his on-stage life grew more and more intoxicating. He loved to make people happy … to make them laugh … to watch them sing and dance with him and to know that, in those moments, no windows separated him from his dream; he was connected to them as he had always wished. In those moments, he was not alone. They shared his joy, his ebullient laughter, his wonder. Regardless of the fact that he still looked out at the world from behind his window in his hours off-stage, he was just another part of everyone in the world when he was on-stage. He and his audiences were one in the music. He began to live for those moments. They were his drug … his high … his joy.
Late at night, when he looked out his window all alone, his brothers’ snores the only sounds to disturb the sleepy world’s silence, he would whisper so silently that not even the window before him heard, “Someday, I’m going to build a world that is full of fun and laughter where no little kid will be allowed to be lonely. It will be huge and have space enough for every kind of fun. Someday, I am going to be loved by everyone and I am going to use all that love to bring happiness to everybody. Someday, all my dreams of a beautiful, peaceful world where children are valued and cherished and healed of their sadness … or illness … by the love that rises from the very ground they walk on … will come true.”
And the little boy’s imaginary friends heard his thoughts and dreams; they cherished them, storing them up for a later day when the little boy would be older, but still their precious little boy.
The little boy knew that he could pour all the love he felt and all the wonder and magic in his heart into song and into dance; he knew that this was his instrument. He knew that with these tools he could forge a link with the world he viewed from his bedroom window. And he knew that by pouring his heart and soul into every song and every performance, he could forge a strong chain to the hearts and souls of his audiences that would be unbreakable.
He became the front man for his brothers and observed some things in the process that were not magical. He ignored them. Some of the venues they played were not ideal for young boys to retain their sense of wonder and magic. He remained unfazed by them, maintaining that wonder and magic long past the point that its glimmer should have been eroded in the school of hard knocks. Often, he was beset by fears and doubts, but he remained steadfast in his sense of destiny.
Late at night when everyone else was asleep, the little boy who lived inside the growing body still stood at his window and conversed with his imaginary friends who continued to speak to him of their love and his specialness. And he continued to speak to them of his somedays. Sometimes, he could almost feel those magical, iridescent wings enfolding him in their care and concern for his welfare. From those late-night visits, he drew the strength he needed to continue on his journey through the sometimes gritty reality that he faced.
For the little boy’s life was not always kind. His world was often filled with criticism and violence as well as the ever-present truth of hard work and grueling schedules and late night travels. When most of the kids he knew worried about finishing their homework early enough to go out and play baseball, he often wondered if he would have time to eat before leaving for the nightly performances and talent shows. He usually completed his assignments in his dad’s VW bus in transit to another gig. His late-night visits to his friends became a little less frequent as the demands on his young life increased. But he knew they had promised that they would never leave him and he held their voices inside his heart, vowing that one day, when he was a man, he would build a world lit by colored, blinking lights every night … not just at Christmas Time.
Soon, the little boy’s schedule included concert dates and interviews and picture sessions and recording sessions in addition to practices and performances. After a death threat was received at the school he was enrolled in, he and his brothers were no longer allowed to attend schools like other kids their age; they were taught by a private tutor who traveled with them in airplanes that took the little boy and his brothers to every corner of the world. She insisted that they study the languages and traditions and history of all the lands they visited in their travels and through her tutelage, the little boy’s education was broadened while his world became smaller and smaller.
It became harder and harder for him to find time to have long conversations with his friends late at night. He missed them. He never talked about his friends to his brothers; he knew they would tease him and make fun of their ‘baby’ brother if they knew. After all, isn’t that what ‘baby’ brothers are for? Sometimes, their teasing hurt him; sometimes, like all big brothers, they went too far. But he loved them and he knew they loved him. They were family.
Through all the travel and practice and concerts and interviews and picture sessions, he never forgot the words of his imaginary friends … and he began to sense this ‘specialness’ they had referred to in their silent whispers outside his bedroom window. He began to intuit each moment that he breathed as a moment of history, each song that he sang as a note in the continuing symphony of life, each step that he danced as the first step of a long journey with purpose whose destination didn’t matter as long as he lived each moment of the journey to the fullest possible extent.
In his travels, he saw places where people lived in poverty and children died from preventable causes. He looked out the windows of the cars that rushed him through slums and ghettos to his fancy hotels and thought, “Someday, I’m going to fix this. Someday, I’m going to do something to help. It’s not right that I should have so much while these people have so little.” He watched news programs with his mother that actually brought him to tears and vowed, “Someday, I am going to do something about wars and famines and droughts. I will make a difference.” These dreams of ‘someday’ brought purpose and drive to the little boy’s life.
His family eventually moved from their tiny little four-room house into a much larger estate and his window no longer looked out over the other houses on the familiar street decorated with small multi-colored lights at Christmas Time. His brothers and he were working long hours. It seemed that he had exchanged his small window in his bedroom for a larger plate glass window at the recording studio where they recorded their music. From this window he could gaze out over a park. Children were always playing in the park across the street. Many, many days all the little boy wanted to do was run across the street and play with them. But he had a date with destiny and, in order to keep that date, he knew that he had to do the voice and leg work required to catapult him into an unassailable position. So, he didn’t mind the work or the constant repetition.
“Someday,” he whispered to himself, “someday, I will have an enormous park in my back yard with swings and seesaws and slides and amusement park rides and carousels and Ferris Wheels and swimming pools. I’ll invite all the kids in the neighborhood over for play dates and slumber parties. I’ll have horses and ride all over the grounds. There’ll be a zoo filled with every animal possible. A movie theater will play movies and cartoons any time of the day or night and all the popcorn and candy they can eat will be free. The lawns will always be perfectly mowed and so green it will make my eyes hurt. There will be flower beds everywhere filled with every color flower imaginable. The trees will be tall and magnificent and none of them will be disturbed by the rides or animals. I will climb them and sit among the branches and talk to my imaginary friends whenever I want.”
Even though his regular late-night visits with his imaginary friends had been somewhat curtailed by his move, those friends remained nearby. They heard his whispers and envisioned his dreams as he described them, adding their vision to his and cherishing them close to their hearts.
Soon, however, the little boy wasn’t so little anymore. He was growing in stature and independence … in talent and autonomy. His life had changed in many, many ways. Where he used to look out the window at the world as it carried on without him and his brothers; now he was alone behind the window sill. His brothers had grown, married, moved out of the house. His landscape had shifted; his bearings were lost. Often, he found himself wandering around outside in the small hours of the morning looking for anyone who would just love him as a human being. His loneliness was crippling, his isolation complete.
His conversations with his imaginary friends had become less and less frequent; his sense of wonder and magic a little more distant. He felt a little embarrassed that he had held onto them for so long. Even his dreams had changed.
Now, the little boy who was quickly approaching manhood, dreamed of creating music … music like no one had ever heard before … music that would capture the hearts and minds of the multitudes outside his window and bring everyone together in common purpose. He dreamed of dancing … dancing that would express that music in new and truly innovative ways … dancing that would make everyone pay attention. He dreamed of films … films that would capture everyone’s imagination and, perhaps, while totally enthralled in those films, everyone would hardly notice the moral seamlessly embedded within the music and entertainment value. He dreamed of performances … performances that would, finally, shatter the windows that always kept him on one side and his audiences on the other … performances during which no barrier existed between him and the world … where love would flow from one to the other without hindrance, instantaneously transforming not only his audiences … but driving him to impossible feats himself.
He hadn’t abandoned his dreams of an ideal world where every child would be welcomed and engaged and loved; they still hovered in the secret recesses of his soul. While the little boy crouched in the corner of his heart for the perfect time to make his dreams real, the young man felt driven by dreams of music and dance and film. They made his feet itch … his heart race … his fingers snap; they populated his imagination with promise and potential so that he couldn’t wait for the night to be over to start creating in the morning.
Soon, his recordings began to break through every barrier known to man; his music spoke to all races, creeds, countries, ages in ways his world had never seen, winning award after award and uniting people who had never been united before. His dancing was heralded by all as fresh, unique, other-worldly. His films told stories … stories that contained gems of meaning for those who cared enough to search.
Demand for tickets to attend his performances far exceeded space to accommodate all who wanted them. Once again, he found himself on the road, touring his world. And, as before, he often looked out his hotel room windows at seething crowds gathered to honor him and show him that they loved him. He would wave from his windows or from the balconies outside them to the accompaniment of screams and whistles and his own songs rising from thousands of voices. He felt the waves of emotion through the windows and walls of the hotels, but it was only when he was in full flight on stage in front of hundreds of thousands of people that the window disintegrated and he was one with those who loved him and whom he loved with all his heart.
To be continued …
Jan – September 28, 2011