dream log: bowie and jesus

Probably my most viscerally enjoyable dream in recent memory. Historic. I had it in some Comfort INN in Amarillo, Texas on the first night of our journey through the American Midwest and into Montreal, Quebec.

The stage is set, the crowd awaiting Bowie under the starlight sky of an open field. He comes on, circa Diamond Dogs era, and the feeling's kinetic. Andy and I are close, if we wanted we could reach out pass a couple concert-goers and touch the stage. Bowie begins, and inexplicably, the crowd turns on him. A cup of water cuts through the air aimed in his direction. Then, another and the cups don't stop coming.

He falls to the floor, helpless. I hop on stage, Andy behind me, stepping in front and shielding him from the hostile collective. I look at him, my back rampaged by cups of water awry. He makes no attempt to meet my eyes, shattered in dejection. Intently, I say, "Bowie, have you heard of new sincerity?" It triggers something in him, he slowly raises his eyes.
I elaborate, "the age of humanity?"
He replies, spirit piqued "age of humanity?"
I see this and continue, "compromise."

His body guard rushes onto the stage. Bowie puts out his arms, and we help him to his feet. He's the Bowie we all love again, inspired. We ready for our escape. But, there's a problem, the stage is now elevated near the moon. I lean forward, look over the edge, and my knees go weak from vertigo. We all simply understand, unspoken, that the best plan is to jump, so I overcome my fear and take the long plunge.

The crowd, watching this transpire, is worried for us, or ashamed (they booed Bowie, man). We're falling, a long way down. So long it's slow and thinking has subsided to being. Andy, Bowie and his bodyguard land before me. As I near the ground, I sense doubt, this skepticism pervading from the crowd watching me below, telling me with their esteem I can't fly. There's this feeling in me that I can, as if it's always been there, just forgotten and built over. I believe, and it is, me flying given strength from an innate understanding. Something Robert relates in Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance as Quality.

The crowd watches, all disbelief abstracted. Jealousy gone because they are up here with me, flying. This, a moment for all of us. I finally land, feet landing bare in the plush grass, and I see Bowie leaving with the help of his bodyguard.
"Watch out, they've got new sincerity" he says with that lovable British grin of his, talking to Jesus, who's apparently present in the crowd. Jesus steps out into sight, like hey man. I'm still perpetually smiling from my flight, "Jesus Christ!"
"Yeah?" he thinks I'm speaking to him. We laugh about it.

I've mentioned before, I experience my dreams very consciously and post-existentially, simultaneously experiencing the dream's emotion and weaving it. So, I'm laughing my ass off, the funnest dream ever. I hear Jake, a college buddy, "I don't know, it's good, but I don't know if I'd go see it, it's silly." I feel challenged, I can sense this raises some questions from the crowd and now they're caught in between.
"prophecy and comedy, what would this all be if it wasn't funny?" I reply. I can feel the collective esteem shift, agreeing with me. Jake, too.