Some nights are ordinary, and some nights feel like they’re meant to change you. The supermoon last night was one of the latter for me—a night that began with intensity, swelled with emotion, and ended in a realization so profound it brought me to tears.
It all stemmed from a love letter to Music.
The Supermoon and the Song
Discomfort set the tone for the evening. It was the big Tyson vs. Paul Fight Night—the headline act that had drawn everyone in—but the Taylor vs. Solano match, playing right before it, was already intense. The sheer violence and tension of it all overwhelmed me. I couldn’t sit still. Seeking relief, I stepped outside, drawn by the enormous supermoon glowing in the night sky. Its presence felt magnetic, like it was inviting me into the realm of supermoon dreams and Creative Optimism.
I grabbed my rocks and gems, wanting to renew their energy, and stood under the moonlight, hands on my heart. Then, I began to sing. The song wasn’t for anyone but the moon—and, in a deeper sense, for Music herself. It was my love letter: a melody of gratitude for what Music has given me, a confession of longing to connect more fully with her, and a plea for clarity. I poured my heart into that song, feeling every ounce of my desire to be and do more through Music.
What I didn’t know was that the moon, in its luminous way, would answer...
Two Dreams and a Revelation
That night, I had two vivid dreams—so intense they startled me awake. Each dream felt like a piece of a puzzle, and together they brought me to a powerful realization.
Dream 1: The Haunted Teacher
I was in a basement classroom, the first day of school. The air was heavy, and the teacher looked... haunted. She moved as though in pain, her body twitching and writhing, and yet she was still teaching, still trying to fulfill her role. It was clear that she was struggling—like she’d been separated from something vital. A conjoined twin, maybe? Something that had been part of her very essence.
What struck me most was the way she consoled herself. She would whisper aloud, “At least I know where you are,” as though speaking to the thing she had lost. It was chilling and heartbreaking at the same time because even though this “thing” wasn’t there, her words made me feel like she and it were still in contact somehow. Like their bond transcended physical separation.
When I approached her to ask for help, I could see her inner torment, and I instinctively reached out to touch her arm. My intention was to give her peace. But the moment I touched her, her head whipped around, her eyes wide with terror. She grabbed me and flipped me violently off my feet. Even as fear gripped me, I held on, pouring love and gratitude into her and meeting her fearful gaze with compassion.
I woke up trembling, terrified, needing to tuck my hands beneath my body to feel grounded. But her words, “At least I know where you are,” stayed with me. They felt like a key to something deeper.
Dream 2: The Beading Classroom
Later, I found myself in a bright classroom—a temporary trailer on campus. My friends were beading with incredible efficiency, and I marveled at their systems. I realized their methods could enhance my own, creating something even more powerful. The teacher noticed me as my friend slipped up, calling me “Yoko” instead of “Joshi.” The names lingered with me. In Japanese, Joshi means “young female student,” symbolizing youthful energy and potential. Yoko, evoking creativity and individuality, felt like an invitation to reconnect with curiosity and self-expression. Together, they seemed to hint at balancing playfulness and structure, openness and precision. Startled, I woke up again, this time with hiccups that wouldn’t stop.
The Message I’d Been Missing
As I reflected on the dreams, a truth I’d been avoiding rose to the surface. The haunted teacher wasn’t just a random figure—she was me. She embodied the part of me haunted by loss and longing. For years, Music has been my way of staying connected to my dad, who passed when I was ten. It’s the string I’ve held onto, whispering to myself, “At least I know where you are.”
And here’s the truth: like the teacher’s whispered words, my connection to my dad is real. Through Music, I do know where he is—he’s in every note, every chord, every song I write. But while I’ve held onto that connection, I’ve also been haunted by the thought that it’s not enough, that I need to somehow improve in order to connect more deeply.
This dream helped me realize something profound: I’m already as close as I’ll ever be to my dad and to Music. And instead of mourning that, it’s something to celebrate. Every time I create, I’m with them. Every song I sing is another conversation, a moment shared. The connection is already whole, as complete as it ever can be—right here, right now, as long as I am playing.
From Dream to Song
Here’s the amazing part: I released my newest song, Creative Optimism, yesterday—and I didn’t say a word about it to anyone. Not because I wasn’t proud of it, but because something held me back. Maybe it was the same persistent ache I’d felt during my ritual under the moon—the feeling that I needed to grow into something more before I could truly celebrate my music.
But after this supermoon and the dreams it brought me, I see it differently. The song itself is a reflection of this journey. Creative Optimism is about turning life’s challenges into rhythm and positivity, about transforming longing into action, and celebrating the light that’s already here.
It’s almost as if the moon was saying, “You’ve already written the message you needed to hear.” This experience has shown me that there’s no need to hold back or wait for some elusive moment of arrival. The connection I’ve been longing for—whether to Music, my dad, or my own creative voice—has always been alive. Every note of Creative Optimism is proof of that.
And now, I’m ready to share it.
Celebrate With Me
The supermoon didn’t just recharge my gems; it recharged me. It reminded me that growth isn’t about striving for something distant—it’s about embracing and celebrating what’s already here. The bond I have with Music and the part of my dad that lives through it is already whole, and every time I create, I honor that connection. That’s a gift worth cherishing.
If this resonates with you, I’d love for you to join me in celebrating by listening to Creative Optimism. It’s a song born from this journey, and my hope is that it inspires you to find joy in your own connections that celebrate this here-and-now moment. You can listen to it [here]. 💛
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