Last night I was spending time with the one who the world knows as Michael Jackson.

It must have been a long dream because I can’t remember when it first started, I only became conscious towards the end.

I was in a small house on a busy road and he and I were just talking.  He seemed to really need some company and to release some energy through his emoting of words and stories.

His loving heart, his childlike qualities and his sense of alternate “neverland” reality were all a part of this persona.

I just let him talk and be himself.  I was desperately afraid to even call him Michael or give any hint of  fanfare, for I knew he would leave.  This time was for him, not me.

Right about at the point that I started to become conscious, I had a deep concern for him.

“Michael, I’ve heard that you have a hard time sleeping.”

His energy dropped.   I thought he was going to leave for a moment, but he apparently trusted me enough to say: “Listen, I hardly know you.  Let’s get to know each other better before we talk about these things.” I nodded my head in understanding, but then it just hit me.

“No, I am asking because I can help you!  My words can heal you!  I can heal you!”  It was a dramatic moment, one that he resonated with and inwardly agreed to with the trusting heart of a child.

The dream shifted slightly, in the same house.  Michael was changing into black silk pajamas and my back was to him for privacy – but I did casually glance over as I sat down or some other natural movement.  I instantly regretted it.

Fully dressed.  It was Michael’s turn to confront me.  “I saw you glance over at me, what was that about?”  You want to know what I had going on in here?” Pointing to his crotch.

I was very uncomfortable and now not holding back anything, almost hoping he would leave.

The scene shifted and we were outside near some juniper trees and an alley way outside the house.  A black woman with a white ‘a’-cup camisole, very short skin-level hair, about 6-8 inches shorter in stature than the two of us appeared.  Michael and this woman embraced arms holding each other and foreheads touching, his hand behind her head pulling her close.  He pulled away just slightly, with his hand still behind her head. Her eyes were closed and her facial skin a little oily and little sweaty.   He obviously loved her very much and she him, but was she conscious of this moment?

“She and I look the same.”  He said, still facing her and holding her close, obviously referring to their appearance even though he had his long curly hair.  “And now, she and I love the same!”  He pulled down his black silk PJ bottoms to reveal a man’s shaven crotch, minus the phallus.  I couldn’t tell, but it almost looked as though some vaginal labia had been surgically placed or just penciled in somehow.

He didn’t pause to get a response from me.  He was beyond a personal connection now, I was listening to his message to the world, not to me personally.

“Was his hair a wig?” I wondered what he really meant by “She and I look the same?”  Was Michael gay at all?  No, he clearly loved her, but not completely as a man at all.

Perhaps it was just fantasy, perhaps just dream-like nothings – but I got to spend time with a man who transcended agism, racism, classism, fantasy and reality, and even gender.

I woke up wishing that Michael had been more expressive of his views about things while he was alive, and had a sense that his energetic disposition would suit him well to transition to life without a physical body.

One of Michael’s songs was playing in my head as I finally rose from sleep.  “What about?” Rainbows and flowers and sunrise. Maybe he did speak his mind and his heart, and his love for the earth. But there was such a shame and reclusiveness that I wish he could have just unapologetically given who he had become to the world. I consider this video below one of the greatest gifts and visualizations to the world from a man who transcends so many dimensions.