When we sleep at night and imagine scenarios that have never taken place, or maybe relive ones that have, we call it a dream. When we stop in the course of our day, and instead of doing something, become wrapped in the thought of a time in the past, or a time to come, we call it a dream. When we think of how it might be if our life or the world were much different than it is now, we call it a dream.

If we feel we don’t belong, or if we have no home at all, we might dream of sanctuary. If we are old, we might dream of childhood. If we struggle to find peace, we might dream of an idyll. If we had loves long ago that are still vivid, we might dream of our loves long past. If we have love now, we might dream of growing old together.

Dogen Zenji one day realizes, “These plum blossoms which I’ve been seeing every day are the udumbara flower, which blooms only once every three thousand years.”

All of this, the arc of the sparrow’s flight, the light on the horizon as the new day begins, the aroma of a cooking breakfast, water flying wildly over a cliff as the spring snows melt, every Shakespeare play, every Sibelius symphony, the moon rising to begin another night, the leaves falling from eighty million trees as they prepare for winter, the discovery of a hundred billion galaxies outside our own, the sound of a piano hammer striking its string, a footprint in the snow, all of it, the dream within the dream.

Matthew Labarge has released seven albums of solo piano music, eight albums of mixed instruments (some as artist name Larkenlyre), and an album of pirate-themed lounge music (as artist name Cane Bay Cabaret). He works tirelessly in a tiny studio in Blacksburg, Virginia to bring you albums that unfold like a novel, are worth listening to carefully, and still yield new insights after many listens.

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