Jesus Christ Superstar
Weird dreams last night…but a guest appearance by The Purple One…standing there eating a cookie. Yes…a cookie. He really loved that cookie!!
When Prince appears standing before you in a dream, staring at you, dressed in a beautiful cream colored suit and eating a cookie... you know it is the best damn cookie ever made!!
And I'm pretty sure it was an oatmeal chocolate chip with nuts and coconut (and possibly craisins)... not overly sweet but warm and chewy.
No idea what it means, but I wanted that cookie too.
Believe it or not, I’ve received many letters from friends and acquaintances reporting experiences of deep spiritual communion with Prince in the days after his passing. And like the ecstatic man in the Double Rainbow video, they’re all asking the same question, what does it all mean?
I chose your letter because it’s the funniest, most lighthearted of the correspondence. Most have been deeply personal, expressing uncontrollable tears, inexplicable loss and a profound sense of mourning. People are unsure why they grieve him when they didn’t even know him. They question whether his appearances in their dreams and waking moments are hallucinations or real.
(Quick show of hands, dear readers —raise yours if you can relate to any of these experiences.)
See? You’re not alone and it’s not your imagination. It’s a very real, transcendental phenomenon. He is very much among us.
But why is it happening? Why with him? Why weren’t we as moved by the passings of other beloved geniuses like Michael Jackson, Robin Williams, Philip Seymour Hoffman or even David Bowie?
What follows is just a theory, not a definitive answer —one that’s entirely subjective, informed only by my personal experience. Maybe you’ll find my insights resonant, maybe not. Regardless, I hope they will help provide some relief to people who are grieving his loss in a very tangible way.
To be honest, I was never a big fan of Prince as a person. As his former employee/World’s Worst Cocktail Waitress at his nightclub Glam Slam, his presence invoked an intolerable degree of chaos over which he exercised maniacal control.
There were strict rules about who could approach him, when and how, yet he reserved the right to pluck anyone he saw fit—employee or patron— out of the crowd and sweep them away on his purple jet at a moment’s notice. Furthermore, The Little Man made it known that rebuffing an exclusive invitation was highly frowned upon.
The dude had boundary issues.
It bothered me that he kept his muse Mayte (literally) locked up in a cage, belly dancing above the crowd in his VIP suite. There was something grossly harem-esque about the whole production. Sure, it was a cool artistic concept, but as a woman, I found the whole experience insufferable, especially after my experience with Noxema Boy.
Nevertheless, I always felt that I was in the presence of God whenever I listened to his music. It didn’t matter whether the topic was sacred (“I Would Die 4 U) or profane (“Darling Nikki”). His musical genius was an invariable testament to a Higher Power.
I suspect that Prince possessed the essence of Jesus Christ incarnate—a notion that is bound to rub many the wrong way. Modern Christianity is quick to put Christ on a pedestal —the standard that all humans must aspire to, but no one could ever possibly become.
Prince never would have been so blasphemous as to liken himself to Christ, yet it was evident, both in his work and in his interviews, that he did so love the Lord and devote himself to Christ’s teachings that he consistently aspired to Christ’s perfection, even though he was an imperfect person.
I suspect that this is why we collectively grieve his loss.
Even though the magic of the man created the illusion that he floated above us in life, he so devoted himself to the path of Jesus Christ that he now appears to all of us in death to remind us that we are all God’s children — each with our own inherent gifts to bestow upon the world— and that we are universally loved.
So go make those damn cookies, already and share them with the world! Stop hiding your gifts to yourself.
I promise you, The Little Man would have wanted it that way.
Originally published in Connect Savannah.