11th Realm

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A Dream That Started it All

The electricity cut out and the darkness came like the thick velvet curtains of the theatre extinguishing all the light in the room. Even with the torch light of my phone all I could make out were the ghostly silhouettes of a sold out crowd in front of a dark grey monochromatic world. It was like sensory overload. I felt panicked like a cluster of spark plugs in my abdomen. Thousands of impatient people screaming and shouting convinced that the show would not go on. With no sense of direction, pressed shoulder to shoulder, I made my way through the maze of bodies on the dance-floor feeling the sound of every solo cup, tin can and kick of the bottle beneath my feet. The smell of marijuana clouds hovering above me like a low hanging fog caught in the wetness of the air. I make my way to the stage. I almost trip as my feet touch the bottom of the staircase only to catch myself on the railing. I ascend slowly, step by step as if I would never reach the top. Without warning, the theatre was engulfed in a canopy of light. The power is back on. The deafening silence of the crowd was followed by a volcano of emotion erupting in excitement. My heart was pounding. My hair stood on end. The room was electric. I ran onto the stage only to find that CHKRA wasn't there. I make my way back stage to search for him and there behind a stack of flight cases he sat; his back against a wall of blood red bricks painted over by the names of artists he has worked alongside. Marshmello, Jauz, Zomboy, Excision, Carnage, Rezz to name a few. With his legs crossed, he was  somewhere in a space between realities meditating in a haze of smouldering sage. 

I nudged him on the shoulder. Nothing; Completely unresponsive. I shifted my uncomfortableness by sitting across from him. Moments pass and the crowd’s chant grow as loud as a riot. I had to ask him, “How is it that you can remain so calm and so focused as an artist with everything that is going on?” He opened his eyes, looked at me and said...


“What do you want...Advice? If that is what you are looking for, I don’t have any. Stop aspiring and start inspiring . If you’re a performer, then perform. Perform like you’re a goddamn death row inmate and the governor is out of the country and there’s no chance for a pardon. Perform like you’re clinging to the edge of a cliff, white knuckled, on your last breath, and you’ve got just one last thing to say, like you’re a bird flying over us and you can see everything, and please, for God’s sake, tell us something that will save us from ourselves. Take a deep breath, take a few. Meditate, align yourself and your chakras  then tell us your deepest, darkest secret, so we can wipe our brow and know that we’re not alone. Perform like you have a message from the king. Or don’t. Who knows, maybe you’re one of the lucky ones who doesn’t have to.”

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