I had a dream

Although this is not a dream of a early memory I think it relates to the class topic of being able to recite from memory and the significance it can have in our lives or the lives of others. Early this morning I awoke, my eyes did not open but I stirred from this irrational dream with a single thought.The thought that a single song committed to memory could have great influence on the direction an event plays out.

The opening scene of my dream was of a 3-4 lane highway, the traffic was not congested and was heading in one direction away from me. I was not in a vehicle but watching on a large projection scene from theatre seats. The audio was load and in a race announcer style a voice was repeated the same phrase about five times " Go Girl Go", he was very excited as the image of a woman arose, she was clad in protective gear, helmet and thick uniform all meant to protect against a crash. In a crouched position over the tank of the motorcycle she was flying as she passed daily commutors and flew ahead of a truck. Just as she made her move to pass another truck an unexpected vehicle traveling against traffic and in a sidewards swiping position came into sight. The announcer gasped, the audience gasped. I remained watching as the motorcycle hit the car on center. For the next several moments there was no site of the motorcycle or its rider as cars remained on there path down the highway trying to come to a halt. All of a sudden images of debris littering the roadway was becoming visible. Large pieces of the motorcycle that had been sheared by the force of the accident were scattered about. Among these pieces and about the size of them emerged quite an image. The upper portion of the the woman motorcyclist sitting erect, waving her arms in anger and yelling " Hey here I am can't you see me? Can't you see there is a woman over here? She was not distraught, but more filled with anger that the people that were running to her aid were passing her. She had not noticed that the lower half of her body from the waist down was no longer attached to her upper half. As three young theatrical women rushed up to her, she told them in an indignant tone "I can not feel my feet". They were extremely calm almost like they had done this before and what must be done in such a situation. Without a word spoken one of the young ladies reached down and opened the valve of a spout, one like you'd find on a barrel of wine. This spout was mounted on the abdomen of the the women who now found her end was near. The white wine poured freely and graciously from the spout as the three woman began singing a song that they had committed to memory. I could not tell you which song it was, but it had started out as an unfamiliar song, rather obscure and dauntingly difficult to recite. As the woman sang the song it morphed into a familiar childrens song soft and true. I remember saying in my dream "She is in the right hands with these three ladies". I remember thinking what a different death this woman would have had if the ladies had not had one song in their heads to recite as she lay there dieing.
   I have always been fascinated by people that have committed entire poems or verses to memory. I have never seen myself as the type to do the same. I suppose I found it to take a great amount of time and if I did choose to commit a single piece to memory what piece should that be? So many wonderful pieces out there. Over the past few classes the thought of me being one of those types that commits random pieces to memory is becoming more tangible. Why not? Why should I not have something fanciful stashed in my brain amongst my memory of my social security number or my memory of the address of my house as a child? 
Just sharing Heather