The rockstar panned around the eager audience and scanned the souls of each and every onlooker. He seemed to hesitate just the right amount of milliseconds when he gazed upon the 25-year-old dreamer. It made him consider himself and, in essence, validate his own self-worth. Miraculously, that one moment in time could, and can, do that to a fellow dreamer. Looking into a brother consciousness, the rockstar shook the dreamer’s mind; appreciative of the gesture of coming to see his creative spectacle in person, but conveying a frustration in the presence of the Awake Creatives in the crowd. A burning glare penetrated them, almost as if to say, “Hey! You’ve got work to do!” The dreamer was wearing his work, and was in some dimension begging the rockstar to take notice of it. He wanted to rip it off of his body and throw it on stage, but that would attract far too much attention that he neither needed nor cared for. After all, this was the rockstar’s moment. So let him have it unabated and unmolested. It would mean far more that way. While a sea of hands made diamonds and bounced to the beats, the dreamer’s glassy-eyed wonder intensified as he considered the product that the rockstar had manifested, entirely from his mind. This was magic. Plain and simple.