There’s a reggae singer/producer who is about 112 years old, and his name is Lee “Scratch” Perry. He produced for Bob Marley in the early 1970’s, and is one of the first producers to introduce “dub” to reggae—which, by the way, was a forerunner to rap. Anyway, this guy is about 5’0”, and despite his diminutive size (and real age, which is 68), he’s a force to be reckoned with on stage.

Lee “Scratch” Perry is the kind of character you’d experience in your dreams, filled with zany antics you’d never see in this world. I think “Scratch” somehow escaped from the dreamworld and hasn’t been able to make it back there.

I saw him perform a couple of years ago in Austin, Texas. After his band performed an opening number, “Scratch” hopped onto the stage, decked out in an Uncle Sam hat and wearing an American flag. “I am your President,” he proclaimed, and if I were to secede from the Union and be in need of a leader for my new republic, I’d ask for Lee “Scratch” Perry to come forward.

Seceding from the Union sounds like a good idea from time to time, and it’s something I’d unequivocally do in a heartbeat, if I could only get my Republic’s passport okayed by the United Nations. I imagine you’ve got to do something like that when you start a new country.

Now, don’t get me wrong: I have no intention of taking over any land in the United States, Great Britain, Africa, Germany, or any other established chunk of land occupied by two-legged creatures. As a matter of fact, I don’t need land. I just want the moniker of my own nation. You don’t even have to give me a seat on the United Nations, unless the delegation from Trinidad is emphatic enough about such a possibility.

I certainly wouldn’t need a Congress for my nation, especially since I’d have President Lee “Scratch” Perry handling all the administrative chores. I would have the president issue proclamations on which reggae classics would be good to listen to during the week, and that would be about it. I might have the President whip up a good vegetarian menu for the week, too, since he’s into that way of life.

We’d work dreams in my Republic, especially since our President is an escapee from that land. I don’t have that Republic established yet, but that doesn’t mean I can’t begin talking about dreams.

Imagine waking in the morning in a bed located in a strange, faraway country that you’ve never heard of, not even in your dreams. I’ve had that happen a couple of times, except that I realized I was still experiencing the residue from a dream. That’s a pretty weird feeling.

One morning, I had that feeling, but found myself laughing from the depths of my being as I awoke. And the dream was as if President “Scratch” Perry had influenced it, for as I woke, I was hearing reggae star Burning Spear’s classic tune, “Recall Some Great Men.” The lyrics go something like this:

Let's recall some great men, Who've been fighting for our rights.

Let's recall some great men, Who've been fighting for our rights.

Recall them, recall them. Recall Malcolm X. Recall Martin Luther King.

I wake with the words “Martin Luther King” in my head, and realize, hey—I’m dreaming. Here’s what was going on:

I’m leaning against something, my hands behind my head, real comfortable, watching this cute little kid, about 18 months old, sitting in this basket high off the ground. I am facing him and this kid is laughing so hard and I am, too. There is a Burning Spear song playing, and I’m hearing the words, “Remember Marcus Garvey.” I am quietly saying, “Rastafari” to see if the kid will pick up on this word and maybe repeat it. This cute kid is laughing as he hears the word “Martin Luther King” and is repeating those words—and I am quietly wondering to myself, is this David, my brother, somehow? This is something he’d enjoy and laugh with, hearing praises about Martin Luther King in a reggae song. So light a laughter, joyful—me, too, as I wake up.

I wonder what this had to do with anything, much less Burning Spear. But it is as though I was connected to a world that was so light and free with joy: a reality where little children vibrate with wisdom we think is only possessed by the adults. This world of the dream is amazingly playful, real, and full of wisdom. It is there where I can meet up with reggae sounds and watch little children catch the underlying wisdom and meanings behind the music.

I only hope I can experience this kind of connection with the little ones in this world, which I think is highly possible. As a matter of fact, I think I had that connection the other day as I was laying out along the Pacific Ocean, capturing a few rays after a jog, which was followed by a swim in the ocean. I was trying to nap on my oversized blanket when a 13-month old child made her way to my area, doing her best to engage my participation with her plaything, an oversized pretzel. It didn’t take too long for me to take notice and grab a huge smile that we both shared. The child and I “oohed” and “aahed” at each other, smiling, laughing, as her mother watched from nearby.

It was as meaningful conversation as I’d had with anyone else that day—perhaps more so. As the dream child engaged me in wisdom in laughter, so did the little girl on the beach. We have to let our ideas fall by the wayside about what encompasses wisdom. It could be the smile from a child, holding hands with our grandmother, or the buzzing of a hummingbird by our ear. Wisdom comes in ways we can’t assign to rationality. That’s just how wisdom is, thank goodness.

That’s why I like to think of my sleeping time as a connection to wisdom. Because there are going to be some mornings when I wake with the laughter of a child before me—and within me. Laughter might be my best connection to wisdom, for when I’m in the midst of laughing, I feel as though I’m open for anything. Especially the wisdom of a child.

And that, my friends, is the best way to go to school.