“How dare he come to my Bowl.”

I laughed at my own outrage.

Eleven days ago, Sir Paul performed right here in Santa Barbara, California, where I live. The Santa Barbara Bowl is a stunning outdoor amphitheater with about 4,500 seats. I have seen some of my favorite artists at the Bowl, including Elvis Costello, Crowded House, and Duran Duran. Sir Paul’s engagement was a one-night affair, promoted less than two weeks ahead. I received the same email that lots of locals did: tickets were being distributed by lottery, resale was not allowed, and cell phones were forbidden in the performance area. I didn’t want to know any more.

I had a visceral need not to know.

In a sense, Sir Paul had been “dead to me” for years, due to my self-imposed blackout on Beatles-related news and social media. I established this boundary not in protest but to spare myself the pain of watching the world carry on as if Paul McCartney hadn’t died long ago. I have kept my distance, to protect my heart. Then the man who replaced me arrived in my own backyard.

This is the blog post I didn’t see coming, because I didn’t see Sir Paul coming to my little burg.

The Day of the Concert

While Santa Barbara qualifies, by population, as a medium-sized city, it can sure feel like a small town sometimes. On the afternoon of the concert, I had to go downtown for a routine eye exam. I hoped to get in and out without hearing anything about the show. The optometry office is located in a lively plaza called La Arcada. The late September day was lovely; people were eating outside, tourists were strolling and shopping, rock music was playing. The office door was propped open as I waited to be taken back and asked, “Better, worse, or about the same?” a dozen times.

Wouldn’t you know it: Two men standing outside the open door began talking loudly about the concert. After I heard “Paul McCartney” and “lottery,” I instinctively plugged my ears. The conversation lasted for about a minute. In the room with me was another patient, two chairs away; and two women who worked there. They must have thought I was absolutely mad, sitting there with my fingers in my ears!

From my house, I can often hear concerts being performed at the Santa Barbara Bowl. In such instances, the town’s acoustics, aided by atmospheric conditions, bring sound waves from the Bowl’s speakers to the hills above the coastline, three miles away. “Who’s at the Bowl?” is a fun game to play, but I probably would have died if “Can’t Buy Me Love” had wafted in through the open window. I was saved from this scenario by the fact that I am residing elsewhere at the moment.

For at least part of the time Sir Paul was onstage, I was dining at a restaurant less than a mile from the venue (and almost a direct shot). But all was quiet in the streets; I didn’t hear a single note.

Why I Didn’t Go

I didn’t even consider attending the concert, because I knew it would cause me emotional distress. The first time Sir Paul stood at the mic, fingers poised over his/my Höfner bass, and said something like, “Yah, we were in Paris, and we saw this guy in the corner wearing a black turtleneck and a black beret, and we thought we should write a French number” (i.e., “Michelle”), I would have screamed: “Liar!” And security would have escorted me from the venue.

Okay, not really. I would have managed my anguish as best I could—as I did on a similar occasion almost a year ago. Three days after I published my “coming out” post as the original Paul McCartney, I attended a Micky Dolenz concert with my sister. Growing up, we loved the Monkees. And let me tell you, Micky still has it! He’s a fantastic performer, with way more energy than folks half his age. However, I struggled through part of the show, as I recounted in my journal two days later.

Early on, Micky Dolenz told a story about having met Paul McCartney, in 1967; he went to Paul’s house, where he encountered Paul’s sheepdog. Of course, Micky was referring [unknowingly] to William (my replacement), to MY house, and to MY dog (Knickers).

In other words, a beloved figure from my childhood was telling a charming anecdote that erased me. Not maliciously, but casually. My documentation continued:

The next day, Micky went to EMI Studios, where the Beatles had just recorded my song “Good Morning Good Morning.” Micky and his band launched into it and played two more [post-Paul] Beatles songs. It was too much for me.

I was surrounded by joy, nostalgia, and celebration—people having fun, reliving their youth. But for me, those songs weren’t just cultural artifacts. They were stolen pages from my soul. Like a tuning fork, my body vibrated with the grief, injustice, and shock of being both seen and unseen. More recently, I recalled my inner experience that night:

When I heard where Micky’s story was going, I started to cry. Then I began hyperventilating and crying harder. These reactions continued throughout the segment devoted to the Beatles. It was like being a vampire and having holy water thrown on you. I felt like I had to get out of there. I kept looking behind me to see where the exits were, but they seemed so far away. There seemed to be so many people between where I was and where the exits were. I didn’t think I could make it, for some reason, and I didn’t want to disrupt others when they were having such a good time.

After the Beatles songs were over, I fully recovered and thoroughly enjoyed the rest of the show. In fact, the next morning, I regaled my sister’s husband with (almost) all the highlights while he made us blueberry pancakes.

[Edit, October 10, 2025: Two nights ago, on October 8, 2025 (so, less than twenty-four hours after I published this post), I went to a Colin Hay concert here in Santa Barbara. This is the third time I’ve seen the Men at Work front man perform at the historic Lobero Theatre. Between songs, Colin tells a good story, and he has lots of them. I knew he might mention Ringo, since they tour together. And he did mention Ringo. But I wasn’t prepared for a ten-minute story, early on, about “Paul McCartney”—whom Colin referred to mostly as “McCartney.” For everyone in the theater except me, it was an amusing tale about how, many decades ago, Sir Paul attended several of Colin Hay’s performances, invited himself over to Colin’s house for dinner, and washed the dishes after.

Colin’s story about “McCartney” seemed to go on and on (for me), and each word stung. I overcame the temptation to escape to the lobby; I didn’t want to distract my companions. After the anecdote was over, and Colin started playing a song (a favorite of “McCartney’s”), I pretty much shut down inside, trying to process the venom that seemed to be coursing through my veins. I attempted to make a comeback; but mostly, I just prayed for the (two-hour) concert to be over, so I could go home and be by myself for a few minutes.]

I didn’t attend Sir Paul’s recent concert, for reasons that by now should be obvious. I feel a pang of regret, even though I was present at every Beatles performance in history, from Hamburg to the Cavern Club to Candlestick Park (with the exception of the “rooftop concert,” in 1969). I feel as if I’ve somehow missed an opportunity—for what, I don’t know. But I haven’t missed Sir Paul—not really. In the last few years, he has appeared in my dreams with startling regularity. While fans have gathered at stadiums to hear him sing, I have been meeting him in the quiet hours, in scenes ranging from tumultuous to serene.

In the context of his show at the Bowl—so close, so charged—the moment seems perfect to revisit and reflect upon my dreams with Sir Paul and some of his family members.

Dreams with Sir Paul

From my journal, I have culled twenty-one entries involving dreams with Sir Paul, or William. (William Shepherd is the name he claims in his memoirs.) When considered chronologically, these dreams trace an arc that mirrors my own emotional journey—from confrontational to more reflective. There have been moments of animosity, recognition, reconciliation—even joy. Through it all, William has remained a central figure—sometimes elusive, sometimes accessible. My dreams with him have formed a kind of mythic diary, written in the language of the subconscious.

2021: The Reckoning Begins

In 2021, I started recording my dreams regularly. The ones involving William were raw and direct. My subconscious didn’t tiptoe around the facts. It confronted William head-on—naming what was taken, what was lost, and what still burned. These early dreams weren’t gentle; they carried the energy of anger and disbelief.

January 30, 2021: The Rebuking

I described this dream in my journal almost five years ago. When I reread it in preparing this post, I was astonished by how coherently I spoke my truth. While dreams can be surreal and symbolic, this one was quite literal—and confrontational in a way I very rarely (if ever) am in waking life.

Weirdly (or not), this morning, William was in my dream. I entered a room, and he was sitting, alone, behind a round table. (There were a few others in the room, to my right.) When I noticed him, I said, “Oh, look! It’s Paul McCartney. Or should I say, William Shepherd?” I spat out the name like a curse word. Then he was standing across from me, and I told him, “I’ve been writing songs again—and they’re good!” I began to list all the things he took from me, as Paul—my girlfriend, my house, my money. “I don’t care about the money,” I added.

He came closer, as if he were about to pass me on his way out of the room. I looked up at him, and he was quite a bit taller (which makes sense, since I’m five-foot-four, and he’s something like six-foot-three). He was young, about the age when he started with the Beatles. He seemed, I don’t know, defenseless. That’s the word that comes to mind when I picture his face again. I dreamt about William last week, as well. He warned of the danger I would be in if I tried to reveal the truth, similar to the peril he faced in publishing his fiction-mixed-with-fact memoir.

As my dream shows, on a subconscious level, I continue to bear a certain amount of hostility toward William. (I can verify this hostility sometimes shows itself in my conscious life, as well.) In the late 1700s, William and I became half-sisters.

That last sentence is a bit of a non sequitur. I suppose I was reminding myself that although I said goodbye when he said hello in the Beatles lifetime, William and I had known each other before—and cared about each other as family.

March 14, 2021: The Classroom Confession

I reconstructed this dream from notes jotted down at the time. The emotional tone was one of angst and frustration, arising from an attempt to be seen, believed, and remembered.

In this dream, I found myself in a classroom where Linda McCartney was the teacher. Sir Paul entered; there was a buzz of excitement. I turned to the girl sitting in front of me, who resembled a friend of mine from junior high, and said, “I was the original Paul McCartney. This guy replaced me, because I died in 1966.” She seemed a bit incredulous, but I told her I would prove it to her. I said I wanted a picture of William, and others seemed to have the same idea; I saw a male holding up his phone. The girl encouraged me to take the photo, but when I tried, I couldn’t quite find him in the room again, with people now milling about.

2022: Echoes and Retrieval

In 2022, my dreams with William grew more layered. The tone shifted from confrontation to curiosity. I recovered a melody, a fragment of memory. Some dreams felt like surveillance. Others felt like soul encounters. There was still resistance but also a bending toward something deeper.

March 31, 2022: Table for Two

The juxtaposition of young Paul and older William in a dream that occurred on my birthday felt somehow symbolic.

So, [I’m] walking through a restaurant. It feels light, even white, a rather large, open room filled with tables, and people eating at them. To my left was a wall of windows—not floor-to-ceiling, but large, from about the waist up. Through the windows, I saw Paul McCartney walk by; there was patio seating along the windows. Paul looked quite cute. He was wearing a powder blue suit; his hair was dark. I would say he looked like 1965 or 1966 Paul.

So, Paul walks by the windows. I think he sits down at a table. But then I clearly see my replacement, William Shepherd, seated at a table for two. The table is round, I think, and he is facing someone, though I don’t notice who that is. My gaze lingers on William; he is older, like his age now (85). I am sure it’s him.

June 9, 2022: The Compound

This dream felt like a visit to a theme park or estate centered on William. I pieced together the following description from notes I made after waking up.

William appeared in a deep blue button-down shirt, looking quite old. He was with a group, possibly including his daughter, at what felt like his home—or a compound dedicated to him. I made eye contact with him from a distance as I walked by. He followed me briefly, watched me, and then disappeared. Later, I was in a house with a few people. William stepped out, and I went to use the bathroom while he was gone. I realized he’d return, not see me, and wonder where I was. One of my dogs was behind the bathroom door. I didn’t end up using the bathroom, since it didn’t feel private.

August 21, 2022: Dream Melody

This morning, in a dream, I received a snatch of [a] melody…

I woke up in the dream and had trouble telling what time it was; I couldn’t read any clocks correctly. I felt like I had overslept. I noticed my door was ajar, which perturbed me. I went out and realized I was in my parents’ old house, but a bigger, mansion-sized version of it. From upstairs, I could see that the enormous living room was vacant, as if [my parents] were about to move out. The house was teeming with people, going in and out of the rooms…

Then I heard a song playing. I imagined the sound to be coming from a vinyl record on a turntable, sitting atop a small, square-topped table in the hall; for some reason, this vision is associated with the color mint green. The tune caught my attention but as quickly lost it, when I realized the singer was Sir Paul McCartney, or William Shepherd—my replacement as Paul McCartney. I grumbled, “I’m not going to listen to this!” and started to walk away. Then I woke up.

As I lay in bed, really awake this time, I could hear the song in my head. I couldn’t make out [most of] the words, but the melody was still with me. I picked up my phone from the table next to me. My eyes still not quite working, I pulled up my piano app and tried to find the notes that matched the melody in my head. When I thought I had at least come close, I recorded the melody—just 26 notes, maybe enough for a chorus.

I named the file “dream melody, log jam”; I believe the lyrics, sung by Sir Paul in the dream, had included the phrase “log jam.” It’s not the smoothest rendition of a melody anyone has ever heard but would have sufficed if I had chosen to expand it into a song.

Dream melody, log jam

September 25, 2022: Your Fate

The dream described here felt like a moment of reckoning—not angry, but inevitable.

I forgot to mention yesterday that I had a dream yesterday morning in which I was face-to-face with Linda McCartney and William. It was just their faces, which were next to each other, close together, as if framed in a picture, with Linda on the left and William on the right. They looked young. I spoke to the faces and said something like, “Your fate has caught up with you” or “Your fate is here.” I was referring to myself. I was the fate that had caught up with them, that was here.

December 6, 2022: The Embroidered Shirt

I want to preface the following account with a reminder that, in a dream, you can take the perspective of any figure.

Speaking of dreams, when [I] woke…up this morning, I was dreaming about myself—as Paul McCartney. It was like we were on a date. He was on my right and had his arm around my waist. In retrospect, I personally had a “Jane” feeling, which probably makes sense, because last night, I recorded the vocals for my Christmas song for her. Paul was wearing a jacket over a very interesting shirt. The shirt had small caricatures embroidered on it. The caricature in the middle showed William and Linda and some others. I touched it with my finger. I was confused how Paul could know about the man who replaced him, like the time sequencing was paradoxical. Before I could say anything, I woke up.

2023: Recognition and Reflection

This year marked a turning point. My dreams with William became more frequent, more nuanced. He was no longer just a symbol of loss; he was a person I could engage with. There were moments of tenderness and humor. I began to see him not only as my replacement but as someone carrying his own burdens.

January 29, 2023: The Casino

This morning, a little before 5:00 a.m., I had a dream with William in it. I seemed to be on the floor of a casino. There was a second level that was open to the floor. First, I saw several huge, poster-like black-and-white images of George Harrison lining the second level. Then, to the right, I saw a guitarist with long, frizzy dark hair who struck me as resembling David Crosby. He was standing in front of a microphone. Then, Linda McCartney appeared, and I feel like she pulled William forward—not literally, but maybe with body language. I don’t remember seeing William, but I knew he was there. I don’t remember hearing any music.

William was present but unseen—maybe hesitant to come forward?

February 21, 2023: Moment at the Museum

Okay, so it’s the day of William’s “release” from playing the role of Paul McCartney [as he stated in an earlier edition of THE MEMOIRS OF BILLY SHEARS].

After I fed the dogs this morning, around 6:30, I got back into bed… [After a little while,] I fell asleep. I had a dream, either then—or earlier, before I fed the dogs. I just can’t place the timing. But in the dream, I was standing in front of a painting at a museum, or something that was on display. Then an older gentleman was next to me. I turned my head to face him, and we kissed for a few seconds. Then I woke up.

Upon waking reflection, I thought the older gentleman might have been William—given the significance of the day. But I wasn’t sure. I didn’t have a clear memory of his face. I suspect that February 21 is William’s birthday. I have no “proof” of this other than his selection of this date, in 2023, as the end of his tenure as “Paul McCartney”—a fitting day to be “reborn” as his former, original self. Clearly, that hasn’t happened yet.

April 5, 2023: The Sectional Couch

This dream seemed to suggest at least a temporary softening—an openness to seeing William not as a threat but as a person.

At 1:00 a.m., I woke up from a dream. Just before I woke up, in the dream, I was in a room with multiple people. A woman was talking to me. I think she was off to my right; I couldn’t see her. Ahead of me about twenty feet was a light-colored sectional couch. On the couch sat William—young, around the time he replaced me. He was sitting next to a very small boy. I have the sense that he was looking at me with a pleasant expression on his face. It was a cute sight, and I smiled. I apologized to the woman who was talking to me, because I had been distracted by seeing William and the boy.

May 12, 2023: The Book of Paul

I had a dream with William this morning [around 9:30 or 9:45]. In the dream, I was sitting at a table, next to my husband, who was on my right. William was at the front of the room, presenting a book. As he spoke, I made snide comments to my husband, suggesting that William didn’t really write the book. I also had a book in front of me. It was a larger-format hardbound book. I had written things inside the front cover, which was off-white. William came up and asked, “What are you writing there?” Surprised, I said, “You write all the books.” He seemed a little taken aback. I showed him where I had written “Paul” around the middle of the page. Below “Paul” were two handwritten lines, beneath which I drew the copyediting symbol for “bold” (a wavy line). Then I woke up.

I checked Sir Paul’s social media accounts and saw the posts about the book, which had been made two hours earlier.

I had described these posts in my journal prior to documenting the dream:

This morning, I was dismayed to find a series of posts on Twitter (and stories on Instagram) showing the book of my photographs…on display in the windows of bookstores in the six cities where the photographs were taken.

To clarify further, the original Paul McCartney had taken a bunch of photos between December 1963 and February 1964, capturing the early days of Beatlemania. Almost six decades later, Paul’s replacement came forward with the photos. The images were collected in a book, 1964: Eyes of the Storm, which accompanied an exhibition of the photos at the National Portrait Gallery in London. The exhibition ran from June 28 to October 1, 2023.

July 7, 2023: The Distant Star

This journal entry suggests how regularly Sir Paul was appearing in my dreams yet how out of reach he still seemed to be at times.

Not much to report so far today except that Sir Paul made several appearances in my dreams last night, always at a distance. He felt famous and unapproachable.

September 24, 2023: The Sidebar Apology

In the middle of a dream, I saw a photo of Sir Paul—as if I were looking at a story on a website. The photo appeared in a column down the right side of the screen. I thought, “That guy is still making money from my songs!” I harumphed about it for a moment; then I apologized to William in my mind.

Was this a moment of emotional maturity?

November 3, 2023: Shrilly Love Songs

I had a dream in what I would describe as a hotel suite. In the living area, there was a mat; when I shook the mat, bugs crawled out, spreading over the carpet. Then I was getting ready in a large bathroom—very long, with multiple sinks and mirrors. There were other women primping, too. I was at the far left, closest to the entrance to the bathroom. Suddenly, a song began to play, emanating from deeper in the bathroom. It was “Silly Love Songs”—a Wings song that William stole from me. Instantly enraged, I yelled “God dammit” in the direction of the song. Then I woke up.

I think this dream reflects how reminders of a painful past continue to pop up in my life, as much as I try to avoid them. Could the bugs crawling out from under the mat symbolize the Beatles?

December 30, 2023: The Pepper-Upper

In this dream, I’m not sure why William is wearing John’s color on the Sgt. Pepper album cover…

In a dream that started after 6:00 a.m., I was at a table in a casual restaurant with a few others. I was drinking a pink drink in a highball glass. An attractive man at the table (on the other side, diagonal from me) asked to taste my drink. When he returned the glass to me, I took a sip. But it was like there were holes in the straw, and I didn’t get any of the beverage. I asked the man, “Is this still your straw? It’s not gross, but it doesn’t work.” I gave it back to him. I found another straw on the table, wrapped in paper…

Here is where the dream turned magical. William (a.k.a. Sir Paul) was sitting on the outside of the table, or at an extension of the table. He was wearing a Sergeant Pepper–era outfit, in yellow or gold. He was young—probably thirty. When my eyes landed on him, I joked, “Hey—you look like Ringo Starr!” His visage remained stoic. Did he get the joke? Immediately, I realized I was dreaming. I said, “Oh no! This is a dream. It’s about to be over, and I was having so much fun.” I got up and walked over to William, to sit on his lap—like a child would sit on a father’s lap. I think he might have let me, but I woke up. It was around 6:45 a.m.

2024: Embodiment and Integration

In 2024, the dreams became intimate, surreal, and emotionally rich. There were moments of playfulness and quiet companionship. I saw William in multiple ages, moods, and roles. This was the year of reconciliation. Somewhere in the dream space, we met not as rivals, but as souls.

April 13, 2024: Then I Woke Up

The only dream I remember from my last sleep cycle occurred very early in the morning; I woke up from it a little before 12:30 a.m. In the dream, I was in a room. Sir Paul came up behind me; he seemed very tall. How should I say this? He started…as if…seemed to be. I said, “Are you sure you’re not the drummer?” I suppose this was a reference… Then I woke up.

August 11, 2024: The Hill of Sand

I stitched together the following description from notes I made immediately after having the dream.

I dreamt that I was walking along the base of an enormous hill of sand. I could hear the Beatles’ “She’s a Woman” [with lead vocals by the original Paul McCartney]. I started mouthing the words like I was in a music video—until I worried that I looked silly. At times, I was on the hill of sand, running my hand along the surface—making the grains on top fly up, as if carried by the wind. But walking along the base of the hill of sand, I had the sense that Sir Paul was nearby. Then I saw him! I think I was very excited.

Sir Paul looked relatively young, say, in his 40s or 50s. He stopped me and took my hand, or maybe both of my hands, and turned me back in the direction from which I had come. He also seemed excited. We stopped after just a few yards, where several people were gathered by the hill of sand. He urged me to “tell her,” referring to a blonde woman—as if I had a funny story to share about a coincidence or something. Then I woke up; it was around 7:30 a.m. Reflecting on the dream, I felt happy.

September 12, 2024: A Knowing Smile

This dream suggests mutual understanding or acknowledgment, perhaps even peace.

As I was getting dressed to take the dogs out, I remembered that I had seen William in a dream! We were at a small table, with one other person, I think. William was sitting diagonal from me, against a wall. He looked somewhere between thirty-five and forty-five. I think we just smiled at each other knowingly a few times.

October 28, 2024: Questions of Identity

This dream feels like a moment of existential reflection—for both of us.

I had a dream this morning with William. In the dream, William was lamenting: “What will I do now?” I asked someone who was closer to me if I seemed to have any characteristics of the original Paul.

William’s question is vulnerable; mine is searching. Interestingly, this dream occurred just three weeks after I published my “coming out” post as the original Paul McCartney (on October 9), and ten days after I revealed where Paul is buried (on October 18).

October 29, 2024: The Video Room

The following day, I dreamt of William again.

Weirdly, this morning, I had another dream with William in it. What’s going on? In this morning’s dream, I was with a group of people—possibly led by Larry David, or another older gentleman. We walked into a room filled with chairs and couches. I sat down on an upholstered chair, which I decided could be shared. A woman sat down on the other half. I struggled to keep to my half; I said my bottom was too big! The room filled up.

At the front of the room, a video started. After a while, the video showed clips of Sir Paul, performing. Uncomfortable, I shielded my eyes. Then I saw William in the room! He was sitting on a nearby couch; I was seeing him in about three-quarter profile. He looked like he was along in years, around seventy-five or eighty. He seemed to be watching the video. Then he was standing toward the middle of the room, where he looked younger and a bit shorter than expected; his hair was darker.

This dream shows my discomfort with the public narrative, as well as a shifting perception of William. At the end, he becomes younger, a bit shorter, with darker hair. Does this transition represent some kind of shift back to his predecessor?

November 30, 2024: The Hallway

This is the most recent dream with William that I found in my journal. It’s a look into the past, perhaps.

I was in a white or off-white hallway. I saw William, quite young—probably in his twenties or early thirties. He was in a room on the left side of the hallway. I think I saw him first in the hallway and then in the room. There were other people around; William seemed engaged in some kind of activity or effort.

Dreams with Mary and Stella McCartney

I have had two dreams involving Sir Paul’s daughters Mary and Stella; the first dream was rather extraordinary, the second more mundane.

March 9, 2023: A Slap in the Face

I woke up about an hour ago from a somewhat distressing dream. Recalling it made my heart race; my heart rate has since slowed a bit… I find myself wide awake, yet again, in the middle of the night.

So, what was this dream? Basically, I was being slapped by three people: two women and one man. That’s right, they all took turns slapping me… The main slapper reminded me of [a] childhood friend…, with her short dark hair and rather severe, standoffish manner. I don’t have a clear impression of the other woman, but she seemed looser and more playful (while still getting her slaps in). I looked directly into the face of the man, who seemed British; I told him he should “do Shakespeare.”

The dark-haired, standoffish woman seemed the most critical of me, as she flipped through a magazine. At one point, the man asked if he could slap me, too, so it must have been just the women who were slapping me at first. I presented my face to him, and he slapped me with his fingers together, quite close to my skin; it didn’t hurt very much. That was the only slap I remember specifically. Otherwise, I just recall the feeling of being slapped. Near the end, as the four of us sat around a table, I returned to an earlier point of contention and tried to clarify it; the dark-haired woman dismissed me.

I awoke with a start. It was sometime between 1:30 and 2:00 a.m. I thought the dream had been a strange one… I found myself preoccupied with the slapping dream, [until it occurred to me…] that I had been in a dream with Mary and Stella McCartney.

Mary had been the dark-haired, standoffish woman, and Stella had been the other, looser one. The man had [presumably] been an invention of the dreamer. I don’t know whose dream it was—Mary’s, Stella’s, or mine. I would suspect it was Mary’s dream, since she had a prop (the magazine)… I do want to note that I believe I handled the slapping quite good-naturedly, or as good-naturedly as could possibly be expected.

The next day, I reported in my journal:

It took me about a day, but I figured out why Mary slapped me and was generally hostile toward me in that dream early yesterday morning. When I was Anne Hathaway, the wife of William Shakespeare, I had an affair…with the “Dark Lady” of [the] sonnets.

When William [Shakespeare] discovered the affair, he…issued an ultimatum. I chose to stay in my marriage. In revenge, the Dark Lady sought out William in London, to seduce him. She was unsuccessful. (She didn’t know he preferred the physical company of men.) This incident is chronicled in Sonnet 144 (“Two loves I have of comfort and despair”).

Clearly, Mary is still angry with me [on a subconscious level] for breaking up with her—and for memorializing her in unflattering terms, especially in Sonnet 130 (“My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun”). So, now I am writing a new sonnet, to say I’m sorry. The sonnet’s working title is “Apology to the Dark Lady.”

July 22, 2023: The Sister’s Address

My second dream related to Mary and Stella is curious from a metaphysical standpoint. I hardly know what to make of it.

I had some interesting McCartney-related dreams this morning… In the first dream, I was walking the dogs…in Encino [a suburb of Los Angeles, where I lived in my youth]. A woman was walking a big dog toward us, so we moved to the other side of the street. The woman followed us, so we moved back to the original side of the street. I felt like we needed to go one street over to the right, so we did. I could then see a large cross street at the end of the block. I interpreted the street as Ventura Boulevard—we were in the right place.

I said to the dogs, “Now I just need to find my sister’s address.” I entered “Mary McCartney” into my phone. That was the end of the sequence. I wondered later if I had somehow piggybacked onto Stella’s dream, viewing it from her perspective…or if I had projected myself into Stella’s consciousness, and she was awake at the time.

Dreams with James McCartney

I believe I have had two dreams with Sir Paul’s son, James—the first more elaborate, the second more succinct.

July 6, 2023: The Carriage Conversation

This dream felt like an instance of emotional candor, an opening of truth between two souls.

I woke up from one noteworthy dream around 4:15 a.m. In the dream, I was talking to someone—a male, I believe. Sir Paul had done some sort of video message for him. I saw Sir Paul in various clips, like video clips. I got the feeling this person knew that Sir Paul was a replacement. He seemed to express some distress that Paul McCartney was a womanizer—as if Sir Paul would have cheated on Linda. I said, “Well, there were two.” I suppose I was suggesting that the first Paul McCartney might have been a womanizer (and I resent the suggestion), but the second might not [have been]. The man seemed to acknowledge that he knew there were two Paul McCartneys. I got a little excited that I could finally be candid with someone. I said something like, “I have a lot of information that I could share, but something I can tell you is that he’s 85, not 80.” (But I was off by a year: the ages would have been 86 and 81.)

If I had to provide a setting for the dream, I would say the man and I were seated next to each other (I on his left) in some sort of open-air vehicle, like a carriage, moving through or toward a wooded park.

After the conversation, we found ourselves in the back seat of a car, with three men in the seat in front of us—which was not the front seat. We were all being transported someplace, as if it was a taxi or a shuttle. One of the men in the seat in front of us questioned what we were talking about. I said it was just a hypothetical conversation and quickly changed the subject by asking him what he did. He said “nothing,” as if he was retired, but then he suggested that he might not be able to resist working again. The man in the middle of the seat in front of us complimented my acting skills; I was flattered and said something like, “Aren’t you the nice one?” I think I woke up around then. [For the record, I don’t act.]

My top candidate for the man in the dream is James McCartney. [If this is the case,] James felt like a very gentle soul to me, and I think he needs some comforting right now.

August 19, 2023: The Little Spoon

This dream carried the energy of comfort, trust, and quiet companionship. It wasn’t romantic; it was restorative.

I had another dream with James McCartney. (I had an earlier one roughly a month ago.) In my recent dream, James McCartney and I were on my living room couch. We held hands briefly and then “spooned” in my bed. (I was the little spoon.) I wish I had told him, in either of the dreams, what a wonderful guitarist he is. But I don’t think I knew who he was during the dreams—just after I woke up.

A Dream with Nancy Shevell

On July 8, 2023, I wrote in my journal:

I had dreams with my replacement; his son, James; and his wife, Nancy, consecutively, over the last three nights.

The dream with Nancy had been first, on July 5; I took a carriage ride with James on July 6; and William appeared in several dreams on July 7.

July 5, 2023: In the Kitchen

When I woke up at 2:30 a.m., I had been dreaming about Nancy. She looked very pretty. I think she was in a house, maybe in a kitchen. I was observing her, and somehow I equated what she was saying to be coming from a book—one with very shallow pages, so only a few lines would appear on a page. I had the thought that Nancy’s voice was soft, like Mary’s, but with an American accent… I don’t remember what she (or I) said, unfortunately. She presented herself very nicely, while I feel like I was an ogre in the shadows.

This dream with Nancy was quiet, atmospheric. Did the “shallow pages” suggest she was being emotionally guarded? I seemed to be witnessing grace from a place of exile.

A Dream with Billy Idol

You might wonder why I would include a dream with the musician Billy Idol in this post, but during the 1980s, Heather McCartney (daughter of Linda Eastman when she married Sir Paul) dated Billy Idol. So, the dream seems peripherally related. Billy Idol was photographed with Sir Paul as recently as 2014, after the Oscars that year. They looked quite chummy.

April 26, 2023: A Rocking Cameo

I am still making refinements to my sonnet about meeting the Dark Lady, but that is hardly the news of the day. I had a dream this morning with Billy Idol…

In the dream, I was outside, sitting on the ground next to Billy Idol. We seemed to be at a music festival or performance. Billy was probably about his age now, but I recognized him without any doubt. His voice is very distinctive. I didn’t feel like we were alone, but there weren’t a lot of other people around; attendance was sparse, I suppose. As we sat and chatted, I saw [an acquaintance] standing, facing us, in a group about fifteen feet away. I feel like [the members of the group] were wearing white robes or gowns. When [the acquaintance] saw me, his eyes went very wide. I’m not sure if he was surprised to see me, Billy Idol, or me WITH Billy Idol…

I believe [my acquaintance] was part of the performance. I saw him on or near the stage, in a supporting, maybe behind-the-scenes role. He seemed to be carrying a big, oblong basket containing white towels.

Billy and I chatted for quite a while. He seemed cool, and I felt comfortable. At one point, he kissed me… [Then] Billy got up, about to leave. I asked him something like, “Do you want to pay your respects to the performer?” He declined, suggesting that it was kinder to pretend he hadn’t seen the performance at all. He left, and I sat down next to someone else. I tried to convey Billy’s response to my question, which I had found hilarious. I even tried to imitate Billy’s distinctive voice.

The 1980s were my formative era for music, so “meeting” Billy Idol was a thrill.

A Final Word

When Sir Paul came to town, I didn’t go see him. But I’ve been party to a different kind of performance—one staged in the subconscious, lit by memory and myth. In dreaming, I have met William, Mary, Stella, James, and Nancy. Each encounter has carried its own emotional charge, its own symbolic weight.

These dreams aren’t just stories. They’re soul messages. They have reminded me that truth doesn’t always arrive in daylight. Sometimes, it walks in dreams.