I see you bee, flower
I see you flower, bee
Come lean on me
come walk in me
give me take me flower, bee
saffron fingered me, you, bee.
A steep grassy hillside in daylight, a long narrow sandy area below. I was instructed by I don’t know who to get the animals into their pens now.
I doubted that I could accomplish the task in this dream, but what I notice as I sit in waking daylight is that I wasn’t afraid or overcome with doubt. It was more like, I can probably do this, I’m not sure how, but here goes.
It’s not easy wrangling white tigers when they bury themselves in the sand, only a small part of their face showing and that’s how I found him. It’s a dream, so who knows how they they got themselves in the sand but one sprang out at me from the sand, he was only me-sized, strong and hurtful, he toothed and clawed me, long deep wounds in my arms, but I got my hand in his collar and started dragging him towards the plane. He turned over on his back, front and back legs up, struggling and fighting with me like a stubborn dog that did not want to go in the house but I never lost grip on his wide, old, soft leather collar. We fought and I dragged and eventually he got to his feet and I was able to get him up and inside the DC-10. Once inside, it was well-lit and there were pens ready for the critters, small affairs made of old plywood with dubious latches.
I went back out and found another white tiger hiding in the tall grass. This one was stubborn but not fightful, dull like his blue eyes, it allowed me to drag it up into the DC-10 and shove it into a lower waiting pen.
I went back out and found a bearcat, or a binturong since this dream wants to be specific. Long and black and heavy and feisty, like carrying a 40-pound ferret that wasn’t mean or terrible, just sleek and busy, nicking me with his claws as he climbed all over me. I tucked binturong into his pen next to the first white tiger and closed another dubious latch.
The pilot came down dressed in casual blue, long sleeves and slacks, headphones hanging around his neck and he tiredly told me I had to get in my seat we’re leaving now. We were leaving before all the pens were filled, but I knew this was it. We were headed elsewhere, a sanctuary of some sort.
I don’t know the reason I had to uproot wild and active creatures, put them in pens, and take them somewhere else. I know I wasn’t certain I could do it, and I was bloodied in the process. I wonder if those creatures are wild and free and satisfied. Few of my dreams give me the final word.