Gorilla Dream

I had a dream last night that "they" were trying to get me to adopt a gorilla from the zoo. It walked on its back two legs and was almost a man. I walked all around with him in public. I was afraid to be alone with him and to adopt him because, as I kept asking the zookeeper, "Aren't gorillas unsafe and known to physically harm the help?" They didn't deny it but they kept insisting that I should adopt this animal. That it would be good for both of us. That gorillas have changed.

I turned them down after a long period in the dream where I kept interacting with the gorilla. The interactions were strange. He moved slowly, robotically, and without much eye contact, if any. I couldn't see into him, to see if he would hurt me or love me. I wanted to measure that trigger inside of him to see how quick and fierce his anger was so I could know whether or not it would be safe to commit myself long-term to him or if he would simply overpower me within a moment's rage, with no built-in stops. I decided that he wasn't ready to come out of his cage and live among humans.

Then later I was at a workshop of some sort and I saw the gorilla. He was a man, who had previously been a gorilla but had moved on from that gig. I wanted to talk to him. I wanted him to talk to me. But he kept disappearing and our paths quit crossing and I moved on to the next dream.

In real life, I've been fascinated by the way in which fathers at the park communicate with their sons as they're teaching them about things. Two men stood out for me last night. One was very gruff. He made little eye-contact. He talked in short, monosyllobic words to his son and to the other boys on the t-ball team who he was coaching at home plate. If they were standing too close to the plate he'd say, "back up." He didn't tell them why or how far. Just "back up". He'd ask them to take a practice hit. "Let's see your swing" he'd say, nodding to the T that had no ball on it. They'd swing. He'd say "good" or "okay". Then he'd put a ball on the T and nod for them to hit it.

He looked like he had a bad temper and yelled a lot off camera. But I liked him. I liked that he was teaching the boys, not about baseball but about "true grit" masculinity.

After the game, I noticed a very gentle-looking man. What struck me was how high his voice was when he looked behind him and called for his son to follow him. He had a very feminine quality not just to his voice but his face and posture were both very soft and gentle. Although his son looked like his father, he did not possess the same feminine strengths. The boy followed his father's footsteps, several paces back, encumbered by some inner resentment, some inner struggle.