shorter neck, longer beak
I can't work out whether this is a 'private message' meant for just ME (about Determination) or a 'public message' intended for THE WIDER PUBLIC (about Custodianism), from the birds.When I was a young lad, I lived in several towerblock locations in Nottingham; this is where this morning's dream seems to be set. An amalgam of those sorts of hi-rise locations, and it's not the first time either. I'm younger, I think, in the dream. I'm looking out of the living room window, in that type of building, that'd be the back of the building, overlooking the communal grassy/paved area below. We had a veranda or balcony. Each hi-rise apartment had these. But they weren't THIS LONG, this deep if you like, and they didn't have pseudo-tropical vegetation and trees growing on them, that's for sure.
A commercial jetliner aims itself towards my window, and (based on yesterday's Black Bear dream challenge set by one of the Commenters) I willed the plane in with all me determination not to move, to 'receive a message'. The plane came closer and closer, I could see the pilot struggling with the controls before putting his forearm over his eyes.
The plane hit the building just above our window in a massive explosion. I had survived. I went to fetch someone from within the house. This wasn't a family member. It was a big/tall man, like my old aikido instructor or an old relative. Strong, full of power. I held his hand, I'm sure I was still a kid at this point. We walk out onto the destroyed balcony, the trees and vegetation in our garden are scorched black. I say to the man's comment about how brave I was, "I'm always good under fire." And I guess I am, in real life.
Off to the right of the concrete balcony, a gray 'sea bird' of some sort, gull or cormorant, that later reminded me of a gray heron but with shorter neck, longer back. Sails closer, hovers on the thermal. Man says, "Now, would you look at that."
"That's rare," I say, for some reason. The bird lands in the arms of the large man. He folds its wings carefully, then puts his hand to the back of its head like he's going to crush its skull with his thumb. I know he has done this before, it's his job. I turn away. But then the bird is on the floor, near my feet. I drop into a kneeling position alongside the bird and it cuddles me. It's really quite a large bird, hence the feeling that it's more gray heron than greeb, but it shares qualities of both.
I stroke this bird on its neck, side and it puts its gaping beak near my cheek, my open eye. Sings a song. Not bird song, tweet tweet. But a soaring seventies melody/kitsch, goes, "Waiting for the music of your love," repeats that over and over, like a seranade. I get very emotional and feel that the bird is tryig to push itself into my skull, physical osmosis. I carefully nudge the bird away eventually, and it continues to beak me on the thighs and bottom.
