In my Dream I See a Monkey
[S]he not only beholds the present as it is but…
[s]he beholds the future in the present.”
-Percy Bysshe Shelley
It starts near a stream, as many dreams do. Babbling softly at me, words of safety while a fog rolls in. Moisture wicking against my skin. Drops of dew on grass against my toes. I come to a fir bridge and cannot see across. Fog burdening. My heart a sawdust steam whistle. I begin to contemplate throwing my body to rock and water below, forcing myself awake, when through the mist I see her. A mother orangutan steps toward me and holds out her hand. She guides me, patient in my hesitation, across the bridge. Our bare feet plodding against the wood and onto grass again. Her grip a firm, soft fur comfort as finally the fog gives way and a rainforest appears. A troop of monkeys swing and play above us, their hoots of joy echoing through my chest. The smell of rain and, of course, love. I look down and find she has changed. A baby monkey now with eyes wide open, unblinking. She speaks through my voice we cannot stay and I brought us here to show us what we return to. There are conditions I must accept, but cannot speak. I nod at her and feel the tendrils of fog tug at my calves. Gently, she climbs my right side and settles onto my back. Arms locked around my neck, legs tight around my waist. Nestling her face into the crook of soft skin between shoulder blades, I turn and walk back across the bridge.