I hate bees. Wasps too. Ditto for hornets, and even moths. If it’s an insect, flies and is more dangerous than a firefly, I steer clear.
But for whatever reason, bees flew into my dreams early Sunday morning in a very unsettling way.
I dreamt I was back at my childhood home in South Dakota, talking with someone in the side yard. A couple of bees flew lazily by. The person I was with started, but I was calm. “Don’t worry,” I said. “They won’t hurt you.”
And those two didn’t. But the swarm that followed them shortly thereafter stung me badly enough that I woke up with a gasp at about 1:30 a.m. It took me four hours to get back to sleep.
My sister found some Internet analysis about bee dreams indicating industry, action, communication, and being in control of our lives. It was suggested that the dreamer think about what he or she is “pollinating” in life, and honestly, that’s not something I’m ready to face at this particular moment, bees or no bees.
My mother died in 1990, and we sold the house that year. In one of those you-couldn’t-make-this-stuff-up situations, I’m headed for my hometown later this week. I haven’t even been past the property since my extended family’s last reunion in 2000. I’d planned to drive by for old times’ sake, but now I’m not so sure. Was the dream a message to stay away? Or a not-so-gentle nudge toward some introspection I’ve been trying to shoo off for a while? I may never know. I do know those stings in the dream hurt, and I want to avoid them.
