Tribal and mythic...

 This dream occurred June 6, 2017, and seems to relate to the picture I posted last time.

      I'm  hiking up a very steep hill, looks and feels like a  40 or 45° angle,  and it is densely shaded by a high canopy jungle.   Workers clear a husk-covered trail with heavy  sweat and machetes.  They bring to mind migrant Mexican farm workers except I realize they are native here, I am not.  They all wear backpacks.  I sense I  should not disturb them, still I take out a camera and snap away, bothered by the electronic clicks that sound noisy, out of place.  Yet I'm eager to capture images, fascinated by the tangled black hair and grim tan faces of these laboring men.  But my shots disappoint with lack of clarity, all off-center, unfocused, blurry.   The men have obviously noticed me and become increasingly agitated though they continue to work.  They frown, murmur, and glance snake-eyed at me. A big, grizzled older man strides quickly downhill to stop me and to calm them.   He's a father figure, an authority both to them and me.  He's one of  "my own kind" long accepted as one of theirs as well.  He  loudly says something calming and profound.   I freeze; the men go back to work, though I sense watchful and lingering resentment from them. The big man turns his attention exclusively to me and speaks quietly though I don't remember his words.  Logically, I tell myself, he urged me to proceed quickly up the trail, off the mountain, out of the jungle.  I hesitate and linger, wondering why he's here, doesn't leave, works with them.  I certainly could not do that, even if I had the inclination. And  I sense my mother's presence though she's not  visible.  She wants to hand me something, a small item from a feminine presence on this high jungle trail.  I have it in my hand:  a paper,  I think, with something written on it that I don't read because my attention is fixed on seeing the men as they evaporate before my eyes.