Last night I watched a part of a nature documentary (The Trials Of Life) that featured leaf-cutter ants. Their behavior is, to me, pretty bizarre. They carry the huge leaf bits that they have gnawed off for considerable distances, then clean them and take them into their nest, where smaller ants take the bits into the larder. The leaf bits are inoculated with a specific mold, allowed to ferment. And the spore balls are what is eaten. The leaves themselves are inedible.
Anyway, the ant specialization was the impressive part. The littlest ants, members of the same colony, are the size of grains of sand — they never ever leave the underground area tunnels. Neither, of course, does the queen, who in this case is as big as a mouse! Other ants’ sole job is to keep her clean. Others’ sole job is to catch the eggs when they ooze out of her backside and to gently take them to the nursery:
Soldier ants with huge jaws protect the colony, biting any intruder on the surface, locking their jaws and hanging on even if their bodies are separated from their heads. As with all ants, each one’s function and body and will in life is determined by what they are fed as grubs — their makeup and job is then fixed, and cannot ever be changed.
Then after watching the documentary I had the following dream:
I’m in a place with some business people. Sort of a furnished apartment, seventies style carpet and sofa. Big picture window. Unknown to my host, or at least unknown to him during our previous encounter, some of his visitors — a group who mysteriously keep to themselves and seem very single-minded — have invented a kind of “dry water”.
This is apparently a sensitive subject and a big secret, and though I can’t describe what it is, it is obviously something very special. I somehow get wind of its existence, or suss it out somehow. I tell my host of my discovery, though he doesn’t believe me. Ah, but he believes me now, now that the true nature of the visitors is becoming apparent.
These visitors also have with them some docile humanoids. Also businesslike in appearance. Given a command, these “zombies” attempt to commit suicide in sometimes preposterous ways. Awkwardly sawing at their own arms near the shoulder with a huge saw, their bodies awkwardly contorted, trying to both hold the saw and reach high up the arm. There is no blood and these serious though bizarre attempts never seem to amount to anything. But they are taken at face value and seem very serious. We are all very impressed.
For some reason this makes these compliant humanoids (they don’t speak or act on their own) feel sort of dangerous, even though we have only witnessed them attempting to harm themselves — but the message is clear.
Later, I try to sabotage the visitors by surreptitiously pulling on some sort of levers that are in the partially curtained-off bar nook of the residence(?) where we all are. The levers are near the ceiling and at first they don’t see me pulling them, one by one, as I foil their latest demonstration, but eventually they can tell that something is amiss, they look around, and they catch me — the game is up. Bad.
