Psychologists normally call these energies in us "aggression," but this term has overtones of destructiveness which does us (and the lions and tigers) less than justice. The very first time [my daughter] Fiona saw a tiger in the London zoo, she exclaimed, "Oh, look at the noble prince!," instinctively recognizing a kind of wild, very sexual grace which human beings repress in themselves (witness the bloodless eunuch princes of fairy tales!)

The wildness becomes aggressive only if the creature needs to fight for survival and freedom--which is the point at which our own "animal nature" turns on us and pursues us in dreams, because the life-style we have been trying to create for ourselves lacks something absolutely vital to our well-being.

For example, as I come to the close of this book, my dream tiger is becoming more and more impatient to leave the gentle climes of Florida and seek out the spaces and wildernesses in other parts of the world. Only last night, he got out of his pit in the yard (that's where I was keeping him, and it seemed quite logical in the dream) and chased us all into the house, and on another occasion when I was flying in a dream, I saw him down below and waved to him, whereupon he growled threateningly.

My animal nature--my need for "wildness"--is becoming restless and impatient because it has been denied expression for so long. It is no life for a fine, fearless creature of the jungle to sit all day at a typewriter, having no wilderness in which to roam, putting on weight for lack of exercise, and getting rusty in all joints except the fingers-and a bit ofl daily yoga is no substitute! I have promised him a change of scene very soon, though until the book is done, I have no option but to "rise above him."

I am reminded of my recurring nightmares during pregnancy, when I was pursued by wild cats, dogs, and wolves, which reflected the way in which I was putting down my body's wish to become really involved with maternity.

Underdog is a forgiving creature uninterested in revenge. As one of [my husband] John's dream tigers purred as he tentatively stroked it with his foot, "It takes so little love"...

Last night, my dream tiger reappeared and chased me through a forest. As he leapt upon me and threw me to the ground, I suddenly became aware that I was dreaming. Instead of waking myself up from the nightmare, I realized that this would be a good opportunity to find out for sure what he wanted, so I pushed him off and said, "You're a dream tiger, and you can't hurt me, so let's be sensible and have a talk."

For a moment he looked distinctly nonplussed, then obviously thought better of it and returned to the mauling. It then occurred to me that he was probably very hungry, so I "magicked" a large steak out of the air and told him to eat that instead. This he did with great relish, and I woke up as he sat down beside me licking his paws contentedly.

In true forgiving undertiger fashion, he held no grudge against me for having starved him for so long, and I realized that regular feeding--allowing my animal nature and natural wildness a reasonablc amount of expression--would make him my friend, guide, and protector for life.

In fact, I have since been sufficiently lucid in several dreams to call upon my tiger for help when confronting an implacable dream enemy--which indicates a growing capacity to mobilize my own inner strength and resources in waking life instead of pushing the responsibility for my problems onto others.

SOURCE: The Dream Game, Ann Faraday, Harper & Row, 1976 ed.; pp 242-3, 245, 265-6. Passages untitled; 'Tiger Dialogues' added to aid searches.