......a bee story

Yogis,
Once upon a time there was a bee……

I am sitting in the middle of my garden, planting, pruning and tidying up as she flies in and hovers nearby. I get quiet so I can listen. Bzzzzzzzzz. I love that sound. She lands first on the sunflower and buries her face. I watch as the pollen clings to her back legs. I see her as one of my many garden friends.

She takes off as quickly as she comes, heading down the street. She approaches a boy who lets out a scream and runs, arms flailing and legs pumping. She doesn’t know that he was stung last year when a wasp was in the towel he wrapped himself in when getting out of the pool. He sees her as danger. Something to fear. An enemy.

The bee flies into an open car window. The man turning on the car is late for an appointment when he spots her.  Jumping out and throwing the doors open he begins yelling, coming toward her swinging his jacket back and forth. His patience wearing thin. He sees her as an obstacle. An annoyance, on top of all of the other annoyances in his day so far.

She beelines out zigzagging through the trees and down toward a picnic table where a young couple is having lunch. She lands on the flowers growing under the table. They see her. “Shoo!” the woman yells. “Hand me that magazine so I can kill her,” he says. They see her as being in their space. Doesn’t she know they are trying to relax? An intruder. She flies away.

She arrives at the hive on the beekeeper’s property. For this beekeeper, the next meal for the family is dependent on consistent honey production. She is happy to see the bee. Glad to see she is healthy. She sees the bee as an employee of sorts. Necessary. A provider. She is grateful to the bee.

Down the street a family is putting some of the honey they bought from the beekeeper in their tea. They love the taste but don’t really give any thought to the bee. Honey to them is a commodity they buy in the shop. The stories they hear of the disappearing bees do not connect with the golden liquid they spoon out.

The bee flies into a tunnel in the bee exhibit at the children’s museum. As the bees pass through the woman points out the different types of bees and talks about their lives to the young kids. Teaching them about the importance of bees to our existence. The little girl stands on her tip toes, getting as close as she can. She sees the bee as beautiful. Yellow is her favorite color.

At last the bee arrives back in my garden as I pack up my garden tools for the day. She is tired and thankful for the fresh water I have put in the birdbath.

So, what is a bee? Friend, intruder, enemy, beautiful, annoyance, provider?

Depends on what pair of life glasses you are wearing. Each of us views everything in life based on our beliefs, experiences and expectations. The bee could have been a person wearing a different color skin than you, someone who worships a different god or lives in a particular neighborhood.  We each see them differently and very rarely see them exactly as they are. Our glasses are cloudy.

The next time a bee crosses your path, stop and watch her. Can you take off your glasses and see her exactly as she is? A bee, living her life the way her spirit and nature guide her. Nothing else.

Taking off my life glasses to see you,
SARAH