On Being The Bee. Holding to one’s Truth.

Making choices and the Patterns of our self-deception.

On Being The Bee. Holding to one's Truth.
Being the Bee

We all live in patterns of our own making. Without patterns, every day would be a chaos of newness with no order, where accomplishing the smallest things would become a bold undertaking. We learn these habits of behavior out of necessity, to not only get things accomplished but also to protect ourselves and feed our demons and angels.

I am a creature of habits, good, bad, and indifferent; and like most of us, it is easier for me to see the habits of others and their defenses than my own. Yet, I am human, and, without much thought, act on id-based needs. My rational mind is willfully blind to my own dark habits born of pain and harsh self-judgment.

And so, I find myself, entangled again, wondering if I am feeding my armor and need, or engaged in something real.
Is there a difference?
It is wrong to protect my vulnerability by participating in intimacies that in the end evaporate?

Is that question even valid?

Is doing something that feels good, even if misguided, wrong?
Isn’t it most important to be in the loving moment?
Is it the joy of the moment, the connection, that is the payoff?
No future is promised, so we might as well enjoy now, now, correct? Even if there is an unfulfillable tomorrow?

And even if all this is just rationalization, justification, for my own misguided choices, the die has already been cast.

I wrote the below as much for her as for me. I am that which I am. I am not perfect and am my own harshest critic. I risk and I pain, and I bask, and I rejoice as any other might.

The Bee

The bee is a small thing.
It scares middle folk. 
It dares to fly around.
All decked out in flamboyant colors.
Black and Yellow, buzzing around, oblivious to the simple minds.

“Oh my god! A Bee, RUN!!!”, the bee is unaware.

The regular folk don’t see, the bee.
The tunnel shows them a stinging flamboyant monster that cannot be leashed.
The bee, though, only cares to find sweetness to take home.
And in its travels it spreads life and fertilizes the world. 
It helps to grow the things that nourish our bodies and souls; leaving behind it fields of flowers for our child selves to roam in. To delight in the scents and colors and beauty of creation.

You are like the Bee. You are the Bee. You terrify some, and leave others unsure, but, I see, the goddess seeking sweetness and spreading love. 

I see in you Kloris guarding and cultivating the flowers that brighten our lives.
I see in you Artemis exploring the wilds and woods of our deeper selves, caught between the chastity of culture and the act of creation that is loving and caring and opening your heart. Artemis, fighting to protect the suffering child, that is in you as it is in all of us.
I see you, desperate to find Clementia, to find that in you that will allow you to forgive those that have hurt you, as we have all been hurt.

I see you, and am nourished as if by ambrosia, I see the sparks and the love, the softness, and the pain. I see also the hard armor you carry. The heavy weight of self-protection, while still trying to find sweetness and create fields of flowers.

Be carefree like the Bee, find sweet things and bring them home. Leave field of flowers everywhere you pass.

I will end this with a poem by Antonio Machado. Originally written in Spanish, here is the English Translation.

The Wind, One Brilliant Day

The wind, one brilliant day, called
to my soul with an odor of jasmine.
"In return for the odor of my jasmine,
I'd like all the odor of your roses."
"I have no roses; all the flowers
in my garden are dead."
"Well then, I'll take the withered petals
and the yellow leaves and the waters of the fountain."
The wind left.  And I wept.  And I said to myself:
"What have you done with the garden that was entrusted to you?"

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