Some days are like that…messy, anxiety producing and hard. In the bee and human world alike. On those days I don’t wonder what bees think, I wonder what I was thinking when I took up this little hobby in a moment of passion.
My spiritual teacher calls bees my muse, a source of artistic expression. I would agree with that. Even if my bees never make me any honey money, they have truly inspired me in so many ways.
Muses of any kind are the substance of our spiritual journey on this planet. I see this life as a sort of spiritual boot camp. We are spiritual beings equipped with amazing bodies, trying to find our way through it all—often a wilderness of choices, tribulations, grief, joy and uncertainty. Bees have been amazing little sherpas in regard to my life the past 7 years.
In April when my bees were busting out. I needed to divide two of them. Pronto. Or they would elude me by swarming off into the wild blue yonder of our neighborhood— potentially causing mischief by setting up housekeeping in someone’s attic or rafter or canale.
All was set. I had alerted a few friends who wanted some new bees. After hours of combing through my seven hives (way too many in one yard, I know), I separated out two bee travel containers filled with bees and swarm cells. I awaited my husband to come and chauffeur me down to the valley where a new home awaited them.
Irritated that his promised grocery store run for lunch took more like 30 minutes, I groused about my bees, worried that they would overheat as I waited on him—packed into cases with one little hole, taped down so none would escape. I myself was overheating in my bee suit.
Finally my husband showed up, apologetic. He had a good reason, but my mood only deteriorated from there. His timing was good as gold, but I was beginning to melt down around the edges with the thought of transporting livestock in the heat. As my father, who once transported pigs to sale told me upon hearing my story, “Now you know what a farmer feels like”.
Once in the car, we headed towards the interstate. Bees began to leak out around the invisible cracks I had failed to see or seal. As we came to the Right Lane entrance for I-25, suddenly the car stopped. It didn’t even shudder. We were stranded in traffic with two boxes of bees, the sun beating down on the car whose electric function had totally been derailed. So, I climbed out in my bee suit, flinging the doors and hatchback open. Bees flew everywhere. I was sweating profusely.
Fortunately, my cell phone was not dead. My husband passed the AAA New Mexico card to me and I called the tow truck. Next I called Stephen, my friend whose precious cargo we carried. Within ten minutes that good man was at our car door, loading up boxes of bees in his mercifully air conditioned Prius.
Thanks to friends who sometimes pose as angels, the no good, very bad, terrible bee day became better. That day my bees taught me gratitude. Patience. Kindness showed up.
Some days are like that.
What is your passion? How do you define your life by your muse? Or not? What is your muse teaching you today?