GOD PLOP TWO: THE BEES

000_1704They came by the thousands today, their golden-brown bodies undulating in soft, translucent honey-colored veils above the fruit trees. They were not here yesterday or the day before, or any day since I first began watching for them this spring. But they came today in numbers that are making my yard thrum with the sound of an ancient, hopeful heartbeat.

I noticed them at first thumping softly against my bedroom window this afternoon when the sun unexpectedly arrived. First one, then five. Curious, I walked very slowly to the part of the yard where the old pear, apple, and plum trees grow. My heart stood still at the sight of them. I haven’t seen so many honeybees gathered anywhere in years. Certainly not in any yard of mine.

Trying to be as quiet and as welcoming as I could, I moved from one tree to the other, head tilted up, tears on my face. Was I walking in a pageant? In a parade? In a shamanic dream? As I write this, they are moving back and forth in golden waves past my window, resting now and then on the glass panes and the window sills. The trees are rejoicing. I am rejoicing. They skim across the green lawn, kissing the dandelion blossoms, the violet blossoms. They kiss each dreaming pear and plum and cherry flower and they sing and sing and sing. I look inside my heart for the words to describe this feeling, and the feeling is wanting. I just want them. I want them to stay and to make hives in all my walls so I can be in the middle of them day and night, and my walls can drip honey until my dying day…

From the bedroom window. You can't see 'em, but they are there in the blooms.

From the bedroom window. You can’t see ’em, but they are there in the blooms.

Earlier this day, before the pageant of the bees, Carter and I went walking by the river and found our favorite path under water. Part of the riverwalk is through a “transitional zone,” which sometimes floods and acts like a marsh, and sometimes acts like a dry meadow. There were wrens last week where today there are great blue herons and signs of beaver.

Of course, Carter and I are in an acute transition ourselves: We close escrow on our new home next Wednesday! Only a couple weeks ago, I was planting my container pots with new seeds and sprouts. Next week, I’ll be emptying those containers into the many garden beds around our new home! How quickly the process is moving along, after a full year of searching for the right place. I have no doubt, not one scrap of a doubt, that all your prayers and good wishes for us helped the perfect place to find us at last.

Our soon-to-be new/old home. Whoopee!

Our soon-to-be new/old home. Whoopee!

Since the God Plop of my last blog post, the spirits have been generous in showing themselves to me and reassuring me that they are, indeed, there. Walking by Coyote Woods last week, we were surprised to find a lovely coyote hunting in the field mid-day. She faced us when she saw us and stood quietly for many moments, allowing us the privilege of seeing her, before turning away and jogging slowly back toward her tunnels in the berry bushes. We have heard these coyotes since the first night we moved here a full year ago. This was the first time we were ever blessed to see one. Was she telling us goodbye?

A few scant days later, heading out to the pasture with Mazel for our morning stroll, I saw something spinning in the wind, suspended right by the place where I’ve cut a path through the bushes to the pasture. Looking closer, I saw it was two barn owl feathers, joined by down fluff, and wrapped around a low-hanging cedar branch. Years ago, in my early days of cancer, my life was saved by a barn owl. I have no trouble instantly recognizing their distinct and beautiful feathers. I am one of the lucky ones who are easily awed, and the moment with the barn owl feathers brought me swiftly to my knees in gratitude. They hang now on the beaded shade of my small bedroom reading lamp.

Today, there are the bees. I feel as though grace herself has descended upon my home and family with the visitation of these mystical golden beings.  Last summer, after attending a two-day workshop on the sacredness of bees, I came away knowing it is bee-mind that brings the essence of loving unity consciousness to the Earth.

This past winter, as I wrote to you all, I’ve been feeling alone and faithless far to often. On this sunny day, the bees hover over our rental home in a golden cloud, humming the energy of unity to me. My heart breaks open in thankfulness, and the sound rushes in and vibrates each of my wanting, longing, oft-hopeless cells into a swift, brief symphony of oneness and compassion. God bless these bees, and all bees. May they thrive, so that we can all find a felt-knowing of what loving unity can be. May the spring bees find  you and sing to you, and bring you the hope, peace, and oneness that is their birthright and—hopefully someday—ours.

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