The Beekeeper’s Gift

I heard a gentle buzz in my right ear, it hummed, faded, and returned. “What’s that?” I kept repeating as I turned my head quickly to either side, hoping to catch sight of or shake loose whatever had seemingly nestled close to my ear. His hand gently brushed my hair to the side, parting it to reveal a bumblebee who was trying, between my thrashing and its desperation, to free itself, becoming entangled in my golden strands.

I sat in front of him, legs kicked to the side, my face in profile, as he carefully loosened the knotted hair. I remember it seemed like eternity, but as he skillfully worked to release the little bee, I drifted into a state of calmness, a sense of deep safety, an at-one-ment.

I remember telling someone the story of his bee colony that transpired some 30 years before my birth. Stunned, they replied “I bet he didn’t keep them after THAT!” With a smirk and bright eyes, I replied. “oh, but he did! I remember them from my childhood.”

He had a way with hand gestures, soft words, and gentle hugs. He taught me of lions in electrical outlets and scooping up big scary spiders to let them outside, where they belonged, instead of residing on the back of the couch. He taught me to respect your fear, to stand firm in your one-ness, and to find tiny universes in the mundane.

These didactic moments can be distilled into one of the. overarching lessons in life — -that respect is at the core of our relationships, both the invisible and tangible. Respect and commitment to values is witnessed even in solitary moments.

Sometimes, I still hear a buzz in my right ear, as to say “I’ve scooped you and placed you back on the path, let’s try this again.” And if I quiet my mind, I am back on the steps, turned to the side, with his hands weaving in and out. What he is doing, I do not know. But I trust.