Have you ever seen a bee resting on a flower in the evening? They are sometimes old bees, tired or unwell after a hard day’s work. Old bees don’t return to their hive at the end of the day. They spend the night on flowers, and if they have the chance to see another sunrise, they resume their activity by continuing to bring pollen or nectar to the colony.
They sense that the end is near. Bees do not wait to die in the hive. They do not want to be a burden to the others but continue to carry on to the best of their ability to the very end.
A LOVELY WAY TO DIE
This sounds like a lovely way to die, nose nestled into the petals of a flower, nature quieting as darkness enfolds, the hum of life carrying on in the background a comforting, distant lullaby – a life well spent, drifting off in deep peace and acceptance.
Bees can teach us so much. All of nature carries on around us every minute of every day with little lessons waiting to be gleaned. We humans are so busy reasoning, rationalizing and thinking our way through life. Nature just exists and goes about its business by design. They don’t bother with the whys and wherefores. The reasoning mind is our gift and our curse.
At the end of life, I would like to let go of that last bits of my reasoning mind. After a lifetime of problem solving, often leading not where I intended, the quiet of non-thinking is a powerful lure. Death need not be necessary to quiet the mind. Meditation is a powerful practice toward that end, and perhaps somewhere deep inside we know this to be true, and are preparing to let go, preparing for acceptance.
A COMFORTING PERSPECTIVE
I take comfort from the bees, knowing the end need not be painful or even sad. Instead, it can be meaningful, filled with purpose and consideration for others. Purpose is comforting to us humans, and perhaps to the bees as well.
A bee in its dying moments opens and closes it’s mouth, kissing the ground upon which it rests; expressing his/her sacred bond with the earth.
So, next time you see a bee resting upon a flower as the evening closes in…
…thank him/her for her life of service and the lessons offered.
A beautiful piece of writing, Dorothy…it is a gift…thank you.
I have been fascinated with the nature and “consciousness” of both animals and insects my entire life and have spent countless hours simply observing and trying to learn from them. I have concluded that, like your example of the dying bee, it all comes down to acceptance of one’s essential place in nature and full and utter surrender to it all. The thinking mind, as you so wisely point out, merely gets in the way (unless we’re in need of an immediate survival tactic, of course. :-D)
I think we’re like minded, Marin! As you put so well, acceptance of our place is an important step. The cicadas continue to teach me new lessons every day that they are so very present!
Thank you for your wise perspective on living–and dying, Dorothy!
Glad you stopped in, Marian. We are always learning, aren’t we!
Dorothy. This essay is marvelously written
Your talent , gift and love of writing is surely
FABULOUS LOVE sister Carolyn
And you’re the best sister I could have dreamed of. We’ve been through so much together, and we’re still discovering more about ourselves and each other every single day. Beyond grateful to be “aging abundantly” side by side with you!
Your lovely thoughts about bees brought tears to my eyes. It brought to the surface the degree to which I have not found a spot to rest. I fluctuate between feeling comfortable with my age (almost 67) and feeling out-of-sorts with accepting where I am and who I am in this lifetime of mine. Working part time for eight years (until recently retiring) kept me happily distracted and less focused on my age. Now, though, I float through my days . . . enjoying the freedom and yet not being comfortable knowing that more of my life is behind me, not in front of me. BUT as I sit here thinking about your bee insights, I wonder if I am quantifying my years in a way that is more harmful than helpful. What I mean is this: While it is almost a certainty that I have fewer days ahead of me than behind me, perhaps there are much better ways to measure and look at life. Maybe it’s not about comparing the number of days ahead with the number of days behind. Maybe there’s a much healthier, life-affirming way to view things. I can bathe in the present moment. I can toss aside unhelpful societal notions that I have been exposed to my entire life. The bottom line is that I can learn how to love the “me” that I am now without comparing it to the “me” I used to be. The flowers that I previously rested upon have shriveled up and died . . . but I’m resting on a new flower now. It beckons me to open my eyes to the beauty of this moment. I am here. Now. And I smile!
Welcome, Lori. So happy you stopped by. You express so beautifully a few crucial bits of your recent journey of becoming. Thank you for taking the time to do so. Every day I see a little more clearly the gifts that only being nearer to the end than the beginning can bring. Stopping is essential to the process, isn’t it, somehow having or making the space to let some light and questioning into our too often busy lives. Some are forced to stop by illness or other eventuality, some choose it. Either way, when we are bumped off the treadmill, it presents an opportunity just like the one you described. May we both continue to bloom where we’re planted!