Bees and love.

I don't know what it is but something about these bees is magical.  Perhaps it is the history of beekeeping in the world that enamors me.  I am enchanted with their industriousness, and yet, without each other each one is useless.   They are profoundly interdependent.

Any honey we get from our bees is also a gift.  We don't eat bees (unlike other kinds of husbandry) they produce for us.  They are the farmer, the maker, the creator of the wax & honey.

I read somewhere, in all the reading I've been doing about bees that women are thought to be better beekeepers because they understand that care taking involves pain (think childbirth).  They are not afraid to be stung  and so they are more calm.  I cannot imagine this is true, (because men understand pain and love too).  But I like this idea.  I like the concept that pain and love are interconnected not dislocated.

There is also a myth around beekeeping that says when something important is happening in your life you must tell the bees.  If you don't tell the bees then they will die.   Again, I don't exactly why this appeals to me, but the idea of my emotional life mattering in the universe is beautiful to me.  Letting others carry my pain, share my pain, is not just important it is vital.

On a personal note things have been lightening.  The post prior to this was heavy and dark- but when I wrote it I felt that I had finally found the question that had been holding me under water all winter. 

I am still floating on the question and asking myself a lot of questions about it and exploring my own loveablity- but I am not drowning in the self hatred.  In this profound way, I am totally humbled by the question. 

Even when I am nothing:  not productive. not kind. Not creative. Not beautiful. Not ...whatever the thing is,  I am still alive.  I am still a created thing. A created creature.  Since I believe that all of creation is valuable.  In a basic humble sense I am beloved because I am.  I don't feel beloved. I don't "get" it.  But that doesn't make it false. 

Me bees are not beloved to me because the produce honey or because they are interdependent.  They are beloved because I have decided to love them.  I am beloved not because I can feel or know I am loved, but because the spirit that is God loves me.  It sounds a little bit more romantic than it feels.  It feels profoundly humbling, and yet that humbling feeling is so so good.  It is void of pressure.