The Art Of Beeing~

I learned the art of bee-ing today. Beekeeping that is.

Somewhere, along Oahu’s Eastern shores, a small section of land-- a hidden Hawaii garden may be found. Nestled in the shadows of the Koolau Mountains, wild integrity winds its way as a golden thread; the sweetness of the honey from its combe paling in stark comparison to the rich, wondrous satiety found in the company of fellow sojourners…come to see….simply how to be(e).

Make your way down the winding drive, surrounded on all sides by vast valley views and the looming, misty mountains of Old Hawaii *and don’t mind Mani…he is just the resident sheep…he’ll not bite. Nor allow yourself to be distracted by the strut of the rooster hoping his swagger will sway your fancy. *I must admit he is quite dashing~

Are you hungry? How about an avocado? Tiptoes now…reach for it…that one, there…yes, that’s the one! Feel its bumpy skin give a little, your thumbprint indelibly leaving its impression until you can stand it no more, slice the juicy goodness in half and devour its luscious innards. Dessert soon follows….mountain apples abound…bananas also beg to be picked and sampled. Go on, feel free~

Swing wide the gate, and enter in…welcome. Yes, this was the imperative invitation: Well, come.

And it did.

Daien, the beekeeper of beauty and grace, ushered us into this world today. A world of order, of diligence, of peaceful productivity, and an animal orb of orchestrated energy and divine design. Busyness here is beautiful, and blessed. Work is not said as if it is spelled with four letters…it is sung, and held out and continued in one elongated breath as if it were one eternal syllable.

This world’s inhabitants themselves are neither friendly nor hostile…they are simply living and working. They live and breathe…coexist…create and birth their own royalty…protect themselves from outsiders…even kill their own kind on occasion. They survive. They thrive…. And they will eventually die. They are not safe, but they are lovely. They are not unsafe, but they will sting you. They are.

They create a magical manna….a golden goodness dripping from the catacombs of their closeknit colonies…and we devour its nourishing essence as if starved souls in search of the sustenance that can be found only in its sticky sweetness. One taste and we are ruined for all other imitations… unheeding decorum and all manners, attracted to its sultry scent we lose our heads…it dribbles down our chins…we lick our hands in hope of catching any final remnants of its joyful juices. It is honey, and it is good~

Indeed, I learned the art of being today~