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Thursday, August 4, 2011

the fable of King bee

once upon a time there was a worker bee. he was brilliant and strong and handsome, how he came to be that way is a story for another time, though; you can read that story if you know how.

the bee loved more than anything, to be among the flowers, collecting golden pollen, as he knew benefitted the hive and his folk, which felt good and right to do; but in his deepest heart he sometimes knew it was just as much for the flowers and their fragile but indomitable beauty; for he loved them, and loved that he helped them to grow...

the bee knew that his folk fed on the pollen he would bring home, that it would engender more bees to help the flowers, and that ultimately, all bees were made from flowers and all flowers could become bees, in a certain sense.

when he found the best flowers he would spread their pollen to the other flowers; and in doing his joyous dance for the other bees, would let them know where the flowers that
he thought most beautiful were. it was a friendly competition among the worker bees, sharing joys and keeping the flowers mixed and healthy in good company...

when the bee came back to find a young, promising flower which very much resembled a mature flower that he had grown to love, he would cherish the new, young flower without question... but sometimes he felt a pang in his deepest heart, for the flower he had known before: that exact, inimitable flower he had known so well and shared with so intimately would have gone...

but because he persevered, there kept being more and more beautiful flowers, the kind
he loved best... and it was his life...

one day the bee went to see an exquisite flower, one he loved almost too much. the winter had come and with it the flower had wilted and died; and had been replaced by its beautiful kin.

that this young, good and beautiful flower was so much like the flower he loved that had gone forever, touched the bee; and he felt that same pang, the same unbearable pain from all those years of working; and it was then that his mind turned away from the fields of flowers; and he thought of his Queen...

in his deepest heart, though he had held nothing back in his love for the flowers, or for the workers whose company he cherished so much; the bee had a secret yearning in his soul for the Queen bee.

he had always loved the Queen bee, mistress of creation and death, life and love and eternity...

he wanted to join her in that suicidal flight up into the sky with all the drone bees, expending themselves in their prideful race, on that singular flight that had but one meaning unique to each of them; what that would mean to the hive, to the fields and to the innumberable flowers, to everyone, he didn't know...

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