|Another, happier bee|
When I was driving on 46 yesterday, something landed in my bra, between my breasts. Eeek! When I was able to take a peek, I found a bee.
As I gingerly turned into a side road (regretting the weight I had gained that made squashing the bee a possibility), I begged the bee not to sting me. I wasn’t too afraid, because I love bees, and I know they aren’t aggressive. Besides, my mother is a bee charmer. I felt protected.
I scooped the bee out carefully with a tissue and realized that the poor guy was dying. He could barely crawl onto the grass when I placed him there–I hated to leave him, but I don’t think I have the skill to rehabilitate a bee.
I began to think: why was I visited by a dying bee?
A bee symbolizes the Mother Goddess, the willing sacrifice, immortality, and cooperation. In the physical world, the bee is in terrible danger from hive collapse and pesticides.
That made me think of the Hindu goddess Kali, the mother goddess of creation and destruction. Maybe my dying bee was a message from her, telling me not to be afraid, that death (my death, the death of ecosystems, the death of family and friends) is voluntary. We die to live again, but most importantly, we die to complete this part of our dream, and to leave room for others (as well as ourselves) to grow.