It makes sense that early communities believed that the sun, stars, and moon revolved around the earth. From our point of view, it appears that way, but we almost always form our views as if the universe revolves around ourselves.
We only hear our own thoughts and see life through our own eyes. Animals, weather, people, and objects are all simply props in our life story. Things flow around our lives just as the sun and moon appear and disappear each day and night. What we forget to notice is the billions of separate lives and universes moving about where we may simply be a character who revolves around them.
I have always been scared of bees. I’ve been stung twice, and as a person with a fear of pain, it is not my favorite feeling. Every time a bee or wasp flies its life into my own, I distance myself as far as possible until it returns to its own. As me and my mom were painting our marina clubhouse, just that happened.
At first, it flew around the small room, and we hoped it wouldn’t land on our fresh paint job. I don’t remember exactly how I reacted, but I know that it was something along the lines of keeping away from the other side of the room. Eventually, it settled into the large window sill of a window next to where we were keeping our paint cans. After realizing that it wasn’t bothering me, I got used to the bee in the window sill and continued my day.
People came in and out of the clubhouse, Including myself. Multiple doors were opened numerous times, and we were there painting and cleaning for hours. Finally, I was sent to find my dad, and we were wrapping up to return the one-hour drive home.
When entering the clubhouse for the last time of the night, the bee still resided on the window sill. It sat still, but clearly, it was still living. Our first assumption was that it was stuck inside and couldn’t manage to get out, so we scooped it up on a paper towel and stepped outside. The bee didn’t move. It rested on the paper towel pleasantly and stayed in its safety. We thought maybe the bee didn’t want to leave. It was warmer inside anyway. That was when my mom assumed the bee’s opinion.
The bee was dying. It may have stung someone, or got hurt, or however else causes bees to die. It had found a warm place, with the comfort of other beings that did not create more harm, and it sat in the window, watching the sun go down for the last time over the lake, enjoying its final moments by observing the world that it probably occupied for a short time.
It sounds ridiculous, like something only seen in movies, and the real purpose of the bee coming in that day will forever be unknown. I decided the story my mom had put together was the truth I wanted to believe, and it hit me like a train.
I had never felt such sympathy for a bee, a creature that had always provoked fear in me. But that night, whether it was my exhausted mind or the sudden idea, I cried. It was crying that makes you lose your breath with every tear and doesn’t cease until significantly after. I felt too deeply for that bee; it had chosen to spend its last moments in our presence, even though it could have flown anywhere it pleased.
I thought about the simple animal because it didn’t seem right that the location and timing were coincidental and how maybe they are more established, in a sense, than any human. I felt bad for the poor bee whose life was subtly coming to a close, but also for myself. It seemed that I could take a lesson from the simple bee in honor of its simple, beautiful life.
Take in everything, don’t envelope yourself in your own life. Notice that there is so much more happening in the world outside of your small life bubble.
The next day, when we decided to return, the bee had passed away, and I hope he was still alive to see the rare northern lights from that night.
