The vernal equinox was all set to take place at 5.37 pm today, I was reliably informed by a second generation pagan friend in the health store this morning. So the year turns, as does the on-going development of Allie. It amazes me how much can go on between posts! It is a book on bees that has brought in the new information, as it so often has in my years of growth (the last 20) Before that? The stuff of matter.
I’ve a whole shelf of books on bees in The Warren, lots of them out of print and over the years I’ve collected some fascinating facts about their world. They were, after all, here on earth before the mammals that were our ancestors. I remember hearing a fascinating talk on the radio years ago by Beowulf Cooper on the annual drone assembly, which takes place higher in the sky than sight can reach and follows ley lines. Millions of drones assemble, via set flyways at the same place day after day, until exhausted they fall out of the sky. And did you know that beekeepers rarely develop terminal illnesses? Also bees are the living proof of the power of 6. Their development of the hexagonal form for the purpose of honey production taps into the ancient secrets locked away in the shape. Bees dance the language of glyphs and myths(and string theory?) in the leminiscate shape (see right), thus reaching across dimensions to pass on to us the wisdom of our birth and the message that our home lies with infinity.
But do we listen? Do we buggery. Not only do we not listen, we are in the process of destroying the sweet messengers with our greed and the prostitution of the ancient art of beekeeping by unsustainable honey production. But enough of that.
The day afer my ill- advised trip to the docks, I was walking Tottie back from the park, past one of my favourite secondhand book shops, when a powerful vibration hit my peripheral vision. Looking closer I saw that the title of the book was The Shamanic Way of the Bee. Ancient Wisdom and Healing Practices of the Bee Masters by Simon Buxton. It was £3 ,which was a sure sign that this was my book. There was only one problem and that was that the shop was shut. Next day I was there as it opened and down the street I carried the book in that special way that certain books warrant- remind me to tell you about bookshop serendipity some time. As always, I started reading from the back, bouncing around from chapter to chapter, hoovering words in an obsessive way because I could feel a message calling from its pages. ‘If only we could live like pirates, grabbing life’s treasures and sailing forward on the high seas, we might honour the gift that is our life.’ I saw the words as if I was drawing them through a membrane from another place and knew instantly that this was my truth. The message said that my urge towards capturing a pirate needs to be internalised. The main is my creative imagination, the rigging my language and the sun over the yardarm, my time to come face to face with my personal truth. The bees had spoken and I had heard them.
‘Ask the wild bee what the druids knew’ is an old adage that has long fascinated me. They are the words written over the door of the home of the priestly beekeeper, Haris, in my novel, The Pebble Jar, the first part of the Llangrannwy trilogy(still unpublished). I had a feeling I was being used as a conduit when I was writing The Pebble Jar and now I realise that I was actually writing about shamanism, though I had no idea at the time.
The element of chance is often absent from the major encounters of our life. It is as if we come into this world with certain appointments to keep and experiences to draw on. The ancients drew animals on the dark, hidden walls of caves, drawing the spirit of the being through the membrane of the surface so that the truth glows as clearly today as the day it was drawn. So it is with my realisation. I drew the book through the membrane and fixed it in my mind. It gave me a beautiful thought which in itself is an example of what happens in the communication between the living form of bees and a person open enough to hear what they are saying. For the language is not in words. It is the language of seeing without eyes, playing beyond the dots, moving beyond the rational mind into the infinite dance of the lemniscate, which offers the means to explore hidden realms. It tells me that there we find the treasure map and following clues we move into the world of myth, which is not a lie or a story but rather the essence of truth. The eye sees only what the mind is prepared to comprehend. Bees sing the cosmic song not singly but as it is meant to be sung, in unison. Maybe this is a good thought to hold onto at the moment of our movement into Spring.