It took a stinging slap to the face
to get me
to stop
and notice.
We were checking out property in the Poway area,
investigating space with the intention of creating
a sustainable food community. We had been forewarned.
A group of forty beehives had recently been relocated to this
land's rolling, green hills.
I was the lone female and the youngest of our group of three.
I was accompanied by two older men, in their mid-50s. One of them
was deathly allergic to bee stings and had forgotten his Epi-pen.
While perusing the orchards of local fruit trees, we headed
up the largest hill to gain a bird's eye perspective upon
the possibility that lay stretched out before us.
As this energy of mine likes to do, I led the way.
Confidently striding up a winding, dirt road,
I innocently approached someone else's, new home. I heard the angry
buzz of a disgruntled neighbor before I saw it coming.
"Grrrrrr....," I imagine the martyr was buzzing as he flew right at my face.
I had no out. I had no means to escape. I could only receive
the stinging slap.
I screamed,
slipped
and fell to the Earth.
The guys quickly came upon me. They helped me up but were slow to pull out a credit card in order to remove the stinger from my hurt face. The stinger released its apitoxin into my cheek, in the space above my mouth and to the left of my nose. "Ouch, that hurt," I whined. I dipped my finger into fresh mud and
applied it to my wound. Over the next few days, the left side of my face was swollen - it was painful to laugh and smile. (Alexandra Villegas even has a picture of one of these swollen moments, taken of myself and Julia Dashe while enjoying Be-ing at La Milpa Organica.)
A number of months later, Shakti and I were found standing down an Ocean Beach alleyway in the light of a morning sun, chatting and enjoying this process, n-o-w. As we stood, less than three-feet apart, talking, a Honeybee buzzed right across and through the distance between our two faces.
"Helloooooo!!!" it buzzed, begging for our attention.
"I'm heeeeeeeeeeeeeere," came its ancient call.
"Re-member............," and it was off.
Just like that.
"Hey," I say. "That reminds me. I just had a dream - I was driving my mother's car, on the 5 North, around Trestles in Carlsbad, when a swarm of bees flew in through the open, driver-side window. They swarmed around each of my legs as my feet stayed in contact with the accelerator. I was frightened, yet breathing. They flew off, out the open, passenger-side door window and I pulled the car over to..."
Last October, for my 34th birthday gift, Robert presented me with a sweet, yellow and black pillow, its form in the shape of a Bee.
He left it for me on the porch of Shakti's old OB pad.
Buzz.
Buzz.
Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz......................
