Beekeepers say they approach the hive with calmness of mind. Bees can sense fear, and fear makes the honey-makers defensive. A great level of meditation is required to avoid a sting.
I’m somewhat of a beekeeper myself, except that it’s the bees who keep me.
The hive sits atop my head. I can hear the insects making rich and golden honey inside my brain. But the more I think about it, the louder it gets. A gentle hum elevates to an angry scream. And they sting. Over and over and over again, turning my skin raw and red.
I think how easy it could be to end it all. One swift bash of my head. There’s a wet crunch. Honey gushes out. It fills my ears and my eyes, turning my senses blind. I reach up my hands to tear at the honeycomb walls. They crumble easily.
The bees flee at first, but then circle back to attack with such ferocity that I fall to my knees, dripping and quivering as I implode into a sticky mess of what could have been, had I only learned to make peace with the bees.