Bees Making Waves

A couple of bees invaded the pool today, diving in for a taste of the blue liquid sweetness, a haven of blue pollen from the gods. But instead the expected euphoria was, in fact, deadly chlorinated water lacking the tiniest of flavor, crippling these curious bees. A bee's tar pit. A bee's quicksand. Stuck in the faux pollen-stuck to contemplate their last hour, with the cement poolside a century of swimming away.

Were these bees, in fact, curious? Were they the gutsy bees that were dared by the other drones, who sat watching with complacency from their petunia? Were they filled with fear and terror as they dove into the luscious and mysterious unknown blue? Were they pioneers? Were they the non-conformists?

Or, were they overcome with greediness, after emptying all the pollen from the largest of flowers-were they falsely boasting to the other bees of their frequent visits to the dangerous liquid? Caught in their own arrogance-did nature once again take redemption for their overconsuption and lies?

Maybe they were claustrophobic and tired of the confines of the Communist hive. Maybe they wanted more for themselves. Maybe they thought they would be a better queen, but lacked the propriety. Maybe they identified with the Amish girl who sat on her well groomed hill, and dreamed of being an obstetrician.

Whatever their character, they were somehow done in. Done in with their own fated duty...to serve and protect. The Queen-the Messiah-who they are forever indebted to, for giving them life. Generation after generation...maintaining order. Keeping them happily enslaved. She gives them life and keeps them from tasting it. She cannot afford unstructured chaos-and so she keeps a secret weapon. The weapon is the secret. The secret: the sting is self destruction. This is the method the elusive queen uses to keep her drones in order, for the bees with lust, aggression, sadness, and joy will inevitably commit an impassioned suicide.

It is the bee that gave lessons to the suicide bomber, the burning monk, the kamikaze pilot.

It must be that Karl Marx was a beekeeper, in constant interview with the queen, invading her privacy as she lay generation after generation.

But it is the bee in the pool who wanted to chat with mystery.