A Post of Pedestrian Proportions

I have failed to deliver on my promises of an epic post chronicling the tale of actually putting the bees in the hive. There have been several false starts to the post, resulting in one half finished narrative.
I was wallowing my general lackadaisicalness and came up gasping with two self revelations.

One, I need to be much more patient when writing memoir than writing fiction or poetry. I have no problem anthropomorphizing a heroic spider, but revealing the depths of my own heart is much more exhausting.

Two, this whole experience has caused me to interact with God much more intimately that anticipated, which has caught me off guard and left me a little breathless. I have been reading lots of Rumi and Hafiz lately, which lends capital to this impression.

I'm going to leave you with a poem by each of them, as well as a vow to have something resembling an account of bee-installation by week's end on the condition that it might be terrible.

Here you are.

Love Dogs - Rumi

One night a man was crying,
            "Allah, Allah!"
His lips grew sweet with the praising,
until a cynic said,
         "So! I have heard you
calling out, but have you ever
gotten any response?"
The man had no answer for that.
He quit praying and fell into a confused sleep.
He dreamed he saw Khidr, the guide of souls,
in a thick, green foliage,
            "Why did you stop praising?"
“Because I've never heard anything back."
"This longing you express
is the return message."
The grief you cry out from
draws you toward union.
Your pure sadness that wants help
is the secret cup.
Listen to the moan of a dog for its master.
That whining is the connection.
There are love dogs no one knows the names of.
Give your life to be one of them.

I Rain - Hafiz

I rain
Because your meadows call
For God.

I weave light into words so that
When your mind holds them

Your eyes will relinquish their sadness,
Turn bright, a little brighter, giving to us
The way a candle does
To the dark.

I have wrapped my laughter like a birthday gift
And left it beside your bed.

I have planted wisdom in my heart
Next to every signpost in the sky.

A wealthy man
Often becomes eccentric,

A divine crazed soul
Is transformed into infinite generosity

Tying sacks of gratuity
To the dangling feet of moons, planets, ecstatic
Midair dervishes, and singing birds.

I speak
Because every cell in your body
is reaching out
For God.


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