The Busy Bee Awakens

A Parable of the Path and the Paradox

Part One: The Path of the Bee

In youth there was a busy bee,

flying in innocence, wild and free.

Each flower a wonder, each color a song,

nothing to fear, no right and no wrong.

But slowly the hive taught laws to obey,

rules to be followed, a “proper” way.

Conditioning whispered, 'Compare, compete—

trust is fragile, protect, retreat.'

Confusion grew where once was delight,

he questioned his worth in the day and the night.

Shame took root, blame took aim,

sadness and fear fed the same old game.

He looked at the others, some joyful, some sad,

some blessed with families, some lonely, some mad.

He measured himself by what he could see,

deciding his fate by who he should be.

So he searched from flower to flower for cure,

a teaching, a nectar to make him secure.

Each blossom a promise, each petal a vow,

but the freedom he sought was not there somehow.

The sadness grew heavy, too deep to conceal,

pretending no longer, he started to feel.

Anger arose, sharp words took aim,

resentment, frustration, and cycles of blame.

'Oh, snap it away!' his little heart cried,

'Just one simple answer to turn back the tide.'

But nothing endured, no blossom could stay,

his sorrow returned at the end of each day.

Till weary at last, his wings would not fly,

his knees gave beneath him, antenna bent high.

Grounded in silence, unable to roam,

he turned his gaze inward and found himself home.

There in the stillness he saw it was true:

the nectar he sought was not something new.

It never was absent, it never was gone,

it bloomed in the heart where it always belonged.

His last flight was freedom, his heart pure delight,

no more to be mended, no more to get right.

The nectar was never in things to attain,

but the still, living essence that always remained.

Part Two: The Paradox of the Bee

Yet even as he journeyed on,

there never was a path to dawn.

Each sorrow, each stumble, each flower, each fall,

was Essence already, playing as all.

His anger was nectar, his doubt was a song,

his shame was a teacher disguised all along.

The searching itself was the Spirit at play,

pretending to wander, yet never astray.

There was no arrival, no place to begin,

the bee was not broken, nor lost deep within.

The flight of confusion, the pause of despair,

were only the dance of the One everywhere.

He laughed at the notion of something to find,

for freedom was never apart from his mind.

Not seeker, not finder, not blossom, not bee—

just Essence expressing, eternally free.

Teaching Reflection

The Busy Bee reveals two ways of seeing the spiritual life:

Part One: The Path honors the human experience—youthful freedom, conditioning,

confusion, shame, seeking outward, and finally collapsing into stillness where essence is

revealed.

Part Two: The Paradox shows the awakened view—there was never a journey at all. Every

sorrow, stumble, and seeking was already Essence expressing.

■ Both truths matter: the path validates our lived humanity, while the paradox reveals the

timeless freedom that was never absent.

Journal Reflection Tool

Innocence: When in my life did I feel most free, imaginative, or unafraid? How does

remembering that innocence shift how I see myself today?

Conditioning: What 'hive laws' (rules, expectations, beliefs) have shaped me? How do I still

compare myself to others, and what does that do to me?

Confusion & Pain: When have shame, sadness, or anger felt too heavy to conceal? How do I

usually avoid or disguise those feelings?

Seeking: What 'flowers' (books, teachings, achievements, relationships) have I hoped would

finally set me free? How long did that relief last before the ache returned?

Collapse & Stillness: Have I ever reached a point where seeking no longer worked? What

did I find in the silence when I turned inward instead?

Essence: What is the 'nectar' within me that has always remained, no matter the

circumstance? How can I trust and live from that place more fully?

The Paradox: What if even my sorrow, doubt, and searching were never mistakes, but

Essence appearing as sorrow, doubt, and searching? How does it feel to hold both truths: that

I have a path and that I was never apart from freedom?