I have been writing a lot (A. Lot.) lately about focusing on small things to center myself. There is a lot of noise and overload on many fronts, and some large family matters (my side of the family) that have really hit hard and, in my case, triggered my PTSD. Warren has been giving me support and comfort; we earlier this month passed our 17th wedding anniversary and I am daily aware of how much light and joy and love and strength he gives me.
Even without a wedding anniversary, I am so grateful for what he has given me; he lifts me up. All the same, and this is one of those times, I sometimes stumble and fall back into those outside matters. So I think I caught him a little off guard yesterday when I said that I had thought of maybe going back to therapy.
After saying that out loud (as things sound different when spoken outside of our head), I thought back to the things I had learned 22+ years ago with my brilliant therapist. Can I do this, "this" being work through where I am, using those lessons?
Later that afternoon, as I turned over the therapy question in my mind, I said to Warren, "I have an idea of how to move forward."
Warren looked at me. "And...?"
"Bee therapy."
Bee therapy? Yes, bee therapy.
I always let the basil patch go to flower in the fall and this year is no exception. As we move deeper into the fall, the bees take over the basil flowers.
So after announcing that, I grabbed a garden stool (thank you, Amanda!) and set it in the garden in the recently cleared lettuce patch, which is right next to the basil patch. I then sat down and waited.
But not for long.
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A Sunday bee |
At this time of year, in the basil patch, bees fly in, bees fly out. Bees burrow their heads deep in the basil flowers then pull out, go sideways or up or down to another. Repeat.
I repeated therapy again today, albeit early afternoon when the sun was on the patch and it was considerably warmer. Yesterday in the cooling air there were perhaps a half-dozen bees. Today, in the full sun, I counted over two dozen.
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A bee today |
Bee therapy.
As I watch them and their singular focus, my mind slows down. My body relaxes. Bit by bit, I find myself letting go of the emotional bundle I am holding.
I hope we are in for a very long autumn. As I mentioned in my last post, we just had our first frost. It was a light one, but frost is frost. I know at some point the bees will disappear for the year. Some of them are already showing their lifespan is growing short. I even petted a bee yesterday. It had landed on a stem before I got out there and was clearly too tired and worn to lift off. I touched it very gently and it wiggled, slowly, one antenna, but did not move.
Bee therapy. Who knew?
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"I'm ready for my closeup..." |