Yet the bee seeks the garden, falls into the nectar-cup, stains his nose and feet with golden dust. He staggers out and returns to his cell, so laden with sweetness he can hardly fly. There he performs the silent secret work of turning pollen into honey.
If bee and flower, pollen and honey are One, if garden and cell, stillness and flight are One, why must the bee make such effort? So that One may vibrate, and the littlest creature delight in its offerings.
O Beauty, O Sweetness that is always already here, become a flower and tongue for Me!
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