I had an interesting conversation with a fly today. It had landed on my throat and walked up to my chin, waking me from my postprandial slumbers.
‘Oh, hallo’, I said. ‘Why did you land on me today?’
‘I was told to do it.’
‘Why?’
‘Oh, there is no why. There is only doing.’
‘Isn’t there also being?’ I asked.
‘We’re always being – or did you mean Beeing?’
That set me thinking.
For the fly it was obvious that they simply were, a constant state of existence.
I found myself reflecting on the existence of a Bee. I remembered many years ago listening to the song of a Bee.
It was singing in Sanskrit. ‘Madhu, Madhu, Madhu’. Honey, Honey Honey.
This drew her from one source of nectar to the next as she progressed about her endless quest for the sweet stuff.
Just to simply Bee. I wondered. ‘What is our song?’ Money, Money, Money. Somehow it didn’t seem enough.
