I was discombobulated. The bees were still all over me, so I left my veil on, while driving. I didn't secure my seat belt in the rush to get away from the beeyard. My mind was darting from thought to thought, changing plans mid-move, as I careened down the dirt road, aching in multiple body parts and spazzily swatting at attackers. A small quiet part of my mind suggested that it would be an excellent idea to put that seat belt on--if ever there was a slightly higher risk of getting in an accident....
After a few miles, I started to calm down and endorphins or something kicked in so I didn't feel the pain as much. I started to think about killing that mean hive. I spend quite a bit of my time rescuing bees, diminishing pesticide use, and here I was plotting murder.
Why do bees sting? They sting out of defense. Good, smart bees fight for the survival of their hive, fight off intruders.
Another part of me, the imaginative writer who develops my BeeGirl superhero, tries to interpret how these stings, this venom, helps me. I felt sick for the past several days as the venom worked through my system, and it caused me to have less patience than usual. In BeeGirl's origin myth, bee venom gives her special powers to unite her community, to communicate, to help large groups make good decisions the way bees do in the hive.
Since Thursday (and while in this daze of ache), I found myself in my different 'hives', community group meetings where we're working toward consensus, setting good policy as we move into the future.Our local foods coalition met Friday morning, and the Mosquito Control District met Friday evening. Tomorrow I meet with the state remedial education policy review committee. In all of these meetings, we are setting policy, we are planning a course of action that will impact many people. We come from different perspectives, bring different sources of information, bring our biases.
Maybe I needed that dose of venom to balance out my congeniality, to give me a little more of an edge to fight.
