Meditating with Bees

Watching three bees hard at work
in purple blossoms of sage and mint
I practice radical acceptance
studying the flashing facets of a childhood memory:

screaming from pain and the shock
that my place of make-believe could harbor
this sudden venomous attack
stung by the bee and the cruel betrayal
of my beloved treehouse
wishing I could turn back time and find
another place to sit
and leave the bee in peace
to let me be
while my mother spread baking soda
on my knee

Four bees are now at work -
energy, danger, beauty, utility
held in the blooming space of my flower pot.

The world is better because of bees
and I am still
afraid.

Floating In Benson Lake

In this submerged and muted world
Only birdsong is permitted
   Birdsong
        and heartbeat
             and the low rush of pumping blood.

In this liquid body
Only flesh is permitted
    Swim-soaked skin
          pond-filled pores
And birdsong
     and heartbeat
          and the pumping of blood.

In this spirit pool
Only inner shadows gain entrance -
An island of dreams lost in midnight -
    and birdsong
          and heartbeat
               the pumping of blood
                    the liquid flesh
 And you.