Fairly often when I sit on the balcony, a few bees come flying by. They move around, hover over the table, bump into the windows. And sometimes they come close to me. Too close for my inner radar.
Over the last couple of times, observing this relationship between the bees’ position and my position became an interesting exercise. The closer a bee gets, the louder this inner radar screams. Almost as if there was a linear (or maybe exponential) relationship between the two. The bee gets closer, discomfort increases, fear increases, aversion increases. Thoughts start concentrating on the bee, wanting it to move away. If the bee gets too close, or if it brushes its wings against my skin (physical touch is not strictly necessary: just the displaced air is enough), the aversion becomes so intense (even if for just a moment) that a physical action involuntarily bursts up: I wave my hand in a dismissive movement so that the bee flies away. Very hard to control. Very hard to even just observe.
Bees are not going to attack me by default. That’s not their intention. They are not against me, and they don’t mean harm when they fly close by. But years of learned behavior, of seeing others react like that, and of hypothesizing how painful a bee sting can be have built this reaction mechanism in my mind. It’s automatic now: the closer a bee is, the louder my mind screams. I don’t need to think about it, and I cannot turn it off.
So much so with other aspects of life. How many figurative bees are out there? People, situations, noises, emotions to which we have internalized specific, automatic reactions, and that lead us to a life of reactions rather than mindful actions. As when observing my thoughts and behavior in relation to a bee, may I be sensitive enough and learn to observe my thoughts and behavior in relation to the many events and people that come in contact with me through my life.
The Nemo Writer 