Tonight is a Night for Flying

New to writing on the internet. Still uses notebooks and still has to wash pen stains of her right and left hands.

10/2
2009

  • “I’m COVERED in BEES!”

    I am sitting in Nielson Library at a lonely little carrel on the third floor facing nothing but shelf after shelf of books.  Under normal circumstances, I sit at at the carrel near the window so I can look outside.  College students spend so much time indoors for classes and studying that they tend to forget to look out windows. It is something I know full well since a large chunk of time is gobbled up into pursuit of knowledge. And so, the library is becoming a third home.

    I am sitting at this lonely, little carrel because the one near the window is occupied by a bee.  This bee is frantically crawling up and down the window.  I have never seen such frantic desperation in something so small.  This bee, knowing full well that its attempts for escape are futile, still dashes itself against the window trying to get outside.  It would violently fling itself against the glass and, as though in a daze, fall backwards onto the window ledge.  It writhes back and forth before flipping itself up to crawl again for another chance to get back to it’s world.

    I am paralyzed to my chair, bees have always frightened me. Each furtive glance brings another stab of fear and it’s venom is spreading.  The way the windows work at the Library are foreign to me.  The thought of being in the bee’s direct path would garner nothing except a sting.  The certainly of being stung clouds my mind and I can only watch until bee flies close to my elbow.  Then probability becomes too high and I move to the carrel facing the shelves to escape.  I wonder if God looks at us in the same way but without the fear?  Are we crawling towards God?

    The bee reminds me of humanity its smallness.  I find myself lying with my back against the hard wood of the window ledge, merely looking up at the huge, looming window of knowledge.  Knowing, that I can only ever be sure of the climb and not the getting out. The getting out becomes hope or something like it.  It is not guarantied but it is worthy of pursuit.

    LATER: I pack my bag and rush off to class and give a quick glance to the window.  There is no bee crawling on the glassy surface.  The bee lies on it’s back against the hard wood of the window ledge.  The limbs are rigid against it’s torso and I know it is dead.

    A single phrase that one of my professors said comes back to me.  ”I promise that you will all die successfully.”  Promise fulfilled.