phoebe's birthday

Happy Birthday Phoebe

Phoebe’s Birthday, August 23rd,1987.

Since Phoebe’s death I’ve spent this birthday every year on the playa in Black Rock City building a temple or some piece of artwork out there. There were smokey days there also, but that world feels so far away right now. Here in my house it is too smokey to go anywhere. Windows closed with the Dyson air-filter on full. Yesterday I felt miserable. Fire triggering the existential angst already on maximum overload with covid-19 and the heart wrenching politics scraping at our senses of well-being. I ended the day working and not eating… hypoglycemic I was so angry from things I wish I had avoided.

But today I woke early to fog (the smoke seemed far away in the cool damp air) and quiet-- Ahh, Phoebe’s birthday. I had made plans to spend it with her. I opened up a few files I had not looked at in a long time. Photos and artwork. I was seeing things I had never seen before. Grief now is not the gut wrenching dismay of loss that tears my heart into shreds, my grief is the journey into gratitude for such a special human, so talented, so beautiful, so provoking. Yes it is a double edge sword not always fluid, sometimes crunchy. I was enjoying the journey of going back and going deep into the art. Making new discoveries. One piece I discovered that the bees were wild native bees. I pulled each piece apart. Mesmerized and feeling hopeful, calm and quiet. (that alone a gift). But gifts were coming.

talking to the bees https://vimeo.com/452104214

Because of the heat and stifling smoke I had the blinds drawn and an indian blanket pulled over the door. Morning light is soft and gauzy I remove the blanket and go back to my bed and computer. When I look up there are large white flowers, glowing trumpets, on the San Pedro Cactus. I know you can make mescaline with this cactus, but I never knew it had these flowers. At least it has never bloomed before. Excited I got up and went out to greet them. This journey of grief has taught me to always be available to the gifts it can bring. Always be open to see the intricate dance that lands at your feet. The world is in such a raw and uncertain form these days. As humans we are so far out of balance that the smallest gesture of life force creating beauty in front of our eyes is nothing less than magic. I know this to be true. When these moments arise I move softly and slowly.

I’ve been studying phoebe’s bees all morning. Greeted by the white trumpets on a medicine cactus it feels obvious I need to visit my bee hive. Each step of the way I am greeted.

A blue jay landing on a small wooden temple. A hummingbird sipping nectar from the lavender. A nut hatch landing near the fountain. The bees have been busy. The smoke fills them with a dread that fire is imminent and they seem to be working hard. I sit just a few feet in front of the hive and watch them. Legs full with nectar or pollen, like salesmen coming home with their luggage. In and out they go. I notice that the wooden block that makes the opening for the doorway is not in place correctly. There is a crack large enough for the bees to enter through.A beekeeper wants a tight seal so that there are no drafts into the hive at night. I push it back in, just a small nudge to tighten things up a bit.

Bees have a very exact homing instinct. They can travel up to 3 miles to get the supplies to nourish and sustain the hive. There are special bees that are the scouts that find the pollinator plants and communicate to the hive the whereabouts, there is no language to do this, but there is a dance, shaking the abdomen in rhythm and direction. Yes it is a mystery how bees then find there way to the field and home again. After I move the wooden block I realize that the bees that have left via the crack (not the door) can’t find their way back in. Frantic they keep trying to find a way in. Meanwhile bees keep coming out the door. Some bees find the door while the others seem to panic. They are carrying their baggage. They can’t find the door. I begin to talk to them.

“Hey bees. The door is over here. It is right there, right in front of you. Hey there’s one of your friends finding it. Oh they’re to interested in getting in to come back and tell you where it is. It is right there. Yes I know I’m the cosmic god that came down here and nudged your world just that much out of kilter and now you can’t get in. But you can do it. The door is right there. I apologize to you. You work so hard, you are carrying such heavy loads and all you want to do is get home. There is another one who just got in. You can do it!”

I have my camera and I video tape the bees trying to enter their hive.

It is such small thing. The white flowers greeting me and my slow trip to the bees and then seeing their microcosm of a world. They with all their baggage trying to find the door. It seems so simple, like I just found my own door.

All the anxiety and anger of the day before is gone. The person who was dismissive, of course, I can forgive him. He has his baggage and is trying hard to find that door also. We all are. I felt so humbled by my bees.

I go back inside and decide to make a T-shirt with phoebe’s artwork.

It is still scary outside. So much fire in my back yard in a place I love so much. So far no structures and no deaths. But many friends who are not living in their homes and so many things threatened in our lives All living on high alert.