You can never think fast enough that time will stop for you. Even subjectivity has its own objective limits.

Today I had a momentary flash like a daydream. I thought of my heart as a strange sort of beehive. On the outside it was as hard and black as coal. But along the surface there are these holes, these points of entry. Feelings and ideas flow in and out of these opening like worker bees. These worker bees connect the life deep inside my heart with the whole world that exists outside around me. As this image became fixed in my imagination and as the meaning of this image began to seep into me the bees transformed into dots of light. They cam in and went out, adding to and taking away from my deeper life which now felt like a bright warm light bottled up in my hive-like heart.

It is easy to misunderstand this image and to assume that when I talk of the hardness of my heart I am referring to an insensitive hard-heartedness. But it has nothing to do with callousness. It is an image of the thick barrier between myself and the rest of the world. It is thicker for me then for some because I am quiet and reflective more than talkative and open. But we all have such shells I think. I would like to focus on the bees more than the makeup of the hive. They cross that impenetrable barrier, back and forth, creating a constant ecology.

Words are bees. Reading and writing are the inhaling and exhaling of my hive-like heart. Many parts of light then come together to form one life like the bees of a colony or the cells of a body.