Of all the lovely words that tug at the heart strings of a deeper nature, of all those genuine goodies, that Alan Chadwick, horticulturalist and Shakespearean actor, who gave up his inheritance to the richest man in all of England, so he might be free to act in Shakespeare’s plays, whose mother had Rudolf Steiner himself flown in, to tutor her son in gardening, of all his blessed gifts to us, these words are my favorite, they impart some ‘je ne sais quoi,’ of the great and precise and practical beauty of the the bee:
the bee is the paragon of the insects, the class, of which it is a family,
For reference, and due reflection, on our family of man, midst the class of apes, and the implicate humanism that we pollinate when we fully authentically embrace our trusted amity, and by relative inference, but, not without due import, we remedy ourselves, each one of us, with self-help most thorough, unneedy and not victimized in any way, because that is fussy and not true, and then, we take, the most sincere direction of pondered, and fully clarified, peaceful meanijgful and right direction, while intimately aware of implicate knowledge, rather than imagined possibilities, there, in that gestalt, in that way of being, there, precisely there, then, we discover, the natural assurance of nature is given its way, without egotistical resurrected resistance enforcing its made-up self destructive bylaws, and there is no pain or haste in it.
There is a gracious abundance, when we are attentive and attached to the virtue of who we actually are, beyond all the silly lies we project.
© Copyright 2021 Nathan Curry