Thermal Wisdom: What the Bees Taught Me in Stillness (from the Sensing Field)

Thermal Wisdom: What the Bees Taught Me in Stillness
(from the Sensing Field)

Sometimes the bees teach me directly.
Not through thought, but through sensation.
Not through ideas, but through presence.

When I am deeply still — whether in Nature or under the quiet night sky — my body becomes a kind of sensing instrument, attuned not just to individual bees, but to the entire being of the colony. Not inside it… but as it.
I become the whole — and the many individuals within it.

Recently, I had a question living in me — one I’ve asked before. I’ve often observed a particular behaviour: a few bees walking quickly across the surface of a resting colony, just before the day begins. I’ve filmed it many times. I’ve watched it with quiet curiosity. But I didn’t yet understand it.

Then, in stillness, the bees showed me.

In that moment, I was the colony.
And those few bees were hot — like sparks.
As they moved across my surface, I felt the heat pass down into the space below, stirring the bees beneath me. Not by command, but by contact.
Not through sound or force — but through ignition.

These were guard bees, already alert. And their heat was a signal. It rippled through the mass of bodies. And soon, the colony began to awaken.

Not all would fly — only the foragers would leave the nest.
But many responded. The heat activated a shift from stillness into motion.
From resting hum into aliveness.

Readiness, I realised, is passed along by heat and vibration
Activity begins not from command — but from ignition.

This is how the day begins in the wild nest:
With warmth. With touch. With a pulse of intention.

The bees taught me this not in language, but in being.
I carry it now not as data — but as gift.
A deeper way of sensing.
A deeper way of listening.