“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

Now I ask you—how far do you think a flower would get if, in the morning, it turned its face toward the sky and said, “I demand the sun?” “And now I need rain. So I demand the rain! And I need bees to come and take my pollen. So I demand the bees!” And who would it ask for these things? And it would say, our imaginary flower, “I demand discipline! I demand therefore the sun shall shine for a certain amount of hours; the rain shall pour for a certain amount of hours; and the bees shall come—bee A, C, D, E and F—and I shall accept no other bees to come. And I demand that, furthermore, that discipline operate and that the soil shall follow my command, but I do not allow the soil any spontaneity of its own—and I do not allow the sun any spontaneity of its own—and I do not agree that the sun knows what it is doing. I demand it follow my ideas of discipline!”

And who, I ask you, would listen? For in the miraculous spontaneity of the sun, there is a discipline that utterly escapes you—and a knowledge that is beyond any knowledge that we know. And in the spontaneous playing of the bees from flower to flower there is a discipline beyond any that you know, and the laws that follow their own knowledge—and joy that is beyond command. For the true discipline, you see, is found only in spontaneity. Spontaneity knows its own order, and in the spontaneous expression of each spirit—you find what you consider discipline—and there is no other.

[...] And I demand bees to come and take my pollen. [...] and that the bees come— bees A, B, C, D, and E, for I shall accept no other bees to come. [...]

[...] And in the spontaneous playing of the bees from flower to flower, there is a discipline beyond any that you know, and laws that follow their own knowledge, and joy that is beyond command. [...]

The golden bees of our thoughts

Many such creatures merge their arts so perfectly into their lives that it is impossible to separate the two: The bee’s nest, for example, the beaver’s dam—and there are endless other examples. [...]

Art is not a specifically human endeavor, though man likes to believe that this is so, and no scientist is going to grant a spider or a bee any sense of esthetic appreciation, certainly, so what you have is art in its human manifestations, and art is above all a natural characteristic. [...]

[...] I also saw correlations between the spread of the fire ants and the spread of the “killer bees” —also up into this country from Brazil—at the same time. [...]

(Then I told her about the article I’d just taken from Science News last night, concerning the abilities of animals, birds and bees to carry maps of their terrain in their heads. [...]

[...] Your thoughts buzz about like a bee (rings bell). [...]

[...] Because for example bees or ants tend to act in a like manner as far as other bees and ants are concerned, because it appears that their actions are as predictable and almost predetermined, man takes it for granted that certain reflexes are absolutes in particular species, and that in any given situation a member of such a species will always react in a certain manner because he cannot help it.

[...] It is obvious in the cooperative ventures that unite, say, the mineral, plant, and animal kingdoms, the relationship of bee to flower. [...]

[...] Nor can I blame you for growing tired, when after asking you to imagine this strange structure I then insist that you tear it apart, for it is no more actually seen or touched than is the buzzing of a million invisible bees.

[...] “I’m just sitting here, watching you two busy bees,” she grinned, as Sue and I worked on our separate notes.

[...] Nor can I blame you for growing tired, when after asking you to imagine this strange structure, I then insist that you tear it apart, for it is no more to be actually seen or touched than is the buzzing of a million invisible bees.”

It is not too late this evening for me to set him straight on his birds and bees. [...]

[...] Nor can I blame you for growing tired when after asking you to imagine this strange structure, I then insist that you tear it apart, for it is no more actually seen or touched than is the buzzing of a million invisible bees.