The Bee...

He was older than he once was when I met him.  The trails and tribulations of life had chiseled wrinkles on his face making him older than he was.  And when he spoke, he spoke with such passion, that his whole face lit up and it was as if all the wrinkles disappeared in an instant. His voice rich and deep spoke of someone who had experienced life deeply who had found his true self and the light in his eyes reflected the beauty and innocence of his soul.

Sitting on the floor with pillows scattered around and sipping some coffee, I turned to him and said, "What is the meaning of existence?".
"Existence?", he said, putting the cup down and facing me.
"Surely", he said, "you mean, the meaning of life?".
"I guess", I said.   
"To be a bee and nothing more than a bee when you are a bee is to live, anything else is to exist", he said smiling. 
 As I contemplated his answer, he finished his coffee stood up and left me alone with my thoughts  

It has been weeks since he spoke those words. Meditating, wondering through parks and bush searching for that which seems just out of reach.  Watching bees gathering nectar while pollinating their hosts failed to produce any enlightenment.  Walking down the pathways I replayed the words through my mind while watching a little boy kicking a ball across the lawn.  He fell down and started to cry and his mother rushed over to pacify him.  He quietened down stood up and resumed kicking the ball.  He was being a child nothing more nothing less. He was alive.