Returning to Instinct

How Humans Recover the Alignment Bees Never Lost

By Josh Singleton | Founder and Lead Cultivator, The Neighborhood Garden Project

We admire the harmony of a hive because it feels foreign to the fractured world we live in. Bees move in unbroken rhythm. They do not resist formation or question their identity. They do not hesitate in their assignment or wonder if they have what it takes. A worker bee never compares herself to another role. She never strives to become something she was not designed to be. She simply becomes, stage by stage, instinct by instinct, until she is fully formed. She is not born ready to forage. She grows into her assignment slowly, receiving each stage as it arrives. Her becoming is instinctual.

Watching the bees raises a question we rarely articulate. If creation can still operate in such perfect alignment, how do we as humans return to that instinctual life? How do we live from design instead of pressure, from identity instead of insecurity, from assignment instead of ambition, from alignment instead of fracture? The answer is not found in trying harder. It is found in returning to the way we were made.

Bees live in instinct because nothing inside them is fractured. Humans lost instinct when identity broke in Genesis three. Since then, we have tried to fix behavior, but God restores identity. Instinct is the natural expression of restored identity. When identity is whole, obedience becomes desire instead of duty. Alignment becomes natural instead of forced. Formation becomes welcome instead of resisted. This is why Jesus did not say, “Behave like Me.” He said, “Abide in Me.” That invitation reveals everything about the Kingdom.

We tend to skim past the weight of those words, but abiding is the difference between religion and life. Religion is what humans build when instinct goes missing. It is scaffolding erected to compensate for the absence of union. It focuses on outcomes instead of identity and behavior instead of belonging. Religion teaches us to imitate what we have not become and to produce what we have not received. It demands action while withholding the identity needed to sustain it.

But life — the life Jesus spoke of — begins with union, not effort. Life flows from knowing who we belong to. Life is not achieved. Life is received. Religion is acting. Abiding is becoming. Religion makes us performers trying to look whole. Abiding makes us sons and daughters who are becoming whole from the inside out. Religion exhausts because it asks humans to do God’s work without God’s presence. Abiding frees because it allows God’s presence to do the work humans never could.

Trying to behave like Jesus without abiding in Jesus fractures a person. It creates a painful internal gap between who we believe we should be and who we actually are. That gap produces shame. Shame produces hiding. Hiding produces pretending. Pretending produces exhaustion. The soul knows when it is being asked to carry fruit without root. It knows when the outer life is heavier than the inner life. It knows when someone is living toward identity instead of from identity.

But abiding heals what behavior breaks. When someone abides, the gap closes. Pretending ends. Pressure lifts. Shame dissolves. Belonging solidifies. The person begins to live from identity instead of toward it — and in that place, instinct returns. Because instinct is identity in motion.

A bee moves instinctively because her identity is intact. Her movement is not separate from her identity. Her movement is her identity expressed. She does not ask whether she should serve, forage, guard, or build. She moves because she is formed for that movement. Her identity becomes visible through motion. Humans became hesitant and conflicted when identity fractured. We lost the naturalness of movement. We began to second-guess, imitate, compare, strive, and delay. Movement became effort instead of overflow.

But when identity is restored, movement becomes restored. Instinct is simply identity moving through the world without resistance. Everything God created moves by instinct except humans, because only humans lost identity. But everything God redeems regains identity, and everything that regains identity regains movement. This is why a son moves differently than a servant. A daughter moves differently than an orphan. A rooted identity moves differently than a fractured one. Movement reveals identity. Identity fuels movement. Instinct is the meeting place of the two.

And here is the revelation creation has never had to consider: bees do not even know that life is “becoming.” They are not self-conscious about their growth. They never wonder if they are behind or inadequate or off-track. They are not analyzing their development or questioning their pace. They simply live inside the formation they were created for. Becoming is so natural that they do not recognize it as becoming. They just are.

Humans became aware of becoming only after identity broke. Before the fracture, Adam and Eve never wondered if they were enough or if they were growing correctly. They lived from union. After the fracture, awareness shifted from God-consciousness to self-consciousness. And suddenly, becoming felt dangerous. Timing felt confusing. Growth felt pressured. Formation felt threatening. We became afraid of becoming because we no longer trusted the One forming us.

This is why the garden matters so deeply. The garden offers a space where that seamless reality returns. In the garden, formation unfolds without having to be labeled “formation.” Mentorship happens without calling it “mentorship.” Growth happens without pressure or performance. Life becomes about being present with God and present with each other. The walls between “spiritual life,” “personal development,” “discipleship,” and “daily life” fall away — because those categories were created after the fracture. In Eden, life with God was life. That was enough.

The garden restores that simplicity. The soil slows people down. The rhythms of tending and watching teach them to breathe again. The environment itself forms them. Becoming returns to instinct. Identity becomes motion again. Healing happens in silence. Clarity happens through presence. People rediscover themselves not because they are taught, but because they are rooted in the right environment. They are not learning about becoming — they are experiencing becoming, the way creation experiences it.

Bees are shaped through steady rhythms. They are formed by rhythm, not intensity. Humans lose instinct when life becomes hurried and fragmented. But when we begin to walk with God, work with God, rest with God, and reflect with God, the fog clears. The compass wakes up. Discernment becomes quiet knowing instead of stressful guessing. Instinct grows in rhythm, not aggression.

A bee never despises her early roles. She never tries to skip hidden stages or demand visibility before maturity. Humans resist formation constantly. We want fruit without root, impact without character, arrival without process. But instinct is not born in the spotlight. Instinct is born in surrender. When someone embraces the slow internal work of becoming, instinct strengthens. The invisible work forms a soul sturdy enough to carry visible assignments without breaking.

Bees move in perfect timing. Nothing is rushed. Nothing is delayed. Humans override timing relentlessly. We force, grasp, accelerate, control, and push. Every push bends instinct out of shape. But when someone moves at the pace God is actually moving — not ahead and not behind — instinct becomes their natural posture. Timing is alignment. Alignment births instinct.

Bees follow pheromones. Humans follow the Spirit. The Spirit is the restored internal compass of the Kingdom. When the Spirit is welcomed, trusted, and obeyed, alignment becomes instinctual. You begin to feel where God is drawing you the way a forager bee feels the pull of nectar flow. This is not mystical. It is original design.

Bees never question their belonging. They do not perform for acceptance or fear rejection. Humans exhaust themselves doing all three. But when someone finally knows — truly knows — “I am already a son. I am already a daughter,” instinct returns. Because instinct requires internal safety. A secure heart perceives clearly. A striving heart cannot. Belonging is the soil where instinct grows.

So how do humans return to instinct? We return to identity. We return to design. We return to rhythm. We return to the Spirit. We return to belonging. We stop forcing what God intends to flow. We stop striving for what God intends to reveal. We stop performing for what God has already spoken. We stop resisting the slow, essential stages of formation. We enter the rhythms of the Kingdom the way a bee enters the rhythm of the hive — not as a task but as a return to design.

When identity is restored, instinct returns. When instinct returns, alignment becomes natural. When alignment becomes natural, fruit becomes inevitable. The bees are not perfect. They are aligned. And alignment is what humans were made for too.