Author Archives: A bear

I ate some colorful, sharp berries.

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lights-2

Human caves.

They are very strange. I have mentioned how strange they are on numerous occasions. How they look approachable but foster dens of shouting and unpleasantness. How they have accessible dumpster locations that seem terrific until the shouting begins. How there is just so much shouting at them.

Human caves.

I do not like the shouting, obviously, but that has never stopped me from approaching and exploring human caves. There are just too many reasons to engage with human caves to avoid them completely, so I found myself very close to one very recently. This time it was what appeared to be a collection of very expressive berries that brought me to this human cave.

I was wandering around the forest, searching for food and nice rocks when the shine of a bush by a human cave caught my eye. It was so bright. So hypnotic. So enticing. I approached it with caution (as I always do with human caves), but no amount of apprehension could keep me from getting to these strange little bright berries on this bush. They blinked. Quickly and without reason. I had to see them up close.

When I got to the bush, I sniffed the bright little things. They smelled like the bush itself, which was odd. I had assumed that shiny berries would have a special, shiny scent to them, but they did not. I then decided to lick the berries. Again, they tasted like the scrawny, bare limbs of the plant they rested upon.

They were warm, though. As my nose got closer and closer to a single one, I felt its warmth. I wanted that warmth all over my fur. I wanted to bury myself into the bare twigs of the bush and bask in the warmth of these strange little berries.

So I climbed into the bush and let my weight plunge into the tiny, warm berries. It felt nice. So I napped there for a bit. I have no idea how long, but no human shouting ever tried to stop me, so I felt no rush to sprint away from where I was.

When I did wake up, I studied the berries again. Scentless but warm. Bright and oddly pointy. I had to know what they tasted like. So, I nibbled on a bright green one. Its soothing hue blinked against my tongue and cheek. I must have had a green mouth for a brief moment. That was probably interesting to see. Anyway, I bit the little thing. And then these berries were suddenly not so great or warm or pleasant. They hurt. Tiny, sharp bits of glass covered my mouth. I spit it out as best I could, but the shattered chunks of the angry berry were all around my teeth and saliva. I did what I thought I had to do: I ran away. It did not help, but it felt right. It was the first time something other than shouting drove me away from a human cave.

These berries were likely just defending themselves (something I had never seen before), so I can only get but so upset with what happened. My mouth still hurts, but at least I got to be warm and green-mouthed.

I am a bear.

If you would like to try being a bear, why not read some of the bear adventures available on this very site? 

For any questions or comments directed at Bear, feel free to write to him using this email: justasinglebear@gmail.com

You can also now use Tumblr to address questions to Bear. Also, you can find bear photos and such on Bear’s Instagram, and don’t forget to “like” Bear on Facebook.

Here are some things I had time to consider as I fell from a tree I climbed.

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time-bear-2

Things I had time to consider as I fell from a tree I climbed:

  • The wind seemed very sharp
  • The ground looked so soft from up high
  • The branch that I thought was interesting looking from below was not nearly as interesting looking when I got to it
  • No amount of arm flapping would cause me to fly
  • Though I certainly tried
  • Why do I not get to fly?
  • I do not think birds should get to fly when most of the rest of us do not, it is strange and does not seem fair
  • But birds do not have front legs or paws or fur, so maybe flying was their trade-off?
  • The size of the sky does not seem to change while falling
  • The size of the ground does definitely seem to change while falling
  • Moments of tremendous unease seem to last a very long time, which is, again, a very strange and not very fair thing that happens no matter what, always
  • When moments like that stretch out, I am forced to linger on the thoughts and actions that made the moment difficult to begin with
  • And I have to, in a way, relive an awful thing while the awful thing is happening for what feels like a forever
  • I do not like that and it does not seem fair
  • Because even if I get all the time that is possible to have to think about one particular thing, I will be unable to change it or alter it or even really stop it from clouding my thoughts, so I am being forced by some unknown thing to sit and stare at myself inside me forever even as the ground gets closer and closer to my snout
  • The number of leaves I would likely fall onto
  • Which looked to be about ten?
  • Which was not enough leaves to constitute a safe or even mildly comfortable landing
  • That maybe trees do not like me?
  • Which is why I am often falling from them or things on them are falling from them and landing on me?
  • A very brief, fleeting moment of nothing right before my paws endure the shock of beginning my landing
  • Which was actually nice
  • And very relaxing

I am a bear.

If you would like to try being a bear, why not read some of the bear adventures available on this very site? 

For any questions or comments directed at Bear, feel free to write to him using this email: justasinglebear@gmail.com

You can also now use Tumblr to address questions to Bear. Also, you can find bear photos and such on Bear’s Instagram, and don’t forget to “like” Bear on Facebook.

I saw a dirt-covered seagull.

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seagull-2

Seagulls are rare in my part of the forest, but when I get deeper into the forest, past the clumps of trees I normally reside in and to the slabs of flat rocks and human caves, I sometimes run into a seagull. The last time I saw a seagull, it stared at me as it stood next to a few crows, chewing on some plastic bits it had fished out of a dumpster. It was a strange experience. It was missing feathers and had a twisted leg. It looked okay with both of those things. The bird’s dark, beady eyes glared at me while its empty face consumed its catch. I envied it, to be honest, as it so openly, without any indication of shame for its seemingly awful state of being, enjoyed a nice dumpster snack.

I saw another seagull today. I was trying to climb into a dumpster when it swooped from the sky (as birds with their aggressive nature tend to do) and landed on the corner of the dumpster I was climbing. My front paws were inside, but I stopped and stared at the seagull as the last seagull I saw had stared at me. It stared back. It was covered in dirt. Brown and grey crud covered its crooked feathers. Mud rested on its neck, dried and flaking off with every little movement it made. Its eyes were just as beady and as dark as any seagull I had ever seen.

I am not sure how long we stared at one another, but eventually the seagull broke the spell and flew off. I shook my head and tried to snap back into my reality. I climbed into the dumpster I was climbing into and did what I normally do in dumpsters: enjoyed myself with some scavenging and a long nap.

When I climbed out, the seagull was on the ground to greet me. I had no idea if it was the same seagull, but it was definitely covered in dirt and it smelled similar. My head was poking out of the dumpster, my paws hanging over the edge, when its glare stopped me as it had before. It was standing in a very thick, dark liquid. Confidently. Maybe proudly. We stared at one another again. This seagull was so unashamed just to be. I do not know how it did that. I have always been nervous to be. Being has always worried me, plagued my thoughts and forced me to rethink my being. I doubted this seagull even knew it was. Did this seagull even care that it was? That it existed? I was hard to tell.

It dipped its long, strange beak into the liquid, slurped some of it, and flew away.

This seagull was fine with being what it was.

I tried licking the black liquid after the seagull was gone and I had climbed out of the dumpster.

It burned and made me very upset.

I am a bear.

If you would like to try being a bear, why not read some of the bear adventures available on this very site? 

For any questions or comments directed at Bear, feel free to write to him using this email: justasinglebear@gmail.com

You can also now use Tumblr to address questions to Bear. Also, you can find bear photos and such on Bear’s Instagram, and don’t forget to “like” Bear on Facebook.

I think I might be lost.

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a-path-2

I might be lost. I think so, anyway. I am not sure. I started to walk away from my cave earlier today, and my thoughts began to drift toward images of sticks and garbage bags filled with sauce covered napkins and that time a rabbit looked at me and I did not know what to do. Before I could even begin to process where my paws were dragging me, I was gone. I had no idea where I was or where I had been.

And now I am lost.

When I look around where I am, I can remember bits and pieces of it. Some of the leaves look familiar. Some of the air smells like air I have smelled before. There is even a very interesting looking stick that I am quite sure I have seen and assessed as very interesting looking in the past.

I do not know where I am, however. That I am sure of: I am not sure where I am. As I let my paws do the walking and my thoughts do the drifting again, I begin to think why I even need to know where I am right now. Sure, I have a cave I can go to and it is safe and a place I know and a place I like to be near, but other than that, what good is it for me to know where I am right now or any other time? Not much of being a bear hinges on that information. I can still eat (even as I walk aimlessly I can see the bushels of berries and mounts of dirt to consume). I can still find the river (it is large and is always easy to find, and maybe the new spot I find will not have the deer across the river near it (unless the deer across the river is always across the river (which I would not put past him))). I can still be a bear.

I can probably be a bear no matter where I am. The place where I am being a bear does not affect my bearness, or at least I do not have any previous experience to refute that idea. No matter where I am, I am a bear.

My feet are still wandering, and so are my thoughts. And nothing seems familliar anymore as they each go their own direction. So maybe being lost is not such a bad thing. I am generally afraid of being lost. I often get worried and anxious when I am unsure of where I am, but this time, my relaxation comes with ease. I do not mind, in this moment, not knowing where I am. I do not mind not knowing where my paws are dragging me.

Until I think about where I might be going. That actually does make me anxious. What if I get dragged to a new place where I cannot be a bear? Is that possible? What if my paws are working against me to take me to some place where being a bear is unfavored and I have to be a something else?

I do not know where I am going.

Until my paws take me right back to my cave. When I take control of them again, I am at my cave. My paws took me there. I still feel lost, so I curl into a ball in the blackness of my cave, and I nap. And I hope I do not feel lost when I wake up.

I am a bear.

If you would like to try being a bear, why not read some of the bear adventures available on this very site? 

For any questions or comments directed at Bear, feel free to write to him using this email: justasinglebear@gmail.com

You can also now use Tumblr to address questions to Bear. Also, you can find bear photos and such on Bear’s Instagram, and don’t forget to “like” Bear on Facebook.

A series of bearkus describing how the forest might not care about anything, a bear. I am a bear.

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forest-discontent

Yesterday was warm
The sun being so angry
Miserable day

But today is cold
I can see my body air
Miserable day

The undecided:
does the forest have a plan?
Or does chaos reign?

Do birds feel this too?
Those harsh, sharpened winds up there?
No, birds feel nothing.

Does the forest care
that it causes so much pain?
I really doubt it.

And what does it want?
To make us feel unwanted?
In need of new homes?

Can the forest care?
It could be indifferent.
Uninterested.

So what can I do?
But just hide inside my cave?
And wait for normal?

I’ll bury my nose
into the warmth of cave moss
and hope I can nap.

Because napping helps
and keeps me ever hopeful
it will be okay.

I am a bear.

If you would like to try being a bear, why not read some of the bear adventures available on this very site? 

For any questions or comments directed at Bear, feel free to write to him using this email: justasinglebear@gmail.com

You can also now use Tumblr to address questions to Bear. Also, you can find bear photos and such on Bear’s Instagram, and don’t forget to “like” Bear on the book of faces.

When rubbing your belly on something soft does not work.

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forest-anger-2

The forest can be a very dangerous, confusing, wild place sometimes. Despite everything the forest gives and provides for me and other creatures, it can still be an absolutely difficult and terrifying place to spend the entirety of existence in. The screeching. The getting lost. The harsh winds. The bitter cold. The damp floor. The sharp sticks. The angry sun. The other creatures trying to eat me maybe but not actually. The dangers are numerous and severe, constantly present no matter where in the forest I go.

It is a part of forest life, and, for the most part, it is possible to adjust to it. Though forest living can be tense, it only takes time to learn how to avoid or process most troubles that it can hurl. And for the ones that are unavoidable? There are ways to cope. I prefer to rub my belly on the soft forest floor when I feel overwhelmed by the chaos of living in the forest. The leaves feel good against my fur, and the cool dirt soothes my belly as much as a good meal does. It is truly relaxing, and I highly recommend it for enduring the daily stresses of living in the forest.

Sometimes, though, the forest gets too difficult for simple belly rubs. Sometimes the screeching is particularly deafening. Sometimes the food is scarcer than usual. Sometimes the winds are sharper than usual and the sun is angrier than usual. Sometimes all of the difficulties of living in the forest attack at once, making it impossible to feel any kind of peace in a given day.

The forest can be unforgiving. The forest can be mean. Sometimes it feels like the forest takes all of its anger and chaos and aims just at me for a single moment, and I become paralyzed by everything bad it has to offer. Sometimes, I wake up in my cave, and I know the day will be one of those paralyzing chaos days. And I know no amount of forest floor belly rubbing will help me. It cannot be ignored, either. If I do not face the terrors of the forest, they will come creeping into my cave looking for me. Even if they do so just through my thinking, they somehow manage to find me every single time.

When it feels like the forest is completely focused on making my existence a struggle, I first remind myself that I am not the only one. It can be hard to remember that. I am a bear, so I mostly do and think and stick to bear things, and I can get lost in those bear things. I am not the only thing in the forest, though, and the forest is far crueler to many other creatures than it is to me. Tiny birds, for example. Imagine how those sharp winds that bother me so much must feel to them? They must go through the same feelings of dread and confusion when those horrible gusts begin howling throughout the forest, probably even more so than I do. If anything, I should be protecting tiny birds from the wind (though the last time I did I ended up accidentally eating a nest).

I also remember that the forest will keep doing what it is doing forever and ever, even when I am no longer a bear in the forest. The forest is indifferent toward me and how upset I am at it sometimes. No amount of belly rubs on the forest floor will change that, so I have to learn how to handle whatever the forest wants to attack me with. I do not have a choice in that matter. I either face the forest’s wrath or I sit in my cave away from everything until I am not a bear anymore (and I like being a bear, so I do not want to do that).

Sometimes the forest will win, however. The forest will make me feel terrible and I will sit in my cave and even consider staying there until I am not a bear (even though I really like being a bear), I am not sure what to do during times like those, but I will continue to at least try to not let the forest get the best of me when it is after me.

I am a bear.

If you would like to try being a bear, why not read some of the bear adventures available on this very site? 

For any questions or comments directed at Bear, feel free to write to him using this email: justasinglebear@gmail.com

You can also now use Tumblr to address questions to Bear. Also, you can find bear photos and such on Bear’s Instagram, and don’t forget to “like” Bear on the book of faces.

I would like to change colors, too, you know.

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organge-bear-2

The leaves are beginning to turn into lovely brown and orange colors. The crisp green tree ends fall and tumble to the ground, and by the time they land they have converted to a soothing orange, brown color. The tree tops slowly follow, and then one day it feels as though the entire forest has changed its wardrobe, adjusting its appearance to match the overall tone of the season (or maybe its appearance contributes to the overall mood of the season?). It really is nice, and when coupled with chill winds that come around this time, it easy to relax and enjoy living in the forest.

Generally I can hold on to that nice feeling for a few days before I begin to get a little upset with the orange and brown leaves and the nice winds and the pleasantness of everything. I try to ease my own bearself into feelings of this sort of forest dwelling, but my efforts are so quickly diminished by my own greedy wants.

I want to be orange.

Not all of the time, of course, but I do want to try to be orange. Or brown. Or any color really. I would like some kind of change. Any kind of change. But my fur stays the same jet black it usually is all the time.

Why?

Why do I not get to be orange?

I like my black fur, please understand. I love the way it looks when my fuzziness is particularly active, and I love the way it looks when there is water soaked into it, and I love the way it gets a nice sort of shine when I roll around in the dirt long enough. I do, really I do, love my fur. But why is that the only fur I get to have? So many things in the forest get to have different colors and hues and other subtle variations of themselves, but I do not. I never get to be any bear but the bear I am, and sometimes I even doubt that I really get to be that bear, too (which is another, totally different subject).

I tried to fix the ordeal recently by eating a very large collection of leaves I had accumulated over the weeks. They were orange and green and brown and grey and broken and whole and everything a leaf really could be, the many lovely variations of which leaves are capable.

I ate them all.

I do not know why, but I thought perhaps if I ate the leaves, I could mimic their colorations. I was very wrong. I did not turn orange. I did not turn any color. My tummy began to hurt. Then the leaves came back up. And they had turned into a different color I had never seen before. And it was not a nice color.

I suppose I cannot change colors, but I can change the color of leaves (kind of). Life in the forest can be very odd.

I am a bear.

If you would like to try being a bear, why not read some of the bear adventures available on this very site? 

For any questions or comments directed at Bear, feel free to write to him using this email: justasinglebear@gmail.com

You can also now use Tumblr to address questions to Bear. Also, you can find bear photos and such on Bear’s Instagram, and don’t forget to “like” Bear on the book of faces.

I smashed the scary pumpkins because they probably had ghosts in them.

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pumpkin-time-2

I like to stroll through the forest when the winds begin to cause cool breezes and the temperature becomes a nice kind of chill. It is a relaxing way to spend time in the forest, and such temperature and winds seem to only exist briefly between the anger of the sun and stunning cold of the snow. It is not here for long, so I like to enjoy it as much as I can. Sometimes my strolls go a bit far, however. It is easy to lose track where I am and how long I have been spending to get there. Recently, the stroll led to that strange part of the forest where the long, flat black rocks start to appear, cushioned by many human caves and far less trees. It is a strange place, and I try not to go there often (mostly because of all the yelling), but just today, I found myself happily traversing the strange area.

I should have run away when I first saw the pumpkin. I know that now, but something about its smell and its orangeness made me want to see it closer. There were so many of them around this part of the forest, too. I thought it was strange, and I thought it was stranger that all of these pumpkins had been mutilated. Holes had been cut into their thick skin (imagine what kind beast it would take to do that with such precision and power!). The first one I saw was very close to a human cave. I approached it, smelled it, and then tried to see what was inside of it (obviously). I pushed my paw through the holes that were already there, and, strangely enough, it was completely empty. There was nothing inside. I chewed on the thick skin of the pumpkin as I pondered the possibility. Why was this pumpkin empty? Were they always so empty? I had definitely seen pumpkins that were not empty before (mostly in dumpsters), so why was there nothing in this one?

I thought I should go see what other pumpkins nearby were like. There were so many to choose from.

The next one was not empty. I could see it from far away as I stood still on the long, flat black rock, staring at the strange glow coming from the pumpkin. I crept towards it. I had to know why it was glowing. Was there a tiny sun inside? It looked like the same color from a distance. Was the pumpkin angry? That was certainly possible.

When I got a paw’s length away, I batted at the pumpkin. I was cautious. Then, I decided to look through one of the strange holes it had, where the light was shining from.

Inside was a tiny ball of light.

It was bright.

It was scary.

I growled at it as I hurled my paw at it. Clearly, this pumpkin had some kind of pumpkin ghost sitting inside of it, and it was definitely trying to scare me. I smashed the pumpkin with my paws until a human ran out of its cave, yelling at me and swatting a long stick with pine straws on it at me. I tried to tell the human that I was just saving it and its cave from a pumpkin ghost, but the human refused to hear my pleas. It continued to swat at me until I left.

I ran back to my cave. I knew I had done the right thing, even if who it was for could not appreciate it.

I am a bear.

If you would like to try being a bear, why not read some of the bear adventures available on this very site? 

For any questions or comments directed at Bear, feel free to write to him using this email: justasinglebear@gmail.com

You can also now use Tumblr to address questions to Bear. Also, you can find bear photos and such on Bear’s Instagram, and don’t forget to “like” Bear on the book of faces.

The acorns were not mine.

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belly-anger-2
When my belly is shouting at me to tend to it, using pain and anger to fuel my every decision, I cannot help but to eat nearly everything that comes into my sight. I have eaten some strange things, things that did not seem like food until I proved they were food. Crumpled leaves, fish skulls, anthills (including the ants sometimes), the wind (when it cooperates), things caught in the wind, basically everything inside any dumpster ever, sometimes the edges or corners of dumpsters, a bird once (more by accident and it was technically something that was caught in the wind (sorry, bird)). My mouth guides me on these occasions, and I become a furry ball of fury and teeth, claiming all chewable things as my meals.

Then I calm down.

It always happens.

I go off the edge while the hunger infects my very being, and then I fulfill whatever intangible thing causes me to be such a way, and then I calm down. Usually, when I calm down, I can look around, see the leftovers of the dumpster I was in, and move on with what happened. I ate some plastic bags filled with a dark liquid that smelled like burning? That is okay, I will move on. Oh, the tree I climb is missing a limb and my teeth hurt? That is okay, I will move on.

I was not able to move on recently.

I found a small cluster of acorns not very long ago. They were covered in leaves and pine needles and bits of dirt and my future shame and self-loathing. I smelled them from my cave. The wonderfully intoxicating aroma did not take long to pinpoint. With a small swipe of the claw, I was able to reveal the acorns. They were beautiful. They were delicious looking. They were delicious looking.

Without thinking, I hurled my jaws over the acorns and began to gobble them through my teeth and tongue and spit. In groups of two and three, I would go into the pile and further diminish the acorn reserve.

I ate them all.

When I calmed down, when I ceased to be the monster that I can so easily become, I realized that those acorns were not my acorns. That is probably true of most of the things I eat, of course. The dumpsters are not mine. The wind is not mine. The anthill is not mine. But something about this acorn collection, the way it was gathered so neatly and so beautifully, the way so many leaves and pine needles were so delicately placed and organized, it forced me to know they were not mine.

Someone was saving these acorns.

Someone was probably saving these acorns for when the hunger, the vicious, angry little beast that it can be, would infest their being. And when it happens to them, they will not have the comfort of an acorn reserve to soothe them.

Who knows what they might do.

I might have made a monster.

I am a bear.

If you would like to try being a bear, why not read some of the bear adventures available on this very site? 

For any questions or comments directed at Bear, feel free to write to him using this email: justasinglebear@gmail.com

You can also now use Tumblr to address questions to Bear. Also, you can find bear photos and such on Bear’s Instagram, and don’t forget to “like” Bear on the book of faces.

Special dumpster days.

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dumpsters-2

For the most part, there are not a whole lot of things to look forward to when it comes to living in the forest. Many things about forest living are difficult, and most of my time is spent trying to avoid being hungry and/or awake, and I would guess most creatures probably agree with me (unless they are deer since deer enjoy all the needless suffering that goes on all the time). Being in the forest is generally a moment-to-moment sort of existence, and even really thinking about what might happen next can be upsetting since it often does not happen (at least not the positive possibilities).

There is an exception, however. Once in awhile, when the dumpsters are nearly full and the plastic bags within them are beginning to rip apart, there comes a day when all the dumpsters around the forest are accompanied by even more dumpsters, smaller in size and different in shape but just as lovely as their bigger, differently shaped friends. They fill the tiny backspaces that are normally occupied by the dumpsters, and then all around everywhere I go I can see floods of various shaped and sized dumpsters, and it is so incredibly lovely.

The best time to go is at night, of course. You do not have to spend the entire evening searching and hunting for the perfect dumpster diving place, either. There are so many to choose from and they are so filled to the brim with treasures that it is actually easy to get one that you like. The bountiful amount of goods also leads to far fewer instances of raccoon/opossum attacks/hissing fits. There is just so much to go around that no creature even gets too upset when a his/her dumpster gets invaded. That creature just moves on to the next prize.

The only problem with nights like these are the human encounters. Humans, as I have established many times, are strange, loud creatures of the forest that mostly yell when they see you. I have been yelled at by many, many humans, and being yelled at scares me more than almost anything.

But even the human yelling fails to stop nights like these from being so absolutely enjoyable in every way imaginable. I have even caught myself, mid-dumpster diving, trash bag in my mouth, ignoring the shouts of the humans who wanted me to leave the dumpster I was in. I was so hypnotized by the allure of the smells and tastes and wonderfulness of the entire dumpsterscape, that no force, even the harsh, shrill voice of an angry human, could stop me from enjoying myself.

It is one of the few escapes from harsh forest life that is offered, and even though it does not seem to happen nearly as often as it should, I, and you should as well, enjoy every moment of it. It is the one thing to look forward to in the forest.

I am a bear.

If you would like to try being a bear, why not read some of the bear adventures available on this very site? 

For any questions or comments directed at Bear, feel free to write to him using this email: justasinglebear@gmail.com

You can also now use Tumblr to address questions to Bear. Also, you can find bear photos and such on Bear’s Instagram, and don’t forget to “like” Bear on the book of faces.