Author Archives: A bear

I am afraid of being eaten and so should you.

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snake food (2)

There are many dangers in the forest. Angry berries can poison your belly. Pointy, sharp sticks can pierce your fur and skin and paws and tongue. Rocks might fall on you from above. You can trip into the river and get mocked by a deer. You can get sad. The sky might fall from itself only to consume you and embarrass you. A very unfriendly squirrel might ask you a question you cannot answer.

You can get eaten.

Being eaten is the really scary one. There is no telling when or even if a thing might want to eat you or whether or not that thing will actually decide to really eat you. It is a constant threat in the lives of all things in the forest. I have seen many things get eaten. I have even eaten many things (sorry, things I have eaten). I once saw a cluster of ants devour a bird who was very still and not very bird-like in what must have been a brief moment of bird weakness. The ants plucked away every bit of the bird’s outsides, leaving tiny innards and bones behind. As if the devouring was not enough to damage the weakened bird, another larger bird dropped from the sky and plucked the remains of the shattered bird, chewing and swallowing the bits and bones as it flew away.

That bird was eaten. And I am sure that bird was not fond of being eaten.

The image of that helpless bird being torn apart and spread out through different creatures of the forest haunts me and fuels my constant worry of being eaten.

Nothing thwarts that worry. I live in a constant state of not wanting to be eaten, and I am sure that almost everything else in the forest feels the same. After all, who is not vulnerable to being eaten? This becomes even more of a difficult concept for me to wrestle with when I consider all the things I eat. Berries, twigs, fish, the moss on my cave, flies who get very close to my nose, and even plastic bags I find all live in a similar state of fear because of me and other creatures who want to eat them. They all, too, probably invoke that fear into the things they eat. The forest perpetuates a strange cycle of anxiety through everyone being food for someone else. It makes me wish that eating, despite how fulfilling and lovely the act is, was not necessary. I wish we could all be the things we are without having to eat other things that the things they are.

But that probably is not going to happen, so maybe acceptance of the inevitability of being eaten is the next best option. It is not that easy, though. I do not want to be eaten. Nobody does, and even though I know it will probably happen one day, I really hope is does not. Until it does, though, I will probably obsess over it. I will spend too much of my time worrying about the possibility of it happening and the potential gory details that might result from it. It is silly to fret over something that is so wildly out of your control, but there is no helping it. I will always want to not get eaten.

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.

PS

Please look at this bear thing that @lirien made. It talks what Bear talks:

Product Review: A thing I found in the dumpster near the fence with the hole in it that I fit in.

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I recently found a thing in the dumpster near the fence with the hole in it that I fit in. It was a circular black wiry thing with one covered end and one open end. It had some metal cutouts of what I probably look like from a very far away distance. It also had some metal cutouts of trees and some pointy things. It looked like this thing here. I have no idea what this thing is or what it is for, but it seems like a very interesting thing, and I like it.

I wanted to figure out the ins and outs of this thing that I found and whether or not this thing that I found was a good thing that I found or a bad thing that I found. To do this, I decided to put this thing that I found through a number of crucial tests, rating its performance on those tests out of a five (or however many I can find at the time) leaves. I put the thing I found through three stress tests: sitability (how well I can sit on this thing I found), lickability (how well this thing I found can be licked (taste, texture, chewiness, etc.)), and collectability (how much I want to keep this thing I found in my cave as a wonderful prize to be treasured forever). I also gave the thing I found an overall leaf rating at the end.

Test 1: Sitability (how well I can sit on this thing I found)

This thing I found has a few different ways to be sat upon. Like I said when I described it, it has two ends: one with an opening and one that is closed off. It also has the roundness of the metal wiry bits and cutouts connecting the two ends. That gave this thing I found three potential sitting areas.

Unfortunately, out of the three potential sitting places, only one was even remotely pleasant. The opened end provided no comfort or support, and I actually got stuck inside the thing I found, which was not fun and actually very scary. The rounded side with the metal wires and cutouts was far too lopsided and rolly for me to get any good sitting out of it. It actually slipped out from under me many times while I tried to sit on it. The closed end did provide an interesting sitting spot for quite some time, but the position I had to sit in while utilizing this side eventually strained my front legs and back.

Overall, the thing I found was not a great thing to sit on. Perhaps the forest did not design it to be sat upon, but it is not often I find something that I cannot sit on.

Sitability rating: 3 leaves out of 5

Leaf rating (2)

Test 2: Lickability (how well this thing I found can be licked) 

All things have tastes. This is an indisputable fact about the forest and everything within it. Not all things have lovely tastes, though. What about the thing I found in the dumpster by the fence with the hole in it that I can fit in? How does this particular thing taste and how well can it be licked by me or any other willing forest creature?

I spent quite some time licking the metal wired thing I found. It tasted okay, but it also tasted like nothing in particular. If it reminded me of anything, I would have to say it tasted like rocks. Not exactly like rocks, but very much like rocks. Its texture, however, was actually quite interesting. The thing I found is very smooth and a little slick, so my tongue glided right over it with every lick, shining the metal bits of wire and cutouts as I did. Unfortunately, the thing I found is definitely not chewable. I tried. It hurt my teeth.

Lickability rating: I could only find 3 really good leaves, so out of that many leaves, maybe 2 and a half? So I bit one of the leaves in half to show that.

Leaf rating (3)

Test 3: Collectability (how much I want to keep this thing I found in my cave as a wonderful prize to be treasured forever)

This thing I found is definitely one of the more interesting things I have ever found. Who knew I could get a chance to lick tiny metal cutouts of what I probably look like from a very faraway distance? That is a very unique experience, so of course, I felt a need to bring it back to my cave and keep it with me forever. Unfortunately, while carrying it up a particularly steep hill to get back to my cave, I accidentally dropped the thing I found and it rolled down the hill. I ran after it, but it was very fast and I had to slow down because going that fast down a hill is very scary. I lost the thing I found. It rolled into some unknown depth of the forest that surely needed the thing I found more than I did. There was also an owl staring at me from the direction the thing I found rolled toward, and I am pretty sure the owl was very angry at me and I did not want to risk upsetting the owl any further, so I gave up my search for the thing I found. But I definitely would have wanted to keep it in my cave for a very long time.

Collectability rating: I found a pile of leaves, so I am going to rate it an entire pile of leaves out of an entire pile of leaves.

Leaf rating (4)

Overall rating: Two piles of leaves, and I only found one pile of leaves so I had to make up one new pile of leaves just to make this rating happen, so really, the overall rating is one pile of leaves and one imaginary pile of leaves.

Leaf rating (5)

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.

For more information about the thing Bear found for this post, please visit Black Forest Decor. This lovely company puts all kinds of great forest creatures on things you might use in your human cave house. Unfortunately, most of these things are not great to sit on or lick. So if you are looking for things to lick or to sit on that feature various forest creatures (and who isn’t?) maybe try another place.

PS

Please look at this bear thing that @lirien made. It talks what Bear talks:

 

Here are some things I collected today.

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Here is a list of the things I have collected today:

  • New (to me) rabbit skeleton (gently used)
  • Fish scales (found under some wet dirt (strange))
  • A pile of acorns (attacked for taking these, but I am not sure if they belonged to anybody (if they are yours, angry raccoon, I am sorry))
  • A lizard’s tail (accident, I promise)
  • Four rocks
    • One small rock, brown
    • One small rock, grey
    • One medium rock, mossy
    • One medium rock, loose (it broke, so maybe five rocks total? (is a rock divided a single rock?))
  • Lovely stick
  • Strange plastic container thing that might have ghosts in it because I heard strange sounds coming from it
  • Maybe ghosts
  • Where did my lovely stick go?
  • A bird took the lovely stick
  • Is he bringing it back?
  • No, he is going very far away with my lovely stick
  • Please, do not do that, bird
  • Please, bring my stick back, it is my stick
  • This is how the angry raccoon must have felt
  • I am sorry, raccoon
  • I will leave the acorns where I found them
  • A squirrel took the acorns
  • And now my fish scales are gone?
  • Why did I line up everything I collected today so neatly and prominently in front of my cave? I should have known that this would happen and I do not know what to do now
  • I just want my stick back, please, bird, give me my stick back
  • Oh, the bird is back
  • Oh, bird, can I have my stick back?
  • No, he took the small rock, too
  • Please, stop, bird
  • I will bring everything I can into my cave where it might not be so stolen all the time, what have I done to deserve this, I am so scared and upset
  • I brought the rabbit skeleton into my cave
  • No, now all of the rocks are gone
  • Who took them?
  • Please, bird, stop taking my things
  • The lizard tail is still here and I am very lucky for that and I will bring it back to my cave and place it next to the rabbit skeleton and then I will stay inside my cave and guard those two items and feel grateful that I even have those items to keep and hold and feel good about
  • It is gone
  • The rabbit skeleton is gone
  • Why
  • Who would
  • do
  • this?
  • Please
  • Is it you, bird?
  • Did you take my rabbit skeleton?
  • Is it my rabbit skeleton?
  • Why do I think it is mine?
  • It belongs to a rabbit
  • And I just found it
  • Just like the bird found my stick and now some ants are carrying away the lizard tail
  • I own nothing and that might be for the best
  • What if someone assumed they could just take me because they found me?
  • I am sorry, bird, I hope you get what you need out of that rabbit skeleton and stick, and I am sure you needed it more than I did
  • I really hope there were not ghosts in that plastic thing
  • Some berries (ate before I got back to my cave to neatly organize all of my findings)

mine bird

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 bat I met might want to be friends.

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bat friend (2)

I had never met a bat before the bat that I met in my cave who flew into my fur.

I did not know anything about bats, but I had seen them from time to time while going through the forest, searching for neat rocks and licking clumps of moss. For a very long time, I thought they were birds, but when I saw one hanging upside down from a tree one night, I realized that only a very strange or sick bird might do something like that.

I have never really had an interest in meeting one, to be perfectly honest. It was never out of hatred or fear of what bats are or could be, I just did not know enough about them to know how to approach them, so I figured it was best to stay away from them.

If that seems thoughtless, that is because it was. I did not put much thought into how my potential interactions with any/all bats from now until I am no longer able to have interactions with bats. That carelessness comes from how infrequently I even see them. Bats are very rare from my observations, so I never had a way to gain an interest in meeting one.

That was until a bat flew at me and into my fur. Recently, I was spending a lovely evening in my cave, resting my chin on a sharp rock because my chin had itched and the rock was able to scratch it. It was a very nice way to spend my night, and I really figured that my chin-rock-scratching was going to be the last thing I did that night. Right when I felt my chin had been scratched enough, I heard a strange squeaking sound followed by what sounded like frantic flapping. The sounds got louder and louder and then my fur felt unsettled, rattled. When I turned my head toward the place of distraction, I was startled to find the close-up face of a tiny bat.

It stared.

I stared.

We let the moment linger.

And then I jumped and ran and whimpered as I scooted in circles around my cave floor, trying to convince myself that my fur was fine and on longer invaded by some flying creature of the night.

I eventually settled down, and when I looked up, I could see the bat hanging from the top of my cave, bathed in moonlight and my own fear.

I tried going to sleep once I realized that was what the bat was most likely doing. So I nestled my head under my paws and got some rest.

When I woke up, the bat was gone.

I think we might be friends now, but I really have no concrete way of knowing. My feelings about bats are still mixed. I do not know if they are vile, winged creatures of the night who have come to startle my fur and upset my sensibilities or just very confused, unfortunate looking creatures of the night who have come to startle my fur and upset my sensibilities. Either way, I hope next time the bat at least asks to come in before it furiously flies through my fur.

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 am very proud of my stick structure.

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stick structure (2)

I spent a very long time today creating a stick structure. It was made out of sticks. It was also made out of several other crucial building materials to ensure the integrity of the structure’s build (rocks, tiny rocks, dirt, leaves, some excess fur, and the uplifting encouragement of a buzzing bee who kept me company for awhile).

I had a great time creating my stick structure, and when it was completed, I felt incredibly proud. It sat in the cool dirt, taller than most of the blades of grass that surrounded its base, reaching for the lovely blue sky as its graceful design towered over the ants who were climbing into it, nipping at the leaves that supported the sticks.

Oh, there were lots of ants, but that did not diminish my love for the stick structure I had created. Even when they took a very important supporting twig that rested in the middle, tens of them gathering around it and carrying it off in baffling efficiency, I was not deterred from my lovely stick structure. As the top level sticks and bits of branch tumbled toward the bottom, making the whole structure much smaller than any blade of grass, I still admired it. I still adored how it managed to simply be even under the pressure of an insect invasion.

There was the mud, too. The mud got everywhere as soon as it began to rain. As the soggy, gritty dirt got thicker and more menacing, it swallowed up the bottom of my stick structure. The whole thing sunk into the ground, slowly but surely.

Still, I loved my stick structure. The top sticks might have fallen and the bottom sticks might have ventured underground and the middle supporting stick was long taken, but even all dilapidation taken into account, I still loved my stick structure.

Even as it sunk into the ground and the rain water washed it away into oblivion and it practically become nonexistent, I still loved it.

It was my stick structure.

And it had no practical use and it was actually more of a hindrance to create and try to maintain and even watching it fall into disrepair was upsetting and emotionally draining.

It was all of those things, and it was mine. I made it. Well, I helped make it (I suppose the forest did most of the original creating for the sticks and such).

Thank you, stick structure I made today. You were strange and, frankly, quite useless, but I liked you all the same.

 

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.

Ants probably crawled in my nose, and I do not know why I let that happen.

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What have I done (3)

Anthills have very neat smells. I know this firsthand because I have smelled an anthill.

It smelled very lovely. The stinging aromatic bits of organized soil shot into my nostrils and, for just a brief, limited lovely piece of time, I experienced the many pleasing and eclectic smells that anthills have to offer. It was nice. I do not know if it was nice enough, however, to merit the much longer, seemingly unlimited horrible chunks of time that plagued my nose and mouth and face and other parts of me I cannot identify but can definitely feel.

The pain that irradiated throughout the face area of my body was only fueled by the anxiety and worry I felt about what was going inside of the face area of my body. What was going on in there? What or who was burning what part of me? Are there ants in me? Will they stay in me? Am I now a furry anthill for ants to live in forever and ever? Not relevant, but how many ants would it take to lift me like they lift small twigs together? Can they do that from within me? I hope not.

After a little bit of time (horribly long feeling time), I realized that the face area of my body was probably okay, and I most likely did not have ants in my face, making me a fuzzy, hair and skin based anthill. The feeling that settled in after I made this conclusion: embarrassment.

I did this. I made a choice to sniff an anthill. I knew what anthills were and what was inside them and the risks that came with smelling an anthill. I knew all of these things, and I still chose to sniff the anthill.

Why did I do that?

I am not sure what goes into decision making processes. Do I do things just because I am a bear and those things are just things that bears do? Do I do them because they need to be done and doing them keeps an important balance in the forest of which I am not aware? Do I just do things for the sake of doing things, and those things are determined by me and my motivations and thoughts?

I have no idea, and no matter how long I try to figure out which one of those answers makes the most sense, I am not able to figure it out. I do feel responsible for sniffing the anthill. I controlled my sniffing and everything else involved in making the decision, but beyond that, I am not sure why I did it and why I chose to do it knowing the consequences.

Regardless, I have to live with the aftermath of sniffing an anthill. The good and the bad of that action are mine to hold and understand, even I cannot do either very well.

Hopefully if there are ants in me, they at least like being there.

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.

Why waiting?

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Waiting (2)

Shadows are a normal part of the forest, but they are still intriguing to study and stare at. I, admittedly, do not completely understand them (which is why I occasionally spend time staring at them). If there is one thing I do understand about shadows, however, it is that they take a long time to do anything (well, the one thing they can do as far as I can tell: move).

Whenever I find myself sitting by a shadow and trying to understand it, I begin to think about what I am really doing as I stare at the mysterious, blackness on the ground: waiting. I am waiting. Of course, I tend do a lot of waiting for all kinds of different activities on a regular basis, but nothing really forces me to actually consider waiting like staring at shadows.

So I think about waiting while I wait for the shadows to reveal their more personal characteristics (which they have not done so far). What do I do when I wait? What does it mean to wait? Why bother waiting? Why not stop waiting and start doing something else that does not involve waiting (leaving, eating, smelling, etc.).

When I wait, I am forced sit alone with my thoughts. That can be a fun thing to do, but it can also be a horrifying thing to do. For every thought that is about licking moss or getting to know a tree, there are just as many thoughts about getting attacked by something larger than myself or deer. It is easy to get lost in thought while waiting. In fact, that seems to be the main thing to do while waiting. I suppose the bad thoughts are important, anyway. After all, getting to know your bearness is just as much about the good thoughts as it is the bad.

That leads me to think that waiting has two crucial functions:

  1. Waiting is a way to pass time until an expected or hopeful event occurs
  2. Waiting forces you to spend time with yourself, which forces you to try to understand your bearness

Waiting is a tough thing to convince yourself to enjoy, though. When you are not waiting, you really have no desire to wait. It is really something you do only when you absolutely have to do it, but the more I think about waiting while I wait for something, the more realize that it is a crucial part of being a bear and (likely) being an anything else. Trees seem like they only wait, and they are by far the wisest things in the forest (that is probably because they are perpetually thinking about their treeness, so they understand themselves (and themselves are essentially the everything of the forest) better than any other thing in the forest).

I do not understand shadows. I do not know why they are here and how they got here and whether or not they like me. That is okay, though. They make me wait to try to understand them. And that waiting helps me know me a little better.

I do hope they like me, though.

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 do not want to feel helpless.

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I wish doing things to make everything better for everyone in the forest was as easy as thinking about doing things to make everything better for everyone in the forest.

It is not, though. In fact, it is actually very difficult for me to do things in the forest that feel like they affect anyone or anything beyond my bearness or my immediate forest surroundings. I have tried, certainly, but the things I want changed seem to stay the same, no matter how much effort and dedication I put toward the changes I want to see.

That is one of the more frustrating aspects of this: the one thing I do have control of (my bearness and the surroundings of my bearness) are the only things I can effectively change. However, changing my bearness does not make the terribleness of the bad things that can happen in the forest change, go away, or get better. What I can change does not matter for the things I want to change.

Sometimes I wonder if I should mind my bearness and nothing else. I wonder if it is possible that all creatures of the forest are meant to simply mind their own personal creatureness and that the forest can maintain a particular balance of non-terribleness if that is done. Maybe my only part of that particular non-terribleness balance is making sure I keep to my bearness and that is all. Maybe I am not supposed to help others with their otherness or stop others from hindering others’ othernesses. I am a bear, and I can only control my bearness, and I just have to accept that and move on with my bearness.

But…

I do not like that. 

I know that not everyone can tend their everyoneness, and sometimes they need help with tending their everyoneness. Some things fight just to make others feel like their otherness is wrong, bad, and worthless (these kinds of perpetrators are also called deer). And some things actually hurt and destroy the otherness of others, which is not fair or nice or necessary.

I have to be a part of all of those relationships of the forest. I cannot just tend to my own bearness while others’ othernesses are hurt or hindered or hushed. If another creature cannot be the creature it is or wants to be because it is being unfairly stopped or even hurt, how could I not intervene? How could I watch as that creature loses its creatureness because of a disregard for creatureness in general?

Of course I cannot stop most of things from happening. The change I can affect is limited, but I have to try, even if I feel helpless. 

What if my bearness were to be hurt or hindered or hushed? I would want someone or something to help me. So, I suppose, even if I feel like I cannot, I should keep trying to change things. No matter how helpless I might feel. 

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 do not know what turtles are doing.

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turtle stuff (2)

The greatest mysteries of the forest always lie within something you cannot see. The inside of clouds? Nobody truly knows what is going on in there. Rocks? It is impossible to truly understand them (at least through their insides). I had no idea what was inside a tree until I slept in a log by accident once. It involves a lot of bugs and wood, though, I can tell you that much.

That brings me to turtles. No other creature in the forest is so forward with its limbs while being so mysterious about its belly/back/torso area. On one paw, I feel like I know a lot about turtles: they move slowly; they like to eat leaves like I do; they smell interesting; and they look like they generally enjoy life and the forest. On the other paw, I feel like nobody knows anything about turtles except for other turtles.

When a turtle slides its pointy head into its shell, there is no telling where it goes or why it goes there or for how long it will be there. Asking is no help, of course, since they usually respond to queries by going into their shells.

So what is going on in there?

I have a few guesses, but they are really just that. Maybe the inside of the shell is their true home, and it is where they stash their collections of wonderful forest treasures (leaves, rocks, etc.). Or perhaps they go into the shell mainly to get out of the sun, which can be very hot and uncomfortable from time to time. Part of me hopes the shell is just a decoration, something turtles get at an early age that they customize as they get older.

Like I said, it does smell nice, so there is that.

Not knowing about turtles and their shells is frustrating. I like to relate to other creatures of the forest as best as I can, but with turtles, it seems nearly impossible. I want to know what it is like to have a shell on my belly/back/torso area. I want to know the purpose of having a shell other than the nice smell.

To try to emulate the experience, I have often pretended that my cave was a kind of shell for me. I poke my head and my forearms outside the front entrance of my cave and pretend I am traversing through the forest, understanding the plight of the turtle.

It is not very… authentic, but I feel like I have to try.

But maybe that is the truth about the turtle shell: I am not supposed to understand it. After all, I am not a turtle. I do not have a shell, and I never will. And maybe it is okay to not be able to truly understand something about someone else, no matter how interesting you might find it. After all, there are probably things the turtle would like to know about bearness that the turtle could never understand. Maybe one day one will ask me about them.

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 hope I have useful skills for forest living.

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so many useless (2)

I can fit so many leaves in my mouth, and when I see my full-faced reflection on the surface of the river, I feel very proud of myself.

Of course, the deer across the river usually spots me doing this and always tells me that fitting any number of leaves in my mouth is a useless feat fit for those who are more interested in being dead in the forest than being alive. His aggressive and blunt tone aside, the deer has a valid point: what was the purpose of being about to store so many leaves in my mouth at one time?

How is this a useful skill?

I can never think of a way that this skill (which I hesitate to even call it now) would benefit me while I live in the forest.

It does not feed me.

It does not keep me warm.

It does not make me safe.

Fitting many leaves in my mouth is fun certainly, but it seems so useless no matter how much time I spend trying to rationalize its presence in my life.

But I like it.

I like putting leaves in my mouth, and I like putting so many leaves in my mouth that some fall out and I have to nip at them to get them back in even though I know that they would just fall out again.

I like that.

I like everything about putting many leaves in my mouth. I like a lot of things that do not feed me, make me warm, or make me safe. I like rolling through dirt and smelling myself afterward, I like staring at the sky and trying to figure out why it never comes to visit me even though I feel like I am always visiting it by staring at it (but maybe it is staring at me and feels the same?), I like trying to figure out the moon even though I do not think it is possible to figure out the moon, I like knowing how many pinecones there are even though I always lose count, I like knowing what moss smells like, and I like thinking about all of these things that are considered useless by the deer (and probably others) in the scope of my life in the forest.

Thinking about these things makes me happy just like doing these things makes me happy. And when I am happy, I do not worry about feeling hungry, warm, or safe. Feeling happy is enough.

I wonder how many pinecones I can fit in my mouth…

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.