Author Archives: A bear

I get lost in the forest.

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lost (2)

Occasionally (and perhaps too occasionally), I get lost in the forest. It is never a pleasant experience, and it is something that should not happen to me as often as it does, but it does happen, and I do not like it.

I am rambling.

That is because just thinking about getting lost in the forest gives me such an empty, hollow feeling that I gain a desire to fill that nothingness with something, even rambling thoughts that lead to nothing. The emptiness and loneliness and desperation are hard to combat, so the words do not really help.

I have to learn to avoid that void instead of fill it, so I have to understand where it comes from.

A distraction is what usually starts it. I chased after a napkin covered in a delicious looking sauce the other day. I ran after it for a long time, hoping to catch it and lick it and enjoy whatever sauce was smothered on the sides of it. It got away. The wind carried it to a very excited raccoon, and I lost the napkin for good. I also lost my way. I looked around my surroundings and tried to get a feel for where I was or from what direction I came.

I could not do it, though.

I spun in circles for almost as long as I had chased the napkin, hoping to get some sense of where I needed to go to get to familiar territory. Could I follow a smell? Could I follow some leaves I had stepped on? Would the raccoon be kind enough to point me in the right direction (after all, I had just let him have a very lovely napkin)?

Nothing worked, and I became anxious and frightened immediately.

And dizzy. I became dizzy from all the spinning.

After a nice nap to let the dizziness wear off (I found a very comfortable pile of leaves under a tree), I got up and began my search for home again. I began to wander, hoping that just as easily I had gotten lost I would be able to find my way again. Everything simply began to look more and more unfamiliar.

A very sincere part of me just wanted to stop where I was and begin living there. That would be an easy solution, I figured, and I even began the initial actions to begin such a proceeding (getting familiar with the smells of the area, trying to ask a opossum what it thinks about trees (hissing noises), etc.).

Then I saw the napkin I was chasing. The raccoon had abandoned it. It still had a small amount of delicious looking sauce!

I chased it again, a distraction from the predicament that was caused by the same distraction. At the time, I was unable to see the loop of distraction based maroonedness I was setting myself up for. I was far too distracted by delicious looking sauces.

So I ran again. And again, the napkin was captured by another creature (this time, a bird (do birds even like sauces (of course they do, all things like sauces))).

When I stopped, I was no longer lost. I was right back where I had originally found the napkin that led me astray originally. I wandered back to my cave and took another. I was still a little dizzy, and even though I was home, I was still upset I did not get my sauce.

I guess I should be avoiding distractions? I do not know. But being home is nice.

 

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.

It would be nice to be fed.

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worm food (2)

Food is the most important thing in the forest (besides trees and the sky and maybe dirt because it seems like it is everywhere and something that plentiful has to be important). Luckily, many things count as food. Leaves count as food. Sticks count as food. Fish count as food. Anything you can fit into your mouth can and you have a desire to eat can and should be considered food.

It would make sense, then, to assume that gathering food is quite easy since just about everything is food. This is not the case. Food is not easy to gather. It never has been. Even a simple yet lovely meal of leaves, sticks, and fish can take long, exhausting hours to procure and prepare. That perfectly chewable plastic jug might make a wonderful breakfast, but it is not going to scoot (or whatever motion jugs use to get around) itself to your cave entrance.

You have to earn it.

You have earn all food.

Unless you are a baby bird.

I recently saw a tiny nest atop a tree outside of my cave. I could hear tiny baby birds chirping for something. Out of curiosity, I climbed another tree nearby to see if I could get a good look as to what was causing so much noise. I stumbled upon a mother bird feeding the baby birds. One at a time, she mashed up worms she had retrieved and spewed them into the baby birds’ mouths. As each one cried out for its turn, it was quickly silenced by a warm feeling of content.

It looked nice.

It was a feeling I wanted to have. I cannot remember anyone feeding me crushed up worms from a loving face (and that seems like something I would remember had it actually happened).

I asked Rob (the squirrel) if he would be willing to feed me crushed up worms, berries, leaves, or anything if I were willing to return the favor.

He shook his head at me in a way that made me feel bad about myself.

Then I thought about what I was asking… Surely I could handle my own chewing. Nobody needs to chew for me.

I asked Rob (the squirrel) an amended question: would he be willing to just bring me food every once in awhile if I would be willing to do the same. Or, even better, would he be able to drop food into my mouth?

He stared for a moment and then ran.

I did not know who else to ask. I tried the moldy rocks in my cave, but, in a way, they already give me lots of food by being moldy and delicious. Also, they do not talk (shy?).

It would be nice if something or someone was willing to feed me. I suppose, in a larger sense, the forest does. The forest gives me what I need, I just have to go get it. I hope the baby birds 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 Facebook.

Everything hurts and feels terrible and I do not like it.

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Belly pain (2)

When I woke up with a strange, sharp pain in my belly area, I thought I had simply slept on my fur wrong again (that, too, is a very painful experience). I got up to shake off whatever was aching me, and then I realized that whatever I was feeling was much deeper than anything that could be caused by fur. The bottom part of me was in pain, radiating with anger and heat and unhappiness and a tinge of regret for something I was unable to completely identify.

I remained standing on all fours for a very brief moment before I collapsed back down to the cool, welcoming cave floor. I curled my legs into myself, hoping they could retreat into me to fight off the horrible feeling my underside was shouting at the rest of me.

Then the oozing began.

I do not want to go into detail about the oozing. It was unpleasant, and I would not wish it upon any creature.

Then I slept. It was not a restful sleep. I panicked several times during my slumber, thrashing upward and gasping for breath each time as my mind recollected all the information it needed to reunderstand what was going on.

The little amount of time I was able to keep aware enough to think about things other than the horribleness of the situation was spent trying to determine a cause to the horribleness of the situation.

My first guess was that I had angered something/someone in the forest and that something/someone had taken vengeance by way of a debilitating belly scheme. Admittedly, despite how friendly I try to be toward all things in the forest, I do have enemies. The deer, for one, but he was far too lazy and incompetent to be able to affect me in such a way. I once besmirched the wind’s good name because it dismantled a wonderful pile of leaves I had collected. That situation should have been over with, though. After all, the wind started it. Why would it hold a grudge? That does not sound like the wind to me.

I also considered the possibility that something delicious had betrayed me. Everything I eat is delicious, but out of all the things I do eat, one of those things could have been using deliciousness to mask its aggressive, pain-inducing motives. What could it have been? Certainly not the plastic jug filled with the gooey dark liquid that I chewed on for several days. Maybe I accidentally swallowed a few aggressive insects by accidents, and this was their way to get back at me.

Maybe they were chewing their way out of me.

Maybe a million ants were nipping at the depths of my belly, destroying everything about my insides and making everything on the outside unlivable.

Why had I eaten those ants by accident?

I woke up to no ants. It was dark outside of my cave. The oozing had stopped. My belly felt off but not on fire anymore.

I stared around my dark cave, trying to make sense of my surroundings and my feelings and the wraith of pain lingering somewhere near my belly.

I went back to sleep. I dreamed of pine-cones. It was nice.

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.

 

What do you do when the water from above will not let you do anything?

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rain bear (2)

My fur is very soggy at this moment, and I am not okay with it.

The water from above has been torrential lately and has hindered the enjoyment I usually have for being outside of my cave. My sedimentary status has not be driven by a fear of water (from the sky or otherwise). I usually do not mind being wet. I enjoy a good frolic in the river (when the deer is not present, of course), and on hot days, rain is welcomed.

But the continuous berating of precipitation has become exhausting, and has driven me out into the storm that has become my home. Before accepting my wet fate, I had been in my cave for many moon cycles (I think; it has become very difficult to tell when the sun is up or not in all this gloom), and I have run out of activities to do.

I have counted every single loose rock on the cave floor (there are 37) and have named them (my favorite of the bunch are Glenn, Ned, Samantha, Andy, Emily, Gwen, Rock, Small Rock, Other Rock, The Rock Formally Known as Big Rock [back when there were only 36 rocks, before I dropped one], and Steve).

I gathered several blades of grass and tried to create a game using them. I invited Rob (the squirrel) over to play, but he said the rules were too confusing and then bit my nose and ran to his tree.

The final straw that pushed me out of my solitary cave is when I tried to draw portraits of familiar faces using a stick and soft dirt. Things started out well enough. I did a fine job on Rob (the squirrel), but the water from above crept into my cave and washed it away. The same thing occurred when I drew other woodland creatures who have been kind. Knowing the above water’s sinister disposition, I decided to draw the deer in the hopes that it would also cleanse the foul beast from my home, but the water did not. The above water had other plans and puddled around the image of the deer as if it were trying to protect it.

I do not think I like the water from above. I sloshed a pawful of water from the protective moat and washed away the image of the deer. I had had it with being in my cave.

I did not care how soggy I became, it was better than sitting that cave, trapped by the deer-loving above water.

Now I sit in the pouring water, waiting for it to stop. I wonder if my acceptance of defeat will make the water calm itself. Only time will tell.

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.

Naps do not always make me feel as good as I want them to make me feel.

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napping (2)

I sleep often.

I enjoy how sleeping makes me feel both during and after the sleeping, so whenever I need those feelings, I try to sleep. Napping is a big part of my sleeping, so, generally speaking, napping makes me feel good (or is supposed to make me feel good).

Not every nap does what it is supposed to do, however.

Recently, my naps have ceased to give me the feelings of comfort and weightlessness that used to accompany them, the naps that is. Now when I nap, I feel strange and even more tired than when I decided to nap. Things feel fuzzy and hostile when I wake, as if the forest decidedly kept moving without me, the trees taking a vote on the matter and coming to the conclusion that most trees prefer to move the forest along without me, a bear, over waiting for me to nap.

I know that is not the case. I think (hope) trees like me, and I assume they are probably far too busy with tree matters (sticks, leaves, things blooming or falling depending on the weather) to even think about my naps, especially not maliciously so.

Naps do that now, however. I no longer feel refreshed and ready to continue the day after a brief nap. I want to feel that way, but it just does not seem to happen like that now.

I have thought about what has caused the downfall of my personal naps for awhile now. I have no conclusive proof of any kind of cause, but I do think it might have something to do with distractions. I feel more distracted now than I used to, I think, which makes it difficult to let go of my thoughts and feelings (a process that is necessary to create and maintain a lovely sleeping/napping condition).

I keep thinking when I should be napping. This is a problem.

I find it much more difficult now to let go of these thoughts and feelings. The thoughts are many and varied. It is not as though I have one, single line of thinking when it is time to rest, like something I know will help me sleep instead of hold my sleep back. I think about the forest and the creatures of the forest. I think about bearness and my bearness or my lack of bearness or how I even know what bearness is or if bearness is even a thing. I think about naps and how thinking keeps them from being enjoyable (that line of thinking is particularly frustrating). I think about today, yesterday, and tomorrow, but never as though they are connected in any manner, which, now that I am thinking about that thought, I think they might be.

All of these things sprint around my mind when my mind should be shutting down and preparing to nap.

I want my naps back. I never knew I would miss them so much.

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.

Please do not tell me if I am not a bear.

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deer bear (2)

As far as I know and for as long as I have been able to know things, I have been a bear. I have molded just about every aspect of my life out of my understanding of my own bearness, so everything about all of me reflects what I think being a bear means.

So I hope I am a bear.

When I really try to think about or feel my bearness, I do not have any doubts that I am what I have always claimed to be: a bear. However, there is a large, resting doubt sitting beneath any of the confidence I have ever been able to muster when it comes to my being a bear. What if, to the rest of the forest’s understanding, I am not a bear? What if my understanding of what a bear is or what a bear is supposed to be is not correct?

I have tried to convince myself that, even if such a line of thinking is not true, it does not matter. If I know I am a bear, then I must be a bear. End of story. Yet, that does little in the way of easing the lingering questions and doubts. They persist, ever gnawing at my identity like I would gnaw a moldy branch I found under some leaves.

If you, or anybody for that matter, know that I am not a bear, please do not tell me. I have given this a lot of thought, and the mere idea of confirming my non-bearness is so incredibly unnerving to me that I truly believe ignorance would be a better course of action.

I do not need to know if I am not a bear. There is so little to gain from that knowledge yet so much to lose. If I stop being a bear, I have no idea how I will begin to understand me or my interactions with everything ever. These issues are already difficult to process even when I feel firmly about being a bear, so the stress and anxiety that would come with having to reconsider all of being me would be far too much, an overload of everythingness.

What would I gain from knowing that I am not a bear, though? Would I not just question the validity of being a different thing just as frequently and with just as much intensity? What if I am something that I do not like or want to be? What if I am a deer across the river or dirt? I would prefer to be dirt, but either way, what would I get out of knowing something like that? What would anyone get knowing something like that?

I would prefer to stay in the dark. I would prefer to keep being who I think I am rather than what I might actually be, even if it means ignoring the latter completely.

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.

This place is strange.

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Mall (2)

This place is strange. There are so many humans milling about. They move like a river of arms and legs and faces down long narrow caves that branch out into smaller caves. Each of these caves is filled with different things. There are several caves housing fabrics of various colors and size. There are a few caves with things that light up and make noises (the humans love these things and look at them as they walk around). There is even a cave filled with dismembered, miniature versions of me (which are quite terrifying).

The humans feel the need to visit multiple caves in this place; some humans even visit every one of them. They are like ants marching through their hill. But instead of bringing food or resources to the caves within the hill to make their community better, the humans take things away from these caves. They leave carrying loads of bags and boxes filled with things they found (stole?). They chat with other humans (who are not there) on those things that light up and make noise about how they just found (stole?) a brand new version of the thing that lights up and makes noise.

It is all very confusing.

One human cub carries a recently reassembled version of me under her arm. She seems happy about it, until she sees the real me. Maybe I make her upset because I was not wearing a hat like the smaller version of me.

I do not know if I like this place, but I am starting to think this place does not like me.

Three humans with sticks yell at me. Other humans watch. It is quite humiliating.

I run for the exit (or what I think is the exit) and crash into fake, faceless, humans covered in furs and strange flat snakes around their waists. I try to leave again and tumble into a small table thing for serving hot, delicious nuts. The humans behind the table are not pleased, but I do not waste the intrusive moment, and I scoop as many pawfuls of nuts into my mouth as possible.

More humans with sticks show up. There are lights outside filling the massive, interconnected, human cave system with hues of blue and red.

I try to exit once more. This time it is successful. I find myself outside near the dumpster that led me here in the first place. The air is better outside than inside the human cave. To think I was almost trapped in there is a very upsetting thought.

Maybe all the humans milling about inside are trapped. Maybe they are being made to take things from those caves and forced to carry them around. I hope not. That would be quite sad.

At least I found some nuts. That was nice.

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 found a milk jug. Now what?

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Milk jug (2)

Everything and everyone in the forest (as far as I can tell) seems to have a very overt, defined purpose. Trees are homes for creatures, fur scratchers for me, and generally great for the aesthetics of the forest. The river gives us water and a place to see ourselves in wavy reflections. Squirrels are entertaining at best and chaotic wild cards at worst (which also has its uses). Even the deer across the river has some purpose. I do not know what that purpose is, but I am sure there is one and I like to pretend it is not just to make me feel horrible about being near the deer across the river from time to time.

We all have a purpose in the forest, and we all interact with and play off of each others’ purposes. That is why it is so alarming when I come across something in the forest that seems to lack a discernible purpose (to me, that is).

Many strange things find their way to the forest (usually by way of dumpster treasures or humans (campsites and such)), and it can be difficult to figure out why these things exist.

The milk jug was a perfect example. I had no idea it was even called a milk jug until Rob (the squirrel) told me it was a milk jug. I asked him what it did, and he told me the name explained everything I needed know.

Milk jug.

So, naturally, I chewed on it. The milk jug certainly did a fine job at fulfilling the role of a thing to be chewed on, but (and I do not mean to sound too cynical or pessimistic here) that can be said of just about anything I can chew on (which is most things).

I decided to carry the milk jug with me to give it some more time to express its reasoning for its being or at least enough time for me to figure that out on my own. Later that day, in my cave, I sat with my belly pressed against the cool, moldy rock floor as I stared at the milk jug, waiting for it to explain itself.

It never did. It just sat there.

I took the milk jug to the river to see if a change in scenery could help inspire it to be the best possible milk jug.

When we arrived, we sat at the edge of the river, waiting.

Then I nudged the milk jug into the water. For a very brief moment, I was terrified that I might have just drowned the milk jug just to prove something about it to me, which was an absurd and horrible notion. In my panic, I jumped into the river to follow the milk jug, but I was surprised to find that it was able to float better than I could.

Maybe that was its purpose.

The deer across the river scoffed at me as this happened, which I pretended to ignore even though it made me feel bad about myself.

At the end of the day, I carried the milk jug back to where I found it: the dumpster near the sharp fence I dug a whole under so I did not have to climb the fence because it is sharp.

I am still not entirely sure why the milk jug exists and what it is for, but I figure that the place for it to do or be what it needs to do or be is its home.

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.

What are the best things in the forest?

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There are so many things in the forest. Some are terrifying (shadows, bees, loud sounds, the flat black rock). Some are horrible (deer across the river). Most, however, are terrific (napping, caves, trees, grass, the moon, the sky, rain, smells, creatures who are nice, dumpsters, abandoned campsites, fish, the river, leaves, sticks, logs, tree stumps, berries, sounds).

With so many wonderful things to experience and enjoy in the forest, I like to sometimes think about what some of the best things in the forest are. I decided to make a list of the best things the forest has to offer. I narrowed everything down to just five:

5: Water

Water is wonderful. You can drink it. You can soak your fur in it. You can swim in it. Fish live in it. You can feel its cool streams rushing through your individual hairs as you shake to dry after a nice dip.

Water is so refreshing. It makes you feel better when you feel tired. It can also make you drown. I once saw a raccoon floating in the river and when I asked the raccoon why it was floating and whether or not that was a fun thing to do it did not respond and its nose was in the water and when I realized what was happening I panicked and splashed and thrashed in the water and tried to run but I stumbled and fell in a deeper part of the river and I thought I would end up like the raccoon so I thrashed more and more and escaped.

4: Trees

Tall. Majestic. Wise. These are just a few words that you could use to describe the presence of trees in the forest. The forest is practically defined by the presence of trees, and you can learn so much from them.

Creatures live in trees. I once tried to live in a tree. I fell out, but that was not the tree’s fault. It was my fault for being too large for the tree branch I climbed, and when I landed, I did not see the raccoon who was beneath me. Was the raccoon like that before I fell? Did I cause how it ended up? I am so sorry, raccoon. Please forgive me.

3: The wind

The only thing that feels better running through your fur than water is the wind. It carries your spirit just as quickly as it carries the leaves and the debris of the forest. The wind cannot hurt anything. Nothing can be hurt by the wind. The wind is so very nice. Unless it could knock a raccoon out of a tree? Is that possible? Can the wind be that strong? No, of course not.

2: Sitting in a tree, protecting a raccoon you just met

This raccoon will be absolutely fine forever. I will sit in this tree for as long as I need to sit in this tree to make sure the wind does not affect this raccoon’s life in any manner. This raccoon will be safe.

1: This raccoon I just met

Please stop hissing at me. I am here to protect you. Please. Oh no, the wind. Please. No.

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.

raccoonsaved (2)

What is the long, flat black rock and why is it so scary?

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road kill (2)

If you travel in the forest in one direction for a long time, eventually you will run into the long, flat black rock. The long, flat black rock is a rock. It is long and flat. It is also very black. It goes on forever it seems. You can look the direction the long, flat black rock is laid out and it keeps going until it becomes the sky.

It has yellow stripes. Sometimes the yellow stripes are long and continuous like the rock, but other times they break apart and are more like yellow dashes. Sometimes there are white stripes on either edge of the long, flat black rock. Sometimes there are not.

This rock is a mystery to me, and it always has been. I visit the rock every once in awhile (and usually by complete accident), and whenever I do, I try to investigate it. I have learned a lot about the rock, though I am sure that there is much more to discover.

It gets hot very easily, particularly during the summer. It gets so hot, in fact, that it becomes nearly impossible to walk on the long, flat black rock without burning your paws.

It does not taste like most rocks.

I know because I licked it.

And I have also tasted many rocks.

Probably the most disconcerting thing about the long, flat black rock is that it is often the site of many dead creatures from the forest. Recently, I came across the long, flat black rock only to find a opossum laying out on top of it. I asked the opossum why it was using the long, flat black rock as a bed, to which it responded with silence. I asked why it was being so silent, to which it responded with more silence. Finally, I approached the opossum (which was strange because most opossums ran from me upon sight), and I got close enough to realize why the opossum was being so antisocial.

It was flat.

As flat as the long, flat black rock.

Its tiny teeth were ground into the rock while its pale tongue was covered in blood and splayed across its own face.

Its belly was open.

The sight frightened me, so I ran as fast as I could away from the long, flat black rock and into the forest.

Then I ran back to the rock because I felt bad for the opossum, and I did not simply want to leave it on a rock that would surely bake in the sun, roasting the opossum with it.

When I arrived, I was startled again. This time by something that was not dead. It was fast and shiny and loud and hit the poor opossum again and screeched past me and screamed at me and I ran.

Again.

I ran into the forest, upset I could do nothing for the opossum.

I have not been back to the long, flat black rock since. I do not know if I want to.

I do not want to become a opossum.

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.