Tag Archives: bears

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.

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.