Tag Archives: twitter

Something yelled at me today.

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yelling-2

There many very scary things that populate the forest and cause a steady stream of anxiety and nervousness all the time. Spiders? Sure. Lots of spiders? Absolutely. Snakes? Always? Lots of snakes? It is guaranteed. Ghosts? Likely.

The list is unfathomably long and frustrating, and it makes me wonder how I, or any creature for that matter, manages to go about the forest on a daily basis without curling into a ball and weeping until all of the terror is gone even though the terror can never be gone so the curling and weeping would last indefinitely. I suppose it is something we have to accept and adapt to, but that does not make it any more pleasant.

At least when it comes to spiders and snakes and ghosts I get some kind of warning. I see the snake before I run from it. I feel the spider in my fur before I jump around and try to shake it off. I think I might be able to smell ghosts (not fully tested yet) before they go about their hauntings and whatnot. One of the more terrifying things about the forest does not give you sufficient advanced notice, however. It jumps at you and surprises you and makes everything feel terrible. It pierces your ears and ruins your relationship with whatever is the source of it. It is terrible and horrifying and I do not like it.

Being yelled at.

Nobody likes being yelled at, but that does not stop many things from yelling at many other things. I have been yelled at by trees, wind, humans, raccoons, opossums, falling rocks, snapping twigs, a very determined bee, and several pointy leaves.

I hate it.

And I never get used to it. It makes me feel small and helpless, and I immediately begin considering how I can not be yelled at. I run. I always run from yelling. It is the best option I know about, and, no matter how long I think about it, I cannot come up with a better way to handle being yelled at.

I have, for a very long time, figured that being the yeller must be pleasant. So many things yell at me, and they must all have a reason for doing so. They have to get something out of it.

I tried to yell at something today.

I did not know what to yell at. I did not want to yell at another creature or a tree or the sky because I did not want them to not like me and think I was angry at them or force them to try to eat me. So I decided that yelling at nothing was the best place for me to practice my yelling.

I sat in my dark cave. I stared at the darkness. The nothingness of it all. Here was a place to yell. Here was a place to let out a yell that had to have been boiling within, long awaiting to retaliate for all of the forceful yelling I had endured.

I let it out.

I yelled.

And then the cave yelled back and I whimpered and I ran and I have no idea if it was actually the cave or something inside the cave but either way I am not going back to my cave until daylight or until I know that the yelling will be stopped forever, please do not yell at me anymore cave, please, or whatever yelled at me, please, I am so sorry for yelling.

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.

How to tell if you are a ghost and what you can do about if you are.

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ghost-bear

Here is how you can tell you are a bear ghost and what you can do about it if you are:

  1. Examine your surroundings
  2. Ensure that your surroundings are as you generally perceive them on a regular basis
  3. If your surroundings seem as you generally perceive them, you are not a ghost bear
  4. If your surroundings seem strange or hazy or difficult to understand or leave you with a feeling like you have done something wrong that you deserve to face and understand, then ascertain that you are in your normal environment
  5. If you are not in your normal environment, the feelings mentioned previously might happen regardless of your state of ghostism (example: you might just feel bad because you woke up in a dumpster again)
  6. If you are in your normal environment and still feel the feelings mentioned previously then you must examine yourself
  7. If seeing your paws/fur/belly make you feel the same kind of dread mentioned previously regarding your environment, then your level of ghostliness is becoming very evident
  8. I made these rules up
  9. I made them up because I really do not know how to understand being a ghost and sometimes I think I might be a ghost
  10. I mean, I do not think being a ghost might be all that bad
  11. But I also do not know for sure that ghosts even exist
  12. Maybe they do not
  13. But maybe they do?
  14. Oh no, I have no idea
  15. I started this with such confidence, and I was certain that I knew what I was describing, but I really do not
  16. I have no idea what to do or say here
  17. I have to try again
  18. If you are a ghost, you can do things to help you not be a ghost
  19. Maybe
  20. Try not being a ghost?
  21. That makes no sense and works for nothing else
  22. You cannot just stop being a bear, you are always a bear
  23. I am a bear
  24. I am not a ghost
  25. I am really certain of it
  26. Now I am afraid that you do not believe me
  27. I promise you I am not a ghost
  28. Now I am more afraid of not being believed about my ghostism than I am of actually being a ghost
  29. I mean, if I am a ghost, then I do not mind being a ghost because I like being the whatever thing I happen to be right now
  30. But maybe being a ghost is actually terrible and I do not know because I am not a ghost
  31. I do not want to be a ghost
  32. Unless I am one already
  33. Please

I hope these instructions have helped you determine whether or not you are a ghost, and if you are a ghost, I hope you have more guidance for your general existence.

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.

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.