The Bear

But I miss whom I once could touch, as all must do when we make our way through whatever forest or wood it is in which we travel or are raised. This does not mean the man is lost or has disappeared forever. For although he no longer walks beside you, he still remains in the time and place of memory and this is where he will appear again and again, as often as you will seek him. Not only in those places where he has always been but where he could not be then yet will be now.

But we don't get to choose when we leave here to sleep on the mountain. We all have to sleep on the mountain one day. Even the bear. Even when we struggle with all our will not to.

Her father told her once that all animals were creatures of habit and so, too, were they. The difference was she could choose to change her habits. Animals changed when they were afraid. Change before feat has had a chance to overcome you, he said, or after you have overcome it and like a storm it has moved on.

For although he no longer walks beside you, he still remains in the time and place a memory and this is where he will appear again and again, as often as you will seek him. Not only in those places where he has always been but where he could not be then yet will be now.

Some animals of old have said it was the trees themselves that taught them to speak, for they never make an unnecessary sound. Each word, like a breath, carries with it some good, some purpose. For this reason, trees are the wisest and most compassionate creatures in the woods. They will do all in their power to take care of everyone and everything beneath them, when they have the power to do it.

AND YET NO MATTER HOW LONG WINTER LASTED, spring followed, its arrival soft and somehow surprising, like the notes of birdsong upon waking, or the tap of water slipping in a droplet from a branch to the ground.

Sleep is the only balm I know.

I’ll miss you, he whispered. She understood now and held his hand tighter.

For this reason, trees are the wisest and most compassionate creatures in the woods. They will do all in their power to take care of everyone and everything beneath them, when they have the power to do it.

Not all animals had the range of voice that could be heard, he said, but all living things spoke, and perhaps the real question was how she could understand him.

She wanted nothing more than to be here with you. But we don’t get to choose when we leave here to sleep on the mountain. We all have to sleep on the mountain one day. Even the bear. Even when we struggle with all our will not to.

Was my mother a bear? she asked out loud when the animal with bluish-black fur and a blaze of white on its chest had disappeared into the trees. The man laughed and asked, What makes you say that? She didn’t want to stay with us, said the girl. She went away. Up the mountain. Just like that bear. The man understood then what the girl had been thinking.

she could choose to change her habits. Animals changed when they were afraid. Change before fear has had a chance to overcome you, he said, or after you have overcome it and like a storm it has moved on.

You’re hungry, I know, said the dreambear, but you need to be hungry for more than food. More than sleep. We all go to sleep and will be asleep for a long time. Be hungry for what you have yet to do while you’re awake.

Why did you wait that long before you woke me? she asked. Because sleep is the only balm I know, said the bear.

That every thing has its end. And we have a part to play, right up to that end.

IN HER FINAL YEARS, THE OLD WOMAN SPOKE to all of the living things of the earth between the mountain and the lakeshore, for they came to her without fear of dominion and ate with her the plants and seeds and fruits she grew and picked. She never saw the bear again, nor did she cease to wonder how and where he had been even after she knew the span of his own life had long come to an end.

Imagine it from here everything you saw in front of you — lake, trees, the mountains to the edge of the horizon — was water. Endless blue water of waves in constant motion. That’s what the ocean looks like. The girl frowned. I can’t imagine it, she said. No, said the man. You can’t. Not until you see it. And hear it. And smell it.

She said she hoped that would be a long time, for there was one more story yet to tell, the ending of which neither he nor she would ever know.

Imagine it from here everything you say in front of you — lake, trees, the mountains to the edge of the horizon — was water. Endless blue water of waves in constant motion. That’s what the ocean looks like. The girl frowned. I can’t imagine it, she said. No, said the man. You can’t. Not until you see it. And hear it. And smell it.