Propaganda Truck

2011-06-17T12:56:00.003-04:00

And so we set out across the plain, Sarai, my nephew Lot (inspired by the fire with which I spoke and acted) and myself leading the way. But it wasn't me leading, it was the Voice. My bones were burning with passion, I could have killed and eaten an elephant, I could see the future and understood my past. Though I had twinges of feeling for my father, the overwhelming intensity of the Voice in my ears kept me moving. So long as I kept moving, the Voice continued to fill me with Power that only a bear could fathom.

One day we reached the Great Tree in the middle of the plain. I had only seen glimpses of it on clear days from my seat at the top of the Great Hill. I had no idea that the Tree was even greater than the Hill. I climbed the Tree to the top and looked over the plain, seeing all the land. There were plains, more hills, greater rocky hills, a great river, and an even greater water in the distance. And as I looked the Voice told me that all this would one day be mine and the inheritance of my cubs. And I wept and tore great slashes into the bark of the Tree. I looked again and I saw that there were many jackals in the land as well, conspiring and conniving in their sneaky and evil ways. On the wind I could hear their hungry yelps and howls. The Voice bore me up, but still I wondered how I would protect my family.

I was sad to leave the Tree, the Voice urged me on. That Tree had a greater story than I would ever have. It gave me a glimpse of the land I would inherit, but its wood would one day free an even greater land from its pain and futility.

Genesis 12:1-9

2011-06-17T10:20:00.002-04:00

I loved living on the great hill. We made a great life for ourselves there. Hunting was plentiful, our swarms of bees were multiplying, our cave was warm. We were richer than we ever were.

My dad was well and happy for our family's success in the new land, however, every now and then he'd look over the edge of the great hill and see the great land the Voice had asked him to explore and ROAR! He'd look back at us with fire in his eyes and look as though he was about to ask us to follow him into the unknown, but in looking back he'd see the forest where he lost a son and the fire would be doused and he'd just wander off down the hill to look for a kill.

When my dad did this, I'd always get excited but I was also glad he didn't make us leave. I loved the hill. I felt like a king of beasts when I stood on its edge that overlooked the plain. We had the all best food we could find and bears from all the great clans came to visit us on the hill to ask my father counsel. We were revered for our journey and that we were brave enough to conquer the hill for ourselves.

Then one spring, we arose from our cave at the base of the hill preparing for yet another epic feast of spring berries and whatever we could kill, when our father didn't join us. We didn't notice at first as the desperation of the first feast always made us dim witted, but as the berries fortified us, we noticed his absence. My dad's celebration of the first feast was always more jubilant than all other bears, he would knock over trees, dance on his hind legs, and give each of his boys what he called a "spring bite" which would always draw blood. It must have been the lack of my spring bite that drew me back to the cave.

Dad was awake, but really listless. His eyes still had the ice of winter in them. He couldn't get up. I called my brothers and we dragged him into the sun. We brought him berries and a few dead rabbits and he thanked us with what only can be described as a feeble "winter nibble". The fur on my leg which would normally be matted in blood from his bit was drenched instead in drool.

I knew I had to stay and take care of him. And I did. I settled down. I hunted for my dad. I married Sarai, daughter of my Father's other wife because she lived on the hill and I wouldn't have to roam to find another. I did all this because my father was my hero and I couldn't see him waste away. And he continued to live but not improve.

The next spring was more of the same. I was glad my father survived the winter, I hunted for him, and took on more of the responsibilities of chieftain of my people, keeping me even closer to the hill and making it more and more a part of me. The other chieftains of the great clans came to our hill to speak to me now and I felt their honour. I loved the great hill.

Later that fall, I looked over the edge of the great hill to roar and let the bears know it was time to prepare for the sleep. I looked over the plain with pride. Soon though my feelings changed. I became nervous and my soul felt weak. I sucked in the wind to try to roar but instead I heard a stronger roar. It was the Voice.

The Voice told me to leave my father's household, to the leave the hill and venture into the great plain. The Voice told me He would bless me and make me great. And He told me I needed to leave now, though it was the worst possible time. We should be preparing for the sleep.

My father would die if I left. The great clans would despise me. I knew nothing of the plain. But the Voice had spoken to me. And it was as though I had awoken from the deep sleep.

I would not make the preparation roar. I turned back to the cave to get my wife and to gather my swarms. We would continue my father's quest.

The fire lit my soul and eyes.

Genesis 11:27-32

2011-05-27T20:56:00.003-04:00

I was just a cub when my father woke me before the sun. His eyes were lit with the fire of the sun, but the sky was dark. He had heard the Voice. He gathered us at the mouth of our cave to tell us what the Voice had said. It would alter our lives forever.

My father had not spoken since our brother had died. Something had broken within him. He stopped hunting. He stopped baying. He refused honey. He kept mostly to the cave and ate only roots and berries. A bad sign for bears. Prior to the loss of our brother, my father had been my hero. He was the largest of all the bears in the great forest. He always had the blood of his enemies on his breath. His swarms of bees and the honey they produced for us were legendary in size and grandeur. But all that was lost when our brother died. I felt as though the hero I knew was gone.

But on this night my father had returned to his former glory. And more. His eyes were so fierce. His baying like thunder. Yet even with this, he claimed he could not express all the Voice had told him.

That night he told us we would begin a journey to another land. He told my brother to spend the rest of the night gathering roots, berries and rodents. He told me to fetch my cousin. He told my mother to gather together the bee hives, our livelihood, for we would need them in our new land. And then he told us all that he himself would make the big kill before the sun to provide for our journey.

The sun rose and our family gathered again to show our work. My brother returned with more roots, berries, and rodents than I thought possible for him to gather. My mother had the bees gathered in cloud that awaited our departure. I had summoned our cousin. My father returned with blood on his teeth.

And we roared!

And we feasted!

And we departed!

My father was full of intensity. Full of vigor and power. I was proud of my father.

We journeyed with great speed to the edge of the great forest, my father leading us, the Voice leading him. I knew in my heart that with my father in this condition we would conquer the world, and all would fear us.

It was when we came to the top of the Great Hill that looked over the plain that things changed. My father had never left the forest. In fact he had never even been as far as the great Hill. That he had climbed the great hill was an accomplishment he had never dreamed of, even as a cub.

And now he had. And he could see the whole world. And he was afraid. And he stopped. There on the great hill. And when he stopped, the Voice stopped Speaking. And the Sun went out of my father's eyes. And we remained there with our bees. And we lived on the great hill.

And many moons later, my father died there.

crema

2011-05-27T15:37:00.002-04:00

I have just made my first cup of cappuccino. A resounding success. I dedicate this cup to Al, who gave me the espresso machine.

In honour of the new espresso machine and the first perfect cup of cappuccino, I will now endeavor to write 5 posts about my experience as the Abraham of bears.

2010-12-18T02:25:00.001-05:00

thinking about a haircut and a shave. a close shave. like that day. it still haunts me a little. i should have listened more closely to the Voice. he speaks more clearly these days.

2010-12-13T23:52:00.001-05:00

bears have a hard time expressing themselves. sometimes we throw grapefruits in peoples' faces for attention.

Kingston Squirrels

2010-12-11T23:04:00.002-05:00

A few days ago I saw one of our famous black squirrels eating a dead bird in a tree. They truly are evil.

I ate a brown flower.

2010-10-08T23:34:00.001-04:00

You may have noticed that brown flower is no longer posting. It is because I ate her.

Where else would I do it?

2009-11-13T12:07:00.004-05:00

I do enjoy a nice shit in the woods. The wise maxim is indeed true. Bears DO shit in the woods. Not only that, but we enjoy it more than other animals. Most carnivores are in too much of a hurry to enjoy a good dump and many have constipation issues due to an alternating starvation-gorging cycle. Herbivores lack viscosity in their bowel movements due to their vegan diets; they tend to have loose, watery feces as compared to the tube-style delivery of a carnivore. But us bears as omnivores have the best of both worlds. Due to the high berry content of our diet we are never plugged up. But, we also don't shy away from carcasses or even living prey, giving us the form necessary for an enjoyable ejection. We share this ability with humans and skunks. The only difference is that we bears add a spiritual element to the process: you won't find our crap in a toilet or on a sidewalk, we only shit in the Wild, and we do so listening to the Voice.

Hence the maxim.

2009-11-11T18:42:00.004-05:00

The Wild has gone out of me. But I am not ashamed. The Voice has led me to better lands. I met her at Camp IAWAH. She strayed from the rest of the group and seemed and easy mark. I followed her along the banks of Wolf Lake. She could not see or hear me. I was ravenous.

She walked out into a clearing beside some sort of pumphouse. It was one of those evenings where the sky is lit with fire, but the Voice does not growl or roar and there is no rain. The air was thick; dampening sound. There would be no rescue.

She sat down on a stair. It was then I decided to emerge from the Dark. She looked my way. I approached silently. There would be no escape.

But she was not afraid. She began to play her guitar and sing. The Voice rumbled through my bones and bowels. I could not breathe. I rolled on my back and offered my throat, but she did not slay me. Instead she read me a story she wrote. And I, the illiterate beast, sat enthralled.

There was no escape.

The Voice bid me stay with her and still she calms my wicked heart.

2009-11-11T17:16:00.003-05:00

I had to return to the grave. It wasn't much of a grave, but it was where she died, and I had to go back. I knew I could do something.

It was cats that did her in. Cats don't have souls. They can't hear the Voice for all their caterwalling.

So I returned to the cat hole where she died. Doing the one thing bears can do for the dead. I can't reveal it, and I can't even explain it, but she raised. I sent her home, and then entered the cat hole.

It was rife with demons. And cats. And there was a buzzing that blocked my ability to think. It was so loud I couldn't hear myself. This place was evil and it had to be overcome. I tried to call on the voice, but the oppressive buzzing kept me from crying out. I tried again. Finally, I let loose the loudest bawl I have ever expressed, crying out to the Voice, the only one who could conquer such evil and make things right. I cried from the depths of my soul and with a Wild passion that frightened even me. And the buzzing stopped.

I was back in my cave. I had awoken my cub, my mate and myself with my wild bawling.

Have mercy!

2009-11-01T20:06:00.005-05:00

Last night I dreamt I was in the far North. Too far North for a black bear, too far even for a grizzly. I was in the land of the white bear and I did my best to be respectful. I stood out against the snow, which would normally upset me but instead I was entralled with my surroundings.

Everything was more intense. The rocks larger, the water colder, sky and sea bluer. I met with the white bears in their city and they invited me to their great whale hunt. I have never been so honoured.

We swam out together into the ice sea and bayed with wild passion at the endless frigid sky. We swam until we could not see the land or the ice any longer. We swam until I normally would have drowned but the white bears let me rest on their backs for hours at a time. Finally we saw the whale, and it was a lot bigger than I imagined. I was afraid and called out to the Voice. But the white bears were not afraid and attacked the whale. There was much thrashing, and even I was under the water for too long. And then there was silence. Not all the white bears came back with us. Those who did, returned in triumph. The bitterness of the loss of their friends only intensified the celebration of the whale. They would all eat this winter.

I tasted of the whale and it tasted of delicious pain. And I thanked the Voice.

Things Bears Love

2009-10-30T11:50:00.006-04:00

Drunks...

Stolen from http://www.thingsbearslove.com/

2009-10-26T17:11:00.002-04:00

The waiting is over, my cub has arrived. I will kill you if you try anything with my cub. And, after a few years of careful instruction, he will be able to kill you too.

2009-10-11T18:49:00.002-04:00

Bears do not wait. But I have to. I have the sniffles but I have to wait. I am restless but I have to wait. I want to celebrate but I have to wait. I want to hibernate but I have to wait. Waiting...

Soon, everything will change...

2009-10-06T18:51:00.003-04:00

Florence met me on the porch. She was desperate. Understandably.

Her house was full of bad people. It wasn't a new problem but it seemed she had really crossed some sort of line. She hadn't been herself in years, but today she was back, and she was desperate to keep from losing herself again.

It was a very dark night. Clouds blocked out the stars and there was no moon. In such settings I am invisible. She had summoned me the night before with her sobs. We knew each other from kindergarten, and though I don't pay attention to people anymore, the Voice urged me take heed. And so that night I crossed the River, navigated the Woods, and arrived on the veranda of the house she had lived in all her life.

We didn't talk. Our eyes met, hers red with tears, mine the same colour with ferocity. She wasn't afraid. She knew in her soul that I was here to fix things. She openned the door to the house where her friends and family (enemies and oppressors) slumbered in alcohol induced semi-consciousness. I lumbered past her. She turned away.

Again, I stained my teeth and claws with blood.

The next morning Florence left home for the first time. Free. Also for the first time.

Jackie Chan is on our side

2009-09-18T09:54:00.001-04:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xBpV1G68-vw

2009-09-17T22:46:00.002-04:00

Tornados. That is what I had to deal with today. Tornados.

Tornados, when I should have been eating and killing. Tornados, when I should have been asserting my dominance as Alpha male. Tornados, when I should have been planting my seed in an available she bear. Tornados.

Instead, I must admit, I spent my day cowering in a dank cave with spiders.

2009-08-28T16:50:00.003-04:00

Today was supposed to be the day when I was to place my foot on the neck of my enemy. However, the day got really busy with errands and correspondence so I was unable to make the streets run with the blood of my enemies. My plan was to use my claws to tear out their throats, to bite off their ears, to crush their skulls with my powerful jaw. But not today. I think I may have to wait another week or so, until my hectic schedule clears up a bit.

Until that day, "Enemies", enjoy your lives... eat, drink, and be merry for tomorrow you die.

The righteous will be glad when they are avenged,

when they bathe their feet in the blood of the wicked.

2009-08-27T14:49:00.004-04:00

It's too early to be thinking about hibernation, but I'm tired. I have interacted too often with the rabid and frustrated and now I just want to eat berries and salmon and find my way into a warm cave.

When I awake our cub will be born.

2009-08-24T23:54:00.003-04:00

Sometimes our minds go. For some reality disappears. For others their memories fade, along with the people and personality that made them who they were. I fear the second going more than the first. I value memory more than sanity. For me, memory is objective but sanity is quite subjective. A loss of one's sanity can appear a loss of reality, but in the end it most often seems to ground a person in the Real.

The trouble with losing memory though, is so much of who we are is bound up in it. I feel when you lose that part of you, you lose the majority of you. Personality is changed, people are forgotten... and this makes me afraid.

Bears do not like Alzheimer's Disease.

How to light a BC campfire

2009-07-07T10:50:00.001-04:00

2009-06-27T10:57:00.003-04:00

Bears are not meant to ride bicycles. We are meant to walk. Humans make us ride bicycles and dance. We do not like it.

Yesterday I rode a bicycle down a mountain with my brother. I fell many times until I finally broke my paw. I love my brother so I was happy to be with him.

Any other would have been eaten.

2009-06-25T12:28:00.002-04:00

Bears tend to be on the move. We are nomadic. The Voice calls us on to new things.

I am a strange bear. I get stuck. The Routine catches me, I lose sight of the wild. My spirit gets stagnant and the Voice is less clear. I eat too much at the dump and stop killing and foraging.

But without fail, the Voice calls me to wander, and I go.

It was in Saskatchewan that the Voice and the wild caught me and brought tears to my wild eyes. I had forgotten the ways of freedom, and they returned with a force I could not contain...

and I wept.

2009-06-12T19:16:00.003-04:00

Why is it that when humans are in awe of something their natural response is to kill it?

This is the world's largest bear. It's head is as big as Ted. When it stood up, it could look through a third story window.

Ted killed it.

They killed King Kong. They killed Goliath. In the 60's they even killed God. But they never killed the Voice.

And they won't kill me.

2009-06-02T20:10:00.003-04:00

she understands
the luxury
of going barefoot.

walking lightly,
freely through the
garden unhindered.

And, pondering
bunched daisies she
brightens my tired eye.

2009-05-31T19:23:00.004-04:00

We gathered in the woods this weekend. We looked deep into each other's souls to extract the meanings necessitating a pass between animals. When animals speak to one another we do not use words but pass the wild between us instead. It is far more communicative.

Gathered deep within the woods one evening, we gathered around the Voice. The Voice delighted us so we passed the wild between us. Gathered there was a wolf, a bear, a turtle, a giraffe, a snail, a rabbit, an otter, and an amorphous spirit (a sort of pre-animal) that dazzled us all. The Rabbit was not threatened and was able to play safely with the bear. The snail, though sometimes overwhelmed by the wolf, was never overshadowed. The otter lived safely out of the water with the land-dwellers. The turtle never hid within its shell despite being with child. And the giraffe and the wolf made fast friends.

The Voice has spoken of a time when we will befriend even the humans, who will no longer hunt and enslave us. I dream of this day.

2009-05-23T10:43:00.007-04:00

From there Elisha went up to Bethel. As he was walking along the road, some youths came out of the town and jeered at him. "Go on up, you baldhead!" they said. "Go on up, you baldhead!" He turned around, looked at them and called down a curse on them in the name of the LORD. Then two bears came out of the woods and mauled forty-two of the youths. And he went on to Mount Carmel and from there returned to Samaria.

To understand the full implications of this situation, you have to picture exactly how bears maul humans...

We like to bite their heads. It inspires fear.

2009-05-22T22:23:00.009-04:00

I frequently interact with the rabid. In the wild, many of my friends (mostly foxes) get infected, some die, most change dramatically.

It is my job to care for the rabid. You might be surprised to hear that most recover to some extent and that very few are violent. Most just need someone to hunt for them as their minds are to cluttered for stealth. It is important to keep them alive.

That's my job.

I detest hunting and much prefer foraging, but someone must feed these souls. So I hunt and kill the odd deer, rabbit or kitten to feed my foxy, rabid friends.

My job also includes bringing reality to their delusions. I have to remind them that water is not their enemy but a friend. I have to tell them to ignore the Voices, and remind them that the Voice speaks only Love, not the condemnation and torture these false voices speak.

I also try to retrain my friends to enable them to hunt for themselves; or I teach the art of gardening and foraging. Foxes are excellent gardeners if given the proper skills and tools.

Many times I hate my job and wish I could just wander the wild by myself, but the Voice has reminded me time after time that I am chosen. So I lumber through the woods after sick foxes and treat them as the Voice has always treated me.

With Love.

2009-05-20T12:14:00.007-04:00

A few years ago I met a man in the woods. He wore no shoes and was more wild than I. He was a saint and spoke with the Voice. He also wanted to speak to me. My first impulse was to run away into the woods. My next impulse was to kill and eat him.

I did neither. I walked slowly away. I ignored him, but yearned for him to follow, to teach me.

He persisted in his desire to speak to me. He had words of healing for me. Words to salve a bear's soul. I didn't want his words. I was free.

He followed me through the woods in silence until at last I relented next to the great rock to drink at the brook that passes by that point. He told me things I will not relate to you at this time, but it brought peace to my wild soul. I finally knew that the Voice was not angry with me.

He scratched my ears and I bayed and playfully knocked him over. He was not afraid of me. I went away a wiser, weaker bear.

The wild was leaving me. The Voice would not.

Sri Lanka

2009-05-19T16:16:00.005-04:00

My mechanic once told me a story about trouble with coyotes at his hunting camp. Those pesky coyotes were taking too many deer and getting bolder, acting like they owned the place (the wild and the Voice believe they do...).

They were yipping and hunting right next to the camp. A week previous, one had stolen steaks out of the truck.

This mechanic and his hunter friends decided things had gone far enough. A plan was conceived after a fruitless hunt and an evening of beer swilling. That night they layed down poisoned deer guts throughout the forest near their camp. They loaded up their rifles and waited for their rivals to appear.

First they heard them yipping in the distance, then they saw the odd flash of coyote in the woods, but they did not shoot. They waited until they could see their eyes, and shot them with eye-contact in cold blood. It was a massacre. In the morning they found 30 coyote carcasses, as well as 15 racoons, 6 skunk, 9 foxes, a wolf and a bear. As they dug graves for the animals, regret began to fill their hearts. They killed far more animals than they had planned. They dug and buried all day. The next day there were even more carcasses: Fishers, foxes, a few wolves, and a few more coyotes had eaten of the poisoned deer guts. The next day brought more dead racoons and skunks. This continued for a week. A stink filled the air.

They stopped seeing deer.

But the coyotes were gone...

2009-05-18T11:48:00.002-04:00

Primal screams do more to honour the Voice than any hymn or spiritual will ever do. My mind aches often when these bland songs attempt to connect to the divine. I have heard more of God in the screech of the Lynx than a thousand voices in harmony singing an old favorite.

Turtles do not need a ribbon or banner to show their Love for their creator. They dance freely below the surface of the pond where only the Voice and their prey take notice.

Birds can easily be caught in traps meant for squirrels.

2009-05-17T22:26:00.005-04:00

I have planted a garden of magical fruit. The plants are teeming with voluptuous vegetables, and my soul reflects their bounty. I await the day my Lutins will harvest the garden and bring its produce into our larder and kitchen.

They are such confident little creatures, those Lutins. I bought a dozen of them last year at the Carnival from a man who looked like the devil. They have served me well, but I suspect it is only because I keep their souls in a separate box upstairs. I expect they will want me to return those souls someday.

In the meantime I will enjoy their cooking.

The Voice

2009-05-15T09:16:00.003-04:00

I did not know the Voice until it called me. As a boy I did not think of God, as a bear I could not ignore Him.

The day I turned to the wild was the day I heard the Voice. Though it was the first I consciously heard It's deep rhythms, I had known it all along. I recognised it from the echoes of my mother's womb, from the shape of my teeth, from the Zephyrs that cooled my moist brow.

We need the Voice.

2009-05-13T19:13:00.003-04:00

I had not eaten in months and I was famished. I was too weak to chase and hunt. I returned to the dump. I gorged until I could not chew and then I slept.

I awoke restless and irritable. I am sure I killed without eating. A sin I must seek the Voice for remission. I received my penance regardless.

And then I vomited. A creaking, back-arching vomit that knocked me to the ground. My bowels released. I slept and repeated this for two days. I felt wrung out like a towel. I felt as though the Voice demanded every last ounce of the garbage I consumed. I had been gluttonous and I was being taught my lessons. I learned much.

When I was Eleven

2009-05-01T12:31:00.002-04:00

Above is a picture of me when I was twelve years old.

When I was eleven, I was playing at the same dump in a different form - as a boy. I used to love dump visits. At the time it puzzled my parents, they could never understand the allure. In spring of my eleventh year they understood.

It started like any other dump day. I romped through the trash, not looking for anything in particular, just enjoying the sticky smells and the thrill of the dump. Then I noticed another in my kingdom...

It was a giant black bear and he was enjoying his dump time even more than I was. Intrigued, I approached him. He looked up. Our eyes met. I heard a snapping sound. A thrill different than the dump thrill raced through my skull and down my spine.

It was rage. It was fire. It was joy.

I fell down on all fours and bayed at the sky. I tasted the wild. I died and I lived. I roared. I was a bear.

I ate garbage and berries and rabbits and unknown carcasses. My hunger never satiated, I slept through the winter. I lived by tooth and claw. I mated indiscriminately. I killed. I followed only the Voice.

The Voice spoke only Love. And I lived.