Communing with Bears
by Sara Wright
One evening last May I meandered down to the brook that flows through my property, the one whose song I hear each night before I sleep. As I started up the hill I heard the sharp crackling of forest debris just behind me. Startled, I turned, only to be stunned almost out of my senses. Not ten feet behind me in front of Trillium rock stood a large black bear. During the brief moment when we gazed into each other's eyes, I had the uncanny feeling that this bear knew me. He was moving towards me. He was huge and must have weighed 250 lbs. As this latter fact registered my heart started to pound, and I hastily walked around the garden and into the house to get out of his way.
Once indoors, I went quickly to the windows that overlook the brook to see if I could still see the bear. I immediately located him at my bird feeding station at the crest of the hill with his paws clamped around one of my bird feeders. With amazement I watched as he slowly emptied the cylinder, sucking the seed into his mouth like a vacuum cleaner without damaging the feeder. The moments I spent at the window catapulted me into another dimension. I call this place the crack between worlds because it is within this space that time ceases to exist and the present becomes All There Is. Here, animals, plants, and people converse and cross each others' paths as a matter of course. I remembered other bears I had loved. Was it possible that this bear was the same one that came to me as a young cub a couple of years ago? I didn't know, but when the bear looked up and stared at me through the window, it no longer mattered, for I was electrified by a physical force so powerful it collapsed all the physical and psychic boundaries between us. I felt chills racing up my spine even as the fierce heat permeated every cell of my body.
I had experienced such visceral "visitations" before on countless occasions with other animals, but only a few times in recent years with a black bear. And never with such fiery intensity. I gasped. Suddenly I recalled the stone bear fetishes that were part of the sculpture I had shown that afternoon at a local art show. I had watched the expressions on people's faces when they stopped in front of her, touching the turkey and hawk feathers, the Zuni carved stone bears that were attached to the feathered quills. With a kind of wonder I recalled that many people seemed to be drawn back to the numinous presence of this moon goddess and her bears. Like many indigenous folk I believe bears to be a powerful and nurturing animal aspect of the moon goddess.
That night I watched the wild bear until it was too dark to see him anymore. Although I couldn't be certain of his sex, he acted like other male bears I had observed, and I knew that male bears were on the prowl this time of year searching for food and new territories. By nightfall he had emptied every feeder on the place, and I had moved to every window as he made his circular route around the house. He was such a gorgeous creature with shiny black fur, beads of coal for eyes, and long needled crescent-curved claws that he extended as he raked the ground for fallen seed. Every few minutes he would raise his massive head and pierce the air with his brown nose. I remembered reading somewhere that bears could smell 500 times better than humans, and I couldn't help wonder what information and stories his nose was bringing him.
The following morning I wrote in my journal that I had fallen in love with a bear. Oh how I hoped he'd return. That evening just after dark I heard a terrific racket. The clanking and drumming of tin cans reverberated across the valley. The bear had found my seed barrels. I was ecstatic! As I listened to the cacophony, and then a muffled chewing sound that I couldn't quite identify, I thought up a plan. Because I wanted the bear to keep coming I did nothing to disturb him that night. But the next morning I brought my overturned barrels in the house and filled a small ten-gallon can with sunflower seed. I also filled a smaller bowl with seed and left both of them within easy reach on the porch. In the future I hoped to feed the bear myself.
Two nights later the bear came again, materializing for the second time from behind me. Although initially startled by his sudden appearance, this time I felt no fear. Turning around to face him, I heard myself call him my "Sweetie Bear." I asked him to wait there while I brought him the bowl of sunflower seeds that I had ready for him. Although appearing to listen to my words, he still followed me like a dog to the side of the house and then stopped at the door. "I'll be right back" I told him a little nervously. Would he try to follow me into the house? 50 million years ago bears and dogs emerged from the same ancestor, and in that moment I saw the family resemblance. When I came out with the bowl and put it down in front of him, he immediately dropped to the ground, stretched out his great furry bulk, curled himself around my feet in a crescent and started inhaling the seed. I grabbed a nearby wooden bench and sat down in front of him. We were only separated by a couple of feet as I felt my body merging with the bear. I fell over the edge and through the crack.
Now I felt rather than saw him as he chewed his way through the seed: the great curved claws, the lush black fur, a mole brown nose and large white canines. Involuntarily I shivered. I didn't move until the bear's bowl was empty. When I picked it up the bear followed me to the porch door for the second time and waited patiently until I re-appeared with more seed, this time in the 10-gallon can. I talked to him about his seed can as I carried it around the house with the bear swinging his head from side to side as he walked a few feet behind me. I placed the can on the ground a couple of feet from my bedroom window and took the cover off. I watched him gently knock the can over with one massive paw, and listened to him sigh as he slid to the ground nosing the seed with obvious pleasure before starting to snack in earnest. After breathing in the bear's musky scent for what seemed like an eternity, I said goodnight and came into the house and got into bed. I fell asleep to the soothing sound of my Sweetie Bear munching down his seed.
We soon settled into a daily routine. Every night around dusk I would settle myself into the rocker on the little back porch that overlooks the brook. It never ceased to amaze me how this bear materialized out of the forest like sea smoke. Even after I learned just where he would appear, for an instant he was a part of the dark forest, and then, eerily, he wasn't. It was as if a curtain or veil parted to let him through. As the bear lumbered towards the porch with his nose sifting the air for scents I would welcome him calling him by name "Oh Sweetie Bear I'm so glad to see you…" I would begin this litany as I stood up to get him his bowl of seeds. Each night he would follow me to the porch and wait until I returned with his food. Then as he ate I would sit down and talk to him. I soon realized that he liked the sound of my voice, and it seemed to me that he understood my words. Most of the time he certainly behaved as if he did. After a while I would fall silent and then the night sounds would take over. The woodcock's staccato peeping, the toads' trilling, and the occasional whooo of the barred owl seemed to stretch time out like an elastic band. I felt as if the bear and I communed on some feeling level that hovered deep beneath time. I felt loved. After finishing the first bowls of seeds, Sweetie Bear would wait until I brought out his can and deposited it a couple of feet from my bedroom window. Then I would fall asleep to the muffled sounds of him munching his seed. I no longer left my house at night. I couldn't stand the thought of being away from my bear.
One hot cicada-filled June evening about a month later, I was sitting with Sweetie Bear when he stopped eating and raised his head to meet my hungry gaze. His eyes were positioned close together frontally on his black furry face and they sparkled like ebony beads even in the dusky light. Was it my imagination that he seemed to be sniffing for my scent in particular? Very slowly I put out my right hand and he brushed my fingers with his wet nose before turning away with a little huff. A fierce joy exploded within my body concentrating in the region of my heart. I had longed for him to touch me, but I had always respected his right to keep whatever distance he needed between us. Although he let me sit down about one or two feet away from him while he snacked, until this moment he had never shown the slightest interest in actually making physical contact with me. I felt doubly honored.
As I got to know him better I realized that Sweetie Bear had a trickster aspect to him. Often now he would appear at odd times during the day and deliberately creep up on me as I bent over working in my garden. When I jumped or shrieked in response to these sudden apparitions, he remained calm and implacable. He never backed away from me on these occasions but steadily nosed me towards the porch where he knew a snack lay waiting. During these trickster visits his beady eyes seemed to twinkle with a peculiar light. I think he found my behavior comical.
As comfortable as he appeared to be around me, I noticed that Sweetie Bear did not like the company of other humans. One day a stranger walked down the driveway unexpectedly when he was hanging around. He immediately bounded away, and I literally felt the earth move beneath my feet as he crashed into the woods huffing and snorting. After the visitor left he refused to come out even when I called him. I was delighted to see this behavior because I knew that by the end of the summer his life would be in danger from human predation.
Here in
By early July word must have traveled through the forest. One night as I was dozing off to the sounds of Sweetie Bear's seed crunching, I heard angry snorts and huffs followed by the clickety-clack of bear claws ripping into the bark of a nearby tree. Getting up I grabbed my flashlight on my way out the door and shone it up the gnarled white pine that stands about twenty five feet from my bedroom window. Sure enough, hooked to side of the tree about twenty feet up was a young bear weighing about 100 lbs. Shining light in the direction of the can I saw that Sweetie Bear was lying down and munching seed from the can as if nothing unusual had occurred. I had to laugh even when he huffed at me in annoyance as I shone the light into his face to identify him.
This youngster's visit turned out to be just the first of many. To this day I am not certain how many bears actually came through here last summer, but I identified six by their original markings or size over a period of about four weeks. Scarbottom had a bare spot on her rump the result of a human gunshot. I suspected this bear was female because females are usually more timid and she raced into the woods the second she caught sight of me. Scarface and Crescent Moon Bear also had scars on their faces, and these two accidentally destroyed three of my bird feeders at different times as they meandered through my property during the daylight hours. The mother and her cub were persistent night-time visitors, waiting until well after dark and until Sweetie Bear took his first evening break from feeding. In his absence they took turns at the can. The hundred- pound yearling that I also believed to be a young male prowled around the edge of the forest but always kept his distance. Often this bear would appear as I sat with Sweetie Bear early in the evening, but like the mother and her cub, the yearling always waited until my bear wandered down to the brook for a drink or disappeared for a while before he would come to eat. It amazed me how well these bears coordinated their visits so as not to impinge upon one another. Most nights no matter when I looked out I could see the shape of a furry black hump just outside my window. Needless to say I lost a lot of sleep during this period due to nighttime bear-watching.
To help satisfy the hunger of my bears and to reduce possible conflicts, I began leaving piles of sunflower seeds in different places around the house. A prodigious amount of sunflower seed disappeared around here during the month of July. I knew that I couldn't afford to keep these bears in food much longer, but I figured that berry season would call most of the bears away in August, which is exactly what happened.
Early one night in August Sweetie Bear didn't come. I waited for him on the back porch feeling miserable. I had been dreading this day ever since I first fell in love with my bear. I tried to comfort myself with thoughts of him raking his claws through the ripe lush berries, sleeping under white stars on a mossy green hill. With fervent prayers for his continued safety I put my trust in Nature, and tried to let go. When he showed up again about a week later he acted as if he hadn't been gone at all, materializing as usual from just behind me as I watered my garden one evening. Joyfully we communed as he snacked at my feet. This time he stayed around for a few days and then disappeared again.
Bear hunting season had been underway for three weeks when I heard the characteristic clanking of empty tin cans being overturned. Racing outdoors in my bare feet I was startled to see Sweetie Bear towering over me as he stood upright on his two back feet! After I flashed the light briefly across his face he ran from me, something he'd never done before. I knew instantly that he'd met up with human hostility somewhere. I coaxed him back by talking to him in a low voice, and when he finally emerged from the brush I came inside, filled his seed can and took it out to him. He reappeared for the next two nights, although he no longer wanted me near him. Each night I left the can on the ground and came inside before he would eat. The last night he was here I wept. I watched my great black hump of a bear lie down to eat beneath my window under a white moon, even as I was gnawed by ancient fears for his safety.
70,000 years ago bears were worshipped in caves as animal divinity and after this experience I understand why. When I was with this bear I felt graced by the presence of the spirit-body of Nature which was embodied in his flesh. I think certain animals, plants, and trees have embodied the sacred body-mind of Nature for millennia, and that in this time of planetary emergency these animal and plant divinities are trying desperately to contact humans through our bodies. For many of us it is through these personal encounters with Nature (always mediated through our bodies) that an experience of meaning occurs. If we continue to destroy the Earth, then we will also destroy the possibility of participating in Nature's divinity.
It was after the bear's last visit that I began this story and a circle closed. Sweetie Bear graced my life for five months and I believe he came this last time to encourage me to tell the story of our mutual joy-filled communion in order to help save the Earth. And to let me know that for now, at least, he's well.
working note
Last night I dreamed that someone gave me three ways to work with the three kinds of holes within my body and then instructed me how to teach others. When I awoke and untangled the meaning of this dream I felt gratitude because I understood: that "someone" is Nature, who continues to speak to me through the holes of patriarchy's lost daughter and mother, and now grandmother. She instructs me frequently through my dreams, the language of my body. It is only recently that I've come to accept that it is through my personal suffering, through the chasm of fifty-nine years of family abandonment and betrayal, through the ache where community isn't, through the hole of corrupt American politics, that her gift becomes a reality.
As an indigenous woman, I also believe that I have developed this relationship with Nature as a result of being in love with her, being able to feel her suffering through my body, and not being able to separate it from my own. She comes through my heartbreak for her over and over. I would not have chosen a path with stones of such sorrow. How many times have I wept as I witnessed the mountain I love being raped? How many times have I keened as I witnessed her trees – leaf, root and trunk – severed one from the other? How many times have I stood by helplessly watching the hunter stalk these forests for bear and deer with his gun? How many times have I felt like dying? Yet, it has been through this process that I have come to feel her embodied presence through animals and trees and stones. My body mediates our connection
I have many names for Nature – who first manifested to me as the fierce but loving energy of the mountain against which I eventually built my home. Over the years I've noticed that her presence has become more personalized. She frequently appears to me in one of her animal forms as she did last summer through my bear. I don't have words for these visitations. I only know that when she is manifesting I feel a fierce heat slamming through my body. Sometimes I feel as if my body has been pierced by a thunderbolt. Often I am breathless, even gasping, and during these times I sometimes hear a curious ringing in my ears. I always sense that an invisible crack has opened between this world and another in which creatures and trees and people are part of one pulsing body of light, and that all are manifestations of the same divine energy. During a visitation, time always seems to dissolve into an endless now.
Sometimes Nature ( for me she is always female even when she appears as a male) materializes out of my art. Art-making helps me move into another dimension, one where all animals and people communicate with each other directly. For the last ten months I have learned – from my art process, dreams, and my day life – that I am moving over a critical threshold into the third and final stage of my life. This journey has not been easy and I have tried to make it as consciously as I can. Last spring I found myself mired in a pit of blackness, trapped in the deep shadow side of what I would call the dangerous old woman archetype. I was riddled with so much physical anguish and plunged into such a chasm of psychic and bodily misery that I didn't know how much longer I could hang on. In my desperation, hoping to call up the positive side of this old woman as Counselor Healer and Wisdom Keeper, I created a sculpture I called the "River of Light ." I included stone bear fetishes in this sculpture – in part because indigenous people like myself believe that the Bear Goddess is an aspect of wild Nature associated with nurturing, help, and protection.
Communing with Bears is the story of a joyful encounter between one woman and a black bear. It is the story of Nature personalizing herself as a bear to one woman in dire need of assistance. It is also the story of a woman who continues to be healed in a bodily way through Nature's Grace. I have come to understand that it is through my bodily wounding that I have been given this gift of visceral feeling-- and stories that I must live to tell.
about the author
Sara Wright is a teacher, a naturalist, an artist and a writer who lives with an assortment of animals, both wild and tame, in a small log cabin perched over a brook at the edge of a vanishing wilderness in western Maine. She is also a nature mystic, a woman who experiences the divine through daily encounters with Nature's trees, creatures, and landscape in her own back yard. She teaches Women's Studies at two local colleges and writes to tell stories and to stay sane.
