the bear story (part three)

There was always some excitement at night, when the mist rose in a heavy fog over the swamp, blocking the light of the moon yet letting through the haunting, and at times, tortured, hoots and hollers of the local wildlife. I would lie stiff as a board in my hammock, hunting knife clenched at my side, enduring a fresh wave of anxiety with every crack of a stick or slap of a beaver tale. One night when I was feeling particularly tired, hungry, and annoyed, a large and wheezy animal came cruising along the shoreline and threatened to exit the water merely feet away from where I was trying to sleep. With one hand on my hunting knife, I sat up and shone my light aggressively into its beady little eyes.

“Go away!!” I yelled. And it did.

Eventually, I would fall into a sort of dozing half-sleep, punctuated by lucid dreams about bears- and hamburgers. Every time that I awoke, I would squint hopefully toward the eastern horizon, imagining that I saw a glimmer of light, of hope. Sometimes, in moments of absolute desperation, I would concentrate all my energy into willing the sun to rise… praying, pleading, pulling…..

only once I was ready to concede defeat, to give up and close my eyes once more, would I notice tiny spaces appearing in between the leaves overhead, and a faint, almost imperceptible glow upon the mountaintops

and my heart would begin to skip delightedly, as I sat up in my hammock to watch my favorite part of the day unfold. With each and every moment, light appeared in another nook, another crevice. There was no going back now!

Once the sun was safely over the horizon, spreading itself into the sky with streaks of gold and crimson, I could finally breathe a great sigh of relief and snuggle back into the folds of my hammock for a deep and nourishing sleep.

When I awoke, it was back to the day and all the banality that came with it. To tell the truth, the longer I lasted, the more disheartened I became. Sure, I was fending for myself, successfully fasting and filtering water, getting in touch with nature, blah de blah blah blah. But it all just felt so lame. My rituals were pathetic; I had intended to make a big bonfire on the beach to cleanse out old negativity, but I tore the pages of my journal into pieces that were too small to light. Now I had burn blisters on my thumb and litter on my beach. I still hadn’t communed with any spirits, and even my medicine name was trite.

(Sweet flower?!)

So I planned to make my fourth and final night out in the woods a memorable one. As evening drew near, I set to work making a “purpose circle” on the shore of the lake, infusing each stone that I put down with a special meaning or prayer. When the circle of stones was complete, I gathered my rattles, hat, knife, flashlight, and toilet paper, and stepped inside. The idea was to stay there all night, come hell or high water, rattling, hallucinating, and praying for a vision. In the morning once the sun had risen, I would throw off my clothes, plunge into the water, and emerge a new and better quality me.

That was the plan, at least.