the bear story (part one)

Three months after shaving my head, I went on a four day vision quest along the shores of Somerset Lake in Vermont. I was determined to receive some clarity on my purpose in life, my relationship with the universe. The vision quest program lasted 12 days in total, with the time before and after the quest used to talk about safety, the history of vision quests, and most importantly, our own personal myths and legends that had led us to this experience.

I talked about my mixed emotions toward my life and the absurd, over-the-top moments that it consisted of, the constant roller-coaster ride of elation collapsing into fear and hypochondria before surging back upwards into bliss. I said I was ready for some balance, some simplicity, that maybe the crazy stories and tall tales overflowing out of my 21 years were simply a cover for deep-seated insecurity.

It was time, I said, to discover what was under that layer of hype and circumstance, to delve down into the banal and mundane roots of my humanity. And so I embarked on my quest, stripped of food and distractions and smelling of sacred sage.

My spot was located at the northern-most point of the lake, a dark, swampy area filled with spindly trees and shallow beaver ponds. In order to reach it, one had to bushwhack through a field of tall grasses before tiptoeing over a series of stepping stones; one false move and you would be deposited in the surrounding bog.

I had had no intention of spending my four day fast in such an environment. In fact, I had originally selected a spot that seemed unbelievably perfect. On the east side of the lake, not far from where base camp was located, there was a clearing bordered on all sides by pine trees. Small white flowers bloomed amid the soft needles carpeting the forest floor. To the left, a sunny field beckoned, and to the right, a babbling creek led to a sandy beach and the glistening lake. I couldn’t wait to string up my hammock and sway in the breezes, a princess in her enchanted grove.

I had just gone to the banks of the creek to assess my water source when I heard a nearby rustling and voices. To my horror, I looked over to see our quest leader, Sparrow Hart, presenting my spot to another woman! A middle-aged long term smoker, she had not been physically prepared for the hike in, and had ended up with a twisted ankle. When I approached, Sparrow explained that he was offering her the spot due to its close proximity to base camp.

“Oh, of course,” I smiled, secretly fuming. They say everything that happens on a quest is symbolic, and if that were the case, then…. well! I decided that this represented the recurrent pattern of my practically non-existent love life; secret infatuation, the cultivation of a relationship, hope for a glorious future, and then, suddenly, a clingy, needy female arrives on the scene to wrangle the object of my affection away. I’m nothing if not over-analytical.

I pasted on an even bigger smile.

“Really, it’s a beautiful spot. Enjoy!”

I whistled nonchalantly until I was out of earshot, then,

“Typical!” I huffed, and stalked off to the part of the forest that would be farthest away from everyone else.

It was starting to get late, and I was convinced that I was going to be the only one who failed to find a place, the only one who failed to find a place in the world, the only one who would never, EVER find someone to love them! (hunger and fatigue were making me rather dramatic), and it is lucky that sooner or later Sparrow Hart found me, still stomping around and muttering to myself, and led me through the meadow and over the swamp to the place that I would call home for the next few days.

My first reaction was utter disbelief that anyone in their right mind would ever stay here. Evening was closing in, drawing long shadows over the dark and murky beaver ponds. From behind the dense canopy of forest, something howled, sticks cracked, and all sorts of twitterings and cackles came seeping up out of the bog. I was terrified. It was perfect.