Ursus

Ursus 
by Rebecca Brugman

Bear has always spoken to me. From childhood piles of stuffed animals which grew into adulthood studies to deepen my understanding of the creature, a lifelong energy has tethered me to this medicine. 
 
A collector’s obsession to family and friends was really an internal seeking for teachers on my part. Each bear related object I gathered told me a different story in a larger narrative. Posters, books, and sculptures made my room into a den. I developed a bed time ritual to carry me to Dreamtime where I could sit with my relations and be filled with their wisdom. 
 
Of course, I had a pendant. I wore it for many years while raising young children. I was the embodiment of a Mama Bear, protecting their choices and encouraging their explorations. I walked the world with thick skin, sharp claws, and a ready growl. I shook off the barbs of the world and maintained my cave to my liking. 

But time flows onward and my bluster turned to determination, then lagged into exhaustion. My winter stores were empty. My fur became faded and patchy. I couldn’t keep organized the baskets of day to night, food or tools, anger or sorrow.  I needed to rest. 
 
So I returned to Bear teachings. I remembered the need for a season of rejuvenation. I reduced my world to vital systems. I reached for the voice deep inside that knew the way to equilibrium and reminded me of myself. I took on the slower lumber of a patient bear picking tiny berries. I yawned widely when in public and went home to sleep. 

Then came a season of recklessness and disconnect. I went beyond the veil of balanced bear and into the realm of near madness. The feral side left a trail of broken things and vague dreaminess. I raced into the woods seeking any burrow to contain my angst and hide it from myself. Somewhere in the forest must be a doorway to the underworld where I could disappear.  But that is a harsh futility to chase.

"Grandmother Black Bear", white pastels, Kristin Raphaela Otti (2023)

One winter day as the snow receded, I smelled Bear.  I hunkered against a tree and heard Bear. In the wild place of my soul, I knew a meeting was in store.  I felt the shift coming and I would either remain disheveled, falling deeper into the chasm of despair or I would smooth my pelt and return fully to my cubs. 
 
Several times in the coming weeks I chased up Bear in the woods. I wasn’t tracking necessarily, but I sat by the waterhole where he would visit. I followed the deer trails where his signs were displayed. Mostly, it was the lingering smell that coaxed me out of my stupor and into fresh awareness that healing had taken place despite my avoidance. 

"White Brown Bear", white pastels, Kristin Raphaela Otti (2023)

Bear invites us to the mystical spaces within a soul. These are the places where Dreams and Truths wait. Only in eating the divine honey will we accept our inner most knowing and be able to reclaim ourselves.

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​Then there was a frightening episode involving one of my children. Sparing the details, I can say it worked out well enough but, during that strange night of discovery and crisis control, I spent time howling in the forest like the wounded animal I had become. My ache was finally shaken loose and released to the dark in sounds humans rarely make. 
 
But Bear heard me. 
 
I’m not certain anymore how many days between that night and his visit, but it wasn’t long before I woke in the predawn hours to the sound of digging in my garden. I heard the pallets of my compost pile moving around. The breath caught in my throat when he snuffed and sneezed less than ten feet from my window, which was open a crack to let in spring air. 
 
In an instant, all the years of teachings flew together in my heart. I watched his furry shoulders work at the stones around the garden as he searched for snacks. I smiled when he crunched the freshly thawed lobster shells from our discarded New Years feast. I snuck to the back door for a better view. As I pushed aside the curtain as silently as possible, he of course heard me anyway. Our eyes met and with a final swipe at the meager garden findings, he lumbered towards the woods, pausing to scratch an ear with his teenaged paw. 
 
I have lived most aspects of Bear now from a naive cub to a seasoned mother.  I watch my offspring fledge and look forward to the gentle years of crochet and music in my now quiet home. The sleepy groan of comfort is not far from me these days and I am grateful. But the hot breath of a dangerous bite lingers on my neck too. 
 
Bear invites us to the mystical spaces within a soul. These are the places where Dreams and Truths wait. Only in eating the divine honey will we accept our inner most knowing and be able to reclaim ourselves. Whether I am roaring in defense or sadness, digging for food or shelter, settling in for contemplation or work, I know the strength of this beast is beside me. 
 
I enjoy the cozy heartbeat when I have lost my song.  I borrow the tough walking shoes to keep moving forward. I stand with generations of Bear knowledge ready to embrace the lessons I must learn. I walk with Bear to remain solid in my faith. I listen to know when I need a drink of dreaming from the Cave.
 
To everything there is a season and Bear guides me through them all.