Editorial – When I followed a Bear

Once I saw a bear in the woods, and I followed it.  It traveled up and down hills and valleys all the while keeping a safe distance from me. He went up to the top of a large hill and stood there for a while just staring out over the other hills and valleys. While I tried not to get too close, I was curious as to what that bear was looking at, so while keeping a safe distance from the bear, I climbed up to the top of the hill to observe what he saw.

As he stared down into the valley, he heard someone appear to be crying, almost sobbing at what he saw.  He stood up and growled and roared the most sorrowful sounds I had ever heard, and with his heartache, I too began to weep and mourn out of empathy.  He was beautiful, strong, and majestic, with beautiful hair that shook as he bellowed. As I watched, he collapsed mournfully onto the ground and lay there for what seemed like hours.  I wanted to comfort him, but feared for my life.

What seemed like an eternity later, he marshaled himself up onto all fours and slowly began his mournful trek down the side of the hill to the exact location that brought him such distress and sadness, which was beckoning him.  His slow, methodical plodding was only enhanced by his sorrowful cries into the darkening silence of where he was being led.

Our slow pace took hours, which felt like days.  He would stand up next to a tree and beat his massive paws against it as he mourned, but would, after a few moments, continue his descent to the cause of his sadness. Finally, we came to a clearing, and you could hear running water from a small river.  On the East side of the clearing, next to a small river, was a rock ledge with many caves.  On the West side of the clearing was the small river where the water flowed as it had for thousands of years.

That magnificent bear cried and wept as he went from body to body of his family, who were massacred in the small clearing.  As he went to his parents and grandparents, he called out to them, only to find, as he reached their lifeless bodies, that they had been slaughtered and left behind in a hateful display of malice.  He repeated the process with his mate and children, his dozens of siblings, and hundreds of aunts and uncles, nephews, and nieces.  He lay down with them and mourned for days as I watched in horror.

What had happened was so gruesome and brutal that few could imagine.  What had happened, no one wants to admit as fact.  But the bear knows, and I know what really happened.  Soldiers had come to his home and killed his family. Squatters had come to his home and killed his family.  Other bears led the soldiers to the den of this bear’s family and betrayed them in the hopes of currying favor with the soldiers and the squatters.  As the bear lay in a heap near the bodies of his murdered family and friends, he mourned powerfully for them.  His mourning turned to anger, then his anger turned to resolve, and his resolve to determination.  He would honor his family, his ancestors, and his way of life.

After a few days, he finally stood up and fiercely roared so all of those in the valleys and hills could hear him.  He stood, he stands, he roars.