Bears (semi-artistic angst)
Nov. 13th, 2007 10:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hafoc
They say that when the Creator made horses, he breathed life into the wind itself.
I think that when he made the other hooved creatures, he did the same. But in each case, to the wind he added a special touch of the Earth.
To the deer he added the first snowfall of the first winter, sparkling on boughs of balsam and cedar. To the true antelopes he added the sunlight on the plains, and the scent of sun-warmed grass, or a sun-warmed flower, or a sun-warmed shrub or tree, each according to its kind. The pronghorn antelope was a wisp of sagebrush smoke, and the lonely spirit of the endless Western sky. To the wapiti (American elk) he added the golden aspen leaves of fall, and the taste of the first streams of meltwater flowing down the mountain slopes in the spring. To the moose he gave the greatest gift; the Mystery. The mystery that lives in the north woods, the mystery you can always feel when you walk there, but can never know.
The world was flat on that day of creation, and it ran off forever, in all directions, into realms of infinite possibilities. The sun rode high over all of it. On the highest mountain, in the center of it all, closest to the sun, was a vein of pure, translucent marble so much a part of the sunlight that it had gained its own inner warmth, fire, and life.
So from this He carved the great cats, one by one, using the finest sculpting tools and the most infinite care. There were pieces left over, and this living stone of warmth and light was too precious for even a God to waste. So he made the smaller cats with what was left, and smaller still, down to the fierce and undefeated little carnivore who deigns to eat the food I give her and sleep by my feet.
The dogs and hyenas, the running predators, he carved from steel with a razor and hardened in a forge fired by the Sun. He made the dragons, too, of fire and magic and the breath of life, carved by the power of his pure thought. He made my totem, the v'raptor, out of much the same, but beyond all else he made them of pure, distilled, what-might-have-been.
And so he made each creature out of its own special substance, using a special tool for each one.
When he got to the bear, he took about half a ton of cheap fatty pot roast, whacked it three or four times with a rusty hatchet, and called it good.
I am writing this because this week a friend ran a meme about our totem creatures, the ones with which we identify. The ones we are. If I were not the creature that calls to me, what would I be? He said he thought I would be a bear, because of creativity and tenacity for the most part.
I replied that "bear" was a fine choice for me. There are some obvious similarities in personality and physical characteristics, but it's especially good for me because I don't like bears.
That wasn't a cut against the accuracy of the assessment. It's just a recognition that most of the things I am, I loathe. Yes, I have some creativity. That's fun, when it doesn't just frustrate me. I'm also not entirely stupid, which is a lot better and a lot more fun than the alternative. But the rest of what I am, I could pretty much do without.
Take that tenacity, for example. The only way I have ever been able to give up some major goal in my life was to have a breakdown. Perhaps not a complete nervous breakdown, but a collapse into a state where I could not do ANYTHING for months. In both cases I threw myself harder and harder at the problem, living on three or four hours of sleep a night trying to make it happen, until I just plain broke. In both cases the only solution was to abandon that life and start over.
Tenacity. Some think it is a good thing. Psychologists have other names for it that aren't so pretty. Let me assure you, I would be a much happier person if I could just give up on things once in a while.
And... bear. Yes. Not pretty, not exciting. Wants to sleep all winter. Living up in the north woods with good people, yes. Good people, people I know and love because I can see the good in them. And yet they drive me crazy with their narrow-minded local outlook. They are so easy to scare into doing, being, thinking, voting what their "betters" tell them to. So determined to go on believing whatever myths their parents and grandparents told them, regardless of common sense or intelligence.
I hate that tenacity in them. I hate that plainness and that just getting by, and going along with what the government said because it's unpatriotic to doubt. And that is me, too. That is what I fight not to fall back into every day. Knowing that, when I finally do get old, that is what I'm going to fall back into again.
Bear. Nothing so big and important that you can't sleep through it. Perfect choice.
It might help if I could see bears, or myself, or what I represent, as anything but slow, stupid, brutal, bullying, and ugly.
We are each of us, I think, three things: What we are, what we aspire to be, and what we want to leave behind. For me, what I want to leave behind is more than clear enough.
I think that when he made the other hooved creatures, he did the same. But in each case, to the wind he added a special touch of the Earth.
To the deer he added the first snowfall of the first winter, sparkling on boughs of balsam and cedar. To the true antelopes he added the sunlight on the plains, and the scent of sun-warmed grass, or a sun-warmed flower, or a sun-warmed shrub or tree, each according to its kind. The pronghorn antelope was a wisp of sagebrush smoke, and the lonely spirit of the endless Western sky. To the wapiti (American elk) he added the golden aspen leaves of fall, and the taste of the first streams of meltwater flowing down the mountain slopes in the spring. To the moose he gave the greatest gift; the Mystery. The mystery that lives in the north woods, the mystery you can always feel when you walk there, but can never know.
The world was flat on that day of creation, and it ran off forever, in all directions, into realms of infinite possibilities. The sun rode high over all of it. On the highest mountain, in the center of it all, closest to the sun, was a vein of pure, translucent marble so much a part of the sunlight that it had gained its own inner warmth, fire, and life.
So from this He carved the great cats, one by one, using the finest sculpting tools and the most infinite care. There were pieces left over, and this living stone of warmth and light was too precious for even a God to waste. So he made the smaller cats with what was left, and smaller still, down to the fierce and undefeated little carnivore who deigns to eat the food I give her and sleep by my feet.
The dogs and hyenas, the running predators, he carved from steel with a razor and hardened in a forge fired by the Sun. He made the dragons, too, of fire and magic and the breath of life, carved by the power of his pure thought. He made my totem, the v'raptor, out of much the same, but beyond all else he made them of pure, distilled, what-might-have-been.
And so he made each creature out of its own special substance, using a special tool for each one.
When he got to the bear, he took about half a ton of cheap fatty pot roast, whacked it three or four times with a rusty hatchet, and called it good.
I am writing this because this week a friend ran a meme about our totem creatures, the ones with which we identify. The ones we are. If I were not the creature that calls to me, what would I be? He said he thought I would be a bear, because of creativity and tenacity for the most part.
I replied that "bear" was a fine choice for me. There are some obvious similarities in personality and physical characteristics, but it's especially good for me because I don't like bears.
That wasn't a cut against the accuracy of the assessment. It's just a recognition that most of the things I am, I loathe. Yes, I have some creativity. That's fun, when it doesn't just frustrate me. I'm also not entirely stupid, which is a lot better and a lot more fun than the alternative. But the rest of what I am, I could pretty much do without.
Take that tenacity, for example. The only way I have ever been able to give up some major goal in my life was to have a breakdown. Perhaps not a complete nervous breakdown, but a collapse into a state where I could not do ANYTHING for months. In both cases I threw myself harder and harder at the problem, living on three or four hours of sleep a night trying to make it happen, until I just plain broke. In both cases the only solution was to abandon that life and start over.
Tenacity. Some think it is a good thing. Psychologists have other names for it that aren't so pretty. Let me assure you, I would be a much happier person if I could just give up on things once in a while.
And... bear. Yes. Not pretty, not exciting. Wants to sleep all winter. Living up in the north woods with good people, yes. Good people, people I know and love because I can see the good in them. And yet they drive me crazy with their narrow-minded local outlook. They are so easy to scare into doing, being, thinking, voting what their "betters" tell them to. So determined to go on believing whatever myths their parents and grandparents told them, regardless of common sense or intelligence.
I hate that tenacity in them. I hate that plainness and that just getting by, and going along with what the government said because it's unpatriotic to doubt. And that is me, too. That is what I fight not to fall back into every day. Knowing that, when I finally do get old, that is what I'm going to fall back into again.
Bear. Nothing so big and important that you can't sleep through it. Perfect choice.
It might help if I could see bears, or myself, or what I represent, as anything but slow, stupid, brutal, bullying, and ugly.
We are each of us, I think, three things: What we are, what we aspire to be, and what we want to leave behind. For me, what I want to leave behind is more than clear enough.
