The Hermit and the Bear, a shorter fiction parable
Once upon a time, there lived an old hermit in the wilderness of a deep forest who was tormented every night by a surly, burly old grizzly bear. Every evening, the bear would make her rounds to the man’s small cabin on a sunny clearing from the grove. And every night, the man would lock himself in tightly, cowering through the lonely cold winter; the shadow of the bear always stalking him in the distance.
The bear would trounce the man’s gardens through the night, so the hermit could no longer grow fresh food. The bear would chase away the birds, so that the hermit had no beautiful songs to greet him in the morning. The bear would howl like thunder through the day, until the hermit was convinced it was always too stormy to go outside. Night after night, the hermit lost sleep to his own imagined terror of hot misty breath coating his tiny single paned window. And he was plagued by the notion that the bear had summoned many others, prowling the surrounding dark forest.
So the hermit kept quiet and festered in his, once peaceful, now scuttled solitude. He would shake his head, hands grasping his ears, fearfully and defiant of sleep. The hermit would scream his curses out loud, while he ate canned beans and tried to remember the taste of blueberries. He would hum and drum quietly on his table, trying to remember the sound of music. Inevitably, he was always interrupted by the far off guttural bellow of his gnarly, grizzly bane.
For days and nights, the hermit would curse his tormentor and call out into the darkness the many names he had made for the bear. He would call him the demon, hell’s abomination, the darkness, the deceiver, the destroyer… the man eater, the dream killer! And in those names, he imbued all of his problems, the excuses for his plagued mind. He would cry, “curse and spit upon you, demon from hell, my famine, my robber of sunshine, my prison warden!” And curses, he did spew, from his window and from his bed, spitting and shaking fists with rage against the darkness. Until eventually, the hermit knew no other pastime, forgetting his prayers and meditations, forgetting the hope of music and the sweetest in food, only latching on to his rage for this wicked forest demon.
Meanwhile, there stood the bear, alone at the ridge of her forest, head cocked to the side, curious and confused by the strange noises from that small cabin. The bear delighted in the many wonders of this sunny grove, and took delight in it’s treasures. There were birds to chase, there were wild blueberries to pick, the cabin had large posts for her to scratch her back. And inside that cabin, there was even a funny little man that liked to play peek-a-boo from the curtains. It was a fun game that soothed her disquietude. For the bear had grown lonely in this deep dark forest. And when the thunder came cracking, she took shelter in the canopy, weeping loud and terrified at the angry heavens. The only thing that gave her comfort was hearing the shouting war cries of the funny little man, defiant of the thunder, and answering her whimpers with a call to courage. More and more, the grizzly bear felt at peace, coming around every night, dancing and shouting as the man did, nestled under his slumbering window, feeling safe.
One particularly vicious and stormy night, the hermit could hear no more. He spent so much of his fury and despair, shaking fists as his unknown tormentors, this bear and her company of beasts, all twelve feet tall and bloodthirsty. As the howls of the unknowns beat against his cabin window, he decided there and then to confront this beast, to see her with two eyes and to name his fear. Afterall, if it was only one bear, she should only have one name. And that by giving one fear, one worry, one bear, so many names, the man was suffering the onslaught of an army of bears inside his head.
So the hermit swung open his cabin door, and leaped faithfully into the mud to confront his devil. The hermit paused in that moment, scanning the treeline for Chimera herself. But all he saw, huddled low, was one lonely bear, shivering scared in the rain, and trembling with a longing look. The hermit, still wary, beat his fists across his chest and bellowed a warcry of defiance to the sky. And in that moment, he saw something unexpected. A tiny smile swept across the bear’s face, one of admiration and reassurance. The bear beamed with respect and loyalty for the man who showed her how to find her courage.
Not forgetting his promise to give the bear a name, the hermit thought of the only word he felt he had lost, one that needed to be spoken more, for both him and the bear. He knelt and he whispered the bear’s new name: Valor. And from that night forward, amidst all the demon’s of his mind, he called out for Valor. Every night, and amidst every wrap against his window, a change began to take hold. His relationship with the many shadows lurking along the dark treeline, the many wicked usurpers of the winter, became just one named and familiar beast. One lonely bear, named Valor.
Spring arrived to warm the hermit’s days, and he abandoned a winter stove for an open fire outdoors each night. He enjoyed the labors of cooking slowly, while calling softly to his new shy neighbor. Valor liked her new name, holding her head higher, as she spent less time hiding away, and more time rolling around the fresh grass by the warmth of the man’s fire. As spring stretched to summer, the man began sharing his meat from the fire, often feeding Valor by the hand. And before long Valor and the hermit became friends.
So after a long dark winter, the revival of spring, and the dawn of the summer sun, an old hermit and a lonely bear found something they didn’t even know they were looking for. Peace in each other’s company. A shared valor against the confusion of so many imagined fears, valor against shapeless worries, valor for one’s unnamed unknowns. The hermit gained this golden apple of wisdom as cure for his solitude, and felt fortunate enough, as wise men do, to share it with his new friend.
“My best friend Valor”, he whispered, “Your fears are there to be named, your beasts take shape as such to be tamed, and happiness is our right to proudly reclaim.”
ORDER ‘STRANGELY FIERCE FABLES’ for the full story and more:
Paul Carreo 