No title here just a bear story.

The bear is not going to move. It was far too bad of a famine in the Wasatch Mountain Range to let a 200 pound meal to get away because of a little wait. I thought in the back of my mind, that I had heard the advice of playing dead to combat a bear attack. I think following that advice would lead to, not playing dead but being dead and digested I shouldn't wonder.
I could wait as well, you stupid hairy bastard. I tell myself this thinking I am talking to the great bear sitting outside of my man-sized cave with a child-sized entrance, but in reality I am most likely just speaking to trying to instill listless hope into my most desperate of situations. The beast has more fat and no student loans to pay. It has all the time in the world. It? I wonder if this is a girl bear or a boy bear. I do not care. I do not think gender has anything to do with sharpness of claw and biting of teeth. I have but a leatherman knife. It has a four inch blade. What are you going to do Davy? Stab the beast's eye ball and hope the curved scimitars on the paws miss me?
I scream like a banshee. I have never heard a banshee but I figure it sounds like me. The bear does not move outside of grunting with what I can only guess is hunger and annoyance.
I am almost sorry for how rude I am being with this terrible wait. "The olive garden can get like this as well guy." I shall converse with my vessel of doom. I am out of options. To stay here would most likely spell death by hunger or probably thirst before that. I have a nice rotund belly to keep me alive but alas I have no water. I lost it running away from a bear.
My ankle is swelling now. Broken I shouldn't wonder. F@#king bear.
It is not the bear's fault. I came into the home of the bear. It should kill me even if it was not in need of sustenance. I would have shot the bear if it had rambled into my house. Right between the damn eyes. I would have ballyhooed like a sandperson. I spit at the bear. I am immediately remorseful. Yes the animal is trying to eat me but it does not deserve my disdain just my fear. We humans disdain too much and fear too little. Or at least we fear the wrong things. Irrational fear is being scared of not having enought money. Irrational unfear is ignoring natural law and traipsing around in uncivilized territory that obviously does not belong to people but to bears. Big bears that eat any living thing it can catch within it's improbably immense grasp.
The bear will roar and then most likely be very silent outside of his munchings. I have decided that my bear is a male.
Baloo looks away down the slope at something. "Please leave." I do not say this but just think it.
I would gladly gamble my life on falling/running down the mountain side. I could make it. I do not want to pass out and die in a hole.
I wonder what life I will miss out on? What will my friends say at my bodiless funeral? I would hope they would put up signs and fliers warning people of the dangers or frivolous hikes through bear country. Bear country. If only my issues was with sister bear or brother bear. My problem would be them keeping me out of their superb clubhouse. I find it ironic that the more we paint a bear like a person the less savage they get and the more petty and mean they get. What if humans were more savage and ferocious and less petty? I guess problems would arise out of that as well.
The point of no return for several options is drawing near. The longer I stay here the weaker I become. I will be dehydrated and famished. My ankle will be more swollen. The bear will be hungrier which for some reason I feel will not diminish his killing capacity or at least not comparable to my escaping capacity.
I grab my leatherman. The beast is digging a hole. Grubs? I do not linger on the thought. He is looking away. I wonder if he has forgotten about me. Fear and trepidation.
I climb out as child out of womb. Just as helpless.
I run past. No time for a heroic stab of my knife. He most likely has thick skin.
Bears are stronger than people...and faster.
Oh well I tried.

Ride in...

The world is an awful place. Children are being forced to be soldiers, people are starving in our own country, millions of babies are slaughtered each year and humans generally treat each other and all other living things terribly. Contrary to what the google commercials are saying these days, humanity is not evolving for the better, we are not growing closer with our technology but finding new and different ways to destroy. Gone are the days where a King Arthur rides in too restore order and drives out they who oppress. This can depress me and make me feel helpless even with more resources and rivers of information than ever before in human history. We sit in the dark dank stable even as the feast is laid before us. All this I ponder on and yet this slow death we may look to the Bright Sadness. The Lenten season is upon us. We are trudging our way towards Holy Week. A time that The Church celebrates and meditates on Christ's journey to death on a tree by our hands and then to victory over death with His Resurrection. This is not a fable or a commemoration of a good man's life, it is the acknowledgment of God becoming a man, dying and coming back to life.
I pine for a moment when a host of riders would indeed traverse down the hillside to break through the lines and grant salvation to the Hornburg. I can lose my thoughts in what was and I can forget that our White Rider has indeed trodden down the enemy underfoot. The Battle is won and know He is calling to the survivors to Himself.

I say all this with the aforementioned terror of our modern decaying world not as an excuse for placing my head comfortably in the sand, but to freely draw my sword and charge. We may go out and give kindness to those who meet, we can give what we have (as what we have really does not matter!!!) to those who have not, we may die to ourselves as we are free to Live in Christ. The world is going to hell in a hand basket yes, but look around, we have people we come in contact with everyday to pull out of the aftermath.