The Monster Sanctuary

Brufe and the Bear

Mar 09, 2023

Dear reader,

Please note that the content shared here on Substack will differ from what appears in the printed book. While many of the themes, stories, and inquiries may echo across both formats, the book itself has undergone a thorough process of review, editing, refinement, and expansion. In that sense, the printed version holds a more curated, deepened, and embodied iteration of the work.

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With tenderness for the ongoingness of becoming,
—Sofia

The Story

Brufe lived with her father, a giant kind-hearted man. He was a man as big and strong as a bear, and the girl believed he was indestructible. Despite life's harshness and advanced age, the good man never stopped caring for and protecting his daughter. Brufe had only dim memories of her mother and an antique shawl that the village women had taught her to mend. Father and daughter lived alone, and from an early age, the girl accompanied him in caring for the delicate bees, even the wild ones, on the steep and difficult paths, protecting the hives from bears and harvesting honey.

Each season, the village men would take her to the ritual offerings to the Hole of Souls, the sacred stones in the heart of the Mountain range, where they would deposit a bag with nuts, acorns, some wild honey, and a pair of horns so that the ancient mountain spirits would bless her family. These men did not approve of Brufe's presence at these events — just a fragile little girl. They believed the girl weakened them, diminished the strength of their prayers, and limited the blessings received. The inhabitants of the Mountain range also called the Hole of Souls the "Monster Sanctuary," believing that if the rituals were not fulfilled correctly, monstrous tragedies would befall them. Her father used to tell her not to pay them any mind, that those men didn't know or understand that the Hermitesses, the ones who had shaped the enormous mountains that now welcomed them, were still there, magical, enchanted women from the beginning of time who blessed everyone without exception: rocks; rivers; plants; animals; women or men.

Brufe grew wild in the middle of the mountains, with the wisdom of the earth and the clouds, between buzzing bees and sweet honey. She knew the location of each hive and the habits of its residents, the patterns of the seasons in their flight, and the many different plants that changed the color and flavor of the honey. She knew how to cherish the bees and keep them safe. But as she grew older, her father was losing strength and health, and she watched his big body wither away.

One cold morning, after a long and harsh winter, her father tells her in a fragile breath: "Brufe, you have to go alone to the mountain to check on the bees, I can't."

The girl can smell the deep presence of the Death God, lurking softly, and becomes anxious... she couldn't leave her father like that; she didn't want to let him go. How had that strong, kind man surrendered without a fight? Angry and sorrowful, she decides to go to the Hole of Souls, in the heart of the mountains, to ask the Hermitesses for help. Maybe they would listen to her — after all, she had been going there since she was a child to make offerings. But she had never made that journey alone, and it was a long and challenging path. Brufe then prepares a bag with some offerings and covers herself with the strange and ancient shawl, the only thing her mother had left her—the rest she would find on the way, up and down the slopes. Brave and somber, she bids farewell to her father with a kiss on the forehead, telling him: "You'll be fine, you'll see," and storms out the hut's door, feeling the heavy shadow of the end descending inside.

She couldn't stand to look at him like that, his frailty exposed, so frail and vulnerable. Determined and alone, she starts to climb the steep slope. Perhaps it was the pain or the icy wind, but the tears insisted on falling, rolling to the ground. The strength of her anger makes her rush forward through the heather and rosemary, the cork oaks, pines, and wild olive trees. A muffled rage rises in her chest, confronted with the finitude of life. How dare her father leave her alone in the world? He had no right to do so! After all, wasn't he eternal or indestructible? How could she soothe the hunger of the Death God that slyly invaded her house and her heart?! The strength of her thirteen-year-old legs gallops resolutely and without looking back, despite not having a plan of what to ask or do.

By nightfall, Brufe’s frightened to find herself alone in the woods. In the dark, all sounds and smells become more intense, small bats flutter erratically in the shadows, hitting her body, and Brufe feels restless. Cautiously, she finds an ancient, broad-trunked oak tree where she nestles to rest and sleep, wrapping herself in her shawl. The night is assailed by feverish dreams where she blends her father between healthy and ill, with bears, teeth, and claws, in an endless shape-shifting chaotic dance. At dawn, a comfortable torpor arrives, and she nestles in a warm embrace, finally managing to rest. The sun had already risen when Brufe woke up lazily, stretching eagerly, but she touched warm, rough fur instead of the tree bark or the hard ground! She gets up, startled by the touch of that wild fur, and realizes she's been sleeping nestled up against a huge grizzly bear! Her amazement gives way to the urge to run away, and she starts running and stumbling over the branches and roots scattered on the ground.

"No need to run away, Brufe," the bear suddenly tells her in a deep voice. She stops in amazement — do bears talk? "My name's Ossa, and I'm the great Mother of this place," the Bear tells her. "I will accompany you on your journey to the Hole of Souls, if you wish." "How do you know where I'm going?" the girl asks in amazement. "I know you," the Bear tells her. Without knowing how or why, Brufe feels a strange comfort in that powerful presence and agrees to her company, approaching without hesitation.

Slowly and silently, they walk through the forest for hours over unstable ground, sharp slopes, and steep descents. When they reach a black-bottomed river, Ossa the Bear whispers to her: "I'm sorry… your father is dying, I feel it. His turn has come to give himself to the ground, regenerating life. The Death God has come to take him." Brufe feels a pang of pain straight through her heart, and a sob fills her Soul. Instinctively, she leans against the huge Bear, who lovingly supports her. In the black bottom river, a She-Wolf quenches her thirst, raising her head as soon as she sees Ossa and Brufe coming: "We're almost there," says the great She-Wolf. Brufe lets herself be guided by the two mountain spirits without hesitation. She feels too down to understand, question, or dispute what is happening to her. The three proceed slowly, between slopes covered with heather and rosemary, cork-oaks, holm-oaks, and wild olive trees. It feels like they've been walking for days, or perhaps just a few hours - Brufe couldn't say.

At the top of the hill is, at last, the Hole of Souls, the old stone dolmen, and, at its entrance, a huge She-Boar waiting. As they approach, the She-Boar moves out of the passageway, signaling the girl to enter the shrine. Before entering, Brufe carefully deposits the offerings on the ground: the bag with nuts, acorns, honey, and a pair of horns, and then takes off her shawl, covering the stones with it. Glancing around as the powerful She-Boar pushes her into the sanctuary, Brufe sees the ancient shawl light up over the stones. Feeling fragile and helpless, she lets herself be pushed into the stone sanctuary.

Once inside, what appears to be a small enclosure of rock suddenly begins to expand and contract as if breathing on her. The walls and ceiling come alive and contort, dense, damp, and changing shape. The sanctuary's walls are made of slimy monsters, the ancient gods of death and life, walls that exude a moist, hot breath, writhing and expanding. Monsters of the shadows revolve violently, raging, peaceful, fierce, and gentle. Sacred. Serpents black as the night and starry as the sky, alive, envelop her, squeeze her, press her.

"The Monster Sanctuary," Brufe thinks before blacking out, sinking into a long, deep, sweeping sleep. She dreams of her father, his sweet and strong presence, their games and tasks together. She feels him close to her, feeling the warmth of his body and his breathing: "I have come to say goodbye, dear daughter. My time is over, but the Hermitesses of the Mountain range will take care of you. Ossa, your mother, is watchful."

The father figure drifts away as he turns into a bear, and Brufe tries to grab him in vain. A deafening buzz plunges her into a whirlpool, where she finds the angry village men shouting and threatening her. Then a spiral of darkness envelops her, a deep and dense blackness, and the girl lets herself go, surrendering to the cold, silent darkness that pulls her. It smells like the Death God she had seen circling her father's body back home. In the distance, she feels her body writhing in violent spasms, being abruptly pulled from the deep abyss, feeling everything all at once again: the massive stones that surround her, the hard ground that supports her, the cold, the bruised muscles, the pain of loneliness, the rage of loss, and the She-Boar’s fangs fiercely pulling her from stone sanctuary. Brufe struggles to breathe with so much happening inside and outside of her. Something had changed forever.

She finds herself outside the dolmen, lying face down on the earthy ground, gasping for air, surrounded by the Mountain Hermitesses — Ossa the Bear, the Great She-Wolf, and the Monstrous She-Boar. They all brought her offerings: wild honey harvested by the Bear, a hare hunted by the Wolf, and black truffles dug up by the Boar. Together, they share a ritual meal through the night, by moonlight. Bright-eyed Brufe listens eagerly to the stories told by the Hermitesses, the oldest tales of that place, drinking every word, grunting, and sighing. She didn't know she had such a large, open space inside her, ready to receive all these stories. Stories that nourish and stir her, wherein she loses herself and finds herself again, with every silence. They laughed, danced, and sang together; even the bees joined them, buzzing and dancing. She could have sworn she saw the Monster Sanctuary dancing as well, rippling the stones to the night's pulse. Somewhere in the evening, Brufe felt her father dancing with Ossa in an ethereal bear-like body, and sensed their ancient love. She knew now that he, too, belonged to the Mountain range. They were the place.

The following day, as she was coming down the hillside, now all in bloom, shawl on her back, heart still heavy, but Soul as alive as ever, Brufe came face to face with a mob of angry men, who waved their staffs and rods violently. "We knew you'd bring us bad luck, girl!" they shouted as soon as they spotted her. They gasped bitterly, fuelled by hatred baked in ignorance and distrust. They walked up hostile, shouting threats, spitting resentment and fury.

"For violating the Mountain range's sacred space, impure girl... we were attacked by a bear in the village! It is your fault! You called the monsters! An angry beast that has already destroyed houses and fields. Your father was always too soft on you!" They spit at her with disgust. Brufe, standing on stone feet, anchored to the ground, unshaken and whole, supported by the ancestral Hermitesses, who created the Mountains themselves, observes them with curiosity. She now understands what her father used to tell her: those men didn't know or understand anything. They were driven by fear rather than belonging, torn by hatred and resentment. Brufe now saw their tiny souls in fright, surrounded by dread and anguish.

Her strong stillness baffles them, breaking their yelling. The rods and staffs drop in indecision and surprise—threats lower in volume in the moment's confusion. A deep silence sets in, making them listen to each other's fast and frantic heartbeats. In amazement, they also hear, perhaps for the first time, the heartbeat from the bowels of the mountains, powerful, slow, and rhythmic. Distraught, they look at each other anxiously, not knowing what to do or think.

"I'll take care of the Bear," says Brufe confidently, coming down the slope. Her shawl shines in the sun, dazzling and blinding the bewildered men. The girl reaches the village in a breath and goes straight home, where she finds her father's body inert on the bed. His angry old Bear Spirit destroying the village. Calling to her aid the Hermitesses and the elderly women, who promptly answer her call, they anoint the old beekeeper's body with honey and carry him off in a funeral procession, closely followed by the bees, burying him near one of their oldest hives, calming his wild Bear Spirit. Brufe hugs her bear-father lovingly: "You'll be fine here," she whispers. They would meet more often. His body would now feed the wildflowers that give the honey its color.

The men, on their way down the mountain, are incredulous when they find their village free of the destructive bear and being rebuilt by the women, spirits, and mountain animals. Some men run away in fright, others let themselves drop in astonishment, and some others roll up their sleeves to help in the rebuilding.